by Paul A. Rice
It wasn’t always about blood and death, no, on many an occasion it had been more about simply stopping the childish games the Demon liked to play. Red and the Light Maker were just the latest toys it had been amusing itself with. Well, this was one game she wasn’t going to lose. Michael had given himself to the cause, his was the ultimate Gift and Tori had no idea when or where she would see him again. She had lost him once more, but she would find him again, one day soon she would find him.
But for now she had two things on her mind, the Demon and Red. She would deal with them in that order, deal with each of them differently – her emotions for both men were also different, entirely different feelings altogether.
‘Love and hate,’ her great grandfather had told her, ‘are very similar emotions – the trick is learning how to use them, my dear.’
His words came back to her and Tori realised what he had meant. She smiled to herself as she saw the apple tree silhouetted against the night sky. She knew how to use hate all right, yes, even if it was something she had only recently began to understand, Tori intended to use it to its full extent in the very near future. She drew to a halt about thirty yards away from the mound. Kicking the stand down, Tori killed the engine, dismounted, and stood silently watching as the man before her went about his work.
He was digging frantically beneath the apple tree, so engrossed in his work that he seemed not to have heard the noise the Harley must have made as Tori raced towards him. She stood in the darkness and watched him.
Jeremiah Tolder held the shovel in one hand, smashing its blade in the soft earth beneath him. He wasn’t making good progress as he was only using one arm. Red had broken the other one at the shoulder, the injured limb hung uselessly by the man’s side. He was enraged and swung the shovel viciously, it clanged off the tree, which stood in silent witness above his frenzied actions. The tool bounced back harmlessly, the vibration of its strike making the last few red apples release their weary grip; they fell to the earth and landed with little thuds. Tori recognised their falling and watched to see if they would burst in to green light, as they had in the dream, but all they did was to roll down the slope and come to a rest when their momentum had exhausted itself.
She looked back up the slope to where the man stood.
He howled at the ground, a deep, guttural screech, Tori heard him gurgle. Cursing, he dug the shovel into the ground, she watched as the black crucifix from her dream presented itself. She stared at it for a while and then looked at the man again – he was couching down, sounding as though he was struggling to breathe. He made a choking sound and reached for his throat. Rubbing it furiously, he tried to speak again, but only strangled rage exited his mouth, a gasping stream of soggy gibberish.
‘Fuk, I was erghh, arrggh mutha… so help me I… get, urrghhle… Fukshhukgh …’ Jeremiah sounded as if he was trying to scream, scream whilst somebody was busy pouring a glass of warm water, or something much worse, down his throat. He stumbled to his knees and spat a mouthful of the fluid to one side. Tori couldn’t quite see what it was that he expelled from his rasping mouth, but she hoped it was blood.
Mike had hit him so hard in the throat that she’d heard things snapping in there; the blow had stopped him in his tracks, at least for a while. Mike had turned from the pole-axed giant and bent down to help Red, the young man in the process getting to his own feet after having been knocked to the floor by his enormous father. It was around that time when the knife had come out…
Forgetting the past for a moment, Tori began to walk towards the kneeling tyrant. She never made a sound, tennis shoes touching lightly on the soft grass below. She felt as though she may be able to sneak right up on him.
She was wrong.
He raised his head and sniffed deeply in her direction, turning to her and glowered into the darkness, eyes searching for the source of her fragrance. It took him about five seconds before he managed to focus on her tall figure. Seeing her standing there in the half light, he growled like a dog, and then staggered upright. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it? I see yoooo, cunt bitch!’ he snarled. ‘Ahh, right… Garrghh, I geddit, you fuks think it’s my time, huh? This time we’ll fuggin see, you c…’ He choked once more and Tori saw his legs buckle momentarily. In rage, he braced himself and stood his ground, cursing her with his insanity. He spoke almost pure gibberish. ‘Shrgaghh, you fukin’ bastarddds! You bitch, fuk all of you, geshh pricks, I killyaa!’
Once again, Tori heard him drowning. By now she was close enough to see that it was blood coming from his mouth, and there was plenty of it. The fluid looked like oil as it dripped from his lips under the darkening sky. Tori very nearly laughed at the sight. The irony of that crazy thought amused her intensely. She actually giggled. Giggled and then pulled the pistol out of her jeans.
The action made her find the situation ever funnier – this time, Tori laughed out loud and then started to walk up the slope towards Jeremiah. The weight of the gun made her hands heavy, she glanced down at them. The reality of the dream once again sneaked up behind her and exposed the truth – everything was planned, everything was linked, this was just one part in a long chain of correlated events. She laughed loudly at the realisation, and in a wonderfully liberating rush, all of her darkest fears left her.
‘I have no fear – everything is planned, we are all joined,’ she thought, quickening her pace and striding purposefully up the hill.
As she neared him, Tori whispered: ‘Yeah, you cocksucker, have a good look at me laughing, I’m the laughing girl that’s going to blow your festering head right off your shoulders! See at me laughing, Mister Demon, see me laugh!’
With that comment, Tori raised the pistol and shot Jeremiah in the throat.
Then, just like in the dream, she found herself flying towards him. She felt herself being pulled into the man. As she tore forwards, racing across time, she began firing at him once more. Time after time she pulled the trigger and time after time she watched as the bullets smashed into his head. She saw them, every single one of them, watching as the chunks of flesh and bone flew into the air. The man fell to his knees, collapsing onto his back.
Tori saw his head ballooning grotesquely, watched in mesmerised terror as the man’s eyes began to change colour. Jeremiah’s face, which the Demon wore like a mask, seemed to crinkle. It bulged obscenely and then seemed to collapse inwards, eyes turning a fluorescent yellow. Blood and something else, something black and terrible, erupted from his lips in a fine spray.
The substance lifted above into an awful mist, a horrible, black vapour that seemed to take on a shape of its own. Tori knew the transformation was impossible, yet she also knew that her eyes weren’t lying to her – the blackness was alive! As she stood and watched, the feeling of being witness to something new, of something overwhelming, filled her head. In a sudden rush of truth, Tori realised that for the first time she had actually come face-to-face with the Darkness, for the first time she really had seen the enemy! It hung above his mouth like some insane, liquid kite. The awful fluid looked as though it had grown wings.
Tori stopped her rush to find that she had come to a halt right above Jeremiah’s crumpled form. She had no idea how many bullets were in Ken’s gun, but without hesitation she fired the rest of them straight into the Dragon’s spewing mouth. The bright flash leapt from the muzzle of the weapon, its searing light illuminating the leering face below her.
Lumps of flesh and teeth smashed into the back of its blood-filled throat, the horrible tongue disappearing in a gobbet of pink mincemeat. The impact of the bullets caused the black mist hanging above to lose its force. Like a burst water-balloon, it splashed back onto that dreadfully shattered face. With one last gurgling curse, which seemed to emanate from the very air around her, those terrible yellow eyes blinked out. Tori stood there and kept pulling the trigger, not hearing the pistol’s hammer as it fell repeatedly onto an empty chamber.
‘Click, click, click…’
She stood looking d
own at the remains of her assault for a while, standing there and shuddering with fear and anger. Then, with a start, she dropped the empty weapon onto the dead man’s face; the gun made a wet thudding noise before slipping across the mess and falling into the gore-covered grass next to the awful remains of his head.
In that same instant, Tori turned and ran back to the bike. The darkness seemed to have doubled – she sensed a wind coming from the east, it moaned through the woods, dark and cold, filled with malice. She shivered, climbed onto the old Harley and heeled back the kick-starter, praying for the bike to start as she did so. Someone was definitely on her side tonight – the old engine fired on the very first time of asking. With a snarl of exhaust, Tori turned and headed for home. She didn’t look back.
The part of the Demon she had slain, smashed and left behind within the useless husk of Jeremiah Tolder’s broken body, didn’t feel so lucky. In fact, it didn’t feel much of anything. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be doing any giggling for a while, either. It was dead. At least for now it was.
33
Saying Goodbye
It was the next day when they buried Mike. There was only a small ceremony, it only needed to be as there were just the four of them in attendance. They had made the decision the night before, after Tori had returned. Sitting on the porch and staring at the sky, they’d remained in silence whilst they waited for the girl to get back from her task. When she finally returned, Tori coasted the bike to a stop, leaned it against the steps and ran into the house without a word. As the others watched, they saw her heading into Mike’s room, closing the door behind her. Maggie rose to her feet and suggested that perhaps they should clean the place up a little.
It was a distraction that suited Jane just fine. Ken looked as though he, too, would be pleased with something to do. Standing up slowly, he’d set about making a hasty repair to the broken window and the severed banister-rails. Jane fetched endless buckets of hot water onto the porch and together they had sloshed and scrubbed the awful memories away from its wooden surface.
After a while, Tori had re-joined them. Taking a seat next to Mike’s rocking chair, she looked at them and whispered, ‘It’s done.’
They left it at that for now; Jane knew they would hear the rest when Tori decided that she was ready. It was then Maggie had calmly suggested that they should bury Mike themselves.
‘We don’t want anyone knowing what has happened,’ she said. ‘I mean, what should we tell them about this? The Police and the doctor will be here, and then…’ She let the unspoken words point them in the direction of the only real solution.
‘What about the other… thing?’ Jane asked, shuddering as she struggled to say its name. ‘Jeremiah – what do we do about him?’
Tori looked at her without a hint of remorse or pity, without a hint of anything. She was stonily cold, talking as if it was an old boot, or something even less important, which they were worrying about. ‘He will be gone in the morning, they always are,’ she hissed. ‘I would be surprised if his body is still there even now.’ She stopped herself and then apologised. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know this must be incredibly difficult, it’s just that, well, I’m thinking about Red and Michael and…’ She grimaced and turned away.
‘Would you like me to make a…’ Ken choked, ‘…make a coffin? I have enough wood. I mean, it won’t be brilliant, tomorrow is a bit soon…’
Maggie smiled, then stood and walked across to him. Walking around until she reached the back of his chair, the old lady put her hands on his shoulders, with eyes shining, she spoke to her anguished friends once more.
‘Oh, my dears, what have we done to you?’ she whispered. ‘I am so terribly sorry. Even in this, our darkest hour, you still have the capacity to give. Jane, I can hear you thinking about rescuing some of your poor flowers for Michael!’ She motioned with her head towards the scattered plants, which they had never had the heart to clear away. Jane looked at her and nodded. Maggie said, ‘Thank you, Kenneth, for the kind offer, and thank you, Jane, for your gentle thoughts. You are so nice. Everything my father has said is true, many times over it is true!’ The old woman placed her hand on the top of Ken’s head, as she did so he felt her sincerity flood into him. He continued to listen to her caring words.
‘There is no need to do anything at all except have pleasant memories about my grandson, he is sleeping at the moment, but in the morrow he will awaken. That is all you need to remember – I will take care of the rest.’ She paused for thought. Then, nodding in some form of self-satisfaction, Maggie said, ‘We should try to sleep; tomorrow we shall say our goodbyes to dear Michael. Don’t get all fancied up, there is no need, it’s not the way he was.’
And so, after an utterly sleepless night they found themselves standing outside Mike’s room. When Ken and Jane had gone into the bedroom to see if they were able to offer some help with Mike’s body, the pair had received yet another gentle reminder of the fact that there were things happening here they had no understanding of whatsoever. Mike’s body was lying on the bed; it was covered in a material of the purest blue. The shroud appeared to be some kind of metallic paper, and exuded an almost ethereal glow. When Ken reached out and touched the wrapping, he found it to be rigid.
Ken thought: ‘Well that sure beats the hell out of the poxy bits of two-by-four I would have used…sorry mate!’ He smiled as he thought about what Mike’s reply would have been, his friend’s sarcasm crackling through his mind.
Maggie had told them to take a corner each. Once they were in position, she ordered them to lift the body. Jane and Ken both tried too hard, Mike was a big guy and it was going to be a major effort. But, as they set their muscles for the big lift, they were totally taken off-guard by the way in which the corpse almost floated into their hands. It was though the cloth had been draped around some polystyrene cut-out of their friend’s body. Ken only just stopped himself from uttering a surprised curse.
Jane looked across Mike’s body and smiled at her husband.
Ken shook his head. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and shut his mouth.
Mind racing, he helped the other three ‘float’ Mike outside into the waiting truck. As they placed him gently into the rear of the vehicle, Ken had an overwhelming desire to put something heavy on top of the gleaming blue cloth. He felt sure Mike would simply rise up and drift away before they reached the apple tree.
It was subsequently they found themselves coming to a halt at the base of the mound where the apple tree grew. They all climbed out of the truck, Tori jumped down from the back where she had been riding with her brother.
‘Let’s go and find him a good spot!’ she said, trotting lightly up the slope.
Jane and Maggie held hands whilst Ken brought up the rear. As they wandered up the small slope, stopping and looking backwards every now and then to find the best view, Ken had a terrible thought.
‘Oh, bollocks, I never fetched the digging tools with me!’ He ran up the slope to catch the others. Touching the old woman’s arm, he said, ‘Maggie, listen, I’m sorry but I didn’t bring…’
She turned to him and once more Ken knew that Maggie, just like her father, was able to see right into his head. She looked at him and shook her head with a smile. ‘There is no need to do anything – come,’ she said, ‘everything is ready.’
Ken stuttered, ‘Oh…okay then…no problems.’ He looked at Jane and gave her an eye signal, one which he tried to make say: ‘I’ll tell you later…’
She, too, only smiled at him.
Ken shook his head. ‘Everyone is smiling around here,’ he thought, angrily. Ken didn’t feel like smiling in the slightest; in fact, if the truth be known, he felt like kneeling in the warm grass and screaming at the Godless sky, screaming for Mike to come back and help him with this.
Dragging himself up from his own self-pity – being able to hear Mike taking the piss out of him for being such a whiner – Ken took a deep breath and set off into a jog to catch the others up. As he j
oined them at the top of the slope, he saw Tori looking at the disturbed earth and the shovel, which was stuck in the ground beneath the tree.
‘That’s why Maggie smiled,’ he thought. ‘They’ve already started digging – when in the hell did they do that?’ He walked up to the shovel, saying: ‘How about here, yeah? This spot looks good to me!’ Grabbing the handle, he started wiggling the tool until it came free. There were no smiles this time.
‘No!’ Tori said. ‘Definitely not here, this is where I killed him, Jeremiah – I shot him in the head, over there, that’s where he was digging!’ She pointed to the spot.
Turning to look, they saw the flattened grass. There was no blood or any other tell-tale marks, only the small area of flattened grass gave any clue as to the horrific events which had occurred in that place. Remembering, Tori walked across to the spot and bent down. Finding what she was looking for, the girl stood upright and turned to Ken. Holding it delicately, between thumb and forefinger, Tori returned the Beretta to him.
Ken put the safety catch on and then slid the pistol into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. Looking down, he saw that the ground was littered with empty shell-cases. He’d counted to nine before his wife’s voice made him glance up to watch the proceedings.
Jane asked: ‘What was he digging for; you mentioned treasure or something, Maggie?’
The old lady turned to Tori, seeing her grandmother’s expression, the girl reached into the pocket of her jeans – she had done as was asked and had come casually dressed, the only thing she had made a special effort with were her shoes, they were bright red and suited her perfectly – pulling her hand out from the pocket of the jeans, Tori fetched a cloth bag into the light of day. Opening the drawstring, she extracted something from within the black bag and held out her hand. The object, which now rested upon her pink palm, shone dully in the early morning sunlight. It was a medal, or brooch, and looked very much like the one George had given to Jane and Ken.