by J. L. Hickey
“I’m sure they will be back tomorrow.”
Vanessa studied the man named Bob, his facial expressions, his breathing. He gave no obvious tells. If he played poker, he’d clean house. Vanessa couldn’t make him out for anything.
Clent was gone for about twenty minutes before he returned to the kitchen.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he shrugged. “Entire house is immaculate, not a speck of dust anywhere, let alone anything suspicious. All rooms cleared.”
“Nora prides herself on her home. She’s the perfect host,” Bob replied.
“Hmmph,” Clent scratched the tip of his nose. He smelled bullshit but had nothing to go off.
“So, what’s next?” Vanessa’s eyes fell to Clent. Her eyes told him she thought the same. It didn’t feel right; something was off.
“There is a garage, right?” Clent pointed out the side door from the kitchen. The exit opened to the side of the house where the cars were parked.
“Yes, where Dennis keeps his sixty-eight Camaro. It’s a bit further back on the property, next to the woods. We shouldn’t bother his stuff though; he’d be upset.”
“Either way, we’d like to check that out, if you don’t mind,” Clent nodded.
“Sure, of course,” Bob sighed. “Let me just grab the key. He keeps it next to the backdoor. Waste of time, though. Surely, they will be back tomorrow. I can have them call you?”
“We’d like just to make our rounds, and we’ll be out of your hair,” Clent replied.
“Yes, okay,” Bob walked to the back of the kitchen near the stairs.
Clent grabbed Vanessa by her arm and pulled her into the living room.
“Stay cool,” he whispered. “We don’t have a warrant, all he has to do is say no, and we can’t do much. It’s not adding up, though, and I want to be thorough.”
“Yeah, okay.” Vanessa nodded. ”I agree. The guy is creepy.”
“All right,” Bob jingled the keys in his hand. “It’s this way: follow me.”
The two officers followed the man named Bob outside into the wintery Michigan night. The drizzle of snow continued to fall. The driveway was slick from the thin snowy dusting, making it easy to lose balance.
“Supposed to be a big storm tonight,” Bob said plainly, looking forward towards the garage.
“I hadn’t heard that,” Clent replied.
“Doesn’t surprise me, hasn’t hit the weather stations yet. They’re saying a few inches tops. I follow my gut for the weather,” Bob didn’t look back, this was the most he’s said all night. “Its gonna hit hard.”
“Where you from, Bob? Asked Vanessa. “You said you were visiting Dennis?”
“Not from here,” Bob said. “Little town called Ruddington. Mostly country roads.”
“I’ve driven through Ruddington before,” Vanessa added. “One stoplight, A single McDonalds, small town. Quiet.”
“There’s the garage,” Bob pointed. “Sits right up against the woods. Mackinaw State Forest. Over seven hundred thousand acres. Beautiful.”
“We’re aware,” Clent added. “Lived here my whole life. I hunt in those woods; most folks around here do.”
“Quite a bit away from the house,” Vanessa added.
“Dennis likes privacy. This is his man cave, his place to get away from the wife and work,” Bob answered.
“I see,” Clent smiled, admiring the exterior of the Garage. He understood that a man had to have his own space.
“Let me unlock the door, one second,” Bob fiddled with the keys.
“Camaro is in here?” asked Clent.
“Yes,” Bob answered.
“Nice size garage,” Vanessa added. “Huge, isn’t it?”
Bob opened the door cautiously, about a quarter of the way. He slipped in. “Let me get the light, so you don’t bump your heads,” said Bob. Before they could respond, he slammed the door and locked it shut.
“Fuck!” Clent dove for the door. He grabbed the handle, to no avail. He lunged shoulder first into the thick door. Despite his size, it barely budged. He hit a second time. It made a loud THUD! “Shit!” he winced. His shoulder popped.
“Damn it!” Vanessa pulled her firearm from her holster. “Wasn’t expecting that!”
“Bob, open the door! Now!” Clent yelled.
This time Vanessa slammed her boot into the door, a failed attempt to kick it down.
“Son of a bitch,” Clent cursed, rotating his arm in a circle, in an attempt to ease the pain. “Look around the sides; see if there’s a window we can get in.”
“On it,” Vanessa replied. Her adrenaline was pumping, heart was racing, pounding loudly in her chest. She attempted to control her breathing.
Remember training. Stay calm.
Why had he locked them out? What was he hiding?
She holstered her weapon above her Maglite. She inspected the west side of the building. It was longer than she thought, it appeared to vanish into the thicket of the woods. The side was barren of windows and doors. No entry, no exit.
“Nothing!” Vanessa yelled.
“Not over here either,” Clent inspected the opposite side. “Come here, guard the door. I’m going to look behind the garage. Maybe there’s a rear door?”
They heard a rustling from the woods behind the garage.
“Shit, is that him?” Clent chased after the noise. It could have been anything, a wild animal, a god-damned bear for all Clent knew. But his gut told him it was him, escaping into the woods.
Vanessa ran back to the front of the garage. The door was still locked, firmly secured. She thought they might have been close to breaking it down; the frame looked loose. No sign of Bob exiting back out the door. Maybe she could finish the door off with a few strong kicks.
“Open up!” she yelled. She inhaled sharply, kicked again, the thud of her boots echoed into the night air.
With one final kick, the door from the front door burst open. Vanessa grunted, exasperated, she almost fell onto the floor. The snow had made her boots slick, and when they hit the smooth pavement inside the garage, she lost her balance.
“Fuck, I did it!” Vanessa blurted out to no one. She flicked her flashlight on, holstered her firearm.
“Bob? She yelled. “You in here?”
She stepped into the garage.
. . .
Clent made his way to the back of the elongated building with caution. Bob was right; the garage stood with more than a third of it enclosed within the forest. The trees and shrubbery were thick and dense. Even in the winter, where the oak tree’s sprung naked branches, the pine trees stayed full, diluting most of the visibility. All of this made it very hard to traverse on foot. Visibility, even with the police high powered Maglite, was less than stellar.
Clent took a deep breath, forcing himself to breathe. Every foot was placed with attention, careful not to slip on the slick, freshly fallen snow. He worked his way through the sappy pine needles with his back against the building, his face exposed to the untamed forest. Branches scratched his face; pine needles poked him. Finally, he made it through. The building came to an end, and a small clearing opened.
Clent wiped away the sap from his face. His back against the edge of the garage. His gun raised; he rounded the corner. There was a back exit, a second door. This one was thick, reinforced with steel, but it remained closed. Clent approached slowly, his gun drawn and extended out in front of him, his Maglite illuminating the way.
“Where are you,” Clent whispered. He reached out, checked the door handle.
Locked.
; He heard rustling once again from the opposite end of the clearing. It came from deep into the forest. Tree branches snapped, bushes rustled.
“Stop!” Clent yelled. ”Bob, turn around! Arms up!”
The snow fell hard now; huge white clumps invaded Clent’s vision. He flashed his light towards the noise, hoping to see the man fleeing. “Bob, come back here! Why are you running?”
Clent followed pursuit into the forest. He was no tracker, and the thought of going too far into the woods made him uneasy. He understood the dangers. If got lost out here, and unprepared, it could quickly become a death sentence.
“Bob, you go too far, you get lost. You’ll die out here. Bob! We got a storm brewing! You said it yourself!” Clent yelled.
Then came the sickening noise from inside the garage. It sounded inhuman, a horrid high-pitched shriek. In all his years, he’d never heard anything so disturbing. Shivers shot up his spine, the thin hairs on his neck stood up. His stomach sunk. Vanessa...
TWO
Haylee dropped three ice cubes in her glass. Next came the cheap vodka she purchased from the small liquor store about five minutes from her house, Seagrams. Haylee always bought the cheap kind. It did the trick, and she could buy a lot more of it. She filled her glass halfway with the alcohol. Finally came the red bull, the sweet caffeinated nectar.
Haylee hated sleeping. She hadn’t had an unaided good night’s sleep since the incident. Most nights saw her waking in terror from horrifying nightmares. There were times where screamed so loud in her sleep, her neighbor, Aaron, (they shared a duplex), would waken from her fits. The first time it happened, he’d run over to make sure she wasn’t in danger of getting murdered. She knew he was joking when he said it. But he didn’t know how much truth there was to it.
It wasn’t funny.
Haylee took a long sip of the drink. She walked to the cupboard, above her microwave, where she kept her pills, and she dug through a half dozen pill bottles before pulling out the one she was looking for labeled Hydrocodone. Haylee took two pills into her hand, dropped them on her tongue. She took another long gulp from her cocktail. Haylee held the sweet liquid in her mouth and threw her head back, washing them down smoothly.
The guilt of her addiction to pills immediately consumed her. She thought of her dad, how disappointed he would be to see his daughter popping pills and drinking her life away.
He would never understand. He never could.
She brushed the thought aside, tightened her pink fuzzy Victoria Secret’s bathrobe around her body, retying the waistband. Time for her nightly routine. She checked every window to make sure they were secured. Next, she checked the drapes making sure they were closed tightly so no one could see in. Finally, she checked the front and back door twice each, unlocking then relocking each one. She was safe. She found her puke green couch and fell into it.
She was exhausted.
Beside her laid her four-legged best friend, Trayer. He was a monster of a dog—her only real companion. Snoring lazily, he made a low grunt as she sat beside him. He hadn’t even lifted his head to acknowledge her. Warm drool pooled beneath slobbery wet lips, dampening the ugly green couch with dark spots. Trayer was more than her best friend; he was her protector. He had a beautiful blue merle coat and weighted easily one-hundred-sixty pounds of thick stocky muscle. He wasn’t skinny like most Great Dane’s Haylee had ever known. He was tall too; when he stood next to Haylee on all fours, he could rest his head on her chest with ease.
Haylee laid down against the dog’s massive frame, her head on his stomach, listening to him breathe. She was safe with him, her guardian, loyal and loving. He was a gift from her father when she moved into the duplex. He wanted her to drive home, come back to Ohio, and live with him. She wouldn’t go. So, due to her stubbornness, and the fact he didn’t want her living alone, Trayer became the compromise. She’d always wanted a Great Dane, and she did feel safer having him in the home. One of the few things she and her father agreed on.
Something was better than nothing.
Haylee’s head was now reeling from the pills. Perhaps she should have only taken one. Or maybe one and a half. Two may have been a bad idea. These pills were new to her; she should be more careful when trying out unprescribed meds. She sighed, took a deep breath. Tried to keep focus.
She needed them, though, the pills.
She’d do anything to find the numbness, to sleep without worry. Pills were the only thing that silenced them anymore, kept them away. Especially the hideous one. The creature with the antlers, the blood-stained mouth with the jagged decayed teeth.
The mere thought of the creature sent her into a panic.
Her television was already on. She rarely turned it off, ever. The noise from random programming kept her sane. She needed the background fodder to root her in reality. If not, she was afraid she might slip away somewhere dark, somewhere rooted in her past. She opened a book, what was she even reading? She’d forgot. A self-help book, one her phycologist suggested. She hated it. The words on the page turned fuzzy, and she couldn’t concentrate, all effects of the pills. It didn’t matter, though, fuck the books, they never helped.
Her phone vibrated from the end table where it sat charging. She hesitated when she read the caller ID. It was her father. Her instinct was to answer. Despite their often heated differences, his voice always made her feel safe.
“Shiiit,” she muttered, the word slurred from the dampness of her lips. He’d be able to tell she’d been drinking, and she knew her words weren’t forming correctly.
Slurring, another effect from the pills.
She knew she took too many.
She wanted to sleep, and she needed that elation from the fuzziness in her head, the lightweight sensation of release. If she fell asleep without the pills, the thing would be waiting for her, behind the old wooden moss-covered door.
Her Visitor, the thing who tortured her every night before the pills, kept her safe.
She thought of the creature, its persistent haunting of her, that had followed since the incident. Her eyes were fighting her now, eyelids growing heavier by the second. The swelling of tears pooled in her eyes, and the warmth of them streamed down her cheeks.
She thought of her mother, of her sister, Camille.
Then she slipped deep into the blackness.
THREE
Aaron Hauser knocked on his neighbor’s door. The roaring of a large dog resounded from inside the home. From the side window, he saw the massive head from a great Dane poking out, barking irritably. If Aaron hadn’t known Trayer, he’d be intimidated by his sheer size. The dog looked menacing like it could rip one of his limbs off with ease. He averted his attention to his reflection in the glass screen of the front door. He stroked his reddish beard, nodding to himself with positive reinforcement. He leaned against his long, glossy black walking cane, waiting for Haylee to answer.
“You look, good bro,” he smiled. He spoke to his reflection, fully aware of how ridiculous he would look if she opened the door at that moment. Trayer continued, the front bay window was dripping with Trayer’s foamy saliva, fogging up from his hot breath. Aaron slipped the cane up under his arm and straightened his back. It cracked loudly.
Aaron was a heavier set guy, late twenty’s, but he held his weight well. He prided himself on being a master of “nerd-swag.” He had his own style, and he made it work, often creating outfits out of humourous tee’s and sports coats, dark denim, and an array of multi-colored Nike sneakers (he was a sneakerhead) for all occasions.
It was cold—bitter cold, the kind of weather that made your bones ache. A storm hit the night prior, layered their shared duplex with about seven inches of thick snow. He braved the streets to grab b
reakfast. A typical fifteen-minute round trip took him forty. He looked at his watch, a quarter past ten.
He frowned.
She should be up...
Why wasn’t she answering? There is no way she could sleep through Trayer’s bark. Hell, if she didn’t answer soon, the dog was liable to wake the whole neighborhood.
Today, Aaron wore a heather-brown sportcoat over a vintage wrestling tee-shirt. He chose the shirt specifically because it was one of his all-time favorite wrestlers, Jake the Snake Roberts. He adjusted his ball cap, a flat-brimmed Detroit Tigers hat with the old classic gothic letter “D” printed on the front.
He frowned, still no answer.
He knocked again, rang the doorbell for good measure.
“Haylee?” he yelled. He knew she was home. She hardly ever left the place, and her car was hidden under a heap of snow on her half of the driveway.
“…Hello?” He grew worried. Aaron pulled out his phone from the inside pocket of his sport coat. He rang Haylee. No answer. He redialed it…
“Hello?” A muffled voice finally picked up. She sounded woozy, half-awake, probably hungover as well (she liked to booze). “Quiet, Trayer,” she snapped.
“Aye, you okay?” Aaron asked. “I’m outside; I brought breakfast.”
She didn’t reply.
“Hello, Haylee?” Aaron frowned.
The front door popped open, slowly.
Aaron walked into the living room, where Haylee stood sitting on the armrest of her ugly lime green couch. Her hands holding her head, she looked like death warmed over. Her skin was paler than usual, dark bags set under her sunken eyes. Her hair tousled, tied loosely in the back. Trayer immediately ran up to Aaron. He let out an inquisitive growl, his head hung lung, sniffing cautiously.
“Hey boy,” Aaron put out his hand for Trayer to sniff. Immediately, Trayer lightened up; his tail began to wag haphazardly, swatting Haylee on her hip with a loud THUD.