The man shrugged. “Never had much use for it, I guess. ‘Sides, you won’t get much in the way of reception out here.”
“Perfect.”
The man looked back at his truck. “Listen, my farm’s not but two miles or so away. How about I take you back there and you can call for a tow?”
“Nah, maybe I should just walk it.”
“That’s quite a hike, you sure? By the time you get there, garage’ll definitely be closed.”
Sam stared at his beat up Ford for a few moments, thinking about what he should do. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to making the walk back to town and he didn’t feel like skipping work tomorrow to deal with this then. “Well, as long as I’m not imposing.”
“Not at all.” He extended his hand. “Name’s Tom Pearson, by the way.”
“Sam, Sam Dixon.” He accepted the handshake. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
“No problem, hop in. We’ll have you back on the road in no time.”
* * *
Tom wasn’t lying about the short drive. Before Sam knew it Tom pulled up the dirt road leading through his fields and up to the small house. Sam climbed from the passenger seat and shut the door, looking out at the old barn not that far off. He thought he heard a sound from there, but now there was nothing.
“C’mon in, you should call now before they close,” said Tom.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Sam looked away from the barn and followed Tom inside the darkened house. Tom took off his cap and hung it from a coat rack beside the door and dropped his keys on a small table next to that.
“Phone’s in the kitchen, just follow me.” Tom led him down the corridor, hitting a switch on the wall to turn on the light. As Sam walked down the hall, he saw several framed photos hanging. There were a few photos of a baby and then a young boy, probably the same person. A young Tom smiling in a wedding photo beside a beautiful blond. And photos of all three of them together.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, coming. Sorry.”
Sam walked into the kitchen and Tom gestured to the phone hanging on the wall. Tom walked to the refrigerator and took a business card that had been pinned there by a magnet and gave it to the younger man. “That’s my buddy’s shop. He’s usually there late, so you should be able to reach him.”
“Thanks.”
Sam looked at the weathered card and dialed the number. There was a tone on the other end and then a message telling him the number was no longer in service. Sam hung up and dialed again, thinking he had made a mistake. The same message.
He hung up the receiver and looked at Tom. “Number doesn’t work.”
“No shit.” Tom stepped closer and took the card from him. He huffed. “Been a year or two since I needed to call, maybe Rick’s closed up shop.”
“Thought you said he was a buddy?”
Tom shrugged. “Yeah, but y’know how things go. Lose touch an’ all that.”
“Great.”
“How ‘bout a beer?” asked Tom. “Then I’ll give you a ride into town.”
“Might as well, could use one after all this.”
“Go ahead and have a seat at the table there.” Tom opened the refrigerator and procured two bottles of Miller Genuine Draft. He handed one to Sam and then sat at the table, popping the top off with his thumb as he did.
Sam held the bottle in one hand and twisted the cap off with the other, taking a nice long sip. Wasn’t his favorite brand, but it would do. “I saw some photos in the hall. That your family?”
“Yup, my wife and my boy,” said Tom.
“They out of town or something?”
Tom hesitated while he took a sip. “They’re around here somewhere. Maybe went out for a bite or something. What about you, what were you doing on the side of the road?”
“Went on a hunt.”
“Get anything?”
Sam shook his head. “Pretty slim pickings, I’m afraid.”
Tom tipped back the beer, drinking it down quickly. He gave a sigh of satisfaction when he finished. “Well, if you’re hungry, I think I got some leftovers in the fridge.”
“Thanks, but I should actually get going pretty soon.”
Tom rose from the table. “Go ahead and finish your beer, then I’ll take you.” He walked past Sam, presumably to throw out the bottle.
“Gotta thank you for all your help. Most people would’ve just kept on driving,” said Sam.
“That’s the problem with most people these days. Got no consideration, am I right?”
“Can’t argue with that.” Sam placed the bottle to his lips and drank heartily. The cool taste felt good as it went down his throat. He placed the empty bottle on the table. “Anyway, would you mind—”
As Sam craned his head to speak to Tom, he saw his host raising the empty bottle above his head. It was the last thing Sam saw before his world went black.
* * *
When Sam regained consciousness, he was in almost total darkness. He reached behind his head, the spot where Tom struck him with the bottle still producing an ache. At his touch, he felt something sticky and wet. Bringing his fingers into view, he could barely see that the tips were stained with his own blood. Sam placed his hands on the ground, which was scratchy. He had been lying on hay and he pulled himself to his feet, nearly stumbling as he did.
The barn was large and almost completely empty. The only source of light came from the moonbeams filtering through the cracks in the barn. A voice called to him from above and he looked up. There was a platform up above and right beside it an opening with a man’s silhouette standing against the moonlight.
“I’m real sorry about this,” said Tom. “But I really got no other choice.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Sam. “What the hell kinda game you playin’, you psychopath?”
“I ain’t no psychopath.” Tom’s voice was tainted with anger, almost like a growl as he spoke. “I’m just a man doin’ what he can to protect his family.”
“Get me outta here!”
Tom shook his head. “‘Fraid I can’t do that, Sam. Y’see, it’s dinnertime around these parts. And they’ve gone hungry too long.”
“What the hell are you babbling about, you crazy bastard?”
A snarl in the darkness immediately captured Sam’s attention. He looked around the barn, trying to find the source of it. What sort of animals was Tom keeping in here? That sound wasn’t like any Sam had ever heard any animal make.
He saw movement in the dark. Sam moved as far away from it as he could, hitting the barn’s wall. Keeping his back pressed against the wood, he moved along the length of the wall. There was no ladder leading up to the platform, so his only hope was the barn door at the other end. Assuming he could reach it before that—whatever it was—came at him.
The snarling grew worse. And it came in a chorus. Whatever it was in here with him, there was more than one. Sam’s heartbeat increased and his brow became damp with sweat. The moonlight illuminated some of the beasts. He could see the outline of them as they came out, and what he saw nearly made him vomit.
There were maybe a dozen of them, and they looked like people. Or rather, the corpses of people. Their flesh was a brownish yellow and their bellies were distended. Chunks of flesh were missing from various parts of their bodies. Slowly, they moved toward Sam, their movements sluggish. Wet growls came from their throats.
“Oh shit, oh shit!” Sam broke into a run for the door. He slammed against it, but it barely budged. Tom must have locked it from the outside. Sam banged his fists against the door, screaming while he tried feverishly to escape. “Open up! Get me the hell outta here!”
Sam looked over his shoulder and saw them coming closer. He continued to pound the door. “Tom! Tom, open the goddamn door! Oh Jesus, what the hell is going on?”
Their cold, dead hands fell on Sam’s body. He struggled against them, trying to fight back, throwing his fists around with wild abandon. He connected with a few of them, an
d felt rotted flesh and blood on his hands. But no matter how hard he fought, there were just far too many of them. And that was when one of the creatures got the first taste of him, biting into the flesh of his arm. Sam cried in a mixture of horror and pain, trying vainly to pull free.
They piled on him, hungry hands tearing whatever they could grab of his flesh and stuffing it into hungrier mouths. Sam’s screams filled the barn, and up above from the platform, Tom Pearson just watched, his mouth agape in the horror he’d wrought. Tears fell down his face and he was on the verge of crying, but held it back. He stood there in the moonlight, forcing himself to watch until Sam’s screams finally died out.
* * *
It was around ten in the morning when the ’69 jet-black Camaro took the exit from the interstate, following the ramp onto a two-lane road that stretched through the cornfields. Luther Cross drove down the street, casting a quick glance at the WELCOME TO WOLCOTT sign that greeted him upon entering the town’s borders.
The sign on the interstate advertised food and gas at the exit, two things that Luther could use at the moment. He chose not to eat breakfast before leaving Green Meadows—the job with Matt Gardner and his servitor had given Luther his fill of that town. His stomach didn’t feel the same, growling now for the better part of the past hour.
Luther saw a sign that simply read DINER and pulled up to it, parking in one of the spots open just off the road. Once leaving the car, he pulled open the door to the diner and a small bell went ding. The diner was about half full, which didn’t mean much given the establishment’s small size. The patrons and wait staff looked in his direction and regarded him for a brief moment. A tall, broad shouldered black man in an expensive suit and black trench coat was just slightly out of place among the crowd of working class white men he saw.
A middle aged plump woman in a waitress uniform approached. “Good morning, is it just you?”
He nodded.
“Would you like to sit at the counter?”
Luther glanced at her nametag and said, “If it’s not too much trouble, Anne, could I get a booth?”
“Why sure thing, hon. Right this way.”
She directed Luther to one of the open booths. He shed his trench coat and dropped it on the bench before unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting down beside it. Anne handed him a menu and he quickly glanced over it.
“Would you like a few minutes?”
“No, that’s okay,” he said. “Two eggs over easy, with hashbrowns. Bacon, too, as long as it’s not too crispy.”
She quickly jotted down the order. “Anything to drink?”
“Coffee, and lots of it, thanks.” He handed her back the menu.
Anne nodded and accepted the menu, but then noticed his eyes. “Sunglasses inside, sir?”
Luther smirked. “Bit sensitive to the light.” A useful lie to cover up the unusual nature of his burning red eyes, the only indication of his demonic heritage.
“Gotcha, sorry to pry. I’ll be right back.”
Luther gave her another smile. Once she left, he tugged off his gloves and set them on the side of the table. Anne returned a moment later with a cup of coffee. He emptied several sugar packets into the cup and just a bit of powdered creamer before sipping. It tasted awful going down, but was about what he expected.
The bell dinged again and Luther looked up to see two men in police uniforms enter, chatting as they sat at the counter. He turned his gaze from the officers and looked out the diner’s large window and at his car. The drive back to Chicago would take another two hours, but he had no appointments in his schedule, so he could take his time getting back.
Anne came with his breakfast, setting the plate in front of him. “There you go, hon. Holler if you need anything else.”
Luther picked up the knife and fork and began eating. The eggs were perfect and the hashbrowns were pretty good. Bacon was a bit too crisp for his liking, but he wasn’t about to complain. Once he finished, he sat back in the booth, holding his coffee with one hand and draping his other arm across the length of the bench.
Another ding of the bell. Luther ignored it this time, until he heard a raised voice. He looked up and saw a young woman in her early twenties. She was arguing with the two cops about something. Luther sat forward, resting his elbows on the table while sipping the coffee.
“Look, Karen, we already told you. We did a search and found nothin’. Your brother’s only been gone a few days, maybe he’s just with some buddies.”
Luther could tell something was off about the cop’s words. He watched them from the corner of his eye while drinking his coffee. His demonic abilities granted him a certain degree of psychic ability. He couldn’t read a person’s mind, but he could pick up certain things from them—such as whether or not they were being truthful.
“He wouldn’t just run off without sayin’ a word, Sheriff.”
The sheriff gave her a plastic smile. “I’ll have the boys do another search of the area, let you know if anything comes up. Also put the word out to some of the surrounding towns, see if anything’s come up.”
Karen was placated by these words. On the outside, at least. “Thank you.” Once she was gone, the Sheriff turned to his deputy and the two men snickered. Luther set down the empty cup and stood, moving to the register, the cops sitting right beside him at the counter.
Anne flashed him another pleasant smile when she approached the register. “How was your breakfast, darlin’?”
“Just fine, thank you.” Luther removed his wallet and handed her a ten dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you, come back any time!” she said with an even more enthusiastic smile.
As he pulled on his trench coat, Luther stared at the sheriff. “Everything okay with that girl?”
The sheriff pivoted on the stool. “You mean Karen? Just some paranoid kid lookin’ for her brother.”
“He missing?”
“Went out on a huntin’ trip a few days ago, hasn’t been back yet,” said the deputy.
“Sounds like she’s got reason to be worried.”
The sheriff scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. Knowin’ what a pain in the rear she is, he probably just wanted a few days of peace. Prob’ly held up at that strip joint off the highway.”
Luther could sense the sheriff was hiding something. He looked past the middle aged officer’s grizzled face and focused on the younger deputy. The boy gave off an emotion that demons particularly savored. Even without his abilities, Luther could still see it in the kid’s wide eyes, and how he shifted about nervously, tugging on his collar, even some sweat at his temple.
He was afraid.
“Any reason she’d have to be worried?” asked Luther.
“Other’n bein’ a paranoid bitch? Nah,” said the sheriff.
“Well, there is—”
The sheriff shot his deputy a dirty look and the deputy stared into his coffee with such a fixed gaze, you’d think the latest blockbuster film was being screened in the cup.
“There’s what?”
“Don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here before,” said the sheriff.
“I was heading back up to Chicago, decided to stop off for some breakfast.”
“I hear traffic can get kinda crazy later in the day. Might wanna hit the road and beat it.”
“You sure there’s no reason for the girl to be worried?” Luther slid the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough so his crimson eyes could be seen. He stared into the sheriff’s eyes, and his irises gave off a slight glow. The sheriff was strong willed and that would make this more difficult, but he could still get something out of him.
The sheriff’s eyes glazed over and he froze for a moment before speaking again. “Some people gone missin’ in the forest.” The deputy looked up at the sheriff’s words and nudged him. The sheriff ignored him and continued. “Started few months back. We’ve been keepin’ a lid on it.”
“Now I just have one more question, Sheriff
. Where was this young man supposed to be hunting?”
* * *
Luther drove to the edge of the Wolcott Forest Preserve. This area was supposed to be where the boy had gone hunting, a forest he’d never come out of. Luther pulled off the side of the road, but kept the car running, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared off into the forest.
What was he doing here? There was no indication that this had anything to do with the kinds of threats he usually dealt with. Some unexplained disappearances were hardly evidence of some sort of supernatural threat. Maybe if he just returned to Chicago and checked up on things later or spoke to some sources first, he’d have a better idea of what—if anything—was going on.
Luther sighed and shifted the car into drive. Just as he was about to pull out onto the road, he saw movement in the forest and stopped. He put the car back into park and turned off the engine, then reached for the modified revolver held in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. Sigils were engraved into the metal surface of the gun and he opened the chamber. Six rounds, each one forged from iron and filled with holy water, salt, and herbs designed to ward off evil spirits. He snapped the chamber closed and holstered the gun, then reached across to open the glove compartment. Inside was a dagger with a handle crafted from ivy wood with a pentagram carved into the surface, the silver blade covered by a leather sheath.
“Waste of time,” he told himself, although he didn’t believe the words. Luther climbed out of the Camaro and hooked the knife’s sheath to his belt, covering it with his jacket. He stepped into the forest, sensing now the emotions of the thing he’d gotten a glimpse of. A mixture of fear, determination, and hope.
Luther walked past the trees, quickening his pace, following the emotions. He saw her ahead, marching as fast as she could, looking all around with concerned eyes.
“Karen!”
She stopped and turned, expecting to see someone familiar. But she backed away when she saw Luther. “Who are you?”
Luther saw he had startled her and stopped, holding up his hands in a gesture of civility. “It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you. I overheard what you said to the sheriff in the diner. He told me your brother went missing here in the forest and I came to have a look for myself.”
Devil's Taunt and Other Stories Page 10