314 Book 2 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  “Have I mentioned that I hate nature?” asked Mindy. “If I heard that noise in the city I’d know it was a bum, and I wouldn’t give a shit. Who knows what the fuck it is out here? It could be a damn mountain lion or jaguar or something.”

  “A jaguar?” asked Nia, chiding Mindy’s ignorance about local wildlife.

  “A fucking puma, or a goddamned bear, I don’t know.”

  “It’s probably just a stray cat,” said Nia. “I’m sure we’re freaking out over nothing.”

  A low growl came from out front, certainly not from a cat. Nia and Mindy froze again, terrified by the creature that loomed just past the door. Then there was a hiss that came from a different direction, followed by an explosion of movement. An animal screeched, a high pitched whine that was unlike anything the girls had ever heard. Certainly this was the cry of a dying animal, caught in the maw of a predator, just feet away from where the girls stood. Then, as suddenly as it began, the calamity ceased, followed by the ripping of flesh and then the sudden departure of the victor.

  It took a long moment before either of the girls felt safe enough to comment.

  “Fucking fuck,” was all Mindy could say.

  “That was terrifying,” said Nia, pausing between each word. She laughed, not because anything was funny but because she didn’t know how else to respond. Nia walked backwards to the stove, in need of support, and put her hands on the black edge. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel her pulse in her wrist.

  The stove.

  The boiling water.

  Poor Ben Harper, crying as he boiled pots of water for his father; the stench of the old man’s drugs; the pleas of a little girl who wanted to know what happened upstairs; a dog in a cage, barking madly, scaring the girl even more because she’d been told it was a werewolf.

  Nia ripped her hands away from the stove and moved to the center of the kitchen. She shoved her hands in her pockets as tears welled in her eyes. Her bare feet were cold on the tile floor.

  The floor where numbers had been written.

  The floor where Alma Harper’s mother had set up a circle of candles, and had written numbers on the floor for the little girl to concentrate on; where she practiced her Chaos Magick; where the past was revealed; where Alma remembered her brother.

  Nia staggered away, like a drunk in a midnight alley, but she didn’t dare put her hands on the wall for balance. Her naked toes touched the spot where Terry’s dog had lived most of his life, locked in a cage with a blanket that stank of urine; the beast that Ben hated; the creature that tormented the children; the creature that might be a werewolf.

  In the darkness, a thing called The Skeleton Man watched.

  Nia fell to her knees and crawled on her elbows, where her sleeves covered her skin. Her feet were raised as she moved out of the kitchen, desperate not to let her bare flesh touch anything in the cabin.

  Mindy was screaming, “What’s wrong,” but her voice sounded warbled and distant to Nia, even though she was right beside her friend.

  “Get me out,” said Nia.

  The Skeleton Man’s chattering teeth echoed in Nia’s mind as she came to know the demon that lived in the walls. He wanted to know everything about Nia.

  “Out where?” asked Mindy, frightened and desperate.

  “Out of here! Out of this house.”

  “But there’s some sort of wolf or something out there!”

  Nia pleaded, “I need to get out!”

  Mindy did as she was asked, and helped Nia get out of the cabin. Nia scrambled to get to the grass, where she felt safe, away from the permanent objects that carried memories of the terror that happened in this place. Even the pavement was dangerous for her, threatening to reveal a history she had no interest in knowing.

  This was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, wholly evil and unrelenting, debilitating and horrific. It was as if the house was desperate to reveal its secrets, and assaulted Nia with the truth when she was open to hearing it.

  Mindy walked behind Nia, asking what was wrong. Nia wept as she crawled through the cold grass, desperate for solace. She glanced toward the street and gasped when she saw the children watching from the sidewalk.

  A line of young boys and girls, oblivious to her at first, walking along the sidewalk and laughing as they spoke to one another, but emitted no sound. Some of them had backpacks slung over their shoulders, and coats tucked under their arms.

  She blinked.

  Then they were all stopped, staring directly at her, as solemn as a firing squad. They faded away, but Nia heard one of them whisper.

  “She must be a witch.”

  PART TWO - THE COIL TIGHTENS

  Chapter 8 – Murder Suicide

  I go back to Widowsfield every year. I sit at the edge of the cliff, near the bent and broken guardrail that was supposed to stop cars from tumbling over the edge. It didn’t do a very good job.

  The town terrifies me, but this spot is free of the influence of The Watcher in the Walls and The Skeleton Man. The curse that took the town doesn’t reside perfectly within the confines of a map’s delineation. Not everywhere in Widowsfield is a nightmare.

  Although the spot I choose to stay at on my annual trips is certainly haunted by its own demons, as evidenced by the broken guard rail overlooking the Jackson Reservoir. It’s just that the demons have no hold here.

  I come back because, despite everything I did to protect Alma Harper, there’s always a chance that she’ll get pulled back in. I don’t pretend to have even an inkling of a grasp on the workings of the world. I’d love to have faith in any sort of truth, but that’s been impossible for me ever since I first stepped foot in the Watcher’s web. I only survived because I taught myself to lie like he did. I don’t believe in fate, but I do know, more certainly than most, that our past sets our future in motion. I’ve always been afraid that The Skeleton Man’s grip would somehow extend away from Widowsfield, and seek out the only child that managed to escape this place.

  For that reason, I leave my comfortable, simple home out in the woods, far away from any sizeable town, and travel all the way back here, to where the nightmares linger in the walls. I sneak past the fence, confident that the guards have little interest in the parts of Widowsfield that aren’t cursed, and I wait for March 14th to pass. I hope it always does pass, like it has for several years, uneventful and calm.

  No fog. No demons. No murderous children pulling the skin off their screaming parents.

  No warships marring the still water of Jackson Reservoir.

  I’ll just sit and draw pleasant scenes, and write in my journal.

  Inside Cada E.I.B.’s Compound

  March 13th, 2012

  Paul gasped for breath.

  “They were right,” said a man’s voice. “This one’s waking up.”

  He opened his eyes as pain swelled in his chest. His vision was hazed, but he saw a figure standing over him, and then a bright light blinded him. “Alma,” he wheezed.

  “Can you hear me?” asked the man with the pen light.

  Paul was on his back, his senses coming back slowly as the world spun around him. A man with a beard loomed above, his blue eyes only a foot away. He smiled as Paul nodded.

  “This is fantastic! Absolutely fantastic! Can you tell me your name?”

  “Where am I?” Paul’s words were laden with phlegm and he coughed before asking again. His chest ached, and he wanted to reach for it but found his hands restrained. “Why am I strapped down?”

  “You’re safe,” said the man as he moved around the bed that Paul was on. “You’re just outside of Widowsfield. Do you remember Widowsfield?”

  “Yes I fucking remember Widowsfield,” said Paul, annoyed by the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. “Why am I strapped down?”

  “For your own safety,” said the stranger.

  Paul began to get his bearings, although the room still seemed to be spinning. He felt sick to his stomach, and there was a cold sensation on his shoulders
where someone’s hands had been. He struggled to recall everything that had happened, as if trying to recount the previous night’s drunken debauchery. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up and not known how he got where he was, but being strapped to a bed with a doctor shining a light in his eyes was definitely a new experience.

  “My own safety?” asked Paul.

  “Yes,” said a second man that he hadn’t known was in the room. He had a gruffer voice, surely the result of a lifetime of smoking. “You were kicking and thrashing the whole way over.”

  Paul tried to look at the man, but couldn’t move his head enough to see. Whoever had spoken was standing at the head of Paul’s bed.

  “Don’t worry,” said the bearded man. “We’re used to it.”

  “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on,” said Paul, his patience drained.

  “You were caught trespassing on private property,” said the man with the gravelly voice. “That’s what’s going…”

  “That’s enough, Tom,” said the bearded man. He was thin and timid, fidgety and with an expressive face that alternated between compassion for Paul and frustration with Tom. “Let’s just keep things calm. Okay? Tom, why don’t you step out into the hall? Make a call to Vess to see if you can track down the information on Lee. Please? I need him here, as soon as we can find him.”

  “I’m supposed to be…”

  “Tom,” he spoke loudly and with insistence, then his tone became skittish and nervous. “Give me a minute with our friend here. Okay? I know what you’re supposed to be doing, but the last time I checked we were standing in my facility. So, please, do as I ask and check on Lee. Okay?”

  There was a pregnant pause.

  “Okay?” asked the bearded man again.

  “Two minutes,” said Tom before a door creaked open, then closed.

  “Sorry about that,” said the doctor. “Tom can be, well, let’s just say the man can be difficult.”

  “Are you going to let me up or not?” asked Paul as he jostled in his restraints.

  “I will, yes, but first we need to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself or others. I’m sure you understand.”

  Paul looked around the room. It looked like a dungeon masquerading as a hospital room, the plain stone walls were an odd backdrop for the bright displays of an EKG machine and ventilator. It was lit by a single, caged, hanging light above, and he could feel the heat from the blazing bulb.

  “Are you in any discomfort?” asked the man. “I can see if the nurses can bring us some pain relievers.”

  “My chest,” said Paul as he tried to look down.

  “Yes, yes. That’s from Tom. They insist on using guns that fire salt pellets. He runs around out there like some sort of security guard Rambo, pelting trespassers.”

  “They killed my friend,” said Paul as the hazy memory of what happened at the cabin returned. “I remember them getting shot…”

  “They’re not dead, I assure you,” said the doctor. He adjusted his glasses as he started to disconnect wires that were attached to pads stuck on Paul’s forehead. “Your friends are all fine – unconscious, but fine.”

  “No,” said Paul. He was admittedly confused, but was still certain of what he saw. “They got shot.”

  “With salt pellets,” said the doctor. “Just like you.” He gently tapped Paul’s chest, revealing that there was a pad under the gown. “Helen had to bandage you up after she pulled the pellets out.”

  “He told me they were all dead,” said Paul as he clenched his eyes shut in an attempt to make the room stop swirling. The events at the cabin were muddled, like the recollection of childhood exploits, distorted by time.

  “Who did?” asked the doctor earnestly.

  Paul still felt the chill on his shoulders from where the creature had held him. He recalled standing in the kitchen of the cabin, staring at Alma as she spread blood on the floor. He saw that damn number, drawn in crimson on the dirty tile.

  314

  “The Skeleton Man,” said Paul.

  The doctor gasped, a minor inhalation of air, like a child suddenly realizing he was about to receive a gift. “You spoke to him?” He sounded timid, as if desperate to hide his excitement.

  “What the hell is going on?” asked Paul, increasingly angry as he struggled to break loose. The doctor backed away, startled by Paul’s anger as the big man jostled the gurney. “Who are you? Why am I tied down? What the fuck is going on?” He screamed his questions.

  The door opened, creaking as it did, and Tom peered in. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes,” said the doctor. “Fine. Just a few more minutes. Give me just a few more, okay?” He put his hand on the door to close it, but Tom kept it open until he was ready to leave.

  “Hurry up,” said the guard before allowing the door to be closed.

  The doctor wrung his hands as he approached Paul. “Listen, my friend…”

  “I’m not your friend,” said Paul.

  “Look, I’m not the enemy here. Okay? I’m here to help you, but you have to tell me everything. I need to know what the creature said.”

  “What creature?” asked Paul.

  “The man,” said the doctor. He added a disturbing reverence to his next words, “The Skeleton Man.”

  “Was that real?” asked Paul, still swimming in what felt like a cesspool of reality and dreams.

  “Yes and no,” said the doctor. “But what is and isn’t real hardly matters here anymore.” He chuckled, but then seemed to realize he was being inappropriate and his demeanor became serious again. “He’s real, and we need to know as much as possible about him. What did he say?”

  “He lied,” said Paul. “He told me that we were all dead, and that I had to let Alma forget me. He showed me what happened to them sixteen years ago.”

  “What happened?” the doctor couldn’t help but reveal his excitement. He stepped forward and set his hands on Paul’s arm. “Tell me everything.”

  Something about the doctor’s apparent glee alarmed Paul. He didn’t trust the man’s curiosity, and decided to lie. “It’s all sort of hazy. I can’t remember.”

  “You have to,” said the doctor before glancing over his shoulder at the door. He looked back at Paul and spoke in a hushed tone. “You have to try. Start with why you were here. Tell me the truth. Tell me everything.”

  “I don’t even know who you are,” said Paul. “I’m not telling you shit until you let me out of these.” He shook his arms, rattling the restraints.

  “I can’t do that,” said the doctor.

  “Then I’m not going to cooperate either.”

  “I’m the only chance you’ve got of saving your friends,” said the doctor.

  “Saving them from what?”

  “From The Skeleton Man.” The doctor glanced at the door. “And from them.”

  Paul was about to ask why his friends needed to be saved from the other people in the building when the door opened. Tom came back in, and Paul got a chance to study his features for the first time.

  Tom was a large man, barrel chested and tall, with a short grey beard that hid his chin. His head was shaved, although enough hair had grown back to reveal his balding dome. He was a dramatically different looking character from the doctor, who was tall but thin, practically draped in his lab coat.

  “That’s enough,” said Tom. “We need to get things moving.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Paul.

  “Damage control, kid,” said Tom. “We have to make you and your friends disappear.”

  “What?” Paul wasn’t angered, just confused.

  “You wandered into this place at the wrong damn time, kid. We were planning on beefing up security tomorrow, because most of you assholes don’t start showing up until the 14th. But you came early, you sneaky fuck. You got in and got yourselves stuck in the middle of something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” Tom’s gruff voice added menace to everything he said. “Now it’s my job to make
sure no one comes looking for you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tom smiled as he walked closer. “I’m talking about effectively ending you. Everything about you. Erasing you and your friends from existence. Convincing the people that love you that your body got stuck along the basin of a dam, eaten by catfish and torn apart as it rotted. A boat accident, or a night of partying gone wrong. We don’t have time to screw around with Oliver’s theories. It’s time to move.”

  “This is a mistake, Tom,” said Oliver. “You’re wasting the best opportunity we’ve had since…”

  “Opportunity?” asked Tom as if the word was both hilarious and offensive. “You must be out of your damn mind. No wonder they sent my team here.”

  “You don’t understand what you’re stepping in the middle of here.” Oliver’s face was turning red as he got angrier.

  “I understand that this town, and your experiment, is more trouble than it’s worth. That’s what I understand.”

  “Then you understand nothing!” Oliver lashed out at a table of medical supplies, sending the gauze and bandages through the air to bounce off the wall along with the metal tray they’d been set on. He stopped, put his hand over his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve never had an opportunity as big as this. We’ve never been this close. We’ve never had a sleeper come back alive. And you’re just going to throw it all away out of fear? Are you out of your mind?” He grew increasingly frustrated despite his attempt to stay calm.

  Tom was amused by the scientist’s outburst. “I doubt I’m the one here that’s in danger of being labeled crazy, pal.”

  “No, just mind-numbingly ignorant. At the precipice of discovery, we find ourselves weighed down by fear. We stand on the verge of greatness, burdened only by our inability to take the final leap. What sort of…”

  “Enough philosophical bullshit,” said Tom. “Save it for someone who cares.”

  “He’s met The Skeleton Man,” said Oliver.

  Tom looked down at Paul. “Just another reason to lock him up and throw away the key.”