Manchester House (14 page)

Both headed down the hidden road. It was obvious to Night that Manchester House, having received new guests, did not wish to be found so soon. Night was also sure that the people of Atchison, Kansas knew of this little parlor trick the house liked to pull but had come to believe the act to be a haunting, or at the very least something to be ignored as a midnightghost story. Still, Night seemed to know that the house knew that he knew.

“We are not finished here, Lars,” Night warned. “Be on guard.”

Lars kept his attention on the surrounding woods.

It did not take Night long to find Holzer’s car.

Opening the front passenger door of the car, Night discovered the letter that Holzer had left behind. Holzer, the letter instructed, had informed his team members that it was intended for strangers, should their car be discovered. This was a lie. The letter was meant for Night.

“So, Jonathon, what have you left for me, huh?”

Night read the letter.

Ingrid,

Manchester House lies ahead of you. I hope to see you soon. My friend, I hope that we can find the answer to this puzzle together. I know how much you love a challenge. This is why we founded SOURCE in the first place.

The people on my team are the best we have in this area and should prove themselves worthy in your usage. If we do not see you, or are not well, I hope to see you in the next life. I do not shudder at the thought of losing, my friend, but ManchesterHouse has taken her fair share of victims. I do not think myself arrogant enough not to be counted as one of her victims, if I am not careful, that is.

In any case, watch your step. There is a local legend that if the wood does not want you near the house, it will cause great harm. This is one theory behind what could have happened to the missing Civil War platoon that disappeared in this area so long ago. So my friends, take care, be careful, and see you soon.

Warmest regards,

Jonathon Holzer

Night folded the letter, placing it in his coat pocket.

The rain stopped.

The woods became aware.

“Lars, prepare yourself for some serious shit,” Night whispered.

Lars took out a long Bowie knife and a small pistol.

The trees surrounding Night, Lars, and the car started to move. The vines became animated. The air around them started to thicken.

“It comes.”

Before either man could react, they had sunk into the earth, bubbling in the mud and fighting for their lives. The dirt and foam of the earth stopped at their waists. Lars started to hack away at the rising dirt as he sank into it, but to no avail. It was as if the road was trying to bury the two of them alive.

Night did nothing. He only kept his eyes on the woods.

In the distance, Night could see a figure looming over them.

A figure of a little girl, peering through a mat of bloodied hair.

Night saw the Shape.

“You will not kill me, evil one,” Night shouted, pushing defiant arms up into the air. “I have survived stronger devils than you!”

Lightening started to flash, allowing the full figure of the Shape to be seen by both men. Lars pointed to the ghostly little girl, doing his silent best to bring his master’s attention toward the specter if he had not noticed her before. Night allowed the man the honor-Lars was only doing his job.

The Shape was smiling as she made sure that Night and Lars could not move.

Holzer’s car suddenly darted up into the air, smacked aside by the fallen tree trunks that had blocked their way from before. Night and Lars missed the car by only inches, both clutching onto the other, burying their faces into the mud. Night could see the car land several hundred feet away, exploding. A burnt-out steel hulk.

“Hope it wasn’t a rental,” Night said to amuse himself.

Vines and tree branches started to advance toward Night.

The wood did not want them to go any further.

Night’s thoughts turned to Holzer. What was he now going through?

In any case, Night knew that he wasn’t going to be able to greet his good friend while sinking waist-high in the mud.

Night still had in his hand a small black medical bag, given to him by an admirer decades ago while on another case. It had proven itself to be a great and faithful servant, and like Lars Night could not imagine a day without it by his side. It completed him.

What was more important was what was inside the bag.

Charms, spells, and icons of every faith and religion. Good, like evil, had many faces. Though Night was partial to the faces of his faith, he realized that God was great enough to have other faces in the battle with evil. So it was long ago that Night became an expert at every religion practiced by man, and each means known to combat evil. Partial to the arts of Judaism, however, he couldn’t help but be a little dramatic.

Night reached into his bag, pulling out an ancient Star of David. He had shown it toward the image of the Shape, which seemed to be coming closer-her power growing.

“The evil in the night has no power against me,” Night started to pray. “I am a fortified tower in His presence. I am a good and faithful servant toward the forces of light, and shall not be conquered by those of the dark. I am one with Him.”

A hint of ozone could be sensed in the air.

The wind stopped.

The Star of David started to glow, shining brighter than any flashlight or candle.

“I walk where those fear to tread, for I am a servant of Almighty God. I know the secret of life, and use that secret against evil.” Night pointed his long bony finger at the Shape. “I have come to bear witness to you!”

A thunderous sound echoed through the wood. Night started to smile.

He’d pissed off the demon.

The Shape, it seemed, started to shiver. Whether that shiver was from the cold, anger, or fear, Night could not tell. It surprised and amazed him when he had discovered long ago that demons and spirits could still feel these things. And why not? God and his universe were more complex than anything Man could ever conceive.

“You do not fear me?” Night said, rather amused. He kept his voice below a whisper. This was a private moment between himself and the demon.

The mud surrounding him and Lars began to dry at an accelerated rate. It now became possible for Lars and him to pull themselves out of the trap. They did so, rather hurriedly, realizing that the opportunity would only be a brief one.

“Lars, watch where you are stepping this time. I cannot look out for you that much. Not this night.” Night winked at Lars, causing the mute to smile back up at him.

Both Night and Lars stayed away from open pools of mud.

The Shape shirked out a powerful moan of anger, directing it at Night and his partner. She was enraged at the fact that Night had escaped her planned demise. How many other bodies were buried just inches under Night’s shoes by this powerful force, the man had to wonder.

The Shape mockingly raised her hand, copying Night’s gesture just moments before. Her lips started to move. Night ached to hear what she was saying, but could not.

“What is she doing, Lars?”

The wood turned remarkably quiet. Dead.

The silence was profound; Lars also seemed to be reacting toward it. Although deaf, Lars had proven himself to have a keen sense of danger. The silence bothered the little man, causing him to break free of Night’s circle of influence. Lars moved outward, expecting a fight.

“Lars!” Night yelled, his friendship and concern for the man causing him to momentarily forget that Lars couldn’t hear his warning.

A rainfall of rocks attacked Lars. Rocks of various sizes seemed to be falling out of the sky.

“Materialization?” Night mused. “Well, spirit, we have been bored, haven’t we?”

Night dropped his bag, rushing to the aide of his dear friend.

“Lars! Am I to put you on a leash?” Night meekly chuckled, realizing that Lars was bleeding badly.

Before Night could reach Lars, who appeared injured, he was held in place by a powerful force. Cursing his stupidity, Night realized that by letting go of his bag, he had broken whatever protection he may have had.

He was now at the mercy of the Shape.

She stepped forward onto the trail, facing both Night and Lars. As she passed Lars, looking down at him on the ground, unconscious in a fetal position, knocked out by a large pile of rocks, she leered down at the man as if to silently say, “You, later.”

Her focus was now on Ingrid Night.

“As in the days of old, when the prophets approached the face of God, it was written that no force could stop His will,” Night said, challenging the Shape, never flinching from the bond that she had over him, nor did he give up. This was not the first time the Devil had him by the balls. “The beast in the night cannot harm me. I am a soldier of the light.”

Night himself started to shiver. Controlled though it was, for he never allowed his foe to see him conquered, he could not but help feel that he was being watched. He felt as if a thousand eyes were looking down upon him.

There was movement behind him.

Slowly and carefully, Night peered over his right shoulder.

“Dear God,” he whispered.

Night had come across people he knew, soldiers like himself, who had often talked about encounters with “elementals.” These were ancient spirits that had been around since the beginning. Lower forms of spiritual lives which existed on the same plane as that of God, but were nowhere near his greatness. Still, these creatures did exist. Night had often questioned the theory that they were still around. Psychologists tried to explain them, but not to Night’s liking. Up until the time he turned to look over his shoulder, he had thought all the elementals were gone.

Not so.

Towering above Night, a creature made of vines, rock, dirt, and dead trees walked toward him. It held no distinctive shape. It only appeared as an avalanche of wood, wishing to engulf him and Lars. Still, Night could feel the elemental’s influence. It was coming from the little girl image of the Shape.

“You can control such power?”

The Shape smiled at him, almost innocently. Was he seeing an honest pride?

Vines darted out from the advancing tide of wood, grabbing hold of Night, engulfing him with leaf and bark like a mummy in its burial garments.

“Damn you, beast!” Night shouted, realizing that his feet were no longer on the ground. Within seconds, he estimated, the elemental had raised him two hundred feet in the air.

Night found his hands near his pants pocket.

Victory flashed in his eyes.

There was still a chance, by God! A glorious chance.

“I am the Wisdom and the Light, sayeth the Lord.”

Reaching into his left pants pocket, Night realized that he had placed his Shamas candle there after the portal hiding the way toward Manchester House had been torn open. A Shamas candle was a blessed candle, treated with care by holy hands so that the flame drawn to light the Jewish menorah would glow with the purity of God’s light. If anything humble and good upon the earth had the power to stop this monster, it was that tiny item overlooked by Night in his human arrogance.

The candle was there, and had not been damaged.

Night reached into his right pocket for a match.

Straining his muscles, Night brought both hands together.

The Shape started to retreat back into the wood, toward Manchester House. Something, it seemed, caught her attention. Perhaps Holzer was also fighting her on his end, with that particular scientific style of his which Night had come to both respect and love.

“Holzer, keep up the good fight!” Night laughed, lighting the candle.

A sharp vine lashed out at Night, almost striking him on the left cheek. It withered and spun in the air, animated, as if it were a snake. Several other vines flashed to action in response. It was as if the elemental had suddenly become aware that it was now acting on its own, with its major power influence gone, heading back toward Manchester House, and wanted to stop Night in his plans to defeat it.

Without blinking an eye, and gasping for breath, Ingrid Night lit the candle.

“My Light to the world, and the name of Justice at hand!” Night prayed.

The elemental froze.

The candle burned, its flame a beacon in the darkness of the wood.

“I cast you out!” Night yelled, raising the candle above his face.

The elemental let out a violent roar. In waves of flurrying bushes and dead tree trunks, the creature seemed to quiver in agony. The strength in the vines holding Night in place began to weaken, and the height in which he was held began to lower.

The vines holding Night burst into flames.

“Oh, shit!” Night said, realizing that he was still over fifty feet in the air, falling, splashing into a puddle of muddy water.

The elemental screamed, disappearing. The vines, bushes, and dead tree trunks in which it was held fell to the earth, lifeless. One thing was certain: the Parks and Recreations Department of Atchison would have one hell of a mess to clean up in the morning and none would be the wiser-blaming it all on the terrible rainstorm.

Anonymous in his victory, Ingrid Night was pleased.

Exhaling, he spat mud out of his mouth.

* * *

A familiar hand placed its worried presence on Night’s shoulder. Turning around, his eyes met those of Lars. Still bleeding from his forehead, Lars gave his master a nod of triumph. Lars had witnessed the final moments of his master’s fight and was glowing with pride.

“A hero I am, heh?” Night joked, wiping the mud off his face.

Lars shrugged his shoulders.

Both Night and Lars got up and headed toward Manchester House and their destiny.

Night, happy, was whistling his favorite song: Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

The basement door of Manchester House burst open and Holzer and his team came out heeding the warning they had been given by the Shape. All were more than ready to exit the mansion.

Leading the team, Holzer paused as he opened the front door. It was raining again, heavily, and the bright flashes of lightning blinded them all. It was a rather terrible storm and not quite the ideal weather needed for them all to leave. But most were convinced that considering what they went through in the basement it would be safer to leave than to stay.