Goblins (2 page)

“Eww,” he mumbled. His mind conjured up the time he had been walking along the road to get to his friend's house and came upon a dead possum. The thing was lying on its side. For some reason, he'd kicked it with his foot. The carcass turned over and revealed a maggot infested underbelly, the little white worms squirming about. A moment later, the odor hit him and he nearly vomited.

That's what he smelled now.

Whatever it was, he didn't want to see it. The odor was horrible and becoming worse by the second, like a thickening fog that he could taste. His stomach roiled and he wanted to gag. He spun around, no longer caring about the ball and nearly jumped out of his clothes when he saw the young boy standing a few feet away from him.

“Holy shit,” he said, holding a hand to his chest. The kid wore only a pair of mud-smeared pants that looked to be made out of a potato sack. “Where'd you'd come from?”

The kid didn't answer, only tilted his head to the side and stared at Jacob as if he was something worthy of study.

“Hello?” Jacob asked, waving a hand in front of him. The kid didn't blink and appeared entranced, like he was under a spell. “Are you okay? Lost?”

“Lost,” the kid said.

“You're lost?”

“Lost.”

Jacob's eyebrows came together. He wondered if the kid was mentally challenged. Maybe he'd run away from his house and gotten lost in the woods. Jacob noticed the boy was holding something behind his back.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

The boy took a step back.

“Look, I won't hurt you. I just want to see what you have there. Then we can take you home, okay?”

“Home,” the boy said, nodding. “Going home.”

“Yes, home. I'll take you home.”

Jacob held out his hand for the boy to take, but instead of the boy grabbing on to him, he showed what he held behind his back.

Jacob's eyes lit up. “My ball. You found it.”

The boy nodded and smiled. Jacob went to reach for it, but yanked his hand back when the air around the kid's arm shimmered. The flesh turned dark, olive green and was thinly muscled. The hand became twice its size and had long black talons for nails.

Jacob blinked hard. When he looked again, the appendage was normal once more.

“Ball,” the boy said and held it out for Jacob.

Jacob didn't want it anymore. In fact, he didn't want anything but to run back to the little league field where his teammates waited. There was something wrong with the kid. He noticed how the horrendous odor was gone and wondered how that could be. It hadn't come from a dead animal, he realized. It had come from the boy.

“Ball?” the kid said again and gestured with his hand for Jacob to take it, then farted.

Jacob looked at the kid again. He shook his head and let out a relieved laugh. The odor had come from the kid having bad gas. He was just some lost boy who needed help. “What's your name?”

“Ball?”

“You're a little odd, aren't you?”

The boy smiled as if he understood, but then the strange shimmer appeared over the kid's mouth, like a window into another existence. The boy's regular teeth were replaced with narrow, jagged ones coated in green ooze that dripped from his thin lips.

Jacob staggered back a step and lost his balance, taking his gaze from the boy. He grabbed on to a tree to keep from falling and when he looked at the kid again, the boy's mouth was normal again.

He wondered if the kid's farts were toxic, making him hallucinate. But then, he realized he didn't smell anything except for the scent of pine.
Unsmelly, but deadly
, he thought.

This was too weird. He needed to get this kid out of the woods and back to his coach. “C'mon, Ball,” he said, not knowing what else to call the kid and held out his hand for the boy to take.

The boy's free hand shot forward in a blur and latched on to Jacob's wrist. Jacob cried out at the suddenness, and then at the pain as his wrist was crushed. The boy's entire body shimmered like some desert mirage until it was gone, replaced by a hideous creature with lanky appendages riddled in thin muscle, large hands with blackened claws, and a mouth twice the size of its round head and pointy ears. Its black orbs stared into Jacob's and Jacob saw true evil for the first time in his short life. It opened its cavernous maw and revealed its jagged teeth. Globules of green-colored slime fell from its mouth.

Jacob screamed and tried to pull away, but the thing was too strong. It shoved the baseball into Jacob's mouth, smashing out his teeth and silencing his cries at the same time. Warm blood dribbled down his chin. The creature leaned in while holding Jacob by his throat and licked the blood with its wormlike tongue. Its eyes seemed to grow darker and then Jacob knew no more.

Chapter Two

When Jacob didn't return, Coach Michaels had some of the boys call out for him. When no reply came, he grunted and made his way to the outfield fence and gave a holler. He figured the boy was fooling around. For some reason the kid thought it would be funny not to answer. But after a minute passed by, he began to feel a bit of unease creep into his heart. He called out again and put a serious, no-fooling-around tone behind his words, but it seemed like the thick foliage stopped his voice from traveling.

Something felt off. He couldn't pinpoint it. Then he knew what it was. He felt watched. He scanned the tree line, the barrier wall-like. Impenetrable. He didn't remember the brush being so thick.

“Jaaacccooobb,” he yelled. “C'mon. Ice-cream's coming.”

No answer, only huffs and jokes from some of the other kids who wanted the coach to keep hitting balls to them.

“Come on, Jake,” one kid shouted. “We want ice-cream.”

Jacob couldn't have gone far. And though the ball had been one hell of a shot, it should be right inside the tree line.

“I'll hit another one for you,” the coach said.

There was no answer. No breaking of twigs or crunch of leaves from within the woods.

He wondered if the boy was playing a game. Maybe the kid was working his way around to the front of the field where the dugouts were located. He'd be sitting there, laughing, while everyone went looking for him.

The coach turned around and scanned the area beyond the first and third base lines. Then the dugouts and the far tree line to his right and left. He saw no one.

“What's going on?” Henry Decker, his assistant coach yelled from in front of the dugout.

“Jacob,” the coach replied. “Kid's playing games.” Though he said this, the coach didn't believe it. He shook his head as he faced the woods again. Shit, maybe something happened to the boy. Maybe he fell and knocked himself out. Seemed unlikely, but that was when the shit came up and surprised the hell out of you.

“Want us to go look for him, coach?” Timmy asked.

Barry Loop was standing next to him. “Yeah, we want our ice-cream.”

“No. I'll go get him. You two make sure everyone stays here.”

Coach Michaels exhaled, then grabbed on to the fence, stuck his right foot in one of the square link holes and lifted himself up and over the short barrier. His crotch caught on an exposed piece of fencing and tore a small hole. “Damn it,” he said, angered, as his feet hit the ground. He couldn't remember the last time he'd climbed a fence. It had to be when he was twelve. He and his friends had climbed the town pool chain-link after hours. They dumped gallons of cherry flavored Kool-Aid and gelatin mix into the water that night and turned it blood red. The prank, which he thought would be harmless, wound up costing the town thousands of dollars. The filtration system was ruined, not to mention the permanent stains in the pool itself. No one had gotten caught, thankfully, but the pool had to be closed for the rest of the summer.

As the coach made his way to the tree line, he felt tightness in his left hamstring. He stopped and stretched it and realized it was pulled. Just from climbing over the fence, he knew. It wasn't bad—a mild strain—but bad enough that he wouldn't be able to run for a couple days, maybe a week. He hated not running, the activity a staple in his daily routine of staying in shape and young. Getting older meant taking more precautions. He was going to give Jacob an earful.

Approaching the seemingly impenetrable wall of flora, he wondered how the hell the kid had found a way in. He walked left, found a few slim openings, but kept on until he was able to slip into the forest without marring his flesh or tearing his uniform.

A few feet inside the tree line and the woods opened up. He walked back to where he thought the ball would've entered, though he could surely be off by ten feet or more and not know it. He called out to Jacob and the eerie non-reply caused goose bumps to sprout along his arms. He walked the immediate area, then canvassed outward, looking for signs of disturbed forest debris. He found what appeared to be tracks, where someone had traveled, and then saw the partial tread marks of cleats in the exposed areas of forest floor.

Coach Michaels followed the faint trail until it ended where the ground had been greatly disturbed. Leaves were kicked over, their moist underside glistening in the low light. Freshly churned dirt was showing. It appeared as if a wrestling match had taken place.

Staring at the scene, his chest hitched.

Not a wrestling match
, he thought.
A struggle
.

He looked harder at the sight, feeling his body grow heavy, and noticed a lime-green substance on the ground, like mucus from a severe sinus infection. Then he saw the baseball resting against a downed branched. He wanted to pick it up, thinking if he did so, he'd have a better understanding of what happened. But it was simply the mind's way of dealing with a mystery.

Michaels stepped closer and cringed as a putrid odor enveloped him. The air seemed thicker, as if the microscopic particles were denser. He coughed, unable to stop himself. He must've stumbled upon a dead animal. But where was it? He saw no sign of where the animal had dragged itself off to. The stench was too strong and too nauseating not to have a corpse along with it. But he found nothing.

His stomach was queasy and not just from the odor. Something had happened to Jacob. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did.

He took a few steps back. If he'd come across a crime scene—no, it couldn't be, he thought—then he shouldn't touch anything. He wondered if he had already tainted the scene. His footsteps? Sweat?

Or maybe he was letting his imagination get the best of him.

Looking closer, he saw small, white objects on the ground, like spilled pieces of unchewed gum. He didn't want to take a closer look, but he couldn't help himself. He stepped carefully forward, making sure to stay out of the disturbed area. He bent low. Focused. His eyes opened wide. He gasped as his hand covered his mouth. The small white objects were teeth. Human teeth. Then he noticed blood on the ground surrounding them, unsure of how he missed it until now.

The coach's mind raced with what all this meant. An animal attack? A crime scene? He needed to call the cops. Maybe this whole thing was nothing… No, it couldn't be nothing. There were human teeth present.

He glanced around, wondering if he was safe. What if the attacker—animal or human—was still around? In the area? The woods appeared suddenly darker than usual, as if the tree tops were closing in, blocking out the sunlight. The coach's heart was thumping away, his flight or fight response kicking in. For the first time in a long time, since he had been a fourteen-year-old boy and learned that his sister had cancer and was going to die, he was truly frightened. He didn't quite understand why, not really. He was a big man and able to defend himself. There were no large animals such as bears or wolves or mountain lions on the island. Dogs, yes.

But this was different. He knew it like a mother knows when her child is hurt yet he's nowhere near. This feeling he had reminded him of the time he'd gone to his mother's three years ago. As soon as he'd stepped into her house, he knew something was terribly wrong. He'd called out to her, telling himself that she was all right. She would answer and he'd let out the pent up breath he was holding. But she didn't respond. He remembered being unable to move as he stood in her kitchen, waiting for her voice to break the silence so that he could feel the relief he so desperately needed. He called out again, his voice cracking. His pulse kicked up a few notches when she still didn't answer. Her car was in the driveway. She was home. He'd talked to her last night. She had said she would be cleaning the house. Planned on staying in.

He didn't want to move, but willed himself forward nonetheless, and went deeper into the home. He called out again, his mouth parched. He needed to get a drink of water, but would do so after he found her. She was going to be okay.
No, she isn't
, his mind said. He shook the thought from his head. His mother was a strong woman, a young eighty-five-year-old. “Fit as a woman twenty years younger,” her doctor had said during her last visit.

Jared had searched the entire first floor before climbing the stairs to where her bedroom was located. “Mom,” he said, softer than he meant to.

No answer.

When he finally made it to her room, he found her in bed. He stared at her, his heart in his throat. He thought he saw her take a breath. For a moment, he knew she was just sleeping. She looked so peaceful. But then he noticed her pallid color, the way her mouth was open. It wasn't peaceful. It was a body that had let loose because it had no life in it. His gut sank. He knew the truth, but still, he wouldn't believe it. She was in a deep sleep, that's all.

He waited, unmoving, for the blanket to rise where her abdomen was located. He'd seen her breathe, or had he?

No. She was as still as him.

He stepped to her bedside. The wood floor creaked beneath him, the sound equivalent to an explosion. He reached out and laid his trembling hand on the back of hers, then yanked it away after feeling the chill on his mom's flesh.

He still didn't believe the truth in front of him. He shook her gently at first, then more forcefully. Her head lolled to the side. It was then that he understood she was dead. He'd known it the moment he stepped inside the house.

This was how he felt now, that something was very, very wrong. He was scared, too. For Jacob, yes, but immediately he was afraid for his own wellbeing. He hadn't shaken the feeling of being watched, not since approaching the woods. His brain told him to turn tail and run. But he was the adult, the man in charge of all the players. He called out again for Jacob, but his voice fell flat. He mustered up a lungful of air and belted, “Where are you, Jacob?” His words died quickly, as if the forest gobbled them up.

He had no idea what was going on. But even if this had nothing to do with his player, he knew the police needed to be involved. He reached in his pocket for his cell phone, but found the space empty. His phone was back in his car.

Movement to his left, a blur.

Michaels spun in that direction, heart pounding, sweat soaking his clothes. There was nothing there.

Movement from his right.

He looked there, saw nothing.

A branched snapped somewhere to his left.

Shit, it was like something or multiple somethings were moving all around him. Surrounding him? But when he looked, he only saw forest.

He'd had enough. It was time to leave. He felt like a kid again, scared of the boogeyman. He didn't walk but ran.

Something was chasing him now. He just knew it. A presence, unseen. It was reaching for him, its claws inches from ripping into his flesh. The stench of rot was following him, too. It was from the beast.
Fuck!
He wanted to turn around, to see it, but dared not to.

Branches poked and prodded him, gouging his cheeks and pulling at his uniform, slowing him down. Pain sparked across his flesh, but it only made him pump his legs faster. He cried out at seeing the thick wall of foliage in front of him. The flora grew denser as he approached. It tugged at him and sliced him up. The forest was working with the creature. He cried out again as he worked feverishly with his hands to get through the brush. Vines and branches were snapped, weeds and bushes trampled and uprooted as he pumped his arms and legs.

He wanted to glance over his shoulder, see what was chasing him. But he was too terrified. It would do him no good. To look back would be to slow down and he wasn't about to do that.

The odor of rot and putrefaction fell over him. He worked harder, feeling his flesh rip and tear as vegetation bit into him. He cried out, feeling as if he was about to die. With one last push, he burst through the tree line and onto open field. He stumbled and fell forward. He looked back and saw nothing but forest, then got to his feet and hurried to the fence. He didn't feel his pulled hamstring until he landed on the opposite side of it. The pain was sharp, but he would worry about it later.

He felt safe now with the eyes of others upon him, but his fear for Jacob was as present as ever. He jogged, wincing with every stride, up to the dugout where his assistant coach stood. He must've looked terrible because all the kids stared at him and were silent, their faces masks of concern.

“What the hell is going on?” the assistant coach asked.

The coach glanced back at the woods, half expecting to see some kind of wild animal running around with Jacob's body dangling from its maw. He faced his assistant coach and said, “Call the police. I think something's happened to Jacob.”