Dark Gardens

by Erb, Thom

  The tension in the booth was mounting as Becky came over and broke the thickness.

  “Okay guys, another pitcher of Molson’s?” She asked, sticking her hips out and winking at Jared.

  “Yeah, and a round of Jaeger bombs… Carleton’s paying. You are lookin’ at a published writer my dear,” Ronnie quickly said.

  They all laughed, Carleton included.

  “Uh, yeah sure Becky, hook us up.” Carleton said as he swallowed hard and slunk back into the faux leather of the booth. He knew the guys would have to hear something pretty fantastic to be impressed now. He didn’t worry about paying his rent to his Aunt this month. It was worth plying his pals with drinks, to make them think he’s cool.

  Becky returned with a tray of drinks and a pitcher of beer. Carleton handed her a fifty dollar bill and smiled.

  “Keep ‘em coming, Becky.” He added as he drank the Jaeger bomb about five seconds after his buddies had already slammed their glasses onto the wooden tabletop. They bellowed with laughter as they motioned for another round. Carleton just smiled at Becky and agreed to the order.

  He knew now more than ever he needed to come up with a slam dunk of a story. As they shot the shit and laughed, Carleton racked his brain for a doozy. Then it hit him. He took a long pull from his bottle and wiped the foam from his thin mouse-like moustache and began.

  “So, guys, I forgot to tell you,” he took another sip from his beer as his eyes darted back and forth to each of his friends. “When I got home the other morning after work, I found my apartment door smashed open.” He said and waited.

  They looked at each other and waited for another to speak. Ronnie spoke first.

  “Holy shit man? You okay?” he asked. Then the others joined in.

  “You okay man?” Donovan asked, and motioned to Becky for another round.

  “Oh yeah, dude, being a black belt and all, you know I wasn’t scared, but that isn’t the bad part.” Carleton responded and grew nervous as the next round of drinks was brought over.

  “So, what the hell happened, dude?” Jared asked and downed his beer.

  “Well, I didn’t want to really tell you guys about this, but,” Carleton took another pull from his beer and leaned in and motioned them closer and looked about cautiously. It helps to sell the story, Carleton thought as he continued. “For the past year or so I’ve been evolved in a cult.” He paused and waited for the shock and awe to come across his friends faces. His wait was wasted on fake, wide-eyed, gaped mouth reactions. He didn’t care and continued.

  “Well, man I witnessed some shit that you could never imagine. Sex orgies, spells being cast and,” He took a deep breath and finished off his beer and slowly set it down on the table, and drew even closer, “…I even watched… human sacrifice.” Carleton intently looked at each of his friends and waited. They all sat there with quizzical looks and leaned in even further. Jared shot a glance to the man in the booth behind Carleton.

  The speakers crackled with “Whisky Bent and Hell Bound” throughout the bar, as Carleton began his fresh beer and encouraged his friends to do the same.

  “No fuckin’ way.” Ronnie said, drinking his beer. The bar seemed to darken slightly and much of the farmers were gone.

  “Ronnie, I’ve never bullshitted you guys before man. There is still the boot print on my door if you want to check it out?” Carleton added. He was determined to push the ante, even if he had to call their bluff.

  “Nah, that’s cool Carl, it just seems really fucked up.” Ronnie caved, knowing it was a bullshit story and a waste of time to argue.

  “Where the hell is this place dude?” Ronnie asked, he couldn’t help but exude his disbelief in the latest of a long line of lies.

  “It’s on some rich couples fifty acre farm just outside of Brockport- way off the road and way off the grid, if you know what I’m saying?” Carleton nudged Jared in the arm.

  “Why would anyone want to bust into your place?” Jared asked.

  Carleton motioned to Becky and she came over and leaned into their tight circle.

  “Another round guys?” She asked and leaned heavy on Jared’s shoulder and made sure her boobs were in his face.

  “Jameson shots all around good lady,” Carleton ordered, never breaking his sight on his friend’s eyes.

  It seemed that the entire bar closed in and the dark shadows enveloped them as he continued his tale.

  “I was just there to check it out and do research for my next novel. They trusted me with one of their books and I of course, had to participate in one of their orgies. Come on, who wouldn’t right?” He chortled and continued.

  Jared, Ronnie and Donovan smirked and sipped from their beers and leaned in to make their pal feel better.

  “So, what happened?” Ronnie inquired and dropped the Jaeger bomb.

  “Well, while one of the weekly services were being performed, I snuck into the Grand Master’s study and I saw one of the bibles they had that explained the tenants of their beliefs, spell castings, and demon summoning, all that kind of stuff and I knew it would be freakin’ killer for the next novel so, I took it and ran.”

  “So, let me get this straight, you think some bad ass Satan worshipers are breaking into your pad, looking for that book?” Donovan squinted, trying hard to believe the deep pile of a story he just heard.

  “Yeah, come on man, that’s a bit fucked up, don’t ya think?” Jared shrugged and tilted his head, trying to get Carleton to finally come clean.

  “I’m not making this shit up guys. You know I’ve been heavily into the occult and reading Anton LaVey, Alistair Crowley, the Temple of Set, and all that shit.” Carleton protested and drank his beer. “Hey, if you don’t believe, that’s fine. I know what happened.” He emptied the bottle and slammed it down.

  The three friends looked at one another and knew it wasn’t worth the argument and besides, Carleton was buying and they didn’t want to blow this golden opportunity to drink for free and let their eyes tell each other to let it go.

  “Did you call the cops?” Donovan inquired, hoping hard to win this year’s best performance Oscar. The others fought back snickers.

  “No way Donovan,” Carleton said. “How could I explain watching AND participating in a cult that practiced wild orgies and human sacrifice?” He looked behind him as the silent stranger shifted in his booth.

  “Ah well, yeah, that makes sense I guess.” Donovan replied and sipped his beer. Jared and Ronnie nodded and drained their bottles.

  The rest of the night flowed from one shot to one beer after another. They all had fun and that was exactly what Carleton wanted to have happen. Their laughter filled the bar and flowed out into the fog filled street of Arcadia Falls. Carleton tried, as he always, to ignore the fact that most of the laughter came at his expense. And his friends tried hard to forget his most lavish tale to date. The free booze helped with that.

  “Last call guys,” Bob shouted from behind the mahogany bar, as he shoved a glass beer mug into the steaming hot water.

  They all grumbled and moaned, but Bob paid them no mind and waved them toward the door with a wry smile.

  The entire night, the stranger sat, stoically and sipped the same glass of scotch. Becky stayed away from him as much as possible and complained that he gave her the heebee geebeez. Carleton’s boys just made fun of her and pointed and laughed at the silent stranger through their beer thickened haze.

  “Hey guys, you can crash at my place if you want?” Carleton threw on his jacket and smiled at his staggering friends.

  “Nah, that’s okay,” Jared said. “Becky is gonna give me ride home.” He finished with a wink and a nudge to Ronnie’s elbow. They both laughed and made their way to the door.

  “Uhm yeah, I’m good thanks. I’m gonna walk man.” Donovan muttered as he scuttled toward the exit like a cockroach when the light is flicked on.

  The door slammed closed with Carleton standing there by himself. All he could hear was the sloshing of beer mugs and g
lasses in soapy water and the clank of dishes from the kitchen. Carleton felt overwhelmingly… alone.

  He thought of the silent stranger in the booth behind him and swiveled to see him. But he was gone. The entire bar was empty. Save Bob and the other barmaid, Patti. He felt the cold, dark shadows engulf him and he felt the sudden urge to leave the closed bar.

  The walk home was cold and filled with an eerie silence. Nothing made a sound. No dogs barking as Carleton passed or owls hooted in the chilly, night air. The only sound was his footsteps and anxious breathing.

  His keys made a loud clang as they smashed against the lock of his basement apartment in his aunt’s house. The light above the door flickered in syncopated rhythm as he clicked the tumblers and the old door creaked open. He turned and looked behind him as a flurry of leaves danced across the cement steps.

  Nothing.

  He sighed with relief and entered into his apartment. Posters of Bruce Lee, Manowar, and Alice Cooper welcomed him as he turned on the light switch. Before him lay a spartan dwelling with used and miss matched furniture.

  He hung his leather jacket on the hook inside the door and double checked the locks. He kicked off his Doc Martin boots and then walked through the kitchen.

  He sat down on the sofa and twisted the top off of the Mt. Dew and turned on the TV to the VH1 Classic and Megadeath’s Peace Sells video flashed violent images into the dark apartment. Sporadic shadows filled the small room and that’s when the booze finally took him to dreamland. The final strains of Mustaine’s growling voice sang him to sleep. The soda bottle slipped from his limp hand and spilled out onto the worn green carpet.

  Visions of red-eyed, goat horned demons filled his speeding dreams. The feeling of death and dread came with the vivid images. His body twitched and convulsed as he slept. His eyes raced for the back of their sockets and his glasses slid off down his nose and small droplets of spittle ran down his cheeks.

  He awoke to the sound of a loud banging.

  The banging sound was someone knocking on his door. He almost fell off of his torn cushioned couch and kicked the half empty soda bottle, as he tried to get his bearings.

  The knock came again, this time, accompanied by a voice.

  “Good evening Mr. Meeks, please open the door.” A low, yet smooth voice came through and filled the room.

  Carleton tried to shake the sleep from his head and pushed the glasses back up his nose and stood up. He felt the room spin and his eyes betrayed him and blurred. He grabbed the arm of the sofa for balance.

  “Uh, um... Hold on.” Carleton mumbled and squinted at the time on the cable box, saw it was 3:00 am and then moved toward the door through the darkened kitchen.

  “Please do hurry Mr. Meeks. It is a matter of grave importance.” The voice spoke slow and made Carleton shiver with a cold jolt, as he flicked on the light.

  “Um, who the hell are you and what do you want?” Carleton cleared his throat and strained to see thorough the peephole and found nothing.

  “I assure you, the knocking is only just a courtesy so please, let me in Mr. Meeks.” The voice grew harsher and direct. Carleton felt his blood run cold and froze.

  He unbolted the chain and opened the door. Something told him if he didn’t, the stranger would find a way in anyway. He stepped back as the door slowly creaked open. The street lights shot yellowish colored beams into the apartment, as the stranger from the bar stepped into the doorway. His long black leather trench coat moved slightly in the early morning breeze. He closed the door behind him.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Meeks. You saved yourself much grief by letting me in.” The Stranger spoke. His large fedora still lay tilted over his eye. The hat was not wide enough to hide the wide grin of its owner as he moved toward the refrigerator. Carleton stepped backwards, toward the living room that was filled with the light and sound of WASP’s blind in Texas video.

  “Who are you dude and what the hell do you want?” Carleton asked as he backed into the wall of the living room.

  “Well now Mr. Meeks that is, the million dollar question now isn’t it?” The stranger chuckled and reached down and picked up one of Carleton’s large boots. “It seems you are in possession of one of our unholy books,” The stranger’s tall frame barely fit into the small kitchen as he turned and faced Carleton.

  “Man, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Carleton squeaked, grabbing the wall for support.

  “Well now Mr. Meeks, there we have a bit of a problem. You just spent the past four hours telling your friends the tale of your conquest of a certain book that belonged to the Grand Master DeMaio.” The stranger stare bore deep into Carleton. “And you told dark secrets of our unholy rituals and of our ceremonies devoted to our Lord and Master, Orcus.” The stranger hissed and two small eyes red glowed out from under his titled fedora.

  “I was just bullshittin’, man, I’ve no idea of any Grand Master DeMaio or of any that shit,” his words flew furiously and fast. They didn’t faze the stranger. Carleton began to sweat and shake.

  “See, now there is where you are wrong. You told your friends about how the cult broke into your dwelling and that you had a boot print to prove it.” The strangers’ smile became visible and exposed his large, fang-like, white teeth; it reminded Carleton of the dead. Withered, worn skin splayed tightly over its skull as the stranger moved to the doorway. The stranger opened the door with a creak and kicked it wider and placed the sole of the boot to the print on the door and smiled.

  “Hmmm, it seems as though the print matches the boots that our foot soldiers wear, so therefore you kicked in your own door to fool your friends into believing you or you and the soldiers shop at the same store, my young friend. You’re in possession of our book and we want it back.” The stranger dropped the boot and it landed with an eerie thud. The stranger leapt forward and grabbed Carleton by the sweat covered t-shirt.

  “I don’t have time to deal with the frivolity that is humanity. I’m ordered to do one thing and one thing only. I want the book and if you are not willing to give it to me. Then I shall take it and make you suffer unimaginable pain while I extract it from you.” The stranger smiled at the possibility of such a delicious activity.

  “I….uhh, don’t have any book s…s…siiir… I, uh, was just…just, lying. Lying to my friends… I never even went to any... church. Er... anything,” Carleton could barely speak.

  “Well, well, my pathetic young human,” The Stranger brought Carleton’s shaking face into his own and his fetid breath filled Carleton’s nostrils and bile rushed up into his throat. Acid and beer mixed and he gulped to force himself not to vomit.

  “It seems we have quite the quandary don’t we?” The stranger’s long black tongue flicked from its thin-lipped mouth and darted about Carleton’s cheek.

  A warm wet spot slowly spread across Carleton’s jeans and then the piss fled down his leg and onto the carpet.

  The Stranger glanced and chuckled grimly.

  “Ah very predictable, cowardly, human behavior,” He whispered in Carleton’s ear and flicked the forked tongue at his sweaty lobe. His scaly face was mere inches from Carleton and he could feel nothing but cold.

  “Did you not tell your friends very specific details concerning our human sacrificial celebrations?” The playful tone was gone. Carleton’s stiffened.

  “And how you had always been obsessed with the occult and the High Dark Lord?” The Stranger’s inquisition continued as he leaned in and his cold, clammy lips touched Carleton’s cheek. The long tongue lapped at his ear then down to his neck. The hot breath did little to warm Carleton. Instead, his perspiration increased and he let loose the remainder of his bladder.

  “Well, my dear friend, you do have one of our books and I will find it. So, why don’t you just have a seat and let me get to work,” The Stranger’s tongue lashed out and burrowed deep into Carleton’s neck and a small stream of crimson blood shot out and splattered on the old wall. He felt numb and nauseous. The strang
er let him free and his limp body slowly slipped down the wall until his ass found the shag carpet. He couldn’t move.

  He could feel the drool pooling and running out of his slack mouth. He tired, but couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t feel much of anything else, save fear. His very soul felt frozen and black. He couldn’t move his head. Only his eyes were mobile and they followed the dark stranger as he proceeded to rip his small apartment into shreds.

  “Come now human, do not fret. You are the self proclaimed “Satan expert” and great warlock, isn’t that correct?” The Stranger’s words dripped with sarcasm, but he never looked at Carleton. He was too busy ripping the stuffing from the old couch and tossing the large frame aside like a child would let loose a boring toy.

  “Your friends know you are a liar don’t they?” The Stranger taunted as he yanked down a large bookshelf full of Tolkien, Keene, and Stephen King books. They landed in a heap on the floor in front of the Television. A large black boot shattered the tube and sparks flew from within the black casing. The Stranger just laughed. His laughter sounded more like a million souls crying out for salvation as opposed to humorous reaction.

  Carleton felt weak and angry but his useless body betrayed him. All he could do was sit and watch as the Stranger laid waste to his home. In search of a book that he didn’t have, more importantly, that he didn’t even know existed.

  “That’s been your entire pathetic existence hasn’t it, Mr. Meeks?” The Stranger continued as he disappeared into the bedroom. “Spend your whole insignificant life trying to get others to like you- To be cool. But you know the truth fleshling; don’t you?” The Stranger could be heard over the smashing of furniture and of various other items. Carleton could feel large tears fleeing his eyes and they began to blur his vision.