The Hag

by Erik Henry Vick

  Scott cleared his throat. “You’re making good points, Benny. But aren’t all of these demons as arrogant? Don’t they all think we’re puny humans ripe for harvesting? I mean, are you scared of a cow?”

  Shannon giggled.

  “No, I’m not scared of a cow,” said Benny. “But if a group of cows got together, cornered one of you in a pasture, and figured out how to kill you despite your best efforts, I might become scared of cows.”

  “I don’t feel right sitting around letting demons feed on people,” said Toby in an enervated voice. “I can’t sit by. I’ve been given this ability to see them for a reason. I have to use it.”

  Benny nodded. “I agree, but using it doesn’t mean that you have to be out there killing them, Rambo-style.”

  “Give the devil his due, Benny. It was more Dexter-style,” said Mike with a smile.

  Scott looked from Benny to Toby to Mike, and finally, to Shannon. “The political thing’s a bust because they are already good at combating that kind of thing. We know they are because they are still in power all these years later. Hunting them one at a time is no good, because it’s too slow, and even if we killed one of them a day that would leave them plenty of time to hunt us down or to bring more of them from wherever they're from—‍”

  “Hell,” said Mike.

  Benny shook his head. “Fire and brimstone? No.”

  “Well, they’re not from Derry.”

  “You got me there, Mike.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Scott in a voice laced with iron. “How can we deal with them en masse? Or at least in greater numbers than one at a time?”

  Toby smacked his hand against his forehead. “We’ve been looking at this all wrong. We need to plan strategically. Once we are, then, and only then, can we think tactically.”

  “The political campaign was thinking strategically,” said Benny.

  “As a feint, perhaps.” Mike glanced at Benny and shrugged.

  “How can we pull them out of Oneka Falls? How can we make the town so uncomfortable for them that they leave on their own? How can we break their stranglehold on the area?” Shannon looked at Benny askance and blushed.

  Toby nodded with each point. “All good questions, Shan. And those are some of the questions we need to start with. But also, why Oneka Falls? What draws them there? And given the small population of food animals—humans living in Oneka Falls—for them, why stay there?”

  “Strength in numbers?” asked Scott.

  “They don’t seem to be pack hunters. The opposite, really,” said Benny.

  “So why are they all bunched up together in a herd?”

  Toby pointed at Mike. “That’s question number one. If we can answer that, the answers to those other questions we listed should become obvious.”

  Mike chuckled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Too bad there isn’t an Internet guide. Or a walk-through.”

  “A walk-through?” asked Benny.

  “Yeah, like in an RPG or an MMO where somebody amasses all the information about a dungeon or a boss fight or something and posts the steps you have to follow to win.”

  The expression on Benny’s face transitioned from one of utter bewilderment to suspicion and back to confusion. “An RPG? MMO? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Toby chopped his hand through the air. “Videogames, Benny. I’ll show you later. But for right now, I’ve got an idea how we can get answers to those questions.” He cocked his head to the side. “At least, some of them.”

  Scott tilted his head. “How?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “The sinking feeling in my gut already let me in on that.” Scott laughed, shaking his head. “Then again, I don’t like the idea of LaBouche running around doing whatever he wants while both Jenny and Becky—‍” His voice broke.

  Both Mike and Shannon put a hand on his shoulder at the same time.

  Toby took a step toward him, an earnest expression on his face. “We will get him, Scott. If we do nothing else, we will get him.”

  Scott nodded, his face suffused with blood, his eyes down.

  “So,” said Benny with too much enthusiasm. “What’s this big idea, Toby?”

  Toby glanced at him over his shoulder. “Simple. We’re going to interrogate one of the weaker demons.”

  9

  Scott Lewis closed the front door behind him. He stood for a moment, listening to the silence of the house. The professional cleaners he had hired had done their work well, but he could still detect a faint whiff of disinfectant and some other harsh chemical.

  He spent a moment thinking about going upstairs, about getting undressed and crawling into bed. He glanced to his left, into the living room, his eyes skimming over the familiar furniture, the pictures on the wall, the decorations Jenny had put up. Scott shook his head, overcome with grief. He lifted his foot to step farther into the house, but after a moment, he returned it to where it was to start with.

  He no longer felt as though he belonged there. It was as if he were a visitor in someone else’s home, as if he were peeking behind the curtain into someone else’s private life. He shook his head. This is my house. It’s where we raised Becky. Where Jenny and I raised her.

  But those thoughts—facts—did nothing to change the way he felt inside the house. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and let it leak out with a sound akin to a balloon deflating. I belong here! The air in the house smelled flat as if a necessary, vital force had departed.

  He lifted his foot again, and again he put it back down in its original position. This is stupid. Get a grip, Scotty.

  He dithered there, in the foyer, lifting his foot, putting it down, turning his head to the left, peering down the hall toward the den, and all the while he berated himself and tried to convince himself that the home which was no longer there still existed.

  After fifteen minutes, Scott Lewis turned and exited the house for the last time. He locked the front door behind him and walked back to his car, head down.

  I no longer have a place in this world, he thought. LaBouche took everything from me.

  10

  LaBouche settled into the heart of the hydrangea, his breast muscles aching from the effort of flying over ninety miles. This form…so, so stupid. My revenge on Brigitta will be…must be…epic. It will be spoken of for centuries.

  He watched Scott Lewis climb out of his car as if he were too weary to contemplate going on with life. He would have grinned, if not for the stupid beak. Lewis dragged his feet to the door, unlocked it, and slouched inside.

  I wish I could be in there with you, Scotty. LaBouche imagined the emotions raging through his former partner—the loss, the grief, and the anger. It was almost enough to draw sustenance from.

  But there was no time for concerns about things such as nourishment and delight. He hopped out of the hydrangea next to Scotty’s driveway and shuffled his way toward the car. He walked right underneath it and found a nice spot to ride nestled within the rear suspension.

  A quarter of an hour later, Scott left his house—as LaBouche had predicted he would. He got back in the car, started the engine, and backed out of the driveway.

  No ordinary bird would have ridden where LaBouche chose to ride—but then again, LaBouche was no ordinary bird.

  At least I’ll know where their Honeycomb Hideout is. We can set an ambush there, maybe pick them off one by one when they think they’re safe.

  His reptilian heart warmed at the prospect.

  11

  Kelly-Ann awoke with a pounding head and a stiff neck. For a moment, she thought she was in her own bed, but as the aches and pains in her back began to sing, she remembered her “Good Samaritan.” She forced her eyes open, but it didn’t help much. There wasn’t enough light to see by.

  She shivered, goose-flesh rippling along her arms and legs. With a shudder, she checked her clothing—wondering if the man had taken liberties, but it seemed he hadn’t.
/>   Not yet, said a jaded voice in her head.

  She lay on a slick, cold surface—something like porcelain. Her fingers found the edge of the table, and she swung her legs over the side.

  “No, no,” said the man who’d “helped” her. “Lie back. I’m not done looking at you yet.”

  See? I told you, said the jaded voice.

  “Listen, I don’t remember your face. You can just let me go. I promise I won’t—‍”

  “LIE THE FUCK DOWN!” he screamed.

  She flopped back on the table, her body obeying before she had a chance to think. “I promise I won’t say anything. I don’t know where I am, and, more importantly, I don’t know who you are.” Silence was her only answer. “I can’t identify you! You can let me go.”

  “No,” he said without emotion.

  “Please listen a minute. Whatever you want; you can’t get it from me. I’m broke, and I have no one to pay any ransom.”

  Harsh, mocking laughter echoed in the darkness.

  Fear sank its icy talons into her guts, and she started to push herself up. He took two quick steps out of the shadows—her green-eyed Samaritan—and slammed her back onto the table hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

  “Rule one,” he said. “You do what I say. Rule two: refer to rule one.” His voice was curiously flat, unemotional.

  “What do you want?”

  “Rule three: keep your trap shut. When I want to hear from you, I’ll make you scream.”

  She sucked in a breath, as if to speak, but held it, staring up into his face, and kept silent.

  “Good,” he crooned. “If you keep this up, I won’t have to kill you.” He approached her left side and leaned down until his face loomed large before her, his magnetic green eyes seeming to spin and spin and spin. “At least not tonight.”

  12

  The others had taken his idea a lot better than Toby had imagined they would. He checked his gear for the fifth time and then turned his gaze back to the small house on the outskirts of Webster, New York.

  He’d known about this demon for months. Toby had been planning his elimination when Scott and LaBouche had first approached him.

  This one had chosen the name of Bill Hartman, and he had an office job, but one with flexible hours. He fed on anger and despair, especially that of children. He spent a lot of time watching inner-city school playgrounds. At one time, Toby had considered framing him as a pedophile, but at the end of the day, that would’ve left one more demon alive in the world, and his usual methods would not have.

  Hartman lived on a large plot of land on the southern shore of Lake Ontario. Apple orchards surrounded his lot, which were free of people for most of the year. Hartman’s house sat well back from the lake, with the copse of trees blocking the view of the shore. A single rutted track wound its way through trees and through the orchard itself, leading to Lake Road.

  It was a perfect place for an ambush.

  The house itself was large, built from stone quarried nearby—almost a castle. The front doors were made of thick oak and hung on iron hinges. Hartman lived alone, of course, and when he was away, the house stood empty.

  Toby crouched in the flowerbed at the side of the house. Scott was somewhere out there in the orchard, covering him with a high-powered rifle. Sitting in Scott’s cruiser out at the edge of the road, Mike doubled as both look-out and backup.

  After making sure the rutted track was clear, Toby stood and approached the front door. Locked with a modern lock as it was, gaining entry through the front door wouldn’t be much of an impediment. He crouched to get a better look at the lock and fished out his lock picks. A few seconds later, the bolt sprang open, and Toby stepped inside.

  The living room of the house held only a large television, a single recliner, and a scarred wooden side table. The recliner appeared well-worn and on its last legs. He walked through the room into the back of the house, which was remarkable only because of its complete lack of furnishings. A layer of dust coated the kitchen counters and the sink.

  Can he live in that front room only? Toby climbed the stairs to the upper floors, but it was more of the same—empty rooms and dust. He must have something here. Even if it’s a paltry list of phone numbers to call. Then again, he doesn’t even have phone service out here, so…

  Toby descended into the basement and found a row of cages built into the basement wall. Each cell was roughly three feet square—just enough for a human to stand wedged against the wall. Another well-worn recliner sat in the center of the floor facing the cages.

  “Car coming,” said Mike into the receiver nestled in Toby’s ear canal. “It’s got its turn signal on.”

  “Ten-four,” said Scott. “Get ready, Toby.”

  Toby raced up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. He slipped out into the backyard by way of the kitchen door and skidded to a halt at the corner of the house. He pressed his shoulder blades into the cold stone and waited.

  “I think it’s him,” said Mike. “He gave me the stink-eye until I flashed Scott’s badge at him. He’s headed up the drive now. You should have him any second, Scott.”

  Scott keyed the mic twice but said nothing.

  Toby’s muscles tensed, and he felt the familiar excitement rumbling around his belly. He unslung his custom-made tranquilizer gun and slapped in a loaded magazine. We need more of these guns. He had loaded the darts with M99—an extra-large dose for sureties’ sake. He chambered a dart and held the gun in one hand, barrel-down.

  “Danger close,” hissed Scott in his ear.

  Toby dropped into a crouch as he heard tires crunching over the gravel in front of the house. He slunk around the corner, staying low and tight to the wall. The engine of Hartman’s car died, and a car door opened and slammed.

  Toby advanced to the end of the wall and grabbed a quick glance around the corner. Hartman was a traditional demon—dark red leathery wings, bright red flesh, and cloven hooves. He was small for a demon and thin almost to the point of emaciation.

  Hartman stood for a moment, his gaze scanning the apple orchard. His shoulders twitched, and Toby ducked back.

  “Looking your way,” whispered Scott. “Just looking, but maybe you should fall back.”

  Toby waddled backward two steps and brought the tranquilizer gun to his shoulder, aiming an inch or two in front of the corner. He kept the gun leveled at about where he expected Hartman’s head would appear if he peeked around the corner.

  “Hold,” said Scott. “Mike, be ready.”

  What’s he doing? Come on, Scott, tell me what he’s doing, Toby thought. Without Benny around, thinking things at people was useless, but that little fact didn’t stop him from trying.

  “Okay…okay, everything’s okay. He’s sniffing the air, but maybe he’s just looking at the upstairs windows. He’s glancing at your corner, Toby, but not staring at it.”

  Moving silently, Toby shuffled back several yards.

  “Freeze! He may have heard you, Toby. He’s staring at the corner, now.”

  In the distance, a car horn blared.

  “Good, Mike! Get back on him, Toby!”

  Toby duck walked to the corner and peered around it. Hartman stood staring up the rutted track, his back to the house—and Toby.

  The tranquilizer gun was still tight against his shoulder, and all Toby had to do was lean around the corner. He squeezed the trigger three times, and the weapon spat darts at the demon’s back. He pulled back, turning his back to the corner and moving in a running crouch toward the rear of the house.

  “That’s got his attention,” said Scott. “He looks a little woozy.”

  He should—that’s enough M99 to kill ten men! Toby slid around the back corner of the house and took the same position squatting against the wall.

  “In the side yard now, Toby. He’s looking around, looking for you.” Scott’s voice was calm—almost too serene for Toby’s tastes. It was hard to judge how close the demon was with all that calm. Sco
tt laughed. “He’s down. Damn that M99 works well.”

  Toby didn’t move. The demons sometimes played dead when they couldn’t find their attacker.

  “All right, I’m coming down,” said Scott.

  No! Where was Benny when he was needed? Toby didn’t dare speak in his own throat mic—Hartman would hear him for sure—and if Benny were around, he could’ve relayed his thoughts to Scott.

  Staying as close to the wall as possible, Toby peered around the corner, exposing only one eye. Hartman lay on the ground, eyes open, staring up at the sky, but one of his large pointed ears twitched and oriented toward the orchard.

  Dammit, Scott! Toby brought the gun up and sprinted around the corner, firing as he moved, sending two more darts into the demon. He ejected the spent magazine and slapped a full one in its place.

  Hartman’s other ear twitched, twisting toward Toby as he rounded the corner. He snap-fired the tranquilizer rifle twice from his hip as he ran, zigzagging toward the tree line on the side of the house. One dart drifted wide, but the other hit the demon in the side of the neck—right where a human’s jugular would be.

  The demon’s ears swiveled independently to track both threats at the same time. After a moment more of playing dead, Hartman sprang to his feet like a martial artist in an old ’80s Kung Fu movie and squalled at the sky. He sank into a crouch, arms extended to either side as if offering a hug, claws bared, and hissed at Toby.