The Thing in the Woods

by Matthew W. Quinn

  “Best give that gun to somebody who can use it,” Reed growled. He struck her on the temple. Her curly brown hair whipped through the air as she slammed into the linoleum floor. Sam turned over, rage boiling inside him. He didn’t care how much bigger Reed was or that he had the gun now. He’d shove that gun down his throat!

  Reed loomed over him, the black pistol in hand. He shook his head. “I was just supposed to beat your ass so hard you’d be off your feet for a day or two. Just long enough to keep you from interfering. But you had to bring a gun into it. I’m not dumb enough to let you live, Phil or no Phil.”

  He brought up the Beretta, aiming straight at Sam’s right eye. Sweat beaded on Sam’s brow. That was a killing shot right there.

  Then a brass lamp struck Reed on the side of the head. The big man staggered. He kept his arm straight, clearly trying to keep the gun on Sam, but ended up pointing the gun at the floral-painted wall.

  Now or never.

  Sam lunged, grabbing Reed’s gun hand by the wrist. He yanked the gun over his shoulder. Now all he had to worry about was another ricochet, but those could go anywhere.

  Behind Reed stood Amber, still clutching the lamp tightly. Amber? What the hell was she doing here? School was out by now, but surely she had homework, or maybe that drama stuff she loved so much. He looked to Brenda. She was pulling herself onto her hands and knees, a huge bruise already blooming on her face.

  Reed wasn’t out of it yet. He spun Amber’s way, murder in his eyes. Fortunately Amber didn’t hesitate. Blood and teeth flew as her second blow shattered his face. He stumbled backward and fell onto the floor, his head bouncing off the fireplace.

  Sam pulled himself to his feet. Reed lay there unmoving. Sam leaned forward. He breathing? There was one way to find out. He reared back and kicked Reed in the groin. The big man jerked but stayed out. Sam breathed in and out. “Thanks, Amber.”

  Amber looked around. “Does anyone know to shut the door around here? Jeez.” She looked down at Reed. “Was he sent here to kill you?”

  Sam shook his head. “Don’t think so. Looks like he exceeded orders.” He looked back at the fallen man. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do with him?”

  “Tie him up, Sam,” Brenda said, more vigor and firmness in her voice than had been there in months. “Hogtie him. With electrical cable. Then call the sheriff.”

  Sam frowned. If they called the Sheriff’s Office, chances were Deputy Bowie would find out. He didn’t need that, not at all. But it’s not like they could just bundle him into the truck and take him to the Edington P.D. or the Highway Patrol, either.

  He turned to Amber. “Thanks for showing up when you did. But what brings you out here?”

  “James told me what’s going on, about how you talked to him. I came to see you.” Her gaze settled on Reed. Her lip curled. “It looks like I got here just in time.”

  Realization hit Sam like a lightning bolt. Phil had talked about going after the kids from Atlanta, but now he was going through with it. James was the only definite witness to Him. And Phil had sent Reed to get him out of the way. The high priest planned to feed even more innocents to the thing in the woods.

  Well, Sam Garner Dixon was not going to allow that to happen. No sir. “Did you warn James?”

  Amber nodded. “He was going to tell his parents.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “I gave his sister Karen a ride home the other day.” Her face twisted with thought. “It’s on the north side, beyond the city limits. It’ll take a while to get there.”

  “You remember the way?” Amber nodded. “Good.” If Phil was going after James, chances are he’d want to get the whole family at once. That meant he’d probably hit them around dinner-time. Sam looked at his watch. 5:15 p.m. He swallowed. If he wanted to join them, he wouldn’t have much time.

  Brenda was back on her feet now. “Sam?” she asked. “Sam, what’s going on?”

  Sam’s throat clenched. He’d never told her he was part of the congregation. He’d assumed she’d known, being related to Phil, however distantly. He looked at her. Except for the bruise, she was white as a sheet, her eyes wide. She was already upset enough. He didn’t want to burden her even more. But he couldn’t lie to her neither. His mouth worked. Nothing came out.

  He looked at his watch again. Time was a-wasting.

  He didn’t have any other choice. Phil would be after him as a traitor, and everybody in the congregation knew what happened to traitors. And if Reed didn’t come back from his mission, retribution would come sooner rather than later.

  Sam looked at Reed. Phil wouldn’t expect his pet thug back for some time. If he were quick, he could get everybody out of this pickle.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mom’s shouting had begun as soon as James came in the door and hadn’t let up since.

  “With the scores you’ve made on those AP tests you have got to know what grounded means!” she snarled, pacing the hardwood kitchen floor in front of James. “That means when you’re not at work or at school, you’re at home. Not out socializing with your friends and certainly not out on a date!”

  “It wasn’t a date,” James protested. It might’ve been nice if it were, but if it had been, it would have been the most morbid date ever. “She was telling me—” James’ jaw clamped shut. How exactly was he going to tell his parents about a cult that had been worshiping a monster older than the United States? They hadn’t questioned him too much about the thing that killed Bill, but maybe they’d hoped it would all go away.

  Dad had been standing at the counter watching the spectacle. Now it was his turn to speak. “What was she telling you?” His voice was grave. He had to suspect something.

  James swallowed. He wasn’t going to be getting out of it now. So he began with what happened to Maad and then the encounter with Amber at the Best Buy.

  “Wait a minute,” Dad interrupted. “One of the deputies has been talking about this? Spreading rumors all over town?”

  James nodded. “She didn’t say just what he said, but she wanted to make sure I hadn’t killed Bill. She was awfully concerned about that.”

  Dad scowled. “When we’re done with this, I’m going to have to call the Sheriff’s Office. What those deputies have done is called poisoning a jury pool.” He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and began typing. “Now what?”

  James got to Sam and the book he’d been told to read. He left out the part about Karen’s blackmail. Although that might redirect some of Mom’s fury, his heart wasn’t in it.

  “Hold on,” Mom interrupted. “This man you don’t know from Adam tells you there’s this cult worshiping a monster in the woods and sends you to read some book that should be selling for fifty cents at my store ‘proving’ there’s a monster in the woods. How do you know he didn’t just put the book there himself? You start claiming the book proves you didn’t kill that boy and suddenly the book’s nowhere to be found. You’d look like a crazy person!”

  “Andrea,” Dad interrupted. “That’s a stretch.”

  “Nobody had touched that book in years!” James protested. “He didn’t put it there as part of some plan!”

  “Well, I hope not. The way everybody’s related around here, I wouldn’t put it past them—”

  “Is there more to the story?” Dad interrupted.

  So James finished, ending with the talk with Amber in the car. “That’s two different people. Do you think I’m crazy now?”

  Dad’s lips were a thin line. “That certainly changes some things.”

  “They’re family though,” Mom said. “Maybe she’s trying to set you up too.”

  James shook his head. “No Mom, no she wouldn’t. She’s—” James shut up again. Amber was smart. Amber was spirited. Despite the circumstances, he’d liked spending the time with her he had. But did he really want to tell Mom this? He could feel his cheeks turning red.

  “Look, I know she’s friends with Karen. And Karen will be posit
ively tickled if you two start going out.” James rolled his eyes. “But the timing is a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”

  “Andrea,” Dad interrupted. “James, go to your room. Your mother and I will discuss this further. We’ll call you down if we need you.”

  James was glad to get out of the conversation without any more punishments. He quickly retreated upstairs. He flopped down on the bed and stared at the cream-colored ceiling.

  Mom was right. This was insane. Immortal monsters worshiped in the woods? Cults secretly killing people for hundreds of years? What were the odds? Maybe Amber and Sam were playing some kind of prank on him. There was more than one way to screw with a “carpetbagger” than by challenging him to a race. Luckily, he’d managed to find someone to work his shift at Best Buy that afternoon so their plan wouldn’t cost him his job…

  He shook his head. Even if they were in cahoots for some reason, that didn’t mean what happened that afternoon in the woods was a figment of his imagination. Something had come out of the water. Something had killed Bill in front of him. His hand wandered to his bandaged cheek. Something had split open his face like a butcher’s cleaver.

  He continued staring up at the ceiling. Things started to blur. Then the sudden ringing of his phone jolted him alert. He snatched it up. Was it Amber? No, it couldn’t be. They’d never actually exchanged numbers.

  It was Sam. What did he want? James nearly answered it. But he didn’t. The day had been difficult enough. He didn’t need any more drama.

  Eventually, the phone stopped ringing. Soon afterward came two buzzes. Voice mail. He’d get to that, but not right now. He lay back and looked up at the ceiling, its smooth uniformity broken only by the vent over his bed.

  Smooth like the black flesh of the monster. Cream-colored just like the multitude of teeth. The grille of the vent opening like a mouth…

  Checking his voice-mail seemed a lot more interesting right then. The family phone plan still included transcribing voicemails to text. He didn’t even need to bring the phone to his ear or listen to anybody talking in real time.

  What came next made his gut clench.

  The congregation is moving. They’re going to your house. You and yours, get the hell out of there. Now!

  James jumped to his feet. That got him a glimpse out the window.

  Deputy Bowie was coming out of the woods. Behind him, hard to see against the green and brown of the trees, were men in camouflage. Armed men.

  The cultists were already there.

  By the time James got downstairs, they were already in the house. Sounds of men shouting and dishes crashing came from the kitchen. He got a brief glimpse of Bowie with his knee in Dad’s back cuffing his father’s hands behind him. The others had followed the deputy inside, but luckily he was able to retreat into the hall closet before anyone noticed him.

  Part of him wanted to call the police immediately. Handling home invasions was their job. That’s what he’d always been taught. But every time his thumb reached for the digit 9, he remembered that one of the people ransacking his house was a cop. He’d have to wait this one out. But there were a whole bunch of cultists. How long would it take them to find his hiding place? It shouldn’t take long at all, not unless they were complete idiots. Something shattered outside. They were hunting him.

  James’ phone buzzed in his pocket. Though nobody should be able to hear it, his heart leaped into his throat. Should he answer it? He couldn’t answer it. Any movement, let alone any words, would alert the rednecks tramping through his house that somebody was hiding in the closet.

  The phone buzzed again. James shook his head. He wasn’t going to risk it. Wait for the bastards to leave, then call the cops. Even if half the local police were in the cult—and from what Amber said it probably wasn’t that many—the odds of survival were better than if he let himself fall into the cultists’ bloody hands. Something else smashed outside, closer this time.

  Seconds passed in the darkness. The phone buzzed twice. James slipped the phone out of his pocket. It was Sam.

  The congregation is at your house. Answer your phone. I can help you.

  James shook his head. Sam had “warned” him and then these rednecks showed up. Either this was all a trick on Sam’s part or the older man was simply an idiot. Either option left James hiding in the closet.

  Boots tramped on the hardwood floor outside. James froze. The closet was a pitifully obvious hiding place. They’d tear the door open and drag him out. They’d take him to the woods, to face the thing. The wet smell of the woods and the iron smell of blood rushed back as he remembered Bill’s death, his panicked flight from the creature with too many eyes and tentacles.

  He suddenly needed to piss. He tensed, keeping even a single drop from leaking out. He wasn’t going to wet himself again.

  Bright light exploded into James’ vision. When the sparks cleared from his eyes, he saw Sam standing there. The man looked pissed off. A handgun hung heavily from his hip.

  “You really thought you could hide there? I reckoned someone who could get away from Him would be cleverer.”

  James leaped at Sam before the older man could move. His only chance was to knock Sam down, get the gun. Their combined weight slammed them into the opposite wall. James grabbed the gun. He tore at the scaly metal of the grip, but it wouldn’t come free. Sam’s rough hand seized his wrist. James rammed his knee into Sam’s groin. That’d loosen his grip.

  Sam turned both his knees inward, catching James’ kneecap between his thighs. Slowly he forced James’ hand away from the gun.

  More footsteps, this time to the right. James’ head snapped sideways. Another cultist, shorter than Sam and with a chipped front tooth, stood in the kitchen doorway. He carried a pistol in his right hand, although fortunately it was pointed downward. “Sam!” A syrupy accent, the thickest James had ever heard in Edington. “I didn’t know you were coming on this hunt, but you’ve made quite an entrance.”

  “Yeah.” Sam smiled. “I didn’t want to disappoint Him today.”

  James tried to jerk away. He had to run. Sam’s grip on his wrist was like an iron manacle, but he’d broken it before. He yanked with all his might. Sam wordlessly slammed his hand into the wall. He yelped.

  “Where are the others?” Sam asked.

  “The mother ran. No sign of the sister. No great loss.” Thank God. At least Mom and Karen got away from the redneck bastards. “By the time they get help, we’ll be long gone.” He shrugged. “This is S.O. territory anyway. Even if either of them does get ‘help,’ they might end up with a one-way ticket to Him. Brother Charles got his pa.” He grinned at James. “Think of it as a father-son sort of thing. He’s trussed up nice and tight in my car.” He looked to Sam. “Bring him there.”

  Sam shook his head. “Putting them both in one place means they can help each other escape. You bring the father. I’ll bring the son.”

  A moment passed before the other cultist shrugged. “Works for me. I think I’ll help myself to some of the furnishings around here.” He smiled at James. “You got a nice house, kid.”

  He disappeared back into the kitchen. Sam turned to James. “C’mon. We can’t keep Him waiting.”

  The thought of facing the monster in the trees was too much. James finally broke Sam’s grip. He ran. The back door into the yard was still open. If he could get out in the woods, maybe he could lose them-

  A booted foot caught him in the seat of his pants. He flew forward, the living room rug kinder to his elbows and forehead than the hardwood floor or the brick fireplace would have been. Before he could get up, a foot on the small of his back forced him back down.

  The other cultist emerged from the kitchen, Mom’s Cutco knife set under one arm. “You sure you got this?” Disdain was written on his ugly face. “He’s a slippery little bastard.”

  “I got this,” Sam said. Metal hissed free from leather. “If he tries to run again, I’ll kneecap him.” The boot vanished. “Get up.”


  The other cultist shrugged. “That’s between you and Him.”

  Keeping his gun jammed into James’ spine, Sam marched him out the front door. There was no police car. There was one car parked out front. Was that where they had Dad? James strained to look, but Sam forced him past it.

  James kept his mouth shut as Sam forced him down the cul-de-sac. Trees crept from the woods between the houses. In front of one of the empty houses sat a red truck. There was someone sitting in the front seat. As they got closer, horror bloomed in James’ chest. The redneck son of a bitch had Amber!

  James’ eyes bulged. The bastards were going to kill Dad, they were going to kill him, and they were going to kill her too!

  James lunged for the truck, not caring that Sam had a gun. He’d get in the truck, get Amber away from this redneck cultist and—

  Sam hit him hard between the shoulders, knocking him onto his knees. The black asphalt, cracked from lack of maintenance, bit his hands. But James didn’t fall on his face like he’d done in the house. Instead, he twisted his body and swung. His fist caught Sam’s wrist. The gun clattered on the pavement. It didn’t go off.

  Sam grabbed for the gun, but James was closer. He snatched up the weapon and scrambled back against the warm metal of the hood. Nowhere to run now. He pointed the gun straight at Sam’s chest, remembering things those more interested in firearms had said about aiming for the center of mass.

  Now he had the treacherous bastard at his mercy. He’d find out where they were taking Dad and then he’d blow the redneck’s brains out. The cult would have no warning he was coming for them.

  The passenger door of Sam’s truck clanged open beside him. “James, wait!” Amber hissed. “He’s not one of them!”

  “Yes he is,” James snarled, still pointing the gun at Sam. He kept his eyes locked on those of his enemy. If he looked away even for a second, Sam would rush him. They weren’t that far apart.