Malevolent
by
E. J. Deen
Trade Paperback ISBN: 1-931062-20-X
(Gemstar Ebook ISBN: 1-931062-21-8)
EXCERPT:
Elliott found a little mom-and-pop grocery mart about an hour from the cabin, where he purchased a carton of cigarettes. In his efforts to quit, he'd deliberately refrained from bringing any on vacation with him. But he didn't give a shit about quitting anymore. The cigarettes were familiar, comforting.
In the parking lot, he sat in the Navigator, smoking and watching the people come and go. He was reluctant to leave. It was all so normal and sane. The people seemed unhurried, so unaware of the things going on around them. Did they feel the fear he felt? Did they look up at the stars at night and wonder? Or was their world limited to the mundane activities of daily life, as his had once been?
He considered calling John Ryker. But what good would it do? Unless he'd been struck by some sort of epiphany over the past few days, Ryker didn't know any more than Elliott did. The call would be useless. Besides, Ryker had said he didn't want any more to do with it, and Elliott couldn't exactly blame him for that.
He needed to talk to Kathleen. She could help. She knew something, something she hadn't told him yet, and he was anxious to hear what she had to say.
He tossed the spent cigarette out the window and cranked the engine over. He'd been away from the cabin too long. He didn't want to miss her call whenever it came.
Still, he didn't hurry as he drove along the mountain road. He wanted to linger, take in the sights. There was nothing innocent about his actions. He wasn't ready to return to the cabin, and he would do anything to keep his mind off the aliens. He understood how Ryker felt now. The aliens were always present, the terror always there, lurking in the back of his mind no matter how hard he tried not to think about it.
Maybe he should leave the mountains, go back to the city, back to work. It would be the coward's way out, and it was no guarantee that he would be free of the visitations. Besides, he didn't want to leave until he'd talked with Kathleen. He still wasn't wholly convinced that what was happening was real.
Back at the cabin, he spent much of the afternoon trying to read, but he finally abandoned the book when he realized he wasn't able to stay focused on it. He piddled around the cabin until he convinced himself that he was hungry, and was in the middle of preparing an early dinner when the phone rang. He flinched at the sudden, shrill noise. It was his first phone call since arriving at the cabin, and the sound seemed awkward in the still quiet of his surroundings.
On the second ring, he put down the oven mitts he'd been using and went to answer it.
"Elliott?" a vaguely familiar voice queried from the tinny recess of the receiver.
"Kathleen. My God, am I glad to hear from you."
She laughed. "Wow, what an opener."
"Sorry. Should I start over?"
"No, no. I'm flattered. In fact, I've been thinking about you a lot lately. How's the vacation coming?"
"Not quite like I'd expected."
"What do you mean? Is everything all right out there?"
"I could really use a sympathetic ear right now."
"Okay. So, let's talk."
"Remember that story I told you about, the alien abduction theme?"
"Yeah?"
"I think it's happening to me."
There was a brief moment of empty space on the line, and then Kathleen asked in a cryptic whisper, "Are you sure?"
Elliott sighed heavily and raked a hand through his uncombed hair. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. I just need to talk to you. I need you to tell me what these things are."
Kathleen was silent for so long that he began to wonder if maybe she was reconsidering her call. Maybe she didn't want to talk to him about those things.
"I know you said you couldn't help me. But you're the only one I can talk to."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so dismissive." She sighed. "Maybe I should come out and see you, as soon as I wrap up this tour."
"Would you? I could use some company. Except for Buddy, I'm alone up here."
"Buddy?"
"My new dog."
"Ah."
"Are you sure you can come? I don't want you to feel obligated."
"It's no problem. I'll do what I can. Why don't you give me the directions, and I'll call you when I'm sure about the date and time."
Elliott told her the best airport to come into, and then gave her the directions to the cabin. "I can pick you up at the airport."
"I'll let you know," she said. "It'll be several days yet."
Elliott barely heard her. Something in the fireplace had caught his attention. There was a tiny sliver of refracted light glimmering out of the ashes under the grate. Curious, he stood up and went over to the hearth to get a closer look. Damn if it didn't look like.... Frowning, he bent down and flicked some of the ashes aside with his fingers. What he saw shocked him.
"Elliott?" Kathleen queried.
"Hang on a second." Elliott picked the object out of the grate, wiped it on his pants to get some of the ashes off, and then held it up to the light.
"My God," he breathed.
He stared dumbfounded at what he held. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was the crystal. The same crystal he'd taken to the dumpsite yesterday. But it couldn't be. It was impossible.
"Elliott, are you there?" Kathleen's voice floated over the phone, questioning.
"Yeah, I'm still here." Elliott was still trying to sort it all out in his mind. He wiped the crystal on his jeans again and cradled it in his free palm. Curious. It was perfectly clear, free of the hieroglyphs.
"Maybe I should go back to Seattle. Get out of the woods," he absently said as he examined the crystal.
"You can't outrun them, Elliott."
"I was afraid you'd say that."
"Your voice is shaky. You sound like you've seen the devil himself."
"Maybe I have." There was an edge to his voice that belied any humor.
Elliott turned and stared out the window, at the trees gently tugged by the wind, the clear blue sky, so peaceful. Such a contrast to what was raging inside.
How had the crystal gotten back to the cabin? Or was it even the same crystal? Maybe it was a different one. But who could have planted it there? Extra-terrestrials? Or could it be something else altogether? Humans playing tricks on unsuspecting prey? It could happen. Mind-altering chemicals filtered into a home through the ductwork, some suggestive props, hypnosis. It was elaborate, farfetched, but possible. Hell, anything was possible.
Christ, it sounded so paranoid, delusional. When had he become such a schizophrenic?
"Kathleen, I...."
Suddenly there was a sharp burning sensation in his hand. Before he had time to react, the heat rapidly escalated and the pain in his palm intensified dramatically.
"Holy...."
He quickly dropped the crystal. It hit the hearth with a clink, bounced once, and then came to rest a few inches from Buddy's nose. The dog lifted his head and stared at it, then growled a warning and moved away.
"Elliott, are you all right? What's happening there? You're in trouble, aren't you?"
He could hear the concern in Kathleen's voice, but he was too distracted by the burn in his palm to answer. He hadn't reacted quickly enough, and the crystal had torched his flesh. But the wound wasn't quite what he'd expected. Instead of a solid burn, there were three huge welts in his palm, the outline of a triangle.
"Elliott?" Kathleen's voice held a frantic note. "Talk to me. Tell me what's happening."
"Something's wrong. I can't explain over the phone."
"Elliott?"
"I have to go."
Before she could say anything more, he hung up.
"Bastards," he hissed into the empty air.
He viciously kicked the crystal back into the ashes, and then went into the kitchen to get some ice for his hand. The burn was a bad one. It needed proper medical attention, but he didn't have the damn desire to get it.
The ice hurt like hell, but the cold soon numbed the pain enough to make it bearable. He was so absorbed in caring for the wound that it took him a moment to notice the acrid smell permeating the kitchen. He sniffed deeply, turned away from the sink, and realized too late that the smell came from the oven. Dropping the makeshift icepack, he lunged for the knobs on the stove and quickly flipped them off. When he opened the oven door, it was worse than he'd expected. Smoke billowed out in a thick cloud, stinging his eyes. Coughing, he stepped back and away, waving his free hand in the air to clear it.
"Shit!" His dinner was ruined.
He put a mitt on his good hand, dragged the pan out of the oven, and tossed it on top of the stove. His carefully constructed, homemade pizza was a blackened disk.
By now his palm was throbbing from the burn. He abandoned the pizza to go in search of the first aid kit the Noltens always kept at the cabin. He found an old tube of ointment in the little plastic box. According to the date, it had expired almost a year ago. Elliott didn't care. At the moment, anything would do. He squeezed a liberal amount into his palm and then wrapped it loosely with gauze. It wasn't nearly enough—the burn required more attention—but it would do for now. It would have to.
His jaw clenched in determination, he grabbed his keys, called to Buddy, and left the cabin. There was something he had to know, and, darkness be damned, he was going to find out.