Streets of Blood

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Streets of Blood Page 6

by Barry Napier


  “The man in the trees is real after all,” Ophelia said, flabbergasted.

  “Man in the trees?” Matt asked.

  “Yes,” Missy said. “When we see you in the dreams, you are always in the trees.”

  When they saw him in their dreams… just as he was seeing them.

  “That’s right,” Ophelia said. “And I am very happy to see you, I guess. Just as long as you haven’t brought that other man with you.”

  “The other man,” Matt said. “You mean the man in the window?”

  “Yes,” Missy said. “You have seen him, too?”

  “I just spoke with him. In the Varner House.”

  Missy and Ophelia looked at him in genuine shock. Gloria also stirred visibly from her near-catatonic state. Even Iris Spencer seemed to stir the slightest bit in her wheelchair.

  “What were you doing there?” Missy asked.

  “Trying to find out why I’m here in Steeple.”

  “And why are you?” There was steel in Missy’s voice he hadn’t heard before.

  “According to Tara, I’m here to help you,” Matt said. “At least, that’s what she asked for.”

  All four women—even Iris Spencer—looked at him in horror.

  “Yes,” Matt said. “I saw her tonight in the Varner House. She begged me to help you. But as far as I can tell, you’re not the ones who need help. It’s the rest of the people in Steeple who need protection—from you.”

  “From four old ladies,” Ophelia said. “One of whom can barely remember her own name, and another who’s a turnip on wheels.”

  “Ophelia,” Missy snapped, but her friend waved her off.

  “The people in Steeple, they don’t understand why insane violence keeps ratcheting up,” Matt said. “It has something to do with the four you, what happened in that house seventy years ago, and whatever has brought you all back together here now. You know what’s happening and why.”

  “Yes,” Missy said, staring at the floor, shame staining her face red. “We’re responsible.”

  “Then help me fix it,” Matt said.

  “It’s not as easy as that,” Missy said through tears. “We took something away from that damned house. And we have to return it before it destroys everyone in this town.”

  “What did you take?” Matt asked.

  “Power,” Missy said quietly, her tear-filled eyes once again staring out into the darkness in the direction of the Varner House.

  15

  It began with a dusty old book Missy and the girls found hidden under a floorboard in the old Varner House. The book was filled with scary drawings, magic spells, and incantations. According to the book, all they had to do was chant some gibberish and they’d possess the power to make their dreams come true… and destroy their enemies.

  It was irresistible foolishness.

  So when those five little girls sneaked back to the house with that book on that hot summer night, they were going off to play a game.

  At least that’s what Missy had told herself every day of every decade since: that they hadn’t known what they were doing… or what they would unleash.

  Missy had brought the book, Iris the candles, Gloria the rope, Ophelia the knife. And Tara, what had she known? Not the truth, certainly. Not that she was bringing the most important thing of all…

  The sacrifice.

  At what point in the ceremony did they realize they were actually going to go through with it? When Iris chalked the figure from the book on the attic floor and set the candles at the right spots? When Gloria tied Tara’s hands and feet and laid her across the drawing? When Missy chanted the strange words? When the smoke from the candles rose and loomed over them, forming and re-forming into the twisted shapes that looked almost human?

  Even then, even when the impossible was happening right in front of them, it was still possible to pretend it was all a game. That they hadn’t come here because they knew that living in Steeple was a slow-motion death sentence and that the only way to live the lives they wanted was to get out—and that there was no way for them to do that.

  The knife handle resting warm in Missy’s hand—that was part of the game, too. And Tara’s screams as the black-smoke thing writhed above her. A prank’s no good without a scream or two.

  And then Missy said the rest of the words, and the smoke wrapped around her wrist like a hand, taking hold of the knife…

  Tara’s screams drowned in burbles of liquid as her blood poured out of the gash in her neck.

  No, tell the truth: not poured out—poured up. Up into that writhing black cloud of smoke and grease.

  And then it was like fire raining down on them. They could feel it burning, but not their skin, not their clothes. It was cleansing them, the flame devouring everything that was holding them back—and then filling them with strength.

  With power.

  And then it was gone. And they were different. They could feel it. They were going to leave this loser town behind. They were winners now.

  Well, four of them were winners now.

  Iris had panicked, said they were all going to be caught. But Missy knew they were winners, and winners don’t get caught. She invented the story about the drifter heading to Hollywood and drilled them all until they almost believed it. Still, there might have been questions. Parts of the story might not have held together.

  Until the cops found that loser in the hobo camp. Who knew they’d stumble across someone who looked just like the description the girls had given?

  Missy did. Because she was a winner now, and everything was going to be breaking her way.

  That’s the story they told Matt Cahill on the night that the streets of Steeple ran hot with blood.

  16

  “We took that power and we used it to live the lives we chose,” Missy concluded.

  “Not a power, really,” Ophelia said. “More like luck.”

  “Bad luck,” Missy said. “For everyone who stood between us and what we wanted. Meet a rich man with a wife he adores? Too bad there’s a loose carpet at the top of that long flight of stairs. Now he’s a lonely widower. See a struggling company with a patent that’s going to be worth a fortune? Too bad an industrial accident brings its stock price down nearly to zero. Now it’s mine. Everywhere we went, the world bowed down to make way for us. And then in the last couple of years, things started slipping away from us.”

  “You aged,” Matt said, glancing at Gloria and Iris. “You lost your ability to hold your power in check. It seeped out, and bad things began to happen. You thought that bringing all of you together under one roof would give you the strength to control it.” He looked at Ophelia. “How’s that working out for you?”

  “Used to be that anyone who spoke to me with that attitude got hit by a bus,” Ophelia said. “Oh, how I miss youth.”

  Now Matt saw what he was up against. If these four women lost their grip on the power, it would run wild; the violence would continue and spread from one place to another. Mr. Dark would love that.

  “Do you still have the book?” Matt asked Missy. “Is there an incantation that can stop this?”

  “It’s been here all along.” Missy gestured to the book, which was on a table beside the couch. It was obviously very old, with yellowed, ragged pages and an ornate leather cover. The title was written in a language that Matt couldn’t discern, but the letters were formed with serpents.

  “But we all have to go back to the house,” Missy said. “We’re going to need your help.”

  Help them…

  Matt thought about what Tara’s ghost had said. She wasn’t talking about the four of them. She was talking about the town. And to save the town, he’d have to help the women who’d sacrificed her.

  “To do what?” Matt asked.

  “To give the power back,” Missy said.

  Iris Spencer’s lips cracked wide in a hideous smile. And she laughed. Her laugh started as a chuckle and then rose to an inhuman, piercing shriek. Her wheelchair began t
o rock back and forth. Incredibly, her lips stretched even wider, the corners reaching almost to her ears.

  “Sorry, kiddies, no deposit, no return,” Iris said as she laughed and coughed. “Redemption value zero—just like you.”

  Iris Spencer got to her feet with a leap and kicked the wheelchair. It went skidding across the room, nearly colliding with Matt.

  “Iris?” Missy said. “Iris, are you—”

  “Sick of your whining?” Iris said. “Oh my word, I thought you’d never ask.”

  Matt recognized the voice and the dark contempt in her gaze. Although it was Iris Spencer standing there on legs that were shaking beneath her puny weight, the force at the controls was Mr. Dark.

  17

  The body of Iris Spencer lurched towards Missy. Missy and Ophelia ran across the room in a panic, much faster than Matt had ever seen elderly women move before. Gloria Clark remained in her seat, clearly terrified but unable to move.

  “Iris!” Missy shrieked.

  “That isn’t Iris,” Matt said, putting himself between the possessed Iris and the living women.

  Mr. Dark turned Iris’ head in Matt’s direction. Her neck moved like an odd animatronic structure, like there was nothing but badly constructed circuits and wires beneath.

  “Iris has left the building,” the old lady’s voice said. “And who could blame her? This old thing’s just falling apart. See?” One of Iris’ hands grabbed her other wrist and squeezed. The skin bulged out around her fingers, and then there was a sickening crack as bones snapped. “Oh, but it’s not just falling apart in here. Listen!”

  Mr. Dark brought the old lady’s hand to her ear, but it flopped down, the broken wrist poking through the paper-thin skin. But Matt wasn’t looking at her. There was a series of explosions from somewhere in town. He rushed to the window, but all he could see was the faint orange glow of fire.

  “Four old bats couldn’t control all that power,” Iris’ voice said. “Now they’re down a full bat, and Gloria’s halfway gone. What do you think’s gonna happen here? Hey, let’s find out!”

  The thing that wasn’t Iris Spencer opened her mouth and dropped to all fours. She was going for Gloria Clark’s throat, her teeth bared. As she dug her head forward, Matt stepped forward and brought the ax around with perfect aim. He swung it like a golf club, landing the blow directly into Iris’s neck.

  There was a wet, meaty sound as Iris Spencer’s head went sailing away from its body. Missy and Ophelia cried out in shock and disgust as blood coated the floor and sprayed the picture widow. Gloria blinked. If she’d seen anything that had just happened, it hadn’t been able to penetrate her Alzheimer’s fog.

  “You killed her!” Ophelia said.

  “She was already dead,” Matt said. He looked to the beheaded body and saw a few last twitches as the power of Mr. Dark vacated it. He wondered if the maniac would make him go through the other three women in this fashion.

  The room was silent for a moment. The murmured noises of violence from outside the building filtered in through the walls. Matt saw that Ophelia was having a hard time looking away from the headless corpse of her friend.

  Missy looked at him. “Will you help us get to the house and do what needs to be done?”

  At that, the room was filled with laughter. They all turned towards the sound and saw Iris’ severed head cackling through a mouth of blood. The head was on its side, her eyes blank and rolled to the whites. But her mouth laughed through a stream of blood that pooled on the floor.

  “Good old Charlie Brown, he’ll always hold that football,” the head said. “And he’s never met a little old lady he wouldn’t help across—”

  Matt gripped his ax, prepared to cleave the head in half. But as he marched across the room, Missy Crowder walked in front of him and directly towards the head. She cried out in desperation and fury as she delivered a kick. The blow landed solidly and Iris’ head went sailing across the room, where it struck the picture window hard enough to crack it.

  “Let’s go,” Matt said. “Let’s put an end to this.”

  Missy, Ophelia, and Gloria gathered together. Ophelia grabbed Iris’ wheelchair and bundled Gloria into it. They put the book of incantations on her lap. Matt led them to the elevators and they headed downstairs towards the sounds of Steeple’s madness.

  18

  The elevator reached the ground floor with a musical ding. When the doors opened, there was an orderly waiting for them. He was carrying a baseball bat that was dripping blood and brains.

  He took a swing at Matt right away. Thinking quickly, Matt raised his ax with both hands and blocked the blow from landing on his jaw. Matt pushed back violently and sent the man skidding. This man was not showing any signs of the rot, but Matt didn’t think it mattered. There were two evils at work in Steeple, and they were both equally bad. Still, he didn’t want to kill anyone unless it couldn’t be helped. Given that, rather than beheading the orderly, Matt hefted the ax and jabbed the blade down like a spear. There was a sick cracking noise as the butt of the blade struck the man’s forehead, knocking him out cold.

  Matt retrieved the gore-slicked bat and handed it to Missy.

  “Think you can use this?” he said.

  “Are you talking about morality or upper-body strength?” she said.

  “Both.”

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Matt led them down the hallway and to the common room. He winced at what he saw. The common room had been empty when he had come through an hour or so ago. But now there were dead bodies everywhere. Some had been stabbed, and others looked to have been mangled severely. Others had been bashed to death by the orderly’s bat.

  Missy looked to the floor as they passed. Ophelia looked dead ahead, pushing Gloria in the wheelchair. She was so focused on getting out of the building that she didn’t notice when she inadvertently ran the right tire of the wheelchair through a puddle of blood, creating thin little tracks behind them.

  Outside, Matt took a moment for a quick glance at their surroundings. From where they stood behind the fountain, he could see the street. He eyed the area where he had run to the aid of the injured driver yesterday and saw a body lying there. He then looked back to the fountain and the sidewalk for Steeple Assisted Living. He saw two bodies on the ground, both with bullet holes directly between their eyes.

  One of these men was Bill.

  Anger flared in Matt as he tried to think of how to proceed. It would mean death to try walking through town again, especially with these elderly women in tow.

  “We need a car,” Matt said.

  “There’s a small van in the back of the property,” Missy said. “It’s parked behind the dumpster where we—”

  A gunshot interrupted her. The shot itself came from far away but the sound it made when it shattered the glass door behind them was crystal clear. Matt assumed this was the same shooter who had dispatched Bill and the other man who had been standing guard.

  “Go,” Matt shouted. “Run to the back.”

  He took the wheelchair from Ophelia, allowing her to run faster. He pushed Gloria as fast as he could around the corner of the building. He heard another shot, followed by the sound of it striking the fountain. On the move, Matt and the women ducked behind the series of large bushes that ran along the front corners of the building.

  They made their way around to the rear of the building. Missy pointed to the van she had mentioned and they all piled in. Matt lifted Gloria in and positioned her securely in the backseat. The other women climbed in after. Matt folded the wheelchair up and slid it inside.

  He found the keys tucked behind the sun visor and cranked the van to life. When he reached out to close his door, something grabbed his arm. He was pulled from the van roughly and hit the parking lot hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

  Above him, he saw a sledgehammer being raised in the air. He rolled to the right just in time to avoid having his face smashed in. He raised his leg and kicked his attacker
hard in the crotch. The man stumbled backward, allowing Matt to get to his feet. The man raised his sledge once more, but Matt was too fast for him. He lowered his shoulders and body checked his attacker into the side of the van, twisting him around to face the vehicle as he did so. Without wasting a second, Matt grabbed the man by his hair, pulled his head back, and slammed it hard into the van three times in rapid succession. A maroon smear appeared across the side of the van as the man’s nose and bottom lip burst open.

  Before Matt could let the man crumple to the ground, another man came rushing out of the shadows. This one had a crowbar and nearly took Matt’s head off with the first swing. Matt dodged it just in time, and rather than removing Matt’s head, the strike shattered the mirror off the driver’s side door.

  In a quick jab, Matt brought the ax handle up, catching his attacker hard in the chin with the grip. A crack like thunder sounded, and then man fell to the asphalt.

  Matt reached for the door and saw another man rushing towards him from the front of the home.

  Matt got behind the wheel again and slammed the door. He backed out of the parking lot as quickly as he could, veering to slam into the rushing man and knock him to the ground. Matt didn’t waste a glance in his rearview as he sped out of the lot and into the street.

  And that’s when he saw how bad it was.

  “My God,” Missy said from the passenger seat.

  There were people fighting in the middle of the street and bodies lying haphazardly on the sidewalks. A small store had been set on fire, and there was a three-car collision at the end of the block. A passenger who had been involved in the collision was sliding across the road minus an arm, screaming in agony.

  “What’s the fastest way to the Varner House?” Matt asked. “Is there some other way than all the way through town down Main Street?”

  “Yes,” Missy said. “There’s a side street. It will come in on the other side of the Varner property.”

  Matt took a left turn when Missy told him and they ventured farther into town, where signs of violence and madness were everywhere. He counted four more dead bodies along the road by the time they reached the outskirts of town. It was like driving through a nightmare.

 

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