Deep in the Darkness (31 page)

She moved to stand and that was when the basement door burst open. Old Lady Zellis was there, more monstrous than ever, her face a horribly mutated mess, eyes a brilliant gold color you could just fall into.

And then in an instant I saw the beautiful woman again...she was holding her arms out to me and pursing her full red lips and saying, "
Come to me, Michael. I want to make love to you, right here and now
."

I knew I shouldn't have, and didn't really want to, but suddenly she
owned
me and in the next instant I was holding my arms out towards her, wanting to taste her red-wine lips, her slippery tongue, feel her soft-white skin and run my hands through her shimmering chestnut hair. A pleasure raced through me, revoking all my fears, my duress. I could do nothing but want her and submit to her commands of me. Her fingers met mine, and I could feel my mouth watering for her as a tiny spark of electricity passed between us. Jesus, she was everything I could have ever wanted at the moment. And she was mine for the taking.

Then something happened. The woman shrieked pure evil, a high-pitched shrill of torturesome pain. I backed away, breaking our contact. There was a quick movement beside her, and with this came her immediate transformation back into Old Lady Zellis. She backpedaled into the wall, hissing, her face bent into a vulgar mask of fury, agony, and scorn. She turned sideways, and that was when I saw what'd happened to her...what Christine did to her.

There'd only been some broken pottery and a splintered broom handle in the room when I'd first arrived. And of course the dust. And that was all that'd remained. But the broom handle's broken edge had been fractured in such a way that the point would prove a more than practical device in inflicting damage should it be utilized that way. Christine realized this and competently lodged the handle deep into the side of the witch's neck. Blood shot out in a spectacular display, spraying the wall. The witch fell to her knees, hands blindly grasping at the broom handle. She'd almost gotten a hold of it too, but I stepped in and kicked her squarely in the face. She howled and choked—tried to anyway. Her voice was weakened by the broom handle in her neck and came out barely more than a harsh whisper. She hit the floor, blood gushing from her wound. I reached down, yanked the wood handle out, and in a quick calculated thrust, slammed it back down into her throat. A moaning, gobbling noise came out of her mouth, her lips twisted in a continuous attempt to scream, golden eyes bulging horridly. Her hands clawed the dust on the floor as if vainly attempting to conjure up one last spell. The nauseating stink of hot blood rose up; it colored the floor in a extraordinary puddle, wide and shimmering and spreading. She wheezed and thumped and hissed one last time, and then her eyes, once glowing gold, faded down into pallid gray marbles, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

Old Lady Zellis was dead.

Common sense told me that in a very short time, we would be too.

W
e fled through the front door. I didn't want to go the back way. The woods were there, filled with poisonous eyes that would glimpse the murderers of their spiritual leader; we'd never make it out alive. I opted to brave the rotting porch instead, whose holes and soft beams proved easy enough to avoid. We raced across the front yard, uncaring really if anyone caught sight of us making our way out. And what a sight we must've been. A naked pregnant woman covered in green sludge and dust, with blood on her hands; a grown man leading her away, he too with blood on his hands; and then, the most normal one of the crew: a five year-old girl who from afar may have seemed normal, but possessed the tell-tale signs of someone with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, maybe something worse. Luckily, no one was there to see us...unless, of course, someone (or something) was hiding amidst the trees leading out to the main road.

We raced in silence to the car where we all frantically piled in, Christine in the back seat, Jessica beside me in the front.

I felt for the ignition.

The keys...

"Shit!" I yelled. "Christine, where are the fucking keys?"

I heard her sob in the back seat. "Jesus Christ..."

I glanced around and saw her curled fetally against the seat, shivering uncontrollably. Goosebumps lined her body like Velcro loops. The green gunk had somehow made its way from her stomach to her hair. She looked like a punk-rocker. A naked pregnant one, and the sight of her made me feel sick and defeated. "Where are they?" I demanded.

"In my pocketbook..." she said with dismay. Her voice cracked and trembled and she hid her face behind her hands, as if expecting a blow.

"Damn it!" I slammed the steering wheel hard enough to make it vibrate, sending a piercing pain into my fists.

"Daddy...please, I want to get out of here." Jessica was looking all around, nervous and desperate.

I had no choice. I had to go back inside.

"Lock the doors after I get out. Whatever you do, don't open them unless I come back."

Jessica nodded weakly.

From the backseat came a despondent voice: "What if you don't come back?"
 

I answered emptily, "Your lives are at stake, not to mention that of my unborn child's. I'll be back, and then we'll get out of here for good. I promise."

I'd lied before. I just lied again.

Honey, those were fireflies you saw in the woods...

"It's in the basement," Christine said, "With my clothes, on the floor in the far corner."

I nodded, then got out of the minivan. I glanced around to make sure there were no Isolates nearby, then shut the door. The locks clicked. Jessica looked at me through the windshield and I smiled as best I could in an effort to offer her some reassurance. She did nothing, just looked away.

I stepped around to the back of the car, opened the hatch, reached in and grabbed the wool blanket I'd hid under earlier, which I tossed over the seat to Christine.
   

Surprisingly enough, my travel medical kit was still back here. I opened it and removed the only scalpel. It was a small one, with a one-inch blade. Better than nothing, I supposed.

I closed the hatch, then quickly raced to the gate, which I'd left open. The wind picked up for a moment and jarred the pines, making a harsh respiratory-like noise that went fittingly with the cold dismal setting. I ran across the front lawn, sidestepped the holes in the porch, and went back inside Old Lady Zellis's house.

And there she was. Old Lady Zellis. Her rictus grin, spotted with blood, laughing up at me. Her eyes, gray and lifeless, stared up at the ceiling. The broomstick protruded from her throat like a stake in a vampire's heart. Blood had puddled out from the wound in a semi-circle across five feet of flooring. The room possessed a hot organic stench. I'd smelled this scent before while performing emergency room work during my internship at Columbia. It was a unique smell, one you never forgot.

To avoid the blood, I stepped over her body (cringing as I did so; my mind imagined her feigning death, launching a hand up and grabbing my ankle) and staggered back down into the basement, hands against the cinder walls, leaving ghostly blood stains behind on the cement. I wondered just what the hell Old Lady Zellis was all about. Without question she had some Isolate blood in her, as evident by the glow in her eyes and her sharp yellow claws. But still...she maintained humanlike qualities. Was she the result of mixed parents? A mixed-breed of human and Isolate? Somehow I couldn't see a human willfully entangling with one of those things. So then, how?

Perhaps the dead person in the grave out back can explain that to you?

Phillip's words seeped back to me yet again:
There's a grave in her backyard that's supposed to be that of her mother. It's right at the edge of the woods, you can even see it from the road.

The candles were still burning in the basement. Wax pooled at their bottoms like lily pads. I looked into the far corner opposite the steps and spotted Christine's clothes and purse. I ran over, hurriedly snatched them up and tucked everything under my armpit, all the while holding the scalpel out. Then, quietly, I went back up the steps into the living room.

When I reached the top step, I stopped.

My body went numb.

There were footprints in Old Lady Zellis's blood.

Isolate footprints.

There was only one set, but it was enough to alarm the heck out of me. They passed through the blood alongside the body, then backtracked out, trailing bloodstains into the kitchen. I imagined one of them having come here to investigate the ruckus only to find the old lady in a less than desirable state. It was probably out back now, alerting its brothers and sisters of the sudden tragedy. Shit...they'd be on me in seconds.

I ran like an animal in the scope of a hunter's rifle, out the front door and simply forgetting about the holes in the porch. If there was ever a time I was close to just giving up, then this was it. My foot went through a soft spot in the porch like a thumb into a piece rotten fruit. My leg sank in up to the knee and I perched my elbow against the edge to stop from sinking in further. My jeans tore and I could see a cherry-red glean of fresh skin lancing up from the middle of my shin to a spot just below my knee; a hunk of flayed skin accordianed at the top of the wound where it dangled painfully. My breath escaped me and left my lungs burning as they sought air. I threw down the clothes and purse then pressed my left hand against what I hoped was a more stable area of the porch. The splinter of wood that'd made a mess of my shin came back at me for a second helping, sending a jolt of pain through me that damn near swooned me. In this moment, I looked over at the minivan. Jessica and Christine were pressed against the windows, watching me the intense way children watch an animal at the zoo. God...I didn't want this to be the last time I saw them. I had to get myself out and move fast, find some inner strength and go for it. Jesus, I'd done pretty well up until this point—there was no sense giving up now.

Was there?

I stretched forward and grabbed the lip of the top step. Using this as leverage, I pulled myself out of the hole then quickly grabbed the purse, electing at that moment to leave Christine's clothes behind. I tumbled down the three steps of the porch, and fell to my knees on the concrete walkway.

Something came at me from the house. In my peripheral vision I saw the lanky figure leap over the porch and sail at me through the air. I attempted to dive sideways but the thing managed a claw on my waist, taking me to the ground. Still holding the scalpel—and what a miracle that was—I stabbed at it. The Isolate lunged at me, teeth gnashing as it tried to bite me, but the blade was there first, leaving a gaping gash on its cheek. I could see its face, the head whipping around as it struggled to find some part of me to bite down on. I continued to thrust the scalpel, catching it wherever I could, on the shoulders, chest, and neck. Hot blood sprayed out everywhere; I could feel it on my skin, through my shirt. Its arms and legs flailed crazily, loathsome claws scratching me, seeking purchase but succeeding in only tattering my clothes. The thing yelped and in a moment of pain, withdrew just enough for me to bring scalpel home into one of its glowing golden eyes.

Howling, the Isolate reared back, batting at the scalpel that took away the color in its eye. Thick yellow pudding blobbed out from the socket and oozed down its cheek.
It looks like tapioca
, I thought crazily. It fell down on its back, fists pounding the snowy grass in agony, the scalpel sticking straight out of its eye socket like...like the broomstick in the old lady's neck.

I got up clumsily, like a palsied child. I squinted obliquely toward the car; the world started spinning around me. Suddenly the passenger window rolled down and I heard Jessica's voice calling, "Daddy! Hurry!"

Instinctively, I started lunging toward the car. I'd only taken a few steps when Jessica yelled, "The purse, Daddy, the purse!"

It lay next to the writhing Isolate. I darted over as quickly as my numbing feet could take me, then leaned down and grabbed it. The Isolate staggered up, the scalpel still in its left eye; the other eye glowed like fire and pinned me angrily—there was still some fight left in this bad boy.

Despite the pain and fatigue and damn near willingness to pack it all in, I ran. Fast. Back to the minivan to the driver's side door. I pulled on the handle and it snapped back. The doors were still locked! "Open the fucking door, Jessica!" Inside I saw my daughter scrambling at the controls on the passenger side. With an audible
click
, the doors unlocked. I pulled it open and shoved inside. But the Isolate was there.

Instead of trying to pull me out, the creature pushed me forward into the minivan against Jessica, then leaped inside on top of me. Screams erupted from Jessica and Christine. Limbs flailed wildly from all sources, a barrage of swipes and fists being tossed in all directions. The Isolate's claw slapped my face. Immediately I could feel blood pouring down from the laceration it made, the cold air biting into my skin like acid. Jessica was hysterical, clawing at the window, attempting to steer clear of the battle taking place right next to her. Christine had sat up and was tentatively hurling fists into the front seat; her aim was good but she neither hurt nor distracted the creature from its intentions to silence me. It had me in a compromising position, on my side and sitting on top of me, swiping my back and shoulders. Its nails felt like razors as they sliced through my clothes. I knew that if I didn't do anything soon, I'd be no better off than Old Lady Zellis. But my strength was fading fast and I could do nothing at this point but allow my weakening body to be ravaged by the creature.