Demons, Freaks & Other Abnormalities Read online

  Apparently the ranch had been a chicken farm, and I say had been because the chickens here were nothing more than withered feathers and decayed skin laced over splintered bone fragments. If it weren’t for the few feathers swaying in the late afternoon breeze, the casual eye would have had a difficult time identifying the animals these bones once defined. Although thousands of tiny bones lay about the weeds and dirt within the fenced pen, a great many had been intricately woven together to form grotesque gargoyle-like creatures, one atop each fence post at the side of the road. I paced to one and saw that the creator of these hideous models had taken great pains to construct them, as the bones were sewn together with strands of steel-meshed wiring from the coop. They served an appropriate welcome to the evil that was rumored to thrive here. I crossed myself and continued on.

  The next thirty minutes had me passing similar sights, tiny ranches whose cultivations had succumbed to some hideous butchery, the livestock--cattle, goats, more chickens--slaughtered and maimed in such a fashion that I had difficulty fathoming the nightmarish sights as plausible in this waking world. Stakes had been erected, the heads of goats speared and staring at me through blackened worm-ridden eyes. Cows gutted, shreds of distended bellies giving way to fetuses long dried beneath the sun’s rays. I had great fears of suddenly wanting to turn back, but forced myself to press on, as the tiny structures of Banalica’s community were now within my sights.

  Banalica was small, its inhabitants numbering less than two hundred. Each civilian worked to simply live, farming for food and making trips into Cocina to trade for luxuries such as fish and fruit. Here in this stretch, shanties stood alongside a lone dirt road, housing perhaps four or five inhabitants apiece. An open-air meeting place constructed of wooden beams and benches centered the town, and towards the end of the road by the outgrowth of the jungle, the church.

  I stared hopefully at the much larger structure, but the uncomfortable silence here set alarm to me. Nothing but the wind stirred, and unlike the jungle where birds chirped and monkeys howled, Banalica slept, basked in stillness.

  My thoughts came too soon, for something in the jungle discharged a terrible shriek, very loud, very long.

  I nearly passed out from the start of the unexpected cry, and my body shook like a bundle of wires charged with high voltage. It went on and on, and I wondered how a pair of human lungs could sustain such a bellow. I kissed the cross at my neck, and then it ended just as precipitously as it started.

  I realized suddenly that night was quickly pouring in, the sun dropping down behind the cloak of the jungle. I picked up my pace even though my legs ached badly, and approached the front of the church. I took the four steps leading to the entrance, peering behind me one last time before entering, swearing to my Lord that I thought I saw a great black shadow moving in the trees just beyond the perimeter of the jungle.

  I entered the church. Darkness virtually enveloped the interior as I passed the threshold, and if not for the candles and kerosene lamps alight at the altar, I would have presumed this town to be deserted. I paced slowly up the center aisle, crude wooden pews carved from tree trunks at either sides of me. A series of bowed heads came into view at the first two rows, and I smelled something overly ripened, like rotting vegetables.

  “Hello?” I quietly called, and the heads turned. There were a few sharp moans; apparently I had caused some alarm. A single figure rose up, and I paced forward thinking at first that it was Juan-Carlos, but realized quite soon that the individual only merely resembled my lost friend.

  His brother. Roberto.

  “Miguel?”

  Although we had never made acquaintance, he recognized me, perhaps from photos Juan-Carlos had sent over the years. “I found your letter Roberto. In Juan-Carlos’ room.”

  The younger brother bowed his head. Looking to the ground he asked, “How long has it been since my brother left?”

  Immediately I felt a great trepidation, an ache in my pounding heart, and the prospects I had forewarned myself of during my travels here may have actually arisen.

  Juan-Carlos never made it.

  I walked over and hugged Roberto and he began to cry. As his tears soaked up in the fabric of my shirt, I gazed over his shoulder towards the others. No more than twenty people, they contemplated me with empty eyes and forlorn expressions. I saw great amounts of suffering written on their faces, each undoubtedly witness to perils distressing beyond any imagination.

  Perhaps evil had indeed assumed control of Banalica.

  In what form, I needed to find out.

  Roberto controlled his anguish and pulled away. In his teary face I saw a man whose most recent days had been spent in agony, a messy beard covering half his emaciated features; puffy black circles like half moons beneath soulless eyes.

  “What has happened here, Roberto? Where are the rest of the townsfolk?”

  “They are dead,” he said forcefully, then grabbed my arm and added, “Come with me, Miguel.”

  He led me away from the others, leaving them to resume their prayers, and we sat in a pew a few rows back. “Nighttime has fallen,” he said turning his gaze to the ceiling twelve feet above. “He will soon show himself, and you will see for yourself.”

  At once I associated his statement with those ramblings present in the letter that had brought me here, and I wondered regrettably if his written denial of being a madman might actually hold some truth. “Who will be here?”

  He gripped my wrist, his bony fingers tight and hot on my skin. Sweat fell from his brow. “Dear Miguel, evil has risen in the jungle, and it has assumed control of Banalica. I am fearful to reveal the truth to you, as you may reject it as an invention of madness.”

  “Please...” I met his eyes with as much integrity as I could.

  Then, he spoke. “Not one month ago, Banalica was a thriving community. We were happy. Suddenly the mutilations came, and all our animals within a week’s time were dead. It wasn’t until our people were victimized did we realize our true predicament.” He paused for a moment, then confessed. “Miguel, I find no other explanation to give you other than...the evil from the jungle, it comes in the form of a...a vampire.”

  His last word came out as a whisper and my mouth dropped, but no reply came forth. I wanted to question his radical conclusion, but then I envisioned the slaughtered animals at the ranches, the bone-sculptures, and my tongue momentarily froze.

  He continued, hands shaking wildly, tears flowing. “Many of our people have been snatched away into the jungle, I have seen it with my very own tired eyes. Some have attempted to flee, by morning, and I make no assumption as to how many have been successful in their plight for escape. Apparently it seems one has, as the letter you’ve received can attest. I’ve sent five letters with people who’ve chosen to brave the jungle on foot. So far only one letter has returned, with you.”

  I was about to force words from my mouth--anything that might humor the man--simply because I had difficulties deciding whether I should believe or doubt these frightened people shielding themselves within the church’s armor, but I was cut short by a harsh scraping noise coming from above. Terror instantly struck me, not from the noise but from the shrieks of horror spewing from the mouths of all those cowering in the first two pews. Their shrieks quickly gave way to quiet apprehension--an apprehension of knowing that the possibility of death awaited them just beyond the frail walls of their shelter.

  “Do not worry, we are safe here,” Roberto said weakly, his confidence clearly overcome by fear. “He waits, tempts us, will scratch at the walls all night. But as long as you do not succumb to his hypnotizing beckon, you will live to see the morning.”

  The scratching grew louder, as if someone were attacking the roof with sharp knives. The curiosity of it had me in its grasp, and I wanted to investigate its source, despite Roberto’s claims. The stench of garlic assaulted my senses, taking over the ripe odor of unclean bodies, and I looked over to see the townspeople donning themselves with roped
cloves.

  I felt somewhat incensed at this action, these people’s brains being washed with folklore and not necessarily the truth of their real torment. “Roberto, whatever that is above our heads (the scraping had grown to a point where it began to daze me, and amidst it I thought I heard something purring), the reek of garlic is no serious defense. Faith and common sense is what these people need! Stamina! Not fairy tale logic!” My voice had turned to yells, and all eyes were set upon me. Above, the purrs had grown to grating, low-toned growls.

  And the scraping went on and on and on.

  “People! This is nonsense!” I yelled, somewhat in denial of the events suddenly taking place, also to distract myself from those terrible nails (I envisioned in my mind that the source of the noise above could very well be fingernails...thick dirty yellowed fingernails) splintering the wood above our heads. I launched myself from my seat and set foot down the center aisle to the doors, much to the discouragement of the people, who outwardly voiced their concerns.

  “You’ll die out there!”

  “Stay in here! He won’t come in!”

  “Come back!”

  And there were more, many more, and they probably held validity, but I ignored them, determined to make sense of this so-called evil in Banalica. I reached the threshold when Roberto grabbed my arm.

  “Whatever you do Miguel, do not look into his eyes.”

  I almost scoffed at his request, writing it off to yet another whim of folklore, but the seriousness in his eyes nearly had me tranced, and I simply nodded, opened the door, and moved outside into the night.

  At once a thrust of cold wind swept past me and slammed the door behind me. I stayed motionless on the top step, peering about the deserted town. The trees from the jungle sang, their leaves in concert with the wind. Circles of dirt flew up, and I instantly realized that the town was remarkably arid for such a temperate environment.

  Then, just above and behind me, I heard the scraping.

  Scrape...scrape...scrape..., each one sharp and long against the wooden exterior of the church, piercing my senses to a point where I felt as if they were cutting into my skin. Cowering a bit in fear of what I might find, I spun and saw the thing Roberto had spoke of. The vampire.

  Perhaps not six feet away, the thing bounced and writhed on the edge of the roof above me, a man--or what used to be a man--with snow-white hair and ancient eyes whose sickly yellow corneas and black pupils stared pure evil at me. I swallowed hard as I found myself staring at this creature, this creature who looked older than time itself yet fidgeted with a kind of horrid, obscene glee, choking lunatic sniggers at me through rows of razor sharp fangs, spanning a formidable pair of tenuous milky wings from its back that propelled their dark winds in my direction. Its taloned feet gripped the eave firmly, pointed-clawed hands twisting and dancing in the air, mesmerizing me.

  At once, ever so slowly, it descended upon me...

  My body was yanked away, back into the church. The door slammed behind me and Roberto was there, arms wrapped tightly around me. He held me like that for a few tense moments, then slapped my face as tears began to flow from my eyes. He pulled me further away from the door, and I stumbled along with him, feeling my hypnotic lethargy slowly slipping away. I realized with great dismay the peril I had just exposed myself to. Dear God, I had been tranced! I looked into its eyes just as Roberto told me not to, those terrible glaring eyes, and nearly fell victim to its evil, just as he said I would!

  When my legs found their balance, Roberto led me to the altar where I sat and gathered my senses, trying so hard to get the image of those horrible demon-eyes out of my mind.

  My strength soon returned, so did my lucidness, and I sat thinking, trying to conjure up a solution to this terrifying predicament--a plan that would grant myself and the people of Banalica freedom from evil.

  My mind worked all night, and the scratching went on and on and on...

  ~ * ~

  The night itself lasted forever.

  ~ * ~

  The scratching stopped moments before the sun appeared. During the night, Roberto and I had gathered all the supplies we needed to carry out our strategy. We used the two kerosene lamps from the altar to see our way into Roberto’s quarters at the back of the church where we located a bundle of rags, a jug of kerosene that was being used for the lamps, and luckily enough, an old wooden bed in which we were able to rend the legs into a few sturdy slabs.

  “I do not possess the bravado to approximate myself for such a lancing,” Roberto said fearfully, but I ignored him and his belief in folklore.

  We carried the supplies out front where I tied a rag about the end of one of the legs from the bed. I kept thinking back to my coming face-to-face with the so-called vampire, and although the dreadful sight of the monster had had me mesmerized, I still refused to believe in any movie-induced pretense, merely blaming the sheer horridness of the monster for my inaction last night. “Listen to me close,” I said. “No more folklore. Throw away your garlic. We are not to stake the creature through the heart, even though I’m sure it would indeed kill it, as it would any man. Tonight we keep our distance.”

  “Then how are we to accomplish such a task, Miguel?”

  I grinned for the first time since I arrived here. “We find its lair and burn it.”

  ~ * ~

  About an hour after sunrise, Roberto, myself, and one of the townspeople--a young burly man named Jorge--set out into the jungle with all our tools in hand. We commenced north into the trees opposite the church, as my faint sighting of something dark there when I first entered the church yesterday had me deciding that it was in this direction we should be looking. The hours swept by us in our search, and the day had almost been surrendered to futility when Roberto called out.

  “Miguel! Come see!”

  In truth I had hoped our search would end unsuccessfully, for by this time my stomach yearned for food, and my muscles had tired. I followed his voice and found him and Jorge crouched near a small cave that had been crudely camouflaged with leaves. At the entrance a wash of blood served as its welcome mat.

  “It may be an animal’s lair, perhaps an aardvark,” Roberto said.

  “We’ll investigate this spot, but carefully.” In truth I had a bad feeling about this place, but did not wish to say anything until after we went in. We doused the ragged ends of the bed-legs and lit our torches. Jorge led the way, followed by myself and Roberto. We had to crouch to enter and walked nearly ten yards through a narrow passage guided solely by flame-light before we came into a clearing, signifying to us that indeed, we had found the lair of the vampire.

  First I saw the bones, hundreds of them connected together not unlike the animal bones I saw at the ranch upon my arrival in Banalica. They too had been intricately meshed to form a great sculpture of some evil mind that ran nearly ten feet high and just as wide, situated at the center of the subterranean chamber.

  It was constructed of human bones, skulls and ribs and arms and legs and all.

  I shuddered at the sight and felt my skin ripple. My hunger dissipated and gave way to nausea. I tried to reassert my beliefs in the one God, the Holy Ghost, but somehow for the first time in all my years as a man of the cloth, I had difficulty simply conjuring heavenly thoughts. Indeed this was place of evil.

  Slowly we paced around the sculpture, peering warily about. The underground chamber was quite large, and we saw situated at the rear the existence of two additional caves. Nodding to each other, we decided to stay together, our torches leading the way into the cave on the right.

  The dancing flames revealed to us an empty room no larger than the one behind us: dirt walls, roots escaping from within, grubs falling all over. I glanced around thinking we had found nothing of concern here until Jorge stifled a scream.

  I turned around and saw the man looking up, a twisted look of fear and revulsion painted on his face. Both Roberto and I followed his upturned gaze and immediately set our sights on the vampire, the sam
e creature I had encountered last night, hanging upside down from the ceiling. It looked like a shadow in this dark place, the torch lights reflecting from its body in cinematic flashes, its clawed feet gripping a wooden beam running from wall to wall, its great wings enshrouding its entire body except at the feet--just like a bat.

  “Damn,” I muttered, staring up at the thing, my thoughts suddenly lost to a cloud of confusion: is it human? Or animal? Or is it really a...

  “Miguel...” Roberto shook me with one hand, but I could only shake my head in denial at what I was seeing. “You must be strong!”

  Nothing held more truth at the moment and I nodded, trying desperately to grasp my emotions. Yes, indeed I needed to be strong, but I also knew it would be no easy feat as I felt mesmerized simply contemplating the slumbering monster.

  At that moment I realized Jorge was no longer with us. “Roberto, where is Jorge?”

  “He moved off to investigate the other room.”

  We waited a moment in assumption that Jorge would quickly return. We had located the demon that had spent the past month terrorizing the people of Banalica, and felt no reason to look further. But when the time passed, and Jorge remained absent, we both moved to seek him out.

  We exited silently from the antechamber of the vampire and paced over to the adjacent cave. In the back of my mind I kept reminding myself that from all our travels today it was growing late, and I wanted to put our plan into action before darkness took over and the vampire awoke.

  When we entered the second room, I wasn’t quite sure what in God’s name I was looking at. But then, as the ensuing events unfolded, the horrible truth reared its ugly head.

  This room ran much larger than the first, perhaps twice the size. At its center and trailing all the way to the rear wall was a nesting of what I could only interpret as cocoons: white, bulbous egg-like spheres, perhaps fifty or more of them, united together in a sticky conglomeration of fluids and solids. Some of them, the larger ones at the forefront of the mass, had begun to hatch, and from within more vampire-beasts emerged, heads ensconced in a layering of something viscous, their papery wings still wet and newborn, not yet feasible for flight.