In The Season of The Damned (Book One)

by Shannon Allen

  “Let her go!” I said again, stepping toward him, but I wasn’t close enough. He undid the door and pulled Marley out into the storm as I lunged forward. Something raced past him, and Marly was gone into the fog. He stood there for a moment. One of them walked past the open door. We got our best look at it then. Its face looked weathered and old, it had green skin, and its eyes were an animalistic red. It barely seemed to care that we were there.

  It reached into George’s chest, pulling out his heart and slurping it down. Then, it reached back in pulling whatever flesh it could. Then there were three of them ripping him apart, pulling out everything. It was just like one of those animal shows. I went to push the door closed, and they turned to me in unison, all multicolored slits for eyes, something in the vein of pure evil.

  “I don’t get it,” Jose said. “If they are that strong, how could the coffin hold them?”

  “Jose, how are we going to save Marly?”

  “The blood!” Jose said, as we listened to the ongoing sounds of flesh ripping. “Tabitha was bleeding, and she rubbed her hand around, that awakened one of them, and then the rest. The blood!”

  I heard screaming; it was Marly. I broke for the door, but Jose pulled me back silently shaking his head NO. “We’ve got to save her, Jose!” I raised my voice.

  “We can’t,” Jose said. “You go out there, and you’re dead.” The screaming stopped. Jose went to the back, and when he came back he said, “The smell of smoke is thicker in here, Jack. The window back there is broken open. It’s too big to cover. A tree and some brush are on fire. I say we head into the basement, lock the door, and maybe someone will see the smoke. I mean, they could just think it is fog, but maybe they will call the fire department. It has to be close to sunrise…I loved Marly like a sister,” Jose said, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Jake. This is all my fault! I think we did just what someone wanted us to do. I didn’t tell you the truth. I didn’t just find the ledger, it arrived at my house. Someone wanted this to happen.”

  I just shook my head. “It doesn’t matter, Jose, but we’ve got to get out of this.” We walked down the small stairs into the basement; it was a bit grimy looking, like it hadn’t been used in ages. There were more tools, older ones, and rusted metal lawn furniture.

  “Hey, come over here,” Jose whispered. “Look. A door?” We stared at each other, knowing this could be our first real break. “Let’s get this lock off.”

  “There’s a breeze coming from under the door,” I said.

  “Did you hear that?” he said.

  “No,” I said, “I didn’t hear anything. What was it like?”

  “Like something was calling me to come back upstairs.”

  “Just ignore it. Marly was hearing things too. She said it sounded like something wanted her to open the door. Okay, I’m going hit the lock with this hammer. It’s rusty, so mind your eyes.”

  “Wait,” Jose said, “don’t hit, these things can hear. See if you can pry it off first.” I took the back of the hammer and began to pry. The lock popped right off. “Yes!” Jose whispered. We opened the door and there was a tunnel, dank and wet smelling.

  “Ok,” I said, putting the hammer back into the utility belt. “It must lead outside, maybe beyond the cemetery, just a small ladder to climb down. But should we climb down?” George had come, so it had to be close to 6 AM. We heard a crash upstairs, looked at each other, and shook our heads yes.

  When we climbed down, it looked as if it was some sort of old drainage system. I had carried the flashlight with me. I shined it in front; we could see at least twelve feet in front of us. As we walked, we noticed intersecting tunnels, but we stayed on the same path. We didn’t need to be going in circles, and by going in a straight line, it felt like we were getting somewhere. It seemed as if 15 minutes of walking had passed, I’d guess. We came to a spot where you could feel another breeze, and there was a bucket hanging down. I shined the light upwards; it looked like an old well had been there.

  “We should keep going,” Jose whispered.

  “What if that well is our only way up?”

  “That well is a good deal past the children’s cemetery,” he whispered. “When they bought the cemetery, they kept it because it added to the look of the place. When they built these drainage pipes, they must have drilled right through it.”

  “Yeah, I recall seeing it.” Just then, we heard noises above, like something heavy was moving over us.

  “This way,” I said, pulling Jose. One of them was ripping the well apart, so Jose and I moved through the drainage as swiftly as we could. Jose was falling behind because of his leg. Then we heard a crash and a thump; it seemed like whatever it was had entered the drainage with us, and it was approaching quickly. Rats began to scurry in front of us as if fleeing whatever had entered.

  Just when it seemed we were going to be caught, “There’s a ladder!” Jose said. “Help me up.” The ladder reached about two feet off the ground. I helped Jose, and he began to climb. I jumped on the ladder, feeling as if at any minute, something would grab me and suck me into the darkness, just like what happened to Marly. Jose opened the sewer lid and crawled out, and there was about six feet to go till I was out. I could see the light of day streaming in.

  I dropped the flashlight, looking down to see one of them in the illuminated area, her eyes shimmering pink. She stood there, foaming, willing me to climb back down out of the light. “Marly?” I said. I begin to climb down, I wanted to get to her so badly. I could see a tear run down her face. I heard Jose calling me, and he sounded far off, but he was just a few feet away.

  He clanged on the ladder with the hammer, and that snapped me out of it for a minute. “Don’t look at her!” he said.

  “Jake, I love you,” she said. “Come with me.” Marly began to hiss and back away as more light poured through.

  “Marly, I’m sorry,” I said, fighting everything in me, trying to cling to the ladder, but wanting to fall into the darkness and be with Marly forever.

  Jose screamed, “Come on!” and I climbed up. Jose helped me out of the darkness. We were on the outside of the cemetery. The fog had cleared, and the sun was shining. Where they had gone, I did not know, but if Marly had found the tunnel, I had a good idea.

  As Jose and I staggered down the street, we said little to each other. Perhaps our minds were too perplexed by what just had happened. For all the things I have seen, this experience was just nothing I could compare anything to. Even if I had felt all the fear I’ve felt in my life at one time, it couldn’t compare. I never thought about what it meant until I crawled into to the sunlight, but then I understood that these were vampires, as Marly had figured.

  Jose’s place was closer. We needed to decide what to do, and we wondered what the night would bring. We wondered if we should go to the police. Jose wanted to head for the border. He said nobody was going to believe us, and he didn’t know if we could get enough proof for them not to put this on us, but for Jose, it didn’t matter.

  As soon as we got a block down his street, a car rolled around the corner and they shot Jose fifteen times and me four times. The last thing I remember seeing is Jose lying in a puddle of blood, gasping as the light faded from his eyes. A guy got out of the car and spat on him, and he said, “Compliments of Dirty Red.”

  You see, my friend owed a debt, one we both paid that day. Funny how life works, as Jose lived through all that to be killed by a gang of loan sharks run by a crooked cop. I was taken to the emergency room, and I was fighting for my life once again. I had all these dreams, but mostly of Marly. I fell into a deep depression. Tabitha, George, and Jason’s deaths at the cemetery were blamed on “a gang,” the same one they said killed Jose.

  I would not tell them the truth, and I’m sure nothing added up, but it seemed like the police wanted to cover this up, especially because since I’d been in the hospital, three more identical murders had happened around the neighborhood. When I got to leave, I headed for the border. I se
nt back an anonymous letter that told the police what they were dealing with. I also told my family to stay in Canada, and never to come back to the States. I found a small border town. I took my savings and hired security. I began studying vampires, waiting for the day that Marly would come, and always wanting for sunlight.

  STORY TWO: WITCHES

  The 1970s came in, leaving the sixties far in the rearview. I really just was becoming an adult at age nineteen, or at least that’s what I thought. I lived with my mom, Eva, and father, Willie. I was receiving my college education here in the city of Addington and working until midnight as a waitress at the diner down the street from my house.

  My parents had survived almost divorcing, but tensions were strained around the house. Mom had an affair after she found out that Dad had been sleeping with his old school love. Two rights don’t make a wrong, but I think the cheating on him made her feel like she’d evened the score. Maybe their love just persevered. I thought about these things as I prepared to take my group trick or treating. These were neighborhood kids whom I babysat for money on the side. I did not like them, to be honest, but it was extra money. A friend named Amelia would be going with us.

  My brother had left home earlier. That was who always had taken me trick or treating, but he and Dad clashed heads constantly until he turned seventeen, and then he just headed west and never looked back. I’d missed him, but grown indignant at the fact that he just left. I’d done better than him by almost two years. I remember that last argument, my brother and Dad had to be separated by my mom just after they started throwing fists. I remember my dad making contact and seeing the blood trickle down my brother’s face. I never had been angrier, but I did not know who to be angry with. I guess I could say that despite his faults, he was a good daddy to me, and I loved my mom as well.

  Recently, new neighbors had moved into the house across the way, and I’d made quick friends with the daughter Amelia, she was very fun, though a bit loose, and she already had her eyes on half the guys in the neighborhood. “Oh, I’d like to shag him,” she’d say, or, “Look at that guy, he’s the bee’s knees!” Maybe that’s what they teach them in England. Still, she was fun, and her accent was amusing. They were very posh, and her family was pretty loaded. Her dad was some kind of rare art collector, and her mom ran a company that put out a very artsy home décor magazine. I thought the parents were a bit eccentric, even creepy, to be honest. They didn’t seem all that friendly. Amelia was an only child. Right before we left, she said she had something to tell me later and to remind her.

  The trick or treating was fun, it was a throwback back to the innocence and purity of childhood. We collected a crop of candy, and looked on as the ghosts and ghouls floated through the street. I basked in the glow of the lights and shimmering colors of every masked fiend, while Amelia brazenly flirted at every stop. The kids really enjoyed themselves, too. Fun now and tummy aches later, my mom always said.

  That chilly night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning. There was something that I saw earlier that kept playing over in my mind as I dreamed, the four people on the corner across the street who watched us. They were dressed as witches; I could see they were adults, their green faces staring intently. I saw one of them beckon us. I awoke and I wondered if Amelia had seen them.

  It was probably insane of us, going trick or treating anyway, as there had been a few murders nearby recently. The police had given the guy a name, the “Alden Marsh Slayer.” Two of his victims were found floating headless and totally drained of blood in the marsh. Didn’t take a genius to figure out where the name came from. Sally Kirland was one of the victims, and her husband was a suspect, because everyone knew he beat Sally. The other was unidentified, a guy whom no one knew.

  At that moment, I heard a knock on the door. I rolled out of bed onto my knees and stood up, but the fog of sleep was still in my eyes. I took awhile fiddling for my house shoes. My parents likely didn’t hear the door. A crash of thunder and greenish blue lightning lit the stairwell. “Who is it?” I said, but the person didn’t say anything and just knocked again. I chained the door.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Hello,” the voice said, “I’m Mason Jacobs. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”

  “My brother?”

  “Yes, he sent me. You’re Franny, right?” I opened the door further with the chain still on. The smell of the storm rushed in then, and I noticed the person getting pelted by rain. He peered down at my nightgown through the open crack.

  “Yes, I’m Francesca.”

  “He is in a lot of trouble,” the man said.

  “How much trouble?” I asked noticing the stranger’s brow was arching.

  “Well, he is missing, we have not seen him in a while. I think he ran afoul of the wrong people and I think there is a good chance he is, well…I am sorry to say, but…” his voice trailed off. “Okay, someone is coming, I have to go.”

  “Wait!” I said. “You can’t just go like this! Who are you, and what are you talking about?” However, he just insisted he must go.

  “Here is my number, call me tomorrow at 7 PM and I’ll tell you more. There are some things I need to check on. Please, don’t tell anyone about this. I know it’s asking a lot, but especially not your parents.”

  “What?” I said. “Why not?”

  “Please,” he said. “Please.”

  Just like that, the stranger was gone. Now I really was worried. On a day when my brother was so close to my thoughts, I get this news?

  About three seconds later, a car pulled into the Driveway next door. Amelia’s mom got out of the car. Then she did something odd: She stopped, turning toward me very robotically, as if she was sniffing the air. I went into the house. I felt led to wake my parents and mention what had happened, but then I thought it might be better to find out more first. Still, I went to shake them awake, but the closer I got to their room, I just felt I shouldn’t.

  For the rest of the night, I lay awake thinking about what this stranger had said. Could I trust this person? How long before we should go to the police? No sooner had I glanced at the clock, I felt something grab my arm. Feeling the digits of the bony fingers, I turned to look next to me in the bed, and I started screaming. It was my brother! He shook his head as if saying no, his eyes were piercing, and his skin felt clammy and tough. It looked pale with its bluish dead hue, and there were bones poking out from where his cheeks were. I saw something on the floor behind him, but I could not move to get the full view, and it was moving slowly toward the bed. I felt it slip under the bed and then I awoke. I was overcome by sadness, and the realization that it had been a dream did nothing for me.

  The next day, the afternoon shift called. The owner, Pat Sr., had just had a son. He’d named him Patrick Jr., and he was so happy to be a father. He had been going around telling everyone how one day his son would own the diner, just like his father before him, and his father before him, and so on down the line. Most of the day was a blur as I waited to call the stranger. I had developed quite a few questions to ask him about my brother. I couldn’t get the nightmare out my head. Usually the logical one, I was acting illogically, I thought.

  Outside, the day had grayed, and there were fewer people coming in than in the warmer months. I didn’t mind the locals, as everyone here was quite friendly. The fast raindrops violently tapped the window for a bit, and I waited watching the huge, ominous puddles form outside. The news said we’d been having record-level rainfall and that this was the least amount of sunshine we’d ever had on record. Someone put a quarter in the jukebox and played the song, “Strangers in the Night.” A little company was good to have as I thought more about this stranger, strange was the right word, no matter how attractive he might seem, the strangeness of the situation just shined through. Whenever my mind was busy like this, the warmth and smells of the diner always were comforting.

  The time had come, and I picked up the heavy black diner phone and began to dial the number, when jus
t at that moment he walked through the door. “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” he cautioned. “I wanted to talk in person. I thought a public place would be good. I know you are you wary of me.”

  “Wouldn’t you be wary?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, “and to be honest, I just didn’t want to be alone,” he said, wiping his face with a tissue. “I was waiting all day for this moment. I need to talk to someone about this. If you feel afraid, just know I will not harm you.”

  “Okay,” I said, “have a seat over there.” I pointed him to the no-smoking section in the corner. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” I put a pot of night brew on; most of the people who came in would be requesting coffee, so I was going to have it ready. I watched Mason. He does look like a very troubled man, but troubled about what? He was taller than me, as he looked at least six feet tall, and I am five-foot-eight. He was very handsome in a fifties-movie sort of way. He stared out the window as if he was trying to see something. His hair was dark and squarely styled with a curl hanging in front, and he removed his long, black coat. I’d imagine he was ten years older than me.

  I went to his table and asked if he would like some coffee. He said, “Thanks. Black, please.” I filled it up. That exact minute, I heard the phone ring.

  “Just a minute,” I said to him, “sorry.” I picked up the phone and whoever it was on the other end breathed heavily, and then there were noises that sounded like a dog growling, and then he hung up. “It was nobody,” I told him.

  “Did you hear growling noises?” he asked.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “And breathing?”

  “How did you know that? Did you put someone up to calling?”

  “Okay, will you sit down?” he said.

  I noticed the urgency in his voice, so I sat, feeling very unnerved by the call.

  “The first time I met your brother, he broke into the church I was in. We had been having a lot of break-ins, and odd items were going missing. One night, someone broke in and stole a giant cross, but didn’t touch the pan of collection money. That was weird, so as the acting preacher, I decided to stay the night there a time or two a week.”