Evil Never Dies

by Mick Ridgewell

  Patricia paused, staring down to the water's edge. The white rocks glowed in the moonlight.

  "Never seen alive again," she said and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

  "They were seen in town again though, weren't they?" Roland asked.

  She nodded, "Right in the town common. All six of them. They frolicked around on the bandstand and rolled around on the grass like normal teenagers.

  "Auntie watched the whole thing from her upstairs window. They looked like they were having so much fun that at first Auntie forgot how bad things had been in town. When Wayne Roberts gave them a holler to get back inside, it was too late. Auntie watched in horror as the kids swarmed poor Mr. Roberts.

  "Auntie tried to block out his screams with her hands over her ears, but it didn't work. She had to listen as those demon children sucked the life from their dinner. That's all Wayne Roberts had been to them, dinner.

  "They walked back to the bandstand after. Auntie said those things didn't spill a drop. Mr. Roberts had been drained yet not a drop touched the ground. Those youngsters were efficient killing machines.

  "One of them looked up at Auntie, sitting in her window. She said he grinned up at her. His teeth, even in the darkness, Auntie could see were stained with blood. She could also see the points. Auntie said that boy had teeth like a wolf."

  "Did anyone else try to approach them?" Roland asked.

  "Mrs. Roberts," Patricia began. "She ran from the house with a scattergun pointed right at those kids. She screamed at her husband to get up and get back inside. When one of the girls walked toward her, poor Mrs. Roberts cried and screamed, over and over, 'No!no!no!' The girl was Jennifer Roberts, her niece.

  "When the girl smiled her demon smile at Mrs. Roberts, the gun went off. Mrs. Roberts shot her niece point blank in the face with that gun. The girl's head disappeared, and her body fell to the ground. Black gore spewed out of the thing's neck. Mrs. Roberts just stared at what she had done. She loved that girl. Her husband lay dead on the ground, and her only niece lay at her feet without a head.

  "Her grief was so great, she forgot about the rest of them. The woman didn't have time to cry for help. The five demon children descended on her like a pack of wolves. The first one grabbed her by the hair and spun her head so fast and with such force, the poor woman's head came right off. The one who did it held the macabre thing above him so he didn't spill anything. The others covered her fallen torso on the ground.

  "Auntie saw them. As plain as day, she said. She knew every one of those boys and girls. At least she knew who they used to be. The things she saw that night were not people anymore."

  "What was it about them that makes you say that?" Roland asked.

  "The worst is the eyes. The eyes of those things were black. Not just the iris and the pupil. Even the whites of their eyes were black as coal. Their skin lost color, the longer they were d…" She paused. "The longer they were like that."

  "Auntie didn't know that when she told me about them. She described the eyes and their pale faces. Through this ordeal, I saw vampires like those, that had only turned a day or so before. They didn't look too different from what they looked like in life. I also saw some who I didn't know, men who surely traveled to Kings Shore with the old one, the monster who began this nightmare and you could see what that existence did to them, their black, expressionless eyes, their pale, thin skin. In the days that followed, I saw the very one who brought this plague upon Kings Shore. His skin was so thin I could see dark veins below the surface."

  "What happened after Mrs. Roberts?" Roland asked.

  "They ran out of town. They weren't running from anything. Auntie didn't think they were running to anything either. She said it looked like they were just being youngsters, running off to find something fun to do.

  "Maybe they left because they had their fill. Maybe they just didn't want to push their luck. After all I've seen, I still don't know if they used reason or just acted on instinct."

  "Maybe a combination of both," Roland said. "Did they come back?"

  "Not that night, but we hadn't seen the last of them. No, we definitely hadn't seen the last of that lot."

  "You look tired, shall I take you home?"

  Patricia didn't reply. She looked out over the black water for a moment, then returned to the car.

  Chapter 21

  It was late as Roland accompanied Patricia inside her home. She sat in her usual spot on the couch. Roland didn't wait for her to ask, he just went into the kitchen and returned with two full glasses of water.

  "You're a dear," she said.

  She took a dainty sip while he gulped his down without a breath. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and set the empty glass on the coffee table.

  "Can I fix you something to eat?" he asked her.

  "That would be nice. I am terribly tired."

  He looked down at a different woman than the one who greeted him that first day. Patricia's hands had a slight quiver, and her solid frame had gone stooped and frail looking. Small imperfections had blossomed on her skin that hadn't been there just the day before. This woman had aged more in the past few days than she had in decades.

  Roland picked up his glass and returned to the kitchen. He poked around in the fridge and pulled out several items: lettuce, mustard, sliced swiss and a plate covered with sliced ham. On the counter, he found a bag of rolls, a basket of tomatoes and a dish of butter.

  Not quite a half hour later, he emerged from the kitchen and set sandwiches, pickles, carrot sticks and celery spears down in front of his host.

  "My lady," he announced. "Dinner is served."

  "Good heavens," she said. "You didn't need to make such a fuss. A few crackers and a slice of that cheese would do."

  "Let us not forget, I made enough for me too," he said with a boyish smirk.

  The two ate in silence. Roland was thankful for that. He didn't think the next chapter of Patricia's life would be very pleasant dinner talk.

  She nibbled on one of the sandwiches and the occasional veggie stick, while Roland polished off three of the sandwiches and a handful of carrots and celery spears.

  He excused himself to retrieve his refilled glass from the kitchen. When he returned, Patricia announced she could eat no more, and set half of her sandwich on the tray before her.

  Roland took the tray back to the kitchen. He put everything back in the fridge that could be saved, scraped the rest into the trash and put the dishes in the sink. He would wash them up after Patricia went to bed.

  "That was wonderful, Roland," she said when he sat across from her again.

  "Some day you will make a wonderful husband."

  "Which brings up a question that begs to be asked," he said. "Why did you never marry?"

  "I was engaged in the spring of 1911. His name was Clive Cuthbert. I was to be a June bride the next year. Clive was killed in a logging accident three weeks after he put that ring on my finger. They were clearing a place just over there," she said pointing to the window on the north side of the room.

  "Daddy told him he could have fifty acres to start. They would have it cleared by mid-summer and have a modest house built before autumn gave way to the snow. Clive worked day and night on the land. Falling trees, hauling them to the mill and blasting roots kept him away from me for days at a time. He was ten acres into the job when a tree trunk split while he was cutting. No man, no matter how big and strong, is a match for a thousand pounds of falling tree. His body was so damaged, they wouldn't let me see him. I said goodbye through the lid of a coffin, to the only love of my life."

  "You never met anyone else?"

  "Oh, there were plenty of would-be suitors in the early years. I was a single woman of property," she said. "Many said I was quite a looker in my youth."

  "I have no doubt," he said.

  She pointed to a picture on the mantel. Roland retrieved it, barking a shin on the coffee table when he returned.

  "Watch where you
're going, young man."

  He handed her the picture and massaged his throbbing leg while she looked at the photo.

  Handing it back to him, she said, "That's me and Clive the day he proposed. I have another with Daddy and Mother standing between us."

  Roland studied the old picture. Shades of black and gray and white formed a snapshot in time that may well have been the last happy moment in this grand lady's past.

  "You were a nice looking couple," Roland said, and he meant it.

  Without another word, he walked the photo back to where it belonged. Roland returned it to its place amongst the other Owens family portraits and rejoined her.

  "I think," he said, holding out a hand to her, "that it is time for me to get some sleep. May I assist a lovely lady?"

  With a smile that went all the way to her eyes, Patricia accepted his offer. She got to her feet and walked him to the front door.

  "Until tomorrow then," he said.

  "Until tomorrow," she said and closed the door, leaving Roland on the porch.

  Chapter 22

  As each piece of the story came out of Patricia, it seemed to take a bit of her with it. She slept a lot now, and Roland had started to worry. He pleaded with her to see a doctor, or to let him summon one to her house but she refused. She actually laughed at the notion that Roland could find a doctor that still did house calls.

  He again used her sleep time to go over the tapes and type notes about things that might have been said while the recorder wasn't running.

  Roland set a glass of lemonade on the side table out on the porch. Over the western horizon, the slightest purple line gave the only hint of the glorious day that had just passed. A stiff breeze came in from the lake, bringing with it a chill air that made Roland glad he had a jacket with him.

  Seated on the porch, Roland set his recorder on the table beside his glass and pushed Play. Patricia's voice came from the small device, a bit tinny, and not just a little raspy. The way some old people sound. Roland made a mental note to be more forceful about a doctor.

  After some social nattering about how much she appreciated him making her dinner and cleaning up, Roland allowed himself to be pulled right back into the story he was hearing for the second time that night.

  We buried those men the next morning. The sun wasn't even high in the sky when their graves were filled in. Their families were moved into the homes of the reverend and the mayor. Just until something else could be arranged, you understand.

  After that, the whole town met at the church to decide what to do next. Some wanted to run, and others were too scared to run. As I mentioned, there was only one road out of town, and it was lined with trees for a long way. If the monsters responsible were hiding in the woods, anybody trying to leave would be easy pickings.

  I so admired Daddy when he stepped to the pulpit in that church.

  "We have to find them," he said. "And when we find them, we have to kill them."

  "How?" somebody from the back of the room called out. "How do we kill these things? They may look like men, but I never saw no man fly through the air like that. I never saw no man take two shots in the chest, point blank, and walk away. How do we kill something like that? They can't be killed."

  Well, didn't the whole room break into a raucous tirade. It took Daddy at least five minutes to calm them down enough to continue. He held his hands up and motioned for silence, he hollered out, but in the end, he just had to wait them out a bit. Eventually, they did settle down. The roar dulled to a thrum, and the thrum to a buzz. Then, like someone pushed the mute button, the room went quiet. Mother sat beside me, holding my hand. She squeezed it so tight I thought I might never be able to use it again.

  The quiet hung in the air for a moment; then, whispers started to fill the void. Before the noise could take over again, Daddy made an announcement.

  "I know how to kill them," he said over the din of whispering voices.

  "And how do you know how to kill these demons? Have you seen one die?" It was the same man at the back who spoke out earlier. There is always one in the crowd. One who thinks all is lost. I'm sure his first thought before every difficult task was, it will never work. Do you know the type, Roland?

  "I do, Patricia," he said, looking down at the recorder. "The network legal department is full of them."

  "Not only have I seen one die," Daddy said. He looked so much in charge up there speaking to the town. So handsome. Daddy was a natural born leader, and this town needed someone to lead them. "I have seen two of them die."

  He paused to make sure he had all their attention. If Daddy were around today, he would surely have been Prime Minister, if he wanted.

  "Not only did I see them die," Daddy said, "I killed them with my own hands."

  Well, the room erupted hearing those words. Some calling Daddy a liar, and others wanting to know more. It seemed forever before order was restored. Daddy didn't have a gavel, and he didn't hold his arms in the air to quiet the crowd this time. He just stood there with his hands on his hips waiting for them to have their say. When they did, and the roar had faded to silence again, the man in the back spoke once more.

  "Who? Who did you kill, Mr. Rich Man?"

  Daddy told them about that night. The night he got home and little Timmy was drawing the very life from my veins. He told them about decapitating the boy and burning his body.

  Daddy told them about Bill. The way he hung upside down outside the window.

  About taking his head off with the gun. He told them about burning him behind the barn.

  I wept aloud when I saw tears running down my father's cheeks as he relived that night.

  Bill may have been hired help, but he was Daddy's friend.

  "If we remove the head," Daddy yelled, "the body dies."

  "Do you think they are going to let us walk right up to them with an axe and cut their heads off?" somebody else called out.

  "I didn't say it would be easy. I know it is going to be dangerous. What choices are we left with?" Daddy said.

  Of course, Daddy was right. There was no other choice, and they all knew it. The problem was, we didn't have even the slightest idea where they were hiding. If they were in the woods, we could search all day and not cover even a small bit of it.

  "How are we going to find them?" Mona Chillson asked Daddy from the front row.

  "Mona, I think we have to wait for them to come and find us."

  Chapter 23

  "Good morning," Roland said as he approached Patricia's front porch.

  "Well, look at you," she said. "So casual today. You are taking this vacation thing to heart."

  He looked himself over. Walking shorts, golf shirt, ankle socks, and Reeboks. He could pass for a tourist in the Florida Keys without notice.

  "Just trying to fit in at the café in town," he said. "I don't know what it is like in the winter, but this morning every table had a family of vacationers."

  "I stopped going to town a long time ago. Everybody I knew has been dead for decades. Back then, Kings Shore was a small farming town. Now all the people who live in the cities come here, spend a week, pay $20 for a $5 breakfast and go home unfulfilled."

  "Surely some of them have fun here," Roland said.

  "Oh, I don't doubt that. Mostly the young ones, who play on the beach. The teenagers who sneak away and drink beer and have sex. I'm sure they will remember it fondly. I believe that for most of the working class, they come to get away from the everyday woes. You can't escape them though, can you? You can go to the other side of the world, but when you get home, you still have to pay the mortgage. For most, they also have to pay for a week's luxury they couldn't afford."

  "How long has it been since you have been away from here?" Roland asked.

  "Roland," she said, then paused. She seemed to be debating on whether to continue her thought. "I was born in this house. I went to school in St. Thomas church in town. Daddy made his living off the forest of this area. I did likewise, after his pa
ssing. I have lived very comfortably off the hard work of others. Been away? Heavens, Roland. I have never been farther than Toronto, for a few business negotiations, and when I was a girl, Mother and I would travel to Toronto with Daddy sometimes when he went there for business."

  "With your resources, you could have seen the world." He surprised himself at the incredulous tone in his voice, and it wasn't lost on her.

  "I have seen more than any person should. I was born in a time without automobiles. Growing up, there was no television or talking movies. In Kings Shore, there were no movies period. Daddy took me to the pictures in Toronto when I was a girl. That's what we called a movie theatre, the pictures. We entertained ourselves with books. We sat together in the evenings and talked to each other. I witnessed the birth of the automotive age. I saw television take over where the radio once ruled. Now every child on the street has a phone and a computer. I have seen a great deal, wouldn't you say?"

  "I would," Roland replied.

  "When the fall of 1912 turned the trees every shade of red and yellow, I decided that if I could see one more sunset and one more morning where the hills and forests were covered with new snow that I will have seen everything I wanted to see in life."

  She looked at him and smiled at his blank expression.

  "Have you ever seen a crocus break through a late snowfall? It is nature saying, 'You can try to stop me, but I am coming anyway.' It truly is something to see. I guess my point is I don't have to see the world because my own little corner of it is beautiful."

  "Okay then," he said. "At the town meeting, your father said the strangers would come looking for you all. Is that…"

  Patricia giggled, stopping Roland in mid-sentence.

  "Something funny?" he said.

  "I was just thinking about the uproar at that meeting when Daddy made that statement, everyone hooting and hollering. Of course, no one wanted those men coming back. That's what they called them, those men. Well nobody wanted them coming after them. So they all had something to say about Daddy's plan."