“What happened?”
“We hired an outfit from nearly 300 miles away to come here. Four bulldozers didn’t make it half a block down the street before every hydraulic hose on those machines busted. It was a big mess. The company made the excuse that it had been a bad batch of hydraulic fluid that ruined the hoses. That alone though didn’t account for what happened next.”
My gaze was pulled toward the house. From a distance the peeling paint gave it a textured appearance. The white that covered the façade had dulled to a stale brown. The yellow trim had chunks missing resembling a poorly eaten ear of corn. “What happened next?”
“The four dozer operators got some of the hydraulic fluid on them. There was some kind of reaction involved.”
“Reaction? What do you mean?”
“Their skin started to blister. By the time the EMTs got to ’em the four were writhing on the ground screaming in agony. I remember one witness described their skin looking like a pig’s that had been roasting over a pit.
“They were taken to the ICU at the hospital. Their condition was so bad the only relief they got was when they were given so much morphine it knocked them out. Even in their unconscious state their mouths and facial expressions would twist and contort in silent agony. Things would squirm about underneath the skin—like worms or something. Thankfully, the four died two weeks later. That’s when all their children started having nightmares.”
“Do you mean the children had nightmares because they lost their fathers?”
“That’s what the doctors blamed it on. No one from around here buys that story. The residents of this neighborhood left after Dooley was exposed because of nightmares they were having. There’s some kind of connection.” Jacobs ran his hand over the back of his head and wiped it on his pants. “I used to think all the stories of the evil unleashed when Dooley killed himself were a load of crap too. I’m not sure of what to think anymore. All I know is I want this over. I want this area leveled and a pond dug where his house sets. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here and let you get to work.”
I attempted to piece together the truth from what Jacobs said and didn’t say. This situation was far different from the picture that had been painted for me. I had anticipated a few of the murdered children’s surviving vibrations to be frolicking about creating harmless mischief. This was much worse than that.
“Tell me, Jacobs, do you suspect that a demon is involved here?”
“Demon? Like Casper the Ghost?”
“Hardly. What I have come to learn is that humans are born harboring another life form.”
“Another life form? Like an alien?”
“You could call it an alien but that wouldn’t be my choice of words. Scientists focus on physical evolution to explain life’s origins. What they have failed to discover is a separate conscious that evolved parallel with ours that every human harbors.”
“Wait, you’re saying we have more than just our own conscious inside our head?”
“Something like that. I suspect that the viruses that aided man’s evolution are the source. Viruses can’t reproduce without a host. At least 8% of the human genome is made up of endogenous retroviruses. Viruses are a mysterious life force, and I believe the ones in our human genome form a separate consciousness that lives and develops in all of us. That consciousness is the source of what we call evil. It’s that voice in your head that tells you to do bad things. Punch your sister in the arm, steal a piece of candy, or even molest and kill children. We have rationalized this force within us as the devil or some supernatural spirit. It’s not like that at all. Ghosts are not supernatural. After the body dies, remnants of our conscious remain as vibrations. So will vibrations of this other entity. Some vibrations are strong enough to interact with the living. There is no heaven or hell, angles or supernatural demons. There are only vibrations. As a particle physicist I can tell you with the utmost assurance, all matter, all reality, consists of vibrating strings.”
“That’s a little over my head.” Jacobs pushed his tongue over his front teeth.
“We spend our whole lives fighting this evil influence. Society has banded together in an attempt to control it by making laws and creating religions.”
“That’s an interesting theory but sounds kind of hard to swallow.”
Jacobs was like most others, refusing to accept the true conflict mankind warred with every day. “Do you know what the word ‘demon’ literally means?”
“No.”
“It means ‘teacher.’ No more than that. Man is not inherently evil. It’s the separate conscious that lives in all of us that tries to get us to do evil things. It’s that little devil on your shoulder whispering in your ear. Why? Because that is what this separate conscious desires. It feeds on evil perpetrated on others. It revels in pain, torture, and suffering.
“You, me, everyone fights for control with this conscious every day. Thankfully, the good in us prevails most of the time.”
“So this conscious can live after death? Is that what’s haunting the area, Dooley’s demon?”
“Yes. On rare occasions the demon can remain beyond the host’s death. It must be quite powerful to inflict the damage you have described.”
Jacobs sighed. “Well, I sure hope you know what you’re doing. You may even want to reconsider now that you know the whole story. I thought you were the best and could handle this. I don’t want you to end up like the others that tried.”
“Others? There were others that came before me and tried to exterminate the demon?”
Jacobs dropped his gaze to the ground. “Three others tried . . . all three died.”
*
The door unlocked and opened with a sigh of bending bones. Rays of sunlight outlined my shadow as the room woke from its restless sleep. Nothing looked unusual about a living room that had gone undisturbed for over four decades.
A vintage 1950’s sofa couch that would fetch a decent price at a flea market set centered against a wall with an oak coffee table positioned in front. The couch was off white in color and had a fine layer of undisturbed dust that clung to it like a second skin. An iron comedy/tragedy mask hung on one wall next to a black velvet picture of Elvis Presley wearing a grin of confidence next to it. A ceramic lamp with cherubs on the base set on a table next to the couch. The place reminded me of my favorite Aunt’s house, Aunt Jane. As a young boy I would spend a few days with her in the summer between school years. Her house always had the warm smell of baking pies.
“This looks as good of a place as any to pitch camp,” I told myself. My words echoed back and left me with a foreboding sense of loneliness. Perhaps I wasn’t as well prepared as I thought? I set the two gel cell batteries I carried in either hand down on the floor’s ancient carpet.
I returned to the car out front of the house and opened the trunk. For a brief moment I eyed the equipment, debating whether I was too hasty in accepting this case. Something was out of place. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Good grief, man. Get a hold of yourself.” This was so unlike me. What was it about Jacobs’s story that had triggered my doubt? Am I not the only man in the world who is both an acclaimed physicists and a leader in psychic research? I wasn’t some amateur learning his trade from Fate magazine. I had a reputation to maintain. More importantly, I had to preserve my own self-respect and prove I was stronger to my darker side. It was science that had proved unseen forces existed alongside man. It would be science that would bring the force that haunted the area to an end.
I retrieved the duffel bag and my laptop, closed the trunk and went back into the house. I intentionally left the front door open just in case I needed to make a fast escape.
It was 12:33 PM when I powered up the laptop as it rested on the coffee table. A separate device the size of a pack of cigarettes plugged into a USB port and also connected to the batteries now wired in series. The fans from the laptop stirred the dust from the table giving rise to stale air that tickled my n
ose. I sniffed holding back a sneeze and then went for the duffel bag.
The bag contained enough refreshments for the afternoon, napkins, and the hand held device I created that should soon rid the house of its evil. An energy drink I bought an hour before was covered in sweat but thankfully still felt cool. The spray of the pull-top sent a citrus-ozone fragrance into the room and after a couple of chugs later I stiffened my resolve.
“Let’s see here . . . okay, talk to me.” My fingers pressed a few icons on the computer screen—the fans increased in speed. A warm hum emitted from the device attached that sent osculating magnetic waves throughout the house. A radar circle appeared on the screen with a sweeping arm anchored to the center moving clockwise. No targets appeared in the circle that represented the area inside the house.
The front door slammed shut.
Instinctually, I bounded to the door and grabbed the knob. A sharp pain pierced my palm and forced me to immediately let go. I slowly backed away and returned my focus to the computer screen. A large red blotch left an image directly on the door’s location. I set the drink can down nearly toppling it over.
The door knob? It’s hiding in the door knob? This was unprecedented. Entities, as I called them, were a separate consciousness spawned by the minds of certain individuals. An entity would inhabit their unwary host until death. Then, the entity remained to exist as a vibration and inhabit a personal item of their deceased host. All matter is made up tiny vibrating strings. The entities had found a way to continue their existence beyond a human body. Residing in something loved, something cherished of their creator. Never had there been a connection found in such an emotionally detached object as a door knob.
Without haste, I plunged my hand into the bag and came back with the device I jokingly named the Terminator. A push of a button brought the circuits to life and began the start sequence.
Every entity vibrates at a unique frequency. The Terminator is able to detect that frequency, but it did more than that. The Terminator is able to find the resonance frequency of the entity, create one to match it, amplify it, and in turn destroy it. I describe how it works to others by likening the effect to that of a wine glass shattering by the soprano notes of an opera singer.
I pressed the cold metal probe to the door handle and watched the red LEDs flash as the waves sought to discover the ‘unique combination.’ The device beeped once and the LEDs remained lit. The knob began to hum as the Terminator matched the frequency and intensified.
The door gave a groan of stressed old wood. The air electrified and my hair stood on end. The wail of an injured banshee replaced the hum until it rose in a crescendo that left my ears throbbing in pain.
The room returned to silence. I had been holding my breath and inhaled deeply to fill my lungs. The stiffness that had built in my shoulders unwound. A quick glance at the computer indicated the entity was gone.
This job hadn’t been so bad after all. With some luck, I might be able to gather the equipment and return the car rental with time to spare and make the five o’clock flight out. Once again modern science proved that it had the solution to all mankind’s problems, those that were seen along with those unseen.
I reached for the energy drink I placed on the table and downed a few more gulps. A burp arose and left me feeling refreshed.
Something evil crept into the room just as I reached to turn off the computer. My gaze darted about expecting to find some vile apparition hiding in a corner ready to pounce. That had been my imagination running wildly. Nothing of the sort waited for my demise. What had entered though engulfed the room in a tide of sorrows.
The tragedy mask stared back at me as if it were crying at the impending doom about to fall, and the comedy mask reveled in anticipation. Elvis grinned as if waiting to spring upon a victim caught in a trap. The delightful chubby cheek cherubs glared back with devilish expectations contorting their expressions.
I rubbed my brow and looked back at the computer screen. A red blob now appeared in the kitchen.
The Terminator showed three-quarters power available. There would be no chance I would make it out alive until I brought the entity to its end. I didn’t understand how this thing was able to survive the first encounter. It should have ceased to exist. It must still be about the house, hiding in a prized object of its host.
One last chug of the energy drink left the can empty. I moved cautiously through the living room into the kitchen and came to a stop at the doorway. A table was to the right, a china cabinet with glass too dirty to make out the pattern on the dishes to the left. The sink was directly behind the table and had a row of cabinets above. On the adjacent wall next to the sink was the stove.
A knife block was the only item on the counter. The sunlight shone through the window above the sink. It glistened off the rivets fastening the black wooden handle of a meat cleaver. Is this where you’re hiding?
Another quick look around the room didn’t bring me any of the ominous feelings the living room had. There weren’t any pictures or objects there to judge me. I slowly stepped toward the sink and came to a stop as I reached the table. It was constructed of a cheap man-made surface and resembled wooden planks. It was probably the latest in modern decor of its day. One end of the table had a large blackish ring that I imagined outlined the perimeter of a platter. A trail of black from the ring spilled off the edge. I scratched the black, and it flaked off in small pieces. It was dried blood. Dooly had died in the chair that was right before me.
Coldness washed down my back as the image of Dooley eviscerating himself forced its way into my mind. Dooley’s expression shown euphoric madness empowered him. His wide grin exposed both rows of his yellow, rotting teeth. I watched as the killer carefully wound his bowels around the platter in a pile. He gave a can of whipped cream can a couple of shakes and squirted a mound of it on top. A jar of maraschino cherries waited to be open to crown the whipped cream. When he finished the masterpiece, he jabbed the knife he had cut himself with into his liver. He waited patiently for the bodily poisons to circulate through his blood and usher in the final darkness. I saw the pile of intestines through the eyes of Dooley just before I snapped back to reality.
I couldn’t think of a more horrible way to commit suicide. Still, even killing himself that way didn’t serve as penance for all the children he had murdered.
I let out a gasp and steadied myself against a chair. Had I been possessed? Did Dooley’s entity seek to usurp my control as it did him? I didn’t think that was possible. My regiment had been protecting me from the darkness for nearly ten years. I needed to find the object the entity inhabited and destroy it before the tables turned on me.
I moved quickly by the sink and pulled cutlery from the knife block. Some of the slots were empty to begin with. It totaled 3 steak knives, one butcher knife, one boning knife, and the meat cleaver. The boning knife most resembled the knife that Dooley had killed himself with. I surmised the meat cleaver was used to dismember the children in his horrific torture pleasures. There would be time to only test one.
The Terminator met the blade of the meat cleaver and began the process.
A wet chill pooled around my ankles.
The device searched for the frequency.
Thin unseen fingers rose from the floor and wound their way up to my knees and snaked their way over my thighs.
The blinking lights of the Terminator turned solid.
My bowels plunged into an unseen abyss and my sphincter muscle threatened to relax.
The fingers crawled up my belly and tightened around my chest.
The meat cleaver gave off a high-pitched hum as the Terminator matched the entity’s frequency and increased in power. Again the air charged and my hair stood on end. I pleaded for the device to get its job over with.
The fingers now circled around my throat but did not tighten. They continued over my face and cradled it tenderly.
The process had taken longer than with the door knob. In fact, I couldn�
��t remember a time when it had taken this long to destroy a vibration. The power bar on the side of the device flickered near the bottom. If it ran out of power before the end, I was doomed.
When the humming stopped, my ears rang with the screams of a hundred suffering souls. The ethereal fingers that had wrapped around my body vanished. The sunlight entering the kitchen appeared to brighten. Incredible relief replaced the unseen grip that sought to possess me.
I leaned against the sink and out of habit turned on the faucet’s cold water. Surprisingly, water spit out of the aerator and burped air until it flowed a steady stream. I let some run on my fingers and then held it to my nose. It smelled like ordinary water. I cupped my hands and let them fill, and then slowly washed away the impurities that had seeped from my skin through the ordeal. There was nothing to dry with save for the dusty curtains framing the window. I wiped my hands on my pants and dried as much of my face as I could on my shirt sleeves.
I bent my head back and closed my eyes. It was over. It was finally over. My second wind invigorated me, and I planned to be back on the road again in just a few short minutes.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a bluish cloud form on the kitchen’s ceiling. At first I thought the house was on fire but smelled no smoke to conclude that.
The cloud began to swirl and grew in size. A funnel of the bluish material dropped from the ceiling. On the tail of the funnel an apparition formed resembling a beehive. Faces of children pressed from the inside showing blank stares and silent mouths opening in protest.
The air grew thick and damp. A layer of slime started to build on my skin. There would be no weapon of science I could pull from my arsenal to deal with a power such as this.
“Hello, Lucas.”
Did I imagine the words in my head or had the apparition spoken audibly? It didn’t matter. Reality is constructed so that only an observer has to witness it for it to exist.
“You certainly are going to great lengths to rid this world of me. I don’t believe that I have caused you the grief to warrant such actions.”
Mind Hemorrhages: Dark Tales of Misery and Imagination Page 3