Judas Goat
Page 13
Lying on his back, sunken and partially buried in wet sand, Sheena kneeling next to him…both of them wet and cold. He can feel her shiver against him. Or is he shivering? The moon is above them, vivid and ghostly in a starless black sky. He can taste saltwater now and then as small amounts splash up over his chin and into his mouth with each incoming wave. His legs are out in front of him, his arms out to the side, buried in the wet and heavy sand. He can’t move.
“What are you doing?”
“Just a little more,” she tells him, cupping the sand and dropping it on him.
“I’m afraid.”
“We make trades, Lenny. In order to survive, we trade on everything. Day for night, fear for denial, age for time, devils for angels, lies for sleep. And the Judas Goat, he waits, watches while we trade on our pain, our souls, even our memories, for the peace or horror of someone else’s…then leads us to slaughter every time.”
Sheena drops more sand over him, letting the tiny crusty beads fall over his face now.
“I’m cold,” he says.
“Death is cold.” She runs a hand tenderly over his forehead and into his hair, pushing the wet strands from his eyes. “You remember now, don’t you?”
He remembers lying back on the boulder, staring at the moon for hours and feeling dead inside, like his blood was no longer moving but frozen in his veins. He remembers the sun finally coming up over the horizon as he walked back along the beach. He remembers reaching the smoking remains of the bonfire and seeing beer cans crushed and scattered about the sand along with other bits of debris and trash from the night before. He remembers noticing the deep tire tracks left behind in the sand from the motorcycles, the only evidence they’d been there at all. He remembers Sheena sitting alone, wrapped in her blanket and looking as dead as he felt. He remembers how she refused to look at him but allowed him to help her to her feet, and how together they had walked back across the dunes. He remembers her moving gingerly as they crossed the parking lot and returned to the motel. He remembers sitting on the bed while she showered then dressed, and he remembers the long drive back to the city. He remembers neither of them uttering a single word the entire way. He remembers parking in front of her apartment building, and Sheena finally looking at him one last time before gathering her overnight bag and stepping from the car. He remembers he never sees her again. But he doesn’t remember this.
“I can’t get it back,” he gasps. “The way I felt before that night. Who I was, I—I can’t get it back.”
“You don’t get it back.”
“I’d change that night if I could.”
“But you can’t.”
“Just like you, I came here to die. I’ve known that all along, haven’t I?”
“Who is the Judas Goat, Lenny?”
He looks at her helplessly. The sand is packed tight and so heavy on his chest he can barely breathe.
“We betray ourselves,” she whispers, scooping up more sand.
The sand begins to devour him, to cover him completely as the water rises over his shoulders, neck and mouth. In a panic Lenny tries to move but it’s no use, he is broken, a rag doll buried beneath the sand. His eyes search for her, but she’s gone.
He’s alone.
The sound of bones snapping, splintering and breaking apart echoes in his ears. An explosion of sights, sounds and emotions erupt before him like flames jutting from the mouth of a volcano, and he frantically reaches for the moon. It is the last thing he sees, staring down at him with hushed indifference, just before night takes him.
10
When she’d finally driven beyond the town limits Meredith pulled her pickup over to the side of the road. Marley, who until then had been sleeping next to her, sat up and looked at her questioningly.
“It’s OK,” she said, patting his head. They’d only been on the road a few minutes, but the uncertainty and fear in her had reached a near boiling point. Every few seconds she looked in the rearview, not only to make sure no one had followed her but to make quick eye contact with herself. The look in her own eyes was troubling, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Lenny had made it out of Trapper Woods too. Poor, sad, troubled man, she thought, almost as bad as Sheena. Maybe worse.
Again, her eyes slid to the rearview. She reached up, grabbed hold of it and yanked it free.
Meredith told Marley to stay put, threw open the door and walked to the rear of the truck. She looked around. There was no one else on the road in either direction. She pitched the mirror into the woods then untied the tarp she’d pulled over the bed of the truck so she could slide a hand beneath it and feel around. Her hand came back clutching an old baseball bat. With another quick look around, she walked to the passenger side. Three hard swings knocked the side mirror free. She crossed to the driver side and swung again until that one had been smashed and fallen to the ground as well.
As she hopped back behind the wheel, Marley looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Yeah,” she sighed, “maybe I have.”
The truck pulled away, heading for the state highway.
* * * *
Miles away, in the heart of Manhattan, Walter, still in the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d slept in, curled up on his couch with a cup of coffee and the New York Times. He could only hope it would distract him a while, because until he heard from Lenny and knew for sure he was home safe and sound, he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying about him. In fact, he’d already decided that if Lenny hadn’t called by the top of the hour he’d try his cell again and see what was happening. Lenny had been depressed more than usual, and now, with all this inherited house business, the ghosts of his past had been running rampant. Combined with his troubles at home and lack of direction professionally, he was nothing short of a time bomb. Later, Walter would stop by the apartment and check on Tabitha. He could hardly wait. Her talent for finding new and wildly creative ways to swear at him never ceased to amaze.
He’d just turned to an article about the presidential race when his phone began to ring. He hurried to the phone in the kitchen and glanced down at the caller ID.
The words: New Hampshire scrolled across the small digital screen.
Strange. Lenny’s cell always identified him specifically.
Uncertainty became concern. He hit the answer button. “Hello?”
* * * *
In the dream she was in the tub. Steam rose from the hot water, fogging over the mirror and filling the small bathroom with a curious mist. She raised a leg up out of the water, pointed her toes and studied them a while. The nails were painted black but had begun to chip in spots, and her feet bore the wear and tear of years of dance. Still, nothing compared to the crescent-shaped scar along the side of her knee. A zipper carved into her flesh, it served as a constant reminder of all she had lost.
Water dripped from her ankle into the tub, and she made quiet splashing sounds as she again disturbed the water, this time sitting up then leaning back against the curve of fiberglass.
Next to her, cloaked in steamy mist, something appeared near the edge of the tub, its head bowed and its body trembling.
As she sunk down, trying to escape beneath the bathwater, its mouth opened in a horrifying screech.
Tabitha came awake like always, hung over and wracked with fear.
Alone in a city of millions, huddled in her dark little cave of an apartment, she rolled from bed and stumbled into the shadows. Kicking aside numerous vodka bottles littering the floor, she fell forward against the bureau. She drew a breath, tried to forget the nightmare, and with shaking hands pushed her hair away from her face.
Who you are and who you see are not always the same thing.
“Lenny,” she whispered.
I’m having bad dreams, Lenny.
“Help me.”
You’re dead in the dreams, Lenny.
“Don’t leave me.”
Day for night…
Tabitha looked to the mirror next the bureau.
And the
Judas Goat, he waits…
Behind her, in bed, someone moved beneath the sheets, stirring and coming awake.
…then leads us to slaughter every time.”
Tabitha’s reflection smiled, but it soon became a grimace of horror and confusion. It was wrong…all wrong.
“What have you done?” she sobbed. “What have you done to your eyes?”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Some of my research included numerous online articles as well as several books on the topics of mirrors, magic, the human mind, memory and folklore. Three that stood out for me were Alan Dundes’ fascinating Bloody Mary in the Mirror, Essays in Psychoanalytic Folklorists, Jorge Luis Borges’ enchanting The Book of Imaginary Beings, particularly the passage titled “Animals that live in the mirror,” and Martha Lear’s Where Did I Leave My Glasses?: The What, When, and Why of Normal Memory Loss (a terrific book not only about memory loss but also the topic of memory in general). To anyone interested in these topics, I highly recommend these wonderful works.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Called “One of the best writers of his generation” by both the Roswell Literary Review and author Brian Keene, Greg F. Gifune is the author of numerous short stories, several novels and two short story collections (Heretics and Down To Sleep). His work has been published all over the world, consistently praised by readers and critics alike, received starred reviews in Publisher’s Weekly, Library Journal and The Midwest Book Review (among others) and has recently garnered interest from Hollywood. His novels include Children of Chaos, Dominion, The Bleeding Season, Deep Night, Blood In Electric Blue, Saying Uncle, A View From The Lake, Night Work, Drago Descending, Catching Hell, and The Judas Goat. In addition to working as a full-time author, he also serves as Associate Editor at Delirium Books. Greg resides in Massachusetts with his wife and a bevy of cats. He can be reached online at: gfgauthor@verizon.net or through his official website at: www.gregfgifune.com.
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.
To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, please visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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