Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 4 Read online

The Uncanny Tales of Crush & Pound 4

  by Christopher D. Carter

  © 2013

  Text and Illustration Copyright © 2013 Christopher D. Carter

  All Rights Reserved

  Also by Christopher Carter:

  Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 1

  Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 2

  Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 3

  Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 1

  Discover other titles by Christopher Carter at:

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Next Issue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  *

  Stairway to Durham

  *

  The water slowly dripped from the corner of the tin roof to splash on the wet earth below. Four hours of constant rain and wind had passed by since the sun had set behind the poplar trees that lined the perimeter of the corn field, and there was no sign yet of the young farmer who managed the herd of cattle. That was probably for the best since the farmer’s young wife and child were quarantined in the back bedroom with the flu.

  The man in the barn looked down at his hands with the dim light of the clouded moon breaking through the cracks of the vertical slats of siding. In the dark, he could not tell that his hands were filthy, yet he could feel the caked on matter between his fingers and beneath his fingernails. It made him feel cold and abandoned inside, and he wept to himself for a moment trying to remember what had brought him here.

  “Am I an animal?” he asked himself.

  “No,” he thought, answering his own question, but he felt deep remorse for something that had happened. Something primal.

  “But what?” he thought, but it would not come to him.

  The back porch light flicked on at the rear of the house, and a single flashlight bounced and sprang up and down as it made its way across the yard to the locked door of the barn. A key turned and a bolt slid sideways, then the homemade door creaked gently open. A shadow wearing a straw hat and overalls stepped inside the cowshed.

  “Where to hide?” he asked himself.

  “There!” he thought, and he leaped into the rafters where the roaring of the rain on the tin roof resounded in a deafening roar. The shadow passed below and the beam of the flashlight settled on the hay in the stall.

  “Ah, no!” the farmer exclaimed as the beam settled on a deathly still cow as her body lay unmoving on the straw. “She was my best chance for first prize,” he said as he kneeled down to feel for her breath with his hand. No breath came. Her life was spent. “What happened girl?” he said aloud as he looked over her coat of fur under the dim light of the cheap flashlight.

  He missed the holes in her neck as his hands rubbed over her cold fur.

  “How am I going to explain this to Tiff, huh?” he mumbled to himself as he walked out of the barn and locked the door behind him.

  Alone again and looking down at the dead cow, he realized what he had done, and he was ashamed of his actions though the thirst still gnawed viciously at him.

  “The farmer will be back,” he thought with renewed shame. Unable to bear the passion of his thirst, he broke the back window and flew out across the plowed corn field to the tree tops of the nearby windbreak. The beads of water flowed across his eyes, blurring his vision, and he could hear the sound of wings flapping through the forest below. A large bird of prey, an owl, landed on an outstretched limb of a neighboring tree where it waited patiently for the hunt. Quietly its head rotated round and round, back and forth, scanning the rows of the desolate field below, hunting for that small helpless prey.

  Then its head turned toward him and with one blink of its giant eyes, the hunter stared him down. There was only room for one beast, and as if it recognized some unforeseen danger, the owl flew off over the treetops and out of sight, never to return.

  “Just as well,” Bat Jackson thought to himself as the breeze gently swayed the treetops, and he drifted off into a short, restless sleep.

  Across the field, a rooster crowed, and Bat opened his eyes to the searing brightness of the early dawn. Without hesitation, he dove headfirst from the treetop and into the darkness of the overgrown forest below. As he hid in the evergreen bushes that day, Bat’s mind rambled back through recent memory. He had fallen into darkness where the madness of blood lust had taken him to the very edge of sanity. There was a lady, a bright light, a demon, and . . . and thirst. Now that he had indulged on the blood of the cow, the thirst had receded, and some of his sensibility had returned. His thoughts turned to his mission. He had to find Sherry and do what he could to help her defeat Drakthos.

  Weakened by the sunlight, he drew in a deep breath and laid down face first on the forest floor beneath the bushes where he waited for sunset to arrive. As he laid there watching the beetles march over and beneath the wet leaves, Bat drifted back into a deep restful sleep that day, and his dreams were vivid.

  He began the dream in the empty office of the Senator, the desk and chairs covered in cobwebs from neglect. Then the Senator popped his head out of a closet, examining the room over before finally stepping out into the open. In the cracked door behind him, several pairs of glowing eyes peered out from the cover of the closet as a clawed hand reached out, only to be locked away by the Senator.

  “There’s a leak there, my good fellow,” Bat said as the Senator latched the door shut.

  “You’re wrong on both accounts,” replied the Senator. “First of all, a ‘leak’ is an unexpected flow, and second . . . well, I’m not good,” snickered the politician as he reached out to latch onto Bat’s throat with clawed hands. “There’s nowhere you can hide,” he whispered.

  Bat jerked awake with a start, and twisting around onto his back, he found himself eye to eye with a black furry face. The stench of garbage fumed from the open mouth of the creature, and Bat froze with fear while the animal considered him for a moment.

  “You stink of cow,” the bear growled. Amazed at the voice coming from the animal, Bat’s fear was overcome with wonder.

  “You can talk?” he asked.

  “And smell. Follow me,” the bear ordered and ambled down the sloped forest floor to a crooked stream in the distance. Though he was not entirely convinced that he was really awake, Bat rose to his feet and followed. Rubbing his eyes to confirm that he was indeed awake, he opened his eyes again, and Bat found the bear was present still. Sitting on his hindquarters and watching the baffled detective, he pointed one large paw at the stream. “Wash up and be quick about it.”

  “You could use a bath yourself,” commented Bat.

  “I am a bear, and I live in a dumpster,” he said proudly. “You however are a human, and humans should not smell like rubbish and filth. Clean up now so that you can do your work,” he roared with his incisors bared.

  “What work?” Bat asked.

  “Owl was right about you,” the bear replied.

  “Owl? You mean the owl I saw last night? It talked to you?”

  “Don’t be silly. Animals can’t talk,” the bear answered. “Now clean up.”

  The suggestion to clean up was not a bad one, so Bat removed his clothing and stepped into the clear water of the branch as the bear turned its back toward him. The water was bitterly cold, but Bat found it to be unexpectedly refreshing. He could not recall his last bath, so the site of clean hands and fingernails was a welcome improvement to recent circumstances. The bear sat tranquil and hummed a tune with his back turned to him, sniffing the breeze on the gentle wind. When Bat finished, he dried off with his undershirt and then disposed of i
t under a nearby bush. Immediately, the bear stopped humming.

  “Come now,” the bear said calmly as he turned his head around to look at Bat. “Treat my yard with more dignity. There’s a trash bin near the road that you can throw that in.”

  “Right,” said Bat as he gathered his things together and finished dressing. “You mentioned something about work earlier. What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked though he did not think he would like the answer.

  “Have you forgotten already?” asked the bear with a grunt. “Follow me,” he replied without waiting for an answer. They climbed a brushy trail through the forest beneath a roadway bridge to a long hill that lead to a highway. “At the top of this hill is a bear crossing that intersects a highway. For some reason, humans think that bears are able to read signs,” the bear explained, shaking his head contrarily. “At any rate, when you get to the highway, turn right and stay on that road until you reach downtown Durham.”

  “I’m not ready to go back,” interrupted Bat. “Yet.”

  “It may be that you think that your road turns left, Bat Jackson,” the bear replied. “But you should listen to advice and go the right way.”

  “How do you know my name?” asked Bat, still puzzled by his circumstances.

  “You’re not in a dream,” the bear answered and lumbered closer to Bat. “Look into my eyes,” he instructed as he stood face to face with Bat. Bat studied the large black pupils of the beast and found himself mesmerized by the stolid gaze. Suddenly images of Bat rescuing Sherry at Blowing Rock, in the abyss, and in the Senator’s office all flooded into his mind. “Have confidence in yourself. You are looking on the deeds of a man with a good heart, not the deeds of a monster. Finish your work in Durham and elsewhere, and stop by here on your way back.”

  Then the bear turned his back on Bat, rumbled through the bushes, and disappeared behind an oak. Bat followed the tracks behind the tree where all evidence of the bear seemed to end. Scratching his head, he looked around in all directions, and there was no sign of the great animal to be found. A shadow from above caught his attention as he stared up the oak tree where an owl perched itself in the center of the path at the top of the hill. When the large round eyes of the bird blinked, Bat knew which direction the road would take him.

  “It’s still daylight,” he remarked to himself and sought refuge in the bushes. “I’ll be on my way at sundown,” he yelled out to the owl as it patiently waited for him on the hill. Then he closed his eyes and drifted peacefully to sleep.

  **********

  A few hours later, Bat opened his eyes to see the pink remnants of sunset through the treetops, and he realized without a doubt that he must be on his way. As he climbed the long hill up to the intersection, the great owl whooshed by his head, flew over the guard rail, and veered right along the roadway.

  “I know which way to go,” he muttered as he climbed over the guard rail and hiked along the siding behind the bird of prey. Bat recognized the buildings at the edge of the city, and he knew that he would be downtown within the hour. Apparently his flight from the Senator’s office had not taken him far outside of the city, but that was not surprising given the state of his blood thirst in the abyss. The blood from the cow had brought him back to his senses, though he regretted the sacrifice had ever been made. Smoothing back his hair, Bat inhaled deeply to clear his mind of past mistakes, and then he tried to focus on the journey at hand.

  “The bear never did say where I should go, but I have a hunch,” he thought to himself as the cityscape drew closer, and he followed the owl undeterred into the urban jungle. Uncertain of how long he had been consumed in a vacancy of bloodlust, Bat knelt down at the first newsstand to read the front page of the paper, and to his surprise, weeks of life had clicked by since the return from the abyss. More to his chagrin, an article titled “Suspects Sought in Case of Missing Senator” was plastered across the cover above pictures of Sherry and himself.

  “Great. I’m walking out in the open,” he thought as he sidestepped into an alley for cover. The foot traffic was light that evening, giving Bat an hors d’oeuvre of confidence that he would not be recognized, yet he felt the need to cover his face just in case an acquaintance passed him on the sidewalk. A dumpster sat in the back corner of the alley, and after noisily sliding open the side door, Bat came across a trash bag of smelly used clothing. In the heap of rubble, Bat mined a black t-shirt which he quickly wrapped around his jaw and hair to hid his rather distinct facial features. The fumes of body odor kicked in a gag reflex, and he was forced to remove the shirt and wrap it around his head as a turban, hoping that the splotches of beard that now covered his face would be enough to change his appearance.

  “Hoo!” the owl remarked with a hint of disdain at the delay that the side project. Grumbling at the unsolicited reminder, Bat once again followed the lead of the great bird into the streets of downtown Durham. As the buildings grew taller, the more out of place the night predator became, and Bat wondered if the owl might entice more unnecessary attention than he could afford to garner. To his surprise and relief, the owl circled once and then flew straight up the side of an adjacent building where it came to rest on a flagpole. Then the bird flew up one story to the next ledge, and then to the next where it waited patiently for him to follow. When Bat read the name of the building literally plastered above the doorway at the top of the granite steps, he knew he was in for more than he could have bargained for himself.

  “The Durham County Government Building. Wonder, I’m following a jail bird,” he remarked sarcastically. With perfect timing, two deputies came out the doors and down the steps toward him. In a quick movement, Bat knelt down to brush imaginary dirt from his pant legs and realized he was shoeless from his last change at the farm. He held his breath and hoped the officers would not notice his bare feet. Laughing at an inside joke as they passed him, the pair marched across the street and disappeared into a pub. Free to stand up straight again, Bat found himself staring up at the tall building, and he realized that though he had the ability to scale the slick walls, he would have great difficulty following the owl up the side of the busy building without being noticed. To make matters worse, he doubted that transforming into a bat and flying toward a large owl was an intelligent choice of action, given the fact that owls prey on a steady diet of rodents.

  Bat rested his chin on his right thumb, his mind submerged in deep thought, and he failed to take notice of the dark clad gentlemen emerging from out of the darkness of a side alley. Clothed in an officer’s uniform, he stopped at Bat’s side, and green eyes glared out at him from beneath the brim of the stranger’s hat. The name tag on his chest read “Snodgrass”, and a cold chill swept over his entire body as Bat sensed a sudden and urgent danger at the foot of the government building. Then just as mysteriously as he appeared, the stranger ascended the granite steps and vanished behind the barred doors at the entrance to the building.

  “That must be why I’m here,” he thought to himself as he stood out in the open street. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and as he turned around, he found himself face to face with two deputies.

  “You look familiar, sir. What’s your name?” one asked with a stern face. Not knowing exactly what to say, Bat said nothing and hoped they would just let him be.

  “No begging allowed. Especially not here,” the other reinforced with a nightstick poking into Bat’s chest. “You gonna’ answer, or do we need to take you in?”

  “Curt! It’s that detective they been lookin’ for! Jackson, I think, is his name,” the first office declared and grabbed Bat firmly by the arm.

  “He’s back to the scene of the crime, or pretty close to it, Billy,” agreed Curt, and snatched Bat’s other arm. Seconds later, Bat found himself forcibly ascending the granite steps, and as he entered the security doors of the government building, he looked straight up to see the great owl still perched on the ledge above. The round glowing eyes blink
ed once as he stepped across the threshold.

  **********

  The single bulb in the spotlight clicked on, and Bat closed his eyes to block the intensity of the beam. He wished that he could have covered his face, but his hands were bound behind his back.

  “Your name is Bat Jackson, is it not?” asked a voice in the dark.

  “It is,” he admitted. “Can I speak to my lawyer?”

  “Just as soon as you tell us where Senator Fromage and his daughter are located,” the voice replied. Bat narrowly opened his eyes in a squint, but still could not make out who was asking the questions.

  “I do not know where the Senator or his daughter are,” he answered. “By the way, a person entered this building just before we did that you should be concerned about. He was easy to spot since his eyes were glowing green,” Bat emphasized curtly to the person in the dark.

  “Don’t change the subject,” the voice replied calmly. “Where is the Senator?”

  “I . . . don’t . . . know,” he exhaled each word with importance. Leaning forward he tried to make out the shapes behind the light, but all he could see were shadows.

  “You’re going to enjoy your time behind bars, fella,” the interrogator snapped. “Make it easy on yourself and tell us where they are.”

  “Again, I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Bat replied in exhaustion and leaned back in the seat.

  “Then you can tell the feds. They’re on their way here, and you’ll find that they don’t play by the same rules,” the interrogator continued as he slid his chair back.

  Bat sat in silence for a moment, and he pondered the severity of his current situation. Should he consider confessing to a crime that he did not commit? No, that would be foolish, he thought. He should tell them the truth.

  “Senator Fromage was in league with a demon named Drakthos. I believe the demon has captured the Senator and his daughter, and we may never see them again,” he confessed as a heavy burden seemed to lift from his shoulders. When he replayed the words in his mind, he recognized that the confession sounded as crazy as he now felt. Across the table, there was silence for a moment.