Servants of Darkness (Thirteen Creepy Tales)

by Mark Edward Hall

  “Ed, talk to me,” Mary sobbed. “What about . . . ?”

  “I don’t know, Mary.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No I don’t! Jesus, woman, I’ve got no way of telling what’s going on inside her head. I’ve got no way of telling how she’ll react when she wakes up. Physically I think she’ll be okay. There are some scrapes and bruises, nothing life-threatening. But I don’t know about the emotional part.” The doctor spun around suddenly facing the woman. “I don’t know anything anymore, Mary. After what I saw out in that barn tonight I might just as well flush everything I’ve ever learned about medicine right down the toilet.”

  “Please, Ed, don’t. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scaring you? Mary, in the name of all that’s sane, I want you to tell me what happened out there tonight. And if you can’t do that, then I want you to tell me what you think happened. You and Carl say she did it! Well tell me how? Jesus, woman, I’m seventy-two years old. I’ve been in this business forty-seven of those years.” Wellman fell silent, his eyes glazing. It was a long moment before he spoke again, and when he did it was a thin sound, barely a whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Mary. What in the name of God did she use on him, a Christly chain saw?”

  “Oh my God, Ed! Oh my God!” Mary sat stiffly in her chair, hands folded together and raised in front of her face, fingers entwined as if in prayer. Her eyes were closed and tears were squeezing out between soggy lashes and streaming down her face.

  The doctor went to the woman, resting his palms lightly on the tops of her fleshy shoulders. He began massaging slowly, gently, trying to comfort her, feeling with great sorrow and pity the slow, agonizing sobs that racked her body, and feeling also, with great responsibility, the heavy burden of the night’s events on his own tired, arthritic old bones and through the steady, painful, thump-thump-thumping in his head. He had never felt so defeated or defective. “I’m sorry, Mary,” he said. “I just don’t understand. I wish there was something I could do or say to make things right again. But there isn’t, and you and I both know it.”

  “I don’t want to believe any of this happened,” the woman sobbed. And then in a much smaller voice, a voice that was almost a whimper, she said. “What are we going to do, Ed? Dear God, what are we going to do?”

  Wellman’s answer was silence, and it hung there in the air between them like a great weight.

  Doctor Wellman was a man who had seen many disturbing things in his long career as a rural general practitioner, but never anything as hideous as what he’d seen earlier that evening in the Landers’ barn. As a matter of fact he’d never seen anything that disturbing in his entire life. Not even in the Army where he had been a young field surgeon with the 7th infantry division. His brain was a mush of confusing assumptions and possibilities, and his body kept rashing out in uncontrollable showers of gooseflesh. He knew way down deep that there was something infinitely more morbid about this death—the one he had seen in the Landers’ barn—than any other he had ever witnessed. The thought struck him strangely, that for the first time since her death, he was almost relieved that Theresa was gone. Somehow this night had changed everything. How on earth would Theresa have ever been able to understand, let alone accept something like this? She had been such a sheltered, pampered woman.

  A man dressed in patched bib-overalls came in from outside. He was a big man, his body puffed to powerful shapelessness. He sported a heavy crop of iron-gray hair, his clothes were tattered and soiled, his face smudged with blood and soot, and his hands were bleeding. He was a man who’d spent a lifetime working the land, a man who had once been handsome and strong and—at least in the eyes of a young newly-wed Mary Landers—unconquerable. Now he looked totally defeated.

  “Did you take care of it?” Mary asked, her voice quivering in her throat.

  Carl Landers wobbled over to the sink, turned the water on, shakily washed the soil and blood from his hands and said nothing. He pulled a towel from a rack, and when he had finished drying off he turned to his wife and Doctor Wellman with absent, haunted eyes. “Yes,” he answered. “It is taken care of. He is in the ground.”

  “The weapon!” Wellman said suddenly, hoping beyond hope for a sane explanation to this nightmare. “What did you do with the weapon? What did she use on him? My God, Carl, how could a seven-year-old girl do that to a grown man anyway? A strong man, three times her size.”

  The words that came from the old farmer were the words Wellman feared hearing most. The words he suspected were true, but somehow couldn’t quite bring himself to accept. “There was no weapon, Ed. No weapon at all.”

  Mary’s fists balled into helpless knots and flew toward her mouth in a compulsive attempt to stifle the cry of pain that wrenched from her throat. She began to whimper, rocking back and forth in her chair, her eyes swimming in her head. “Oh . . . my . . . God,” she said, and then began to chant. “My little girl, my little girl, what have we got here? My little girl, my litt—”

  “Just shut up!” Carl snapped, cutting her off. “For God’s sake, Mary, he put a blindfold over her eyes and tied her hands behind her back. Then that bastard did things to her! What in the hell would you have done? What would you expect her to do?”

  “But, Carl,” Wellman said, touching his dry lips with his tongue. “How on earth did she do it? I mean, Jesus Christ, man, you took care of that mess.”

  “I don’t know,” Landers replied curtly. “And I don’t want to know. It’s over and done with, and I ain’t gonna think about it no more.”

  Wellman began to pace. Abruptly he stopped, his eyes, aimed at Carl drew down into tiny slits, narrow and accusing. The skin of his brow pulled tightly against his skull. “Christ and all that’s sane, Carl,” he exploded. “You can’t just block it out of your life as if it never happened. What in the name of God do you suppose is going to happen when that little girl in there wakes up?”

  “Nothing,” Carl snapped. “Nothing’s gonna happen. Things are gonna be just like they always were.”

  Wellman rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Tell me you don’t really believe that, Carl. You’re not a stupid man. Nothing is ever going to be the same again, and you’re going to have to accept that.”

  Something swam behind Carl’s eyes, a dangerous look that Wellman had never seen there before. Carl had always been such a teddy bear, such a jolly and genteel man who would never hurt a fly or say a bad word about anyone. Now there was something inside him, something ugly and terrifying. So terrifying, in fact, that Wellman involuntarily took a step backwards.

  “Don’t have to accept anything of the kind, Ed,” Carl replied. “It’s the only thing keeping me from going right the fuck off the deep end.”

  Wellman hadn’t heard Carl’s reply. He was too busy trying to decipher the ambiguities he’d seen in his eyes. Finally he decided what it was. Carl was just an ordinary man who, for reasons beyond his control, was now teetering on the verge of insanity. That’s all. No big deal. Happens to the best of us.

  Wellman tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry and nothing would go down. His head felt fuzzy and the room swam in gray circles around him. He had to grasp hold of a chair to steady himself. “I don’t get it, Carl,” he said finally, but all the power had gone from his voice. “This isn’t like you. The Carl I’ve known all these years wouldn’t have done what you did tonight.”

  “The Carl you’ve known all these years is gone, Ed! And good riddance to him! The little girl asleep in that bedroom over there changed me, and changed Mary too. We’re not the same people anymore Ed, and it’s high time you started getting used to the idea.”

  Wellman glanced at Carl and then dropped his gaze furtively to the floor, suddenly very afraid of Carl’s angry stare. “Can you at least tell me who he was, Carl?” Wellman asked. “My God man, how did this happen?”

  Carl shrugged his stooped shoulders. “He was just a man,” he replied. “An ordinary man who decided he could take wh
at he wanted. I won’t give you a name because it ain’t important. He was a drifter. At the time he seemed like a gift from God. Like the rain after a dry season. Told me he needed a couple of days pay to help him on his way. Headed west is what he said. Couldn’t have come at a better time and I was grateful. Needed a hand repairing that old hay rake. That one that broke down last fall out in the Johnson field. Ain’t as young as I use to be, Ed, none of us are. Needed four hands to fix that old relic. Said he was handy with a wrench and could help me overhaul the old Ford tractor, too. Told the guy he could bed down in the loft. Even had him in for supper tonight. Mary fixed roast chicken with all the trimmings. He ate two big helpings, then desert. Seemed like a nice enough fellow. Jesus Christ, Ed, who’d have thought he’d do that to our little girl?” Carl shook his head slowly from side to side, and the strong, gentle man Wellman had known for the better part of thirty years seemed to collapse inward all at once. Tears coursed down his sooty cheeks leaving transparent trails in the grime. “Who’d have thought I’d be plantin that guy tonight, Ed? We’re just simple, honest church goin folks, you know that. What on God’s green earth did we ever do to deserve this?”

  “Listen to me, Carl.” Wellman blurted. His eyes were darting back and forth spastically between Carl and Mary and his mouth and tongue were so dry now they tasted like flannel. “I want you to know I’m putting my reputation and my career on the line here tonight. I’ll keep quiet about this thing, I’ve already told you I would, but it’s only because of our friendship. If it was anybody but you and Mary I wouldn’t do it. This whole thing is against my better judgment. There’s something wrong here. There’s something more to this than any of us understand. That little girl of yours was raped all right, I’m not denying it, but that doesn’t explain how she did what she did to that guy’s head. Carl . . .” Wellman’s voice dropped to a sudden and solemn whisper. “Jesus Christ, Carl, it looked like the goddamned thing was chewed off by some kind of machine or something . . . and there was blood all over the child’s face . . . and in her hair . . . and in her mouth.”

  “Stop it!” Mary screamed.

  Wellman ignored her outburst. “You tell me she’s never done anything like this before, I’ll believe you. You tell me you had nothing to do with it and I’ll believe you again. I’ve got no reason to doubt you, Carl. We’ve been friends a long, long time. But I’m telling you now, I think it would have been best if you’d called the authorities in on this. What you just did out there was the worst possible thing you could have done—”

  “Goddamn it, Ed,” Carl snapped viciously. “It was the most sensible thing I could think of at the time.”

  “You just buried a dead man behind your barn, Carl. A man whose brains were strewn all over the floor out there. A man you say a seven year old girl killed? How did she do it, Carl? Come on, how did a blindfolded little girl with her hands tied behind her back do something like that?. None of us is being very damned sensible about any of this. We’re letting our emotions cloud our common sense. Think about it a minute. Think about how that child came to you in the first place. And, Mary.” He turned to the woman, arms outstretched, palms up. “You see these hands, Mary? These hands have waited thirty years to deliver you and Carl a nice passel of young ones. Lord knows you’ve always wanted kids. A hard working couple like you need and deserve kids. And I’ve never blamed you for what you did. Never! Theresa and I might have even done the same thing, given the same set of circumstances, I don’t know. But I do know one thing. I understand how you felt when that man stood there on your doorstep, that beautiful little baby girl in his arms. Your heart went out to her, I understand that, and I never blamed you, even though we all knew what you did was against the law, maybe even against God. But somehow I managed to shove the reality of what really happened that day into this secret little place in the back of my mind, hoping against hope that it would always stay there, locked up, safe and sound, never to come back and haunt any of us. But now I think it’s time to face some facts. And the fact is, you bought that child, you bought her from a complete stranger. You bought her just the same as if you’d bought some magic piece of carnival fun-house merchandise that promised everlasting life.” Wellman’s eyes had grown huge in his head and his breath was rasping in and out of his lungs like an asthmatic. “You bought her and now it looks like your going to have to start paying for her.”

  “We adopted her!” Mary screamed, her voice choking with grief.

  “No you didn’t, Mary! Don’t forget who you’re talking to here. You took your life savings and you purchased her from a door to door salesman.”

  “We needed her, Ed,” Mary said whimpering. “When we saw her we knew she had to be ours. We couldn’t help it.”

  “Call it what you like, Ed,” Carl said shakily. “Buying, purchasing, black-market-baby. It don’t make no difference to us how we got her or where she came from.” He pointed an unsteady finger at Wellman. “She’s ours now and so help me God, no ones ever gonna take her away from us.”

  “Carl! What are you saying?” Mary screamed.

  “Stop trying to deny the truth, Mary,” Carl snapped, his eyes never leaving Wellman. “Ed’s right. We did buy her. So what? It don’t make no difference. You see, I only know one thing. We ain’t giving her up for nothing, and you can put your money on that one, mister.”

  “For the love of God,” Wellman said, unyielding. “Listen to yourself. Your brain’s all messed up from what’s happened tonight. What do you know about her? I mean honestly. You know nothing about her background; you know nothing about her natural parents or even where she came from. Maybe she’s a product of one of those fanatical devil-worship cults that are cropping up all over the country nowadays.”

  Carl rolled his eyes. “Now look who’s getting all emotional. You’ve been reading too many supermarket tabloids. Stop being so goddamned ridiculous, Ed. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that she’s some alien from outer space or something.”

  “You say you didn’t kill that man, Carl,” Wellman screamed. “Well who did then? Give me a rational explanation. If it was that child then I’d say you got yourself one sweet deal from that door to door salesman, wouldn’t you? Live-in-protection straight from Hell.”

  “Now you’re pissing me off, Ed. I wish I had told you it was me.”

  “But you didn’t, Carl, and that makes all the difference in the world.”

  “I thought we could trust you, Ed, of all people. If this thing ever gets discovered that’s what I’ll say, you know; that I did it. Who do you think they’ll believe? You or me?”

  Doctor Wellman licked his dry lips and fell silent.

  “I want to tell you something, Ed,” Mary said. Her tears had dried and the saliva had suddenly gone from her mouth. “I’m going to forget about all those things you just said, ‘cause I know you’re upset. We’re all pretty upset about what happened out there tonight.”

  “Mary!”

  “No, Ed,” the woman said firmly. “It’s my turn now. I think you’ve said quite enough. What you don’t seem to understand is that we love that little girl. It don’t matter that she ain’t ours naturally. It don’t matter how we came by her. What matters is that we love her like she was our own flesh and blood. She’s the most loving little thing in the world to us. Why, she’d never harm a hair on anybody’s head unless she was pushed into it.” Mary’s voice suddenly grew mean. “That . . . bastard asked for it and he got everything he deserved. If she’s got something that can protect her from low-life scum like that, then I say more power to her.” Mary sat back in her rocking chair and belligerently folded her arms in front of her as if to finalize her conviction.

  “Mary, for God’s sake, you have no idea what you’re saying. What happens if she decides someday that she doesn’t like somebody—anybody—for any particular reason and does that again? Or maybe even worse.” Doctor Wellman’s eyes sharpened with a mixture of strange curiosity and dark wonder. He spoke the next words with g
reat emphasis. “What if she gets mad at you and Carl and isn’t capable of controlling her emotions? Then what’ll happen, Mary? Then what?”

  Before Mary could answer, there was a frantic knock on the door. The woman uttered a strangled little squawk and almost jumped out of her chair. Carl and Doctor Wellman shot each other wide-eyed glances then looked toward the door in what could only be described as utter astonishment. Nobody moved or said anything. One moment stretched into the next, and then into what seemed an eternity. The knock came again, this time more urgently.

  “Carl! Mary!” a voice called from the other side of the door. “This is Sheriff Jimmy Dugan. Is everything all right in there?”

  It took Carl several more seconds to respond, and when he did, Doctor Wellman noticed that he moved much quicker than a man his age—or his bulk—had a right to. To Wellman, Carl’s sudden lunge toward the door reminded him of a predator charging at some helpless quarry, and he suddenly felt very disoriented and out of place. He began to wonder if he might be hallucinating. He knew from experience that the combination of fear and anxiety pumped enough endorphins into the bloodstream to sometimes cause hallucinations.

  Mary had plastered her fists tightly against her mouth and was attempting to stifle the gasps of anxiety that seemed to be involuntarily escaping her.

  Wellman stood there in stunned silence, mutely aware for the first time, that his life—at least the life he had known up till now—was probably over.

  Carl was at the door. He put his hand on the knob, turned it and yanked it open. Sheriff Dugan was indeed standing on the other side, hat in hand.

  He was a young man, perhaps no more than thirty, tall, good looking, with a manner that was quiet and overly polite. He had grown up in Tyler and knew the Landers and Doctor Wellman quite well. “Hi,” he said a little shyly. “Is everything okay here?”

  “Why yes, Jimmy,” replied Carl in the calmest, sanest voice Wellman had heard out of him all night. “Why do you ask?”