Blind Shadows

by James A. Moore

  Because Jolene knew something that a lot of people didn’t know. She knew that the bus would be full to capacity on the Sunday before Halloween. And on the Saturday and Friday preceding as well. The Casino always made it a point to offer specials on drinks and hotel rooms for almost every holiday. They always did brisk business at Halloween.

  How did Jolene know that? Because Vince was a talker. He liked to tell people how hard he worked, and he also liked to tell Jolene how well some people tipped on special occasions. They’d be stopping a little longer than usual on all of those nights because Vince was looking forward to spending a little time with Jolene.

  She gave Vince one more deep kiss when he sighed and said he had to be on his way. Her hands promised him a very special event or two come the weekend just ahead. Vince walked a little awkwardly when he headed back for the diner and the free cheeseburger he’d take with him on the road.

  Jolene waited until he was well away from her before she spat the taste of his kiss from her lips. “That boy’s about as fun as a pap smear.” She looked over her shoulder. No one but her or her kin could have seen the figure waiting in the shadows. “Trust me, they ain’t any fun.”

  It spoke only in the old tongue, which meant she had to listen carefully before responding to the sibilant hisses and the voice that sounded more like leaves blowing in the wind than anything else. “Why do you let him live?”

  “Oh, he won’t live much longer. He just hasn’t served his need yet.”

  “What is his purpose?” He stepped from the shadows, pale skin almost hidden in the darkness, his eyes squinting against the faded lights from the diner and the lamps in the square. It was very, very rare for one of his kind to move this far into town.

  “Well now, doors don’t open without help, do they? He’s providing the necessary lambs for slaughter.” She looked into the glowing eyes and smiled as understanding came to them.

  Just like that, her family was happy. The visitor would spread the word to all the right people, and Jolene would come out smelling like roses.

  That was good. She needed to make everyone happy. It saved her a lot of trouble and stopped people from asking exactly the wrong questions about her.

  A few moments later her guest left; the lights were too much for him to bear for long.

  And half an hour after that the diner closed, leaving the square effectively empty except for Jolene.

  Then she was off to handle her last meeting of the night.

  There was so much to do and time was quickly running out.

  * * *

  Three in the damned morning. Carl yawned mightily and headed for his house, exhausted and tense and not really sure that sleep would ever be a possibility again. Andy was fine, but shaken up and vigorously at that. The man was a college professor and one of the sharpest minds that Carl knew, but he was not cut out for combat or even serious suspense.

  The thought that anything he’d done might lead the man to harm was enough to churn his stomach and that was the last thing his internal organs needed just at the moment. Poor Andy looked around like a cat stuck at a dog show, and though Carl checked the area out, he didn’t see anything unusual.

  Finally the ambulance came and gave Andy a once over and despite Carl’s urgings the man stayed at his house instead of heading off to the hospital just to be safe.

  In the end, that was all okay. Carl just thought about what the morning would bring, the raid on Crawford’s Hollow and on the Blackbourne house, and he got all warm and fuzzy inside. Merle had managed to rope in four of the suspects. That was four less assholes to deal with in the morning.

  He was going to handle this as quickly and thoroughly as he could.

  He’d left a message with Griffin to call him bright and early, because he wanted his friend to have a chance to come along for the ride. He was going to be damned busy leading his guys through the Hollow. He might not have as much time as he’d like to actually examine the clues they might find in the house. As luck would have it, he knew a good detective and he knew he could trust Wade. Hell, if he didn’t know he could trust the man he’d have busted him a long time ago for a few of the things he knew the man had hidden around his county.

  He was just contemplating how early to set his alarm clock when the white blur stepped out of nowhere and slashed at the side of his truck. It sounded like branches scraping the hell out of the side of his truck for a second and then the impact shuddered through the vehicle and Carl had to slam on the brakes and jerk the wheel hard to avoid sliding off the road.

  The white shape moved, running for the truck at high speed. Carl didn’t waste time thinking about the possibilities. Instead he stepped from the truck and let instinct take over.

  Instinct told him to duck the massive hand that came for him. The thick fingers rammed against the truck instead of capturing him, and Carl slid in close. He was too close in to use the pistol, so he used his fist, driving his hand into the soft spot where the ribs faded into the armpit. He hit hard and stepped back, pistoning his other fist into the abdomen of the thing he was fighting.

  It was big, no two ways about it, with long, lanky limbs, pasty white skin and a mouthful of teeth that looked intimidatingly like steak knives carved from yellowed ivory. While the thing was grunting and then turning to face him, Carl yanked the hunting knife from his belt. Technically the weapon was illegal. He had no intention of turning himself in. The thing roared at him, a noise like screeching brakes on wet asphalt, and Carl retreated as the thing charged, lumbering toward him at a preposterous speed because of the too long legs.

  And as it came closer, Carl stepped in again. Simple physics in action, the creature couldn’t get a decent grip on him or even deliver a proper blow if he was too close in for it to get any leverage. While the thing blinked its large black eyes and tried to react to his change of tactics, he drove the twelve inch blade deep into its neck and jaw, ramming the weapon in to the hilt. The thing let out a second screech and while it did, he elbowed it in the throat.

  By all rights it should have been dead. Instead it shoved him backward and fell away, clawing at the blade he’d buried in its lower face.

  Carl hit the ground hard and rolled as best he could, skidding on his side and shoulder instead of landing with enough force to break bones. Just the same, the impact was disorienting. No, wait, he only thought he was seeing double. There was more than one of the damned things.

  Carl stood back up and reached into his jacket. Sadly, he didn’t have any more knives. On the other hand, the brass knuckles would do in a pinch. He spat a thin stream of blood from his mouth and looked at the things. They were actually uglier than the first one. The good news was, they weren’t quite as big. On the other hand, the odds were officially five to one and the big bastard he’d cut was looking more pissed off than injured.

  Something short and flabby with insanely thick legs and arms charged at him, moving with a loping gait that spoke of how badly malformed it was. Hell, he could barely decipher where the face on the thing was. These were what Wade had told him about, he was certain of it.

  And they were about to rip him apart.

  Fatty grabbed for him. The thing had absolutely no fighting skills that he could descern. Rather than try, he gave it a right hook across what might have been an eye and watched its head snap to the side violently. That thick arm caught him in the side and showed him that there was muscle somewhere under the flab. Carl grunted and fell back a second time, feeling the nerve cluster at his solar plexus freak out a bit. Had the thing connected completely he’d have been effectively paralyzed.

  The third one knew how to fight. He was busy looking at Shorty when it came up from behind him and hit him in the back of the head. Carl fell flat, stunned, and knew he was screwed. They were too strong and there were too many of them.

  The thing that had hit him looked over its shoulder as it moved past, stared at him with eyes that glowed in the shadows where its face should have been. It had thin w
hite hair over most of its body, and the claws on its hands looked about right for peeling the metal off his damned truck.

  He tried to stand up and the short one kicked him in the head. He rolled again, knowing he’d be lucky if all he got from the blow was a serious bruising.

  Shorty came at him again and stopped abruptly when its head exploded. One second the bastard was hauling his foot back to punt Carl’s face across the street and the next the freak was falling backward, spilling black goo from the stump where its head had been.

  Carl tried to get up and felt his arms shake in protest. He was dead if he stayed where he was.

  One of the things that hadn’t yet had a chance to use him as a piñata let out a howl as its left arm blew apart. And then the road lit up with a powerful white light and the things let out screeches and backed away from him.

  Another shot, and the wounded one flopped down on its side, half of its ribcage blown out.

  And then they were gone. The remaining three vanished in front of him, running from the powerful light and simply vanishing a moment later. He saw it happen and still had trouble accepting it.

  Carl lay there for several moments and then finally managed to get to his hands and knees. From there getting to his feet was relatively easy. The world wasn’t spinning too much and he only felt a little like puking his guts out.

  He waited for a sound, a sign, anything. When he’d counted to two hundred and nothing happened, Carl climbed in his truck and reached for his shotgun. When he had it in his grip he stepped back out to look at the bodies, but they were gone.

  Gone.

  “What the fuck?” No one answered him.

  Carl drove home. He took it nice and slow.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when Griffin and Charon got back to Wellman. Griffin made a careful check of the house before letting Charon enter, but everything was still secure. He put down the bag of items he had purchased on the way home and set the boxes of Decamp’s ‘special’ ammunition on the coffee table. As he did so, his gaze fell on Jerry’s notebooks.

  Griffin said, “We still don’t have the password to Jerry’s laptop but I suppose I should read through these notes. At this point it’s probably a moot point. Jerry was investigating the Blackbourne’s connection to the local drug trade and they killed him. End of story.”

  Charon said, “Looks that way, but there still might be something useful in there.”

  “Agreed.” Griffin started shuffling through the notebooks. Fortunately Jerry had written dates on all of them so Griffin was able to find the most recent with little fuss. Before he could locate anything about the meth lab, Griffin’s cell phone chirped.

  “Griffin?” the voice on phone said.

  “Speaking.”

  “It’s Whit Gramling, son. I found something I thought might be of use to you. Some notes I made after the incident in eighty-six. I added what I knew about the Moon-Eyes to what Carter Decamp told me. Forgot all about it until this morning.”

  Griffin said, “That might be worth looking at for sure, Whit, but it will probably be tomorrow before I can come and get them.”

  Charon said, “What does Whit need?”

  “Hang on a second please, Whit.” Griffin pushed the mute button. “He has some notes about what happened on Blacktop.”

  “Oh, I’d like to see those. I’m trying to find anything else we can use for protection. If you want to stay with Jerry’s notes, I can go get Whit’s info.”

  “I don’t know if you should go out there alone,” Griffin said.

  “He’s 103. I think I can fight him off.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. Things are pretty strange just now.”

  “Griffin, it’s broad daylight and Whit’s place is better protected than your house. Besides, I think I’ve shown I can take care of myself. I saved your cute ass back at your apartment.”

  “All right. But you go straight there and come straight back. And take the Beretta with you.”

  Charon snapped off a salute. “Aye aye, captain.”

  Griffin still didn’t like it, but what could he do? Charon was an adult and she had certainly proved herself capable in a scrape. Still, a small voice in the back of his head was telling him it was a bad idea. As things turned out, he should have listened.

  * * *

  When Charon reached Whit Gramling’s cabin, she found the old man in the same rocking chair he had occupied on her previous visit. She got the idea he probably sat there a lot. There was a small table to one side of him, piled with books and papers, and she noted a thermos near the chair. Whit peered at Charon over his reading glasses as she got out of Griffin’s truck. Charon climbed the sagging wooden stairs to the porch and took a seat.

  “Well now,” Whit said. “You’re a darn sight easier to look at than that Griffin fellow.”

  “Depends on who’s doing the looking,” said Charon.

  Whit nodded. “Yes I could tell you had your cap set for that one. He figured it out yet?”

  “Getting there, I think. You’re pretty observant, bub.”

  “The eyes are holding up if some of the other stuff has gone,” said Whit. “Anyway, I dug around in some boxes and found this stack of notes.” He indicated a brown folder on the chair. “Might be something worth knowing in there. Carter wrote a bunch of what you call, annotations, on my notes.”

  “You should write a book, Whit. All the things you know about local legends and folklore.”

  “Might get to it yet. You let me know if anything in there might be worth writing about. Been years since I read through that stuff. Carter Decamp might be interested in seeing those notes after more than two decades. Did you say you knew him?”

  “Yes, we’ve met a few times. An interesting man.”

  “He’s that. Dangerous too.”

  “I’ve just begun to discover that.” She suddenly recalled what Griffin had said. “Anyway, I hate to run off, Whit, but I need to get back and study these notes.”

  Whit said, “Yeah it’ll be getting dark soon. Best to be out of these woods by dark. Especially this time of year.”

  “I don’t know why you would say that,” a smooth, sibilant voice said from Charon’s left. Startled, she jerked her head toward the sound.

  Isaiah Blackbourne sat in one of the straight-backed chairs just a few feet away with his feet on the porch railing. Neither Charon nor Whit had heard him arrive. He smiled with his sharp, sharp teeth and said, “Now me, I’m a night person.”

  “You get off of my property, Isaiah Blackbourne,” Whit said. “I don’t know how you’re staying this close to the silver in my cabin anyway.”

  Isaiah said, “I am shocked at your lack of hospitality, Whit. Especially after I came all the way out here just to see you. As to the silver, well let’s just say I’m not as sensitive to it as some of my brothers.”

  Charon could feel her heart hammering in her chest. The albino scared her more than any of the things she had seen so far. Still, she took a hard swallow and said, “What do you want here?”

  “Not much,” said Isaiah. “Actually I just came by to kill old Whit here. Been wanting to for a while, but my mother was concerned it would attract the wrong kind of attention. That’s no longer an issue, though, so he can die.”

  Whit said, “Do what you came to do then, you bastard, but let this girl go. She’s blameless in all of this.”

  Isaiah put his hand to his chin as if he were considering what Whit had said. “Well I don’t plan to kill her. Not right now anyway. Finding her here was just a stroke of luck. No, I think I’ll take her with me. Home to meet the folks. Then I can kill her the old way. The proper way. Afterward maybe I’ll leave her head at the boyfriend’s house so he can see how she looks with spikes in her eyes.”

  “You fucker,” Whit said.

  Isaiah smiled. “Whit! Such language in front of a lady.”

  The next moment Charon found Isaiah’s face so close to hers that their noses wer
e almost touching. She hadn’t seen him move. He had been sitting in that relaxed pose, and then he was in front of her. He said, “And just in case you were thinking of trying the sea salt trick again, I’m ready this time. You only got me before because I was focused on your boyfriend.”

  “Yeah well are you ready for this?” Whit said, bringing a sawed off shotgun from under his coat.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” said Isaiah and the next instant he was holding the shotgun and he had struck Whit with a backhanded blow that knocked the old man from his chair to the porch.

  “Whit!” Charon shouted and leaped to get between the old man and the albino. Whit still seemed to be breathing but his eyes were closed and the right side of his face was already beginning to swell. Charon spun and clawed for the Beretta in her jacket pocket. She winced and cried out as Isaiah’s hand clamped down on her wrist.

  “None of that now,” Isaiah said. “Do I need to break all your fingers to keep you in line, sweetie?”

  “What you need to do is move the hell away from her,” Carter Decamp said. It was Isaiah’s turn to be caught flatfooted. Charon looked toward the front steps and there stood Decamp with a big semi-automatic handgun leveled at Isaiah’s head. She could see the hilt of a sword extending over his shoulder.

  Decamp said. “In case you’re wondering, Isaiah, this gun is loaded with silver bullets. Just like the Lone Ranger. You may be a bit more resistant to silver than some of your kind, but I think a silver bullet through the brain pan will get the job done.”

  “You should have done it rather than talk about it,” Isaiah said. He was a blur of motion and then he was standing in front of Decamp with one hand pinning Decamp’s gun hand and the other gripping Decamp’s throat. “Is that a grenade in your pocket, Decamp, or are you just happy to see me?”

  Charon angled to the side as she got the Beretta out of her jacket. Her wrist ached terribly but she steadied the gun with her other hand and fired three quick shots into Isaiah’s torso. The albino howled and pitched Decamp away, turning toward Charon. Charon saw Decamp’s gun go spinning away as he fell.