Devil's Taunt and Other Stories

by Percival Constantine

“You know what curiosity did to the cat, boy,” said Gardner. “How many times do I gotta tell you to do something before you do it? Now get your ass back home before I start to lose my temper!” Gardner pointed off into the distance.

  “Fine, Jesus…” Matt turned his attention and started to walk toward the street.

  “And don’t blaspheme!” Gardner’s final bark caused Matt to flinch, but he didn’t turn back around, just kept walking.

  “Bit hard on him, sir,” said Fletcher.

  Gardner shot his deputy a glare. “Kid needs to learn respect and discipline. Sometimes that means chewing his ass out.”

  Luther scoffed and Gardner turned his attention to the interloper. “You got somethin’ to say, Cross?”

  Luther shook his head. “Not at all. Have a good day, Sheriff.” He unlocked the Camaro and sat behind the steering wheel. Luther started up the car and gave a casual wave to Gardner and Fletcher.

  The two officers watched as the Camaro pulled away from the school and drove onto the main road.

  “Weird guy,” said Fletcher. “What d’ya suppose he was doing here?”

  “You know the type,” said Gardner. “Nosy bastards who don’t know how to mind their own business. Probably should’ve beat a warning into his head.”

  Fletcher shrugged. “I dunno, sir. He’s kinda big.”

  Gardner threw his deputy a dagger-stare. “Go to hell, Fletch.”

  * * *

  “I apologize for keeping you waiting,” said Dr. Hart upon entering his office. “Things have been quite hectic around here since the incident.”

  Luther rose from his seat in front of Hart’s desk and accepted the handshake offered by the county medical examiner. “Not a problem, Doctor. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Not at all, Agent…?”

  “Cross. Luther Cross.” He smiled as he offered his name, a soft glow to his eyes. One of the by-products of being half demon meant that he could influence people, provided the circumstances were right. Unlike Gardner and Fletcher at the school, Hart (and his secretary) had no reason not to trust Luther, and that made it all the easier for Luther to make Hart’s secretary believe she had seen an FBI badge instead of a business card.

  “Please.” Hart motioned to the chair Luther rose from and then walked around to sit behind his desk. “Thank you again for coming down here, Agent Cross. I was considering giving the Bureau a call. Frankly, this is one of the strangest cases I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s just a simple school shooting, though, isn’t it?”

  “That’s just what the public has been told,” said Hart. “In reality, my examination of the victims has turned up some interesting findings.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, there were a total of fifty fatalities—forty three students and seven teachers. And of those fifty fatalities, not a single round of ammunition was recovered.”

  Luther sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers together. “That’s unusual.”

  “Yes, it is. What’s more there isn’t a trace of gunshot residue. We’ve checked with the Sheriff’s Department and their investigation of the crime scene turned up no spent ammunition anywhere in the building. No recovered rounds from the holes in the walls when the gunman missed his target.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Hart chuckled. “It’s not. Nothing about this case makes a lick of sense. How does a gunman kill fifty people and leave no trace? How does he escape a building surrounded by police with no one seeing where he went?”

  Cross knew that for the uninitiated, there was no possible way for it to make any sense. But Luther was already starting to form his own opinions. The presence of a vast degree of negative energy, the lack of any physical evidence, and what Whitey had discovered from beyond the veil was enough for Luther to begin to form a theory of what happened. If there was no recovered ammunition, that could only mean that there were no actual guns used in this shooting.

  Luther rose. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Hart.”

  Hart looked confused. “That’s it?”

  “I believe I have all I need to begin my investigation.”

  “Would…would you like to see my report at least? Do you have a theory?”

  “Nothing I’m at liberty to discuss at the moment. Again, thank you, Doctor.” Luther extended his hand. Hart rose and shook it.

  “Thank you for coming down, Agent Cross. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more to offer.”

  “Quite the opposite, you’ve given me plenty,” said Luther. “Have a good day.”

  * * *

  Luther entered the motel room he had rented for the night and dropped the leather bag by the door. He shed his overcoat, suit jacket and pulled off his tie before rolling up his sleeves. The revolver remained in the shoulder holster.

  The room had one large bed that Luther pushed away from the door to make some more room near the window. He opened the bag and took out five large candles, arranging them on the ground in a circle. Luther then sat in the center with his legs folded and rested his hands—palms up—on his thighs. He shut his eyes and concentrated.

  “Ignitus.”

  The command caused the wicks of each candle to suddenly burst into flame. Luther took a deep breath and began to utter an incantation. Unlike the words he used at Bennett’s home, this incantation had purpose behind the words. The Latin words he spoke under his breath traveled beyond the veil, and the temperature in the room dropped rapidly. Within moments, Luther’s breath became visible in the cold atmosphere, but it seemed to have no effect on him.

  Luther opened his eyes, the red irises and dark pupils now lightened by a white cloud. The flames on the candles flickered, then flared to life, brighter than before. The smoke from the fire curled around Luther’s body, circling him before traveling to a location in his line of sight. The smoke coalesced into the transparent form of a girl no more than fourteen who cowered in the fetal position.

  Luther rose and stepped toward her, kneeling by her side. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I just need your help.”

  “Who…who are you?” she asked. “Where am I?”

  “It’s okay.” He spoke in a soft tone. “My name is Luther, I’m a friend. Do you know your name?”

  “Cassie.”

  She looked up at him, slowly standing. Her transparent face was contorted in fear. “What do you want?”

  “I just want to know what happened to you, Cassie.”

  “What happened? What do you mean?”

  Luther sighed. Summoning spirits from beyond the veil was tricky. They were usually confused and disoriented, some did not even realize what had happened to them. And telling them that they’ve died could sometimes provide such a shock and turn them into a restless spirit. Instead, it was best to try and coax the information out of them in a more gentle fashion.

  “Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

  Cassie hesitated. Luther could tell she was trying to work through the memories, attempting to piece things together. “I remember…screaming. And loud bangs.”

  Luther nodded. “That’s good. Concentrate, Cassie. Tell me more.”

  “Pizza.”

  Luther paused. “I’m sorry?”

  “I remember pizza,” said Cassie. “It was pizza day in the cafeteria. I love pizza day. Dad usually makes me a sandwich, but I begged him to let me buy lunch on pizza day.” She giggled. “It sounds stupid, I know. Who likes the food from the school cafeteria? So lame.”

  “That’s okay, Cassie.” The repetition of her name was intentional, a tactic Luther used to strengthen the ghost’s connection to who she was. “What happened on pizza day?”

  “I was sitting with Jane—she’s my BFF.” Cassie smiled and a bit of color came to her transparent cheeks. “That’s when Kevin Shaw came over to us. He’s so cute. Jane kept telling me all week that he was gonna ask me to the homecoming dance. Said she overheard him talking about it with Josh Huds
on.”

  Luther tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes. This part of the process was always the most tedious. He wished there was a way to speed it up, but he knew he just had to wait it out. Cassie was at least making progress.

  “And then…” Cassie’s smile faded, fear creeping into her features.

  “And then what, Cassie? What happened next?”

  She paused before shaking her head. “No. Don’t make me say it, Luther. I don’t wanna remember.”

  Luther reached a hand toward her. “I know it’s difficult, but it’s also extremely important. I have to know what happened that day, Cassie.”

  Cassie shut her eyes, struggling with the memories she had no desire to relive. “I-I was talking to Kevin…and then Jane screamed. I looked at her and then I saw why she screamed.”

  “What was it? What did you see?”

  Her eyelids scrunched together, as if she had to fight to keep them closed. “I…I saw him.”

  “Him who? Was it someone you know? Another student?”

  “He seemed…familiar. But…” Cassie paused, trying to recall the form. But instead she just shook her head. “No, I don’t know who he is.”

  “Tell me what he looked like.”

  “He was thin. Very thin. And he was dressed all in black, with a leather coat and sunglasses. But he had these guns. These…huge guns. Didn’t seem possible for him to even carry them.”

  Luther rubbed the dark hair on his chin. “What else do you remember about him?”

  “He was so…cold. Just started shooting people. Jane was screaming and then suddenly she…she wasn’t screaming any more…” Cassie looked down at the floor. “She fell on the ground. And I grabbed her, and I pulled her and I kept yelling at her! ‘Janey, get up! We have to get out of here! Come on, Jane! Let’s go!’”

  “Cassie, look at me,” said Luther, worried she had started to lose her grip on reality. If he wasn’t careful, she would get stuck in the memory. “Tell me what happened next.”

  Cassie stopped. Luther worried that he’d already lost her, but after a moment she finally looked up at him once again. Her pupils had dilated. “I-I was talking to Jane, and then I felt something wet hit me. I thought maybe it was water or something. I reached for my head and when I pulled my hand away, it was…” She reenacted the motion, reaching for her head and then showing it to Luther. “It was like this.”

  Cassie’s hand was now covered with blood. She was beginning to become lost in the memory. “Kevin, he…he was lying on the table. It was his blood. And I saw him, his eyes just staring at me. I always thought his eyes were so beautiful. But now…”

  The sound of breaking wood drew Luther’s attention away from Cassie. He stood and turned to the door in a quick motion. In the frame was a thin man with pale skin dressed in black, a trench coat and sunglasses. Each hand held a large assault gun that would have been difficult for a man twice his size to grip in two hands, let alone one.

  “It’s him!”

  The gunman aimed both rifles and squeezed the triggers. Luther dove behind the bed as the deafening sound of gunfire filled the room, the muzzle flashes providing a strobe effect. Luther gripped the edges of the bed and with strength beyond that of a normal man, flipped it on its side to create a barricade.

  Holes punched through the mattress, and Luther drew his modified revolver from the holster. With the amount of rounds fired so far, the assassin had to have needed to stop and reload. No weapon could hold enough ammunition to sustain such a high rate of fire for such a long period, and that gave Luther more hints as to this creature’s identity.

  The mattress and bed frame were rendered almost non-existent from the constant gunfire. Luther hit the ground and rolled to the bathroom. He hugged the wall, leveled his weapon at the open door, and waited. A deep breath helped him calm his nerves temporarily. Footsteps came closer and closer, but still Luther remained still as the night.

  Once the gunman’s head peeked into view, Luther squeezed the trigger. Once, twice, three times. The gunman stumbled back from the door, moving out of Luther’s line of sight. The bullets were iron hollow-point rounds filled with holy water and a mixture of salt and herbs designed to ward off evil spirits.

  Luther heard silence. He kept a firm grip on the revolver with both hands, moving closer to the door. He pointed the gun around the frame and moved into view. The assassin was on the ground, crawling for the exit, moving slowly and in pain. Luther aimed his weapon.

  “Don’t move!”

  Luther glanced down at the ground and saw the assassin had left a trail of blood. Or at least what appeared to be blood, except it was black. Luther looked back at the wraith and saw it still moving to the door. Cassie’s spirit huddled in the corner, back in the fetal position. Luther fired the last three rounds at the attacker and it vanished.

  Luther pulled the gun’s cylinder and hit the ejector rod, dumping the empty casings on the floor and reached in his pocket, drawing a speed-loader with six fresh rounds. Once the gun was reloaded, he snapped the cylinder closed and inched toward the splinters that were once the motel room door.

  Luther pushed up against the wall by the door frame and looked out into the night. His demonic eyesight gave him the ability to see as clearly in the dark as on a bright afternoon. And what he saw was a minivan. Once the driver realized they were being watched, the minivan quickly drove off. Luther focused on the license plate, making a note of the identifying letters and numbers.

  “Luther…?”

  He turned to see Cassie hesitantly raising her head. “I-is he gone?”

  “Yes, he’s gone.” Luther holstered the gun and looked around. No empty shell casings. He went to the wall to examine the bullet holes, but there was nothing. Just like in the school. Noticing the bloodstains left behind, Luther knelt down and rubbed the black liquid with his fingers. Raising them to his eyes, he inspected the “blood” and then sniffed it. But it wasn’t blood at all.

  “Ink.”

  “What?” asked Cassie.

  Luther stood and faced her, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Cassie. I’ll find him. You’ll be able to rest.”

  * * *

  The next morning, the Camaro pulled up to the county Department of Education. After the attack last night, Luther found a new motel to check into, grateful he’d paid in cash at the previous one. Once he arrived at the new motel, he performed a search on the license plate of the minivan he saw in the parking lot. It was registered to Sharon Gardner, but some more searching turned up an obituary under that name. The obituary stated that Sharon was survived by her husband, Sheriff Daniel Gardner and her son, Matthew Gardner.

  Luther was starting to realize what he’d picked up about Matt when he met him at the school—some sort of connection to the supernatural. With the Sheriff no doubt having his men watching the school like a hawk, Luther would need to find another way to get into Matt’s records. That brought him to the Department of Education.

  Luther removed his sunglasses as he approached the reception desk. The old woman behind the desk smiled at him as he came up to her. “Good morning, sir. Anything I can help you with?”

  “I certainly hope so, ma’am.” Luther’s red eyes flashed a glow as he showed her his business card. “Agent Luther Cross with the FBI. We’re investigating the shooting at Green Meadows High.”

  Her cheery demeanor quickly changed. “Oh, what a tragic event that was. I’m sorry, dear, could I see that again?” She adjusted her thick glasses and focused on Luther’s card, although what she saw was the badge of an FBI agent. “What can I help you with, Agent Cross?”

  Luther glanced at her own identification badge clipped to her cardigan. “Ruth…do you mind if I call you Ruth?”

  She smiled. “Not at all, dear.”

  “Well, Ruth, we’re looking into the possibility of a student being responsible.”

  “Oh my…!” She gasped, drawing a hand to cover her mouth.

  “Terrible thought,
I know, but it’s unfortunately become a reality with these tragedies. Since the school is closed off, I wondered if you could provide me with the records of one of the students?”

  “I’m sure I can.” She turned to the computer monitor. “What’s the student’s name?”

  “Matthew Gardner.”

  Ruth began the search in the database. “Ah, here we are. Gardner, Matthew J. What would you like to know?”

  “Any disciplinary records?”

  Ruth held her finger to the screen, using it to keep track of her place on the file. She shook her head. “No. Not against him. But he was named as the victim in some reports of bullying.”

  “Any chance you’d have attendance records from the day of the shooting?”

  “Attendance is recorded in the computer systems by the teachers at the start of each class period. So we’d likely have records up to the shooting.”

  “Was Gardner in class that day?”

  Ruth navigated to the attendance records for the day in question. “No, he wasn’t. It’s marked as an excused absence. Actually, a series of absences, all marked as excused.”

  “Any reason given?”

  “The comments note that his father called in to inform the school that Matthew had the flu.”

  “Thank you, Ruth. You’ve been extremely helpful.”

  “Agent Cross…” Ruth slid away from the computer and stood, leaning toward him. “Do you really think a student could have done this?”

  Luther nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “If you ask me…” She looked from left to right and then leaned closer to Luther and lowered her voice to a whisper, “it’s because we took God out of the schools.” Her fingers reached for the golden cross hanging around her neck. “Make no mistake, Agent Cross, there are demons among us.”

  Luther couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Indeed there are, Ruth.”

  * * *

  Both the minivan and the Sheriff’s police cruiser were parked side-by-side in the Gardners’ driveway. Luther parked his Camaro behind the cruiser and strolled up to the front door, rapping his knuckles on the wooden surface. As he waited, he adjusted his sunglasses and checked the gold watch he wore—four in the afternoon.