All the Lonely People - Part 2

[Just getting started? Check out Part 1 first by clicking here!]

    The door turned to splinters under the force of the Hunter's boot. The termite riddled, rotten wood blew forward to reveal the oddity inside, exploding with more force than he had meant. The remains of the door ripped from its hinges and slid across the floor.
    Despite the decrepit exterior, the inside of the church had been decorated.
    White streamers lined the walls of the abandoned building. Great baskets of flowers ran the length of long forgotten pews and a single red carpet had been rolled out along the aisle. Rice was scattered about the ground, leading up to the altar. At the far end, a double set of candles burned dimly in the dusty darkness.
    Their lights highlighted it.
    It was disguised as the same young woman he'd seen so many times looking through her windows. She was dressed in a long, flowing white wedding dress and had her back to him. In any other instance, he might have approached her; maybe attempted to help her or even check why this seemingly innocent young lady was standing in the middle of this hall of horrors.
    He knew better.
    Pulling the hammer back on the revolver in his hand, a satisfying click echoed the derelict church.
    The slight twitch of her head told him it had heard.
    She turned around to face him, a soft smile playing along her lips. She had been beautiful before it had gotten to her. Blue eyes, rosy cheeks, blonde hair, and a slender figure. Now, staring at that same visage, he knew it was just a facade.
    "Hello, Father." it said with a growling voice that surprised him.
    There was no pretense here. Despite wearing its victim's face, it knew that he wasn't going to be fooled.
    "Hello, Demon." he responded in turn.
    "Demon? Now is that anyway to talk to a lady?" it asked with a smile far too big and viscous for girl's dainty mouth. "Especially on her wedding day."
    The Hunter glanced around briefly at the macabre display. His thoughts drifting to the poor young man who would begin desperately searching for his lost love; if he hadn't already.
    "You haven't killed him yet." he said.
    "No." it confirmed. "But it won't be long. I want to let it set in first."
    "Set in?"
    "The loneliness." it said with a smile that now cracked the edges of her mouth, splitting it into a hideous clown-esque appearance. "I can't help but enjoy all of those lonely people."
    "You're a monster."
    "AND YOU'RE A FOOL!" it snapped with sudden force.
    He brought the revolver up to bare; focused dead on the creature before him.
    "After all," it continued, bleeding back into its softer tone, "This wedding is for us."
    The creature extended his hand and he felt himself tighten. Felt his strength drain away as he was lifted from the ground as if by an invisible force. It wrapped around his body, held him still, and dragged him forward towards the altar not a foot from the creature.
    "Tsk tsk. And what groom forgets to wear a suit?" it said with hideous intent.
    This close to the creature, he could smell its rank breath. The scent was heavy with rot and decay and he could plainly see every needle point little tooth in her mouth.
    With tender, gentle hands, it reached up to start unbuttoning his collar.
    "I should tell you," it began. "I'm often quite accommodating."
    The next few buttons.
    "I often kill them quick."
    A few more.
    "Clean."
    The coat came off.
    "It's no fun to let them die screaming. It ruins the flavor of the meat."
    It reached for his shirt.
    "I don't think I'll afford you the same luxury." it said with a hiss.
    Peeling away the first button of his shirt revealed the silver cross he wore around his neck. The result was an instantaneous roar as the creature dove backward. It was a defiant, sickened noise that matched the hideous sight as the creature bent backwards in a fashion that would have broken a human's spine and leaped against the nearest wall.
    But his hands were free.
    The gun came to bare a second time and he had emptied the revolver into its chest even before he could feel his fingers again.
    With a heavy thud, the creature hit the ground.
    It did not get back up.
 
    As he went about burying the creature in the graveyard behind the church. The Hunter considered removing its damaged visage, but decided against it. While the face it had stolen was cracked and broken, he had no interest in seeing what it really looked like now. Plus, he didn't think the dead cared much one way or another if her face was buried with it.
    He gave it its last rights all the same.
    With a sigh, he wiped the dirt from his hands as he walked from the grave. With the exception of the fresh mound, Father McKenzie had left nothing to signify that the graveyard had a new, unaccounted corpse.
    He would call in the death in the morning to the local police department. An anonymous tip, like always. There was no point in letting the poor boy, or the police, continue their search. Eleanor Rigby was dead and she had been for weeks; she just finally had a grave to go with it.
   

Rail Yard Ghost - Guest Author: Samantha Shattles

(Hello Lovelies: As promised, today you get to check out the tale from our guest author, Samantha Shattles. While I normally like to place my words to you at the end of the story, I feel the need to warn that the story in question is a bit more graphic than my own pieces, and I would say reader discretion is advised as the tell contains scenes of gore and suicide. If you're not comfortable with that, no worries whatsoever. You're welcome to return shortly for more Xenophobia. Otherwise, please enjoy the words of Samantha Shattles.

Please note: she currently doesn't have a site of her own, but maybe we can convince her to do so or to join RB Publishing. Either way. Enjoy.)

----

***WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT*** Trigger Warning: Suicide/Gore

We hunkered down in the thicket of wild blackberries next to the tracks. Matisse pulled off his boots and massaged his aching feet. Artemisia wrinkled her nose at the smell coming off her brother's socks. Dante opted to keep his boots on. He became more fascinated by the prospect of fresh produce. I, however, had my eyes glued to the tracks, almost shivering with anticipation at the thought of getting on another train.

"We won't be catching out from here," Dante said, popping a fat berry into his mouth. "Nothing but hotshots. Still gotta hike a ways down. It's an okay place to camp for the night though."

I nodded absently. I was still high on the rush, even though we'd been walking for two days. Dante nudged me, offering a few berries. I popped them into my mouth and felt my face shrivel up at the tartness of them. Better than nothing though.

"I need to piss," Artemisia announced, standing again and trudging off a distance.

"Hey, don't sit in it this time," Matisse called after her.

"GO FUCK YOURSELF!"

The twins cackled in unison. I gave them a scathing look as I shoved another small handful of berries in my mouth. As a girl, going to the bathroom was difficult enough. Having boys around to remind you of mishaps made it that much worse. Artemisia didn't really need my help though. She had dealt with the two since she was four. They weren't even phased by my look.

Matisse waved it off. "She's not really mad. If she was she'd chuck a handful of hot shit on us both. Besides, what are little brothers for?"

A pain twisted in my chest and I looked away, struggling to swallow the fruit over the lump in my throat. I was not going to cry now. Crying wouldn't change a thing about what had happened. But, damn, I missed my own little brother. His cries rang in my skull and I could still almost feel his little arms around me from his last hug. There was no way of knowing if I made the right decision or if I made his life a living hell and there was nothing I could do even if I knew.

"Little brothers are not for pissing off their older sisters," Artemisia snapped, slapping Matisse upside the back of his head with a loud thwack. He just laughed as he rubbed the sore spot, Artemisia shaking out her sore hand. I managed a smile. It was nice to see Matisse laughing. He was too serious most of the time.

I nearly leapt out of my skin as hands cupped my face. Dante was staring at me with a great deal of concern, his thumbs wiping at my cheeks. I had hoped he wouldn't notice. But he did, like he always seemed to and I knew that he knew why I had fat tears rolling down my cheeks. He pressed his lips to mine, softly and chaste. My stomach fluttered but my heart twisted. I wanted to smile and break down at the same time. It was more emotion than I wanted to deal with. He pressed his forehead to mine, his fingers sliding into my hair.

"It's gonna be okay," he said softly. "It's gonna work out. Alex is never going to forget you or how much you love him. You'll see him again."

His other hand took my wrist and he gently stroked my brother's initials tattooed there. I wanted to believe he was right. It was just hard to see it the way he did. Alex was my life, my reason for living through the horrible things I endured. And now I didn't have him anymore. Dante had a lot of empathy for me because he missed his little sister, Georgia. But he knew he could go home whenever he wanted, while I was exiled, so he did his best to comfort me. All I could do was nod along to his words.

"We should play something. Cheer Fox right up," Artemisia chirped. Matisse was already opening his violin case. I nodded quickly at the suggestion. Nothing boosted my morale as much as watching the three of them play.

In no time the thicket was filled with their music: Matisse and his fiddling, Artemisia with her small banjo, and Dante on his travel guitar. Eventually, I joined in with my harmonica, stopping only to sing along to the songs I knew. Punk rock never sounded so good.

Between songs I heard the familiar high singing of the rails. A train was coming. I crawled out of the bushes to watch it go by. Aside from riding the freighters, nothing was better than feeling the blast of wind as one barreled by. Dante was right behind me. I could already see the bright orange engine down the line a ways. They must have spotted us too because the horn shattered the air, sending shivers up and down my body. I heard Dante chuckle.

That was when I saw her, crouched in the grass across the tracks and up the line from us. I'm not sure she saw us, but she probably knew we were there because of the music. I instantly got a bad feeling in my gut, though I wasn't sure why. The train horn blew again and the woman tensed. Dante's fingers curled around my arm and he tugged gently on me. I pulled away, wanting to see the train. It was almost to us, engines roaring and horn blasting. The woman stood up and Dante tugged on me again.

I made a sound as the woman threw herself in front of the train. She was trying to lay on the rail when it hit her with an audible THUMP. She flew a few yards towards us before hitting the ground, the train overtaking her quickly and running right over her. There was a mist of blood and screeching of emergency brakes being applied. Her torso, or what was left of it landed in front of us, dead eyes staring past me. I couldn’t tell if she had been pretty before now, she was just gore on the ground in front of me, around me. The smell was gagging me already.

"Holy shit," I heard Matisse say. "Holy fucking shit."

"We need to go," I heard Artemisia gag out.

I just stared at the pile of oozing meat at my feet. The train was slowing, the screeching deafening. Artemisia was trying not to vomit. Matisse was shuffling around behind me. Dante was talking. And the eyes rolled around one last time. I've lost my god-damned mind, I thought. My legs turned to jelly and I collapsed, screaming. At least, I think it was me screaming. My throat felt shredded after and I was fairly sure my lungs were inside out by the time I stopped. A few seconds felt like hours. Dante hauled me to my feet and gave me a good shake.

"Stop that! We have to go NOW," he barked. He was scared. He gathered me up against him and pulled me along back into the thicket. Matisse had his boots and pack on, looking ready to bolt. Artemisia had already started down the trail, not waiting for her brothers or me. Dante shoved my pack into my arms and pushed me along as he grabbed his own things. I stumbled over a rock and Matisse caught me before I could eat shit. I heard the train jolt to a halt finally as we followed Artemisia's tracks.

I was on autopilot. I had never seen anything so horrible in my life. Sure, I had cleaned up roadkill and half eaten, maggot infested rodents that my cats or coyotes had killed. But that been a person. I had just watched a person die. I saw a person get obliterated. And Dante had known it was going to happen. He had tried to pull me away from it.

I was numb for the rest of the day and well into the night. None of us felt like playing music when we finally made camp for the night. Artemisia, tough as nails, went a little ways from camp to cry privately. Matisse followed her just to watch her back in case of any big animals that might want to make a meal of her. I stayed with Dante while he made a fire. He was quiet while at his task. I sat cross legged with my pack in my lap, hugging it tightly.

 

"You knew," I said finally, my throat still hurting a bit.

He nodded.

"How?"

"Not the first time I've seen it," he sighed.

 

Not the first time? He had seen something that awful before? And he was okay? I reached out and touched his shoulder. He sighed again.

"It was while we were on the road. Some rest stop in gods only know where. My folks had stopped the bus. Smoke break. Pee break. Some kind of break. Matisse and I were maybe... 8? He was in the bathrooms with Mom and Artemisia. Dad was checking the engine or whatever and I wanted to help. A train was coming and I got excited. Then all the sudden, this guy got out of his car and just ran up to the tracks...."

I stared at him. He said nothing else, just prodded the log in our little camp fire with a big stick. I scooted closer to him until I was right against his side.

"I've seen people fall under trains while catching out," he continued. "Dumb first timers who read an article on it and thought they could do it. I've seen people killed at rail crossings because they were dumb enough to think they could actually beat a fucking train."

I put my head on his shoulder. He put his arm around me and sighed again, rubbing my shoulder gently. "I've seen a lot of shit, Foxy. A lot of shit. I'm sorry you had to see it too."

"Why do people do it like that," I asked, sadly. "It's so fucked up."

"It's fucked up any way you do it," he replied. "There is no clean way to kill yourself. You're always going to fuck up the people around you by doing it. Especially the person who is unfortunate enough to find you after."

I nodded. I had no room to talk. I had scars up and down my arm from trying to find a way out of my misery. No wonder Dante was reluctant to let me come out here with him and Matisse. He'd seen some shit. He was afraid I'd get an idea to do it. Maybe he was scared that seeing it would make me want to do it. I shuddered hard and his arm tightened around me as he prodded the log again.

"Do you think Artemisia is okay," I asked.

"She will be. She's never seen a suicide like that before but she's seen her fair share of shit. She will cry it out and then it'll be like it never happened. That's how she rolls."

"And Matisse?"

He shrugged. "Same as me."

"You?"

"Okay. I got you to look after. You?"

"I feel fucked up," I said, sullenly. "Like... I don't know how to describe it. It's just..."

I gave up trying to put it into words. His head rested on mine and I knew he didn’t expect me to keep trying to explain it. He already knew because he had been in my shoes before. I sighed and then yawned. I was exhausted but I had no desire to sleep. And definitely none to eat. Sex was also out of the question. I just stared into the fire until my eyes watered, hoping the heat would burn the image of gore out of my skull eventually. Booze sounded like a fantastic idea, but we were at absolute zero there too. There was nothing for it.

The Rider

    Clinklck.
    Amanda put away her keys as she walked away from the darkened shop front. Her neck hurt. Her head hurt. Her back hurt. Everything hurt. Since Tomas had called out that afternoon, she had been at the shop open to close without backup.
    After thirteen hours on her feet, all she could think of was getting home. She wanted a warm bath and a soft bed.
    Looking out over the empty parking lot, she groaned loudly. In the rush of the day, she had completely forgotten to call for a ride to get home. With her car in the shop for the next week, her boyfriend had dropped her off in the morning, but with him working the evening shift there was no way he could come grab her now.
    Flipping through her phone, she curled up on the sidewalk for a moment and sent a barrage of text messages to the few friends she thought might be willing to pick her up.
    She'd just have to wait and see if anyone got back to her.
    Curled up on the curb outside of the shop, she watched as a fine mist slowly rolled over the parking lot. It started at the edge of the darkened forest and billowed out like a slow rolling wave that settled over the black asphalt. With it came a wet cold that left her teeth chattering in the dark of the moonless night.
    Come on...somebody get back to me.
    Ten minutes had passed when she decided to try to start calling over texting. First her sister. No answer. Then her friend Bethany. Straight to voicemail. Her roommate Joseph? No answer and a full voicemail box.
    Desperate, she dialed her boyfriend. All the while, she watched as the mist ever slowly thickened into fog that drifted about her in the darkness.
    "Sorry, hon." Cory said apologetically over the phone. "There's no way I can get there. One of the server's went down and we're doing everything we can to get it back up. I don't think I'm even going  to take a lunch."
    "It's ok, sweetie." Amanda said with a sigh. "At this point, I guess I'll just walk home."
    "Be careful." he said.
    "I will. It's only two miles away. I've done it before, it's just spooky at night."
    "I know. Just please be safe, baby." said Cory with that soft croon in his voice.
    "I will." she said again. "I love you."
    "I love you too."
    Amanda put away her phone and stood up, looking at the darkened road. It was also being slowly covered by that thick hanging fog that drifted off the forest's edge. Every now and again a car would drive by, but it was already getting so late that the roadways were quickly becoming abandoned.
     Ignoring the many complaints of her throbbing feet, she stepped onto the side of the road and headed homeward bound.
    As she walked, she pulled out her headphones and started to plug them in when she reconsidered. With the woods on one side and the roadway on the other; drifting, nightmarish thoughts of monsters coming out of the woods plagued her mind. The harder she watched the passing treeline, the more she imagined a giant werewolf or a horrible creature waiting in the fog to jump out at her. If she listened to music, she might not hear it coming.
    Stop being a pussy. she thought to herself before popping in her earbuds.
    The music helped ease the walk and drew her attention away from the pounding in her feet. It drew her attention away from the silent, darkened roadway and the eerie quiet that perpetuated the heavy fog.
    Despite this, she continued to watch the treeline. Sure, the night might have been playing tricks on her mind, but there was no harm in keeping a lookout...
    Had she seen something in there?
    Was something moving back behind that bush there?
    A flicker of movement caught her eye and she stopped cold on the side of the road. A shadow seemed to play across the underbrush and a branch flicked up and down.
    What was that?
    The bush rattled more and she saw a flash of something large and black that disappeared back behind a big tree.
    Instinctively she backed away from the treeline. Her eyes searched for the answer. Hunted for whatever it was she had seen. Was it a monster? A beast of some kind? No. It was just a shadow from...lights?
    Fully in the road, her back to it, the car swerved at the last second in a desperate attempt to avoid the young lady standing in the street. Amanda felt a sharp pain in her back as she flew forward towards the roadway.

    When she awoke, the road was cold and hard under her hands and her head and back hurt more than ever.
    Slowly pushing herself up, Amanda found that she was again alone in the road. No lights. No monsters in the bushes. Just skid marks in the street to indicate where the driver had tried to stop.
    That son of a bitch hit me and ran...
    Settling on the side of the road, she pulled out her phone to try and call the police. To her dismay, however, the phone was heavily cracked and refused to turn on.
    It must have been damaged in the accident.
    Tearing the back off her phone, she stared at the electronic components. The battery seemed in tact and nothing looked all that bad except for the screen. If she had known anything about electronics, maybe she could have done something more. For now, she simply sighed and closed it up again. She'd have to give it to Cory later.
    Clip clop clip clop.
    The sound echoed down the roadway.
    Clip clop clip clop.
    It got louder. Amanda could see nothing through the dense fog.
    Clip clop clip clop.
    Out of the fog, a thin, old man with jet black her and a heavy black overcoat appeared in the middle of the road. He rode atop the back of a tall, white horse.
    Amanda stared in disbelief. The closest farm she knew about was on the outskirts of town, a good few miles away, AND it was the middle of the night.
   "You alright, ma'am?" the man asked with a look of concern.
   "Yea, I..." she stopped herself. Who the hell was this guy? "I'm fine." 
   "You don't look it. You're bleeding." he said with a point towards her forehead.
    Amanda gingerly touched her head and her fingers came back red.  
    "What happened?" he asked with his brow furrowed.
    "I...I was in an accident."
    The old man nodded thoughtfully.
    "You're alone." He said. It was a statement, not a question.
    Amanda considered lying but simply agreed. Sitting on the side of the foggy street in the middle of the night, it was clear no one was with her.
    "I was walking home from work." she said shakily. "I just live about a mile up the road."
    "Alright. Come on." he said, patting the horse's read-end. "Hop on up and I'll get you where you're going."
    "I...are you serious?"
    "Would you rather walk?"
    "Don't take this the wrong way, but I have no idea who you are."
    "Fair enough." he said with another nod. "But it'd be wrong of me to leave you out here wandering the road."
    As if on cue, a chill ran up her spine. Looking around, the darkened roadway with its heavy, cold fog and the woods on either side suddenly felt a lot more foreboding than before.
    "At least let me walk with me until you get where you're going. It would be wrong for me to leave you out here." he said.
    Why should I trust you? Where are you from? Why are you out here so late?
    She had to wonder if she had a concussion. Maybe the car did more damage then she thought. Despite the hundreds of questions flooding her mind, all that could come out of her mouth was...
    "Ok."
    The old man smiled in return.
    Amanda stood up, dusted herself off, and walked up to the man on the horse. Getting closer, she noticed now that the horse wasn't actually white, but appeared almost a pale green. A trick of the light?
    "Would you like to pet him?" the man asked.
    Despite her reservations, Amanda smiled and nodded. The horse nickered happily as she ran a hand down his soft neck and through his flowing mane.
    "Let's get going." he said and, side by side, they headed down the road.

    The next morning Cory cried harder than he could ever remember doing.
    "She asked me to drive her home." he said between sobs. "B-b-but... I was so busy. I just...I didn't think...I couldn't..."
    "It's ok." said the officer. "Please. If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact us."
    "I'm so sorry." said the older man sitting across from Cory. "It was so foggy... I didn't see her. I couldn't see her. I have no idea why she was in the middle of the road."
    "No one's blaming you, Bert." said the officer.
    "N-no." was all Cory could muster.
    "The ambulance did all they could." continued the officer. "Tried to resuscitate her for twenty minutes right there in the middle of the street. She was already gone when she arrived...I'm so sorry..."
    Clutching the shattered remains of Amanda's cellphone, all Cory could do was cry harder.

"And lo, upon a hill I saw a pale horse, and a pale rider upon it.

The name of the horse was Pestilence. And the name of the rider was Death."

===

(Hello lovelies, I know that today was a break from my regular stream of Xenophobia, but I do hope you enjoyed. Today, I had the pleasure of visiting the Guillermo Del Toro exhibit at LACMA art museum in Los Angeles. As you might have guessed, something I saw got under my skin and the result was this simple little piece. I do hope you enjoyed it.)

Ghosts

In a far off place

In a tiny little town

There stands a house

On a street halfway down

 

It stands big and white

And two stories tall

It has rose bushes in front

With a little stone wall

I sit and I watch

This house that was once a home

Filled with another family

While I sit here alone

I'll never know this family

With faces that come and go

A little dog and a little car

And problems I'll never know

It's just the house that holds me

From my place of peace

It's the house that holds me

The memories never cease

It's a ghost that haunts me

A discarded shell of life forgotten

From a time when I young and happy

And my soul wasn't rotten

Those days are gone though

Lost to the wiles of time

My friends and family are gone now

Lost to disease and crime

So now I just sit here

Watching this house alone

Remembering faces and names long past

Watching the ghost that was once a home