I've not been able to continue with the novel today. I know what I need to write, like I've said before, but I've not been able to write it. I think I'm coming to the realisation that I can do one thing well in life at a time, and now that I'm working again I find myself... well, working, and my writing ability is being pushed into an email writing box. Dear sir... and not what I was doing two weeks ago. Two weeks ago it was writing writing writing and nothing else, so the change is disconcerting, and some what worrying.
Anyway.
This is a Richard Faraday story, a short one at that. I wrote this for a different character that was the basis of what I'm doing with Richard Faraday, and I re-jigged it to fit into the mythology of the Ghost Detective. The main chunk of the story is from... 2008. I've made changes today just so it works within the next context I'm hoping to establish. The story is called "Black Dog" (after the song, natch) and it establishes the framework of future Richard Faraday stories: Mystery. Monster. Magic. Later books will delve into this structure and play with it in different ways, but the first book ignores it completely for an over-arc that is just... insane. But I like the done-in-one. I tell Sam how much I love Supernatural's "Monster of the Week" episodes, and this is inspired by that format. A 'homage', perhaps? Probably not. Anyway, I digress. I apologise for any glaring grammatical errors, this is also half-edited and probably a slight mess.
Read on...
Richard Faraday, Ghost Detective, in:
Black Dog
Chapter One:
Twenty Five Years
Ago:
“This here be Hellhound country, son.”
The sky rumbled, far-off thunder rolling in, but the clear sky
didn’t crack, the taut blue curtain separating here and there didn’t slip, and
the warm, pre-storm air refused to ease off. Something was coming. But it
wasn’t here.
Not yet, anyway.
But soon…
“Excuse me?” Daniel Jarin had been taking advantage of the summer long break
offered to him by his university education, and hopped a plane to the Yew Ess
of Ayy. It had long been a dream of his to road trip from one coast to the
other, and he was about two quarters of the way
through his journey when he found himself in the middle of nowhere,
‘pumping gas’ into the cherry red convertible his father had arranged for him
from the other side of the world.
Going on six thousand miles away, and his dad still had his
eye on him.
Dan had just finished filling the car when the man hobbled
into view, all nostril flares and grandiose overstatement.
“Were you talking to me, sir?” asked Daniel.
The crooked man who owned the gas station stank of beer,
like he’d taken a life-long dip into a vat of the stuff. The man sniffed the
air, and then loomed large over the British tourist. “Hellhounds. They roam the
hills around the town, picking off stragglers and runaways. That’s why you
don’t leave Deliverance at night. Not if you want to be making it out to the
big wide world by morning.”
Dan handed him three ten dollar bills, and then leaned against his car,
chuckling. “You’re joking, right?”
The man licked his thin, yellow teeth delicately, and then pouted, almost hurt.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” The man unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled it open,
revealing an unearthly black scar that traversed the length of his torso,
vanishing at his waistline. “Do I really look like I’m joking, boy?”
“Oh, wow, you’re insane, man. And no offence to you, but I have to be on my
way. Thanks for the petrol. Uh. Gas.”
Danny climbed into his car and nodded in acknowledgement, before turning the
key in the ignition. He thanked his stars when the engine roared and he could
get on his merry way. He’d seen enough bad films to know which way that
conversation could have gone. It could have ended with chainsaws and a frenetic
addition to the film score, it could have ended with blood on the sand and his
corpse hanging by hooks in the basement of the petrol station. It could have
ended… but it didn’t.
Not yet, anyway.
The man patted the bonnet of the car as it rolled out of the station, and the
man shouted a goodbye. “My pleasure, kid, just remember though, don’t be
travelling down Route 666 after midnight--!”
‘Route 666?’ thought Danny, as he drove out of the garage, ‘There’s a
Route 666 out from Deliverance?’
‘Seriously?’
The road was empty and the signs passed by like dreams in the night, not
entirely there and hard to remember when they were gone. Dan’s radio was
dipping in and out; he was far from anywhere, in the middle of God Knows USA,
and he was lucky to be able to find anything to keep him amused and cognisant
on this long drive through the night. He didn’t mind these night rides, he
loved the stars above and the long empty road, but for some reason-- some
reason that itched like that nagging thought of ‘Hey, did I lock the front door
before turning in for bed? Did I lock the door and what’s that sound downstairs
like footsteps?-- he was nervous tonight. Was it something the old man had
said? A story like a virus, infecting his head with thoughts of Hellhounds and
horror?
The radio found a signal through the static and the nonsense, and began to
spout words. “--It’s nearing midnight in Deliverance, and we here at K666 are
going to be leaving you to your regularly scheduled static in a few minutes
time, but by popular request, we’ll be leaving you with this little ditty.
Catch you on the airwaves human folk, till next time. I got to keep moving,
I got to keep moving, blues falling down like hail, blues falling down like
hail…”
Dan looked at his digital watch, a gift from his mother on his twenty first birthday.
11.59pm buzzed back at him. He looked up at the road, and leaned back in his
seat. He’d have to drive all night to reach civilization. He enjoyed the desert
roads and the curiosities that came along with it like he loved the stars and
the vastness. He enjoyed the mythology of America. The long road
cleansed him of the city. He was a nomad in spirit, and he loved it. This whole
experience made him feel like he was Real American, not just a
naive stranger to the land. He made plans in his head to move here when all was
said and done, when university was a footnote, but until then…
“…Mmm, blues falling down like hail, blues falling down like hail and the
day keeps on remindin' me, there's a hellhound on my trail…”
Danny’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as Robert Johnson crooned. He
looked down at his watch. “Huh.” 11.59pm still. Weird. The hairs on the back of
his neck began to prick up. He tapped along to the scratchy strumming of the
guitar that echoed out into the night sky.
A wolf howled.
He grinned. Real American.
“…Hellhound on my trail, hellhound on my trail…”
He looked at his watch. 11.59pm. It had been 11.59pm for two minutes now,
hadn’t it? His watch must have been broken. He didn’t know how and he didn’t
care. There was no clock on the dashboard, and his phone was stuffed inside his
bag somewhere on the back seat. He’d check it when he pulled over next. Time
could wait. Time always could. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, staring
back up at the stars.
Then the car began to make an inhuman noise, like the interior of the engine
was being torn to shreds, like it wanted to throw up and die.
The engine spluttered and coughed. It screamed for Danny to pull over and take
the key out the ignition. It prayed for a stop to the pain. Dan acquiesced
hurriedly. He rummaged in his bag and grabbed a flashlight from one of the
pockets. After fumbling with some batteries the torch clicked on and Dan opened
the hood with a flick of a switch underneath the steering wheel He headed to
the front of his convertible and checked out the damage…
Everything looked fine.
He stuck the light in as far as it could go without it
getting stuck and preventing him from surveying the damage. Nothing. How weird.
He looked back from where he had just come from. Deliverance. The town was
dark. Not a light on in sight. He sighed. “That’s about an hour walk. Two and
back.”
He grabbed his duffel bag from the trunk and what he had called his survival
kit from the backseat, and began the walk back to civilisation.
Daniel Jarin never reached Deliverance.
The authorities found the car, abandoned with no petrol in the tank.
It was like Daniel had just pulled over and walked into the desert.
The sky was free from the Hellhound song the next night.
Chapter Two:
He pumped the gas into her car, and looked up at her, his
jagged grin as wide as they came. “Passing through?”
“No, I’m visiting my grandpa. You might know him, Lon Gardiner?”
The man’s eyes darkened. “I know of him.”
“Well, I’m Lucy Matthau. I grew up here. You might know my grandfather, Lon?”
“Oh, that’s interesting. Prodigal daughter returns. I’m Travis Kent, but the
peoples ‘round here call me… Well. Travis.” He chuckled. “When’d you leave?”
“Ten years back now, I think. My mom, she married my dad and, well, been in San
Fran pretty much ever since. But my grandpa, he stuck around and it’s been so
long… I just had this urge to come home.”
“Understandable, Ms Matthau. Well, you’re all done here, I don’t want to be
keeping you.” He doffed his cap as she climbed back into her car.
She hesitated. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet,” he winked. She smiled tentatively, and as she pulled out,
another car pulled in, and the garage owner smiled. He stank of beer but there
was an eerie familiarity about him. She probably did know him. Everyone knew
everyone where she had grown up. Travis Kent was probably a name and a face
that had been lost to the ether of growing up.
Lucy drove on. She was home now. It had been ten long years, she’d lived, she’d
loved, and now she was home. She drove through familiar streets, passed
familiar store fronts, and headed to the north of the town, toward her
grandpa’s home, just inside the limits.
She pulled into his driveway, and caught a glimpse of her
grandfather in the doorway, talking to a man in a brown coat and hat. “Weird…”
The old man noticed her sudden arrival and grinned as wide as someone humanly
could, and the man he was talking to slowly turned to look at her.
Where she was petite and blonde, the stranger was tall, dark and conventionally
handsome. He looked like a movie star. Not the ones you would see nowadays,
swaggering and steroid-infused, no, she cast her mind back, and conjured up the
stars of her mothers favourite movies, of Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant, and
that memory warmed her.
“Bunny rabbit!” cried her grandpa with happiness, as he jogged down to meet
her. The man behind him followed slowly, not wanting to intrude on the moment.
Lucy felt herself crumple in her grandfather’s embrace, but she was very much
aware of the attractive man standing on the outskirts of their reunion.
“Gran’pa, company…”
“It’s been years! I don’t think my guest will mind me squeezing the life out of
my little bunny rabbit!”
The man behind him chuckled, “Murder would bother me somewhat, but I’ll leave
you to it. I’ll see you later, Ivan.”
“Alright. We’ll grab that beer I owe you!”
“Yes.” The man pulled his lapels up, and walked down the old, dusty lane, and
vanished round a corner, leaving Lucy and her grandfather on his drive.
“Who was that?” asked Lucy, as she felt herself collect itself after being on
the receiving end of a bear hug. “And ‘Ivan’? Who’s ‘Ivan’?”
“That’s my name,” said Lon with a smile. “I wasn’t always American, you know.
And he was an old friend. From my past.”
“‘Old friend’? He’s pretty young to be an ‘old friend’, gran’pa…”
“Well, yes, that’s all subjective isn’t it? Now come in! A chill just threw
itself up, and I bet you have many, many stories to tell, yes?”
“Of course!” She followed her grandpa into his house, but found her eyes
wandering to the bottom of the road, where that mysterious man had just stood.
‘Old friend’?
Chapter Three:
“--It’s nearing midnight in Deliverance, and we here at K666
are going to be leaving you to your regularly scheduled static in a few minutes
time, but by popular request, we’ll be leaving you with this little ditty.
Catch you on the airwaves human folk, till next time.”
“Can you turn that off, Sam? I mean, can’t we just talk for a while? I’m
getting sick of fucking pirate radio…”
“There's blood on the wall… So
what..?”
“Oh, honey, I love this song, ‘sides, after this, all we’ve got is dead air.
Five minutes, ok? Five minutes, Danni, then I’m yours.”
“Fine.”
“What’s the time, beautiful?”
Danielle glanced at her watch. “11.59pm”
“Then by my calculations, we’ll be home before morning. I’m quite happy I
pepped up on caffeine. That town sure does a mighty strong cup of Joe.”
The radio continued to shriek. Screams
and grinding computer sounds. Danni hated this. Her stupid boyfriend’s stupid
taste in music. She could barely make out the lyrics. Whatever. Five minutes.
“Woo.”
“This road trip was your idea, Danni! Don’t be woo-ing me!” He fell
silent, and looked out at the road.
Danni found herself tapping along to the sound of machines shrieking. “I didn’t
like that gas station guy.”
“Him and his stories. Yeah, God love those loons. I mean, what was he on? And
that story… Mothmen? What the fuck are Mothmen?”
“Man. Singular. Mothman,” corrected Danielle
“Is that anything like a Batman?”
“Batman’s not real.”
“And a Mothman is?” Sam turned back to the road, and then ground his back teeth
as the engine began to howl and whine. His grip tightened on the steering wheel
and a flash of panic flared in his eyes. “Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, okay, pulling
over, pulling over and we’ve pulled over and we’re okay…”
“Calm down, Sam.” Danni laughed. She climbed out of the car, quickly followed
by Sam, and they opened the hood. “Well. I can’t see anything wrong with the
thing… But then again I’m not a big burly man-man like you are. What do you
think, hon?”
“I have no idea. My dad was the mechanic, not me. What do you say we head back
into town? It won’t take us too long. What’s the time now?”
“11.59 at the PM. Huh.” Danni put her watch to her ear to try and hear ticking.
Nothing came of it. “That’s weird. My watch has stopped.”
“Well let’s get--” Sam paused. He looked around. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“That fluttering? Like wings?”
“Don’t you dare, Sam. Not after that Mothmen crap.”
“Mothman! And I’m not joking, I hear like--” An inhuman shape swooped
down and knocked Sam over, and Danni shrieked. “Danni, get back in the car, get
back--” The mass engulfed Sam, and he screamed as talons dug into his chest,
blood dribbling down his torso. “--Aaaaaaauuuuuuu!”
The creature was bigger than a man, its body was covered in scales and its
eyes, crimson and as big as fists, glowed in the night sky. Its mouth, full of
rows upon rows of fangs, dribbled saliva down on Sam’s face, and as he fought
to get the thing off him, he didn’t notice the footsteps behind him.
A fantastic beam of light illuminated the duo, and the creature screamed-- like
glass shattering-- as it jerked back off of Sam. At that moment it looked like
an insect with its wings pinned. Like it was having a seizure.
“Get away from him.”
The creature looked at the source of the light, and leaped
for the person behind it, but before it could even reach the source, another
beam struck it straight in the chest, and the Mothman evaporated from
existence.
“Oh oh oh oh God,” Sam could feel his life draining out of his chest. He could
feel the blood stop pumping. This was it he thought. Dead on the sands. No
hope. But the light… what was that? “oh oh God why why”
The wielder of the light went over to Sam, and placed a hand
over his bleeding chest.
“These wounds aren’t real. That thing that attacked you: Not
real. You can think past it, with a little help.” In the man’s hand was a
thin black wand, and he pointed it over Sam’s wounds. “My help.
Remember. Remember a time when you weren’t hurt. Remember 11.58pm.” The light
that had seemingly disintegrated whatever it was that attacked the couple
pulsed at the point of the wand, and obscured the wound that had been torn into
Sam. There was a long moment of silence as Danni just watched the man whisper
under his breath, but a second later, the light faded and Sam gasped, suddenly
becoming active and alert-- his wounds healed. “Good boy.”
“What was that thing?” Danni clambered out of the car, her hands shaking, tears
streaming down her face, and looked at the man. “Who are you? What’s that thing
you’re holding? I saw Sam, he was, he was…”
“Your car works. Drive. Get the Hell out of this town.”
The man stood tall as the couple climbed back into the car
and screamed into the distance. He dusted of his brown trench coat, and then
froze.
“I know you’re there. I can hear you. You won’t have me yet
though, will you? It’s not today. But soon.” He looked behind himself. “Soon.”
Chapter Four:
Lucy took a sip from her tea, and looked up at her grandpa.
“Who was that man? I mean, apart from being an ‘old friend’ who really is too
young to be referred to as such.” She laughed. It felt good to laugh with her
grandpa. It had been too long, after all.
“I know him from my hunting days.”
“Hunting? I didn’t know you hunted.”
Lon smiled. “It’s how I met your nana, bunny rabbit. But that’s a long, drawn
out story. Maybe tomorrow, if I’m feeling up to it.”
“Sure thing, pops. I’m going to head out and just walk. I know it’s late, but
hey, I’ve got to get reacquainted with the old place…” She finished her tea and
carried her cup into the kitchen. Lon followed her, and kept to the sides of
the room, almost unsure if he should move closer to his granddaughter. She
pulled on her coat and then kissed him on the cheek. “I shouldn’t be too long.”
Lon watched her as she opened the door. “You be careful
now.”
“I always am!” Lucy loved Deliverance. Nothing had changed,
the people were the same, the stores, the parks, everything. It was a weird
little Eden in her chaotic world, and she was happy to be back. It wasn’t the
city; there wasn’t that hustle and bustle of activity around her.
She grinned. She was really happy. “Whoa!” she bumped into someone whose attention
was elsewhere, their hands holding a small book. “Whoa, sorry.”
“Oh, don’t apologize, it was my mistake,” he closed his book and looked at her
for a second time. “Hello! You’re Lon’s grandchild, aren’t you?”
It was ‘Jimmy Grant’, still looking as handsome as the last time she saw him a
few hours ago. His accent was distinctly English, his smile made her knees
shiver with a tiny bit of lust. Who was this man? “Yes! Yes, I am. You know, we
were never formally introduced. I’m Lucy.” She put out her hand, and smiled.
He took it and bowed. “Richard.” He kissed her hand gently, and Lucy felt
herself blush.
“Oh! Ha. Well. Umm.” Lucy collected herself quickly. “I… I have a question,
something that’s really been bugging me… My grandpa, he said, well, that you
were an ‘old friend’ and, umm, you aren’t at all old, are you, Richard? You
can’t be older than thirty, for sure…”
“Thirty!” Richard laughed. “I’m older than I look, but come on, age is
completely subjective. You’re as old as you feel. Right now, I feel fantastic,
and really, that’s what matters, isn’t it?”
She smiled. “I guess. Where you headed?”
“Uh.” Richard suddenly span around, looked behind himself, like someone had put
a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, thought I heard… nevermind.” His darkened features
suddenly lit up. “I was going to grab a drink. Need to gather my thoughts.
Would you like to join me?”
Lucy looked at him, confused, but then smiled. What a strange, strange man.
“Sure.”
The two walked in silence for a few minutes, Lucy taking the
lead almost subconsciously. This man, Richard, he was a visitor to the town,
and he was just walking. Who knew when they would find a bar if he was
searching? So Lucy walked, her hand brushed against the man’s sleeve, and she
led him on a merry little walk through the dusty streets. There was a moment of
exhilaration as she arrived at her intended location. The bar she’d always
loved the idea of.
Mallory’s was this epitome of cool when Lucy was a little
girl. Even as a child, she knew that if you made it into Mallory’s, you were an
adult.
The school kids, even though this was a close knit little
community, schemed to get in, making [embarrassingly] bad false IDs and trying
their best to fool Brian Mallory, the owner (though, to her recollection, only
Mark Terrance got in, and he hit puberty early, had a beard like De Niro in The
Mission and after a beer, vomited all over Brian. He was barred after that.).
Now that she was all grown up, and legally allowed in, it wasn’t all that
impressive. It was dirtier and darker than most, if not all the bars she’d
frequented back in San Francisco, but it was a bar none the less. In the
corner, next to the bar, was a large, industrial radio, the kind that stood all
by itself and could kill you if you were unlucky enough to be underneath it if
it was pushed over…
Lucy frowned, her Eden receding to reality for a moment.
Richard approached the bar, and turned to her. “May I buy you a drink?”
“Tonic water, please.”
“My dear, I’m buying, don’t feel you have to go easy on my
wallet. Anything you like?”
Lucy felt herself blush again. “A beer then. A bottle
though. Never been a fan of the tap.”
Ten years on, and Brian Mallory was still there, still looking like a Hell’s
Angel with a smile slapped on his face. Richard chatted to him for a few
moments, and then headed over to where Lucy was sitting, an ice-cold bottle of
beer in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. “So, you’ve been away from
home for ten years? What was that like?”
Lucy was midway through a sip when she froze. “How did you know that?”
Richard grinned. “Your grandfather told me! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung
that on you without context.”
“No, it’s fine, just surprised me is all.”
“Well, I apologize. So, he said you were in San Fran studying?”
“I went back three years ago, an English Literature degree wasn’t all I wanted
it to be. Decided to do Business Management and a short course, ‘Modern
American Folklore’. Brilliant.”
“The two sound like they go together!” said Richard, grinning.
“It’s something that my grandpa instilled in me when I was a kid. This love of
myth and legend. He used to tell the most amazing, vivid stories...”
Richard sipped his water. “That’s Ivan.”
“Did you know my grandma then? I don’t ever get the chance to talk to my grandpa’s
old friends. And I’ve never heard any of the guys around here call him Ivan.
When did you know him?”
Richard opened up a pack of peanuts and began to eat them, one by one. “I was
there when your grandma and grandpa met. It was like magic.”
“What? How is that even possible? This is just getting weird. You can’t
be older than thirty, and my grandpa… My grandma and grandpa met over sixty
years ago. I feel like I’m missing out on a massive piece of the story. Like
I’m just getting the ‘one upon a time’ and then nothing else. Where’s the
happily ever after? When am I going to be told the rest of this story?”
Richard tapped the table top, contemplating Lucy’s outburst, and then simply
shrugged. “I just look good for my age. Your grandma and Ivan met when he and I
were hunting. Damn shame when she… passed.” He cleared his throat and abruptly
changed the subject. “But yes! I look good for my age. Clean living and all
that.”
All of a sudden the bar was
electrified with the sound of a song blaring out of the radio. The few people
sat in there, sipping their lukewarm beers seemed to jump in unison, and after
the first shrieking notes echoed into their heads, the next sound they heard
was that of Brian Mallory swearing as he slammed his fist down on the unruly
radio that had just scared the living daylights out of the majority of his
clientele.
“Dammit! God shit dammit!”
“Something wrong?” asked Lucy. It was a stupid question, she knew that, but she
couldn’t help but ask.
“This damn radio! And that damn radio station!” Brian grunted as he looked
around the radio as it continued to play. Lucy wondered what he was looking
for.
Richard stood. “What’s wrong with this radio station?”
“Pirate radio, pal, someone’s cutting into the airwaves, in between the dead
space. Every now and then it just breaks in spontaneously. K666. Someone’s idea
of a bad joke.”
“Why?”
“Because Route 666 was closed down 60 years back now.” Brian started to heave
the large radio forward as he looked for the power outlet. “Someone’s idea
of a bad joke…”
“But I’ve been up Route 666, there are signs…” started Lucy, recollecting her
journey home.
“Look darlin’, I go up and down that road every other weekend to see my kids in
the big city. It’s Interstate 27 now. If you’ve seen signs, I’m afraid you’re
imagining them. Aha!” Brian pulled the plug out and grinned. “There we go.”
“What the hell…” Richard rubbed his temple. “What does this mean? A road that
doesn’t exist…?”
“Hey, Richard?”
Richard looked up to Lucy, who was pointing at the radio. Brian held the power
cable in his hand and he was now as pale as a sheet. The rest of the bar were
looking at the events unfolding next to the beer taps.
“Yes?” asked Richard, until it became obvious to Lucy that
he understood what she was drawing his attention to…
The radio continued to play, independent of power.
Richard’s eyes widened. “And a haunted radio station. Right. Come on, Lucy, I’m
getting you home.” He threw money on the counter. “Cheers, Brian, keep on…
trucking!”
Brian looked at the money, looked at the plug in his hand, and then at the
radio, that still blared. “Right, thanks…” The old rocker turned to one of his
patrons. “Pass me that fire axe over there, Rob?”
Chapter Five:
“What’s going on, Richard?” Lucy watched Richard look around
when they hit the staid, warm air of the street. “What was going on with that
radio? It was unplugged! It kept playing!”
“Batteries.”
She was not in the mood for this stranger’s attitude right now. Her little
paradise, her calm among the storm that was the world, was slowly crumbling
away at the edges, revealing something dark and dirty, and she didn’t like it
one bit. “Don’t joke, what the Hell is happening here?”
Richard turned on his heel and looked her straight in the eye. “Something is
going on, dear. You can feel it in your gut, right? That feeling of unrest?
That feeling of something not quite right? That’s because something is
happening here that’s unnatural. This place is haunted.”
Richard’s words dawned on her.
“You aren’t… You aren’t joking…”
“No. I’m not. Come here.” Richard held out his hand, and without thinking, she
took it. “Close your eyes.”
“What? Why--” Lucy blinked once and nearly stumbled back as she found herself
now stood next to her car, on the drive that lead to her grandpa’s house. How
had they moved nearly a kilometre without taking a step? She thought she was
going to be sick. Her stomach lurched but Richard squeezed her arm, drawing her
back into the moment. “My… God…”
“No. Not God. Come on.”
Richard darted up the drive, and then suddenly gun shots
shattered the silence of the town. Lucy’s hand was at her mouth, but Richard
hadn’t stopped moving.
“Ivan!” Richard
kicked the door down, rushed inside the house, and saw a dark figure looming
over his old friend, the shape’s hand glistening blood red in the darkness,
each finger ending in a clawed talon. Richard drew his wand, focused all his
magical power, and a cannon ball of mystical energy dissipated the attacker.
Lon was holding a revolver, still smoking. “Ivan, are you alright?”
Lucy pushed past Richard and embraced her grandpa. “Grandpa, oh, God, grandpa…”
“It’s okay, Lucy! It’s okay.” Lon hugged her, dropping the gun into Richard’s waiting
hand. “I’m fine.”
Richard opened up the barrel of the gun and smiled. “Silver bullets. You
haven’t lost your edge, Ivan.”
“Fat lot of good it did me, Richard…” He pulled himself up, and Lucy supported
him. “Those would have stopped a real apparition in its tracks.”
Lucy punched Richard in the arm, and grabbed her grandpa’s shoulder. She was so
confused. So angry. “What the Hell is going on?”
Richard looked at his old friend. “Ivan?”
“Lucy… I’m a hunter. I told you that. But what I hunted… It wasn’t deer. I
hunted ghosts. Demons. Monsters. I was a hero of sorts, back home. I kept the
small villages safe from the roaming packs of feral Wila that caused trouble at
times… I plucked many a hair from their bodies, kept my people safe… but Russia
wasn’t the home it should have been after a time. I moved here in the twenties,
kept hunting, kept doing what I had to, to keep this town safe without anyone
knowing what it was I doing.” Lon shrugged. “They would not have agreed with my
methods, I do think.”
Lucy was trying to process all this information. It didn’t make sense, but when
her grandfather was speaking she listened, and words from his mouth, stories
that he told, if he said they were true then they were true, that was the
nature of her respect and adoration for him.
“So when Richard said this town was haunted… He wasn’t joking?”
Richard smiled. “No. I wasn’t.”
Lon sighed. “There have been disappearances… young people who came through
Deliverance and didn’t make it home, I tried to investigate, but my old bones…
my scrying didn’t come up with anything so I thought it must not be a
supernatural occurrence. Maybe it was something simple like a serial killer. I
do not know. But when Richard appeared at my door… I had no idea what’s going
on but I knew it was something otherworldly.”
Richard removed his hat and coat, and sat on the seat nearest the fire. “Ivan
suspected something and his suspicions ring true, as ever. Something is in
Deliverance, and it’s been killing drifters. Students. The people who pass by
unnoticed. That something, I’ve been able to figure out, focuses itself
on the old Route 666 outside of town. Reality shifts, and until now it’s been
localized, but with the projection in the bar and the thing that attacked you,
Ivan… it knows it’s in danger.”
“Do you know what it is?” asked Lucy.
Richard and Lon looked at each other.
“No, bunny,” said Lon.
“I need to think. Has anything been… Out of the ordinary recently? Any blue
moons or ghost swarms?” said Richard.
“I think I’d remember ghost swarms, Richard.”
“What about Travis?” Lucy asked suddenly.
Lon looked up. “Who?”
“Travis Kent, the old gas station guy? I don’t remember him… And I think I
would. When I saw him… There was something off about everything. I don’t know.”
She shrugged, trying to explain, wanting to be helpful. It made her feel
better, but Richard just stared off into the distance, his fingers latticed,
thinking.
“Who the Hell is Travis Kent?” asked Lon.
Richard jerked upwards suddenly, realization hitting him like a slap to the
face. “The drifters, they’d have to fill up on petrol, which makes sense. Lucy,
you don’t recognise him… and Ivan, you don’t know of him…?”
“So whoever is doing this is sat on the edge of town, going
unnoticed…” said Lon.
“Only appearing, perhaps, to those it can murder without
drawing attention to itself! You two stay here, I’m going to end this.”
Lucy put up her hand. “Not without--”
Richard put up his hand. “No. No way in Hell are you coming with me. This is
dangerous and I’ll be back as soon as I have a nice talk with Mr. Kent. Stay.
Here.” He waved his hand in front of his face, seemingly tracing a symbol in
the air in front of him and then he muttered a few words. In a flash of colour,
he was gone, and Lucy was stood in the wrecked front room of her grandfather,
not knowing what to do next.
“Who the Hell is that, grandpa?” asked Lucy. “You owe me the
truth now, after all that’s happened… people are dying?! You’re a hunter?! Your
real name is Ivan?!”
Lon picked up his six-shooter, and reloaded it. “Richard Faraday. He’s a
A-Grade magician. If he says he’s going to do something, he’ll do it. So we sit
here and we wait.”
“But--”
“No. We wait, Lucy.”
“Fine.” Lucy sat down on the sofa and leant back with her arms crossed. “This
whole thing is mad.”
“This whole thing is life, Lucy. Do you want a cup of tea?”
Chapter Six:
Richard Faraday appeared on the edge of town, and looked
around at the surroundings. Even at night, the sky was clear, the full moon
shining down like it was a flood light above a football pitch. There was a
gutted old gas station to his right, but it hadn’t been used for decades by the
look of it. Next to the front door of the small store attached to the place was
a deck chair, opened and new, an oddity amongst oddities. Someone had been
here, and recently.
Richard walked inside the small shop and dug his fingers
into the sand and dust. It was thick, there was no sign of movement within this
place. He looked outside and saw the moon vanish. An impossible action over an
impossible place. He headed outside and found himself walking into depths of
darkness that could have drowned the unsuspecting.
“What are you afraid
of?” whispered the newly-drawn darkness.
The air seemed to shake. There was a sound, a buzzing like
flies over rancid meat that filled the long, desert-cast shadows and made the atmosphere
quake with change.
“What makes your blood
run cold?” continued the voice.
Richard couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The voice
was close… but how close?
“I have seen things that would make you and yours hide under
the covers and shake in abject terror,” said Richard, slowly. “So what’s your
game?”
“You should know by
now that for all your bravado and bluster, I can see right through you… all of
you… lowly, pathetic humans… boring… and then you… whatever you are… you scar
me… you scar me… with your light?”
Richard laughed loudly. “Oh, my! You’re a low level
telepath. Of course you are! You need to figure out what scares us. But nothing
you can glean from me--”
There was a flutter of wings, and then a scratching noise.
The darkness seemed to vibrate with an electric charge-- and Richard turned
just as a winged monstrosity tore into the space he had just been occupying.
The darkness had taken on the form of a pale skinned humanoid, ink-black wings
protruding from its back, empty eye sockets seemingly staring down at the
occult investigator. Richard swallowed down his sudden shock and the monster
grinned. Its wings flapped, and it floated above the sand. Even without flight
it would have been seven, eight feet tall.
“I know what terrifies
you,” said the creature, “I know what
causes you to lose sleep at night.”
“Very well played,” said Richard, a thin sheen of sweat
forming on his brow. “But you’re going to have to do better than that--!”
Chapter Seven:
It’s been two hours! Where is he?” Lucy paced the room,
whilst Lon polished his guns. “He could be dead! Or worse!”
“What’s worse than being dead, bunny?”
“I don’t know! I just… he should be here, shouldn’t he?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on wha--”
“--Ksssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss--!”
“What the hell?!” Lon jerked out of his seat, and spun around. “What the hell’s
that?”
“Static?” The idea struck Lucy like a hammer blow. “It’s… the… radio.” Her eyes
darted around the room. “Oh, God!”
“I don’t own a radio.” Lon pulled back the hammer of his revolver with his
thumb, and reached out to Lucy. “Get behind me.”
The door erupted from its hinges, colliding with the stairs in front of it. The
windows in the house shattered like a bomb had gone off, and the fireplace was
snuffed out in a gust of cold air. A man stepped forward from the darkness,
grinning a crooked grin. “Ivan, you old bastard, I told ya’ I’d be back for
you.”
Lon’s eyes widened. He threw up his gun and fired six shots, each hitting
Travis Kent square in the chest. Travis grinned as he continued to step
forward. “Sixty long years, I been waiting. An’ now our little angel is all
grown up! Aren’t you gonna’ introduce us?”
Lon backed up, keeping himself in front of Lucy. “Get the Hell away from her!”
Lucy pressed her hands against the wall, and looked around for a way out.
“What’s going on?!”
“Sixty years,” rasped Kent. “Sixty years since that bastard came to town and
killed my family and stole my sister! Him and that bastard immortal!” he
sniggered. “Well he ain’t so immortal anymore, I can tell you that. He died
screaming.”
“Richard?” whispered Lucy.
“Richard? Yeah, that was him. Goddamn it feels good to be out in the
open like this.”
They were trapped. The creepy man with the crooked grin was between Lon, Lucy
and the door, and was he… growing? Lucy couldn’t tell, but he seemed to be
taking up more and more room. She had to stall, she thought, because someone
had to have heard that explosion right? Someone down the street must have seen
the man kick down the door and storm inside… Right? “Who are you?!”
“I don’t have a real name on this plane of existence, bunny. This body
is a figment, you ain’t ever seen nothing like me before.” He laughed. “You can
call me Kent though. Or gran’pappy.”
Lon threw his empty weapon aside. “This is between you and me, leave her out of
this.”
“No, it’s about her too. She’s blood of my blood, Commie, you know that.
Diluted by two generations of… humanity, but she got the spark alright.”
Lucy looked at her grandpa. “What?”
Lon ground his back teeth together. “Your grandmother… wasn’t…”
“She was better than what this Ruskie bastard is! More human than human! But he
came along, the strapping demon hunter, an’ with her being the black sheep of
the family, fell for ‘im! And you know what they did then? They killed the rest
of us. Killed our merry brood. Because she didn’t like what she was and she
wanted to live like the rest of them. Like cattle. But I survived!” Red and
black light swarmed around him, and he really did begin to grow. Skin stretched
over sprouting muscles, nails and teeth began to grow-- Lon and Lucy were
trapped, and he was just getting started. “I lived through it and I been biding
my time and now it’s--” He stumbled forward. “Whuhhh? Uuggh--”
“You’re done.”
Richard Faraday drove the stake deep through the man’s back,
and after what seemed like an eternity, ‘Travis Kent’ fell forward. Richard
swayed for a moment, before steadying himself against the wall.
“The thing with these creatures… these ‘Menageries’ as
they’re called… is that they talk too much. And their spatial awareness?
Rubbish. A stake through the heart kills them. Just like…” he breathed in, a
bloody patch visible inside of his trenchcoat, bruises covering his face, and
his clothes torn and ragged. “…The good old days…” He laughed, and then wiped
his brow. “Phew.”
Lon moved slowly around Travis’ body, and supported Richard
as he approached the sofa. The occultist folded as soon as he hit the cushions,
and Lucy stood, confused, panicked, but safe-- at least, that’s how she felt.
“What just happened?”
“A fairy tale,” said Richard. “‘And they all lived’, or at least, part of it.” He looked at the
moist, red patch inside his coat, and groaned. Lon could see the pain the man
was in, how much blood this apparent immortal had lost.
“Relax, Richard,” Lon closed his eyes, and laid his hands
upon the wound. Blue light drifted down from his fingers and the colour in
Faraday’s face returned.
“A laying of hands. Kicking it old school today, aren’t we?”
“What’s going on?” barked Lucy. “What was that monster
talking about?”
Richard leaned forward, and took Lucy’s hands in his own. “What does it mean?
You’ve lived your life without knowing about your heritage and you’ve lived a
long good life. ‘Travis Kent’ wasn’t human, he just appeared as one. He was a
Menagerie, a collection of thoughts and shapes that he used to kill. Normally,
things like that, they’re raised by their own. Raised to be nasty, evil
things.”
“Your grandma was one of them,” said Lon, interrupting his
friend. “She didn’t want to be bad. She was the brightest and best of anyone I
ever knew, and that made her the worst of her kind, in their eyes. They were
killing this town and she helped us get rid of them. Sealed the hole they were
climbing through to attack the townsfolk. She was the bravest woman I knew. It
was love at first sight.”
“Thing is, you, like your mother, were raised by good
people. Nature versus nurture, and nurture wins, always. You don’t have some
innate evil inside you. That kind of evil, like that thing had? That was
created by others.” Richard squeezed Lucy’s hand softly. “If you look at myth,
in Native American folklore, the Coyote was viewed as the Creator. As a force
of good.” He rubbed his chin. “Reminds me of the old adage: ‘Coyote takes
water from the Frog people...’”
“ ‘…Because it is not right that one people have all the water.’” Lucy
sighed. “I know.” She steeled herself. “Right. So, my mom, does she…? I’ve
never seen her… change shape, or anything… so, what does that mean?”
Richard shrugged. “We don’t know what causes the things from the other side to
have their powers. Maybe because you’re not from Over There you don’t have
access to the innate abilities of those trickster folk. Or maybe it comes with
time, when you’re old enough. Who knows? Perhaps it even skips a generation.”
Lon waved the conversation away. “Thank God you were here, Richard.
We could have died. How did you pick up the scent of this thing?”
Richard stood up, and picked up his coat. “I didn’t.”
Lon entered the room, and his brow furrowed. “You didn’t?”
“I heard rumblings of… Hellhounds. Monsters roaming the deserts. And I thought
that a hole into Hell had opened up. I was wrong. It was all the Menagerie’s
work.”
“So you were looking for a hole into Hell? Why?”
There was a long, lingering silence in the air, before Richard spoke again. He
was quiet. It was nearly a whisper. “I think something bad is coming. And I
don’t know what. I thought that old enemies could be rising against me, hoping
to take something dear away from me… if I could have looked into Hell, taken a
peak at least, I could see if those enemies were still locked up nice and
tight.” Richard placed his hat on his head. Lucy could see the glint of wonder
in his eye, but didn’t say anything. “I have to go.”
“Good luck, Richard.” Lon put out his hand. “And thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. It was nothing.” He turned to Lucy. “He saved my life once,
this man. You’re a very lucky granddaughter.”
Lucy nodded in agreement and her smile lit up the room. “I know.” She watched
Richard exit the house, and vanish into the ether outside. Lon watched her as
her mind processed the events that just transpired. He didn’t know what to say.
Nothing much would do it justice.
“Tell me everything,” Lucy said, finally. “Tell me
everything about the world.”
Epilogue:
Richard Faraday walked. He headed for parts unknown. And he heard it, behind
him. The growling. The quiet snarl. “I know you’re there.” He was being
followed by something only he could see. By something only he could hear. He
looked over his shoulder, and saw it there, bigger than a man, black and
shaggy, white eyes and fangs bigger than anything. A Black Dog. An omen. A
harbinger of death.
“You won’t stop me.”
 |
| Art by Ramon Villalobos, piece is called "Big Dog and a Man", and is based on a version of this story that we discussed years ago at length. Ramon's art is a major part of inspiration for this series. Check his DeviantArt out here: http://glantern133.deviantart.com/ |
