The Intruder
"Hey Troy, remember that time you sold that oregano bullshit to those college kids?" I said, picking dirt out of my underdeveloped goatee.
"Yeah what about it?" Troy asked leaning on his shovel handle, his tall scrawny body held up with ease.
"When they called you out on how legit it was, you asked them 'who the fuck do you think I am?' They laughed and actually bought it--you crazy asshole."
"Fuck em,' I made buku dollars off those college idiots. The stupid pothead is the best customer. Now let's finish digging this fucking trench."
We were digging side by side, two dirt covered teenagers knee deep in earth worm paradise. Both of our faces now red from the beating sun.
"Art wanna know how I know you're gay?" Troy said breathing heavily while shoveling up more dirt.
"How is that Troy?"
"Because you dig trenches for bills," Troy said with a slight smirk.
"Man, go fuck yourself--you're doing it too," I said as I stabbed my shovel into the ground.
The sun was relentless through the partly cloudy sky. Its' anger waned as it began to set behind a mountain in the distance; the sky dimmed and was painted in streaks with shades of oranges, purples, and blues. Although the sun wasn't as bright, the heat of the day was still ever-present as we continued to dig while shedding frequent coatings of sweat.
The sun was relentless through the partly cloudy sky. Its' anger waned as it began to set behind a mountain in the distance; the sky dimmed and was painted in streaks with shades of oranges, purples, and blues. Although the sun wasn't as bright, the heat of the day was still ever-present as we continued to dig while shedding frequent coatings of sweat.
"Are we almost done? This shit is exhausting," Troy said as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
"I'm not sure, why don't you ask the dirt?"
"You mean your mom? Sure, I'll ask your hot mom," Troy said with a goofy smile.
"Troy, you don't even know how to talk a woman," I said as my shovel clacked against the septic pipes. "Oh? Alright it looks like we're good."
A sudden cold air chilled my bones--Troy, my neighbor and friend, was shivering beside me. The wooden oak wind chimes sounded loudly against a sudden gust of wind that beat against Troy's grey two-story Victorian style home.
"That's kind of strange for summer, where's your dad? He can finally fix this shit now," I turned to my shivering friend with curiosity, it was at least 90 degrees Fahrenheit and save for that gust of chilly wind--I was still perspiring from the dry southern California heat of summer.
"He's inside the house...upstairs," Troy said as he lay on the lawn with his teeth chattering.
I made my way inside the house, closing the massive solid hardwood cherry door behind me. The handle-set doorknob still grasped by my hand when a scent of rot violated my nostrils. Did something die in here? I thought to myself as I walked through the eerily cold and silent living room to the stair well.
Something was watching me, I could feel it. The dim light passing through the off-white curtains in the windows added to the sinister feeling. As the sounds of my footsteps carried across the house I glanced to the left at a large baroque style painting that hung above their cherry wood piano. It was 'Descent from the Cross' by Rembrandt, a painting depicting the lifeless body of Christ being taken off the cross. I never did like seeing this type of imagery--it always made me feel uneasy. A few steps up the stairs and I had already noticed something odd.
"What the fuck...," I couldn't believe my eyes, I saw several scratches etched into the walls that resembled a nail clinging struggle, like someone being dragged against their will. My arm hair stood erect, I could barely breathe as I continued slowly up to the second floor--every footstep in sync like a pendulum desk toy. The creaking and cracking sounds of the house resting kept me readily nimble. My legs had carried me eye-level to the hall floor that lead to his dad's bedroom. Small areas of the long narrow hall were freezing, while the rest of the house remained at a warm room temperature. I checked the thermostat--the A/C wasn't turned on.
My dirty boots sounded loudly against the solid hardwood floor. "Phil are you up here?" I said as I walked slowly through the hazy cold spotted hallway.
"Art is that you? You boys finished digging so I can take a look at it?...," Phil's reply echoed softly from his room at the end of the hall.
"Yeah it's done Phil, but I think there's something wrong with Troy, he's just laying on the lawn all retarded. I think he has a fever...OH! And did someone break into your house? I saw scratches all over the walls."
"Fever?! When I was 14 I walked it off. Someone scratched up our walls? What the hell?! Alright I'm comin' down," he stood up from his chair strutting his steps as a giant towards me.
The door immediately slammed shut with a wood splintering crack before Phil could reach the door. "Mother fucker! I can't get this shit open!! YOU BETTER NOT BE FUCKING WITH ME ART!"
My hands were shaking, my voice collapsing, I was frozen. "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING PHIL! Stand back!" I slammed my body into the door multiple times only to bounce back onto the floor every time.
"You're going to fuck up your shoulder! Look, my wife will be home any minute. Just get outside and make sure my boy is alright," Phil's said as his voice stuttered with unclear murmuring that followed.
With speed only adrenaline could provide, I ran for the stairs only to be stopped in my hasty tracks. There were more etchings on the stairwell walls, the rotting smell was dominant, and it was freezing. The trails of mysterious etchings had been carved violently several more times, and stood as an obvious warning. The scent of decay caused me to vomit, which had actually solidified as it hit the floor from the freezing temperature. I wiped my mouth with my red crew necked T-shirt that had already been covered in dirt, I had to move. "Oh my God, please save me. Someone please save me, please wake me up," I repeated these words as I ran down the stairs, keeping my eyes to the floor.
I opened the front door with a sigh to find Troy being consoled by his mother. She had tears running down her face as she held him. He was sitting up, a great sign that he might have felt better.
"Barbara, is he alright?"
"Art...I think you should go home right now, Troy isn't doing too well."
"My mom is home, I think she can help i'll just run over there real quick."
Barbara peered into my eyes earnestly, "No Art, I don't think anything can help Troy right now..."
Troy pushed his mother away with enough force to knock her back 6 feet. She hit her head on the sidewalk as a dropped rag-doll, consequently knocking her unconscious. He turned towards me, I noticed something was terribly wrong with him. His pulsating neck was protruding further than his face with every vein clearly visible.
I shouted for my mother next door as loud as my voice would allow, "MOM!!"
Troy quickly pinned me to the ground with his hands tightly clasping my throat. His brown eyes now blackened and replaced with something unnaturally fueled by hatred. The voice that emerged from this 14 year old body repulsed me as it was distorted beyond recognition of the friend I'd been digging up the lawn with earlier that day. Three voices could be heard at the same time while he spoke: a deep growling voice that spoke the English I understood, a demonic serpent-like language of tongues that I couldn't understand, and a boy screaming--something I might have only heard in my head.
"I'm...going to kill you," the voice said with the other two indecipherable voices accompanying it.
His neck was pulsating on my chin and the smell of a decaying corpse on his breath had me nauseous. I could feel myself begin to slip out of consciousness as his grip around my neck grew tighter--panic-stricken, I fought Troy off of me with everything I had. I pulled a muscle in my right arm and shoulder by merely pushing him off my body. We quickly composed ourselves and stood in front of one another. This situation was too much for my senses to comprehend, I wanted it to be over--this train wreck needed to end. I coughed, took a few deep breaths and I looked sternly into the eyes of the presence that had taken over my friend.
"FUCK YOU! FUCKING KILL ME THEN! I'M RIGHT HERE! FUCK YOU!"
It looked puzzled, an open invitation without fear of death wasn't an expectation. If this thing wanted me dead, then it was clearly in the hands of a power I did not understand. Challenging it was my only option.
"..."
He stood there silently, my mother heard my cry for help. She was outside with my sisters praying in a circle holding hands. They were praying for Troy's soul, praying for me, and praying for whatever had corrupted this poor teenager to withdraw from his body.
I tackled him to the ground and held him there for at least 5 minutes, his body was convulsing fiercely. The pain in my arm and shoulder didn't stop me, I had to hold him there--I didn't want to die. He looked at me smiling with his glowing black eyes and pale disfigured face. All three voices began laughing maniacally in unison, but the laughter coming from directly in front of me could only be heard as ambient sound.
My eyes widened and my grip on his arms tightened to the point of bruising, "Shut up!" I yelled as I pressed him into the lawn.
The praying from my mother and sisters became louder. They were trying to get through to Troy, trying to communicate with whatever had possessed him. My mother was deeply concerned for our safety and had tears in her eyes as she prayed for us. It was at this point where I had decided to try and speak with my friend.
"Troy, I know you act like a pussy sometimes, but that time isn't now. Remember fat ass Carl? Your lanky ass popped him good and he stopped trying to steal your lunch money didn't he? Well this is no different, stop being a little bitch and come back," I said adamantly as I looked into his blackened eyes, the three voices were breathing quickly and heavily.
His neck cracked mercilessly as he looked away then looked back towards me, his blackened eyes piercing. "You cannot stop this," the three voiced growled.
My body began to freeze, he broke my grasp and flung me to the side. I'm tall like Troy, but I'm actually built and have some weight to me--this strength was otherworldly, he should not have been able to throw me like that. He walked gracefully towards me where I lay upon the lawn, his boot placed calmly over my neck--moments later only to be exerted with overwhelming pressure. I looked up at his face while trying to squeeze a small distance in between with my hands, which were inevitably being crushed.
I was struggling ferociously and gasping for air. "Troy...Troy you're going to kill me," I said softly while flailing my legs and trying to turn my body.
"TROY!"--Phil yelled as he ran outside--"What are you doing boy!?"
Phil had broken out of the room somehow, only to find his son in a state that no father should ever witness. Something inside of his son was trying to kill me, Troy was gone.
Phil grabbed Troy from behind by his shoulders and pulled him vehemently. "Get off of him Troy!"
He didn't have the strength to pull Troy off of me, but he gave me just enough space between Troy's boot and my neck to slip out. I clumsily stood up coughing and wheezing. Between every cough I saw a power struggle take place between Phil and Troy. Phil was locked holding onto Troy as the 14 year old body swung around this healthy burly man in his 40s effortlessly. I took a few deep breaths and lunged forward bringing Troy to the ground once again with Phil's help.
"Phil hold his legs! I have his arms!...This has to end."
"Jesus Christ boy...what happened to your neck..."--Phil said with tears in his eyes--"C'mon Troy, you can fight this...your family loves you boy. Don't let this thing hurt anybody else."
We continued holding Troy down against all of his aggressive writhing. I was silent, except for the straining sounds that I made from forcibly holding Troy down. The only other sounds that could be heard were the three voices from Troy breathing and growling viciously, the prayers of my family, and the prayers of Troy's father. There was nothing more to do, except wait and hope for something to change.
Many minutes had passed until I had felt the heat of summer return, and the scent of rot dissipate. I wasn't entirely sure what was happening, or how, but it was a welcome change. A change I'm sure his father had felt too when I had seen him look up with curiosity.
I hesitantly looked down upon his face. "...Troy?"
Miraculously, his throat began to retract, and the color slowly returned to his face before my eyes. I let up when the fight left his body. Phil followed suit and let up moments later. Troy was unconscious, but he was still breathing. Barbara awoke to find her son returned to normal. My mother came rushing over to see if we were okay. My mind was completely baffled, seeing that evil in his eyes was enough to scar me for life. I would never forget that look. In the background of panicked concerned voices carrying him inside the house, I sat there on the lawn buried in my own thoughts. I had seen a taste of hell, and I'm not sure if anyone should ever see such a thing in their lifetime.
10 Years Later
"...Oh the one on Pine street? Sure we can check it out..."
My fiance Kayla and I drove to the old house I lived in next to my old neighbor Troy. My interest certainly had nothing to do with my old place, but with any supernatural occurrences that may have happened since I moved away. We parallel parked along the curb of my old house. I saw an old man tending to red roses outside of Troy's old home.
"Art aren't we going to take a look?"
"One second Kayla," I said as I walked towards the elderly man.
He looked toward me with a cheery smile, his white beard and grey fisherman's hat adding to his 'friendly old man' persona. "What can I do for ya son?"
"Hi, I just wanted to know if anything...odd has happened since you've lived here? I was friends with a kid that lived here a long while back."
"Well I've heard a few stories, but the Realtor assured me that this house was fine--I guess there was a lot of 'spiritual rituals' made to get rid of the creepy stuff. Y'know this house was built upon an Indian torture site?"
"I had no idea."
"Yep, they were brutally raped and tortured to death...Families had to see their own get murdered horribly in something called a 'fun tent,' the settlers set up right over here," he said as he pointed to the ground where Troy and I had dug the trench. "Heck, they even had settlers infected with smallpox contaminate blankets and gave them to the Indians to sleep with. Y'know one of the 'white man' diseases that killed off many Natives 'cause they didn't have any immunity to it. I don't know if the settlers did this because the Indians didn't accept Jesus, or if the settlers just wanted the land and got some kinda enjoyment out of this," his pale blue eyes lit up as the story flowed from his thin chapped lips.
I stood there petrified. Was it possible that the spirits of tortured Native Americans invaded Troy's body? That the embodiment of evil took the form of restless families who could not find peace? I thought.
"Thanks for the history lesson," I said to the old man before turning to my fiance.
"Are you ready to take a look at the house now?" Kayla shouted at me from my old lawn.
"Yeah...I'm ready."
© 2013 Brian Baker
No comments:
Post a Comment