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TATTERDEMON – Chapter Thirty-Five: Uneasy Rider

In 1691 the town of Crossfall taught the witch Thessaly how to die. They beat her, they shot her, they hung her – but nothing worked. When they finally tried to bury her alive Thessaly set the field against them. The first man died as a gust of wind harrowed the meat from his bones. A root flung like a dirty javelin, cut a second man down. Many more deaths followed. The Preacher Fell impaled the witch upon her very own broom but she dragged him down into the field to wait for three more centuries.

Three hundred years later Maddy Harker will murder her bullying husband Vic. She will bury him in the field as she buried her abusive father years before that. The very same field where the revenant spirit of Thessaly Cross lies waiting.

In three days Vic will rise again – a thing of dirt, bone, and hatred.

Men will call him the Tatterdemon.

And hell – and Thessaly – will follow!


Folks looking for a mix of Stephen King’s SALEM’S LOT small-town sensibilities mixed with the grand Guignol chutzpah of filmaker Peter Jackson’s BRAINDEAD should grab a copy of TATTERDEMON today on Kindle or Kobo or Apple or Smashword or most anywhere you can find an e-book, audiobook, or a paperback!

* 1 *

Bzzzzzzzz, bang.

“Damn it!”

Wilfred hit another pothole.

Bang!

“Damn it!”

He bounced down the road on Wendy Joe’s moped. He did not feel one bit like the Lone Ranger and he certainly didn’t feel like Arnold Schwarznegger. If he felt like anything, it was one of those fat motorcycle riding twins from out of the Guinness Book of World Records.

One thing was for certain. He was learning a whole new brand of respect for dumpy little moped driving black women. This was tough. Every bump drove his asshole further up his spine. Every bug in existence was magnetically attracted to his gritted teeth and clenched eyeballs. How in the hell anyone could put up with this agony was beyond his imagination.

Wendy Joe must have hemorrhoids backed straight up to her back teeth.

He thumbed the walkie-talkie three more times.

It squelched back.

Come a running.

Whatever it was it had to be coming from out by Lily’s place.

That seemed to be where everything started going to hell.

It was all he had to go on.

Bang!

Hell.

If Earl Toad or whoever was on the end of this walkie-talkie needed a hand, then Wilfred Fell was dealing himself in.

Hook, line, and moped.

* 2 *

Here in the barn, in spite of her terror, in spite of being trapped with a stick arm stained with Deputy Earl’s lifeblood, and the back from the dead zombified scarecrow of her deeply perverted mailman, Maddy was happy.

There were tools here, lots of them.

There had to be weapon she could use.

Let’s see.

There were coffee tins full of nails, a couple jugs of paint thinner, diesel fuel, some rags and several bottles of screws.

Not to mention the grand prize.

Vic’s welding torch.

She reached right for it.

“Maybe we can weld you up.”

Marvin, scarecrow or not, wasn’t dumb. He stepped between her and the torch.

“I was just kidding, Marvin,” Maddy said. “You’ve got to loosen up. Folks’ll think you’ve grown into a real stuffed shirt.”

She was thinking, fast as she was talking, trying to figure a way out of this mess. She reached past the torch and snagged the bottle of wood glue.

“Glue and clamps. That’s what we need. I just wish I had some wax paper to catch the drips with. Oh well, the mess this floors in, a few drips of glue probably won’t make much difference.”

Keep talking.

Hide your fear.

Don’t let it slow you down.

“Epoxy might be better. It dries faster. Let’s see,” she kept on talking to herself. “Is there any epoxy here? Ah, there it is.”

Buried beneath a half dozen sheets of dollar store sandpaper, a chipped chisel and an empty box of nails was the epoxy; one of those double barreled hypodermics – the kind that squeezes the gunk and the stick-um out in one push.

She turned to Marvin.

Shit.

He looked like nothing more than a boy with a boo-boo, waiting for his momma’s make-it-all-better kiss.

“There now Marvin. Don’t feel so bad. I’ll fix you up.”

She felt like a mad doctor, using that big old hypodermic.

“Hold still, now.”

She glued the arm and braced it with a makeshift splint, put together with a couple of broken strips of window molding.

“Keep holding,” she told him. “We’ll clamp it tight in the vise.”

She felt a little bad, tricking him like this. He looked so goddamn trusting – the fucking peeper eyed mail bugger. She twisted the periscope arms of the vise, tightening it snugly around the molding, hoping it hurt.

“Just hold still, now,” she kept repeating, comforting and hypnotizing him with that steady comforting drone. “Here. Hold still. While it dries I’ll give it a coat of spray lacquer and make it all shiny and new. Waterproof, even.”

She reached for the spray can.

“Hold still. Hold still.”

She aimed it at the arm, unpocketed the Zippo lighter, and snapped it. The Zippos caught at the first try, the flame igniting the sprayed lacquer.

Woosh, instant flame thrower.

Marvin howled in instant agony, pulling back and slamming himself against the wall of the shed, but the vise held him fast. Maddy showed no mercy. She was going for it now.

She grabbed the welding iron.

“Now you’re cooking,” she taunted.

* 3 *

Wilfred rolled in at Lily’s trailer like a saddle sore one man cavalry charge.

He took a quick look around.

There was Earl’s squad car, just sitting by itself. It gave Wilfred the creeps seeing the squad car like that. It was funny how you never imagined how scary an empty car can be until you see it without someone inside of it that you’re looking for.

The broken window on the trailer was worse. The broken window frame looked like a set of giant wooden jaws, waiting for some fat country lion taming sheriff to stick his fool head in.

He laughed to himself.

He could picture Earl human cannon-balling through the window.

That was Earl’s style for sure.

They didn’t grow them any gamer.

“Goddamn it Earl. If you’ve got yourself killed, I’m going to have to raise you up from the dead somehow and kill you once or twice again, just to show you how pissed off I can be.”

He kicked the door down.

That was his style.

Hey diddle-diddle, straight down the middle.

Just like John Wayne.

Besides, he was too fat and ornery to clamber through a window.

“Hell.”

It was worse than the station house. There was blood all over the walls. It looked like somebody decided to redecorate in early colonial gore.

This was bad – real balls to the burning wall kind of bad. He ought to call someone. He searched for the phone. He didn’t want to touch anything, partly for fear of messing up fingerprints and partly just because he was afraid to touch it.

It was that bad.

He found the telephone cord under the couch. The cord was ripped from the wall.

“Damn.”

For the third time that day he reached for a cigarette.

No match. Maybe there was some in the kitchen. He found a pack by the stove. The long kind you use for lighting a barbecue. He also found a sack. It looked a little like the kind that paperboys used.

No, not paperboys.

It was a mail bag.

He opened it up.

He saw what was inside.

“Sweet Jesus.”

The severed head stared back at him. For just an instant he swore he saw the eyes blink. Or maybe it was just the light glinting off the glasses. Then the head made a noise, like it was trying to speak, but couldn’t.

“Damn.”

Wilfred dropped the sack to floor. He wouldn’t pick it up for all the tea in Cape Breton. He left the house, just as soon as he made certain there were no other signs of life. He tried hard not to think of the mail sack, or those goddamn staring glasses.

He climbed into the squad car.

At least the key was there.

But where the hell was Earl?

Damn it.

He’d drive to the nearest house. Then he’d phone in the provincial cops. Then maybe he’d drive out of the province. Hell, he ought to drive to Antarctica, the way he was feeling about what he kept seeing.

Something was going bad in Crossfall. There was nothing but death and blood, and not a body to be seen and it made about as much sense as a rooster laying eggs.

He turned the key and headed the car towards the road.

He’d be at Maddy and Vic’s home in a matter of minutes.

“Yippee.”

Hey folks! Summer gets hectic and I kept some of you waiting for the next chapter and for that I apologize heartily.

Read Chapter Thirty-Six: Burnt Pork and Terror.

Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in All Stories, Horror, Humor, Paranormal

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