The Quarry

by Mark Allan Gunnells

  The sun hadn’t quite set yet, but the cloud buildup overhead had brought an early twilight, the rain coming down harder now, greatly reducing visibility.

  When Connie turned into the church’s drive, following it around to the back where trees provided more cover, she thought it might as well have been midnight it was so dark out.

  “There’s Norm’s car,” Emilio said.

  “Okay, so where’s Norm?”

  Emilio flipped open his cell and dialed Norm’s number. He waited through several rings before hanging up. “No answer,” he whispered fearfully.

  Connie looked over at the church.

  More like the setting of a horror movie than a house of worship…

  The white paint was peeling, making it look like a hulking beast that was shedding its skin. The cross that had once sat atop the spire like the star on a Christmas tree had broken off years before and never been replaced. She’d heard that this place was some kind of historical landmark, but the upkeep was for shit and it seemed like the church had been forgotten by the town.

  “I think we should get out of here,” Connie said. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

  “He’s probably just inside the building and can’t get a signal or something. Let’s just go have a look around.”

  “Sorry Em, my car, I’m overruling you.” She started to put the Jeep in gear, but before she could pull away, Emilio had opened his door and hopped out. “Emilio, come back here!”

  “I said you didn’t have to stick around, but I’m going to see what Norm found out.”

  Growling in frustration, Connie cut the engine and went after Emilio.

  The rain was starting to slacken, but she was still soaked within seconds of getting out of the car. She followed Emilio up the back steps to the rear entrance, where he was testing the padlock that secured the door.

  “Well, if he’s inside he didn’t get in this way. Maybe the front’s open.”

  “Em, get back in the car right this minute!”

  Ignoring her, he dialed Norman’s cell number again while heading back down the steps. His clothes clung to him, his hair doused and dripping, but he seemed not to care. At the foot of the stairs, the phone pressed to his ear, he stopped abruptly, causing Connie to bump into his back.

  He stood still, slowly lowering the phone, his head cocked to one side. He seemed to be listening to something, although Connie wasn’t sure what…

  Then she heard it too.

  It was faint, almost completely buried under the sound of the rain, but it was definitely a ringing, three short trills, a pause, three more short trills, another pause, and so on for about a minute before it stopped.

  Emilio raised his cell again and redialed Norm’s number, and there was the faint ringing again.

  Moving in tandem, they turned toward the ringing, tracking it to a small dark opening behind them, a broken-out window to the basement.

  “We need to go,” Connie said, taking Emilio’s arm and tugging him back toward the car.

  He resisted. “But Norm’s down there.”

  “Then why isn’t he answering his phone?”

  “Maybe he dropped it, or he could be hurt.”

  “Look, we’ll drive back to campus and call Sheriff Powell on the way.”

  Emilio looked back toward the window, obviously torn. “I guess, maybe we could—”

  “Sorry guys, I can’t let you two go anywhere.”

  Connie squealed at the sound of the voice, and she and Emilio whirled around.

  Standing on the other side of the cars, leaning against one of the trees, was Dale, looking like an animated corpse. His skin was pale and hung loosely on his frame, his disabled left leg bent at an odd angle that was painful to look at. Pain fogged his eyes, and he seemed ready to collapse. But he held the gun steady, pointed unwaveringly at Connie and Emilio.

  “Little gift from that fag guard,” Dale said, indicating the gun.

  “Where is he?” Emilio asked.

  “Down in the church basement.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “Me? Not a thing.”

  “So he’s okay?”

  “Oh no, dead as donkey shit, but I didn’t kill him. When I yanked him through the window, I had no idea he had this gun tucked down the front of his pants. He hit the floor, the gun went off, took a bullet right in the gut. Awfully inconvenient for me, I’ll tell you.”

  Emilio stood trembling for a moment, tears coursing down his cheeks, mixing with the rain.

  Connie could feel his pent-up anger and grief, and she was ready to grab him when he lunged toward Dale. She held him in place.

  “Keep him in check, girl,” Dale said. “I really don’t want to have to shoot him, although it’s an embarrassment of riches having the two of you show up. I can use one of you for insurance.”

  Connie could see that the man she’d known—possibly loved a little—was no more.

  “Insurance?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

  In answer, Dale turned the gun on her and fired.

  * * *

  The bullet hit Connie in the right leg, just below the knee. She screamed and went down, clutching at the wound as it gushed blood, mixing with the mud beneath her.

  Emilio was stunned.

  He stared down at her, his mind running a little too slow to process what was happening.

  He was still stuck on the fact that Norman was dead—

  You don’t know that. Dale could be lying; it could be a trick. Norman might still be okay.

  —and the sight of Connie writhing in pain on the ground seemed more curious than horrifying. Brain still shrouded in a fog, he looked up at Dale.

  “Works out nicely, the two of you showing up together,” he said, the gun now pointing directly at Emilio like an accusatory finger. “Now I can use her as a bargaining chip. If you try to run or prove too uncooperative, I’ll shoot her right in her pretty little head. And you know I’ll do it, don’t you?”

  The fog was starting to clear from Emilio’s head, but slowly. He looked from Dale to Connie then back to Dale. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I want your body.”

  “You what?”

  Dale laughed. “Sorry, Em, but I don’t want your body the way you’ve been wanting mine since we first met. I just need to shrug off this wreck and take on another, at least until I’m strong enough. I actually tried to take your body at the library yesterday, figuring since the authorities were on the lookout for this one it might be smart to change my face, but you slipped away from me then. Of course, after that brain-dead jock damaged this body, greatly impeding its mobility, it became imperative I find a new vessel. When your butt-buddy came along, like manna from Heaven, I thought my problems were solved. Then the clumsy bastard went and shot himself and I watched him bleed to death. Luckily he had his cell phone on him, so I used it to bait a little trap for you. I was a bit worried you wouldn’t be stupid enough to walk into it, but you held true to your nature. I should never underestimate the stupidity of the mortal animal.”

  “You’re the fucking animal,” Connie growled. Her face was pinched in an expression of pain, but her voice was strong and authoritative. “And you should be put down like a rabid dog.”

  The Dale-thing gave a mock-pout and shook his head. “Words can hurt like a fist, you know.”

  Connie spat at him then grimaced as if the effort had caused her more agony.

  “We’ve wasted enough time,” the thing said, focusing its attention back on Emilio. “It’s time you and I got more intimately acquainted. Hopefully you won’t resist as much as this vessel. Even after I had set up shop in his head, he fought me. Took me much longer to establish full control than I’d anticipated. Luckily, you don’t seem as strong as your friend. Now walk to me. Slowly.”

  Emilio didn’t want to do it, but one glance back at Connie and he knew he had no choice. He didn’t doubt for a second that this thing would kill her if Emilio
refused. Of course, it would probably kill her anyway. But if Emilio could distract the Dale-thing…maybe Connie would have enough time to get away, even with her injured leg.

  Emilio shuffled forward, trying to position himself between Dale and Connie without being obvious. He said, “Dale, you can stop, you know. You’re sick but you can get help.”

  The Dale-thing laughed. “Let’s not pretend you don’t know what I am. While your lover died, he started babbling; at one point he seemed to think I was you. Oh, the sweet sentiments he whispered. You should have heard them. Would have brought a tear to my eye if I were capable of the baser emotions. He spilled it all, so I know you’re aware that I’m not your friend.”

  “That’s just not possible,” Emilio said. He was almost to the thing, frantically but discreetly motioning behind his back for Connie to scurry away. He didn’t dare look back to see if she got the message. He kept his attention on the glazed over eyes of his old friend.

  Dale licked his lips and pushed himself away from the tree, balancing on his one good leg. “Oh, there are more things possible in this world than you could even begin to imagine. In fact, that is why your kind will eventually wither and die out—lack of imagination. Your little minds cannot conceive of all the wonders that exist, but I’m about to give you a little taste.”

  Suddenly, the Dale-thing leaped forward, grabbed Emilio by the shirt and threw him to the ground.

  Emilio went down hard, gravel digging into his spine.

  The thing sprawled on top of him, and the gun went skittering across the parking lot.

  Emilio tried to wiggle out from underneath his old friend’s body. But, though injured badly, Dale’s body was still stronger than his. He craned his head to look back toward Connie, hoping she’d grabbed the gun.

  She seemed to be unconscious.

  Or dead…

  The Dale-thing grabbed a handful of Emilio’s hair with one hand and with the other gripped him just below the jaw, squeezing hard.

  Emilio opened his mouth to gasp for air or maybe scream for help…

  …and the thing dove down, covering Emilio’s mouth with his own.

  Hot putrid breath rushed into Emilio’s mouth, and he could actually taste it. Tasted like bile.

  Emilio bucked wildly, watching his old friend’s eyes start to glow a pale blue. But he didn’t buck long. The air being pumped into him was sapping his strength rapidly. Tracers swam and multiplied as consciousness wavered.

  Eyelids fluttering, he expected his life to flash before his eyes the way he’d always heard about.

  Mental images did begin to play on the backs of his lids. Like a slideshow at first. Then the images sped up until…

  A mind movie…

  Only it wasn’t his own life he was watching.

  The connection he now had with the creature had opened a doorway…

  I’m looking into its mind!

  Eyes closed, body numb, Emilio couldn’t do anything but watch…

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  IT HAD NO name.

  It simply was, and had been since long before man walked the earth. Once this world had been populated by such creatures, powerful and indestructible. In the time of dinosaurs they were already ancient. They fed off the souls of the lower beasts with which they shared this world, and it seemed they would always be the dominant species.

  But, as it turned out, they were not immortal.

  They did not age like most mortal creatures, but after several millennia they merely stopped, as if all will had left them. There would come a time when they would merely lie down and not get up again, whatever energy that had sustained them reaching its end.

  And then came the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs.

  It did not kill the creatures. They were made of sterner stuff than the dinosaurs despite their diminutive size and deceptively fragile appearance.

  However, the cosmic dust that covered the earth did have an unforeseen impact on them; they became sterile. They were no longer able to replicate themselves, one being splitting into two, the newer being possessing the elder’s knowledge.

  All that was left was all there would ever be, ensuring that eventually the creatures would be as extinct as the dinosaurs.

  When this happened, the creature that would one day come to be trapped beneath the Quarry was one of the youngest.

  Since regret was not something their species possessed, they did not lament their fate but went about enjoying their existence.

  As mankind made its first appearance and started to evolve, the creatures observed with fascination. While the mortal animal was far beneath them in terms of intelligence, man was still the smartest species the creatures had yet encountered.

  Man developed reasoning skills and societies, laid down laws based on religions built around gods that were younger than the creatures.

  Mankind also developed superstitions, tales they passed around after dark, many of the myths inspired by encounters with the creatures. Stories of vampires, succubae, incubi, demons and angels, even aliens—the creatures were the origin for all of these.

  It became a game, and the creatures reveled in keeping themselves hidden, hunting and feeding in the shadows, inspiring and fanning the flames of fear in the mortal animals. That fear provided a sustenance almost as delicious as the souls themselves.

  The creatures also took pleasure in manipulating the mortals.

  They had the ability to imbue man with a bit of themselves, and by doing so could control man, make the mortal animal do whatever they wished.

  Thus wars were started, brother turned against brother, husbands beat wives and children, mothers murdered their babies, paranoia was fueled, prejudice blossomed, and buried savagery was brought to the forefront—all for the creatures’ amusement.

  Before the English came to the New World, when the Native American tribes still reigned sovereign over what would become known as the United States, the creature from the Quarry claimed the territory as his own.

  By that time, their numbers had dwindled until there were only a few, and they were spread out far and wide, and the creature had this particular area to itself. It enjoyed playing with the natives, and for many years it stalked the countryside, feeding on some, controlling others, confident it could not be stopped.

  But its ego proved to be its downfall.

  The more civilized Mankind became, the more it lost contact with the primal forces that kept the world turning.

  Reason and rationality blinded the mortal animal to the mystical powers that existed in their midst. However, these natives had not yet been tamed, and they were still in communion with ancient powers and deities forgotten by the more enlightened men across the sea.

  In retaliation for the terror the creature inflicted upon them, a tribe which would later become known as the Cherokee summoned such a deity, imploring through worship and sacrifice that it should rid them of the scourge that stalked their people.

  Thus a battle ensued, a battle that lasted for months, draining the creature of its precious energy.

  It could not be killed, but it could be weakened, and when it felt it had no strength left, it was imprisoned far beneath the earth, ensnared in chains with mystical properties that ensured no man could break them.

  Normally the chains, strong as they were, would have been no match for the creature’s power, but in its weakened state it simply could not break free. If it could feed on the souls of dozens it would regain enough power to break loose, but entombed, feeding was impossible.

  Until hundreds of years later when the miners found it.

  It acted rashly then, moving too quickly, and its attempt at escape was thwarted.

  Then with the diver it had come closer to freedom, but the vessel had been destroyed before the feeding cycle was complete.

  But now freedom was inevitable.

  Three or four more souls would revive it enough.

  It would rend the chains that bound it and once again rise
to the world above. It had come dangerously close to losing its vessel again, but it would take possession of this mortal boy and collect the rest of the souls it needed.

  Soon it would be free and then—

  * * *

  Emilio gasped when the Dale-thing jerked away from him.

  Rolling onto his hands and knees, he coughed and retched, then tried to catch his breath. He felt weak and shaky, and his head throbbed with intense pain. But he seemed in full control of his mind and actions; the creature had not gotten its claws into him.

  Why?

  He turned toward Dale, who knelt a few feet away, clutching his head and crying, looking as if in great pain. The blue had faded from his eyes.

  Dale?

  “No, no, I won’t do it, I won’t let you make me kill another friend,” Dale muttered.

  Emilio’s skin went cold all over, and he shivered in the rain.

  “No, no, no,” Dale repeated, this time louder.

  “Dale?” Emilio said uncertainly. “Is it you?”

  Dale met his eyes, and for the first time in months, Emilio saw his friend in there, really saw him. “Em, you gotta kill me, man!”

  “What?”

  “Please, I can’t resist him much longer. He’s in my brain and there’s no digging him out. You have to kill me.”

  Emilio was unable to speak, unable to believe what was happening and what was being asked of him.

  Could he bring himself to kill his friend?

  Ten minutes ago he’d have probably said yes, believing that Dale was already gone. But now he could see that Dale was still alive—in there somewhere, even if buried deep.

  “DO IT!” Dale shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. He started tugging at his wet hair so hard that Emilio was afraid he was going to rip it out by the root.

  “I can’t,” Emilio said, his voice little more than a whisper. He tried to say more but could only shake his head.