He quietly whispered a name, "Lost Bayou Plantation."
Cap’n Guidry looked at the detective for a moment and let the distant memories of his childhood rise to the surface.
"Da House of Slaughter," he said.
Nick looked at the old man in the soft, dancing light of the campfire. Guidry’s hair was wet from the drizzling rain that fell gently through the trees, and he looked ten years older than he did just days ago at the start of their mission. Their mission, thought Nick. So much for that. Even he no longer cared if they found any trace of the missing kids. He knew what happened to them. The girl in the insane asylum already told them, they just refused to believe it. She’d been right about everything. Nick believed her now.
"It’s an old story dat my granddaddy passed on to me when I was young," Guidry said. "Just some old ghost stories to scare da children, keep dem from going out into da swamp alone. Haunted plantation from da old days. Supposed to be cursed, legend has it. ‘Twas a cruel place to be, even by da standards of da day. Old man run it gone bracque when his wife died, and when he passed it on to his bastard child, da man started torturing da slaves. Some tried to run off, but dere’s nowhere to go dis far out in da swamp. T’ings came to a head, and da slaves revolted. Back den, if da slaves fought back, dey would kill dem all, or worse. Story goes, dey kept to themselves, hoping no one would find out. No one ever came out here, so dey just tried to survive as best dey could. A flood washed away da road; deir boats sunk. T’ings got bad, but by den, dey was stuck. Dey had no way out, and most knew even if dey could make it out, dey’d be tortured and killed. So dey stayed put. When food got scarce, da stories say, dey turned on each other."
"Cannibals?" Nick asked in horror.
Cap’n Guidry nodded. "Dat’s what dey say. Eventually, dey all died, but never passed on, if you know what I mean."
"Ghosts," said Nick. He had never believed in the supernatural, but he knew that, just days ago, he didn’t believe in monsters, either. By now, nothing was off limits.
"Well, dat’s how dem stories go anyway," Cap’n said, then added, "At least, it kept us outta da swamp."
Nick laughed. "Yeah, I guess it did."
The rain began to come down harder, and Dennis and Kenny made their way back to the others. They all hunched over near the flame, trying in vain to stay dry. Flashes of lightning and bellows of thunder occasionally erupted throughout the night, startling the wet and frightened men huddled by the fire. The hours wore on without a sign of the beast.
"If it keeps coming down like this, the boat’s going to fill up and sink," said Kenny.
"Yeah, you probably right ‘bout dat," Guidry replied. "Best you go have a look."
Kenny got up, leaving the relative shelter under the oak trees, and jogged out into the rain to check on the boat. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and a blast of thunder shook the wet earth below. Minutes ticked by, but Kenny never returned.
"Kenny," shouted Cap’n. "Hurry da hell up already!"
The men waited, but no reply came. The crew grew quiet and listened intently, but all was silent except for the sound of the falling rain and occasional boom of thunder. Gone were the sounds of croaking frogs and chirping crickets. The men glanced at each other, then back to where Kenny disappeared into the rain. Nick sighed with relief when the shadowy figure of their friend emerged from the darkness and headed toward them. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, temporarily illuminating the figure coming their way. The men looked on in horror. The approaching figure wasn’t Kenny.
"Pic kee moi!" shouted Dennis. "What da fuck?"
The men sprung to their feet and fired into the darkness. When the gunfire abated, they peered into the night, praying they would spot the lifeless body of the slain beast before them. Nick grabbed his flashlight and pointed it in the direction from which the figure had emerged. There was nothing there.
"Merde’!" Guidry said. "Not a goddamned t’ing."
"Que c’est q ‘ca?" shouted Dennis.
The dead leaves and grass around them suddenly came alive with the sound of something coming up fast from their left. The men turned and fired. Seconds later a round object rolled toward them, stopping at their feet.
"Motherfucker!" shouted Nick.
Cap’n Guidry felt his stomach wrench as he stared down at Kenneth Nunez’s decapitated head, its empty eye sockets dripping blood and brain matter and its mouth grinning wildly.
"Oo ye yi!" Dennis said. "Pic kee toi feet pue tan! Fuck you, you goddamned son of a bitch!"
Panicked with terror, Dennis ran out into the rain and fired randomly into the surrounding bush. Nick instinctively dropped to the ground and steadied his firearm. He heard a horrendous shriek and saw Guidry fall to the earth.
"Aaaaaaggh! Co faire?," Cap’n shouted. "You done shot me, you goddamned Skinny Mullet!"
Nick crawled to where the old man lay. There was blood oozing from the right side of Guidry’s abdomen, and he held his side and moaned. Nick swung around toward Dennis, who was standing in the rain, looking at the damage he had caused.
"I’m sorry!" he yelled. "I’m so sorry, Cap’n. I didn’t mean it. It was an accident!"
Nick watched in horror as a figure appeared behind Dennis. He aimed his pistol, but was unable to get a clear shot without endangering the man. Nick shouted a warning to Dennis, but it was drowned out by a sudden crash of thunder.
"Dennis, look out!"
"I’m sorry," shouted Dennis again. "I swear it was an accident!"
"Dennis!" Nick yelled again. "Behind you!"
It was too late. Just as Dennis turned around, the monster was close behind him. Without hesitation, the beast swung his powerful arm at the man’s midsection, ripping a portion of his intestines out and spilling blood and internal organs onto the ground. With his other arm, the creature grabbed hold of Dennis’ wrist, causing his gun to fall uselessly away; then he ripped the man’s arm completely out of its socket. Dennis screamed in shock and agony, but his pleas were quickly cut off when the beast opened its monstrous jaws and bit the man’s face with its sharp, jagged teeth.
Nick pointed his gun toward the pair and unloaded his clip. When his gun was empty, there was nothing in sight but the bloody remains of Dennis LeFleur, torn to pieces on the wet earth, steam radiating off the warm flesh. Nick scanned the horizon, straining his eyes to see through the darkness and rain. He quickly reached into his jacket pocket, tearing open a waterproof bag and replacing the empty clip in his Glock. Looking around again, he saw no sign of the creature. Nick knew it was here somewhere, and it was going to come back for him. He scrambled back to Guidry’s side.
"Cap’n," he whispered, "you still here?"
"Yeah," groaned the injured man. "You bet your sweet ass I am. You see what dat t’ing did to LeFleur? Fils de pute! I ain’t never seen no t’ing like dat in my life."
"Me neither, Cap’n," Nick replied. "Me neither."
"Da whole time I be t’inking we trackin’ it, but it be settin’ its trap. You listen to me, Detective. Dis t’ing ain’t no ordinary animal; it’s clever. It outsmarted all of us."
Guidry grunted and clenched his teeth from the pain in his side, shifting his weight before continuing, "Now, it be well known dat da most dangerous animal to hunt is a wounded animal, ‘specially when it’s cornered. Right now, dat be me. I ain’t gonna make it out of here no how, but I ain’t lettin’ dat t’ing take me out neither. Here, take my shotgun."
Guidry handed Nick the only thing he had left in this world. "Now, you give me dat pistol. Dat t’ing gonna come back soon to finish us off. I’ll make some noise to distract it while you sneak over dere by dem rocks. Soon as dat t’ing makes its move, I’m gonna keep it busy. You run, and keep running. Don’t hesitate, and don’t turn around. Just keep goin’."
"But you saw what that thing did to Dennis," Nick pleaded. "There’s no way I’m going to leave you out here to die alone."
"I’m a goner anyway. Dat dumbass Skinny Mullet done sh
ot me t’rough da liver. I ain’t got long. You just keep goin’. I’m gonna get dat t’ing, and I’m gonna get him good."
"I can’t do that, Cap’n" said Nick.
"Can’t? Pic kee toi! Do as I say!" Guidry replied. "Don’t you worry ‘bout me, Nicholas Vizier. I’ll keep one of dem bullets for myself, just in case."
"Just in case," Nick repeated, and the two men looked at each other and smiled, remembering the requested body bags before their smiles faded with the thought of Frank, Jr.’s mangled corpse filling the first one.
"You go on now, Vizier," said Guidry. "Dere’s not much time left. You make it out of here, and don’t ever look back. Dat t’ing come from hell, and I’m sending it back tonight."
Nick nodded. There was nothing left for him to say. He took Cap’n’s shotgun and crawled through the rain and mud until he got to the ancient tombstones that stood watch over the haunted island of Lost Bayou Plantation. Nick looked back toward the giant oak trees in time to see a blast of lightning flash across the sky. In the temporary radiance, the outline of the forlorn plantation house was clearly visible. The House of Slaughter, thought Nick; the name fit. Cap’n Guidry’s last words echoed in his head: "Send that t’ing back to hell". It’ll be a short trip, he thought. It’s already there.
Nick crouched silently amongst the tombstones and waited, keeping as quiet and still as he could, trying to fade into the shadows.
"Eeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaggggghhh!" the beast roared from a hidden spot near where Guidry lie.
Nick heard gunshots and ran into the darkness of the swamp. Just as Cap’n Guidry instructed, he never looked back and never returned to that haunted place again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mal Pris
Nicholas ran as fast as he could manage through the dense vegetation. When the water got deep, he swam. He knew that he was surrounded by vicious and unseen predators that haunted the swamp in the night, but instinct kept him moving forward. Nick was no longer scared of the alligators and snakes all around him. He was running away from something much worse.
He’d been traveling for only a short time when he heard the gunshots erupt from behind him. Nick climbed up on a small outcropping of land in order to catch his breath, and listened. Loud, staccato bursts from his Glock rang out in the night, followed by another round of four or five shots. Minutes later, he heard one more shot before the eerie silence returned. Nick waited to hear the dreadful roar of the victorious beast, but no further sound was heard. He sighed with relief when the croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets returned.
Nicholas thought about heading back toward Lost Bayou Plantation, but he remembered the words that Cap’n Guidry had spoken. That thing was smart. Nick thought that it could be a trap. The beast could be keeping quiet in order to lure him out of hiding only to devour him when he returned. It didn’t matter, thought Nick. He had promised Guidry that he was going to get out of there and not look back, no matter what. That’s just what he intended to do.
Nick was forced to slow down as he tried to navigate his way through the swamp at night. After an hour or so, he climbed into a big oak tree to wait for daylight to return. He listened intently to the sounds of the insects and creatures around him, but heard none that alerted him to the return of the beast. He knew by now that the other denizens of the hostile environment held their own breaths when the monster was around, so as long as Nick could hear the other animals lurking about, he was reasonably assured that the terrifying creature was not around.
The detective sat alone in the tree and peered into the darkness all around him. The air was thick, and a fine mist floated over the stagnant water, giving off an eerie, green glow in small areas. Nick remembered, when he was a child, his mother used to tell him stories about the luminous patches of fog, that they were really ghostly apparitions from beyond the grave, the forsaken spirits damned to roam the bogs for eternity. He knew that, in reality, it was just methane gas rising from the multitude of rotting vegetation that the swamp produced. After what he’d just experienced, Nick wondered if his dear, departed mother’s explanation was closer to the truth.
A sudden rustle of leaves to his left interrupted Nick’s thoughts. He froze in fear as he realized there was something in the tree with him. Nick held his breath and pulled the shotgun closer to his side. An unexpected sound almost made him slip and fall into the darkness below.
"Whoooo!"
Nick laughed. "A fucking owl," he muttered underneath his breath in relief. The detective was grateful for the company. He figured that as long as the bird of prey was next to him, the beast wasn’t. Of course, the owl could just fly away at the first inkling of danger, thought Nick. But the fact that he remained was a promising sign that Nick was safe, at least for the moment. Nicholas couldn’t see shit in the dark, but the feathered nocturnal predator could see all.
Nick thought about the events that brought him to this desolate place. He thought of how he had abandoned his loving mother to fend for herself all those years ago. He remembered that he had always intended to go back and rescue her once he was successful enough. Life taught him too late that the definition of ‘enough’ was a moving target that most people could never attain. In the end, he made a life for himself over in New Orleans, while his mother waited for a day that never came. Nick felt shame and guilt for what he had done, for what he had failed to do, and there was nothing he could ever do now to redeem himself for his sin. His mother was gone; her son had never returned.
The rational side of Nick told him that it ended up being for the best. The area in which his home had been, in eastern New Orleans, quickly deteriorated not long after he moved there. Violent crime was rampant. Nick worked long hours, and his poor Evangeline would have been all alone in an unfamiliar and hostile environment. It would’ve been a scary place for an old Cajun country girl to spend her last days. In the end, Hurricane Katrina washed it all away while Nick was out of town. Evangeline Vizier would have met the same fate that the St. Pierres had met. No, she had been better off without him – a sentiment that did little to comfort Nick’s tortured soul.
He thought about Marie Leblanc, about how he’d left without a word when the only girl he’d ever loved ran off with the ignorant and cruel Ronald Savoy. Nick always told himself that she was probably better off anyway. Ronnie’s family had money. He could give her a life that Nick never could. Those illusions had been shattered upon his return. Marie suffered greatly for her mistake, a mistake that might not have happened if Nick would only have put up more of a fight to keep her all those years ago. In the end, he had just left, abandoning her as he had his mother.
Now, he had returned. Nick had come rolling back into town after all those years; not as a conquering hero, but as a failure who’d been all but run out of town, his town. The detective had run out on the historic and glorious city of New Orleans that had given Nick a sense of purpose, a home, a career. He’d been high and dry in the Rocky Mountains learning the latest techniques to aid him in the successful searches for missing persons. All the good that did him now, with him sitting in a tree, lost in the swamp, and hiding from some kind of unholy creature that was out for blood, his blood, Nick thought.
He knew it was unlikely that he would get out alive. Just as well, he figured. It was what he deserved. Nick had brought those brave men out into the swamp to find a group of lost college kids, and he had gotten everyone killed. There was no sign of the lost search party, and the detective knew now that there never would be. The Swamp Rats had all been murdered, torn limb from limb, by a beast everyone had warned him about. What would await Nick even if he did manage to find his way out of the Atchafalaya Basin alive? There would be only questions he could not answer, accusations he could not refute, and the look of disappointment in the eyes of the only woman he had ever loved.
After what seemed an eternity, dawn finally arrived. A thick fog enveloped the area, but Nick knew that it wouldn’t be long before the intense heat of the southern sun bur
nt it away. He carefully climbed out of the stately oak tree and relieved himself at its base. He stretched out his aching back and sore limbs, rechecked his meager supplies and Guidry’s shotgun, and then picked a direction in which to proceed. Nick no longer knew with any certainty which way to go. He had no boat and no compass, and even if he had, he had no earthly idea of where he was in the first place. His gut told him that Lost Bayou and The House of Slaughter were behind him, and that made choosing his way easy. He started off in the opposite direction.
Nick struggled to make his way through the rough terrain. Over and over again, he found his path impassable, and he had to find an alternative route in order to go anywhere. He spotted the same locations that he’d previously passed hours before on more than one occasion. As the day wore on and evening approached, Nick harbored no illusions – he was hopelessly lost. Just before sunset, he found a dry patch of dirt and built a small fire, then settled down for the night. He was terrified that the beast would see the flame and descend upon his campsite while he slept, so he tried to keep a sharp eye out for as long as he could. It had been days since he’d slept and, in the end, his fatigue won the battle against his fear, and he drifted off to sleep.
Nick’s eyes sprung open, and he sat up abruptly. His fire was out and the sun was almost directly overhead. He had survived another night. Nick rebuilt the fire and filled his canteen with the brackish water that surrounded him. He filtered it as best he could through the cloth of his filthy shirt, then let it boil awhile over the small flame as he prepared to move on for another day. His stomach cramped with hunger, and he searched all around him for something to fill it. The best he could find was a couple of crawfish, and he scooped them up and heated them for a moment on the fire before devouring them. Nick never remembered anything tasting so good in his entire life, and he unsuccessfully searched the area for more. Once his canteen had cooled enough for him to carry, Nick set out once again in search of civilization.
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