Ghost Shadows (11 page)

Evan suddenly felt a strange and slightly painful sensation inside his head as if he might be on the verge of getting a severe headache. “No wonder,” Evan thought aloud, certain he understood the reason for the headache. “After the frustrating day I just had I'm not at all surprised.”

Since the next day was Christmas, all of his workers were off for one day for the holiday but would be returning to work December 26th. A large number of them had saved vacation for the time between Christmas and New Years Day but most would be back at work. And Evan, of course would also be at work as well. He planned to make the announcement about his pension plan change through the company's official communication channels first thing the start of the next business day. He chuckled to himself thinking about what a terrible Christmas present they would all be receiving this year; especially the workers who were off for the holiday and might not learn about it until they returned, which was also fine with Evan.

Once again, he felt the slight pain in his skull and made a mental note to take some painkillers when he arrived home. Since he planned on doing nothing special for the rest of the evening, he decided he would treat himself to a nightcap as well.

Soon Evan had passed through town and was on a rural road heading out into the country toward his estate. He turned into his driveway and paused in front of the eight foot ornately decorated iron gates blocking his access. Pressing a button on his remote control unit the gates swung invitingly open and he continued up his long driveway, the gates closing automatically behind him. As Evan approached the front of his luxurious three-story brick mansion, he pressed another button and watched the first of four huge garage doors open.

Closing the garage door behind him, Evan entered the kitchen area of his home and quickly typed in his security code to suppress the shrill scream of the alarm system. The house was suddenly thrust into blessed silence.

Evan walked into the living room and pressed a button on a control console illuminating a reading light behind a large leather chair across the room. He glanced at the tall, ornately-carved grandfather clock he had purchased from a clockmaker in Switzerland; the time was now 11:25 pm.

Then with the press of another button the large gas fireplace burst into flames, washing the room with its glow and comforting warmth. Evan walked over to a bar next to the fireplace and poured himself a large glass of whiskey over ice. He sat down on the chair, allowing himself to sink deeply into the leather upholstery. After a few long swigs of his nightcap, Evan's mind began to wander back to a much happier time, back to a time when he and Claire had been married and were still so madly in love. Back then Evan always looked forward to coming home from work and finding her there.

During those years they had no money and lived in a small apartment above a pharmacy on the main street of town. He always promised Claire that someday they would have more money then she could imagine, but she never seemed to care. And on the day she left, he finally understood, much too late, that she didn't want things but only wanted him. He recalled how he had begged and pleaded with her to stay swearing he would find a way to change his work habits, but she said that she knew better. Evan was simply the way he was, and there was nothing she or anyone else could do to change him.
 

Evan later learned Claire had remarried a few years after the divorce and the last he heard, she had been living in another state. Claire apparently now had four grown children and a herd of grandchildren. He supposed she was happy in her new life but he truly seldom thought much about her, except at quiet times such as the one he currently was experiencing. Evan had his company, his employees, and his money. As such, he insisted he had all he could possibly need out of life. But sometimes he still felt so very bitter and angry over the loss of his wife.

He liked to be in charge and to control every aspect of his life. Claire's leaving had been a major blow to him emotionally. But it had also bothered him on another level. It irritated him that he could not control Claire and make her stay with him. That was also how he had felt about his late partner, Jack. But now that situation was well under control.

No longer wanting to dwell on the painful memories of his past, Evan finished off his drink, poured himself another, took several long generous sips then grabbed the TV remote control for the sixty-inch flat screen mounted above the mahogany fireplace mantel and turned it on. He mindlessly surfed from channel to channel, hoping for something to stir his interest.

After a while, he stopped at a channel, which was playing the 1938 classic black and white film adaptation of Charles Dickens'
A Christmas Carol
. The scene currently showing depicted Jacob Marley's ghost howling and rattling his chains madly as only one suffering the tortures of an eternity in Hell could do.
 

“Bah Humbug!” Evan said, chuckling to himself   enjoying the way he was lampooning the Christmas classic and already feeling the effects of the whiskey. In frustration he pressed the off button on the TV remote and the giant screen went black. He sat quietly in his large chair and finished his drink, sitting and staring at the flames dancing in the fireplace.

After a bit Evan thought he saw something in the flames. It had only been there for a fleeting moment but what he saw seemed as clear in his mind as if it had been there for hours. He thought he saw the face of Jack Worley grinning madly out at him as the fire charred and melted the flesh from his skull. Then the hideous creatures mouth began to slowly open and Evan knew the next thing he would hear would be he own name being spoken in some ghastly undead voice. He quickly shook his head to clear his mind of the horrible image and thankfully it disappeared. His head now hurt worse than before. Something was wrong with him and Evan realized he might have to visit his doctor in a few days.
 

After a moment, he got to his feet and discovered he was surprisingly off kilter. He had not expected to become so drunk so quickly but thinking back, he realized he had not eaten since breakfast. No wonder he was half hammered. No wonder he was imagining things. Suddenly he was startled by the sound of the grandfather clock striking midnight. “Time for bed,” he said to the empty room

As he regained his balance and attempted to stagger out toward the hallway, he heard a strange noise coming from the foyer, out near the front door. It was then he realized that he had disarmed the security system when he got home but he had forgotten to rearm it. He began to wonder if some low-life scumbag of a character from town had taken it upon himself to attempt to break in and rob him. If that were the case, Evan was prepared to give the criminal a present he had never anticipated. He walked over to the fireplace and clumsily withdrew a large wrought-iron poker with a menacing looking tip. Holding the doorframe for support, he slowly peered around the corner to look out toward the front door.

What he saw caught him completely by surprise. There was no would-be burglar skulking inside the door, in fact the entire hallway was empty; at least he initially thought it was empty. Then Evan noticed something strange starting to occur. It was as if the air in the hall closest to the door was changing its physical properties. It seemed at first to shimmer then to ripple in almost liquid undulations appearing like waves above a blacktop roadway on a hot summer day. Then a shape began forming within the distorted air.

It appeared to be some sort of mass, low to the floor, perhaps only two feet high at its apex in the center then tapering downward on sides forming an elliptical series of pulsating and bubbling globs. At first, it reminded Evan of an enormous fried egg with a large flesh-colored dome in the center instead of a yolk. In fact, the entire thing seemed to be flesh-like not only in color but in the apparent texture of its skin. The mass was in constant motion, undulating and bubbling wildly. After a few moments, the waves of air stopped and the thing in the hall seemed to solidify and become real.

“What the hell!” Evan exclaimed in shock raising the poker high above his head, prepared to lash out at the strange living nightmare just a few feet in front of him. Suddenly the rhythmically pulsing shape began to move toward him under some form of propulsion he could not begin to comprehend. As it got closer, Evan could see large spidery veins, some as thick as rope, moving throughout its hideous form. It was then he noticed a disgustingly foul stench emanating from the strange being. It made his stomach turn with revulsion, the thing smelling like a long-dead rotting carcass.

At first he took a cautious step away from the vile creature; then driven by a courage brought on from either the whiskey or simple stupidity, he decided to lunge forward with the poker and attack the thing. He plunged the sharp end of the poker deep into the front side of the mass, close to the large center dome. He let go of the handle out of sheer disgust upon feeling the unearthly consistency of the thing. The poker seemed to sink deep into the throbbing glob of vein-riddled flesh then spring harmlessly back out and fall to the floor with a clank that echoed in the empty hallway.

Evan was suddenly hit with an incredible pain in the center of his own gut, which doubled him over for a moment, before it began to slowly subside and he could once again stand semi-erect. It was as if he were being made to feel the pain that he had meant to inflict on the horrifying creeping entity.

He staggered backward a step or two and wondered aloud, "What manner of creature is this ungodly thing?" He started to turn to run for the back door when suddenly he heard a soft, liquidy voice calling from behind him, "Evan . . . Where . . . do you think . . . you are going?"

He stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly, convinced that the hideous twitching blob on his hallway floor had just impossibly spoken to him. "Wha—what?" He stammered.

"There's no need to run, Evan . . . Yes . . . That's right . . . I know who you are . . . as I should," the thing seemed to say to him, although he couldn't quite make out any mechanism by which the creature had articulated the words. Then he thought he noticed a long slit forming in the center of the creature's dome, appearing to run vertically rather than horizontally. Although Evan realized since the creature was almost round in shape, he had no way of knowing what was its front, side, or back.

The crack opened slightly and the stench that had originally accosted him became even more repugnant. Then he saw the slit begin to vibrate as he heard the quivering voice once again, "So, Evan . . . What special plans do you have for this lovely Christmas Eve?” Evan was taken aback by the question, feeling it quite odd and perhaps not what he would have expected the thing to ask him. Then again, what was happening was so bizarre he truly had no idea what he should expect.

The vile thing asked, “Where are your friends, Evan? Where is the merriment . . . the festivity . . . where is all the joyous celebration?"

Evan was confused beyond comprehension and although he felt foolish doing so he shouted angrily at the pulsating gelatinous mass, "Who, or what the hell are you? What manner of being are you? And why in the name of all that's holy are you here?"

Once again the long slit began to vibrate, resembling the wave of an oscilloscope as the foul odor once again permeated the room and Evan heard the strange voice speak. "Why, Evan! Do you mean to say . . . you don't know who I am? Don't you recognize me?"

"What in the name of God are you talking about?" Evan shouted. "You are one of the most horrible looking things I have ever seen, even more revolting than the creatures of my worst nightmares. Recognize you? I don't even know what manner of being you are! For all I know you may just be a figment of my imagination. Maybe in reality, I am actually back there asleep in the chair and dreaming all of this." He pointed back toward the living room.

The blob-like gelatinous mound slid stealthily closer to the unsuspecting Evan, who was too preoccupied and equally confused to notice the thing's approach and as such did not step back. The creature continued speaking to him with a calm and almost hypnotic tone. "Tonight is Christmas Eve . . . and you should be spending it with your loved ones, Evan . . . not sitting in the dark in this self-imposed prison you call a home . . . but then again . . . you have no loved ones do you, Evan?"

Now Evan was becoming angry, at least to the extent his revulsion would permit. His discomfort was rapidly replaced by his more typical arrogant attitude; one he had developed throughout his lifetime and an attitude with which he was most comfortable. "What do you know of me you hideous blob? Nothing! You are just some sort of mirage, an illusion.”

Then sounding once again very much like Ebenezer Scrooge, Evan said “You are nothing more than the result of too little food and too much drink. Hell, by tomorrow morning I probably won't remember any of this . . . this strange dream. You are but a disgusting apparition. Leave me at once!"

"On the contrary," the thing corrected, "I won't be going anywhere . . . at least not yet. You do understand, Evan, that Christmas Eve is a special time . . . a time for magic and a time for miracles. And after tonight, things will never be the same for you. Look closer at me, Evan . . . is there truly nothing . . . not even one little thing about me . . . that seems familiar to you?"

Evan stared more closely at the loathsome slimy rippling mass of veins and flesh, and although he knew he had never seen anything like it ever before there was a feeling, a presence about the creature that really did seem somewhat familiar. Somehow there actually was something about the unbelievable abomination that he did seem to recognize, or he at least he seemed to sense some sort of indescribable understanding. It was not something about the creature's appearance as that was truly abhorrent, but it was something less tangible he seemed to feel; something almost telepathic.