Down the Psycho Path

  She went inside after a quick glance around. No one to be seen. Not a momma dog, not a soul and definitely no Brandon. Where the hell is he? Does he know about this place? He’d explored out here, no doubt to send me on a goose chase. Rachel took a deep breath and hollered, “Hello?”

  The dogs barked and howled with their tiny voices. Then another sound answered her. It was the low moan of a person, or that’s what it sounded like. The breathy moan of a human being caused the dogs to hush, at least temporarily. It caused Rachel to pause too. She stopped long enough to catch her breath and consider leaving the way she’d come in, finding Brandon and leaving that nightmarish place forever. The yaps and yowls started again and against her better judgment, she continued on, unable to leave any creature, especially a baby creature in distress. It smelled like metal and mildew and earth.

  The corridor turned and the sun didn’t reach around that corner, but a string of work lights dangled, draped from hooks in the ceiling. The hallway descended at a gentle slope and fifty feet away, turned back the other direction. Rachel moved to the next corner and the next, following a squared spiral of downward sloping hallways until she knew she was completely underground, maybe fifteen feet from her shoes back to the surface where the grasses blew in the wind. She felt claustrophobic and cold in her dress, dirty with the rust on her hands and in the damp, musty smell of the corridor. There was a new smell, and she knew it to be urine and feces. The harsh ammonia smell made her gag and hit her hard when she turned the next corner, staring at another metal door, not as rusty as the first, but otherwise identical. It was ten feet in front of her and the puppies were close enough that when one would yap, she could hear the noise ringing in that metal door.

  “Hello?” she said once more and then stood waiting for that other voice, the human one.

  It was then that the door opened, swung wide with a clang and there stood Brandon.

  “Rachel, you took forever getting here,” he said.

  There was no recognition at first, and she shrank away from him. Then she realized who she was looking at, the reason she was out there in the first place. The corner of her mouth raised in an ever-so-slight smile.

  “You look shocked, dear. Come, let me get you something to drink. Are you cold? It’s a bit cold down here. Were my directions unclear? Did you like the poem? I’m no poet, but I thought it was fun,” he said. He blathered on with excited questions, droning over the yapping and yelping of dogs. Rachel couldn’t compute any of it, but kept looking around trying to pinpoint the sounds. As he helped her through the door, holding her elbow with a hand sheathed in a rubber glove, she saw something that took her breath. Pens, four feet high with solid wooden and chain link walls filled the huge open space, acres of underground space, and she could only imagine those pens were filled with the animals guilty of making all that noise, all that stink.

  “Brandon?” she said. Her voice was weak, barely audible over the rest. He was still talking.

  “This was my surprise, Rach. This is it.” He stopped and let her elbow loose, then turned with one gloved hand outstretched, showing off the crude facility.

  “I know it doesn’t look like much right now, but given some time, and your help…we could whip this into something amazing. A palace,” he said.

  Hope welled up inside her. He wants to rescue these animals. He wants to fix this place up. “Brandon?” she said again, stronger that time.

  “Yes? Oh, I know you have questions. It takes a minute for all of this to sink in. I know you’ll love it. Odd at first, but you’ll learn to love it.”

  She just shook her head and inched away from him, headed toward one of the pens. He didn’t stop her, just watched with a proud look on his face. He was beaming. Actually beaming. Rachel peered over the wall of the closest enclosure and saw four puppies, matted with their own filth, eyes closed, not yet old enough to walk, wriggling on the floor of the pen like worms, whimpering and grumbling. That fleeting bit of hope vanished and one of her rust scented hands covered her mouth.

  “Brandon, what is this? They’re filthy.”

  “Hear me out, first,” he said.

  She didn’t listen, but moved to the next pen, then the next. Each was the same. Some of the dogs were a little older, some jumped at the side with anxious little expressions. Some lay dead in the corners, rotting inches from cellmates that kept their distance from the death.

  “My God, what are you doing, Brandon? These puppies. They’re babies. They’re just… just,”

  “Food,” he interrupted. “They’re food.”

  A look of horror came across her as she turned, pale, to face him. Her mouth opened and her hand went to her chest, but no sound came out.

  “Food,” he repeated, nodding like an idiot, as if it was the greatest idea and no one in history had considered it.

  “This is a joke, right?” she asked.

  Brandon’s gleeful look left him, changed to confusion. “No. No joke. Why would I joke about something like this?” he said.

  “Because you can’t be serious.”

  “I’m serious all right. I thought you would understand. You of all people,” he said.

  She only shook her head. Then she started toward one of the enclosure doors, tried to open it. She yanked and pulled and lifted, but then heard the moan again. The human sound. Rachel stopped what she was doing, sorry she’d left her back to the man she was going to marry only minutes before, was thrilled about that morning, the man who suddenly made her insides churn and her skin crawl.

  “What are you doing, Rachel?” he said.

  “I’m going to set them free. I’ll find shelters for them.”

  The moan came again.

  “I thought you were going to be with me, my wife. I’d be the man and make the decisions, you’d be the kept woman, living the easy life, forever cared for.”

  She shook her head again, staring at him in disbelief. The last time he’d said those words or something similar, there was such a sincere sweetness to them, so much love behind them. The words were dark now, his face sinister, his eyes cold.

  “Let them go, Brandon.”

  The moan again, then another from a different place, a place to her left. She saw a human form in the darkness, something walking toward her and who would’ve been her husband only minutes before. Brandon gave a defeated sigh and took a step toward her. Another human form approached from the right. Another, smaller, followed, and another a few steps behind. The chorus of moans met the chorus of dog noise in a sickening cacophony.

  “I shouldn’t be that surprised. I’ve tried before, you know. Eventually, everyone I’ve loved has come down here and disapproved. Isn’t that right, mom?”

  He glanced to the left, toward that closest human form and Rachel’s eyes followed his.

  “Mom?” she said.

  The woman came out of the shadows into the light provided by the incandescent bulb above them. She was elderly, but appeared in decent health. Then she nodded and opened her mouth to speak. Only a discomforting moan escaped, and Rachel could see that the woman’s tongue was missing.

  “Shit,” Rachel said.

  “Four of my other loves are here, Rachel. My kingdom built of love. They didn’t understand at first either, but now they do.”

  Two other women, much younger, but not as young as Rachel, stepped out of the shadows. Children followed behind them. The children wore bloody smocks and bloody gloves. Each smiled and opened their mouths to groan hello. Their tongues were gone as well. Rachel swallowed hard and looked toward the door, judging the distance and if she could get there before Brandon. He held up one finger and waved it at her. “Unwise, Rachel.”

  The last few humans came out of the shadows. Five women in all, once lovely, but now worn by the environment of macabre. With them were a total of six children, four girls and two boys. One of the women held a pair of puppies in her arms, her breasts were exposed and the small animals nursed from her in a most unnatural way.
r />   Rachel shrieked.

  “You’re sick. Brandon? This is you? This?”

  She backed away from him, trying to fight.

  “We’ve found our place, Rachel. This kingdom. It needs a queen. It could be a whole new world for us. A whole new love. You are what is missing.”

  “Where did these children come from?” Rachel said, growing angry as well as scared.

  “They are mine. The oldest, Mary, is eleven.”

  He gestured with his head and as Rachel looked on, a young girl stepped forward and curtsied. Rachel gasped and grasped at her belly to quell the sick feeling.

  “Yours?”

  “Yes. Her mother is Allison.”

  He gestured again, and a woman stepped up next to the one who was nursing the dogs.

  “Oh my God,” Rachel said.

  “I can see you’re upset.”

  An alarm sounded throughout the cavern, a deep electronic tone that caused Rachel to jump. She banged into the pen behind her. The dogs howled at the noise, what must have been hundreds or as many as a thousand puppies at once. She looked at Brandon who was smiling.

  “This is what I was waiting for, Rach. This is the best of all. Children!” he said and the six kids gathered around him.

  “I want you to do your thing, but make sure Rachel sees. We want to welcome her.”

  There were nods and groans all around. Rachel saw the four women, the mothers, and each of them was smiling. Brandon stepped beside her and put his hand on her neck, gripping tightly. With his other hand, he grabbed one of her elbows. “What are you doing?” she shouted.

  The mothers were coming quickly. One dragged a chair that sat next to the outer row of enclosures and when she reached Brandon’s side, she placed the chair placed her hands on its back. Brandon pulled Rachel down so she was sitting–like-it-or-not–and held her there while the other three women bound her to the chair.

  “Let me go!” Rachel screamed. “You sick freaks!”

  They didn’t let go, but wrapped her with silver duct tape to the chair. They bound each of her legs to the front legs of the chair, pulled her arms behind and wrapped them from her wrist to the tips of her fingers. Her belly was taped to the chair back so it was difficult to breathe, but they left her mouth open so she could curse them. Brandon kept a hand on her shoulder so she couldn’t wiggle the chair and knock it over and by the time they were done, each of the children stood in front of her. They were in a side-by side line and each of them held a puppy by its back legs, letting it dangle and writhe and whimper.

  “Stop it! Stop it! Just stop. Brandon, stop this,” she said.

  “I can’t. Not until you see, Rach. Not until you see how glorious it can be,” he replied. “Hold her. I want to see her face.”

  One of the mothers took Brandon’s place behind the chair. She put her hands on Rachel’s shoulders and leaned next to her ear. Rachel could smell her sweat and the sourness of her breath as she chuckled her choked, tongueless laugh.

  “Now, children. Now is the time.”

  “I don’t know what you’re doing, but stop. Kids, you can stop. Don’t do this,” Rachel said. Her voice was hoarse and tears streamed from her face.

  The children raised their arms up, letting the animals dangle like just caught fish above their heads. They raised their other hands, and Rachel saw the wicked flash of cold metal blades in each of their hands. She shuddered.

  “No!” she screamed but it was wasted on the children. The knives flashed and with six unison yelps, blood poured down the faces of the tiny creatures and into the waiting mouths of the children.

  “Eat, my babies,” Brandon said and the mothers laughed.

  The kids dropped their knives and dug their fingers into the open wounds of the dogs, pulling their hides away with violent yanks. The tearing sound made Rachel’s heart hurt and she sobbed uncontrollably. In between the sobs, words shot out. Words like bastard, evil, and monster. The children ate raw meat from the puppies, tearing it away as if it was a smoked turkey leg from the county fair. Brandon stepped back over to Rachel and knelt in front of her.

  “I couldn’t be more proud of them,” he said. “Look at them, Rach! Look how strong they are.”

  “I hate you,” Rachel said, spitting the words at him.

  “They all did at first, but they worship me now. I am a king.”

  “You are a devil,” she said.

  “Am I?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You have fallen, Brandon. A devil born.”

  Brandon laughed.

  “Take her tongue,” he said.

  Rachel screamed and squirmed against the bindings but found no give in the tape or the mother who held her chair still. She screamed again as the children, smeared with blood and with strings of meat dangling between their smiling teeth, approached her. The group held her, keeping her head still as the youngest—a boy—picked up his blade from the dirt floor. As the puppies wailed in the background, Rachel’s jaws were wrenched open and her mouth filled with pain, and then blood and then she passed out.

  *****

  Cool jazz rolled off the strings of the grand piano as couples danced in tuxedos and evening gowns. The beautiful young woman at the end of the bar sipped a martini freshly poured from an ice luge. She watched the other people mill around. She wanted to dance, wanted to be held and comforted. She wanted to feel safe and secure and taken care of. Her drink was empty in three gulps.

  “Another miss?” the bartender asked with a grin.

  She smiled back at him, noticing his wolf’s gaze, how he was eating her up with his eyes. Not my type. She’d dated enough wolves, turned many more down, learned to see that look a mile away.

  “No, thank you. I’m driving,” she said.

  He nodded. “If there’s anything you need.”

  “Thanks.”

  She left her empty glass and walked over to the hors d’ourve table and picked up a small piece of bread and smeared some sort of spread across it, then placed a pair of grapes on her napkin and took a bite of her bread. Heavenly. To live like this would be perfect, just perfect. That thought coincided with her looking across the room and catching a man’s eye. He looked to be thirty, maybe thirty-five and he wasn’t classically handsome, but he was alone. He looked…harmless.

  She walked towards him a few steps, then angled back to the bar. Not enough to be too forward, but enough to get noticed. It worked, but not right away. The live ensemble played an entire song before he appeared in his well-tailored tuxedo, smelling like her favorite cologne.

  “I never know what to say at these things,” he said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I mean, how do you ask a woman to dance in this day and age?”

  She looked at his hand, extended, waiting for her to take it or shoot him down. It was his left hand, and there was no ring on it, nor was there the telltale ring mark of a married man behaving badly. His face was kind, no sign of the wolf, and where she was used to seeing thick muscles and broad chests, this man was more pear shaped. Something different, maybe just the trick she needed. Harmless.

  She reached out and took his hand and silently he led her to the dance floor. He was good on his feet, a plus. He led her well, another plus. He felt comfortable and instantly she was secure in his arms.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  She smiled, taking it as a compliment and not a line.

  “Thank you. My name is Cassidy James,” she said.

  “It is wonderful to meet you Cassidy. I’m Brandon Hamilton.”

  She nodded and they twirled into the night. At some point, she was surprised to think, Cassidy James Hamilton. That has a nice ring to it. It sounded so classic, a name with which she could introduce herself to anyone.

  UNNATURAL

  It wasn't the first one that walked by that made that day surreal, or the fact that I was home sick, buzzed on cold meds. His walk reminded me of the drunken stagger of a homeless person. It was odd to see in my ne
ighborhood, but as he got closer, the small bit of worry inside me subsided. I paid it no more mind than what song was on the radio, the eleventh version of Blue Christmas I’d heard that weekend.

  The glow of the multicolored twinkle lights on the tree gave the house some warmth from the blustery winter morning. It shielded me from the weather as well as the possibility of something horrible happening on my little street. Still, I had to question it.

  “Someone out for a walk?” I said, peering out the window. My dog looked at me with anticipation, wagging his tail. When he realized I wasn’t talking to him, he snuggled back down in a pile of blanket and went back to sleep.

  Surely no one was out in that wind and mixture of blowing snow and sleet. Maybe it was my neighbor walking to his mother's house just a few hundred feet away. He might be taking her a gift, or picking up a grocery list from her. I would have driven… or called for the information.

  Maybe it was an emergency of some sort. It could have been a car wreck, but there was no sound. Maybe his car broke down? He was visiting one of my neighbors, left their house and rand out of gas. Now he’s walking back to use the phone. But people have cell phones. My mind went to illogical places, but none so illogical as the truth.

  The wind whistled, howling and ripping at the vinyl shutters. The falling snow was moving horizontally. An emergency. It had to be.

  I wanted to open my door. I wanted to offer assistance. The man was still walking, fifty yards or so away, but there was oddness in his gait as he approached my neighbor’s mailbox. An unfamiliar face was attached to his body. That face looked dazed, although I couldn’t make out clear features from that distance.

  He kept coming, slow and methodical, feet dragging as if they were held to the ground by a magnet, snow kicking up with each step.

  To the south, our neighborhood butted up to some pretty deep woods. Maybe he was a hunter, but there was no hat on his head, and no gloves I could see. He was also headed in the wrong direction to be leaving those woods. His footprints in the snow came from the bend in my street and curved around and out of sight. The temperature was dropping and the wet snow and sleet had turned small and sparse, but still fell. Four or five inches had accumulated since yesterday. Strangely, there was only one set of tire tracks, the mail car’s path in and out on the other side. They’d broken two, neat, parallel lines through the crust of ice on top of the snow.