The wind from the storm picked up, almost knocking Greg to his ass. His clothes, as well as the clothes on the people in the pews, started to blow like no tomorrow. Thunder roared, followed by a blinding flash of white. When his vision returned, Greg realized that he was inside and the storm was outside. The sudden gust of wind didn’t make any sense. Still, it grew stronger. To keep from falling, he had to stagger forward toward the pew closest to him and grab hold. When the rain started to pour down on him, he looked up, the roof to the church nonexistent. The building was so old and condemned that it didn’t even have a roof.
He looked back at the people in the pews. The strobe of light. Where the hell is that coming from? When he looked at the stage, it took nearly a minute for his eyes to adjust against the blanketing white light as if sporadically flashed in his face.
There were three people on the stage standing before a large table with something or someone dressed in white laying on it. The person in the middle had their arms raised reminding Greg of the dagger from his dreams and in that book. He had to stop them. He shouted from the top of his lungs, but the wind was so great that he could barely even hear himself.
“No! Stop this! What are you doing?” His efforts were futile.
Still holding tight to the pew, he tried to adjust himself to get the shotgun up and he aimed. It was useless. The forceful wind nearly knocked him off his feet again, sending him face first into the pew. He dropped the shotgun. Holding on tight, he looked up at the stage, down at the shotgun, then back at the three people on the stage. The dagger came down on the table.
Greg was too late. Peggy Ann!
He started to scream, but the silence stopped him. Instantly, the wind, rain, and white flashes of radiant light vanished, replaced by stillness. Greg could see. The people in the pews were still convulsing, focused on the stage with their eyes rolled back. The creatures on their shoulders still chattered their teeth eagerly. Greg had been correct. The people on the stage were the Doctor on the right, the Sheriff on the left convulsing and non-cognitive like all the others, and Peggy Ann. She was the one holding the dagger, the lifeless goat on the table bleeding out from the punctured wound, the knife still in her hands.
“What have you done?” Greg shouted.
“It’s that, man!” Doc shouted, pointing from the stage. “Get him! Get him before he gets in the way!”
Greg scooped up the shotgun expecting do be rushed by the people in the pews. None of them charged him. They were too busy convulsing uncontrollably, a maggoty tip deep in their left ears.
“What the hell have you done?” Greg shouted out again, waving the shotgun at everyone and everything in the room. “Teddy’s dead! Your brother is dead, Peggy Ann.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she shouted back. “Obos can bring them all back. He’s going to bring my mother back!”
Greg started to try to reason with her. Tell her that it wasn’t true, but before he could, the double doors at the front of the church crashed open, the two men standing guard blowing through them in his direction.
“Stop him!” Doc shouted toward the two men while pointing at Greg.
The men and the Hitchers on their shoulders ran down the aisle toward him. Greg didn’t waste any time. He raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The loud boom filled the small church. In that split second, the two men in pursuit seemed just as surprised as Greg. The lead man’s face erupted in a meaty splash of gore and putrid bile. Red splashed everywhere, visible in the moonlight. As he fell to the ground, the man behind him didn’t slow down. He bounded over his fallen comrade who was only a few feet away from Greg. Greg heard the Hitcher that was on the man he had just shot running toward him as well. The man leaped forward to tackle Greg.
Before contact, Greg pulled the trigger again. At pointblank range, the butt of the barrel up against the man’s stomach, the weapon kicked hard. Greg fell to his back and looked up in shock.
The man staggered back a step, but he remained standing. He reached down with his hand, dug into his own abdomen, and pulled out a line of entrails full of buckshot. Before he dropped to his knees dead, the Hitcher in pursuit sprang over the man shot in the stomach. The Hitcher crashed down on Greg as it hissed and chomped violently.
Greg lifted the shotgun with one hand to keep the creature’s gnashing teeth at bay. Its elongated arm wrapped around his, trying to force the gun free. Black ink seeped from the maggoty tip as it gripped his arm like a ravenous squid. His arm burned to a near boiling point of pain. He felt his vision start to blur. He forced the feeling out of his mind and with his free hand grabbed for a bag of salt from his belt. The creature yanked hard, pulling the gun from his grip. It fell to the floor at his side. And just when the creature lashed out, its countless rows of teeth almost sinking into his head, he swung full-force with the bag. The plastic exploded across the slimy creature’s face just as he intended for it to do. The creature fell away sizzling, the salt drying out the slimy elements of the Hitcher’s grimy skin. It writhed in pain on the ground.
Before Greg could even look up to enjoy the visual satisfaction of his successful strike, the Hitcher that was on the man with the blown out abdomen crashed into him. It lashed out with both slender arms. Greg was able to counter by quickly grabbing one slender arm in each fist. The thing lunged forward with its feet, which Greg did not anticipate. Its large talons lashed out at his face leaving one good slice across his left cheek. He felt the meat split wide, the rush of wet warmth overwhelming his entire face. Following the creature’s tactics, he did the same. He reared back and gave the creature one heaving push away from him with both steel-toe boots.
He watched as the Hitcher landed on its back atop the man he shot in the stomach. The thing was fast. It was on its feet and back at him before he had the chance to stand, but that didn’t matter. That single moment was all he needed, and thankfully he could sling a bag of salt without standing. As the creature leaped through the air it collided with him again. This time it collided with his fist. The bag burst, sending the white grainy substance into the air. The creature recoiled and fell to the floor shuddering in pain.
Neither of the creatures he had just subdued was dead, but rather immobilized. He pulled two more bags from his belt slamming them down hard, one on each quivering creature. The sound of salt ruptured through the plastic and onto the ghouls like a rushing wave of the ocean. He watched as the things withered and died.
“Somebody, do something!” Doc directed his gaze to Peggy Ann, meaning for her to rush down at Greg with the dagger in hand. She didn’t budge, fear and shock pasted across her pale face. The doctor tossed his hands up, and said, “Do I have to do everything? Obos convitonios biata!”
Then, as if commanded by those words, all of the people in the pews along with the Sheriff turned on Greg simultaneously. Panicked, Greg swiped the shotgun from the floor once more. As he frantically brought it to his side, the stock caught on one of the two remaining bags on his belt. The plastic gave way sending the bags contents to the floor.
“Son-of-a…” Greg barked, digging into his pocket for two more shells.
With their zombie-like stagger, the Hitchers forced the people closer. A few were rounding the pew toward him as the Sheriff stepped down from the stage. Greg looked at his belt, terrified. He didn’t have enough salt. He fidgeted with the shotgun, trying to drive the shells home. His hands were shaking too much. He dropped one of the shells. He looked down at it with disbelief, and then back at his attackers. The closest one could spray him and Greg felt like the creature knew it. The thing raised its arm ready and took aim.
Just as the black slime started to come forth, Greg threw the last bag he had toward it. It hit the Hitcher sending it off its stoop. Before the thing had a chance to crash to the church carpet, he had the pistol in hand and fired. Once, twice, five times. He watched as each shot hit the various targets. Blood jutted from each wound as he aimed and pulled the trigger. The gun burned in his grip as it vibrat
ed with each squeeze. It didn’t matter. The creatures were still advancing.
The gun clicked empty.
Greg swallowed hard, welcoming the end. Then a sudden shift in the environment changed everything. Another flash of lights engulfed the sanctuary and those in it. The light blues and swirls of purple glinted in every crack, pushing back all the shadows. Greg had to cover his eyes to see. Surprised, he wasn’t the only one looking. They all were. The attention that was on him had been diverted.
“It’s working,” Doc shouted.
On the stage was a pulsating whirlwind of light behind Peggy Ann and Doc. The vortex consumed the wall along the stage as it grew larger. As it settled against the wall, the swirling hole of light was nearly fifteen feet wide. The wind began to pick up in the room once again and Greg thought he heard Dr. Minders’ voice over the rushing draft.
“It’s happening. It’s actually happening. We did it. Obos has come!”
It was a portal. They had opened another portal. Greg quivered with fear, his body shaking with horror. The thing that was coming through the opening was an abomination.
Peggy Ann screamed.
First came the thing’s arms, penetrating the portal and into the church sanctuary like monstrously large meaty lumps of dead flesh of bone. The stench of sulfur permeated the air like a disease. The creature climbing its way through was otherworldly. With its arms through, resting each hand on each side of the portal, it forced itself into the fleshy realm. The brown meat and skin on its arms was pulpous and dripping like wax. The sound reached Greg’s ears as all he could do was watch.
It was a large mass of brown, postulating jelly and decaying miasma.
The thing’s head began to penetrate the swirling vortex of light. Like a mother giving birth to an unborn child, the massive beast forced its way into their world. Its head was enormous, nearly the size of the portal itself. As its face broke the surface of light, it roared furiously. The earth shook as it did.
Its face was hideous. Big and brown, the skin and muscle melted from sinew, revealing its alien-like skull. It had over a hundred eyes and a black gaping hole for a mouth with no teeth. Just slime and dripping skin that it spit to the floor.
“Oh, dear God!” Peggy Ann screamed, falling over the goat on the table to get away.
The table collided with the floor, sending Peggy Ann with it. Her head slammed hard on the bottom stage step, knocking her unconscious.
“I am the conjuror!” Doc demanded, stepping before the beast still halfway climbing from the portal. “I command thee to…”
Obos reached out with a skeletal hand, clutching Dr. Minders in his grip. Its arm and hand was so big that it wrapped around the old man like a toy doll. Doc cried out in pain as the monster slammed him into the stage, not once, but twice. Blood jutted from the old man’s head. And just when Greg knew the old geezer was actually dead, the horrid thing opened its toothless mouth and vomited. The bile was so much that it covered all of Dr. Minders in one solid heave. The thick brown slime and meaty chunks dripped down his body in waves. The monster released him into the air with one loud ravenous grunt. The old man came down on the Sheriff and the others standing in front of Greg.
Then the unimaginable happened.
Doc stood up, flailing about in pain and terror, spreading the brown slime onto the others in the process. Greg leaped over the pew he was leaning against and ducked down as it happened. His eyes went wide with shock. Their bodies were fusing together. Not just Doc’s and the Sheriff’s, but all of them. The Hitchers too. In one harmonious cry of agony, their bodies melded into one. The old man’s face vanished into the Sheriff’s chest, and then reappeared on the large officer’s back. The old man’s face ate through the backside of the police uniform still screaming. Arms were coming out of chests, and legs were coming out of rears. You couldn’t tell which way was coming and which way was going. The wet slopping sound of clothing forming to the skin and becoming one with living tissue echoed out. Cries turned to gurgling.
Greg was just thankful that they were all standing in his way when Doc flew across the room toward them. Otherwise, he would have been a part of that meaty mess.
He stole a glance past the conjoining things at the portal and the large creature still working its way out. It seemed to be too big for the opening and was struggling to get through. Peggy Ann was still lying motionless at the bottom of the stage. Greg ducked down, crawling under the pews toward the double doors. It was time to get the fuck out of there. The backpack restricted his movement, and until then he had forgotten all about it.
Even still, he forced himself under each set of pews inching his way to freedom.
After clearing about five rows, he stood up, jumped to the middle aisle, the double doors standing before him. Willing himself to take one last look, the rancid thing climbing into this world glared back with its countless eyes, each one looking deep into his soul, burning themselves into his heart forever.
Peggy Ann.
The thing was out far enough now that it was hovering over the overturned table. He couldn’t leave her. He had to save her. He was done being a has-been and now was the time to prove to himself that he could really be somebody. A man. A hero. Someone others could look up to like they had when he was in the band. Someone his dad would be proud of. He ran back down the aisle toward her and the hideous rotting beast. Just as he reached the stage, the creature lashed out with its long skeletal hand. Greg ducked down, narrowly escaping its clutches. He knelt down slapping at Peggy Ann’s face.
“Come on…come on. Time to get the fuck out of here!”
She wasn’t responding.
The thing lashed out again and Greg dodged it. He scooped Peggy Ann into his arms, hoisting her up. The sound that followed, although frightful, was reassuring. One loud and continuous scream bellowed out. Peggy Ann had come to.
“We’ve got to go!” Greg shouted, forcing her forward.
She screamed in his ear while looking back at the ungodly sights surrounding them, and Greg raced toward the door.
Suddenly, the wind picked up in a vacuous tornado. Greg almost lost his grip on Peggy Ann as the air began to suck everything away in its heavy winds. The double doors swung inward. The old rusted hinges didn’t hold and the two doors tore clean off their frame flying straight at Greg. He ducked as they passed. He turned back, watching them fly through the air. It was then that he realized what was happening. Obos was sucking them in. The creature’s mouth was a vacuuming black pit of death. First, the miasma of contorted bodies that had fused together was consumed. Then it was the pews. Everything was getting sucked into the monster’s gullet. Greg felt his feet slip from under him. He slammed hard with the carpet and started clinging to anything he could. His grip on Peggy Ann began to slip. The winds were so fierce that he could no longer hear her screams.
Greg grabbed hold of anything he could. Just when he felt himself sliding across the floor toward the portal and Obos, his hand caught one of the back pews.
“Hold on! He screamed, knowing she couldn’t hear him.
She started to slip from his arms even more. She locked eyes with him, horrifyingly panicked. He could feel it on his face. His expression was a mirror image of hers. He clasped her hand tightly with one hand, while holding onto the back of the pew. Then the pew itself started to slide against the old moldy carpet toward their inevitable doom.
My backpack . . . of course!
He did his best to ease Peggy Ann over so that she could grab a hold of something herself because he needed a free hand. The pew slid closer and closer to the creature. It clawed at them with its massive hand, but just out of reach, its mouth still a vacuuming tornado wind of hunger. She reached out taking hold of the same pew he was holding onto. With his free hand, he struggled to remove the pack. As he wrestled with the strap, his grip on the pew loosened and Greg was flung to the floor. Sliding across the carpet rapidly, the creature’s lungs drew him in. With nothing to grab, Greg was done. He
fought the backpack free just as his steel-toeboots collided with the bottom step of the stage. The creature lashed out, picking him up in one fatal swoop. It squeezed tight, cracking Greg’s already injured ribs. He winced in pain and coughed blood.
Obos hissed with excitement.
“Eat this and go to HELL!” Greg shouted, spiting up blood as the backpack left his hand to land in the creature’s open mouth and disappear down to its gullet.
Obos dropped him instantly. Greg fell to the floor writhing in pain. When he looked up, he expected to see the creature vomiting brown goo all over him. Instead, Peggy Ann was standing over him, ushering him to his feet.
Without even looking back, they made it out of the church and into the unpaved parking lot. They both fell to the ground in each other’s arms. As they escaped, Obos broke free from the portal and gave chase. Obos’ long arms tore through the front door. Just as his gigantic head poked out snarling with rage at Greg and Peggy Ann, his skin started to shrivel, changing from brown to gray in seconds.
Greg cringed at the sight. Squeezing Peggy Ann tight, he tried to look away, but he couldn’t.
Hitchers Page 21