Never Fear (58 page)

The demon turned its attention back to
Gideon, who was struggling to get upright.

Lewis pulled his pistol from its
holster.

His uncle had told him to remain
hidden, but if Lewis didn’t act now, the monstrosity was sure to
devour both Antoine and Gideon. Lewis was old enough to know that
sometimes doing what is right means not doing what you’re
told.

He inhaled deeply, aimed, and pulled
the trigger as he exhaled. The shot exploded from his gun with a
thunderclap, the recoil nearly ripping his arm out of its socket.
The bullet struck home, burying itself in the creature’s
shoulder.

Its howl cut through the night. The
beast turned, its fiery red eyes locking in on Lewis.

“
Lewis, run!” He did not
need to hear his uncle’s advice to heed it.

The ground rumbled underneath the
demon’s lengthy stride. Lewis’ legs pumped up and down with the
fury of a railroad piston, but he was quickly losing his lead. A
loose branch sent him tumbling to the ground, and Lewis knew he was
about to die.

Or at least he would have if not for
his faithful pup. Will came sprinting out of the shadows, letting
out a howl as the collie launched itself into the creature’s knees.
The demon bellowed and toppled over, mirroring Lewis’ fall of only
moments before.

The monstrosity’s flailing hands
caught Will with a glancing blow that sent the dog flying through
the air.

Lewis scrambled to his feet, and it
was then that he realized his mistake.

In fleeing from the demon he’d led the
creature too far away from Gideon’s invention. Now, as the beast
righted itself, it stood between Lewis and his companions and was
headed toward him and further away from his uncle’s
trap.

Antoine and Gideon were running toward
them, but both were injured and moving slowly. Lewis was on his
own, and somehow he had to force the beast back in the right
direction.

He could figure out only one way to do
that. He just prayed that he was fast enough and small enough not
to die.

The demon was fully recovered now,
gaining momentum with every step. Lewis had seconds to act or be
eaten.

Lewis did the only thing he could do
to avoid being gruesomely devoured. He sprinted headlong toward the
creature that wanted him for supper.

There was a moment of confusion in the
beast’s eyes, then a soul wrenching noise erupted from its throat.
Lewis thought it must be laughter. Lewis responded with a war cry
of his own, screaming manically as he rushed forward to impending
doom.

When the beast was only steps away
Lewis, raised his pistol and fired.

The demon pulled up, covering its face
as Lewis ran between its enormous legs.

Lewis didn’t dare slow down or look
back. He made a beeline for the generator, hoping he had bought
himself enough distance to make it in time.

The trembling earth beneath him told
him that his time was quickly running out. He pushed his young legs
harder than he ever had in his life.

Lewis could clearly see his companions
now.

Gideon stood ready with a shotgun as
Antoine retook his position in his chalk circle.

Strange, ethereal shapes began to form
around Antoine as he pointed his staff to the heavens and mumbled
incantations to the wind.

Lewis rushed past Antoine and Gideon,
feeling the demon’s hot breath on his neck as he pushed to cover
the last few yards between himself and his uncle’s generator before
the beast could consume him.

The explosion of a shotgun blast was
followed by another howl of rage from the demon. Lewis was almost
to the generator now. He went into a baseball slide, gliding across
the dewy grass and coming to a stop with the generator’s switch in
his hand.

“
Now!” his uncle
screamed.

Blue sparks of electricity started
flying out of Gideon’s machines, supercharging the air while
simultaneously blackening any bit of earth they touched. Reality
began to twist as colors became fluid and comingled. The same
horizontal funnel of electricity and fire that had appeared in his
uncle’s lab two nights ago began to form, tearing a hole in the
fabric of the universe. A chorus of infernal shrieks poured forth
from the opening, cutting through Lewis’ defenses like a dagger to
his soul.

The wind howled and thunder bellowed
as lighting rained down all around them.

Antoine slammed his staff into the
ground and shouted something indecipherable. The phantoms that had
been gathering around him went flying toward the creature, harrying
it in a way that Lewis did not understand.

The demon staggered backwards as
Gideon unloaded shotgun blast after shotgun blast into its chest,
delivering on the deadly promises of its maker.

Lassos of light and fire emerged from
the portal, wrapping themselves around the demon’s limbs. It howled
in pain as it was pulled unwillingly toward the red-blue wall that
had spawned it.

With one last swipe of its massive
claw, the beast seized Gideon by the ankle and yanked him to the
ground, trying to pull him with it into the awaiting abyss. Lewis
could only watch as his uncle’s specialized shotgun went flying out
of his grasp and out of his reach.

Lewis knew he was too far away to
reach his uncle before he was pulled through the gateway. He looked
to Antoine but saw that he too would be unable to close the
distance in time. Gideon had only moments before the hell beast
dragged him through the gateway.

With a flick of his wrist Gideon
produced a pistol from his coat sleeve. Taking no time to aim he
fired off a shot at the generator.

There was a blinding flash of light,
and a deafening blast ripped through the air as the generator
exploded and the portal collapsed upon itself.

Scorched equipment and spent shotgun
shells littered the earth. It was quiet. Not a sound to be heard
except for crackling of the bonfire’s flame.

And at the center of it all sat the
severed right hand of the demon.

December 25, 1881

His uncle stood up, dusted himself
off, carefully replaced his hat on his head, and said in a uniquely
unflappable voice, “Well, I think it’s safe to say we missed
Midnight Mass. I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I think
could do with a spot of breakfast. Doctor Laveau, I believe your
wife is hosting Reveillon this year?”

Antoine let out a hearty laugh and
Lewis joined him. Will came running into his arms, covering his
face in kisses. Lewis decided that Christmas with his uncle was
vastly preferable to spending the holidays with his
mother.

A FAMILY CHRISTMAS
TERROR

CHAPTER 18

Grandpa said, “The time period
reminded me of some old Jules Verne novels—one of my
favorites.”

“
Yeah, it was kind of
Steampunk too,” Jack said.

“
It went great with the
apple slices, Judy,” Dan said, looking a bit
uncomfortable.

Jack added. “Yeah, Mom, they were your
best ever.”

Nancy screamed. “DAD!”

There was a splattering sound as Dan
turned his head and threw up apple slices, mincemeat pie, and the
rest of Christmas dinner.

“
You threw up on my
phone!” Nancy shrieked, and—gagging—tried to retrieve it from the
warm pile of steaming vomit.

“
You shouldn’t have left
it on the couch.” Nick grinned.

“
Fuck
you
, Nicky.” And she stormed up the stairs
with her dripping phone held out in front of her. “I
hate
this
family!”

Grandpa spoke first and clapped his
hands. “Well... what’s the next story?”

Dan wiped his mouth and said, “Go
ahead, Jack. You’ve got the book. What is it?”

Jack glanced at his
mother, who was oddly fixated on something in the fireplace. He
scanned the title. “This is called
Black
Friday.”

BLACK FRIDAY

CONNIE CORCORAN
WILSON

December 19, 2014, Friday

“
If your mother could see
you now!” Ricky’s dad wiped the red gore dripping from the
six-year-old’s bloody nose. “Look at you!” Mr. Towlerton’s voice
was more anguished than angry. “You’re gonna’ have a shiner under
your left eye. And you’ve got a bloody nose—AGAIN! This is the
third time you’ve been in trouble at school in the last three
weeks. When is this going to stop, Ricky? Who were you fighting
with
this
time?
What were you fighting about?”

Tom Towlerton sounded more pained than
angry. He was distressed and disturbed.

Ricky sniffled. He wiped his runny
nose across the sleeve of his holiday-themed reindeer sweater. His
hassled father walked across the room to the kitchen sink. Tom
grabbed a dish towel hanging from the handle of the oven door, ran
warm water over it in the kitchen sink, then twisted it to wring
out the excess moisture. She walked back to where Ricky sat,
disconsolate, at the kitchen table. Tom used the dish towel like a
cold compress, wiping away much of the grit from his son’s
face.

The chair Ricky was occupying was
dubbed “the hot seat.” Ricky only sat there when he was being
punished. He served his Time Outs in this particular chair. His
usual spot at the Towlerton dinner table was directly across from
“the hot seat.” His mom, Marion, would normally be seated between
Tom and Ricky. She would pass the food to her family during meals.
Jump up to get them all second helpings from the stove. Ask the two
about their day. Tell them about her own day. Inquire about Ricky’s
homework. At least, Marion did all that until November 27th,
2014.

Marion Towlerton hadn’t been in her
usual dinner table seat since November 28th, Black Friday, the day
after Thanksgiving.

Tom Towlerton shook his head slowly
back and forth, looking at his disheveled son, Ricky’s appearance
now slightly improved. Tom scowled, a sign of parental disapproval.
He bent down on one knee to wipe clean his young son’s
tear-streaked face with the dampened cloth. The grime and blood
from Ricky’s altercation with classmate Johnny Dodge was
transferred from Ricky’s face to the dish towel. This was no Shroud
of Turin moment. Tom flung the grungy dishtowel toward the sink. It
fell short and hit the floor with a wet thud.

“
Mom always said you
shouldn’t use a dish towel like that,” Ricky said, implying shy
disapproval, trying to change the subject. “She’d say, ‘Dish towels
are for dishes; hand towels are for hands.’“ Ricky looked up at his
hassled father, big brown eyes large and wet with unshed tears.
Ricky’s slight childish lisp on the letter “s” was like an arrow to
his father’s already-broken heart.

“
Mom’s not here,” his dad
responded. Tom cleared his throat to regain his composure and
remain calm. “She’s looking down from heaven. She’s wondering why
you keep getting in all these fights at school.”

“
I wasn’t
at
school, Dad. I was on
my way home from school. It was our last day before Christmas—the
start of Christmas vacation.”

“
Well...” Tom Towlerton
almost smiled.
(Maybe the kid will grow up
to be a lawyer someday, the way he argues with me.)
“Really, Ricky. You’ve got to try harder to get
along with everybody, whether you’re at school or on the bus or
walking home. Whatever. Wherever. Whenever.” Tom paused, and then
asked, “Exactly where were you when this fight with Johnny Dodge
happened?”

“
Twelfth Street. Just past
the Nativity scene in front of St. John’s Church. Standing in front
of Anderson’s Department Store with the life-sized Santa cut-out,
where Santa is sitting in the fake sleigh in the
window.”

“
So, what was the fight
about
this
time?”

“
Same thing,” said Ricky,
sniffling and looking down at the floor.

November 27, 2014

The guests had all enjoyed
the annual Thanksgiving meal at the Towlertons. Twenty-five aunts,
uncles, cousins, in-laws and, of course, Tom, Marion and Ricky
Towlerton. It was Marion’s crowning achievement each year to put on
the biggest and best Thanksgiving dinner for all the Towlerton
relatives, who came from far and near for the feed. The traditional
turkey. Dressing. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Green bean casserole.
Scalloped corn. Salads. Rolls. Pies. The whole shebang, preceded by
plenty of hors d’oeuvres and libations. Marion always began cooking
three days in advance. The entire family looked forward to eating
her great food—(
even if some of the
relatives were not normally on good terms throughout
the rest of the year).
For one day annually, peace reigned. As the meal ended,
Marion’s sister-in-law, Trudy, asked her, “Are you going out
tomorrow to take advantage of all the big sales?” Trudy was a
bargain hunter. She would spare no effort to be first in line for
the $100 big-screen plasma TV on sale at Best Buy. In fact, once
Trudy had slept outside Target in a tent after their Thanksgiving
feast, intent upon getting the bargain of the morning. She was
Tom’s younger sister and a lot of fun, but Marion didn’t share
Trudy’s love of shopping. Nor did Marion approve of Trudy’s smoking
inside her house. Tom was supposed to tell Trudy not to smoke in
the house, but Tom generally avoided confrontation of any kind and
wouldn’t reprimand his younger sister, even though Tom and Marion
had had many private conversations about what a nasty habit smoking
was and how it was also a health hazard for young children. Tom’s
continued silence about Trudy’s smoking when they were around Trudy
was a bone of contention.