by John Curtis
Jay pulled out of his slouch. "This isn’t some common murderer you’re dealing with, though, is it? He tore the hearts from his victims’ bodies, am I right?"
A momentary ripple of confusion and uncertainty ran across Gary’s face. "How did you know that?"
Instead of answering, Jay headed down the front hall toward the parlor. Next to a hanging, yellowed sheet of wallpaper was the door to the cellar.
It was scarred and peeling, painted a dull brown, and on it was a feed store calendar with a date circled. It was the same day and year that Frank had died. It fluttered through his mind that it wasn’t just Frank who had died that winter’s day. The whole family had and now Gene had brought things full circle.
Jay grasped the scratched, black enameled knob and felt it slip about a half-inch out of its socket as he twisted and pulled. The door was so out of true that the corner ground against the hardwood floor, leaving a track scraped into the floor. The hinges gave out the rough sound of metal grinding against metal.
"Where are you going?" demanded Gary.
"If I remember right, this is the way to the cellar."
"Get away from there!"
Jay took a step forward and down, testing the first step by lightly bouncing on it. "Yeah, this is it." He ran the palm of his hand along the blank plaster surface of the wall to his right until he found the old twist switch for the lights, which gave a "pop" as he turned it. A bare hundred watt bulb at the foot of the stairs flickered to life.
He disappeared down the creaking, swaying stairs before Gary could reach the doorway to stop him. Gary gave Meg a look, to which she returned a shrug, and headed down into the cellar with her close behind.
Jay glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others were following. He almost tripped over the discarded head of a lawn sprinkler as he came off the bottom step onto the bare dirt floor. "Shit!" He kicked it reflexively with his foot and sent it crashing into a pile of old aluminum cooking pots just a few feet away, where it registered with a "clang".
The ceiling was low, with the joists for the floor above uncovered, causing the light from the single bulb to scatter in odd patterns over an accumulation of old kitchen utensils, lawn mower parts, books, and more that had been collected into piles that spilled into the outer darkness near the stone cellar walls.
Jay held his palms up in front of his face. He had braced himself against the filthy walls as he came down the stairs and they were covered with dirt and grime. He felt a hand come down firmly on his shoulder and give it a squeeze.
"Okay," said Gary. "Let’s get back upstairs."
"Oh, come on," said Meg. "You might as well let us have a look around. We’re here, after all."
Gary flipped on his flashlight and played it over the piles of junk. He stopped to think for a moment. "Okay, I guess it won’t hurt anything."
Meg slipped her way past him. Jay pulled the Mag Lites from his pocket and handed one to her. They switched them on and stepped off into the rubbish. Meg bumped up against one of the piles of newspapers and it collapsed, throwing up a cloud of dust.
She coughed, waving her hand in front of her face, and said, "God, what a mess."
Gary stepped up beside her and ran his light up and down her body to make sure she wasn’t hurt. "I guess he didn’t believe in being tidy. The whole house is like this. Piles of stuff everywhere."
"I don’t think it was just Gene," said Jay. "Did you notice that calendar on the cellar door? The date?"
"Yeah. Kinda creepy. As if things just stopped," replied Gary.
Jay waded into the piles of junk through one of the few clear paths, the high-intensity beam from his torch cutting into the gloom. He was watching where he stepped and missed seeing the large cobweb that draped his face like a caul. He banged his knuckles on one of the joists as he swung his hand up to rub away the web. His flashlight flared wildly along the rotted wood of the floor above.
"You okay, there, man?" asked Gary.
"Yeah, yeah. Just a little dirtier."
Jay and Gary walked side-by-side until they reached an open space in front of the furnace. Gary reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes and a book of matches. He shook the pack, but it was empty. He crushed it in his hand as he took a look around him at the maze of junk. "Mebbe now would be as good a time to give them up as any, anyways."
He opened the heavy cast iron, grated door on the old coal furnace and tossed the crushed pack into it. When he slammed the door shut, instead of a metallic sound, it was more like the thud of something heavy landing on a plush carpet. Great, thick flakes of rust broke off where the door and side of the furnace met.
"What’s so important?" Gary asked.
Meg joined them. As they talked, the flashlights in their moving hands continued to probe like searching fingers. "We don’t think that Gene is the man you want. Well, whatever it is…"
Her voice trailed off as she realized that maybe the idea was still a little too ill-formed and crazy to be accepted by the uninitiated.
Jay started to head back into the surrounding rubbish and thought better of it. When he turned back around, the beam from his flashlight hit the furnace, which looked to him like Shiva. The ductwork reminded him of the goddess' arms. She had supported the house above and all its contents for a long time and looked tired.
Jay examined the furnace as he decided to make the leap that Meg could not. "Gene may be stupid. Even mean. But you can’t honestly believe he could kill people. He was a bully and had to run to Frank whenever he got into trouble." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Meg shaking her head.
Jay nodded as he said, to her, "It’s okay, honey." He turned back to Gary. "We think that Frank’s the one you should be looking for."
"You know, you don’t really need an insanity defense for trespassing. Frank’s dead. You were there. You saw it."
Jay acted as if Gary hadn’t spoken and turned to Meg. "I don’t think that there would be enough open space down here."
"Not from what Abe was saying," she replied.
Jay headed for a corner of the cellar, calling back to Gary over his shoulder, "Well, he’s back. Gene went a little too far with the brotherly love bit. I'm dying to hear your explanation, though."
Gary cleared his throat and said, "I figure Gene’s using the
hearts as part of some sick ritual. Some sort of satanic stuff."
Meg pulled an empty plastic gallon jug from a bin next to her and held it to her nose. The stink caused her to wretch. "I think I’m going to be sick." She headed back to the stairs and sat down.
Jay said, "Now you know how I feel." He turned back to Gary. "I’ve been having these dreams where I’m actually there when people are being killed. I see things as if I’m the killer. And I hear Frank’s voice."
"Maybe I should lock you up with Gene. And that old fart Abe, too. I know he talked you into this stuff. I've been watching him since he moved to town. I saw you with him the other day. That's his kind of mumbo jumbo. You’re just seeing shit that ain’t there."
Jay wondered whether he should be flattered that Gary had taken such an interest in the people he hung out with, local homeland security at work, then kicked at the base of an old wringer washer with the toe of his new suede work boots. It left a rusty scuff. "There’s got to be something to it. How else would I know about the hearts being taken? You didn’t release that to the press."
Gary paused while Jay dusted off the sleeves of his coat. The powdery cloud he raised got up into his nose and caused him to sneeze.
"You’re right about that," said Gary. "I didn’t say anything to the press. But I still don’t go along with this stuff you’re tryin’ to sell me here."
Jay sighed. "I don’t think that we’re going to find anything, anyway."
Gary went on. "We looked all through the house. He didn't leave any evidence lying around. From the way he acted the other day when he was pulling that girl’s car out of the ditch with the tow truck, I think he
knew we were on to him and he got rid of whatever he had around here. Let’s go."
Meg stood and set her hands firmly on her hips. "Oh please."
Jay turned to take a last look around the cellar and his eyes fell on the old coal furnace. This time, though, from a different angle, he noticed some new ductwork that tied into the original system. When he followed it down, he discovered that there was a newer furnace installed behind the old one.
He walked over to the old furnace and patted it on the side. "This is a coal furnace."
Gary turned his flashlight on it. "Yeah, so?"
"So where’s the coal bin? I remember when we used to come over here to play; there was an old coal bin. It still had some coal piled in it that was left over after they installed the propane furnace. We used to play in the damn thing."
Jay scanned the cellar with his flashlight, running it across the walls until it came to one particularly high and large pile of old paint cans and car parts. There, just barely visible along its crest, was the top of a wide door.
"Goddamit," said Gary. "I told them to check every inch."
Jay walked over and began pulling junk from the base of the pile and throwing it off to the sides. He was soon joined by Meg and Gary. Even though it was freezing in the cellar, and their breaths were clouds as they hit the air, he soon had perspiration running down his forehead and into his eyes.
He pulled off the parka and threw it onto the floor. His shirt was soaked through, but he didn’t feel the cold. The little wisps of steam that rose from his body combined with his steam-engine puffs of breath made it look like he was burning with an invisible fire.
When they finally reached the door, he could see that the section around the latch was fitted with new, unfinished wood and a shiny, new brass padlock. "Here!"
Meg took a look at the lock; a large, barrel-shaped combination lock with a thick hasp securing some heavy-duty hardware that kept out the uninvited. Or kept in the undesirable. "Whatever is in there, he sure considers it valuable." She sniffed the air. "What is that new stink?"
Gary stepped up to the door and took a good whiff along the doorjamb. His nose wrinkled. "I’ll be damned, it smells like…"
Jay interrupted, "Let’s just get this open and worry about the smell later! Come on. Let’s clear the rest of the door."
As soon as they had moved the rest of the flotsam blocking the door, he Jay grabbed a heavy piece of one inch metal pipe lying on the floor and began beating on the lock. After half a dozen tries, Gary put his hand on Jay’s shoulder and patted his holstered gun. "Here, let me try," he suggested.
"No." And Jay gave it one more mighty blow, bringing down the pipe with both arms. The hasp gave way and Jay tossed the pipe away.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over his mouth and nose as he slowly turned the knob on the door. The latch clicked. The rusty hinges protested with a loud squealing creak as he slowly opened the door. He wasn’t sure what to expect on the other side, but he knew that whatever it was, it wasn’t likely to be very pleasant.
Jay had tossed aside his flashlight, along with his coat, when he’d started working on the pile that was hiding the door. Now, standing here facing a stinking, dark hole, he was wishing he had both of them back, just for what little protection they might give against what he might find lurking on the other side of the doorway.
"Oh. Shit. What the hell is that," he asked, as dank, sour air rolled out of the coal bin and almost knocked him off his feet. It wasn’t a crazy theory or an old man’s fantastic idea. It was real. Gary would know it now, too, and Meg, if she hadn’t before.
One last bit of wishful thinking struck him right before he stepped across the threshold- if he didn’t go into the coal bin or even just shine a light into it from the doorway, then he could act like none of this was really happening and he would wake up back in bed, hung over, alone.
He felt around for a light switch. He remembered there having been one all those years ago. He couldn’t quite place the smell. It was sickly-sweet and after the initial blast of stale air when he had opened the door, it had settled to an annoying background level.
Jay felt along the edge of the doorway until his fingers found a switch like the one at the top of the stairs. He twisted it, there was a buzz, and a single bulb, coated in years’ worth of coal dust and grime, illuminated the room.
Just as he had remembered, there was a pile of coal that spilled from the far wall, leaving about a ten by ten space cleared near the door. In that space, there was a cot with a blanket. Next to the cot was a single kitchen chair set up beside an overturned television tray. Jay thought to himself that it wasn’t a very comfortable setup, even for a dead guy. As he moved into the room, the source of the smell became apparent.
The light from the single bulb was dusky twilight, shot through with a cloud of dust that glittered and swam in the room's illumination as it was joined by the brighter, harsher light of the Mag Lites.
As the beam from Jay's flashlight played across the room, reaching out for the heap of coal at the back of the bin, it hit bits of tail, tufts of fur, strips of dried flesh, and the skulls of any number of small animals.
Jay wasn’t sure what they all were. Some looked like birds, others he knew for a fact were squirrels; memories of days as a kid playing in the woods and finding some wormy remains.
There was only one window in this part of the cellar, and it was painted over. Black. The metal door where the chute had once allowed a delivery truck to dump it’s load directly into the bin from the outside had a thick metal plate welded over it, so that whatever or whomever was kept here wouldn’t be able to easily escape. It had deep dents and when he scrambled up to the top of the pile of coal to take a closer look, Jay saw that there were the outlines of someone’s knuckles in some of them.
"What must you be like now, Frank?" he asked himself.
He scrabbled back down to the floor, sending large pieces of bituminous sliding down ahead of him and raising a cloud of black lung seeds. While he had been examining the chute door, Meg and Gary had made a discovery of their own which would lead them both to very different conclusions.
Opposite the cot, against the wall, and just barely discernible in the dim light, was an altar. Well, it was like no altar anyone would see in a church. It was a panel of plywood laid across two wooden horses.
The way to know something is an altar and not just some run of the mill work table is by what tools of the trade are laid out on it. This one had two candles, a dagger, a book, and a shallow bowl.
The candles were deep red, almost black like some ripe, sweet cherries. They’d been burned down about halfway. The dagger had an ebony handle, turned and carved so that it looked like knotted rope that wove round itself. The blade was highly polished and gleamed in the light, even though all but the tip was coated with dust. The blade curved around to a fat, sharp point at the tip and for about an inch from that point, it had a crust that matched the color of the candles.
"Looks like dried blood," said Gary. He shined his flashlight into the bowl. There was a little residue in the bottom of it that was similar to that on the knife. "I knew it. Rituals."
While Gary was making his observation, Meg caught Jay’s attention and fingered the cover of the book. He walked over beside her and took a look at it as he spoke with Gary.
"This is the place. Gene must have been feeding Frank whatever he could lay his hands on. Just like Abe said."
"What are you talking about? You're not starting in on that again?"
Jay’s fingertips slid slowly across the tight leather surface of the book. It had an embossed pentacle on the cover and each of its points terminated in a burnt-orange-colored flame. He dragged the tip of his index finger across one of them and it burned as if he’d taken a red-hot straight pin and poked it into his flesh.
"This is what we’re looking for," he announced.
Gary grabbed for the book and was able to latch onto it with a fi
rm grip before Jay could stop him.
"This is evidence. All of this stuff is. And I don’t think that I would go around spreading your dream story. People might decide you had something to do with all this."
Gary absently rubbed his thumb over the binding.
"This doesn’t feel like any leather I’ve ever handled."
Jay looked him in the eye and said, matter-of-factly, "That’s because it’s made from human skin."
Even with all his years as a cop, there were still some things that could take him unawares and elicit a physical reaction. He winced and reflexively loosened his grip on the book. It dropped to the floor at Meg’s feet. She jumped back and fell onto the coal pile.
Jay calmly bent down and retrieved the book while Gary held out a hand to Meg and pulled her to her feet. As she pushed off the coal with her left hand, it slid along something smooth and slick. It felt as if she had taken her hand and pressed it into leaves that had fallen onto a patch of mud.
When Meg was back on her feet, she took a look back at the spot where she had fallen. Staring back at her from the pile of coal was an eyeless human skull. Well, not eyeless. The slimy piece of scalp that had been ripped loose as Meg scrambled to her feet covered the eyes.
She looked at the skull and then her hand. Her eyes went wide and she screamed. It wasn’t one of those long, piercing wails. It was a high-pitched peep that turned to a croak as the muscles in Meg's throat were constricted by her shock at the realization that the goo stuck to the palm of her hand was rotting human flesh.
Jay slipped his arms around her and pulled her up close. She buried her face in his shoulder. He could feel her shivering and nuzzled and kissed the top of her head. "It's all right. Shhhhh..."
Gary stepped up and shined his light on it. The freshly exposed bone of the skull gleamed white, but his interest was focused on the marks around where the ears had once been. They looked like they had been gnawed off, like the meat on a barbecued rib at a Labor Day picnic. He kicked a lump of coal and it caused a slide which uncovered the partially decomposed remains of someone with the name "Hal" stitched on his shredded gas company uniform.