Evil Spirits

by Mark Lukens

  The killer wasn’t sure why the Ancient Enemy had tasked him with killing a teenage Navajo boy, but it didn’t matter—he would do anything his god told him to. Yet it still intrigued him. As powerful as the Ancient Enemy was, it seemed like the being was scared of David, like the god couldn’t kill David on its own. He didn’t know why, all he knew was that he’d been chosen to carry out this very important mission.

  The traffic was light as he drove through the mountains. He had left the pieces of Quinn in the bathtub, and then he had relieved himself in Quinn’s toilet. He had grabbed whatever water and sodas Quinn had, stowing them in a cooler with some ice. He stopped at a fast food place at the next exit off of the highway and bought three sandwiches, three fries, and two more drinks. He hadn’t even tasted the food as he shoveled it into his mouth while he drove; he was just loading his body up on calories, fuel for the tasks ahead tonight. It felt like his body was a machine that he had filled up with oil and gasoline, much like this car he was driving.

  It was a strange feeling to have the Ancient Enemy inside of him. The killer still felt like himself but also not like himself anymore. It felt like a dark and powerful energy had been coursing through his veins earlier when he had killed Quinn, but now it was like that dark energy had collected in some far-off corner of his mind, dormant and waiting to be activated again. It wasn’t painful even though the idea of another living being taking up residence in his body was a strange concept to grapple with. But was this god really a living being, or was it something he would never be able to understand?

  He let his mind wander as he drove, visualizing David. He could home in on the boy like he was a beacon. He couldn’t wait for tonight, couldn’t wait to kill David and complete this task for his master. He was so close now, only hours away. But he had to make a stop before he got to David; there was something important he needed to do, revenge for something done to his master long ago in an Old West town.

  “Use me,” the killer whispered as he drove. “I’ll do anything you want.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Palmer

  Southern Colorado

  Like the killer, Palmer was also traveling south on the highway.

  He’d still been parked in his ex-wife’s driveway a few hours ago when he’d hung up the phone with Eliza—or more accurately, she had hung up on him. He had checked airplane reservations on his phone after that. The flights were expensive on such short notice, but that wasn’t a problem; he had plenty of money on his credit cards and in the bank. He paid his bills from his FBI pension and then hardly ever spent any money on himself. The airplane might get him down to New Mexico faster, but he would still have to rent a car when he got there. And then he thought of trying to get his gun on the plane with him. He had a concealed carry permit, but he wasn’t an FBI agent anymore, and the hassle of trying to get past TSA might not be worth it.

  He’d driven back to his condo and packed an overnight bag. He had his gun, a Glock 17 like he used to use in the FBI even though they had switched over to a different model now. He also had two boxes of ammo, a hunting knife, a pocket knife, and he wore a crucifix around his neck, a necklace his mother had given to him when he was a teenager, a necklace he hadn’t worn in decades. He packed three changes of clothes, a few bathroom supplies, and an envelope of extra cash. He also packed a cooler with drinks and loaded a plastic bag with snacks. He would stop and pick up some more food on the way, but he wanted to get down there as quickly as possible.

  When he was done packing, Palmer stood at the door of his condo with his bags down by his feet. He looked back at his condo like it might be the last time he ever saw it.

  And then he had left, going down to his car in the parking garage, loading his overnight bag in the trunk, and the cooler and bag of snacks on the passenger seat. He had his Glock in a shoulder holster under his windbreaker jacket.

  And now he drove down the highway as the sun was beginning to set. He was still a few hundred miles away from the border of Colorado and New Mexico. He picked up his phone and dialed Begay’s number.

  “Palmer.”

  “Begay, there were two more murders last night. My ex-wife and her husband. The killer got inside their home without setting off the alarm. He left pieces of their bodies all over the house.” He saw Teresa’s severed head hanging from the ceiling fan with the trail of vertebrae and strings of flesh hanging down from her neck. He tried to push that image out of his mind.

  “I’m sorry,” Begay whispered, and it sounded like he meant it.

  “There were two more names written in blood on the wall: Cole and Stella. I think the Ancient Enemy is inside the killer now and the killer’s going after Cole and Stella.”

  “They’re not in the United States.”

  Palmer nodded and sighed. He remembered that now. “Maybe it’s a distraction then. Maybe the killer’s going down there for David, but it wants us to think it’s going after Cole and Stella.”

  “I’ve got David with me now. We’re at his aunt’s house. I’m taking them back to my place tonight.”

  “Are you going to get some more protection? Police?”

  “I can’t justify it. They would never be allowed to camp outside my home because I told them a monster is coming to kill us. But I have told some trusted friends, and the word will spread. They’ll all be patrolling tonight. And we’ll be ready here. As ready as we can be.”

  “Okay,” Palmer said.

  “What about you?” Begay asked.

  “My daughter is safe. She’s out of state with her kids. I don’t even know where she is, and I don’t want to know. I just talked to her a few hours ago.” He thought of the last thing Eliza had said to him, that he hadn’t caught the killer the first time and what made him think he could catch him now.

  Palmer thought about telling Begay that he was coming down there to help, but he decided not to. Begay would only tell him to stay away. But Palmer wanted to help. He felt that maybe they would all be stronger together. Obviously they hadn’t finished that thing off in the ghost town, but maybe this time they could. Maybe David was stronger now; maybe instead of driving the Ancient Enemy away, he could actually kill it this time. But Palmer didn’t say any of that. Instead, he said: “You just stay alert down there.”

  “We will. You be safe, too.” Begay hung up.

  Palmer set his cell phone down in the console. Three seconds later it rang. Palmer thought it was Begay calling right back, but he saw Cardenelli’s name on the screen.

  An anger flared up inside of him at just seeing the man’s name on the phone. He couldn’t believe his former SAC suspected him in the murder of his ex-wife and her husband, but it just showed how desperate Cardenelli had become—he had no leads, no physical evidence, no video, no witnesses, and the bodies were starting to pile up.

  He thought about ignoring the call, letting it go to voicemail, but he picked it up on the third ring and answered it. “Palmer here.”

  “We got a lead,” Cardenelli said.

  “A lead?”

  “Found one blood sample at the crime scene that doesn’t match either of the victims.”

  Teresa and Gary, Palmer thought. Those are the victims.

  “And we picked up a few clothing fibers.”

  “That’s good,” Palmer said. His DNA was already in the FBI database so Cardenelli would be able to rule him out as a suspect pretty soon.

  “There’s more,” Cardenelli said. “A call came in two hours ago. Neighbors called about some noises from a house near them, a man named Quinn Kurtzman. Police found the man’s body in his bathtub. The pieces of his body.”

  “The same killer?”

  “Has to be. Same shoeprints. And the killer took the man’s car, a ten-year-old Buick. We’ve put out a BOLO in Colorado, New Mexico, Utah, and Arizona.”

  “Good,” Palmer said. He thought about saying something sarcastic about not being the prime suspect anymore, but decided not to.

  “We’re gonna get thi
s guy now.” Cardenelli hesitated for a moment. “Hey, about what happened back at the crime scene, I didn’t mean to imply that you had anything to do with that.”

  Palmer didn’t say anything. It didn’t sound like Cardenelli was apologizing; it sounded more like he was telling him that he didn’t need him anymore.

  “Well, I just wanted to say that and let you know what’s happening,” Cardenelli said.

  “I appreciate it.”

  They hung up and Palmer set his cell phone back in the center console. He knew Cardenelli wasn’t going to catch the killer. Even if a cop stopped the killer, that cop would be dead in seconds when the Ancient Enemy attacked.

  We’re going to have to catch him, Palmer thought, but then his daughter’s last words to him earlier on the phone echoed in his mind: You couldn’t catch him before. What makes you think you can catch him now?

  CHAPTER 22

  Officer Sam

  Iron Springs, New Mexico

  As night fell on Iron Springs fear blanketed the town. Word had spread that a killer was coming tonight, the same killer who had murdered the scientists at the dig site near Randy Tahoma’s ranch, the same killer who had murdered and mutilated Jim Whitefeather, the same killer who had murdered John and Deena Bear, removing the skin from their heads and faces. The whispers of horrors done in the past were on the townspeople’s lips.

  Many in Iron Springs locked their doors and windows as the night came, many doing this for the first time in years. Many got rifles and shotguns and pistols loaded and ready. Many planned to stay up late and keep watch over their families.

  As night came businesses closed early, including the Mexican restaurant where Kiki worked. She’d been working there for nine years now and she remembered when the Dig Site Murders had happened seven years ago. She remembered waiting on Captain Begay and an FBI agent that night, both of them coming in for dinner. She remembered Old Woman Sloane screaming at the men in Navajo, telling Begay that she knew who the murderer was—the Ancient Enemy. Kiki remembered her skin crawling when Old Woman Sloan had screamed the name of that demon in the restaurant, the old woman’s eyes wild with fear. The woman’s niece had pulled her away from the captain and the FBI agent, and Kiki had apologized to them for the old woman’s outburst.

  The murders stopped after that day. Many had performed ceremonies and sang prayers, and many said that the power of those rituals had stopped the killer, drove him (or it) away. Even though there were no more murders, the FBI and BIA had stayed in town for weeks afterwards. She had waited on agents, scientists, and reporters. The small motel and the bed and breakfast were filled to capacity every night, rooms rented out in advance. Empty houses and trailers had been rented out, and some stayed in distant towns. Reporters stood in front of cameras and reported on the mysterious tragedy that had befallen this once-quiet and quaint Navajo town. Kiki had been interviewed by the FBI, but she had nothing important to offer them. She knew nothing. And she had never mentioned Old Woman Sloane’s warning to the captain and the FBI agent that night about the Ancient Enemy—the FBI agents never would have believed her anyway.

  It took a while but life in Iron Springs finally returned to normal. The FBI agents left, the scientists left, and the reporters left. Every once in a while some people would come into town, an author working on a book, filmmakers producing a documentary, a person doing research for a blog. The cave at the dig site had been deemed U.S. property now, and scientists and archaeologists still studied the ancient city built inside the cave and the ancient Anasazi writings they had found on the stone tablets. The whole canyon floor was off-limits to the Navajo now, their own land, and the land of their ancestors, had once again been taken from them.

  Kiki went home when the restaurant closed down. She made sure the doors and windows were locked. She brought their dog inside for the night and her eighty-year-old father got his shotgun out and loaded it, keeping the weapon and a box of shells near his chair. She watched TV as her father fell asleep in the chair. She couldn’t sleep and she knew she would be awake until dawn.

  • • •

  Old Woman Sloane lay in her bed staring at the ceiling in the dark. She’d been singing songs and burning herbs all day, doing her part to keep the evil spirits from coming back to their town. Rumors had spread about a killer coming, the same killer coming back. But Sloane had felt the evil long before the rumors had started. She’d felt the evil spirits lurking in the shadows seven years ago, and those same evil spirits were returning. She had tried to warn people back then that the Ancient Enemy was coming, but of course no one listened to a foolish old woman. Many called her a witch, but she didn’t care. They hadn’t believed her then, but many believed the warnings now. And after what was going to happen tonight, they would all believe.

  A killer was coming. She’d seen this in her dreams, and she knew some others had seen him too. She was sure David had seen the killer in his dreams. The killer was only a man, but the Ancient Enemy demon was inside the man, controlling him. When the Ancient Enemy was done with the killer after tonight, the demon would throw the killer away like a used tissue, leaving behind a husk of dry, dead skin; the killer’s insides and his soul would be gone, taken to the demon’s world. Maybe the killer already knew his fate, maybe he didn’t care, maybe he wanted it that way.

  Old Woman Sloane wasn’t afraid for herself, not tonight anyway. She knew the evil spirits would pass her by tonight to get to David. But if the killer murdered David, if the shaman was killed, then the Ancient Enemy would be free and more powerful than ever. Nothing would be able to hold it back. The Darkwind would move across the landscape like a tidal wave, killing whoever it wanted, whenever it wanted: whole villages, towns, cities. It would be a plague like no other ever seen before, a true apocalypse. The Fifth World would be over and there would be no other worlds after this one. No new suns would rise again.

  • • •

  Officer Sam Yazzie of the Navajo Tribal Police patrolled the streets of Iron Springs in his Dodge Durango. It was his night off, but everyone had either been called in tonight or had volunteered to patrol the roads. The word was that Captain Begay had called in a tip about a possible serial killer, and everyone trusted Begay. Sam didn’t mind being out here tonight; he prayed for the opportunity to nab this murderer, the person (or persons) who had killed Jim Whitefeather and John and Deena. Sam had known all three of them, but he had been close to John and Deena Bear.

  The day had been warm but the night had cooled the air quickly. All businesses were closed, owners and workers home now, all of them locked up inside their homes and trailers. Maybe nothing would happen tonight. Maybe the killer wouldn’t come tonight, or even tomorrow night, but Sam would still be ready. He and the other officers had agreed to take turns patrolling the roads, especially out by Randy Tahoma’s ranch, John and Deena’s empty home, Awenita’s house, and Captain Begay’s house. They had agreed to have two squad cars in Iron Springs at all times tonight, while everyone else patrolled the territory surrounding the town—a vast expanse of land to cover. But with everyone locked up inside their homes, Sam felt confident that one of them would be able to spot the killer driving into town tonight. If he came.

  Sam believed the killer’s target might be David Bear or even Captain Begay. Perhaps the killer was coming back for some unfinished business, or for revenge against Captain Begay for halting his killing spree. Captain Begay had never taken credit for stopping the murderer, but many around here believed that the captain had something to do with running the killer off. Sam didn’t know if that was true or not, and he wasn’t going to ponder questions he didn’t know the answers to.

  It was going to be a long night, but Sam had a thermos full of coffee and a bag of beef jerky. He would be ready if the killer came tonight.

  CHAPTER 23

  Begay

  Iron Springs, New Mexico

  David and Awenita were settled in Begay’s home. They had followed Begay back to his house in Awenita’s mi
nivan. She had parked right beside Angie’s car in the driveway and Begay had parked his pickup in the gravel to the left of the driveway.

  Angie had cooked a fine dinner and for a little while the evening felt like a normal gathering, like he and Angie had two guests over for supper. But this wasn’t a normal evening; everyone was tense. The small talk felt forced. Begay caught Angie’s eyes a few times as they ate dinner, and he saw the worry in her eyes.

  After dinner Awenita insisted on helping Angie with cleaning up the kitchen and putting the dishes away. Begay checked all of the windows and doors once again. He had gotten his old police belt out and adjusted it to fit his waist, then shoved his pistol down in the holster on his hip. He checked the shotgun and the two rifles he had positioned around the house, making sure they were all loaded. He knew they were, but it was just a nervous habit. He made sure their cell phones were charged up and that they had candles, lighters, and flashlights ready if the electricity went out. If their dog was still alive, he could have been helpful, at least he would have heard, or even sensed, something outside before they would have. But he had died two years ago and they hadn’t gotten another one—Angie said she couldn’t bury another pet. They didn’t have an alarm system, but Begay was going to do his best to stay awake tonight.

  Begay was in his man-cave now. Angie came in and walked up to him. That concern was in her eyes, but it was more than that; she was afraid.

  “I had the worst dream last night,” she told him as she touched his arm.

  Begay held his wife, hugging her, holding her close.

  She pulled away and stared at him. “I saw the killer in my dream. But he was just a shadow. I could see his outline, but I couldn’t make out any of the details. Except one—his eyes. They glowed in the darkness, like two pinpoints of light. I ran and ran, but it seemed like the killer was always right behind me. He grabbed me and turned me around to face him. He held my arms and I couldn’t move. He stared at me with his yellow eyes. They were glowing in the dark. They were like a cat’s eyes. Like a cougar’s eyes. But I couldn’t see his face. He said he wanted to show me something, show me what was coming.”