by Bryan Nowak
Lines of blood on the wall above the tables told a gruesome story. The lines were traced in finger like patterns, indicating they were made by the victims clawing for some sort of escape or perhaps relief from whatever was happening to them. Some of the people strapped to the tables were alive while they were being tortured to death. These people weren’t just simply cut apart here, this room is where these people died in the most gruesome manner possible.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Bill said. Putting his phone away, he turned from the door and let out a sudden yelp.
“What happened?” Mike cried in alarm.
“Somethings got my leg!”
Mike swept the beam of light around and fought down a wave of nausea. The outstretched hand of one of the bodies lay on the floor, its fingers wrapped around Bill’s pant leg. “I’ll get it, wait.” Mike reached down, gingerly prying the fingers holding onto Bill. To his surprise, they were warm and flexible, with no sign of rigor mortise in the joints.
“This one is still warm Bill, this may be the victim we just heard get shot. Let’s turn him over and search for identification.”
They pulled the body outside, under the fading light of the afternoon and far from the plague of flies. Certainly the smell was better too.
Flipping the corpse over, they saw the gunshot wound, fresh and still leaking a considerable amount of blood. Mike searched the unfortunate man’s pockets while Bill checked their path to make sure a wallet or some other identification hadn’t fallen out.
And then the corpse muttered, “Please, help me.”
Mike fell backwards at the shock of hearing the man speak. “Holy crap! Bill, this guy is still alive.”
“Hel … Help … me. Please, help me,” he weakly whimpered.
Mike tried to find something to shove in the guy's wound to stop the bleeding. “Just hang on there, buddy.” Quickly ripping off his button down shirt and wadding it up to make an impromptu bandage. The man winced in pain as he applied pressure.
“What happened?” Bill asked.
“Maaath … Maaaatt.” The man went silent. For a moment, Mike thought he’d seen a flash of fear in the man’s eyes. “Ssss someone shot me.” It took the man forever to get even one word out. Each word more labored than the one before it.
Mike stood up. “Bill, wait here. I’m going to go back inside and see if I can find a first aid kit or anything to work with. This guy isn’t going to make it if we don’t do something quick.” Without waiting for an answer, Mike ran the few paces back into the house. He ignored the grotesque display and checked the remaining rooms. In the back, he found an old style kitchen.
Disparate to the other rooms, this one was clean, almost sterile. There was an old style pump which emptied into a sink and a stove set up in the corner, fed by a small green propane canister. A large table stood in the middle which had a small candle in the center.
He threw open the cupboards. The first one contained a complete set of dining utensils. They were arranged neatly on the top of a stack of dishes. A cup and linen table cloth sat neatly next to silverware. The way the linen laid out so neatly in the cupboard would be creepy even in a regular house. The rest of the cupboards contained some spices and more linen cloth, but little else of consequence.
He filled a pot with water and grabbed one of the cloths. Mike prayed it’d be enough to stop the bleeding; their options were limited. If they couldn’t do that, they’d never get the man out alive. Mike briefly ran through his life-saving skills, learned in Boy Scouts, and cursed himself for not paying better attention.
Upon exiting, he saw Bill holding the man’s head and shoulders, talking quietly to him and holding the now blood-soaked shirt to the gunshot wound. Mike handed the towel to Bill. “Switch those out. We’ll have to try to get him back to the boat. Do you have any cell phone signal out here?”
Bill answered without glancing at his phone. “Nope, nothing.”
The man, groggy, but still conscious, spoke up. “Outside phones … blocked. No signals, no calls outside town.”
“What’s your name?” Mike asked.
“Waylon … And …” He winced in pain, biting back the next word.
Bill said, “Don’t try and talk. Just relax for now. We really need to get him back to the resort and call the police.”
Waylon grabbed Mike by the arm with a surprisingly strong grip for someone suffering a gunshot wound. His eyes bulged with terror. “No, No police. No hospital. You need to leave, they’ll kill you too.”
“I think he’s right,” Bill said. “We need to put distance between ourselves and this place. We need to get back to the boat and back to the resort.”
“No, we can’t just leave him here. He comes with us, as long as there is a chance we can save him.” They weren’t that far away from the dock; however, carrying another man would slow them down. In a perfect world, Mike knew they should build a stretcher. This situation definitely didn’t fit the standard of a perfect world.
They found an old ball of twine laying on the porch and secured Waylon’s bandages as best they could. Waylon asked for water and Mike knew they tell you not to give a patient in his condition water, he gave it to him anyway. It was only a matter of time before the blood loss would make any further first aid unnecessary. A little water likely didn’t matter at this point. Waylon needed a hospital, and quick.
Picking their way through the bushes and brambles proved considerably more difficult than expected. The added weight of Waylon and the quickly approaching dusk added to their abysmal progress.
Mike slowed as something caught his attention. Blue and red lights danced through the trees and leaves up ahead. In the clearing of the boat ramp, people were standing around. “Bill, wait,” he said.
Bill looked over Mike’s shoulder. “What do you suppose is going on down there?”
“Not sure, but it can’t be good. Let’s put him down.” They gently set Waylon on the ground. As they did, a little groan escaped. At the very least, he was still alive, but probably not for too much longer. “Stay here with him, I’m going up to have a look.”
Bill protested, “Wait Mike, why don’t I go down there and you stay here with him?”
“No, I’ve got it. Just keep the cloth on his wound.” Not waiting for a response, Mike carefully picked his way through the woods. Hiding behind trees, he timed his movements to avoid the lights of arriving vehicles. Stopping short of the boat ramp parking lot, Mike hunkered down behind a small dirt pile at the end of the lot. It made an effective berm between the boat ramp and the forest.
Several people milled around, close enough that Mike could make out their conversation. Mainly they spoke of the two strange boats sitting at the docks. “I’m not sure where those boats came from,” one of them said. “As soon as I saw them, I called Matthew. He said he’d never seen them before either. Looks like they may have come over from the resort.”
“You ever been at that resort?” asked a second man.
“Oh, no way. The Master would never allow such a thing. Besides, why leave Riapoke? Nothing outside of this town we need anyway.”
“I don’t know … I’m always curious.”
The first man laughed. “You know what they say about curiosity and the cat right? 'Cept, you don’t have nine lives, my friend. If I were you, I’d keep that curiosity to myself.”
Just then, a uniformed man walked up from the docks and pulled out a cell phone.
Interesting, Mike thought. His cell phone works, but ours won’t? He was reminded of what Waylon had said.
Before dialing, he spoke to the crowd. “You people need to go home. Thank you for calling it in. I’ll deal with the boats.”
“Matthew,” the second man said. “Did you figure out anything about the boats, like maybe where they came from?”
The man in the uniform shook his head. “Nothing yet, it’s kind of a mystery really. You folks get on home now. I’ll take these boats to my yard and we can sort out owner
ship in the morning. Probably just busted lines from the storm and they washed ashore from another part of the lake. Have a good night.”
The dejected mob, obviously expecting more intrigue, moved back up the road toward their vehicles. The officer sat down on the dirt pile at the end of the parking lot. The same pile of dirt Mike used as a convenient hiding place and observation area.
“Donny? Yeah, it’s Matthew. Say, I’m down at the docks right now. Got a call from Fred Taylor earlier. Found a couple of boats tied up to the dock with no owner around. They’re both from the resort, and I’d swear the second boat here is the same one that woman and the kid sunk earlier.”
Mike’s heart sank as Matthew spoke those words. The officer had to be referring to Meghan and Kyle. Mike wanted nothing more than to jump up and explain that these were the people they were looking for. Only the question of the officer’s reaction kept him from doing so. There was also the matter of him being covered in Waylon’s blood. It might prove difficult to explain. This could be the same officer who shot Waylon earlier and wouldn’t think of shooting them as well.
Matthew spoke again. “Okay, I’m going to take the boats over to my office and lock them up in storage. I’m sure the owners will turn up sometime. We should play it safe until we know what they want. They may have come here looking for the woman and the kid.”
He paused for a few moments, listening to whomever spoke on the other side of the line. Then let out a long sigh. “Between you and me, Donny, that was the hardest thing you’ve ever asked me to do. But, I did it. I want you to let The Master know of my devotion.”
After another brief pause, he said, “Thank you. Tomorrow we’ll send in a crew to prepare the body. What? Oh, I left him at the workhouse like you asked. No, I’m sure no one saw it. I’ll fill out a death certificate in the morning. And Donny, Waylon asked if we would take care of his mother. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request.” After a few moments, Matthew said, “Okay, great. I think Waylon would be happy to know that. I have official things to take care of. I’ll call you tomorrow, late morning. May The Master of understanding grant you peace, Reverend.”
Mike watched in stunned silence as Matthew stood up from the pile of dirt and walked back toward his truck. This was definitely the officer who shot Waylon. They had little time to do what they needed to do. If the officer really had left Waylon for dead, someone he knew and called a friend, then he’d likely kill both him and Bill with little or no remorse. Worst of all, they’d likely think nothing of killing Meghan and Kyle. He needed to find them before this police officer had that chance.
I Want Mommy
Swimming through semi-consciousness, Meghan struggled to make sense of the sequence of events. Sleep should never come on as quickly as it had. She didn’t remember changing clothes or even getting under the covers.
The outside world felt different than the air conditioned room she’d fallen asleep in. Opening her eyes, the world around her felt strikingly unfamiliar. Along the walls an eerie light pierced the darkness from flames which seemed to have no beginning or end. It could have been the effect of her still groggy mind, but the lighting reminded her of the fake flames from a cheap gas fireplace. It cast an eerie, unnatural glow.
The air felt impossibly humid, and yet cool at the same time. In the distance, a steady dripping noise interrupted the otherwise crypt like quiet of the space. To Meghan it sounded like a small bead of water continually formed at the tip of a stalactite and then dropped into a pool of water at an unseen base. The sound called to memories the trip they made to Luray Caverns when Kyle was little.
She sat up, adjusting her eyes to the dimly lighting. She sat upon a granite stone which sat in the middle of the room. Rather than separate from it, the rock rose up from the floor to roughly the size of a dinner table. Meghan swung her legs to the side and tried to stand. The room swirled around her, and she had to use the rock for support as she made her way toward what looked like a door.
Risking another step forward, Meghan was rewarded with a successful movement of her legs. She made progress toward the iron door that stood open on the other side of the room one step at a time.
Within a foot of reaching the opening, the iron bars slammed shut, cutting off her exit. Meghan stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. She sat up and rubbed her elbow, hurt in the fall.
From the hallway a deep voice laughed. “I really must apologize Mrs. Johnston. I was having a little fun at your expense. I didn’t mean to frighten you just now.”
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing?” Meghan wanted to sound braver, but her question came out as a high-pitched squeak.
The reverend stepped around the corner and stood outside the bars. “Surprise. Don’t worry, Meghan, your stay here with me won’t be long. Just long enough for me to do what I have to do.”
“What are you going to do to me?” The enormity of the situation crashed down like a ton of bricks. Donny, the reverend, must have put drugs in her food last night. That didn't make any sense, though, as they all ate the same things. Everything came out of the same serving dishes or pitchers.
Meghan ran through the events of the evening before. The only thing anyone ate that was separate were the drinks at the end. The schnapps. The glasses were poured in the kitchen. Shelly carefully offered one particular glass to her over the others, handing it to Meghan.
“This wasn’t our deal,” Meghan said. “You were going to make me spend a night in your house and then let me go. Where’s my son?” She wanted badly to cry, but choked down the impulse. Losing control of her emotions would get her nowhere.
The reverend laughed. “You really think this is about that silly little boating thing? I didn’t take you as being that naive. You have the good fortune of being hosted by our little burg’s own deity. You see, those of us living here in Riapoke owe everything to The Master. He provides, grants favors, loves us, and punishes those who need punishing. All he asks is that a few of his needs are met. And that, Meghan Johnston, is why I have to keep you here. You don’t know it yet, but you are very … very important.”
“What do you want from me?”
The reverend looked confused for a moment. “Me? No, not me. You should really be asking what The Master wants with you.”
Meghan paused. She’d have to play the reverend’s sick game to get out of this situation. “Very well then, what does he want?”
“Isn’t that obvious? Your soul.”
Meghan stepped back from the bars and leaned on the block. Half expecting him to laugh and step back, revealing the cameras of a practical joke TV show. He just stared back at her, face as blank as the walls of the cave which now made up her prison.
“Don’t worry, when the time comes, I’ll make it quick and painless. Understand this: when we’re sent a tribute for The Master, we are obliged to make sure they are taken. I just have one little thing to take care of first, a little loose end to clear up. Your son needs a good reason to want to stay in Riapoke.” Seeing the horrified expression on Meghan’s face, the reverend added, “Don’t fret, my dear. Unlike you, your son isn’t a tribute. Well, he is, but a tribute of a different sort. He’s going to add his own DNA to this primordial pool of ours. In a way, you’ll never leave Riapoke … genetically.”
At his words, Meghan lost her last grip on her composure. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Kyle is a fine boy. He’ll make a fine addition to my family. My new son-in-law will have the honor of fathering a whole new blood line of high priests. You should be honored. Future generations will look upon you as the mother of our world. The boy is to wed my daughter.”
She spit at him, launching a gob of mucus which landed on his face. “You’re insane! He’ll never agree to that! He’ll insist on seeing me.”
Donny wiped the spit from his face without comment. “Oh, I’m counting on it. In the morning we’ll begin the process of inducting him into our little family. Pretty soon he will be su
rrounded by the loving people of Riapoke who’ll run to his aid to find his poor lost mother. And, we’ll be there to hold his hand, every step of the way.”
The remaining wall holding back Meghan’s anger finally failed in a dramatic flourish of anger. “You leave Kyle alone, you son-of-a-bitch!”
The reverend remained infuriatingly calm. “Temper, temper, Mrs. Johnston. The Master wants you good and pliable for his needs, not full of anger and hate. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time to develop a proper appreciation for the special situation you’re in.”
****
Kyle regarded the clock on the nightstand for a moment. Almost eight in the morning. After the excitement of the day before, a good night’s sleep certainly was welcome. Going to bed with a full stomach always helped him sleep. He let out a big yawn and stretched.
He woke up with one singular thought: to get out of this strange house, and away from these strange people, as soon as possible. Besides, his mother was sweet on that Mike guy. Nice enough man, for sure, Kyle saw it in his mother’s eyes at dinner. Kelley indicated her father was taken with Meghan as well. Kelley knew everyone at the resort and dragged him around for introductions. She even introduced him to a couple of girls Kyle wanted to know better.
Down on the driveway, the same squad truck which brought them here the day before sat at idle.
Maybe the officer returned to take them back to the Resort? That’d be nice. We’ll be on our way just as soon as I’m dressed.
Much to his surprise, his clothes, dried and neatly folded, lay at the foot of the bed. Shelly must have washed them the night before. Quickly dressing and stepping into the hallway, the house sat oddly empty.
“Mom?” Kyle asked. He peered around the corner of the open door, expecting to find her staring at herself in the mirror, on the lookout for gray hairs of any sort. To his disappointment, the room stood empty. The bed sheets lay flat and unrumpled, like no one slept in it at all. The clothes she’d worn the day before, weren’t there either. She must have put them on and gotten ready to go and was now downstairs waiting.