“If she can get into the shack.” Said Tom.
Kevin shrugged, “If anyone can I’m sure she can.”
Tom stood and looked out the back door. Rain pounded. Fat drops splattered the window. Distant thunder rumbled. Even though it was midafternoon, the gloom cast the grayness of twilight.
The microwave dinged. Tom watched as Kevin poked at the lasagna, closed the door and turned it on.
“Few more minutes, these big lasagnas take a while.”
Tom gestured towards the door, “So, we find the shack and find Sylvie.”
Kevin looked at him pointedly, “No, she’ll come to us.”
“But you just said-.”
“That she would stay in the shack? Yes she will. But she’ll come back here one more time,” Kevin leaned on the counter and looked Tom in the eye, “to kill you.”
Tom felt the blood rush from his face. He remembered Sylvie’s face twisted in hate as she held the axe over her head waiting to strike. Adrenaline surged through him and his stomach turned. His neck got prickly. His heart hammered in his ears.
He idly pushed a key on the laptop. The screensaver dissolved revealing Sylvie’s obituary. The pieces fit and it all made sense. Sylvie knew that Tom knew who and what she was. He looked up at Kevin, “Man, I’m sorry I got you into this.”
Kevin shrugged, “It doesn’t matter now. I’m in it as deep as you are. Plus there’s two of us and one of her.”
Tom nodded with a lump in his throat, “I’d understand if you wanted to bail.”
Kevin exaggerated looking shocked, “What and miss all this?”
Tom smiled, “Thanks man. I owe you big time and I’ll never forget it.”
Kevin smiled, “No problem.”
And then the power went out.
The house had been quiet before. Now, all sound was sucked into a vacuum. The air was oppressive in the silence.
“I’ll check the breaker,” said Kevin opening the cellar door and moving down the stairs before Tom could object.
Tom looked down the stairs into the dark gloom. Outside was the color of twilight, the cellar was seeped in darkness.
“I’m coming down,” said Tom as he descended a few steps.
“No need,” said Kevin as he appeared at the bottom of the stairs, “the breakers are fine. We must have lost power from town.”
Tom nodded. It happened every once in a while during storms. They had candles and oil lamps for such events.
“I’ll grab some candles,” said Tom hurrying into the living room. He picked up the two oil lanterns off the mantle. He opened a nearby drawer and grabbed four candles out of a pack of sixteen. A splotch of color caught his eye and he picked up a lighter before closing the drawer.
Kevin had set the lasagna on the counter by the time Tom got back into the kitchen.
“I think we lucked out,” he said removing the plastic lid.
The delicious Italian aroma of herbs mixed with garlic filled the room. Tom’s stomach grumbled in response.
Kevin got out a spatula, “Want some?”
“Yeah,” said Tom, as he started to sit back down at the table.
Kevin set down the spatula and reached for his pocket, “Dammit, I left my phone in the living room. Can you grab it for me? I’ve got a few clients I can’t ignore.”
“Sure,” said Tom going into the living room. He scanned the coffee table, the couch and the floor. No phone.
“Hey, you sure it’s not in there with you?” He called to Kevin.
“Nope, I already checked. Aww man, I bet I left it in the car.”
“I’ll get it, is your car unlocked?”
“Yeah.”
Tom strode towards the door and abruptly stopped. What if Sylvie picked that moment to show up?
“The back doors locked and I’ll keep an eye on the front,” called Kevin. “Do it quick and keep your gun handy.”
Tom opened the front door and ran into the cold rain. His partially dried clothes were immediately drenched again. Too late for an umbrella.
He opened Kevin’s car door and saw the phone lying on the floor of the passenger side. He leaned in and was overcome with the feeling of being watched and imagined someone sneaking up behind him. He grabbed the phone, jumped up and turned, expecting to be face-to-face with Sylvie. No one there. He scanned the empty yard and the dark forest behind it. Nothing moved in the gloom. His gaze moved back to the house and he nearly jumped when he saw Kevin standing in the doorway looking at him quizzically.
“You got it?” Kevin called through the pounding rain.
Tom’s heart hammered. He nodded and Kevin disappeared back into the house. Tom stood in the rain and gazed out towards the forest. He could imagine arcane shadows slithering out towards him although he saw no movement. He looked over to the apple tree. The hole under it was a dark spot on the ground. It reminded him of the box. He wondered if he should grab the backpack and then decided against it. For now, it would be safer in the car. He locked the car doors just in case.
Tom stared at the apple tree and thought about finding the box yesterday- even though it felt like it was a lifetime ago. He visualized Bridgette’s face and heard her voice telling him to please be careful and please stay safe. He closed his eyes. The rain poured over him. He promised her he’d find her. He opened his eyes and walked into the house.
He closed the front door and stomped his feet and shook his head. His shirt clung to him and his boots squeaked.
Remembering the box, Tom said, “Hey Kevin, I-.”
“You wanna beer?” Interrupted Kevin’s voice from the kitchen.
“Sure,” said Tom walking towards the kitchen.
He set Kevin’s phone on the counter. Kevin handed him an open beer. Tom peered at the foreign label. It was an expensive one he hadn’t tried before.
“I-.”
“A toast!” Said Kevin holding his own beer out, “To success!”
Tom smiled, “To success!”
They tapped the bottles together. Kevin tipped his bottle and gulped it down. Tom followed suit. The expensive foreign beer had a smooth taste followed by a bitter aftertaste. Tom took a few more swallows and grimaced and looked at the label.
“Drink it all for good luck!” Said Kevin tipping and drinking the last of his bottle.
Tom smiled slightly, brought the bottle to his lips and forced himself to finish it.
Kevin smiled, “You want another one?
“No, I-.”
“Sit down and eat,” said Kevin pointing to the table.
Tom bumped into the table and pulled a chair out. A plate full of lasagna was set in front of him, followed by an open bottle of whiskey. Tom tipped the bottle to get rid of the taste of the beer. The sharp whiskey burned the bitter taste away. The room spun for split second and stopped. Shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach. Tom picked up the fork and took a big bite. He was wrong. The whiskey hadn’t burned away the bitter taste.
Kevin set a glass of water in front of Tom and sat down opposite of him. He watched Tom carefully.
Tom took another bite. His stomach roiled. The room spun. He looked blearily at Kevin and said, “You gonna eat something?”
Kevin nodded and moved the glass of water closer to Tom.
Tom’s mouth was suddenly dry. His throat clicked when he swallowed. Gratefully, he picked up the glass of water and drank it all. He tried to set the empty glass down and missed. He stared dumbly at it as it tumbled and rolled towards Kevin.
Kevin stopped it and set it upright.
“Eat,” he said as he pushed the plate closer to Tom.
Everything slowed to a crawl. Kevin’s voice stretched, slowed down and echoed, “Eeeaaattt, ittttt willll maaaaaakkkkke yoooooouuuu feeeeeeel betterrrrr.”
Tom lifted his heavy head and looked at Kevin puzzled. The room spun and turned sideways. Tom tried to close one eye to focus, but both eyes blinked. He reached his hand towards the edge of the table to steady himself. His hand landed on the tab
le and slid. He could hardly hold himself up. Blackness crept through his vision and he saw Kevin’s calm face in the middle of it. He tried to lift his other hand and it bumped underneath the table and flopped on his leg. He reached towards Kevin. Kevin smiled slightly. Blackness settled on everything and Tom felt himself falling. He passed out before he hit the floor.
And the Horror Came Home
Blackness. Tom swallowed. His raspy, sore throat burned. He tried to open his mouth but couldn’t. Confused images tumbled through his mind. A dream. He tried to sit up and choked. He forced his eyes open using all his strength. A tiny pinpoint of light flickered before his heavy lids closed again. He willed his arm to move but nothing happened. He was a torso without limbs. He wondered vaguely what happened to his arms and legs. He concentrated on his eyelids. His right eye fluttered. The pinpoint of light wobbled and grew hazy as his eyelid forced itself closed again.
His arms tingled. I found my arms. The thought flitted through his mind. He smiled, but his mouth wouldn’t move. His head drooped and dropped towards his chest. He choked and gagged. He rolled his head and the choking stopped.
His eyelids squinted open. The small light flickered. He strained towards it, choked and stopped. Holding his eyes open took all of the strength away from his neck. His head drooped, he choked and tried to straighten it out again. His eyelids threatened to slide closed. The small flickering light remained. He tried to concentrate on it. His thoughts tumbled and collided. I fell down the steps, no, that’s not right… His tongue clicked on the roof of his dry mouth. He tried to lick his lips but they wouldn’t open.
He wearily watched the light. His mind shuttered through images of Bridgette, how she laughs, how she throws her arms around him. The light moved up and up. It moved closer. A candle. The electricity went out. And the thought skittered away. Something white behind the candle. The white thing and the candle moved closer. And closer. Closer. Tom moved his eyes from the flickering flame, down the white candlestick to a hand. A glimmer. He stared transfixed at the glimmer as it reflected the flame. The white thing, the candle, and the glimmer drew closer and stopped.
Tom’s numb mind plodded onto something familiar. The hand. No, the ring. It was Bridgette’s wedding ring. He looked numbly at the dirt streaked hand. It clenched the candle so hard the knuckles were white. He stared at the ring. Bridgette. I’m looking for Bridgette. And his eyes traveled to the lace covered wrist. The ring and the lace. An echo of laughter and music filled his mind. Someone called for a toast and glasses clinked. The small crowd applauded and called for a kiss. Laughter. Music. Bridgette’s face close to his. Her smile. Tom leaned forward and choked. He leaned back. His eyes followed the familiar white lace up the arm. A sallow neck. Dark, wet, stringy, matted hair hung limply on the shoulders.
He shuddered. His stomach roiled and bile filled his mouth. He opened his lips to spit, but his lips wouldn’t open. He gulped, gagged, choked and the bile bubbled up his nose. It triggered a choked-off sneeze that forced bile to dribble out of his nostrils.
His eyes blurred and focused. He followed the neck up to the face. Sylvie smiled. All familiar traces of Bridgette were lost within Sylvie’s twisted, malevolent features. Her eyes narrowed. She leaned close. Her fetid breath brushed his ear.
She hissed, “Hello Darling.”
Tom jerked back and choked. He leaned forward and gasped for air. His mouth didn’t open. His nose snuffled bile.
Sylvie stepped back. She lowered her head and glared at him. Her mouth curled into a leer.
“Such a shame,” she whispered. Her voice the sound of slithering snakes. “You murdered your wife and your best friend.”
Her leer widened. She dropped the candle and they were plunged into pitch black. Something cold and clammy made its way up Tom’s forearms. He jerked his arms. They wouldn’t move. His muscles tensed.
Sharp daggers tore into his arms and dug their way to his hands. Pain jolted Tom’s body backwards. He choked. He pulled himself forward. The cold clamminess moved up and down his arms smearing warmth he realized was blood. It dribbled down his forearms and pooled into his fingers. He flexed his fingers, but they barely moved. He wiggled his wrists, but they wouldn’t budge. He heard stealthy footsteps near him.
Cold, clammy hands rubbed his cheeks. He flinched. She smeared her hands across his face, down his neck, and across the front of his shirt. He smelled the coppery blood. He tried to shout, but it came out in a muffled groan.
He felt her fetid breath on his face, her slithery voice whispered, “And then you killed yourself.”
He felt her hands on his chest. He heard a crinkle of paper. She slid it into his shirt pocket and pressed the pocket closed. He felt her lean close. He leaned back. Choked. And straightened up again. And then he felt it. Lips, rotten and fetid, pressed next to his mouth. His mouth screamed, but couldn’t open so his mind did it for him. Agony and terror ripped through him. And then he saw a light moving down from the ceiling to the floor. No that’s not right, it’s moving down the stairs. The light stopped in front of him and he saw Kevin.
Kevin run, run! Tom tried to shout. But it was muffled and useless. Sylvie backed away from Tom, never taking her eyes off him. Kevin stepped forward, stood next to Sylvie and smiled.
Kevin walked towards Tom. He looked Tom up and down and nodded.
“Did you smear him with your blood?” Kevin asked.
Tom’s eyes darted to Sylvie. Bridgette’s once white wedding dress was covered in blood. It dripped off one of her hands and made a puddle on the ground. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. Her hand reached to her shoulder and ripped off the lace sleeve. She wound it slowly around her wrist stopping the flow of blood. She never took her eyes off Tom.
Tom jerked his gaze back to Kevin who had turned to watch Sylvie. Kevin nodded. He picked up Tom’s hands. Tom watched as his arms moved in unison towards Kevin. He saw that his arms were bound together from hand to wrist in white cloth and zip ties. Kevin looked at Tom’s bloody forearms and nodded. Tom saw several long deep scratches on each arm. Kevin let go and Tom’s hands landed heavily in his lap. Tom bent his neck to look, but something choked him and he straightened his neck again.
“The noose tightens every time you do that,” said Kevin.
Tom’s eyes widened.
“And you don’t want to hang too soon do you?”
Tom tried to struggle. His arms and legs didn’t move. He leaned forward to see his legs and the noose tightened. He leaned back and tried to gulp air through his nose.
“What happened, you might ask.” Kevin said watching his struggles. “You killed your wife and then yourself. You haven’t been yourself lately- I can surely attest to that if need be. Why, you even called in sick to work for three days. It appears you had some sort of a breakdown, wrecked the house, killed your wife, dumped her body in the river and then killed yourself.”
Kevin patted Tom’s shirt pocket, “Your confession says it all.”
He stepped back and looked Tom over, “One more thing before you go. Let me introduce myself. I am Lester Brimell. Your friend, Kevin, was sent to the year 1909 and from what I understand, Sylvie disposed of him quite handily.
“I must say, I had almost given up hope of finding the shack. After arriving here in the year 2009, I was in over my head. Thanks to you, and your dear wife, I was able to get my feet under me.
“Before I did Locum Tenens, I saw the shack and knew it contained power and treasure. Once I got settled in here, I tried to find it but couldn’t. I made it my life’s mission to find it again.
“And then, lo and behold, you show up at my doorstep babbling about Bridgette getting sent to the past. I couldn’t believe my luck! And, to make things better, you even had the book of Locum Tenens.”
Lester, looked at Sylvie and continued, “So, of course I had to come here to find Sylvie to tell her who I am and show her the book. I knew she’d want my help to adjust to the future. We spent all morning making plans fo
r ourselves and the shack. Glorious plans. Unfortunately, our plans don’t include you.”
Sylvie walked up to Tom, reached down and shoved the ladder out from under him. Tom felt himself fall. He heard a loud snap. He was surrounded by light. Bridgette held her arms out to him and he walked towards her. Love and light enveloped them both and they were gone.
Sylvie
Lester picked up the scissors worked at cutting the bonds off Tom’s legs, arms, and mouth. He inspected Tom, turned to Sylvie and proudly said, “See, no bruises. I knew the sheets would work.”
Sylvie ignored him and walked up the stairs.
Lester gathered everything up and stuffed it into the bag of bed sheet strips. He went to the shelves and picked up the 9mm he had given to Tom and Tom’s .357. He put both guns in the bag, carried it upstairs and set it on the kitchen table.
He picked up Tom’s plate and scraped the food into the sink. Then he dumped out the bottle of whiskey and ran the garbage disposal. He put the empty bottle of sleeping pills, the whiskey bottle, Tom’s beer bottle and Tom’s water glass into the bag.
He shoved the pan of lasagna off the counter. He picked up a few plates and smashed them on the floor. Satisfied with the kitchen, he went into the living room where he upended cushions and tossed a few books around. After that, he went into the bedroom.
Sylvie slowly followed.
Lester messed up the bed covers and turned around to look at Sylvie. She pulled out the .357 and shot him. Lester’s head exploded and blood and brains splattered the wall. He fell backwards onto the bed. Sylvie unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his jeans and walked out of the room.
Sylvie Page 20