Book by: Cobber

Chapter 27:

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Comments: 1

They were all around him but they let him pass. The scent was almost unbearable, like the smell of hundreds of dead fish washed up on the beach. Their bodies lined the path - women and children, silent and unmoving, just staring with their flaying skin and glassy eyes.

Thad McVeigh was still wearing his football t-shirt and Gus Martin’s ripped jeans were now tattered. Lilly White's usually immaculate hair was in disarray and he could see the dirt and grit caked under her nails. Kristin Harer, the little seven year old who lived down the block wore a soiled dress red dress. There were hundreds of others, some of whom he recognized and he felt a sorrow so deep, it seemed to obliterate the anger he had carried throughout his life. These people were not only dead, they were being tortured and used beyond their deaths.

He knew they wanted him to walk forward. It was almost as if they were escorting him.

He continued walking.

Something fluttered in the air and disappeared. The leaves crunched under his feet and he tried to avoid looking at any of them. They were like ghosts. There was another flutter and this time he spotted a beautiful red butterfly dancing around the base of a large tree. It rose and fell and then sped off into the woods. He saw another and then another and as he walked forward their density increased. They danced around the motionless forms ringing the path, sometimes landing on shoulders and hands before taking off and flittering around the woods.

Dimly, in the distance, he could hear the roar of the Wellow Falls. He had tucked his left hand into his pocket and it began to throb. He pulled it out and saw that it was glowing again. He moved the knife to his left hand and touched the metal with his glowing stump. The blade seemed to flicker once or twice like a hesitant bulb before it too glowed the same red color.

Why weren’t they attacking him? Could it be because of the glow? Had Ryan bestowed him with some strange protective power? As he walked closer to the resort, the throbbing increased. He massaged the stump and tried to ignore the pain.

The roar of the falls were getting louder and he approached the bottom of Meade Hill. The resort lay on the other side of the hill and Preston stopped and looked back. The un-dead stretched back into the woods and red butterflies danced wildly and thickly across the path. The sun was setting and the red light emanating from the sky made the woods flicker like the illumination from a bonfire. He took once last look, massaged his aching finger, and began to climb the hill.

At first he couldn’t see a thing. The slope of the hill and the woods blocked his view of the lake and sky above it. About three quarters of the way up, the hill began to flatten and the sky came into view. Although it was getting dark, there was a large slash cut across the sky that was radiating the red light. Dancing around it, like bats in front of the moon, were swarms of the butterflies, rising and falling, turning and twisting in strange patterns. He continued walking and finally reached the top.

His escort column ended with his father.

"Welcome Preston, we knew you would be back." Preparation for this moment did not make it any easier. He tried to control himself but his body began to shake. The knife was glowing even brighter now and it began to throw off sparks. His father remained motionless and smiled.

"Yes, you could use that on me, but you'll never see Ryan again. Put the knife down Preston, I won't harm you. I'll take you to her."

Preston looked down at the resort and could faintly see the elegant columns and well manicured lawns. The glow had perverted their colors. On the beach were ten or twelve people who stared out at the water and the gash in the sky. Behind them, on their knees were between seventy and eighty other. He saw one man try to get up only to be violently thrown back onto the sandy beach.

It was getting darker but Preston thought he could see Martin by the waterline and beside him on his knees, disheveled and shaking in pain was the reporter Luis Sanchez. Next to Luis, naked and with her head bent was Kathy Leer, one of Preston's teachers from school. She wore a collar around her neck and Martin reached over and smoothed the hair back from her forehead. She didn't move.

"Where's Ryan?" The grin appeared. He had only seen it on a few other occasions. Once his father had bought him a bicycle. The smile on his face had been the same. This time, Preston doubted the gift was as generous. His father began to walk down the hill.

"Come Preston and you'll find out. Come on son, follow your father." He remembered the dream and the words which the women had lipped to him.

"Don't go back..." But it was already too late. He had no choice. Perhaps love had blinded him and maybe after years of torturing others he was being receiving his comeuppance. Destiny had grabbed him by the shoulders and he could feel its irresistible pull. He started walking down the hill.

As he descended the hill, a stiff breeze began to blow and the trees around the resorts swooshed back and forth. Preston felt the beach sand whip his face and he fought down the desire to shield his face with his arms. He would not show weakness. He walked onto the grass and saw a pile of arms and legs lying near one end of the resort.

The butterflies were as thick as snow and Preston sliced his knife back and forth to push the insects aside. The knife glowed brighter and when his waving arms touched the butterflies they ignited and cascaded onto the ground to burn.

He followed his father onto the beach and looked at the terrified masses beside him, hunched on their knees. They were alive, not yet dead and converted.

Preston heard weeping and one man was praying in what sounded like French. Martin turned and looked at him. The boy's features had deteriorated. His face and body seemed to be losing form, the lines of his face going soft. Another entity was slowly remodeling the small boy's body and his once solid features had begun to blur and become indistinct.

The wind whipped his clothes and Martin howled.

"Preston, welcome to the main event!" The wind picked up another notch and Preston dropped to his knees as the throbbing in his finger became unbearable. Martin saw him fall and he laughed.

"That's right Preston, join the rest of them on their knees. Soon, you'll worship only me." Martin stepped forward and two figures broke from the crowd. A tall woman wearing a pair of jeans with a stained white t-shirt was dragging an obese tuxedodoed man. Through the pain Preston recognized the famous comedian Walt Whillicare. They dragged him across the sand and his lifeless form was deposited in front of Martin. The woman pointed towards the Main resort house but before she could explain what had happened the wind died. The pain in Preston's finger eased and the gash in the sky opened up and bathed all of them in the light.

Submitted: July 05, 2011

Horror fantasy horror evil forces monarch