A Dark Autumn (14 page)

She had to keep moving, but this setback would make it nearly unfeasible. She was tempted to just wait here for Ricky, and let him get this over with.
 

But a noise resounded through the trees, faint but casually growing louder. A rumble. Pause. Then another rumble.
 

Britt’s truck?
 

Sounded like it. She could pinpoint that engine’s roar through a dozen others.
 

“Britt!” She felt a smile trying to tear the corners of her mouth.
 

It died when she caught the whiff of musky perfume.
 

Ricky.
 

She turned around. A gleam flashed across her face, trailing up the bark of the tree. She dropped to a squat. On her way down something ruffled her hair. There was a solid
whack
when it punched the tree. She looked up. The ax blade was imbedded at least two inches into the bark. She’d just missed having her head lopped off like Helen’s.
 

Ricky tugged the handle, already trying to extract it. It was giving him some trouble, but it wouldn’t last.

She didn’t linger to watch. On her hands and knees, she crawled out of Ricky’s reach, then jumped to her feet, and launched herself away from him. She ignored her broken wrist, ignored the pain in her hip and foot. Instead, she focused on the sound of Britt’s truck. And, even if by some chance it wasn’t Britt’s truck, it was
somebody’s
truck, and that meant someone else was out here.
 

Someone that could help.

Michelle was scared if she looked back to check on Ricky that she would find him right behind her, or worse yet, she would fall. But she had to risk it. She stole a quick peek, and her fears were realized.

Ricky was three strides behind her.
 

And, he had the
ax!

Michelle faced forward, ducked her head and pumped herself harder.
 

Britt steered the truck around a curve. Once the road straightened out, he pushed the pedal down farther and increased his speed. Up ahead and through the trees he began to make out a triangular shape a dark shade of brown.
The cabin.
This was the right road after all. He smiled behind the cigarette.
 

Someone screamed.
 

He jumped in his seat, screaming himself as a flailing shape shot in front of the truck. He was too late to brake, so he swerved. Another larger figure emerged as the truck slid around sideways.
 

Trying to keep it from flipping, Britt struggled with the wheel as his cigarette flew from his mouth.

He failed.
 

Britt felt the bottom slant out from under him. Through the windshield he could see the trees rotating clockwise. He heard two metallic bumps, then he felt them as the truck landed on its roof. It toppled again, bouncing when it landed on the tires.
 

The truck sat there wobbling as tranquility was restored to the woods around it.
 

Epilogue

Britt finished reading the article in the paper, then folded it and tossed it on the coffee table in front of him. Since his testimony, he hadn’t gone back to the courtroom once during Richard Myers’ trial, nor had he wanted to. It had been painful enough learning all he had during the two days he was in there. The stuff they’d said about the girls—Michelle particularly—had broken his heart.
 

The defense argued that Myers had been drugged, and then was molested by Michelle and her friends. Afterward he’d snapped, a second personality had surfaced and enacted a violent revenge on his behalf. Apparently, Myers had had a traumatic childhood of sexual molestation, and was also living with the confusion and shame he felt for being a homosexual.
 

The prosecutors didn’t buy it. And, neither did the jury. They agreed that since Richard Myers was a man, then there was no way he wasn’t in control of his sexual actions. They’d rejected the drugged theory completely, and declared that because he had an erection, then he
wanted
to have intercourse with all four of them. It was his guilt over realizing that he was not gay that had finally sent him over the edge. Plus, he had a reputation as a homosexual author to protect, so they needed to be disposed of, and the whole Laura Kelly split personality act was only that…an act, a charade.
 

So, the jury sided with the prosecutors, and, as the paper had stated, sentenced Myers to four life sentences in a maximum security prison, denying the not guilty by reason of insanity plea.
 

But they’d waved the death penalty.
 

Britt didn’t know how to feel about their decision. Just like he’d said when he was on the stand, Michelle’s sexual desires could get out of control, and yes, he believed that she could have done the things the defense team was saying she had done. But he also said that he didn’t believe her acts were predetermined, either. It was a spur of the moment mistake…one that had cost Michelle her life.
 

She had been instantly killed when Britt’s truck struck her. She’d run out in front of him from the woods, and he’d seen her too late. Sometimes he could still hear the tinny thump of her body hitting the truck. The collision had also seriously damaged Myers. He lost the use of his left leg after the truck crushed it as it rolled over. Britt came out of the accident unscathed, but the nightmares he’d endured afterward almost ruined him.
 

His cat Babs purred from his lap. He stroked her chin, then leaned back in the chair. His anti-depressants were kicking in…making him sleepy.

It had been over a year since the carnage at Brown Mountain, and Britt had not been intimate with anyone since his last time with Michelle. He doubted he ever would be again…because just like his nightmares, the thought of sex had become just too much to bear.

About the Author

Kristopher Rufty is the writer/director of the movies Psycho Holocaust, Rags, and Wicked Wood, and also the author of Angel Board, The Night Everything Changed, and The Lurkers.

He also hosts Diabolical Radio, an internet radio show devoted to horror fiction and film. The show has been online for nearly five years now and has developed quite an archive list and following.

He is married to his high school sweetheart and is the father of two insane children that he loves dearly, and together they reside in North Carolina with their 120 pound dog Thor and a horde of cats. He is currently working on his next novel, script, or movie.

For more about Kristopher Rufty, please visit his Website
lastkristontheleft.blogspot.com

He can be found on Facebook and Twitter as well.

Look for these titles by Kristopher Rufty

Now Available:

Angel Board

The Lurkers

Coming Soon:

Oak Hollow

They’re waiting for you in the woods.

The Lurkers

© 2012 Kristopher Rufty

They’ve lived in the woods and cornfields for as long as anyone can remember. Small, humanoid creatures with sharp teeth and grasping hands. The people in what’s left of the nearby town live in fear. They’ve learned that if they let the creatures take what they want, they won’t be attacked. An uneasy peace has reigned. But no more. The leader of the creatures has decided his kind will be dormant no longer. To survive, they must kill. They will satisfy their unholy hunger with their favorite prey—humans. But some humans—females—will be kept alive in captivity…to breed.
 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Lurkers:

Nancy glanced at the sink, gasping when she noticed the toppled over rack. The shattered remains of her favorite coffee mug littered the bottom of the sink. All that remained of the logo was a shard with the heart cracked down the middle. It teetered on the edge of the drain. She wanted to cry. The broken shards were all that remained of the mug she’d spent so many mornings at the table with, reading a paperback and guzzling countless cups of coffee. Who knew when she’d make it back to California for a replacement? Maybe Elizabeth could send her another one. That would be a temporary fix, but wouldn’t be the same. The memories of the trip had also made the cup that much more special.
 

Something thumped inside the cabinet above the stove, pulling her out of the broken cup blues. It landed with a metallic thud.
A can?
Somehow, the bastards – whatever they were – had gotten inside the cabinets.
 

Nancy moved away from the sink, glancing at the tracks in passing. Seeing them again caused her bowels to feel as if they were being pronged with an icy fork. Something about them frightened her. They weren’t right, or normal, but unusually small and out of place.
 

Looks like a damn baby.
Not just
a
baby – babies. More than one. Different shapes and widths left the kitchen peppered in the white dust. The only thing they had in common was their diminutive size.
 

She regretted not going back for the gun.
 

Nancy attempted calling for Hank, but her cries only tickled the back of her swollen throat. She could barely release a squeal, let alone a howl for her deep sleeping husband and even in the silence of the kitchen that sounded earsplitting.
 

She was truly alone.
 

Before going to the cabinet, Nancy took a detour to the fridge. Walking slow and stilted, she snatched the broom out from behind it. Now she had some kind of a weapon
,
at least. Not much of one, she realized, but it felt good to at least have
something.
 

Hunched over, she slunk back to the stove with the wooden tip of the broom pointed ahead of her, the dried straw silently scraping the floor behind her as she moved. With her left hand she gripped the cabinet by its bronze handle. It was cold and clammy in her sweaty hand. Taking a deep breath, she mustered up a hint of courage to peek inside, and as she was ready to wrench it open, she caught the hushed sound of raspy whispers inside. They spoke to one another animatedly, talking so fast she couldn’t decipher the syllables. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
 

What little bit of bravery she’d manage to obtain had promptly retreated.
 

The cabinet door jerked from her hand.
 

She jumped back, shrieking so vigorously that something inside of her throat ripped. A scorching wetness coated the back of her throat.

Blood.

Standing inside the cabinet were four things huddled together. They looked to have been arguing over a large canister of chicken until detecting her presence. Simultaneously, their heads turned to her. She was met with stares, and watched as triangles of white stretched across the dimness.

Smiles!! They’re smiling!!

Then she looked at the cabinet door. Hanging upside down from the spice rack by its feet was another one of the tiny creatures. She stood face to miniature face with the inverted munchkin. It appeared human-like, but as if it had been left in a drier for way too long, its skin pruned and withered like a rotten apple. It wore what looked like some kind of burlap sack as a hooded suit. It erupted with squeals, like shrieks from an injured cub.

Nancy tried hollering, but only produced a wet burble.
 

Laughter, high-pitched as if on helium, reverberated around her, in front of her, and behind her as the cabinets throughout the kitchen sprang open, clamoring in the tight room with an explosion of slamming doors. The central air vents on the floor flipped upward as the minuscule things climbed out from the ducts, revealing that more and more of them had been hiding under the floor. Stemming from under the sink, above the counter, and even behind the same damn fridge she’d just taken the broom from. She stopped counting crescent-shaped heads at thirteen, but there had to have been more, so many more.

They’d been watching her all this time.

Waiting.
 

And none of them looked to be above two feet tall.
 

Nancy tried to scream again. Couldn’t. Whatever had been damaged inside her throat flapped loosely like a piece of lettuce. It gagged her.
 

The creatures slowly pressed in on her, encasing her in a horde of dwarfed bodies. She was the beetle with an army of hungry ants all around her, stranded with nowhere to go and no point in trying.
 

Where the hell are you, Hank?!! Why aren’t you helping me?!!!

As if to answer her, his muffled screams resonated from the bedroom, but were quickly drowned out by more screeching laughter. Then she heard nothing more than the juicy rips and slashes of her husband being devoured where she’d left him sleeping in their bed.
 

Nancy started to cry.