314 Book 2 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  Michael Harper was staring at himself.

  “Hello, Mr. Harper,” said the doppelganger. His voice was deeper and more commanding than Michael’s, and he stood at least a foot taller. He was a menacing figure, strong and dominant.

  “What’s going on here?” asked Michael.

  “Turn around and face your son.”

  “Answer me!” Michael tried to sound angry, but his shrill plea came out pathetic and fearful.

  The doppelganger stepped closer, and he seemed to grow in size, nearly doubling in girth. He loomed over Michael now, and his body was not entirely corporeal. Michael could see a swirling mass of tentacles within him, writhing around one another in an endless mess of knots that never seemed to tighten. The cords within him looked like wires that wanted to reach out for the walls, like snakes slithering toward the safety of tall grass.

  “Ben will die.”

  “No,” said Michael, displaying regret and sorrow at the thought of his boy’s death.

  “If he leaves this place, he will die of his injuries.”

  “He’s a tough boy,” said Michael.

  “How would you fix him?” asked the demonic presence that now stood like a giant over Michael. “How would you explain his injuries?”

  The man carried the fog with him, as if it were smoke trailing a flame. When he moved, the fog billowed out behind him as the black tentacles continued to reach out from the doorway.

  “I’ve been watching you, Michael Harper,” said the doppelganger. “I like what I see, but you’re not the one I want. Now turn around and face your son. Let him see you for who you truly are.”

  Michael did as he was told. He could hear his daughter still humming somewhere nearby, although he couldn’t see her anymore. As he turned, her sweet, terrified hum was replaced by the chatter of Ben’s teeth.

  The boy was seated on the edge of the bed, the bloody towel in his lap, and he stared directly at Michael. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and his cheeks had burst into crimson flowers. Boils were forming on his severely burned skin. His lips were bleeding, the thin skin ripped away by the rough fabric of the towel. He was a horror to behold, once a sweet child now tortured and dwelling in an agonizing moment of time, stuck in the pain and lost innocence.

  “Look what you’ve done,” said the doppelganger. “He was a child when he came here, but you changed all of that. You’ve twisted him into this monster.”

  “No,” said Michael. Smoke drifted from his mouth when he spoke, and he recognized the smell of burning meth as it wafted up his nostrils.

  “All hope for a normal life has been shattered for him, Michael. Even if he were to survive, he would be twisted into a demon by what you’ve done. His agony is so very pure. His pain is exquisite. When we devils sought a savior, you delivered our sacrifice. Such horror, Mr. Harper, so much pain.”

  “I didn’t…”

  “Hush now, before we change our minds on this.” The doppelganger now walked between Michael and Ben. He was enormous, and had to crouch down within the room, his shoulders pressed to the ceiling. His arms reached out and meshed with the fog that clouded the corners, and the black tentacles whipped out where his fingers should’ve been.

  “What are you?”

  “Just a watcher,” said the massive entity.

  “What do you want?”

  The shape was pulled into the walls, mixing with the fog again, and the tentacles seemed to calm as it did. Now they simply wavered amid the mist, snakes of black coiling around the room and tightening.

  “We want Ben,” said a thousand voices in unison, none of them the same as the creature that had been speaking moments earlier.

  Michael glanced around in desperation. He was terrified as he searched for a sign of the man among the twisting shapes. The fog seemed to breathe, expanding and retracting, the coiled black snakes like ribs with Michael stuck within the lungs. He kept seeing shapes within the fog that resembled a human, but then melted away into the mire just as soon as he discerned them. Faces seemed to push away from the ribs, like a screaming man wrapped in cellophane, crying out as he suffocated.

  Still, Ben’s teeth chattered through the madness.

  “Oh to forget,” said the doppelganger’s voice in longing. “Oh to leave such horrors behind, unscathed, free, without sin. Oh to have a second chance. Would you seize upon that chance, Michael Harper?” It was as if the house itself was speaking.

  “Let me leave,” said Michael.

  “Would you bleed the lamb?”

  “What?” Michael screamed and spun as he put his hands to his head, afflicted by the insanity surrounding him.

  “Bleed the lamb,” said the legion of voices in the mist.

  “Bind him,” said the doppelganger. “Let him know betrayal. Let the father bleed the lamb.”

  “Daddy,” said Ben.

  Michael turned to his boy and saw the child’s scathed face. Ben’s boils pulsed, his lips sagged, his lidless eyes stared, his teeth chattered even as he spoke.

  “A doorway lies open for you, Michael Harper,” said the doppelganger from the shadows. “We’ll let you forget this. We’ll give you your daughter. Both of you will be free of this day. You can flee this hell.”

  “What about Ben?” asked Michael.

  “Bind the lamb,” said the other creatures hiding in the mist.

  “He must be forgotten,” said the doppelganger. “He must be given to me, a soul for the soulless. I’m with him now, just as I am with you. He’s willing to be forgotten. He’s willing to be sacrificed.”

  “Bind me,” said Ben.

  Michael watched as the skin on his son’s face began to melt away. Ben lifted his hands from beneath the towel and Michael saw that they were already skinned and dripping with black blood. The liquid fell from his fingertips and into the mist on the floor where it swirled into the grey. All the while, the ribs of black pulsed and grinded against one another.

  “He would love you,” said the doppelganger. “He would be your willing sacrifice, but you must bind him.”

  Strands of black wire began to descend from the ceiling. There were hundreds of them, stretching out from the dark mist like vines in a rainforest. They were made of metal, but wavered like living things. Then the green electricity popped and a wave of light ignited the mist for a moment, revealing two boys on the bed instead of just one.

  “Daddy, help,” said the version of Ben that had become momentarily visible.

  “Ben?” asked Michael.

  The vision evaporated, leaving only the skeletal figure with the chattering teeth behind. He held out his hands to his father and pleaded, “Bind me.”

  “Sacrifice the child,” said the doppelganger.

  A wire draped from the ceiling and rested in Ben’s lap.

  “I’m dead already,” said Ben through his chattering teeth.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” said Michael.

  Ben lifted the wire and held it out for his father. “Tie my wrists.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Michael wept.

  “You’ll be allowed to leave,” said the doppelganger. “We only want Ben.”

  “You can’t have him,” said Michael as he took the wire from his son. “He needs me to protect him.”

  Ben raised his hands and clasped them above his head. He was nude now, his shirt had melted into his bloody chest. The boiling water and chemicals seemed to be eating away at him, revealing his rib cage as his flesh sizzled.

  “Bind me,” said Ben.

  “Bind him,” said the legion of creatures within the mist.

  “Bind the lamb,” said the doppelganger, “and you shall be free of our madness.”

  “And if I don’t?” asked Michael.

  “Then you’ll be lost in the hell that surrounds us,” said the doppelganger. “All of the madness you’ve only begun to comprehend will become your every waking moment. You’ll swirl among the souls in the mist.” The snaking ribs began to writhe feverishly as
the doppelganger grew angrier. “I’ll spend eternity stripping your flesh from your bones, and I’ll force you to watch your children die over and over. I’ll grant you no solace but for the sound of your daughter’s singing just before I boil her alive. All the horror you thought you knew will be a memory of heaven compared to just the first minute you’ll spend as the focus of my ire.”

  A thousand tortured voices wailed from far off, their pain a chorus behind the tightening coils that wrapped the room.

  “I am the Watcher, Michael Harper. I’ve seen all of hell.”

  Ben stretched his arms into the air and said again, “Bind me.”

  Michael looked at the wire in his hands. It writhed like a snake as it hung from the ceiling. He stepped closer to his boy and muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

  He placed the wire against his son’s wrist and the cord seemed to do the rest for him. The wire wrapped Ben’s wrists, without Michael’s help, and tightened until the boy’s flesh was torn. Then the wire became taut, as if someone above was pulling it back into the mist on the ceiling. Ben’s body lifted and he began to scream in pain. Suddenly, what had been a horrific visage of the boy transformed back into the child Michael knew. Ben looked undamaged, even by the boiling water and chemicals that had been in the tub. He was nude, and unaffected except for the tightening wire that bound his wrists.

  “Daddy, no!”

  “Ben!” Michael tried to grab the boy, but the child was being dragged up. Blood streamed down his arms, splashing on Michael’s face as he tried to hold his boy down. “Let him go! You tricked me! No!”

  The boy screeched, the pain insufferable as he was lifted off the bed. Michael’s grip slipped, wet with blood, and his son’s nude form was dragged into the mist above until he disappeared, although his screams continued to reverberate within the room. Then came the horrific sound of skin being ripped away before Ben’s wailing ceased. The coils that grinded in the mist were now colored with fresh, vibrant blood.

  Michael fell to his knees and cried as blood began to drip from the mist above, as if a crimson rain had started to fall.

  The Watcher in the Walls laughed.

  “Bleed the lamb,” said the legion of creatures in the mist.

  “You bastard,” said Michael. “You tricked me.”

  “Don’t worry, Michael Harper,” said the doppelganger as he appeared again, this time sitting on the bed where Ben had been. “You’ll forget all of this, but you must never return to this place. I’ll fulfill my side of the deal, but you must never tempt me again. Remember that it would be better to die than ever come looking for me again. Flee, and take your daughter with you. From this moment on, you have no son. He belongs to us.”

  Michael could hear Ben’s teeth chattering from somewhere in the fog.

  “Shut up, Alma!” Michael stared at his daughter through the rearview mirror. “Just shut up.”

  She had been humming as they drove through the fog and the sound was grating on his nerves. He was traveling by memory, unable to see anything but the vague shape of the road as they went through the fog. Twisted creatures ran alongside the car, allowing only glimpses of their hideous shapes as they howled. Tentacles slid through the mist and seemed to be writhing on the car as Michael sped along. The tires careened off the road, grinding through the gravel shoulder and he overcompensated as he jerked the wheel in the other direction. They swerved across the road and he tried to get them back on course, causing the car to fishtail.

  “Shut up!”

  He wasn’t even sure if Alma had been humming anymore, but still felt the need to scream at her. He checked his watch, then the clock on the dash of the car; both read 3:14. The time hadn’t changed since they’d left the cabin, and he was certain that had been far longer than a minute ago.

  Michael rubbed his eyes and then gripped the steering wheel tight as he pressed even harder on the gas. The car caught air over a hill, causing Alma to yelp before the tires met the road again, jolting them up and nearly causing him to fishtail a second time.

  Feet began to descend from the mist above, piercing the fog as they slowly fell. Blood dripped from the toes of the hanged, but their heads were hidden by the fog above. Then the wires draped, writhing like they had in the cabin’s bedroom, as if the tails of snakes were reaching down from the sky. Michael closed his eyes, terrified to see what he’d done, certain that the multitude of dangling feet all belonged to his dead son. The Watcher in the Walls was mocking him.

  Teeth chattered, and he could hear Ben laughing in the mist.

  Then the wires began to scrape along the top of the car and Michael clenched his eyes even tighter. Meanwhile, Alma continued to hum from the back seat. Her song was all but drowned out by the sound of the wires scraping on the roof.

  They were out of the fog minutes later, but it felt like hours. Michael’s sanity was frayed; what little he had at the beginning of the day had been ravaged. Flop sweat soaked him, causing his t-shirt to cling to his chest. In his rearview he saw the fog fading and he screamed in triumph.

  “You and me, kid!” Michael sat up straight so he could see his daughter’s face in the rearview. She had her eyes closed and was humming to herself.

  “You and me, kid. We made it!” He punched the ceiling of the car joyously and then started to laugh. “We went to Forsythe. Went to Forsythe, Alma. We went to Forsythe, and drove straight on through Widowsfield. We never did stop in that place. Never did stop.” He shook his head and whispered over and over. “Never did stop. Never saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just a bit of fog, and an electrical storm or something. Right, Alma?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before continuing his rant. “We were fishing in Forsythe. That’s all. You can stop humming now. Alma? Are you listening to me? Stop humming. Tell me where we were. Tell me where we were, Alma. Stop humming and tell me where we were!”

  “Forsythe.” She spoke as a victim, timid and apologetic.

  “That’s right,” said Michael. “Good job. And did we stop in Widowsfield?”

  “Yes,” she said, unsure of her own words.

  “No!” He screamed and glared at her in the rearview. “No we didn’t. We drove straight through. Okay? Straight through that fog. Never stopped. Never stopped. Don’t go lying to anyone. If you lie about what happened, we’re both going to get in trouble. You tell them the truth. You tell them we went to Forsythe, and then drove through Widowsfield on the way home. Okay? Just you and me, father and daughter. Just you and me.”

  Every time he said the lie, it felt truer than the time before. He had taken his daughter to a cabin in Forsythe to go fishing, and then drove through Widowsfield on the way home. There was a lot of fog in the town, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Terry never showed up in Forsythe like she was supposed to, and he decided to head home early. They never met The Watcher in the Walls.

  Michael would leave that hell behind. He allowed everything he knew about Widowsfield to drift away, like the fading memory of a dream, and with it went his boy. His son was lost in Widowsfield.

  What was his name?

  Michael couldn’t recall.

  He looked through the rearview and saw that Widowsfield, and the fog, was far behind them. He’d escaped, and would never return. He would do whatever was necessary to leave the past forgotten, trapped in that horrible place.

  Michael Harper had no son.

  He looked at his watch and saw the time change.

  3:15

  PART THREE - THE COIL SNAPS

  Chapter 15 – What If They Want Out

  The scenes in Widowsfield were nearly impossible to describe, and were much easier to draw. I had always wanted to be an artist, so when Oliver handed me the notebook I was able to fully flesh out the details of the various events that happened in the town. He was more interested in the events preceding the horrors as opposed to the violence itself. I was thankful for that, because I don’t like drawing death and destruction.

  Oliver would stand over me and watch a
s I drew the scenes. He would comment when he thought I missed a detail, and I did my best to please him. He never suspected my deception, at least during the time that I worked for him. I wonder if he still believes all my lies, or if he’s started to peel them apart.

  Widowsfield

  January 21st, 2007

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Oliver as he struggled to keep up with Nia’s description of what had happened in the school library. He was standing beside Lee, watching as his assistant drew what Nia was recounting. Lee furiously sketched the room in a small, spiral notebook that Oliver had given him.

  Widowsfield High had been gutted after the townsfolk disappeared. All of the books, furniture, and equipment had been sent to other, nearby schools after it became apparent that Widowsfield would never be reinvigorated.

  Cada E.I.B., in conjunction with the FBI, had frozen all land assets within the town, declaring that the ongoing investigation prevented anyone from making any claims. That temporary fix lasted a couple years, at which time the Missouri Supreme Court ruled in favor of the land owners. Cada E.I.B. and the United States government colluded to pay off anyone with rights to property within the town, and families were contacted privately to discuss the terms. Lawyers got involved, but the settlements were high enough to buy silence from just about all of the plaintiffs. Luckily, the few families that refused the agreements were beset with other concerns, ranging from family illness to unfortunate accidents, and the offer of large settlements left on the table suddenly became much more attractive.

  Through that extensive process, Cada E.I.B. was able to eventually claim ownership of the town, where-upon they set about securing it. Unfortunately, time had taken its toll, and the already aged buildings were far beyond disrepair, succumbing to the will of nature and beasts, leaving the homes and businesses stinking of urine and crumbling on their foundations.