Hitchers

by Douglas, P. A.

  “Shut the hell up, boy! This ain’t your first rodeo, is it? I’m callin’ the shots. The Sheriff wants you dead, but I got a better plan for you! This is what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna shoot Teddy here to kingdom-come and say you did it,” Phil laughed. “I’m tired of this stupid little shit. Two birds with one stone, if you will. And then, I aim to take you over to the church. That’s right. Make you one of the sacrifices. The Sheriff would love that. Especially if you done killed his boy! That way, everyone wins.”

  In the background, Greg could hear the Hitchers. They were done with their feast. The sound of their sharp clawed feet scraping across the tile told him they were on the move.

  Greg laughed. “You don’t see it, do you?”

  “See what? That my little kid is gonna finally come home; that I got a second chance to make things right? I know I shouldn’t been drinkin’, but it should a been me that died in that crash. Not him.”

  “No.” Greg shook his head, looking over his shoulder toward the growing sound. “The thing on your shoulders, you don’t see it?”

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ abou…” Phil looked up, shocked.

  Phil’s grip loosened as his eyes fell upon the Hitcher on his shoulders. Teddy slipped away running toward Greg.

  “Oh my, God!” Phil gasped, still looking up.

  “It’s a bitch, right?” Greg fired at Phil.

  The shot hit him square in the chest. He dropped to his knees, blood running down the front of his shirt. The shotgun fell just before he crashed to his back. Obviously unhappy with the loss of his ride, the Hitcher on Phil’s shoulders climbed off, grunting at Greg and Teddy.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

  “We need the salt!” Greg shouted, leading them away from the Hitcher and back toward the grocery cart they had filled.

  Now that they were going to be properly armed, Greg felt a lot better. All three of the Hitchers chased after them down the aisle. Greg crashed into the cart quickly digging out a box of salt. He ripped it open and just as the creatures reached them, started throwing it all over their bulky frames. Teddy joined in the fight and the two men watched the creatures sizzle and dry like the slugs they were.

  Finally, with the monsters killed and the other men out of the picture, Greg and Teddy sat dwelling on the entire situation in silence. After a few minutes, Greg broke the silence.

  “Shit, dude, the time! It’s after midnight and that was when they were starting the ritual. If we’re going to see about Peggy Ann, we need to get on the road!”

  “Oh, my God.” Teddy gasped.

  “Dude, don’t sweat it. Just get the buggy and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Okay,” Teddy said. “You get the salt to the car. I’m gonna go get the shotgun from Phil. Hopefully, he’s got some extra shells on him.”

  “Good thinking,” Greg said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d feel a lot better about going in there if we had some real weapons.”

  They both nodded and headed toward the front of the store. As they both passed Phil’s unmoving body, Greg stopped to wait on Teddy while he checked the old redneck for ammo. Just as the young cop started to kneel down and retrieve the weapon, Phil leaned back, grabbed the shotgun, shooting Teddy at nearly point blank range.

  The shotgun blast was deafening, and yet, Greg could still hear Phil’s laughter amidst boom.

  Chapter 17

  “Don’t die on me, man,” Greg pleaded, holding Teddy in his arms.

  Teddy coughed, trying to say something. Blood pooled from his mouth and dripped down his blond mustache and chin. Sitting on his feet, with Teddy draped over his knees, Greg used one hand to secure the young police officer’s neck. His other hand was covered in crimson blood, trying like hell to stop the bleeding. It didn’t matter. There was just too much blood. Unlike a regular bullet, piercing one location, the buckshot from the shotgun had spread even at close range, covering most of Teddy’s chest. Since he wasn’t wearing a vest, it was a surprise the young man was even still alive at all. Clinging to every ounce of life left in his fragile body, Teddy fought the insurmountable battle.

  “You’re going to make it, Teddy. Just hang in there.”

  Having already grabbed a shirt from the clothing rack nearby to help stop the bleeding, Greg frantically scanned the store for anything that he could use to help his friend. As much as he wanted to leave Teddy’s side in hopes of finding a phone in the store office, Greg had no one he could call. He couldn’t trust Dr. Minders for anything and the nearest hospital what only God knows how far. All he could do was look down on his dying friend and comfort him in his last moments. Greg knew just from looking that Teddy didn’t have many moments left.

  He squeezed Teddy’s hand tight, letting him know he was by his side. He wasn’t sure if he was getting through. Teddy’s eyes wandered, seemingly lost. Another fit of violent coughing erupted. Blood shot from his mouth to the floor and as his body jolted, more blood pumped out from the widely spread chest wound. Greg looked down at his hand and the tattered police uniform. His hand was almost solid red up to his elbow like he had dipped his arm into a red paint bucket.

  The pistol that Greg had snatched up lay beside them both. Only a few feet from that on the cold blood covered tile lay Phil’s unmoving body. Greg momentarily glared at the dead man with raw hatred. Right as they were getting everything to leave, the stupid son-of-a-bitch mustered up just enough strength to lean back and to pull the trigger on Teddy.

  “Stupid fuck,” Greg hissed, feeling no remorse for what he did.

  Right after Teddy went to the ground, his chest full of buckshot, Phil lay there laughing and looking up at Greg. The redneck tried to lift the shotgun toward Greg, but didn’t have the strength.

  Greg lost it.

  When he saw Teddy go to the ground like that, instinct just took over. His hands left the grocery cart of salt and he was on Phil like a flash of lighting. First, he kicked the shotgun free from the prick’s hand, and then kept on kicking. Favoring his right, the steel-toe boot slammed into Phil’s face repeatedly. After just the first few kicks, Greg felt the man’s nose cave in. The rush of blood that followed only fueled Greg even more. After a few more forceful strikes, he stepped back and looked down at his handy work. Phil coughed, sending half a dozen loose teeth onto the tile. Phil started to moan, and when the man began to say something, Greg realized he still had the pistol in his hand. Phil looked up with a pleading face of pain, blood pooled around his head on the floor.

  And even after all of that, Phil, in all his shivering glory, tried to reach for the shotgun again. It wasn’t even within reach.

  Greg pulled the trigger. Not once, but three times. At close range, each shot struck Phil in the head. Blood and gore burst forth from his skull as each bullet penetrated deep into the meaty portion of his brain. Matted hair and loose chunks of something pink slapped to the floor when his head slumped limp to the tile. Greg stood for a moment, just staring down at what he had done. Blood and plasma poured forth from the three holes in Phil’s head. Greg’s heart raced, not with fear of panic, but with anger and malice.

  Greg had changed. Fear had been replaced by something raw.

  The soft groan of Teddy behind him pulled Greg from the battered corpse. That was when he found himself where he was now; comforting Teddy in his final moments. He had been sitting there for a few minutes now, not knowing what to do or what to say. He said a few soothing words, wondering if Teddy could even hear him.

  “What the hell, man. You can’t die on me. I can’t go busting a party by myself.”

  “M… my si…ter.” Teddy struggled to talk, blood jutting from his lips. “You…to s…ve my sister.”

  “I know, man. I know. We’re going to do it together. We’re both going to save your sister.”

  Teddy took a deep and painful breath, locked eyes with Greg. No longer seemingly spaced out. When Greg looked down, returning his friends gaze, he knew. He knew that Te
ddy knew. This was it. End of the line. What surprised Greg the most was the look in Teddy’s eyes. He didn’t see fear or regret. He saw determination, passion, and confidence.

  Teddy took another deep painful breath and grabbed the collar of Greg’s shirt. His words were mumbled between spitting bits of blood, but Greg made out every word. “I…I not once went against what…my old man made me do…Told me to do.” He forced back a fit of violent coughs, and then continued. “Not once, did I ever follow…my dreams. I was too…afraid to stand up to my old….man. But not anymore. You showed me that…Greg. You showed me…that.”

  “Quit talking, man. You need to save your strength. We’re going to get out of…”

  “We…did.” Teddy cut Greg off. “We…did”

  “We what, Teddy? We did what?” The tension of the moment clung to Greg’s chest as if to suck the life right out of him and force it elsewhere.

  “We finally showed him. My old…man. We finally did it. Finally said no.” Teddy forced out a fleeting grin.

  “Yeah, we sure did, Teddy. We sure did.” Greg sighed, not knowing what to say next.

  The dark surplus store fell silent. An eerie feeling dropped down on Greg like someone was watching him. He felt goose bumps rush up his spine and for a moment he could have sworn someone was standing over him. He forced himself to look, but no one was there. When he looked back down at Teddy he was looking worse by the minute. His skin was pale, a white pasty flush tone, and his eyes were dark and starting to appear sunken. Greg had to admit though; this little guy was a true fighter. Holding in there like a champ.

  “Promise me,” Teddy breathed, his voice far away now. Greg had to lean in close, struggling to hear the young cop’s faint voice. “Promise me you’ll save her.”

  “I promise, Teddy. I promise.”

  Greg felt Teddy’s grip on his shirt relax. If ever there were a time in his life where Greg felt worthless, useless, that time was now. All at once, Teddy’s entire body drooped, the life leaving his body. Teddy was dead. His eyes were still open, focused on nothing. Greg had only just met Teddy, and although the kid was a little chatty and high strung, he missed him already. He had grown close to the young cop and had even seen a lot of himself in him. He felt sick to his stomach, the worthlessness flooding to the surface. There was nothing he could do to save his friend. He sobbed for a moment and when he tried to push it back, the floods came. At first, he couldn’t really see why he was suddenly so emotional.

  And then it hit him.

  He had always felt useless. His parents had never approved of his music career, or the lack thereof. At his age, he was supposed to have it all figured out, but he didn’t. He thought of that girl that had stood him up, about his parents giving him shit, his roommate hassling him to get a better job. He had never lived up to anyone’s expectations. Not even his own. And that was why the tears started and wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t because his music had never been truly successful, or because at his age, he still wasn’t sure what he wanted in life. It was because at the end of the day, all he had ever felt was the same way he felt now with Teddy’s lifeless body in his arms.

  Worthless.

  Then, something inside of him snapped. He had made a promise, and it was a promise he was going to keep. He knew it was crazy going into that church alone, especially not knowing exactly what to expect. He slid out from under Teddy’s corpse and stood to his feet, that raw determination and anger returning to take the place of self-pity. It felt good. He took a deep breath and looked around at his surroundings. At the carnage and gore that littered the store. Greg wasn’t a useless loser destined to work at a Mexican restaurant for the rest of his life. He wasn’t some hack-job musician that never made it big. No, he was Greg Teeter! The man in charge! The one responsible for exposing this town’s ugly secrets to the light. The one that had managed to stay alive. He killed a handful of those creatures. Yes, it was true that at the end of the day none of this made sense. That the boogeyman man wasn’t real. The time for all that logic had passed. This thing was real, and Peggy Ann needed his help. Not only that, but he had a promise to keep.

  Finding his wits, Greg picked up the handgun, tossed the shotgun into the buggy with the salt, and dug through Phil’s clothes for extra ammunition. He came away successful. After doing the same with the remains of the two other men at the end of the aisle, he came away with a 9mm pistol, one double pump-action shotgun, and a rife. He didn’t have any ammunition for the rifle, but came away with twenty buckshot shells and two extra fully loaded clips for the pistol. Wanting to be a bit more prepared, he took Teddy’s belt and holster for the pistol. He didn’t care that it looked silly looped around the overalls either. The belt was snug around his waist, Teddy being a much smaller build. He rolled the buggy toward the front of the store and came up with a plan. He dumped all of the salt into plastic bags from the checkout counter. Tying them into knots, he looped three bags full of salt on each side of his hips to the belt. Because he still had quite a bit of salt left, he grabbed a hunter’s backpack from the rack nearby and filled it to the brim, zipped it up, and put it on.

  Leaving the empty grocery cart behind, the doorbell chimed to life as Greg exited the store.

  No longer a useless, pathetic has-been, Greg Teeter knew what it truly felt like to have purpose. With everything loaded up in the cruiser, Greg peeled out down the road leaving Phil’s Feed and Things in the dust. The clock on the dashboard read 12:21. The ritual had already begun.

  Hopefully, he would find the church before it was too late.

  Chapter 18

  The night sky was bleak and dreary, but not nearly as lifeless at the church itself.

  It appeared to have previously been condemned, like much of Grayson.

  The Victorian style church was small, but sat on a considerable amount of unpaved land. He examined the old structure from behind the shadows provided by the tree line only thirty feet from the building. Luckily for Greg, the land was thick with over-brush and trees, leaving it secluded from the main Grayson roads. Had there not been signs pointing the way, he would have never found it. Not wanting the vehicle to give away any bit of his surprise visit, he ditched the vehicle and walked a quarter of a mile the rest of the way up. It had killed a lot of time, but was worth not being spotted.

  The white paint and many of the wooden boards on the church were loose and breaking away. The one window that he could see from his vantage point appeared to be broken.

  He stood studying the church for any activity, in hopes that a plan would formulate. He didn’t have much time to act. The cruiser’s clock had said it had been a little over thirty minutes past midnight. If they really were starting at that time, then he was definitely late. He shrugged off the concern. No gig he ever played started on time. There was always some last little detail that was out of place, or one of the bands was running late. He just hoped the same was true here and now.

  He ducked low, staying quiet and sticking to the shadows, making his way toward the back of the church.

  The only two cars in the parking lot of overgrown grass were a police cruiser, which could only belong to the Sheriff, and Dr. Minders’ car. But that wasn’t what had Greg worried. The two very large men standing guard at the front door to the church was what made him decide to go around to the back.

  As he reached the back of the church, shotgun in hand, bags of salt and backpack at the ready, he risked it, stepping out into the moonlight. For a split second, he was exposed, while he dashed across the yard and he hugged up against the building. The bags of salt tight to his belt rustled loudly in the silence as he ran. Finding the darkness of cover once more, he sat silently for a moment, breathing heavy. No one came. He had been unheard. Sweat dripped down his brow as he gripped the shotgun tightly.

  He gritted his teeth and swallowed hard, willing himself to glance at the backdoor to the church. It was unmanned. His heart raced like the beat of an African war drum. He was sweating even more now, the grip
on the shotgun becoming unsteady.

  He wiped his palms on the denim overalls, popped the barrel open to double check that it was loaded, and patted down his pockets full of extra shells. Nodding to himself, Greg made for the backdoor.

  Just as his hands reached for the doorknob, a brash cacophony of thunder startled him as lightning flashed from overhead. The heavy rain began to fall from clouds that were not there moments before. Lighting struck again in the distance followed by the rumbling boom. Greg opened the door hoping that the noise had covered his as the door ground in protest, the hinges rusted and worn.

  He stood silently for a moment listening, ensuring the shotgun was tight in his grip. The only noise that followed was the faint mumblings of familiar voices at the end of the long narrow hall. The door that he had just stepped through had opened up to a long narrow hall with several doors on the right. Two of the rooms appeared to have at one time been offices. The others didn’t stand out. With one foot in front of the other, he silently moved down the hall, weapon at the ready. The sound of a growing storm outside reverberated through the church’s thin, rickety walls.

  The door at the end of the hall was closed and when he leaned against it, he could hear the familiar voices in clarity. It was Dr. Minders, the Sheriff and someone else; female.

  “Obos. Obos. Come forth, oh, Great Prince.” They were chanting it.

  Although the hall he now found himself in wasn’t a dungeon similar to his dream, he felt that same sense of dread and urgency. His mind raced with the image of Peggy Ann being slaughtered by her father and that crazed doctor. What would come from it if they succeeded, he could only imagine. And imagine he did.

  Rather than let it get to him, he shook the doubt and rushed through the doorway. The door swung open, Greg stumbling forward into the large sanctuary just to the left of the small stage. His eyes fell upon many unnatural things.

  There wasn’t as many people in the church as Greg expected and none of them were wearing dark cloaks either. Before him were the church pews and all together there were only about half a dozen people. They were all spread out in various sections. Each one was standing upright with their focus on the stage. Their arms were raised as if praising in worship. Their eyes were rolled in the back of their heads and a black substance leaked from their ears and mouths. Their bodies convulsed slightly in a continuous spasm, the creatures riding on their shoulders were full of excitement. Their unified hisses and clicking teeth filled the room like a thousand endless needles dropping to the floor of a cathedral hall. More curious was the light that shined on the hideous creatures. He didn’t know where it was coming from. The light was an ambient hue of baby blues, pure white and light purple. It flashed on the group of onlookers standing in their pews like a broken strobe-light. Its inconsistency was unnatural and haunting.