by Peter Nealen
I ducked around the back corner, skidding to a halt. I turned, leaned around the corner, and fired. Again there was that curiously flat, echoless boom, and the thing staggered again, black ichor spilling from another shattered eye. I levered another round into the chamber, fired another shot as it pawed at its eyes with its twisted front feet, then turned and ran again.
I should have known better than to keep going in that direction. I was heading for the front of the church when the thing humped itself around the corner I was running toward.
I couldn’t quite avoid the tongue this time. It didn’t get a purchase on me, but it smacked me in the shoulder, sending me flying. Acid and venom burned my shirt and seared my shoulder. The pain was excruciating, and I landed hard, hitting the fence that surrounded the little Catholic cemetery.
It knocked the wind out of me, and I almost lost the rifle. I struggled to suck in my breath, trying to lever my feet under me, as the thing started to close the distance. I couldn’t let it get close to me. If it got a good strike in with that tongue, I was a goner. I didn’t even want to think about what it would do if it got closer than that.
I brought my rifle up, took shaky aim, and fired. It shuddered as the bullet smacked into its belly, but kept coming. I brought the gun down from recoil and squeezed again.
Click.
For a split second I just stared at the rifle. I couldn’t believe it. I’d lost track of my round count. Then I rolled painfully away as that horrible tongue came slamming down, adding to the damage I’d already done to the cemetery fence by hitting it.
Gritting my teeth against the pain in my shoulder, my ribs, and my back, I scrambled halfway to my feet and half-ran, half-stumbled away, following the fence. If I could get into the cemetery, I might have another obstacle to put between myself and that thing, however temporary.
The thing hopped closer. The next powerful swipe of its tongue missed me but smashed a section of the white-painted fence to kindling. So much for that idea.
I was starting to get some speed going, and with shaking fingers, yanked more rounds out of my bandolier, thumbing them into the rifle’s action as I ran. It wasn’t the most graceful run ever, but I was getting some distance from the toad-thing, and that was all that mattered. I made for the back of the church.
Sounds were still strangely flat. Combined with the fact that nobody had apparently noticed the gunshots and property damage going on out here suggested that there was more going on than just a gigantic toxic toad monster.
I heard more squishy thumps behind me. The thing was hopping farther, trying to close the distance. I didn’t dare stop and turn to shoot at it; I was hobbling too slowly.
Beyond the back of the church were only pitch-black woods. I didn’t dare go in there, not that night. Not with a nightmare behind me, and some sorcery keeping my plight from even being noticed. Who knows what was waiting back there in the darkness? Probably something that would make the toad-monster seem almost inviting.
I was starting to get my wind back. I took two more strides, as though I was heading for the trees, then ducked around the corner of the church. That tongue smacked against the siding, missing me by a mile.
As soon as it impacted, it recoiled with a loud hiss. I glanced back to see smoke curling in the faint light coming from the parish house, but there was no scorching on the boards. It barely registered at first, especially as the thing was getting frustrated, and covered almost twenty feet in one bound, shaking the ground when it hit, way too close to me. I spun and fired two shots as fast as I could work the action. It staggered again, giving me the chance to try to the back door to the sacristy. I’d had an idea.
It was locked. I shot the thing a third time, reared back, and kicked the door in. I’d fix it for Father Pat later. I rushed past the splintered doorjamb, and into the sacristy.
I turned around as the thing loomed, glistening and repulsive, in the doorway, and had to immediately throw myself backward as that tongue whipped inside, reaching for me. Acid and venom splashed on my shirt, burning holes and scorching my skin, but it couldn’t quite make it, and the thing didn’t seem to be willing to cross the threshold. It stomped its flat feet hard enough to send a shudder through the building, and it croaked, gurgled, and screamed angrily. Its noises were like claws scraping across my brain.
I shot it six more times, emptying the rest of the Winchester’s tube into it. It staggered and thrashed under the impacts, but just lashed its tongue at me more violently in its painful rage. I caught a couple of ends of it, leaving searing pain behind, as I ducked and dodged. I was pretty well out of its reach for the moment, but my shots hadn’t really slowed it down all that much.
Finally, as it brought its tongue slithering back into its mouth prior to shooting it at me again, I dashed for the door to the sanctuary. I made it by a hair—the tongue smashed into the jamb, again leaving smoke, a gurgling scream of agony that was like having icepicks rammed in my ears, and not a single mark on the church’s structure.
The churchyard hadn’t been enough to slow it down, much less stop it, but coming in physical contact with the church itself hurt it. I had an idea. I sent up a quick prayer that the Lord would be with me on this, and headed for the front door.
The croaking bellows and shrieks from the back door suddenly stopped, and I heard the heavy thumping that told me the thing was trying to get around front to cut me off. Good.
I stopped in the foyer and waited until I was pretty sure it was out there, waiting for me. Then I yanked open the door.
I’d left the interior doors leading to the sanctuary propped open. When I whipped open the front door, the thing had a direct line of sight to the tabernacle.
The scream that was ripped from the thing was even more horrible and ear-searing than any other sound it had made. It staggered, shaking its entire body, trying to cover its remaining eyes with its flapping forefeet. It rocked backward, trying to get away from the sacred sight that was burning it.
I finished thumbing the last round into the Winchester’s magazine, raised the rifle to my shoulder, and fired.
The gigantic toad thing splashed into a cascade of tarry muck, spreading out until it was nothing more than a black, viscous puddle with the mangled remains of a bullfrog lying in the middle of it.
I was still sitting there on the church steps when the sun started to turn the sky pale gray to the east, my pistol reloaded and in my waistband behind my back, the Winchester loaded and lying across my knees.
Father Pat was the first one to come over, but Johnny wasn’t far behind.
“Thank God, Jed,” Father Pat said. He was fully dressed, though his Roman collar was slightly askew. “I looked out the window and saw your truck… What happened?”
I pointed at the puddle of ichor that was starting to steam as the sun rose. It hurt to move my arm. It hurt to move anything. My head ached like it was in a vise, my ears were ringing, my muscles were sore, and where I’d been splashed by the thing’s tongue burned like crazy. “That happened,” I said. “I owe you a door repair in back, by the way.”
Johnny walked up from his car, staring at the damage and the black, oily puddle. “When did this happen?” he asked. “How come I didn’t get a call?”
“Yes, why didn’t I hear all of this?” Father Pat asked. “Your truck’s wrecked, the fence to the cemetery is smashed, and your rifle casings are all over the place. I should have at least heard the shots.”
“There was some heavy-duty sorcery going on here last night,” I said. I pointed to the puddle again. “At about three in the morning, that was a half-ton, slimy, toxic toad with a fifteen-foot tongue. Now, well…you can see what it is now. Don’t touch that,” I said loudly, exacerbating my own headache, as Johnny squatted down and reached out a finger toward the puddle of ichor. “Let the sun burn it off. And don’t inhale the fumes off it, either.” He snatched his hand away, apparently willing to take my word for it. “There was something muffling all the sound,” I c
ontinued. “I couldn’t even hear echoes of any of the gunshots. It was like there was a bubble of some kind capturing all the noise.”
Father Pat’s already lined face creased further with concern as he studied me, taking in my rather bedraggled state. “You think Mayhew sent it.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “Unless he’s not actually the one calling the shots, yes,” I replied. “But I’m pretty sure he got the idea that I wasn’t just some mundane PI when I talked to him yesterday. I think he recognized what I am and why I’m here as soon as I walked into that place.”
“So what do we do about it?” Johnny asked. “We can’t have this kind of thing going on.”
I laughed painfully. “You can’t go arrest him for sorcery,” I said. “Last I checked, that’s not on the books.” I winced as I tried to stand up. “No, you’re going to have to leave this to me.”
“I can’t do that,” Johnny protested. “Look, Jed, I know you’ve done some good around here, but I can’t just let you take matters into your own hands, especially since, from the looks of this place, it’s going to get plenty violent before this is over. I’m the law here, and I’ve got to enforce it. That means I can’t have a vigilante handling things, no matter how righteous I think he is.” He looked at the ground, his eyes straying to the ichor, which was starting to evaporate as the sun started to filter through the tops of the trees on the east ridge. “Especially since another girl was taken last night.”
That got my attention. “Another one?”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “Not just vanished this time, either. She was taken from her room. The place was trashed, definite signs of a struggle, some blood, and something written on the wall in the same blood.”
“Show me,” I said immediately. I didn’t want him even trying to pronounce what might have been written.
Father Pat put his hand on my shoulder as I tried to get up. Not only did I hurt, but I’d been awake since before three in the morning. “I think we should get you taken care of, first,” he suggested.
I shook my head. “No time,” I rasped. “He’s already sent one monster after me, and when he figures out it failed, provided he didn’t find out as soon as I killed it, he’s going to turn up the heat. We’ve got to dig this corruption out and burn it before he gets what he wants.” I was starting to have a grave suspicion about what he was trying to do. You didn’t go to these lengths if you were just dabbling.
I got to my feet with a final lunge. The blood rushed out of my head and I passed out.
I opened my eyes in darkness.
It wasn’t total darkness. As I sat up, I could see the valley and the town as blurred shadows, black against dark gray. The sky was a roiling mass of darkened cloud.
Not everything was black, though. The rift splitting Main Street sure wasn’t.
The lurid glow coming out of that crack in the ground was at once red, green, purple, orange, and somehow black, while being none of them. It made my head hurt to look at it. Even worse was the swirling maelstrom in the sky directly above it.
I felt more than saw the figure standing next to me. I turned to face it.
Now, you might expect a guardian angel to look like a flawless young man with golden hair in a white robe. While I’m sure he could have appeared like that, mine has never chosen to. Instead, he looks more like Sam Elliot—white hair, weathered face, thick white handlebar mustache. He appears in jeans, Western shirt, and a white vest most of the time, and that was the way he was dressed this time.
I didn’t need an introduction. I never had. Though he’d never said his name, I sort of instinctively knew who he was. That’s rare dealing with spirits—that’s why communicating with them is so dangerous. You rarely know exactly what you’re talking to. But for some reason, there’d never been any doubt with him.
I nodded toward the rift. “Is that what I think it is?” I asked.
He nodded solemnly. “As close a representation of the edge of the Abyss as your mind can process.” He even sounded like Sam Elliot. “Watch carefully.”
I turned my attention back to the rift just in time to see something stir beneath the glow, looking almost like a whale just below the surface of the ocean. A huge whale, bigger than an aircraft carrier. Glancing up, I saw the shadow mirrored in the maelstrom in the sky.
“That’s what Mayhew’s trying to call up?” I asked. The sight of that leviathan had just scared me far more than the toad monster had. “Is he insane?”
“Like most people who try to deal with the Abyss,” he said, “he’s probably got no idea what he’s dealing with, not really. He thinks he does; thinks he’s got everything under control. But that…” he pointed, as the enormous beast rolled to the top of the rift again, “…is far more dangerous and powerful than he can imagine. I won’t say his name, not here. Too likely to attract his attention; he can reach this place. But if he gets loose, the world’s going to see horror like it never has before. He is full of more hate and destruction than you can imagine.”
“No pressure or anything,” I said wryly.
“If you didn’t want any pressure, Jed, you shouldn’t have accepted this job,” he replied with a rather un-angelic snort that fit his appearance perfectly.
I sobered. “How am I supposed to stop that?” I asked.
“Stop Mayhew,” he replied. “Rally what allies you can in the town; in spite of the evil that’s blanketed Silverton for fifty years, there are still those who are Faithful. We will do what we can on this plane; the physical world is up to you.”
He fixed me with his eyes. As human as they looked, at least superficially, there was something to his eyes that made it all but impossible to look away. “Jed, this is important. You can’t fail. If you do, a lot of people are going to suffer for it. I can’t say how much we might be able to interfere; you know how the rules are. The Captain might intervene if things get too far out of hand, but he’s held his hand back before, if it appeared that the place wasn’t worth saving. Better if it doesn’t come to that. Stop this, while you still can.”
Then I woke up.
Chapter 7
I came to on Father Pat’s couch. It was dark, but a look around revealed that the blinds were drawn. There was low conversation coming from behind me, and some rustling of papers, like somebody was searching for something.
My shirt was gone, and the burns and wounds from my fight with the toad monster had been dressed and bandaged. My .45 and my Winchester were both within easy reach, along with my bandolier. I swung my feet to the floor and checked my weapons. They were both loaded, with rounds in the chambers.
A whisper of movement caught my eye, and I was half turned, .45 in hand and off safe, before I realized who it was.
Eryn was sitting in a chair behind the back of the couch, facing the door, with a shotgun across her knees. I met her green eyes as she raised one red eyebrow at me. I realized that while I didn’t have the pistol precisely aimed at her, it wasn’t exactly pointed away, either. I lowered it a bit sheepishly.
“Do you usually wake up ready to shoot someone?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised,” I replied, somewhat surprised myself that I’d managed some semblance of wit. “How long was I out?”
“About four hours,” she replied, getting up and stretching after she leaned the shotgun against the back of the couch. I’ll confess, it looked awful nice when she stretched. I got a mite distracted for a moment. “Which I’m pretty sure isn’t nearly enough after last night, but I doubt you’re going to be persuaded to go back to sleep.”
I shook my head. “Can’t. I’m pretty sure we’re on the clock here.” I looked around. “Where’s my shirt?”
She pointed to my duffel bag, lying next to the end of the couch. “We couldn’t really save your shirt,” she said apologetically. “It was too mangled. We brought your stuff inside, though, before the tow truck came for your pickup.”
I hadn’t even thought about the state of my truck. I groaned. “
It’s pretty well trashed, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. All the windows were broken, there was a lot of damage to the engine, and Johnny thinks the frame is bent. It looks like it’s totaled.”
My shoulders slumped. I’d loved that truck. Not to mention that I really didn’t have the money to buy a new one at the moment. I was not only without wheels, I was now homeless. “Damn it.”
Eryn didn’t say anything as I rummaged in my duffel for a shirt, not looking at her. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me, so I kept my eyes to myself and my mouth tightly shut until I got a lid on the wash of sorrow, fear, and anger that surged through me. I still felt her eyes on me as I pulled out a well-worn flannel shirt and tugged it on.
Father Pat and Johnny came into the living room as I finished buttoning my shirt. “How are you feeling?” Johnny asked. “You ready to go look at the missing girl’s room?”
I nodded, slipping my pistol back into my IWB holster and picking up my Winchester and bandolier. “You’ve kept anyone else from going in?” I asked.
“It’s a crime scene,” he replied matter-of-factly, and a little stiffly. His expression and tone of voice made it clear that our discussion before I’d passed out had been shelved, but not dropped. We’d have to come to an understanding about that sooner or later. “It’s taped off and Daniel is watching it. He…kind of threw up when he saw what was on the wall, and didn’t argue when I told him to keep anyone else from seeing it.”
I checked that I had everything, then looked up at him. “Let’s go.”
The house was a pretty common residential home. The siding was white, with green trim and green roofing. It looked like it had been built maybe in the ‘50s. There wasn’t a porch to speak of—just concrete steps going up to the front door. Windows flanked the front, dark squares with white curtains.
I stopped on the sidewalk, looking at the house, but also watching my peripheral vision for anything out of place. I didn’t see, hear, or smell anything, and I wasn’t getting the sense of malevolence from the place that I did from Mayhew’s center.