In The Season of The Damned (Book One)

by Shannon Allen

  “You look about the same size as my wife. I just took a chance.”

  “Thank you,” I said, going into the bathroom, closing the door, and changing out of my old clothes. I stuffed them into a garbage bin. “Let’s go,” I said, “we need to figure this out.”

  It was so odd, when we walked into the lot of the motel I saw a pop machine, but I just had a weird feeling about this place, like it had some significance, or maybe we were being watched. The cabin was about four hours away, and Mason drove.

  “I can’t believe I just left my dad in a bathtub of water.”

  “I know,” Mason nodded, “but you didn’t have a choice. We didn’t have a choice, from the day I came into your life, I knew it wouldn’t be the same again. All the time, waiting to tell you about your brother, the moment of actually doing it, I almost didn’t, I knew I was taking away your happy ending, I’m sorry.” I just nodded, looking at him, wishing I could comfort him like he comforted me.

  We arrived at the cabin. It was intact, nothing appeared out of order. I saw the big hula hoop I always used hung over the fence. The giant trees lined the outer fields like soldiers, and there were the various wood shacks spread over the property; usually those harbored garden snakes.

  “Franny, stay close. We don’t have to worry about vampires yet, but henchmen may be here.” He opened the glove compartment, pulling out a gun.

  No sooner had we stepped out the car, my mother rushed out of the cabin. “Franny, oh Franny!” she said, rushing up to grab me.

  “Get your hands off of me!” I pushed her away

  “Oh, Franny, what are you doing here?” she said. “Where is your father?”

  “You know damn well where he is,” I said. “Why, Mom? Why would you go along with this? Why would you hurt me like this? Dad? David?”

  “Oh, Franny,” she said, “what are you talking about?”

  “Let me see your number, Mom. Let me see the number!”

  “What number?” she said.

  I looked her in the eyes, and for the first time, I saw her, I saw who she really was. I grabbed her shirt sleeve, lifting it up. No numbers?

  “You bitch!” she said, slapping me. “You little bitch, my numbers aren’t on my arm; I’ve graduated.”

  Mason pulled a gun on her.

  “You put that away, Mason,” she said, sticking out her tongue suggestively at him. “You won’t use it. We have something of yours. In order to get it back, you’re going to have to play a little game. You see, Cas is being tortured at this very minute. If you don’t come with me, we will kill her, and you won’t see her again. Do you remember the night of comfort you shared? Well, guess who got pregnant? That’s right, she’s pregnant with your baby.” I saw Mason freeze up. My mom asked him to hand over the gun.

  “No,” he said, “are you out of your mind? You take me to Cas.”

  My mom looked like a cat with a mouse in its grasp. “One motion from me, and they will cut off her finger. You bastard, you don’t know who you’re dealing with!”

  “You bitch!” I said. “How can you do this?”

  “How can I not? They offered me everything. I never even wanted to have kids, that was your father’s idea, but then I saw the beauty of it: born to be sacrificed to them, it would be a greater sacrifice, it would have meaning, giving them your own flesh and blood, trading something you don’t want for the greatest power you ever knew. How stupid have you been, Fran? Amelia’s parents saw the beauty in that. That little slut would have been gutted by her own father, but they had other plans. We have a saying, if you give something away and it comes back, it’s yours. She came back. You won’t. It was magical, fooling you all these years.”

  “No, Mother, you don’t have to do this.’”

  She stared at me blankly. No emotion seem to surface, other than that she looked like she was enjoying every minute of this. “We’re surrounded,” she said. “You have come to your fate.” People with black robes began coming out of the trees. “Give me that gun, or you’ll never see the child your whore carries in her.” Mason looked around; we were surrounded by about 40 people now. The last thing I remember is tussling while someone put a rag over my face. It was damp, and then I slowly felt myself slip into unconsciousness.

  When I awoke, I saw Cassandra. She was tied to the pipes in the basement of the cabin and so was I. She looked like someone had beaten her badly; her lips looked swollen and her face was black and blue. “Franny,” she said, “we’ve got to get out of here. They are going to sacrifice Mason. Then, we’re next.”

  “Cassandra, is it true you’re pregnant?” I asked.

  “It’s true,” she said pulling at the pipes, as I was doing. “Mason and I, we had one night. Does he know?” she asked.

  “Yeah, my mom told him.” They hadn’t tied one of my hands as tightly. “Cassandra, look!” I said, freeing my hand. I worked at the other knot while Cassandra watched in silence. She hoped that I could free myself, but I wasn’t strong enough. In that moment, I remembered the cross Mason had given me. I grabbed it out my pocket, and I worked at the knot with the pointy end for about two minutes, and then I was free. I began to work at Cassandra’s wrists, freeing her one at a time.

  “Thank you,” she said. Seeming weak, she grabbed a shovel. We grabbed each other’s hand and slowly walked up the stairs. We could hear chanting now, loud, creepy chanting. It felt as if the cabin was vibrating with their words. “They are doing an awakening ceremony. They are trying to bring something into this world. They wanted me to sacrifice Mason, and I told them to go to hell. Whoever makes the sacrifice gets ten numbers, so all of them want to do today’s sacrifice. Whatever this is, it’s a bigger deal than before.”

  We crept to a darkened window and looked out. There, in the distance, was something outside of my wildest imagination, I could make out Mason tied to a table. The robed people now had on goat heads, some of the people who had captured us were gone from earlier. “If we can get a car,” Cassandra said, “I think maybe we should crash their little party.” We creaked the cabin door open and slipped to where the car was parked.

  Cassandra settled into the passenger side. They really had hurt her. She wasn’t moving well, and she grimaced. I could not believe the luck that Mason had left the key in the ignition. I started the car, shifting into drive, and I wondered if they heard. I drove around the cabin and toward the massive crowd. I’ll never forget the sounds, the squishing and thumping sounds that me hitting those people made. I plunged the car right through the crowd. While they were still in the chaos, I jumped out of the car and tried to free Mason. I got one hand free.

  The crowd of people had parted, besides the screaming injured, they began to gain their composure, and my mother and Amelia’s parents took off their masks. My mother reached for the gun from her robe, and she pointed it at me. “This was supposed to be easy. You were going to be a sacrifice. You’re still a virgin, we saved you for this moment. But then, something even better fell into our hands: a tainted holy man. We thought the ones we were raising would appreciate that as an appetizer, but now we’re going to sacrifice all three of you.”

  Just then, the hooded person from behind her grabbed her and grabbed the gun away from her. The person tossed me a tree branch and told everyone not to move as he pointed the gun. He pulled off his mask. “Franny, it’s me,” he said, his voice breaking. I almost came to tears upon seeing the face of my brother David after all these years, now so grown. “Get back!” he yelled to them, shooting one of them into the dirt.

  Cassandra had started the car again. I wrestled Mason free. My mother grabbed at the gun, and my brother fired once as she clinged to his arm. I took the branch and struck her in the head; her blood sloshed into the air, covering us. I felt a searing pain in my arm, and then I heard noises in the trees and the ground began to shake. The woman I thought loved me lay dead on the ground.

  The robed people acted like they didn’t know what was going on. We heard screaming and wa
iling coming from all around us, and some of them tried to run. We could see them being pulled into the trees by an unseen force. I can’t describe the fear and sheer terror, it was paralyzing, but we made it to the car and got in. “Just drive, drive!” I said to Cassandra.

  In the distance, you could hear the screaming, and see what the force was doing, It was as if something was ripping their flesh off, eating it, and spitting the bones back. “Ouch!” I cried out because my arm was hurting. Mason asked if I was okay. I shook my head yes.

  “Where do we go?” Cassandra said.

  “There’s a church,” Mason said, “it’s in Deer Town, one hundred miles away. Let us start there. Are you alright?” he asked Cassandra. “Are you really pregnant?”

  Before he could get that sentence fully out, she said, “Yes.”

  I’d look through the back window often to see if we were being followed. My brother told me how he had escaped where they were holding him with the help of a mystery person. He said they were going to sacrifice him that night, and that they did bury someone alive, but it wasn’t him. He thanked Mason for saving me, and looked confused when hearing of Dad’s death. We all seemed shaken and found more comfort in silence at the moment. Someone would ask a question, and there would be an explosion of speech, and then silence again.

  In the twilight of the car, with my brother now driving, Cassandra was tired and resting, and Mason’s head rested in my lap, as he’d been beaten. I parted his hair, he rubbed my face, and I looked into his eyes. I saw Cassandra take her hand and put it on her stomach momentarily. I looked back down at Mason, and as he drifted off to sleep, he mouthed the words, “thank you.”

  Later, I’d read Amelia’s diary, and it would reveal some shocking things, but as for this night, I felt the pain in my arm again. I rolled up my shirt sleeve and looked at my wrist; there was a green number 10 etched in my skin. I dreamed I saw Amelia standing in the road looking upset as my brother and Cassandra turned to me and started laughing. I then awoke and Mason’s words came back to me: They could be anyone.

  STORY THREE:THE DEN

  The road had been home to me for a long time; there was a familiar streak about it. For me, it was normal. This would be it, though. I finally was done, and this would be my last run. I had opened my own moving service with a friend, and we were doing great business. No more long trips over the road. Finally, I would have less time to be away from my son. I felt he was growing up without me. These were my thoughts as I was heading toward the city. I looked on and saw the ominous skyline was breaking into view.

  This was the last time I ever would listen to Ghost Radio while eating up miles and miles of highway, smelling the scent of gas and worn tires and sometimes the awful musk of flattened road kill. In many ways, it had been like a companion; it all had. Ghost Radio was a radio station run for and by ex-truckers; some of us would tune in nightly to its frequency. Everyone would discuss it while waiting for our trucks to be loaded. The show was a lot like the ones done by Art Bell. There were interesting interviews about things people had seen like aliens, Yeti, and Area 51, hilarious things. Sometimes I’d laugh for five minutes at a time just at the kooks they had on there.

  There was something fresh about the night air. A nice, soothing breeze jetted between the windows. I felt awake, alive at night. “Food, one mile ahead,” the sign read. I think I will indulge. Soon, I was munching on two burgers and a fizzing cola with fries. I had been watching my weight, but this was the perfect celebratory meal for a trucker on his last trip. That night the Ghost Radio show was about a guy who swore that he saw the pigeons in the alleyway behind his house turn into men. He’d brought the police report documentation into the studio. According to the report, someone was spotted on this guy’s roof. He says that they were up there, sawing into his house. Also, according to the report, there really was a hole and fresh pile of sawdust up there. There was nothing about men turning into pigeons in the police report.

  The next guest talked about the company GARNCO, he said that he was an ex-employee and that something big was about to happen, that they were testing something, something they had found in Mexico; he claimed it was an unknown substance. The guy sounded like a loon, but all of this made for great nighttime driving fare. That was the fun of it, as some stories would stir your imagination so much you could swear at times that you would see shadows in the trees marching alongside a farm. You would be left with a feeling akin to the one where you sit on the toilet, staring at the shower curtain, wondering what would happen if you pulled it back and saw someone there. Or that feeling you get when washing your hair in the kitchen and it feels like someone is behind you. That’s what made the show endure. One guy even swears he picked up a lady who turned into a werewolf.

  Sitting there in the truck, all cozy comfy, listening to my favorite radio show while having a meal fit for a king, well a trucking king, was pretty much how I wanted to spend that final night. I thought about how I’d be able to finally spend time with my son. Before he came along, love was just the closest warm body, as long as she smelled nice and had big boobs, but he totally disarmed my previous life that first time he smiled at me. I knew that my heart belonged in making sure they had everything, my son and his mother.

  In a way, the road and the other truckers were family. There was always a meeting during off time for the guys and gals. These were fun meetings; we’d usually share tales and make jokes about the rival trucking companies. 5wide for instance, everyone knew they had the worst drivers. Santa Fe Hall had the most couples driving; many of them were cheating on each other or with truckers from other companies. Being on the road, you hear and see so much, it’s like living the Internet. In terms of this stuff, truckers have the greatest stories. There are always interesting stories about hitchhikers. One trucker picked up an escaped con. The trucker later was found dead in a ditch, shoeless. One trucker claimed she was raped by a state trooper, when they looked into it, they found she’d been seeing three men in that trooper department. She finally admitted she made the story up, but only after the trooper’s wife committed suicide.

  The next day the wind blew outside. Mr. Green fiddled with the papers. “I know that this is your last day,” he said to me, “and you’ve just completed twenty years of successful employment with us. I really hate to see you go. Is there anything I can say to convince you to stay? I had planned on leaving this place in your hands one day. I still may will it to you. I am getting too old, plus younger drivers are harder and harder to work with. Most make the first week’s check and quit, and the ones we train and hire always leave us when their debt is paid. Most of the ones we keep, they just see a nice paycheck; no one understands service these days. We do the work no one else wants to do. We do it cheaper and faster. Here is a little thank you for services rendered.”

  He handed me an envelope, and just at that moment, a call came in. He motioned to me and whispered, “Just one minute, please.” This fat, scruffy man with the squeaky voice had put me through hell earlier in my employment. He gave me the toughest interview I ever had, but the longer I stuck around, the more he began to give me respect, till after awhile it seemed like I was running the place. Times here had been crazy, and things seemed erratic many days. I stared at the clock he had on the wall. I had never seen it before, maybe it was new. It was a leathery black clock with a small motif hanging under it that read, “Time is on our side.” I watched as Mr. Green put the phone down.

  “Damn there’s been an accident,” he said, torching a cigar. Then, repeating himself, “There’s been an accident. There is a problem with haul 305, it is just outside the city limits, the haul is fine, truck is fine, but the driver was found dead at the wheel!”

  “Dead?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Mr. Green said, “dead.”

  “Do they know what happened? Who was the driver?” I asked, probing for a little more detail.

  “Looks like natural causes, and one of the new hires, Mark,” he said. “Jeff, w
hat do you think about a company-sponsored vacation?” I could hear his mind working. “You make this run for us, take this truck from California to New York, it will be your final run and we’ll give you four days and nights any where in the States. You deserve it. You just pick up the truck and continue the haul.”

  Knowing how much he needed me to do this, my mind was working as well. I’m going to push for more; you never settle when you’re holding all the cards. “I would love to do it, Mr. Green, but I’ve already got so many plans, and that route at this time of year is extremely dangerous. You make it one full week, seven days in Hawaii, and you got a deal.”

  “Seven days? You’re robbing us, Jeff,” he complained in his semi-joking, but totally serious manner. “Okay you got it, seven days.” I was a bit surprised at how quickly he agreed.

  “Okay then,” I nodded.

  He took a big drag of the cigar and smashed it out.

  “Tomorrow I’ll pick up the truck; you just call and leave me the details. As for right now, there is somewhere I have to be: it’s my son’s birthday.

  “Tell him happy birthday,” Green smiled, still fuming no doubt over the seven days, but definitely happy that he didn’t have to be the one to recover the truck and continue the haul to New York himself. “Jeff, you’ve been the best thing that happened to this company. Sincerely, thank you.”

  I arrived where my son lives at 5 PM. I was greeted by Mr Shuster, the neighborhood gardener and drunk. I always liked Shuster, though he’d been a drunk for as long as I remembered him. They say he went crazy when his brother died. He felt it was his fault.

  The tale went that the brother and he were going to steal a car, it was Shuster’s idea, but mid-theft the owner came out of the house and killed Shuster’s little brother, and his brother died in his arms. He began to cry so loudly that the people in the neighborhood started to come out of their homes. They said his brother was lying there just wheezing, breathing through a hole in his face, as his teeth had been completely smashed by the blast. The damage from the shotgun was so bad they had to have a closed casket at Sunny Shines. The creepy thing about this was that people in the neighborhood would say that they’d see the brother driving the car they were trying to steal. Shuster swears that he once looked out his window towards the neighbor’s house and saw his brother driving the stolen car and waving at him. The owner never pressed charges, but Shuster was never the same.