Evil Jester Digest, Vol.1 (6 page)

No afterglow.

“Emil. Emil.” She says it over and over. He looks at her.

She stands with her hands flat against her sides, eyes bigger and darker than seem possible. Her nipples stand erect through her shirt.

Sharpe drops the gun. “LET’S FUCK,” he announces and drops his pants.

She faints hard. It almost seems calculated, the way her head rebounds off the hardwood. Sharpe watches her lay there. Then he retrieves the gun.

A looping siren grows near. With his sweats still around his knees, he shuffles to the front door. There he sees two police cruisers pulling into the yard. There, he pushes the Colt’s barrel into his flesh and says a vulgar prayer.

When he emerges from the house after the third gunshot, his pants are still down, but he has freed himself of his immodesty; and while he doesn’t think he will be loved for that, maybe he’ll find something greater within himself to hold onto.

*****

Dr. Lundgren pokes
his head into the room and says, “I hear you’re having nightmares.”

Sharpe rolls away from the rear wall and looks up at him. “I don’t want pills. I wanna write ’em down.”

Lundgren’s face never changes. He never blinks. He says, “I don’t see how you can do that right now.”

“Let me out of this.”
Sharpe jerks his arms about inside the jacket. He kicks his legs and screams, despite the rule about screaming, and screams louder when Lundgren shuts the door.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M GONNA DO? WHAT CAN I DO? WHAT CAN I DOOOOOOOOO?”

God sits crouched in the corner with sympathetic eyes. “Just try to remember them,” he says. “You can write them later.”

Sharpe sobs for a while then screams some more, and some time later falls back into slumber.

*****

David Dunwoody
is the author of the
Empire
zombie series as well as the collections
Dark Entities
and
Unbound & Other Tales
. Dave lives in Utah and can be visited on the Web at daviddunwoody.com.

WIDDERSHINS

Hollie Snider

Humidity rose from
the ground in rainbow opaque wisps. Gentle rain ticked against verdant leaves and cascaded along smooth tree trunks. The surrounding jungle smelled of green, growing things in rich earth with an underlying tang of decay.

The scent reminded Dara Kincaide of greenhouses, hot garbage, death…and life. Unseen flowers bloomed within the Peruvian cloud forest, sporadically filling the air with phantom sweetness. The effect was akin to catching an occasional breath of fresh air while standing waist deep in a rotting refuse pile.

“Our first day,” Dara said. She smiled at the student expedition group. Susan, Edgar, Jimmy, and Francine grinned back at her, excitement shining in their eyes.

Kevin, Dara’s husband, checked the packs on the four guanacos one last time. “Let’s get going. Those ruins aren’t going to inspect themselves.” He snugged his rafting hat on and picked up the lead rope belonging to the nearest guanaco. Kevin led a train of three llama-like animals down the well-used path. Dara picked up the fourth animal’s lead.

Dara swatted at the back of her head, shooing the guanaco away from her hair. The curious beast stepped faster, moving to walk beside her, sniffing. She looked into its large, brown eyes, noting the extraordinary length of its lashes and feeling a little jealous.
Why is it animals and boys always get the longest eyelashes?

Scents of hot, wet hay and damp fur tickled Dara’s nose as the guanaco nibbled her shoulder. She shrugged the lips away. “Just don’t spit on me.” Long lashes closed in a slow blink, then the animal’s ears pricked. Dara listened, too, wondering what the animal heard.

Droning sounds of insects thrummed in the air. Then something else, something…slithering crossed her path. The noise came from deep in the soil. Dara stared at the dark earth, trying to see into its depths. Nothing met the intense gaze. Wary, Dara stepped wide and continued, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder. The guanaco hopped across the implied snake trail, refusing to set foot on the it.

Rain stopped and itchy moisture settled on Dara’s skin. She felt like ants crawled along her spine and wove through her scalp. Knowing scratching would only add to the discomfort, Dara sought to ignore the sensation. The prickling strengthened, and she tried not to scratch, instead rubbing calloused palms along both arms. Even the smallest abrasion would open her skin to infections in the jungle.

Why did I plan an expedition into a South American cloud forest in December? Sooner or later, I will remember seasons are reversed down here.

Their expedition moved along the snake and spider infested trail, winding ever-deeper into the hellish environment. Kevin led the way, hacking at the overgrowth in places. After two hours of walking, he called back, “Do we need to stop and rest? You all looked a little winded.”

Dara glared at him as he stood, auburn hair plastered to his head. Sweat ran along the sides of his face and dripped from his rounded chin.

“Yes,” called Susan, one of the students. She dropped her backpack with a heavy thump. “Please.”

“All right. But just a quick break,” said Kevin. He flashed a boyish grin. “I want to see these ruins before the world ends in three days.”

Susan and Francine swayed on their feet. Edgar sipped from his canteen, looking for all the world like he wanted to gulp the entire contents.

Dara took a drink from her own and almost choked. Water, ice cold this morning, now tasted metallic and stale. Tepid fluid did little to quench her thirst.

The last student, Jimmy, stood next to Kevin, showing no apparent signs of suffering. Sweat stains spotted his shirt, but he breathed easy and didn’t touch his canteen.

Jimmy’s from the Louisiana bayous,
Dara reminded herself.
This is probably like home to him.

“Okay, let’s move on,” said Dara.

Designated P42CF, the newly discovered ruins appeared to show traits not belonging to South America, according to the preliminary reports. Unusual findings of Egyptian styled hieroglyphics and Sumerian cuneiform writing made up the majority of the missives filtering back to the USA. Those determinations brought Dara and Kevin, along with his top four archeology students, to the Andes; the most beautiful hell Dara had ever seen.

With a collective groan from three students, the group moved on, heat and humidity combining to keep a ponderous pace.

Some distance ahead, Dara heard running water. The sound reminded her of wind through aspen leaves. A longing for the cool weather and dry air of the Wyoming Rockies rose in her. Imagining snow, she put one foot in front of the other, occasionally pushing the nosy guanaco away from her hair.

Broad-leafed trees towered above, stretching to the heavens and blocking most of the sunlight. Dara looked up, knowing the sun was there in that azure sky, yet not having visible proof other than muted greenish light. The cloud forest felt darker, more menacing. A quetzal called, its sudden voice startling Dara. She looked around, desperate to acknowledge the bird’s existence. She needed to know those in her little group weren’t the only living things, outside of snakes and spiders, in this jungle of giants. The bird eluded her, well-hidden in the dense, intertwined treetops like some colorful haunt.

Dara stepped off the trail, hoping to sight its bronze, green, and red plumage from a different angle. The guanaco balked at first then followed with hesitant steps.

Thick undergrowth closed around her. Faint voices spoke, words unintelligible, hideously luring, reminding her of the infernal susurrus of orchid bees and other winged insects. Leaves rustled, the innocent sound somehow ominous now. Heavy panting and coughs came from behind Dara, and she turned to find the guanaco, sides heaving and eyes rolling in fear. She struggled to calm the beast even as her own panic rose. The animal screamed, a high, bleating call. Maguay rope scraped skin and burned palms as the guanaco pulled free and bolted.

The deep, slithering sound returned. Dry skin against dry earth. Noise sizzled in Dara’s ears. Blood pounded through her veins as if searching for escape. Pressure rose and throbbed in her skull. Neck muscles tightened and shoulders hunched. Dara’s body drew in upon itself, curling toward defense.

Sibilant voices grew louder, chanting monotones. Dara strained to listen, to understand the almost recognizable words. Her brain screamed to get out, get away from the menacing chorus. Dara couldn’t move, as rooted to the soil as the trees caging her.

Vines shifted and fell, coiling at her feet like fat green serpents. Loops of the ropy tendrils dropped all around, entangling her in their serpentine grasp. Leaves quivered in anticipation. Tree branches bowed and bent, groaning as if under a tremendous weight. Psitherisms rose from faint, buzzing murmurs to incomprehensible gibberish. No human mouth could ever form such words.

Dara raised her hands to cover her ears, when a new demand broke through, banishing the chanting to the background.

Kevin! Calling my name!

He sounded muffled, faraway somehow.

Why does he sound so distant?

“Kevin?” called Dara, voice weak with fear. She turned and found the trail beneath her feet once more.

Kevin stalked toward her, leading the escaped guanaco.

“Dara, you’ve got to keep up,” he said. “If you fall behind and get lost, we’ll never find you.” Kevin thrust the animal’s lead at her. “If Peggy here hadn’t tried to bolt past me, we’d never even know you disappeared until we made camp.”

She hugged him, wrapping her arms around his strong torso.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Kevin stroked her hair.

“Nothing,” she said. Dara looked over her shoulder, expecting to see something creep from the undergrowth. Only the trail and dripping leaves met her fearful gaze. “Let’s keep going. And who’s Peggy?”

Kevin pointed at the guanaco. “Don’t you remember her name?”

“Oh, Right, yeah.” Dara studied the path behind. Nothing. “Peggy. Sure, I remember.”

“You sure you’re all right?”

Dara winced as Kevin squeezed one hand. He looked at her palm. Angry rope burns met his gaze. “Why didn’t you just drop the rope?”

She snatched her hand away. “There wasn’t time. Peggy was fine one minute then freaking out the next.”

“Why aren’t you wearing your gloves?”

Dara pushed past him. “Gloves? In the cloud forest? As if it isn’t hot enough.” She turned and walked backward a few steps, still moving away from him. “And I thought you were in a hurry to get there. Doctor Halsey and the other teams are supposed to meet us there the day after tomorrow so we can start this dig officially.”

Kevin followed, shaking his head.

*****

Finally, after almost
a day’s travel, the group reached the perimeter of the dig site. Fire, in the form of sunset, raged across the small, treeless depression in the mountains, glistening off clouds blanketing the opposite forest, and licking around the plateaus. Just beyond the forest’s edge stood the discovery of the century.

Ruins glowed orange and shadowy, ominous and forbidding, yet irresistibly intriguing. They shimmered in the oppressive humidity, a spot of surrealism in a valley of green and bronze and copper reality.

Terraces traced horizontal lines across the cliffs, stepping down to a river gurgling below. Verdant grasses grew in the andinas, overtaking what had once been farmland for sweet potatoes, onions, and maize, along with other crops. Below, nearer the river, only circular depressions resembling meteor craters remained of ancient farming experiments for crops with different water and temperature requirements. Aqueducts, carved through whole rock in some places, hugged the sides of the fields, carrying water from mountain streams to irrigate the fields and provide drinking water.

Unlike other Peruvian ruins, these were not separated into an agricultural sector and a citadel. Buildings of various sizes dotted the area. Houses and stables intermingled with temples and storehouses. A small amphitheater squatted central to the surrounding buildings. Curved stone benches wrapped around a raised dais looking to be about twelve feet in diameter.

Ground fog curled about the buildings and crept over terraces, caressing stone with cold fingers.

Dara gazed at the sight before her.
They look like some Andean Brigadoon. I wonder if the ruins will vanish in the morning.

The expedition of six crept forward, light and shadow playing tricks with vision. Shapes shifted and roiling gloom appeared to reach for the group as they passed.

“There are ghosts here,” Dara murmured. “P-forty-two-C-F belongs to the dead.”

“And the dead keep it,” said Jimmy. The group snickered at the
Lord of the Rings
reference, breaking the supernatural spell.

*****

Kevin, Jimmy, and
Edgar set up camp with a mixture of eagerness and disappointment since no explorations could begin until sunrise. Dara, Susan, and Francine collected firewood and prepared the evening meal.

“So, what do you think this place is?” asked Susan.

“Given the andinas and aqueducts, this place had to have been a farming community along the lines of Machu Picchu,” said Jimmy. “Only I think this place may be older.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Kevin. “We haven’t seen much yet.”

Jimmy shrugged. He stirred the dried beef stew for a moment. “I don’t know, really. Just a feeling.” He raised one hand. “And before you say anything, no, I don’t know any more about the feeling, no, I don’t know where it’s coming from, and yes, I will pay attention to it as we are digging.”