The Dark Ones

by Anthony Izzo

  They entered the house through the garage and stepped into a large kitchen with an island and a Viking range against the wall. The countertops were done in black ceramic and the appliances were stainless steel. It was, to Sara, sterile but nice.

  Joanne set her keys on the counter and removed her coat. “You can set your bag down. I’ll get your luggage out of the trunk.”

  She disappeared into the garage and returned with Sara’s suitcase.

  There were stools around the island and Sara pulled one out and sat down. Joanne opened the fridge and said, “Would you like a Coke, or lemonade? If you’re hungry I have some Lean Cuisine in the freezer.”

  “No, thanks.” A chill passed through her and she shivered.

  “Would you like to go upstairs and take a hot bath? You look chilled.”

  “Actually, could I use your phone?”

  “Sure can. But I bet you’d feel better if you warmed up first. I’ve got plenty of extra towels.”

  She felt strange taking a bath in a complete stranger’s house, but it did sound good. Being out in the fall night had given her a good chill.

  “I think I’ll take you up on that,” Sara said.

  “I’ll show you where it is and get you a towel.”

  The bathtub was a claw-foot and Sara took advantage, filling it with piping hot water to the brim. Joanne had told her to help herself to any of the bath beads or lotions in the medicine cabinet. Before she got in the tub, she locked the bathroom door. Her host seemed kind enough, but she felt the extra caution couldn’t hurt.

  She soaked for half an hour, and after toweling off and getting dressed, she went back downstairs. The warmth had crept back into her body and she was glad for taking Joanne up on the offer of a bath. Despite her physical comfort, she began to worry again. She was at a stranger’s house in the middle of Pennsylvania and still had no way to get to Buffalo. David had no idea where she was, and what if this woman turned out to be a psycho?

  She found Joanne in the kitchen hunched over a stack of papers, pen in hand. A briefcase rested on the floor next to her chair. She took a sip of red wine from the glass on the table and offered Sara a seat.

  “What do you do?” Sara asked.

  “I’m vice president of sales for Markson Industries. We make gears mostly.”

  “Sounds glamorous, gears and all.”

  Joanne laughed. “Not so much. The hours are long, my boss is a pit bull, but the pay’s damn nice.”

  “I can tell by the house. It’s nice,” Sara said. “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Why did you help me?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Why did you let me come here? I’m a total stranger to you.”

  “I saw someone who looked cold, tired, and wanting a ride. Why do you ask?”

  “People aren’t always so nice nowadays.”

  “There’s kind people around. Just have to dig a little to find them, that’s all.”

  Sara kept waiting for the hammer to fall. For Joanne to kick her out, or say something weird, or pull a knife from the butcher block and threaten her. But she simply read over the papers on the table, writing occasionally and sipping wine as she worked.

  “Is there a bus or train station around?”

  “There’s an Amtrak terminal in Erie, or if you can wait a couple days, I’m going near Buffalo on business. I’d give you a ride.”

  “No, I really need to get there.”

  “How about I take you to the train station in the morning then? You can crash here, plenty of room.”

  She wondered if Joanne was lonely. The house was a good four thousand square feet, a lot of space for one person. Joanne’s finger did not bear a wedding band, and she saw no pictures of a husband or boyfriend. And Joanne hadn’t mentioned anyone.

  “I guess I’ll stay.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did your bus really forget you?”

  Here it comes, she’s going to get weird. “Why do you want to know?”

  Joanne cocked an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were running away from somewhere.”

  “They forgot me. I was too long in the john.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll show you the spare room. Did you still want to use the phone?”

  “Maybe in the morning.”

  Joanne led her through a family room and upstairs to the bedroom. The spare room had a queen-size bed with a thick white comforter. There was a dresser where she set her suitcase, and a color television in the corner. A row of windows looked out into the backyard and Sara took a look. In the darkness, she could make out maples that climbed the hill behind the house. She flicked the light off, not liking that she could be seen inside. She watched the woods and a few times she thought she saw the brush move, but then thought it was too hard to tell.

  As a precaution, she checked each window, making sure the latch was in place, and then pulled down the shades. To think someone was watching from outside gave her an itchy, tingly feeling on the back of her neck. She changed into a pair of sweats and a Nike T-shirt and slipped under the covers. The first few moments in the bed were spent in nervous anticipation. Outside, the wind hissed, tossing leaves around the yard. A branch snapped. An owl cried out from the woods.

  Soon the noises faded, her eyelids grew heavy, and sleep took her.

  She awoke to the sound of a creaking floor. Sara sat up and looked at the alarm clock. Four fifteen in the morning. She squinted, made out the shape of the dresser and the television. Where the hell am I? It took a moment to come back to her: Joanne, the pretty blond woman. Big house, three-car garage. Kicked off the bus.

  She took her glasses from the nightstand and put them on. Peering at the doorway, she saw only long shadows from the hallway, but again heard the footsteps downstairs. Had Joanne risen early?

  Sara climbed out of bed and padded to the door. She passed through the hallway and stood at the railing, which overlooked a large family room with a sectional couch and a plasma television. The furniture took on odd shapes in the purplish dark, as if the room were filled with alien artifacts rather than everyday items. A wedge of light spilled out onto the hardwood, presumably from the kitchen.

  It had to be Joanne. Sara descended the stairs and crossed the family room until she reached the door to the spacious kitchen. Joanne stood at the sink and flipped the light off. She was peering out the double-hung windows over the sink.

  “What’s the matter?” Sara asked.

  “What are you doing up?”

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  Something had awoken her, for she wore a short white robe and her feet were bare. Sara didn’t like the fact that she was looking out the window in the middle of the night.

  “So?” Sara said.

  “I heard something out back. Probably just coons, but we had a black bear up here a few years ago.”

  Sara joined her at the sink. She peered into the yard and looked at the woods. Nothing moved, save for maple branches in the wind.

  “What did it sound like?”

  “Grunting. Whispering. Like an animal, but not. Does that make sense?”

  “We’d better get upstairs. Are your doors locked?” Sara asked.

  “They are, but it’s probably just a coon, or maybe a coyote. But that whispering.” She scratched her head.

  Sara grasped Joanne’s arm. Joanne gave her a puzzled look, her hair frizzy and sticking up in three places. “Don’t worry, hon. We’re crime free up here.”

  It wasn’t criminals Sara was worried about. What if they had tracked her here?

  “We should go upstairs, call for help,” Sara said.

  “To arrest some raccoons?”

  “I think it’s more than raccoons.”

  A thud-clang came from the rear of the house, and Sara flinched. Joanne didn’t move, standing like a sentry at the window. She peered out again and this time instead of blam
ing the noises on raccoons, she gasped. The sound took the heart out of Sara and she was almost afraid to breathe.

  “What is it?”

  “Something moved around the side of the house. A man. We need to call the police.”

  “How close are they?”

  “There’s a state police barracks about fifteen miles from here.”

  That was not close enough, and the police might be helpless when they arrived, anyway.

  “Get to the garage,” Sara said. “Are your keys still on the counter?”

  A loud thump came from the front of the house.

  “Yeah. I have a gun upstairs. I’m going to try for it.”

  A gun might be as useful as a windbreaker in a hurricane. Besides, if they were surrounding the house, the two women would not have much time to beat it down the hill. “To the car, now.”

  “I’m trying for the gun.”

  Sara tugged on Joanne’s robe, but the taller woman slipped away and urged Sara to follow her. She crossed the family room and took the stairs three at a time. Sara stopped at the bottom of the steps. Outside, she heard scraping noises, like tacks across a tin can. They were closing in and where was Joanne?

  Another thump, this one against the front door.

  An eternity seemed to pass, but in reality was probably no more than five minutes.

  She waited. Deformed shadows danced across the front windows and she decided to scoot up the stairs, not wanting to remain alone. The whole time she climbed the stairs, she half expected someone to grab her from behind. She would feel a cold hand on her leg as she was dragged away screaming.

  She entered the master bedroom to find Joanne sitting on the bed and fumbling to load shells into a revolver. Hands shaking, the woman loaded the last shell and clicked the cylinder home.

  Downstairs, the front door gave with a thunderous crack and the wind whistled inside. The sound of a guttural voice speaking in a strange tongue drifted up the stairs. It sounded the way a man with a cut throat might speak.

  Not wanting to be left without any clothes, Sara grabbed her duffel bag and rejoined Joanne.

  Joanne slowly rose from the bed and motioned for Sara to get behind her. Sara did, feeling somewhat safe behind the taller woman and safer still because of the revolver. Whether it was because it could inflict real damage or due to the some weird talismanic power, she didn’t know.

  “We have to get to the garage,” Sara whispered.

  Joanne nodded. “If I can make my legs move.”

  Joanne managed to make them move and the two of them crept across the bedroom to the hallway. Sara didn’t hear the voice, but the wind still barreled through the open door.

  They listened at the top of the stairs and Sara heard only the wind. They had to try for the garage, for barricading themselves in a bedroom would only serve as a trap, and Sara didn’t know if she could hold them off again. At least going for the car, they had a chance.

  Joanne crept out on to the landing and looked down into the family room. It was free of intruders. A line of muddy, misshapen footprints stained the rug. She didn’t want to go down the stairs. If they were on fire behind her, she still might not move.

  Behind her, from one of the bedrooms, glass broke.

  The issue was decided and Joanne hurried down with Sara grabbing the tail of her robe. It was smooth and slick, tough to hold. Joanne continued, holding the gun in a shooter’s grip, both hands on the handle. She moved it back and forth, sweeping the room. When no boogeymen popped out and scared her, she hit the bottom of the stairs and rounded them. The door was still open, the wind brushing in a mess of leaves.

  The dirty footprints led to the kitchen, and Sara was loath to follow them. “Do you have any other car keys?”

  “Just the set on the counter,” Joanne said.

  That ruled out the front door. From upstairs, a series of thuds and bumps shook the house. Glass broke, and the sound of heavy furniture being turned over shook the ceiling. They’re looking for me and they’re angry, Sara thought.

  She urged Joanne to the garage and the taller woman went first, holding the revolver in front of her. The light was out in the kitchen, casting the room in shadows. Sara looked at the switch and saw a splash of mud on the wall. Someone had turned the light off. The kitchen was empty. Sara spied the keys still on the counter. She picked them up.

  The footsteps led to the garage door and she didn’t want to go that way, but the crashes behind them became louder and she heard footsteps on the stairs. And that horrible, gurgling chatter coming from the other room.

  “Let’s roll,” Sara said.

  “Get the door, fling it open. I’ll hold the gun.”

  Sara moved into position, gripped the doorknob. She flung it open. Joanne aimed the gun, froze for a moment.

  She looked to Sara and said, “Clear so far.”

  The last word came out in a gurgle. A black spear tore through Joanne and punched out the back of her robe. She looked at Sara with surprise, croaking noises coming from her mouth, and then she was dragged forward into the garage, the weapon still jutting from her blood-soaked back. Sara started to scream, then clamped a hand over her mouth. The woman who had taken her in, albeit for a short time, had been butchered.

  Sara pressed her shoulder against the door, but someone on the other side countered and the door swung and threw her back into the counter. A sharp pain shot through her back where one of the knobs dug in. She landed on her rear end and quickly scrambled to her feet.

  Now she could see into the garage, where Joanne’s body lay facedown next to the Audi. Her attacker stepped into view and entered the kitchen.

  He wore black tattered rags that stank of something old and sour. His face was a mess of charred skin and pink blisters. One eye revealed a milky white cornea. He reached out his clawed hand; a spear with barbs on its tip seemed to materialize from the darkness itself. The attacker grinned, revealing jagged yellow teeth.

  “Time for pain,” he growled.

  He stepped closer, and Sara heard two more step behind her, but she was frozen and could not turn. I’m going to die, she thought.

  The man who killed Joanne cocked the spear at his waist. She would have to use the Light.

  She closed her eyes and took herself back to a good place in her mind, this time imagining a field of golden wheat and a sweet summer breeze ruffling the grain. And sun on her face. Warmth spread from her torso and through her shoulders, down her arms and into the palms of her hands, making them tingle.

  She opened her eyes and saw the attacker had stopped. He lifted up a scarred arm as if warding off the glow coming from her palms. She suddenly hated this man, this deformed freak, who had cruelly murdered an innocent woman, someone who had shown a runaway kindness.

  Die.

  The Light whooshed from her hands, rocked her back. The twin beams sliced through the man’s torso with a sound like bacon sizzling. The stench of burning flesh filled the kitchen. The deformed man howled and dropped to his knees. There were two scorch marks on his torso, and when he flopped forward, she saw the burn mark where her blast had exited his back.

  The Light had exploded a hole in the wall, and the edges of the wallpaper smoldered. The thing on the ground let out a final shriek and then was still. Keys in hand, she took the opportunity to jump over the body, grab the door handle, and slam the garage door behind her.

  She stepped around Joanne’s body, trying not to look. If there were more time, she would have gone for the gun. She tried to ignore the sound of her sneakers squelching in the blood on the floor and the smell of loosed bowels. Unlocking the BMW’s door, she climbed in and stuck the key in the ignition. A thud came from the door and then it was flung open. Time to put the pedal to the metal, she thought.

  Sara pressed the garage door opener and the door rolled on its track.

  Come on, come on.

  One of the other intruders ducked through the doorway, squeezing a pair of leathery wings against its body. It a
pproached the car, its head a mass of horns and spikes. From her vantage point, she saw its clawed hands and watched as it created a wicked-looking hammer, like something a Viking warrior would use, seemingly from the darkness. It swung the hammer back and hit the driver’s-side window and glass stung her face. Sara started the car, threw it into reverse.

  The creature let loose a series of grunts and growls as the hammer was pulled from the window. Sara gunned the engine and swerved, scraping the side of the BMW against the garage door frame. She whirled the car to the right and did a hasty three-point turn, the tires squealing on the asphalt.

  Throwing the car in Drive, she sped forward, thinking her driver’s ed teacher would be swallowing his tongue right now if he saw her. She popped the headlights on and started down the road as fast as she dared. She took a glance in the rearview mirror and with dread saw the creature trot from the garage, spread its wings, and with a huge flap, take flight.

  If I can get back to the 90, I can get going fast enough to lose it. But try explaining to a state trooper why you were speeding. That should be good. Oh, I’m sorry officer, I was being pursued by the forces of evil. Could you let me off with a warning?

  She whipped down the road. Occasionally she glanced upward through the windshield. She saw only the tops of the pines at first. Then a shadow shaped like an overgrown bat appeared on the hood.

  The end of the road approached, and she was heading sharply downhill. She feathered the brakes, hoping to maintain control of the BMW and still make the turn without stopping. The shadow grew larger and the creature dipped in front of the windshield, giving Sara a view of its multi-jointed wing. It was enough to force a swerve. She jerked the wheel but the car veered right and she slammed on the brakes, the car going into a skid, the back end whipping around until she came to a screeching halt facing the opposite way. Her head thudded against the restraint and little black dots clouded her vision for a moment. She prayed she wouldn’t pass out.