Maddie Ann s Playground

by Mackenzie Drew

  This wasn’t going to work. Jake had to think creatively. “I'm sure he can explain everything. He's such a decent young man. Where is Mitch, Mrs. Styles? I need to talk to him. You can be there, if you like.”

  She flipped her hair back out of her eyes, waltzed over to the table and sat down. In a steady voice, she answered, “Mitch is gone. He went deer hunting two days ago with his friend, Aaron. I don't know exactly where they went. If you want answers, my great-great-Aunt Maddie Ann can tell you what you need to know. She’s around, trust me.” She winked at him.

  Crap, does everybody in this town but me know about Maddie Ann? he thought. He knew what she attempted to do. She tried to deflect guilt from her son onto some long-dead ancestor. “Look, Mrs. Styles, I don’t have time to play games. I do know, however, we have five dead girls and we need some answers. Your son had a hand in this—not your dead aunt. I already know about her so-called ghostly reputation. So, either you tell me what I need to know, or I’ll find Mitch and arrest him as a material witness,” he demanded, getting up from the table. “He may even have first-degree murder charges brought against him. Is that what you want?”

  “You sit back down and listen to what I have to say.”

  Startled by the look she gave him, Jake decided not to press his luck. He followed her orders and sat.

  “Now that I have your attention, there is something I think you should know before you continue your search for answers. Neither you nor any other damn cop around here will ever find out what happened to those girls. The more you nose around, the more you’re going to get yourself in a heap of trouble. Not to mention what is about to happen in this whole town. You think you’re so smart and so does your partner out there in the car, but I have news for the both of you, you haven't a clue,” she sneered.

  Flabbergasted, he leaned back against the chair trying to take in all of this madness. He chuckled under his breath and replied sarcastically, “Mrs. Styles, I think you need serious help. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a freakin cop. It’s my job to be nosy, and we will find out all we need to know to solve these vicious murders whether you cooperate or not.”

  She laughed at him as if he had said something hilarious. “You’ll never get what you’re looking for, I guarantee it. Investigate if you must, but all you'll get is misery,” she said, slamming her fist on the table.

  Jake grew tired of messing with her nonsense. He got up and walked over to the door. He looked back at her as she turned to take her cake out of the oven. “I will find out who killed those girls, and I sure the hell will not be threatened away from the investigation by some cake-baking housewife.” He opened the squeaky screen door and stormed out.

  Jake charged to the car, and found Tom with his hat tipped forward sound asleep. “Hey, wake up, old geezer,” he said, slugging Tom's shoulder. “I need to talk to you.”

  Tom tipped his hat back, sat up, and wiped his face. “What are you so heated about,” he muttered.

  “Well…I think I met Satan's wife in there.”

  Tom sat with his head cocked to the side, a funny look on his face.

  “What? You act like I’m crazy or something. I’m telling you the truth; she wasn’t right in the head. Not to mention how she looked at me with those wicked glowing eyes of hers,” Jake explained.

  “Okay, what did she say?” Tom asked.

  “She's certain we will never crack the case, if she has anything to do with it. She also said we’re too nosy for our own good and her sweet innocent son had nothing to do with the murders. She wants us to talk to her great-great-Aunt Maddie Ann. When I asked where Mitch was, she said he'd gone 'deer hunting' with Aaron.” Jake made air-quotes with his fingers.

  Tom sunk back in his seat. “What is Mrs. Styles' first name?” he asked, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

  “What does that matter? She’s the Wicked Witch from the West.”

  Apoplectic, Tom blurted out, “What is her freakin’ name?”

  “It’s Rachel, all right. Geez, what the hell is wrong with you,” he asked, losing focus and drifting right onto the dirt shoulder. He swerved to correct the car, bringing it back on the blacktop.

  “Don’t you see? The same blood that pumps through Maddie Ann’s veins, pumps through hers. She's one of the descendants I read about in the library. They’re working together, going on a killing spree, and their prey is the souls of children. Go—just drive out to the cemetery, so I can check on something,” Tom told him.

  “I don’t want to go out there again. You know what happened last time. We came close to losing our lives in that cemetery,” Jake said. The thought chilled him to the bone.

  “Look, if you want to solve this thing and keep your job, you'll do it. Otherwise, turn in your badge and go work in an office, because I need someone that’s willing to cooperate with me.”

  Jake knew the case bothered Tom deeply; he'd never seen him in such a state. He just didn’t act like himself, and Jake started to worry. His friend Tommy would never have threatened his job. He knew the lack of evidence had started to get to him, and before long he could stress himself into an early retirement. If only to protect Tom from his own foolishness, he decided to go with the flow.

  Heading out toward the cemetery, Tom leaned on the glass, appearing to rest. Jake glanced over at his despondent partner and wondered if what they had heard might prove true. If a curse did exist, could it doom them both? Nothing like this ever happened back in Elm Hollow, and if he told anybody back home, no one would believe it. As they turned off the road leading to the cemetery, a strange shiver washed over Jake like someone watched him from a distance. Blaming it on nerves, he guided the car over the rough dirt road. Approaching the entrance to the cemetery, they saw the shiny red Suburban belonging to Mr. Styles.

  “Bingo,” Jake shouted.

  “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. I knew it. I knew I had to come out here,” Tom said, bolting upright in his seat. “Are you ready to do this?”

  Jake parked the car, and he and Tom climbed the hill. The gates stood wide-open for anyone to go in. Jake approached the opening and started to walk through when Tom grabbed his shirt from the back and slung him to the ground.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” Jake shouted, as he lay stunned in the dirt.

  Tom helped him to his feet. He leaned in toward him saying, “You about ended your life. If you go in there, you’ll never come out.”

  Jake's heart pounded away in his head. Confused, he laughingly said, “You’ve got to be kidding, right? We went in there before and came back out. What are you talking about?” he laughed nervously.

  Tom’s face turned purple. Jake shut his mouth. “This isn’t funny, and unless you take this seriously, you’ll get us seriously dead. I don't know why they allowed us to leave last time; I'm telling you what the legend says. Nothing makes sense in this place. But we’re waiting around here until Mitch and Aaron decide to show their faces.”

  “No, we can't stay here. We don’t know where they are. And what if they never show?” Jake asked, easing toward the dirt hill.

  “I don’t know, but I guess we’ll find out, now won’t we?”

  Jake crossed his arms and leaned against the fence. He knew he’d better get comfortable, because it could become a long night. He found a good spot on the ground to sit and wait, and they watched as the sun slowly faded behind the horizon. With their flashlights hooked to the side of their pants and their guns loaded and ready to go, they lay back on the grass and stared up at the half-lit sky.

  Tom dozed on the ground, leaving Jake wide-awake. Feeling irritated, he stood up so as not to disturb Tom’s nap. He leaned back against the fence and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night himself. The wind stirred with a whistling sound coming through the bars of the fence. He shivered and pulled his coat closer.

  As he looked out toward the road, he felt a drop of something wet splat on the back of his neck. Thinking it might be fixing to rain, he
debated waking Tom to run for the car. He gave a glance to the sky, and frowned at the lack of clouds. What the hell, he wondered, confused. Another drop fell on his sleeve. Jake looked down, touched it and discovered something dark and wet. He wiped the glob off with his fingers. He took the flashlight from the hook on the side of his pants and shined the light on his hand. Warm, gooey blood dripped from his palm.

  He spread his fingers apart and watched, mesmerized, as the dark blood seeped through his skin and trickled to the ground. He knew someone messed with his head. Was he dreaming? Suddenly, a bucketful of sticky, wet blood poured down from above. It rained down in torrents, ricocheting off the top of his head and drenching him in gore. Jake couldn’t scream. His jaws locked. He recoiled from the fence. Two claws reached down sinking their hooks through his flesh and snatched him by his shoulders. Numb and petrified, he got a glimpse of the frightful gargoyle face grinning down at him.

  Finally, his mouth opened enough for him to scream. “Bro…Tom, help me,” he screeched.

  Startled out of his sleep, Tom leaped to his feet as his gun left the holster. “Where are you?” he yelled, waving his .38 around.

  “You’re both mine, and no one can help you,” the black soul growled, lifting Jake in the air.

  Jake reached for his own gun, but as he fired above his head, his arms slid right out of his suit coat and he fell down atop the fence. A single sharp spear pierced his leg and ripped a chunk of his calf out.

  Landing with a loud thump, Jake screamed in agony. Tom immediately rushed to his side, shooting wildly toward the darkening sky. The apparition vanished with his coat in its talons.

  “Hold on, Jake, I’ll get you to the hospital.” He took off Jake's shirt, ripped away a long piece of cloth, and wrapped it around his leg wound, forming a tourniquet. There was nothing to use to tie off the puncture wounds in his shoulders, so he took off his own jacket and draped it over Jake's back. As he knelt beside his wounded partner, Tom heard a loud roar coming from above, and then an eerie feminine voice spoke.

  “In that exact spot, I finished off Claire Barton. What a fitting tribute when Jake bleeds to death here.”

  He rose, shining the light on the phantom that hovered above him. “Oh, my God, who, I mean, what are you?” Tom winced. The flashlight rolled from his hand as he went to his knees.

  “I was one of the six-pack…my name is Tina. Do you want me to spell it?”

  “You're one of Claire's friends?” Lifting his gun, he shot off two rounds that went right through her.

  “You can’t hurt me. Don’t you realize you can’t kill someone who’s already dead?”

  Tom sighted down the barrel of his gun as the voice moved closer. He fired a third time. “Where are you?” he shouted as the beast disappeared.

  “Over here, but you can’t hurt me. Stop wasting your bullets, nitwit. I told you, you can’t kill me.” The beast dive-bombed him like a kamikaze pilot.

  Turning in circles as Tina flew past him, he felt an intense stab drive right through the back of his arm. He moaned with pain and pulled a long, sharp thorn from his flesh. Reaching for his radio attached to his front pocket, he called for help. “Dispatch, can anyone hear me?” he cried. He got off one more shot before the apparition vanished into the sky. As his radio crackled to life, he called for an ambulance.

  Waiting for the paramedics to arrive, Tom slumped across the grass, breathing heavy. He applied pressure to the back of his arm. He felt guilty as hell for dragging Jake into this mess, and figured he should apologize for getting him hurt. Before he said anything, Jake spoke. “The entire left side of my body is numb, and my leg, man, it hurts like a son of a gun. Can you shine the light over here, so I can take a look at it?” he muttered.

  Tom picked up the flashlight, but hesitated to aim the light on his leg. He knew Jake would freak out seeing the blood, so he shined it toward the wound, and then flicked it away.

  “Tom, aim it here. I didn’t see it too well.” Jake moaned in pain. Tom slightly lifted the light and shined it on his leg. “Holy shit, it’s bleeding like a son of a bitch.” Jake held on to his leg, softly rocking his body back and forth trying to ignore the pain.

  “They’ll be here soon, buddy, try to hold on,” Tom said patting him on the arm. He tightened the bandage on Jake's leg, trying to stem the flow of blood. “Man, I'm so sorry for getting you hurt like this. I had no idea this was possible.”

  “Hey, it's not your fault, Tommy. I agreed to this.”

  As they lay side-by-side, a loud crash came from inside the cemetery. Startled, Tom shined the light through the bars of the fence to see what caused the deafening noise.

  “Do you see anything?” Jake whispered.

  “Not yet, but if those suckers come out, I’m gonna shoot 'em.”

  Cocking his semi automatic, he held it ready. At any sign of movement inside the cemetery, he was going to take them out. The sound of crackling twigs popped as something scurried about. The footsteps grew louder as it moved closer toward them. Tom swallowed hard as if he had something stuck in his throat. He removed the pressure off his arm and took aim. As he prepared himself to fire a round, a cobalt blue flare lit up the evening sky.

  “Holy crap, did you see that?” Jake shouted.

  “Yes, and I want to know what the hell is going on,” Tom replied standing on his feet.

  He hurried toward the fence, stuck the barrel of his gun through the bars, and shot off two rounds. Suddenly, a large tree branch broke off, smacking the fence where he stood. Tom jumped out of the way, and cursed under his breath.

  “We’ve got to get out of here or we’re going to die,” Jake shrieked.

  “Calm down, they’re just trying to scare us. If they weren’t such chicken shits, they’d show themselves.”

  Tom played it cool to keep Jake calm. He pulled him away from the fence as screaming sirens came up the road. The sound sent gooseflesh up his spine. Thank God, he whispered.

  Within seconds, the paramedics rushed up the hill and two police officers followed. Loading Jake onto the stretcher, they sat Tom down near the ambulance to bandage his arm wound.

  “So, what happened to you guys?” Officer Brett asked, dabbing the sweat from his forehead.

  Tom shook his head in disgust. He glanced over at Jake and shrugged his shoulders. He was about to answer his question, when a face with glistening ruby red eyes stared at them from the gloom beyond the gates. He turned Officer Brett around before he missed it.

  “That’s what happened,” Tom said pointing at the mysterious face.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Mike leaned out the side window of the pickup and shouted, “Come on, Barb, or we’re going to be late.”

  She rushed out the front door with one shoe in her hand and one on her foot. “Hold on, I’m coming.”

  Barb’s impractical pumps slipped on the icy steps, and she nearly lost everything in her hands. She steadied herself, clutching her bundles and cursing the entire rest of the way down the sidewalk.

  Mike leaned over sideways to open the door for her to get in. “What’s that?” he questioned.

  Barbara leaned back against the seat as the green Jell-o wiggled in her lap. “It’s a Jell-O mold, Mike. I make it every year for the potluck, and every year you ask me the same question,” she snapped. It made a God-awful whooshing sound, and she just knew it would splash on her white shirt. She should have used her head and worn an apron.

  With bumper-to-bumper traffic ahead of them, Barb noticed the impatient look on Mike’s face and searched for another route. As she sat in the seat, trying her best to keep the Jello-mold from tipping, she pointed out a side road that took them directly to the fairgrounds. Though it was a primitive dirt road, it served a purpose. As the truck hit a pothole while winding over the old crooked county road, the cabinets shifted around in the bed of the truck. Mike looked in the rearview mirror, and his face turned an ashy gray. Barb seriously thought he’d pass out. She patted his hand and pu
t on a smile. Granted the smile was fake; she did it to calm his overactive nerves.

  “Crap, if that cabinet falls out, I’m screwed,” Mike said. He looked sick.

  “Well, damn it, Mike, a piece of furniture isn’t worth you having an anxiety attack over,” she replied, trying to sound concerned.

  “Huh? Barbara, you don’t get what I’m saying. That sucker cost me three hundred dollars to make. That’s not including the two-weeks of labor I put into it. I’m trying to sell it for at least a thousand bucks,” he added.

  As the rutted road stretched before them, the tiny veins in his eyes surfaced. He looked about to blow a gasket.

  Barb shut her mouth and kept a close eye out for potholes. God forbid if the cabinet fell out. Mike would blame her for making him take this road.

  When the Bartons made it to the November fest, rope lights hung around the booths inside the building, and smoke from the indoor grills lingered out into the chilled air. The aroma of barbecued ribs filtered past Barb’s nose, and her stomach growled. She'd argued with Mike earlier when he told her to eat before they left the house, but she wanted to wait to eat the food cooked on the grill. She kept her mouth shut about that, too, because she didn't want to hear him say, “I told you so.” She'd much rather be right than happy. And, if Mike ever proved her wrong, she’d start World War III.