Harlan County Horrors Page 10

  Frozen, Boo sat in his cruiser with a hand on the hilt of his gun, watching in complete and utter horror.

  PJ laughed as the last person scrambled out of the house, screaming in pain.

  "Take that, y'buncha potheads!"

  Then he turned to the smoke, which had oddly begun to take a form -- arms, head, two orbitals blazing with fire.

  Curiously, though, PJ did not feel surprised or afraid.

  "Who'r you?" he asked, his ears, once again, filled with the ominous silence.

  "Power," a voice said. Smoky tentacles extended out from the form, encircling PJ's head. "Wealth." They explored his ambitions, searched his thoughts, probed his dreams. "Anything your heart desires."

  As dark wisps curled into PJ's ears, his face lit with an evil grin. A wicked sheen glistened in his eyes. "Anythang, huh?"

  "Yes," the voice whispered again. Softly. Lullingly. Prickling his neck like the breath from a red-hot lover. "Anything."

  PJ chuckled. And his laughter grew until he was bursting out like a crazed maniac, cackling at the top of his lungs.

  The next day at Pat's Diner, Boo sat in his usual seat. Dark circles shaded the skin around his puffy red eyes, while deep wrinkles creased his brow. It seemed he'd aged ten years overnight. Having worked the grisly crime scene, he had not been able to sleep--if, in fact, what had happened was a crime. Boo really couldn't say. All he knew was that a lot of people had died in the same strange and horrible fashion, and that the ground had been saturated with their blood.

  His face was still pale from disgust.

  "Howdy thar, Boo. Burger today? Grits?" the waitress asked.

  Boo almost hurled at the thought. "No thanks. Just coffee, please."

  Except for a few rowdy guys in the back of the restaurant, the patrons were generally quiet, their mood somber. Word was getting around town fast of the incident at Couch's Branch, no matter how well the local law enforcement tried to keep it under wraps. Too many people owned police scanners, and too many people knew the police codes.

  Boo thumbed through some information he had printed out from the Internet. He had researched various drugs and their side effects during the early morning hours at the station. If anything, he figured the deaths were caused by an experimental new drug gone wrong. Or, at least, that's what he hoped. So far, there was no account of anything that would explain the tragedy he had witnessed.

  The officer from the day before sat down next to him.

  "Dang it, man. Y'look like crap."

  Boo sipped some coffee. "I feel like crap."

  "So tell me...what happened out thar last night?"

  Boo shook his head. "Weird stuff, man. Scary stuff."

  "Like Alibaba?"

  "Worse."

  "Do y'thank it was drugs?"

  Boo took another sip from his cup. "Not sure. I'm doing some research, but ain't found a thing yet."

  The deputy took off his hat, then glanced around to see if anyone was listening. "Well, get this...I was talkin' to ol' man Sizemore this morning. Y'know him, right?"

  Boo had to think a moment. He had seen Sizemore only twice in his life. As he recalled, he was a scraggly, bearded backwoodsman in coveralls who looked as if he needed a bath. Smelled like it, too.

  "Isn't he that ol' coot that lives up on the mountain?"

  "Yeah, that's him. Apparently he'd heard about what happened last night. Turns out, his dad was half Indian, y'know...passed down all these tales of thangs dating way back before Daniel Boone even came to these parts, when Indians were the only ones around. Anyway, he was saying thar was this pipe the Indians found--a spirit pipe, they called it--that supposedly gave 'em the ability to channel spirits or demons...some hogwash like that. Anyway, he told me the Indians forbid the use of it. Said the ones who had smoked it ended up being possessed by the very spirits they conjured, losing their minds and dying from unnatural causes. 'Death by fire,' he called it."

  Faintly, someone started coughing in the background as if he or she had inhaled smoke.

  Boo pondered the tale. He thought about the people the night before, flailing about, and how he could have sworn their eyes had exploded in flame. "So you think the people last night might have gotten a'hold of a spirit pipe...or maybe the drug that was used in one?"

  The coughing grew louder. Stronger.

  "I wouldn't put it past 'em. They were always smoking something at that place," the deputy said, playing with a pack of Sweet N'Low. "And it sounds just weird enough that it might be true, even if it is a bunch of Indian voodoo."

  Boo thought a moment. "Voodoo's more like a Caribbean thing, isn't it?"

  The deputy shrugged. "Voodoo...hoodoo...it's all the same, if y'ask me. Even that Alibaba stuff. 'Same thang, different name'--that's what my granny used to say. Like 'potato' and 'tater.' Speaking of which," the deputy motioned to the waitress, "I thank it's time fer some fries."

  But the waitress wasn't looking. Like most others in the diner, she had been distracted by the coughing, which had now escalated into deep, blustering blows, coming to a head as a man at the corner table, sitting with four other guys, staggered to his feet, whooping hard while clutching his chest. He took a few steps forward before collapsing onto the floor, trembling in an apparent seizure. Boo immediately sprang from his stool. Rushing across the diner, he slid by the large man's side and tried to hold him steady--as did the deputy--but the convulsions were too strong. The man continued to shake harder, more violently than anyone Boo had ever seen. Then, to everyone's surprise, a filthy ooze began to seep from the man's mouth, bubbling from his nostrils like dirty black suds. Boo and the deputy stepped back. They heard a loud crack. Blood splattered all over the floor, and the man's chest burst open wide.

  Some people gasped. The waitress screamed.

  Meanwhile, from the rupture of bone and flesh, two dark slug-looking creatures slithered out. They snaked across the floor, a streak of crimson blood trailing behind.

  "Good Lord! I-i-i-is that his lungs?" The deputy gaped.

  Boo didn't know what to say. The creatures indeed appeared to be the man's lungs--dark, decrepit, black with decay. The organs swelled up and down, as if they were exchanging air, as if they were still working inside the man's chest.

  The four guys who had been sitting with the victim were aghast.

  "W-w-what happened to Slick?" one of them asked.

  Boo didn't know how to respond to that either. He didn't know about anything anymore.

  Suddenly, the man who had asked the question began scratching. "What the..." He dug at his neck, chest, and legs--clawing himself hysterically with his nails. "Sum'ns eatin' me up!" he cried.

  Everyone watched as what started out as small specks on the man's skin multiplied into a horde of moving black dots that appeared to be thousands, if not millions, of...

  "Fleas!" The man fell backward, knocking over a table and screaming on the floor. "They're killin' me! Make 'em stop! Please! Nooo!"

  His friend, the one called Beanpole, frantically searched about. "Hold on, Flea! I'll find sum'n to git'em with. I'll find sum'n--" But abruptly his words and actions were cut short as a succession of vines shot up from the floor, wrapping themselves around the man's body until he was completely encased in a cocoon of green.

  As for the other two--the one called Tennessee had already started gagging, unable to breathe as his skin turned a bright orange, while Hawk had sprouted feathers and was hopping about, flapping his arms as he cawed for help.

  "This whole place has gone mad!" one person exclaimed.

  "It's the end times!" an old man shouted.

  Meanwhile, out of the corner of his eye, Boo happened to see someone standing outside the diner's main window, peering through. Laughing. Leering.

  "Isn't that PJ Smith?" he asked.

  His fellow deputy glanced up, still awe-stricken by the weirdness around him. "Huh...y-yeah, that's him." Then he added. "Don't he live by that house where all those deaths happened last night?"
>
  Boo hadn't realized it before but, oddly and suspiciously enough, it was true.

  "He sure does."

  PJ continued to gaze through the window, pumping his fist with glee while watching the turmoil inside. His face beamed with a sinister glow. Behind him hung a dark cloud that seemed to originate from a lantern connected to his belt. The form resembled a person's shadow, except for something peculiar. Strange. Then Boo's heart stopped. He couldn't believe it. The shadow was the same as the ones he had seen in the desert, when the guards had shot themselves, when they had all looked possessed.

  PJ twisted his lips into an evil grin, reveling at the chaos for a moment longer. Then he jerked away from the glass and disappeared.

  Boo gathered his nerves. "Stay here," he ordered, stepping around the two black slugs that had now sprouted teeth and were gnawing on the dead man from which they had been spawned.

  "Wait a minute!" the deputy implored. "You cain't leave me with these thangs! What am I supposed to do?"

  "Call for backup!"

  "What'r they gonna do?"

  Boo was already out the door.

  Sprinting into the parking lot, he caught a glimpse of PJ's truck spinning away and rushed to his cruiser to pursue.

  45...55...60 miles per hour.

  PJ's truck moved faster ahead.

  85...95...100.

  Boo's car struggled to make the curves, yet the dented old pickup in front of him, which appeared to be one rust hole away from the junkyard, rounded them with ease, pulling away at even more improbable speeds as if powered by an unseen source. As if goaded by Satan himself.

  Finally, Boo was forced to slow down, easing up on the accelerator as PJ's truck careened out of sight. He kept driving nonetheless, hoping that he might miraculously catch up with the vehicle or, at least, stumble upon some clue as to where it had gone.

  The decision paid off.

  After several miles, he saw the truck parked at a holiness church on the outskirts of Big Creek.

  Pulling up beside the church, Boo got out of the car and slipped into the small vestibule just inside the front door. He could already hear PJ yelling inside, ranting uncontrollably.

  "Wha'chew doin' with this hyer preacher, Arlene?"

  Boo peeped around the corner.

  "Wha'dya mean?" a woman at the front of the church asked. She wore a floral dress, her dark hair draped down her back.

  "Y'heard me! Wha'chew doin' with this preacher? This hypocrite!"

  Behind the wooden pulpit cowered a thin man wearing a grey suit and paisley tie. No other people were in the building.

  The woman answered, "I've been praying," and she motioned to the man. "We've been praying."

  "LIAR!" PJ shouted. "I know what yuns been doin'!" He paced back and forth, the lantern still dangling by his side. The shadow, barely visible, still loomed behind him.

  "I've been praying," Arlene repeated.

  PJ stomped. "Prayin' fer what! Huh? Fer love! Fer money! My money!" Veins throbbed in his neck. Rage burned through his gaze. "I gave you ever'thang, Arlene! Ever'thang y'ever wanted! And y'left me! Y'left me fer him!"

  Normally, Boo would have stepped in at this point, but he didn't quite know what he was dealing with yet. All he could think about was what had happened out at Couch's Branch last night. And at the diner a few moments ago.

  Arlene's voice broke in. "You've been drinking again, PJ. Why don'chew just go home. Go home and sleep it off."

  PJ smashed a vase filled with artificial flowers, then took the offering plates and slammed them onto the floor. "I don't need to sleep it off! What I need to know is why I was never good enough fer you. Won'chew tell me that! Huh? Was I a bad man?" he mocked. "Was I a sinner?"

  The woman looked frightened, yet held her composure rather well. "No, you're not a bad man. You just had issues that made you hard to live with."

  "Fer better or worse, Arlene. What happened to that?" PJ steamed.

  The woman shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I loved you, PJ. But we're not together anymore. Don'chew understand? We're just not. And we cain't ever be. Not with you like this."

  The words cut him deeply; PJ said nothing. All that could be heard was his breathing, which grew louder and stronger as anger boiled inside him, filling his mouth with a taste bitter as bile. The shadow behind him fed on the rage, growing proportionally in size. Finally, PJ released his fury on the man behind the pulpit. "It's all yer fault, Preacher!"

  "No! No, it's not, Brother," the preacher said.

  PJ roared. "Don't start brotherin' me! It's all yer fault, and y'know it! You and yer damn snake church!"

  The preacher looked confused. "But this ain't no snake church."

  PJ sneered. Lifting his hands, he brought the lantern over his head and laughed. "Well, it is now."

  Suddenly, the earth started to quake. In the vestibule, Boo stumbled backward, grabbing the doorway for support. Throughout the old church, floorboards rippled. Pews upended and flipped. Chunks of the ceiling crumbled. Then, from the center of the sanctuary, the ground cracked open. Flames licked up through the fissure as out from the fiery hole burst a copperhead snake, forty feet long and as round as a car tire. Venom dripped from its curved fangs; its forked tongue flapped viciously with each hiss.

  Arlene screamed. The preacher ducked behind the pulpit and began reciting the twenty-third Psalm.

  PJ stood in the front of the church with outstretched arms. Gleaming. Basking in the power to command nature and creation at will. A fire rose up from the floor to surround him. Flames danced in his eyes.

  Boo took particular notice of the strange lantern, its scarlet glow throbbing like the beat of a heart. The thin stream of smoke that billowed out from the artifact wrapped about PJ's head, flowed through his hair and around his ears, and eventually curled back to form the tail of the demonic shadow--now a gargantuan entity hovering over PJ like a puppeteer over a marionette.

  The preacher spoke louder, trembling with a semblance of spiritual authority. "Yea, though, I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil..."

  PJ cackled. "Welcome to my valley!" His voice was different. Colder. Then it morphed to sound like a legion of demons squealing from Hell. "Welcome to your DOOM!"

  With those words, the snake struck out, sinking its fangs into the pulpit and splintering the wood into a thousand pieces.

  The preacher was thrown back against the wall. Arlene scampered beneath an overturned pew.

  From the vestibule, Boo took a deep breath. To protect, honor, and serve. He repeated the oath in his head, trying to figure out where giant snakes and the forces of darkness fit in. The last time he had faced such evil, he and his fellow soldiers had rightfully retreated. This time, however, two innocent lives were at stake. And a peaceful community. Possibly the fate of Harlan, itself.

  Boo had to do something. He couldn't simply stand by and watch any longer.

  "Stop!" he shouted, running out with his gun raised high. He let out a flurry of shots that riddled the snake in the back of the head. The creature flinched only slightly, as if rapped by a handful of pebbles, then whipped about, peering at its assailant through slitted yellow eyes. In an instant, it snapped forward, coiling around Boo and leaving him immobilized from the chest down. With his arm still free, however, he continued firing into the reptile, but to no avail. The weapon was useless.

  The snake constricted tighter, and Boo could feel the life being squeezed out of him. He couldn't breath. Everything around him started to fade, consciousness slipping away. In desperation, he pointed the gun toward PJ.

  "Shoot me!" PJ dared, the flames around him lifting higher, enveloping his body but leaving him eerily unscathed. The dark form overhead swelled with delight.

  PJ cried out again, "Go ahead and shoot! I am invincible! I am a GOD!"

  Boo flashed back to that night in the desert. The guard walking into the fire. The others shooting themselves. Bullets flying. Oil fields burnin
g.

  Other memories followed. Children crying over dead mothers. Bodies singed beyond recognition. Death. Destruction. The face of war. The face of the shadow.

  "You're no god," Boo wheezed. Then he pulled the trigger.

  The bullet sailed just shy of PJ, barely catching the threads of his shirt. Instead, it ripped into the base of the lantern, causing an explosion that shook the foundations of the church. The dark shadow wavered. Furiously, it clamored about, looking for a way to maintain its existence, but with its source of fuel destroyed, it quickly dissolved into nothingness. The giant snake that held Boo vanished, as well.

  Around PJ, however, the wall of fire began to spin. A hole opened up under his feet, forming a whirlpool of brimstone that sucked him downward.

  Death by fire, the old Indian legend had said.

  PJ called out as he clung to the edge of the swirling abyss. His voice sounded normal again. Gentle. "I'm sorry, Arlene. I'm sorry fer ever'thang. I always loved you. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt nobody."

  And in a poof of flame, the hole was gone. PJ, too.

  The next day, a fresh breeze blew through the Appalachian valley. At the diner, Boo sat in his usual seat, a bandage stretched over his left brow, the deputy perched on the stool beside him.

  "So," the deputy started, "y'gonna tell me what happened out at that church yesterdi'?"

  Boo shook his head. He looked weathered. Worn. "No, Douglas, I don't think I am."

  The deputy nodded.

  Boo said, "Let me ask you something, though."

  "Shoot."

  "Do you think I'm a sinner?"

  The deputy huffed. "Do what?"

  "Just answer me."

  The uniformed man thought a moment. "Well, my granny used to say that we're all sinners, just depends on the time of day." He smiled at Boo and winked. "And, of course, how pretty the girl is."

  Boo couldn't help but smile back.

  Then, as if it were nothing, the deputy changed the subject, pointing at Boo's fries. "Y'gonna eat those?"