The Devil's Due

by TJ Vargo

  His jeans made a soft rubbing sound with each step. Swish, swish, Swish, swish... That's good. Something real to listen to. Kept his hand on that wall - that was real, hold on to it tight. The wall was getting colder, slipperier. Like ice. His stride became a little uneasy. What if he couldn't find his way back to his room? He'd gone a long way, maybe this wasn't even the main hall any more. In complete darkness, moving toward the flicker of light at the end of the hall, his mind started to writhe. He breathed shakily, ready to bolt. His mind didn't like his fear one bit. It chastised him, "C'mon Lou, you're supposed to keep a lid on it. If you can't, Katie bar the door, I'm sure as hell making a break for it." And it did. Right then and there. His mind began to buck like a horse that was led too close to the wolves, balking with its eyes turned white in their sockets, face quivering and snorting. His imagination gibbered at him, turning his skin cold. The dark is alive. Yes it is. You can feel it, reaching out for you, can't you Jackson? Soon you'll hear the clod of those hooves again, but this time, they'll be right behind you. And what will you do then? Better yet, what will it do to you?

  Jackson couldn't help himself now, his imagination had kicked its way out of its stall and was making phantoms in the dark like a child conjuring ghosts in the basement. "Get a grip on yourself," he whispered. A cold draft tickled over his cheek with the light touch of bony fingers, turning his blood to ice water. It touched his ear, then whispered something in his ear. He jumped next to the wall, edging along it. He bit his lip enough to get a hold of himself and draw a little blood. Stop it. It's just dark. Get to the light, have a quick look around, see if Felicia's down there, then head back. That's all there is to it. He kept walking, holding his gaze on the light like a lifeline, putting one foot in front of the other and trying to ignore the drop of sweat that ran a spider's tickle down the middle of his back.

  That little writhe of his imagination, that little flip to thinking of things that hunched in the shadows (they liked watching, until you decided to step their way, then they dragged you in with them) had started something. Try as he might, trailing a hand on the cold stone wall, biting his lip, staring at the light, whatever he grasped at to hold reality, his mind had decided it was going to have its way. It's fright night in Thorne's castle, it said. Let me give you a good look at the things that crawl and leer from the dark.

  Jackson exhaled sharply and stiffened. He whipped his head around. Now what the hell was that? It wasn't a whisper this time, not something his mind was throwing at him for a good laugh. He stood completely still, every sense stretched to a guitar string twang. All in my head, it's all in my head, he thought, nearly coming unglued by the low, almost imperceptible growl he'd picked up from somewhere in the dark around him. A growl. What the hell could be growling in here? Then he remembered. The thing in the hall, red eyes flashing in the dark. That thing had growled. And he suddenly decided that it hadn't been a boogie man he'd made up. That growl had been the real deal McNeil.

  He tried to laugh, but couldn't. The sweat was really coming now, his shirt hanging on him like a dishrag. Wiping a clammy hand over his forehead, he remembered Kirtland saying that the red-eyed growling thing was a dog Felicia had let into the castle, but no more explanation had been forthcoming. He wavered on his feet, not liking where he was one bit. His bladder and bowels agreed, sending Jackson the urgent message to drop all his cargo and make a run back to his room. He had to agree with the bladder and bowel advisory board. Searching in the dark for Felicia wasn't the smartest move. If she had let a dog in here, (one that growled and had red eyes), things could get rather dicey for someone who was sneaking about in the dark - like him.

  His legs were like soft rubber, his fear sucked the strength out of them. He moved slowly, trying to quiet his footsteps, to get a grip on himself. Closing his eyes, dropping his chin into his chest, moving forward at a snail's pace, he tried to relax. That's when he heard another sound. Something sniffing. A long inhale, followed by a series of short, quick sniffs. Jackson remembered a farm mutt of his that did that. Lifted its head in the air and sniffed just like that before lighting out, eyes peeled open. And it would always, always, bring back something bloody and broken in its jaws.

  A cold sweat flushed up Jackson's spine and broke out over his face. Fucking A right. Something was smelling for him in the dark. But where? Up ahead? Back behind? Throat tightening in panic, he tried to get a fix on the sound. He opened his eyes, wide as they'd ever been, hoping to see the sniffer. Come here sniffer. Let me get a look at you. I'll crap and pee my pants all over the place just for you. For your eyes only. Just let me see you before you jump. I'll need that second to jam my forearm in your mouth. No need to get my face torn off tonight.

  A step at a time. One foot in front of the other. It was going to be alright, as long as he could make it to the light. Funny thing how a light in the distance seemed to move two steps away every time you took a step toward it. But he was making ground. Even with the sound of the great and scary sniffer, interspersing longer sniffs followed by quick eager snuffles, he could see that he was nearly in the outer halo of the light casting its weak glow down the hall. He looked back, certain that whatever was pulling on his scent was behind him. It was hard to tell. It seemed to be all around him. And it was getting closer.

  Jolts of pure adrenaline-fueled panic swept through his nervous system. The light was a short sprint ahead. Fuck it, you only live once, but sometimes twice if you try. He bolted and let out a gasp, juking to the side for all he was worth. He bounced off the stone wall, scraping his arm and head and started running, running like hell was on his heels. It (whatever it was) had been in front of him. Kind of hairy, but big. His height or taller. The hair on it was bristly, not furry. And it had been surprised when he ran into it. Let out a little guttural sound, then grabbed at him. Sweet Mother of Jesus, it had tried to get a hold of him.

  Feet pounding the floor, Jackson didn't dare look back. Didn't need or want to see what was on his heels. He was in the first feeble glow from the light ahead and intended to camp out once he got in the full circle of light up ahead. Coming closer to the light, he could see it for what it was. A damn torch. That's why it was flickering so much. Moving full tilt, he slammed against the wall and reached for the torch, pulling it out of its wall socket. It whooshed as he swung it in front of him, aiming it down the hall.

  The flame sucked hungrily at the air, the only sound in the hall except for his own labored breathing. Where the hell was that thing? He swung the torch whooshing and flaring in front of him, trying to see into the darkness he'd just escaped from. The darkness bowed a bit, letting the torch light push it back. See? Nothing here, the darkness said, smiling hungrily back at him.

  Jackson breathed a little easier. His whole body hummed like a tuning fork, muscles jacked up and ready to send him on another flight. That wasn't going to happen, he thought. He'd stand and jam the torch down the throat of whatever showed its face. He smiled, almost giggled. Hell, just the fact that he hadn't shit himself gave him a little confidence. He was still in control of himself. A little thing, but it was enough to give him a starting point in screwing up his courage. He stilled himself, swallowing hard and taking a step toward the darkness. If that thing was in there, he wanted to see it for what it was.

  He took another step forward, the torch crackling contentedly in front of him.

  "Jackson."

  He whirled, a bolt of electric fear jangling through him. Someone was right behind him and they ducked, the torch swinging over their head.

  Couldn't talk. Couldn't breathe. Jackson just stood, feet rooted to the floor, holding the torch in a silly Statue of Liberty pose, looking at the body bent down in front of him.

  "What are you doing?" said Felicia, slowly raising up from her crouch. "You almost set my hair on fire." She patted at her hair to make sure it wasn't smoldering.

  Not thinking it would be the best time to bring up how he'd seen ghoulies in the dark, Jackson stammered out an apology
. "You scared me. I didn't expect you to be behind me like that."

  Now brushing her dress, making sure there wasn't a stray cinder somewhere, Felicia glared at him, her brows nearly touching each other in her irritation. "Hello - are you in another world? I yelled at you a couple times and you acted like you couldn't hear me." She shook her head and pointed down the hall that ran to the right of the dead end. There was an open door with light spilling into the hall about twenty feet down. "You were looking right at me when I opened my door. Didn't you see me?"

  Jackson shook his head, embarrassed at how scared he'd been. Scared enough to not hear or see someone right next to him.

  Felicia's mouth worked to spit out another mouthful of amazed disgust, but she caught herself. She waved a hand at Jackson with a, "don't worry about it," gesture and said, "To tell you the truth I thought I heard something out here a couple of minutes ago, like an animal. It kind of scared me."

  Her eyes softened. She heard something too. More than that, Jackson had the feeling she was sharing because those sounds, check that, growls, had scared her. He looked briefly back into the darkness he'd run from. Before he had a chance to ask her if she knew what made the sounds, she said, "I took a room back here to have some privacy, but it's kind of spooky. The only good thing is being so close to the kitchen." She gestured to her left, where a staircase ran down to the first floor. "Being up here alone, it can get your imagination working overtime, believe me." She turned and appraised Jackson, searching his eyes. "Which brings me to the question of what you're doing here."

  Jackson put the torch back in its socket on the wall. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked toward Felicia. Scuffing his feet on the floor, he said, "I was hoping we could talk. Without any interruptions. Just talk."

  Standing there, trying his best to be serious, Jackson saw that Felicia had taken a sudden interest in him. She looked him up and down from head to toe, her head cocked slightly to the side, and then burst out in laughter. She tried to hold it in, but it kept coming. One of her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she guffawed, but it didn't help. Jackson wished he could laugh himself. He was still half in the bag from the scare he had taken and it wouldn't take much to get him rolling on the floor right now, but he was at a loss.

  "What? What's wrong?" he asked, holding his hands out and looking himself over.

  She pointed at him, took a deep breath to straighten herself out, licked her lips and tried to keep a straight face as she said, "You..., you..." A little giggle, then a small cough - that's all it took. She bent over at the waist, tears streaming down her face with the force of her laughter.

  Now he couldn't help himself. All his tension uncoiled, bringing on a huge smile. His chest began to jump as the first giggles popped out. Then laughter spilled out. He twirled around in a clumsy pirouette with his arms out to his sides. "See something you like? What the hell is it?" he said between bouts of laughter that echoed off the stone walls.

  With her hands on her knees, her bare feet sticking out from under her black dinner dress, Felicia lifted her head. She caught a lull long enough to point at Jackson and say, "What are you wearing? You look like a homeless waiter in those shoes and the rest of that get up."

  Jackson stopped spinning long enough to check out his shoes. They were the shiny black shoes he'd worn with his tuxedo. Together with the hole-in-the-knee jeans and threadbare shirt he wore things did look a little out of whack. He lifted up his pants, displaying the shoes and black socks. Forget it. It looked a lot out of whack. He did a little mock soft shoe, holding his pants up. "A little road kill with your wine sir?" he said, bringing on a new gale of laughter from Felicia.

  They both tried to get a grip over the next minute, but the giggles wouldn't go away. Felicia forced herself to a standing position long enough to grab Jackson's arm and drag him toward her room, saying, "Stop it. You're going to kill me."

  Humor ran through Jackson, making his legs weak as Felicia pulled him along. He did look back, one quick look back into the darkness, his laughter going silent. A tight ball of fear sat like a hard pill in his chest. Something had been in that darkness. Couldn’t see it anymore, but he had the distinct feeling it was only waiting for another chance. As bad as it was to think this, it was worse to feel that it was somehow watching him. And that was a feeling he couldn't shake, no matter how much someone had made him laugh. Bet your fucking bottom dollar, it was watching and biding its time.

  Inside Felicia's room, Jackson flopped on an easy chair in front of a small empty marble fireplace. Felicia sat down in the chair across from him, her legs splayed as she lay back, trying to catch her breath. She looked up, her face red from laughing, and then pushed out of the chair, getting back on her feet as a look of concern shadowed her face.

  "What happened to your face and arm?" she said, moving quickly to the side of Jackson's chair and bending over him.

  Until her hand touched his head, up above his temple, he didn't know what she was talking about. But the sharp sting brought his memory around quickly. How he'd slammed into the stone wall trying to get away from that thing in the dark. He jerked away from her hand and sucked air through clenched teeth. "Take it easy," he said, carefully touching at the bloody scrape.

  "That's going to get infected," Felicia said matter-of-factly. Turning her back on Jackson, she crossed the room behind him and opened a door, going inside. He could hear a bathroom medicine cabinet squeak open and imagined it to be one of those mirrored ones that hangs over the sink. The sound of water running, then her feet padding back into the room. Turning his head over his shoulder, Jackson watched her bare feet and legs sashay back his way. He let her take care of him, sitting still as she patted cottonballs soaked in hydrogen peroxide that bubbled and stung his face and arm. She finished ministering to him with a cold washcloth. Slowly, softly, she wiped his scrapes, not saying a word. He enjoyed it more than he should have. It sent shivers through him to his fingertips and made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He was languid. Liquid. Do what you want to me. Having someone care about him wasn't going to take long to get used to. He leaned his head back farther, letting her run the cold washcloth over his forehead. She was a good person. Good people didn't deserve to have someone shove fingers down their throat to make them puke. He still couldn't believe that one.

  The more he thought about it, the more the warm, lazy feeling burned away like a mirage. He pushed her hand off and sat up.

  "I need to clean that out a little more," she said, trying to put the wet rag back on his forehead.

  Shaking his head, taking the rag out of her hand, he ordered her, softly, but he still ordered her. "Sit down Felicia," he said, nodding at the chair across from him. She did, keeping an eye on him the whole time, backing up until she lowered herself into the chair.

  The deep scrape over his temple was raw and tingly. He carefully pressed the cloth on it, enjoying the numb feeling the pressure brought. The bloody patch around his elbow had a plain hurt to it, throbbing insistently, but he'd let that go. He didn't care if he hurt. He was more concerned that his sister might hurt. She watched him patiently, her face scrunched in a look of concern.

  "Why did you let Nathaniel do that to you tonight?" he said.

  Her voice was as soft in answering as his had been in asking.

  "Because I had no other choice."

  Her brown eyes were filled with a weary look he had never seen. She was so beautiful and defenseless at that moment, the bones of her face so perfect and fragile, her dark skin so clear and innocent that he had the urge to pick her up and carry her from this place. Take her away from the oppression that hung like thick smoke inside the walls of this castle. Instead, he pressed the cloth harder into the scrape on his head, sending a tight signal of fresh pain through his scalp. He knew it was more complicated than how Nathaniel treated her. There was something else. Letting up on the pressure of the cloth to lessen his pain, he reminded himself to keep his voice low. She had laid her defe
nses down and he intended to let her stay that way until he got answers to his questions. All his questions.

  "Is Nathaniel making you stay here? Can you leave if you want to?"

  Felicia propped her chin in her hands and turned her head to look into the empty fireplace. "Of course I can leave. Anytime I want." She turned her tired eyes on Jackson. "But where do I go Jackson? What else is there for me out there? I'm not living on the streets like an animal." She shook her head. "I can run as far as I want, but I'll always end up back here. This town is my family - all I have."

  Jackson leaned forward in his chair. "I'm family too. We can leave together, if you want." Before he could stop himself, he added, "And somewhere out there is our mother. Maybe we can find her." He stopped himself, wishing he hadn't said that. If there was anything he'd learned about his sister, it was not to mention their mother. But she stayed in her seat. Didn't even bristle, like she did the other times he'd brought up the subject. She just turned her head and looked at him with that same defeated gaze.

  "That's the point. Somewhere out there is our mother, and maybe we can find her. Maybe she'll help us start a new life, away from this place. But you forgot one little thing." Her voice picked up, sharpening her words. "Our mother didn't want me. She didn't want you. She dropped us off on doorsteps in the middle of the night. And what's worse, I can't get her out of my head. I wish I could, but I can't because she comes into my Goddam dreams!"