The Devil's Due

by TJ Vargo

  "She's alive. She's still alive," he said, his eyes jumping to his sister and then back down to Felicia. With a grim smile he carried Felicia to the horse beside his sister, carefully laying her across the horse's back (wanting to kiss her every time she moaned) and got on the horse with her. He reached across, unwrapping the reins of his horse from his sister's horse. "Let's go," he whispered to his sister, moving his gaze to Nathaniel.

  He backed his horse away and his sister did the same. He took his eyes off Nathaniel only long enough to see the dark circle growing wider around the tip of the knife stuck in his sister’s chest. It would need to be looked at as soon as they got enough distance between them and Nathaniel. It didn't look good. Not at all.

  They were thirty feet away from the platform when Jackson began to turn his horse. He expected his sister to do the same, but she didn't. He whispered as his eyes shifted to Nathaniel and then back to her again. "Come on. Let's go - we're far enough away. He can't catch us now."

  She didn't move, her eyes locked on Nathaniel who watched them from the platform. Jackson got a funny flutter in his chest and had the urge to move closer to her. Close enough to be able to reach her, to get that knife away from her. He turned his head at the sound of Nathaniel's yell.

  "Where are you going? You know there’s no place to go, don’t you? YOU DO KNOW THAT I CAN FIND YOU ANYWHERE, DON’T YOU?”

  Jackson's body tightened. He lurched in the saddle, nearly spilling Felicia to the ground as he stretched out, reaching for the knife in his sister's chest. She spun her body away from him and her hood fell away, her black hair spilling down into his empty outstretched hand. She made a noise that numbed him, followed by a howl from Nathaniel that could have only come from a tortured animal. When she turned toward him his face went white.

  His sister looked down at the knife she'd buried in her chest. Her head was light, floating. The blood pouring out of her, hot as it spilled down her chest. Her horse snorted, smelling the blood. She was surprised at how little pain there was. She let go of the knife and watched the blood pump out of her body. There would be no more dreams with her brother. She was the prize and she was done. Jackson would now be free of Nathaniel. She reached out to her brother and let him catch her before she fell. His arms, strong arms, held her. The tug of the knife being pulled from her chest touched lightly at her thoughts. Her strength was almost gone, the floating feeling becoming a warm buzz behind her eyes. She breathed out hard and nodded at Jackson. Her tongue was gone, but she knew he heard the words she struggled out of her throat.

  "I love you."

  She felt her body slip from his hands and hit the ground. There was no more pain. The floaty feeling overwhelmed her, something warm and bright pulling her out of her body. But she stubbornly remained until she heard his reply.

  "I love you too."

  She laid her head to the ground, staring up at him with a smile and watching as he spurred his horse away, the hooves vibrating the ground under her cheek. He understood. That was all that mattered.

  Halfway down the mountain Jackson stopped when he saw a glint on the forest floor off the road. He slowed his horse and walked it into the woods. There, in front of him. It was Sam Lewis's belt buckle half-buried among the dead leaves on the forest floor. He looked at it for a moment, then tossed the knife he had pulled from his sister down next to it. He didn't need anything to remind him of his place in the world anymore. The leaves crunched under the horse's hooves as he made his way back to the road. He brushed Felicia’s hair off her face and she stirred, then said softly, "Did we do it? Did we stop him from getting your sister?"

  He laid his hand on her head and closed his eyes.

  "Yeah, we beat him. She’s safe now.” His voice caught in his throat and he whispered, “She’s safe forever.”

  Epilogue

  "This ain't a place we want to be when it gets dark," the father whispered to his son. He checked the safety on his rifle. Turning casually so his son wouldn't see, he flipped it off. Of all places that damn buck could've run, why did it have to be Clear Creek? It was his fault, he knew. The little shake in his aim had put that bullet through the buck's stomach. That's what happened when you drank three shots of rot gut whiskey instead of concentrating on the task at hand. An animal shot like that could live in agony for a good week unless you put it down. This was his fault and he was going to bring it to an end. Leaves crunched underfoot as he picked up the blood trail again. The sun was getting dangerous close to meeting the horizon.

  "Daddy, you okay?"

  He nodded. "Just fine. Keep quiet and let’s get this buck."

  The forest was thinning out up ahead. He could see the old church of Clear Creek. The whole town had been deserted for years. Since his daddy was a boy and the last of those Kirtlands had died up in their mountain castle. If he remembered right, that last Kirtland had been a doctor. Delivered most of the babies in these parts back before the hospital was built in the county seat.

  "You stay here son. The blood trail leads up by the church, but I think he probably doubled back into the woods on the other side. I'll check it out. You keep your eyes open for him." He winked at his son. "He might try to sneak around you. Don't let him get by."

  Gravestones pocked the ground in front of him and he slipped among them, trodding quietly among these tilted loose teeth of the church grounds. His heart was pounding in his ears as he came out in front of the decrepit structure. He looked down the main street which was near to falling completely apart. The whole damn town was nothing but sagging timber and worm-eaten foundations. He looked down at the spots of deer blood he'd been following. They ended here, out in front of the church. Then there was nothing. The dirt seemed scrabbled in, as if the deer had kicked its feet around and struggled. But where could it have gone?

  He took a deep breath. Looked at the sun. It still floated just above the horizon of Kirtland's mountain, lighting up the old wrecked castle standing on the mountain's peak. He shaded his eyes. Damn, that couldn't be right. The castle looked to be in one piece, almost looked like someone had fixed it up. Couldn't be. A queer shiver ran up his spine. No time to worry about it. He decided to take one last look for that buck. Gut shot or not, he was going to let it go if he didn't catch sight of it in the next couple of minutes. Things didn't feel right around here. He jumped. The door of the church had creaked open. Lordy lordy. He put a hand on his heart and caught his breath, wanting to laugh at himself for being spooked. He straightened up and took a deep breath, blowing it out, looking around to make sure his son hadn't somehow seen him jump like a scared rabbit. This would be something to laugh about when he got home. Have to tell his wife Jewel about this one - about how that door blew open and almost scared a load of crap into his drawers. She'd have one hell of a laugh about it. And so would he, but right now, he just wanted to get this over with. Find that buck and put it down and get out of this spook town. Yeah. He wiped his mouth. Let's find that buck.

  Stepping toward the church door that had squeaked open, he saw a smear of blood on the few flakes of white paint remaining on the door. Now wasn't this just dandy? A dying animal always looked for an out of the way place to curl up. Looked like that buck might have picked this church.

  He walked up the steps toward the church doors. If that damn buck was in there, it sure as hell could stay. He wasn't about to go in that old church. But he had to see if it had the brains to do such a thing. Never heard of anything like this before, a deer going into a place built by men to die.

  Using the end of his rifle, he nosed the door open. Something big and dark flashed in front of him. It was an automatic reflex. He couldn't stop himself. His rifle kicked into his shoulder as he popped off two high caliber rounds. A sweat broke out over him and his knees shook uncontrollably. His balls sucked up against his groin. What had he done? Could barely keep on his feet. Awww hell. Shot a man. Got all scared like a two year old and now I've shot a man. A tall man dressed all in black, wearing a wide brimmed hat
. He swallowed thickly, his mind abuzz with the mistake he had just made, and then stopped himself. Even found the strength to smile. The tall man he thought had taken two slugs to the body was walking toward him, holding out his hands. I missed. Thank God - somehow I missed.

  He forgot his fear and walked up the aisle to meet the man, his thoughts a jumble with his relief. And then he stopped and turned in a circle. The wrecked interior of the church transformed. Dry rotten timbers became gleaming oiled wood. Air thick with mildew and dry rot filled with the scent of beeswax candles. What was going on here? He turned back to face the man in black. The man lifted his arms out to his sides as if to gather him up and came toward him swiftly. The hunter watched him come closer and began to shake uncontrollably.

  "Are we feeling lucky today or what? Two shots, straight at me, and somehow they both missed. But it's not your fault," said the man in black, stopping in front of the hunter and grabbing him by the shoulders. "I scared you, didn't I? I scared you and I take the blame. Give me twenty lashes with a wet noodle, or maybe...," his voice lowered, "just slit my throat from ear-to-ear with your knife." He smiled, feeling the hunter's shoulders tighten under his grip. The hunter made a small sound, his lips tightening. The crotch of his camouflage pants darkened as his bladder let loose.

  The man in black smiled and pulled the hunter’s face to his, whispering. “Ahhh, you wet yourself. That’s too bad. But it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I scared you. Sometimes I scare people without even trying. And sometimes, they decide they don't want to be scared anymore. They only want to feel good. And that's what you want, isn't it? You can tell me the truth - you only want to feel good and do what you want to do for the rest of your life, don't you? You can tell me the truth. I won't hurt you. I swear to your God. I can give you what you want whenever you want it. You only need to ask and I'll give it all to you. And all I ask is that you help me find her. The one who will give me a daughter. The daughter who will give me a son."

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  Author’s Note

  Hope you enjoyed The Devil’s Due. It’s my homage to all the late night horror shows I watched as a kid in my hometown of Cleveland, Ohio. My kids recently told me that Cleveland was officially rated the most miserable city in the world because of its weather, sports, economy, etc, (my kids love giving me the business) but I had some great times growing up in Parma and Seven Hills, which are suburbs next to the mistake on the lake officially known as Cleveland. One thing that always kept me going even when the weather was terrible were the Friday night horror shows on Channel 8 and Channel 61 - this was back when television had maybe five channels. Ghoulardi, The Ghoul, and Big Chuck and Hoolihan were shows that celebrated the cultural identity of Cleveland, featuring skits with lots of polka music, kielbasa, white socks, flamingos and pizza eating contests. Then there were the scary movies. They were godawful for the most part, but there was an occasional gem in there, like Night of the Living Dead or Rosemary’s Baby. Back then there was nothing better than sitting in a dark room, eating pizza with my buddies, watching a cheesy horror show until one in the morning. It was the kind of fun I’ll never forget and I hope this book gave you a little bit of the excitement I remember from back in my childhood. If you liked The Devil’s Due, I have a few other books you can check out at my website, www.tjvargo.com, or visit http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tjvargo. Also, if you have the time, let other readers know what you thought of The Devil’s Due by writing a review or giving it a quick rating at Barnes & Noble or Amazon. Until next time, happy reading!

  T.J. Vargo