Black Stump Ridge
Page 26
“N-nothin’, ma’m? Is that what you call it? I call it makin’ a love doll. Yore sweet on this Fred feller, ain’t you?”
“Fred feller? Ah don’ know no Fred feller. This here poppet’s fer Billy Joe.” She pulled the figure from behind her back. Fred Kyle’s face looked up at her from the malformed wax. She dropped it to the floor.
“You cain’t fool Granny, June Bug. Ain’t no good tryin’ an’ you know it.”
“But, it was, Granny. Honest. It’s supposed t’ look like Billy Joe, not this Fred person.” She looked up. Granny looked down at her sadly. The cabin was gone. They were in someone’s yard. She heard another woman’s voice chanting. “What’s goin’ on, Granny? Where we at?”
“We’re right here, child,” Truly’s face melted and ran. Her arms reached towards Betty but as they did, they changed, became tentacles with claws on the ends. “An’ Granny jes wants t’ eat you right up!”
The claws ripped into her flesh just below her rib cage. She screamed as she felt herself pulled apart. The last thing she saw was Granny lifting her face out of her torn open belly. Something long, pink, and ropelike dangled from one corner of her masticating maw.
Granny looked at her and smiled, “Young’uns always taste the sweetest.”
Betty rode her final scream into oblivion.
•
Suddenly, the creature rose from the pit. Once more Fred faced the creature he saw a decade before. Limbs thrashed. The smell of ozone filled the air as the glowing, bulbous shape emerged from the movie image his mind presented the first time. It towered over Diane. It snarled and growled, but she continued to ignore it.
“Leave her alone!” he screamed above the rising tempest.
The creature stopped and looked at him. After a moment it moved towards him.
“What do you want from us?” Fred stood defiant although every bit of him wanted to turn and run.
“I want nothing from you, Childe.” The creature’s voice was a burbling chuckle inside Fred’s brain. “I spared you the last time and I will spare you tonight.”
The saliva in Fred’s mouth tasted metallic just before it dried up. “Why?” he croaked.
He heard Levi’s child-like chant inside his head: “Cuz kin allus helps kin.”
From nowhere a giant green hound lunged past him, up and over Diane, and into the creature. Its jaws snapped closed on the creature’s flesh just below its gaping maw. A single bolt of blue-white lightning brighter than a welder’s torch slammed into the ground at the center of the medicine wheel. It danced for several seconds before retreating to the clouds above. Thunder exploded. Deafened and blinded, Fred felt the concussion lift and toss him backwards into the trees. Unconsciousness wrapped him in a black velvety glove. It pulled him down and down. He saw, heard, and felt no more.
•
Fred stared up at the clear blue sky. Fleecy clouds floated overhead like stately sailing ships from a bygone era. Birdsong filled his ears and the fragrance of growing things flowed through his nostrils.
Then the pain struck.
His back, wrapped around a tree trunk, screamed in agony. His previous wounds now formed an orchestra of aches and throbbing misery. His wet clothes clung to him like an itchy second skin. Insects crawled over and through the soggy fabric.
He pushed himself up until he sat with his back against the tree. The world turned and whirled. His vision tunneled. His stomach lurched from the vertigo. He leaned back and shut his eyes and waited. Would he remain upright or slump into unconsciousness? After several moments his stomach settled. The blackness withdrew leaving him wrapped in a cocoon of agony.
He opened his eyes and looked around. A body lay on the ground to his right. Betty June’s? Diane’s? There seemed to be a large circle of blood and something else beneath her. He decided he didn’t really need to know what it was.
Near the cistern another body lay face down. This one showed no obvious signs of trauma. By the clothing, he knew it was Diane.
The first must be Betty June. He looked to his left. There was no sign of Amanda. He saw no other signs of blood or struggle. Hopefully she’d escaped. Maybe she’d run to Purdie’s.
He tried to stand, but quickly changed his mind. When the earthquake passed and the ground stopped heaving, he crawled on hands and knees to the first body. It was Betty June. Her abdomen looked as if zombies from a George Romero movie had used her for a picnic lunch. Flies buzzed loudly as they took off and landed on her pooled blood and raw tissue. They circled over him, too, as he knelt there beside her. The scene was too much. His stomach lurched. His nose and mouth burned afterwards. He decided he probably was better off without whatever he’d thrown up.
He resumed his journey. Hours later, although it was only minutes, he reached the rock wall. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself up until he could see the upper surface. Silver marks and designs formed an unbroken circle. She’d succeeded. He hoped that meant that the creature was trapped inside once more. He had no intention of making another trip to East Tennessee. After this, his family could come to him if they wanted to see him.
He looked at Diane’s body as she lay prone on the ground. After a moment he realized that her chest was rising and falling. She was alive. He pushed himself away from the wall and began to crawl. When he reached her, he placed his hand on her back. Yes, she was breathing. Gently he rolled her over. He sat back, stunned at what he saw. The woman lying on the ground before him looked to be at least seventy years old. Deep lines creased her face. Her hair, once shiny black, was now gray and white shot with occasional black strands. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him and smiled.
“I sure hope I look better than you do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Fred hated hospitals. He hated the smells. He cringed at the sounds. He despised the nurses’ shoes as they squeaked on the tile floor. The PA speakers blared ominous coded messages that only the staff understood. Those voices unnerved him. He sat in the waiting room holding his ball cap in his right hand.
“Mr. Kyle?”
He looked up. A slender woman carrying a few extra pounds looked down at him. The clipboard in her right hand and the strap that ran behind her neck from one earpiece on her Rhinestone eyeglasses to the other told him all he needed to know about her job. She worked in the billing office.
“Here is your insurance card,” she handed him two pieces of plastic, “and your driver’s license. I have a couple of forms to go over with you before you sign them. May I sit here?”
Fred shrugged and looked past her to the double door leading into the bowels of the hospital.
“This form gives us permission…” the woman’s voice droned on like a hovering mosquito as she explained each piece of paper before having him initial or sign or do both as well as date every one. After he signed the last one, the woman stood. She put the forms in precise order under the clip. She took a step and then turned. “Is this your first child, Mr. Kyle?”
He looked up, “What? Oh. Yes. It’s our first. We’ve only been married a few months.”
She reached down and patted his hand. The gesture, while probably meant well, felt a touch condescending to him. The woman’s voice was sticky syrup. “I’m sure everything will be just fine.”
He nodded and looked away, not trusting his voice or his words. Telling her how phony she was would gain him nothing, not even a minor satisfaction. He stared through the heavy plate glass at the rain hitting it and running down in sheets. March might bring spring but it also brought cold, miserable rain to remind everyone that winter’s grip was not completely gone.
“Mr. Kyle?”
Fred turned and then stood up. As Doctor Russell walked towards him Fred again marveled at how young the man seemed. His handshake attested to his fitness. At six feet two inches tall and two hundred pounds, he looked as if he might have played in his college’s defensive backfield at some point, but he denied it. He had a ready smile and warm hazel eyes behind gold-framed glass
es.
“How is my wife doing?”
“Mrs. Kyle is relaxed and doing well. She’s about a month early. I had hoped the baby would wait at least another two weeks, but if I’ve learned nothing else, I’ve learned that babies will come when they are ready. We just need to do the best that we can.”
“When can I go up there?”
“You could probably go up there now if you felt you had to. It’s room three-forty-nine.” The doctor smiled. “But, since they’re getting her settled into the room – taking vitals, helping her change, that sort of thing – it might be easier if you wait down here a bit longer.”
“How long?”
“Thirty minutes?”
Fred frowned, but nodded his head. “Okay, Doctor. Thirty minutes.”
“Excellent.” The doctor squeezed his shoulder. “I have a couple of more patients to look in on, and then I’ll visit with you and your wife.”
“Thank you, Dr. Russell.”
The two men shook hands. The doctor turned and headed for the elevator. Fred walked slowly to the window, his hands in his jeans pockets, and stared out at the rain. His mind wandered back to Tennessee.
•
Three days after the ritual, Fred drove down the gravel road and onto the winding track that led to Purdie’s store and the highway beyond. Diane sat beside him although they’d hardly spoken since the morning after the ritual. Although Diane insisted it was hopeless Fred spent two afternoons futilely searching for any trace of Amanda.
“For what it’s worth,” Diane said from the passenger seat, “I’m sorry for your loss. She was a fine young woman.”
Fred silently guided the van down the mountain. His jaws ached from clenching his teeth and holding back his anger. His temples throbbed.
“If it will make you feel better, you can drop me off in either Chattanooga or Knoxville, depending on which way your going. I can catch a flight back to Oklahoma in either city.”
“Nashville.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ll take you to Nashville. It’s bigger. You’ll have more flights to pick from.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” Suddenly he jammed on the brakes. The van slewed sideways towards the edge of the road, but stopped before going over. “Son of a bitch!”
They both stared in disbelief. Fred found his voice first.
“I thought you said the creature pulled her into the cave.”
“He did,” Diane insisted. “I saw it.”
“Then, how do you explain this?”
Amanda stood on the narrow road less than three feet from the van’s right front fender. Her hair was a tangled mess; her eyes blank. Her blouse hung in tatters. She stood naked from the waist down. Even her shoes were gone. Dried blood caked her inner thighs.
“Fred,” Diane shouted as she opened the door, “help me get her inside. We have to take her back to the cabin.”
Fred slowly opened his door and stepped onto the road. Everything slowed to the moving through molasses feel of a really bad nightmare. “Cabin?”
“She’s in shock. We have to get her cleaned up. We need to get some clean clothes on her. Mostly, we need to get her warm. Come on!”
Fred shook his head. The lethargy lifted. He rushed to Amanda and helped Diane guide her back to the truck. He turned it around and raced back up the mountain.
Once they were all in the cabin, Fred found some fresh clothing in her suitcase while Diane took her to one of the bathrooms to clean her up and examine her. Half an hour later Diane emerged, her expression sad and pensive.
“What the hell happened to her?” Fred asked.
“The creature got her,” she replied.
“What do you mean, got her?”
“He got her. We need to arrange an abortion as soon as possible.”
“No.” Fred doubted that Diane was any more shocked than he was at his words. “She’s been through enough. You were wrong about her being dragged into the cave. You might be wrong about this, too. I’ll get her checked at a regular hospital by a real doctor.”
“But…”
“No.”
•
Fred looked at his watch. Ten minutes. Ain’t that always the way? he thought. He considered walking to the elevators, but decided against it. He promised the doctor he’d wait, and he always tried to keep his word. He decided to find the cafeteria, instead, and get a cup of coffee. He could use the caffeine. He thought for a moment. It was on the second floor. He walked to the elevator and stood before the double doors. The up light already glowed. A pretty blond Candy Striper, probably sixteen years old, stood beside him. She smiled at him the way young girls did when they met someone they felt too old to be a threat.
The problem with youth, a memory played in his head, is that it’s wasted on the young. He smiled back at her and resumed staring at the steel doors.
The doors slid open with a soft “ding” and he gestured for her to enter first. She smiled wider and stepped in. She had dimples. It made her look like the girl on the Swiss Miss boxes in the grocery store.
She pressed 2 and looked back at him.
“Three, please,” he replied without thinking.
She pressed the button and, after a slight hesitation, the doors trundled closed. The car slid slowly upwards.
His mind drifted back once more, something he seemed to do more of these days. The elevator stopped, snapping Fred from his reverie. The Candy Striper stepped out and the doors slid closed. As the car moved upward he realized he’d missed his floor. Why had he told her three? The cafeteria was on two. It was probably his subconscious knowing how much he wanted to be with his wife.
The car stopped and the doors opened. He debated. Should he step out, or go back down to two?
The doors started to close. They snapped open again as he stepped through. The nurses’ station to the right bustled with activity.
Must be shift change, he thought.
He looked at the numbers on the wall. The ones above the left pointing arrow showed 331 – 350. He turned left. Most of the rooms he passed had couples and families, some of the women doing the special breathing method taught in Lamaze classes.
Amanda’s room was the last on the left. The door was closed. Fred hesitated, uncertain of what to do. He heard faint sobbing from the other side. Slowly he pushed the door open and stepped in. The door closed softly behind him. He looked around.
The first thing he noticed was blood – a lot of blood. The sobbing came from the far corner. He ignored it for the moment. The bed was disheveled and bloody. The blankets and sheets hung over the other side of the mattress. The tray table lay on the floor. An armchair lay on its side. Two legs in white trouser legs stretched out from the other side. The chair blocked his view of the body. A pool of blood covered the floor.
Fred carefully stepped closer for a better look. A lab tech lay face down in the blood pool, the vials from her rack strewn and scattered over the floor. A gaping hole in her forearm and throat revealed the source of the blood.
He looked to his right. Amanda curled in the corner, sobbing softly. The lower part of her hospital gown was soaked, almost black with blood. A trail led from her to the tech, and from there to the far corner.
Fred moved toward the corner and hunkered down. An infant watched him steadily from the shadows. Its wide eyes stared into his. It mewled softly. Fred pursed his lips and made a clicking sound. The infant clicked back, and then slowly crawled towards him. In the light, Fred could see the blood on its face and hands.
He reached out to it. The baby reached back and let Fred pick it up. He looked around for a towel with which to wrap it.
“Let’s go, Little Brother,” Fred crooned as he turned and headed back to the door. “It’s time to go home. After all, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Kin always helps kin.”
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
John Manning lives in retirement near Dallas, Texas, with his girlfriend, Jackie, their
dog, Dottie, and their African grey parrot, Gonzo. John feels that having a birthday on Halloween adds to his fascination with all things macabre and horrific. He has had non-fiction articles published Nemeton Magazine and Trajectories Magazine as well as one science fiction short story. He is originally from Detroit, Michigan, but considers Texas his home. Black Stump Ridge is his first novel-length work and his first collaboration. His next work, Fear the Reaper, will be his first solo novel.
Forrest Hedrick lives and works in Houston, Texas. He is a hunter, a leather craftsman, and a garb maker for Renaissance Fairs. He is an accomplished medieval-style cook, a semi-retired adventurer, and a gentleman rogue. His previous works include a book of poetry. He has two solo projects under development.
John and Forrest have been friends for over twenty years and have at least two other collaborative projects in the works.
Table of Contents
Black Stump Ridge
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ABOUT THE AUTHORS