The Devil's Assassin
Read The Devil's Assassin Online
Authors: Brian
The Devil’s Assassin
Brian M. Holmes
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1999, 2013 Brian M. Holmes
All rights reserved. No part of this
book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying, scanning, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher and author.
ISBN-13: 978-1484016541
ISBN-10: 1484016548
First Edition 2013
Printed in the United States of
America
Contents
If, to you, it seems like bad things happen only at night,
then you, my friend, are clearly incorrect. Bad things happen at all times of
the day, light or dark. That’s a fact. Evil may prefer the shadows but it is
ready to strike twenty-four seven. This story, which takes place in May of
1993, begins at the time of day during which most people believe bad things
happen … a time that is more nerve wracking and frightening than other times of
the day, because when it is dark it is more difficult to see the shadow that’s
about to pick your pocket or end your life. If, however, it’s night and you are
sound asleep when evil creeps up to your bed – your nerves will only be wracked
if you have the fortune of
ever
waking up again.
The Devil’s Assassin
1
In a dark, fog laden forest in Ontario, Canada sits a dimly
lit cabin.
Hundreds of crickets and as many tree frogs create
a cacophony of noise in what should be an otherwise bucolic location.
A
couple of owls, one nearer and one more distant add their more baritone notes
to a post-meridian symphony. A bat flies in irregular patterns around the
perimeter of the cleared area where the house sits, dashing silently in and out
of view. Fireflies wink on and off.
The sound from a television in the cabin wafts weakly out
into the noisy night and after a time disappears. A light in the house goes out
followed by another. The house is plunged into darkness and silence as the
nighttime symphony continues. A slim crescent moon rises over the cabin while
the fog ebbs and flows around the cabin.
Something has been lurking in the woods outside the cabin
for a couple of hours, watching the moon’s rise and the billowing fog’s ebb and
flow and now this lurker moves toward the darkened house. The fog billows as
the lurker moves through it. It moves slowly and steadily toward a window which
is slightly opened.
Finally, it reaches the window and begins to try to push it
up. It doesn’t move easily, but the lurker takes his time, working slowly and
confidently. A couple of times the window squeaks and the lurker
stops
pushing to be sure it hasn’t woken the house’s
sleeper. After about ten minutes of work on the window it is open enough
for the lurker to climb through.
Once inside and without hesitating, the lurker moves toward
the bedroom. It is as if this prowler has prowled this cabin’s interior before
this night.
In her bedroom, a forty-seven year-old woman lies sleeping
in bed, covered with a quilt. She is alone in the dark room and in a deep,
restful sleep.
A click disturbs the silence in the room, but the woman
continues her slumber. The door knob, which is what made the click, begins to
turn slowly, almost as slowly as the minute-hand of a clock. The prowler has a
great deal of patience and caution, knowing too well the price of carelessness.
In this bedroom, in this cabin, in these woods, the lurker has all the time in
the world.
Finally, the door begins to open. Again, to avoid door
creaks and squeaks, the lurker allows the door to open very slowly. He can
smell his victim long before the door is open wide enough to see her. When the
door is open enough to admit him into the room, the lurker moves softly over
the wood floor until he stands near the side of the bed.
As he regards the sleeping woman, noting the position of the
quilt draping her body, a white needle suddenly jumps into view, stiletto-like,
in front of the lurker. He considers the woman for a moment more and then
drives the needle into the sleeping woman’s chest. She shudders. The lurker
draws the needle out as quickly as it was driven in and turns to leave the
room.
Before moving out of the room the killer pauses to lick the
needle, cleaning it of the blood which now stained it. He then walks out of the
room, closes the door behind him and finds his way to the victim’s kitchen.
There he opens the refrigerator door and places all the fruits and vegetables
he can find into a plastic shopping bag he finds on the kitchen table. The
killer then stands up, leaves the kitchen and heads toward and through the
window that he had entered the cabin through, closing it quickly behind him.
He takes a bite out of an apple he had taken from the
woman’s refrigerator as he disappears into the forest.
›
It is a bright, sunny morning as a young woman leaves the
front door of a farmhouse. The farmhouse is adjacent to a field of wheat. A
couple of crows caw noisily to each other while a song bird sings. The young
woman waves her hand at the door as she leaves.
“Tsai
jien
,” Miss Sung says brightly,
which means ‘goodbye’ in Chinese. She continues walking toward her
car,
gets in and then drives it away as she does every
morning on her way to work in a nearby factory.
After a few hours have passed at the same Chinese farmhouse,
the birds are quiet and few other sounds break the peaceful day beyond the
passing of an occasional diesel truck on the nearby road. Inside the house a
radio softly plays Chinese music as an old woman sits sleeping in an easy chair
with knitting in her lap.
The doorknob begins to turn slowly. It is minutes before the
door opens enough to let someone in the house.
A small form
steps through the door and advances directly toward the easy chair in the
living room.
The intruder stands in front of the woman’s chair watching
her breathe and snore softly. He tilts his head to regard her face, matching
the angle of her head. In the midst of this almost soft moment, a long white
needle suddenly appears in the intruder’s hand and is immediately thrust into
the sleeping woman’s chest. She shudders and dies instantly.
The killer pulls his bloody needle out of his victim,
leaving no visible wound on the old woman.
As he turns, he licks the needle clean of the blood of his
victim. He then finds the kitchen where he fishes around in the refrigerator,
taking as many fruits and vegetables as he can find in a bag he finds there.
After he has his unusual booty, he leaves by the front door.
›
A campfire burns under a dark, star-studded sky on the
plains of Argentina. There is popular Argentine music playing and two grizzled
gauchos sit near the fire on camp stools listening to a boom box. Cattle can
also be heard nearby and horses are tied up nearby, tents are pitched and
Coleman lamps throw a little light on the campsite in addition to the fire’s
light.
Another gaucho is in a nearby copse of trees relieving
himself
. He hears a stick crack in the darkness to his left.
He looks in that direction and sees something coming toward him.
“
Quien
es
?”
he asks.
His answer comes in the form of his brief surprise and fear
as, in the moment before he dies, he sees his attacker driving a white needle
into his chest before he can utter a sound. With his pants still undone, the
gaucho crumples to the ground. The killer licks his needle clean and escapes
unnoticed through the grass and into the Argentine night.
At the campfire, the other two gauchos are smoking and
listening to the music. Hearing or sensing something, one of the men stands up
and calls out, “Roberto!?”
2
At the same moment that the gaucho is killed in Argentina,
the sky over New Jersey is also dark and star-studded -- at least it is over
the thinly populated rural area known as the Pine Barrens. A car travels down a
straight road lined with scrubby pine trees. The radio in the car is playing a
late night talk radio show called Coast to Coast A.M. that’s hosted by Art
Bell. The driver of the car is listening intently.
“I’ve had an out-of-body experience recently, or what I feel
must be one. And that’s why I’ve called you back to my show, Dr.
Zaruba
.”
“I’m happy to be back, Art. I was excited to find out that
you had one. Let’s hear the details.”
“Well, I had been asleep for a couple of hours the other
day,” says Bell, beginning his story, “and I woke up and was having trouble
getting back to sleep. There was a buzzing in my ear or head. I know because I
wondered specifically what the buzz was from. But the next thing I knew that
wasn’t the issue.”
The driver looks at the radio, paying close attention to the
radio host, and then back at the road ahead.
“Yes, exactly,” says Dr.
Zaruba
.
Bell continues. “I could see myself lying on the bed – no
covers on me because of the Arizona heat. I went from my body over to the
window, looked outside briefly and then went out through the closed window and
up. I looked down at the house. I kept getting higher and the house getting
smaller. I think I was afraid of getting too high because all of a sudden my
foot twitched and my consciousness shot back into my body like a taught rubber
band. Right down through the roof and into my body. I woke up and that was it.”
“That’s classic, Art.” exclaimed Bell’s radio guest. “Many
people describe out-of-body experiences in just that way.”
“So, it wasn’t just a dream?”
“No,” said
Zaruba
. “I doubt it
very much. This happens to people much more often than they think. Most people
assume that they’re dreaming. But our souls like to break free of their mortal
bonds once in a while.”
Linus Hather, the driver of the car, nods his head as if he
is affirming Bell’s story personally. He switches off the radio as he pulls
into the unpaved driveway at his humble, one-story house. A motion detector
light comes on and lights up his house and the pebbled driveway. The house
seems to be alone on a large, flat, and virtually treeless plain. The ground is
very sandy and what grass grows is scrubby and coarse. He turns off the car’s
lights and surveys the well-lit area.
