The Last Customer (23 page)

She tried to speak, but only raised her hand in the direction of the corpse.

“The evil has left her. I expelled the demon from the girl,” he said while bringing her body around, so that he could face her. “Is Sammael on his way?”

Donna nodded her head.
Yes
.

Chapter 21

1

Garth drove in silence along the tree covered streets of Dodge Junction. The night breeze licked his face and fussed his hair. He was halfway through town. Hammering his foot to the pedal, he sped onward. Houses swarmed past his vision while he traveled. Then, the dark homes slowly dispersed when he neared the downtown area. The space between the residential homes began to widen. He entered Lincoln Park and drove near the small baseball field, where the little leaguers played their summer and spring sports. Main Street was a mile away.

Across from Main Street, near McCoy’s Bakery, was the police station. It was a small station house and Garth doubted that there were many officers on duty. Still, police officers would be more equipped to handle these
criminals.
He couldn’t—for the life of him—logically identify what those people were. What he did know was that more cops would be needed. Seeing what the young couple had been capable of was enough to know that an aging, retired, priest, a criminal, and his naïve brother would not be able to handle this unique situation. Law enforcement was the logical answer and if the local law couldn’t handle the problem, then maybe the National Guard, State Police, or whoever had the biggest guns would be able to. Gardner and his merry little band of idiots were going to get nowhere, staying cooped up at the farmhouse. Still, as pissed off as Garth was, he didn’t want any harm to come to them.

           
He finished driving through the park, hit Lincoln Street, and rounded the corner toward Main Street. Looking down the long narrow street, he could see, in the distance, the flickering red lights from the stop-and-go signals of the downtown area. They were tucked behind the draping birch trees that lined the downtown sidewalks. The police station wasn’t far. Everything was silent. There were no crickets chirping. The only noises came from the calm sway of rustling leaves as the night breeze whistled through the branches.

Staring out the window at the badly cracked sidewalk, Garth wondered how long it had been since the town had had maintenance funds. The sidewalks could definitely use a good makeover.
Oh well.
He didn’t really care about the town, or the sidewalks. Garth wanted to leave this stupid place and move on to a better life. It was Winny that wanted to remain a prisoner in this Podunk town.

           
Garth looked forward. He watched the silhouette of a drunken man stumbling from the left portion of the sidewalk to the right. The drunkard sidestepped into the street. Garth slowed down. The last thing he needed right now was to run over a drunk. He drove his car to the other side of the street, making safe passage for himself. There was no traffic at this time of night and a confrontation was out of the question. Before he drove to the other side, he heard the man yell, “Garth!”

           
He stopped the car. Maybe this guy would have a cell phone? He exited the car and walked toward the man. The bottom of his pants became damp as he walked through the dew glazed grass. Frowning, Garth wondered who this guy was. The local bars had been closed for hours. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for someone to recognize him. He’d spent his whole life in this town and he knew more than one obnoxious drunk. The town was full of them. He squinted to see. The man was covered in dark shadows, cast from the streetlights, above the trees.

           
The man looked bloodied and bruised. He stepped into a patch of light.

Maybe he needed help?

Garth walked toward him and stopped.

Could this be the guy from the liquor store, the one with snakes spilling out of the bullet hole in his chest?

No way.

Fear encompassed Garth. He contemplated going back to the car and driving to the police station, as he’d planned.

The man stumbled closer. He waved his arms like an excited child at a baseball game.

It was him.
Sammael.

The police station was only a few more blocks.

He could make it back to his car.

Garth broke into a dead run. His legs pumped. He darted across the street. He turned to see where Sammael was. The sight was shocking. He was unable to turn away from the grotesque picture behind him. About one hundred feet away now, Sammael had fallen to his knees. The snakes shot through the skin of his back. They curled around his chest and planted themselves, solidly, on the sidewalk. He looked like a giant spider. A smile was ripped across his face and blood oozed from every wound, causing little puddles of blood to form behind him as he scurried toward Garth.

Garth froze. His legs stiffened. His run began to break. It was no use. Sammael was mere feet away and lunging at him.

Tackling Garth to the ground, Sammael wrapped his arms around him. He slammed him into the front lawn of an old Victorian house. Garth tried to squeeze away, but Sammael dug Garth’s face into the lawn. He smelled the pungent odor of freshly cut grass, marinated in the night’s dew. Under other circumstances this smell might have been pleasant.

Sammael’s tentacles were strong, wet and slimy. They lifted Garth. He was helpless and his movement was restricted.

This was the end.

Looking down at the maniacal monster beneath him, Garth wanted to scream. There was no life behind the face that peered at him, only death. The monster’s skin was ashen, almost gray. At the corners of his mouth were long jagged lacerations. His skin looked purple. If this man were alive, the wounds would be red, flowing with blood.

“Garth, what do you say I set you down. You and me can have a chat? Man to man.”

Garth couldn’t believe what was said. He was dazed. He wanted to know what was happening. Sammael set him down, gently, on the grass. Garth tried to roll away, but Sammael grabbed him, lightly and pulled him back.

Sammael sat beside him and rolled over. The vines disappeared into Sammael’s back, beneath his shoulder blades, into the skin.

Hardly able to speak, Garth asked, “What are you? What do you want?”

“Funny you should ask. I can be a friend or an enemy. That’s up to you. I recommend being my friend. You’ve seen what I can do to my enemies. Besides that, I don’t want to hurt you, or your brother.”

Bullshit, Garth was smarter than that. He’d seen what this guy did back at the store. He wanted to kill everything that lived.

“If those people hadn’t gotten in my way, they wouldn’t have died. I only want Gardner. If you stay out of my way, you’ll be fine. So will your brother and that red- head.”

Garth could care less about the red-head, but this was starting to make sense. He didn’t want Gardner to be hurt, but if it came down to it, he cared more for his brother. If he had to make a decision, he’d choose to stay out of this guy’s way and let him do what needed to be done, in order to save Winny and himself.

As maniacal as Sammael was, Garth had to believe there was some semblance of truth to what he was saying. He needed truth. He wanted to live. What he said was making sense, and if doing as—whatever this thing was—enabled his brother and him to stay breathing, then he’d do it. On the off chance that Sammael was telling the truth, maybe he could calm him down. A glimmer of hope set in. Garth relaxed a bit.

“I’ll be a friend as long as you…you don’t hurt me or my brother.” Garth found himself saying. He knew that he sounded lame and easy, but he didn’t want to die. Survival mode kicked in. Still, what he’d just revealed made him an easy target. He hoped that he wasn’t being used, but the thought was very prevalent.

“Was that so hard? That’s all I ask. All I want is Gardner,” Sammael said while trying to smile.

Sammael’s skin, which now looked like wet paper, drooped. It wasn’t stuck to his face, anymore. The skin had separated from the muscles beneath it and his cheeks hung down. Sammael’s face dangled from his skull. It swung in Garth’s face.

Garth suddenly realized that the snakes had reappeared. They were sliding around his body and restraining him. Fear seized his thoughts. Then the pain began.

“Oh, I need one more favor from you. Your body.” The demon smiled as the skin fell from his face.

Turning away from Sammael, Garth moaned. He was nauseated. Cackling erupted. The snakes pushed further through Sammael’s skin. Garth knew this was the end.

His day had come
.

He should have stayed with his family and Gardner. He shouldn’t have bought into what Sammael had said. If he’d only stayed at Gardner’s, this wouldn’t be happening. His body froze. He couldn’t move. Eyes locked on Sammael’s, he watched as the white flame behind Sammael’s eyes peered down at him. His pupils flickered and spread to pure white. The snakes wrapped around Garth’s torso. They squeezed. The ends danced across his skin. They felt slimy, uncomfortable. Sharp hooks scraped his skin. The moist vines slid up Garth’s chest. They tickled across his nipples, but he wouldn’t laugh. This tickle tortured his senses. He wanted to scream but his voice didn’t work. Beneath his skin, he felt his blood boil, as if it were in a kettle. The wet slimy snake touched his lips, pried them open, and then massaged his gums, above his front teeth. Garth wouldn’t open his mouth. He knew what was happening. Sammael was taking his body, possessing him. The idea mortified him but he couldn’t fight it. His jaws loosened and the snake ran down his throat,
then
wiggled through his insides. It moved down, like a breathing tube, nesting in his organs. Nauseated and dizzy, the last sight which Garth saw was the serrated teeth erupting from Sammael’s dead mouth. A burning sensation traveled beneath Garth’s skin. He was in the dark, now. Blackness encompassed him. Unpleasant, it smelled like rotting meat. He was paralyzed. He felt the awfulness of where he was.

2

Garth’s body convulsed as Sammael’s presence filled it with sinister life. Garth was almost gone. Soon, it would only be Sammael.

Energized and rejuvenated, Sammael felt the power of Garth’s youthful body. He was a strong boy. The sensations of the fingers, arms, legs and neck fell into place, followed by his feet and toes. It was refreshing. Garth’s stomach muscles flexed when Sammael sat up. He looked at the murderer, Rod, whose body he’d just left as it laid on the cold earth like a stray dog that’d been hit by a passing semi-truck. The corpse looked like something no one would want to touch without the aid of a shovel.

Sammael had destroyed Rod’s body. The skin hanging from Rod was papery and thin. It slid off the skeleton and muscles. It was dead. Rod looked like a melted wax sculpture in a horror museum. Sammael had put this man through the ringer.

Laughing, Sammael leaned over and touched the dead man lying at his side. Rod’s corpse stewed in the dew glazed grass.

Sammael squeezed Rod’s fragile head. The skull was so
weak,
it broke apart in his hand as if it were made of wet Styrofoam. Blood, bone and fleshy ooze spilled between Sammael’s fingers.

           
Standing up and inhaling a gust of fresh air, Sammael admired his new senses. Humanity held such wonderful sensations. The warm night air was pleasant, something to be experienced. His skin tingled. Blood rushed through his organs. This young man, Garth, was fresh. It felt good to wear his body. Garth was, now, Sammael’s mask to the outside world. The muscles in his legs were strong. There was a lot to be experienced with this body, before he destroyed it. Mouth forming into a smile, Sammael acknowledged the awful things he would do with Garth’s body.

The porch light of the Victorian house shined. Sammael turned around. Light splashed across the brown hair of his head. Smiling, he strutted up the walkway. There was an older woman of about seventy-five standing at the top of the white wooden stairs. She wore a shower cap firmly over her silver hair. A pink bathrobe was draped over her large figure and it looked as old as she was—judging by the small holes and ratty cloth it was made of.

           
The old woman put her hand above her eyes to shield out the fluorescent porch light and she asked, “Who’s out there? I’ll call the police.”

           
Sammael, now dressed in Garth’s body, continued confidently up the cement walkway toward the porch steps. He stepped upward and stopped near the old woman. Her bulbous figure stretched the cloth of her robe. She was still, silent and her droopy lips quivered. She wanted to speak, but didn’t have the words.

           
When Sammael smiled, the older woman eased up. She was charmed. “I think that calling the police would have been a good idea about five minutes ago. That man on your lawn over there…,” Sammael stepped to the side. The old woman leaned over to see, “He’s a killer. In fact, he killed a young woman not too far from here.”

           
“Really? Is he still alive?” the older woman asked, morbidly curious.

           
Laughing outright, Sammael held his belly and turned to the body of Rodney Barton. He said, “No ma’am, I’m afraid I killed him good. I turned every organ in his body to stewed shit. If he were to get up and walk I’d be…well…that just
ain’t
gonna
happen, if you know what I mean.”

           
The old woman took a step backward. Her right hand reached behind and she fumbled for the door. Her fingers clawed at the air in search of the screen. Her fingers danced to the small plastic knob. She twisted it.

Sammael stepped in toward her.

The old woman’s eyes squinted. Her face pushed forward, toward Sammael. She asked, “Say, aren’t you the boy from the liquor store?”

           
“Yes ma’am. Garth Gasper.”