314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy) (2 page)

“Bind the lamb,” said Michael Harper as Ben was hoisted into the air.

All the pain and suffering returned as the fog abated. Ben was left staring at the smiling visage of his father. Ben was the lamb that was sacrificed that day, and Michael was absolved of sin. Ben’s pain was his father’s salvation.

“Suffer the children,
for they know not yet of fear. We will teach them.”

Branson

3:14 am

March 13
th
, 2012

Ben Harper wanted to boil his father alive. He wanted to peel his skin off and pour bleach in the wounds. He wanted to drown him in a tub of chemicals and blood. Michael Harper would pay for what he did. Through all the years he’d been stuck in The Watcher’s prison, Ben Harper had dreamt of this moment.

“You left me to suffer,” said Ben as he stood from his wheelchair. He was no longer bound by the frail prison he’d suffered within on the trip here. Michael had made the mistake of stepping into a place where The Skeleton Man held reign. “You cast me into
Hell so that you could escape. But I’ve come back, and I’ve got so many things to teach you about pain. Before this is over, I’ll murder you in a thousand different ways.”

Ben felt his skin shedding as he walked, leaving the husk behind him. He was slick with his own blood, and he looked down in wonder at the musculature that emerged. Parts of him were sliding off, like skin off a boiled chicken. The muscles beneath looked like they were made of white thread
, and blue veins snaked along his arm. He pinched one of the veins and pulled it away. When it snapped free, he tossed it to the ground at his father’s feet. The vein writhed like a leech, growing long and suctioning one end to the floor so that it could pull its other half along in a looping motion.

Ben Harper’s skeletal frame, formerly trapped in the wheelchair, too weak to move, now lunged forward. His skin hung from him like wet clothes from a line, and his yellowed teeth were bared as he screamed. His eyes were globes, with lumps of gelatinous pus and Vaseline
around the lids. His pupils were pinpricks of black in the center, focused on his father as the wraith stampeded the space between them.

Michael tried to scream, but his voice was muffled.

Ben collided with his father, and he bore a strength that his weak body shouldn’t have afforded. He threw the older man back, causing him to crash against the stove. Then Ben rose taller. He reared back, with his hands splayed like the claws of a beast, and he cried out in fury.

Michael reached back and gripped the handle of the pot of boiling water. He raised the pot, intent on flinging the contents at the monster, but the handle warped as if melting. As his arms swung forward, the pot lost its shape, as if he’d grasped a pot of clay that hadn’t been fired. The boiling contents spilled out onto his arm, searing his flesh as he screamed in agony.

A bubble of air rose from Michael’s mouth, as if they were both stuck at the bottom of pool. Michael stared at the bubble in shock and surprise, and then the sound of rushing water became suddenly louder, as if a flood was moments away from overcoming them both.

“No,” said Ben as he clawed at his father. “Don’t wake up!”

Michael burst from the tub, gasping and flailing. The water was still running, and he surged forward to shut it off. Water splashed over the side of the tub and to the towel that he’d spread out for a mat. He coughed up water and pulled himself to a seated position.

Ben was sitting in his wheelchair, still in the same spot where Michael had placed him – still staring in at his father. Michael realized that he’d fallen asleep in the tub, and that the nightmare hadn’t been real. He struggled to erase the sense of fear that had gripped him, and sat heavily on the toilet as he pulled another towel off the rack behind him.

“Son of a bitch,” he said between gasps as he wiped off his face. “I almost drowned.” He laughed, more out of embarrassment than humor, and shook his head while looking at his son. “Did you see that, kid? Your dad almost drowned and there would’ve been nothing you could’ve done.” He blew his nose into the towel. “Think of that, kid. You would’ve been fucked for sure. Who’d take care of you if something happened to me? Huh?”

Ben’s tongue flopped in his open mouth. His wide eyes stared at Michael, and he was issuing a pained gurgle, as if trying to speak. His hands shook and his fingers tried in vain to grip his armrest.

“You all right?” asked Michael. “Were you scared?” He stood, nude and dripping, and tossed the wet towel into his son’s lap. “Were you scared you were about to lose the only person in the world that gives a shit about you?”

Ben quivered. His Adam’s apple rose and fell as his tongue flicked in his parched mouth. His gaze followed Michael as the meth addict walked past.

“That sure was a hell of a dream,” said Michael as he fell heavily upon the bed, near the entrance to their suite. He perched himself up against the pillows and picked up the television remote to turn on the set on the dresser that faced the bed.
His gun was also on the dresser, with the barrel pointed his way.

Ben turned his head and stared at his father, still clicking his tongue in a desperate attempt to speak.

“Oh, I’m sorry kid. You probably don’t want to sit there staring at me all night.” Michael got up and jiggled his exposed genitals. “I like to air dry.” He laughed as if the two of them had shared a joke. Michael had found a nurse’s smock in the back of the car he’d stolen from the lady in Widowsfield and was planning on wearing it once dry. The smock had a faint odor of gasoline on it, as if the nurse had an accident while filling her gas tank, but he didn’t let that bother him. It would be nice to wear something clean instead of the dingy t-shirt he’d had on for days already.

Ben watched as his father came over to reposition the wheelchair. Michael wheeled his son so that the chair was beside the bed, with Ben facing the television. Then Michael flopped back down on the bed and started to click through the channels.

Ben stared at his father, ignoring the television. His right hand moved weakly to the side, and fell off the armrest of his chair to the bed beside him. He groaned as he reached out to his father.

Michael felt his son’s fingertips brush against his arm and he looked over at the invalid. “Hey there, pal.” He brushed his boy’s hand away after giving him a smile.

Ben continued to try and grasp his father’s arm.

“Ben, quit it,” said Michael before moving further away, out of his son’s reach. “Don’t worry kiddo, I’m fine. I just fell asleep in the tub is all. Gave us both a good scare, didn’t I? But I’m fine.”

Ben grit his teeth and scowled as best he could. His fingers still reached out to touch his father, but Michael was too far away.

Inside Cada E.I.B.’s Compound

March 13th, 2012

2:30 AM

“I forgot you,” said Alma. Her eyes were smeared with a mix of tears and the salve that the nurses put over the sleepers’ eyes to keep them from drying out. She wiped away the sludge and blinked rapidly. Then she reached out and pulled Paul closer to the gurney she was laying on. “I lost you.”

“I’m right here, babe,” said Paul as he embraced her.

“Wait,” said Rachel as she wiped her eyes. “Was that real? Was I dreaming?”

“We were in Widowsfield, in 1996,” said Alma.

“Right,” said Jacker as the group tried to get their bearings. “So we all had the same dream? How’d we end up here?”

“It wasn’t a dream,” said Alma.

“Some of it had to be,” said Stephen. “I dreamed about some of you dying.”

“Did we really drive off that cliff?” asked Rachel.

“No,” said Paul. “We were in the cabin when some guards brought Jacker and Aubrey back. They had shotguns loaded with salt pellets, and hit us with them. I’m not sure what happened after that, but there was something in the cabin with us – it said it was Ben, but the guy here called him something different. He called him…”

“The Skeleton Man,” said a stranger’s voice. Paul turned to see that the door was open and a tall, black woman was watching them. Her hair was in dreadlocks, with what looked like twine interlaced within, and a purple handkerchief around her neck that covered several beaded necklaces. Her clothes looked handmade out of simple, one-color fabrics and thick thread. She was carrying a satchel that was partially open, revealing a thick pad of paper and several
paintbrushes within. She had on black, leather gloves and was holding a Glock with both hands that she was pointing down at the ground. Her wrists were adorned with a plethora of beaded bracelets that were the same style as the necklaces she wore.

“Who are you?” asked Paul as he set his hand on the grip of the pistol tucked in his waistband.

The woman eased her stance, and holstered her weapon. “I’m a friend.”

“Not my friend,” said Paul, suspicious.

The woman ignored Paul and looked to Alma. “Did you meet the younger version of yourself? Is she the one that told you to drive off the cliff?” The stranger had obviously been eavesdropping.

“Yes,” said Alma. “How do you know about the witch?”

“The witch?” asked the stranger.

“That’s what the children called her,” said Alma. “She said she created a lie about me dying.”

“Yes, that was me. I didn’t know the children had started calling me a witch though.” She smirked. “I guess that’s appropriate.”

“Wait,” said Paul as he began to understand who he was speaking with. “Are you Oliver’s assistant? The one that drew the pictures in his book?”

“Yes. My real name’s Rosemary, and I’m here to help put an end to what Oliver’s done here.”

One of the nurses in the other room, where the awakened sleepers were writhing, screamed, “We need help. Please!”

Rosemary looked back into the other room as Paul turned to Alma and said, “Stay here. I’ll go see what they need.”

Rosemary and Paul headed back into the large area where the female sleepers had suddenly and violently awoken. The women had been in a near-coma state for sixteen years, and their muscles had atrophied to the point of uselessness. When they
’d rolled off their beds, they smashed onto the unforgiving floor, cracking their brittle bones and leaving them helpless and in pain. The women’s faces lay against the tile, their mouths opening and closing as vomit and spittle leaked forth – all of their eyes were open and searching.

“Only the girls,” said Rosemary as she walked to stand beside a male sleeper that still stared helplessly at the ceiling, lying on his bed and not writhing like his female counterparts.

The two nurses, Helen and Rachel, were hoisting a woman off the floor and onto one of the gurneys. The frail, thin sleeper’s head rolled back and forth as she moaned. “Help us get them back on the beds,” said Helen.

Paul and Rosemary went to the nearest fallen sleeper and began to gingerly lift her. As Paul situated himself at the fallen woman’s upper half, he asked, “Why is it
that only the girls woke up?”

“The Skeleton Man would use the boys in the town to help him create his lies,” said Rosemary before they lifted the quivering sleeper to her bed. Then they latched her down with restraints that hadn’t been used to hold the sleepers down in quite some time. “When I created a lie about…”

“Wait,” said Paul as he shook his head in disbelief. “Sorry, but this is all a bit confusing. You created a lie?”

They moved to the next fallen sleeper and Rosemary tried to explain. “I don’t understand all of it either, but I’ve spent the last five years trying to sort through the things I saw in this town.”

“Oliver said you were a psychic of some sort,” said Paul.

“Where is he? Is he still in the facility?”

Paul looked over at Helen and Rachel and asked, “Where did Oliver go?”

The two nurses looked puzzled and then Helen answered, “I’m not sure. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

Paul grumbled and looked at Rosemary. “He was here. I put a bullet in his foot, so he shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“I can find him easily enough,” said Rosemary, unconcerned.
“I have a feeling I know where he went.”

They moved to the next sleeper as Paul pressed the stranger for more information. “You still haven’t explained what you meant by ‘creating lies.’”

“This will be a bit hard to believe,” said Rosemary.

“I’ve given up on disbelief, at least as far as this crazy fucking town goes.”

“I think Oliver and his company discovered another dimension, and there’s intelligent life there.”

“You mean like aliens?” asked Paul, absently allowing a skeptical tone to infect his words.

“No green guys in flying saucers or anything,” said Rosemary. “They’re all around us, inside of inorganic objects.” She rattled the edge of a sleeper’s gurney. “Like this bed. They don’t exist like you and I; they don’t eat and breathe. They’re entities that normally can’t interact with us.”

“And Cada E.I.B. figured out a way to talk to them?”

“No.” Rosemary shook her head as the two of them walked over to another woman that was writhing on the floor. “Oliver and his company just discovered that they existed. I don’t know how, or why, but they did something here sixteen years ago that brought the creature closer to us. It took control of the town, and the people in it.”