The Nelson Files: Episode #1 (4 page)

6

Nelson’s House

Noon

“It attacked again,” Lance told Nelson. Nelson was an older man in his fifties. He sat at his desk, with Lance across from him. “This time some Jane Doe. A nurse, going by her uniform. Seems to me like this thing is choosing its victims at random. I can’t find a single pattern with any of the vics, making it impossible to track.”

“That’s because it can’t be tracked,” Nelson informed him.

“Can’t? What do you mean can’t?”

“This creature is very rare. Extremely rare, for that matter. It doesn’t have a pattern to its victims. It attacks at will. Making it very difficult to pin down and vanquish.”

“Well, what the fuck are we dealing with then, Kurt? The only information you’ve given me on this thing is that it got away from you two years ago. And now it’s resurfaced all of a sudden. Why? What is it?”

Nelson grabbed the large, dusty brown covered textbook from his bookshelf and placed it in front of Lance. He skimmed through the book, getting to the mid-way point. He turned the book to face Lance and pressed his finger on the worn paper. “This.”

Lance sat up in his chair. The page of the book read:
Hellhounds
. Lance gave Nelson a stare. “Hellhound?”

“Demonic hounds, of sort. They don’t have any real motivation. They just attack, and then kill. But,” he waved his pointer finger, “they are territorial creatures. Normally they guard a specific territory, whether it’d be a graveyard, or some deep part of the forest. For it to come out in the open and attack…Something just doesn’t add up to me. Something big must be going down. There’s a reason for everything. This one…this one I can’t quite put my finger on, just yet, anyway.”

“Two years ago, what were its victims? Did they have a pattern at all?” Lance asked.

Nelson thought long and hard. “Nope. Same M.O. as before. Random attacks on random people.” Nelson grunted. “I must be missing something. I just must be.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Remember the picture of the footprints I sent to you?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, earlier when I was at the crime scene, I saw this scrawny dude talking to Detective Edwards and he witnessed our Jane Doe’s death.”

“Maybe we should talk to him,” Nelson suggested.

“I don’t think so.”

“Hmm?”

“I followed the direction he was heading, down the alley. When I got there, I saw another trail of paw prints from the hellhound. Only thing is, the dirt was swept away, as if this guy was trying to cover up some evidence.” Nelson closed the textbook and sat back down, a look of curiosity swept over his face. Lance continued, “I’m not assuming anything, but what if this guy had something to do with the attacks? Maybe even be the one summoning it.”

“You know,” Nelson moved his finger along his chin, “now that you mention it, two years ago one of the victims of an attack was an elderly woman—Beth Cassel was her name. She had a grandson who witnessed the hellhound kill her. After that he vanished and I haven’t seen him since.”

Lance leaned forward. “After he vanished, was that the last time you saw the hellhound, too?”

Nelson looked at Lance.
Sonuvabitch.

———

Motel

4:55 p.m.

Zack finished up his phone call with Heather, They set up a dinner date for before he left town. Heather, saddened by the news, promised Zack a good, fun night. She attempted numerous times to get him to stay in Ridgefield, to find a job and live with her until he was able to get back on his feet. He declined the generous offer, telling her that he couldn’t stay in town any longer. The memories were too rough. And, now, with two deaths—one Jane Doe, the other a close friend of his grandmother’s—it was time to leave.

At least that’s the story he stuck with. Not letting her know the
truth
of where he’d been the past two years, or why he’s back. Yes, he hadn’t visited his late grandmother since her death, that was a reason to return…but not the main reason. He was the only person who knew that information.

Zack stuffed the last of his things in his duffel bag. A knock reported on the motel room door. Zack tossed his bag on the bed and answered.

Lance stood at the door.

“Can I help you?” Zack asked.

Lance pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge. “Lance Chambers, Paranormal Specialist.” From what Zack got a glimpse of, the badge this man held was similar to an FBI badge, but different. It was attached to the wallet, was a silver oval shape with the words
Paranormal Specialist
engraved on it. On the side, Zack caught Chambers’ name and head shot. “Mind if I come in?” Lance didn’t allow for Zack to answer, instead waltzing right on in.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

Lance scanned the room, seeking anything suspicious; something that seemed ritual-like for summoning a very powerful and rare supernatural being. The motel room had a modern feel to it, one no witch or cultist would be using as a hide-out.

“I asked you a question,” Zack said firmly.

“Yeah, and I heard it.” He turned to Zack. “So.”

“So?”

“Zack Cassel, huh?”

“How’d you know my—”

Lance interrupted. “I’m good at my job, for one. I have some questions for you.”

“Questions? What are you, a cop?”

Lance stood quiet for a moment. Smirked. “Something like that. I deal with the unnatural cases. Ghosts, monsters…and those who summon extremely evil creatures with the use of black magic.”

Zack chuckled, shutting the motel room door. He took a few steps closer to Lance. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I? Or am I the perfectly insane one,” he moved closer, “who figured out that you’re the one behind these murders—and the murders from two years ago.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Course you don’t. So you’re going to tell me that you aren’t the one summoning the hellhound? Don’t even lie to me.” Zack didn’t speak. “You see two years ago, this hellhound killed a few people, then out of the blue the damned thing vanished—poof,” he gestured with his hands, “right after your grandmother bit the dust, and once you ditched town. Weird coincidence, don’t you think?”

Peeved, Zack’s face tightened. “Don’t mention my grandmother again. You don’t know anything about me, pal.”

Lance got close to Zack’s face, spoke softly, still aggressive. “Just admit it. You’re the one summoning this thing.”

“You have two seconds to get out of my face before I start swinging.”

Lance and Zack had a staring contest for a beat. Lance took a step back.

“Watch yourself, buddy,” he said. “Once I catch you in the act, you’re over and done with. Understood?”

On his way out, Lance bumped into Zack’s shoulder.

7

Heather’s House

10 p.m.

The hound barked ferociously. Foam dripping out of its mouth. Its glowing red eyes the only part of its body visible in the shadows. It barked and growled, chomping at the air. Just its presence alone brought fear to the strongest and bravest of men, sending them to their knees, afraid for their lives, knowing that was it for them, that it was moments away from taking their life, leaving them helpless.

Zack had the same reoccurring dream for the past two years: The demonic hound stood at the foot of his bed, watching him at first, then it barked, growled, foamed. Before his eyes could fully adjust to the dark, it would launch at him, gnawing at his face. Zack felt helpless, like an invisible force held him down and didn’t allow him a fighting chance.

Tonight was no different.

Zack awoke in Heather’s bed, half naked, in a cold sweat, his heart banging against his chest. His breathing inhumanly uncontrollable. It took minutes for his body to calm down, for his brain to tell him it was a dream. He pressed his hands against his forehead, gently punching himself to ward off the evil that entered his subconscious.

Heather awoke and sat up, covering her breasts with the blanket.

“Are you okay, Zack?” she asked with concern, afraid to place her hand on his back.

He took a deep breath, looked at her, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, it was just a bad dream is all. I’ll be okay, I promise.” Zack reached for his pants that lay on the carpet along with Heather’s. “I just need to go outside and get some air.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked. Her hopes of a
yes
were tossed into the fire with his reply:
no
.

“Wait.” She held his arm. “Let me get you a glass of water. It’ll help.”

She got out of bed and went to the kitchen. Zack finished buttoning his pants, threw on his t-shirt, then rested his head in the palm of his hands.

———

Lance and Nelson sat in Lance’s car, parked in front of Heather’s. Lance held his Dessert Eagle, loaded with silver bullets.

“What are we doing here, Lance? Staking out someone who could possibly not even be the one summoning the hellhound?”

“Kurt, I’ve been working with you for years now. You’ve always trusted my better judgment. When I get gut feelings like the one I have in the pit of my stomach, nine times out of ten I’m right.”

“All right, hotshot. Then what’s the plan? Go in, guns blazing?”

“Quite the opposite actually. So far, wherever this guy is, the hellhound shows up. So, we sit back and wait. The second that thing shows up, and I’m not talking a second sooner, we barge in and kill it. I know the last thing you’d want is for this friggin’ thing to get away, again.”

Lance glanced over to the sidewalk and had to do a double take. He locked onto a man two inches shorter than himself, and woman, both dressed in black formalwear. Nelson had his head down, looking at his watch, then gazed around his side of the sidewalk—looking out for the hellhound. Even if he was looking in Lance’s direction, he wouldn’t have seen the man and woman. The two stood there, hands to their sides, staring at Lance. Not saying a word, not blinking. Not moving. They stood still like statues made of human flesh. The hairs on the back of Lance’s neck stood at attention.

Go away. Go away,
he kept shouting in his head.
Go the hell away…please. Just…just go,
deep down not actually wanting them to go away. His heart filled with sorrow, his body immobile. When he finally managed to blink, when he opened his eyes…the man and woman were gone.

For ten years now the man and woman visited Lance out of the blue. Haunting him, each encounter with them feeling like the first. Would they ever go away? Would they ever just disappear for good? Maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep down, Lance didn't want them to go.

“Are you okay, Lance?” Nelson asked.

Lance was only capable of nodding.

“You look like you seen a ghost.”

Lance’s gaze remained out the window, “Nothing more than the usual.” A slight pause, then, “Nothing more than the usual, Kurt. Nothing I can’t handle.”

———

Zack cupped the ice cold water in his hands and splashed it onto his face and rubbed it on the back of his neck. The nightmares…the hallucinations…they
had
to stop. He felt the insanity creeping up on him each day. With two murders since he arrived in town, with the thing that killed his grandmother lurking in the dark, it was only a matter of time before it got him. Or the nightmares certainly would.

Heather entered her bedroom, holding a glass of water. Hearing the running faucet, she knocked on the bathroom door. “Zack? Zack, is everything all right in there?”

“Yeah,” he said—even though it wasn’t. “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Heather placed the glass of water on her nightstand. A sudden odor forced her nose in the air like a dog, sniffing. From downstairs, she heard Lucky barking and growling.

“Lucky?”

Heather jogged down the stairs. Lucky faced the window in the living room--an open window—one which wasn’t open when she went to the kitchen to grab Zack the glass of water. The breeze blew the curtain in slow motion. Lucky stopped barking, and started crying, afraid—afraid of whatever it sensed. An evil, close by.

In the house.

“What is it, Lucky?” Heather asked, keeping her eyes on the window.

The odor of burning ember grew stronger. Heather’s heart raced. Lucky, crying with her tail between her legs, scampered into another room.

“Lucky? Lucky, where are you going?”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tapping, and nails ripping into the carpet sounded from behind. She slowly turned her head. The animal that stood before her wasn’t Lucky. It was much larger, had much more fur, and glowing red eyes.

The hound roared and launched at Heather.

She screamed.

Zack smelled the burning odor now. His instincts kicked in.

It was here.

Zack turned off the faucet just in time to here Heather screaming for her life. Zack jumped out of the bathroom and darted down the stairs into the living room.

For the first time in two years, Zack laid eyes on the monster.

It was over Heather’s bloody corpse, jaws chowing down on her flesh. Sensing Zack’s presence, it jumped off Heather to face Zack, red eyes glaring. Growling.

A ringing formed in Zack’s ears, then escalated to his brain, becoming louder, intolerable. Zack clamped his hands against his head and fell to his knees. The hound continued to glare into Zack’s eyes. The ringing blocked out all other sounds. The hound started to become blurry. Then the room started spinning. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. The pain was unreal—one you’d not wish upon your worst enemy.

Zack felt himself losing control of his body. From his knees, he dropped onto his side. Soon he would be on his back, in a seizure-like state.

Heather’s front door burst open. Lance entered, wielding his Dessert Eagle, with Nelson right behind him.

“Whoa,” was all that Lance could muster up.

Snapping out of his momentary daze of amazement and fear, Lance aimed and fired. The hellhound was forced on its side, but it didn’t stay down for long. It got right back on its feet. The silver bullet burned its skin, but didn’t harm it like it would have any other otherworldly creature.

“Sonuvabitch,” Lance muttered.

Lance took aim again. This time he missed. The hellhound jumped out of the window, heading into the bushes, and disappearing.

The ringing stopped, and Zack’s vision returned to normal. He could once again control his body. He sat up.

“Are you okay?” Nelson asked, offering a hand to Zack. “You would’ve been a goner if we didn’t come when we did.”

Zack declined Nelson’s assistance and crawled over to Heather. Rage. One he never felt before materialized within his being. “No… Not you, too. FUCK!” Zack made a fist and punched the back of the sofa, cussing like a sailor.

Lance tucked his gun in the back of his belt and walked over to join Nelson. “Start talking,” Lance demanded to Zack.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s everywhere you are. It obviously has some vendetta with you. What is it? What did you do?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Two years ago this thing arrived in Ridgefield for reasons unknown. After killing a few innocents, it vanished. Now after all that time, it’s back. We think it has something to do with you, Zack.”

“How—”

“We did some digging on you,” Nelson said. “We know this thing killed your grandmother. We dug more and found out that just last night this thing killed a close friend of your grandmother’s—Roseanne. Then a nurse earlier today, a nurse who was Roseanne’s home health aide. Now it killed your friend. And it would’ve killed you if we didn’t come in when we did.”

“Basically,” Lance interrupted, “he’s trying to say that this thing is targeting you and people close to you. We don’t know why, but either way we need to vanquish it so it doesn’t kill anyone else.”

“Can you think of any reason as to why it might be after you?” Nelson asked.

“No. What the hell is this thing anyway?”

“It’s a hellhound,” Lance said.

“A hellhound, huh?”

Lance squinted his eyes. “You seem all too calm about this stuff. Our usual customers are normally freaked when they encounter otherworldly beings. Why are you so calm?”

“Let’s just say that I have more of an open mind about the paranormal than most people. After witnessing this—hellhound, you call it—kill my grandmother, I have no reason to be fearful about the demons. All I know is that I’m going to find it, and I’m going to kill it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lance raised a brow. “How do you plan on doing that? Not even my silver bullet, prime weakness to the paranormal, harmed that thing. Hell, the fucker didn’t even flinch.”

Zack walked over to his duffel bag that lay by the front door. He opened it and fished out a dagger. Not just any dagger. A silver bladed dagger.

“In my time away I picked up a trick or two.”

Nelson stepped forward, amazed at the dagger. “Where’d you get that dagger from, son?”

“Does it matter?”

“There’s only one of those in existence. How’d you manage to get your hands on that?”

Zack exchanged glances with Lance and Nelson, his eyes moving from left to right, up to down—depending on who he looked at. “Look, if you guys wanna hunt this thing down, go for it. But stay out of my way.”

“Zack—”

“Listen, old man—both of you—I don’t care if you’re Paranormal Whatever, stay out of my way. This thing is mine.”

Zack exited Heather’s house and sprinted down the dark, empty street. Nelson and Lance headed on the porch.

“Zack,” Nelson called out, “you can’t fight this thing by yourself. Zack!”

Lance put his hand on Nelson’s shoulder. “Forget him.” He titled his upward to Heather’s corpse. “What do you wanna do about the girl? Call the cops or bury her body in the backyard to avoid more suspicion?”

Nelson watched Zack’s body be engulfed by the pitch black down the street. He turned to Lance. “Grab two shovels from the trunk.”