Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  Another weakling. Dir stared at him with open disgust. Gary had his eyes closed and was involved in destroying his limited brain cells with a drug. Dir wanted to throttle the boy but held himself in check. He didn’t want to create problems this close to freedom. He decided to kill Gary at a later date. First he needed sustenance, and decided the cows and chickens of the farm would suffice for a first meal. He slipped silently out of the tool shed into the night air.

  The grass to his left smelled the same as last time and the night air held a multitude of fragrances he remembered, and some that were new to him. He reveled in the fact every time he walked this earth there was something fresh to discover. He remembered tasting cheeseburgers for the first time during his last escape, and the greasy french fries and milkshakes of this world. He wanted to try hot dogs and apple pie again.

  He took a few steps and realized with disgust Jim Rutan had also been partaking in the drugs. His mind was cloudy and took all Dir’s concentration to stay focused. I am going to torture this weakling before I am through with this body, he decided then and there. The gall to summon me from my timeless sleep and think I would help such a one.

  The cows were up ahead. He decided his first blood would once again be the cows. Some of his brethren started by killing the humans and drinking a small taste of the victim to keep their strength, but Dir of the Earth had found out long ago a full drink from one bovine or a fowl would sustain him for several hours, and he could keep tapping the blood supply of this farm for weeks if he needed to. As long as the cows and chickens had been repopulated he wouldn’t have to worry.

  Too bad night has fallen, he sighed. He wanted to see the sun sink on the horizon again, but would have to settle for its rise. For now, his immediate need was to drink and to find a safe haven in case Jim Rutan should be declared missing. If need be, he would use Jim’s memories to go back to Jim’s and act like Jim.

  Act dull like Jim.

  When the stench of death assailed his nostrils, Dir sighed. The cows and chickens hadn’t been cleaned up since the last time—when the old man cut off the food supply and slaughtered his own stock. A survey of the fenced-in area told him the same tale. The dead cows lay everywhere, rotting.

  A presence emanated from the house and Dir shrank back, feeling the power of the old man again. He crept slowly to the window and spied a large man, one who appeared weak and worthless at first glance. But he has untapped power like the old man did. There was something familiar about him and Dir probed his mind lightly.

  He shrunk back as if slapped. A direct descendant of the old man, he had the blood of the Slayer coursing through his veins. He would need to be dealt with before it was too late.

  Dir felt his stomach recoil and a stabbing pain course throughout his abdominal area. This is too soon, too soon, he thought in anguish. He thought he’d have hours before the pain of this weak host became unbearable, necessitating the switch. With increasing pain he began to move away from the farm, cycling Jim Rutan’s memories for a friend he could fixate on and take over before his prison beckoned him yet again.

  Chapter Six

  Like many small towns in rural parts of the Southeast, Cove Springs had a small library situated between the post office and the one gas station. Michael pulled the Civic into the first spot next to the handicapped parking and rolled up his windows. He had remembered his list of things to do and stuffed it into his front jeans pocket. Despite the heat, he didn’t own any shorts and didn’t want to show off his horrible legs.

  The library itself sat back, with a row of faux palm trees stationed to either side of a cobblestone walkway, its bricks displaying friends of the library and various local businesses that paid to have their names embedded in the ground.

  Michael entered the front door and took in the aroma of the books. “I’m such a geek,” he whispered. He knew better than to talk out loud in a library.

  A Miss Watson–according to her nametag—greeted him with a smile at the circulation desk. She was a pleasant woman in her mid-forties and Michael imagined fifteen years ago she must have been a complete knockout.

  “I’m looking for a few books to take out and was wondering about getting a library card. I’m new in town.” Michael noticed a cute brunette, probably no more than twenty, watching him from a nearby table.

  “I know you’re new in town,” Miss Watson said.

  “You do?” Michael couldn’t take his eyes off of the brunette.

  “Cove Springs is a small town, and I’ve been in this library for close to twenty years. I was about Susan’s age when I started here.”

  “Susan?” Michael looked at Miss Watson. He felt his face flush and realized she had caught him staring. He realized he had no shot with the brunette and now he’d offended the local librarian, who most likely knew the girl and would tell her. It was like high school all over again, with him staring at a girl, it getting spread around class, and him being humiliated in the lunchroom by her jock boyfriend while everyone laughed.

  “Her name is Susan.” Miss Watson pointed at the brunette.

  Michael waved his hands in front of him. “Don’t point at her, please, please, don’t do that.”

  Miss Watson laughed. “I’m just having a bit of fun with you.” Her face grew serious. “But it was rude of me and I apologize. Let me introduce you. Susan!”

  “No, no,” Michael mumbled. This was all wrong. He needed to get out of the building, back into his car, and back to the safety of Zaun Farm.

  He decided books on farming weren’t that important. Once the cable guy showed up and set the line for the TV and computer he’d order some books off of Amazon. If he could get a cell phone connection, he’d have Larry bring some with him. He made a dash for the door.

  “Hey!”

  Michael turned and stared into the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. The brunette’s freckle-brushed face and fair complexion was intoxicating. He guessed she was Irish. And he thought she was beautiful. He couldn’t say a word.

  “I want to apologize for my mom’s behavior. I’m Susan.” She extended her hand.

  Michael wanted to ask if her eyes were blue or blue-hazel. He wanted to ask how old she was. He wanted to ask for her hand in marriage. Instead he stood, transfixed.

  “You are?” Susan finally asked.

  “Shit … I mean, um, Michael. Sorry for cursing.”

  “Fuck it,” she said with a laugh. “Shit happens. I hope my mom didn’t scare you out of reading books now.”

  “She might have.” Michael glanced past Susan. “That’s your mom?”

  “Yep.” Susan went back to her seat and motioned for Michael to join her.

  If I sit I might not get back up, he thought in panic. Or I could sit out here and sweat and stink and she’ll walk away. “Sure, I still need a library card.” He was proud of himself for saying it without his voice shaking. He hoped.

  “Do you live around here?”

  “Yes, I just moved into my grandfather’s old place.”

  “The Zaun Farm?”

  Michael felt a facial tick forming on his left cheek. Stupid, stupid. Why did you say that? Now she’ll be all freaked out. “Yes, I inherited the place when my grandfather, uh, passed away.”

  “That was horrible.” Susan smiled. “How come I haven’t met you before this?”

  “I was raised in New York and haven’t visited since I was about ten. I drove up yesterday.”

  “Did you get a new license?” Susan asked.

  Michael thought the question odd. “I don’t understand.”

  Miss Watson was at the desk. “You need an address in the county in order for me to give you a library card. You can browse and read all you want, but you can’t take anything home with you.”

  “Duh. No, not yet. I never even thought about that.” Michael stared at Susan. She had the tiniest of lips, but bright red and so… “I wanted information about my cows exploding.”

  Susan covered her smile with her hand. “They were
n’t milked and they exploded?”

  “Yeah.” Michael wondered why Susan and her mom were both laughing now.

  “Did you see them explode? Milk shooting everywhere?” Miss Watson asked with a laugh.

  “No, they were dead when I got here. What’s so funny?”

  “Once you get your license, come back and I’ll point you in the direction of the ‘cow explosion’ aisle of the library. We used to have a wing but we cut down the amount of books on the subject.”

  He turned away, embarrassed. “Where is the DMV?”

  Miss Watson winked at Susan but Michael caught it. “Why not show our new member of Cove Springs where the DMV is?”

  “Be right back, mom. Don’t drink my coffee.”

  “Too late.”

  Susan gripped Michael’s hand–which was a puddle of sweat–and led him back outside into the grueling sun. They stood on the sidewalk in front of the Civic. Finally she laughed. “We need to drive; the DMV is actually about five miles away.”

  “Oh, right.” Michael took out his car keys and promptly dropped them. If there is a God, please kill me now.

  Susan smiled and picked them up. “Can I drive?”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”

  Susan laughed. “How old are you?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “I asked second, and I’m a lady so you have to tell me.”

  “No, ladies first.” Michael smiled but he wanted to get into the car before he melted. He was also smitten with Susan and was amazed he was keeping up his end of the joking. He didn’t want their interaction to end.

  Susan shook her head. “Tell me how old you are.”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “You lie. I’m guessing closer to twenty-three.”

  “Thanks, but I’m really twenty-seven. Your turn.”

  “I’m twenty-three.” Susan walked to the driver’s side of the car.

  “You’re the liar. I wouldn’t give you eighteen.”

  Susan, still smiling, pulled out her wallet from her small purse and offered her driver’s license. “Take a look.”

  Michael stared at her pretty picture, turning it over in his beefy fingers. “I’ve seen better fake ones in my day. I’m from New York, you know.”

  Susan slapped the top of the Civic. “I’ve seen the bad fakes as well, and that’s the real deal. Besides, even if I was eighteen I can still drive this bucket of bolts.”

  “How dare you talk about my car like that? This is a classic.”

  “Classic piece of crap,” Susan said and unlocked the door.

  Keep it going, keep it going. “What are you driving then?”

  Susan pointed to her left. “The red corvette is mine.”

  Shit. Michael just stared at the car. Why am I talking to this girl? What would she want with a big, fat loser with a shitty car? She probably dated the quarterback when she was in school, and fucked with guys like me. Maybe she’s fucking with me now.

  Susan laughed loudly. “Get in. You’re too easy. I don’t even own a car. The ’Vette belongs to Darryl Rutherford, who owns the gas station. His wife left him so he replaced her with his Mid-Life-Crisis-Mobile.”

  When they both got in and Susan started the car the stereo blared “Candy” by Iggy Pop.

  “Sorry,” Michael mumbled, sure she didn’t hear him over the noise. He turned down the music and grimaced.

  “I figured you for more of a Michael Jackson fan.”

  “Really?”

  “Got you again. This is way too easy. Turn it back up, you sing the Iggy parts and I’ll do Kate Pierson’s. I love that song.” Susan smiled. “Where to first?”

  “To get my license.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” Susan laughed. “Then we need to get some breakfast. I haven’t eaten yet. You?”

  “Not yet.” Michael had no intention of eating in front of her. “I missed the joke about the cow thing.”

  “You’re from the big city. We forgive you.”

  “For what?”

  “Thinking cows explode when they aren’t milked,” she said with a laugh.

  Chapter Seven

  The delivery van showed up with a package from Larry. When two guys jumped out of the truck and struggled to get the box up on the porch, Michael laughed.

  “It’s big enough to be a mummy,” he said.

  The driver shrugged and had Michael sign his clipboard. “Do you want the package in the house?”

  “Nah, I’ll open it out here. He sent me a huge carton of cockroaches when I moved into my apartment.” Michael smiled when the men left quickly.

  The cockroaches had been plastic and scared the shit out of Michael when he opened the box. He could only imagine what Larry had for him this time.

  Larry was a helluva gift giver. Having a fortune probably helped. For the past ten years Larry had been rich. Filthy rich. In the late 1990’s, while still a teen, before the latest wave of dot com companies panicked and crashed, he made his money by creating a Napster-like search engine for pornography. Before the illegal site could be attacked, he'd wisely sold the whole thing for a cool million, and then turned the million into ten times that with legitimate stocks and other businesses.

  Michael smiled. His best friend was the Porn King, yet still a virgin. Irony will bite you in the ass, eh? It wasn’t so much the content as the ease with which a user might search and get the content, and extract the material to his computer. Even with all the new torrent search engines, his remained the fastest and easiest.

  Michael knew the system worked like a charm. He had an exterior hard drive filled to the brim with enough porn to blind someone.

  Because of his ingenuity, Larry hadn’t worked a ‘real’ job in over a decade. He would often offer to pay off Michael’s bills, or pay his rent for a year, or hire him as an assistant, so they could hang out, but Michael always refused vehemently. He didn’t want his friendship tainted with money. He prided himself on never asking Larry for a dime.

  Of course, there were many nights they hung out, and went to dinner and a movie, or rented a film or two, that Larry paid for, but never anything extravagant. They’d find the latest slasher film or fantasy movie, load up with a large popcorn and soda, and follow up with a Grand Slam at Denny’s at midnight, taking turns talking about the pretty waitress.

  Larry owned a huge assortment of toys, mostly the latest video games and systems, and so they spent weekends crashed on a comfy couch killing Nazi snipers or zombies or playing basketball as Shaq and Kobe. Takeout food and delivery pizza boxes would line the kitchen and stack on the coffee table, discarded two-liters of Coke and Pepsi making a path between the sofa and the bathroom.

  “What’s in the box?” Susan asked from the living room.

  Michael smiled. The last two days hanging out with Susan had been pure bliss. He knew they weren’t exactly boyfriend and girlfriend and there was no real attraction–at least on her part–but he enjoyed having her around. She was awesome.

  “God only knows. It’s from my friend Larry.” Michael went back in and retrieved a box cutter from the kitchen. The house was coming along, with most of his junk put away, and his living room almost done. Susan had been a big help, taking him around town yesterday, purchasing some cheap artwork for the bare walls, helping him dust and air out the house. They kept the rear windows shut due to the rancid smell from the yard, but Michael intended to clean that all up starting at the crack of dawn.

  “The guy you were telling me about?” She followed him out to the porch.

  Michael nodded. He had omitted the parts about Larry’s money. That was taboo; Larry never showed off his wealth for fear of ‘fake friends’ and hangers-on. He wanted to be surrounded by only the few close friends he had started with.

  “Yes, we grew up together. This package means he should be arriving any day now.”

  Susan laughed. “He sends things ahead? Is he a Sheik or something?”

  “Yeah, he’ll arrive on a c
amel down the lane with a retinue of retainers and bodyguards. He usually only arrives once the helicopters and private army has swept the area of infidels.”

  “He sounds like a lot of fun. Are you going to stand there with the blade or open that damn thing?”

  “I guess I’ll open it once you stop talking.” Michael chuckled as Susan slapped him on the arm. Her connecting with me, touching me, is driving me mad, he thought. He wanted to ask her on an official date but didn’t want to ruin what they had going, whatever it was. Last night they had shared takeout Chinese food and watched the latest Jackie Chan movie, both of them crashed out on the couch. When their bodies bumped into one another Susan hadn’t recoiled. She just kept on watching.

  The box contained another, smaller cardboard box, surrounded by bricks, which explained the weight. “He’s running out of ideas,” Michael said. “The old ‘box inside the box inside the box’ trick is pretty lame.” Sure enough, a smaller box hid inside that one and so forth, until Michael held a box barely large enough to fit a ring inside.

  “The excitement is killing me,” Susan said mockingly, but she stared in wonderment as Michael carefully slit open the box.

  Inside, a single word, DUCK, was handwritten on a folded, yellow sheet of paper. “Shit.” Michael was struck several times and fell to the porch.

  Susan screamed as something struck her in the leg, glancing down she saw a splattering of red. “I’ve been hit.” She dropped to the porch, curling into a fetal position.

  Michael rubbed his back, expecting bullet holes. Instead, red and green paint stained his hand. He peered around and wasn’t surprised to see Larry, covered in camouflage and sporting a huge paintball gun, walking up the steps.

  Larry smiled sheepishly at Susan. “If I’d known Michael had a girl here, I would have warned you to duck sooner.”

  Susan smiled and took the paintball gun from Larry in one quick motion. “Dance.”

  “Huh?”

  Susan shot the porch in front of Larry’s feet, the paintball bursting and covering his sneakers in blue. “I said dance.”