The Devil's Demeanor (4 page)

“Dad....” He could say nothing more. He felt
something happening to him, like a weight lifting from his body. Had that weight
always been there? He almost felt like he would float to the ceiling.

“Oh!” Dad moaned. He was looking up at the
ceiling, at something Stephen couldn’t see. He kept moaning in pain and terror.
“They’re all around me. Oh, god, I can’t take it. Get away from me!”

He struggled against invisible enemies.
Stephen cried as he tried to comfort his father. The struggling lasted only a
moment before Dad lay still. His eyes saw no more. He was gone.

*
 
*
 
*

After his father’s funeral, Stephen returned
to Augusta to visit Hilda. She was dating a man named Patrick and were
expecting a child. Stephen was happy for her, but declined to meet Patrick. It
would have been too awkward after the night he and Hilda had spent together.

With his father, girlfriend and baby gone,
Stephen felt alone in the world. He had a huge life-insurance policy to live
off of, but no one to share his money and life with. He wasn’t sure if Dad had
actually take away the link to the creatures, but he never dreamed of them
again.

After saying goodbye to his friends, he drove
off the bridge where Lucy met her death.

*
 
*
 
*

Larry Brigman wasn’t sure if he would attend
his ten-year high school reunion in 1985. What was the point, really? His best
friend, Stephen White, was dead, and none of the other students had seemed to
like him. Seriously, why bother?

He found himself outside that awful school
anyway. He had a lot going on and wanted to rub it in everyone’s faces. For
one, he didn’t smell as bad as he did back then. For another, he had a great
job and made lots of money.

He stepped into the gymnasium, grabbed his
badge from the table and wandered to the punch bowl. No one approached him.
After thirty minutes, he regretted ever showing up.

He went outside and lit a cigarette. He’d only
taken up the dirty habit a year ago, when his wife left him. He hadn’t gone
through half the cigarette when a woman approached him.

“Larry Brigman?”

It took him a moment but he recognized her.
“Anna?” He stomped out the cigarette and stood up straight. “I haven’t seen you
for a long time. How are you?”

“I’m wonderful. How are you?”

“Also wonderful. I don’t know why I came here,
but other than that....”

She laughed. “Same here. Lucy was the only
friend I had at this school.”

“Same here, with Stephen, I mean. This school brings
back too many memories of him.” As soon as he said that, he noticed a blond man
standing beside a car a few feet away, watching them.

“Stephen was so nice, and he loved Lucy so
much,” Anna went on. “Though tragic, it’s also kind of romantic that they died
the same way.”

“Stephen was always a romantic,” Larry
confessed, looking at the man again. He didn’t recognize him, but the stranger
seemed to smile at that last comment. “His friends didn’t take his death well.
I tried to contact as many as I could. He told me about a girl named Hilda that
he met in college. I had business in Augusta, so I tried to tell her while I
was there, but she seemed to have a lot going on already.”

“What do you mean?” Anna asked.

The stranger seemed to find this interesting too.

“She looked sick and tired. I couldn’t even
get out more than a ‘how are you?’ She told me she had a son and husband, but
she just seemed so out of it. After telling her I was friends with Stephen, she
perked up and asked how he was doing. I just said I hadn’t heard from him in a
while, which was technically true. I’m guessing she doesn’t sleep well, and I
didn’t want to make it any worse.”

“That was kind of you,” Anna said, patting his
shoulder. “I’m going back inside. Join me?”

“Okay.” Larry looked back at the stranger only
to see him walking away quickly.

The English
bulldog sniffed the warm night air as it ran through the woods. It hadn’t eaten
in days and at this point would feast on anything. It could find nothing,
however. If the dog were human, it would note the awkward silence of these
woods. For now, though, all it wanted was food.

Suddenly it
smelled something in the air. A human would have been repulsed by it, but the
dog found it enticing.

It was the smell
of rotten meat.

The dog
followed it, up a hill, and then down. At the bottom of the hill was a cave.
The animal was wary, for though the smell was to its liking, the horrible
feeling in its gut was not. The feeling had nothing to do with hunger.

Almost the
moment the dog felt the feeling in its gut, the pain vanished.

The dog
continued forward, into the cave.

Uncounted
minutes later the dog emerged. It saw a rabbit on top of the hill, the first
other animal in the entire woods. The dog trotted up to it, and the rabbit
didn’t run away. It sniffed the air and seemed unable to move. The dog licked
the rabbit’s head.

And then it bit
the head clean off.

Thunder rumbled
overhead, with clouds appearing that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Lightning
cascaded across the sky, but none struck the animal.

The dog looked
up to the sky...and smiled.

*
 
*
 
*

Don stared out
the window of his dad’s van as they cruised down the highway. The sun was
shining through the heavily tinted window, so it wasn’t completely blinding him.

He was on the
soft floor, looking up. He could see the treetops of the woods on either side
of the highway. His cousin Candice was sitting in the seat on his right as he
faced the rear of the van. She had a book of Mad Libs in her hand and was
chewing on a pencil as she studied the page in front of her.

“Give me a
noun,” she said to him.

Don thought for
a second, then said, “Spiders.”

She wrote it
down, then chewed on the pencil again. He hated when she did that. What was so
hard about Mad Libs? It was like her brain had to process how his responses fit
into the scheme of things, even though they were already laid out before her.

Don looked at
his other cousin, Nina, who was sitting to his left. They both rolled their
eyes and laughed quietly. Nina and Candice, who were twins, were the same five
years of age as Don. Nina and Candice had the same-length black hair, but
Candice’s skin was darker.

It was June of
1987, the year Don’s life changed.

Only a few
people really know if the things that happened were real or just psychological,
but Don knew, even as he sat thinking of his childhood in his later years. If
it was the latter, it would make more sense, but then that would mean he and
his family were crazy.

The Scotts were
driving to Florida for a family reunion. The van they were riding in was the
“popular” car. Candice and Nina’s parents were following them in another car.
They were all coming from Augusta, Georgia, and up to this point, had been on
the road for six hours.

Don’s uncle
Johnny was lying on the couch-bed in the back of the van, his mom was in the
passenger seat, rubbing her pregnant belly and staring out the window, and his
dad was driving.

He stared at
Mom, wondering what kind of name Hilda was. One time, a friend asked what his
mom’s name was, and when Don told him, the friend laughed and said it sounded
like a witch’s name.

Mom looked back
at him and smiled. “Before this trip is over, I’m going to cut those toenails.”

He sighed and
looked at his feet. His shoes were on, but he saw, as if with x-ray vision, his
long toenails. His fingernails were also too long. He just hated getting them
cut. Absolutely hated it.

“Only girls can
have long nails,” Mom added. Don nodded absently and turned his attention back
to Candice, who was no longer chewing on the pencil. She was looking at him
expectantly.

“Are you
ready?” she snapped at him. It took him a second to realize she was referring
to the Mad Libs. He nodded.

It had
something to do with raining spiders. He laughed so hard he thought he was
going to die. He saw his uncle stir on the couch in the back and stifled his
laughter.

At some point,
the family stopped at some little shack on the side of the road and bought a
few bags of boiled peanuts (something they always did on road trips). Don loved
boiled peanuts so much as a kid and regretted in his later years not treating
himself to them again.

When they
stopped for the peanuts, Uncle Johnny finally woke up to join. “I sure love me
some boiled peanuts,” he said to his nieces and nephew.

Uncle James and
Aunt Lydia had pulled in behind them on the side of the road. They were Candice
and Nina’s parents. Uncle James had a little Afro and mustache and Aunt Lydia
always had a smile on her face.

They all
enjoyed their peanuts for a while, talked and stretched their legs before
hitting the road again. They were almost to Destin, where Grandma and Grandpa
lived. Don couldn’t wait to see everyone at the family reunion.

And the best
part was they were going to get a beach house and go swimming in the ocean.
Well, that was good and bad for Don. The best part was the beach house, which
they had also gotten last summer.

The bad part
was: He was a fat boy. He hated taking his shirt off. Don was probably the
fattest kid in his family. All his cousins were skin and bone, and they would
usually make fun of him whenever they played together.

But there was
still the beach house, and he would just ignore anyone who gave him a hard
time. That’s what his mom always told him to do.

It was nearly
nightfall when they finally reached Destin. The house his dad grew up in was in
the woods, and they had to follow a trail to get there. Don always thought this
kind of cool, because it felt like the house was hidden from the rest of the
world.

He looked to
the left of the path and saw a huge opening in the woods where large electrical
towers lined up one after the other. Huge wires coursed between them. On the
right of the path was a hill, and at the top of the hill was a small house—his
grandparents’ house.

Don had only
seen it a few times at this point and never really cared for it. It was small,
with only three bedrooms and one bathroom. That wouldn’t have been so bad had
it not been for the fact this place had been home to eleven children.

Don’s dad was
the second of five boys and six girls. The first-born, Uncle Billy, was a heavy
drinker, and though Don loved him, he was also afraid of him. Whenever Uncle
Billy drank a lot, he couldn’t walk very well and could barely talk. He seemed
like a movie-monster.

“Donovan
Scott,” his dad said to him from the driver’s seat Don was leaning against, “I
want you to behave yourself this year. I want you to give your uncle a hug and
tell him you love him.”

Dad must’ve
been reading his mind. Either that or he was remembering what happened last
year: They had been leaving the beach house to go back to Georgia, and when Don
had gone to give Uncle Billy a hug, he accidentally pulled Don down, hitting
the boy’s head on the edge of a table. It had hurt so bad Don cried like crazy,
which caused him to scream “I hate you!” over and over.

The path curved
right up ahead to go up the hill where the house rested. When they got to the
top, they all piled out of the van. Dad’s van was a cool copper with blue
stripes, and was shadowed by the canopy of trees.

The whole area
was dark and creepy. Don looked to the house, which was dirty white with cinder
blocks for steps that led up to the front door. There was another house on the
other side of the yard. He couldn’t remember who lived there.

And just beyond
that house, he could’ve sworn he’d just seen something in the shadows of the
trees. It was gone almost as soon as he noticed it had been there.

Uncle James and
Aunt Lydia pulled up behind the van and met with the others in front of the
house. It was getting dark so fast and Don was getting scared. He grabbed Dad’s
leg, and Dad patted him on the back. They went up the cinder-block steps and
Dad knocked on the front door.

“Is that my
baby?” a female voice asked from inside, and Don knew it was Grandma’s. A
moment later, the front door opened and he saw her standing there in a white
nightgown. Her dark gray hair was pulled back into a tiny bun. Her skin was
tanned and wrinkled.

She smiled as
Dad hugged and kissed her on the cheek. She stepped aside as the family piled
into the tiny kitchen. Don could feel the floor wobble under their weight as
Grandpa walked in from the living room, wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt with
gray pants and suspenders.

“Patrick,”
Grandpa greeted his son as he hugged him. They looked exactly alike. All Don’s
aunts and uncles shared a strong resemblance to Grandpa more than Grandma.

“It’s so good
to see my babies,” Grandma gushed as she hugged and kissed all of them. They
made themselves comfortable in the cozy living room. Don sat on the floor with
his cousins while all the adults sat on the yellow chairs and couch.

Don played with
the fluffy carpet while his parents and grandparents talked. He heard Grandpa
ask when the baby was due, and Mom said July. Nina and Candice were sitting at
the coffee table in front of the couch. Don scooted up next to them and they
had finger races, pretending their fingers were little people.

The adults
talked for what felt like forever. It was completely dark outside. The kids
tired of the finger races and Don got up to use the bathroom. As he walked
through the hallway, he saw a roach crawling on the wall. It wasn’t a big one,
but he stayed as far away from it as he could and made it to the bathroom.

While he peed,
he heard voices coming from the open window over the bathtub. Everyone had gone
outside to talk some more. Don didn’t know if he wanted to go out there again,
but he did know he didn’t want to stay in this house by himself.

He weighed his
options: Did he want to go outside into the dark, wooded area with his family
and possible scary animals, or stay in this old, brightly lit but empty house?

Before he could
answer himself, he heard a scream from the window. It was a woman. Don buttoned
his pants and stood there against the bathroom door, staring wide-eyed at the
window. He couldn’t see anything outside but pure blackness because of the
bathroom light overhead.

He couldn’t
tell for sure who had screamed, but his five-year-old brain told him it had
been his mom. His heart was beating wildly—the scream had been one of terror
and pain. After a few seconds, Don noticed other voices.

“What
happened?” he heard Uncle Johnny ask.

“Something bit
Hilda,” Dad said.

“Mommy, I’m
scared!” Nina or Candice said.

Now Don knew he
didn’t want to go outside. He couldn’t. What had happened to his mom? Something
bit her? What had it been?

Don continued
staring up at the window, afraid whatever had bitten his mom would come leaping
through the tiny window any second. He thought of closing it, but he knew he
wouldn’t be able to reach it.

Just then,
something pounded on the bathroom door he was still leaning against and he
screamed until his throat was sore. It had to be the monster.

Of course it
was. Don was the only one left. It killed everyone else, and it was still
hungry. Don’s heart beat too wildly in his ears to hear if anyone still spoke
outside.

“Open the door,
son,” his dad said from outside the bathroom.

Don did so and
tried to hug Dad as he barreled in, but Dad pushed him back and went straight
to the medicine cabinet. Don started crying, scared by what was happening. Dad
looked down at him quickly, and then went back to whatever he was looking for.

“Stop crying,
damn it. Your mom’s hurt!” he shouted, and then left Don alone in the bathroom
with his tears.

After a few
minutes, he finally stopped crying and worked up the courage to leave the
bathroom. He heard other voices coming from the kitchen as he slowly walked
toward it. Don could see into the living room where Nina and Candice were
standing. They looked like they had seen a ghost. Don wanted to go in there and
stay with them but he had to see what happened to his mom.

He walked past
the living room and peeked into the kitchen across the hall. All the adults
were standing over his mom, who was sitting at the dining table. Dad was doing
something to her leg.

Don stepped
closer and saw Mom’s pale leg covered in dark red blood. It ran past her ankle
and dripped on the floor. Dad was bandaging it.

“Did you see
what bit her?” Aunt Lydia asked.

“It looked like
a dog,” Mom said, “but...I don’t know.”

A dog? She was
crying and Don’s heart was breaking. He hated to see his mom cry. The last time
he saw that was when her bronchitis had made her cough herself hoarse last
year. He had hugged her that time, and he wanted to hug her now, but at the
same time he was afraid to go near her. He knew what had bitten her.

It had been a
werewolf.

*
 
*
 
*

At least Don
thought it had been a werewolf. That’s what his child-brain told him at the
time. He had seen them in the monster movies he shouldn’t have been watching at
that age, but his mom never seemed to care what he saw back then.

Mom was taken
to the hospital to get what Dad called an anti-werewolf shot (what Don now knew
to be a rabies shot). “We got it just in time,” he assured Don. It was late by
the time they got to Uncle Nate’s house, which was only a few minutes away from
Don’s grandparents’.