Shades: Eight Tales of Terror (4 page)

On the other hand, she
did
believe Jessica was in trouble.

The girl had gone to bed sick with allergies, and it could be entirely possible she developed a fever while she slept. And it took no stretch of the imagination to think she must have been in th
e middle of a feverish dream when Marge called and only succeeded in half waking her up. The idea of her young friend wandering the house in a walking nightmare prompted a fresh burst of speed from her old legs.

“Jessie! I’ll be right there!”

Marge yanked the screen door open, and fumbled with the keys. After a few abortive attempts, she managed to slip the key in the lock and twist it. She shouldered her way through the door into the kitchen, and came to an abrupt halt.

The kitchen was a wreck.

All of the drawers hung open, and silverware lay scattered all over the floor. The flour bin rested on its side, and the counter and floor were coated with the white substance. Marge eased her way through the wreckage, frowning at the mess.

It didn’t seem to reek of violence, more of carelessness. It was as if somebody had shambled through, knocking over things within easy reach on the counter and clumsily pulling drawers out in search of something. All the cups and glasses in the cupboard were undisturbed, and no broken glass or china littered the floor like one might expect as the result of a violent frenzy.

“Jessie! I’m home!”

Nothing but silence answered her. 

Marge moved through the kitchen and out into the dining room. Here the mess was much less. Only the tablecloth lay on the floor, as if somebody caught themselves on it on their way by and dragged it off the table. Once again, the impression came of somebody shuffling along in a daze.

O
r sleepwalking.

“Jessie! Honey! Where are you!?”

She fought the instinctive urge to put the tablecloth back on the table, choosing to continue the search for Jessica. The girl had raved about it being cold and there being cobwebs everywhere, but Marge felt or saw nothing of it. Somehow their absence didn’t do much to make the older woman feel better.

She now tiptoed through the dining room, checking under the table and behind furniture as she went. Nothi
ng. She moved on toward the parlor, wanting to do a thorough search downstairs before heading up to the second floor.

“Jessie?”

The parlor showed no sign of having been disturbed, with Marge’s book still lying on the chair where she left it before going to the store. Her reading glasses glinted on the lamp table beside her chair, showing not a hint of the dust the girl had cried about, and the little glass figurines she collected gleamed from the fireplace mantel.

The brittle quiet started to get on her nerves and she shouted again as she headed out the door of the parlor into the front hallway.

“Jessie! Wher…OH DEAR LORD!”

Marge covered her mouth, her eyes locked on the ghastly figure swaying on the landing where the stairs turned. For one brief
, heart-shattering instant she thought she was staring at Priscilla Hatcher returned from the grave. Then reality reasserted itself and she recognized the figure weaving her way downstairs.

“Jessica? My God, what are you doing?”

The girl wore Priscilla’s wedding dress, staggering awkwardly in the dead woman’s shoes. Dust coated her from head to toe, and cobwebs hung from the ratty veil she must have found back up in the attic. Rolling tears left black trails in the grime caked on her face, where they ran down from her swollen eyes.

“I-I know you?”

“Oh, honey, of course you know me!” Marge rushed over to the young woman. “It’s me, Marge! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!” She started wiping the filth off of Jessica’s face, succeeded in smearing it, then started searching her purse for a tissue instead.

“M-Marge?”

“Yes, dear. It’s me. It’s going to be alright now. We’ll get you out of this nasty thing and back into bed.” Rummaging around in her purse turned up a lot of junk, but little in the way of tissue.

“I know you.”

“Yes, dear.”

“
I
know
you.”

Something in that hoarse whisper, something very wrong, caused the hairs on the back of Marge’s neck to go erect. It wasn’t just a statement, it was an accusation. Alarmed, she looked up into Jessica’s face. That’s when it d
awned on her that more than dust masked the face of the girl she knew. It took just a mere instant for her to recognize the look of deranged hate in those reddened eyes.

And only a second later…a second too late…she spotted the butcher knife concealed within the folds of the old dress.

***

They buried Marge beside her brother, Robert, in the Cole County Cemetery. Jessica’s body was sent back to Dallas for burial in her family plot. The coroner was forced to use dental records to identify the ch
arred remains.

Police never adequately explained the circumstances or motive that led to the two deaths. Based on what little evidence remained, they reasoned Marge may have been the aggressor since she had been observed at the corner store yelling into her phone at the younger woman, before snatching the can of lighter fluid used in the murder/suicide. The fact her body bore the only discernable knife wounds at the scene led some to theorize that Jessica may have killed her in self defense, then set the both of them alight.

On the face of it, many found the theory to be preposterous. But no other evidence ever surfaced to shed more light on the case.

An Echo of Blood and Mirrors

I met Corvin Bradshaw in Conference Room 3 at the Collinsdale Police Dept, on November 18
th
2010.

Corvin is a sixteen year old male who stands about five foot six inches tall and weighs approximately one hundred and thirty five pounds. He has blue eyes, and at the time of our meeting, he had straight, shoulder length blond hair and a large tribal tattoo that he had drawn on his own forearm with a black Sharpie marker.

He also sported a large bruise on his right cheekbone that all parties agree happened before his arrest.

The following is a compressed
and mildly edited transcript of the statement he gave to me at our meeting. All parties present agree that it is an accurate representation of his statement. All parties also agree he was not under the influence of alcohol or any controlled substance at the time this statement was taken.

Okay, it was Thursday…yeah, yesterday…and I was out of Mr. Gregor’s history class with a hall pass when Laura Taylor cornered me in the boy’s bathroom.

Yeah, that’s right. She came in on
me.
I didn’t drag her in or anything. Look, do you want me to tell this or what?

*At this point the attorney present on his behalf interjects and I agree to hold all pointed questions till later.

Right. Anyways, so I’m in the bathroom down at the end of the south hallway, and I’m taking a piss when Laura Taylor busts in on me. I wasn’t in a stall either, but at one of those wall toilets us guys whiz in so I wasn’t exactly glad to see her at first…if you know what I mean.

“Oh God, Corvin!” she gasps. “You gotta help me!”

So I’m standing there with my dork in my hand and one of the hottest girls in school is asking for my help. But believe me, she didn’t look like she’s coming on to me. Hell, who am I kidding, she forgot I existed in sixth grade. But right then she was all pale and breathing hard, and I could tell she had been crying. She looked messed up.

“Holy shit!” I pinch off and zip up like a madman, “Laura? Are you okay?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, but just leaned with her back against the door and breathing heavy. I sort of wondered if she were trying to keep somebody out. Honestly, at that moment I thought some jackass must have attacked her and I started to get ready to throw down with somebody.

Yeah, I know, I ain’t that big. But I ain’t a pansy either. I’ve torn it up before, and I did okay. And when a girl like Laura is in trouble, well I guess wanting to kick a little ass just comes natural. Besides, you never know, she might remember it if you go to the mats for her. I ain’t gonna lie and say that thought didn’t cross my mind. So believe me when I tell you, if the friggin Jolly Green Giant had busted through that door, he was going to be eating knuckles.

“Laura? What’s wrong?” She’s still breathing heavy and I’m trying not to stare at what that’s making the front of her sweater do. I’m not sure I was doing a very good job of it.

“Corvin!” she started to get it together, but she still looked hyped as all hell. “I’ve gotta get out
of here! I’ve got to get home! Can you help me do that?”

“Yeah, sure,” I agreed.

I know, I know, but c’mon…I could go back to history class or walk Laura Taylor home. What the hell did you think I was going to do? She’s a cheerleader for god’s sake! Whatever Mr. Gregor had to teach me would still be true tomorrow. Besides, I really wanted to know what was going on.

“Okay,” she swallowed, “but we need to be careful. I snuck out of the nurse’s office and they’re going to be looking for me.”

“The nurse’s office! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I will be. I freaked out in class, and they sent me to the nurse. I’m okay now, but I’ve got to get home before they call my Mom and get her involved in this. I’ve got something I’ve got to do or I’m in bad trouble.”

“Hey, no problem,” I reassured her. “But they’ve got the parking lot locked so we’ll have to walk.”

“That’s fine. I don’t live that far away.”

“Okay,” I reached out and touched her arm to sort of nudge her away from the door. “Then let me check and see if anybody is in the hallway.”

She got that really scared look again, and right about then is when I started to get the idea there was somebody a lot worse than the school nurse looking for her. I didn’t know what was going on yet, but I figured I would find out on the walk to her place.  So I cracked open the door and took a quick peek.

The hallway stood empty.

The south hall is in the old part of the school, so it still has those high tile ceilings and tall lockers which make the whole place seem darker. I actually kind of like it, but Laura acting so scared was beginning to give me a case of nerves too. I took an extra couple of seconds to make sure it was really empty before stepping out and motioning her to follow.

“Wait!” she hissed, “You’re going the wrong way! The exit is right over there. Why are you going back that way?”

“That exit opens out by the tennis court,” I whispered back. “That’s where Coach Toley goes to sneak her smokes. She’ll bust us for sure if we go that way. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh.” She actually looked impressed for a second before going back to acting scared of her own shadow.

“Just follow me,” I continued, “and don’t worry about sneaking or anything. We’re only going halfway back up the hall, and I’ve got a hall pass.”

She nodded, and stepped out into the hall after me. Instead of following, she walked along beside me, but I still almost jumped out of my skin when she took my hand.

Seriously, I had one of the hottest girls in school take me by the hand and it gave me the creeps. I guess because I knew down deep there had to be something really wrong in her world for her to do that with me. How screwed up is that?

So anyways, we walk down to the door to the shop class. I do a quick check again to see if anybody is around to see us, then I yank open the door real quick and pull her inside.

No, I didn’t force her, dammit! She didn’t fight me or anything, she was coming along willingly. I told you, she was scared of something and following along like a lamb. It was creepy, but I wasn’t making her do anything…she was hanging on to me like I was her boyfriend or something.

Anyways, we go into the shop classroom and shut the door. There is no shop in third period, so we had the place to ourselves.

“What are we doing in here?” Laura asked. Her head appeared to be on a swivel as she looked from corner to corner of the darkened room. All the machines had tarps over them, and she was acting like they might be hiding something.

“We’re gonna take the side door out back of the school,” I said, and walked across the dusty floor to the outside door. “Just listen here until you hear the PE class go past on their way to the locker rooms. They do that about ten minutes before the bell, so we’ll have plenty of time to make a run for the walk-in gate in the back fence before class lets out and there won’t be any people to see us.”

She actually looks all impressed again, and I got to admit I’m feeling pretty good about myself. I know she probably wasn’t no straight laced angel or nothing…hell, who really is…but she just didn’t have anything like the experience I had at this kind of thing. She’s up there on her end up the totem pole where you have to be pretty good, and I’m down on my end where you can master this stuff.

“So,” I lean against a desk, and actually fight the urge to pull my hand free of hers. “What’s up?”

She didn’t answer right away, still looking around the room.

“Hey” I tried to get her to focus, “there ain’t nobody in here but us. So you want to tell me about it?”

“I already did,” she said.
“I skipped out of the nurse’s office and they’re going to be looking for me. I need to get home to get something.”

At this point she lets go of my hand and pulls out her cell phone. She hit
s a number, then stands there rocking back and forth with the thing against her ear.

“C’mon Barry, pick up!”

Yeah, she’s standing their leaning on me and calling Barry Price. I started to feel like a huge sucker, and it kind of made me mad. I’m the one going out on a limb for her, and she’s calling her pretty boy-toy. How’s that for gratitude? I’m starting to wonder if she hasn’t just cooked up a bunch of drama to get some attention from Barry. So I’m kind of pissed and feeling stupid. And I’m really thinking about turning around, going back to class, and just telling Mr. Gregor I got lost on the way to the bathroom or something.

“Hey, look,” I stand up, “Just listen at the door, and you can make your own way to the gate once it’s time. It’ll be easy.”

“Corvin! No!” She grabs me and starts acting like she’s going to freak out again. “Don’t leave me here alone!”

“Hey, if this is just so you can set up a date with Barry that’s your business. You don’t need me for that.”

“No!” she squawks, “It’s nothing like that! I’m in real trouble here!”

“How? From sneaking out of the nurses office? Big deal! That’ll earn you one ‘bad girl’ and a dirty look. Look, I’m the one getting my ass in trouble here when I don’t show back up to class. So either you tell me what’s going on here or I’m gone.”

She just looks at me all wild for a second, and I can tell she don’t want to say what’s going on. I sort of felt bad, but at the same time I don’t like being anybody’s sucker…especially some chick who thinks she can just walk all over guys because she’s hot. The minute you let them go down that road, they stop respecting you

So I start heading for the door again.

“Corvin!” she starts crying. “I’m being haunted! Lamar Tarlington is after me!”

Yeah, that’s right. That’s what she said. And I looked at her the same way you’re looking at me right now.

“What? Wait,” I shook my head, “you mean the guy in that story from our field trip last week? The one who cut off those kids heads?”

“Yes! Him! When I looked out the window in English class, I saw him standing there and looking in at me! And he had this huge knife or machete thing! I know this sounds crazy but I think Barry may have done something really stupid and now I’ve got the Necromancer after me!”

*At this point of the statement, I think it will be helpful for the purpose of clarification to insert a piece of local history about the “ghost” the suspect is referring to.

Lamar Tarlington was a 19
th
century figure and an extended member of the already established Tarlingtons of Collinsdale. He emigrated from Britain in 1894, and took up residence in the large family house that sat on a forty-acre property on the edge of town. The farm and family at that time was headed by Edgar Tarlington, a wealthy landowner and businessman in the community.

Lamar was single, 35 years of age, and cut a striking figure in this small town with his dark hair, heavy mustache, and European suits. As a gentleman of his time, his interests and pursuits also set him apart from the normal population of Collinsdale, especially his interests in spiritualism…which caused some remark. But since spiritualism and similar hobbies were all the rage in Europe and the East Coast in those times, most locals initially played it down as him simply following the fashions of the idle rich.

So at first his eccentricities were ignored.

A
s it turned out, his predilections went far beyond a mere hobby. What nobody in Collinsdale knew at the time was that Lamar Tarlington had fled England one step ahead of the law. A secret circle of occultists headed by him had been exposed in an incident involving grave-robbing and two murdered transient women. Scotland Yard arrested most of the circle, but Lamar slipped out of the country on a steamer to Belgium with an associate. The associate later turned up in Antwerp, floating face-down in the river, but the European law lost track of Lamar at this point.

Due to the poor communication of the times, when Lamar showed up in Collinsdale he was able to resume
his life with impunity.  It is unknown to this day if Edgar Tarlington had any knowledge of his foreign nephew’s previous activities, but he later claimed he didn’t. Considering his decision that led to the incident of June 17
th
, 1895, he was most likely telling the truth.

By that
time, Lamar’s behavior was starting to cause consternation in the community despite his pretensions of merely being a dabbler of spiritualism. Locals spotted him on several occasions wandering through the town graveyard, which made no sense because his family members were all buried in a private plot on their own property. There didn’t seem to be any legitimate reason for him being there. One spooked alderman reported that while confronting Lamar in the cemetery one evening, the man claimed to be a ‘necromancer,’ a sorcerer of the dead. He demonstrated by whistling an odd tune that was immediately answered by several other whistles from different corners of the darkened graveyard.

This, and other stories, were going around the small town and starting to cause distress in the population. But apparently none of them had yet reached the ears of the Tarlington patriarch yet, for in June he decided to take a trip with his wife to New Orleans and leave their three children at home in the care of the hous
ekeeper…and their ‘Uncle Lamar.’ What happened next would forever put the Tarlington House high on the list of famous macabre landmarks.