314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy) Page 4

  Then the blackness revealed shapes. Bulging orbs swam through the black, as if he were staring down at eggs bobbing in a pool of oil. Then the shapes revealed themselves to be eyes when their lids split, showing the white beneath.

  The Watcher studied Raymond.

  The blackness rippled as the grinding metal noise tried to form words. Raymond saw that the tentacles had become thinner. The blackness that surrounded him now appeared like a mass of thin cords, as if he were trapped inside a ball of black yarn, but each strand traveled in a different direction, turning the sight into maddening chaos.

  A voice broke through the mechanical grind. “Afraid…”

  Raymond pushed at the darkness, but his fingers slid through the cords and he pulled away, fearing he might be harmed. The wires were cold and scaly, similar to what it must feel like to thrust your hand into a nest of snakes.

  Again, the voice spoke to him. “Afraid of…”

  The cords slid around the multiple eyes that watched him, but occasionally one of the wires would pass across an eyeball. The black cords would cut into the unblinking eye, causing black blood to ooze forth before the eye would finally close and retreat. Soon, another eye would appear to take the wounded one’s place in the mass.

  “What are you afraid of?” asked the voice as Raymond began to understand it.

  The boy tried to answer, but The Watcher didn’t need to listen.

  A tentacle snaked away from the sphere of blackness that had formed around Raymond. The tentacle coiled, and its tip became smaller the more it moved. It approached, and slid along Raymond’s cheek, toward his ear. The cord was thin now, and spun around his ear before the tip invaded the canal. Raymond felt the fullness in his ear as the wire forced its way inside. It felt like half of his head had been submerged, but then the cord burst in deeper and intense pain tortured the child. His left eye watered as the wire searched behind it, scraping its sharp edge against his tender eardrum, causing blood to drip along the cord’s length.

  “Let’s build hell for you.”

  Widowsfield

  October 13th, 1994

  Raymond was in his sister’s closet, praying she didn’t open the accordion-style door. He’d been in her room, where she’d warned him not to go more than a few times, looking for a lighter. He’d found a packet of firecrackers in the garage, and wanted to go into the backyard to light them. He couldn’t find a lighter anywhere in the house, but knew that his sister smoked. It was one of the many things that she fought with their father about.

  He hadn’t heard her until she was already coming down the hall, and he ducked into the closet to hide. He could see her through the slats in the door as she stood in front of her dresser.

  Then he heard a stranger’s voice, “You still live at home? How old are you?” The man walked into Terry’s room and chuckled as he inspected it.

  “I’m legal,” said Terry as she opened her top drawer and started to pull out a stack of underwear to get something from deep inside. “I’m moving soon. My Dad and I fight all the time, so I told him I was going to move to California, but he begged me to stay around here in this dumpy shithole of a town. I told him I’m not living here with him and my brother forever, so he’s going to get me my own place.”

  “Why stay in Widowsfield if you hate it here?”

  “Would you turn down a free house?” asked Terry.

  “No, I guess not,” said the stranger as he plopped down heavily on the bed. He was facing the closet, and Raymond was certain he was about to be caught.

  Raymond pushed himself back, terrified as he couldn’t help but stare directly out at the man that Terry had brought home. He was thin, and was wearing what might’ve been proper work clothes, but they looked like he’d been wearing them for a long time. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his hair was a haphazard mess. He was looking at the closet, and Raymond stared right back, realizing that he was about to be discovered. There was no way the man could be looking directly into his eyes like this and not have realized that Raymond was hiding there.

  Terry took a glass pipe and a plastic bag out of her drawer. She set the drugs on the dresser and then went back into the drawer to get a pack of cigarettes. She took a lighter out of the pack, and then gathered up everything as she turned to face the stranger. “Let’s go before my dad comes home.”

  “So you’ve got a little brother?” asked the dirty stranger as he continued to sit on the edge of the bed and stare into Raymond’s eyes.

  “Yeah, why?” asked Terry.

  “Do you know where he’s at?”

  Raymond’s heart thundered in his chest, and he felt his hands trembling as the stranger continued to stare at him. He’d surely been caught. This greasy, middle-aged man was certainly only seconds away from opening the closet and pulling Raymond out.

  “He usually goes to our dad’s shop after school. Why?”

  “So we’re alone?” asked the stranger.

  “Yeah. Why?” asked Terry in a playful tone.

  The stranger finally broke his gaze at the closet, and pulled Terry closer to him. She was standing between his legs and giggled as he nuzzled his face in her belly. She complained and tried to push him away, and then laughed as he continued to tickle her. “Stop it,” she pleaded. “What if my dad comes home?”

  “That’s part of the fun,” said the stranger as he unzipped Terry’s jeans.

  “You’re terrible,” said Terry as she shoved the stranger backward, onto the bed.

  Raymond was relieved that he hadn’t been caught, and chose not to question how the stranger had managed to lock eyes with him, but not see him. The darkness in the closet had shrouded Raymond, thankfully, but now he was being forced to watch as his sister grinded on the man on her bed. They pawed at one another, and kissed, and the man kept trying to take Terry’s clothes off even though she insisted they should leave.

  “Michael, stop it,” said Terry. She pushed the stranger’s hands away as he tried to unbuckle her bra from under her shirt.

  “Come on, just a quickie.”

  Terry groaned in feigned annoyance, but was clearly enjoying his attention. She pulled her shirt off and tossed it off the bed. “Fine, but make it quick.”

  Raymond covered his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t be seeing this, and felt equally terrified and enticed. He knew what a Peeping Tom was, but had never set out to become one. He knew he shouldn’t watch, but he peered between his fingers anyhow.

  Terry and the man named Michael flung one another around on the bed as if angry. It appeared as vicious as it was sensual as they bit and clawed at one another. Michael threw Raymond’s sister to her back on the bed, and then pulled his shirt off before tugging at her jeans. She rose her waist up to help, and Michael whipped the jeans away before tossing them hard against the closet door. Then he stood straight as if admiring Terry’s nearly nude body. He calmly took off his watch and set it on the nightstand as Terry took her underwear off.

  Raymond again covered his eyes, momentarily shamed by his act. He tried to keep from looking, but curiosity soon got the better of him. He peered out, and saw that the stranger was now nude, and was thrusting his penis into Terry as she lay back on the bed. Michael’s back was facing the closet as he stood there, thrusting again and again. Terry’s legs were wrapped around the stranger’s back, and she was using them to force him to push deeper into her as they continued.

  Michael climbed onto the bed, and moved to the back, causing Terry to adjust her position. Then he looked at the closet and smiled before he raised Terry’s legs and pushed his penis back into her.

  Raymond’s curiosity turned suddenly to intense fear. Why had the stranger looked at the closet that way? Did Michael know Raymond was hiding there? What other reason could there be for the way he’d smiled like that?

  Terry and Michael continued, and the stranger seemed to once again be ignoring the closet. Raymond’s momentary terror subsided as he continued to watch his sister have sex. The pair moved to
various positions, and then, finally, the stranger pulled out of Terry and ejaculated onto her stomach and breasts.

  “Feeling better?” asked Terry with a lascivious grin as she toyed with the semen on her belly, poking at it and swirling it with the nail of her index finger.

  “Yeah,” said the stranger as he got off the bed and started gathering his clothes. “Let’s go.”

  “Really?” asked Terry. “It’s going to be like that, huh? You get yours and we call it a night?”

  “Hurry up and get dressed,” said Michael, his tone darker and uncaring, as if ejaculating had stolen every ounce of his former lust.

  “Fine,” said Terry, annoyed. “Throw me something to clean up with.”

  Michael picked up a bathrobe that was lying beside the dresser and tossed it to Terry. “Don’t forget the meth,” he said as he walked out of the room.

  Raymond watched as his sister cleaned the semen off her stomach and then started to get dressed. He’d never seen her naked before, and knew that he shouldn’t have the desire to see her like this, but he watched anyhow.

  When she left, Raymond felt a sense of relief and complete sorrow. He knew what he’d done was bad, and the feelings that had dominated his thoughts as he watched the carnal act were devilish and contemptible. He’d heard of sex, and had even seen it on a video over at a friend’s house, but this had been an awful way to be exposed to it. Never-the-less, he’d watched it happen. He couldn’t help himself, and even as terrified as he’d been, the experience was arousing.

  He wanted out. He just wanted to get out of his sister’s room and pretend that none of this had ever happened, but he needed to wait until he was sure they were gone. Raymond listened for the front door to close, but then he heard heavy steps coming back down the hall.

  “I forgot my watch,” said Michael as he returned to Terry’s bedroom.

  Raymond held his breath.

  The stranger named Michael walked to Terry’s nightstand, retrieved his watch, and slipped it on. Then he turned to the closet, walked to it, and opened the accordion doors.

  Raymond was caught. He gasped, and then held his breath again as he cowered on the floor, sitting on Terry’s shoes.

  The stranger stared down at the boy, silent, and unsurprised by his discovery.

  “Was it a good show?” asked Michael.

  Raymond didn’t answer.

  Michael stared, waiting for an answer. When Raymond refused to say anything, the stranger grew bored, and frowned. He looked oddly shamed, and then he closed the closet door and walked away, leaving Raymond alone to hide and cry.

  Widowsfield

  March 14th, 1996

  “Hi,” said Raymond to the boy that answered the door. Raymond’s father was standing beside him. They’d come to Terry’s house to get the keys to the cabin in Forsyth. They were planning a fishing trip, and Desmond had gotten his son out of school early for the short vacation.

  The boy at the door appeared frightened as he looked back over his shoulder. Raymond could see an animal’s crate on the floor of the kitchen, not far from the front door. The dog inside the cage was barking viciously, causing the plastic crate to clatter on the tile floor.

  “I’m looking for my daughter, Terry,” said Desmond. “Is she here?”

  “Who is it?” asked a man that was descending the stairs behind Ben. Raymond could only see his legs as he came down the stairs, but he recognized the voice. His heart began to beat faster, and his hands trembled. Once the man was in full view, Raymond’s fear was realized. This was the same man that had been in Terry’s room, a couple years earlier, and had discovered Raymond hiding in the closet.

  Raymond never told anyone about that experience, and had hoped to never be reminded of it. He was ashamed of himself for having been hiding there, and even more ashamed of how he’d been caught. Raymond had never been more terrified than he was that day, as Michael Harper stared down at him. Now his devil had returned.

  Michael sounded annoyed when he saw who was at the door. He frowned when he saw Desmond and said, “Oh.”

  “Hello, Michael,” said Raymond’s father, his tone mired by anger.

  “What do you want?” asked Michael of Desmond, but he looked down at Raymond, a glimmer of recognition that caused the boy to cower.

  “I need to talk to Terry,” said Desmond.

  “Well, she’s busy.” Michael looked dirty, his white t-shirt sodden with sweat that had turned the pits yellow.

  “I’m not trying to pester her, or you,” said Desmond. “If you two want to rot away in this place, I just don’t have the energy to care anymore. I need the keys to our cabin in Forsyth. I’m taking my boy out there for a fishing trip. We already paid the fees, but I’d rather not spend the money on a hotel if possible.”

  “Yeah, well…” Michael Harper’s words started to linger, as if they were taking longer to exit his mouth than they should. His voice deepened, and his movements languished. “I think she’s already…” his words slowed down too much to be understood, like a tape deck slowly losing power.

  Raymond tried to tug at his father’s hand, but discovered that his own body was caught in the slow flow of time that Michael seemed to be trapped in. Raymond had been focused on Michael, but then noticed a swirling blackness behind the man. The wall on the far side of Terry’s cabin looked like a pool of black, and within was a single eye watching them.

  Then Raymond heard The Watcher speak, “Michael Harper.” The creature sounded pleased. “I like the nightmares you inspire.”

  CHAPTER 3 – Alma Harper

  Philadelphia

  June 13th, 1943

  “Is that really him?” asked Lyle as he leaned against the railing overlooking the naval yard on the Delaware River. He was watching an older gentleman that was smoking a pipe while touring the destroyer escort anchored in the yard.

  It was a bright, summer day, and the old, white-haired man on the ship was in shorts and sandals, appearing dramatically out of place among the host of smartly dressed Navy men that guided him. The gulls called as the water lapped against the concrete basin. The wind carried the scent of the water and oil, a mix of musty odor and industrial pollution – a confluence of nature and man’s abuse of it.

  The ships groaned in the harbor, as if their steel ached, as the water rose and fell against them. Lichen clung to their grey sides, waving in the water like tiny hairs on metal skin.

  “Yes, that’s him,” said Vess, unimpressed.

  “Wow,” said Lyle with a beaming grin. He was young, impressionable, and enticed by the lure of fame. Lyle shook his head in disbelief as he gazed at the most famous person he’d ever seen in real life. “I can’t believe it’s really him.”

  Vess was unmoved, and stood with his back to the railing. He was taller than Lyle, and much thinner. While Lyle looked the epitome of fitness, his partner was a wraith by comparison. “You give him too much credit.”

  “I do, do I?” asked Lyle with a snort and a quick shake of his head. “I guess me and the rest of the world are fooled, aye? You’re the only one that ain’t been taken in?”

  Vess ignored the baited question and just nodded.

  Lyle waved off his employer’s indifference. “Suit yourself. Me? I’m looking forward to shaking his hand. After all, ain’t he the one who set this whole thing in motion? If what you said was true, and this experiment really could put an end to the war, then I figure I’d like to shake the hand of the man that made it possible.”

  “Then you’ll be shaking hands with a corpse,” said Vess.

  Lyle glared over at his friend, expecting the tall, sickly man to elaborate. When Vess stayed quiet, Lyle prodded, “Well, out with it then. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The man that set this in motion has been dead for five months now.”

  “And who’d that be, then?” asked Lyle.

  “Nikola Tesla,” said Vess.

  Lyle smirked, sucked in air through his teeth, and then said, “Nop
e, sorry, but that name’s not ringing any bells.”

  Vess grimaced at the younger man, and then shook his head as if in disgust.

  “What? I’m not a scientist or nothing,” said Lyle. “Who the heck is this Tesla character?”

  “Never mind,” said Vess, appearing bored with the conversation. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure it does,” said Lyle as he hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and leaned against the railing with his legs crossed, looking the part of a relaxing dockworker. “We ain’t got nothing but time. Give me the skinny on this Tesla character. What’s he got to do with all this?”

  A harsh breeze swept up from the river, and Vess pinched the edge of his wide-brimmed fedora to keep it from flying off. His solid blue blazer fluttered and when the breeze had calmed he buttoned his coat.

  “Come on, Vess,” said Lyle. “Clue me in.”

  “Your friend up there owes a lot to Tesla, that’s all,” said Vess as he motioned back at the ship where the white-haired man was still touring with the naval officers following along. “We wouldn’t be here if the FBI hadn’t raided Nikola’s hotel.”

  “So this guy was a scientist or something?” asked Lyle.

  Again, Vess regarded his companion with disdain. “Yes, he was. Perhaps the single most important scientist in modern history, not that goons like you would ever know it.”

  “No need to be grumpy,” said Lyle. “Why’d the FBI raid his place?”

  “Because they’re a bunch of jackbooted thugs. They illegally seized all of Nikola’s belongings, including the notes from his experiments.”

  “Illegally?” asked Lyle. “How’d they get away with that?”

  “They claimed he was an alien.”

  Lyle guffawed and said, “You mean like from the Flash Gordon serials? Like he was Ming or something?”

  Vess sneered and shook his head, “No, you idiot. Not that sort of alien. Alien as in not a resident of the United States, even though he was. They had no right to his belongings, but that didn’t even put a stutter in their step. They marched right in and seized the whole lot. That’s the only reason your idol’s up there now, gallivanting around like he’s the one that came up with this idea. No doubt he’s been studying Tesla’s notes day and night.”