Death in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 1)

by Gary Williams

  ****

  Marvin Sellon left his house in a daze. He kept replaying the scene in his mind, trying to sift through the bizarre event to unearth a rational explanation. As an anthropologist, he was familiar with many of nature’s anomalies where creatures appear dead, or at a minimum, reside in a catatonic state for long periods of time.

  Several years ago Marvin participated in a study of alligator activity during the winter months at the St. Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park. The nearby alligator preserve housed thousands of different types of alligators and crocodiles, large and small, in outdoor facilities for public viewing. Alligators, like some fish, are subject to a process known as brumation when the water temperature drops, which causes their metabolism to slow. The Antarctic Cod, for example, is known to become actively torpid—a state similar to hibernation in land animals—when they lay on the ocean floor in order to survive Antarctica’s drastic winters.

  Yet neither brumation nor hibernation, nor anything else, could explain what Marvin had witnessed. He had seen a skeleton wiggle. His normally analytical mind could not wrap itself around what had happened and had become completely irrational. Scott and Curt said he had yelled, although he did not recall doing so. None of it made sense.

  Marvin left his neighborhood and turned right on A1A, passing the St. Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park. The parking lot was overflowing with tourists’ vehicles. He drove over the Bridge of Lions from Anastasia Island, arrived in Downtown St. Augustine, and parked in the Lightner Museum parking lot. Taking a notepad and pencil, Marvin crossed King Street, admiring the view of Flagler College before him. A few blocks toward the bay, the late afternoon sun was grilling the historic district where the incessant tourists filled the walkways, moving from one shop to the next. Here, though, away from the shops and clamoring crowds, students strolled about the grounds of the private liberal arts college, seemingly oblivious to the warm weather. Coeds sat under the majestic southern oaks nearby, some reading, some chatting, others making amorous advances toward their fellow students.

  Before him was the former Hotel Ponce de León built by oil magnate Henry Flagler in 1888, which was now the centerpiece of the Flagler College campus. The renowned structure was punctuated with Spanish renaissance architecture and a collection of Louis Comfort Tiffany stained-glass windows that allowed generous sunlight to fill the building’s inner concourse.

  Marvin moved down Sevilla Street, arriving at Proctor Library nestled in the northwest corner of the campus. Access to the library was restricted to students and faculty. Marvin had served as an adjunct professor for several years after moving to St. Augustine. Even though he was no longer affiliated with the university, he was able to use his faculty credentials at the facility. He checked in at the circulation desk where, upon his request, a clerk made a call to the Dean of Academic Affairs who cleared the way to the specific work he requested.

  Marvin was escorted up a marble staircase by a work-study student named Ron. He led Marvin to the third floor where they passed several large computer labs and a series of faculty offices. They came to a break area where they took a right down another hallway. Ron stopped before a room labeled Archives and inserted a key, unlocking the door. Once inside, he unlocked another door on the left that led to a tiny, sparsely furnished room with a single small desk and chair. At that moment, a young coed arrived carrying the book Marvin had requested and placed it on the desk.

  “Thank you,” Marvin said. “And thank you, Ron.”

  Ron nodded and laid the key next to the book. “Professor Sellon, when you’re finished, please leave the book on the desk, lock the door and return the key to me at the front desk.”

  Marvin nodded his assent. Ron then turned, exited the room, and closed the door behind him.

  Marvin took a seat at the desk, laying the notepad and pencil to the side of the book. The book’s condition belied its age. The light-brown cover was blank. The binding was free of any scarring that would normally occur when the spine is constantly contracted, which was not surprising, since the book had obviously only been read by a few people in its 170-year existence.

  Carefully, he drew the tome to him and opened it. The thick smell of mothballs filled the air and was renewed with each careful turn of a page. He marveled at the book’s sturdiness and the quality of the print, especially given its form of production. He located the table of contents and scanned the title of each chapter.

  With careful haste, he thumbed to the page number that appeared to hold the most hope.

  He was not disappointed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Monday, August 15, 2:51 p.m. – St. Augustine, Florida

  The tub filled with cold water, and Curt closed the tap.

  Scott picked up the plate. The oven mitts were no longer necessary as the plate had cooled. The skeleton slid easily to the side and almost fell off, but Curt quickly pushed it back toward the middle.

  Curt stood and backed against the wall and promptly smacked into the towel rack. It tagged him in the small of his back with force. “Ouch!” He took a half step forward and reached around, trying to rub the sore spot.

  “Now I know why Kay sometimes refers to us as two-thirds of The Three Stooges.” Still sitting on the toilet seat, Scott looked down at the fish skeleton on his lap.

  “Let me do it,” Curt said. He took a step forward and lifted the skeleton from the plate.

  “Wait,” Scott said, “I almost forgot. Marvin thrust these in my hand as he left.” He put the plate on the counter and stood up, reaching into his jeans to remove a small plastic case. Inside were four off-white, semi-round objects. He popped the lid open, removed two, and handed the case to Curt.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s wax. Remember, Marvin swore this thing made some God-awful noise. Put them in your ears.”

  “I guess he didn’t believe us when we promised not to test the fish.”

  “You promised. Not me,” Scott said.

  Both men inserted the wax in their ears, and Curt took a seat on the edge of the tub. The oversized garden tub was festooned with rose-colored ceramic tile bordering all three walls extending to the ceiling. On the back wall, a series of opaque window squares formed a large X, which allowed muted sunlight inside.

  Curt held the fish by the spine and took a deep breath. “I’m going to submerge the skeleton slowly, guiding the tail in first. If the impossible happens, and this thing starts moving, I prefer the teeth to go in last so I can get my hand away.”

  Scott’s nerves surged, and he swallowed hard. “Go ahead,” he said as calmly as he could manage.

  Curt stretched his arm over the surface and began to lower the fish into the still water. Scott watched intently. Amazingly, a few inches above the surface of the water, the skeleton began to hum and quiver. At first, it was almost imperceptible, but the lower Curt went, the stronger the sound and motion became, until it was like an electric razor. Curt hesitated, turning to look at Scott with a frightened expression.

  Then there was a second sound, a distant jingle. Curt seemed to ignore it as he continued to lower the skeleton, watching and listening. Less than an inch from the surface, Scott grabbed his arm and lifted it.

  “Stop!” he shouted, ensuring Curt heard him through the wax. “The phone’s ringing!”

  Startled, Curt placed the skeleton on his lap, taking a series of deep breaths.

  Scott ran from the room, removing the wax from his left ear. The portable phone was on the kitchen counter. He reached it by the sixth ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Scott? Is that you? Your voice sounds funny.” It was Marvin calling from a phone at the library desk.

  “Yeah, it’s me. We’re a little busy at the moment, Marvin.”

  “You haven’t put water on that thing, have you?”

  “Uh...no.”

  �
�You’re lying. Did you remember to put your ear plugs in?”

  “Yes, sir,” Scott said. His patience evaporated in an instant. “Marvin, let me get going. Don’t come back for at least a half hour.”

  “Wait! Wait. There’s one other thing I want to mention.”

  Scott was quiet.

  “You still there?” Marvin asked.

  “What is it, Marvin?”

  “The fish seems to possess a natural energy. I found mention of it in an Indian legend, of a force the creature is able to cultivate and channel. Some of the wording almost made it sound as if it was combustible.”

  “Combustible?” The word caught Scott’s attention. “As in explosive? What are you telling me?”

  “I’m telling you to be careful.” Marvin’s words were sincere. He spoke with a grandfatherly tone that made Scott regret his impatience with the man.

  Scott took a breath. “We will, Marvin. I promise. Now let me get back to Curt. We’ll see you soon.” There was a click on the other end of the line.

  Scott returned to find Curt still on the edge of the tub staring into the water. The skeleton was on the plate at his feet. “Combustible?” Curt asked with raised eyebrows. He had obviously overheard the conversation.

  “Marvin’s just worried.”

  “So am I. You saw what happened, right? You heard the humming sound. It was vibrating in my hand, Scott, and I could feel it being pulled toward the water. Either it’s attracted to water like magnets, or Marvin is telling the truth. Let’s be on the safe side and modify our strategy.” Curt stood and passed Scott. He strolled down the hallway to the closet at the far end. Scott followed, full of curiosity. Inside, hanging on the rack was an assortment of jackets, windbreakers, and suits. On the floor stood several boxes sealed with masking tape and a stack of National Geographic magazines. Beside the boxes and magazines were a pair of snakeskin boots and an old set of golf clubs. Curt stared at them as if contemplating his next move, and then he reached in and pulled out a nine iron.

  “Are you going to chip that Fish into the tub?”

  “Just want to keep our distance when it hits the water,” Curt responded.

  The two walked back to the bathroom. Curt propped the club against the outside doorframe. Looking down, they noticed the water level in the bathtub had dropped, maybe as much as two inches.

  “Looks like Marvin’s tub has a slow leak. Should we add some more water?” Scott asked.

  “There’s enough.” Curt reached down and lifted the skeleton. He grabbed the towel from the rack and wiped the edge of the tub dry. He then carefully placed the fish on the edge of the tub, laying it lengthwise. “Back up,” he said, waving his hand. Scott retreated into the hallway. Curt moved out of the bathroom and reached in to pull the door, leaving it partially open. He picked up the club.

  Scott now understood Curt’s plan.

  Sitting outside the doorway, flush against the wall, Curt extended his right arm inside holding the iron. Curt slid the club head along the bathroom floor until it reached the base of the tub, aligned with the skeleton on the edge above. Then Curt reached for the doorknob and pulled it toward him, leaving a gap only large enough for his arm to remain inside and for him to see through.

  Scott moved to his left to get a clear view of the fish through the opening above Curt’s head.

  “Are you ready?” Curt asked. He focused on the club head below the fish.

  “No, but do it anyway,” Scott said.

  Curt raised the club head and angled it toward the spine of the small skeleton. “Once I push this thing into the water, I’m going to drop the club and slam the door shut. Make sure you’re out of the way.”

  “Got it.”

  The club head hovered in the air. Curt attempted to steady his outstretched arm and take precise aim.

  “What are you waiting on?” Scott asked.

  “This isn’t as easy as it looks,” Curt said. The club head waved in the air. Scott realized that it was difficult to steady at such an awkward angle.

  “Get ready,” Curt said. Then he thrust the iron forward, and the club head passed over the bowed ribcage, missing the skeleton cleanly. He retrieved it, careful not to rake the fish onto the bathroom floor. He released the iron in disgust, and it clattered to the floor.

  “Nice shot, Tiger.”

  Curt picked up the iron by the rubber handle and steadied it for a second attempt, focusing his attention on the metal club head. Scott moved forward and stood over Curt, holding the doorknob and gazing at the skeleton. Curt steadied the club head in the center of the small spine. Without hesitation, he pushed forward. He missed the center, instead, catching the tail section of the fish. The skeleton spun counterclockwise and teetered on the ledge. For a moment, the weight was perfectly balanced, and it rocked like a seesaw. Then, as if pulled down by the water, it fell in the tub tail first.

  Curt dropped the nine iron and retracted his arm, and Scott pulled the door closed with a loud slam.

  In the instant before the door closed, Scott witnessed a horrific image. The skeleton slid downward, head up. The moment its tail touched the water, the teeth grew larger, jutting from a developed mouth. A head, replete with skin reflecting light off its slimy exterior, materialized, but it was the eyes, glazed, oversized, and rolling, that mesmerized him. Those unforgettable eyes sent a charge of terror through Scott.

  Scott backed away from the door, pressing his fingers against his temple. “It’s in there,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

  “I know it is.”

  “No!” he shouted. “I mean it’s in there!”

  The men were distracted by a loud, abrasive noise emanating from inside the bathroom. It rivaled a swarm of bees…times 10,000. Scott and Curt placed their hands over their ears to block the horrific sound but to no avail. The raw, trembling buzz faded in and out, echoing and reverberating until it was nearly deafening even with their wax earplugs.

  Scott saw Curt squeeze his face and shut his eyes in pain.

  Scott felt the waves of a splitting headache but managed to keep his eyes open. Deep-blue ambient light spilled through the door jamb. It radiated brightly and flashed suddenly to white.

  Within seconds, the agonizing noise abruptly ceased. The suffused light outlining the door frame faded and disappeared.

  Curt crouched against the wall cringing, eyes still tightly shut.

  Scott’s head was pounding so hard, he almost believed his brain was melting. Still, he had never lost sight of the door.

  Curt opened his eyes and rose. “Scott…?”

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  The two looked at the doorknob. Scott’s thoughts aligned with Curt. Should we go in? Curt reached for the handle. Before he was able to grab it, the door swelled and bowed outward. Glass shattered on the other side, and a stiff breeze flushed through the edges of the frame, followed by another wave of crashing glass and tumultuous sound.

  “Get back!” Scott yelled at Curt. He turned and grabbed Curt’s arm, dragging him down the hallway. They had taken only a few steps when the bathroom door ripped off its hinges and smashed into the hallway wall with a harsh crunch.

  They kept running until they were in the front yard beyond the sidewalk. There, they doubled over, panting.

  “What the hell just happened?” Scott asked as he labored for air.

  “I have no idea,” Curt responded, huffing.

  “I know this,” Scott said between gasps, “either Professor Sellon is of sound mind, or all three of us are crazy.”

  Curt nodded, still panting.

  Scott looked to the front door, half expecting it to swing open and the fish to burst into the front yard and go for his jugular. He was ready to sprint at the first sign of movement. After a moment, Scott wiped the perspiration from his face.

  “Yeah, but which is it?�
� Curt responded between gasps.

  ****

  Twenty minutes later, Marvin pulled into the driveway. Scott and Curt were standing on the sidewalk still keeping a watchful eye on the front of the house.

  “Hello, boys,” he said as he exited his vehicle carrying a folder. His mood was lighter than when he left them. “What’s the matter? Seen a ghost?”

  “Not now, Marvin,” Scott said. Although his headache had vanished, he was still experiencing flashbacks of the Fish…and those eyes.

  Marvin grinned. “Why Scott, what’s the matter?” he asked, his tone sarcastic.

  “You heard Scott. We’re a little unnerved at the moment,” Curt countered.

  “Yes Curt, I’m hearing just fine. What about you gentlemen?”

  Suddenly, Scott realized his own hearing was muffled. Marvin’s words sounded distant and weak. He reached for the sides of his head and remembered the wax was still in place. He felt stupid, and Marvin just smiled as Scott removed the small round objects from his ears. Curt did likewise.

  “So what did you conclude from your experiment?” Marvin prodded with an annoying amount of pleasure.

  “You’re acting very crotchety. Do you know that? Don’t make me call you crotchety. I hate that word. I always feel like a pervert when I say it,” Scott paused to take a breath. “We concluded you’re sane, in the widely accepted definition, that is.”

  “Very funny. And…?” Marvin replied.

  Curt responded. “And…that fish in your house defies all known science and logic. It also has some strange power. Either that, or it didn’t appreciate how dirty your bathroom was.”

  “My bathroom?” Marvin said with surprise. “You had him in my bathroom?”

  “In your bathtub, to be exact,” Curt replied.

  “He was in my bathtub?! Curt, tell me you didn’t place him in a full tub of water.”