Pitch Green

by The Brothers Washburn

  At the bottom of the stairs, they raced blindly to the other side of the main hall and stopped with their backs to the wall, choking for air. Across the hall, up on the balcony, they could barely make out the indistinct form of something ravaging back and forth in the moonlight, tossing Mr. Samuel’s limp body around as if he were a lifeless rag doll.

  “Give me the shotgun and some shells,” Cal ordered. Camm traded him guns and handed him a handful of shells. They had moved out of the moonlight; blackness surrounded them. Camm could hear Cal shoving shells steadily into the shotgun as they felt their way carefully along the wall with their backs sliding across its surface. Above, they heard the sounds of crushing bones and ripping flesh mixed with slobbery, grunting snarls.

  Camm led the way, moving to her left, searching for the door to the dining room. Frantically, she felt along the wall with her left hand, groping for a door or doorknob. Cal was to her right, moving with her, holding the shotgun with both hands. The .357 in her right hand, Camm had hooked the same arm through Cal’s left arm. Her left hand reached a doorknob just as the thrashing and growling noises on the balcony stopped.

  “We’re at the dining room,” Camm whispered thankfully. She opened the door and stuck her foot in. Instead of finding hard floor, her foot found a step leading down. Her heart skipped a beat. They were at the cellar door. The dining room door was further down the wall.

  “Sorry, not yet.” As Camm began moving down the wall, Cal stopped her with a “Shhh” and hesitated.

  “It’s moving,” he whispered. “I don’t know where it is.”

  After a moment of strained listening to only silence, they continued along the wall, facing out toward the abyss that was the main hall. The moon was higher in the sky now, illuminating the main hall a little more, but just barely. Moonbeams painted a trail across the hall floor as the moonlight stretched from the second floor bedroom, over the opposite balcony, and down through the main hall, irradiating the wall to their left, exposing an outline of the bedroom door.

  When they reached the portion of the wall lit by moonlight, Camm hesitated. She was loath to cross through the moonlight, but there was no other way to the dining room, which led to the kitchen and the only way out.

  Camm took a breath and prepared to quickly step through the moonlight when she heard a noise on the balcony directly above her head. The sound brought her up short. How had it come around to their side so fast? Panicked, she looked up and saw something falling indistinctly from the balcony to the floor directly in front of them, hitting the floor with a wet splat and a crunch.

  In the dim moonlight, it took a second for her to realize that she was looking at the dead and broken body of Mr. Samuel. The shock hit her like a baseball bat, and she could not stop the scream that burst from her lips. His neck was clearly broken, and his head was crushed and twisted backwards. He lay on his back with an arm underneath him in an unnatural position. Blood flowed from gaping wounds, pooling darkly on the floor around him.

  Cal aimed the shotgun straight up at the balcony and fired twice through the floor. An angry screech followed the second blast. Camm followed suit, pointing the .357 straight up. With both thumbs, she pulled the double-action hammer all the way back, bringing a new round into firing position, and pulled the trigger.

  This time the revolver fired with a loud boom, but the force of the recoil, together with the awkwardness of trying to brace herself while holding the revolver straight above her head, caused her to lose her footing. As she staggered back, Cal grabbed her arm, steadying her while she regained her balance.

  An earsplitting squeal suddenly echoed through the hall.

  “Let’s go!” Cal hollered as they ran for the dining room door. Hurtling along the wall, they heard it running on the balcony above them. It was running in the same direction they were, pacing them. When they reached the dining room door, they heard a pounce from above and the sound of something heavy hitting the slate floor beside them. It had jumped down from the balcony.

  They barreled through the door. Cal quickly grabbed a chair and stuck it under the doorknob the way Camm had done the night before. Camm swung around and pointed the .357 in the dark where she knew the door was. Grimly, she held the gun out in front of her with both hands, her arms straight, her feet slightly spread to brace for the recoil the way Cal had taught her.

  When she heard it crash against the door, she fired three shots through the door. A piercing shriek sounded.

  Cal flipped on his pocket flashlight. It worked, sending out a welcome beam of light as they ran into the kitchen toward the backdoor. Cal pushed Camm through first before dashing out, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Mr. Samuel had parked his Cadillac behind Cal’s Camaro, blocking the driveway, so they ran to the Volkswagen with Camm leading the way. She started the car and was moving even before Cal was completely in, his door slamming shut with the force of the acceleration.

  Neither spoke until they pulled up in front of Camm’s house.

  “I need to go back and get my car,” Cal remarked. He was trying to stay calm, but Camm heard the shiver in his voice.

  “When the sun comes out.” Camm had the same shakiness in her voice. They sat there for several minutes, both leaning back in their seats, trying to bring their breathing and quivering under control. Camm closed her eyes, but images of the rearing nightmare form and the mangled remains of Mr. Samuel splatting to the floor marched across the back of her eyelids. Not until her trembling had subsided into occasional tremors did she realize she and Cal were holding hands. Somehow, that was deeply comforting.

  She broke the silence. “Cal, Mr. Samuel is dead, not just dead, but horribly mutilated.” Cal just stared out the windshield, nodding his head in agreement. Was he listening? Did he understand? “How are we going to explain that to the police?”

  Cal shut his eyes. “Let me think,” he said simply.

  When he didn’t say more, Camm said, “I will get you up at first light, before the plant’s day shift starts, and we’ll go back and get your car. Maybe we won’t have to explain anything.”

  Cal cracked open one eye to give her a questioning look. “But when they see Mr. Samuel’s car outside the mansion, and he doesn’t show up for work, they’ll look for him inside the mansion. They’ll find his dead body and all the spent shells and bullet holes from our guns. They’ll figure out real quick we were there with him. They’ll probably even blame us for killing him.”

  “Maybe not. Tomorrow, or um, I guess today, is Sunday. Mr. Samuel doesn’t work on the weekends. No one may even notice he’s missing until Monday.” She peered earnestly up into Cal’s eyes as she stroked the back of his hand. “And if they do look inside, I’m not sure they will find anything at all, except a spotlessly clean mansion. Remember, it . . . something always cleans up.”

  Cal looked at her intently for a long moment. He gently disentangled his fingers, picked up his revolver, and opened the car door. Before climbing out, he stopped to study her eyes again, more closely. A slight smile crossed his face. “See you in the morning. At first light.”

  XI

  It had ooze dripping from its body. Not blood, but thick, brackish, stinking green ooze. It would heal quickly. It always healed quickly, but the wounds still hurt.

  The humans kept coming back to its safe house, to its stronghold. They kept hurting it. It had to stop them, forever.

  That one—the female—she had been in its stronghold three times. She kept trespassing and still she lived. This had never happened before. This was insult on top of injury.

  It instinctively understood that she might not come back again in the dark. It could not work unless it was dark. She hid in the light, but it remembered her scent well. It would find her. It would go to her safe house in the dark. But for now, it had fresh human meat to satisfy its hunger. It would feed and heal.

  The sun was just beginning to rise over the Slate Range, sometime after six a.m., when Camm and Cal drove back t
o the mansion. The night before, Camm had been surprised to be climbing into bed as early as twelve forty-five. The attack in the mansion had seemed to last for hours, even though it could have only been a few minutes.

  Nevertheless, she felt completely drained. She had pushed the limits of her bravery through two physically and emotionally exhausting nights. Her body must have been producing adrenalin by the gallon. To top it off, she hadn’t been sleeping well. Too much was happening. All night long, she kept hearing strange noises outside her window and smelling the stink of death. She told herself that it was her imagination in overdrive, but she still wasn’t completely convinced.

  As they rattled down Trona Road toward the mansion, Cal came to life. He’d been staring ahead with a zombie expression on his face, but he gathered himself together and looked at Camm, who was driving. “You are amazing,” he said, shaking his head.

  The comment puzzled her. She glanced at him. “What?”

  “No, really,” he continued. “Last night, and the night before, you were invincible. It’s like, man, you’re not afraid of nothing. I mean, you just shoot your gun, and then shoot my gun, and, you know, make decisions and stuff. Really, you were . . .” He shook his head again. “Well, I knew you were tough and didn’t put up with any crap, but the last two nights . . . Seriously, I didn’t know you were that tough. You’re not afraid of anything!”

  Camm didn’t feel amazing, although she was amazed to be receiving such a compliment from Cal. “Cal, you were amazing. I was scared out of my gourd. You were like a rock. I couldn’t have done it at all, except you were there and you kept going forward. I thought you must be the bravest person in the world. I couldn’t believe how you just stood and fought.”

  Cal laughed. “Me? I was so scared I almost pissed my pants. Seriously, I really gotta remember to bring clean boxers when I go on these midnight dates with you.”

  Camm chuckled. “Me too! I had to run to the bathroom first thing last night. Seriously, Cal, I was really, really scared last night. I was only there because you were there. We’re Team One, we always have been. I was there for you.”

  “Well, no one would have known you were scared by the way you acted. Camm, you’re all right. Really! You are all right!”

  Camm’s eyes began to tear a little. Cal had never expressed such heartfelt feelings toward her before. She reached over, took his hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back.

  They pulled in behind the mansion. Both the Cadillac and the Camaro were still there. They got out of the Bug, and Camm walked over to the Cadillac. Its doors were unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition. Mr. Samuel must have planned on making a quick getaway. The thought of Mr. Samuel saddened Camm. She had disliked and distrusted him, but in the end, he had come through for them. He had saved their lives by sacrificing his own.

  “Oh, man!” Cal wailed. He was looking at his car, and Camm hurried over to see what was wrong.

  “Look at that,” Cal said, pointing at the hood. Long, deep scratch marks trailed down the hood and along one side of the car. The marks did not just scratch through the paint; they dug into the steel body itself. “Can you believe that?” Cal said, running his hands through his hair.

  “Well, whatever else that thing is, it’s vindictive,” Camm said pensively, troubled by the personal nature of the damage. She held her nose in the air and sniffed. “What is that awful smell?” A deep, acrid ammonia odor emanated from the car.

  “Look at this.” Cal pointed at the left front tire, on the driver’s side. It had been sprayed with an olive-yellow liquid that had dried in dark rivulets, covering the tire completely and most of the fender, right up to the driver’s door. The dark stains stank really, really badly.

  Camm raised one eyebrow. “I think your car has been marked.”

  “That is so heinous. I think I’m going to hurl.” Cal wrinkled his nose in disgust. They inspected the car for a few more minutes, but couldn’t find any other damage.

  “Are you ready to go?” Camm asked.

  Cal gave her a penetrating look. “I think we should check inside to see what the police will find when they get here.”

  Camm shrank back at the thought, not wanting to ever go back inside that mansion again. After listening to Cal compliment her earlier, she didn’t want to admit her fears. “Why? Is it really necessary?” was all she could bring herself to say.

  “If he . . . if Mr. Samuel is still lying in there on the floor, well, we can’t leave him there like that. It’s daylight now. It should be safe. We got to go see what’s in there.”

  Camm did not know if she could stand seeing Mr. Samuel’s dead body again. The condition of his remains was still too vivid a memory. But he had saved their lives and deserved better than being left on the floor where they had last seen him. Looking into Cal’s eyes, she took a deep breath.

  “Okay, let’s go. But not past the main hall, and let’s be quick. We don’t want anyone driving by on the way to work to see us standing around Mr. Samuel’s car.”

  The backdoor was locked. The paper wad that Camm had stuffed into the latch hole of the doorframe lay crumpled on the ground nearby. Inspecting the door closely, Cal said, “Just the doorknob is locked. The deadbolt has not been thrown.” Pulling out his pocketknife, he selected a slender blade and deftly jimmied the latch. Camm had seen him do this before.

  Once inside they found everything in order, as if the night before never happened. Camm paused to run her fingers over the panels of the door between the dining room and main hall. She had fired three shots right through this door, yet she found no signs of any bullet holes. Also, all the chairs were back in place.

  When she joined Cal in the main hall, he was staring at the underside of the balcony where he had fired the shotgun. “There should be holes blasted through the wood up there, but it’s all undamaged, polished wood. And look, no blood on the floor.” Cal bent to check more closely. “Mr. Samuel would have left pools of blood all over where he fell.” Straightening to look around, he said, “His body is not here anywhere.” Then raising an eyebrow at Camm, he added, “You know, we’ve got to check upstairs.”

  In spite of Camm’s fears, she trudged up the stairs behind Cal to inspect the site of the major firefight. “This place should be riddled with bullet and shotgun pellet holes,” Cal frowned at the flawless walls.

  They found no sign of Cal’s spotlight or any broken glass where the bulb had exploded. Suddenly, Camm pointed a shaky finger at the spotless, undamaged floor. Mr. Samuel’s semi-automatic pistol lay exactly where he had last fired it.

  Cal quickly stepped over to pick it up. After checking the magazine clip, he stuffed it into his pocket. “Empty,” he said.

  Camm stared at him in disbelief. “Don’t you think we should leave it on the floor for the police to find?”

  Cal shrugged. “My fingerprints are all over it now. I don’t want the police to find them.”

  Camm rolled her eyes, wishing Cal would take time to think things through before acting. She didn’t want him to get caught with Mr. Samuel’s gun in his possession, but he was so impetuous.

  Cal strolled down the balcony, looking for more evidence.

  Camm looked away from Cal to study the walls and ceiling. A furious gunfight had taken place here just hours earlier. But everything was now neat and clean—the way she’d first seen it with Agent Allen. She turned to walk toward the bedroom where Mr. Samuel had entered when he’d surprised them. “I wonder what Mr. Samuel was doing in this bedroom last night when we came up here,” she called over her shoulder to Cal, who quickly came back to join her.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “He was in this bedroom when we first saw him. I wonder why.” Camm crossed through the open door with Cal close behind.

  Everything in the room looked perfect. The bed was neatly made with an amber-colored bedspread elaborately embroidered with a hunting scene. The dressers looked undisturbed; the vases on top were beautifully arranged with dri
ed flowers.

  Camm peeked from the bedroom window, looking out onto the mansion’s front yard. Cars were driving along California Street as workers arrived at the plant for the day shift. She figured it was time to leave before anyone noticed their cars in the back.

  When she turned around, Cal was going through the drawers of a very large dresser. They were empty, except for one.

  “Look at this,” Cal said. “Is this why he was here?” He held up an eight-by-ten photograph in a tarnished silver frame. It was a picture of about twenty people standing in front of the mansion. From the way they were dressed, they looked like staff: maids, cooks, gardeners, a butler, a housekeeper, etc.

  Camm took the photograph from Cal and turned it over. Handwritten on the back were a date—August 27, 1941—and a list of first names in accordance to where everyone was standing in the photograph. One of the names was Sarah.

  Camm turned the frame back to the front. The person indicated as Sarah was a pretty, young, and petite woman, with blond hair and green eyes, smiling brightly.

  “I think he was looking for this.” Smiling, Camm tucked the photograph under her arm. “Since it now has our fingerprints all over it, I think we should take it, too.”

  But when she looked up, Cal was not paying attention; he was staring out the door, deep in thought. Camm’s face took on a pleading look. “We don’t have to go down to the dungeon, do we? You know, to that small stone room with the horrible picture?”

  Studying her panicked expression, Cal shook his head, no. “I bet we would find a fresh skull down there on the shelf this morning, and the chain in the picture would have moved again. But neither of us has the stomach right now to go down there.”

  Camm was relieved. “I agree. Besides, we better go before someone sees our cars parked out back with Mr. Samuel’s car.”

  On her way out, for some reason—and she wasn’t sure why—Camm made sure the back kitchen door was securely locked behind her. She had no idea what their next step should be, but she hoped it did not include coming back inside the mansion ever again. Unless it was in the daylight with Agent Allen to show her Hughie’s sheet in the cellar.