The Enfield Horror Trilogy

by Ripley, Ron

  But Joe didn’t want to hope too much.

  First things first and all that garbage.

  He wanted to burn the Lodge to the ground.

  Joe guided the Jeep along the path, mindful of the bag of homemade explosives in Dave’s lap. Dave didn’t even seem to notice, though. He had a grim look that made Joe look at him a couple of times to make sure it was Dave in the passenger seat of the Jeep.

  A short while later, Joe stopped the Jeep where it intersected with trees downed in the last storm. Far off to the right, along the line of fallen trees, Joe could see a faint glimmer of light.

  “Is it down that way?” he asked, looking at Dave.

  “That’s it,” Dave said, getting out of the Jeep, taking the pack with him.

  Joe shut the Jeep down, left the key in the ignition and walked around the front of the Jeep to join Dave.

  “Ready?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah,” Dave nodded. “I’m ready. Let’s burn it down.”

  They made their way carefully through the forest wreckage, the light in the distance getting ever closer. Soon Joe could distinguish the shape and size of the home, the outline of the windows, and the light seeping out from around shutters. Shortly after that, they were at the lodge itself.

  There was no sign of either Nate or Brian.

  A faint light was cast by the moon and the stars, just enough to see by. Just enough to see there was nothing to see.

  The lodge was simply that, a lodge. It had a wooden roof, wooden shutters on the windows, and a wooden door. The walls were made of fieldstones, as was the chimney that stuck up from the center roof.

  “Time to light it up, Dave,” Joe said. He pulled the first lighter out of his sweatshirt pocket and waited as Dave pulled out a pair of the Molotov cocktails. Dave made sure the wicks were ready, and then he held one out to Joe.

  Joe flicked the Bic. A flame erupted from the top, and he lit the Molotov cocktail. Dave pulled the bottle away from Joe and then hurled it at the lodge.

  The bottle shattered against the right window, the flames spreading along with the gasoline and oil mixture across the shutters.

  Joe lit the second one, and Dave threw that cocktail as well, the bottle breaking loudly against the roof. As those flames raced along the wood, Joe and Dave quickly lit and threw the four remaining bottles. Soon the entire roof was in flames, as well as both shutters and the door.

  Joe and Dave stood silently, admiring their handiwork.

  Then the flames started to disappear.

  First one section of the roof, then another. Soon there were no flames visible at all although the light from within the lodge danced crazily, and the—

  The door to the lodge flew open, and flames burst out, a long, low blast of fire that caught both Joe and Dave full on.

  The flames were horrific, the fire so intense it ripped the oxygen right out of Joe’s lungs. He gasped desperately for air, only to find he was inhaling flames. The excruciating pain searing his lungs threw him backward. He tried to move, to claw for oxygen, but he couldn’t breathe.

  He rolled to his right and saw Dave writhing on the forest floor. Dave’s hair was on fire, as was his clothing and his skin.

  All of it.

  As his mind grew fuzzy from lack of oxygen and pain, Joe realized he probably looked like Dave.

  For some reason, the lodge was no longer burning.

  Chapter Four

  Israel Porter Has Insomnia

  Israel Porter wasn’t sleeping well.

  He wasn’t particularly surprised at that. Ka-Riu had told him in no uncertain terms that they weren’t done with each other.

  That was not a pleasant idea.

  It helped that Turk was with him at night, but Israel feared the dragon might find a way around the dog. He couldn’t imagine what that might be, but no one ever said fears had to be rational.

  Considering the situation at hand, though, Israel believed every fear was rational.

  The sun had only come up when Turk lifted his head up from the bed. That simple action brought Israel fully awake. The dog’s ears perked up for a moment; then they relaxed, and the dog put his chin down on his paws to go back to sleep.

  A moment later, Israel heard it too, the sound of a car coming along the driveway.

  Israel had never been one for company, but he was fairly sure he knew who it was. Sitting up, Israel grunted and hobbled over to the window that let him look out over his barnyard. Tom Henderson’s pickup was pulling into the yard, and Israel could see he had a passenger, a young man.

  Frowning, Israel stepped away and quickly got dressed. He was halfway down the stairs when a knock came on the back door. Turk followed close on his heels, eager for breakfast.

  “Coming!” Israel called out to forestall any other knocks and a few moments later, he was walking through the kitchen to the back door. He unlocked the door, pulled it open and stepped aside to let Tom and the stranger into the house.

  Turk wagged happily from the refrigerator, which for some reason, the dog had claimed as his own.

  “Come in, take a seat,” Israel said, gesturing to the table. “Rather an indecent hour to go calling, isn’t it, Tom?”

  “Blame Henry here,” Tom said, dropping down into a chair. “He got me up a little after three. By the way, Henry Moran, this is Israel Porter.”

  Israel extended his hand and shook Henry’s. “What brings you both up here this morning?”

  “Henry met a friend of yours last night,” Tom said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Ka-Riu,” Tom responded.

  Israel looked at the young man, and for the first time noticed how tired and worn he looked. “I can see that,” Israel said. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “I was sorry as well,” Henry said.

  Israel chuckled. “Good. Either of you want some coffee or food?”

  Both of the men shook their heads.

  “Okay,” Israel said, “don’t mind me then. Turk and I haven’t eaten yet, and I haven’t had my coffee, so I need a few minutes to get where I need to be. Anyway, Henry, you ran into Ka-Riu?”

  Henry nodded. “Yes, last night.”

  “And you lived?” Israel asked.

  “I hit him with over thirty rounds,” Henry frowned. “None of them stopped him. Not a single one.”

  “I imagine not,” Israel said. “I’ve used a fair share of ammunition on him myself, and without anything to show for it. Except now he’s pretty upset and, from what I can see, wants me to suffer accordingly.”

  “Great,” Henry groaned. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

  “Think of it this way,” Israel said, chuckling, “how many people can say they have a dragon pissed off at them?”

  Henry shook his head, and Tom sighed. They sat quietly while Israel got out eggs and bacon and went about the business of cooking his breakfast.

  “Jesus, Israel,” Tom said, watching the man cook, “is that a dozen eggs?”

  “Ayuh,” Israel nodded, glancing back at the two younger men. “Turk’s hungry too.”

  “Why don’t you feed him dog food?” Henry asked.

  “Do you want to eat dog food?” Israel asked.

  “No,” Henry said, confused.

  “Well neither does he,” Israel said, and he went back to cooking Turk’s breakfast.

  ***

  Tom left Henry with Israel, the two men, and the dog essentially barricading themselves in the home. Henry would call in sick to his shift later on, and with one man always on watch, they would try to rest and prepare for the inevitable.

  Ka-Riu’s attack.

  Tom felt exhausted and wished he could call in sick to work as well. But there was no one to cover his shift, not unless he wanted to call up Steve Militello and ask for another trooper to come in.

  Tom didn’t want to do that.

  Enfield was his town, and he needed to take care of it.

  When he eventually reached the station, though, there
was a trio of State police cruisers parked in front. Tom pulled his pickup around back, parked it, and went inside.

  Steve Militello was there, along with the third shift trooper, and another who Tom didn’t know.

  “Steve,” Tom said, walking up to the man and shaking his hand. “What’s going on?”

  “You’ve got another disappearance,” Steve said.

  “Who?” Tom asked.

  “A man named Gary Fowler,” Steve answered. “Wife got home this morning from her sister’s. Television was still on, his whiskey was out, the car was in the driveway, but there was no sign of Gary Fowler. There was a Louisville Slugger on the porch that she said he kept around for chasing raccoons. A little bit of blood was on the porch, too, so we’ve sent that off to the lab.”

  “Damn,” Tom said. “Damn.”

  Steve nodded.

  “Fowler lived on Ridge Road, right?” Tom asked.

  “You know your town,” Steve said.

  “Yeah,” Tom said, sighing. “What’s left of it.”

  Chapter Five

  Kyle Plans for an Abnormal Day

  Dr. Kyle Bennett woke up later than usual. She’d have to forgo her morning run since it was nearly ten o’clock, but that was alright.

  She’d spent most of the night researching the Buddhist goddess Benzaiten, the only goddess who had slain a dragon. Kyle had done research with an intensity she had enjoyed as an undergrad, so many years before. And through the glory of the world wide web, she had found so much.

  But all of it revolved around getting to Portsmouth and to the small temple dedicated to Benzaiten . Kyle would have to get to the temple, get inside if it wasn’t open, and then somehow convince the goddess to intervene on their behalf.

  How she was going to do that, well, Kyle wasn’t quite sure, but it was the step that had to be taken.

  Before she had fallen asleep, though, she had sent an email to Kuribayashi asking how she could go about obtaining an intervention from a goddess.

  Yawning, Kyle walked into the kitchen, set up her electric percolator, and got out a coffee mug. She wandered over to the fridge, took out a peach, and brought it to the counter, quartering it as she waited for the coffee to be ready. Soon she had her peach and her coffee, and she made her way to her study. Sitting down at the desk she turned her computer on, ate a little bit, and logged in.

  Within a few minutes she remembered she shouldn’t be reading the news, but rather checking her email to see if Kuribayashi had gotten back to her.

  And he had.

  “Dear Dr. Bennett, should you wish to seek the intervention of the goddess Benzaiten--and the kami from which she is believed to have originated—you need only to visit her shrine. Once there, explain to her what you need, and she will answer you if she will.

  “I wish you the best of luck in this endeavor, and I hope one day to hear why you have asked such interesting questions of me.”

  I hope I’ll be able to, too, Kyle thought. She finished her peach and absently wiped her hands off on her sweatpants before picking up her phone. She sent Tom Henderson a quick text.

  Found a way to stop Ka-Riu. Will be traveling to Portsmouth. Let you know shortly.

  Okay, she thought. Okay.

  She picked up her mug, took a drink, and then nodded to herself. Finish the coffee, get in the shower, and find a Buddhist goddess’s shrine.

  Not my normal day, she thought with a wry smile as she drank more of her coffee.

  ***

  Tom was pulled over on Old Route 4, his radar gun set up but not on, and his cruiser parked in an obvious place. Most people knew not to race down the road, but to make sure, Tom liked to be out in the open. Give them time to slow down a bit, and give himself time to think.

  He was thinking, trying to figure out what to do when the text from Dr. Bennett came in.

  He read it several times, not believing it. He wanted to ask her what she had found out, and how she was going to go about it, but he was going to have to wait for her to get back to him. And he was going to have to hope like hell that Ka-Riu didn’t decide to go on a mid-day rampage before they could take care of his miserable dragon self.

  Tom sighed, put his phone back down on the passenger seat, and went back to watching the road and wondering what to do next.

  ***

  The two men were far too burnt to be edible even for Ka-Riu, or for the Lodge, for that matter.

  From what the dragon could gather from his partner, the men had attempted to set fire to the Lodge, which evidently had not worked out well for the men. Their burned, shriveled corpses had greeted him as he had come back with the remains of last night’s meal held lightly in his jaws. He had finished most of the miserably fat man by himself in the same culvert where he had found so many meals. It now stank of men.

  Ka-Riu had finally had a meal to himself.

  He appreciated what the Lodge had done for him during his decades of imprisonment, but that didn’t mean Ka-Riu wanted to share every bit of food he got.

  Leaving the remains of the fat man in the Lodge, Ka-Riu cleaned up the corpses, dragging them into the Lodge and ripping them apart. The Lodge did its part by starting a fire in the hearth, and Ka-Riu stuffed each limb, torso, and head into the fire in turn. A pleasant smell filled the Lodge as Ka-Riu ate and fed his companion.

  But Ka-Riu was sore. Physically sore. The sensation was unfamiliar.

  It was the two men who had done it to him, the old farmer and a police officer. Rarely in his long life had Ka-Riu known men who would challenge him. Strange and curious that he should find two of them in one place.

  They needed to be punished.

  Ka-Riu knew he would have to find the police officer. But the farmer, and the dog from one of the first kills, well, they were at the farm.

  Ka-Riu would visit the farm later. He would go into the farmer’s home and kill and eat both the farmer and the dog.

  Later, though.

  Ka-Riu was full, his belly pleasantly heavy as he curled up on the floor before the flames. The heads of the men burned, and the crackling of the flames lulled the ancient dragon to sleep.

  Chapter Six

  Dinner and Defense

  Tom sat at Israel’s kitchen table with the farmer and Henry Moran. Turk lay asleep by the refrigerator. It was a little past seven in the evening, and they had finished a large meatloaf and baked potatoes, with entirely too much corn as far as Tom was concerned.

  Now the three of them each enjoyed a beer, the dishes stacked in the sink for later washing.

  “You know,” Henry said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “I used to date a girl who wanted, when she got married, to live and work a farm.”

  “You worked a farm today,” Israel said.

  “That’s my point,” Henry said. “I worked a farm today. And damned if it isn’t the hardest work I’ve done. I don’t ever want to have to milk another cow when all of this is over.”

  Tom and Israel chuckled, the old farmer shaking his head.

  “Well, considering your lack of finesse in the matter,” Israel said, “I’m fairly certain my cows are feeling the same way right about now.”

  “Lack of finesse?” Henry asked, laughing.

  Israel nodded. “Lack of finesse, indeed. I can see why your farm girl left you if you treated her the way you treated those cows.”

  “Was she a big girl?” Tom asked politely.

  Israel laughed cheerfully, and Henry threw his balled up napkin at Tom.

  The laughter dropped away to chuckling, and Tom finished his beer.

  “So,” Israel said after a minute, “you’re staying the night too, Tom?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Good,” Israel said. “Be easier to split the watch between three than between two. We got a little rest today, but nothing to make up for the time lost.”

  Tom started to answer, but he was interrupted by Turk, who suddenly sat up, ears standing straight up.

  All three of the m
en froze and listened.

  Turk’s nostrils flared several times, and then his ears relaxed, and the dog settled back down onto the linoleum floor. Once the dog’s eyes were closed, the three men breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  “Do you think the dragon will come soon?” Henry asked in a low voice, as if he feared the dragon could hear him.

  “It would make sense,” Israel said apologetically. “I’m assuming he’ll believe I’m the only one here. He’ll wait until the middle of the night again, more than likely thinking I’m exhausted, which is partially right. But he’ll not be expecting you to be here,” Israel said, nodding to Henry. “And he certainly won’t be expecting Mr. Henderson here.”

  “So we’ll get as much rest as possible then,” Henry said.

  “That’s about the size of it,” Israel agreed.

  “Aside from our service weapons,” Tom said, “and your shotgun, Israel, are there any other weapons here?”

  “Another pair of shotguns, doubles like my own,” Israel said. “They were my father’s. I keep them cleaned and oiled, but I think it’s been about ten years since I last fired them. They’re twelve gauges, like mine, so there’s plenty of ammunition around. I’ve a gun safe in the spare bedroom.”

  “Can I grab another beer?” Henry asked.

  “Help yourself,” Israel said. “Grab one for me too, please.”

  “Sure,” Henry said. “Tom?”

  “Please,” Tom said, nodding. “So,” he said, turning his attention back to Israel, “we have three shotguns, two pistols, and a dog.”

  “Yes,” Israel said.

  Henry returned to the table with three beers, twisting off the caps easily. “Well,” Henry said, “that sure doesn’t sound like a whole lot. Not against a dragon. And you and I both know firearms don’t do a whole lot to it, Israel.”

  “Yes,” Israel said, nodding, “but you forget one thing.”

  “Yeah?” Henry asked, sitting down and taking a long pull off of the bottle. “What am I forgetting?”