by Liam Jackson
It was nearly midnight and there was no word from Kelly. Her concerns were interrupted by a series of sharp beeps. Tracking the sound across the room to her cell phone, Janet saw the flashing message that warned of a low battery. She quickly checked her purse for the charging cord, then her overnight bag. In a panic, Janet realized that she had left it back in her apartment.
"Great, just great!" How would Kelly find her with a dead cell phone? Maybe I can catch him on his cell phone. Janet searched her purse and found Kelly's number.
Hesitant to use the remaining power reserve in her cell phone, Janet used the motel phone and dialed the operator. Instead of ringing through, the receiver hummed and crackled with static, then with a loud and abrupt pop, the line died. Cursing the storm and telephone in alternating spurts, Janet slammed down the receiver. Now what? Then it came to her. Doris! I can use the phone in the office!
Janet grabbed her coat and stepped outside. The snow was rapidly forming deep drifts along the edge of the buildings, and she grimaced as she noticed that her Honda was nearly buried. Tucking her chin down into the raised collar of her jacket, Janet trudged through the drifts toward the office.
Cautiously, Mark made his way back across the room. His heart pounding like a trip hammer, Mark placed a hand on the doorknob, and then laid his ear against the cool wood. He stood there for a full minute, listening for the telltale sounds of deep breathing or snoring. Nothing. Moving to the right side of the doorway, he slowly turned the knob.
Mark pushed open the door just far enough to allow him a look inside. Sure enough, it seemed to be a bedroom, though from his vantage point, the bed appeared empty.
His nose wrinkled in disgust. Jee-zus! What's that smell? The putrid scent of decay wafted through the open door, then was gone, as if it had never been. Taking another deep breath and slowly exhaling, he cracked the door just wide enough to squeeze his one hundred and ninety pounds through the opening.
Damn, it's even colder in here!
His eyes were well adjusted to the darkness by now, but the near absence of light caused him to take it slow. Mark hated surprises, especially those that hid in the dark.
The room was larger than he expected but had few furnishings; a rumpled queen-sized bed, a couple of old chests of drawers, and a cheap vanity, minus the mirror. Along the east wall was a cramped kitchenette, complete with a small dining table and two chairs. Along the opposite wall was a long chest-type freezer.
A quick glance told him that the old man was out for the evening. Just as well, he thought. Though he was still pissed at being robbed, Mark really didn't want to hurt the old thief. In fact, he couldn't help but chuckle when he realized that he had been plotting to rob the old geezer before he discovered that the old geezer had gotten to him first.
He hoped to find the gun hidden haphazardly somewhere in the room, and just possibly some additional cash or other items of value. As long as he was here to loot the place, he figured he may as well do a thorough job. It would help if he had a little light to work with, but Mark figured it was too risky to turn on the overhead bulb. Using his lighter, he quickly located a flashlight lying on a small bedside table. A quick check revealed that the batteries were weak but still provided enough juice to produce a dim stream of light; exactly what he needed.
Moving quietly, Mark began a systematic search of the room, starting with the most obvious areas first. To his surprise, the chests and vanity were all empty. Not so much as a pair of worn-out boxers or a mothball. Suddenly his nose wrinkled involuntarily at another hint of rotting meat or raw sewage. The odor faded just as quickly as it came. Maybe some kind of animal crawled beneath the motel and died from exposure, he told himself. He was only grateful that the subfreezing temperature prevented the stench from being any worse than it was.
He next checked the bed, first carefully searching the pillows, then beneath the mattress where Mark was surprised to find a partial pack of Marlboro 100s. The pack was crumpled and the cigarettes looked a little worse for wear, but Mark decided they would still smoke. Triumphantly, he pulled one from the pack and tucked it behind an ear.
Moving around the bed, he headed for the kitchen area. He knew that people tended to get pretty damned creative when stashing valuables. One of his former jailhouse associates, a petty thief by the name of Cotton Milner, was fond of telling the story of how he once found a plastic bag filled with jewelry stashed inside a flour canister. "Ah, those were the days," the little thief was fond of saying. To Mark's dismay, the kitchen cabinets were empty.
Something's not right.
Puzzled, Mark pulled the cigarette from behind his ear and fired it up. He was sure that the old man had told him that he lived here at the motel "twenty-four-seven." Yet there were no clothes, no personal effects, or food of any kind. Suddenly, he heard the faint whispers of old and familiar acquaintances in his head.
Listen... listen... danger! Leave. Leave now!
"Oh, Christ," he groaned. Of all the times for them to show up! Mark felt the hairs raise along the back of his neck, but he pushed the insistent voices aside for the moment. He'd be damned if he was going to leave without his gun, or something of near equal value. Still, there was a new sense of urgency as he resumed his search.
He quickly checked beneath the dinette table and then pried open a small utility door that shielded the hot-water tank. Neither location held anything of interest or value. Frustrated, and with rapidly dwindling options, he turned toward the six-foot-long chest freezer.
No! Leave! pleaded the voices in unison.
Mark walked cautiously across the room, his sense of trepidation rising. The ringing had long since ceased and the weird warning bells were now clanging full-tilt boogie. The freezer. It was the only place he hadn't checked.
Slowly, he raised the heavy lid and squinted as the interior light came on, illuminating the contents and destroying his night vision. The freezer was filled to near capacity, a thick glaze of ice covering most of the packages. One end of the chest appeared to be filled with frozen food, while the middle and opposite end were loaded with large, oddly shaped trash bags. Lying squarely in the middle, wrapped in heavy layers of clear plastic wrap, was his handgun.
Mark tried to pick up the gun but it was frozen fast to one of the lawn-and-garden-size trash bags. Using the flat metal jimmy, Mark pried along the edges of the frozen package. Realizing that this would take too long, and with the voices fairly screaming at him to get out, Mark used the jagged edge of the jimmy and began slicing away at the plastic. Seconds later, Mark pulled the gun free, taking a sizable swatch of trash bag with it.
So the old bastard thought he would get away with it, did he? Mark chuckled. Man, is that old fool in for a surprise!
As Mark stripped the last of the frozen plastic from the gun, he noticed that the voices had ceased their protests. Now there was only a single lingering voice, sadly whispering, Too late, too late...
Mark laughed nervously. Speaking partially to himself and partially to the voices, he said, "I don't know what all that shit is about, but you people really need a hobby."
Mark extracted and checked the magazine. Damn, the old fart had either used up a full magazine of ammunition or else he had removed the shells and hid them somewhere. Mark dug into a jacket pocket and pulled out the last of his ammo; eight of the 240-grain semi-jacketed hollow-points.
He loaded the magazine, tapped it against the heel of his palm to securely seat the rounds, and then slipped it into his back pocket for the moment. He needed to check the gun thoroughly before loading it with the high-performance ammunition. Next, he worked the slide action a couple of times, making sure the ammo would cycle cleanly, then checked the barrel for obstructions. The heavy sheen of oil had done its job, protecting the gun from the moisture inside the freezer. The gun appeared to be in perfect working condition. Now it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.
As he started to lower the lid of the freezer, he glimpsed an oddly shaped, frost-cover
ed object protruding from the hole he had cut into the trash bag. Curious, he began brushing away the thin layer of ice. Within seconds, the object began to take shape and Mark realized with amazement that he was looking at a child's sneaker. He took hold of the shoe and pulled it from the bag.
For a long second, Mark stood motionless, his mind refusing to acknowledge the object that he held in his hand. Realization struggled with denial. In the end, he succumbed to horrid reality.
Mark threw the sneaker to the floor and stumbled backward, tripping over the edge of a small area rug and landing hard on the floor. Unable to look away, Mark stared at the bright red child's sneaker and the lower portion of the tiny leg that was still attached to it.
Too late... too late...
Janet was surprised to find the office front door unlocked. Peering inside, she saw that the living area was dark, but that a soft white light was shining from beneath the bedroom door. Hopefully, she wouldn't be disturbing Doris too much. She paused for a moment to stamp the snow from her feet, then stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her.
God, it's cold in here! The office phone was nowhere in sight, and in fact, Janet couldn't recall seeing a phone the day before, during her visit with Doris.
"Damn! I've just got to get in touch with Kelly," she muttered. "Maybe Doris has a cell phone or a cordless!"
Janet noticed the bell sitting on the front desk with a small placard reading, ring bell for service, after hours.
Cool beans!
As she reached for the bell, the bright glare of headlights suddenly flooded the room. Looking out through the plate-glass window, Janet could see that a large car had pulled up directly in front of the office door.
At least I won't be the only one disturbing Doris, she thought, grinning.
An unexpected, horrifying scream shattered the fragile silence, freezing Janet's blood in her veins. She was sure she had just heard the sound of a man whose soul had been ripped kicking and screaming from his body.
For the span of a single breath, Janet was paralyzed, her arms and legs refusing to acknowledge the impulse to run. Somehow, she managed to make it to the front door, running blindly from the office and straight into a pair of waiting arms. Janet screamed and struggled within the surprisingly strong grasp.
"Janet! Stop thrashing about! I'm here, now. Settle down, dear, and tell me what has you so upset."
Recognizing and responding to the older woman's soothing voice, Janet struggled to control her breathing.
"Doris! I... in there... I... needed to use... phone. There's someone in... there. Screaming!"
Doris turned and yelled to someone in the waiting car, "Wait here. We have a problem inside."
Immediately, the engine died, although the bright beams from the headlights remained trained on the office door.
Taking Janet by her wrist, Doris started for the front door. "Now, dear. You say someone is in my office?"
Janet nodded, "Your bedroom, I think. It was awful! Someone screamed... scared the shit out of me!"
The older woman maintained a calm expression, but her jaw twitched furiously at the news. She was clearly displeased with the prospect of someone invading her home.
"Okay. Let's go inside and see what this is all about."
Janet shook her head violently and tried to pull away. "Oh, no! I'm not going back in there!"
Doris smiled, but there was little humor or warmth in her eyes. The resultant tug was firm and far too strong for Janet to resist. "Oh, I think you have to, I really do. Now come along."
Confused, Janet struggled futilely against Doris's strong grip. The older woman manhandled Janet through the front door. Without pausing to turn on the office area lights, Doris made straight for the bedroom, dragging Janet along as if she were a young child. Doris flung open the bedroom door, and flipped on the light switch. Janet was unable to see past Doris, but she clearly heard the tsking.
"My, my. But isn't this quite the lovely mess?" Doris said as she shook her head slowly side to side. Despite being afraid of what she might see, Janet forced herself to peer over Doris's shoulder.
Only half the room was visible from her vantage point, but she had a clear look at the man sitting on the floor near the edge of the large bed. With his shoulders slumped forward and head nearly touching his knees, his face was hidden from view. He said nothing.
"Janet, dear, we are soon parted. I really hoped it would be under different circumstances, as I had great plans for you. But... well, things do happen, you understand."
With a sudden violent jerk, Doris flung Janet into the room and sprawling onto the bed.
"This really is a shame. I had hoped to deal with Mr. Pierce in my own good time. But you just had to go and fuck it up, didn't you, Mr. Pierce?"
"I... I don't understand, Doris. What's happening?" Janet scooted across the wide mattress and was about to stand when she saw the mutilated remains laying on the floor at Mark's feet. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound refused to come.
Doris moved to the center of the floor, smiling at Janet as if they were old friends. Raising her arms above her head and thrusting out her chin, Doris took in several shallow breaths, forcibly exhaling each time. Slowly, the whites of her eyes disappeared beneath a murky cloud the color of mud, and tinges of red appeared around the rims of the sockets. Within seconds, the transformation was complete.
Doris fixed her sightless orbs on Janet. Her lips began to move, forming words, but the voice no longer belonged to the older woman. Janet's mind reeled as she listened to the familiar masculine voice coming from Doris's mouth. "This is Detective Kelly. Stay right where you are. I'm on the way." Despite her apparent sightlessness, Doris sensed Janet's stunned reaction and cackled with laughter.
"Oh, you silly little bitch." Doris's voice had changed again; deep, throaty, and filled with unmistakable contempt. "You have no idea what you've stumbled into."
Janet's mind straggled to rationalize all that she was hearing and seeing, but it was too much. Too much. Growing panic threatened to overwhelm her senses.
Trying desperately to keep a cautious eye on the older woman, Janet could hear the distant sound of heavy boots shuffling across tiled flooring. She shifted her eyes back and forth, from Doris to the man on the floor. Janet began to giggle. Why not? None of this is real! she told herself. It can't be. It just can't... be.... The mad laughter trailed away and tears clouded her vision. Can't be...
Doris walked around the edge of the bed, nudged the dismembered leg aside with the toe of her shoe and stood over Mark. She leaned forward slightly and sniffed the air. Instantly her sightless eyes widened.
"Well, this is a surprise! Arnie said you carried the Blood, but I doubted it. So few of your kind are left, you understand. I must say, you're hardly what I expected. Descendents of Divinity and Divine Creation; what a divine fucking joke!"
The shuffling grew louder, and Doris smiled as a tall, gaunt figure suddenly filled the doorway. "Mr. Pierce, I believe you know my Arnie. After all, he's the reason you're here, isn't he?" At the sound of his name, Arnie's cadaverous face split into a wide, rictus grin, revealing two rows of elongated, needlelike teeth.
Mark slowly raised his head and glared at the woman standing before him. He followed her gaze and looked toward the doorway. The fetid stench of rotted flesh immediately filled his nostrils and warm bile rose up into his throat. A wave of vertigo sent the room into a tailspin, and Mark closed his eyes tightly and forced himself to breathe slowly. After a few seconds, the worst of the dizziness was past and Mark opened his eyes.
In the doorway stood a vague semblance of the old motel owner. He was dressed in the same dirty overalls that he had been wearing on the day that Mark had checked into the motel. Except now, the overalls were covered with dark red splotches and small bits of bone and gristle. A clump of dark-brown hair, held together by a thin, bloody strip of scalp, clung to the sole of one gore-covered boot. Mark thought the man was taller, and far more
ghoulish-appearing than he remembered. In his right hand, Artie held an unsheathed filet knife, eleven inches of razor-sharp 440 surgical steel.
Mark stared at the owner's face, looking for some sign of coherence. The man's face was expressionless, except for his eyes. The eyes twitched, rapidly shifting left and right. It was the same old man and it wasn't. Something deep within Mark's subconscious recognized this abomination of nature, sparking a seething, primal hatred. He also understood that this thing was deadly beyond belief.
Despite his revulsion, Mark glanced at the dismembered leg from the corner of his eye and he knew that the monster responsible was standing less than fifteen feet away. A low growl rumbled deep within Mark's throat. With the .45 hidden from view behind his leg and murder in his eyes, he glared at both Doris and Arnie.
Doris waggled her finger in his face. "Now, now, we can't have that, Mr. Pierce. I know what you're thinking, and as much as I'd like for you to try it, I have to keep you in one piece... for the moment."
Smiling in the direction of her companion, Doris said, "Arnie isn't as fragile as he looks, Mr. Pierce. I'm afraid you wouldn't last long in a tussle, and I have to keep you in one piece until they come for you. So please don't antagonize Arnie. He won't play nice if you do."
The ghoul grunted and shuffled his way inside the room. Standing at the foot of the bed, he was positioned to deny any chance of escape.
Mark looked up at Doris. His voice strained, he whispered, "Why? Why the children?"
Doris looked surprised by the question, then laughed. "Oh, Mr. Pierce! You are too funny! You already know the answer to that! Why? You want to know why? Because this is what we are and this is what we do!" Doris cackled loudly, the inhuman sound sending rivulets of ice along the length of Mark's spine.
He chanced a quick glance at the end of the freezer and spied the ammo magazine. It had fallen from his pocket at some point, probably when he tripped over the rug. Mark calculated the distance in his mind and weighed out his chances. He wasn't certain he could reach the magazine, load it into the gun, and get a round off before Arnie reached him with the filet knife. He needed a better opportunity.