A black streak dashed in front of Billy’s eyes. He blinked and saw Killer attacking the creature. The dog had the creature’s slimy arm in its mouth. Dark brown ooze, like molasses, seeped from where Killer was gnawing. The creature squealed.
As monster and dog tussled, Billy scrambled to his feet. The creature grabbed Killer’s head and began crushing it. The dog yelped for a second before falling limp. The thing grabbed both of the dog’s legs, ripped them off, and tossed them over its head. They landed with a soft splash in the water. Billy turned and ran.
He had never run so fast and for so long in his fourteen years of living. He burst through the downstairs door of his house, out of breath, hands on his knees. His mind raced faster than his pulse. He’d seen his best friend gruesomely killed by some kind of amphibious abomination. And Killer, the dog that had tormented so many neighborhood kids for so many years, dead. Billy wasn’t sure if the dog had tried to protect him or had simply saw a formidable foe worth challenging. Either way, the dog died saving his life.
“Billy?” his mother yelled from upstairs. “Is that you?”
His breathing was still rapid, but had slowed somewhat. He plodded up the stairs, his adrenaline still pumping.
“Mom, Dad,” he said, no longer caring if he got into trouble. People needed to know about the monster. He entered the kitchen as his parents sat at the table eating.
“What’s gotten into you?” his mother asked, holding a fork with a piece of rare-cooked steak on the end of it.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” his father said. “Is that my video camera?”
Ignoring his father’s question, Billy blurted out his tale, starting with the woman and her Jeep. He spoke unhindered by his parents, ending with Mack’s and Killer’s demise.
His parents had stopped eating, cutlery resting on their plates. His father’s expression was stoic at first, seeming indifferent to what he had said, but his face quickly reddened as his cheek muscles bulged.
His mother’s face paled, tears welling in her eyes. She looked horrified. Had she believed him? Had she known about the creature? She looked away for a moment before turning on him.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” his mother spat, tears falling down her cheeks.
“I know I’m not supposed to go near the lake, but . . .” Billy was cut short by his father’s backhand, the smack loud and painful like a bunch of stinging bees. His father had never hit him so hard before. He’d been whipped on his backside with his father’s belt, but the man had never lifted a hand to his face. The hatred in his father’s eyes was frightening, worse than any punishment he’d ever been given. Holding his hand to his blistering cheek, Billy watched as his father rose from his chair and cocked back his fist.
“Howard,” his mother yelled.
“We have to protect the family. We have a daughter. Remember her? The one away at college?”
Billy shrank back, confused. What the hell were his parents talking about? Protect the family? He closed his eyes as his father’s fist came at him. The impact was like a steel pipe colliding with his head before everything went black.
He awoke upright, his head bruised and pounding. Opening his eyes, he saw hundreds of people standing before him, all staring with somber faces. They were the adults from the neighborhood. He tried moving, but found his arms were tied around a wooden post behind his back. His ankles too. Two torches, alight with flame, stood a few feet to either side of him. Night had fallen, the sky was clear, the stars shining bright. The air was humid, and the gentle breeze that was blowing did little to relieve the heat emanating from Billy’s body. His father stood before him.
“Let this night be a lesson to us all,” he said.
“Dad . . .” Billy said, eyes beginning to tear.
“Keep yourselves and your children away from the lake. Let the wanderers and outsiders supply the Mogroth with food. The pact must not be broken. We’ve stopped having to sacrifice our own by letting the creature take outsiders.”
“Dad, what the hell is going on?” Billy asked, crying and struggling against his bindings.
“You will be quiet, boy,” his father said, slapping him across the face. His father turned to face the crowd. “We must be vigil in our lives and honor the pact our fathers and their fathers before them made.” He observed the crowd, catching the eyes of many.
“This,” he pointed to his son. “This is what will happen to your children if you don’t keep them away.” Half the onlookers appeared frightened, others angered. “Or worse, the creature will curse us all, leaving our lands and families in ruin.” He raised a fist in the air. “Have you forgotten the history of our community?”
The neighborhood knew well the story of its past. Shortly after the village’s forefathers settled the land the people began dying. Children didn’t live past the age of four. Crops and commerce all but ceased as if the lands were cursed. Something needed to be done.
The people prayed at church on Sundays, but nothing ever changed until a witch came to town. She was passing through, had made plans to stay, but said it was a place of evil. The town’s elders begged her for help, which was unusual, as most witches were driven away or worse, killed.
The witch told the town’s elders that a powerful spell would be needed to keep the evil at bay. She gathered a sample of blood from every town resident and made her spell. Using one of the dead and a water serpent, she created the Mogroth.
The Mogroth was a supernatural creature that lived in lakes and swamps, surviving on human flesh. The town would need to sacrifice a human to it at least once every four months, a small price to pay. In doing so the town’s residence would never become sick. Cancer, influenza, plague and all other ailments would never befall them. Their children would grow up healthy and live to an old age and business would always be profitable. The witch warned them against ever raising a hand to the creature, for the consequences would be dire. If a town resident ever meant to harm the Mogroth then that individual would have to be sacrificed to the creature or the entire town would fall into ruin. Incurable disease would befall everyone, crops would die, and prosperity would cease. No matter where they fled, the curse would follow them until death.
Having given the crowd time to reflect, Howard continued. “Let this sacrifice keep the lake pact unbroken.” He stepped forward, the crowd parting.
“Dad,” Billy cried. He saw his neighbor that had babysat him when he was a young child. “Mrs. Peterson?” He looked to the bystanders, each one averting their eyes and lowering their heads.
As his father disappeared into the distance, the crowd closed in, following after the man.
Billy was left alone as his cries dwindled. He continued to struggle uselessly. The crickets and frogs that had been chirping became silent. He heard the water ripple behind him. The silent night air was broken by the low gurgle of the creature’s growl. Billy’s pants darkened in the crotch as his bladder let loose. He began shaking, screaming for help, his voice echoing, unanswered. The creature’s rancid mildew and dead fish breath struck Billy’s nose making him gag.
The Mogroth grabbed Billy’s left arm and tore it from the shoulder socket. The rope holding his wrists snapped as blood gushed from the gaping hole. He screamed in horror, the pain not settling in yet. He heard a splash, remembering how the creature had tossed Killer’s legs after removing them. Numbness seemed to fill his body until he felt the Mogroth’s mouth close over his neck. Its teeth sunk in, but in a saw-like manner, cutting deep and severing muscle. He felt the warmth of his blood dribble down his neck, coating his chest and back as the creature chewed and sucked. The monster lifted its head from him, engulfed Billy in a bear-hug and tore him and the post from the ground. It headed back to the water, Billy still alive as he went under. The creature brought Billy’s body to its lair and finished the meal. The pact of Beaver Dam Lake remained.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
David has had numerous short stories appear in magazines and a
nthologies. His latest work appears, or will be appearing in, Big Foot War Among Us, from Coscom Entertainment and, Made You Flinch, from Library of Horror Press and DEADication: All Things Zombie, from Panic Press. He lives in the NYC area, is working on his second novel--his first awaiting publication--and wishes people would stop using their car horns so much. You can visit him at davidbernsteinauthor.blogspot.com and email him at [email protected]
Another Man's Wife plus 3 Other Tales of Horror Page 5