Demon Shadows

by Mike Sirota

  “Leave him alone, witch!” Gail cried. Using the stake like a child’s maypole, she swung around and struck the woman in the chest with the heels of her boots. Harriet Thorburn went down in the snow. Some ran to help her; Jane Tyler and Carl Stillwell headed for Gail, the librarian again raising her pistol. McClain stepped in their way.

  “Get back, now!” he ordered. “Janie, put that damn gun away! Is she all right?” he asked the others.

  Brushing away Nora’s and Roy Stillwell’s helping hands, the matriarch stood. Some of the madness seemed to be gone. She looked at McClain.

  “It’s time,” she said.

  The nine surviving descendants of the ill-fated Thorburn party formed a widely spaced straight line, their backs toward Paul and Gail and the fire. They were transfixed on a single spot in the forest—not by the sentinel pines or the place where most of them had entered the clearing, but somewhere else, the trees in the direction of the lake. Paul stared past Harriet Thorburn, who stood in the middle, to see what they waited for. The moon was in its first phase and gave meager light. Still, the figure that appeared was clearly visible.

  The same figure their ancestors had seen in the forest nearly a century and a half ago.

  They had called him Mr. Black then.

  Now his name was Joe Landry.

  Paul knew him, even with a scarf around his face and shadows of the forest in his path. He walked slowly toward the disciples, stopping in front of Arthur but looking past the big man at the prisoners.

  “We’re ready,” Harriet Thorburn said.

  Landry shook his head. “No you ain’t.”

  He waved Arthur to him and spoke briefly. The cook nodded and trudged off toward the sentinel pines.

  “This is irregular,” McClain said. “What’s wrong?”

  Dismissing the question with a curt wave, Landry walked toward Paul and Gail. McClain stayed close behind the dark man. Landry’s gaze was on Paul when he stopped.

  “I’m glad it’s this one,” he said. “Don’t like him much.” Landry took a step toward Gail and began unraveling his scarf. He looked her over, his eyes undressing her.

  “I woulda liked some time with you before this,” he said, then shrugged and turned away.

  Motioning for McClain not to follow, Landry walked to the fire, circled it once then went to the edge of the creek. Paul watched him standing there, staring into the water. What was he doing? What was he seeing? Paul glanced at the descendants. Landry’s actions seemed to puzzle them. Apparently this was not the way.

  Then Landry gestured toward the sentinel pines. Everyone looked. Arthur Tyler emerged, a large burlap sack slung over his shoulder. Despite his strength he bent under the weight. Landry ordered him to empty the sack in front of Paul and Gail. Arthur pulled the knot.

  Mary Sherman, bound and gagged, tumbled into the snow.

  “Oh Christ, no!” Paul exclaimed.

  McClain looked at Harriet Thorburn, then Landry. “Why is she here?” he demanded.

  “Caught her an hour ago, sneakin’ around in your office. Second time she was somewhere she shouldn’t be today. Used a screwdriver to break in. But she had keys for the rest of Big House. My keys.” He looked at Paul. “Some of which we found on him. I remembered they was chummy too. Figured she knew what’s goin’ on.”

  “What was she doing in Walter’s office?” Harriet Thorburn asked.

  “Couldn’t tell.”

  “Why don’t we find out?” the sheriff said.

  “It doesn’t matter!” the old woman snapped. “She’ll die too. Get her up.”

  McClain turned away, his shoulders sagging as he walked back to the fire. “Look at him!” Paul shouted to the descendants. “He knows you’ve gone too far this time. Don’t you, Walter? Here’s another accident you’ll have to explain!”

  “You shut your mouth,” Jake Stillwell warned.

  Jane Tyler cut the rope from Mary’s ankles while Carl Stillwell retied her hands around Gail’s pole. They removed her gag last then backed away, most drifting over to McClain. Landry walked back to the creek, separating himself from the others. The descendants appeared to be troubled and were speaking among themselves in a way that reminded Paul, ludicrously, of a football huddle.

  Mary was shaky. “Are you all right?” Paul asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah, great. Hello, Gail. Hell of a place to meet, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry this happened to you,” Gail said.

  “My fault. So stupid, getting caught like that! Twice in one day, no less.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I got into Harriet Thorburn’s rooms and was looking around when a maid—that cute little Mexican girl—found me. I did some fast talking, convinced her I was up there to see the old woman. She took me back to the sitting room, said that’s where I had to wait. I would’ve gotten out of there after she left, except that Ms. Thorburn showed up. So I interviewed her! Told her I needed background for my work. She was cooperative, but I think she was suspicious.”

  “So you got through it,” Paul said. “What did you do then?”

  “Wasn’t much I could do. Like you, I figured everyone was watching me. And there wasn’t anywhere left to look. So I waited, hoping you’d found Gail in town and gotten out of here. It was harder than hell not knowing what was happening.

  “Then, a little while ago, I was looking out my window and saw some of them on the path to your cabins. That didn’t make sense, so I followed. It wasn’t easy; I had to hide a few times. But I finally saw where they were headed, and I heard one mention your names. I knew what was going on.

  “This time I had to get into McClain’s office and use that radio. But he was still there, and others were around. It took a while, especially having to break in.”

  “But Landry caught you before you could do it,” Paul said.

  Although the descendants were far enough away, Mary dropped her voice even more. “Wrong, dear boy. I got through.”

  “Oh, Mary!” Gail cried.

  “Talked to the sheriff’s office in Tahoe City, told them as much as I could in a minute without sounding too crazy. Mostly I tried to make them understand that the danger up here was immediate.”

  “So the cavalry is coming,” Paul said.

  Mary shrugged. “But I don’t know if they’ll make it in time. The roads are buried, and the few available helicopters in the area were sent to an avalanche at one of the ski resorts.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I think Jessica Fletcher would’ve done better.”

  “Mary, you did great,” Paul said. “But we may not need the cavalry for anything but cleanup.”

  “What do you mean?” Gail asked.

  “You’ll see. They’re coming!”

  Their huddle over, McClain and Harriet Thorburn led the others back to where they had first waited for Landry. Their uncertainty of a few minutes earlier seemed overcome by strong-jawed determination. The dark man turned away from the creek and walked several yards past them, toward the center of the clearing. He faced the nine descendants and the prisoners, his hands raised. For a moment there was silence, a choking, unnatural silence so intense it seemed as if no sound would be heard should someone try to speak. Even the fire blazed mutely.

  There would be no more silence after that.

  Landry’s voice rose. No. The voice came from inside him, but it wasn’t his voice. The singsong chanting of an ancient shaman, uttering words that Time had forgotten since the death of the Indian. Loud, eerie; then louder. Landry—Mr. Black—began peeling off his clothes, tossing them to either side. He was naked now, his leathery body covered with deep crimson scars from hundreds of self-inflicted knife wounds. Bending, he dug under the snow and withdrew a dagger of such polished steel, it reflected the fire with blinding light. He cradled it in two hands, holding it out toward the disciples.

  “Christ,” Mary said, staring in horror and disgust at the ravaged body.

  “What is he doing?” Gail cried.

 
; “It doesn’t matter,” Paul told her. “This is as far as it goes!

  “Listen to me!” Paul shouted. “It’s over! Do you understand? There are others who know about you and are on the way! This…is…over!”

  The descendants turned, gazing in confusion at the prisoners and at one another. Carl Stillwell finally said, “He’s lying. They didn’t have no chance to tell anyone.”

  Paul looked at McClain. The associate director was pallid. “Ask him! He knows it’s true!”

  “What’s he talkin’ about, Walter?” Roy Stillwell asked.

  McClain sighed. “The radio. She got to the radio.”

  The descendants, like a herd of cattle, gazed dumbly around. Jane Tyler cried, “Then it is over. We have to get away from here!”

  “And go where, Janie?” McClain snapped. “You know we can’t ever leave the mountains, not for long. No, we’re staying.”

  “But we can let them go,” Nora said. “We don’t have to do this no more!”

  “No, we have to finish it!” Harriet Thorburn screamed. “They have to know we kept our part till the end!”

  The sheriff nodded. “Damn right.”

  Nora held out her hands. “But it ain’t gonna matter now if—”

  “You shut your mouth, woman,” McClain warned. “Don’t forget you’ve been a part of this since you were a kid. We’ll play it out—all of us!”

  “Walter, for God’s sake—!” Paul cried.

  “Another word from you,” Harriet Thorburn said, waving a gloved finger at him, “and we’ll not only cut out your tongue but your woman’s too. Now get on with it!”

  Defeated, Paul shook his head and tried not to look at Gail or Mary. The descendants turned to Landry, who had waited silently during the confrontation. He smiled without humor, amused by what had transpired among these people, all of whom he loathed. Then he started chanting again. His eyes changed, growing blank as he swayed to his own rhythm.

  Not all the descendants watched the scarred man. Nora glanced behind her a few times at the prisoners. Arthur did it once, until his sister pinched his arm and made him look ahead. Jenny, drifting even farther away from reality, looked everywhere, sometimes smiling vaguely, especially when her gaze lighted on Paul or Gail.

  Landry held the dagger over his head in both hands. He brought it down slowly, the point toward him. No patch of his skin was unscarred. The tip penetrated leathery flesh below his neck. Paul stared in disbelief. Mary and Gail cried out, the older woman struggling against the urge to vomit. Still chanting, Landry cut a vertical gash down his chest. He withdrew the blade and spun around, though not before Paul saw blood pour from the wound. It darkened the snow between Landry’s legs, a circular stain that grew to several inches across before it stopped dripping.

  Like oil on water the stain slid across the surface of the snow, leaving no mark behind, until it was absorbed by a drift in the middle of the clearing.

  Landry’s monotone grew louder. Now a second voice joined his. Harriet Thorburn’s shrill cry sounded like the imitation Sherri Jordan had done for Paul his first night at the colony.

  Sherri Jordan, who had also witnessed this scene.

  The old woman ripped off her clothes as she joined the dark man, her shriveled body oblivious to the cold. She took the knife from Landry and laid it ceremoniously in the snow.

  Harriet Thorburn, who had inherited the legacy from her famous ancestor, had become a participant…

  Because she enjoyed the role.

  The wind rose. No, the sound of wind, for they felt nothing, nor did the fire jump or a branch sway. It roared toward them, like the rush of an oncoming train, until some of the descendants had to cover their ears. The prisoners did not have that luxury.

  “Look!” Mary cried. “My God, what is it?”

  A small dark shape emerged from the creek. Another sound assaulted the clearing. Paul had heard it before: the pathetic keening from the lake. The thing crawled up the bank, red eyes aglow in the firelight, black fur glistening from the icy water. Baring its mouthful of teeth in a mocking smile, the Water Baby draped itself across a log to watch.

  A second and third came up, their infantile wails joining the first. Landry saw them too, opened his arms then waved brusquely, as if in dismissal.

  These, Paul knew, weren’t what Landry had summoned or what the descendants awaited.

  “Paul, I can’t stand this!” Gail screamed.

  He tried to move the pole, pulling against it, pushing it with his shoulder. Nothing. Gail used her teeth on the rope but stopped. There would be no time to finish.

  It had begun.

  The descendants, except for Harriet Thorburn, turned around and knelt in the snow, their eyes down. Beyond Landry and the old woman, near the place where his blood had vanished, were three dark spots. Small, but growing larger. Extending lengthwise, slowly, steadily, toward the place they had touched many times before.

  The pair awaiting the shadows waved their arms and continued to chant an unnecessary summons. McClain, the Stillwells, and the Tylers swayed to the bland rhythm. Nora, powerless, shook her head.

  No one expected Jenny Fry to stand up.

  The young woman stared at the shadows for a moment then faced the others. Something was different about her when she spoke. “What is our debt to them? Lives, give them lives. And if we don’t? Then we pay with ours!”

  “Jenny, stop it,” Carl warned.

  “I’ll pay!” she cried. “I don’t care. They put this on us, our parents, and the ones before them. We never wanted it. So let’s pay. Let’s have it written off!”

  “Jenny!” Carl exclaimed. He stood.

  The shadows crept closer.

  “Paul, Gail, they won’t hurt you,” she called, walking toward them. “I’m—”

  Jenny’s eyes grew wide then rolled back in her head. Blood erupted from her mouth. She toppled in the snow. The knife Harriet Thorburn had pushed into the base of her skull was left there. Twisting around, the old woman confronted Carl Stillwell, towering over her. The stunned deputy wanted to reach Jenny. Harriet Thorburn shoved him away.

  “Get down!” she shrieked. “All of you, stay where you are!”

  Carl obeyed, but his gaze remained on Jenny. Harriet Thorburn warned the rest of them with a glare and rejoined Landry.

  The shadows had crept to within a yard of the pair.

  There was still nothing in the clearing that could have cast them.

  Carl’s body shook as he sobbed. Nora glanced at the prisoners. Jane Tyler seemed as spellbound by what transpired as the matriarch. She no longer was aware of her brother, who looked around inquisitively, his mouth agape. McClain, pale as death, stared at Jenny.

  The shadows spread out as they passed over the descendants.

  Paul stared at Nora. The agony in the woman’s face was clear, but again she turned away.

  The shadows fell across the gap that separated Paul, Gail, and Mary from the others.

  They were touched by the darkness, and a fierce cold, like nothing they’d known before, froze them inside. Mary pulled against the ropes in a frenzy that left the flesh on her wrists raw.

  “Mary, stop!” Paul shouted, futilely resisting the fingers of ice that raked his insides. “Please, stop it!”

  Those that cast the shadows appeared.

  The wailing of the Water Babies grew in delirious anticipation. Windsound roared beyond reason. Landry shook like an animal shedding water. Harriet Thorburn danced around him with spastic jerks, like a grotesque marionette. The descendants, their backs turned, knew what was there.

  “No!” Gail screamed. “OH MY GOD NO!”

  They grew like noxious weeds in a sequence of time-lapse photography, rising tall above the clearing. Three snaking things, enormous, each thicker than the bole of a lodgepole pine. They were…spinning, Paul realized. Like waterspouts or cyclones. Black dust devils. The top of each was wider than the base, the whole shape conical. They were not, however, swirling circles of d
ust, not wind and not water, but…things of flesh. Dark, slimy, their whirling occasionally shedding loathsome, scaly bits into the snow. Paul stared, but in spite of their size he could not distinguish a recognizable feature in any of the masses. At the end of their emergence they stood half the height of the pines. The spinning stopped and they became still, as though surveying what awaited them. Paul thought they swayed slightly; that might have been a trick of the firelight.

  They began moving across the clearing.

  The snow shielded whatever it was that propelled them along the ground. They came slowly, undulating in a perverse mockery of a dance. Again they began to spin, and although close together their individuality was apparent. They bent in the middle, their wider tops twisting down cobra-like just above the snow, hovering there like obscene gaping mouths.

  Harriet Thorburn, frothing like a rabid creature, reached a frenzied pitch as one of the dark orifices became the background for her gyrations. Landry stared at Paul, who felt the handyman’s words, because there was no way they could have been heard.

  The dal-yawii come for you, mushege. Greet them, and see if it will make the pain less. But I think not.

  Then a laugh—shrill, taunting. Harriet Thorburn, grinning, raving.

  The shadows covered the mountains and forests and quarter-moon as the dal-yawii snaked past their servants.

  Mary fell awkwardly to her knees, her eyes blank, for the moment spared from the sight of what approached. Gail tugged against the ropes and screamed without being heard. Paul couldn’t look away from the dal-yawii as they neared the descendants.

  He saw something in each of the wide black maws.

  Heads. Human heads. Or humanlike. Bunched tightly together in places, like clusters of grapes. Men and women, some children. Faces of unspeakable pain and suffering, mouths open in silent warning screams, dark tears of blood streaming down from wide, eyeless sockets. Colorless, unrecognizable faces…

  No, color in one. A larger face, new, not yet absorbed by any cluster. The color was on top: the hair, the blond-red punkish hair…