Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  He approached her like he knew her and smiled. “Spare a smoke for a neighbor?”

  She glanced at him like he was something she had just stepped in and didn’t like the smell of, but after looking him up and down once, she rolled her eyes and reached into her purse. As she dug around, George checked out her legs in her fishnet stockings and her spiked high heel shoes. He hadn’t really noticed the bellybutton ring before, but now that he’d seen it up close and personal, he thought it was kind of cute.

  She handed him the cigarette and he flicked his lighter open, flaring the wick to life. Inhaling deeply he sighed. “Thanks a ton.” He turned and stood next to her as she finished her own cigarette. “So, you lived in the building long?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

  She looked at him again and shrugged. “Couple of months.”

  He nodded and took another drag. “Real shit pit, ain’t it?”

  She smiled really big and George thought, ‘my God, she has huge teeth’ but knew better than to say it. “Yeah, it really is a pit. I don’t know how the landlords can charge so much for rent and still sleep at night, ya know?”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve been in pay-by-the-hour hotels that were cleaner AND cheaper.”

  “No shit,” she muttered taking another drag.

  “So, what do you do for a living?” George asked, hoping she’d offer him a freebie. Being drunk makes you fantasize really stupid things, George.

  She looked at him sideways, “What do you think I do?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I dunno. Model maybe?”

  She chuckled. “Not even close. I work at the diner over on seventh. Mostly bus tables, but when things get really busy I do just about anything. Take orders, sometimes work in the kitchen. Just whatever they need me to do.”

  He looked at her funny. “In those shoes?” He pointed with his smoke. “Those are hooker shoes if I ever saw them.” He took another long drag from the cigarette.

  She slapped him so hard that sparks flew from his mouth, the cherry from the cigarette exploding across his face. George stood still a moment, stunned by her actions. He’d never had a woman actually hit him before. He’d always been the one to do the hitting.

  He turned to her, an honest expression of shock on his face. She pointed a finger at him. “I’m no fucking HOOKER!” she exclaimed, but before she could continue her rant, he was on her; both hands wrapped around her throat and push-pulling her back into the darkened alley.

  “You stupid little cunt! Nobody hits George Hollis and gets away with it, especially a little hooker like you.”

  He pulled her deep into the alleyway, blocking her airway so that she couldn’t scream. She clawed at his arm, digging and scratching with her nails, but couldn’t find his flesh through the heavy material of the Army jacket.

  He slung her to and fro, keeping her off balance and unable to get her feet under her with her stiletto heels until he had pulled her far enough into the alley that he felt secure in the darkness. He released his grip on her throat and she pulled in great gasping gobs of air into her burning throat, her hands grasping his arms to hold herself up off the ground.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she croaked as she fought to gain her footing.

  “I’m fixing to teach you some manners, you little whore.” He held her in place with one hand and backhanded her across the face with the other. “How many times do I have to tell you, Shelly? Don’t disrespect me!”

  She fell to the damp alley floor and held a hand to her cheek. “My name’s not Shelly, you sick fuck!”

  “Don’t you argue with me, you little whore. I’m gonna have to teach you again.” He pulled his belt out from the loops and began wrapping it around his open hand.

  She looked up at him in horror. “No,” she cried. “No, you can’t. I didn’t do nothing to you. I gave you a smoke…”

  A great gust of wind blew through the alleyway, scattering dust and debris, causing the young girl to cover her eyes and mouth. Trash and scraps of paper picked up and twisted about on dust devils as the wind gusted and blew through. As the wind blew past George’s head, he could have sworn he heard a voice whisper in his ear, ‘Do-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-n’t’.

  He froze in place and looked about in the alley, his eyes blinking rapidly to dispel the dust and bits of grit that still floated in the air as the wind died down. “Did you just hear that?”

  “I didn’t hear nothing,” the girl said quietly as she watched him intently.

  George stood still a moment, breathing hard. Slowly he stood up and continued to look around the alley. “I heard a voice.”

  “It’s the voice in your head, you crazy fuck! They said to go hang yourself with your own belt!” She tried to get up and he didn’t stop her. As she backed away from him, deeper into the alley, she suddenly froze, her eyes widened with terror, her lip trembling as her arm slowly rose to point behind him.

  George turned and saw something human shaped standing between him and the alley opening, its eyes as red as the fires of hell. It stood there, shimmering in the glow of the street lights behind it, translucent in the night. George could make out the shapes of the buildings behind it and he knew, it was not of this world.

  “I-I stopped! J-just like you said,” he sputtered. He went to show his hands to the ghostly apparition and noted his belt still wrapped to his hand. He quickly shook his hand until the belt fell to the alley floor, the buckle clanging against the steel grate below. “See? I ain’t got it no more,” he stammered. “I ain’t hurting nobody.”

  The girl slowly backed up until she hit a Dumpster and it made an ungodly metallic clang that made George nearly piss his pants. He jumped and yelped like a dog that was whipped unexpectedly. He jerked his head around and glared at the girl. “Hold still, ya little bitch!”

  He turned back and the apparition was gone. He looked high and low, side to side, but whatever it was, it was no more. He suddenly felt as though his arms and legs weighed a hundred pounds each. “What the hell was that thing?”

  “I don’t know,” he said as he fell to his ass on the floor of the alley. “I honest-to-God don’t know.”

  “I ain’t waiting for it to come back.” She took off for the mouth of the alley.

  George suddenly reached out and grabbed her ankle as she ran by and tripped her to the ground. She landed hard on her face with a sickening crack. “I can’t let you run out like that!”

  A hundred scenarios ran through his mind, none of them ended with him being heralded a hero. They all ended with him in jail for beating the girl and he’d be damned if he ended up in jail over a whore like this one.

  He dragged the girl toward him, while his mind raced. Her face in bloody ruin with her nose and numerous front teeth broken, she mewled in pain like a kitten, her mind going into shock from the trauma and the pain.

  He crawled on top of her and drew back to punch her. He looked at the bloody mess that was already made of her face and shook his head. He couldn’t have this on him. He glanced around for a tool, a weapon, something he could use to finish this bitch off.

  His eyes fell on a piece of pipe and he breathed a sigh of relief. His hand reached out for it and the pipe rolled away. His eyes narrowed and he glanced up…straight into the burning eyes of hell itself.

  He leapt straight back and off of the bleeding girl as the apparition struck out at him. He felt the cold touch of death as it brushed him and it sucked the life from him with its’ glancing blow. He gasped and clutched at his chest as he crawled backward, scrambling through the trash and debris of the alley. “No!” he screamed. “You can’t do this!” But the apparition pressed on.

  George Hollis turned and crawled for all he was worth, slicing his hands and knees on broken bottles and crawling through the shit and piss of winos and prostitutes who relieved themselves in the dark alleys, away from prying eyes. He found the wall of the building nearest him and pulled himself to his feet, a hypodermic needle bent and buried in the side of h
is hand. “Stay away from me damn it!”

  The apparition lunged at him again and he dodged it, but not quite quickly enough as it barely touched his shoulder and he felt his entire arm go numb. He staggered to the side and slid along the wall toward the opening of the alley. He chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw those glowing red eyes right behind him and he screamed again, “Stay away!”

  He dodged to either side of the alley, but the phantom stayed behind him. He was so close to the light of the streets when his feet came out from under him and he was lifted into the air and tossed back into the alley, sliding across the broken glass and through the excrement once more.

  George lay in a puddle of urine and sobbed. His feet and ankles were numb where the phantom had grabbed him and he had lost all hope. He could feel the pain of the lacerations across his body where he had rolled through the glass and the sting of the dirty water he now lay in as it seeped into the cuts. He could only imagine what kind of infections he might be getting.

  He lifted his head to try to judge how much time he may have left and was shocked to see the alley was empty. He dropped his head back down and spit as the putrid liquid poured into his mouth. With great pain, he rolled to his side and sucked air into his chest. He could tell that some of his ribs had been broken when he impacted the alley floor. But he was alive.

  He rolled again and got to his knees. He crawled to the far wall and got to his feet once more. To George, it felt like trying to walk when both of your feet had fallen asleep, but he was determined to walk out of that alley and try to get help. He felt along the wall and worked his way to the light once more.

  George was mere feet from the entrance and was finally about to breathe a sigh of relief when he felt a sudden coldness in his chest. He froze in place and shuddered. Slowly he turned and faced his demon once more. He swore he could see the monster smile in his face just before unseen ropes attached to his hands and feet and stretched him out, tightening his body like he could never imagine possible. The demon spawn then spun George, slid him out of the alley and straight out to the street and into the path of the oncoming Greyhound bus where he was made a semi-permanent part of the grill, much like the rest of the bugs that refused to move from the path of the diesel driven machine.

  13

  “Christi Walker, age twenty-three. Works at Checkered Flag Deli on Seventh,” Justin said as he flipped through his notes.

  “Eww, that place is a pit,” Eckerson said. “Ate there once and had the runs for three days.”

  Justin eyeballed him then went back to his notes. “Anyways, she claims that the guy hit by the bus accosted her, dragged her into the alley and then the two of them were attacked by our now famous ghost attacker.”

  “Who, I take it, then helped Georgie boy catch the bus,” Jeff said.

  “Yup.” Justin closed his notebook. “Of course, she’s on some pretty stout pain killers right now, so…take it for what it’s worth.”

  Jeff smirked at Justin. “Seriously? You want to discount what she’s saying because they had to give her painkillers for her broken nose and shattered teeth?” He shrugged. “Okay. Fine. NOW you’re the skeptic. I get it, Mulder.”

  “What do you want me to do, Eckerson? Huh? Scott’s about to have a shit-fit because of the story in the paper, Knapp is on leave for being a sell-out, we’re about to have DPS and the Rangers here, and the public is going to lose all trust in US.”

  “Not in us, buddy. We’re doing our job.”

  “We are?” Justin asked. “Seriously? Because the way I see it, the bodies are stacking up, and we don’t have anybody in jail.”

  “Let’s look at just who those bodies belong to, shall we?” Jeff began counting off on his fingers. “Brian Culley, little brother to three time loser Roger Culley. Tries to rape a sixteen-year-old and ends up hung in the front yard. No big loss if you ask me.

  “Curtis Vines, another three time loser and Jorge Flores, convicted felon, both turned to armed robbery and attempted rape. Again, no big loss in my honest opinion.

  “Then we have David Tolliver. Small time thug turned hit man who ALSO throws a little rape into the picture. Again, no big loss in my books.

  “Then we have…”

  “Okay, okay. I get where you’re going. They’re all bad guys. But the point is still, vigilante justice is NOT justice. If we aren’t a nation of laws, then what are we?”

  Eckerson patted him on the shoulder. “Believe it or not, I do agree with you, I’m just saying, I’m not going to lose any sleep over these guys, that’s all.”

  “Maybe not, but if we don’t break something in this case soon, we may lose our damned jobs over it.”

  “502, 504, 21 the SO,” came across the portable radios.

  Justin looked at Eckerson who shrugged. He pulled his cell phone and had no signal. “We’re gonna have to get outside the hospital to get signal.” They went out to the parking lot and called Brenda. “Go ahead, Brenda. What’s up?”

  “Scott’s going to throw another bitch-fit when he hits the office in the morning.”

  “What else is new?” Eckerson said.

  “No, I’m serious. You know that article that was in the local paper?”

  “Yeah, what about it?” Justin asked cautiously.

  “It got picked up by the AP. It just went national.”

  *****

  “Hey, take a look at this,” Ginger said, ripping the sheet off the printer and handing it across to Calvin. “Hot off the presses. Looks like it’s right up our alley, eh?”

  Calvin sighed and shook his finger at her. “Please stop adding ‘eh’ to everything, will you? I may BE from Canada, but I don’t say ‘eh’ all the time, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, eh?” she teased.

  Calvin rolled his eyes and looked at the article that the AP had disseminated. He skimmed it at first then went back and read it more carefully. “This is interesting.”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d like it, eh?” Ginger quipped.

  Calvin sat in his chair and turned to his computer. “Where’s Quinn?”

  “Fetching coffee. Should be back in about twenty.”

  “You forget to say, eh,” Calvin noted.

  “Damn it,” Ginger smiled. “I’ll do it twice next time.”

  “Okay. I think this one shows promise. How quickly can you be packed and ready?”

  “The Mystery Machine is already packed and loaded for bear, Mi Capitan!” She gave a mock salute.

  “Always the epitome of efficiency, aren’t you, my young gob of ectoplasmic residue?”

  “You forget to say, eh!” she teased.

  “Yes, I did. Text Quinn and tell her to get her hot little ass in gear. We have a long drive ahead of us,” Calvin barked. “I’m going to make a quick run back to my office and sign us out. I’ve got to have them arrange for one of my teaching assistants to take over my classes as well, because we are going on a road trip!”

  “Yay, a road trip. Can I drive?”

  “I expect you to drive. I have work to do my dear.”

  “Oh, damn. In that case, I don’t want to drive. Can Quinn drive?” Ginger teased.

  “No!” Calvin barked. “The last time Quinn drove, she confused east with west and wanted to know why the sun was setting on the wrong side.” Ginger laughed and he gave her a hard look. “Oh, that’s right. That was before your time.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t joking. Brilliant scientist, horrible navigator. No, you ARE driving.”

  Calvin Whynot, Professor Emeritus at the University of California, Los Angeles School of Psychology, resident authority on all things paranormal, was about to embark with his two lead research assistants to investigate the mysterious deaths occurring in Texas.

  As Ginger Lynch went through her checklist to ensure that everything they needed was packed and ready to go in the Winnebago land yacht, Calvin checked out with the University. Quinn Bishop, his lead research assistant and assistant professor had just returned with coffee and
found the shop abuzz with activity.

  “Please tell me this isn’t a drill,” she asked excitedly.

  “Please, Quinn. When do we ever drill?” Ginger asked.

  “Um, never?” she said with a smile.

  “Calvin said, and I quote, ‘tell Quinn to get her hot little ass in gear because we’re embarking on a road trip’,” Ginger told her with a smile.

  Quinn’s eyes grew wide. “Really? He said my ass was hot?” Her smile grew wider. “Sweet.”

  “Oh, and he also said, you’re driving.” Ginger grabbed her go bags and tossed them in the door of the RV.

  Quinn’s face fell and she glared at Ginger. “Now I know you’re lying.” She thrust her coffee at her. “Bitch,” she muttered as she marched past her and boarded the RV.

  Ginger stared past her and into the RV. “Well damn, I was really hoping that would have worked.”

  Calvin came walking back into the shop, a little skip to his step. “Are we ready to go?”

  Ginger frowned at him. “Will you please let her drive? Just a little bit of the way?”

  “Absolutely, positively not.”

  “I told her you think her ass is hot and now she doesn’t believe me.”

  Calvin’s face fell. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Why on earth would you tell her such a thing?”

  “Duh! It’s totally obvious you two have the hots for each other.” She poked him in the chest. “Get it over with and nail her to the floor already.”

  Cal’s eyes grew wide as he stared at her. “That would be SO inappropriate. We are colleagues and she works for me and we…”

  “Like everybody else on this campus isn’t screwing somebody they work with, sheesh,” she muttered as she stepped past him and climbed aboard.

  He stood in shock a moment and stared up into the RV. “Why do I have a very uneasy feeling about this?”

  *****

  “What’s he doing now, Roger?” Casper asked as he slipped another small white chunk into his mouth.