Tamer Animals

by Justin M. Woodward

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Rain water trickled down into the cellar, causing the dirt on the floor to quickly turn to mud. Patrick, Sam, and John sat slumped against the wall farthest from the cellar door.

  Patrick felt weak and dehydrated. He stood up slowly, in case the others were asleep, and walked over to the spot under the door. A steady stream of rainwater poured in there, and he was done asking himself if it was worth it. he positioned himself under the stream of water and drank. The water was cool and refreshing. He wondered if he would ever see the outside of this cellar again.

  “Hey,” John whispered. “Is it good?”

  “Yeah,” he answered. “It’s better than nothing.”

  “I’m not feeling so good. What d’you think that was that we ate? Christ, I might have to shit in the corner.”

  His stomach flopped at the thought of sitting in this dank cellar with the smell of someone else’s shit in his nose.

  “I really don’t know what it was,” he said. “To be completely honest I’d rather not know. I would like to know what they’re going to do with us, though.”

  “They’re going to kill us,” Sam said.

  He was startled. He honestly had thought Sam had been asleep.

  “No,” he said, running his hands under the stream of water. “I don’t plan on letting anyone hurt us at all.”

  “It will happen,” Sam said. His voice was very monotone. Very matter-of-fact. “If it’s not these people out here, it will be… him.”

  The three of them jumped when a shout came from the other side of the far wall.

  “What was that?” John said. “I thought we were underground.”

  The shouting continued.

  Patrick walked to the far wall and began feeling his hands along the boards. He wasn’t sure what he was checking for exactly, but he had seen people do this in movies. John and Sam walked over to the wall and began tapping on it in different places.

  “Here,” John said. “It’s hollow.”

  Patrick went to where John stood and rapped his knuckles against the wall.

  Thonk.

  “Let me out of here!” The voice screamed from the other side of the wall. “Let me go you fucking monsters! You can’t do this to people!”

  “Oh my God,” John exclaimed.

  “That’s Tim,” said Patrick.

  Sheriff Stanton had to drive at a snail’s pace just to keep his car on the road. Elmer sat in the passenger’s seat convulsing.

  He swerved and said, “What in the hell is wrong with you, boy?”

  Blood poured from the boy's nose splattering on the front of his pants. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Stanton pulled to the side of the road in a rush. “Are you okay, boy?” he asked.

  Elmer stopped moving for a moment. Stanton could barely hear his breath leaving his lungs, but his chest wasn't moving.

  “I'm sorry,” he said suddenly. “Your deputy is dead.”

  “Benny? What do you mean he's dead?”

  The rain pounded the roof of the car so hard that Stanton had to shout to be heard now.

  Elmer sat forward and wiped his nose on his shoulder. “He's been killed. Just up here… over the hill.”

  Stanton eyed the boy, unsure what to say. The swish-swish of the windshield wipers was driving him crazy. “I'm going to go over the hill there,” he said slowly. “And there ain't gonna be any problems.”

  Elmer didn't respond.

  Stanton pulled the car over the hill and cursed under his breath. Turning on his lights, he parked behind Benny's car.

  “Stay here,” he said. Elmer was silent, holding a McDonald's napkin under his nose to staunch the blood. Opening his door, Stanton got out of the car and Elmer saw him every other second each time the rain was wiped away from the windshield. It was like a frame-by-frame picture show.

  Flash: Stanton reaches Benny's driver door and looks in. Flash: his gun is drawn. Flash: Stanton's hands cover his mouth. Flash: Stanton runs back to the car.

  “How the fuck could you know that?” he screamed as he opened his door. His was face contorted in sickened horror.

  “I don't know,” Elmer admitted. “But do you believe me now?”

  “What do we do?” John asked in the dark cellar.

  Patrick paced along the wall that connected to the rest of the house. “I'm thinking,” he said.

  “Why can we hear Tim so well?” Sam said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I know he was screaming, but it sounded like he was in here with us.”

  Patrick looked around the room, scanning every corner. “John, do you still have that lighter?”

  “Yeah,” John said as he dug in his pocket and handed him the lighter. Flicking it on, Patrick held it up high over his head. “There,” he said, pointing above the paneling. “There's a vent.”

  “That's it!” John exclaimed. “We're going to get out of here!”

  “I don't know. That hole is pretty small.” He thought of Sam. He thought of how much weight he had lost this year. He didn't want to ask—

  “I can fit through there,” Sam said.

  “I don't like it. It's not safe.”

  “Staying in here isn't safe. Staying in here means we die. You know it.”

  He did know it. He frowned, thinking of Dean. Why had he been so stubborn?

  “You take this with you for light,” he said, holding out the lighter. “Be careful, and don't let them see you. Just find a way to come let us out.”

  “Got it.”

  He was blown away by his little brother's courage. What would those dipshits who had picked on him all year say if they knew what he was really like?

  “We'll have to boost him up,” John said.

  They both put their hands under Sam's feet and slowly pushed him up until his fingers gripped the edge of the vent.

  “Just a little bit more,” he said.

  They stood on their toes now, using all their strength to balance him. With one final push, he successfully climbed into the hole. Once inside, he turned around and gave them a thumbs-up.

  “Remember,” Patrick said, “be as quiet as you can. Get outside and open the latch.”

  Sam nodded, turned, and he was gone.

  Stanton didn't need any more convincing about Elmer's gift. Going against his better judgement and fully aware that his job would be on the line, he left the scene of the crime with Elmer.

  “I can't believe I'm doing this,” he said. “If anyone finds out I left the scene without calling it in… well, I don't have to tell you what would happen. But if I stay, there's no telling when I could leave. Probably be tied up for hours. And Benny…”

  “I'm sorry about your friend. I didn't see that coming soon enough.” Elmer stared at the floorboard.

  “I don't blame you, son. But Benny was a good kid. He deserved better than that.”

  Turning left in the direction of the Coheelee Creek Covered Bridge, he continued. “Can we really stop it? These other kids. Can we stop them from dying?”

  Elmer looked at Stanton, pretending not to notice the tears in his eyes and said, “I hope so.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sam only flicked the lighter on once. The vent was completely dark, and he needed to see where to go. First it curved right, then left, until it came to a stop. He crawled on his belly like a soldier storming the Normandy Beaches. His breath was shallow, and he fought to keep it as quiet as possible. Looking down through the open vent, Sam couldn't see much of anything. The room was in total darkness, and his eyes could just barely make out a table sitting below the vent.

  If I'm lucky, he thought, I can slide down onto the table without making too much noise.

  He wasn't sure what he was hearing, but it sounded like there were a dozen babies simultaneously sucking their bottles sounds in the room below. A smell emanated from the area that reminded him of the pig pen on his uncle's farm. He carefully positioned himself so that his stom
ach was facing down and his feet were facing out. Inch by inch, he worked his legs out of the vent until he felt the steel table under his toes. Working to gain his footing, he felt his foot knock against something and heard breaking glass. He heard startled moaning sounds and froze.

  I don't have the upper body strength to pull myself back up, he thought as he let go of the ledge and quickly jumped down from the table.

  He landed on his feet in what felt like mud. Flies swarmed around his face like paparazzi. The stench was almost unbearable now, and Sam tried not to gag. Finding the wall, he traced his way to the door.

  He reached for the handle and almost turned it when he heard footsteps in the hall accompanied by the jingle of keys. There was a click-click-click as the key was inserted into the lock.

  His breath choked in his throat. Still unable to see his surroundings, he did the only thing he could and hid behind the door.

  Sheriff Stanton parked his car in the same spot Gary Hall's Suburban had sat. The rain had finally stopped, but the ground was soaked, and the mud was deep.

  “I'm going to leave the car running,” he said to Elmer. “I'll keep the doors locked too, so you don't have to worry about anything.”

  “I'm not staying here. Absolutely not.”

  “Son, I can't be liable for what happens to you. I shouldn't have even let you get in the car in the first place.”

  “You need my help. Or, actually, I need your help. Remember that I came to you for help, I could have done this on my own. If you leave, I'll just follow behind you. I'm coming.”

  Stanton sighed. He pointed to the glovebox. “Well then, will you grab me a cigar? I need it like I need open heart surgery from a toddler but give it here anyway.”

  Elmer grabbed a cigar from the glovebox and handed it to him, then Stanton locked the car and turned on his flashlight. “Let's go,” he said.

  He shined his flashlight on the campground, but all he saw was an abandoned fire pit with some trash in it. “There's a trail up here,” he said. “Does that seem right?”

  “Yes,” Elmer replied. “It feels right.”

  Brushing limbs out of his way, Stanton asked, “So what's your story, huh? How do you know the things you know?”

  “I told you, I don't know. All I know is that it happens sometimes. Not very often, either.”

  “Is it always this serious? It's never just finding some poor family’s lost dog?”

  Elmer thought for a moment. “The first thing I remember happening was when I was six years old. My little brother and I shared bunk-beds. I woke up during the night and I saw my brother being crushed to death by the top bunk. I say saw, but I mean that it was more of a vision. Me being the older one, I had the top bunk, of course. I started smelling pennies and I noticed that I had a trail of blood coming out of my nose. I climbed down the ladder and checked on my brother, James. He was fine. I was so shaken up by the vision of his dead body that I had to wake him up. My parents said that it was just a bad dream and for us to both go back to bed. I just couldn't shake the image of James' sunken-in skull. I made him sleep on the couch with me. That night, the top bunk did fall onto the lower one. It broke in such a way that jagged pieces of wood and metal went straight through James' mattress, right where his pillow usually was.”

  Stanton whistled. “You're a hero, then. Really.”

  “It doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm responsible for everything I can't stop. That's why I'm here. I couldn't stop it all, but I had to try.”

  There was a rustling in the woods, crackling leaves and snapping twigs. Drawing his gun, Stanton held his flashlight up above his shoulder.

  “Hello?” he called.

  A screeching sound came from behind them. Wheeling around, he shined the flashlight in the direction the noise had come from.

  “Who’s out here?”

  After several moments, they continued on.

  “I hate it out here,” Stanton said. “I try to avoid it at all costs.”

  “Because there is something truly bad out here?”

  “I don't know. Maybe. I've spent my entire time in the county telling myself that kids were just having fun, but I'm not so sure of that anymore.”

  They came to the clearing where the boys had been only hours earlier.

  “Jesus,” he continued. “Someone tried to burn this tree down.”

  The tree was blackened, many of the branches had fallen off and the entire bottom half of the tree was charred. “It looks like the rain stopped it before it could burn all the way up, though,”

  “Could it be lightning that hit it?” Elmer said.

  “I don't think so. It's just the bottom that's burned.” Stanton walked under where the large branch had once stretched. Taking a few steps back, he looked up at its stump, then he got down on his knees and sifted through the ash and charred wood. After some time, he stood back up, clutching something in his hands.

  “Goddamn this thing.”

  He held up a rope with a noose tied on the end. It was perfectly intact.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sam held his breath as two men entered the room, Jeb and the one they called “Grandpa.” The door swung open hard, stopping an inch in front of Sam's nose. Sam pressed his back tight against the wall, suddenly afraid that the two men might hear his heart beating.

  The younger man jeered, “It's that time again, ladies!” He made sucking sounds with his mouth.

  Pa smacked him in the back of the head. “Will you shut the fuck up?!” he whisper-shouted. “You know we don't talk during collection. What's gotten into you today? Do you know how much scrubbing Ma is having to do in the dining room because of you? And now you talk in front of the livestock.”

  “Sorry, Pa. They're dumb as rocks, though. I didn't think it'd hurt nothin'.”

  Pa reached the far side of the room and pulled a bronze chain, lighting the room a musty yellow. Sam shrank down to the floor. He could see under the stall closest to him. There was a woman on all fours, completely naked; her breasts were hanging down in miserable flaps. Connected to her nipples were clamps which were pumping up and down.

  Oh my God, Sam thought. This can't be real.

  Jeb started whistling, and Sam heard the clank of glass jars. The squishing of feet on the floor became louder, and he realized that he had to get out of there, fast.

  Lowering himself to the floor, he could see everything. The girl had been forced onto all fours with some kind of metal contraption attached to her. Tubes ran from the pumps on her breasts and dripped into a metal bucket. A pair of boots entered the stall, and the girl began to make distressed noises. She sounded like a deaf person trying to speak.

  “Shhhh,” the man said.

  Sam began to crawl to the doorway, praying that he wouldn't be seen. He made it around the door and began to back out of the room when the girl looked over at him. Her eyes wide, she began to scream.

  “Shut her up!” Pa said from across the room.

  Sam exited the room completely and stood up. His breath was sharp and his lungs hurt. He heard a loud thwack, and the screaming stopped.

  He slunk down the dark hallway until he found the door which led into the dining room. It was locked. Sam turned around and went back the other way. Not wanting to pass the room he had just exited, he tested the only other door he could. Thankfully, it was unlocked. He opened the door, entered and shut it carefully behind him.

  The room was lit with a small lamp in the far corner. In front of him, as if on display in the middle of the room, Tim lay on a metal table, naked except for his boxers. Leather straps were wrapped around his torso and legs.

  “Tim,” Sam whispered.

  His friend turned his head slowly in his direction. He was very pale, and he seemed to be in a daze. Sam saw blood pooled under Tim's body on the table, a lot of it. He walked closer and saw why there was so much.

  Both of his arms were missing. Crude bandages covered the stumps where his arms had once been. “Oh my God,
” Sam said. He didn't know what else to say.

  Tim didn't respond.

  He heard Pa say something to Jeb through the wall. Footsteps sounded as one of them entered the hallway.

  Tim's eyes widened. His mouth opened and his tongue struggled to move. “Hide,” he said in a faint voice.

  Sam swung around wildly, looking for a place to hide. The footsteps were right outside the door. The knob turned and he dropped to the floor, rolling under a makeshift gurney against the wall. A bloody butcher's apron hung down in front of him like sheets hanging off a bed.

  Jeb entered the room. “There you are!” he said. “Thanks for sticking around.”

  Tim stared at the ceiling.

  “Hey boy,” Jeb said. “I'm talking to you. Hey, did you know that some consider it a mortal sin to play with your pecker? Look, between you and me, I don't give a shit what you do. But in the middle of the woods? In our woods? There's kids running around. Our own Luna had to see that disgrace of a prick you've got with her own eyes.”

  Tim had lost so much blood that he couldn't even tell if he still had his “prick.” He wanted to die.

  “So now, you don't have to worry about it anymore, unless you're one of those freaks who can suck his own cock. You are, aren't you? Hey, who hasn’t tried it, right?”

  Pa walked into the room. “Jeb, quit fuckin' around and help me. He's brought us a dead one. Finish up here so we can get to cutting.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jeb said.

  Pa turned and left the room. Jeb turned back to Tim. “Discount on aisle five!” He said with a laugh. “Hey, frozen is cheaper for a reason. But, as the song says, you can't always get what you want.”

  Jeb started to untie the leather straps that held Tim down. “Do you remember the knife?” He said. “The one I used on your arms?”