He found the motel, called The Desert Inn, a seedy dive with a front office at one end anchoring a strip of twelve cookie-box rooms with tattered doors. Each door had its own patch of dirt out front that served as a parking spot, two occupied with run down pick-ups, the other a mini-van with Arizona plates. The entire establishment was painted a pale sickly green with three cartoon lizards smiling and waving on a sign alongside the office door, the word Vacancy! floating in neon next to their mouths. Jerry entered the office.
Inside, behind a small counter, a man sat alone at a fold-up table playing cards. All wrinkled up, he looked a lot like the merchant in the souvenir shop, and Jerry figured that a lot of the people in this God-forsaken town must be related in one form or another. He wore dirty trousers and a yellow woven shirt with brown sweat-stains at the armpits. He stood to greet Jerry. “Howdy. Help you?” His voice was sharp, his lips so thin they disappeared into his mouth when he smiled.
“I need a room.”
“Sure looks like ya do.” The man raised an eyebrow. “Been walkin’ around the desert?”
Jerry forced an impatient smile. “How much for the night?”
“Oh...ten bucks’ll do it. Keys are in the back.” The man walked into a curtained-off room.
Jerry rubbed his tired eyes. Inky blotches on the insides of his eyelids formed the shapes of lizards, each one dancing about on its hind legs, taunting him with sharp, reaching claws and gaping mouths.
He heard a hissing sound.
He tore his hands away from his face. The paranoia that had tempted him back at the souvenir shop flirted with his mind again. This time he could not ignore it, regardless if it was simply exhaustion decepting him.
He heard it again, coming from the back room.
Clenching his fists, he circled behind the desk and pulled the curtain aside.
Jerry gasped at the sight.
Two old wooden ladders had been arranged in the center of the room about five feet apart. A plank of wood ran from ladder to ladder, tied to the top steps. Three Gilas, each about three feet long from nose to tail hung upside down from the plank, their rear legs and tail bound to it with a length of rope. The lizards on the ends had one front claw tied to the second step on the ladder next to it, the other bound to the adjacent leg of the Gila in the middle. A small metal rod had been inserted into their jaws, prying them open, and a yellow, pus-like discharge dripped into large tin cans below.
“Venom.”
Jerry leaped at the voice. He clutched his chest, as though to keep his expanding heart from escaping his throat. “I...I didn’t mean to sneak back. I heard the hissing...”
The proprietor grinned, shrugged his shoulders. “I store it and sell it. Quite valuable, you know.” The man handed Jerry a room key, smiled. His teeth were mottled with dark stains, and Jerry thought he saw a drop of that vile venom trickle from his top lip.
You’re hallucinating again...
Jerry eyed the key. Room 11. Lucky number. He handed the man two fives and quickly escaped outside.
Bright moonbeams leaked through the clouds and entered his wake like a flashlight’s flicker searching a musty cellar. The neon from the smiling Gila sign illuminated the arid surroundings in a sickly, phosphorescent glow.
He allowed his eyes to wander about the dry, decrepit environment. He wondered if Tony and Vito were lurking just beyond the periphery of his eyesight, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce...
He heard a scream.
It came from behind the motel, not the playful wail of a girlfriend being tickled, or a child in a game of chase, but a scream of fear, of sheer and mortal terror that might shred one’s lungs into bloody strips.
Jerry raced around the motel to a small courtyard of grass that tapered into the dark expanse of the desert. Deep in the distance he saw a bonfire raging, flames jutting high into the night sky, their dancing spires in prayer to the semi-blanketed moon. Gathered around the site were a crowd of bustling people, maybe forty or fifty, hands raised high, excited. They cheered in unison.
Jerry moved towards the gathering, crouched, trying not to draw any attention to himself as there was no cover in the open field of sand and tumbleweed. An escaping shaft of fire-light illuminated the congregation as he approached, and he had trouble understanding what he saw. It looked like a bizarre Halloween party, all of them wearing masks and head-dresses, clad in green rags like the roadkill man. Men, women and children alike--all dressed like Gila monsters.
The crowd suddenly quieted. Jerry stood rigid. At first he thought that maybe he’d been spotted, but none of the masked faces were pointed in his direction.
Something was about to happen.
He half expected to hear another scream, but from amidst the hushed whispers of the looming horde, tired labored moans leaked through like the ghostly cries of a soul trapped in the woodwork of a haunted house. They sounded helpless, drained, the voices of individuals all but prepared to surrender to whatever horrific fate awaited them.
Jerry inched closer, fifteen feet away. He leaned to his right, peered through a break in the circle.
He felt suddenly ill and clutched at the air until his fists turned pale-knuckled. Stupefied, he couldn’t move--he could only feel the muscle-tearing beat of his heart as watched the terror unfold.
A middle aged man and woman, both decked in tourist garb--cotton shorts, floral tops--had been taken prisoner, their ankles and wrists bound to wooden poles as if they were to be burned as witches in a Salem witchcraft trial. The woman’s head gyrated wildly around on her neck, and even in the firelight Jerry could see the pallid, eye-bulging contortion of her face, mouth twisted in an impossible shape. The man, whose tire-roll of fat was escaping his belt, thumped and hissed in a fit, trying to twist his way free of the binds.
The Gila people began to chant a syncopated rhythm. The couple screamed again, and then again and again, high blood-maddened wails that were quickly swallowed by the desert night.
Jerry cast a wary eye to the ground at the woman’s feet and had to choke back his own scream. The woman’s left foot was gone--into the mouth of a large Gila monster. Her sneaker, nestled in the sand, was soaked with blood.
The crowd chanted louder, their echoes whirling about like maniacal phantoms. Two more Gilas appeared, just as large as their predecessor. They perched up on their hind quarters and leaned against the man’s naked legs, their black beady eyes aglow in the fire light, their mouths gaping, spitting forth the most evil of sounds. Their claws swiftly ripped into the exposed flesh of the man’s thighs, releasing a stream of blood that was urgently lapped up by their thick slithering tongues. The man let out another huge whooping scream that quickly tapered down into a bubbly moan, and he slumped, unconscious and blue.
More Gilas gathered, hissing and squealing in a frenzied state, tumbling over one another. The woman, her leg now consumed to the knee, started convulsing, gnashing and contorting at the sight of the additional monsters. They attacked, their razor-sharp claws slicing into her body. Blood, thick and red, gushed down, swamping the Gilas, and soon her legs were strips of gore dangling at the knees like blood-drenched ticker tape.
In death, only their faces were untouched, but their final, lasting expressions were frozen in a rictus of terror.
Still more Gilas gathered. As many as fifteen reptiles were now clinging to the tourists like giant parasites, and even more were still trying to clamber up, to get their share. Soon the poles, burdened from the weight, uprooted from the soft sand and gave way, and what was left of the tourists toppled to the desert floor.
The Gilas ate, devil-red mouths sopped with gummy venom and blood, gnawing through muscle, sinew, and bone. Jerry, utterly sickened, finally broke his inaction, bent over at an odd angle, closed his eyes and vomited cola and bile.
When he opened his eyes, a pair of bare feet were there, edging his vomit. He looked up, head pounding so hard it felt it would split in two. A lizard mask peered down at him. “I believe this
is yours,” the muffled voice behind the mask said.
A tire-mauled Gila dropped to the sand.
~ * ~
An unmasked moon cast beams down that reflected off the hood of the Corvette as Tony and Vito crawled into the town of Gila Way.
A celestial bonfire raged in the distance. Tony hit the brakes and switched off the lights in the same motion. The windshield appeared to be alive with firelight. They were both silent at first, mesmerized by the dancing flames. “It’s so...spooky,” Vito finally said.
For once Tony agreed with him. It didn’t seem to fit. Something strange was going down in the town of Gila Way. The street was deserted, yet a fire burned bright on the outskirts. In his mind, Tony felt as if the fire was alive, an entity beckoning him forward with spectral strength. He swallowed. “Let’s go check it out. He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”
~ * ~
Tightly bound ropes dug into Jerry’s wrists and ankles. He tried to wriggle free from the pole, but could only manage to twitch.
By this time, the Gilas had completely ripped the two tourists to shreds and dragged every piece away into the dark of the desert. Jerry could hear the reptiles squealing in the distance, fighting over the last juicy morsels. Only smears of blood and shreds of clothing remained of the couple.
A horde of lizard faces surrounded him. They began to chant.
Jerry screamed, quietly at first, then at the top of his lungs, his voice filling the desert. He trembled violently. The locals chanted louder. A creeping, tomblike cold raced through his blood.
He heard a demonic hiss, not too far away. The Gilas. They were coming for him.
The locals crowded in. Jerry tried to cry above their rising incantation.
A gunshot tore into the night.
At once the locals scattered like fish avoiding a rock dropped in a pond, leaving Jerry to fend for himself on the pole. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Tony and Vito making their grand entrance through the parting crowd. They looked awfully ridiculous walking through the desert, wearing suits and gold chains, guns raised high. Tony yelled “Yah!” or something like that then fired off another shot in the air. The locals scurried further--some all the way back into town--allowing the goons total access to a helpless Jerry.
Tony faced Jerry, smiling. “I can’t wait to hear this one.”
Jerry was shaking wildly, his nerves jangling like fire alarms. His spent mind tried real hard to figure out whether he was happy to see the two goons or not. “H-help me, please...” he pleaded though cracked, stuttering lips.
Tony grinned, so wide his teeth looked like Christmas lights. “I should let these nuts have their way with you. God only knows what you did to piss ‘em off.” He glanced about the scene. Vito was holding the crowd at bay, swinging his .44 in a wild arc. “Looks like they were gettin’ ready to shish-ke-bob your ass.” He laughed, then grabbed Jerry’s face, gave it a hard squeeze. “Don’t you worry though...I wouldn’t let anything happen to you before I got my money.”
Tony summoned Vito, who at this point had successfully scared off the locals. All of them had retreated, but still kept a watchful eye on the goings-on from the safe distance. Vito jogged over, whacked Jerry on the cheek with the butt of the .44. White-hot pain ripped through his skull. The goon then leaned down and untied the ropes, and Jerry fell helplessly numb into the desert sand.
Vito grabbed him by the shirt. In the distance Jerry could hear the locals starting their strange chant again. He tried to crawl away, fingers digging into the sand. He was terrified. The chants...
“C’mon!” Tony yelled. “Let’s get outta here.” He sounded panicky. He must’ve seen something...
Then Vito screamed. Jerry smelled copper. Blood.
Vito’s grasp on Jerry suddenly came free and Jerry spun around in a rambling circle to see what had happened.
A Gila had found Vito’s leg and was digging its claws into his calf muscle. The goon was trying to kick it away, with no success, and then there was an indescribable ripping noise as the lizard dug its jaws into Vito’s muscle-bound thigh and bit a hunk of fleshy meat away. Vito stumbled down, helpless, blood squirting from the gaping hole in his leg, slashing haphazardly at the reptile with the gun. He caught it good in the neck a few times and green blood squirted from its wounds. Wicked squeals blurted from its mouth as it spit away pieces of pant fabric and scraps of flesh. Then suddenly from behind them there were countless hisses and squeals, and they appeared like magic, twelve, maybe fifteen Gilas, mouths saturated with sticky venom and blood-red residue from their earlier meal. They pounced on Vito like lions on a Zebra in the jungle, ripping though his suit as if it were made of paper-mâché.
On his back, Vito dropped his gun and stared up in silent terror, in perfect position as the ultimate sacrifice.
Tony stood petrified, witness to the grotesque horror, and when he could take no more he finally found the inner strength to turn away, put a convulsive arm around his gut and throw up.
It wasn’t nearly enough to spare him. Two squealing Gilas pounced him as he vomited, attaching their razored hooks to the sides of his head and tackling him to the sand. The goon screamed at the top of his lungs, arms and legs flailing in seizure-like fashion. Another lizard trotted over and swiped at his chest. He grabbed the lizard around the abdomen, tried to pull it away but was unable to, and it savagely closed its bloodied mouth around his lower jaw and ripped it from his face in a single effortless jerk, leaving behind a stringy mess of tongue, blood, and vomit.
Through it all, Jerry managed to wobble to his feet and take a few steps back.
But he did not flee the carnage. Instead he kept his eyes pinned to the fray, staying close by, waiting, just in case...
Slowly, one by one, just as before, the Gilas dragged their share into the desert. One ran by Jerry with an arm in its mouth, another with a dress shoe, the foot still in it. And just as before, when the Gilas were gone, all that remained was spatterings of blood, shreds of clothing, and the wild squeals of distant pleasure.
Jerry took a few wary steps forward, heart pounding crazily. Stepping through blood and sand, he sifted through Tony and Vito’s bloodied clothes until he found what he was looking for.
Then he ran as fast as he could out of the desert, back into the town of Gila Way.
~ * ~
Jerry knocked on the door of the trailer.
He heard slow, tired footsteps. A banging noise inside. The door creaked open and Louise was there, eyes mid-drift, hair disheveled. It had been four days since Jerry left with her money. She had never expected to see him again.
She let out a hateful scream and tried to slam the door but Jerry was too quick. He forced his way in, tackled her to the couch, held his hand over her mouth as he pinned her down. Two gold chains dangled from his neck.
Louise grabbed the chains. “You bastard! Where’d you get these?” Her brow furrowed into an angry triangle.
Jerry smiled. “Never mind that. I brought you something from Vegas.”
Her words froze and her tantrum ceased as he dropped a thick wad of hundreds in her lap. Her anger immediately turned to astonishment. She grabbed the money, sloppily fanned it. “Where did you...? H-how much is it?” A devilish smile appeared on her face.
Jerry tucked Vito’s wallet further into his pant pocket. He returned the grin. “A little more than fifteen thousand.” He stood up. “C’mon, I got another present for ya”. He pulled her up and led her out to the side of the trailer.
Her jaw dropped.
A red 1998 Corvette.
He held up a set of keys, a gold “Tony” dangling from the key chain. “We’re getting outta here.”
“How did...gold chains, a car, money?” She was bedazzled and dumbfounded.
He pressed his lips against her cheek and whispered in her ear: “Let’s just say I got lucky.”
~ * ~
The morning sun peeked over the mountains. The Corvette’s shadow stretched out long an
d thin behind them. Jerry reached over and held Louise’s hand.
He hoped that going east this time would be the start of a better life together.
He pressed on the gas, pushed ninety. They drove in silence, into the mountains.
They slowed when the roads curved.
They passed a sign:
Eagle’s Nest
One Mile.
Somewhere above them, a screech. Jerry shuddered.
He pressed harder on the gas. It could take the curves. Besides, he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about this car breaking down.
He peered at the dashboard.
The needle read “E”.
Jerry coughed. So did the car.
Murder in the Eyes of God
In the night there was a dreadful noise, the sound of the wind blowing snow over the frozen road. And then there was another sound--a scream carried infinitely by the wind, stolen from the throat of a young woman who lay dead in a wooded area, not two miles away.
Gauzy sheets of snow swept against Warren’s face as he stood in the center of Main Street, the quarter-sized flakes drifting all around in hazy circles, dulling the world to a starkly grey-tone. Muscles aching, he gazed towards a clutter of desolated elms, their naked branches casting dark shadows across the snowy sidewalk like gnarled fingers reaching to drag him away from his misery.
He extended his arms and loafed through a knee-high drift of unbroken snow onto a hidden path that led to what he hoped would be his salvation. He stopped for a moment to gaze at the intimidating structure poised before him, wondering if there would be agony or sanctification awaiting him when he entered. This uncertainty made him queasy and plumes of frozen breath spewed from his lungs in quickened bursts as his heart and mind raced with feelings of panic and emergency; it was the same blood-draining reaction he suffered every time he thought of Melissa Connor.
Demons, Freaks & Other Abnormalities Page 8