by Rain Oxford
“Yup, sure did. I figure we’re in for some heavy rain pretty quick. Gonna play hell with the roads.”
“Isn’t it kind of strange to get rain here this time of year?”
“Yup.” Parker paused while the waitress brought his coffee. When she had gone, he gave Derek a slightly uncomfortable look. “I pointed out your place to Mike last night, hope it’s alright.”
“Sure. He woke me up to ask some questions is all. All he told me was that the doctor was killed last night, wanted to know if I knew anything. I don’t. How would I?”
“You being a stranger and all, I guess he had to ask. I talked to Mike and a few other folks this morning, and it sure is a nasty mess. Got some people really spooked, too.”
“How so?”
“Have you heard anything about it?”
“No. Just what the sheriff told me, which wasn’t much.”
“Well, one of the farm hands was leaving Sam’s bar last night, and he stepped into the alley behind the Doc’s place to… call of nature, you might say. He said he saw a light on, and he noticed there was a window was all busted out. There’s glass all over the ground in the alley, too. Anyway, he went to look in the window, and that’s when he saw the Doc, all tore up and bloody.”
“He got the sheriff?” Derek asked.
Parker grinned. “Yup. Mike said it was almost funny at first, when this kid comes bursting into his office with his eyes bugging out and waving his arms, with his doodle hanging out in front of god and everybody. The poor kid was scared shitless. Mike couldn’t understand nothing he said until he got him calmed down some, and that took a while.”
“Then what?”
“Well, Mike let the kid in his office and went over to the Doc’s place, and boy, what a mess. I saw it this morning. Papers and busted bottles and stuff all over the place, with the Doc lying right in the middle of it, with his chest and neck tore up. There was a smell, too. Not real strong, but bad. Like something that was dead for a long time.”
“The sheriff said last night that the boy’s body is missing.”
“Yup. Not a trace of him, except for his clothes.”
“And the sheriff doesn’t have any ideas about who did it?”
“He’s figuring that it might have been one of them perverts that do sick things. At least, that’s what I think.” Parker shook his head. “I liked Doc, he was good people. Whoever did it should be shoved in a hole with a bunch of snakes.”
Derek’s coffee had gone cold while they had been talking. He flagged the waitress and had her refill his cup, then sat turning over in his mind the events of the last two days. Occasionally Parker would say something more, but Derek only half heard him.
The thought of Ann had been with him constantly, and he was worried. Not with the panic he had felt during the sheriff’s midnight visit, but enough to make him want to call her. Just to make sure. After all, it was just possible that some maniac was responsible for the doctor’s death; in fact, it was probable. And the thought of someone getting to Ann was unthinkable.
* * *
The Commers’s farm was smaller than most of those in the area, and the livestock was limited to a few chickens and two cows. An automatic sprinkler system watched over the fields of vegetables, doling out moisture as needed; still, Ann had her hands full.
To Ann the animals were pets, and like pets, they followed her around while she made sure they were fed and watered. They were part of the family, her father always said, and she treated them as such. Until her folks returned, they were her responsibility.
She was dumping the last load of firewood into the wood box by the fireplace when the telephone rang. She pulled the bandanna from her head, shaking her hair loose, and answered it. “Hello?” The line sounded scratchy from static.
“Ann? This is Derek.” He paused, not sure what to say. “Are you busy?”
“No. I was, but I’m all done now. Why?”
“I thought we might get together this afternoon, if you want to. Watch it rain or something.” He paused once more before continuing. “I want to talk to you about something, too.”
“What about, Derek?”
“I’d rather wait until I see you.”
“Okay. Where are you going to be?”
“I’m at the hotel, now. How about here, whenever you can make it?”
“Fine. In about a half-hour?”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
Ann hung up the telephone with the feeling that something had Derek worried, but she couldn’t think of what it might be. Without realizing it, she twisted the brightly colored bandanna into a hard knot around her fist until her knuckles turned white.
* * *
The investigation didn’t take long. If there had been any evidence outside of the small clinic, in the nature of footprints or tire marks or the like, the steady drizzle had long since washed it away. Witnesses or suspects were as non-existent as the motive. Everything inside the clinic was examined, photographed, classified, and removed for burial in red tape. And Mike was left frustrated.
The detective in charge had seemed only mildly interested in the case; in fact, he acted more disturbed about the weather than the doctor’s death, or the missing body of the boy. One of the more inspired of his crew said something about the possibility of the doctor having been attacked by some animal. That would have explained the mutilating of the doctor’s chest and throat, perhaps even the disappearance of the boy’s body, but it still left far too many questions unanswered. Such as, how did there come to be a wild animal inside the clinic, at midnight, with all of the outside doors locked?
Mike had suggested a search to comb through the county-side, thinking the guilty party might still be around. The head detective had chewed his cigar and shook his head, claiming that nothing could be found in such weather. Then he had gathered up Mike’s reports and left, muttering something about being glad to get out of such a piss-ant burg.
Back in his office, Mike slumped behind his desk and stared at the growing drizzle through his front window. After a while he bent to open the bottom drawer, and after a moment’s fishing laid a pistol wrapped in a zip-lock bag on the desk. Even through the plastic, it had a metallic, vicious appearance.
He didn’t like it, usually, but at this moment it gave him an odd comfort.
* * *
Derek was in the hotel lobby reading a tattered magazine when Ann came in. He smiled and shoved the magazine back into the rack beside his chair.
“The troops have arrived, rain or no,” she said, smiling. “Want to go surfing?”
“That’s not a bad idea, but I forgot my Coppertone. What do you do around here for entertainment, anyway?”
“Watch other people go nuts with nothing to do.”
“I believe it. No, really, don’t you have a movie house, or a barn dance or something? Surely people don’t just work and sleep?”
“You got it. The only night life in Cider Springs is Sam’s bar or television. If you want to see a movie or do anything exciting, you have to drive into Altura. You want to?”
“What about the rain? Parker said the roads get pretty bad when it rains like this.”
“I guess you’re right. I’d hate to get stuck in the middle of nowhere. By the way, what was it you wanted to talk about? You sounded worried on the phone.”
“Well, I am, a little. You heard about the doctor, didn’t you?”
“You mean about him being killed? Yes, but that’s all I’ve heard. Why?”
“There’s a possibility that whoever did it is still around. You said that your folks were gone, and you were alone at your place, right?”
Ann paused, looking thoughtful. “I see what you mean. You think it might not be too safe out there alone.”
He smiled at her tone. “What I mean is that you might stay with some friends or something, until this is over or your folks get back. It’s none of my business, but I would feel better.”
“I guess you’re rig
ht,” she said, sighing. “I hate to think of being out there alone if… do you really think it’s that serious?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t believe in taking chances when you don’t have to.”
* * *
The transition between the gloom of the day and the total darkness of the night was quick and definite, and the blurred light from the town and houses fought futilely, dying only a few feet from the windows. The rain beat an ancient chant on the soaked ground.
John Tomalo’s body went mechanically about the nightly routine chores while his brain lay numb, lost in a world of despair that his mind refused to accept it, denied that Tony was gone. He couldn’t be. It was impossible. Someone was playing a nasty trick and it would soon be over. Ha, ha, if you do it again I’ll kick your ass, bastard.
The big barn held ten prize cows, each with its own stall and name plaque. Normally he fussed over each one in turn, petting and talking to them like good friends; tonight they were just stupid, staring mounds of flesh that required tending. A spark of hatred for them flared briefly, then faded back into the muddy depths of his brain.
He closed the barn door and turned into the rain, beginning a slow, blind walk towards the house. The rain poured over his face and the mud sucked at his boots, but he didn’t pay any attention. They were part of another world, one he didn’t care about anymore.
The sound of scraping drifted through the sizzling rain, finally seeping further and further into his mind until it reached his consciousness. He paused for a moment, listening, trying to locate the sound. The lantern in his hand hissed angrily as he held it up in the rain.
He began slowly retracing his steps towards the van, holding the lantern high and peering into the gloom. Parked next to the barn was an old Studebaker truck, one of the obsolete military six-wheel types. He had used it for hauling feed at one time, but a bad engine had brought it to an abrupt retirement years ago. Now it sat rotting, two tires flat and the paint peeling off. A large tarp covered the back, the bracing sticking out sharply like the ribs of a starved animal. There was nothing in the truck but trash and several rusty fifty-five gallon fuel drums.
And whatever was making the noise.
The sound stopped at his approach. He glanced around the ground, looking for a weapon of some sort, then picked up a fist-sized rock, capable of dispatching any varmint or foraging dog. Armed with a rock and lantern, he treaded to the back of the truck and flung aside the canvas flap.
A biting cold mingled with the odor of rotted flesh that swarmed around him, but he stood rooted with shock. A small, naked boy huddled between two barrels, his face hidden by shadows.
“Who’s there?” John’s brain balked, reason fading into a madman’s dream world of unreality. Sane thought ceased to exist. “Tony, is that---” The face turned out of the shadows, its red bulging eyes gleaming in the light. Huge curved teeth clicked in a hideous grin, the long, pointed tongue darting in and out.
John Tomalo backed away from his son, the lantern and rock falling from his nerveless hands. He felt the weight land on his chest and he knew blackness.
His scream ended suddenly.
* * *
Parker, Derek, and Ann had given up trying to watch television because of the impossibly bad reception, and were sitting in the back room of the store playing Crazy-Eights with a dog-eared deck of cards. Parker was winning with a regularity that indicated a more than passing familiarity with each card’s particular defect. He had just won another hand when the front door rattled, warning of someone’s presence. Parker frowned and looked at his watch.
“Who the hell could that be?” Parker grumbled. “It’s after ten.”
Ann grinned. “I’ve got an idea. Answer it and find out.”
“Answer it and find out,” Parker mocked in a shaky falsetto. “Smart kid. Derek, give her a beating while I go see who it is.” A moment later, he returned, followed by Mike. “Wasn’t anybody, just this wet bloodhound here. Want some coffee, Mike?”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Mike answered, peeling out of his raincoat. He nodded to Ann and Derek and cradled the steaming cup Parker offered. “Thanks. I’ve got coffee-belly already, so this poison of yours can’t do any harm.”
“What brings you around this time of night, Mike? You going hunting?” Parker waved his hand at the sheriff’s holstered gun.
“I guess you could say that. Used your phone lately?”
“No, why?”
“I had a couple of people in, saying that their telephones weren’t working. Mine isn’t either. Give yours a try.” Parker lifted the receiver to his ear and dialed a number, then taped on the button. He shook his head.
“Nothing but static. Lines messed up somewhere?”
Mike shrugged. “Not that I know about. I’m going to check out what I can tomorrow, see if any are down, but I doubt if the phone company will send anyone out until this weather clears up.”
“Find out anything more about the doctor?” Derek asked.
“Not a thing. And would you believe, the department acted like I called them out here on a parking ticket. At least, the investigator did. He was a real bastard.”
“We wouldn’t trade one of you for ten of them, Mike,” Parker said.
“Thanks.” Mike’s expression turned grim. “I wish to hell I knew what was going on. There’s something wrong, I can feel it. It’s like there’s something out there just waiting for… I don’t know what. Shit. And this damn rain…”
“Yeah. The way it started at the same time as all this trouble is creepy,” Ann said, a shiver passing through her body. “It’s as if there was some kind of connection between the two. You don’t think there is, do you?”
Mike smiled with a grim amusement. “Not unless you’re talking spooky book stuff, and I’m not buying that.”
* * *
An hour later Derek walked Ann back to the hotel, and with her goodnight kiss still warm on his lips, he climbed the stairs to his room. He stood for a while in front of his window, watching faint flickers of lightning search through the thick clouds. He thought of Ann, the murder of the doctor, and the drowned boy he had found.
Mike had been right. Something was wrong, very wrong, and Derek had the black feeling that it was far from over. There was too much happening, too fast, too evil.
He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.
* * *
Derek moaned in his sleep, for it was a sleep without rest. It was filled with strange, grotesque shadows that belonged somewhere, anywhere, but not in the world of man. Shadows that clawed and ripped and laughed and leered with hatred and contempt, flaunting their damned powers in the face of an unbelieving, helpless world. Shadows that grew larger and larger and came closer and closer, reaching…
* * *
His heart pounded madly, and his body was slick with sweat despite the coolness of the room. He cursed at his trembling hands as he lit the first of many cigarettes.
Chapter 4
The morning brought no improvement in the weather; the rain poured over the already saturated soil with a dreary persistence. Many worried faces were turned toward the sky, aware of the damage that such heavy, unseasonal rain could do. More than one farmer looked forward to considerable losses, and everyone would suffer from the damage done to the roads.
Cider Springs lay under the grey blanket, showing just enough signs of movement to indicate life. An occasional car or truck from one of the nearby farms would slog its miserable way through the muddy streets, or some poor, unfortunate person would dash futilely from one building to another. Nothing moved that didn’t have to.
* * *
Ann gave a plastic smile to the frowzy, grey haired woman complaining about over-priced, low quality materials as she held a shredded dress in her hands. She insisted that the store replace it, although it was obvious that the damage had been done by some animal; probably torn from a clothes line by a dog. Ann pressed on bravely, despite the threat of spinal decalcification
from the woman’s shrill voice.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sims, but the dress is not returnable.” But I’ll gladly show you where you can put it. “We can’t make refunds on damaged goods.” You could buy a broom and fly home; I’ll give you one if you’ll leave now.
“All I did was put the damn thing on,” Mrs. Sims whined. “It just fell apart!”
“I don’t understand how. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”
The woman muttered away and left Ann feeling relief. Mrs. Sims was one of those people that made arguing particularly distasteful. Ann slumped into one of the overstuffed waiting chairs by the counter, glad to sit down, and was startled by the thin frame of Miss Cooper as it landed in the chair beside hers.
Miss Cooper was the owner of the small clothes store and, when her back was safely turned, was referred to as “The Old Maid.” She made no bones about the fact that, in her estimation, men were slightly less than useless, comparable to mosquitoes. Needless to say, it had been years since she had been bothered, much less bitten, by one. Several of Ann’s worst nightmares had to do with the idea of becoming another Miss Cooper.
“Nasty weather; I hate this kind of weather!” The tone of Miss Cooper’s voice made it clear that the rain was a personal affront to her, and that it was most rude for not drying up and blowing away when she thought it should. She cast an inquiring eye on Ann as if Ann might be conspiring with the weather against her.
“So do I, and it’s bad for business,” Ann said.
Miss Cooper’s lower lip twisted gloomily, and she sighed. “Yes, it is. I’ll probably be closing the place in a while, anyway. So if you’ve got anything you want to do, you might was well go do it. Nobody with any sense is going to be out in this stuff.”
“True.” Ann drug her raincoat out from behind the counter and began slipping it on. “But I’m sure I can find something to do. For one thing, there’s a new fella in town, Derek, and---”