《An Account of Some Strange Happenings in Burdock》 Chapter 1 An Account of Some Strange Happenings in Burdock Nicolas Bouligny 1 A thin veil of smoke swirled beneath the light of a buzzing fluorescent tube. The stench of a thousand cigarettes lingered on every piece of furniture and inch of the padded walls. The suspect shifted uncomfortably in his chair but continued looking straight ahead at the wall, holding a lit cigarette precariously in one hand. After taking only one drag he had resigned to let it dangle between his fingers. The detective let out a deep sigh as he looked through the tiny square of one-way glass set into the metal door that separated him from the suspect. This door was the gateway between worlds; when one stepped through, they became either the accuser or the accused. The inner machinations of man¡¯s mind and the convictions therein were splayed out on the table between them, and judgement was passed. The detective took hold of the brass doorknob, quickly turned it, and pushed the door open. He closed the door behind him, and with perfectly even and calm strides he walked to his chair, placed a folder on the desk, and sat. ¡°Good evening Mr. Francis, I¡¯m detective Whitman.¡± Donald Francis just sat there, not staring at the detective, but through him. Andrew Whitman was entering his fourth year as a detective at the Burdock Police Department. At only 34 years old he was the youngest officer to ever become a detective in Burdock, though whether he got there by his ability or by lack of other suitable officers, he would never know. It was a relatively small force, but they were like a family. This was one of the last few small towns in America where it wasn¡¯t strange to greet all your neighbors with a smile and a ¡°goodmorning¡±, because they would do the same for you. That integrity, unity, and one-ness with the community only made this interrogation that much harder. ¡°Mr. Francis, I have some questions for you, think you could answer them for me?¡± The man sitting across from him didn¡¯t respond. Donald Francis was a thin, wispy haired man in his early 60¡¯s. His long face and features were accentuated by the weight of his grief, drawing his lips down into a tight curve that would not budge. Whitman saw he was clearly shaken up from whatever events had transpired earlier in the night, but that didn¡¯t really matter when it came to murder. Questions needed answering. ¡°Mr. Francis?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± he said tonelessly. ¡°Good. Let¡¯s lay out this scene one more time. Where were you last night at 9 p.m.?¡± His body tensed before answering, ¡°With my wife.¡± ¡°And where were you both?¡± ¡°In our home. 496 Winstead Avenue, Burdock South Dakota, 57-¡± ¡°We¡¯ll just stick with your home, Mr. Francis. Was there anybody else inside with you?¡± ¡°No.¡± Andrew opened the file in front of him and quickly skimmed through his notes. ¡°What were you two doing during the interval between 9 p.m. and 11?¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. More silence, followed by, ¡°Reading. I read at nights. Angeline sits-¡± he gave a sudden pause and took another slow drag from his cigarette. ¡°She sat with me. Crocheting or leafing through a magazine.¡± He was silent again for a while. Andrew gave him time. He resumed 30 seconds later, ¡°At around 9:40 we headed to bed. She got up an hour later and went downstairs to the kitchen. I didn¡¯t think anything of it, except she didn¡¯t come back.¡± Another pause. A minute this time. ¡°I went down. There she was.¡± He took another long, slow drag from his cigarette. ¡°What was she doing Don?¡± With a choked voice and tears welling in his eyes, Donald said, ¡°Dead. Knife in her throat.¡± Calmly and slowly, Andrew sincerely asked, ¡°Who did it, Don?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± he screamed. ¡°Herself more than like, but I don¡¯t know why. We loved each other, we were happy. In another couple years I was going to retire, and we were going to move to Nebraska. We had our future all laid out ahead of us, detective.¡± Again, Detective Whitman studied his notes in silence, let out a sigh, then slowly looked up at the man across from him. ¡°Mr. Francis, somebody else was with Angeline that night.¡± Suddenly the tears stopped, and the look of despair on Donald¡¯s face was replaced with shock. ¡°What? You¡¯re saying she was murdered? By who?¡± This time it was Andrew¡¯s turn to pause. ¡°Mr. Francis, at 10:57 the station got a call from your neighbor, Mr. Hatche. He reported hearing screaming and loud crashes coming from your residence.¡± ¡°Yeah, I was distraught, I was in pain dammit! I knocked some things over and threw some other things, what would you do if you suddenly found somebody you loved lying in a pool of her own blood?¡± He shot Andrew an accusatory glance which, to Donald¡¯s surprise, seemed to have an actual impact on the detective¡¯s composure; his eyes softened and turned away from the other man¡¯s, lazily resting on some nondescript patch of carpet on the floor. ¡°I¡¯m not too sure what I would do in that situation Mr. Francis, and I empathize with the pain you feel¡± he quickly returned his attention to the man sitting opposite him, ¡°but emotions and empathy have no place when it comes to the acquisition of facts.¡± Donald¡¯s hateful expression dispersed after that. ¡°Now, regarding Mr. Hatche, he had a bit more to say. He said that after having a little argument with his wife he went to sleep downstairs in the den. This was at 10:52. When he got down there, he said he could see Angeline through the window in your kitchen nook. She was talking to someone, a man wearing what appeared to be a dark suit with his back to the window. Mr. Hatche said he, ¡®respected the privacy of one¡¯s own home,¡¯ and just figured you and the Mrs. were having a little late-night chat, so he paid no mind. Once the screaming started, he figured that that was the right time to start paying some mind and called the police. So, let me ask you again Don: who did it?¡± The soft concern on Donald¡¯s face once again turned hard as stone ¡°You think I did it, you bastard! The audacity! We loved each other dearly, she was my stars, my moon, why would I kill her? You have no proof, you little shit!¡± Although he was in relatively good shape for a man of his age, Andrew thought he might have a heart attack if he went on like this for much longer. ¡°Please, Mr. Francis¡± ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®please Mr. Francis¡¯ me you prick! How dare you accuse me without any proof.¡± ¡°This is not an accusation Don, at least not yet anyways. As of right now we have no suspects, fingerprints, signs of a break-in, or witnesses other than your neighbor. I¡¯m sorry to say it, but you¡¯re our prime suspect in this case. And I¡¯m even more sorry to say that we can¡¯t release you from custody until we acquire further evidence that proves you¡¯re innocent.¡± ¡°But I am innocent!¡± He looked around, struggling to find the words or phrases that could help prove this point. ¡°I¡¯m tempted to believe you, Don. I know you¡¯re a good man; you¡¯ve got no prior record, don¡¯t cause trouble around town, and mostly keep to yours and your own. I know you¡¯re grieving, but I can¡¯t release you.¡± Resignation washed over Donald¡¯s face. ¡°Okay detective. Put me in my cell. I want tonight to be over.¡± Andrew closed his report and stood up. ¡°I¡¯ll send someone in to escort you, Don. You¡¯ll get a quiet spot away from the rest of the degenerates.¡± Chapter 2 2 Burdock had a population of 4,692, mostly comprised of mild-mannered and decent blue-collar folks, but that didn¡¯t protect it from the ever-present and various blights brought on by mankind. The holding area of the Burdock Police Department was one long hallway with six cells on both ends, three on either side of the hall. There were only three inmates occupying the cells of the Eastern-Wing tonight, two sitting in opposite cells with a third separated by an empty cage. The one at the far left was Richard Denning, busted on public intoxication but suspected of having ties to a drug smuggling ring in Canada. He had once been caught in possession of cocaine but wasn¡¯t charged with an intent to sell. He had served six months for that. He was an occasional guest at the ¡°Burdock Police Department Resort and Spa¡± as he called it, and made a conscious effort to keep cool during his stays. The man across from him on this trip, though, had been trying his patience for the past hour. Terry Maldonado was a drifter, making his way through the states finding small time businesses to rob and small-town girls to woo, or so he claimed. In reality, he was a petty thief who was trying to escape his building records by fleeing from state to state. An hour prior to his incarceration, he was attempting to steal a blue Buick LaCrosse when an officer patrolling the area quietly rolled up behind him with his lights off firmly said ¡°Freeze¡± into the megaphone. Terry jumped away from the car and immediately raised his hands in surrender. The third occupant, who was face down on his mattress snoring loudly, was the town drunk, Rufus Cartwright. He was a descendent of Wayne Cartwright, who had played a large part in developing the town and its economy by building a lumber mill generations previously. Being the great-great-grandson of the town¡¯s founder didn¡¯t have many perks, but it did get Rufus a free pitcher of beer at the Sunset Lounge every Thursday night. He claimed he was a veteran of ¡°The War¡± though he wouldn¡¯t say which one. Whatever war it was, it left him with three fingers on his left hand, a bad limp in his left leg, and a permanent, ¡°kiss my old ass¡± attitude. Whatever part of his government compensation didn¡¯t go towards paying his bills went towards feeding his diet of liquor, bar peanuts, and the soup of the day from the Hungry Badger diner across the street, which would occasionally end up in some trash can, a gutter, or worse, on the shoes of some unlucky passerby. Like Richard, he was no stranger to the cells of the Burdock Police Department, but he only entered them with an overnight pass to rehabilitate him from his public intoxication. This cell was like a second home to Rufus, one where the food was brought to him and the bills weren¡¯t his problem. Why wouldn¡¯t he want to stay here?Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The door to the main hall of the police station opened. Officer Dean Laherty entered, escorting Donald Francis to a cell in the Western wing. Richard called out, cutting off Terry in the middle of a sentence, ¡°Hey, who we got there copper? Another lost and sorry soul seeking redemption and salvation?¡± ¡°Keep it quiet Denning, I won¡¯t have any of it tonight.¡± ¡°Come on man, I need somebody to talk to besides this yabbering ass over here.¡± Terry started to form a response, but was cut off by the officer, ¡°Don¡¯t think this one¡¯s going to be doing much talking tonight. Best leave him alone, don¡¯t you think?¡± Laherty looked down the hall and bored his eyes into Richard¡¯s face as he finished the sentence. His goatee heightened the sharp, angular features of his dark, thin face, which gave him a more serious and authoritative disposition; his closely cropped black hair gave him the look of an angry army sergeant Rich decided to leave it alone. ¡°Yes sir.¡± ¡°That goes for you too Mr. yabbering ass.¡± Terry looked back and forth at the two. ¡°Why¡¯s everyone picking on me?¡± The inmates continued their heated discussion while Laherty got Donald settled. Dean was the only black officer in the department. As a child, his family along with the Dunnes had been the only two black families in Burdock. As such, he was often subject to racism and segregation by others, mostly by those who believed a five-year Confederacy based on stripping away freedoms was worth salvaging and remembering, along with their equally ignorant children. Those difficult times had sharpened his mind and wit, making him confident when dealing with smartasses and loud-mouths. Dean liked to think of himself as a pleasant and amicable guy, but one who could be stern and rough if it came down to it. ¡°I brought in an extra pillow and blanket for you Don. You¡¯re not a prisoner, no need to treat you like one. The toilet is still open air though, not much we can do about that. But you¡¯re away from prying eyes, so that should be fine. You think you¡¯ll be good for the night?¡± Donald looked around the room slowly, saying, ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll be alright. Thank you, officer.¡± Dean Laherty was never fond of being addressed by titles like ¡°sir¡± and ¡°officer¡±; he liked to be as informal as possible, which often made his job a lot easier when dealing with rowdy ¡°clients¡±, which is how he liked to think of them. He wanted to say, ¡°Call me Dean,¡± and pat the obviously exhausted guy on the shoulder, but knew that the man may have murdered his wife only a few hours prior. So instead he gave a little sigh and said, ¡°Give a holler if there¡¯s any trouble.¡± Donald nodded and sank onto his cot, resting his elbows on his knees. He held his head in his hands and stared fixedly at the crease in the far wall where it met the ground. Dean walked out of the cell and softly locked it behind him. He let his eyes linger on the broken man for a second longer before turning to leave. Chapter 3 3 The break room of the Burdock Police Department contained two round tables seated with five chairs each, a refrigerator with a freezer compartment on top, a trash bin by the door, and a sink. The only two people in the room were Andrew and Theresa, both stuck with the graveyard shift; they were playing gin at one of the tables. They mainly played to kill time, but their friendly rivalry kept it from being too monotonous. Theresa sat with perfect posture, accentuating her tall & slender frame, while her red hair sat in a loose ponytail. Dean thought the few freckles dotted around her face and nose were sort of cute, but would never openly admit it. Across from her, Andrew¡¯s posture was equally im-perfect; he sat hunched over his cards with one hand resting under the chin of his lightly stubbled face. His shaggy chestnut colored hair hung in his vision as he tried, unsuccessfully, to blow it out of the way. The two didn¡¯t acknowledge Dean as he walked in or as he sat next to Andrew and observed his hand. He had a 4, 5, and 6 of Spades, three Jacks, and a 9 of Diamonds. Two turns later Theresa placed the final Jack on the discard pile. Andrew grabbed it, flipped his 9 face-down on the draw pile, and said, ¡°Gin.¡± ¡°You bastard.¡± She dropped her cards, revealing three 5¡¯s, three 4¡¯s, and the King of Clubs. ¡°Bad pair.¡± Andrew said with a small smile. He looked over at Dean, who sat looking at the discard pile. He continued looking at that spot even after Theresa pulled it away to shuffle. ¡°Hey man, are you alright?¡± Dean blinked twice and looked at his coworker. ¡°Yeah, fine. That guy Donald just kinda got to me.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Andrew asked. ¡°He was just so¡­ calm and numb. Like he was just so distraught that he sort of shut off you know?¡± ¡°During my interrogation he got a bit upset. Quite upset, actually. That paired with the grief probably drained him of whatever energy he had left in him.¡± ¡°I get that, but that wasn¡¯t all it. He seemed resigned.¡± This time it was Theresa who spoke, putting down the cards she just finished shuffling, ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°He was like¡­¡± He thought for a moment. ¡°You know, during Salem witch trials, they would test if someone was a witch by drowning them. They¡¯d tie stones and bricks to the woman¡¯s feet and throw her in the lake, and if she floated to the surface, that would prove she was a witch.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Pretty fucked up,¡± Theresa said as she shuffled. ¡°Very fucked up,¡± Dean continued. ¡°I can see the faces of those women as they walked to the shore, knowing that they will die and that there was no way out. Their expressions are long and sullen, with no emotion in it at all. It¡¯s the face of someone who is already dead inside, and they¡¯re just waiting for their body to catch up. That was the look on that man¡¯s face.¡± They all sat quietly for a few seconds before Andrew said, ¡°I guess he¡¯s feeling remorse for killing his wife now that he thinks we¡¯ve got him.¡± Dean noticed the hesitation in his voice. ¡°But you don¡¯t really think he did it either.¡± Andrew looked a little shocked at being put on the spot. ¡°Well, I mean, he doesn¡¯t have an alibi, his story about the preceding events is shaky at best, and we found no evidence of a break-in or anyone else in the home.¡± ¡°But?¡± ¡°But¡­ we don¡¯t have a motive. And because of that I can¡¯t shake the feeling that somehow, he¡¯s innocent.¡± Theresa, who had sat quietly taking this all in said, ¡°Are you going to investigate his house?¡± ¡°Yep, Nicky and I are going tomorrow afternoon to do a full sweep.¡± ¡°He may be a pretty good rookie,¡± Dean said, ¡°but don¡¯t let his inexperience hold you back. You need to teach him a thing or two before he ends up getting somebody¡¯s ass in trouble.¡± ¡°He¡¯s good with the paperwork and heavy lifting, but if he wants to be a detective, he¡¯s got to practice his fieldwork. I figure in a case like this with no clear motive, anything out of place will be something useful for us. Shouldn¡¯t be too hard for him to find some dots to connect.¡± Theresa slid the cards back in their pack and placed them in the center of the table, ¡°Well you better get some rest if you have to guide that pup around all afternoon. Go home, I¡¯ll beat you another time.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± Andrew said as he got up and started towards the door to the main hall. The entryway of the police department contained a circular desk in the center where an officer usually sat, but was now empty. On the ground floor were four doors leading to the holding cells, a break room, the Chief¡¯s office, and a stairwell which led downstairs into the evidence depository. Two staircases were on both sides of the room leading up to the officer¡¯s stations, which were also mostly empty except for a few officers finishing reports. There would be somebody out in the patrol car, Andrew thought, probably either Henry or Susannah. The clock on the wall indicated that it was 1:24 a.m., meaning whoever it was wouldn¡¯t be back in for another four hours. As he neared the building¡¯s exit, Dean¡¯s voice called out to him. ¡°Andrew!¡± He quickly spun around and saw Dean staring at him from the foot of the left staircase. ¡°If you find anything in his house tomorrow, let me know, alright?¡± ¡°Yeah, alright. I¡¯ll keep you posted.¡± Andrew watched him ascend the steps for a moment and wondered what exactly he had seen in Donald Francis¡¯ that had gotten him so worked up. He turned back towards the front door and mentally prepared for the freezing walk back to his car. Chapter 4 4 Andrew awoke the next morning breathless and in a cold sweat. He hardly ever dreamed, but when he did, they were usually nightmares. In one he had been sprinting down a darkened hallway while a constant sense of anxiety arose within him, never knowing if he was running away from some unknown horror, or running towards some far off salvation. In another, he would quietly move around a house that he did not know but felt familiar with, sneaking and evading some figure that he never saw. The nightmare that had occured the previous night, however, was different, more surreal. In the dream, he was standing in the corner of a bedroom. The room was mostly visible in his peripheral vision, but his gaze was locked on the sleeping figure that occupied the bed. He stood there for what seemed like hours, monitoring the steady fall and rise of their chest as they breathed. Slowly, with long and careful strides, he walked to the side of the bed and peered down at the body laying before him. Surprisingly, he was not all that perturbed to see his own face staring back at him with wide and vacant eyes. Suddenly the dream shifted, tearing Andrew away from the room and leaving him floating in an inky black void. He waved his arms in front of him and felt a water-like force of resistance as he did. He understood that he was underwater and began struggling for breath, but found that it came just as easily as if he were on land. With a renewed sense of calm, he twisted and turned his body, looking for any object or point of reference. As if the void had sensed his need, a small globe of yellow light manifested from the pitch blackness far below him. The light did not dispel the oppressive darkness surrounding them, but gave Andrew a sense of warmth and comfort. A second and soon third ball of light appeared alongside the first, and they began to playfully swirl around each other before remaining motionless, their points making the shape of an inverted triangle. Two more lights lazily drifted from the mass of darkness and positioned themselves higher above the two points, making an angular ¡°U¡± Shape. The lights hung motionless for a few moments, staring at Andrew while he stared and was transfixed by them. Suddenly, he could feel the water displace as something moved towards him from the direction of the lights. Andrew tried to swim against the current towards the light, but remained stuck in place. The pressure grew as the form rushing towards him began to gain definition and mass amidst the blinding emptiness. Then he saw it, a hand; four long sinewy fingers protruding from a perfectly flat and unmarked palm. As it neared, a sound like a screeching maelstrom erupted in his eardrums and forced him awake. Andrew shot up from his bed with a panicked breath and looked around his room, assuring himself that he was awake and safe. He noticed the rapid beating of his heart and the tug of his sweat stained clothes clinging to his body, so he tried to calm himself. He inhaled, waited, and slowly exhaled, feeling his anxiety and blood pressure lessen. As he climbed out of bed, pulling his shirt away from his sticky body, he tried to remember the details of the nightmare that had gotten him so shaken up. Despite the fact that he had just woken up from his nightmare, though, he couldn¡¯t seem to recall exactly what had happened in the dream. Had he even had a dream last night? He was sure he did, how else would he have awoken with such a start, and covered in sweat no less? Rationalization began to trickle into his mind; it had been cold the previous night, so he had turned on the heater, forgot about it, and became too hot during the night. The heat and constriction of his blankets caused him to sweat, which further constricted his movement and resulted in the feelings of claustrophobia and terror upon awakening. But had that even happened? He truly couldn¡¯t remember, so he decided to shower and forget it. After his shower, Andrew walked down the hall towards his kitchen. Hung along the wall were pictures of some of his family: a sister, a mother and father, all four of them and a young cocker spaniel between them. These were memories of a happier time in Andrew¡¯s life, when he wasn¡¯t weighed down by constant dread and a past that never seemed to quite fade away. He stopped at the picture of his sister, Bernice. It was of her at her 14th birthday party. She sat with a smile on her face and a cake in front of her that read, ¡°Happy B-Day Bernie!¡± on it in purple icing. Seeing her smile made Andrew smile, and brought a tear to his eye. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. His sister had been dead for eight years, but that type of grief never really left a man. She had been on an early morning run when she was hit by a drunk driver going 60 down a residential street. She was only 23, and her death hit the family hard. When it happened, they could hear shouts and sirens approaching down their street. Their father gathered the family together to go see what had occured. When they got to the scene, they saw a drunken man being shoved along into the backseat of a squad car, and the bashed and bloodied corpse of their daughter pinned between the front tire of the drunken man¡¯s truck and the curb. Their father began to drink more heavily after the incident and kept to himself in his study. Their mother spent most of her days sitting in the living room staring out the window, her crochet needles lazily and limply working to create something she would no doubt unravel and start over the next day. The toll it took on Andrew was a large one, but he didn¡¯t want to be reminded of that now. He just wanted to mourn his baby sister. At times like these he thought he would give anything to see her again. His father died four years after the accident during an argument with their mother. He had been coming home every night at 3 a.m. for months, with his clothes reeking of booze, and on occasion, stale piss. Their mother had gotten sick of it and confronted him one night, telling him that she wanted him out of the house immediately. He was drunk, so she was easily able to push him out into the hallway. Once he got his balance, he threw himself at her, and they struggled upstairs for a bit. Eventually his grip loosened, and she was able to push him away, right through the second story banister and onto the hardwood floor below, head first. She was not given any charges as the incident was seen as an act of self-defense. She struggled with depression for many years after that night; she still loved her husband, she only wanted him to clean himself up. Andrew visited her a couple times a month to give her company and let her know how he was doing in life, and she greatly appreciated it. She had lost a daughter and now a husband, all the love she had left in life was for her son. She thought about Andrew often, and how he must feel after losing his father at the hands of his mother, so soon after the death of his sister; she could do nothing but blame herself for the anguish she knew he must be feeling. ¡°He forces himself to come see me,¡± she would think to herself, ¡°even though he must hate me for what I¡¯ve done to him.¡± On the seventeenth of November, three days before he was going to visit her, he got a call from her neighbor saying she had killed herself the previous week. Newspapers had piled up on her overgrown and weed strewn lawn, she had stopped answering calls and attending her therapy sessions, nobody had seen her. When the police finally arrived and kicked down her door after they received no answer, they were hit with a miasmic stench of death and decay. She had swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills as well as most of her prescribed medications. In the kitchen Andrew brewed himself a pot of coffee and ate oatmeal in silence. This morning was not a good one, and he predicted the rest of the day would follow that same formula. The rich and bitter taste of coffee helped him finish the bland oatmeal. He hadn¡¯t wanted to eat, he wasn¡¯t even hungry, but he knew that his body needed something to help him last through the dar. He poured himself another cup and drank it down slowly as he watched the rising sun continue on its path. After placing his cup in the sink and filling it with water to soak, he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Looking in the mirror, Andrew saw a tired man with a face covered in stubble, disheveled hair, and bags under his eyes so heavy that he¡¯d have to check them on his next flight, whenever and wherever that was. He thought he¡¯d been getting plenty of good sleep, but the nightmares seemed to take more of a toll than he imagined. The powerful mint of the toothpaste mixed with the bitter taste left by the coffee was unpleasant, but Andrew didn¡¯t seem to notice or care. He spat and leaned down to wash the excess toothpaste from his mouth. When he raised his head, he saw his sister standing behind him in the mirror. Her left eye was a crushed mass inside her dented and lacerated skull, which was partially visible under her torn and bleeding skin. Her right arm was twisted behind her at an impossible angle, and her legs were nothing but sacks of flesh filled with shattered bone, some poking through the skin. His heart froze in his chest and he quickly swiveled around. There was nothing there. Only the picture of his sister hung on the wall outside the bathroom door. Another tear appeared in the corner of his eye and slowly rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away, sat on the toilet, and held his head in his hands, letting a few more tears drop onto the floor. He let out a long sigh and quietly said to himself, ¡°Oh, fuck me.¡± Chapter 5 5 As he neared the Francis house, Andrew¡¯s thoughts kept returning to his sister in the mirror. He didn¡¯t want to think he was going crazy, but he couldn¡¯t find any other explanation for what had happened to him. The anniversary of her death, June 14th, was only a few weeks away, so maybe that¡¯s why he imagined she appeared. Though if he had to manifest her, why did his mind choose to do so in such a grisly manner? He had been trying to push thoughts of his sister out of his mind for years, but they always managed to linger within probing range, just in case he got too content. If he made a sandwich, he would cut it diagonally because that¡¯s how she liked it. He always sat on the left side of his couch because she always sat on the right. When he bought soap, it was always lavender scented, because that was the scent of the incense she burned. All of these unintentional actions would bring back memories that would stab at his heart for a time, before fading away into an opaque afterthought that rested in his mind Pulling into the driveway of the Francis home, Andrew saw Nick Petulo already examining the porch, looking for any signs of possible break-in. Andrew slammed the door of his Accord shut, startling his partner, and asked, ¡°You know what you¡¯re doing there?¡± Nick jumped and spun around, nearly dropping his flashlight. He smoothed back his pitch black hair with one hand and put on a youthful smile that never seemed to fade, even while being occasionally reprimanded for not maintaining his uniform properly. He stood tall and straight, making the most out of his 5¡¯6¡± height before saying, ¡°Just waiting for you sir! Figured I should start examining the scene until you got here.¡± ¡°Did you find anything interesting?¡± Andrew said with a slight hint of sarcasm, walking towards the house. ¡°No, not yet. All the doors and windows are locked, no signs of damage or forced entry on any of them.¡± ¡°Does this place have a Crawl space?¡± ¡°That! That¡¯s what I forgot to check!¡± He smiled and slowly shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d make it out here very long without you as my coach Whitman.¡± ¡°You¡¯re just getting started kid, don¡¯t worry about it. Knowledge comes from experience, which you don¡¯t have much of yet.¡± Nick was only 24, but he had spirit. Like most young recruits, he came into the job expecting action and heroics, though unlike most other young recruits, that spirit didn¡¯t fade when he found out the job was mostly clerical work. Nobody ever thinks about all the field and paperwork that comes with the job when they enter, and tha¡¯ts what gets them. Nicky seemed to enjoy all of it though. He was very passionate about the job and wanted to do the best that he could, and Andrew liked him for that. The entrance to the crawl space was on the side of the house, and the crisscrossing plywood cover that should have been covering it was lying on the ground beside the opening. Andrew brought out his flashlight and shone it through the mouth of the opening, slowly sweeping it through the space. He observed mostly emptiness until he saw the light reflect off two golden eyes encasing black vertical slits. The animal quickly took off away from Andrew¡¯s light, further into the darkness. ¡°What was that?¡± Nick asked, looking over his partner¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Cat. Probably down here for shelter. If it¡¯s female, it might have settled in this place to eventually give birth.¡± ¡°Well that thing definitely couldn¡¯t have ripped off the covering.¡± ¡°Nope,¡± As Andrew continued examining the crawlspace, he noticed a few pipes of varying size laying next to a support beam. Above the beam were some exposed pipes which looked similar to the ones on the ground. Further back he could see more pipes, these ones covered with dirt and rust. ¡°But I don¡¯t think some bandit did either. See those pipes over there?¡± He motioned with his light and Nick nodded. ¡°Probably left by some plumber. See the ones that are already placed? He probably left them there knowing he¡¯d have to come back to finish the job.¡± Nick was astonished. ¡°You¡¯re sure about all that?¡± he asked ¡°No, but I feel like it¡¯s a pretty damn good guess. Plus, If I was breaking into a house to commit a murder, I sure as hell wouldn¡¯t go through a crawl space. Not too many places to pop up through besides some ventilation shafts, most of which are probably only small enough for the cat to fit if it wanted.¡± ¡°Anything else of note?¡± ¡°Nope.¡± But he did see something. Something black and shiny near where the older pipes were placed. Its jagged edge was stuck out at a point that felt almost threatening to Andrew, but he quickly dismissed it as an out of place rock. He turned off his flashlight and re-placed the plywood covering. Back at the front door, Andrew put a hand on Nick¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Now when we go in there, we¡¯re gonna split up to cover the most ground. If you see anything that you think is out of the ordinary, or maybe even too ordinary, you check it out and let me know what you think. This is the hardest part of the job Nicky, and probably the most important.¡± Nick looked up at his partner. Andrew was only 5¡¯11¡±, but the difference in height made Nick happy, in a strange way. As an only child, he often found himself wondering what it would have been like to have a brother growing up. He thought of all the awkward moments and lost fights that could have been different if only he had someone to guide and stand by him. He imagined the experiences he could have had, the lives they could have lived, the love and sense of camaraderie that they could have felt. In the short time they had been paired together, Nick had come to think of Andrew as that brother. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down,¡± he said with a smile. Andrew slid the key into the lock and turned, slowly pushing the door open. As he did, a shaft of sunlight filled the entryway and illuminated a staircase. To the left was the kitchen, which was lit only by the window looking out into the side-yard, the same window through which Earle Hatche had seen Angeline¡¯s last moments alive. To the right was the living room; the shades were drawn closed, leaving the room in a cloak of shadow. ¡°I¡¯ll start in the kitchen, you search the living room. There¡¯s a switch there.¡± He motioned to the end of the wall that separated the entryway from the living room. There were two switches, and Nick flipped them both. One turned on a ceiling fan and lights in the living room, and the other lit up a light fixture hanging from the ceiling in the entryway. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. As Nick began his search, Andrew looked up the stairs. He could see three doors, one slightly ajar. Pure blackness peeked out from the gap in the door, and he felt as if something was staring at him from within. He averted his gaze to the dimly lit kitchen and proceeded inside. He fumbled for a light switch along the wall, found it, and flipped it on. This light was much dimmer than the one in the living room and gave the room an ambient romantic feeling. Next to the light switch was a small vertical slot with a plastic piece jutting out from the bottom. Andrew placed his index finger on the plastic and slid it upwards, causing the bulb to glow much brighter. It was a small kitchen; a table and two chairs were placed against the left wall, overlooked by a hanging cross. To Andrew¡¯s right was a refrigerator, and opposite of that was a long countertop that spanned most of the wall; it featured a built-in oven, stovetop, and dishwasher. A column of drawers made up the end of the counter, and a row of cabinets hung above it, a towel hanging from one of their handles. As he walked in, he noticed the sink on the other side of the fridge. Evidence markers were placed throughout the kitchen: one on the floor next to the dining table (presumably where Angeline had died) and one on the counter, next to a wooden block holding many knives. One was missing. He glanced out the window and saw into the Hatche residence next-door. The curtains were drawn back, revealing a brown leather couch facing a mounted flatscreen. A wooden coffee table was placed between them, which was covered on magazines and coasters. Placing his back to the window, he tried to imagine the scene that had taken place here the previous night: Angeline Francis standing in front of him, facing away from him, in front of her was a faceless shadow. She walks to the counter and pulls a knife from the block. Then she walks back to stand next to the table. In front of the shadow. Then she stabs herself in the throat and falls to the floor, dead. Donald comes down later, screams, then the police are called. But why? He examined the knife block, which held various knives of various sizes used for cutting various things. But one was missing: the chef¡¯s knife. The long and sharp blade was being held in an evidence depository back at the station. He walked back to the marker on the floor and crouched down. A crime scene cleanup crew came the previous night and cleaned the place, though not very deeply it seemed; there were still a few dark splotches of blood on the tile and in the grout around where the woman had fallen. He kneeled further down and noticed a vent in the wall under the table, close to the ground. A few more faded dark splotches were present under the table as well. As he looked into the vent, he felt as if something somewhere was staring back at him, and the hair on his neck stood on end. ¡°Hey,¡± a voice said somewhere behind him. Andrew shot up and knocked his head on the table, then crouched back down and held his throbbing skull. Looking up, he saw the face of Nick. He carefully backed up and stood, rubbing the top of his head. ¡°Sorry I scared you. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the living room, or anything too ordinary either. A few books and magazines, a box of knitting supplies, and a scarf or something the wife must have been making.¡± The thought of knitting brought back memories of Andrew¡¯s mother, unweaving the threads of her latest work. ¡°Should we move upstairs?¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll lead the way. Stay close to me¡± ¡°Why, you think something might be up there?¡± Nick¡¯s hand hovered over his pistol holster. ¡°No, I just don¡¯t like the look of it.¡± The two began to ascend the stairs, Andrew first with Nick following close behind. At the top of the stairs, Andrew opened the closed door directly to his right, revealing a neat bedroom lit by an open window. He closed the door and turned his attention to the remaining two doors: one closed at the end of the hall, and one slightly ajar in the middle, revealing pitch darkness. Andrew slowly walked to the middle of the hallway and pushed open the door, revealing a dark study. He motioned to the other door, ¡°That¡¯s probably the bathroom, you check it out. I¡¯m going to look around here.¡± Nick walked down the hall and opened the door; it was indeed a bathroom. He flicked on the light and began examining the medicine cabinet. Andrew stood outside the study and peered into the darkness. He reached in and felt along the wall for a light switch. He couldn¡¯t find it. He tried the other side and failed to find it there as well. Looking around the dark room, he noticed a string hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. He couldn¡¯t see where the string began, but he assumed it was at a light fixture. He took a few careful steps into the room, looking around for anything that might be waiting for him in the darkness. ¡°Just like one of my fucking dreams,¡± he said quietly under his breath. He finally reached the string and pulled. The light clicked on, revealing a mahogany desk and a dark brown carpet accentuated by lighter brown walls. Behind the desk was a comfy looking chair that sat facing a typewriter. Andrew thought to himself that Donald Francis might be the only person in the county, no, the whole state, who was still used a typewriter. A picture of Don and his wife stood on the desk; it showed a much younger version of them standing on a boat docked in the ocean. On the side of the boat, ¡®The Bond¡¯ was written out in golden letters.. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with everything from Native American History books to Stephen King. None of it seemed suspicious though, Andrew didn¡¯t think Don had any secret passages that could be opened by pulling a special book on the shelf. Nevertheless, he pulled a few anyways before realizing how ridiculous he must have looked. He stepped behind the desk to take a closer look at the typewriter and saw that it contained an unfinished note. Andrew pulled out the rolling chair and sat at the desk. He removed the unfinished letter from the typewriter and began to read: My Friend, I¡¯m not sure what has been going on lately. My wife has been looking haggard these past few days and says that she feels weak in the evenings. You may say that it is the onset of old age, but I tell you that cannot be. My wife and I are fit as horses; we take a walk every afternoon, eat healthy, and our checkups reveal nothing out of the ordinary. I believe we may have a problem. I¡¯d like to meet somet- The writing stopped abruptly. What had cut him off from finishing? The sound of his wife collapsing, or maybe something else? But how could that be, he was in the bedroom when his wife had died. Or was he? The thought had never occurred to him. Could the old man have been lying? What was this problem that he had been trying to hide? The letter was addressed to, ¡°My friend.¡± Who¡¯s identity could he be trying to protect? Did he have ties to the mafia or some other shady organization? Surely not. Donald Francis was an honest mechanic who lived in Burdock his entire life, how would he have any contacts in the mafia? Andrew thought to himself, ¡°I¡¯m going to have a lot of questions for that ma-¡± but was interrupted when Nick ran into the room with his radio in his hand ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear the call-in?¡± Andrew hadn¡¯t, he had been absorbed in the letter and its possible implications. Had his radio even made any noise at all? ¡°No. What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Donald Francis was just found dead in his cell.¡± Chapter 6 6 The body was found lying face down on the cot in his cell at 7:43 a.m. Officer Laherty had entered the cell block at 6 a.m. to check on the inmates and assumed that Donald was still sleeping. The past night had been traumatic for the old man, and Dean was sure he needed his rest, so he let him be. At 7:42 stood outside the cell and called Donald Francis¡¯ name three times before entering. As he approached the bed, he noticed a dark red stain spreading out from beneath the body. ¡°Mr. Francis?¡± he said quietly and shakily. The man did not stir. He grabbed his shoulder and slowly turned the body over, revealing the source of the stain. Donald¡¯s throat had been sliced open, revealing the inner workings of his pharynx. So much blood had seeped into the mattress that resembled a macabre sponge, leaving a shallow pool of the sticky red liquid in a depression in the bed left by the weight of the body. Dean¡¯s fright and confusion were only amplified when he turned the body over, revealing a blood stained kitchen knife clenched in the corpse¡¯s hands. 24 minutes later, Andrew Whitman was racing into the Burdock police department and into the western cell block. ¡°What¡¯s all the hub-bub about?¡± Terry called from down the hall. ¡°Shut it!¡± Dean barked back. He was standing at the end of the Western cell block outside the cell that housed Donald, waiting for Andrew. He didn¡¯t even stop to acknowledge the other officer before turning into the cell and almost running into a man in a green flannel shirt and blue jeans. He was standing over the body, which had been turned over, and was examining the damage that had been done. ¡°Dr. Blaine, what happened?¡± Andrew asked, peering over the man¡¯s shoulder at the corpse. Dr. Ethan Blaine was Burdock¡¯s coroner and one of two attending physicians at the St. Martha Medical Center. He had come to Burdock as a medical student on a work exchange program thirty years earlier and had decided to stay for his residency. Now, he stood looking over the body of one of the first men he had called a friend in this town. ¡°He cut his own throat Andy. He¡¯s stiff, but warm, couldn¡¯t have been dead longer than six hours. The knife he used is right over there,¡± he motioned to a plastic evidence bag placed on a folding table that had been brought into the cell. Inside the bag was a blood-stained kitchen knife, the same kind that Angeline Francis had used to end her own life the night before. A shiver went down Andrew¡¯s spine. He swiveled around to look at Dean, who had moved inside the entrance of the cell. ¡°How did he get this? He didn¡¯t have it with him when we brought him in, or when you brought him into the cell, right?¡± ¡°No,¡± the officer said, shaking his head, ¡°he didn¡¯t have anything. Where the hell could this thing have come from?¡± ¡°Have you checked the security footage yet?¡± ¡°No, I was waiting for you to arrive before reviewing it.¡± Andrew turned to the coroner, who was continuing his examination of the body. ¡°Do you have everything under control here Dr. Blaine?¡± ¡°Oh yes, I can handle things here officer Whitman¡± he said without looking up from the body below him. ¡°If you see me on those cameras though, make sure you get my good side.¡± Behind the front desk of the police station were seven small screens that provided 24/7 surveillance for the building. Three screens showed the main hall, evidence depository, and offices on the second floor. The other four were all located in the cell block, with two on each end of the hall and two on the ceiling between the rows of cells. The camera facing Donald¡¯s cell was marked D-3 and was currently fixed on the back of Dr. Blaine. The entirety of the cell was in the camera¡¯s view, except for the back right corner, which was obstructed by the wall of the adjoining cell. Dean logged onto the desk¡¯s computer and pulled up the camera¡¯s records. He found the footage from the previous night and began playing it a four-times speed. When he and Don entered the camera¡¯s view, he slowed it to normal speed. Watching himself trail behind the distraught and tired man, Dean couldn¡¯t help feeling that same sadness he had felt the night before. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. He sped up the footage again and watched for any sign of movement. When he saw Donald wake up and get out of bed, he rewound and slowed the footage to its normal speed. According to the time in the lower right corner of the screen, Donald Francis sat bolt upright at 3:26 a.m., stayed that way for two straight minutes, then slowly got out of his bed. He just stood there staring at the opposite wall for another five minutes. ¡°What do you think he¡¯s doing?¡± Dean asked quietly. ¡°I have no idea,¡± Andrew said as he analyzed the man on the screen, ¡°maybe he just couldn¡¯t sleep. But why would he be acting so weird?¡± After standing motionlessly, Donald moved again, this time to the corner that was hidden from view. ¡°What¡¯s in that corner?¡± Andrew asked sternly, though he knew the answer. ¡°Nothing, it¡¯s just an empty corner. The toilet is further along the wall there, and the sink is to the right of that. There¡¯s nothing for him to see or do over there.¡± But apparently there was, because he did not re-enter the frame for another sixteen minutes. When he did, he slowly walked back towards the head of his bed. When he got there, he stood still for another two minutes before moving his pillow and taking something from underneath it. He was standing with his back towards the camera, looking down at what he had just grabbed. Then, he did something that would have sent Andrew and Dean to their knees if they weren¡¯t already sitting down. He turned around, faced the camera, and looked into it, as if he were looking at the two men sitting there now, rather than the night watchman who was probably dozing off the previous night. He raised his hand to the camera, revealing a kitchen knife clenched in it. When he did, another shiver ran down Andrew¡¯s back. Still staring at the camera, he calmly sat down on his cot and raised the knife to his throat. He made a quick and precise cut which immediately set him into convulsions; he fell back, grabbed at his throat with his free hand, and fell face-down on the mattress, pinning his arms beneath him. He writhed and twitched on the mattress for a few seconds before suddenly stopping and lying motionless. The two men sat in silence for another ten minutes, watching the seconds on the time go up while the image on the screen remained completely still. Eventually, Dean closed the window, and all that was staring at the men was a blue and white desktop showing the Burdock Police Department logo. The image of the dead man lying face down on the mattress hung in Dean¡¯s mind, but all Andrew could think about was the knife. Where had it come from? How was it placed under his pillow without anyone knowing? A thought suddenly struck Andrew, leaving him in a cold sweat. He stood up and quickly paced to the door of the evidence room. ¡°He-hey! Where are you going now?¡± Dean asked, still in shock from what he had just witnessed on screen. Andrew didn¡¯t pause or turn around to answer, ¡°Evidence! Pull up the footage of the evidence depository from last night.¡± Before the other officer could pose a follow-up question, he was already headed downstairs. When he opened the door to the evidence depository, which was under the protection of two heavy locks, Andrew saw nothing out of the ordinary. The room was large and contained many aisles full of filing cabinets and boxes. Three long tables stretched down the middle of the room, each with three chairs on either side. The dates on the containers ranged from 1930¡¯s to the present day, though there seemed to be remarkably few files from after the new millennium. The file Andrew was looking for would be near the front, because it was only created the day before. He walked down the first aisle of cabinets on his right and pulled open the top drawer. In it were nothing but cases of arson and burglary. He closed it and peered through the second cabinet before finding a file labeled ¡°FRANCIS ¨C APRIL 17, 2012¡±. He stared at the file for a long time, or what seemed like it, before pulling it out. It was a simple yellow manilla folder, but given the circumstances, its blankness appeared ominous. Andrew pulled the file from the cabinet and felt something crinkle inside it as he did. He walked to a nearby table and carefully placed the file on it, then took a seat. For a minute he just stared at the folder, afraid of what he would find inside. When his anticipation and anxiety both reached their climax, he opened the file. Inside was a few sheets of paperwork giving the details of what had occurred at the Francis house the previous night. Sticking out from behind the papers was a sliver of plastic: the edge of an evidence bag. Dean watched as the other officer sat staring at the envelope, with the same acute attentiveness he gave to the dead man lying on his bed. After reviewing the footage of the evidence depository from the previous night, he could find nothing amiss; the only person who had entered the room the night before was an officer who had forgotten a file on a table. He switched to the current footage of the evidence depository and watched Andrew sitting in silence on the camera. ¡°Come on, do something man! This shit is killing me,¡± Dean said quietly to himself. The man on the screen took a deep breath, grabbed all the papers in the folder, and moved them to one side. Dean watched as a look of absolute confusion and horror spread across Andrew¡¯s face. He peered down at what the officer was looking at, and the same look struck him just as hard. The evidence bag was empty. The knife Angeline Francis had used to kill herself the previous night was gone. Chapter 7 7 The autopsy would later confirm the two men¡¯s suspicions; the knife Donald used to take his own life was the same one his wife had used the night prior. After Dr. Blaine finished his initial examination and had the body moved to the hospital, Andrew and Dean took to examining the cell further. The first thing they did was examine the hidden corner Donald had disappeared into on the surveillance tape. Unsurprisingly, nothing was there. Standing in the same spot that Donald had with his back to the corner, Andrew looked at his immediate surroundings. Aside from the fluorescent light and air vent in the ceiling, there was nothing to be seen. ¡°Maybe there was something hidden in the vent there?¡± Dean suggested. ¡°No, none of the bolts are missing or look like they¡¯ve been messed with. How would he have unscrewed them anyways?¡± Andrew sounded almost irritated. ¡°I don¡¯t know, how did he get a knife in here without us noticing? None of this shit makes any sense man, I¡¯m just trying to figure it all out.¡± Andrew stood silently for a moment. ¡°Help me flip over this bed¡± he said, walking towards the blood-soaked cot in the opposite corner. They each took an end and flipped it over, laying it on the floor; it made a wet splorch sound as they did. There was a large bloodstain indicating where it had soaked through the mattress, but nothing else of note. The metal frame of the cot was completely bare as well. Andrew could see the dirty floor through the frame, noting the layer of dust that had built up throughout the years. He was about to ask Dean to help him replace the bed when he noticed a small black rock pushed into the back corner, nearly concealed by one of the legs of the bed frame. He pulled the frame away from the wall, wincing at the grating sound the metal legs made against the stone floor, and picked up the rock. It was no larger than a pebble and had a smooth oval shape that ended in a jagged tip; it looked as if it had been chipped at the end. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°What do you have there?¡± Dean asked, squinting at the small object in Andrew¡¯s hand. ¡°It¡¯s a rock. Or a piece of a larger one at least¡± ¡°A piece of rock? Are you shitting me right now? Why the hell are you collecting specimens for your rock collection?¡± Andrew turned the small stone over in his fingers and examined it. ¡°I don¡¯t know, it just seemed-¡± He paused. Suddenly, images flashed into his mind: A house, a dark space, pipes, then a rock. ¡°-familiar.¡± Before the other officer could reply, Andrew took out his wallet, slid the tiny rock down one of its pockets, then walked out the cell door. Dean followed him out of the cell with a confused look on his face. ¡°Where the hell are you going now?¡± he asked. ¡°There¡¯s something I have to find at the Francis house.¡± Andrew replied. Chapter 8 8 The house looked no different than it had several hours ago, although this time it was shrouded with a menacing aura. Andrew went around the side of the house straight to the crawlspace, which once again had been left open, the plywood lattice thrown aside. The opening appeared darker and more foreboding than it had earlier in the morning, but Andrew reasoned that it was due to the sun dipping further into the West. He peered into the hole and located the pile of old pipes that was his destination, but he couldn¡¯t see the black stone laying anywhere amongst them. The detective breathed a heavy sigh, flattened himself on the ground, and pulled himself into the opening. Once his body was inside, he found that the ceiling, or rather the floor, was higher than he initially thought, which allowed him a little more breathing room. Almost immediately, the thought of the house suddenly falling on top of him like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. There¡¯s no place like under a home, he thought to himself and smiled, easing his mental tension. Andrew guessed that the distance between him and where he first saw the rock was about forty yards; an easy enough distance to walk, but when one had to crawl along the ground, especially in a dress shirt and officer¡¯s slacks, the journey became much more strenuous and tedious. He shifted his whole body to the left, moving them away from the opening and letting in as much light in as possible. Once his eyes had adjusted to the low light, Andrew looked at his surroundings. Ahead of him was the pile of new pipes, and further beyond those were the old pipes marking his goal. His eyes scanned from left to right, noting nothing exciting until he saw something that caused him to jump and almost hit his head on the foundation above; two glowing eyes peering at him from a corner on the other end of the crawlspace. It was not in a pouncing position, nor was it swishing its tail back and forth, the cat equivalent of a snake rattling its tail, but Andrew decided it would be best to keep his distance from it regardless. To the right of the cat, along the far wall, Andrew could make out tiny mounds of disturbed dirt. ¡°Probably the portion of the crawlspace the cat set aside as its litter box,¡± he quietly said to himself. He always liked cats, he even had one as a pet while growing up. Well, he thought to himself, it was really Bernie¡¯s cat. For his sister¡¯s seventh birthday, their parents had gotten her a manx kitten, a tiny ball of fur that she named Clarence. Initially he was only comfortable around her and her mother, but over time he became a family cat. Andrew had always loved swishing around a frayed piece of string and watching Clarence chase it with wild murderous intent. The memory gave Andrew a pleasant feeling in his stomach and made him think that the cat further in the crawlspace knew he was not a threat. Nevertheless, he still didn¡¯t want to get too close. Andrew made another cursory glance around the space and saw another mound of disturbed dirt, but this one was to his left and pushed further back into a corner. He made a mental note to investigate that mound on his way out. He crawled for what seemed like an hour, possibly longer, too long for the forty or so yards he had judged the distance to be. His forearms were beginning to feel raw and irritated, as were his knees. His right elbow came down on a rock and sent a sharp bolt up his arm, causing him to collapse into the dirt. Andrew straightened himself, rubbed the pain out of his elbow, and continued on his path. When he finally reached the pipes and looked back towards the opening, it appeared to be just as close as the pipes appeared when he first entered the hole. Why did it take me so long? The pressing thought coursed through his mind, unable to come to a solitary answer. It was as if entering the crawlspace had put him in some other dimension, where time and space existed in an arrangement that was dissimilar to ours. Andrew had to take hold of his thoughts; whatever strange ideas were beginning to creep into his mind needed to be pushed away, he didn¡¯t have time to be questioning his own sanity in a situation like this. A situation like crawling under a dead family¡¯s house, looking for a rock. The thought brought a cynical smile to his face as he rummaged through the pipes. He was staring at the exact spot he had seen the rock earlier, but it was no longer there. The officer began digging out handfuls of dirt, dumping them left and right. He looked up and saw that the cat was still staring at him from its spot along the right wall. ¡°It¡¯s not as strange as it looks, I promise. And you do the same thing all the time!¡± he said to the cat, tilting his head to the multiple mounds of dirt beside it. It only stared at him with an apathetic glare.Stolen novel; please report. Andrew repeatedly dug his hands into the soft dirt, throwing aside handful after handful until he had three large piles of soil surrounding him. Where the fuck could it have possibly gone? It¡¯s only a rock. Had the cat moved it? No, surely he would have found it by now if the cat had kicked it away somewhere. Had he simply imagined the rock was therein the first place? The crawlspace was dark and was home to a cat who dug where it pleased, he could have easily mistaken a mound of dirt for a rock. But it had been so shiny and glossy, and so black that the surrounding crawl space appeared luminous in comparison. Andrew kept digging. He would find it, had to find it. Again, that terrible nagging thought pierced his mind: Am I going insane? The detective reached both hands into the dirt to bring up another pile when he felt something scratch his left hand. He stopped and slowly began to overturn the dirt, searching for a glimpse of the black rock. After removing another handful of dirt from the hole, he found its jagged edge. He tried pulling it out then, but it was stuck. He dug out more of the dirt around it until he could firmly grab it with his thumb and two fingers. The jagged edge of the stone bit into his fingers, but not deep enough to draw blood. It still would not budge. Andrew dug out even more dirt so he could actually hold it between his thumb and palm, and pulled. The stone cut into the soft flesh of his hand and drew some blood, but it finally came loose. In his hand was a three-and-a-half-inch piece of black stone; one side was perfectly smooth and rounded while the other ended in a jagged point, now dappled with blood. ¡°Where the hell did these come from?¡± The officer asked nobody in particular. When he looked up, the cat had disappeared. Looking around, he couldn¡¯t spot the glowing slits of its eyes anywhere. Andrew took that as a sign that he should probably leave too. But not before solving the mystery of the secluded mound; he had made it this far, what was another fifteen feet? He pulled out his wallet and slid the new stone into the same pocket as the other, then pivoted his body and began moving towards the displaced dirt. The trip was much shorter than his last, and for that he was thankful, but Andrew wasn¡¯t sure if that was better than what he felt now; an ever-growing sense of dread. The officer couldn¡¯t explain to himself, but as he stared at and got closer to the mound of dirt, an exponentially increasing wave of terror began broadcasting at him. His mind was racing at the thought of whatever gut-wrenching horror could be waiting for him, concealed under a few layers of dirt. Why was he doing this? What more was there to find? He had what he came for, yet he was somehow drawn, no, compelled to investigate the mound. The urge to turn away became greater with every inch he moved, yet his body would not respond to the urgent waves of panic and fear that his brain was sending out. He knew that as soon as he turned away and crawled towards the exit his heart and stomach would lighten, but then the horror would be behind him and out of his sight, leaving him completely vulnerable. Still, Andrew thought that even that might be preferable to the terror he felt as came face to face with the pile of dirt. He had a scream ready to burst from his lungs, but remained deathly quiet, just in case something besides the cat had occupied the space with him and would take offense to the noise. Icy trepidation pierced his body as he reached a hand towards the mound. Andrew¡¯s hand shook violently as it touched the cool earth and began to push it away. Using his right hand, he slowly pushed away a large part of the pile, revealing a small glint of white beneath the black soil. His heart instantly stopped in his chest and he froze. After a few breathless seconds, he shakily inhaled and reached for the white object. He pushed away more dirt and grabbed the thing with his thumb and forefinger. Instantly all feelings of fear and anxiety washed away and were replaced by complete serenity. His jaw unclenched and his muscles loosened. Andrew took a long breath in through his nose, slowly exhaled through his mouth, and pulled. The cat¡¯s jawbone came out cleanly and easily from the dirt, unlike the rock had. A few of its sharp teeth were missing, but the remaining ones had turned different shades of yellow and gray with age. Andrew carefully placed the jaw to the side and fingered the dirt, feeling the outline of a skull and the slender shape of its neck bones. He felt sorry for the creature, and carefully replaced the jaw where he had found it. He covered the mound again and traced ¡®R.I.P¡¯ in the dirt with his finger, then turned and crawled towards the exit. As he neared the light at the end of the crawlspace, Andrew looked back on the makeshift cairn. The sadness he felt began to once again turn to anxiety and fear, so he turned away and continued out of the hole. Andrew stood and brushed the dirt off his clothes, though they still remained filthy. The warmth of the sun felt like heaven to Andrew, he hadn¡¯t realized how cold he had been in there. He thought about stopping home to change on his way back to the station when he suddenly felt a dull throbbing on his left. He raised it to his face and was shocked to find his ring finger and pinky covered in bloody dirt. The scratch he had gotten from the rock was actually a gash that ran along the entire length of his ring finger. The dirt had helped clot the bleeding, but it was beginning to sting. The detective figured there would be a first-aid kit he could use in the house somewhere. Going inside for a bandage would also give him an opportunity to thoroughly search it again. Who knew what new things he might find in there? chapter 9 9 With Andrew gone, Dean was left the task of filing a death report on Donald Francis. Writing up such a report didn¡¯t usually bother him this much, but the circumstances that surrounded the death made him uneasy. What did Andrew go back to that house to find? He thought to himself. After that shit with the knife, I wouldn¡¯t want to go anywhere near that place, let alone back inside. Probably gonna find some chicken bones and a pot full of boiling blood in the middle of a pentagram; wouldn¡¯t surprise me. He thought that idea was silly, but the mental image it created caused him to suddenly become much more interested in the white screen in front of him. ¡°Officer Laherty?¡± Dean jumped out of his chair and turned with a startled look to whoever had addressed him. It was Nick Petulo. ¡°Hey Nicky, you scared the piss out of me. What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°Hey stop callin¡¯ me that! Only my mother calls me Nicky. Anyway, have you seen Detective Whitman around? I want to follow up with him on some stuff I found at the Francis residence.¡± ¡°What kind of stuff?¡± Dean asked, putting a hint of curiosity in his voice to mask his apprehension towards the subject. ¡°Well in the den there was mostly nothing: family photos, a few books on a shelf, sofa facing the TV, y¡¯know, normal shit. I got to their bedroom upstairs and it looked pretty normal. I pulled open their dresser drawers but didn¡¯t find anything but clothes and linens; I didn¡¯t look too deep though because I felt it was a little rude and unnecessary to go rootin¡¯ through their undergarments you know?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a point here somewhere Nicky, I just want you to get to it.¡± ¡°Alright alright. I was just about to leave the room when I thought to myself, ¡°Is there anywhere I haven¡¯t checked?¡± I looked around and boom! I forgot to look under the bed. I pulled up the bed skirt and saw something under there, looked like a big plate or something. When I touched the rim my finger felt something wet, so I pulled my hand out as fast as I could; for some reason I got really scared at the possibilities of whatever was in there. It only looked like water on my finger, so I reached back in and slowly pulled the thing out.¡± As he said this, he pulled out a photo from his back pocket and showed it to Dean. ¡°It was a basin full of murky black water. I mixed some with a reacting agent but nothing came up, then I tested a piece of litmus paper and it came up 7.0. Everything says it was just a bit of dirty water, but I can¡¯t shake the feeling that something isn¡¯t right about it. ¡°Right about then I got a call on my radio. They told me Don Francis was dead, and there I was standing in his bedroom! The room definitely didn¡¯t feel right then, so I left and found Andrew. He didn¡¯t seem to hear the call in though, maybe his radio was off. It wouldn¡¯t be like him to make a stupid little mistake like that though, that¡¯s usually my department. Anyways, we came back in separate cars so we didn¡¯t have time to debrief. He went right on into the cell block to look at the body, so I took the evidence I gathered down to Jane in the depository. She¡¯s been here about twenty years so I figure she might know something about this wash basin. She told me they found stuff like that a few times in the homes of some crazy religious nuts. Apparently you put a basin of water under your bed at night, and it¡¯s supposed to drain the negative energy out of you and hold it all in. Then in the morning you dump it out, along with all that bad juju. If that¡¯s what they were doing up in that house, they must have had a lot of bad energy in them, because that water was black. Afterwards I went to my desk, filled out my part of the report, and now I¡¯m here. Which brings me back to my initial question: Have you seen Detective Whitman?¡± Dean was unsure of how he wanted to reply. He didn¡¯t think he could outright lie to the kid, but he wasn¡¯t sure if he should tell the whole truth either. If the kid¡¯s theory and his own earlier suspicions were right, Andrew could have been walking into something potentially dangerous. On the one hand he might need help, but on the other, Nicky might cause more trouble than if he hadn¡¯t shown up at all. He was inexperienced (not like any of the other officers had prior dealings with voodoo and superstitions) and that inexperience could prove to be fatal to him or Andrew if he were to mess something up. Dean decided to tell a half truth. ¡°He went out on another investigation. Apparently Donald visited another house on the night of his wife¡¯s suicide before coming home. We think whoever he spoke to might have some information on what went on last night and this morning.¡± A look of frustration appeared on Nick¡¯s face. ¡°Can you tell me where he went? I¡¯m his partner, I can help him.¡± ¡°He told me not to tell you, didn¡¯t want you to worry about it like you¡¯re doing right now. He said it wouldn¡¯t take long and he¡¯d be back within the hour. Hopefully he¡¯s got something to share with you, this Francis case has been a real pain in my ass. And my head.¡± Nick sighed and lowered his head slightly. ¡°Alright. If you see him can you tell him I¡¯m looking for him? Better yet, find me and let me know when he comes in.¡± The young officer turned away and wandered off back to his desk. Dean sat back down, propped his elbows on his desk, and dropped his head into his hands. He rubbed his eyes and thought to himself, Is this shit ever going to be over? A beeping noise startled him and he dropped his hands, suddenly acutely aware of his surroundings. The beeping was coming from the alarm on his wristwatch. It was set to go off at 5:05: feeding time for the ¡°guests¡±. The food served to the prisoners, if one could even call it that, was more fit for a pig trough than human stomachs, but they had to be fed something. The gruel was basically dog food with a melange of spices, paired with mushy and flavorless rice. Dean placed an apple on the corner of each of the three trays of food. They weren¡¯t Granny Smiths, but hopefully they would help keep the doctor, and the mortician for that matter, away.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The trays were slid into a deposit slot in the middle of the bars and placed on a small shelf just on the other side. In exactly forty-five minutes the trays would be retrieved from those same shelves whether or not they had been touched. Most took a bite, decided it was one of the foulest things they ever had, and pushed it away. They eventually developed a taste for the gruel once they realized it¡¯s the only thing on the menu. At that point, the apple almost seemed like a treat. Rufus was laying on his cot with his hands behind his head and his legs crossed when he heard his cell¡¯s meal slot scratch open. He raised his head and said to the officer, ¡°Thank you son,¡± and rested his head back into his hands. Whenever he was brought in, usually too drunk to stand up straight, Rufus could be a funny, crotchety, raunchy, and sometimes even sweet old man. When he would wake up the next morning, however, he would be cool as a cucumber. He didn¡¯t seem to ever be embarrassed or have any regrets about what he had done or said the night before, he was just calm and collected. He didn¡¯t even talk to anybody unless he was spoken to, and even then, it would mostly be simple responses. Richard was sitting on the edge of his cot looking at nothing in particular when his slot was opened. ¡°Hey there Deputy Dean, what¡¯s on the menu this evening?¡± He grinned, showing a silver tooth on his lower jaw. ¡°Oh Rich, you flatter me! I ain¡¯t made deputy yet, but we¡¯ll see what happens.¡± He pushed the tray through the slot. ¡°Today, we have a seasoned meat puree and a side of wild jasmine rice. And for dessert, une pomme rouge.¡± He kissed his fingers in a gesture of good taste and chuckled to himself. Richard spoke up, ¡°Hey, what happened to that old guy you brought in last night? I heard him being carted away earlier. His heart give out or somethin¡¯?¡± ¡°That¡¯s none of your concern Richard, best stay out of it.¡± The officer turned away to the last cell and slid the tray through the slot. As he did, Terry asked, ¡°Yeah, what did happen to him officer? As denizens of this block, I feel we have the ri-¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember askin¡¯ you a god damn thing Mr. Maldonado. And if you want to keep your furnishings as comfortable as they are now,¡± Dean said in a raised voice as he dropped the tray onto the shelf and knocked on the cell bars, ¡°you should consider keeping out of things that don¡¯t concern you.¡± Terry stared wide-eyed at the officer for a moment before saying, ¡°Y-yeah, sure.¡± He sheepishly got up to retrieve his meal, some of which had splattered onto the ground and would soon be indistinguishable from the surrounding filth. Dean turned around and glared at Richard, who only winked and gave an ¡®OK¡¯ sign with his thumb and forefinger. As he began walking back down the corridor, Rufus peered out of his cell and said, ¡°Hey, officer, let me talk with you a minute.¡± Dean slowed and stared at the man before approaching the cell. Rufus motioned for him to lean closer, which he did hesitantly. ¡°I knew Donald from when he was a young kid. That guy was always just a bit strange. I might have a few things to say about him. Only, I would like to do it away from prying ears.¡± He shifted his eyes to the other two cells as he said this. ¡°Could you do that?¡± The officer thought about this for a moment. If this guy knew something about Donald, he might know something about his wife, Angeline, too. And if he knew about Angeline, maybe he knew about ¡®whoever¡¯ she had been talking to the night she died. ¡°I¡¯ll prep an interrogation room, then I¡¯ll be back for you.¡± He said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I ain¡¯t going anywhere.¡± Sitting in the interrogation chair, Rufus Cartwright looked like an old farmhand. He was wearing a pair of blue-jeans, which were white at the knees, and an old flannel shirt that was beginning to fray around the collar. He had a thicker frame, a byproduct of his diet of booze and cheap food, but Dean could tell that underneath that extra layer, this old man had the muscles of someone thirty years younger. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a tattoo on his right forearm; It resembled a tree with long gnarled roots spreading out from beneath it. Dean was sitting on the opposite side of the table with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He offered one to Rufus, but the old man politely refused. ¡°So, what do you want to tell me about Don?¡± ¡°Well, not so much about Donald at the start. See, I knew his father too, fella by the name of Sal. He was another strange one, strange in a different type of way though . We were somethin¡¯ like friends growing up; we went to the same school and played around with the same kids and such, but not as we got older. I went and helped my daddy in his mill when I was about seventeen, and Sal stayed in town, going to school and all that. Eventually, he went off to some college somewhere, and I didn¡¯t see or hear of him for a few years. ¡°My daddy was a busy man, so sometimes he would send me into town to run errands and do some business. On one of these trips, ¡®bout five years after I started workin¡¯, while I¡¯m drivin¡¯ down the street, I see Sal walkin¡¯ along the sidewalk. Now, I couldn¡¯t be totally sure it was him, so I pull up to him and peek a glance out my side window. Sure enough, its him! So I roll down my window and say ¡®Hey there friend, it¡¯s been a while.¡¯ He just looks at me kinda strange for a second, which I thought nothing of, considering the time since we last seen each other. But he just keeps on looking that way until I tell him, ¡®Sal, it¡¯s me Rufus.¡¯ He tells me, ¡®I don¡¯t know you sir, you must have me confused for someone,¡¯ and starts walking away! ¡°So, I pull over and I get out after him. I catch up and say, ¡®Hey, don¡¯t you remember me? We used to be friends.¡¯ I grab on his shoulder and he whips around and throws my arm off like I¡¯m attacking him, pushed so hard I wound up sitting on my ass! Then he gets real serious and says somethin¡¯ like, ¡®You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing, you don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing. You don¡¯t know me, so just fuck off.¡¯ I was stunned, just lookin¡¯ up at him dumbfounded. His eyes looked real tired, like he was up all night or somethin¡¯. After that he just storms off.¡± Dean straightened in his chair, ¡°Mr. Cartwright, I don¡¯t mean to be rude, but what does this childhood spat have to do with Donald?¡± ¡°I¡¯d say that for what I have to tell you, you¡¯re going to need some context. At least hearing it from my point of view.¡± ¡°Would there be any other point of view to hear it from?¡± ¡°Not unless you wanna go diggin¡¯ through old folks homes and graveyards, though you might get somethin¡¯ more usable from the latter.¡± Dean let out a heavy sigh, ¡°What are you saying Rufus?¡± ¡°I¡¯m saying that what I have to tell you ain¡¯t just some nutjob story about a few crazy folks living in some backwoods town. It¡¯s about us, right now. And the things livin¡¯ with us.¡± The two sat in silence for a while, neither breaking eye contact. Dean took a long drag off of his cigarette before leaning forward and saying, ¡°Continue.¡± Chapter 10 10 ¡°After that confrontation with Sal, I decided to keep my distance. No sense getting roughed up over a guy who says he don¡¯t even ¡®know¡¯ you anymore. But I did keep my eyes and ears on him. See, I didn¡¯t have nothin¡¯ as close to a friend as Sal was, other than the guys at my daddy¡¯s mill. But they was older, you know; boys need friends like them, not grown men raising them up too quick. Now I say boys, but I was twenty-two at the time, Sal goin¡¯ on just about twenty-three. We wouldn¡¯t be men for some time yet. Men would have known what they were doin¡¯. Men would have known better. ¡°Once he moved back into town he started actin¡¯ like a homebody, only went out for groceries and such. When he was out he kept to himself and didn¡¯t talk to anybody, which was strange back in those days. Burdock was still pretty small and cozy back then, you see? Not that it¡¯s gotten much bigger over the years, but we certainly have a lot more people around. People are good though, they¡¯re what keeps a community alive. "So Sal didn¡¯t talk to nobody, but everyone sure talked about him; town gossip was about the most interesting thing we had back then. That being the case, any inquiries I made about him were answered without much fuss. I found out from Cotter Porterly that he was workin¡¯ at the trainyard a few miles East of town, near route 79, even put a down payment on a house on Windom Street. About a week later he came up to the mill and told me that the sonofabitch got himself a wife! Guess she was held up at whatever motel they were stayin¡¯ at until he could get a bit of cash. She was a pretty young thing, Rose was her name. I didn¡¯t know her personally, but her name and face were on every newspaper in the county after the fire; don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m getting to that. ¡°A few months later, Rose¡¯s pregnancy started to show. As soon as talk about Sal and his family started to die down, bam, something would happen and stir up the rumor mill once again. This young waitress at Benny¡¯s, that is before Benny died and they renamed it to the Hungry Badger, dumbest name they could have chosen if you ask me, she told me that he spent a lot of time at the library. She¡¯d be getting her schoolbooks and see him at a table way in the back with stacks of books surrounding him. Librarian told her it was a lot of myths and stuff on ¡®Limnology¡¯. That¡¯s the study of bodies of water and the things livin¡¯ in em¡¯ for guys like you and me. I thought it mighty strange for a guy to suddenly get so interested in aquatic life but, with a baby on the way, makes sense he might want to go back to school. Even so, of all the things he could have chosen, why the hell choose ¡®limnology¡¯? You figure a guy working in a trainyard might want to get some sort of degree in engineerin¡¯ or somethin¡¯ more hands on, right? ¡°With Sal¡¯s sudden new interest in big puddles, I figured I better set up some sort of watch on Lake Hestova in case he got an inklin¡¯ to go try somethin¡¯ out down there. Summer was starting to come on and my buddy Norman Pyke would be down there pretty often lookin¡¯ for muskellunge, so I asked him to keep an eye out and let me know if he spotted him. ¡®Bout a week later he comes up to the mill and tells me he seen Sal out by the southern dock. I follow Norm back and sure as shit, there he is, standin¡¯ on the dock just like he said. He was lookin¡¯ out at the lake. Me n¡¯ Norm watched that man for about half an hour and he didn¡¯t do nothin¡¯, just kept on starin¡¯ out at the lake. Then he just up and leaves! Next day he shows up again, so Norm takes me back down there. This time, he¡¯s just sittin¡¯ on the dock with his feet in the water, like he ain¡¯t had a care in the world. This went on for about a week. After the third time I told Norm he could stop his lookout; I figured I could just about set my watch by Sal showin¡¯ up to the lake, so I wouldn¡¯t need no watchman other than myself. For someone who was apparently ¡®studying¡¯ the lake, he sure wasn¡¯t doin¡¯ much, I was studyin¡¯ him harder than he was studyin¡¯ the water. ¡°One day, I think it was on a Tuesday, he did somethin¡¯ strange. I¡¯m sitting in this little patch of concealed grass where I usually watch him, and I don¡¯t see him coming. Usually he parked his car in the lot and came walkin¡¯ down the southern trail to the dock, and I could see him¡¯ comin from about fifty yards away. I¡¯m watchin¡¯ and starin¡¯, waiting for him to come walking up when I hear something on the dock. I look over and by god, its him, walkin¡¯ right to the edge! I don¡¯t know where he came from or how he got to that dock without making a sound, but he did. ¡°His back was to me then, so I couldn¡¯t really see, but it looked like he was carryin¡¯ something in his hands, probably a box. When he got to the end, he put the box down and took out something big an¡¯ round wrapped up in an old tablecloth. He unwrapped it and held it up in the sunlight, turning it all around and gettin a good look at it; I thought it was a bowlin¡¯ ball or somethin. He dropped the cloth back in the bag and just stared at that ball for a while, turnin¡¯ it over in his hands. He started mumblin¡¯ and rubbin his hands all over that ball, that went on for a few long minutes. After he was done, he brought that ball behind his head and¡­ just threw it out into the lake, sunk right in. Didn¡¯t splash though. Didn¡¯t even ripple the water.¡± This was the first time Rufus had stopped to collect his thoughts since he had begun talking. The sudden silence caught Dean by surprise. After a moment he continued, ¡°This is the part I don¡¯t like talkin¡¯ about. After he threw that thing in, somethin¡¯ started to feel off. The air got real heavy, and I couldn¡¯t hear anything. Not that I went deaf, everything else just stopped, like it all the bugs and critters just died. We stayed there starin¡¯ at the spot where it landed for about five minutes, then the ripple came. Just one ring of water getting¡¯ bigger and bigger. After it reached the edges¡­¡± he paused again, then let out a short laugh. ¡°Ain¡¯t really no other way to explain it to you officer. Once the ripple stopped, the lake started to rain upwards.¡± This time Rufus stayed silent. Dean guessed he was waiting for a rebuttal to the insane event he had just described. When he noticed that he probably wasn¡¯t going to get one, the old man asked, ¡°So, do you believe me?¡± It took a couple seconds for Dean to finally answer, ¡°I¡¯m not too sure what to believe. Your story up to this point seems credible enough, but I don¡¯t see why you¡¯d be making it up.¡± ¡°That¡¯s ¡®cause I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mean any offense when I say your drinking habit is no secret Rufus, but what you told me doesn¡¯t sound like something a guy drowning in a bottle could make up.¡± Rufus let out a laugh at that. ¡°Oh son, my heavy drinkin¡¯ days didn¡¯t start til¡¯ after the war. Even so, after that whole mess at the lake I couldn¡¯t wait to get a taste of Maker¡¯s to ease my nerves.¡± ¡°Drunk or not, I¡¯m not sure how to take this entire story.¡± ¡°Well don¡¯t take it yet, ¡®cause it¡¯s not over. I saw the water rising from that lake and felt some type of way which I haven¡¯t felt since; It stirred up somethin¡¯ terrifyin¡¯ in me and I had to get away. Before I high-tailed it out of there I looked back at Sal; he was still standin¡¯ there lookin¡¯ out at what he did. Even held his hand out to touch a few drops. I went back around an hour later to see the aftermath, but everything was fine. His truck was gone and the lake didn¡¯t look any different either, but I didn¡¯t like the sight of it. Maybe it¡¯s only ¡®cause of what I saw, but I felt like there was something wrong in that lake, and that it came from that ball he threw in.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°That very night, Donald was born. ¡°Things were quiet again for a few months, and I started to watch Sal like a hawk. I couldn¡¯t ask for anyone¡¯s help on this one because none of them would believe what I had to say anyways. I didn¡¯t entirely understand what he was doin¡¯, but I knew it had to be wrong and dangerous, especially to that newborn of his. ¡°Two months later his house goes up in flames, fire engines lined up the street sprayin¡¯ it down. The whole neighborhood came out to watch. They got Rose and the kid out, thank god; they were asleep in the upstairs bedroom, didn¡¯t even know what was goin¡¯ on. They looked for Sal but couldn¡¯t find him or his truck. Investigators figured he tried to kill his family and split town, so they started a county-wide search. I knew where he was though. ¡°When I got to the lake, he was already ankle deep in the water, clothes on and everything. When it got up to his waist he didn¡¯t swim or float, just kept walkin¡¯ like it was nothin¡¯. He walked on in until he was completely submerged, and stayed there. When I didn¡¯t see any bubbles comin¡¯ up after he went under, I got out of there. ¡°Rose and the kid went on pretty well for a while after the fire. She got a little apartment in town and started workin¡¯ at Shel¡¯s Department Store. Church watched the kid during the day until he was old enough for schoolin¡¯. Even after things had calmed down, the Francis family was still the talk of the town. ¡°People talk in a small town, ¡®specially when it concerns some of their own. The way the parents told it, little Donnie didn¡¯t play or get along with other kids real well. First few years of school he would cry and hit other kids constantly, always wanting somethin¡¯. Once he got to primary school though, he got real quiet apparently. Still didn¡¯t play with other kids though, ignored them entirely in fact. People were starting to wonder if he was gettin¡¯ neglected at home, so somebody asked Rose about it. She was real clammy though, just said somethin¡¯ about him bein a shy little boy who liked books more than playin¡¯ out in the dirt. "That lady was hiding something for sure. People who saw her around town said she didn¡¯t look too good, said she was lookin¡¯ tired and ill. A few months later she died. The papers said it was from vasculitis, and that something had turned her blood black. Doctors couldn¡¯t figure out what the stuff was. ¡°I joined the army and got out of Burdock for a little while after that, didn¡¯t like the feeling of the town no more, it was dark. After a few tours I started getting¡¯ a little homesick. Burdock was my town, my family made it, and that¡¯s where I decided I belonged, regardless of whatever may have happened there. When I came back I saw that Don had changed a bit, and not for the better. A few of the neighbors tried takin¡¯ him in after his mom passed, but apparently they didn¡¯t care too much for him, so the Church stepped up once again. Kinda funny how it goes around like that, don¡¯t you think?¡± Dean gave no indication of speaking, so he continued. ¡°He went from bein¡¯ a shy kid to a recluse. Spent most of the time in the library and wouldn¡¯t talk to anyone, just like his daddy. He looked into all types of weird stuff: cryptids, myths, legends, even started researchin¡¯ dark stuff, occult rituals and such. I thought that somebody might have said somethin¡¯ about his daddy to him. He even went out to the lake one time and just stood watchin¡¯ it. Don¡¯t take me wrong here officer, but I thought I had half a mind to shoot him right there, stop him before any more that family started more trouble. He never did nothin¡¯ though, so I left well enough alone. ¡°When winter came it brought a big snowstorm in, took out half a neighborhood¡¯s power for weeks and almost wiped em¡¯ out. The church cleared out their pews and set up a temporary shelter for a lot of people, me included. Donnie helped hand out blankets and food, started talkin¡¯ to a few of the folks there, even got to know some of them well. It was a good time for the boy, I think. He started to get further away from that evil stuff and started actin¡¯ more normal, talkin¡¯ and bein¡¯ with people. Still was kinda quiet though, guess you can¡¯t always take the shy out of the man. He settled into his life, and with the government payin¡¯ for most of my livin¡¯ I settled into a bottle. Been there ever since, one of the better places I¡¯ve been in my life, if I¡¯m bein¡¯ frank. ¡°Now, I¡¯ve got a couple ideas about what happened in that Burdock all those years ago, but I¡¯m warnin¡¯ you, it might sound crazier than all this other stuff I¡¯ve been sayin¡¯. Some of it may sound like Grade-A conspiracy theory bullshit, but I don¡¯t know what else to make of it. You still want to hear me out?¡± Dean had been staring fixedly at the older man throughout his entire speech, taking every word in carefully. His curiosity pushed out any of the other thoughts that were in his mind and he answered, ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Alright. I¡¯ve had a lot of time to think about this, so bear with me I think Sal Francis was trying to summon some sort of demon from the lake. I think he was whisperin¡¯ some sort of spell into that black orb, threw it into the lake, and brought it into this world from another. Then, after It had him try to kill his family in the fire for some sort of ritual sacrifice, It dragged him back to whatever watery hell It came out of. Probly¡¯ to either eat him or make him some sorta slave. The thing is, Donnie and Rose were still alive. So this Thing came back, killed his mother, and led him to the church. My parents put me in Sunday school and bible practice officer, and I can tell you that no kid in their right mind enjoys any of it. If that¡¯s the case, it would make sense that he wouldn¡¯t want to spend much time in the Church. And what¡¯s the best place for an antisocial person to go out to? A library; everyone is already quiet and minding their own business, it would have been a paradise for him. ¡°By his teenage years, he had to have heard of his father and some of the things said about him and accusations made, so what better place to find information than a library, especially one that has newspaper records spanning back to when we got our first printing press in town. So he goes and learns about what his daddy was doing and studying and decides to try it out for himself. In that way he¡¯s remembering and honoring his dead father while also sticking it to the church. Now Don is on the same path as his daddy, learnin¡¯ about the occult and all that evil. That Thing in the lake sees this as a golden opportunity and tried attachin¡¯ itself to him; like father, like son, you know? ¡°I think he did get in contact with that Thing somehow, just like his dad did. Probably told him that he was an outcast, a loner, looked down on by society, maybe even tricked him into thinking he could make a deal with the devil to bring his parents back or some other nonsense. Whatever it was, that boy was filled with evil thoughts. The storm put a stop on all that though and brought him back the other way. Havin¡¯ to help and be around all those people, then talkin¡¯ to em¡¯ and hearin¡¯ what they have to say, it showed him there were different ways to go in life, better than the ones he was goin down. Once he got that look at a better type of life and wanted one for himself, whatever It was couldn¡¯t get to him. He pushed it all to the back of his mind and went on livin¡¯ how he saw fit.¡± Dean took a few seconds to sort through the testimony he had just been given. ¡°But now Don and his wife are dead. What happened there?¡± ¡°Nobody lives forever, officer. Aches and pains come with age, and not all of em¡¯ are physical, you see? A man might get desperate when his body starts to fail him, might take some drastic measures and call up an old friend for some help.¡± Dean contemplated for a moment, ¡°If Don made some type of deal with this thing, why would it kill him and his wife?¡± ¡°Deals made with devils only end in one way officer, with the man foolish enough to make the deal spendin¡¯ an eternity in torment while that Thing is feedin¡¯ on their pain and misery. But the one makin¡¯ the deal ain¡¯t thinkin¡¯ about that, they¡¯re living it up with their riches while wastin¡¯ away. Their family suffers and the land they are on becomes plagued with a foulness so deep and dark that never goes away. Only death grows on that land, and it grows aplenty, officer. If you ask me, that family is cursed by some terrible, evil force that I hope I never have to come across ever again.¡± Sudden realization struck Dean. ¡°Detective Whitman is at the Francis house right now, he said there was something there he had to find.¡± A look of terror spread across Rufus¡¯ face. ¡°We gotta go. He¡¯s probably not going to like whatever he finds, and It sure as shit isn¡¯t going to like him.¡± Chapter 11 11 As Dean was preparing dinner for the inmates, the door to the Francis home creaked open and a shaft of light illuminated the entryway. Andrew stopped in the doorway and observed his surroundings. All the curtains on the windows had been drawn, but that didn¡¯t quite explain the sheer intensity of the darkness that spread throughout the home. He pushed the front door all the way open, allowing as much sunlight as possible to enter the home. Still, the rest of the house remained pitch black. Andrew pulled out his keychain and felt around for his department issued pocket flashlight. He found the edge and wrapped his fingers around the circular piece of plastic. His fingers brushed the ¡°B.D.P¡± indentation on one side and used his thumb to press the small button on the other. A cone of light shot out of the small flashlight, revealing the kitchen entryway. Andrew could see the table and countertop, but the rest of the room appeared to be empty. There was no sign of a knife-rack or coffee maker, not even any dust where the refrigerator would have been concealing it for years. Aside from the table, the kitchen was a void of linoleum. As the officer moved towards the curtained window, he began to feel a tightness in his chest and a shortening of his breath. Christ, he thought to himself, am I having a heart attack? Panic spread through his body as he stood before the closed window. Did he dare try to open it? What would he see on the other side? Some ghastly face with gnashing teeth, or maybe the white face of Donald Francis, devoid of blood, staring back at him? Christ just fucking open it! He did. And there was nothing there. Nothing at all. Not even the window itself. The beige wallpaper continued smoothly over the spot where a window had once been. Andrew could have sworn he saw windows on the outside of the house earlier, in fact he was sure of it. But had he actually looked in the windows and seen what was inside? No, his dirty and bloodied hand had kept most of his attention; the bleeding had stopped but the pain was still there, reduced to a dull but constant stinging on his ring finger that was occasionally aggravated by the touch of his middle finger. The strange burst of fear and anxiety he felt when drawing back the blinds seemed to have overridden the pain, though, allowing the detective to be fully immersed in the bizarre nightmare he currently found himself in. Seeing how his plan to investigate the home soured all too suddenly, Andrew felt that it would be best to leave the house as soon as possible and come back with a full team to conduct a thorough search. He closed the blinds where the window had once been, not wanting to stare at the ominous blankness of the wall, and turned back towards the entryway, only to find it once again covered in darkness. I left the door open though, he thought to himself. He briskly walked into the entryway and saw that the front door had closed somehow. There had been no wind, and the wooden door was not nearly heavy enough to swing back and close on its own. Andrew reached out and took hold of the brass doorknob, which had become shockingly cold, and turned. He pulled open the door, revealing a continuation of the same beige wallpaper that had taken the place of the kitchen window. Andrew punched and pounded on the wall, hoping to break his way out, but wasn¡¯t able to leave a single mark. Anger, frustration, confusion, and fear simultaneously welled up inside the officer. His heart was beating rapidly and he felt his thoughts uncoupling themselves from his rational mind, overwhelming him with vicious waves of panic. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. Suddenly, a powerful odor penetrated his nostrils; the stench of rotten meat. When he looked behind him, his eyes were met with a sight so horrible, not even his darkest night-terrors could have replicated it. Standing in front of him was the destroyed and decaying body of his sister, Bernice. Her torn and bloodied skin had started to rot away and recede from her face, revealing cracked and shattered bone beneath. Her eye sockets were empty voids that constantly wept blood and pus. A centipede dangled out of the hole where her nose should have been and crawled toward her open mouth. The flesh of her lips had been peeled away, leaving nothing to conceal her dead and yellowing teeth and bloated black tongue. Her rotting right arm was broken and twisted behind her back in horrible angles, leaving her fingerless hand dangling over her left shoulder, which ended in a swollen stump two inches before her elbow. Her tattered clothes hung like rags on her bony frame, revealing breasts pocked with small bloody holes where maggots had wormed their sinister paths into her body. Grey, loose meat clung to her legs, threatening to slide off of the bone given enough force. A bone was sticking out of her broken ankle that had twisted underneath her, giving her a tilted stance. The sight made the bile in Andrew¡¯s stomach shoot to his throat. In his mind he could imagine the terrible shrieks his sister had made on the night she died, while the ruined smoldering mass of a car crushed her body, pinning her to her deathbed. That same painful, primal scream rose into his throat as he pulled his gun out of its holster. Fear caused him to shoot prematurely, sending the bullet into her left kneecap, shattering it completely. The sudden change in pressure caused her other rotted leg to snap with a gut-wrenching sound, dropping her on her back. Both her legs crumbled to fine black ash. When she landed, the joints and bones in her arm cracked and shifted back into their proper place. The upper half of her body rolled over and began to drag itself towards the staircase while Andrew stood and watched in horror. As the living corpse clawed its way up the wooden staircase amidst a myriad of fleshy, cracking sounds, a deep pained moan seeped out of her decrepit mouth that made the officer fall to his knees in a fit of vomiting. It had said his name. When all the bile had left his stomach, Andrew shakily stood up. His eyes followed the trail of bloody pus the creature had left behind, which disappeared over the top of the stairs. Andrew gagged at the sight and smell, then began to climb the steps, gun still in hand. The same chilling terror he had felt underneath the house began to seep its way through his body again, causing him to break out in a cold sweat. As his foot left the seventh step he heard the sound of something heavy crashing onto the floor upstairs. Andrew stood in place, afraid to even move. He climbed two more steps then braced himself again as he heard the sound of tapping coming from further upstairs. What the hell have I gotten himself into, he thought, what the fuck was the Francis family been up to before they died? ¡°You won¡¯t know by standing here.¡± The thought ran through his mind, but it was not his. Nevertheless, it spoke the truth.. Andrew stood silently in the darkness at the top of the staircase, unsure if he had the will to proceed. A path of blood and pus stretched into the infinite darkness of the doorway; it looked like the mouth of a sick and terrible beast, welcoming him to enter its maw. The heavy sound of tapping emanating from the room sounded like the chomping teeth. The low and unsyncopated nature of the sound caused him to flinch every time he heard it. With slow and even steps, the officer cautiously approached the doorway and peeked inside with his pocket flashlight. The disgusting path of bodily waste wormed its way behind the desk, which had been pushed at an odd angle. The typewriter that had one sat proudly on it was no longer there; the cause of the loud crash, Andrew presumed, and also the source of the tapping. He tiptoed around the clean side of the desk, not wanting to follow the putrid trail any longer, and saw the edge of the typewriter that had fallen on its side.The detective took in a breath, braced himself for whatever he was going to see, and swiveled around the desk. The hand of the creature that was his sister was fumbling over the machine, covering it in blood and grime. When Andrew came around the desk the creature looked up, weakly tried to grasp at him, and said, ¡°An¡­..drew¡­¡± The creature¡¯s fat black tongue lolled out of its mouth, dripping black saliva onto the floor. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. The sight made him immediately want to vomit again, but his fear held his stomach tightly. In this moment, all love and affection he had towards his sister was gone and replaced with horror, hatred, and absolute disgust. He felt no apprehension for what he must do, but was still pained by the thought. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Bernie.¡± Andrew said softly. He raised his gun and fired into the thing¡¯s skull, shattering it and spraying black and brown blood onto the carpet behind it. Its arm and remaining bits of skull fell limply to the ground and soon dissolved into a slimy black puddle of blood that left the room smelling like rotting death. Andrew stumbled backwards, fell against a bookcase and slid to the ground, spilling a few books on his sides. He dropped his head into his hands and began to weep salty tears that stung his face. He had just killed his sister. She was dead, but he killed her again. Oddly enough, he felt rather calm about it. When her body went limp, all of the fear and hatred he had felt were gone, though the love and admiration he had once felt did not appear either. Now, the only emotions he had towards her were those of pity and sadness. He felt as if he had done her a service. She was nothing more than a decomposing corpse of a woman who had once been young and vibrant and beautiful. It wasn''t actually her, the officer decided, only something using her body like a macabre shell. He had helped her escape from the living hell she was suffering. She is better off, he thought to himself. Nobody should have to live in a world as awful as hers. I saved her.. When he raised his head, Andrew saw that the typewriter¡¯s carriage was not centered. He crawled to where it lay and saw what had been typed, one long string of repeating letters. He set the machine upright and removed the parchment. At the top was the letter Donald Francis had been writing to his friend. Below that was written: bedroombedroombedroombedroombedroombedroombedroombedroombe Andrew set the paper face down with a horrified look; he didn¡¯t want to see whatever that thing had left for him in the bedroom. But he was trapped, unable to escape and most likely unable to be rescued; whatever evil had sealed him in would surely be able to keep others out. He looked at the gun in his hands and thought about putting it to his temple and pulling the trigger then and there, becoming the third person to kill themselves under the influence of the sinister home. ¡°Is that what Bernice would want? What any of your family would want?¡± Again, thoughts that did not seem to be entirely his own swept into Andrew¡¯s mind. Were these thoughts that the house had put into his mind? If so, why were they so calm and sensible? Why would the source of his torment be giving him reassurance and comfort? The detective decided that whether or not these thoughts were projections of the evil force in the home, they had spoken truthfully once again. He put his gun back in its holster, stood, and made his way out of the room. In the shadows, the dark wood beams that made up the doorframe to the Francis¡¯ bedroom looked like a black stone archway leading to the site of some unholy ritual, scarred by the claws of some horrible beast. Through the darkness Andrew could see the form of a bed pushed against the center of the wall, the only object in the windowless room. Not a bed, he thought, an altar. Some sacrificial slab to a detestable being. As he approached the bed, he felt the familiar presence of terror rise in his chest. What monstrous thing had once lain here? What ghastly thing had the Francis family summoned into this world? Andrew wondered how long Donald and Angeline had kept this secret, and if it could have gone back even further than them. Maybe they were only the current bearers of some curse passed down through a line of eldritch priests that dated back to the founding of the town, maybe even before that. The path to hell is paved with good intentions, and Evil wasn¡¯t grown in a day. The rational part of Andrew¡¯s mind emphasized all the maybe¡¯s that were coursing through his addled psyche, but a deeper part of him knew there was some truth to these primal thoughts. He was close enough to touch the comforter of the bed, a lush deep blue thing with traces of white stitching throughout. Getting on his hands and knees, Andrew took a shaky breath and prepared to lift the bed skirt. As he did, terror exploded in his heart, making him feel as if it might simply explode out of his chest. He grabbed the edge of the bed skirt with a tightly clenched fist and lifted. When no decrepit limb or unearthly appendage came shooting out, he carefully lowered his head to peek under the bed. A thing that looked like a wide bowl was resting directly beneath the bed, just within arm¡¯s reach. Seeing that it was simply an object waiting for him, rather than some unseen attacker or other monstrosity, eased Andrew¡¯s nerves. With his confidence returning, he grabbed the cool metal rim of the bowl, and slowly dragged it out from beneath the bed. It appeared to be full of water, but the room¡¯s darkness made him unsure. He stared at the bowl for a couple minutes, waiting for some apparition or message to appear in the water, and became anxious and confused when nothing happened. After contemplating and hesitating on his next action, Andrew slowly placed a finger into the water and swirled it around. He removed his finger, which did not feel wet, and watched as the ripples clashed against each other and the rim of the basin, slowly easing and dissipating. Once the surface of the basin was still, a small ripple formed in the middle of the water and stayed there. Andrew saw it suddenly shoot towards the bottom of the basin, and watched as the ripple went much deeper than the dimensions of the basin would suggest was possible. Looking into the water, Andrew felt as if he were looking into the void of an ocean, unable to fathom how truly deep it was or imagine what could be lying in its depths. Eventually he lost sight of the ripple as it became smaller and smaller, winking out of sight. Again, he was left with the all-encompassing darkness of the basin. Then, a speck appeared deep within the inky blackness. Slowly it grew, emitting a dim light that illuminated through the infinite darkness surrounding it. As the light eased and pierced the darkness within the basin, so did it ease and pierce the painful feelings in his mind. The dread and anxiety that had soaked its way into his bones was receding and being replaced by peace and a sense of great understanding. He wanted to reach in and try to touch the light, but as he did, as if responding to his wishes, it came closer. When it appeared to be the size of a grain of sand, the light split into two, both continuing to rise to the surface. Andrew peered deeper into the bowl and became lost in its cosmic depth. The bottom of the basin was not an inch and half deep as the outside shape implied, but much, much deeper. If he reached his hand into the water, he was sure it would sink all the way up to his shoulder, even further if he tried. But he dared not, afraid of what it might do to the lights. The luminescent orbs continued to rise, quickly now it seemed, from the incomprehensible depths of the basin, leaving dark ripples in the water behind them; it appeared as if they were dragging something along through the water. Now the two split into four, creating a dancing circle of lights. Faster they swam through the basin, actually causing the surface to ripple from the force of their ascension. A fifth light appeared in the center of the circle, the now pea-sized balls of luminescence shifted into a new formation; it resembled the letter ¡°U¡± with angular tips. As it neared the surface, Andrew began to see what was trailing behind the lights, or rather, trailing with the lights. The glowing orbs were set in a curved black band, which stretched back and grew into a form that was incomprehensible within the tenebrous water. Suddenly another shape came rushing forward ahead of the lack band, a dark mass with four long appendages stretching from its center. When the lights had almost reached the surface, realization and that sick familiar feeling of horror exploded in Andrew¡¯s heart and head; this was the shape he had seen in his dreams. At the sight of the long, sinewy fingers of the creature within the water, the officer staggered and fell backwards, bouncing his head on the hardwood floor. He blinked the stars out of his eyes and held the back of his head in his hands, slowly coming to his knees. When the pain had slightly subsided, Andrew looked up and saw the basin in front of him. As he stared, he felt a sharp pang in his heart as it skipped a beat. At first he felt that he must be insane, and that the sudden and complete decomposition of his mind would surely kill him. On the contrary, he felt like he was incredibly sane, painfully sane. The sureness of his sanity at this sight made Andrew wish he had pulled the trigger on himself in Donald¡¯s office; the water from the basin had begun to slowly drip upwards. A single thought rang in his mind in a tongue that was completely unknown to him, one that had not been spoken on the Earth in centuries, but one he could understand completely. It said, ¡°Go to Hestova¡±. Dean pulled up to the curb of the Francis house in a police cruiser and looked out at the driveway, where a black Buick Regal was parked. A pained look spread across his face when Rufus asked, ¡°That his car?¡± ¡°No.¡± He sat looking back and forth between the car and the house ¡°Then what¡¯re we waiting for? Get to the lake, s¡¯ the only other place he¡¯s like to be.¡± Dean cast one last longing look at the car and the house, then drove North to the lake. To Andrew. Chapter 12 12 BUDOCK POLICE DEPARTMENT PRESS RELEASE INCIDENT: Homicide Investigation DATE/TIME: Monday April 30th, 2001 17:45 hoursThis narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. LOCATION: 496 Winstead Avenue, Burdock South Dakota, 57735 SUSPECT: Officer Andrew Whitman LEAD INVESTIGATOR: Officer Theresa Mayfield DETAILS: The Burdock Police Department is currently investigating the murder of one of our own, Nicolas Petulo, age 24. He was found in the upstairs office in the home of the recently deceased Mr. Donald Francis and his wife Angeline. A neighbor reported two gunshots being heard from the house and officers were quickly dispatched. When officers arrived on the site, a witness claimed to have seen the suspect in a silver Honda Accord driving North on St. Vincent. We have no reason to believe the deaths of Mr. Petulo and the Francis family are related, but investigations are still underway¡­ Chapter 13 13 The dense and seemingly endless burg of a forest made Dean uneasy as he slowly guided his patrol car down the well traversed dirt pathway leading to Lake Hestova. A bitter stench clung to the heavy air which permeated the car even through the closed windows. It was the odor of something old and unearthly, something out of place and out of time. He thought about the gun resting in its holster on his hip and whether or not he would need to use it, if it would even be effective. Rufus, now looking like the frightened old man he was, sat quietly in the passenger seat. He scratched incessantly at his arm as if bugs were crawling under his skin; his nerves seemed to be reaching their breaking point. His bright blue eyes danced in their sockets, taking in every detail of the forest and straining to see the faintest shimmer of moonlight on the still lake. A heavy wind had come up, fiercely rustling the trees and creating shadowy shapes that almost seemed to leap out of the darkened forest at the car, causing both men to occasionally jump with fright. Night had fallen shortly after they left the Francis home, plunging the forest into a peaceful darkness that would have felt bucolic at any other time. The silence was beginning to make Dean more anxious, so he broke it by asking, ¡°What all do you really know? About all of¡­ this.¡± He made a vague gesture with his hand towards the forest ahead of them. The old man let out a deep breath and said, ¡°More than you¡¯d ever want to know.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t answer my question.¡± ¡°Son, you¡¯re askin¡¯ a question that you ain¡¯t even close to understandin¡¯. At least not yet. I find that when one is askin¡¯ a question that they ain¡¯t even sure of, they don¡¯t tend to like the answer.¡± Dean furrowed his brow and stared at the road, unsatisfied but reluctant to press further. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you this though; no matter what happens, we need to stop what¡¯s goin on at this lake or be damned, in this life and the next. There¡¯s nothin¡¯ Christian about any of it.¡± The thicket of trees thinned as they approached the lake, still only partially visible through the forestry. As they rounded a curve in the road, Rufus looked through the tree line and saw a figure standing on the edge of the southern dock. ¡°There he is, at the end of the dock! Quick now, we got to hurry!¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Dean sped up and took a sharp turn around the curve. The car would have almost surely tipped over had the two men not braced and leaned against it. He parked his cruiser at the end of the path, right up against the base of the small staircase that led up to the dock. He got out of the police cruiser quickly, not even bothering to close the door. Rufus was slower getting out and almost stumbled to the ground. Dean rushed over and helped the old man up, who fumbled about the officer¡¯s waist and hands in an awkward attempt to grab them and pull himself up. When he got the man standing the officer raced up the dock, throwing up clouds of dirt with his heels as he ran. Fear filled his heart and a cold, black terror spread through his veins. Dean was afraid, not just for Andrew, but for himself and the rest of the town. He had no idea what was happening or why, he just hoped he arrived soon enough to stop it. When Dean was halfway across the pier, he shuddered at the picturesque sight that splayed itself out before him. Andrew stood at the end of the pier with his head raised towards the sky, looking at the brilliant pale moon that hung directly overhead, surrounded by the blues, reds, and purples of the ever-expanding cosmos. It looked so close that he almost thought he could reach out and touch it. The image reflected in the still waters below was similar, but not entirely identical. The sky reflected in the water was much more vibrant, revealing swirling purple nebulas, stars, and planets the size of stars. Dark and unidentifiable forms waded through the astronomical sea, swirling around and through planets, some just blinking out of existence entirely A feeling that was a queer mixture of awe and terror spread Dean like some terrible warmth. The magnificent world reflected in the waters of the lake was no reflection at all, but a surreal image of some cosmic wonder vigintillions of miles away. Incomprehension, confusion, and a guttural, primal fear compelled the officer to scream for his friend, ¡°Andrew!¡± The strength of the wind and the ethereal alien view quieted his words and kept the other officer enthralled. ¡°ANDREW!¡± he called louder, though still no sound broke through the rising pandemonium. He cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed, ¡°ANDRE-¡± The sound of a single gunshot was enough to finally pierce through the screeching winds. Andrew blinked twice as his gaze fell from the brilliant moon overhead and he looked behind him. His friend, Dean Laherty, was standing further back on the pier. Had he been calling his name? He thought he had heard something that sounded like it while he was in some sort of dream-like state. All of the air had left Dean¡¯s lungs. He looked down and saw the dark hole in his shirt, which soon vanished beneath a growing red stain. He felt no pain, only a dull, cold, throbbing in his chest. The wind had stopped and everything surrounding the lake fell silent. Dean slowly raised a hand to his wet chest and looked up at the pale moon. Five yellow lights had appeared on its surface, curling around the lower half of its curvature. He did not truly know what his eyes rested on, but it gave him some sort of warmth. A smile spread across Dean¡¯s face as he let out his final breath. A scream escaped from Andrew¡¯s lips as he rushed down the dock to his fallen friend, but no sound reached his ears. Chapter 14 14 By the time he had gotten to the lake, Andrew was still unsure of his reasoning for coming in the first place. Some errant thought had suggested the idea, and his rational mind that it was a much better alternative than staying in the Francis house for one second longer. When he stepped out of the bedroom, he immediately noticed that the oppressive darkness that once surrounded him had lightened; the house was still draped mostly in shadows, but there was less of a weight and presence within them. Descended the staircase, thoughts about the typewriter inexplicably falling to the ground arose in his mind. Could the cat have gotten in and tipped it over? No, it was surely too heavy. And what of the note? Who could have written that? As soon as Andrew opened the front door, he was instantly bathed in the deep and pleasant orange light of the setting sun, and all the questions and thoughts that had been stirring in his mind melted away. Looking back into the sunlit entryway of the Francis home, he wasn¡¯t entirely sure what had gotten him so spooked in the first place. Now that he was at the lake, he felt a strong urge to walk up the dock and look out over the calm waters that shone in the burgeoning moonlight. The stars twinkled around the full moon as it quickly rose in the sky, held by some invisible cosmic thread; if Andrew were a man of the arts he might have felt inspired. As he stared, he was faintly aware of a small pulsing sensation in his back pocket. The intensity of the pulse grew and was soon joined by a steadily rising warmth. Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, which was shaking in his hand and felt like he had just grabbed it off of a stovetop. Instinctively he reached into one of the tiny pockets and pulled out the two small shards of black metal he had found in Donald Francis¡¯ cell and home. He replaced his wallet and focused on the strangely buzzing shards in his hand, baffled at their autonomous movement and sudden heat. The shards writhed in his palm like disgusting insects before they completely stopped, and began to rise into the air above of Andrew. The buzzing had stopped and the shards had left his hand, but their warmth remained and continued to spread. The pieces of strange metal twirled around each other in a beautiful weightless fashion that almost looked like a dance. The sight drew his gaze upwards to the moon, which had descended and now appeared to be floating right above the lake itself; the moon¡¯s curvature made it resemble a fish leaping triumphantly out of the water. The reflection of the stars in the water were magnificent, showing off twinkling details and colors the likes of which couldn¡¯t be seen from the top of the world¡¯s highest mountain peak. With a growing sense of wonder Andrew soon realized that the water was not reflecting the sky above, but revealing the sky far beyond. He was confused as to how he knew this, but the surety he felt outweighed the need to question his own breadth of knowledge. The image was not static either, it appeared to be shifting through some incomprehensible direction into a dimension beyond thought. The officer was witness to many strange things as the image shifted and swirled through the cosmos: vast expanses of seemingly barren space that actually hid ancient tenebrous beings, grand cities of dark stone and glass with temples and mosques dedicated to these beings, creatures making journeys through dense space aided only by grotesque wings that helped them float through the aether. Andrew witnessed all of these things and more while standing under the breathtaking thrall of whatever entity had guided him here. That was when he heard the gunshot. The sound brought back his awareness of the world around him, and the inner warmth he had felt was now tinged with the sharp chill of forest air. Andrew spun to find the source of the noise, and sprinted down the pier when he saw the wounded officer collapse to the ground. He was still about ten feet from Dean when the sound of another bullet screeched through the air caused him to stop in his tracks. Andrew looked towards the source of the sound and saw an old man standing at the other end of the dock, aiming a gun in the air. He stared with incredulous disbelief at the man who appeared to be Rufus Cartwright. The man lowered his gun, pointing it at Andrew, and said, ¡°I would not take a step closer to him if I were you.¡± Andrew was speechless, unsure if he still remained in the reality he once believed he inhabited. ¡°You appear to be deeply confused Mr. Whitman, as any rational person would be.¡± ¡°Rufus, what the fuck are you doing?! You just shot an officer, there¡¯s not going to be any chance of escape for you. Put the gun down, and slowly come over to me, don¡¯t be stupid.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think so Mr. Whitman, I have all of the leverage in this situation. Your friend is dead, I have you at gunpoint, and your own cohorts are soon to be after you. You are the one who should be obediently listening to me.¡± The old man looked behind Andrew at the cosmic expanse that spread out underneath the surface of the water. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful, isn¡¯t it? The unknown infinite expanse of cosmos that lie just beyond our own, it''s incredible to think about.¡± Andrew was becoming increasingly aware that the man, the thing in front of him was not Rufus Cartwright. It had none of the same mannerisms or vocabulary, even his stance and posture were different than what would have normally been seen on the older man. ¡°I see the furrow in your brow officer. Allow me to enlighten you, for what is this meeting for if not enlightenment? You and many others have known me over the past decades to be Rufus Cartwright, drunken dolt and last progenitor of the Cartwright family name. Rufus, I always hated the name, though what better title for a backwoods town buffoon like that? Andrew, allow me to inform you that you have unknowingly been given the pleasure of meeting this very town¡¯s founder, Wayne Augustus Cartwright,¡± He stuck out his right leg and bowed, ¡°charmed I¡¯m sure.¡± If that were true, Andrew thought, that would make this man almost two hundred years old. Yet he had the appearance of one who was no more than seventy, and the sudden demeanor of one who is forty. What sort of dark secrets had Andrew stumbled upon? The events of the past twenty-four hours had taken him completely out of the world he once knew and dropped him into this surreal dreamlike state of utter bafflement and confusion. All he knew was that the dull warmth he felt was still expanding throughout his body, even in the cold winds that were blowing over the picturesque lake. After allowing Andrew to marvel momentarily, the man continued, ¡°Now, in an effort to be as clear as possible without having to repeat myself and delay the coming of our gracious benefactor, I will tell all from the beginning, as I saw it. ¡°Some few odd centuries ago, I found myself on an expedition in the territory now known as Oman under the name of Sir Algernon Cobble. We, meaning an expedition team and I, spent months in that desert wandering aimlessly with nary a clue to follow, aside from some forgotten passage in the book of the Mad Arab. One night, as our supplies were beginning to run dangerously low, our native guide Ala-Il noted that the constellations above our heads were similar to the ones we had seen in manuscripts. We headed three miles west and began digging. ¡°We dug for half a day straight with hardly any breaks, until finally we hit stone. A little more careful digging revealed a beautifully carved stone doorway unlike anything ever seen in this world. Curious shapes and angles were engraved into the stone, hinting at some hidden meaning that was incomprehensible. The top of the doorway was slanting outwards so had to duck to walk through it. Once inside, the walls surrounding us seemed to twist and morph as we descended, demonstrating the true dedication and artistry of whoever constructed them. The other men were wary of the angular and otherworldly nature of the passage, but I rejoiced in it. ¡°We walked down mile after mile of stone tunnels before exiting into a subterranean cavern that seemed as large as a city. We marveled at the destroyed and half-standing structures that were littered around the ancient grotto, wondering who could have once inhabited them. Many of the dark avenues of this place culminated in various shrines and slabs of stone that were covered with strange runes and etching and littered with the bones of many humans and animals, hinting at the sacrificial nature of the cave¡¯s once blooming populace. Scorched pyres encircled labyrinthian symbols and eldritch words that were incomprehensible to the unversed psyche. As the fear, loathing, anguish, and trepidation in my companions grew, so too did my own sheer joy, excitement, fulfilment, and sense of finality. ¡°As we neared the inky depths of this stone pit, one of the other men, Thomas I believe, shifted some loose rubble underfoot which caused a series of more serious shifts that threatened to bring the whole cavern down on top of us. While the others grew frightened and ran back, hoping to make it out and bath in the safety of sunlight, I trusted myself and the words of Alhazred and pushed deeper in. ¡°The others were crushed to death in their futile attempt at escape, while I survived, cradled in the faith of my god. ¡°I entered a small dark sepulcher illuminated by two torches that I wager still burn to this day; the flames were a most extraordinary color, burning different shades the likes of which one could spend their whole lifetime searching for and still end up blind. Between them was a raised altar upon which rested a black orb held perfectly in place by some conjured agreement with gravity. A sinister monument carved into the stone wall stared fixedly down upon the orb; it was vaguely humanoid in shape with finger and toe joints elongated to twice that of what would be considered proportional. The head of the being was the most peculiar, as it was not really a head at all, but a curved band of flesh pointed upwards with five gems inset evenly along its length. Clouds and drops of rain were etched into the stone around the Being¡¯s head. What truly puzzled me at the time was that the droplets of rain were made to appear to float upwards, not drop to the Earth. ¡°When I touched that black orb, I knew it was made of no metal or stone found on this earth. It hummed with such a radiant life and warmth, and I was filled with a sense of ease at its touch. That is when He spoke to me: Qu¡¯an¡¯tarr, The Fear-Seeker, The Consigner, The Door to Narlethylle. ¡°He showed me so many great and unimaginable wonders, feats of the Old Ones and their cultivation beyond our stars. He also told me how I might serve and benefit their cause, while strengthening my own. That is what brought me here, to this quaint territory. I was to help bring Qu¡¯an¡¯tarr and his brood into this world so that they would reclaim it for themselves. Lake Hestova will be the gate through which they enter our world and bring about a new age, for them as well as us.¡± Andrew was reeling from all that he was being told. He had seen wonders beyond his belief through the waters of the lake not ten minutes ago; was he to believe these were caused by some evil being from far out of space? Surely not. He had seen heavenly lights that could only exist through the eyes of some supreme being, planets covered in lush greenery and what appeared to be human men and women tilling fields and wading through streams, aided by completely alien creatures that they co-existed with. But, he had also seen dark and terrible amalgamations of everything evil hidden within the cosmic voids of space, held there only by ancient spells and magics that had to have been placed by something benevolent, else the world would have surely been overrun by their eldritch onslaught. Surely this old man was speaking of one of those creatures, and not the Being that had bonded itself to Andrew. ¡°That¡¯s not all Officer Whitman. Once the Great Old Ones have reclaimed this soil and taken it to their home amongst the stars, they will re-make me in their image; I will sign my name in blood in the Black Book and be given a new name, one that will be feared and powerful. I will rule Narlethylle and the inferior species of Man, continuing the work my progenitors could not finish. You too may rejoice in this heavenly gift, Andrew. You need only open your mind. In his stupor, a sudden question came to Andrew¡¯s mind, one that he would not let go unanswered. ¡°Why Donald?¡± he screamed over the wind which had begun to pick up. ¡°Why did you kill Donald and his wife?¡± Wayne let out a laugh at the question, which only angered Andrew more. ¡°They were nothing but pawns in the great game. When the town was long established and the third and fourth generations of its settlers were being born, I knew the time was nearing. Donald¡¯s father Sal was an unlucky man, riddled with debt and no prospects of a good living in sight. He talked of borrowing money from friends and taking out loans from any bank that would accept him. I showed him an alternative¡­¡± He drew up the sleeve on his right arm then switched the gun from his right hand to his left, still pointing it at Andrew, He raised his right arm, looking like a man about to take an oath, and revealed a tattoo of a long-limbed tree with twisted roots that were just as long, surrounded by raindrops. Suddenly, the ink on his arm began to move on his flesh. The limbs and roots of the tree began to slither upwards like snakes towards his hand, pooling into a dark writhing puddle. The old man lowered his hand to his face and bit into it hard, pulling away bleeding scraps of flesh. He lowered his mangled hand and held it palm facing upwards. Blood dripped between his fingers and into the spaces between the pier¡¯s wooden boards, disappearing in the murky water below. The black ink that had coalesced in his palm was seeping out of the wound as a dense smoke, which did not drift away but maintained its semi-permeable shape until all of it was present. The smoke became denser, solidifying into a sphere of black stone. The flat outer blackness then turned glossy and the inside grew foggy, resembling a wizard¡¯s glass ball. Andrew¡¯s gaze was fixed on the orb, held there by mixed feelings of fear and familiarity. ¡°Ah, I see the recognition in your eyes; you know this. Or rather, you know a part of it,¡± he gestured with the gun to the twirling shards of metal that floated behind Andrew. ¡°This,¡± he raised the orb, ¡°is the mark my Lord left on this world. From it we may find Him, and through it we hope He finds us. He offered the Francis family a solution, a blessing even. He gave them a piece of himself so that He could be with and observe them always, offering guidance when needed and accepting the tributes given. Sal and Rose Francis gave many tributes and offerings in their service to great Qu¡¯an¡¯taar, the greatest of which was to be a vessel that our lord could use to step into his world. That plan failed, however, and our Lord was very unhappy. A consequence of this failure, though, was the unswerving faith of their own son. Seeing that their folly produced another solution, our Lord offered them solace from this material world and allowed Donald to take up their mantle. Following in his dear father¡¯s footsteps, he found a willing bride and promised her salvation and prosperity, which she graciously took. The laborious lives of countryside settlers are often unfulfilling; they¡¯ll take almost any deal offered to them, regardless of the steps necessary to fulfill their end of the bargain. The devil is in the details as they say.¡± His grin widened at this remark. ¡°Thusly they imbibed themselves with His presence and were blessed by his favor.¡± His gaze had shifted to the cosmos as he spoke, but all at once his attention was locked on Andrew. ¡°And now you too will be baptized in his sanctimonious waters and join his ethereal choir!¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Andrew hardly had time to comprehend what had been told to him before he felt a wet spot under his chin. He looked down and felt another cold droplet hit his face. Water appeared to be rising between the boards of the pier. The old man looked to the sky and began shouting fervently ¡°Yes! It is his time! He will soon be upon us!¡± Andrew spun around and looked at the black shards that were twirling in the sky. They still hung suspended in the air but were now completely motionless. Slowly they began to draw closer to each other. At the point of contact the metal melted and morphed together. The shards congealed into a formless black lump, which writhed in the air before condensing itself into a small capsule, which suddenly lost its control of gravity and fell to the ground. Rufus motioned towards the capsule and said, ¡°Pick it up and swallow it.¡± Andrew, who felt like he didn¡¯t have much of a choice in the matter, picked up the dark pill and dry swallowed it. The extreme bitterness of the object caused all the saliva to leave his mouth. After a momentary fit of hacking to get the pill dislodged from his throat, he managed to get it down. It left a burning taste in the back of his throat, but reinvigorated the warm feeling in his body, strengthening it and causing it to spread faster. ¡°Now,¡± Rufus said, holding his arms out before him, ¡°look to the water.¡± The vision of the cosmos held on the lake¡¯s surface began to waver and shift. The image, dappled by the constantly rising water, appeared to be moving through space at an incredible speed. As the image flew by a menagerie of planets and systems, Andrew had momentary glimpses of what resided on them: abhorrent piles of flesh that weren¡¯t entirely corporeal covered in fungi, giant worms with multi-jointed tentacles lining their backs swimming through oceans of sand, horribly tall faceless beings watching over a colony of mildly humanoid looking slaves toiling in mines filled with a sinister black ore. On some planets he found vast cities and buildings made of the same black ore, however the architecture was unlike any he had ever seen: buildings curved at angles that were unsuitable for any type of human habitation, passages and doorways appeared to be miles high, seemingly endless staircases arose and ended at flat stone walls, and many doors opened to reveal mirrors of different shapes and hues. The moving image held within the lake began to slow as it neared its goal; a blue planet still just on the edge of vision. The planet displayed in the lake grew closer and closer, revealing more of its surface details: landmasses, separate continents, icy poles. Andrew quickly realized he was looking at the Earth from some thousands of miles outside of its atmosphere. The image continued to close in on the western hemisphere, then North America, the Midwest. With a feeling of nausea and vertigo, Andrew saw that he was looking down on himself standing on the edge of the pier, looking into the water. Fearful and confused, he stared at the sky, where all he could see was the large crescent moon that seemed impossibly close. Hadn¡¯t it been full only minutes ago? He was prevented from further exploring this thought by another bout of shouting from Cartwright, ¡°He has come! You will be the first mortal to have the pleasure of witnessing his presence in centuries! He will send down his emissary, and you will be taken to hold palaver, it is as he wishes.¡± Andrew¡¯s horrified face shifted to the ageless old man holding him hostage. As he spoke, the orb in his hand began to pulse and emit a faint yellow glow. He raised it to the moon and began chanting, ¡°Ee hupadgh bug zhro h''r''luh Qu¡¯an¡¯taar mnahn'', shugg nafls''uhn geb gof''nn Nyarlathotep y-hrii, ee n''gha zhro ch'' y-wgah''n vulgtlagln.¡± The feeling of warmth that had spread throughout Andrew¡¯s body began to pulse in time with the orb as its presence filled his lungs with hot, sweet air, and his muscles with warm ease; it was sickening. The sight of the sallow swirling yellow mist within the tenebrous orb made him want to curl on the ground and retch until he had purged himself of its influence. Somehow, Andrew knew that even if he tried nothing would come up; the seed had been planted, and soon it would bear its cosmic fruit. The warmth settled into his body like a fever and filled him with a languorous desire to step into the lake and let its current carry him wherever it wished under the crescent moonlit sky. At this thought, his half-lidded eyes pulled themselves towards the cosmos to behold the moon. In that moment Andrew thought that nothing could eclipse its beauty. He took notice of every detail: its stark white and luminous complexion, the brilliant curvature that appeared to end in perfectly parallel points, the symmetry of the craters lining its surface; in this instant Andrew thought that there could be nothing more beautiful in the world. He could faintly hear a sopping wet sound coming from the end of the pier, but could not tear his eyes away from the waxing celestial body above him. If he stared hard enough, the detective thought he could even see it starting to turn. Andrew could faintly hear the wet slapping sounds slowly coming towards him, yet he could still not look away from the captivating moon which¡­ yes! It had definitely started to tilt, he could now see that the crescent tips were becoming more equally aligned. Upon further inspection, he also noticed that the craters he had observed were not really like craters at all, but measured depressions that were evenly placed along its curvature. Wasn¡¯t that stra- ¡°Andrew?¡± ¡°Huh, what?¡± The calm and light nature of the close voice startled the officer. He jumped back and looked towards the direction of the voice. His eyes slowly traced over the figure of the women standing there, taking in every detail of her being. She was wearing a light leather fringe jacket over a faded green t-shirt with jeans, the same outfit he had last seen her in before she died. Andrew also noticed that she was barefoot and appeared to be completely dry, though a trail of wet footprints traced the path leading she had taken from the end of the pier. When he spoke again, his voice came out in a choked and croaking whisper, ¡°Bernice?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she said with a small smile, ¡°it¡¯s me Andrew.¡± He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly while his tears silently fell. She softly wrapped her arms around him and returned the hug. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you so much,¡± he said with his face muffled in her hair. ¡°I know, I¡¯ve missed you too.¡± She pulled away and held him by the shoulders, ¡°But I don¡¯t have much time here. The Door to Narlethylle will close soon, and when it does I¡¯ll be gone with it.¡± Andrew¡¯s eyes widened as he took a step back, ¡°Narlethylle? What?¡± In his bewildered state he turned to Wayne, who might have more to say about this ominous door, but what made him even more confused was the fact that the old man with the gun was no longer there. Dean¡¯s body still laid motionlessly further down the dock and the police cruiser was still parked on the shore, but his captor had disappeared. Bernice grabbed her brother by the arm and pulled his attention back to her. ¡°We don¡¯t have time Andrew, you need to come with me,¡± she said, pulling him to the end of the dock. ¡°Wait.¡± He pulled his hand out of hers. ¡°Explain to me, what is happening. How are you here, where is Wayne, and what is this door?¡± The stern look he had put on softened a bit when he saw the confused one she now wore. ¡°Who is Wayne?¡± she asked innocently. ¡°The old man that was standing behind me earlier, he had me at gunpoint.¡± ¡°Andrew who are you talking about? There¡¯s nobody here. It''s been just you and I this whole time.¡± ¡°What? No, that¡¯s not true! He shot Dean right in front of-¡± He had turned around to gesture at the body of his friend, only to find that it had vanished as well. ¡°Wha-, what?¡± His heart began to beat faster as anxiety and fear swelled in his chest ¡°Brother, I¡¯ve been watching you for a long time. That house you entered is a cursed place, and that thing you killed in there wasn¡¯t really me. The people who lived there weren¡¯t bad, they were only misguided. They didn¡¯t know what they had come into contact with and failed to receive him properly. ¡°Who is ¡®Him¡¯?¡± ¡°He is the one you saw in the basin, the lights, remember?¡± The officer tried to remember and found that he could, but any other memories of his time in the house that he attempted to conjure would come up blank. ¡°HE is the door to Narlethylle. He is the one that brought me back to you, and is going to let me bring you back with me. That is, if you want to.¡± Andrew was left speechless. He hadn¡¯t seen his sister in so long, and now here she was, spouting some cultish nonsense that he could not even fully register. Yet, here she was, a living, or rather undead, testament to the story she had told. ¡°Where is he? WHO is he really?¡± Bernice smiled, ¡°You know his name: Qu¡¯an¡¯taar. And he is right here with us.¡± As she spoke she pointed to the crescent moon hanging in the sky, which had now shifted to resemble the letter ¡°U¡±. A dull yellow glow appeared in the center of the crescent and widened until it was a circle of gold, threaded with black veins. This was followed by two more spots of light that appeared on either side of the first one. Two final lights were created just under the tips of the moon. Once again, Andrew¡¯s mind was brought back to the Francis house, where he had seen that dark figure moving quickly through the basin. The face of the figure, or what he assumed to be its face, looked eerily similar to the moon and the positions of the lights now on it¡¯s surface. ¡°Bernice,¡± Andrew said, ¡°that thing is a monster! Wayne told me everything, how he was going to bring that thing and others like it here so that they could wreak havoc and take the planet as their own.¡± She smiled and softly laughed, ¡°There was no man Andrew, only you. But I can tell you that if there was a man like that, he was surely mistaken. Qu¡¯an¡¯taar and his kin are benevolent beings, much older and wiser than humans. They have been around the cosmos for countless millennia, observing and assisting the universe as it unfolds. In return, they take what they need from the beings living throughout it; mankind is their greatest benefactor.¡± ¡°What have they ever done for mankind?¡± ¡°Well, they helped create us. They once lived here, you know. They were forced out by other beings that lived here, but left behind seeds of a new civilization that would one day help facilitate their return and give them the power to do so; that¡¯s us.¡± ¡°What do they want from us?¡± ¡°Emotion. They have none of their own, they are creatures of pure energy and primeval power and instinct. Emotions are a powerful force that can drive people to do many things, from acts of love to heinous crimes. Emotions are unpredictable, they are entropy for the mind, which They crave more than anything.¡± Andrew didn¡¯t know what to say, his mind was whirling from the implications of all he was being told. His gaze shifted the lake which now reflected the glowing crescent moon, and remembered all the images he had seen swirling inside of it. ¡°When I looked into the lake I saw a planet filled with salve creatures and other faceless beings. The enslaved were forced to dig in mines full of black ore for these creatures. How am I supposed to believe that they are benevolent?¡± ¡°Even gods know the concept of sin, Andrew. Sins must be punished, and punishment creates fear, loathing, hatred, and eventually resigned complacency. Those who sin must still provide, and emotions born from sin are abundant and ever changing: anger, sadness, loss, regret¡­ even satisfaction. But the purest forms of emotion are happiness, joy, and serenity. Those are the feelings we want to feel, which makes them plentiful and all the more sweet.¡± ¡°But why would they need to mine, and what for? I saw other planets with strange structures made of the same type of material.¡± ¡°Even creatures of the cosmos need a home, Andrew. They need places to store their knowledge and arts.¡± ¡°These things have their own art?¡± ¡°Yes, and it is beautiful. It¡¯s quite puzzling and often unclear to the human mind, but if one has eyes on the ¡®inside¡¯, so to speak, one may truly see the splendor and the secrets hidden within.¡± ¡°What secrets do these beings have?¡± Again, she smiled, ¡°More than you could possibly count or understand. That is, unless,¡± she held out her hand, ¡°you come with me, and see for yourself.¡± Andrew stood there, unsure of what to do next. She kept her hand outstretched, waiting for his choice. He looked up at the moon again, which seemed to now be staring intently at him; the black veins within the golden circles slowly writhed and pulsed in their confinement. He wasn¡¯t entirely sure he wanted to go, in fact he was almost positive he didn¡¯t, but something held him there. He had almost forgotten about the warmth seeping through his body when he realized he could no longer actually feel it. When had it stopped spreading, he wondered? Had it even stopped, or had it made its way throughout his entire body and now slept dormant? Or did he feel it, and the fact he had been feeling it for so long meant that the sensation had become normal? He feared it was the latter. Now that it was only a memory in his mind, he didn¡¯t think it had actually been that bad. ¡°Andrew, brother, this world has nothing for you anymore. Its taken everything from you, from us. If you come with me you¡¯ll see everything as it really is, how it was made to be.¡± Her outstretched hand still hung in the air, waiting to grasp his. Andrew became very wary about the situation he was now in. ¡°Is Qu¡¯an¡¯taar giving me much of a choice?¡± Her smile widened, showing perfectly straight and white teeth, ¡°You came here, didn¡¯t you? You already made the choice. Now you just need to follow through. Come with me, Andrew. Let me show you the miracles of the cosmos firsthand.¡± For one final time, his gaze turned towards the moon, with its eyes still focused on him. The motion of the lake made the reflected moon shimmer, but the image of the golden orbs remained motionless in the water. The more he stared at it, the more he thought that there was another moon in the lake. But surely that could never be possible, even for something as powerful as these Old Ones. But, if a gate had actually been opened, who could say what was possible. ¡°Please Andrew, the door is closing soon, and when it does I¡¯ll be gone. Come with me.¡± A look of desperation spread across her face as tears began to well up behind her eyes. ¡°Please, I don¡¯t want to be alone anymore.¡± Guilt racked his heart, and the officer reluctantly placed his hand in his sisters. As he did, her eyes and smile brightened, and that familiar warmth blossomed in his chest again. It was not all too unpleasant this time, though. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said softly. As she guided him towards the lake, the golden eyes reflected within it began to close, yet the ones on the real moon did not. When all five orbs of light were gone the moon disappeared as well, and the water in the lake began to rise more fervently into the sky. At the end of the pier, steps made of water shifted and made a stairway leading to the bottom of the lake. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Bernice said, ¡°the steps will hold your weight.¡± She walked off the end of the pier and placed her foot on the first step and stomped, demonstrating its sturdiness. While he was descending, Andrew stuck his hand into the wall of water that enclosed the staircase; it was icy cold, but when he pulled his hand back out it was dry. The moonlight that filled the stairway was beginning to fade, and Andrew saw that the water on the surface was starting to close up above them. The encroaching darkness made him tense and nervous; even though the staircase was still dry, the fear of drowning made him hesitate on his descent. His sister turned and softly squeezed his hand, and a comforting wave of peace enveloped him. I will not die in here, he thought, Qu¡¯an¡¯taar would not allow it. Epilogue Epilogue ¡°Andrew!¡± Her screams reverberated throughout the hall, seemingly coming from all directions. A heavy fog blanketed the floor of¡­ what was this place? Some cathedral, or underground stronghold somewhere? He wasn¡¯t entirely sure. The only thing he knew was real, the only thing that had to be real, was the sound of her echoing voice. Andrew had lost track of how long he had been running, time was an irrelevance. His only reference to the outside world was the moon that shone brightly through the tall windows that lined the halls he traversed. At one moment he would see the last remnants of a waning crescent before it turned black as the surrounding skies, but in another he would see it¡¯s thick gibbous frame growing larger once again. Perhaps he truly had been thrown through some kind of celestial door to another plane, for this moon could surely not be the one that revolved around the Earth; that would mean he had been running for days on end, weeks even. When, though, had he last truly experienced a day? Time was meaningless in this space that was held in perpetual night with its still shifting moon. The concept of a day, let alone daylight, was foreign to Andrew and held no rightful place in his mind. All he could perceive now was her voice. ¡°Andrew!¡± He remembered walking down the watery staircase and holding his sister¡¯s hand as she guided him into its inky depths, and how confident she had seemed in her stride. They had descended the shimmering steps until no light could be seen through the water above, and then her hand let go. The sudden feelings of loneliness and panic sent Andrew into a terrifying fit of confusion. The officer called out his sister¡¯s name and dropped his foot onto the next step, not expecting to feel open air beneath his sole and be sent falling into the abyss. The sensation he felt was akin to what one feels when they have forgotten a step on a ladder; fear, dread, exhilaration, and the constant bracing for an impact that is going to come much sooner rather than later. As the sharp wind cut across his face, Andrew closed his eyes and prepared to meet his end. ¡°Andrew!¡± When his eyes finally opened, Andrew was surprised to find solid ground beneath his feet. Never once did he feel his descent slowing or the touch of the ground beneath him, he simply came to be here, in this endless passageway. The floor and walls around him were covered in large mossy-green tiles with archaic symbols and scenes etched into their surfaces. Many were decorated with tracings of the moon and its phases, with each phase having its own symbols and creatures associated with it. Behind him was a wall lined with similar tiles, though it appeared as if someone had taken a chisel and created a curved door frame in its center. In the middle of the frame was a pitch black hole that Andrew could not see the other end of. An intrusive thought told him to stick his hand in the hole, but after a moment of consideration he thought better of it. He shifted his attention to the tiles that lined the walls, which he studied deeply. One featured the full moon surrounded by glyphs and symbols which made no sense to him. Another, displaying the waxing crescent, held the moon high in the sky over a field of reverent monstrosities that danced and writhed in some type of hellish gathering. Andrew noticed that there were five equally spaced runes held on the curvature of the moon, which put off a faint yellow glow in the darkened corridor. He traced his fingers over the etching and felt a cold wave begin to pass over him. In the back of his mind, he could hear the unidentifiable sounds of the creatures as they performed their black mass. ¡°Andrew!¡± His attention was ripped away from the captivating images by Bernice¡¯s voice ringing down the hall. She sounded relatively close, but no matter how far or fast he ran, he couldn¡¯t seem to catch up. After running for what he thought must have been half an hour at least, Andrew heard her voice come from far behind him. He immediately stopped and pivoted around, but all he saw behind him was the etching of the doorway and the menacing, tenebrous black hole within it. The passageway he was in snaked left and right, sometimes seeming to turn enough times to circle back on itself again, yet he never found another path. Never did he see a door, an alcove, an empty sconce, or any semblance of any other branching hallway. He could only keep going forward and he dared not look back, afraid of what he might see behind him, and what the hole in the wall might contain. After running for another hour, Andrew spotted a faint light in the distant darkness. The shadowy hallway ended at a giant set of wooden double doors that were easily forty feet tall. One of the doors was slightly ajar, letting a ray of pale light escape from the room beyond. Andrew stepped through the small opening and marveled at the enormous circular room he was now in. The space was completely empty, save for twelve enormous statues that lined the circumference of the room. The statues were spread evenly around the circumference of the room, with six to Andrew¡¯s left and six to his right. Directly on the other side of the large room was another set of giant wooden double doors that were also ajar. Andrew found a slight humor in the fact that two sets of doors made to fit giant colossi were the least strange things in this place. The dim light that filled the room came from a glass dome overhead, through which Andrew could see a large crescent moon. When he had stood on the edge of the dock, which now seemed like an eternity ago, he had thought the moon had a strange beauty and radiance to it. Now its influence over him was gone, replacing those feelings with disgust and dread. The light of the moon illuminating the grotesque statues did not make him feel any more at ease; they were abhorrent creatures of all shapes and forms. One was a mass of tentacles with eyes unevenly dotted over its grotesque body, another was humanoid in figure with the head of a massive eel or worm revealing its jagged toothy maw. And yet another, perhaps the most ominous and terrifying, was simply a man in heavy robes with his hood was down, revealing a perfectly smooth head and piercing black eyes that stood out even in the dimness of the cavern. In his hands he held a book which constantly secreted a dark crimson substance that Andrew could only imagine was blood. The likeness that held his eyes the longest was that of the being he now believed was Qu¡¯an¡¯taar. It looked vaguely humanoid, but with a gangly, rail-thin figure. Its elongated and many-jointed fingers curled around a black ball that it held closely to its chest. The head of the creature was the shape of a crescent moon, dotted with five yellow orbs along its curvature. This is what had traveled through the cosmos to meet with him, commune with him even, this abhorrent being. A sickening warmth began to swell and pulse in Andrew¡¯s chest. As it did, the eyes on Qu¡¯an¡¯taar¡¯s statue shifted upwards. He followed it¡¯s gaze to the glass dome overhead, and as he stared at the demonic moon that hung in the sky, he could feel it glaring back at him.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. A creaking noise from behind him ripped Andrew¡¯s attention away from the statue. For a frightful moment, he thought some grotesque creature was going to step into the room and confront him, but none appeared. In fact the door was not opening, but closing, trying to seal the detective in the room full of stone horrors for all eternity. He sprinted to the door on the other end of the room and barely squeezed between the two immense doors before they closed firmly behind him. Somewhere within the door, he could hear a bolt sliding itself into place. When it did, it let out a deep thunk that echoed down the stone hallway ahead of him. After he caught his breath, Andrew examined the passage he was in and found that it was not like the one he had first passed through. It was much lighter, and for that he was grateful, but the source of the light made him wish for the darkness. It was the moon, with its full, incandescent splendor cascading through mile high stained glass windows that further depicted the scenes he had witnessed in the tiled halls behind him: worms with mantis-like bladed fore-arms taking flight with opaque and veiny wings, hunched bi-pedal monstrosities with many arms and countless hollow eyes dancing around a glowing pit, men, women, and children laughing and screaming in an orgy of death and pleasure. There was no moon stained onto any of the windows, for no matter where Andrew looked, the moon that hung outside shone brightly through them. ¡°Andrew!¡± That sweet familiar voice rang out from down the windowed chamber, and Andrew followed. He was frightened, lost, and alone; he had nothing now. All he could do was hope and pray for the eventual comforting embrace of his sister¡¯s arms. He was incredibly tired and his body threatened to give out under him at any moment. Each time she shouted out to him, however, his hope would resurface and a little more energy would seep into his tired bones, pushing him onwards; Bernice was all he had left to cling to. The images on the windows began moving as he ran, chanting for him, mocking him. The winged creatures crawled and hammered on the other side of the glass, attempting to break into the hall. The many armed abominations stared intently and danced as he passed, while the people, in an act of reverence, displayed and massacred themselves in gruesome and vulgar fashions. He continued endlessly, fueled by fear, loneliness, scraps of hope and despair. He hoped that if he were never able to reach Beatrice, he would soon die of exhaustion. The muscles in his legs ached in protest and felt as if they were being branded with white-hot irons. He felt those same irons pierce his lungs as he struggled to take in gasps of the dense and musty air that filled the cavern. He could no longer feel his feet as they slapped and cracked against the stone floor; only the motion of his legs moving and balancing on dead weight kept propelling him forward. The squelching sound emanating from his senseless feet led Andrew to believe that the soles of his shoes were filling with blood. As the pain began to finally overtake his mind and blot out everything else in existence, a figure appeared on the edge of his vision. He had stopped hearing the voice of his sister long ago and thought himself lost and alone in this never-ending catacomb, but the presence of the distant figure gave him some semblance of hope. He tried to shout out to the figure ahead of him but found that he was too weak to utter more than a small moan. He put his last ounce of energy into this final push, almost tripping and collapsing from exhaustion in the process, and lumbered down the hall. Fear momentarily grasped Andrew¡¯s fragile mind as a simple thought appeared in his mind: What if it¡¯s not her? This fear was soon abated as he got closer to the figure and was able to discern the back of its petite frame and its long auburn hair. He was only a few feet away from her now; joy and relief surged in his heart as he outstretched his arm to grab her. As he did, he groaned, ¡°Bernice¡­¡± and slowly took hold of her left shoulder. With her back still turned, she took her right hand, reached up, and placed her warm fingers around Andrew¡¯s sweaty and shivering ones, holding them tightly. He let out a small shaky sigh as a small smile began to emerge on his face. Her grip around his fingers tightened, and she slowly took his hand off her shoulder and turned around. The smile that had threatened to bloom on Andrew¡¯s face withered and his joy turned to terror when he saw what stood before him. The figure finished its turn and caressed Andrew¡¯s cheek with its now free hand, coming close to his face and peering into it. What he peered back into weren¡¯t Bernice¡¯s deep green eyes, but a deep black hole cut into a slab of mossy-green tile, replacing the spot where her face would have been. He stared at the abyss wide eyed and open mouthed, too weak to let anything more than his harsh and ragged breathing escape his destroyed lungs. He could feel the irregular and frantic beating of his heart begin to slow as his vision became enveloped by the pit that stared back at him. The sound of a screeching maelstrom filled Andrew¡¯s ears and he felt his body being ripped and torn apart, only to painstakingly come back together seconds afterwards as he was propelled through a cold, darkened space. As his body regained its natural form, he noticed his arms were brushing against the sides of the small tunnel he was passing through. With each passing second the space grew smaller, constricting his body and soon his breath. The air passing into his lungs came in long sharp gasps as his bones creaked under the pressure of his own form. The hole became too small for his clenched body, but the force pushing him persisted. Pain exploded in Andrew¡¯s right shoulder as an audible *crack* emanated from it. His left arm soon broke in the same manner as the first, filling Andrew with agony as he was shoved through the savern. Suddenly he was thrust back into the world and landed on his face, having no time to cushion himself from the short fall. As he lay on the musky floor, Andrew could feel nothing but the dull throbbing that now resided in his nose and forehead; no trace of his fatigue or other injuries remained. He cautiously pushed himself off of the floor and stood. He swung his arms to his sides and stretched his legs expecting to feel some sort of lingering ache or pain, but he felt lithe and unhindered. It was as if his body had simply forgotten the pain, and slowly his mind did as well. His attention shifted from his body to his surroundings, taking in whatever he could with what little light there was. He appeared to be in a large corridor lined with large intricately carved green tiles. Etched onto their surfaces were mysterious runes and imagery he could not bring his eyes to focus on. He spun around to see the spot he had entered from and was surprised to find a solid wall covered in the same green tiles. A curved door frame was etched into the wall but featured no cracks, hinges, or knobs. In its center was a menacing black hole that Andrew could not see the end of. He looked inside the hole and found nothing, but felt a gnawing curiosity that tempted him to stick his hand in to see if he could feel anything. The more he pondered the mysterious hole and its implications, however, the more he came to reject the idea. He turned and made to examine one of the etchings set into the numerous tiles along the walls, but was interrupted by a shout ringing out from further down the hall. ¡°Andrew!¡± Complete shock held him in place for a moment as he thought then softly said out loud, ¡°Bernice?¡± After a few moments of silence the voice came echoing down the halls once again, sounding more fearful this time. Tearing himself away from the chiseled tiles, Andrew sprinted down the hallway, filled with determination and a longing to find his sister once again. Finally, they would be together again, and he would be able to protect her from the world. A smile began to slowly spread across his face as he ran, thinking about the comfort and safety of their embrace. When I catch up to her, he thought, I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll be just as glad to see me.