314 Book 2 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  The building had a plain concrete façade for the first level, with arched nooks that receded a few steps from the walkway and had doors in them. There were gold numbers above the arches, but other than that there were no decorations on the building other than the concert posters that people had taped to the concrete. There were windows starting on the second floor, each with a black wire basket meant for flowers, all of which were now empty.

  Mindy tried to open the door and found it locked. “God damn it!” She checked her watch, and then stepped back to look up at the address. “This is the right place.” She went back to the entrance and tried to open it again, unsuccessfully, before peering in through the sliver of window to the side of the door.

  “Let’s just get in someplace warm,” said Nia. “Forget this place. I didn’t want to do this anyhow.”

  “Wait,” said Mindy. “Someone’s coming.”

  The person on the other side undid the locks, a series of clicks and clacks, until finally opening the door. A skittish man stood before them, shorter than Nia but taller than Mindy. He had a coat on, not unlike Nia’s, which looked comically large on his thin frame. He pushed his glasses up his long, skinny nose, and then looked the girls up and down, as if trying to discern why they were there.

  “Howdy,” said Mindy after they spent a few odd moments waiting for the man to speak. “We’re here for the psychic test. Do we have the right place?”

  “Oh, yes, yes,” said the man. He had a very deep, scratchy voice, which didn’t fit with his appearance at all. He looked unhealthy, with a yellow or green pallor and bloodshot eyes. Nia was reminded of Lurch from The Adams Family, except this man was a shrunken version of the creepy butler. “We thought we’d close early. Not much activity this day. Odd for city so large. Thought we’d find more of you.” His stilted dialogue and unidentifiable accent added to the sense of unease that was growing in Nia.

  “I thought you were open until three,” said Mindy.

  “Yes, we are,” said the grim man. “It’s almost three now.”

  “So are you closed or can we come in?” asked Mindy.

  “Come, come. Yes, come.” The man backed away, and Nia was surprised he didn’t limp and reveal a hunched back. He would be the perfect ticket-taker at a haunted house.

  “Let’s go,” said Mindy as she took her reluctant friend’s hand.

  The man that had greeted them waited by the side of the door as the girls went into the hallway. The inside of the building smelled like burned food, or cooking oil, and Nia wondered if there was a restaurant on the other side. The hallway’s walls were painted dark grey, and there were doors on either side with empty placards beside them. Apparently this office building had a lack of tenants.

  “Go straight ahead,” said the man behind them as he closed the door. He proceeded to lock the various latches and deadbolts on the creaking old door. “Watch for the blood.”

  “For the what?” asked Nia, shocked and hoping she’d heard him wrong.

  The man pointed at a line of drops on the tile floor that came from under one of the doors and then went down the hall several feet before turning and disappearing under another door. The pattern of droplets were staggered, with some small and close together, while others were large and spread out.

  “Fuck this shit,” said Nia, a rare outburst of curses from the otherwise quiet girl. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Chill out,” said Mindy to her friend before speaking louder to the other man. “What’s with the blood? What happened?”

  “Little accident,” said the man as he walked over to join them. He pointed at the droplets and then looked at the girls with a wide, yellow-toothed grin. “Nothing to scare us. Nothing to bother about. Walk ahead. Come with me, dear.”

  He went ahead without them and Mindy was about to go along when Nia held her back. “What?” asked Mindy in a whisper.

  “Are you kidding me?” Nia was exasperated as she pointed at the blood. “What the heck?”

  “The blood? Oh please, that’s nothing. Probably just a bloody nose or something. What’s with you? Why are you freaking out?”

  Nia spoke in an angry whisper with her teeth clenched as she looked over at the man that was still walking away from them. “Let’s start with the weirdo over there. Add to that the blood on the floor and I’m well past ready to get out of here.”

  “Are you coming?” asked the man from far down the corridor as he stood beside one of the doors, his hands clasped in front of him as if standing guard.

  “In a sec,” Mindy called out to him as she held up her finger. Then she focused back on Nia with an emerging grin and a quick chuckle before accusing her, “You’re scared.”

  “Damn right I’m scared!” Nia had to remember to be quiet, because she felt like screaming. “What the heck else has to happen before you get scared too? If they were casting a serial killer for a torture porn that dude would be at the top of the list.”

  “Oh stop it,” said Mindy. “They probably hired a homeless guy to help out. Stop being so judgmental.”

  “Ladies,” said the odd man down the hall, “we really must be hurried. They are packing up.” He tapped his wrist, but wasn’t wearing a watch.

  “I’m going,” said Mindy to Nia.

  “I’m not,” said Nia. “I’ll wait outside.”

  “Are you for real?” asked Mindy. “You’re going to let me go in there by myself? Come on, Nia. Don’t be like that.”

  Nia looked at the blood trail, and then at the old man beckoning them to the door further down the hall. “If something goes wrong, I’ll never forgive you for this,” said Nia as she took Mindy’s hand and walked toward the stranger. She stepped carefully over the dark red blood.

  Chapter 3 – Into Hell

  Parents often lie to their young children by telling them that lemons are sweet like oranges. They slice one up and offer it to the trusting toddler so they can laugh at him once he takes his first bite. Then the parents laugh as their kid’s lips pucker and he throws the lemon aside. It’s funny because the child has never tasted a sour lemon before, and it works because the boy trusted his parents.

  Terror works in a similar way. Adults have learned how awful the world is, if not through their own experiences then certainly through the constant stream of sensationalized violence trumpeted on the nightly news. We know how terrible the world can be, or at least we have a better idea of it than our children do. We struggle to protect our babies from the harsh realities of the world, and let them discover it for themselves, slowly over time. Their innocence fades, slowly but surely, until they become disenchanted like their parents before them.

  However, if you give them the terror all at once, a sour indoctrination of evil like the lemon handed to a trusting child, they shatter. To watch the innocence of a child be crushed all at once is a horrible thing, certain to feed nightmares for a lifetime; certain to haunt whole towns if they could.

  Lost In Widowsfield

  “It’s like I’m remembering something that happened a long time ago,” said Alma.

  Jacker had pulled the van to the side of the road as the group tried to make sense of the music teacher’s ramblings. She was frantic, and paced as she continued to try and explain herself. Heavy grey clouds loomed above, a common sight throughout the Midwest, and it seemed as if rain was imminent. It was humid, though there wasn’t much heat, which prevented the stickiness of southern states but left a feeling of wetness on the skin.

  “Like it’s a memory from when I was a child, but I know it really happened. Does that make sense?” asked Alma, on the brink of tears as the others spoke to her in delicate tones, as if trying to goad a jumper off a ledge.

  “I’m sure it’s just this place,” said Rachel. “It’s affecting you somehow.”

  “Absolutely,” said Jacker. “It’s screwing with all of us. I remember everything up to us pulling over to talk about heading around the fence to get into the town. Then all I know is we were here,
headed out.” He glanced back at the sign welcoming them to Widowsfield. It was freshly painted and there were lights above that pointed down at the billboard. “And was that here before? I don’t remember that at all.” The others were all focused on something else and didn’t answer Jacker.

  “Guys, my camera’s dead,” said Stephen as he tossed the useless equipment back into its case and slammed the van’s back door shut. “All of this equipment is dead.”

  “You said something about kids,” said Aubrey as she wiped a tear off her cheek. She’d been complaining about her eye since they were in the van, leaving Widowsfield. “What do you remember?”

  “It’s all muddled,” said Alma. “But I know there was a group of kids, all around ten or eleven years old. They said something about a witch – about following a witch. They seemed scared, but malicious all at the same time. I don’t know how to explain it. It was like they were happy about what was going on, but sad that it had to happen.”

  “Well, I’ve heard enough,” said Jacker. “I don’t give a fuck if I ever remember what happened back there. I’m headed home. Who’s coming with me?”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Stephen. “Let’s be smart here, guys. We just experienced a real life, paranormal event. We can’t just walk away from this.”

  “You’re right,” said Jacker. “I’m planning on driving full speed away from it.”

  “Amen,” said Aubrey.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Stephen as he moved to stand in Jacker’s path. Their hefty driver did Stephen the courtesy of not pushing him out of the way. “Just hold up, big guy.” Stephen put his hand on Jacker’s chest as he tried to diffuse the tense situation. “Let’s just take a breather and talk this through.”

  “No, Stephen,” said Rachel. “They’re right. We need to get out of here. We can go back to Branson and just try to sort all of this out. We’ll get your equipment working and then figure out what our next move is.” She went to her husband’s side and put her hand on his shoulder, helping to avoid any confrontation between him and Jacker.

  Stephen was frustrated, and was about to respond, but Rachel quickly added, “What good would it do for us to go back there with a bunch of broken equipment? If we can’t even film anything, then shouldn’t we worry about fixing that first?”

  Stephen was reticent as he considered her argument.

  “You know I’m right,” said Rachel. She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him on the cheek before tousling his hair. “Come on, ghost detective. Let’s go back to the hotel and get our bearings.”

  “Okay,” said Stephen finally. “You’re right.”

  Aubrey coughed as she walked back to the van’s side door. The cough started as a response to a nearly insignificant tickle, but then strengthened until her body shook from the force. She steadied herself against the side of the van and hunched as she continued, as if something had nearly choked her.

  “What’s her deal?” asked Rachel with no attempt to hide her disdain for the young bartender.

  Alma realized that Rachel didn’t remember the conversation they’d had about how Aubrey wasn’t interested in Stephen like Rachel had suspected when the blonde girl showed up to accompany them on the trip. Alma and Rachel had spoken after the group had entered Widowsfield, and now those memories were lost to the reporter.

  “Are you okay?” asked Alma as she stood beside Aubrey. That’s when she saw blood on Aubrey’s fingers. “Oh my God. What’s the matter.”

  Aubrey fell to her knees as the coughs turned to wretches. She heaved, and her right arm began to spasm. Alma gripped her wrist, but the girl’s arm shook with incredible strength, flinging out of Alma’s hand and slamming again and again into the gravel.

  “Holy shit,” said Rachel.

  “Is she having a seizure?” asked Stephen, emerging panic evident in his tone.

  “Honey?” asked Alma as she tried to grab the girl’s hand. “What’s happening?”

  Aubrey shook her head violently, flinging droplets of blood against the white van’s side. Then her coughs turned to vomit, but it was as if the only thing in her stomach was white foam, speckled with bright red blood. Her arm continued to shake, but was independently violent compared to the rest of her body.

  “Help me hold her,” said Alma as Aubrey’s hand continued to smash into the gravel.

  Stephen approached reluctantly, and then Aubrey shocked them all by standing on her own. She stood rigid, both arms straight down at her sides, and her vomiting ceased. The foam and blood dripped from her chin as Aubrey looked at Stephen, and then opened her mouth.

  Someone else’s voice came from Aubrey’s open mouth, like a call from within a cave, “Look what you’ve done.”

  “Holy hell!” Stephen staggered back. He tripped and fell to his butt, and then dragged himself backward, desperate to get away.

  Alma thought it had been the strange voice that frightened Stephen, but then she looked at Aubrey. There were fingers sprouting from her open mouth, clawing at the girl’s cheeks and pulling her mouth wider.

  “Jesus!” Rachel ran from the bartender and stood beside her terrified husband as she tried to help him stand. “Alma, get away from her!”

  Aubrey turned to face Alma, and the fingers within her mouth worked to pull the gap wider. Aubrey’s jaw popped and then a woman’s hand pushed through and reached out to grab onto Alma. Aubrey’s body fell forward, slamming into the gravel as Alma backed away in shock and terror. The hand clawed at the ground in an attempt to drag the girl’s corpse forward.

  Alma was too focused on the grotesquery scrambling her way to see Jacker’s approach. The big guy was uncompromising as he dealt with the horror. He kicked Aubrey’s corpse in the side with all his strength and the waif of a girl spun across the gravel, away from Alma. “Fuck this place! Get in the van.”

  “What about Aubrey?” asked Alma, still shaken by what she’d seen.

  Jacker grimaced and nodded in the direction of Aubrey’s twisted, blood soaked body. “I’ve got a strict ‘No Demon’ rule about riding in my van.”

  Aubrey’s corpse shook as the hands within struggled to pull free. Her head was now split. Her jaw dislocated as the other arm sprung forth and writhed, like two snakes pushing free through a small opening in a tied bag.

  Alma was transfixed as the corpse convulsed. The creature within was trying to pull itself free, mangling the bartender’s body as it did. White foam and yellow bile squirted from Aubrey’s torn jaw, slathering the demon’s arms as they slid in and out. The demon’s hands were searching for something to grip to tear the opening wider. The hands pushed at Aubrey’s neck, and then slithered back within her to start trying to force their way through another spot. Suddenly the girl’s stomach bulged, pushing her skin out and her shirt up to reveal a hand within, like an adult sized fetus trying to push her way through a mother’s belly. The skin split, and blood gushed forth along with a bulbous sack of pink, veiny flesh. Within the sack was a woman’s face, pressed to the skin like a suffocating person trapped inside a plastic bag. She pushed her fingers into the membrane and ripped it open so that she could emerge. The woman’s face was covered in blood, her white eyes the only break in the mask of red. She screamed out, “Look what you’ve done!”

  The woman’s teeth fell out of her mouth as she scrambled to crawl free of Aubrey’s corpse.

  “Get in the damn van!” Jacker picked Alma up and forced her into the vehicle before sliding the door shut. He raced around the other side and got in as Rachel pushed some of the boxes in the back aside so she could watch the twisting horror they were fleeing. Jacker hit the gas too hard, and the gravel spit up and into the demon’s face, pelting her with the sharp stones as the van struggled to grip the road. The creature’s face was shredded by the rocks, her skin tearing away as if made of liquid, revealing the skull beneath.

  The tires suddenly found their grip and the van surged forward, back onto the road headed out of Widowsfield. Rachel grabbed Alm
a and pulled her into an embrace, as if comforting a terrified child. “What is going on? What did we get ourselves into? Stephen!” Her questions turned suddenly accusatory. “What did you get us into?”

  “They’re not just going to let us leave,” said Alma. She was nearly hyperventilating as she stared out the back of the van.

  “We’ll see about that,” said Jacker as he stepped harder on the gas, revving the engine as the van hurtled forward.

  “Fuck,” said Stephen. “There’s fog ahead. That can’t be good.”

  Alma turned her attention back to the front of the van to see what they were headed into. A flash of a memory stung her with near physical pain as she saw the thick mist rolling over the roadway ahead, shrouding the woods that bordered their exit. A green light burst within the cloud and revealed a silhouette of a man standing on the side of the road. Then she heard chattering of teeth in the distance.

  “He’s here,” said Alma.

  “Who?” asked Rachel.

  “The one the children follow,” said Alma. “He controls the mist.”

  “As if I weren’t freaked out enough already,” said Jacker, never bothering to slow the van down as they entered the fog.

  Alma remembered the day her father drove her away from Widowsfield. He was frantic, and yelled at her to stop making noise in the back seat, although she’d been unaware that she was even humming. The fog seemed to devour them, closing in around the car as if they’d plunged into cloudy water, and there were things floating in the air around them. Shapes slipped through the fog, providing only scant glimpses of the creatures within. Alma saw claws, and undulating, arched backs that had spikes protruding from the spine, along with eyes that flashed when the green electricity zapped. Then there were the children, just silhouettes in the fog ahead until her father drove through them, causing them to dissipate with the parted cloud. And always present, hiding in the mist, was the presence of the one the children would come to call The Skeleton Man. She had stared at the fog until the black wires started to descend from the sky, and that’s when she couldn’t stand to watch anymore.