by Bryan Nowak
“What the hell!” George yelled in panic at their sudden appearance. As an afterthought, he pulled out an old revolver.
Mike spit out, “Lock the door, quick.”
George, still stunned, yelled, “Where’s Matthew!”
“Dam it, lock the door!” Kyle scrambled to his feet and grabbed the keys out of Georges' hand. He deftly inserted the key into the lock, closing the deadbolt.
“Hey, you’re that government agent from the house,” George said, pointing the revolver at Mike. “Where’s Matthew and Donny?”
Mike grabbed George by the hand and pulled him up out of the chair. “We don’t have time for a pleasant reunion, George. We need to get out of here.”
George stammered, “Just hold on a second! You’re not going anyplace! Where’s the reverend?” George waved the gun around the room as if it were a natural, and clumsy, extension of his hand.
Just then, a dull thud hit the door. The handle twisted, but with the deadbolt engaged the door refused to budge. Matchitehew shrieked in anger. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you! No matter, it’ll only hold for a little while.”
An ear piercing, thunderous, metallic boom shook the room as Matchitehew smashed the door with the ax, attempting to break through. The four of them watched in horror as the metal started to bend under the repeated blows. At this rate, the door would likely hold for several minutes, but that was it.
Kyle, looking down at his chest, grabbed the still glowing amulet and removed it. Exchanging glances with Mike and his mother. His eyes flew wide in recognition as he ran to the door and hung the amulet from an old nail affixed to the top of the door frame. From the other side came a piercing scream, followed by unintelligible words sounding like they might be native American swearwords.
“You little … ” Matchitehew shouted, then calmed himself. “Smart kid. Okay, you have me trapped. For now. You seem to have forgotten the amulet will quickly lose its power and I have the mortal remains of my high priest here ... and his keys. If I were you, I’d be running for my life right now.” They heard the muffled steps of Matchitehew’s moccasined feet running down the stairs.
George stared in disbelief. “What the hell is on the other side of the door?”
“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.” Meghan grabbed Kyle by the arm and dragged him toward the door of the office. “Come on Mike, we need to get out of here.”
Mike grabbed the keys out of Kyle’s hands and unlocked the outer door of the office. The amulet’s glow already faded quickly, they needed to move. The four of them stumbled out into the sanctuary. Looking around the marble flooring in the center, a corpse lay supine on the floor in front of the closet. The man could be confused for someone taking a mid-day nap if it weren’t for the gaping gunshot wound to his chest and the pool of blood surrounding him like a crimson lake. Mike understood where the gunshot they heard earlier went. Matthew got one of them before they could apprehend him.
“Wait a minute,” George shouted, remembering the gun in his hand. He trained it on Kyle. “Someone explain to me what the hell’s going on around here! I’m head of security and, for the moment, the man in charge!”
Meghan threw her hands up in exasperation. “Okay, listen here, whoever you are.”
“George,” Mike said.
“Fine then! George, Donny is dead, that thing you heard in there is, or was, The Master and right now, he is set on killing all of us if we don’t put distance between us and him. The Master is a demon, but not really. He’s a disgruntled native American warrior whose just broken a centuries old curse put under by some sort of chief.”
“Chief Powhatan,” Kyle offered.
“And, as you can probably hear, he’s really not in the best of moods. So, either stay here or come with us. But, if you come with us, we need to go now!” The words flew out of Meghan’s mouth before she had time to think about what she was saying.
“Who are you people?” George stared at them in disbelief. “Do you take me for an idiot? I mean this could be the worst lie I’ve ever heard in my life. You people have to be—“
Mike grabbed George’s arm, and stared straight into his eyes. “Look, George, you don’t have to believe her. In a few minutes, that amulet Kyle put on the door won’t protect us any longer and you can ask him yourself. We won’t be here though. I don’t care if you think we’re crazy or not. Soon we are going to run out of options, and you don’t want to see what that looks like.”
George stood dumbfounded. “Okay, so, what do you want to do?”
Meghan put her hand on George’s forearm. “George, we need to get out of here as quickly as possible. Preferably before anyone notices us. Then we need to get out of town. I suggest you do the same.”
A splash of red liquid appeared across Meghan’s face. George’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. He looked down where the blade of a stone ax stuck out an inch from the center of his chest. He fell to his knees and then down on his face with a groan.
“Get out of town. Probably not a bad idea.” The voice of Matchitehew echoed from the corner of the room.
“The hole in the rock, Mike,” Kyle said.
“Right you are, Kyle.” Matchitehew smiled at them. “You are such a smart brave. I’m impressed, it’ll be a shame to end your life. I pulled myself up through the hole in the ceiling of the walkway in the cave. I’ve had literally hundreds of years to study my granite prison. I know every nook and cranny of this place. But now, I tire of this little game. It’s time for you to die and for me to go free.”
He pulled the ax from George’s ax and raised it above his head and yelled something incoherent in his native language. Reflexively, Mike pulled Meghan and Kyle behind him.
A shot rang out, followed by the stinging smell of burnt gunpowder. Matchitehew dropped his ax and fell to the floor, clutching his arm and shrieking in pain.
They turned to see George, a wisp of smoke curling around his upturned head. He’d mustered up every last ounce of life to take one shot at Matchitehew. The Indian’s magic was still too strong for the shot to be fatal, it did hurt him.
Not wasting any time, the three of them ran down the aisle and out the double doors of the building as Matchitehew raised his ax and finished George with frightening efficiency. The sickening sound of crunching bone and squishing flesh filled the enormous sanctuary space.
The three tumbled out into the parking lot. They ran toward Matthew’s truck, parked near the entrance. “Get in!” Mike shouted, pulling the driver’s side door open and turning the key, still dangling from the ignition. The large truck roared to life just as the church doors flew open to expose Matchitehew, covered in George’s blood as well as his own from the seeping gunshot wound.
“Mike, get us out of here!” Kyle shouted.
Mike slammed the truck into gear and hit the gas, reversing the truck backward and away from Matchitehew. Mike hit the brakes while jerking the steering wheel, sending the front end of the truck around so they were facing away from the church. Mike hit the gas again and the big truck accelerated forward, putting blissful distance between them and the enraged Indian.
“Mike,” Meghan yelled, grabbing him by the arm. “We can’t just leave!”
Mike gawked at her. Shocked to think that she’d even ask to delay the escape. “Are you out of your mind?”
“She’s right, Mike,” Kyle said, leaning forward from the back seat. “We need to kill him. We can’t leave him free to roam the world. No one will ever be safe.”
Matchitehew
Mike glanced up at the rear view mirror at the moving figure he knew was Matchitehew, chasing after them. There was no way he could ever keep up with the truck. The easiest thing to do would be to keep driving, leaving him behind. But at what cost?
Instinctively, though, he knew Meghan and Kyle were right. Leaving the ancient, bloodthirsty man alive would be a lethal mistake, condemning untold innocents to pay the price for his giving in to fear. This being, black hear
ted and violent, must be dealt with immediately. Even if they could just cut and run, what kind of life would they expect to lead? With Matchitehew walking the earth, they would spend the rest of their lives glancing down dark alleys and over their shoulders in perpetual fear.
He shook his head. “You know, my life was pretty boring before you two showed up.” He smiled at Meghan. “Kyle, how many rounds do you have left in your pistol?”
“Three,” Kyle said, with a frown as he checked the cylinder.
“I think I have two. That is five between us. Mike handed Kyle his remaining two rounds. I hope we won’t need it.” Mike slammed the truck into reverse and hit the gas pedal, swinging the truck around to aim at Matchitehew. The hunted had now become the hunters.
The truck engine roared, issuing a challenge to its prey. It leapt forward on all four tires like a cat who’d just discovered a mouse. They held their breath as they anticipated the impact of metal upon flesh and bone when, at the last moment, Matchitehew jumped up in the air and pushed off the cab of the truck, landing behind them as they flew by.
Mike and Meghan exchanged confused glances as Mike brought the truck around to face where the Indian should have landed.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Kyle said.
Matchitehew ran toward the truck as Mike, once again, hit the gas pedal, sending the truck lurching forward. The Indian jumped out of the way and took a swipe at the driver’s side door which sent a spider-web of cracks through the safety glass. Mike pushed the glass out into the parking lot as Matchitehew stepped out into the rear view mirror’s gaze of the truck.
“Keep your distance,” Meghan warned. “If he tries that again, he might actually hurt you.”
Mike brought the truck to a halt on the opposite side of the parking lot from Matchitehew. All three stared while the enraged Indian appeared to be staring right back at them. A showdown, odds favoring neither side.
Mike hit the gas again and the giant engine roared to life. Much to their surprise, Matchitehew stood rock-still, simply, smiling back at them as if he’d anticipated their next move.
“Hold on,” Mike yelled over the roar of the engine. “I’m going to try something.”
“Hell of a time for an experiment, don’t you think?” Meghan yelled.
Mike fixed his eyes on Matchitehew and ignored her comment. “Just hang on, alright?”
The truck picked up speed as it crossed the enormous parking lot. Matchitehew still stood unmoving. When they were twenty feet from the unflappable Indian, Mike slammed on the brakes and put the truck in a slide with the back of the truck swinging out toward their intended victim like a bat hitting a baseball.
In the flurry of tire smoke and noise, they lost sight of him. They expected to hear a loud thud against the quarter panel of the truck, or at least some noise to indicate they hit their mark. The noise never came and the truck skidded sideways to a halt in the empty parking lot. Examining the expanse of the lot, Mike didn’t see an indication anyone or anything had been hit.
“What the hell happened?” Mike said. “He couldn’t have just disappeared.”
Meghan was just about to respond when one of the rear windows exploded into the passenger cabin of the truck. Meghan screamed while looking back to see Matchitehew standing, ax in hand, preparing to take another swing.
“Oh shit!” Mike yelled out. He gunned the engine, which caught Matchitehew off guard and sent him crashing to the truck bed.
“Kyle, watch him, tell me when he stands back up!” Mike said.
Matchitehew seemed disoriented for a moment, then flashed Kyle and eerie grin before getting back to his feet.
“Now, Mike!” Kyle shouted.
Mike slammed on the brakes as hard as he could, sending Matchitehew careening into and over the top of the truck cab. Instead of seeing the body of the Indian flying over the hood, again he vanished.
“This guy is really beginning to annoy the crap out of me!” Mike yelled, traversing another third of the parking lot. Mike swerved the truck around to face the front of the church once again. Matchitehew was nowhere to be seen.
Kyle was first to break the terrifying silence. “What happened? We should’ve creamed him. I mean, splatsville. Where did he go?”
“Mike, I don’t like this,” Meghan said, nervously tugging at her hair.
A deafening screech interrupted the discussion as a sudden crease in the roof developed. Unbelievably, Matchitehew knelt on the roof of the truck cab. Another hit and the blade end of his ax appeared through a small slit in the metal. The overhead light knocked free and dangled in between Mike and Kyle.
“Mike, watch out!” Meghan screamed.
Kyle fired twice straight up, filling the cab with smoke, but causing the Indian to momentarily stop.
“Oh shit!” Mike hit the gas hard and Matchitehew fell into the back of the truck. Kyle fired the remaining three rounds through the busted out window until the weapon clicked on empty cylinders.
Meghan screamed as she watched the enraged Indian leap forward, picking up where he’d left off. The sound of metal crushing and scraping against the stone blade was deafening. Although the aluminum was hard, the expertly honed blade of the ax sliced through it with little resistance.
Without warning, the blade struck Kyle on the side of his head, sending blood everywhere. Meghan and Mike both screamed for Kyle as the boy slumped lifelessly against the side of the door, unconscious.
The truck picked up speed, on a trajectory toward the church. Matchitehew, now with room to work, cackled like a madman as ax strikes to the cab came closer and closer to hitting Mike.
“Meghan, hold on!” Mike yelled, moments before the truck crashed into the front of the church building. Chaos erupted as the sounds of wood splintering, metal being torn from metal, and glass shattering overtook the sounds of the engine. The airbags punched Mike in the face so hard he lost control of the truck. Kyle, although belted in, slouched into one corner of the truck cab, blood oozing from his scalp. The rear-door airbag kept him from sliding any further toward the floor.
The truck cleared the doors of the church and made it down the three steps into the open sanctuary. Pews were sent sprawling everywhere as hymnals flew in every direction. A screeching noise echoed off the once-hallowed walls of Donny’s church as the rubber on the tires fought against the friction between them and the marble floor.
After the large vehicle came to a stop. Mike quickly scanned the interior of the church for any sign of their attacker. Blood, presumably from Kyle’s head wound, was everywhere in the cab.
Meghan stirred in the passenger seat.
“Are you alright?” Mike said, opening her door.
“I think so.” Then she saw the blood escaping from Kyle’s head. “Kyle, oh my dear boy, Kyle. Mike, help him! Please!” Meghan let out a helpless whimper as a stream of blood seeped from the gash in her son’s head.
Mike, grabbed the now empty gun from the floor of the truck and stepped out into the sanctuary. Helping Meghan bring Kyle out of the truck and setting him down on the pew, he was relieved to hear the boy breathing.
The sanctuary looked like a war zone. In addition to pieces of pews and hymnals everywhere, radiator fluid seeped onto the floor, making a sickening smell. The top of the truck could easily be mistaken for a tuna fish can being opened by someone who forgot a can opener. Pieces of metal were bent into odd shapes. A bead of blood streaked across the remains of the truck roof. Mike expected to see some sort of sign as to what happened to their adversary.
Kyle’s bleeding needed medical attention, as soon as possible; however, the boys bleeding looked worse than it really was. The ax only abraded his skin.
Meghan pulled off his tattered shirt and held it against his wound to stop the bleeding. “My boy,” she said, over and over again.
“He’ll be alright, I think. Head wounds bleed like hell. We need to get him to a hospital.” He was about to pick up Kyle when he felt a presence behind him. Grabbing th
e handle of the empty pistol, he wielded around and pointed it at the altar, pretending it still had rounds to fire.
Behind them, stood a tall, old man. Dressed in conservative clothes. Most likely in his sixties, he had long grey hair. His skin, grizzled and wrinkled with age, was a deep tan, as if he’d spent too much of his time out in the sun. He smiled at them and put his hands up in the air. “There’s no need to harm me. Especially with a bullet-less gun. I am here to help.”
At that moment, the oddity of the situation struck Mike. They’d just battled some sort of native American demon and now a weird guy shows up and tells them he is here to help. He blinked several times, convinced the new-comer was a figment of his imagination. “Where the hell were you about ten minutes ago when we needed your help?”
“I was watching,” the man simply answered. “Don’t worry about your son, he’ll be fine.”
The man stepped forward. Mike wanted to hold the gun on him; however, the man didn’t feel like he posed a threat. The stranger exuded a calming presence. This man felt more like an old friend or relative, which was strange as Mike knew he had never seen the man before.
Meghan also watched the man, as mesmerized by his approach as Mike. Kneeling near the boy, the stranger pulled out an old leather pouch from his pocket. From the pouch, he extracted a small plastic bag containing dried leaves which he crushed into the palm of his hand. He whispered a small chant and rubbed it on Kyle’s wounds. “Witch hazel, it’ll slow the bleeding. It looks far worse than it is.”
“Who are you? Why are you here?” Mike shook himself from his dumbstruck condition.
The man stood up and straightened his clothing. “I’m called Johnathan Longhorn, the last of my people. I’m the descendant of the shaman who put the curse on Matchitehew. Like many of those you would call shaman, this is where we lived. This land is sacred. We were charged with watching over Matchitehew, ensuring his continued imprisonment was our charge.”