The Eye of Madness (3 page)

Cecil did not have the time to ask the question of how a snake, a slimy slithering reptile, could have accomplished this, yet he knew somehow. This was once a person who had lived as flesh and blood, yet they were not an Impal. As he flung the squirming abomination into the water, he saw more movement out of the corner of his eye. At the back of the boat five more snakes slithered over the side. They plopped into the bottom of the water-logged canoe with a vile splash. He searched wildly for a paddle, but there were none. He watched in horror as more snakes peered over the edge of the canoe, ready to drop in and come after him. Their eyes were the same as the first serpent, all with a sickening human intelligence. All contained a ghoulish story in their cold and calculating eyes. Rape, murder, molestation, and genocide were the common themes emanating from the nest of snakes. As they slithered over the side of his boat, Garrison saw no alternative. He let out a scream and threw himself over the side. He began to swim as hard as he could toward the shore.

He had only swum a few strokes when he felt several cold and scaly bodies wrapping around his legs. Numerous sharp pains ran from his ankles to his hips. He screamed and thrashed, trying to propel himself faster, but it was no use. A moment later, he felt them wrap around his torso and arms. This was followed by more brilliant pain as they began to bite again. The pain was more than he could stand. He cried out but it was a muffled, gurgling shriek as his head was now a foot under the murky water.

The serpents covered his entire body. He was bitten so many times from head to toe his whole body was one sharp piercing pain. The agony and the vivid evil memories he gleaned from the sentient reptiles were maddening. Death was preferable to this; death seemed as welcoming as a soft bed at the end of a long hard day. It was the only way, the only way to stop the pain and to purge his mind of the dozens of sick memories. Major Cecil Garrison let go. He ceased to struggle and prepared to draw a deep breath of lake water into his lungs, but then something happened.

He felt himself being pulled upward and then thrown back onto a hard surface. Instead of inhaling, the breath was knocked out of him and he lay on his back gasping for air. He was wet, but he was no longer underwater. The pain and the slithering feeling were still there, but it was fading. His eyes flew open as he sucked in air. Cecil blinked up into the bright sunlight. He realized he was underneath the upstairs bathroom window of the cabin. Burt and Derek stared down at him.

“You okay, Cecil?” Burt croaked, his face ashen white.

“Jesus … what the hell was that?” Derek asked, wide-eyed and waving a large flashlight around the room.

Cecil didn't respond to either of them. The dark green bathroom curtain was torn from the wall, rod and all. It lay a few feet away in a crumpled heap on the wet tile floor. Every light in the bathroom was on, including the overhead fan. Cecil made a move to sit up, but Derek and Burt each grabbed an arm and raised him off of the cold wet floor. He leaned back against the wall and pulled his knees in close for warmth. Even though it was not a cold day, he couldn't remember when he had ever been this chilled. Soon his eyes fell on the claw foot bathtub sitting in the corner. The water inside sloshed about as if there were an earthquake.

“What happened?” Cecil asked.

“What happened?” Burt snapped. “I'll tell you what happened! You came running into the bedroom and then the next thing we knew, you were screaming your head off and running into the bathroom.”

Burt stopped as Dr. Winder entered the room. The doctor walked to Cecil's side and knelt down.

“Are you okay, major?” he asked.

“Thanks to you!” Burt said. “Thank God you stopped us before we wandered in here. We might have all wound up …” his voice trailed off sheepishly.

It was then that the hazy, confused fog lifted from Cecil's head. He remembered why he stormed into the bedroom in the first place.

“Barbara … where's Barbara!?” he shouted trying to scramble to his feet. He slipped on the slick tile, but Burt and Derek caught him.

“Easy, Cecil,” Derek whispered. “She's right out here. We'll take you to her.”

They escorted him from the swamped bathroom with Burt on one side and Derek on the other. Cecil jumped at a sloshing and gurgling noise behind them. Gazing back over his shoulder, he saw that Dr. Winder had just pulled the plug on the bathtub.

He was about to ask why the bathtub was full when he saw Barbara lying on the bed. Charlotte sat beside her and held her hand while Sam Andrews ran a cold beer bottle back and forth across her forehead. Despite his concern for his wife, a burst of anger ran through him at the sight of a beer bottle being used to cool his wife. Sam Andrews was an alcoholic and a pretty bad one. He let his withdrawals get the best of him for the couple of weeks they were in the secluded Impal refugee camp. He almost murdered the president. Andrews also displayed several other temperamental outbursts that could have put them in jeopardy. Now here he was, drinking and acting the part of a concerned citizen.

“He's mocking me,” Cecil thought as he strode across the room and knocked Andrews out of the way.

Judging by Andrews's face, he considered beaning the major over the head with his bottle. If he did, he reconsidered. The bottle was over half full. It would be a terrible waste. Instead he sauntered into the bathroom to join Dr. Winder who was staring out the window as if gazing at death itself.

Every light possible was turned on and every blind and shutter was torn down. The room was so bright; it almost made it necessary to squint. Barbara's tan skin was pallid. Cecil peered into her hollow and haunted eyes. They were wide open, frozen in terror, unblinking and unresponsive. She did not even react when Cecil bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She was alive, as evidenced by her rising chest and a raspy snorting exhale, but she was in deep shock.

“Oh dear God, did she see the snakes too?” Cecil thought as he brought her limp hand to his mouth and kissed it.

But how could she? That was something Cecil had experienced when he was a boy. He never discussed the details with anybody, not even Barbara.

Cecil turned to Charlotte who was sitting at the foot of the bed.

“What happened to her?” he whispered.

Charlotte fought back tears and put a fist over her mouth to stifle a sob.

“She—she was in the floor. She looked as if someone was attacking her,” she said as tears burst down her cheeks.

“Attacking … how?” Cecil pressed.

“She … she … she was being raped,” Charlotte said, wiping tears away.

“Did you see anybody?” Cecil asked. His insides started to twist in knots at the thought of his beautiful wife enduring this despicable violation.

“No one visible … it was almost as if she was acting. But, the terror in her screams and on her face … she wasn't acting.”

He kissed Barbara's cheek and squeezed her hand while stroking her forearm. Her eyes were still fixed on an invisible spot on the ceiling. Her terrified expression burned a little deeper hole into his heart with every glance. Her chest heaved up and down with rapid regularity, as if she completed a rigorous workout.

Cecil closed his eyes. His experience was much more than a vivid recollection of a childhood incident, it was far worse. This was a true nightmare. He had no idea his experience was not real until he was pulled out of the bathtub. How the bathtub was filled in the first place was a question he brushed to the back of his mind. Right now, the logistics did not seem as important as the encounter itself.

He did not know how or why, but he knew what each one of the snakes, these
things
, had done at one time. It was as if a demented movie played out in each of their eyes, a movie full of a lifetime of horrific atrocities. These brutalities gave each and every one of them a high level of satisfaction. There was no remorse in the entities minds. Every murder, rape and abuse was as benign and pleasant to them as taking a trip to Disneyland. They had injected their horrible deeds into his soul like poisonous venom with every vicious bite. He felt frigid as if he sat with a high fever in a deep freeze. Cecil did not realize how much he was shaking until Charlotte reached out and clasped his free hand between her palms. She gently rubbed as if treating someone with frostbite. Her hands vibrated in response to his trembling. She tightened her grasp, soon managing to reduce his shivering to a dull quake.

Even though he felt cold, his heart burned red hot with anger and hatred of these things. To call these things human was unfathomable, but then Cecil knew that they all were at one time. His anger skyrocketed when he thought about how these things violated Barbara. They had tormented her into this pathetic petrified state. But, if they used to be human, what were they now? They were not Impals. If they were, they would no longer be here. A troubling thought crossed his mind … could his father have been right? Could the eye of the storm have revealed the Impals's true nature? Perhaps they hadn't disappeared at all, but instead reverted back to their natural state. He found this thought disgusting and downright absurd. He had interacted with Impals, his own daughter was now one, and he knew there was no malice, no hidden agenda in her. They were good, frightened people who were trying to make the best of their circumstances. Sure, there were some ‘bad' ones. The two prison guards who beat him and the two bounty hunters shot by Colonel Bradley came to mind. One thing became evident to Cecil in the past two weeks—‘bad' was a subjective term. The bad he just experienced was worse than anything he ever felt before. The evil of the unrepentant entities and their enjoyment in their deeds made the ‘bad' Impals seem like saints. They may have once been human, like the Impals, but they were different … very different.

An overwhelming feeling of terror washed over Cecil. It was not for fear of what the darkness would do to him, but what it would do to his loved ones. He thought of his youngest daughter, Steff, who was now in the custody of his father. Was she safe? Was she in the light? Did she know what the dark could do to her? He felt tears of frustration and worry beading at the corners of his eyes. He bent down and gently pulled Barbara up into a sitting position and rested her head on his chest. He would not let her out of his sight again, not until this thing was over and the darkness was gone. He kissed the top of her head as he squeezed her close. Cecil shut his eyes and said a prayer for his wife; he also said a prayer for both of his daughters, wherever they may be. Then he said a prayer for the world.

CHAPTER 4

WINDER

“When the unclean spirit has gone out of a person, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, but finds none.”

~Matthew 12:43

By the time Burt and Sally put loving hands of support on his shoulders, Cecil had prayed for several minutes. He jumped with surprise at their touch, but he did not loosen his grip on his wife.

“Cecil, will you join us downstairs?” Burt asked gently. “We have some work to do before it gets dark.”

It took an enormous amount of will power, but he lowered Barbara's head to her pillow. He closed his eyes, kissed her on the forehead and turned to face them.

“Sally and Charlotte will stay here with Barbara,” Burt said. “It will be okay.”

Andrews, Vandeputte and Dr. Winder walked out of the bathroom together. Each gave Cecil a respectful smile before going out the door and down the stairs. He could hear the slurping noise of the bathtub drain as the last vestiges of water drained away. What the hell happened in there? He hoped the answer awaited downstairs.

Cecil turned and gave his wife one last loving glance. Charlotte and Sally smiled reassuringly. He turned and walked downstairs.

He noticed the house was much brighter. Every light was on and every curtain, blind or shutter was torn down. There didn't seem to be a single dark spot or shadow anywhere, except outside in the woods. Cecil could see several dark spaces in the forest outside the living room window. These sunless areas seemed to pulsate with a living presence. It was evil. Chills ran up his spine as he gazed at one particular dark spot; he was sure the darkness watched him.

The men stood in a semi-circle around a rustic cedar coffee table. Everyone was too keyed up and on edge to sit. Cecil tried to ignore the shadows outside and grabbed a nearby rocking chair. He pulled it to the open end of the semi-circle, but did not sit down. He stood facing the group with his hands grasping the wicker back of the chair. Everyone seemed terrified of even the darkness cast by the shadow of the furniture. They stood with their legs as far as possible from the blackness underneath. That is, all but Sam Andrews. He was content to plop down on the sofa with his mud-crusted boots propped up on the coffee table, and a beer in his hand.

They all regarded Cecil as if he was damaged goods and the wrong word could tip him over the edge of sanity. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Cecil finally broke the ice.

“Tell me, why was the bathtub full of water?” he asked.

They glanced at each other with blank expressions. Finally Cecil's best friend, Burt, spoke up. “You climbed in there, Cecil. You lay face down and turned on the water. You were screaming and thrashing bloody murder. We couldn't get to you at first because of the dark room, but when we could, we were afraid to touch you.”

“Why couldn't you get to me and why were you afraid to touch me?” Cecil asked.

Burt frowned. He answered the question, remaining as clear and concise as possible. “Because you went charging right into the darkness,” he said. “Andrews and I were about to run in behind you when Dr. Winder warned us off. He told us not to go into the dark.”

Cecil glanced at Dr. Winder who was staring at the floor, listening. He remembered Dr. Winder had called him down to observe the change in the sky and to listen to radio reports. People from China to Europe were warning about the ‘living darkness'.