After Death

by D. B. Douglas

  “Argus! Argus, where are ya boy?”

  There was no sign of his dog and he had pressing matters to take care of. He tried a few more times without result.

  He’s a resourceful dog — He’ll turn up, he thought, but it disturbed him. Where had that dog gotten to?

  He had no choice. With a heavy heart he got into his car and whistled one last time before taking off back down the mountain. He would find Jackie, save her, and then find Argus. He hated having to choose but what else could he do?

  ***

  The shakily drawn map was barely adequate but Frank made it to the winding roads of the Santa Monica mountains without incident. It was a different route than he’d taken before with Jackie — this time he connected with the pass from the backside, where the roads were wider and less steep and the mountain was mostly long rolling hills rather than the steep grade of earlier in the night. It was strange to think that he had lived his whole life not far away and yet was still totally unfamiliar with this local geography.

  A thickening fog began to rise and he slowed down on a straightaway to check the map. He fumbled with one hand in the glove compartment until he found his flashlight and shone it on the wrinkled paper in his lap. There was supposed to be a turn-off soon but he had no idea of how far along it was because Burt’s map was a piece of crap… Nothing was even remotely to scale and there were no indications of distance. With the combination of the map and the worsening weather, his anxiety was growing. His adversary was virtually unknown to him except for the memories he had of Eli as the kind old man at the hospital — memories that he now knew were completely false. They vied against the contradictory images of a shadowy figure cajoling his boys into killing their mother or a younger Eli luring innocent Ricky into the cave or the even more disturbing memory of Eli’s crackling face rising out of the plaster visage of Christ and taunting him. He tried to put these distracting thoughts away. Now there was only one thing that mattered, it was the most critical piece of the puzzle and everything was riding on it: How vicious was Eli likely to be with a hostage.

  At the next horrible thought he had to wipe away the blurring tears so he could see out the windshield and he convulsed with physical pain as a wave of nausea hit him at the same time. He fought it back, that disgusting bitter taste left filling his mouth;

  Jackie might already be dead.

  It would be naïve to believe this couldn’t be true. What reason would Eli have to keep her alive if Frank was so easily lead without proof of her well-being? There was none — Except that Eli seemed to like this game — and having a prize to tease Frank with seemed to be something he would be unlikely to do without. It would heighten the stakes and further help him make Frank squirm in discomfort and dance at his whim — a characteristic Frank was beginning to recognize in this sadistic monster. When he analyzed it, it was quickly confirmed. Even at the hospital with his practical jokes, Eli craved a reaction. He seemed to get immense pleasure from this — especially if it caused the target discomfort.

  Discomfort — Yes, he was causing him tremendous discomfort. And in all likelihood, he was doing the same to Jackie.

  Frank gnashed his teeth at the thought. Eli must pay — justice must be done — a grotesque aberration like this must not be allowed to exist and Frank knew that he himself was fully responsible for all the acts that had been committed since he had made them all possible by eliciting that accursed promise. It was his fault and he must make it right. But first, Jackie — the woman of his dreams, she that summed up in a single glance all that was good in him — She must be saved.

  I am coming, dearest, he mentally sent out to her. I am coming, all will soon be well. But he needed to find her first — Where was that God forsaken turn-off? And damn Burt for this wretched map!

  Again, as if in answer, a road sign suddenly appeared out of the foggy murk to his right, the dark letters gleaming in his headlights. He pulled to the side of the road and braked to read it clearly.

  TURN RIGHT ONE MILE, it said, but there was something distinctly odd about it, as though it was hastily and amateurishly hand-painted.

  Frank stepped out of the car and walked to the sign, the directed beams of his headlights swirling with mist and moisture.

  The letters of the sign appeared to be dripping and he swept his hand across them only to come away with a palm wet with glistening blood.

  He recoiled, slack-jawed. It was as if a gauntlet had slapped him hard across the face — Eli was toying with him again, taunting, beckoning, sticking his long dead tongue out and wiggling it in glee.

  Frank’s blood boiled and his face felt hot despite the cold wet night. He shook his fists in the air and screamed, not even fully cognizant of what he was doing.

  “ELI!” He shrieked.

  The instant fit of rage was overpowering.

  “ELIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!” He shrieked again.

  ***

  Frank felt like a cauldron of hot water bubbling over the brim. The thick fog that eddied around the car was matched by an internal fog that pushed and pulled against his brain. He now understood that Eli had known that the directions Burt had provided would be difficult to follow so he had supplemented them with more of his own. The ghastly bloody sign was precise — he watched the tenths of a mile tick off on his odometer until, at exactly the one-mile mark, another sign appeared by the side of the road that indicated the beginning of the Santa Monica State Park. This sign was at least normal, and as it should be — but this was of little consolation since here the road ended and Frank knew that the rest of his journey would have to be on foot.

  He pushed open the car door, got out, and looked around. The air was heavier now and the thick moist fog undulated around him like a living thing. He could barely see the dark and indistinct shapes of the surrounding forest and it took on a ghostly and surreal quality as if he were on another planet. He clicked on his flashlight and searched for a path and was surprised that almost immediately he found a small trail marker within a few feet. It was canted to one side and designated a tiny overgrown dirt path as the Willoma trail.

  Frank pulled Burt’s folded map from his pocket.

  It looked like he was supposed to take the Willoma trail until he came to a giant forked tree. The tree as drawn on Burt’s map actually looked more like a kitchen utensil than a tree—or perhaps even more accurately — a pitchfork.

  Frank moved up the path at the quickest pace he could muster, there was no time to lose — He needed to maintain his focus and shake out of this malaise that was trying to overpower him. The way was difficult and the heavy fog pressed against his shoulders and head in a somehow melancholy way — He had the impression of being held back, slowed down — as though even something as elemental as nature were against his passage.

  In several places the trees and shrubs had closed over and around the dirt path, as though they too would prefer no one came there. He had to force his way through, pushing the interfering growth aside, grunting with the effort, continuing undaunted, even as the branches and thorns whipped and cut at his face and arms.

  His flashlight could hardly pierce the fog now and every shadow cast by its muted beam seemed threatening, every sound potentially deadly. But he would not be deterred, his Jackie was ahead, he kept on, eyes turned inward, face stone-like —

  The foliage grew even thicker and more difficult to penetrate. He had no scythe to cut with and instead used his arms and legs to push, punch and kick the ragged nature out of the way. He bled in a dozen places but didn’t feel a thing — he was beyond that. Over and over her name now repeated in his head like a tribal drum beat — Jackie, Jackie, Jackie.

  The fog had become a wall, his visibility little more than a few feet. Sweat ran freely down his face from his effort but he would not be deterred, he would rip a mountain apart stone by stone if need be, such was his determination.

  A giant fallen tree abruptly appeared across his path and he was moving so quickly, he almost tripped. There w
as no way over it and he instead felt his way along its ragged edges until he was able to make his way completely around its massive form and resume the trail.

  Except that the trail had vanished.

  Frank brought out Burt’s map again and referred to it in an attempt to get his bearings. A rustling of movement came from the nearby bushes — something in the undergrowth.

  Frank stood stock-still — Was he imagining it? What animal could this be that made so much noise? It stopped and he waited. Then it came again, strong movement approaching fast. Whatever it was, it was large… He hefted his flashlight, prepared to strike, and the sound closed on him. This was definitely no bird or lizard or —

  Argus burst out of the murk not two feet away and pranced to Frank’s side, licking his hands and wagging his tail in enthusiastic greeting. Frank embraced him around the neck and stroked his long face, so pleased to see his friend in this forlorn place. He snatched up the leash that was still attached and dragging on the ground — He would not lose his friend again — the strain of one loss had been enough. Now they could find her together. With Argus’ help —

  — An ethereal sing-song voice floated across and interrupted his joyful reunion:

  “Frrrannnnklin… Oh, Franklinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn…”

  Frank’s head snapped around, his bloodshot eyes searching for the source of that all-too-familiar voice.

  There was a rustle nearby and Frank spun the flashlight towards a small shape that scurried off — a squirrel sensing impending danger. It disappeared quickly into the trees.

  “Show yourself, Eli!” Frank shouted.

  Eli’s voice responded from off to the left of Frank, just a few feet away, but he could see nothing.

  “You wanted to know what happens after death, Franklin. This was all your idea…”

  Argus bared his teeth at the words, a deep rumble resonating in his throat.

  Frank felt suddenly strangely calm, his hopes about Jackie seeming to be confirmed in his mind.

  If he’s here, she’s probably safe, he thought. He wants to draw out this game — He is trying to get reactions — He’d save the best for last — There’s still time to figure something out…

  “Where’s my wife, Eli?” He asked flatly. “What have you done with her?”

  No sense in giving him the satisfaction he wants, he thought. Change the game.

  Eli’s voice switched to Frank’s other side and continued as though he hadn’t heard his questions.

  “It’s not what you’d expect, Franklin. No feathery winged angels in puffy white clouds. No Godly light and lilting harps. No horned devils in chasms of fire…”

  Frank again turned towards the voice and squinted into the fog. He thought, just dimly, that he could make out Eli’s outline among the perimeter trees — a leaning faint figure in a hat.

  Frank picked up a fallen branch and quietly approached the apparition, trying not to be obvious as Eli continued his monologue.

  “It’s just blurs, Franklin. Blurs of time. Blurs of places. Blurs of people and thoughts. You can’t touch anything or feel anything or see anything, really. It’s all an indistinct swirling mass and you are just another part of it. All you have is your thoughts to hold onto — but only if they’re strong enough. If they’re not, after a while, you just blend with the rest…”

  Frank was close to the outline now and lunged forward, swinging his branch with all his might.

  His branch hit a tree with a hollow thud, the outline’s “arms” just fog-distorted tree limbs.

  “But you did a wonderful thing, Franklin.” Eli continued in a lighter tone with a trill of glee. “You gave me a way to move back and forth between where you are and where they are…”

  Frank dropped the branch and sullenly tried to track the moving voice.

  “I no longer give a shit, Eli. All I want is Jackie.”

  He knew he could not win if things continued this way. How was he about to vanquish a vehement and vengeful wisp?

  “Thanks to you I have achieved individual freedom, no longer a drop in the collective bucket.” Eli continued. “You see, Franklin, you gave me focus. Focus for one thought, one emotion that I was able to retain and utilize to full advantage to separate from all of them: Rage.”

  All was still. Eli had stopped talking and had seemed to move on. Then, a soft whistle came from far above and Frank strained his neck towards a branch at the uppermost section of the tree. There, just below the faint glow of the yellow moon and standing on an impossibly thin branch, was Eli. His form was little more than a transparent shadow. He grinned down at Frank and the odd light within the fog glinted off his sharp teeth.

  “I have so much hate I still want to share, Franklin — Little packages of pain I’m just dying to dispense.”

  His voice rose to a titter and his chest swelled with pride.

  “To kill without reprisals! To reign, no longer subject to the piddly rules of gravity, solidity, mortality! No rules, Franklin! No rules like in your storybooks! No one point of weakness; a stake through the heart or silver bullet.”

  Frank was stunned for a moment — it was the first time he had actually clearly been able to look at Eli for more than a few seconds and the reality was jarring. He could see the trees through him as well as the billows of fog and mist that temporarily obscured portions of his form but, most disarming, was his face.

  Even at this distance, only the eyes looked truly alive, and sparkled with malicious energy — all else was horribly decayed — bone peeking out over the brows and at the nose and chin, rotted flesh dangling from the cheeks and jowls — and there was movement at the dark openings of the nose, mouth and ears — worms and insects that crawled to and fro, eating what little tissue was left and making a home in the disgusting mass.

  After a few moments of recovery, his desperate need to protect Jackie pushed him on and Frank again found his voice.

  “What do you want..? What will it take for you to give her back..?”

  Eli leered down at him with a hyena scowl.

  “What I want, I have. To walk the earth forever, the eternal predator among the consummate prey! My own personal heaven! And I have you to thank, my boy!”

  Eli’s gruesome spectral form high in the trees bent in an exaggerated bow, and mirthful giggles shook his body — several insects dislodged from his tissue and fell to the earth below.

  “To you, Franklin, I am truly indebted.”

  The giggles that shook his body reached crescendo. He suddenly toppled from the branch and fell towards the earth below.

  Frank tensed at his chance and prepared to strike should the creature land close by. An inch above impacting the earth, Eli’s form suddenly vanished. Frank’s opportunity was gone.

  More games! Frank thought, mind going dark once again. More fucking games!

  He roared his frustration into the night.

  “EEEEEEELLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIII!!!”

  Argus growled again and tugged at the leash. A disembodied voice drifted through the air.

  “To the left, Franklin. Not far now… Follow the pooch…”

  Frank let Argus lead and plunged into the undergrowth. As they moved, the dense bush seemed to rustle and part in the middle for them to pass, leaving the path clear and obvious. They continued for about a hundred yards until the path widened into a flat grassy clearing where a huge grotesque forked oak tree loomed over the expanse.

  Frank jerked Argus to a stop and stared. Something was wrong with this oak — it did more closely resemble a pitchfork than any other tree Frank had ever seen. It seemed more appropriate in a modernist painting than in real life but here it was, large and commanding and perfectly at home in this murky surrealscape.

  The light breeze that pushed and pulled the fog caused something white to flap softly against its giant base. A white dress!

  Was it..? Could it be..? Yes, Jackie!

  She lay, apparently unconscious, slumped against the tree, the moonlight making her skin appear a
ghostly illuminated white that was almost the same color as the dress itself.

  Frank couldn’t believe it —

  His Jackie was here — He’d found her at last!

  For a moment, all his fears and worries fell away and left him light and tireless.

  His Jackie was here — Safe and sound!

  He sprinted to her —

  Yes, her chest was moving, she was alive — fine and alive!

  He was just within reach, arms extended and hands outstretched — Joyous, buoyant, ecstatic —

  — Eli’s transparent form appeared by her side and threw her body over his shoulder with inhuman ease and speed. Before Frank could progress even one more inch, Eli had darted into the surrounding hazy woods with his captive, only his gleeful mocking voice left hanging in the air…

  “Nice try, Franklin...!”

  And then Frank was once again alone with his dog in the foggy woods.

  It was almost too much to bear — to have come so close to attaining that which he needed and loved so much — Only to have it snatched away like a toy from a child… His face contorted in black rage and determination. There were no coherent thoughts now, they had all abandoned him. There was only the familiar mantra, the power and resonance of it echoing through his brain with enough force to sweep all else clear.

  JACKIE, JACKIE, JACKIE.

  He barreled wildly in the direction Eli had taken, arms pumping, hurtling through the nightmarish forestscape without plan or concept.

  JACKIE, JACKIE, JACKIE.

  He raced under a thick clump of branches and suddenly found himself at the mouth of a vine-covered cave that was almost completely disguised against the mountainside.

  His wits were slow, senses almost numb with shock and despair.

  JACKIE, JACKIE, JACKIE.

  Slowly he took it in — He recognized this cave as though he had been here before — The details — The way the vines grew in a strange zig-zag pattern across the opening…

  Slowly his mind was unclouding… And then he remembered —