Accidental Evil (38 page)

He had too many questions without answers.
 

To complicate things even more, he saw monster number four about a hundred yards behind monster number three.
 

The last thing he wanted to do was lead them towards his son. Vernon backed away slowly, heading perpendicular to the road. When he got to the grass of a nearby camp, he stopped and watched. His hand was sweating on the handle of the knife.
 

The third monster approached the big one as the last of the pool was being absorbed. As soon as they touched, they merged together. There were three of them combined in that one form and the volume grew accordingly. Vernon turned his eyes to number four. Surely, it would do the same. He wondered how many of the things would group together, and how tall and massive it would be when they did.

Keeping the road between himself and the monsters, Vernon jogged alongside the road after his son.

[ Tracking ]

When he rounded the corner, Vernon knew there was something wrong. He could see a long stretch up the hill and there were no people. They couldn’t have gotten that far ahead of him. Even the people on the bikes should have been visible. He squinted towards the hill and saw something there. He saw abandoned bikes on the road.
 

Vernon took off as fast as his feet would carry him.

His breath was coming hot and fast by the time he got close enough to form an opinion. The bikes were all pointed west. There, between the road and the trees, the grass was mashed down. Following the line of the trail, he saw a place where branches were bent and broken. Vernon crashed into the woods.
 

In his head, he pictured everyone abducted by blood monsters.
 

Vernon followed the trail easily. There were scrapes in the dirt, overturned rocks, and broken branches. It looked like a herd of people had stomped through there. Near a stone wall, Vernon saw a hunched over form. When he stopped, he heard the sobbing.

“Bruce?” Vernon asked. He ran to him. It was Bruce Hazard. “Where’s my son?”

“I don’t know,” the man said. “She took them. I don’t know why, but she took them.”
 

Bruce pointed in the direction of the tracks. Vernon figured he wasn’t going to get any more help from the man. He continued, following the trail until it broke through to the golf course. Once the trail crossed onto the mowed grass, Vernon didn’t have any more signs to follow. He kept going anyway, keeping to the same line until he saw where it picked up again in the tall grass on the other side.
 

Cresting a hill, he saw people over near the clubhouse.

His heart leapt and then fell as he recognized Mary. She advanced to the fountain and stood a short distance away from Ricky.
 

Mary was flanked by some kid and was holding George upside down by his ankle. Ricky was holding onto April and Gerard. There were other people in their circle. Vernon recognized most of them, but couldn’t understand what they were doing over there. As he jogged forward, he realized that he was still holding the knife out in front of himself.
 

“Mary?” he called. She didn’t turn, but some of the others did.

George yelled, “Dad!”
 

[ Arrival ]

Vernon slowed. He wanted to know what he was walking towards. None of it made sense. He saw the shape of someone move past one of the clubhouse windows. Everyone at the fountain was stationary. Vernon started to figure it out. Five of the people stood like statues, his wife and eldest son included.
 

Vernon trotted towards Mary and George.
 

“Hey!” Gerard called. He noticed Vernon approaching. “Give me that knife,” he demanded. Vernon glanced at Ricky. His son seemed to have an iron grip on Gerard. No matter now much the man pulled, Ricky didn’t budge. Vernon’s eyes returned to Mary. He couldn’t fathom how much strength it would take to hold George upside down like that. Her grip wasn’t wavering even though George was reaching out towards Vernon as he approached.

“Dad, it’s not really Mom,” his son said. “It’s something that looks like Mom.”

Vernon sped up. He was inclined to agree with his son. Either way, he was going to get George from her grip and then figure out what was what.

April yelled some senseless syllable. She was pointing towards the woods. Vernon followed the direction of her finger and saw it.

Of course it was the blood monster. Bigger than ever, the thing was striding. The edges of its red form seemed to dance against the green grass and trees. In contrast, the two colors didn’t make sense.

Vernon looked back to Mary. He had to get George free and then he could figure out what was up with her.

Vernon put the knife between his teeth and reached with both hands. George thrashed as Vernon tried to release Mary’s grip. Her fingers might as well have been made of metal. Her skin didn’t even seem pliable. With one glance at her glassy eyes, Vernon made a decision. He took the knife and laid it against the base of her thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He pressed the blade against her skin. When it didn’t cut, he worked it back and forth. There was no effect. Vernon slipped the blade between her thumb and George’s ankle, careful to keep the sharp side towards his wife. The back of the blade was hurting George more than the sharp side was affecting her. He relaxed his pressure when his son cried out.

The clock was ticking. The blood monster was closing fast.
 

Vernon gave up on releasing George. A horrible idea crossed his mind, but he rejected it. He couldn’t bear the thought of cutting off his own son’s foot. Instead, he tucked the knife into its sheath and put his arms around Mary’s waist. He crouched and lifted with his legs.

For one hopeful instant, Vernon began to rise. He realized with horror that Mary was still planted in the same spot. Only her clothes were rising. Her feet were still firmly stuck to the ground.

He expelled a frustrated breath and looked back to the blood monster. The thing stepped from the grass to the asphalt drive. Vernon thought he could feel the ground shake as the foot made of swirling blood landed. It crossed the circle in two big strides. Vernon put his back against his wife and son and put his arms out protectively.

“Ice and soap, Dad. Ice and soap,” George yelled. The boy was wrong. Ice and soap weren’t going to release Mary’s iron grip. Vernon held his breath as the thing stepped by Ricky. It was nearly twice as tall as Vernon’s oldest son. He couldn’t believe the size of it.

The blood monster stepped into the disgusting gel that filled the fountain. The stuff made a terrible slopping sound when its second foot touched down. Vernon held his ground. The giant blood monster sat down on the pedestal in the center of fountain and let out a sigh.

Vernon watched in silence as the monster reached one of its giant hands down into the yellow goop. It raised a greasy handful and began to rub the stuff on its leg. The thing let out a satisfied moan and turned its face up towards the sky. Vernon looked around the circle. Equally spaced around the monster, five people stood glassy-eyed. Each held one or two captives, whose struggles had temporarily quieted down as they watched the monster with horror.

Nobody was saying anything.

Vernon felt the need to speak.

“What do you want with us?” he demanded of the blood monster.

The thing took its time, spreading the yellow goo on its leg. Vernon was about to ask again when the thing looked down at him. At least he thought it was looking at him. It turned the black hollows of its eyes in his direction.

He saw the lips part to reveal the white teeth.

“Vernon Matthew Dunn,” the thing said. “What do
you
want of
me
?”

[ Gift ]

T
WELVE
M
ONTHS
B
EFORE
THE
Monster

“Hi, Ricky,” Harold Yettin said. He opened the door. “Come on in.”

Ricky held up the styrofoam container of ice cream. “I brought this for Ms. Yettin, but she didn’t answer her door.”

“She’s out for a walk,” Harold said. He reached for the container. “I’ll put that in my freezer until she gets back if you want.”

“Sure,” Ricky said. “That would be great.” Harold started walking the container to his kitchen. Ricky followed slowly behind him. “How is she doing?”

Harold raised his voice to be heard from the kitchen. He spoke into the freezer as he stowed the ice cream. “She’s okay. She’s walking every day. They said it should be good for her.” He shut the freezer door and met Ricky in the kitchen doorway. “The combination of the exercise and visual whatever is supposed to be good for her, you know?”

“I hope she gets better soon,” Ricky said.

Harold replied with a sad smile.
 

Ricky knew what that meant—nobody really expected Ms. Yettin to get better.
 

Harold brightened and changed the subject. “How’s your act coming?”

Ricky looked away. “Okay. It’s okay, I guess.”

“You don’t sound convinced. Are you practicing?”

“It’s not the coordination. I’m pretty good on that move you showed me. I recorded myself doing it from every angle. You can’t see the ball at all unless you’re right behind me.”

Harold went to his bookcase and took the wooden box from the bottom shelf. He set it on the table and took out the red ball.

“Show me,” Harold said.

Ricky took the ball with a smile. He squeezed it to get a feel for it. Then, silently, he displayed the ball with each hand, tossed it from one to the other, and then the ball was gone. Ricky showed him both sides of both hands before he reached behind his own back. When he pulled his hands back out, the ball was resting on his right palm.

Harold clapped and smiled. “Wow. That was slick. You really have been practicing. I don’t think I could do it that well until I was twenty-five.”

“Thanks,” Ricky said. He looked away. He still wasn’t very good at taking a compliment.
 

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t have good patter. Like you said, patter is fifty percent. Nobody cares about my trick because half the time they look away.”

“You have to engage them with your words.”

Ricky nodded. “I just don’t know what to say. The books all say to develop my own style, but I don’t know where to start.”

Harold nodded and considered the problem.

“You know what the difference between talent and genius is?” Harold asked. While Ricky thought about an answer, Harold bent over with a grunt. He reached down to the bottom shelf of the bookcase, next to where he had pulled the box of magic props. When he straightened back up, he was holding an old book with a green and gold binding.

“I guess I don’t,” Ricky said.

“Talent borrows. Genius steals,” Harold said.

Ricky cocked his head and furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure what Harold was referring to. Ricky respected Harold Yettin’s skills. The man was getting older and his hands were thick and looked clumsy. But he could still pull off some pretty great tricks with those hands. Ricky figured that he must have been really good when he was younger. His skills were good, but the things that Harold said were often puzzling.

Harold moved the book to the table and pulled out a chair. He sat down and waved Ricky to one of the other chairs.

“Yes, you have to work up your own act,” Harold said. “But don’t be afraid to pull from old sources. Use them and grow from them. You won’t be stealing—you’ll be incorporating. And if you go back to something
really
old, people won’t already know where you’re going, you see?”

“I’m not sure,” Ricky said, taking the other chair.

Harold flipped open the book.

“This is one of April’s old books. When she was studying for her master’s, April did a lot of research on ancient religions. This book talks about some of the old cults. I don’t know it very well, but I suspect you’ll find some good stuff in here.”

Harold flipped through the pages until he found a section of illustrations. One drawing showed a dark figure in a long robe. He was floating above a gathering of people.
 

“The ancient wizard, Abil-Ili,” Harold said, reading from the caption. “Hear the way that name sounds? It instantly conveys a certain weight, doesn’t it?”

“Sure,” Ricky said. He was trying to read what was under Harold’s finger.

“Take this,” Harold said, sliding the book towards Ricky. “Maybe you can type some of these things into a computer or something and get even more information. You weave some of this into your patter and you’re going to sound like you know something. Maybe people will believe that you have access to dark secrets.”

“That’s a good idea,” Ricky whispered. He couldn’t take his eyes off the illustration. The wizard did seem like he knew dark secrets. “Thanks. I’ll bring it back.”

“No problem. Unfortunately, I don’t think April is going to miss this any time soon.”

Harold’s words hung in the air for a minute as they sat in silence. Ricky wanted to say something positive about his old teacher, but he didn’t want to see that sad smile again. Harold Yettin seemed like one of those people who didn’t like to pretend. Ricky’s mother was the same way. If the news was bad, she didn’t want anyone trying to soften it.

“She likes to walk?” Ricky asked.

“Yes,” Harold said. His smile was genuine. “Lately she’s been going across the bridge up to go feed carrots to Big Jack. They’ve been brushing him out every day, getting him ready for the parade. Renny Sutton told her to be careful, but Big Jack is as gentle as a lamb with her. She said that he whispers secrets in her ear.”

Ricky smiled back.
 

Harold pushed back his chair. “I’ll tell her you stopped by, and I’ll give her the ice cream. She loves you kids.”

Ricky nodded. He thanked Harold Yettin and tucked the heavy book under his arm.

[ Failure ]

Ten Months Before the Monster