Watching in disbelief, he saw a darker shadow moving through the trees. His chest grew tighter as he held his breath. He couldn’t make out any features, but that left everything to his imagination, and the tiny sculpture. Jack’s head swam, his heart felt ready to burst.
Only the fantastic nightmares of a terrified child, wakened from dark visions, could have compared to the heinous phantoms that raged in his mind’s eye. Slowly, the shape came forward, heading straight for the shed.
Jack’s clothes were soaked in cold sweat, his cotton shirt heavy and wet. His blackest fears couldn’t have formed a ghastlier shade than what he now saw. Standing on two legs, the beast walked like a man but that is where any likeness ended.
The creature had tufts of fur around its muscular body, a white crest on the horned head. Two horrible front limbs were held high, wielding talons of wicked claws. A gaping mouth revealed flashes of ivory fangs, opening wide as if to draw in a huge breath of air. It was a monster beyond words and understanding, spawned in another plane of existence. It couldn’t possibly exist, except in fantasy.
The tormented sound broke from its maw; a hideous laughing that was pure evil. Jack was frozen in horror, helpless to save himself or his friend. Raising a curled foreleg, the creature crashed into the door of the shed and uttered its foul cry as Jack felt a grip over his mouth and a weight shoving him to the ground.
“Shh, shh, it’ll hear us.” Fighting instinctively against his attacker, he realized that it was Richard behind him and he stopped.
His friend’s terrified eyes burned into his own. “Let’s go, I left a piece of the charm in my truck. If I can get to it, we might be able to send this demon back to whatever pit it came from.” Richard gripped the book tightly in a vise-like hold, his knuckles white from the strain. They hurried through the bedroom and entered the hall. The house was quiet.
“I think the beast is drawn to the book, and wants to destroy the text before I can banish it again.”
The two men crept along the wall, and Jack couldn’t erase the image of the demon that lurked outside. They paused at the front door, and Richard carefully opened it, sticking his head out.
“Not here yet, let’s hope it stays in the shed and doesn’t cut us off.”
The words sent visions through Jack’s mind of being torn apart by the demon. “There’s a little bracelet that has to snap over the talisman. The book explained all. Help me find it when we reach the ...”
Around the front of the porch appeared a huge shadow, palpable evil emanating from the air itself. A diabolical cry from the hunting creature shattered the night air, devastating the moral fabric of the two men crouching in fear.
Richard slammed the door shut, locking the bolt, his eyes wide and hysterical. “Lord, save us from this demon,” he babbled, lips quivering, hands moving in warding off gestures.
“Where’s your rifle?” Jack whispered as he shoved his friend further into the house, pausing in the living room.
“It’s no good, no good.” Richard looked dazed, the terror shredding the man’s sanity. Jack spotted a large mahogany cabinet and walked to it. He opened the cabinet, and pulled out a rifle fixed with a brown scope. Bullets were stashed next to the gun in a storage carton, and he didn’t hesitate in loading the barrel.
“Come on, snap out of it, man!” Jack shouted at his friend, who was now sobbing like a child. “I need you. At least try to help me. Richard!” He finished loading the gun then hurried over to Richard. He slapped the man across the face hard, the stinging rebuke bringing him back to his senses.
“What now?” Jack asked as he stared at the front room, expecting to see the creature return at any moment.
“Our only hope is the bracelet,” Richard mumbled, tears streaming down his face. “Banish the demon once more. It’s in my truck. We need that piece to seal the book.”
“I’d feel safer if we could see that monster. Let’s go upstairs.” Jack went toward the stairs, followed by Richard, who was shaking so hard he had to struggle to even move. They soon gained the stairs, and continued to the next level. The walls of the house were vice-like, suffocating, the tension unbearable. Where was the demon?
It probably waited for them outside, knowing their vulnerability, Jack thought. Was it flesh and blood, able to feel the pain of an injury?
Richard scurried behind him, his head darting back and forth, listening for the inevitable approach of the beast. They went into Jack’s bedroom, throwing the lock and putting a brief barrier of safety between themselves and Koogabar.
Jack peered outside through one of several windows in the room. His eyes scanned the front of the house. Nothing moved among the shadows. The vehicles were tantalizingly close, scant yards away from the building. If they could only reach them.
“Any ideas?” Jack asked but didn’t take his eyes off the yard as he pressed his friend for answers.
“It’s waiting out there, I’m sure,” Richard replied. “Waiting to catch us in the open.”
“But if it is drawn to the book, then why doesn’t the creature come after us now?” Jack stood motionless at the window, craning his neck to check the corner of the home.
“Maybe you’re right,” said Richard. “If the monster fears what we can do, then it should have followed us in. Let’s just pray that it doesn’t realize that a piece of the bracelet is in my truck. If it can sense the charm, we’re doomed.”
The horror of his words sunk deep into Jack’s heart. To unleash such a creature into the world was unthinkable. He fingered the rifle, looking at Richard. “We don’t have too many options here. If that thing comes after us through the house, then we go out the window, and race for the truck like mad. It’s a two story drop, but we can climb down this drain spout.”
Richard appeared uncertain, beads of sweat streaking down his ashen face. “That spouting is old, it might collapse.”
“Well, you’ve gotten me into this forsaken mess, and besides pointing out the fact that a killer demon is chasing us, haven’t done a damn thing to help!”
Jack was frustrated and terrified, snapping at Richard, who stared at his trembling hands, unable to stop them from moving.
“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. The responsibility and guilt of unleashing that monster is something I have to live with.”
“Well, let’s worry about sending it back to whatever pit it came from, and then we’ll discuss philosophy.” Jack quietly opened the window all the way, poking his head out for a greater vantage.
“I’m going to test the spout, take the rifle in case you hear anything. I don’t think it can scale the walls, wish I knew where it was, though.”
Richard picked up the weapon, and set the book on a small wooden nightstand. He went over to the bedroom door, pressing an ear to the panel. Jack reached over to the spout, shaking it slightly. The fixture felt loose, and the metal supports were rusted. Still, what choice did they have, he thought.
“I hear something.”
Jack froze at the sound of Richard’s tense voice, low and hissing.
Both men were mute statues, all senses keyed on the outside hallway. Jack pointed past the doorway, and a look of confusion appeared on Richard’s face.
The room felt like a coiled trap, ready to spring at any moment. Jack tried to gauge the creature’s next move, but he couldn’t bring himself to act until its location was revealed. Everything was surreal, and the seconds dragged by. Jack felt ready to scream.
All at once, the silence was shattered as the floorboards in the middle of the bedroom exploded in a rage of power.
Richard shouted a warning to Jack, shooting a round at the grotesque abomination that clawed its way upward through a gaping hole of twisted wood and drywall.
“Go! Take the book!”
Several more shots blasted the monster heaving its bulk into the room, but the bullets seemed to have no effect.
An overwhelming stench of sulfur gagged Jack and he grabbed the ancient text as he grasped the sp
outing, scrambling to control his balance. Koogabar extended its taloned forearms to either side, the opened mouth spewing the horrendous laughter and driving waves of despair into the minds of the two men.
Richard cowered down, pathetic and small against the mighty demon, the rifle clicking uselessly in his hands.
Jack lowered himself, catching a last glimpse of Richard as the monster hugged the man like a cloth puppet, squeezing him into its scaly chest in a crushing embrace. Hearing the scream from his friend nearly dislodged him, and he held onto the spouting, his terrified shaking threatening to drop him to the ground below. He scarcely was beneath the window ledge, and knew he needed to move quickly to escape Richard’s fate.
Inching down, Jack willed himself to remain calm, and breathe deeply. Lowering a few feet, he heard the ghastly sound from above. The demon yapped its foul cry, and battered the side of the drain spout, knocking Jack off as the structure crumbled. He gasped, falling through the air, and turned on his side attempting to cushion the blow.
He landed with a thud, the air was pushed out from his lungs and he winced at the vise of pain in his rib cage, knowing instantly that several bones were broken. Tumbling forward, he staggered to his feet, stooping down to again pick up the book.
Jack refused to look back at the house, all his resolve focused on reaching the truck. Limping ahead, the night was quiet, and he hurried to act, the knowledge of the horrific creature in pursuit all the impetus necessary. He dared not consider the possibility of the truck being locked, and pulled on the door handle, breathing a sigh of relief at finding it open. Jack maneuvered his injured frame inside, his heart dropping as he looked at the empty ignition slot.
The hideous laughter bellowed into the night as the monster stormed through the house. He realized in horror that his own keys were back in the spare bedroom, tucked into his coat jacket.
There was no chance of sneaking past the monster, and the prospect of flight was unthinkable now when he was wounded.
Jack looked at the book, remembering Richard’s words. He rummaged through the truck, searching for the small bracelet. Jack opened the glove compartment, finding nothing. The seats were empty, and Jack listened with dread to the approaching laughter. In desperation, he felt under the driver’s seat, his hand coming to rest on a metal object.
It was the missing bracelet. Jack held the book, pulling the fastener tight and putting the charm into place. From the corner of his eye, a dark shape moved closer, filling the night with its tortured call.
“Come on,” Jack whispered, struggling to fit the lock. He was out of time.
He ignored the huge figure drawing closer, focusing only on his perspiring hands. Jack’s heart leapt as he snapped the bracelet tight, once again sealing the book. The night crackled outside the truck, and flashes of raw energy sliced through the fabric of air itself as a portal separating dimensions was ripped open.
The monster froze, the deadly claws hovering in the air, inches from the truck.
Fantastic colors blazed through the night, blue, orange, red, mixtures of every hue imaginable, combining in a dazzling frenzy that scorched the ground at the creature’s clawed feet.
Koogabar shrieked in recognition at the spell being woven, uttering its hatred of life, and what was being lost to it once more.
The charm strengthened, churning inevitably to completion, banishing the relentless demon back to its netherworld prison. The hairs on Jack’s arms stood in static attention, and his eyes squinted at the bright display before him. He finally breathed as the air settled, and darkness filled in the momentary gap of space like black ink. There was no sign of the monster.
The ancient spell of warding was finished, and the creature walked the world no longer.
Tears rolled down Jack’s face at the harrowing escape, along with grief over the loss of his friend. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the steering wheel. There he sat for countless moments, reliving the nightmare, voicing a silent prayer of thanks. He gazed down at the incredibly dangerous book, vowing to make sure human hands never again could access the black secrets contained inside.
Jack left the truck, trudging painfully back to the empty house.
The normal sounds of night returned, but his mind replayed the horrific visage of the demon, scarring his memory, something he knew would linger there always, never to be erased.
Devil Man of the Hollow
Our expedition reached the top of a craggy hillside which had impeded progress for most of the day. Drenched with sweat, arms and hands bloodied from the brush, our trek had not been a pleasant one. The mostly British group consisted of twelve men, including myself and four hired locals to lead us through this relatively unfamiliar region of the jungle. We were skirting the edge of the present frontier, and now walked in areas that none of our race had ever seen before.
We were the first - the toughest breed among men, explorers of the vast jungle, and heirs to the fortunes that lay in wait beyond the horizon.
“All right. We break among those rocks near the top. Move out.”
Exhausted and bruised, the men continued in the direction I had pointed. I was parched with thirst and my stomach groaned for a reprieve, but one learns to ignore such inconveniences if he wishes to survive long in the jungle, and I had been ignoring them for the past seven years.
As we gathered around an outcropping of a few boulders, I noticed a change in our guides. They had led us through numerous miles of some of the deepest undergrowth we had ever seen without so much as a hint of uncertainty. These natives knew the land and were in communion with its nature. To exist in such a harsh climate demanded respect and understanding - they possessed both. There could be no mistakes for an error in the jungle meant death. You needed to gain that knowledge of survival by watching the ones who had persevered and still continued to do so. But now I sensed a conflict of wills being waged between our guides and my man Robinson, so I walked into their midst.
“I say, is there some confusion here?”
“There does seem to be a problem, sir,” Robinson answered. “The trail forks and goes off in different directions.”
I followed his gaze and saw a fork in the trail several dozen yards ahead. The main path went in a southerly route and the smaller path branched to the left almost due east, which was the general vicinity of our destination.
The path edged about the ridge we had come over, then made its way down the other side into a hollow filled with lush vegetation. The hollow did not appear to be impassable by any means, and I needed to make some good time here.
Robinson was peering at the map with disdain, the long mustache on his weathered face drooping with disapproval. He shook his head and spoke to Chatra, the guide leader. Chatra was pointing at two of his men who were staring into the hollow. When I considered this later, the two had been shifting their fingers in very strange fashion, and I had overlooked it at the time. Queer, I had thought. If only I had taken heed. The movements had been warding-off gestures to whatever presence they feared in the hollow below.
“These two chaps refuse to go down this path, despite the fact that we will probably save over a day getting to the village, maybe more from the look of it. You can even see the lip of the next ridge. Can’t be more than two days march from here, if that.” Robinson gave me a hard look of confidence and waited for my agreement.
“Well then, what reason do these fellows give for such reluctance? Head hunters? Never any mention before of such. Why won’t Chatra keep them in line now?”
Robinson shook his head. “They are not from his village, but a smaller one down south. They will take the main path or start home.”
“What? Did you tell them they would forfeit their pay? What think they of that?”
But Robinson had threatened the two already. “They will not change their minds. They insist on going south, and say that we enter the hollow at great peril.” As Robinson spoke, he snatched phrases from Chatra for the translation, a guttural di
alogue, one that I only partially understood.
“Sir, it seems that this hollow is some sort of taboo land for them.” He looked at me with a slight scowl, which indicated growing annoyance. Robinson had been with me for a long time and I trusted his instinct.
“Ah, some superstitious nonsense. These natives create the most horrific stories and scare the wits out of themselves. There is no end to the tales they weave. Tell Chatra to offer an additional days’ wage, and let’s end this rubbish.”
Robinson beseeched the leader once again but the two held firm. I looked back at the others who were relaxing in the afternoon heat, sitting beneath a small grove of trees. All except for Crane, who had been kneeling on one leg, hand shading his eyes as he stared down to the valley floor.
Crane was a reserved and soft-spoken fellow. The man never once complained and would lend a hand wherever the need was. His family was well off, and he had more education than the rest of the group. His background made him more distinguished than the other men, but once they became acquainted, a strong friendship had been forged between them. I turned to see how Robinson had fared and the look on his face gave me the answer.
“Well now, if they are so afraid then let them leave,” I said. “But what say our man Chatra? Will he go too?”
“No, sir. He says that the tribes around here believe in strange things. He scoffs at such talk. I believe Chatra has spent enough time with civilized men like us that he isn’t frightened by jungle spirits anymore.”
Chatra stood with his arms folded, his face impassive as usual. There was not an ounce of humor to be found in the tough native. A natural leader of his people, he made an imposing figure. Tall, broad of chest, rippling muscles - these features created an aspect of granite about the man. Immovable, unemotional. Wishing to quench my thirst, I opened my water flask and drank deeply. I peered over the rim and watched as Crane approached.
“Sir.”
“What is it, Crane?” There was an odd look on the man’s face. He appeared a bit unwell.
Restless Shades Page 2