by C R Langille
Buckley tried to use the ax’s curved blade to wrench Dan’s sword away, but Buckley wasn’t a warrior and didn’t know how to fight. The man’s movements lacked the fluidity of a trained fighter, and Dan could tell that whatever controlled these puppets hadn’t yet gotten used to the controls. Dan, however, was well versed in the ways of the blade.
Buckley left himself exposed when he pulled back on the ax, and Dan wasted no time in stabbing him in the heart. Buckley was dead before he hit the ground. The entire encounter between Dan and the three assailants was over in seconds.
“Sheriff, you got a plan?” Rusty called. “For some reason, these guys are moving slower than shit running through a constipated turtle, but they are getting closer!”
“Whatever’s controlling them isn’t running at full capacity,” Dan said.
Dan looked through the door and saw that they were indeed closer. In fact, they had overrun the Bronco, cutting Dan and Rusty off from that avenue of escape.
Dan stepped back out onto the porch beside Rusty.
“There you go, get old school on ‘em!” Rusty said nodding at the sword in Dan’s hand.
“These are mere pawns, not even worthy of our time. Let’s end it quickly. There is no hope for the people trapped under His spell. I’ve seen it before, a long time ago.”
“With pleasure,” Rusty said.
Rusty let out a war cry that echoed through the night and rushed toward the mob. Dan brought the sword up near his face.
“God judgeth the righteous, and God is angry with the wicked every day,” Dan said. He brought the sword slashing down in a martial salute and joined Rusty. As the pair closed in on the group of attackers, the sluggishness of the mob broke like the levees of an overflowing dam, and the creatures burst with speed. Within moments, the fight was on.
Rusty’s knife glowed once again with a mix of red and blue sigils. He weaved through the crowd of people, avoiding their attacks with ease and laying them open with his. Each time he struck with his obsidian dagger, he would whoop with a loud war cry, and a bolt of lightning would crash down, searing his enemy. The first person he hit was the woman in the pink smock. She thrust the scissors at his face, but he tucked into a roll and slammed into the woman’s legs. She crashed to the ground in a heap. With an uncanny speed, Rusty slammed his dagger into her side three times and rolled back to his feet, moving to the next threat in a blink of the eye. The woman was struggling to get up when the bolt of lightning slammed her back into the ground. Small arcs of electricity scattered across her three stab wounds like tiny electric insects as she shuddered once violently then lay still on the ground.
Dan followed Rusty into the fray. He holstered his pistol and devoted his full attention to the sword. A man with a shovel turned to attack Rusty as he rushed past, but Dan intercepted the attack with the blade, shoulder-checked the man, then took his head off with a clean swipe. Dan pivoted to the left to avoid a crashing ax from the robed man. The man’s ax cut into the dirt, and Dan kicked the weapon from the old man’s grasp. He brought the sword up in an angled slash that took the old man’s jaw off in a bloody mess.
Dan’s hair raised as another crash of lightning fell right next to him. A charred corpse fell at his feet.
A blonde woman with a pitchfork charged at Dan from the right while a man with a hoe came at him from the left. Dan stepped into the attack on the left, putting his sword between him and the attacker and getting too close for the man’s hoe to be effective. He grabbed the garden implement to hold it in place while he swung the longsword and parried the woman’s thrust to the side. He pulled the man around by the hoe, crashing him into the woman, and they both tumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Before they could rise, Dan thrust the sword down, impaling both.
Rusty let a young man in sweatpants chase him toward a tree. Once he was close enough, he jumped up, latched onto a low branch, and swung up and around like a gymnast, twisting around until he was standing on top of the branch. Sweatpants had a pair of hedge clippers which he snapped up at Rusty’s feet. Rusty leaped into the air and hit the ground behind the boy and immediately rolled into a somersault. Sweatpants turned to attack Rusty again, but Rusty rolled, jumped up onto the nearby Bronco, and leaped back toward the man. By the time the attacker had fully turned, Rusty planted the dagger in his eye. Half a second later, lightning obliterated what was left of Sweatpants.
The remaining three townsfolk attacked in frenzy, but they were no match for Dan and Rusty. Within moments, they too fell to the ground dead and bleeding. Dan ran back into the antique shop while Rusty ensured the fallen enemies stayed dead.
“Piece of cake!” Rusty said.
“These are only puppets. You want a gold star for excellence or something?” Dan asked while coming out of the antique shop. “Nobody else is here. They must have left.”
Dan ditched the unbalanced longsword and now held the katana in a loose grip. He put the weapon away in its saya as he walked off the porch.
“Any ideas where they might have gone?” Rusty asked, still shuffling around the bodies.
“Yes. I’m pretty sure I know where they are. Come on! We’ve got to hurry. If they came here, then they more than likely went to the motel as well. We got to get to her quick,” Dan said.
Rusty stopped and shot Dan a sly look.
“So, you’ve finally noticed that your body is changing? Girls are interesting now? Soon your voice will drop, and you’ll be a real man,” Rusty said, chuckling.
“Don’t you have some rabbits to chase or sticks to fetch?” Dan asked.
Rusty let out a deep laugh. They got in the Bronco and sped off toward the motel. Dark clouds gathered over Canyon Shadows, and Dan didn’t like the look of them. Things were about to get even uglier for everyone.
Chapter Twenty-One
November 2, 1180
I have confronted Sir Ralph. It was what I feared. Sir Ralph lost his faith in this quest and wishes to return to the Holy Land, his reason being that we cannot possibly stop this evil ourselves.
Part of me is inclined to trust his judgment. Perhaps we are not strong enough to see this through. Perhaps this entire venture was for naught. I cannot believe that we have come this far and lost so many, only to return now, defeated. We cannot let our brothers’ deaths be in vain. No! We can stop this darkness, for we have the power and might of our Lord God behind us, and with that, we will bring light to the void.
I shall venture forth once again into the depths soon, with or without Sir Ralph.
-Sir William Brock
Canyon Shadows
Mort waited patiently outside of Garrett’s room as they pulled into the parking lot. The man looked tired and moved sluggishly out of a lawn chair when the car came to a stop. Randall got out of the car and almost ran to his brother. They gave each other a small hug and then completed a complex handshake which involved several movements. Allison smirked as they went through the ritual and tried to keep up mentally with what they were doing. Included in the cryptic routine was a thumb-war, three finger snaps, and a couple of handgun pantomimes.
Mort’s smile faded and was replaced with a stern look of concern when Garrett walked up.
“Mr. Porter,” Mort said extending his hand. Garrett took the outstretched hand in a firm grasp and shook it briefly. “I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been experiencing such horrible things on the premises. I would like to extend an apology as well as a full refund.”
“Thank you, Mr. Childers, I appreciate it. But what I really want is to change into some decent clothes, and no offense to you or your business, but I would like to get the hell out of here.”
“None taken.”
Garrett opened the door slowly, not entirely sure of what he would find. There was a slight rattling as he opened the door, and it took him a moment to realize it was his hand shaking. He took a deep breath a
nd the rattling stopped.
The light was still on as he’d left it, and the cupboard under the sink still was open. He stood in the doorway and scanned the room.
“You okay, Boss?” Allison asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Garrett took comfort in the touch and walked into the room. The rest of the group followed him in and shut the door. Mort walked through the small room, looking in drawers and behind the furniture. Garrett wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but it didn’t matter.
Randall took his brother’s lead and also began looking around, choosing to search the bathroom. He walked past the open cupboard under the sink, and Garrett halfway expected his dead daughter’s hand to shoot out and grab Randall. Nothing happened as Randall walked by the sink and into the bathroom. Allison stood close to Garrett, unsure of what to do.
Garrett moved toward the cupboard under the sink. Randall searched the nearby bathroom, but Garrett didn’t want to move any closer to the sink. His mind screamed at him, pleading him not to look into the dark cubby. Finally, he closed the distance and placed his hand on the cool wooden door of the cupboard. Curiosity urged him to kneel down and look to see if his dead daughter waited for him. His reptilian brain continued to fight the urge, warning him of what he might find under there. His reptilian brain won the argument, and he slammed the cupboard close choosing instead to get his clothes.
Randall and Mort stood near the entryway, talking quietly to one another while Garrett packed. Allison was helping him stuff his bag with clothes when her phone beeped, alerting her to a text.
“Mick is getting closer. I can’t believe he drove all through the night. Those runes must have got him excited,” she said putting the phone away.
“I still don’t know why he had to come all the wa—” Garrett lost his words. He shifted his gaze to the sink in front of the bathroom. The cupboard was once again open.
“Did any of you open that door?” Garrett asked.
Everyone looked to the bathroom, but no one spoke up. The Childers looked to one another then back to the bathroom. In unison, they moved forward and joined Garrett and Allison near the bed.
Garrett’s curiosity beat his reptile brain into submission this time and went to the sink. He crouched near the cupboard door and peered into the dark interior. Nothing but the drain pipe and an old plunger met his wide eyes.
“Boss, let’s get out of here,” Allison said.
He nodded in agreement and shut the door again. As he walked back to the bed to grab his things, Allison’s eyes went wide with fear, and she brought her hand up to her mouth. Randall and Mort took an involuntary step back, their eyes sick with panic.
Garrett turned and looked back at the sink. The door was once again open, and two pale feet, a child’s feet, hung out of the shadowed cupboard. Bluish green bruising covered most of the feet, but the few spots of skin that were untouched were so pale they reminded him of marble tile. Ragged tears and rips adorned the legs in various areas, running in chaotic, bloody trenches. An insane giggle cut the air like a chainsaw.
Garrett stumbled backward until he met the bed and lost his balance. He fell into a sitting position.
“Maddie?” Allison whispered.
The feet began to kick as if they belonged to a child splashing the water of a pool. The giggle’s volume intensified and at once sounded as if it were coming from all different directions, fading in and out of reality.
There was a pressure in the air, almost suffocating, as if something pushed the fabric of reality trying desperately to break through from some unseen place. It gave him a headache and blurred his vision. Allison and the Childers reacted similarly, each squinting their eyes and grimacing like something hit them.
“Mommy is here, Daddy! She’s here now, and she’s ready to play with you. But she said I could play with your friends!”
The voice sounded like Maddie’s but was tinged with a malice that made Garrett’s skin crawl.
Mort let out a shrill squeak and ran for the door. He tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic set in, and he started to throw his body against it. Randall couldn’t look away from the feet. His hands opened and closed involuntarily, and he started to mouth something incoherent.
Garrett stood up from the bed and took a step toward the corpselike feet that still kicked in the air, splashing imaginary water around. Allison grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him around so that they were staring eye-to-eye.
“We need to get out of here,” Allison said. There was an urgency in her voice that pulled Garrett back to the here and now.
“Okay.” It was all he could muster.
The bathroom light flickered to life, and the shower turned on, stopping everyone in their tracks. Even Mort quit pounding on the door.
“Mommy’s here!”
A feminine voice humming a song emanated from the shower. It was a slow melody that Trish used to hum all the time, but just like Maddie’s laugh, this too had become corrupt, dead. The tune contained a disjointed melody as if it were thrown together by someone who didn’t know the song but tried to sing it anyway. The voice held a wet quality to it, like phlegm stuck in the back of her throat.
“Maddie, honey, why don’t you entertain Daddy’s guests while mommy… cleans up.”
The voice that came from the bathroom was coarse and wrong, but it still captured Garrett. He longed to hear her voice for too long. Something in his brain snapped, and he went toward it like a sailor toward a siren.
“Boss, no!” Allison yelled.
She tried to keep him from going to the bathroom, but he shrugged her off as if she wasn’t even there. She fell backward onto the floor and landed on her rump with a dull thud.
Garrett walked past the open cupboard and into the bathroom without hesitation. The bathroom door shut behind him. Allison scrambled up and rushed to save Garrett, but the child-like feet stopped their incessant kicking, and Allison pulled up short. The horrible giggle filled the room again, reigniting Mort’s attempts at escape.
Allison took a step back when a small girl’s hand emerged from the cupboard and grabbed the edge of the sink. Three fingers were missing from the hand, and the skin around the wound was torn and festered. Moments later, the rest of the girl emerged.
She looked like Maddie. Being a girl of eight years, she had that short, skinny quality that many girls her age did. A shaggy mop of brown hair sat on her head, half it matted with dried blood, and there was a deep gash near the blood exposing part of her skull. The white of the bone contrasted against her dark hair. Her clothes were ripped, torn, and covered in blood much like her body.
The girl’s face twisted into a demoniac smile. One of her eyes was missing, but the other smoldered like a lit cigar, slowly burning itself into oblivion and threatening to take Allison along with it. She took a shaky step but then fell to the floor, still laughing insanely.
Allison backed away from the macabre little nightmare. Maddie tried to stand again, but something that sounded like two concrete blocks grinding against each other emanated from her broken form, and she flopped to the carpet once more.
This time, she got on her hands and knees and shot her gaze directly into Allison’s.
“Aunt Ally-cat! It’s been a long time since we played!”
The girl’s voice tore into Allison’s head, and she immediately clapped her hands over her ears, trying to keep the sick sound from entering.
Maddie giggled again, and the grin on her face stretched further, causing the creases at the corner of her mouth to crack open. A black oily liquid oozed from those wounds.
“I am the rocker!”
Maddie’s head turned to the side, all the while keeping Allison’s eyes locked on her dark remaining orb.
“I am the roller!”
Her head continued to twist. The vertebrae popped and grated against the unna
tural strain. The girl’s small and damaged frame shook as she laughed and smiled.
“I am the OUT OF CONTROLLER!”
With that last outburst, Maddie’s head turned almost completely around and glared at Allison upside down with a maddening glee in her eye. The little girl scooted across the ground like a sinister crab and went up the wall with uncanny speed, clinging to the wall’s surface as if she were a spider.
While she hung on the ceiling, the giggles coming from her small frame were out of control. The sound rocked the motel room and had a maddening effect on those unfortunate enough to be trapped inside. Randall stopped helping his brother trying to pry the door open and simply sat down on the floor, hugging his knees close to his body. Mort’s bladder surrendered and emptied itself while he tried to get through the door with a renewed fervor. Allison watched the creature and began to slowly rip strands of from her scalp.
“THE OUT OF CONTROLLER! THE OUT OF CONTROLLER! THE OUT OF CONTROLLER!” Its voice changed from Maddie’s into a deep baritone voice, full of gravel and hate.
The black ooze began to flow even faster from the girl’s mouth, and when it hit the carpet, noxious fumes steamed from the pile.
Allison’s mind finally fractured. The fracture was small, just a little hairline of a thing, but was enough to finally prod a scream from deep within her.
***
To Garrett, the commotion from the other side of the door was nothing but a small distraction. The shower ran, causing steam to billow and collect in the small room, making it hard to see. He could barely make out a feminine form in the shower, a mere shadow behind the curtain.
Trisha’s ghostly humming continued to radiate from the muggy confines of the shower. Garrett reached out a hand and grasped the plastic shower curtain. Images of palm trees, fish, and a variety of different seashells decorated the cheap curtain. Water from the shower pattered across his hand from the other side.
The feel of the plastic brought him back from his daze, and he hesitated. Confusion forced its tendrils into his thoughts, and he had trouble remembering how had ended up in the bathroom. A dull pain in the back of his head thrummed, which increased as he tried to remember the last few moments.