by C R Langille
There was more. If he stared long enough at someone, certain features became apparent, features that he didn’t notice before. He could see the mix of townspeople in varying stages of change.
When he looked at Jared, he could see dark obsidian-like horns thrusting from his skull and curling back, like some hellish parody of a ram. Jared’s face lost its human features, replaced with a monstrous visage: dark burgundy skin, elongated face, small horns jutting from his chin and temples, enlarged incisors and canines that protruded like some beast. The creature’s face twisted into a macabre smile that seemed to fit its appearance naturally. The image would only stay for a moment before fading, replaced with Jared’s human features. As Troy scanned the crowd, he noticed that Jared was the furthest developed of the bunch. Troy knew he must share some of the unearthly features and wondered how far along he was.
“Jared,” he replied. “Brent,” Troy said, nodding to an overweight policeman next to Jared.
“Do you have the book?” Jared asked.
“Yes, it’s in the car,” Troy replied.
“Good. You have been given a great honor. You are the bookkeeper. When you bow down next to Him, you shall be rewarded,” Jared said.
Deep in the mountain. Destroy the Spirit and the Star. Bring the host.
“I think it is fairly clear what is supposed to happen,” Troy said.
“Yes, but we must gather first. He who dwells in the mountain is tired of failure, and we are to take no more chances,” Jared replied.
“Do you know where they are? I think I met the Spirit on the road earlier, though I didn’t know it at the time. Some Indian vagrant,” Troy stated, pulling another cigarette from his pocket.
Destroy the Spirit and the Star!
“Yes. They draw near. This time, they will not escape.”
“Good,” Troy said, pulling a deep swathe of smoke into his lungs. “Good.”
***
Dan pulled his Bronco to the side of the street and turned it off. He watched as Troy parked his car and walked into the burned-out pawn shop. Even from the distance he was at, the darkness rolling off Troy’s body was chilling to the bone. Another one succumbed to His pull. Another pawn in the game.
He berated himself for letting it go this far. He had become too wrapped up in human affairs, mundane happenstance, and his own redemption. The thing under the mountain must have grown stronger, making its move while Dan focused on his own agenda.
As he contemplated a course of action, a whip crack of sound cut through the air, snapping him to attention. Lightning crashed in the distance, filling the sky with a light show that would put any Fourth of July fireworks display to shame. Shortly after that, another crack sounded through the sky, followed by a large fireball shooting into the air.
“When it rains it pours,” he whispered. “That got my attention, Lord,” he said looking upward to the heavens.
From the general location of the flaming sphere, Dan guessed it was near the Last Stop gas station. He turned the key in the ignition, and the Bronco roared to life. He waited until he was far enough away from the pawn shop before he turned the sirens on and raced toward the filling station.
***
Rusty crouched a couple hundred yards away from the burning gas station. The heat rolled off his skin and caused a web work of shadows to dance across his face. He wore a grim expression that only looked darker under the shadow’s revel.
He gripped his now soot-smudged Chick Magnet trucker hat in one hand. His backpack leaned heavily against his thigh. Rusty lowered his head in a silent prayer, ushering the spirits of the fallen into the afterlife. After a minute, he wiped his sweaty black hair from his head and put the hat back on.
Rusty grabbed a handful of dirt and let it go, watching it as the wind picked it up and sent it flying. He stood up, and both knees popped, pulling a groan from his old body. He stretched his back as Dan pulled up, lights and sirens blaring.
A tingle of energy crawled up his spine, causing him to smile. He picked up his pack and started toward Dan’s vehicle.
Dan jumped out and pulled his gun.
“Stop right there!” he yelled.
“I don’t think so, man. I’ve got more work to do. Think you do too.”
Dan sighed when he noticed who it was and holstered his weapon. He slammed the door on his Bronco.
“I thought I told you to stay out of this town? Every time you come around, this happens,” Dan said pointing to the blaze. “Lord help me, this reminds me of ‘38!”
“That was good times. Anyway, someone has to clean this shit up, and it’s obvious that you aren’t. I mean how strong did it have to grow before you were going to make a move? This is bad, real bad.”
“I know. I know. I have been monitoring the situation for a long while now, but somehow that thing has been able to avoid detection. I knew it had some followers, but now that they aren’t hiding, I think over half the town has fallen under its sway.”
Rusty walked next to Dan and looked back to the blaze. The entire structure had already burned to the foundation, yet for some reason, the inferno refused to die.
“Bad, eh? This is beyond bad. I can read it in the winds, my man. Bad would be like a world without Metallica or Tarantino films. This is beyond bad. And why haven’t you done anything? Is that all your kind likes to do? Watch?”
“Watch your tone with me, Trickster! I have my orders! Besides, the human race isn’t ready for this kind of revelation! I can’t afford to fuck up anymore,” Dan said looking Rusty straight in the eyes.
Rusty’s face crinkled, and he let out a low snarl. For a moment, Rusty’s eyes turned golden-hued with a predatory look then quickly shifted back into a dark brown.
Dan stood his ground, unflinching. Rusty shook his head.
“We shouldn’t fight one another. There is a time and a place for that, but that time isn’t now,” Rusty said placing a hand on Dan’s shoulder, “There’s more at stake, and whether or not man is ready, we have no choice.”
Dan watched the blaze. He knew Rusty was right, knew it before even talking to the man. It looked like he was going to have the break the rules again. Lower management was going to have a shit fit when they caught wind.
“You’re right. Lower management let it slip that the vessel is near. I think I know who it is too,” Dan said. Then, looking off to nothing, he whispered, “It’s been countless millennia, and they finally found a host suitable enough to contain it.”
Rusty nodded in agreement and patted Dan once on the shoulder, “Hey, those are feelings! Good deal. You’re making progress!”
“Why do you care about my feelings?” Dan asked.
“I really don’t,” Rusty said laughing.
“C’mon,” Dan said jumping into the Bronco.
“There you go! Woo hoo! We’re burning daylight, son!” Rusty said, getting in.
***
Garrett’s car once again spit gravel in every direction as he skidded into Randall’s parking lot. He ran into Randall’s shop, slamming the door behind him and throwing the deadbolt in place.
“Allison!” he yelled, searching for a light switch. “Randall!”
He found it just as Randall was coming into the room and Allison sat up from the couch.
Randall had enough time to mutter “Wha—” before the light was roused to life and filled the small room with its brilliance.
Both Randall and Allison covered their eyes, and Randall staggered backward as if physically hit.
“What the hell, Boss?” Allison said through squinted eyes.
“Look, we have to go. This place is bad!”
“What’s wrong with my store, Garrett?” Randall asked, his eyes finally adjusting to the light, “And why are you wearing a robe?”
Garrett ignored the last comment. “It happened again, Allison.
I saw her. I saw my Maddie. But,” he slumped into an armchair and put his head in his hands, “but it wasn’t her. It’s this place, this fucking place!”
“Whoa, calm down there. We’ll figure this out. Maybe it was a bad dream or something,” Allison said, getting up. She started to move toward him, but Garrett shot her a look that told her that there was no way it was a dream.
“Okay, okay, so it wasn’t a dream. You haven’t been drinking again tonight, have you?” she asked with a soft tone in her voice.
Just a glass. A little something, something to take the edge off. To help calm down.
“No, not tonight. Never again if I have my way,” Garrett said.
It would taste great! Remember the smoothness of it? Mix in a little Coca-Cola and call it a party.
He growled and rubbed at his temples.
“Garrett, I understand you’re upset, but you and Allison have made a lot of headway with this sword,” Randall stated plainly.
“Yeah, Boss, plus my friend Mick will be here tomorrow to help us. We’re so close to unraveling this thing.”
Garret’s body told him to get as far away from Canyon Shadows as he could, as fast as he could. Yet he was on the verge of verifying everything his father had tried to prove.
“Look, let’s not make any decisions tonight. We can go get your stuff tomorrow, and you won’t have to stay at the motel anymore,” Allison said kneeling next to Garrett.
Garrett sat in silence. Randall, not knowing how to respond, decided to go into the kitchen and make a pot of coffee. Allison tried to comfort him, but she nodded off twice, her head bobbing forward like a headbanger in slow motion.
“I miss them so much,” Garrett finally said, so soft it was almost a whisper.
His voice jarred Allison awake, and she shifted positions trying to get the feeling to return to her legs.
Garrett continued, “After they died, I contemplated joining them, you know? Even took some pills, but I guess it wasn’t enough. Just woke up the next day sicker than I’d ever been before. Didn’t have enough guts to try again.”
“I miss them too, Boss. Theirs was a light that can never be replaced in this world,” Allison said, staring at the floor.
“First, I cursed God. Damned Him for taking them away from me. I raged and raged against His decision. Then came the sadness, and I begged Him for a chance to be with them again, just for a moment. I think I’m paying for that now. I’m being punished, and He has brought them back to torment me. My own personal Hell.”
“I don’t think you’re cursed. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m pretty sure you aren’t cursed or being punished or anything like that.”
“Thanks. You’re a good friend.”
Garrett looked down and pointed to his robe.
“Look, I know this is stylish and all, but I would like to get my things from the room. But I don’t want to go back there by myself. You mind coming with me?” he asked.
“May I accompany you as well? I would like to talk with my brother and see exactly what is going on there,” Randall said from the kitchen.
“The more the merrier,” Garrett replied.
They all piled into Garrett’s rental car and took off towards the motel. Randall flipped open a cell phone and called his brother. As Randall talked with his sibling about the state of the motel and the complaints Garrett had, Allison and Garrett sat in silence. Garrett, occupied with driving, didn’t notice Allison’s nervous hair chewing until he looked right when coming to an intersection.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Just worried about you, Boss,” she said.
“I think I’ll be okay. I want to get away from this place. There is something wrong here, wrong on deep, deep, levels. Can’t you feel it?”
“Yeah, kind of. It’s like there’s something scratching underneath my skin demanding to be free. It’s strange. I didn’t notice before, but it’s getting worse.”
“I bet there’s something else scratching at you… A certain someone.”
“What? No!” Allison said. “I’m just, no, he’s not, I mean, c’mon!”
“Come on, Grasshopper, I could use a change of subject. So tell me, how was your date with the law?”
“His name is Dan,” Allison said defiantly.
“Okay, how was your date with Dan I-obviously-know-something-about-the-sword-but-aren’t-going-to-tell-you Blackwood?”
“You’re impossible sometimes. You know that? It was good. He’s an interesting character, that one.”
“I bet,” Garrett said half-heartedly.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing at all, nothing at all,” Garrett stated. He looked in the rearview mirror as Randall ended the call with his brother.
“What’s the word, Randall?”
“Mort’s going to meet us at your room. I explained what was going on, and he wants to take a look at the room if he may. He is also terribly sorry for all that’s been happening.”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with the motel, but it doesn’t hurt to have another set of eyes.”
***
Dan and Rusty pulled up to Randall’s antique shop. It was dark outside. Dan stared at the building trying to remember if there had been a porch light on earlier when he dropped Allison off.
“This doesn’t feel right, man,” Rusty whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” Dan asked.
“You know, for effect. It’s what they do in the movies. It instills suspense or something. Would you rather I yell?”
Dan shook his head and got out of the vehicle.
“Don’t know if I would have done that,” Rusty whispered again. After a moment, he jumped out the vehicle and followed Dan up to the antique shop.
“So, the Host is an antique dealer?” Rusty asked.
“No, I think it’s—” Dan cocked his head to the side. “Did you hear that?”
Rusty responded by pulling the obsidian knife out. “This isn’t good.”
Dan turned and looked out to the street. It was too dark to see, but something caught his eye—twenty pinpoints of dull, smoldering light.
“No, this isn’t good at all,” Dan whispered, drawing his gun.
“Nice effect, I like it. You ever do movies?” Rusty asked.
Dan shot Rusty a look that conveyed a tone of equal parts annoyance and disbelief. Rusty merely smiled and shrugged.
The burning lights moved closer. One by one, townsfolk from Canyon Shadows emerged from the darkness, ten of them in total, all armed with various weapons. Most of them carried farm and garden tools; however, there was a woman wearing a pink smock that had the words “Happy Haircuts” in bright green lettering, clutching a pair of bloody haircutting shears. There was also a skinny man in a flannel sleeping robe and slippers holding an ax.
They were puppets, nothing but weak playthings. However, His power was growing stronger if he could will these slaves into action.
The porch light came alive and showered its luminous blanket over Rusty and Dan. Dan kicked the door and yelled,
“Hey, Randall! Open up!”
Dan didn’t hear anything from inside. He brought his gun up and took aim.
“Allison? Garrett? Open the door!” he yelled.
The lock on the door disengaged, unlocked from the inside.
“Rusty, let’s get inside,” Dan said, reaching back behind him with one hand, groping for the door knob. He kept the gun aimed at the slow-moving mob.
“You sure you don’t want to play with these fine folks? They look like they want to have some fun,” Rusty said, passing the knife from hand to hand, his body slightly crouched into a fighting stance.
“Any other time than this, Trickster. We have to get the host away from here, though. That is our main priority,” Dan replied
.
He finally found the knob and turned it, while at the same time kicking the door with his heel. The door flew open, and Dan started to back into the building. As he shuffled backward, he shouldered the doorjamb and glanced back to get his bearings. The porch’s light flashed off something metallic—something swinging at his head.
Without thinking, he ducked just as a sword’s blade passed overhead. The blade bit deep into the wooden doorjamb and was momentarily stuck. Dan still crouched, spun around, and brought the gun up, firing two shots in quick succession at his assailant. There was a garbled cry of pain, followed by a middle-aged man with a brown goatee hitting the floor. In a fluid motion, Dan sprung up, snatched the sword from the doorway, and brought it crashing down onto the man’s head, ending his gurgling cry of pain.
The sword was natural in his hand. It was slightly off balance due to the broken cross guard, but it provided an exhilarating surge of familiarity. Movement in front of him brought him out of his reverie as two more townsfolk rushed at him. They came at him bearing weapons from Randall’s armory. A stout man with a gray beard made a clumsy thrust with a katana. Dan twisted at the hip and brought the longsword up to guard. The katana and longsword met and slid against one another, creating the clichéd metal-on-metal scrape.
The man overcommitted to the thrust, and it was easy enough for Dan to let him charge forward. When he got close enough, Dan brought his pistol up with his off hand and fired a shot point-blank into the man’s face.
He hefted the sword up high and met his other attacker’s weapon, a Norse battle ax. The wielder of the ax was the town’s resident computer specialist. Buckley Lawrence owned a small computer repair shop right off of Main Street and barely had enough customers to pay the bills. Dan never once entered the man’s store, because Dan didn’t own a computer. Perhaps this was Buckley’s way of venting some frustration on the matter.