The Art of Nightmares - Chapter Two

 

TWO

 

The boy at the door looked even younger than Beth had expected him to be from his e-mail. He was quite wordy for his age. He couldn’t be much older than seventeen. He was dressed in faded jeans, Converse shoes, a Ramones T-shirt and a wrinkled, greasy flannel shirt. His hair was longish and uncombed. He looked familiar though. As she recognized him, she let out a little scream. Although in her painting a lot of his features were darkened it was in fact the very same person she’d just painted.

“What’s wrong?” the boy asked, worry clearly visible in his face.

She stepped back. “No, no… It can’t be…”

“Please… What is wrong? Why did I startle you?”

She pointed at the boy.  “You… you… You cannot be… You can’t…”

“I am so very sorry I startled you. I meant you no harm… I e-mailed you, asking to speak to you, remember? The boy without fear?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes.” The boy was so full of wide-eyed innocence and worried about her, Beth calmed down a bit again.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, no. That’s all right. It’s just… You look very familiar.”

“Oh?”

“Just come in.”

The boy followed Beth inside. They walked into her living room. Beth asked him if he wanted to have some tea. The boy said he would like that. She walked to the kitchen after the boy sat down on her couch. She went into the kitchen, leaning down on the kitchen counter for a moment, trying to process what she’d just witnessed. How could she paint someone she had never seen before? And why was the boy from the painting there just after she’d painted him. Thinking about it made her dizzy. She figured the best way to find out what was going on though, was to speak to him. So she just put the kettle on.

When she returned with the tea the boy was studying her paintings on the wall. He was especially intrigued by the depiction of a rotting carcass hanging from a cross. It was being tortured by a succubus-like woman with a whip. The succubus had a shapely female body and antler-like horns. She was naked, but covered in blood.

“Not one of my best works,” Beth noted.

The boy turned around. “It looks very real.”

Beth shrugged. “That’s what I’ve heard people say, yes. Have a seat, drink some tea and tell me what you need to know.”

The boy sat down on the couch again. He sipped some tea and said, “Like I e-mailed you I want to know a bit more of how you know what to paint. Where do these scary images come from? How do you know so well what scares them? What does…” The last part she couldn’t quite follow.

Beth held up her hands. “Slow down so I can read your lips better.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, blushing. He repeated the questions, slower. He seemed like a very polite and nice young man. The last part of the question was, “what does painting these pictures do to you?”

“It’s difficult to say. The images… They just pop into my head. I don’t know where they come from. I just know that I’m compelled to paint them. Sometimes when I look at them I feel uncomfortable. I don’t really like horrific things. But I just have to put them on the canvas to get them out of my head. I have displayed some of them so I can hopefully understand better where they come from.”

“That’s intriguing. So they are a mystery to you?”

“You could say that, yes.”

“Were you always so good at painting?”

Beth shook her head. “Didn’t pick up a paintbrush until I painted my first horrific picture ten years ago, just after I lost my hearing.”

“How did you lose that?”

“That’s a peculiar story,” Beth said. “But I will tell you.”

The Art of Nightmares - Chapter One

 ONE

 

The boy was drinking a Cherry Coke in one of those classic diners that you read about in Archie comic books and Lee Child novels but rarely saw in real life anymore. He’d just finished eating some fries and some salad. The place unfortunately had no veggie burgers on the menu. He’d had quite a trip the last few weeks from the farm where he worked as a farmhand. He wasn’t at first sure where to go next until he found the discarded magazine at a truck stop. He was looking at the magazine while drinking his Coke.

The headline of the article he was looking at read “Art of Nightmares”. The article was about an artist called Beth Simmons. She painted these incredible pictures of nightmarish creatures with so much detail they had made her work very popular. People called her work disturbing, frightful and nightmarish. The boy tried to see what those people saw in the paintings. He understood the praise for the matter of detail in them. The claws of the demons depicted seemed to gleam, the blood of mauled victims practically seeped off the paintings, their eyes staring right into the viewer’s. He didn’t think they were frightful however. Nothing was ever frightful to the boy. That’s why he left his home a year or so ago. He’d never felt anything resembling fear and really felt that was an experience he had to have. So he’d packed a backpack and travelled around the country, looking for things to scare him. Bungee jumping, breaking and entering, driving fast cars, jumping off cliffs, even encountering extradimensional creatures and Native American monsters had failed to scare him.

There was a picture of Beth in the article. She was in her thirties, short reddish hair, freckles and big glasses. She looked somewhat plain and mousy. Not the person to paint these pictures of monsters, demons and carnage. That was fascinating to him. Where did these pictures come from then? How did she know so well what would frighten people? In the article she’d told the interviewer she wasn’t sure where they came from. Still, the boy thought she might be able to help him understand how to fear things. According to the article she’d lost her hearing years ago but could read lips. Hopefully she would have no trouble understanding his questions.

It was only an hour’s walk over to Beth’s place from the diner. That was nothing to the boy, he’d gotten used to walking almost entire day’s when he couldn’t get a lift or spare a bus ticket.

“Hey, that’s Beth,” a female voice said. The boy looked up from the magazine. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a wild perm was standing next to her table.

“Yeah, you know her?”

“Of course. Everybody in Cheshire Lake knows her. She’s quite the celebrity. Doesn’t go out much though. She used to come here more often, but ever since she lost her hearing she seems to avoid people.”

“Do you know how she lost her hearing? I wasn’t able to find that anywhere.”

The waitress gave him a suspicious glare. “Why are you so interested in Beth?”

“I’m interested in the concept of fear. She seems to know all about it.”

The waitress shrugged. “Don’t know about that. She paints some horrible things, that’s for sure though. Odd, she had such an average childhood and was working as a clerk at the post office. Suddenly she is able to paint these amazing pictures and loses her hearing. She’s been quite a mystery to us ever since, to be honest.”

“I mean her no harm. I just want to talk to her,” the boy told the waitress.

“Then you should ask her how she lost her hearing. Nobody seems to have any clue about that.”

The boy smiled. “Maybe I should. Thanks for the food, it was excellent. I’m really sorry I don’t have enough money to tip you.”

The waitress had a look at the boy’s wrinkled shirt. “You don’t look like you do.”

“I’ve on the road for a long time,” he said.

“You seem like a nice kid. You remind me of my boy before he went to college. If you want, I can get you some of his old clothes. They might fit you.”

“That would be great,” the boy said.

“Be here at ten, we close then. We’ll go over to my place and pick up the clothes.”

“Awesome. I should be back from visiting Beth by then,” the boy said. In his travels he’d encountered many kind people. Looked like Cheshire Lake had them as well. He was wondering if Beth Simmons would be as kind.

 

The Art of Nightmares - Prologue

 

PROLOGUE

 

Beth had no idea where the images she painted came from. All she knew was that she had to put them on a canvas. There was this uncanny need to exorcize them from her mind by painting them. Her studio was filled with paintings. What was depicted on them was the stuff of nightmares. Screaming demons, naked men and women with their eyes and tongues ripped out. Butchered animals. Monsters dwelling underneath the earth. She had amassed quite a fan following among the lovers of this kind of dark art. She couldn’t really like her work herself. She hated the darkness, the goriness of the images. She was actually a pretty upbeat person herself. She liked the sunny kind of country music, not the dark country kind. She dressed in pink, not black. Most of her fans expected her to be this goth looking young woman, not the blue-eyed freckled brunette she was.

The piece she was currently working on was another bizarre one. It depicted a young man, well more of a boy really. The boy was standing in the dark. A small gaslight illuminated him. Above the boy, barely visible was some kind of demonic looking creature with glowing red eyes. The boy seemed unaware of the danger above him. She couldn’t understand how she was able to perfectly illustrate the boy’s face. Like she’d seen him before. She pretty sure she hadn’t though. The last few months she actually didn’t leave the house that much anymore. She just had to paint, paint and paint. She couldn’t stop. Like an addiction.

She screamed. She couldn’t say how loud as she had lost her hearing already ten years ago. But she did, startled by the image that was suddenly standing behind the painting. It was vaguely humanoid. A sinewy, tall man with grey, stringy hair, hollow eyes. The man smiled. His teeth were yellowing, grimy. It was the kind of man she would paint, but it was right there in the room with her.

She stood from her chair, stepping back from the easel she was working on. The man stepped forward, right through the canvas if it wasn’t there. It reached out a hand. The fingernails were dirty and chewed off. The man spoke, but Beth was unable to read his lips. The man’s jaw dropped open, started to stretch. He vomited a bunch of writhing maggots.

Beth was standing against the wall, screaming again. The maggots made their way across the floor. She tried to crush them with her foot, but stepped right through them. Then the man was gone. The maggots were gone. It was as if nothing had happened.

She looked at her watch. Just when she was expecting company. She would have to gather her wits quickly. She wouldn’t want her visitor to think she was going crazy.

Skinwalker Valley - Chapter Thirteen

  

THIRTEEN

A week after the horrifying death of her father Glory had somewhat managed to work on the farm again. The boy had been helping her along as best as she could as had Blackcrow. After another day of hard work, working extra hard probably to prevent her from thinking about the fact she had lost all her family the boy told her he needed to talk.

They sat at the kitchen table. Glory had some coffee, the boy just water.

“Glory…I’ve enjoyed your company. I’ve enjoyed helping you along but the time for me to go has come,” the boy told her.

“Why? If you like it here, why not stay?”

“Right now, the mission in my life is to find fear. I will not get any peace, be truly happy until I do.”

Glory shook her head. “I just can’t believe you didn’t feel any fear when the skinwalker was trying to kill you. I will be having nightmares for years to come.”

“The skinwalker isn’t the first creature I’ve seen that would scare most people but didn’t scare me. I think it will not have been the last either. I need to go, travel again to find whatever will scare me.”

“I will miss you. Not just as an employee but also as a friend. I will forever be grateful that you saved my life.”

“Most of that gratefulness should go out to Blackcrow. If he hadn’t been carrying that bullet filled with white ash we’d both be dead.”

“Well, you were the one who fired the bullet.”

There was a knock on the door. Glory walked over to it. At the door was Blackcrow.

“Hi Glory,” he said. “Nice to see you. You look great. Kid, ready for your ride?”

The boy stood. “Let me grab my backpack.”

The boy walked out of the kitchen, leaving Glory with the conservation officer.

“How are you feeling now? Relieved you avenged your father’s death?” Glory asked Blackcrow.

“Partly. It also has taken some kind of purpose from me that now has forced me to really come to grips with his death. I feel your pain about your own father, Glory.”

Tears rolled down Glory’s face. She reached out to Blackcrow, hugging him. He hugged her back, tightly and kissed the top of her head. When they let go of each other they had a long look into each other’s eyes.

“Will you stay over for dinner? I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Glory said.

“I would love to. As soon as I drop the boy off at the Greyhound station.”

The boy walked back into the kitchen, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Ready to go!”

Glory hugged the boy. “Have a save trip. I’m not sure if I want you to succeed in your mission though. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The boy smiled. “I’m not afraid of that.”

 

 

 

 

 THE END

The Boy Without Fear will return in THE ART OF NIGHTMARES!

Skinwalker Valley - Chapter Twelve

 

TWELVE

The hands of the skinwalker wrapped themselves around the boy’s throat. The strength in those hands was incredible. The boy tried to get some air in through his nose, hammering at the creature with the handle of the revolver. The skinwalker wasn’t deterred by this though. This might be the end. The boy felt sorry for that, he didn’t want to die without having ever known fear or with his virginity intact. He decided to keep hammering. One of the blows he dealt hit the creature in the ear, that seemed to hurt it somewhat, the grip on the boy weakening. Making use of this he hit the creature once again against the ear, then right in the eye. The skinwalker howled and let go of the boy, taking a step back.

“Kid, catch!” Blackstone yelled and threw a small object at the boy.

The boy jumped, grabbing the object in the air, clutching it in his fist. When he opened it, he saw it was a bullet. Without thinking twice he put it in the revolver.

The skinwalker was on all fours, snarling at the boy. “I’m going to kill you.”

The boy aimed the gun at the creature. “Not if I kill you first, you monster.”

“By now you should know bullets won’t hurt me. I’m going to enjoy ripping your intestines out,” the skinwalker said. It leaped at the boy.

A loud bang heralded the bullet that caught the skinwalker right in the chest. With big eyes the creature registered a kind of pain he had not expected. It dropped on the floor. Blood kept coming from his chest. “No… No…”

Blackcrow had just managed to get back on his feet. “That’s for killing my father, evil demon! You just got shot by a bullet filled with white ash. I’ve been carrying it along ever since my dad died. He actually made it to kill you once he suspected your existence. He did his research, he knew that was the way to kill a skinwalker.”

“Damn you,” the skinwalker breathed and started to become more and more human. What was left was a Native American, old and thin man. He clenched a fist, then his body went slack.

The boy kneeled down next to the body. “Did we do it? Did we kill it?”

“Best to be careful, but yes, I think we did. I finally avenged my father’s death.”

“What about my dad? Where is he?” Glory wondered. She was still on the floor, rubbing a painful head.

The boy helped her on her feet. “I’m not sure, but I think it would be best to prepare for the worst.”

Glory ran out of the kitchen, through the house, followed by the boy. She walked into her dad’s bedroom. She found Caleb lying on the bed. His ribcage had been opened, his heart lying between his legs. She screamed as the boy held her as tight as he could. In a way, Glory’s nightmare had just started.

Skinwalker Valley - Chapter Eleven

 

ELEVEN

The boy could hear Glory scream from the door. Blackcrow told him to stand back. He drew his revolver and shot the lock of the door. With one hard kick the door flew open and they stormed into the house.

Another scream. The boy said, “That came from the kitchen.”

“All right, let’s go there!” Blackcrow said.

Entering the kitchen they were met by an unbelievable sight. There were two young women in the kitchen, both looking like Glory.

“What the hell?” the boy said.

“She’s not the real me, it’s a monster!” one of the Glories said, pointing at the other one.

“Nonsense, she’s the monster!” the other Glory said.

“This really gives me some flashbacks to a Star Trek episode,” Blackcrow said, not sure who to point his revolver at.

“So one of you is the skinwalker,” the boy understood. “We will just have to figure out who.”

One Glory grabbed the other Glory by the hair. “This creep tried to rape me!”

The other Glory punched her in the stomach, making her hands slip from the hair again.

A thundering sound almost deafened the boy. Blackcrow had fired a shot in the air. “Stop it, the both of you!”

Both Glories stared at Blackcrow, almost like they were frozen. A sudden gunshot can do that to you.

“I am going to ask you a question only the real Glory will know,” the boy said. “What is my favorite sort of meat?”

“That’s easy, steak!” one Glory said.

“You’re a vegetarian, you don’t eat meat,” the other Glory said.

“That’s right. Blackcrow, the Glory to the right is the real one,” the boy said.

Blackcrow aimed his revolver at the left Glory. “Finally I get my revenge.”

The Glory at the left jumped towards Blackcrow, changing while she did so, hair growing on her arms, her face changing. What was left was the savage form of the skinwalker. Blackcrow fired, the bullet hitting the creature in the chest. It dropped down on the floor, not moving anymore.

“Got you, motherfucker!” Blackcrow said and keeping the gun aimed at it’s unmoving form walked closer to it. As he was close enough to touch it, the boy yelled, “Watch it!”

The skinwalker’s claws slashed through the skin of Blackcrow’s leg. The conservation officer lost his balance and fell on one knee. He aimed his gun at the skinwalker who was rising again. Before he could fire a round the creature had grabbed his arm, twisting it until a sickening crack was heard. Blackcrow’s broken arm hung limp from his body.

The skinwalker howled as Glory stabbed it in the neck with a kitchen knife. It slapped Glory away from him, knocking her against the wall. It’s shadow darkened Glory, who crawled back from the monster until she had nowhere to go anymore, trapped against the wall.

“Screw it! I’m going to kill you and fuck your bloody corpse!” the skinwalker growled.

“Leave her alone!” the boy yelled at the creature. It didn’t pay any attention to him, apparently not seeing the teenager as much of a threat.

Blackcrow’s revolver thudded to the floor as the skinwalker started to close in on Glory. The boy grabbed it, aimed it a the skinwalker and fired all remaining three round in the creature’s back. Blood burst where the bullets hit the skinwalker’s hairy back. From the sound the creature made it was obvious the bullets hurt.

“You little shit,” the skinwalker said, turning around to face the boy now. “You really think simple bullets can kill me? You’ve annoyed my enough for me to kill you first now, though.”

The boy observed the monster coming for him. It looked fascinating. It looked like a mix between a wolf and a human, sporting deerlike antlers. For a moment he thought he was going to feel fear. Unfortunately he only felt some kind of morbid curiosity as to what was going to happen now.

Skinwalker Valley - Chapter Ten

 

TEN

The Caleb that had just came in ran at the other one, grabbing him by the throat with both hands. The other Caleb tried to wrest himself free, grabbing the other’s wrists.

“What’s happening? Who of you is my real dad?”

The attacked Caleb kicked the other one between the legs, making him pant for air. He followed that up with a haymaker punch that floored his opponent.

“Obviously I am. Did you see that maniac attack me?”

Glory took a few steps back. “I… I’m not sure.”

“Take it easy sweetie. That asshole there must be the skinwalker. But he’s down for the count now. Let’s get him tied up.”

Glory kept stepping back, eyes on Caleb. “I don’t have any rope.”

“You’re cowboys aren’t you? You must have some rope here,” the Caleb said.

“You’re? Not we?” Glory noted.

“Well shit, you fucking bitch!” the Caleb said and lunged at Glory. As he did his arms seemed to elongate, his face changing, stretching into what looked like a snout. Hair started to grow all over his body as his clothing started to rip.

Glory had managed to reach the reason she was taking those steps back. The knife block! She drew the largest kitchen knife from it and slashed at the thing attacking her. The knife cut through the creature’s forearm, drawing blood. However, the wound closed a quickly as it had appeared.

The knife in front of her, trying to find as much protection as she could from it she stood with her back against the kitchen counter. “What do you want from me?”

“That’s easy,” the skinwalker told her. His voice sounded more like a snarl. “I want you. I have been alone for so long. I have watched you with so much desire. Now you finally have the right age. I want you to marry me. I can look like anyone you want me to, isn’t that perfect?”

As he said those words the hair receded, the snout grew back in a human mouth. Before Glory’s amazed eyes he changed into the boy.

“No… No…” she whimpered.

“Too young? Okay.” The skin of his face started to stretch, darken, harden. Then she was looking at Michael Blackcrow. “Better?”

Then Glory started to cry. “Oh my god, don’t you understand? I will never marry you.”

The skinwalker’s face started to change again. “Is this better? This is how I’ve been observing you most of the time during your youth.” He’d changed into Robert Moreno.

“No! No! Have you been him all that time?”

“Well. Ever since I killed him and impersonated him, yes. We’re meant to be together, Glory. I’m sure of it.”

“No! I’d rather die than be with you,” Glory said. The thought of that thing touching her made her sick. The thought that all those years that thing had been hiding underneath Robert Moreno’s skin was almost too much to bear.

The skinwalker came closer. “That could also be arranged.”

Glory made a stabbing motion at the skinwalker but he reacted with incredible, animalistic speed. He grabbed her by the wrist, twisted it. Glory winced. The knife fell on the floor.

“No… Please no…” Glory pleaded.

One hand of the skinwalker starter to grow into a hair claw. One claw ran across her cheek, down neck to her breasts. Then, with just one claw he ripped open her nightgown, exposing her naked body.

“Yesssss…. So good. So young. So beautiful…” The skinwalker almost drooled. His eyes were only on her nakedness. That’s when Glory saw her chance.

“No!” Glory screamed and rammed another kitchen knife, which she’d managed to grab while the creature was lusting over her, righ into his throat.

Blood spurted from his throat, showering her body with blood. She twisted the knife, screaming, “Die! Die you fucking monster!”

The skinwalker hit her with backhanded slap so powerful she was knocked against the kitchen counter. Her head hit a cupboard above the counter and Glory felt all her strength leave her body as the world started to become hazy. She tried to stay upright against the counter but her legs were like rubber.

The skinwalker caught her before she fell. Robert’s face grew large fangs, an inhuman tongue flicking out as the skinwalker said, “Oh yes… You are mine, Glory…”