“What the hell was that? What’s going on here? I’m getting the hell out of here soon as I get the chance.” He breathed deeply.
Perusing the unfamiliar territory, the room he was in didn’t even have a bed. In fact, it didn’t have anything. It was cold and musty. As he stepped closer to the walls, he noticed that they were made of some type of stone or marble. It was as if he were in a cave. None of this was making any sense. The door reminded him of something from the medieval ages seen in a dungeon. The door was made of splintering wood and the metal bars that covered the window space were rusted.
When he tried the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked. It swung wide when he pulled it inward. The rusted hinges groaned in protest against the weight of the door.
Where the hell am I? He thought, stepping through the doorway and into a dark narrow hall.
The hallway walls were that same stone texture. And when he reached the end of the hall, opened the only door to open at the end. He was even more surprised and confused. For some reason, he expected the door to open up to another series of elaborate dungeon-like corridors and passageways, but it didn’t. The door opened up to the main sanctuary of a small Victorian looking church. The door that he had just walked through was the entrance which left him standing at the forefront of a long line of pews. The air was thick with the scent of something old. For a moment, Greg was reminded of his grandparents; their clothes, home, and even their dusty old car. On either side of the long aisle were more than two dozen pews. The carpet that lined the floor was a golden brown and the plush cushions that sat on the wooden pews were a perfect match. At the end of the aisle was the church’s small stage. He had been in his share of churches before, but from the looks of this one, he couldn’t really pinpoint what church denomination it might be. No large cathedral-like murals or paintings of the Mother Mary were there that would signify the Catholic Church or the Calvary Chapel bird. The stage was empty except the large wooden table with a black tablecloth on it. Behind the table, covering the entire wall was a statue of the crucified Jesus. His arms stretched across from one side of the stage to the other. His body was frail and his ribs were bare. He had never seen a more bizarre statue in all his life. Something was very wrong with it. The eyes. They were solid black and appeared to be too large for the size of the head. His skin wasn’t a pasty white, but more of a gray color. Very strange. His hands and feet were punctured to represent his suffering, which was normal, but the blood wasn’t red at all. Black slime oozed from the wounds and his burst ribs. This was clearly not the depiction of Christ. The more he examined it, the more he found that to be true. This thing nailed up like that was more like one of those things. Those Hitchers!
“Hello…hello, is anyone here?” He called out, making his way up onto the stage.
No one answered. This place was giving him the creeps. It was just too spooky. Too sacrilegious. A cold breeze rolled in and gave Greg the chills. He rubbed his chest with both hands to keep warm. He looked back the way he’d come. If the main doors to the sanctuary only led back into the freaking dungeons, where the hell was he supposed to go to get out of here? He looked around hoping to see another set of doors or a window to climb out of. There was nothing.
“Hello!” He called out a little louder, yet still hesitant. “Is someone here?”
Something shuffled behind him. Startled, Greg spun around, and when he did, the thing on the cross was glaring down at him from above. Its teeth chattered, slamming into one another with a volley of loud clicks. He covered his ears, the noise was so deafening.
“Stop it! Just stop it!” He pleaded.
He couldn’t take the noise. The pulsating wave of volume overtook his being. He started to feel lightheaded. His mind spun out of control and his knees started to buckle. He was losing control and felt like he was going to pass out at any moment.
That was when the flash of light engulfed his entire being. Like of flood of pure essence, it surrounded him until he couldn’t see anything but the white of the bright light. It felt warm and inviting. The nausea slowly faded and the noise was suddenly gone. Just when he was prepared to give himself entirely to the wonderful sensations, it vanished.
The church was filled with people. Still standing on the stage next to the black cloth covered table, Greg gasped. There had to be more than a hundred people crammed into the small sanctuary. Only, they weren’t just normal people. They were cloaked in black hoods preventing him from seeing any of their faces.
Greg’s heart raced. He could feel it pounding in his chest, ready to explode out of his body at any second. He had only felt this anxious once before in his entire life and that was when he made the mistake of drinking half a dozen 5 Hour Energy drinks in under an hour. His palms began to sweat and his body was hit with a fit of cold flashes, followed by hot flashes.
Everyone started chanting in unison, but Greg couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“What the hell is going on?” He screamed, but no one paid attention.
He turned back toward the large sacrilegious statue. It was no longer the way it was before. It was normal. A wood covered image of Jesus on the cross ran across the back wall behind the stage. No black slime. No black alien eyes or gray skin. Just Jesus.
When he turned back to the crowd, demanding that someone explain what the hell was going on, the doors at the end of the aisles kicked open. Two large men covered in black robes were forcing a woman down the aisle against her will. As they drew closer, Greg’s heart stopped.
It was Peggy Ann.
Her arms were bound by rope and her eyes were covered with a blindfold. She was wearing her uniform from work, but now it was covered in blood. Her knees and elbows were scuffed up pretty bad, showing signs of struggle. She cried out, but the two men just pushed her on. Greg watched in horror as they pushed her down the aisle. As they drew closer to the stage, the chanting became louder and louder.
“Obos, Divinity and the creation. Giver of things past present and to come. Obos. Div.” They just kept chanting it over and over.
When the men reached the stairs to the stage, Greg rushed them. He screamed, demanding that they let Peggy Ann go. With both elbows out like he were going to tackle someone in a football game, he prepared for the collision. Only the collision never came. Like a phantom, Greg ran through the men as if he were dense smog. Not expecting that at all, he ran clear off the front of the stage, tumbling to his knees on the golden brown carpet.
He turned around to face the stage.
He wanted to get up, find his footing and try again. But no matter how much he willed his legs to lift his body, they wouldn’t budge. His mind was paralyzed in wonder. How did that just happen? You don’t just run through people like that. Rather than stand to his feet and charge the stage, all he could muster the strength to do was simply watch. They forced Peggy Ann onto the table. One of the two men who walked her onto the stage held her arms, the other her legs. She wiggled to be set free, but her squirming was futile, because the men were too strong. Then another man appeared on the stage that Greg hadn’t seen before. He was also wearing the same black wardrobe and hoody. He stepped up to the table just on the other side of Peggy Ann and threw both hands into the air. One of his hands was wielding a dagger. The large knife was solid black and where the handle and the blade met; there was a half-moon symbol with three stars above it. But that wasn’t what startled Greg. The instant that the man with the dagger waved his hands, the church fell silent. The chanting abruptly stopped. Another man stepped up beside him and lowered his hoody. Greg’s eyes went wide.
It was the Sheriff. He had only seen him once for the briefest of moments, but he was unmistakable. Greg recognized the goatee instantly. Then a fit of asthma attacks hit him like a pile of wet bricks. No, he didn’t have asthma, but there was no other way to describe it. His breath left his lungs the second it all came together. They were going to kill Peggy Ann. Make her a sacrifice of some kind.
“To
night, on this night, Obos will live again!” The Sheriff’s shouts sent the congregation into an uproar. He waved them to silence. “Tonight we reveal the true conjuror! He who has favor with Obos!”
The crowd grew restless again as the Sheriff pulled back the other man’s cloak. The man holding the dagger was Teddy! Greg gasped, still struggling to breath. Teddy struck his sister with the knife in the chest causing her to convulse in pain and scream. Blood poured out from her chest spreading across her work uniform as Teddy yanked the blade free.
Greg’s lungs filled with air when he finally came to.
He was lying on a bed with his right hand over his head. He recognized the room. He was back at the clinic and this was one of the patient rooms. He panted, trying to catch his breath. He was covered in sweat and his heart was still racing.
It was just a dream, but it hadn’t feel like a dream. It was all too real. He pulled at his right arm, but again it was locked in place. When he looked up at it, his heart raced with the anticipation. Expecting black goo that would eventually melt the flesh, he was relieved. He was handcuffed to the bed. While his nerves calmed, his mind raced, and he tried to recall why he would be at the clinic handcuffed.
Then he remembered. Peggy Ann’s dad had walked in on them sitting on the couch. Able to finally breathe better, he was thankful to finally be back to reality.
“Yes, everything…at…should be…” Someone was talking in the hallway.
Greg slowed his breathing and focused his hearing. The door to the room he was in was closed, so the voices were muffled. Being quiet so as to not make the bed squeak, he got as close as he could to the door; which wasn’t very close. After all, he was cuffed to the bed. He recognized one of the voices. It was old man Doc and two other people. The other voices were unrecognizable.
“Good,” Doc said. “We are ready for everything tonight then?”
“Yep,” one of the other voices replied. “Everything at the church should be set just the way you asked.”
“Excellent,” Doc said with enthusiasm. “We’ve been waiting many years for this night. Do you think she will be ready and willing?”
“Ready, yes. Willing, well, I have my doubts.”
The people in the hall, whoever they were, continued talking with Doc, but Greg drowned them out.
Oh man, they’re talking about Peggy Ann. Maybe, I wasn’t just dreaming. They really are going to kill her. I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to find this Elliott guy. He has to know what the hell’s going on in this town, because whatever the hell it is, it’s pretty fucked up.
Greg quietly pulled at the cuffs holding his right arm in place. He was stuck for sure, but the bedpost that he was cuffed to seemed as if it would break if he gave it enough force. Not wanting to make any noise just yet, he scanned the room. He was in luck. Unlike the dungeon room in his dream, this one had windows. He paused for a moment to listen again. The talking had stopped. All of a sudden, footsteps sounded as if they were making their way down the hall toward him. There was no time to waste.
Greg jumped up on the bed, spinning around so that both of his feet were against the bed’s headboard. With one foot on either side of his right hand and the handcuffs, he took one deep breath and pulled hard. Simultaneously, he kicked the bed post with everything he had. A sharp twinge of pain raced up his wrist into his elbow. The post gave way and Greg fell back on the bed. With the cuffs still clasped around his wrist and the broken bedpost, he picked up a large piece of splintered headboard and smashed the window next to the bed.
The door swung open behind him with a torrent of shouting and cursing. He didn’t want to risk it. Greg fell to the grass just below the broken window having not looked back.
Cradling his aching wrist, Greg Teeter took off on foot utilizing the shadows to his advantage.
“Hopefully, this Elliott dude has a few answers,” Greg wheezed, between breaths, as he stopped for only a moment to look back at the Victorian style home-clinic he had just escaped.
Chapter 11
“He got out!” A large man yelled, as he stuck his head out the window that Greg had used to make his escape.
Greg poked his head from behind a massive tree trunk aided by the concealment of shadows. The large man sticking halfway out the window was scanning the darkness and Greg hoped like hell that the man couldn’t see him. It was the Sheriff. It had to be. His shoulders were broad making him barely fit through the window opening. It was hard to see in the dark, but the man’s shirt was light brown and Greg thought for a second that he could see a glint of light reflect off a badge.
Greg wanted to turn and run, but decided against it. The sudden movement would give away his location. He couldn’t have been more than 30 feet away from the house. He sighed, wondering what he was going to do next. He needed to get as far away from the clinic so he could and find Peggy Ann to warn her. What was going on in this town was messed up and Greg didn’t want any part of it. With his back against the tree and his breath very shallow, he was filled with regret for sticking around another day. Once again, his dick had gotten him more trouble than he bargained for. He wiped away the beading sweat from his brow before it had a chance to sting his eyes.
Greg heard the Sheriff leave the widow stomping back into the house and down the hall. He waited a moment and then stole another look. The Sheriff was gone. The window was empty of any observer.
He looked around, realizing he was in the backyard of the clinic. There was nothing really of interest, just some flowers and a bird bath. To his left was one of the other more run down houses that spotted the area. A large window A/C unit poked out from the closest window. The backyard of the house next to him was unkempt. The grass was high and the small wooden fence that lined the backyard wasn’t more than three feet tall. From the looks of it, the tenants either no longer lived in the house or weren’t much on upkeep.
If you’re going to run, let’s do it before they—
From his vantage point, Greg couldn’t see the back door to the clinic, but he heard it. The door swung open and several people stepped out onto the rear porch. His heart skipped and his chest tightened with dread. He wondered if they could see him from where they were. With his back still against the tree, he sunk down as low as he could and listened.
The voices were faint, but from what he could tell there were three people. The Sheriff, old man Doc Minders, and one other person. He tried to place the familiar voice, but couldn’t seem to figure out who it might be.
“He couldn’t have gone far,” the Sheriff said.
“We don’t have time for this. We have vital preparations to attend to,” Doc said. “It will be another ten years before we have this opportunity again. I don’t care what anyone says or does. We’re going through with it tonight.”
“What are we going to do about him?”
“I’ll form a team to search on foot and get Teddy to patrol the neighborhood in the cruiser.”
“That’s a good idea,” Doc said. “We need to get to him before he becomes a problem.”
“Speaking of problems, what about Teddy?”
“Don’t worry about him,” the Sheriff said. “He will come around. He always does.”
“And Greg?”
The Doc laughed. “As long as he’s been taking the pills I prescribed him he won’t go far.”
The people on the porch continued talking for a moment, but Greg’s focus left their chattering voices and went elsewhere. The pills. His eyes slid down to his front pocket. The prescription bottle in his front pocket bulged beneath the denim. They were drugging him. He cringed at the thought. How could they? What the hell was really going on here? Were the dreams and visions a result of what he had been taking? He had seen one of those Hitchers on Teddy at the wreck before he’d taken any pills. Then again, he had been knocked out when Teddy showed up. What if Teddy had slipped me something before waking up? Maybe that’s what was making me see the monsters.
Instantly, Greg reached
into his pocket and tossed the bottle of pills to the grass at his feet. The sound of the pill filled plastic rattled in the grass as it hit the ground. His heart sank at the broken silence.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Doc said.
“Yeah, I think I heard it too,” the Sheriff insisted. “It came from that direction over there.”
Greg heard the three people dash down the porch steps and onto the grass. They were headed toward him. Then a light flashed across the grass next to him at the tree. Someone had a flashlight. He looked down, the pill bottle illuminated by the pursuer’s light.
“There,” someone said, growing closer.
Greg paused for a second trying to weigh out the options. He could either sit against the tree until they got a hold of him or run for it right now. He reached out with his right hand to snatch up the pills. If they were drugging him, he wanted to know what with.
“There he is. Get him!”
Greg ran.
The footsteps following him were in hot pursuit. Their frantic steps matched his own.
“Don’t let him get away!”
Greg jumped the small wooden fence to the backyard of the neighboring house. His landing was soft in the high grass. The sound of his chain wallet rattled at his hip as he ran through the backyard to the other side. The fence at that end was much higher than the one he had just jumped. He looked up at the six foot fence in disbelief. Sweat ran down his brow and his chest felt hot. His lungs heaved. Greg was out of shape. How the hell am I going to get over the wooden—
“You’ve got nowhere to go, boy!”
Greg turned around, panicked. The Sheriff was standing on the other side of the smaller fence. He hadn’t yet stepped over it into the yard of tall grass. The massive grayish thing on his back was unmistakable. One of those things was riding on his back. Its teeth chattered with excitement. It could sense the fear. And just when the Sheriff was about to say something else, the thing raised its arm. The wet pop that echoed out across the yard made Greg feel sick to his stomach. With the thing’s maggoty tip stuck in the side of the large man’s head, the Sheriff’s head kicked back, his eyes rolling into the back of his sockets. Drool fell from his open mouth as the thing took control of him. Black slime seeped from the man’s ear down the side of his face. Now under the creature’s control, he lunged forward with arms stretched out. Not even bothering to climb over the three-foot fence, the Sheriff crashed into the meager barrier with all his weight. Just when Greg thought the man was going to fall forward, his persistence in stepping forward caused the fence to collapse. The sound of old rusted nails and rotting wood giving way to the large man filled the air. The Hitcher’s teeth chattered eagerly as it forced the Sheriff forward.
Hitchers Page 12