by Glenn Rolfe
“Who are you?” Brady said.
Kellen and Kim turned in unison, both shocked to hear his voice.
“We are…the next rulers… of man…” it said. “We have…come back to claim our world.”
Puking up the blue goo seemed to have released him from whatever the slime had afflicted him with. His eyesight returned. “Where’s my mother?” he asked. He pushed past Kim and Kellen and stalked toward the thing speaking from across the room.
“More …will…come…” it said. “All…will… perish…”
Brady grabbed ahold of an aluminum baseball bat from the table directly in front of the speaking mess. He gripped the aluminum stick tight, hauled back and swung with all his might. He connected with the melting man-thing like David Ortiz smashing one over the Green Monster. The gelatinous head exploded on contact and sprayed the wall behind it in a mess of disintegrating flesh, bone and brain matter. The remaining form sloshed to the floor, spilling its mix of fluids upon the decayed wood beneath. Bits of blue moved within the flood of slime.
Brady dropped the bat. It landed with a loud ting, ting. He stepped over the breathing goop on the floor and made his way up the stairs.
Outside, the sounds of sirens grew louder. The police and fire departments had probably been dispatched to the site of the latest boom. Brady wondered what they would make of the bizarre findings within the flea market. At the top of the stairs, he was hit by the putrid smell. The blue ooze covered everything. It looked like the aftermath of a flood, only instead of water from Eagle River, the room was ravaged by the blue slime.
“Mom! Mom!” he cried out, not certain if he should trudge through the mess. His gaze landed upon the couch across the floor. “Mom?”
He hurried forward as the slime flowed past him and spilled down the staircase at his back. The ooze caressed and squirmed against his ankles. He shivered at the touch of the ankle-deep gunk. He forced himself to ignore the eerie sensation and headed toward the pulsating mess upon the sofa.
A human form lay inside. Brady reached down and began to scoop and shovel the throbbing, congealed mass, digging his way to her. He knew it was his mother. He knew it was too late—he was too late—but he dug for her just the same.
“No, no, no…” he cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He reached the human form. His fingers scooped into her melted flesh. He couldn’t remove her body without fully ruining what remained of her. He held his hands before his eyes and watched the gel slide off in clumps. Tears filled his eyes and flooded down his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe.
“Brady…” Kim said. She stood at the stairs behind him.
He turned to her. “M-m-my mom’s…”
“I’m sorry, Brady,” she said. “I’m so sorry, but we need to get the hell out of here. The whole place is going to fall. Whatever this stuff is, it’s destroying everything.” She stepped forward and reached for his hand.
He gripped her hand, and glanced back one last time at what remained of his mother. Kim wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.
“We need to go,” she said.
“Come on, guys,”’ Kellen’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs. “The police are here. It looks like half the town is outside.”
Hand in hand, Brady and Kim descended the stairs.
Halfway down, Kim tugged on Brady’s hand.
“Brady,” she said.
Kim’s foot had sunk through the step; the nasty blue slime was crawling up her leg.
“Guys,” Kellen said.
Kellen’s legs wrapped in the pulsating blue ooze that had been Mr. Packard. Brady felt a tickle on his calf and kicked his foot free of the living slime. “Come on, fight it,” he said to Kim. He grabbed her hands in his and pulled as hard as he could.
After a few seconds of resistance, he felt her come loose. The sudden freedom threw them both off balance and sent them tumbling down the rest of the stairs. They came to a stop at Kellen’s feet, bruised and nicked, but otherwise unharmed.
Brady helped Kim to her feet. “Grab his hands,” he said.
They each grabbed one of Kellen’s arms and pulled. He was starting to come free when the stairs crumbled in upon themselves. Brady looked up at the ceiling and saw it bowing above their heads.
“Pull!” he said. He leaned back and yanked on his cousin’s arm.
The ooze, ignoring Brady and Kim, reclaimed its hold over Kellen’s legs. It climbed up his thighs and refused to let go.
“Leave me,” Kellen said. “You guys, just leave me. Get the hell out of here.”
“No, I won’t—” Brady began.
“Brady, there’s no time. It’s got me. The ceiling’s coming down next. Get Kim and get out of here while you still can.”
Brady let go and clutched his cousin. “I love you, man. I’m so sorry we brought you here.”
“I love you too, man. Forget about it. You couldn’t have known. Now go!”’
The bowing ceiling began to drip from its lowest point.
“It’s coming down!” Kellen shouted.
Brady grabbed Kim’s hand. His mind switched from hero mode to survival mode. He pulled her in front of him and pushed her forward.
“Come on!” shouted an officer from the doorway.
The ceiling gave way just as they reached the front of the store. Brady shoved Kim from behind and into the arms of the waiting officer. The ceiling let go. Gallon upon gallon of the breathing ooze pummeled him to the floor.
Kellen fell to the floor, instantly wrapped up in a cocoon of the blue slime.
Brady, submerged in the slime, crawled toward the door. He could see Kim struggling against the officers as she fought to come back in. She couldn’t save him. The deteriorating room above collapsed upon his back. Pain shot through him and stole what remained of his iron will.
“Brady!” Kim screamed.
One of the officers held her back as two more stepped inside the front of the room. Kim watched as they reached into the slime and debris.
“I’ve got him!” the one on the right said.
Brady locked eyes with Kim, giving her a weak smile.
The floor below gave way and took him down with it.
“Move!” said the officer holding Kim. He managed to shove her from the porch into the arms of another officer as the entire building folded in upon itself. The two officers who were attempting to rescue Brady shot forward and fell in with the rest of the collapsing property. The porch crashed down atop the officer who propelled Kim to safety.
Chapter Seventeen
“It was on this street yesterday afternoon, after the latest in a series of mysterious underground booms, that Packard’s Flea Market erupted into a firestorm, claiming the lives of eight Eckert, Wisconsin, residents: Mr. Alan Packard; Joan Murphy and her son, Kellen; as well as Joan Murphy’s sister, Belinda Carmichael, and her son, Brady. Three police officers on the scene, Lt. Daniel Trask, Lt. Jarrod Betts, and Sgt. Paul Stephanopoulos were also killed.
“This marked the first time the quakes had happened in the same area. Police are saying a disturbed gas line is to blame. Local authorities arrived quickly after the first explosion, rescuing twelve-year-old Kimberly Jenner seconds before another explosion went off. The young woman was taken to Wisconsin General Hospital and is said to be doing well.
“Today, scientists from around the globe are descending upon the small town and setting up shop in an effort to uncover the mysteries surrounding these tremors, a side effect that has most members of this quiet community up in arms. Kris Caswell, owner of Caswell’s Auto: ‘We don’t need all this. It’s a terrible tragedy about the Packard place, and what happened to all those folks that died, but bringing all these science guys and news people here ain’t going to bring them back. It’s just stirring up more nasty rumors and bringing the whack jobs into our town. Go home, rest your heads. We’ll be fine.’
“Most everyone we talked to shared Mr. Caswell’s sentiments. Unfortunately for the residents of Eck
ert, it doesn’t appear as though things will be quieting down anytime soon. Reporting from Eckert, Wisconsin, Suri Baker, CBS News.”
The booms that had plagued Eckert ceased after the collapse of Packard’s Flea Market. Kim Jenner thought of Brady every minute of the day. He had saved her life and lost his own in the process. She could never repay him or the officers who also played a part in her being here.
The news reports had said the house exploded in a fiery blast. There had been a fire, but the local police force had set it after the building collapsed. The truth would never see the light of day. Police, scientists and government officials poured over the town in the days and weeks that followed. But there was no official word of what caused the earthly booms. There was never any mention of the blue slime that had actually stolen the lives of her friends and their families, only reports on “the booms”, and even those dried up rather quickly after the government trucks began roaming the streets.
Life in the small town went on, but not without an air of quiet paranoia that hung low and clung to the earth—a fog of knowing. Kim assumed a similar atmosphere had been left in the wake of the sighting at Hollers Hill in 1979. (What the couple, Beth and Ryan Rainsville, witnessed that night, they were able to leave in their rearview as they trekked home to the Great White North.) What Kim had seen lay at the other end of the path outside her window, buried beneath the burned-out remains of Packard’s Flea Market. Distance was a luxury she would not be granted.
Kim listened to Cheryl’s boyfriend, Bobby, flip out about a government cover-up. He said that there were people missing from Eckert. According to Bobby, Tom Huber, the guy who had claimed his dog had been abducted, disappeared. Jason McCourt and his family were also gone. So were Lyle Everson, Gus Jackson and Nat Gallant. No word on why or where. Bobby’s take was that the government and their scientists had taken them away and quarantined them somewhere. Kim wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. Part of her wanted to investigate, the way she knew Brady would have wanted to. She even started searching the Internet for answers.
She stopped after Bobby went missing.
“Hey, kid sister, all right if I come in?” Cheryl said.
“Sure.” Kim stood at her bedroom window. Her gaze focused at the entrance to the path out back.
Cheryl walked to the computer desk on the other side of the window and flipped the book that lay there. “When did you start reading horror?”
Kim looked over and watched Cheryl pick up the book Brady had left with her. “It’s just that one. I don’t think scary stories are my thing.”
A silence fell between them. Kim watched the wind dance with the pine trees that guarded the trail. She imagined that their bristling needles caressed secrets best left to die. Cheryl stepped to her side, the book still in her hand, and leaned her head on Kim’s shoulder. Kim leaned her head atop Cheryl’s. She wanted to offer her the comfort that her sister had given her after Brady’s trip to the hospital, but that was Cheryl’s trick, not hers.
“Bobby’s not coming back, you know.”
Kim knew. None of them were. She didn’t say anything. They both just stood there, missing the boys taken by this great unknown. Kim thought about the things the dissolving version of Mr. Packard had said to them before Brady leveled it. The words haunted her dreams—day and night. You cannot stop us. We are the next rulers of man. More will come. All will perish.
Kim shivered.
“You all right, K?”
“Not even close.”
“This is Eric Norris, and you’re listening to The Alien Agenda broadcasting live here at WBNC 85.9 college radio, Madison, Wisconsin. By now you’ve certainly heard about the underground booms that took place forty minutes from us here in Madison, over in the little town of Eckert. A town immortalized here, and on many other otherworldly broadcasts at both the national and world level, by the famous UFO sighting over Hollers Hill in 1979. Last month’s tragedy took the lives of five residents and three policemen. Our hearts of course go out to their families and friends. The explosion was said to have been the result of a gas line beneath the property that was damaged by not one, but two of these underground disturbances. After the smoke cleared, as well as the media, scientists and enthusiasts of the bizarre alike, the question remains: What was at the heart of those disturbances, and why did they happen to the town of Eckert?”
About the Author
Glenn Rolfe is an author, singer, songwriter and all around fun loving guy from the haunted woods of New England. He has studied Creative Writing at Southern New Hampshire University, and continues his education in the world of horror by devouring the novels of Stephen King and Richard Laymon. He and his wife, Meghan, have three children, Ruby, Ramona, and Axl. He is grateful to be loved despite his weirdness.
Find Glenn on Twitter @grolfehorror
And be sure to follow his blog: https://glennrolfe.com/
Look for these titles by Glenn Rolfe
Now Available:
Slush
Out of Range
The Haunted Halls
Chasing Ghosts
Abram’s Bridge
Things We Fear
Coming Soon:
Blood and Rain
Follow Me Down
The light of a full moon reveals many secrets.
Blood and Rain
© 2017 Glenn Rolfe
Gilson Creek. A safe, rural community. Summer is here. School is out and the waters of Emerson Lake await. But one man’s terrible secret will unleash a nightmare straight off the silver screen.
Under the full moon, a night of death and terror re-awakens horrors long sleeping. Sheriff Joe Fischer, a man fighting for the safety of his daughter, his sanity and his community, must confront the sins of his past. Can Sheriff Fischer set Gilson Creek free from the beast hiding in its shadows, or will a small town die under a curse it can’t even comprehend?
One night can—and will—change everything.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Blood and Rain:
Blood and Rain
Glenn Rolfe
Prologue
Spring 1997
Stan Springs stared at the curse in the night sky. His curse. He clenched his jaw, and bit back the grunts that demanded release from within his sweat-covered body. His muscles tightened, and took turns throwing fits. He could feel his heartbeat’s thunderous barrage at work inside his heaving chest. It was only a matter of minutes before the changes would come.
He ripped his gaze from the clouds, moved away from the window, and knelt down next to the bed against the concrete wall. He slipped one shaky hand beneath the mattress and found the small incision he’d made when he first arrived at the institution. He had traded a guard, a heavy-set fella by the name of Harold Barnes, his prized Ted Williams rookie card in exchange for a copy of the key. Parting with this gold mine had been necessary. Stan Springs had nothing else of value with which to barter. Harold trusted him enough to make the swap; he told Stan there were crazies here by the dozen, but that he could tell that Stan was not one of them.
No, Harold, I’m something far worse.
Key in hand, Stan stepped to the door, and cracked it open. The hallway was clear. He moved down the corridor, as stealthy as his heydays working on the force in New York. Hearing footfalls ahead and to his left, he fell back and pressed his large frame against the custodial door. Hidden by the entryway’s shadow, he watched Nurse Collins– a tall, thin woman with a dark complexion– pass fifty feet from where he stood, before she disappeared into the nurse’s break room. Barefoot and dressed in only a Red Sox t-shirt and his sleeping shorts, Stan made a break for the staircase across the hall. His breaths were coming faster now. If he didn’t hurry, he wouldn’t make it outside. He crept down the steps leading to the main hallway. Through the small window on the stairwell door, he could see Harold Barnes’s haunted jowls illuminated by the laptop screen set in front of him. The old man’s eyes were closed, his mouth open. Harold didn’t even make it a
n hour into his shift before he was out. Stan knew Harold also ran his own antique shop in the neighboring town of Hallowell. He’d told Stan that working both jobs on the same day, which was sometimes unavoidable, made it difficult for him on the nightshift. It was another shared nugget Stan had stored away for nights like this one–the nights the beast in him needed to get out.
Easing the door open, Stan skulked his way along the shadows on the wall, and tiptoed to the main entrance door. Despite the cramps now rampaging through his calves and thighs, he slipped the procured key into the lock, slow and steady. The door clicked open, and he stepped out into the night. As the cool breeze brushed against the sweat of his brow, the tendons and bones in his face began to shift. The rest of his body followed suit. He dropped to one knee, and cried out. His skin, his scalp, his eyes, his muscles were all too tight. He reached behind him and managed to push the door shut.
If you could see me now, Harold.
The private road out front was deserted. He launched from the building’s stairs and landed on the lawn below, making a beeline for the woods to the left of the large property. He was twenty feet from the forest when the change hit him like a massive wave, crashing him to the ground. His muscles clenched and squeezed and tore, while the bones of his face continued to crack and grow. Down on all fours, he crawled to the tree cover and vomited. A mix of last night’s cafeteria meat loaf, black coffee, and blood splashed the ferns before him. Stan’s fingers extended as his claws dug into the soft soil of spring’s floor. He moaned and grunted his way through the rest of the fluid process.