by Ronald Kelly
With a wicked leer on his gaunt face, Leech stood tall and lifted his right hand overhead, the fingers curled like the legs of a deadly spider.
“Uh oh,” said Tom Sutton. “I don’t like this. He really looks pissed off.”
Joe Adkins turned to Jasper. “I told you I should’ve brought my rifle. Then I might’ve had a chance of picking him off.”
“No guns,” said the elderly farmer firmly. “I’m not about to make the same mistake my father did.” But even then, Jasper wasn’t sure if the mechanic was entirely wrong. Perhaps they should have relied on more powerful ammunition than harsh words and a handful of rocks.
Augustus Leech’s laughter rose in volume, ringing in their ears as though he stood only a few feet away, rather than eighty feet above. “My earlier attempt at disposing of you may have failed, but this time I shall succeed.” Static electricity crackled between his slender fingers, turning his hand into a ball of raw energy. “If you must pray to your precious God, do it now,” he said contemptuously. “For, soon, you shall all suffer the wrath and torment of Hell itself!”
The ones on the ground below suddenly felt a wave of dread run through them. Perhaps they had taken on more than they had bargained for. Horrible images of an earthbound unleashed upon them crossed their minds. The searing flames of hellfire, as well as everlasting agony and terror.
They watched, mortified, as Leech’s entire body took on an eerie blue glow. Slowly, he lowered his sparkling hand toward them. “I think we just screwed up… big time,” moaned Tom, beginning to back away.
“What are we going to do?” Susan asked frantically.
As they retreated, they suddenly realized that one out of the group stood perfectly still, wearing an amused smile on his face. “Nothing,” said Keith. “That’s what we’re going to do. Absolutely nothing.”
“What do you mean?” asked Chuck.
Keith’s smile grew broader. “Just wait and see.”
Suddenly, a brilliant burst of light left Leech’s fingertips and arched toward them. As it grew nearer, it turned fire red, flickering with chaotic flames. They heard the screams of the damned, as well as smelled the nauseating stench of brimstone and burning flesh.
Terrified, they watched it rush toward them. Then, unexpectedly, it lost momentum and dissipated. Light, heat, and odor vanished, mingling with the night air, leaving only summer darkness and the singing of crickets in its wake.
“What the hell happened?” Joe asked.
Keith laughed. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
The others shook their heads, still confused by Leech’s failed attempt at retribution.
“He can’t hurt us,” the boy explained. “We’ve already defeated him… in our dreams. The Big Man, Sidewinder, Colonel Raven, and the Fuhrer… they were all a part of him. A part of the power he held over us. But he can’t harm us now, because we destroyed those mirror images of him, before we escaped and made it back home.”
Keith looked toward the top of the water tower. Leech’s face showed in the pale moonlight. His stunned expression told the boy that he was correct. Like it or not, the evil medicine peddler had completely lost his power over them.
“Look!” yelled Susan, pointing skyward. “He’s heading back toward the hatch. He’s going to do it! He’s going to dump that stuff into the water!”
Rusty bent down and took a good-sized rock from the gravel bed. He handed the stone to Maggie Sutton. “You give it a try,” he suggested. “We’ve fallen short, but maybe you can reach him.”
Keith shook his head. “Aw, she couldn’t possibly hit him,” he said. “She’s just a girl!”
“That’s right,” replied Chuck. “But she’s also the best hardball pitcher in Hawkshaw County.” He looked over at the blonde. “Go on, Maggie. Give it your best shot.”
Maggie hefted the stone in her right hand, gauging the distance between her and the man atop the water tower. His skeletal silhouette was creeping toward the open hatch of the reservoir, lifting the gas can as he went. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Please God,” she whispered. Then she opened her eyes, cocked her arm back, and, with a flash of speed that made Keith’s head swim, hurled the rock skyward.
~ * ~
Augustus Leech cursed beneath his breath as he stood over the gaping portal of the water tank, on the verge of dumping the gas can’s contents into the well below. He didn’t know how those little bastards had done it, but they had rendered him powerless against them. That would not stop him from exacting his revenge on Harmony, however.
He was tipping the can forward, when he heard a whistling sound split the warm night air. He turned his head just as a rock shot out of nowhere. The stone struck him in the right temple, sending a burst of pain through his skull. He lost his hold on the five-gallon can as he staggered backward, toward the far side of the reservoir. It bounced once on the steel plating and then tumbled over the side of the tank, spilling its syrupy elixir as it went.
“No!” screamed Leech. He attempted to regain his balance, but the blow to the head had disoriented him. He felt the soles of his work boots lose their grip as he reached the gradual slope of the tank. He grappled blindly for something to break his fall, but there was nothing there. A second later, he was tumbling into open space. On the way down, his fingertips brushed the edge of the platform railing, falling short of grabbing hold. A shriek of terror pierced the night air as he plunged to the ground below.
He struck the earth hard and fast, landing squarely on his feet. The impact was devastating. He screamed in agony as every bone in his legs, from hip to ankle, was shattered. Leech collapsed and lay still, overcome by searing waves of horrible pain. But through his torment, he knew that he could not remain there, at the mercy of those who had thwarted his scheme.
Summoning all the strength he could muster, Leech began to crawl away from the base of the water tower, toward the medicine show wagon and its dark team.
~ * ~
“You did it, sis!” said Tom. “You knocked his ass clean off that tower!”
“Where is he?” she asked nervously.
“He landed on the other side,” said Rusty. “Let’s go.”
They left the railroad tracks and were starting around the concrete base of the water tower, when the brittle crack of a whip and the drumming of horse hooves cut through the night. They scrambled to the side, just as the black roans galloped past, pulling the garishly-painted wagon behind it. They caught a quick glimpse of Augustus Leech sitting unsteadily on the seat, his face deathly pale and his legs cocked at weird angles before him. Through the material of his jeans, they could see jagged shards of bone jutting through, as well as bloody gobs of displaced muscle and flesh.
“Where is he going?” asked Rusty.
“Where do you think?” replied Keith. “The only place that’s provided him refuge for the past ninety years. The only place he truly feels safe.”
“You mean –?” began Chuck.
“That’s right,” said the boy from Atlanta. “Hell Hollow.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Frantically, Augustus Leech drove the team down the moonlit stretch of Sycamore Road. He groaned as the wagon wheels hit each bump and pothole, but fought against the agony that dominated his mangled legs. Instead, he used the pain to sharpen his senses and prevent himself from blacking out.
His emotions were a mixed bag; rage at having been denied his retribution and fear of being hunted down and caught. He heard the roar of engines approaching from behind him, gaining, closing the distance in between. Leech cracked the whip again and cursed at the two horses that surged forward, carrying the wagon past lonely farms, toward the dark wilderness of the South Woods. They responded obediently, pushing themselves even harder than before.
As the rural hamlet of Harmony was left behind, Leech felt another emotion overtake him. Despair. He thought of how close he had been; how he had been on the verge of pouring the poisonous elixir into the water supply.
But four meddling children and one well-placed stone had obliterated his carefully-crafted plans in a split second. He was more determined than ever to complete his act of vengeance, but not now. Not with his legs broken to bits and his life’s blood coursing through the gaping wounds. No, his hatred would have to be patient. Leech knew he must retreat as he had before and await a more opportune chance at exacting his revenge on the citizens of Harmony.
With difficulty, he leaned to the side and peered around the corner of the wagon’s cabin. Two vehicles were drawing near, their headlights glaring brightly, illuminating the asphalt road and the dense foliage that bordered it on both sides. Jasper McLeod’s pickup truck and Joe Adkins’ van dogged the wagon like two redbone hounds on the trail of an elusive coon. Leech glared at them, then turned and cracked the whip again, drawing blood from the hindquarters of the two roans. The animals galloped wildly, their breaths blowing noisily through their flared nostrils, their ebony hides slick with the lather of exertion.
The wagon suddenly lurched as the pavement of Sycamore Road gave way to a trail of dirt ruts and high weeds. Despite his pain, Augustus Leech smiled to himself. He was almost there. Soon, he would be back in the dark cradle of Hell Hollow, where he had hidden safely for nearly a century. There he would like in a state of limbo like before, waiting. Waiting until an opportunity to arise presented itself once again.
As the dirt road grew less defined and the wooded basin of the hollow loomed ahead, Augustus Leech uttered a silent prayer to his dark master, discarded the whip, then reached into his coat. He withdrew the skinny glass bottle from an inner pocket and held it in his pale hand, ready to put it to use when the crucial moment arrived.
Then, as the team of horses surged toward the edge of the embankment that dropped sharply into Hell Hollow, Leech spotted something in the darkness ahead. A pale form stood etched in the sparse moonlight that filtered through the heavy canopy of interlocking tree branches. At first he could not identify it. Then, the closer he came, the more distinct the features of the mysterious figure became.
It was the form of a woman.
~ * ~
Allison Walsh stood on the edge of the embankment, exhausted and dirty.
After she had left the interstate early that morning, her search had gotten sidetracked. The encroaching forest and its confusing chain of hills and hollows had soon disoriented her, causing her to lose her bearings. She had wandered for hours, hoping to come upon some sign of civilization at any moment. But, instead, she had encountered only more wilderness.
Out of breath from her climb up the steep bank, Allison suddenly heard something in the unnatural silence that permeated the Tennessee woods. It sounded like the drumming of horse hooves and the creak and chatter of an old wagon.
Frightened, she peered into the darkness ahead of her. Seemingly out of nowhere, two black horses drawing a painted wagon emerged, etched in silvery shades of moonlight. At first, she was certain that she was imagining things; that a day of aimless walking without food or water had caused her exhausted mind to play tricks on her. But as the apparition grew nearer, the more convinced she became that it was, indeed, for real.
Allison stood frozen to the spot, afraid to move. She shifted her eyes from the team of horses, to the one who sat high on the wagon seat. It was a tall, thin man dressed in dark clothing and wearing what looked to be a top hat. Then, abruptly, a slice of moonlight illuminated the driver’s gaunt features.
She felt her heart skip a beat. Allison would know that face anywhere.
It was him! It was Slash Jackson.
Allison expected to feel terror in the presence of the one she hated most in the world. But instead she felt a cold calm possess her. For an instant, all the misery and pain the sadistic rapist had inflicted upon her came rushing back, reminding her of what had taken place in the abandoned house. Since leaving the hospital in Rome, Allison had wondered exactly how she would react when she finally located the man who had brutally tortured and abused her.
Now she knew.
~ * ~
As he rushed toward the northern slope of Hell Hollow, Augustus Leech leaned forward on the wagon seat and peered through the gloom at the woman who stood a hundred feet ahead. He watched as she squared her shoulders, then reached up with both hands and wrenched her blouse open, popping the buttons from the garment. Her pale flesh showed in the moonlight, as well as something else. He had to focus through the pain of his shattered legs to read the single word that had been deeply carved in the skin between her collarbones and the mounds of her breasts.
BITCH.
The word conjured a memory buried in Leech’s subconscious. A second later, the part of him that had nearly been obliterated by the evil of the sinister medicine peddler – the fading essence of the redneck Georgia criminal named Slash Jackson – emerged, if only for an instant. He shifted his gaze from the ugly scars on the woman’s chest, to her face. As forty feet of distance lay between her and the wagon, Leech recognized the one who confronted him.
“You!” he wailed, fresh terror skewering him like a white-hot lance.
He watched helplessly as the woman reached into the purse that hung from her shoulder, drawing something metallic from its folds. Slowly, she lifted the object in both hands and aimed it straight at him.
Leech’s heart leapt in his chest. It was a gun.
Swiftly, he released the reigns of the team and grappled with the object in his right hand. He wrenched the cork free and lifted the mouth of the elixir bottle to his lips, hoping that it would reach them in time.
~ * ~
Allison tightened her grip on the stolen revolver, aligning the sights with the gaunt, white mask of Jackson’s face. Her finger caressed the curve of the trigger patiently, waiting for the right distance, the right moment.
When that moment arrived, she smiled coldly, then pulled the trigger.
The gun bucked in her hands, filling her ears with a thunderclap boom. She watched as the man’s head rocked backward just as he lifted something to his mouth. Then, abruptly, the horses were upon her. Their hooves flashed and their eyes blazed with an unholy crimson light.
Allison dodged to the side as the crazed animals reached the lip of the hollow. She expected them to come to a halt and rear up in defiance, but they failed to even slow down. Both leapt into open space, pulling the wagon into the chasm with them.
She lowered her gun and watched as the wagon and its team shot into the darkness, trailing a cloud of dirt and shredded kudzu behind them. For a second, an eerie silence rang throughout the forest. Then, down below, came a distant, hollow crash.
Allison stood there, stunned by what had just transpired. She wasn’t aware of the vehicles that braked to a stop behind her until she heard the slamming of doors. She turned to find several adults and children running toward her. She only recognized one. It was Jasper McLeod, the old man she had met at Hill’s General Store.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, bewildered.
Tears seeped from her haunted eyes and rolled down her face. “I shot him,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I shot the evil bastard.”
Jasper looked down at the revolver in her hand. Then his eyes rose to the ugly word that had been carved into her chest. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said softly.
“Let’s go down and take a look,” suggested Keith, passing the two. Recklessly, he began to make his way down the steep wall of the embankment. Rusty and Maggie followed close behind.
“Watch out!” called Susan McLeod. “He might still be alive.”
“I seriously doubt that,” said Jasper. He walked up to Allison Walsh and gently pried the gun from her trembling fingers. She offered no resistance whatsoever.
Several minutes later, they were all trudging through the heavy undergrowth of the hollow, heading toward a dark mass of splintered wood and twisted metal that rested among the dark cedars. Jasper led the way, directing the beam of a flashlight before them. The others follo
wed, the last of the group being Joe Adkins, who toted Chuck across his back.
When they reached the wreckage, they found that the two horses were dead, killed either by the impact of the fall or by sheer exhaustion. Jasper stepped up to the pile of fractured wheels and painted boards that had once been an ancient medicine show wagon and flashed the beam of his light upon the jagged tangle.
Lying amid the ruins was the body that had housed the vile soul of Augustus Leech. The pale, whiskered face of Slash Jackson stared at them with glassy eyes, an expression of intense terror forever set into his lean features. Allison’s one and only shot had been true. There was a neat .38 caliber bullet hole in the center of his forehead, an inch below the hairline.
But it was what lay scattered around the twisted body that shocked them the most. Bones. A jawless skull, a disjointed spine, several ribs, and the jutting length of a femur. They all knew precisely what they were. They were the skeletal remains of the true Doctor Leech. The murderous showman who had perished similarly, many years ago.
Keith stepped forward and examined the dead man. It was an object fisted in his right hand that drew his interest the most. A narrow bottle with a yellowed paper label glued to the front. He turned his eyes to Jackson’s other hand. Clutched between the stiffening fingertips was a plug of stained cork.
Curiously, the boy crouched down to take a closer look.
“You’d best step back, son,” Jasper suggested. “I wouldn’t get too close, if I were you.”
“Yes sir,” said Keith. He returned to his grandfather’s side, feeling drained, but no longer afraid.
“Is it over?” asked Maggie, clinging to her big brother.
Keith closed his eyes and smiled. “Can’t you tell?”
The others grew silent. Around them the chorus of a thousand crickets filled the summer darkness. And the air around them no longer held an unnatural chill. The night was muggy and warm, as it should be in mid-August.