Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Chapter 11

Jonathan and Clancy: Now
     The headless thing darted spider-like across the ceiling to the far corner of the room so quickly that Jonathan's eyes could hardly follow it. The bees were everywhere, stinging his face and scalp, stinging his hands. He wasn't sure if he had an allergy to bees but Jonathan figured if he received many more stings it would hardly matter either way. Even now he felt several painful welts swelling all over his body and was beginning to find it hard to breathe. Clancy's face and arms were covered in a growing number of stings as well. Jonathan wanted to make a run for the door but the thing was crouched  in the corner just to the right of it and seemed ready to pounce. Behind Jonathan, Clancy had wet a towel in the room's sink and was whipping it around furiously killing many of the bees that were swarming around his head.
     Suddenly the thing from the ceiling attacked, leaping the full distance across the room in a single motion and forcing Clancy to the carpeted floor. It gripped the man's throat tightly with both hands and squeezed until Clancy's face began to turn first red then purple like a bruise. Jonathan tried pulling the creature off of the downed man but its body was greasy and slick and its grip was inhumanly strong. He tried kicking it off but only succeeded in tearing chunks out of its ribs and stomach. The gaping holes made by his boots were leaking thick fluid black as oil. The blood reeked like sewage. As Jonathan struggled to free Clancy, still being stung by the remaining bees, he noticed a pinkish substance bubbling up from the blackened flesh of the thing's severed neck. A single drop of the substance fell free and struck Clancy's face where the skin immediately began to bubble and redden. Jonathan was so busy with his struggle that at first he didn't hear the frantic knock on the door. His mind was beginning to grow hazy and he was finding it harder and harder to pull air into his lungs. He gradually became aware of the pounding on the door and the shouting coming from the opposite side. A voice, strangely familiar, was calling his name. Knowing that his only hope may lie on the other side of the door, Jonathan turned and ran for the door. Just as he reached for the handle an impact from behind flung him face first against the surface of the door and icy fingers gripped his throat.

Laura: Now

     The man in the driver's seat of the huge truck was intensely focused, and Laura thought it best not to disturb him for the time being. He'd been very talkative at first. Explaining to her everything he could about the man who had captured her and the other women and Reginald as well. So much of his story sounded crazy, but somehow she knew it was all true. The legacy of murder and the obsession with this mysterious "dragon". It explained the trucker's odd behavior, the conversations he had been having with the air, and as much as she wished she hadn't she had seen the red scales covering the man with her own eyes. Now that he had explained it all and told her of his plan to try to catch up with his nephew whom Reginald expected to find somewhere in Connecticut, the man had grown silent. His mouth was a solemn line under haunted and distant eyes.
     Initially the man had offered to drop her off at the nearest town but when they'd arrived at an exit she'd told him to keep driving. At the time she hadn't known why she'd chosen to stay in the truck, the same horrible vehicle that had served as her prison only days before. Now as the miles accumulated in there wake Laura thought she understood. She was here for Nancy, and for Charlotte and the others. The time would come for walking into a police department and blowing the lid off of everything. There would be news vans, and media spectacle when that cabin was opened that would exceed anything that had come before. There would be exploitative books written and even trashier film adaptions made she was certain, but before all that, Laura planned to see the matter to its conclusion. She owed it to the women who had died in that cellar. Whatever dark work had been put in motion by the man she'd killed, Reginald believed it wasn't yet over. The older man was confident that his nephew, this Jonathan, had picked up where he himself had left off. He believed that the boy would follow the path hinted at by his uncle's notes. He also believed that he had unwittingly directed Jonathan into one of the trucker's traps: a trap originally intended for himself. Maybe that was why Reginald had grown so quiet. Perhaps it was simple guilt.
     When they arrived at the motel and Reginald had pulled the large vehicle to a halt he turned to Laura and spoke. "He's here. The pickup parked there in front of the door was mine, it would have been passed along to Jonathan after my apparent death was determined. We know not  what devilment is waiting behind that door." He gestured toward the hatchet Laura had just picked up from the seat where it had been resting beside her. "Be ready to use that again." Laura nodded and the look in her eyes said that she was. They left the truck and approached the door to room 319. Before they had reached the door they heard the sounds of struggle coming from inside the room: a loud crash, yells of pain from more than one voice. Reginald ran to the door and began beating on it, screaming Jonathan's name. There was a loud smack as something heavy hit the door and suddenly the door was open and a man fell out into the parking lot, with an abomination attached to his back.

Many miles away the trucker sat up in the gravel where he had fallen, and the grin on his face was one of pure joy.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Chapter 10

Jonathan and Clancy: Now

     At first neither of the men really knew where to go or even what to say. For awhile Jonathan simply drove. It was Clancy who finally broke the silence. "Much as I fear the place, I think I know where we need to go." Clancy stared out the window of the pickup as he spoke and his voice took on a far away quality. "Before I ... left... before he sent me through, I had collected pictures of several dragon drawings in bathroom stalls all along the interstate. There were dates on some of them. If the date on the newspaper in the hospital lobby was current then that means the next dated dragon falls two days from now." Jonathan considered this for a moment then asked Clancy where they needed to go. The other man didn't respond immediately, he just stared out the window. Jonathan was about to ask again when Clancy spoke in a low whisper. "Connecticut. There's a motel off I-95... room 319." Jonathan pulled a well-worn atlas from the truck's console and offered it to Clancy who refused it. "I know the way." he said. "I've driven this route so many times I could travel it in my sleep, probably have a few times actually."
     The pair drove for hours on end, stopping occasionally to swap seats or to use the restroom, only at places Clancy had deemed "safe". When he wasn't driving Clancy studied the contents of the wooden box mostly in silence. Jonathan was so focused on the road ahead and his own troubled thoughts that at first he didn't even notice that the former salesman was crying in the passenger seat beside him. The man was holding the newspaper clippings that detailed his own disappearance and unusual return. Clancy was sobbing, his whole body trembling. Jonathan didn't think he'd ever seen a more broken person in all his life. He pulled the truck off the highway and parked in the shade of an overpass. For a moment he was unsure what to say, the man's tears made him feel awkward. After a brief bout of embarassed hesitancy Jonathan placed an arm around the crying man's shoulder. Clancy buried his face in Jonathan's jacket. Jonathan could feel a feverish heat pouring out of the other man and as he attempted to speak words of comfort he found his voice shaky and his own eyes wet. He hadn't truly allowed himself to mourne his father's passing or that of his uncle and now he saw a reflection of his own broken heart in the pitiful, tortured being weeping against his chest. He was alone. Truly alone, and yet he felt that if somehow he could complete this one journey, he might be able to find the strength to move on. Clancy finally stopped crying and though his eyes were rimmed in red he seemed better, more resolved.
     Several hours later Jonathan pulled the Chevy into a parking spot at a less than impressive motel and left Clancy waiting in the truck as he entered the lobby. Returning with room keys for 319 Jonathan found Clancy already standing in front of the room's door. Jonathan joined him and found that it took almost more courage than he had to place the keycard in the reader. The little light above the reader flashed first red and then green with a barely audible click from the mechanism within. Jonathan opened the door and stepped inside. Jonathan froze and when Clancy pushed past him he understood why. The room was wrong. It looked exactly as it had the previous two times Clancy had entered it and there was nothing in its appearance that spoke of its wrongness and yet the room was incredibly and unbearably wrong. There was a heaviness in the air and a sense of barely restrained danger. It almost felt like there was a freight train silently plowing toward the two men from the otherside of the drab and faded wallpaper. The shadows seemed to be wanting to rush out from under the twin beads and nightstands and plunge the room into living darkness. Their stomachs were suddenly sick and a cold sweat had broken out on each of their faces. It seemed that each step deeper into the room required a herculean effort. Clancy could feel the trucker's presence in the room like a physical thing. The space reeked of him. The bearded face flashed unbidden in his mind's eye and Clancy couldn't stifle a whimper. He cringed as Jonathan stepped to the bathroom door and opened it then reached into the pitch black to flip on the overhead light. Part of him was certain that unseen teeth would bite Jonathan's arm off right at the elbow and that the dragon's face would emerge slowly from the blackness, its eyes bulging in their sockets while its other heads whispered his name. Instead the bathroom was illuminated in harsh florescent white. The dragon was still there, drawn on a four inch square title just to the right of the shower nozzle. Underneath it the date was also still there. "Tomorrow." Jonathan said. " Whatever is coming, it will happen tomorrow."
     It was then that Clancy turned and almost missed the brief flash of pale flesh that darted back into the darkness under the nearest bed. He screamed for Jonathan. Together they cautiously approached the bed. With a silent nod they each grabbed a corner of the bed frame and overturned it. The hooded figure flew from the shadows crawling up the motel room wall, shattering the nightstand lamp, and finally perching upside down from the center of the ceiling. It must have somehow passed through the shower then sought the familiar darkness of the shadows. Jonathan wondered how many people had slept in the bed not knowing what lurked beneath. As the figure hung from the ceiling the hood fell to the floor revealing a yellowish head of bees, which scattered from the stump of its neck and filled the room.

Laura: Now

     Just as she heard the trucker enter the room beyond the kitchen Laura's eyes found a thin line tracing up the center of the wood paneled wall beside the cupboard. It was barely visible and had she not been so desperate for escape, Laura may have missed it but there it was all the same, and now that she'd seen it, Laura was certain it was more than a simple crack. She pressed her shoulder against it and felt despair flare in her heart when nothing happened, but as she leaned against the panel harder it gave inward. She pushed the panel aside enough to slip through and then slid it back into place. She could still hear the man storming through the living room area. Laura heard the crashing sounds of furniture being overturned and the almost primate sound of his grunting and heavy breathing as he searched for her.She backed stealthily away from the panel and nearly toppled as she found herself stepping into empty space. She hadn't realized she was standing on stairs until she'd almost fallen. Taking each step slowly now and bracing herself with a hand on the wall to her left, Laura carefully descended the stairs at last finding herself in a damp basement. There was moonlight peeking through the cracks between the 2x4's that formed the basement wall on the far side of the room. The light cast a zebra pattern of across the dirty concrete floor which was littered with trash and rusted tools. Leaning in one corner was a rusting wood-handled sledgehammer but Laura found it too heavy to lift in her weakened state. Moving the hammer aside however, she found a hatchet with a rubber grip lying atop a pile of old, yellowed newspapers. She lifted the hatchet from the pile and instantly felt more prepared. From somewhere behind her, Laura heard movement and as she spun she raised the newly found weapon.
     The man tied up in the corner was very thin and seemed quite sickly. Had he not lifted his head to look at her she would have thought he was dead. Long dried blood had colored one side of his face a dark brown. His voice was little more than a low cough but Laura didn't have to hear the words to recognize "Help me." come from the man's cracked lips. She hurried to his side and used the kitchen knife which was sharper than the hatchet to cut through the cables around the mans arms and legs. He was older, in his sixties or perhaps even his seventies, his condition made his age hard to determine. "Is there a way out?" she asked as quietly as she could. The man gestured towards the far wall where Laura could just make out the faint outline of a door. Helping the man to his feet Laura offered him her shoulder which he refused; somehow the old guy was able to stay upright. Laura thought he must be tougher than he looked. She found the door locked with a rusty chain which fell away after two strikes from the hatchet. She hated to make the noise, but it seemed to be the only way out.
     She scanned the yard beyond and saw no sign of the trucker. The eighteen wheeler stood silhouetted in the light of the moon like a sleeping beast. She silently motioned for the older man to follow then sprinted from the basement to the side of truck and crouched behind one of its enormous tires. The man again impressed her by matching her almost step for step. The house was silent and dark which unsettled her. She could no longer hear the trucker and now a feeling of being watched overwhelmed her. Was he standing just out of sight behind one of those blackened square windows looking right at her? A sudden instinctual drive compelled her to check under the truck but she didn't see the man there either. Still crouching she eased past the old man, making her way toward the back of the trailer. She didn't see the attack coming. The trucker had been waiting perched upon the tailgate of the vehicle and when Laura rounded the corner he lunged at her, knocking her to the ground. The red scales were back now and more pronounced, covering not just his neck but now his arms as well. The trucker's eyes were nearly bursting from his face, red with burst vessels. The old man suddenly threw himself at the trucker and while his attention was distracted Laura buried the head of the hatchet in the trucker's skull. The man collapsed and in a moment was still, a pool of blood forming around his head. She turned to the old man. "Thanks." she said. "What's your name?" He extended a hand toward her and replied. "Reginald. Reginald Bowers."

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Good News and what to expect

http://horrorbloggeralliance.blogspot.com/ had added The Fringes to their alliance which is awesome because it will get the story out there to even more readers. The story is building towards a final confrontation, but there is still more to tell. In fact I have decided that even after the initial novel is complete, the Fringes will continue as a sort of horror anthology. THERE WILL BE more fringes novel, each with a different story and characters that encounter sinister happening in the outer edges of society, places Clancy Matthews would call the fringes. Thank you to all who are taking the journey into darkness with me, please pass it along along with the other awesome blogs @ http://horrorbloggeralliance.blogspot.com/

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Chapter 9

Jonathan and Clancy: Now

     The change was so sudden and so unexpected that for a moment
Jonathan simply froze. His mind was unwilling or possibly unable to
process the transition. Plain bright walls had been replaced by
volcanic rock, the antiseptic aroma of fresh cleaned floors had become
the reek of brimstone and decay. He glanced beside him to where Clancy
was now kneeling, his head in his hands, and screaming. Jonathan was
shocked to find he could see through the other man to the wall of
black stone on the other side. Jonathan looked down at his own
translucent hands; they looked like a photograph printed on
transparent paper. "Clancy, get up!" he said. " Something's happening!
Look at your hands!"
     The other man stopped screaming and stood slowly, staring down at
his transparent limbs in confusion. "This is different." Clancy said.
"It isn't like before." They were in one of the many cells of the
abyss and Clancy explained in a mad rush all of the horrors that had
happened to him in a similar room. Clancy told him about the dragon
and about the worms that wouldn't die or allow him to die. He told
Jonathan about the hooded figures with their counterfeit heads. Once
the man began speaking it was as if a dam had burst in his fragile
mind. He had been trapped inside his own head since the day he emerged
from the restroom stall, able to hear, see and remember but unable to
speak. The worm had been controlling him as though he were a puppet
made of meat instead of wood: a tortured marionette trapped inside his
shattered mind. Now here he was again, in the dark, but not really
here it seemed. Suddenly he dashed away from Jonathan and ran to the
mouth of the cell to look down into the chamber beyond. The dragon was
still there but no longer chained to the floor. The enormous bonds
that had once restrained its many legs were broken; now only one chain
remained. This final chain was attached to a huge collar that
encircled the beast's massive neck. Looking at the dragon now from his
vantage point above, Clancy noticed new details, a row of odd,
flesh-colored growths breaking through the glistening red scales on
the dragon's neck. Clancy was so intensely focused on the sight before
him that he didn't even notice Jonathan had joined him at the cell
opening until the other man spoke. "Those are heads, human heads."
Jonathan's voice was monotone, machine-like. His matter-of-fact tone
indicated that the man was in some degree of shock; Clancy could
identify. Jonathan had been correct though, as Clancy looked closer he
saw that the growths were in fact faces pressing through, their mouths
moving as though gasping for air, their eyes rolling wildly. Jonathan
cursed beside him. Jonathan had just recognized the faces if those six
heads, they were faces he had seen in black and white photos in his
uncle and father's box. They were the faces of murderers. As they
watched, the scales split apart and a seventh head began to push
through. On the ground below the dragon the hooded figures began to
pour into the space from each side and climb onto the dragon's body,
covering every part of its massive frame with a writhing blanket of
darkness. The final chain was pulled tight and beginning to warp. The
entire place was filled with the thunder of the dragon's hideous
laughter. There was a sudden flash of red light and as quickly as they
had arrived in the hellish place, Clancy and Jonathan found themselves
back in the hospital room. The worm was gone leaving behind only the
dragon on the floor which they hurriedly covered again with the bed.
Jonathan's voice was shaky when he spoke. "I'm all for getting out of
this room." Clancy agreed.

Laura: Now

     She had failed. Laura had never felt so defeated and utterly
powerless in her life. She hadn't saved any of the women, hadn't even
been able to save herself. Even the girl who had bolted from the
cellar ruining their one chance at freedom hadn't made it out of the
house. The trucker had retrieved her, dragging her unconscious body
back into the room. Laura had watched that unfold before blacking out.
After killing Nancy the trucker had slipped into an odd sort of
trance. He had slumped over in his chair, his head lying against his
chest. Drool hung from his lip and chin every few moments he would
twitch and shudder then grow still again. As she watched his head flew
up, eyes bulging in there sockets. His skin began to crack and redden
in a pattern that seemed very much like fish scales then the flesh
regained its normal texture and color and his head rested on his chest
again.
     For what must have been the hundredth time Laura struggled to
free her arms from the straps securing them to the table. The right
side was fully immobile, her left arm she could move but only
slightly. She focused her strength on that arm. Gradually the strap
began to loosen. She forced herself to ignore the raw pain in her
wrist and struggled even harder. At last her left arm pulled free; it
was bleeding and cramped but it was free. She pawed frantically at the
strap restraining her right arm and soon freed it as well. Glancing
occasionally at the still motionless trucker, Laura freed her feet and
as quietly as possible she crawled from the table to the floor. Her
chest ached horribly with every step but she was mobile and that meant
she had a chance. Now she paused with indecision. Should she attack
the man? Should she sneak away? How far could she get before he awoke
and pursued her? The man stirred in his chair but did not waken from
his weird state. Laura forced herself not to consider the possible
meaning of the scaled pattern that had briefly covered the trucker's
neck and cheeks. Deciding on a course of action, she mouthed a silent
apology to the slain women and swiftly exited the room. She followed
the hallway beyond the library back to the living room area where she
had been forced into the trapdoor. Laura found the front door
padlocked shut and found all the windows barred. From the library  a
bellow of anger erupted. The trucker was awake. She had to hide. In
the kitchen nearby she found a knife, not a large one but it was
better than no weapon at all. Taking the knife, Laura squeezed out of
sight behind a nearby cupboard and waited.

Monday, November 5, 2012

chapter 8


Jonathan: now

     Stepping into the room of Clancy Matthews, Jonathan was shocked at how ordinary a space he encountered. He'd imagined so many possible details in his mind on the drive to the hospital, none of which prepared him for the stark, mostly bare room he was now standing in. The walls were covered in white wallpaper (not padded and covered with cryptic scrawlings as he'd imagined it would be). Nor was the room dark, damp, and decaying like the asylums Jonathan had seen in movies; instead he found the room well let and filled with the antiseptic smell of pine-scented cleaner. He found the man sitting slumped over in a chair by the room's single window. Clancy was dressed in pale blue pants and a white t-shirt. His eyes were open but he seemed to be staring through the floor. When Jonathan spoke the man's name he didn't so much as turn his head in Jonathan's direction. Taking a seat on the neatly made bed beside Clancy, Jonathan continued to speak. "Mr. Matthews, I'm not sure if you are hearing me right now but if you are I believe there is a chance you can help me. My name is Jonathan Bowers. They tell me that you haven't spoken a word since being brought to this place, but... I'm hoping maybe you will talk to me." Clancy's eyes still stared blankly. Jonathan fought the urge to give up and leave. He hadn't driven all this way for nothing. His uncle had believed this broken man was the key to stopping this horrible darkness from being unleashed on the world. Jonathan pulled a Polaroid photograph of the dragon drawing from a folder he'd brought with him and held it in front of the man's eyes. "Mister, have you ever seen the dragon in this picture before?" 
     The change in Clancy's expression was subtle at first, just a tightening of the man's mouth and a glimmer of awareness in his eyes, then gradually his face came alive. To Jonathan it seemed as if the other man were awakening from some dreadful nightmare and finding that it had followed him into the waking world. The terror in Clancy's eyes made Jonathan's own heart beat faster. Suddenly Clancy was standing; he grabbed Jonathan by the lapels of his jacket and flung him from the bed with alarming strength. Without a word Clancy gripped the bed by its frame and drug it away from its place against the wall. There on the floor was the dragon itself, carved into the linoleum tiles... no not carved... scratched there by the man's own fingernails. Clancy turned and face Jonathan, his eyes now red-rimmed and fully alert. "He's coming!" the man screamed. "He sees us right now! He's laughing at us right n..." As the man's voice reached a fevered pitch he lurched forward and brown stream of vomit erupted from his mouth and drenched Jonathan's from his chest down. With mounting horror Jonathan saw that the vomit was not actually vomit at all; it was alive and crawling down his body toward the floor. It was a worm, easily four feet long and covered with a teeming mass of cockroaches that scattered as it landed on the floor with a wet plop. The worm crawled across the tile floor to the dragon etched there covering the image and positioning its slimy body to match the dragon's curves. Clancy fell to his knees, still conscious but with a trail of brown tinged blood now dripping from his mouth down his chin like a grotesque beard. Jonathan heard screaming and a moment later realized that the voice was his own. The fluorescent lights overhead began to flicker; suddenly the white walls of the hospital room were gone and Jonathan found himself in darkness.

Laura: Now
     Laura's eyes opened and for the second time in as many days she found herself restrained. Able at least to move her head she was amazed to find her chest wasn't a bloody mess. Apparently the trucker had loaded the pistol with rubber bullets, preferring instead to have his bloody fun with his victims. It still felt like she'd been smacked in the chest with a sledgehammer. She was no longer in the cellar, that much she knew. she was currently strapped down to a table in what seemed liked a library of some sort. What she could see of the walls were lined with shelves which were sagging with the weight of countless books. She could hear the man muttering in a distant corner of the room and though she couldn't make out what he was saying he seemed to be arguing. There was something chilling about hearing the odd one-sided conversation. Some sixth sense told Laura that the trucker wasn't speaking on the phone, that he was debating with some voice in his head that only he could hear. Abruptly silence filled the room and then she heard heavy footsteps as he rushed across the room to where she lay. As he came into view she noticed he was now wearing a black apron and on his hands he wore bright yellow rubber cleaning gloves. The sight might have been comical if the gloves hadn't been covered with blood. The trucker cranked and unseen handle to her left and the table ratcheted forward bringing her upright and giving her a complete view of the room. What she saw both angered her beyond anything she'd felt thus far and also broke her heart. The women's bodies were arranged about the space like a gruesome still life. She recognized Pamela and the others by their clothing, their heads had all been removed. Tears welled up in Laura's eyes and poured down her cheeks. Nancy was sitting in a chair in front of Laura, arms tied behind he back, still alive. Above her duct-taped mouth the girls eyes were large and watery with terror.
     The trucker grabbed a handful of Laura's hair and forced her to look at him. " He wants you to see this." the man said. "He wants you to know how important this is, how specie you are. You are the final lamb." He stroked Laura's cheek lovingly with a gloved finger leaving a bloody smear. "You are a special one." Laura couldn't reply since her own mouth was taped shut as well. He turned from her and crossed the room, positioning himself behind Nancy. He picked up a hacksaw from the table behind the thin girl and placed the serrated edge against the pale skin of her neck. The trucker was smiling again, with his head tilted slightly to the side as though someone were whispering sweetly into his ear. Laura supposed the may just be the case. The man nodded as though in agreement and then the hacksaw was in motion.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Chapter 7

Chapter 7


Excerpt from the diaries of Reginald Bowers III

     I am plumbing the depths of depravity and finding the well bottomless. So many deaths and so many atrocities in the name of this dreadful being. It seems impossible that no one has connected these dreadful events before now but I suppose that being so widespread in their dates of occurrence they were treated individually. My forbear traced the dragon's activity as far back as World War II. Limited technology hindered his research I am sure but still I am amazed by his tenacity. The earliest event in my grandfather's journal involves a German man of the Nazi party by the name of Josef Steidtmann. Steidtmann was in charge of executions at a concentration camp in Treblinka. When his quarters were searched after the camp's liberation, the heads of 37 Jewish and gypsy women were discovered in his closet. The heads were arranged in orderly lines on Steidtmann's shelves; the bodies were never found. On the wall behind a large red curtain, which bore the image of a swastika, soldiers found a crudely painted dragon.
     My own research extends much further into the past, revealing a dark and compelling pattern. Countess Elizabeth Báthory de Ecsed of Hungary murdered over 80 virgins in the 1600's and bathed in their blood. Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia son of Vlad II Dracul (a member of the Order of the Dragon) was a mass murderer in the 1400's often impaling his victims as he ate dinner. There have been over 90 severed heads discovered in North America in the past two centuries. Of those only half were ever identified. In 1975 an insurance salesman by the name of Seth Harris was arrested for the beheading of two of his female coworkers. As before, the bodies of the victims were never recovered. When questioned about the bodies, Harris simply stated that they were "in the black". Several entries in the man's journal referenced "the voice of the dragon".

Jonathan: Now
     Jonathan read for hours on end, devouring the information within the box. Inside he found journals, some his father's and some written in his uncle's precise script. He also found photocopied police records and case files,  crime scene photos, old documents written in Latin or Greek, and literally hundreds of clipped newspaper articles detailing missing persons. Some of the articles dated back decades. As he read through the notes of the two men, Jonathan came to understand that his father and uncle had pieced together a puzzle that even his grandfather and great grandfather before that hadn't been able to clearly see. The journals detailed a horrible possibility paralleled by cryptic Biblical passages and ancient manuscripts. Jonathan was familiar at least somewhat with the numbers 666 referenced in the scripture from the lid of the wooden box. It seemed now that the numbers held a greater significance. His father and uncle believed that there existed a literal abyss, a hellish place in some dimension parallel to our own where Lucifer himself, the Dragon was chained. They'd believed that while he was imprisoned he was still able to exert influence on dark-minded individuals in our world. Throughout history these individuals had been contacted and manipulated by the dragon to take the heads of victims. They would then draw or paint the dragon on a wall or door and by passing the body into the room it would pass between worlds. Each victim would weaken the wall separating our world from the abyss. If the number of sacrifices reached 666, the men believed that the wall between worlds would burst, and the Dragon would be loosed. The research in the box approximated the total to be around 620 victims but for obvious reasons this wasn't a solid figure; the number could be lower or far higher. 
     There was only one recent clipping which was dated 2 years before and described the sudden reappearance of a salesman named Clancy Matthews. Before he died, Reginald Bowers was planning to visit the man who had resided in an North Carolina mental institution since his strange incident. Jonathan's uncle had hoped to gain some insight into the horrible mystery. Now, as he closed the box and locked it again, Jonathan determined to go see the man himself. He carried the box under his arm back to his vehicle and sat behind the wheel contemplating. Police had found no trace of his uncle. After five weeks passed they had simply stopped looking. The letter had arrived soon afterward along with the man's last will and testament. Everything the man had owned in life now belonged to Jonathan. Somewhere out there he would find the answers he so desperately longed for. What had driven his father to suicide? What had happened to his uncle? As he put the rusting Chevy in gear and puled out of the driveway Jonathan was certain of only one thing. The trail would begin with Clancy Matthews.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Chapter 6


Laura: Now
     
The plan was simple, but Laura had found that the simplest plans were usually the best executed. If a plan had too many variables then there were far too many things that could go wrong. Until Laura had arrived in the cellar, the trucker had maintained the upper-hand by terrorizing the women. He had used fear to cripple them, keep them corralled, but Laura's mind had latched on to a few things that seemed to have not occurred to the others. First: even with the cattle-prod or any other weapon the trucker may have, the women in the cellar outnumbered him seven to one. Granted, some of the women were very weak by this point and could offer little more than a distraction but the fact remained that he was only one man. Second: the room upstairs was well-lit. When Laura first suggested that they turn off the lamp and hanging bulb the other women were hesitant. The light was their only source of comfort in the damp prison of the cellar. Laura explained to them that by turning out the lights and allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness they would have an advantage over the trucker. When he plunged in to the room out of the brightness of the hallway he would be momentarily blinded. If they could charge the man and occupy him long enough, Laura could creep up behind him and smash his head with the base of the lamp. She didn't have to knock him out, she just needed to weaken him enough that he would drop the prod.

     Eventually the women agreed to the plan. They removed the hanging bulb from its wire and unplugged the lamp from the wall. When the lights went out Nancy began to cry but Pamela (more alert now it seemed) comforted the scrawny girl and in a moment she was quiet. It took awhile, but gradually Laura began to see forms emerge from the inky blackness and soon she could make out the faces of the other women. With their eyes adjusted they soon realized that there was a faint glow from above that crept in between the boards of the cellar ceiling in a few places and they could make out the dim outline of the door through which the trucker would enter the room. Four of the women would charge the man when he entered the room from each corner and attempt to drag him further in. When he crossed the threshold Nancy would quickly shut the door behind him giving the women a greater advantage in the dark then Laura would attack from behind while he was busy with the others. It wasn't a perfect plan and things could still go wrong. For one thing they had no idea what to expect from the nameless girl huddled in the corner. She still hadn't spoken to or even acknowledged the other women.
     The time passed slowly as they waited to spring their trap. They spoke quietly of their lives and families. Even Nancy uttered a few words here and there. At last they heard heavy breathing and approaching steps as the trucker barreled down the hallway beyond the door. The women scattered into position as quietly and quickly as possible. Laura gripped the lamp base tightly with both hands, took a deep breath and held it. Suddenly the man was in the midst of the cellar swinging and stabbing wildly with the crackling rod. Charlotte threw herself toward him at the same moment that Pamela dove at the man's legs. The impact caused the man to topple slightly off balance, but wasn't enough to force him deeper into the darkness. He managed to press the cattle prod into the older lady's collar bone and she collapsed to the ground, her body convulsing like a fish removed from its aquarium. He brought a booted heel careening upward into Pamela's chin dropping her as well then spun on the other two. Laura rushed forward and brought the lamp down as hard as she could, aiming for the base of the man's skull. At just that moment the girl from the corner of the room burst into motion. She blew past Laura causing her blow with the lamp to deflect off the trucker's shoulder instead of his head. She flung Nancy back from where she had been struggling to close the heavy door and ran out of the cellar and into the hallway before disappearing around a corner. When the lamp connected with the flesh of the man's shoulder he let out an angry grunt and spun toward Laura who was now unbalanced. With his free hand the trucker reached behind his back and when he brought the hand up again it was holding a pistol. The plan had failed, by now that much was clear. Laura didn't have a chance to scream. Before she could duck aside he had aimed the gun at her chest and pulled the trigger.

Clancy: Then

     Clancy's lungs screamed as he was pulled ever deeper into the black waters. He to free his ankle but the grip was unyielding. Just as unconscious was beginning to claim him, Clancy hit bottom. He felt the hand continuing to pull him first against the surface and then somehow through it. When he had cleared the floor he was released and he collapsed choking and coughing up the stagnant water. Pale, thin green worms swam and swirled in the puddles of water he had spewed up. He coughed again and saw another tangled mess of the green worms fly from his mouth like angel-hair pasta. This time he couldn't fight back the oblivion of unconsciousness.

     When Clancy awoke he was in the same room but he was no longer alone. The being was tall and utterly black. Its face was featureless and the body itself was genderless. It was thin and shiny as polished steel. In the creature's stomach was a pink slit running vertically from its wist to the base of its throat. As Clancy was looking this slit peel opened with a wet smacking sound revealing an oval shaped mouth, lined with rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth. For the first time Clancy became aware that he was restrained. chained tightly to the back wall of a small cave-like space. He peered out through the open doorway beyond the shadowy being and could see an impossibly enormous citadel, its walls dotted with countless other cells like his own, and there chained to the floor in the center of the room was the dragon. Not a statue but the actually beast itself as large as a house and every inch as sinister as in the art it had inspired. Sudden agony lit his right arm on fire. He looked and saw the creature was pouring an acidic juice the color of blood onto his flesh. Where it touched, Clancy saw his skin bubble and peel as the muscle blackened and fell from his bones. He screamed until his voice was gone and just as quickly as the flesh was destroyed he watched the green worms he had seen earlier crawl out of his tortured flesh and become new flesh. In a moment his arm was restored. The mouth in the creature's stomach snapped open and shut then splashed a fresh coat of acid on the new flesh witch instantly began to boil as before. Clancy thrashed his head from side to side. The pain was unbearable, unimaginable. His eyes came to rest upon the dragon again and he saw that the gigantic pale face was now turned his way and observing his torture with a wicked grin. He saw the dragon's eyes bulge in their sockets and he was certain that he saw merriment shining in those eyes. He was struck by a sense of recognition that for a moment was more consuming than the pain in his arms. The look in those eyes was the same as that he had seen on the face of the trucker when the man had swung open the door of the bathroom stall. The thick lips of the dragon's mouth parted revealing teeth the size of elephant tusks and just as curved. The dragon spoke. Its voice filled the space and vibrated through Clancy's skeleton. It spoke directly to him. "THE WORM DIETH NOT." it said, and at that moment, with the dragon's laughter echoing throughout the citadel, Clancy's mind finally shattered.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Chapter 5

Dearest Nephew,
     You hold this letter in your hands because I have failed. Most likely my body has never been retrieved and never will be, but I have died, of that you can be certain. The matter of utmost urgency to you and the reason for this communication is not how I have been killed but "why?". It was never my desire to pass this great burden to you but circumstances have forced my hand. Do not think me melodramatic or speaking in hyperbole when I assure that the world's fate hangs in the balance. Horrible things have been placed in motion that cannot be allowed to reach fruition. I know that when we last spoke we did not part well. I apologize deeply for the words I spoke of your father. Truth be told I loved my brother as I love his son. I suppose I was simply angry at him for leaving me with this weighty responsibility. That responsibility is now yours. Go to my house and remove the clothing from my bedroom closet. Upon investigation you will find the back wall of the closet to be a false one. Remove the panel and you will find inside a locked mahogany box. The key within this envelope will open that box. Inside you will find a stack of documents, these comprise a body of research first begun by your great grandfather long ago and passed down through the generations to your father and I. I now bequeath that dreadful work to you in hopes that you will not ignore the truth of it or allow your notions of the world's workings to hinder your ability to do what must be done. It must be finished, the dragon must not be freed. The oldest of the documents I have painstakingly copied from your great grandfather's notes. Many of the pages you will find written in the familiar handwriting of your father, God rest his soul. My time is up and I must say goodbye. I am sorry Jonathan, so very sorry. 

Reginald Bowers III
Jonathan Bowers: Now
     Jonathan read the letter twice before refolding it and placing the paper back inside the envelope. He held the brass key in his open palm, feeling the lightness of it and struggled to understand his feelings. There was still sorrow from the loss of his father of course and he still harbored a now pointless anger towards his Uncle Reginald but there were other, more complicated emotions as well. In his heart he now felt an indescribable amalgam of fear, confusion, and an odd species of excitement. All his life, Jonathan had known that his father shared some deep secret with his uncle. As far back as he could remember, Jonathan could recall the two men huddled in his fathers office, speaking in hushed tones. On more than one occasion they had closed the door so that Jonathan couldn't hear their arguments; those nights had usually ended with his uncle storming out of the tiny house slamming the door behind him. Afterwards Jonathan's father would seem weary and distant, ordering Jonathan not to enter his office before retiring to his bedroom upstairs.
     Now the heaviness of loss settled on Jonathan along with a profound loneliness. With a deep sigh he placed the key in the pocket of his jeans and left the house. As he started up the engine of the rusty old Chevy pickup and backed out of the driveway to head to his uncle's house, Jonathan felt tears well up in his eyes. Uncle Reginald had been all he had left and now even he was gone. He visualized his uncle's face in his mind: his high cheek bones and receding hairline so much like Jonathan's father's, his piercing blue-green eyes, and his always tidily trimmed beard. In spite of his sadness though, Jonathan couldn't help feeling a sense of anticipation. He would finally know the secret the two men had kept for so long. It wouldn't replace the men themselves, but by shedding light on the mystery he would come to know them more deeply and for that Jonathan was grateful. 
     He found the closet just as described in the letter. With the false wall pulled aside, the wooden box was revealed. It was a mostly plain box bearing little ornamentation. The lock was simple and undecorated. The only remarkable detail of the outside was a carved message etched into the varnished grain of the box's lid. "Revelation 13:18 and above that "Revelation 20:1-3". Jonathan turned the key in the lock and lifted the lid. 

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Things to Ponder

Okay so no chapter today. Its been a bit busy and I want to focus my thoughts and give you my best so... instead of a new chapter I'm giving you some concept art. This is how the hooded figures appear in my mind's eye. May be you visualized them differently. So things to ponder... WHY ARE THERE HUNDREDS OF THESE BOOGERS RUNNING AROUND? Where exactly has Clancy found himself? Let me throw you a few teases. What if I told you there were exactly 658 of them counting the one who arrived with Clancy? Wouldn't that mean that the 7 other women in the cellar would bring that total to 665 and that would make Laura victim number...
Food to chew on and speculate over.
Revelation 13:18
and
Revelation 20:1-3
click on photo for a larger view

Monday, October 22, 2012

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Laura: Now

     The girl from the truck stood shakily to her feet and would have toppled over again had Laura not reached forward and steadied her. She could feel the girl trembling. The numbness in Laura's arm and shoulder began to fade replaced with a deepening pain but she was relieved to find she could still move the limb. Working quickly Laura removed the tape from the girl's mouth and began to loosen the cords binding her hands. While she worked Pamela recited the same greeting and introduction from before reminding Laura of a prerecorded message on an answering machine. Laura assumed the lady was in shock, probably the others as well. She was likely in shock herself although she found that inside her mind there was a stubborn voice that refused to be afraid. That Laura wasn't intimidated or desperate. The Laura speaking inside wasn't in shock; that Laura was angry, furious. As her eyes drifted across the faces of the broken women Laura felt the rage growing from embers into a raging flame. The trucker would pay. Somehow she would make him pay. Nothing gave him a right to do this. She looked at frail Nancy sitting now with her skeletal arms crossed over her narrow chest and Laura made up her mind: she was going to get them out of this cellar, regardless of the cost. Even if it meant her death, she would get them out. 
     The girl standing before them now was tall with straight black hair that hung curtain-like down to her waist. She was dressed expensively in a charcoal-gray business suit which was now darkened in places with dried blood. She told them her name was Wanda Lawson. The trucker had captured her and her friend Maria two days before when he offered to help them change a flat tire. The man had unexpectedly wheeled around smashing the tire iron into Maria's temple before turning to Wanda and forcing her into the back of the big rig. Laura gathered that the dead woman in the truck had been this Maria and that the tire iron may well have been the same instrument the trucker had used to subdue her at the gas station. The women, with the exception of the unnamed lady in the corner, sat on the dusty floor encircling the small lamp and each in turn told how they had come to be in the cellar. The stories were mostly the same and all of the women had been brought to the cabin in the back of the truck and shoved down the chute. Laura learned that before she arrived there had been three other victims. The trucker had entered the room through a locked door in the corner of the room that Laura hadn't previously noticed. He had burst into the cellar with a cattle prod crackling in his hand shocking each of them many times until all were left writhing on the floor. Then he had caught one of the three and drug them by their hair from the room, bolting the door behind when he left. The next day he had returned for another, and again on the third day. Now Laura understood the bruising on the battered arms and faces of the captives. The angry voice in her head spoke up again and Laura formed a plan.

Clancy: Now
     The dragon stood in the torchlit chamber grinning hideously. Clancy stood before the statue that towered over him, nine foot tall at least, studying its carved features. Instantly recognizing the glaring, almond-shaped human eyes and the thin slope of the dragon's nose, the mouth filled with sharply pointed teeth. The body of the creature while still covered with scales was now far more human in anatomy, having arms terminating in long-fingered hands and two very human legs. Stone serpents, coated in a red glaze and resembling the snake he had just witnessed crawling from out of the darkness, were coiled around the figure's legs and waist forming a serpentine loin cloth and boots. The body itself was carved from a dark volcanic stone of a rough texture save for the face which seemed to be made of polished bronze inset with ruby eyes. Clancy paused long enough to take a photo and then taking a torch from the wall, he passed by the beast and into a long corridor behind it. Referring back to the drawing he had retrieved off the dead woman, Clancy was almost certain the rectangular shape in the center represented the room he had just left. 
     He continued forward and as he walked he became aware of a low rumbling sound. Up ahead the tunnel took a sharp turn to the right and led Clancy to the shore of a large body of water. The black surface of the water was still and unbroken and Clancy could see a bone-white strip of land on the other side and somewhere in the distance beyond, the source of the rumbling. Some sixth sense alerted Clancy just soon enough to turn and see that the hooded figures had silently made there way down the ladder and were pouring out of the mouth of the corridor knives in hand. He jumped to one side narrowly sidestepping a swipe from the nearest and lifting his camera from his neck by its strap, Clancy swung it at the figure's head. The hood slid to the side revealing a teaming mass of insects: roaches, spiders, and centipedes erupted in a cloud and rained down the figure's pale shoulders. Clancy turned and leaped into the water finding it only waist deep and began to make his way to the opposite side. Looking behind he saw the hooded corpses lining the shore and witnessed the many crawling creatures he had scattered already beginning to reform the head of the one he had hit. He was still close enough to see a fat, brown scorpion crawl into position in the center of its face where a nose should be. Then his feet stepped into nothingness and he fell. The black waters washed over his face and as he swam to regain the surface  Clancy felt icy fingers wrap tightly around his ankle and drag him further down into the abyss.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Chapter 3

Chapter 3
Laura: Now

     
Laura found herself falling down a long greasy chute that eventually spilled her out into a humid, musky-smelling cellar. The space was dimly lit by a single bulb that dangled from a wire in one corner and by an old dust-shrouded lamp which sat at the center of the cellar's floor. There were other women in the room with her, all malnourished. Four of the women were waiting for Laura like a grim welcoming committee, having heard her arriving upstairs. A fifth was huddled in a corner rocking violently back and forth. A sixth, this one much younger and far thinner than the rest simply leaned against the brick wall of the cellar, staring at Laura with sunken, haunted eyes. One of the women, a blonde with harsh featuresstepped forward and spoke gently to Laura. "I'm going to get that tape off of your mouth... it... it's going to hurt a bit. Okay?" Laura nodded. The blonde peeled the corner of the tape up and slowly and gently as she could she removed it from Laura's mouth. Laura spat the bloody rag out coughing and gagging. The blonde waited for her to grow still then untied the cords that bound Laura's hands. As her eyes adjusted to the low light of the cellar Laura could see the other women more clearly, noting the many dark greenish-purple bruises that dotted their arms, necks, and faces. Laura thought the bruises gave their pale skin the appearance of molding bread. That image pushed her over the edge and this time when the nausea came Laura didn't fight it. The blonde watched expressionlessly as Laura was sick and then when she had finished retching the blonde spoke. "I'm Pamela." she said and then gestured in turn at the other women standing behind her introducing them as well. Melissa was first, she was tall with disheveled brown hair, sunken cheeks, and paranoia-filled eyes that kept darting around the cellar, never seeming to rest on anything. Next was a short-haired lady named Charlotte whose face bore the same emotionless quality as Pamela's. The last was older, her hair graying; her name was Mary. Pamela pointed to the teen leaning against the wall. " That's Nancy, she's been her longer than the rest of us."
     Nancy was emaciated. She lurked in the shadows like a scarecrow. Her arms dangled from her shirt sleeves like twigs, reminding Laura of pictures she'd seen from liberated concentration camps in World War Two. The holocaust victims in those photographs had been skeletal forms as well and in Nancy's eyes she saw the same breed of hopeless desperation that she remembered from their faces. Laura was told that none of them knew the name of the girl hugging her knees and rocking in the corner. She hadn't spoken a word sense the trucker had thrown her down the chute. Suddenly Laura heard a sound echoing out of the dark square above and the other victim from the truck plummeted into the cellar. 

Clancy: Now

     Clancy, startled by the sight of the many hooded forms surrounding him, crossed one foot in front of the other and fell to the ground. He thought he was surely doomed but soon found that crawling on the ground flat on his stomach, the attackers were unable to find him, their knives slashing through empty space or one another. He continued that way pressing through the crowd and brushing against the cold, clammy flesh of their legs for what felt like hours. He suddenly noticed a thin line of light on the floor in front of him. He scrambled to it. There on the floor was a octagonal panel which Clancy lifted and flung aside revealing a ladder leading down into a chamber lit from within. As he mounted the ladder and began to descend he peered up into the room above. The hooded figures stood motionless now and encircled the ladder. Their heads seemed to be writhing and undulating beneath the black cloth that draped over them. The crowd parted and a new figure emerged from the mass of pale flesh. It was the headless body of the woman from the rest stop, now walking upright and purposefully to the center of the room. The corpse removed its clothing and stood nude in the glow of the chamber beneath. Clancy watched as a snake slithered out of the inky blackness and began to climb around and up the corpse's leg. The snake itself was bloated and covered with red scales the color of fresh blood. It made its way upward and coiled its fat rubbery body around the stump of the woman's severed neck forming a hideous counterfeit head. Clancy was too terrified to move. He hung from the ladder frozen, unable to look away from the nightmarish spectacle above. One of the other figures stepped forward carrying one of the long black hoods in its arms and draped it gently over the still squirming serpentine head. Another placed a long rusty knife into the woman's hand. The sight of the knife was enough to break Clancy's paralysis. He began descending the ladder at a feverish pace, slipping once and falling a few feet before catching hold of another rung and continuing his way down into the chamber below. Above him the figures had dispersed no longer interested in him perhaps. When he reached the bottom of the ladder he had to drop the final yard or so into the room. He landed on the floor in a bloody heap. He had received two fairly deep stab wounds and several smaller wounds; the loss of blood was beginning to make his head spin. He stood and for the first time surveyed the chamber. His heart nearly burst from his chest as he found himself staring into the sinister face of the dragon, and this time it was no drawing.