Crimson Falls (The Depravity Chronicles)

by Joshua Grove

  “You really asked him to come?” Anna asked, wondering what a professor could really do for them. “What more can he do than tell us what animal the weapon came from?”

  “He is a capable man, Anna. I have a feeling his services may be necessary.”

  That’s awfully cryptic, Anna thought. And a little presumptive.

  “I am sure that was an unusual statement, Anna. But these are unusual circumstances.”

  “Indeed they are, David. Indeed they are.”

  “There’s one more thing, Anna,” David said. “There was a strange liquid around the entrance wound on the victim.”

  “Have you been able to discover its origin?” she asked.

  “If I didn’t know any better, which I’m not sure at this point if I do, I would say that it is some sort of saliva.”

  “Some form of saliva? How many types are there?” Anna wondered.

  “Well, there’s your regular saliva that you and I have. And then there’s saliva that isn’t human.”

  “So you think that perhaps an animal may have bitten him after he had been killed?” Anna asked.

  “That’s the thing, Anna. Although I have to run some tests, it looks to me like the saliva mixed with the blood while it was still warm. In other words, either our killer bit him, or there was a scavenger close by waiting for its turn at the kill.”

  “I need you to chuck reason out the window for a moment, David,” Anna began. “Forget logic. What is your gut telling you?”

  He paused too long for Anna’s comfort. Sighing softly, she decided she would give him the time he needed.

  “I think our killer likes to either bite or lick his victims.” Anna shuddered at his choice to use the plural.

  “You don’t think he’s finished, do you?” Anna asked.

  “Judging by the savagery I’ve seen this evening, he’s not done by a long shot.”

  “David, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure thing, Anna. What do you need?”

  “I need you to find the autopsy report for Matthew McMillan, Sr.”

  “Okay. I believe that was around 1990 or so. Last year we hired a temp to scan all hard copies into the computer database. I can fax it to you in the next ten minutes.

  “Great, thanks.” Anna was grateful that David was not a man who asked questions when he received strange requests. She also appreciated his discretion.

  “Anna, be careful.”

  “You too,” she said. She hung up the phone and looked at her children. She considered for a brief moment locking them up so whatever it was that was out there couldn’t get them.

  * * * * * *

  2

  As Michael Mullins regained consciousness he felt lightheaded and nauseous. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and remember what had happened. What a terrible dream, he thought to himself. Thinking he must have passed out at the Laundromat, concern for his health flooded his mind.

  “I must have hit my head,” he mumbled to himself, eyes still closed. In the distance he could hear the trickling of water. It felt damp, and he felt pain. The pain continued to grow more intense, coming from his neck and face. When he opened his eyes, he immediately noticed two things. First, he could only see out of one eye, and second, he was no longer at the Laundromat. Confused and disoriented, he realized he was standing, his arms outstretched above his head. He tried to pull his arms down so he could touch his face, but his hands were tied together and secured to some sort of hard, slippery surface.

  Panic began to take over. The nightmare in the woods must have really happened, and now he was being held against his will in some dark, unknown hideaway. He considered calling out to his captor, then began arguing with himself. Maybe it was better if he just kept his mouth shut and pretended to be unconscious? What if they planned on torturing him? If they had wanted him dead, the terrifying man in the woods would have taken care of that by now.

  What could I have done to piss someone off? Why would they want to kill me? After seeing Alan Brickton dead, it sort of made sense that someone might kill him. Granted, murder doesn’t usually happen in Crimson Falls. But still. If someone was going to be killed, it would be someone like Acorn Alan. But the sound of Anna’s voice in the woods, the larger than life attacker – something weird was happening and that creature was just getting started.

  As Michael silently cursed Anna for making him dust for prints by himself, he heard the sound of someone walking toward him. He slumped his head down and acted like he was out cold. His body almost convulsed with fear, and the pain was becoming almost unbearable. Suddenly it became clear that he may not be able to pull off looking unconscious. That thought only made him tremble more feverously. The footsteps were getting louder and closer.

  “Michael,” a deep male voice called.

  The voice was familiar, but he felt too incoherent to recognize it. He decided to keep playing dead.

  “Michael,” the voice repeated. It sounded almost like he was singing. The voice sent shivers down his spine.

  Play dead. Play dead, he kept repeating in his head. He tried to will his muscles not to move, to force his body to stop shaking.

  “I know you’re not sleeping,” the voice said. “Don’t worry, man, you’re safe,” he said. Michael finally recognized the voice.

  “Jake?” Michael said, his voice hoarse. “Jake, is that you?”

  “Who else would it be?” Jake laughed. “Now, let’s get you out of here.”

  “Oh, thank God. Where are we? What’s going on? How did you find me?”

  “There, there, Michael. It will be okay,” he said.

  “Jake?” Michael said, fear filling his belly. That was not something Jake would say unless he was mocking him. And it wouldn’t be like Jake to do that in a life and death situation.

  “Shhh,” Jake whispered as he closed in on Michael. He wrapped his arms around him and licked the wound on his neck.

  “You taste so good,” he whispered into Michael’s ear. His hands slithered ravenously across Michael’s body. They both shivered, but for very different reasons.

  Michael began trying to lift his legs to kick at his attacker. He knew it wasn’t Jake. But all he could manage to do was wrap his legs around the backside of the murderer. He squeezed as tightly as he could, hoping to dish out a little pain before he was killed.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were enjoying this,” the Jake-like voice said. He began thrusting himself against Michael, who began to whimper as he fought helplessly against his assailant.

  “Please, just kill me,” Michael begged. “Kill me now.”

  “Oh, Michael,” he answered. “I have no intention of killing you. We’re just getting started!”

  “Fuck you,” Michael hissed. “Burn in Hell.”

  “Why be in Hell when Crimson Falls is so much more exciting,” he said as he laughed. “And I prefer the cold. Perhaps if Hell had a better climate, I might spend more time there.”

  “You’re a demon,” Michael accused, believing something from Hell had managed to find its way to his small town.

  “What do you know of demons?” he shrieked. His voice had changed. Now it sounded like someone else Michael knew, but again he couldn’t place it.

  “I know enough,” Michael said as he tried to straighten his body in defiance. He still couldn’t see a damned thing, straining to find any sign of movement in front of him.

  The demon laughed. “You know nothing. I am not a demon.” Suddenly a light appeared from under his face, as if he were about to tell a scary story. But Michael was living that story.

  Michael was speechless. He couldn’t understand how this man was standing in front of him. He managed to find words. “But – but you’re dead,” Michael said in disbelief. “I know it. I saw you. Dead.”

  “Things are not always what they seem,” Alan Brickton said. “But soon. Soon you will understand.”

  “Understand what?” Michael asked. Pain, exhaustion, and
fear began taking its toll on his mind and body. None of this is real, he said to himself. I am hallucinating. This isn’t real.

  “Oh, it’s real,” Alan replied, hearing Michaels’ private thoughts. He wrapped his arms around Michael again. “And so is this,” he said as he leaned in and began feeding on his neck.

  * * * * * *

  3

  Matthew and Amy crawled through the opening and into a dark room. Matthew felt around the wall behind him, searching for a light switch.

  “Anything?” Amy asked as she searched the wall beside him.

  “Not yet. Try directly above where we just crawled out,” he suggested.

  A light illuminated the room. “And God said, ‘Let there be light’,” Amy said as she turned away from the wall and toward Matthew. They both gawked at what stood before them.

  “Whoa,” Matthew murmured. He walked toward the giant totem towering over them. “This must be at least twenty feet high,” he said as he whistled.

  “And at least a few centuries old,” Amy added. “Do you know much about these?”

  “From what I understand, totems like this one represent different clans among the Ojibwe people.”

  “You mean the Native Americans that lived here before we decimated their existence?” Amy asked sarcastically.

  “Unfortunately,” Matthew said with a dry laugh.

  “Do you know what the bear represents?” Amy asked as she studied the totem. The top few feet of the totem was carved into the shape of a bear’s head.

  “No, not off the top of my head,” Matthew said. “But it is magnificent. Tell me, do you know if the Brickton family has Native American ancestors?”

  Amy thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about that. In fact, his great-great grandfather was a chief. Alan had said that he took a White woman as his wife, which angered many people in the tribe. He said it was an attempt to make peace with the American government.”

  “And we all know how that turned out,” Matthew said sadly. “Do you think he was telling the truth? That sounds like one of his infamous stories.”

  “He had no real reason to lie,” she said in his defense. “And, quite frankly, most of his ‘infamous tales,’ as you put it, were actually true. There were good reasons why he lived the way he did.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “Whatever the story,” Amy continued, “it seems like the family had power.”

  “Indeed,” Matthew agreed. “And not just with the Ojibwe people. I assume the White woman, Alan’s great-great grandmother, was a woman of influence and affluence.”

  “She was,” Amy agreed.

  “Do you know anything else about his background?”

  “Just the war, his PTSD, stuff like that. Nothing about his ancestry or family history,” Amy shrugged.

  “This is interesting,” Matthew said as he looked behind the totem. Additional shelves of books boasted several volumes on Native American history, specific to Minnesota and other tribes along the Mississippi River.

  “Like I said, he was an avid reader,” Amy said. Matthew took out a book and showed her the cover. On it, a large, somewhat menacing owl stared at them.

  “I think he preferred nonfiction to novels,” he said.

  “What does the owl represent?” she asked as she pointed to the book in his hand.

  “Well, it represents several different things. I can’t remember which, but I know it is one of two things.”

  “And those would be?”

  “Good news or bad news?” he asked.

  “Good news, please,” she said wryly.

  “In some cultures it represented protection.”

  “Well that didn’t work out well for Alan, did it? What’s the bad news.”

  “Well, it could also represent death and evil.”

  “Shit,” Amy mumbled.

  “I hear ya,” he said. He put the book aside as they continued looking around the room. Although the ceilings reached more than twenty feet, it was a relatively small room. Other than the totem, shelves of books, some smaller totems and various woodcarvings, nothing really caught their attention.

  “Do you think this is it?” Amy asked, almost hoping it was.

  “I seriously doubt it,” Matthew said from the opposite side of the room, sounding a bit distracted.

  “Did you find something?” As Amy asked the question, she heard the loud creaking of a door. She turned and saw him pushing a bookshelf open. “Oh, great. Another secret passage.”

  “I suppose,” Matthew half agreed. “But it was already partially open. I noticed that it wasn’t sitting evenly with the other shelves.”

  “I guess he figured there wouldn’t be many people crawling under tables and through wooden panels,” Amy joked.

  “And check this out,” Matthew said as Amy joined him in front of the makeshift door. He grabbed a large torch that was leaning against shelf.

  “I smelled that when we first got in here,” Amy said.

  “Yes, and that’s because it has been recently used,” he said as he smelled it. “And how convenient is this?” he laughed as he picked up the lighter that was lying beside it.

  “What an accommodating host we have. Guess it’s a dark hallway,” Amy said nervously. Matthew lit the torch and crossed the threshold separating the secret room from the secret hallway. He pushed the torch in front of him and they both looked into darkness.

  “And God said, yet again, ‘Let there be light’,” Amy said with a grin.

  “I feel a bit like Indiana Jones,” Matthew laughed as they began walking.

  “What’s that on the wall there?” Amy said, pointing to something that looked like a sconce.

  “It’s a lamp,” he answered. He lit the oil-based lamp. “Let’s hope there are more of them.” They walked a little further and found another lamp. They continued lighting them as they passed, each of them approximately ten feet apart.

  “Do you notice the slight descent we’re making?” Amy asked as she glanced behind them.

  “Figuratively or literally?” Matthew grinned.

  “Uh, both, I think,” she said without returning his smile.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her.

  “I think so,” she said, finally managing a smile. “This is all a bit surreal,” she said.

  “Tell me about it.” Matthew put his left hand against the dirt wall as he lit another lamp. “Did you notice that we’re underground?”

  “Yeah, it changed from paneling to dirt about a hundred steps ago,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Are you actually counting your steps?” he asked in surprise.

  “Not really,” she answered. “But I walk every morning and I have a step counter. So I’ve gotten pretty good at guesstimating how many steps I’ve taken.”

  Matthew just laughed in response. As they continued walking, the lamps were further apart. Although not totally dark by the time they would reach the next one, their surroundings were only dimly lit.

  “What do you think is down here?” Amy asked, curious. “And how long do you think it’s been here?”

  “Both good questions,” Matthew nodded. “This house is at least two hundred years old. Perhaps older. I’m sure they kept secret slaves down here, especially during the war and the beginnings of Reconstruction.”

  “Slaves?” Amy asked. “I heard about that last year. A professor at St. Cloud State University unearthed records of slavery in states along the upper Mississippi River.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed. “But I can’t imagine this could go too far into the ground,” he said, looking at pieces of rock along the wall. “Too much rock.”

  “People can be ingenious,” she said, looking ahead of them at the handmade passageway. “And people can be horrifying,” she said, referring to slavery.

  “Very true,” he said. They lit another lamp and continued walking. It progressively became darker, bu
t no additional lamps were in sight. Soon the only light came from the small torch Matthew was carrying. “We’re running out of light,” he said as he pointed to the small amount of kindling remaining.

  Suddenly a strong breeze blew through the tunnel, snuffing out the torch.

  “And darkness fell across the land of Egypt,” Matthew said.

  “Still feeling like Indiana Jones?” Amy asked humorlessly. They both sat in wonder as to the origin of the wind. But they both knew where it had come from.

  “That felt wrong,” he said after some length of silence.

  “Do you think the lights from the lamps went out, too?” Amy asked, already believing they had. “Maybe we should think about heading back to the library.”

  “That’s what it wants us to do,” Matthew said. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the lighter. He lit the torch again. Amy put her hands on her hips as she watched him.

  “You could have lit that a minute ago,” she grunted.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “And what do you mean, ‘it?’” she asked, again already knowing what he would say. He didn’t answer.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “We’re getting close. Otherwise it wouldn’t have tried to frighten us.”

  “Just so we’re clear,” Amy began, “you’re talking about a demon.”

  “I can’t be sure.”

  “Do you think it might be a spirit?”

  “I think it could be any number of things,” he said. She nodded in agreement. “But we really won’t know anything until we find out where this leads.”

  “And find what this presence doesn’t want us to discover,” she added.

  “Indeed,” he said. As they continued to walk, the passage took a U-turn to the left. To their relief they came across another group of lamps. As Matthew lit the first torch, another breeze traveled past them. This time, however, each of the lamps ahead of them became dramatically engulfed in flames. As the fire settled, the lamps remained lit and revealed the entrance to another room in the distance.

  “Now it wants us to be here?” Amy asked, surprise on her face.

  “No, I think this is the result of a spell,” Matthew replied.