A Fiend Unveiled

By Edwin Oliver

Scattered about the room were several human bones, some high-heeled shoes, and plenty of rats. In the opposite right-hand corner, there was a coffin-sized pit—half filled with an ugly, brownish-red, foul sludge. To the left of the pit lay a partly eaten female torso with a fully bloated abdomen, covered with live, hair-like, red worms. Now he knew why most of Michael’s victims were never found. Either Michael had turned cannibal, or these rats had been weaned on human flesh. A horrifying thought. Sooner or later, Michael would return to finish his work on the policeman, and here he was, utterly defenseless. Then, he remembered the gun—it was lying on the floor where the police officer dropped it. There had to be a way out.
—From A Fiend Unveiled

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 20, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469775708

Edwin Oliver

Edwin Oliver has worked as a Computer Technical Support Specialist for the past nine years. Previously, his life has been as a singer/composer, during which time he managed to record several albums in Spanish. He is a native of Puerto Rico, and a Mystery/Horror buff.

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Prologue  

November 27 Sunday, 11:30 PM

The asylum stood by the edge of the everglades like an evil ghost floating in the middle of a black void. The wind sang a despondent song against the trees, bearing with its lament, the unwelcome news of impending death.

Inside the building, some patients shamefully cowered in their beds; others, even under their sheets, prayed that when death came to visit, they would be passed over.

Most of the hospital’s resident staff—except for the few with the burden of the night shift—slept soundly away. None of them felt the madness in the air.

The maximum-security building’s dark silhouette was, for a brief moment, distorted with the brightness of neon lights shining from behind the opened door of the emergency exit. A man silently slipped into the night. He ran across the back lawn of the asylum’s grounds as the protective cover of the trees camouflaged his flight.

He climbed over the wall and headed west, following the road for nearly half a mile before he stopped for a well-deserved rest. Instinctively, he brought his right hand to his belt and checked if the gun was still there. It gave him a feeling of comfort just to know he had not lost it on his way out, even if he didn’t know how to use one.

He looked around for a moment as he tried to get his bearings, only to realize he did not know which way to go. The asylum was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, with many miles of dense forest in every direction. A forest without any sign of life, except for the trees dancing to the persuasive sway of the wind, and the clouds flying by like a ghostly parade of dark, lumbering creatures. He did not know it yet, but he was lost in time; lost in space—two bewildering abstracts in his excited and confused state of mind.

Suddenly, the familiar brightness of a twin-sealed beam revealed the presence of an approaching car. This is it, he thought.

He waved the car down and soon found himself with someone he knew he had to kill.

The 1957 Chevy sped silently through a myriad of little used roads as it moved toward its inevitable destination: Vero Springs.

No one saw when it stopped in front of the McCormick mansion. No one saw death itself sitting behind the wheel.

===============

Monday, 2:30 AM

That evening, Rebecca McCormick, although fast asleep, felt deep in her subconscious an intangible agitation. It wasn’t the night’s bitter cold seeping in through her half-open bedroom window that caused her to shiver. She was a reluctant receiver unable to turn off a dreary vision. A nightmare.

She floated through a distant forest of shadows, becoming an ethereal presence on a blurry, bumpy ride.

Everything seemed dark and hazy in this distorted dreamland, but she could tell she was not alone. Someone watched her. At first, it was just the vague sensation of some alien presence, until she saw from a distance, slowly floating closer, two disembodied eyes. Blood red eyes. Terrifying eyes. The vision was vague no longer. Whatever hid behind those eyes was here to slay her.

She felt terrified.

The eyes drew nearer as a grizzly, canine-like, but hairless face began to take shape around them; thick, greenish saliva dripping forth from its half-formed snout. The corners of its lips extended from one ear to the other. Inside its unclosing mouth, a long set of blood stained fangs longed to be buried deep in her flesh. As its body began to become visible, its internal organs and muscles became apparent, tightly compacted within a transparent skin. A huge two-legged hound from hell appeared in front of her.

Rebecca turned away but the beast growled at her. She shuddered momentarily, then carefully, taking one slow step after another, began to back off. It was a futile attempt; there was no escape.

She closed her eyes and prayed to God. And waited to die…

Suddenly, an ear-piercing howl of agony filled the air. Rebecca jumped backwards, startled. The ungodly beast was in pain. A third presence, some invisible force, held the monster violently; tearing into the creature relentlessly as Rebecca looked on, petrified. For a fleeting moment, the beast’s features seemed vaguely familiar to her, but mercifully, recognition slipped into oblivion as its inevitable destruction came to a conclusion.

Whatever held the monster held it no more; its eyes bulged out of its sockets before it wavered for a few seconds, then crumbled to the floor.

As the rest of the household woke up, Rebecca’s screams could be heard for, at least, a mile.

===============

The next day, at noon, the Board of Directors of the State Asylum called a press conference. All hell broke loose when the news hit the streets… Michael Taylor—the serial killer known as The Vampire of Florida—had escaped.

Part One

The Murder

  One  

The McCormick mansion was nothing less than beautiful. Of course, part of its stamp of grandeur may have been largely due to its land frame of a hundred acres of impeccably kept grounds. Several sculptured hedge animals, which could be seen from the main road, over the tall brick fence, created a Disneyland effect.

A winding asphalt road, bordered with three feet tall oleander hedges on both sides, led from the electronically operated main gate all the way up to the main entrance of the house. The long white columns that supported a huge second story balcony made the mansion look like an inspired version of Tara—except for its ten car garages and a large tool-shed, found by the east wing of the estate.

When old Jonas McCormick bought the land, some thirty years ago, he personally supervised the landscaping and construction crew. Everything had to blend in faultlessly, and, although every piece of stone was carefully planned, no one was allowed near the house until it was finished. That is, no one but the construction specialists that Jonas brought in from Germany. There was talk around town at the time about all this secretiveness. Many believed Jonas planned to hide his fortune somewhere within the walls of his mansion and was thus building a fortress with a maze of booby-traps. Of course, those familiarized with Jonas’s eccentricities knew that this was simply a man obsessed with perfection. There was nothing mysterious about him.

Jonas did not live alone, nor did he want to. He was too domineering; his possessive personality constantly needing to assert itself, demanded the power. No, living alone wouldn’t do.

Martha, his only daughter, gave Jonas his greatest joy and his greatest disappointment, his grandchildren.

His greatest joy was Rebecca. The only person he knew that could stand up to him and look him straight in the eye. She was no beauty, but something about the way she carried herself, gave anyone who met her, the illusion that she was. She had an unwittingly seductive twinkle in her smile, and gentle warmth in her voice. Her rich, flowing brown hair framed a clear complexion and penetrating hazel eyes.

Jonas’s greatest disappointment also had a name: Charles, Rebecca’s fraternal twin, and a man given to childish tantrums and useless activities. Old man Jonas didn’t know what to make of Charles, since nothing about his manner suggested his sexual preferences, except for certain unconscious mannerisms, which made his tall, urbane air distinguishably European. Nevertheless, at age twenty-eight, he had yet to be seen in the company of a woman.

Martha’s husband was inconsequential. Since he married her for her money, or so believed old Jonas, he was too easy to step on or brush aside. Take away a couple of his privileges and he would fall back in line. Reuben Ziegler was his name, a poor agnostic with a Jewish background. No one seems to know why Martha married him. He didn’t fit the mold of his wife’s extramarital companions. She liked men well built and sexy, but Reuben was slim and homely. Most everyone knew she married him to spite Jonas. How well she knew her father was confirmed by Jonas’ hatred for Reuben. None of Reuben’s children carried his last name. Old man Jonas had them officially registered to his name: McCormick. Poor Reuben allowed this under the threat of being put out on the street, or worse. Lawyers took care of details like these.

The other member of the family living in the mansion was Cameron. Jonas’s only living brother. Cameron was about ten years younger than Jonas; a soft-spoken gentleman and a penniless vegetarian. Why work when you have a rich brother who allows you to live like a king? Cameron would say. He lacked Jonas’s spark and domineering personality.

There was the usual household help, a maid, a gardener, and a butler. And two registered nurses, since Jonas’s stroke last week.

In spite of this, it was still a lonely house.

===============

Monday, 10:00 AM

The next morning started late for the McCormicks. Rebecca looked out her bedroom window and saw Martha sitting out on the terrace having breakfast. It usually felt warmer at this time of day, she thought, but she didn’t mind. She loved the view.

Her window overlooked the tennis court and she had to smile as she looked on. No one in the family played tennis, but that was beside the point; Jonas believed it gave the mansion a definitive touch of class, and if Jonas wanted a tennis court, then a tennis court it would be. Actually, the idea of putting in the court had been Martha’s, and as much as she may have disagreed with her mother on most things, she couldn’t deny it didn’t look half-bad.

Charles walked out to the terrace, accompanied by Uncle Cameron. Good mornin’, Martha! said Cameron. Have you seen John today?

I believe he went to town to get the tomato seeds you wanted. He should be back soon. Martha dispensed with the usual pleasantries of social behavior. Talking to Cameron was not her favorite pastime.

Well, I’m gonna need help in the greenhouse, and wouldn’t like him to disappear, as always.

Martha looked quietly at Charles, ignoring Cameron. Out all night with your friends again, Charles?

Charles cheerfully approached her, bending over to kiss her. And a good morning to you too, Mother. Isn’t it a lovely day?

There’s a limit to everything, said Martha with a frown. People are talking about you, and…

Rebecca hated it whenever Martha started to create a scene. She and Charles had grown so tired of their mother’s lecturing that they came to an agreement. When Martha bitched at one of them, the other would come to the rescue by abruptly changing the conversation. Martha would usually grump for a few more minutes, then would walk out in a huff. It was a rude, but effective trick.

Rebecca rushed out of her bedroom, and ran down the stairs, almost bumping into Reuben by the foot of the stairs.

Morning, everyone! said Rebecca as she came out onto the terrace. Charles appreciated the interruption.

Reuben came out unto the terrace right behind Rebecca. He walked toward the breakfast table and pulled out a chair. I can tell you’re feeling much better, aren’t you, my dear? asked Reuben with a mischievous smile.

Yes, replied Rebecca, blushing. Thanks for staying up with me, She lovingly touched Reuben’s hand.

Wait a minute! Charles interrupted, obviously glad about the change in conversation. I must have missed something. He turned to Rebecca. What’s going on?

Who the hell cares! said Martha irritably as she got up from the table. Her breakfast had been rather frugal, part of her efforts to maintain her figure. Actually, she looked much younger, and stronger than her fifty years. She pushed the chair out of her way and continued, If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.

Reuben didn’t even glance her way. Normally, he ignored her, even when she was not in her usual black mood.

Rebecca followed her mother’s exit with her eyes and thought about her father. His years of humiliation at the hands of Martha had taken him past caring for much of anything. The only thing that seemed to keep him going was his love for his children.

Reuben turned to Charles. Rebecca had a bad dream last night. She woke up screaming.

One of those nightmares again? asked Charles as he poured himself some coffee.

No, nothing like that. You know that stopped years ago. She lied; her nightmares had never really stopped, she just learned to live with them. It was still difficult for her to cope with waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, trembling with fear, for hours after the dreams. Yet this dream had been much too vivid, much too intense. It was also the first one she could remember in detail for the past three years, since the Vampire of Florida was apprehended. It was just a bad dream, nothing more, she added.

Lucy, the maid, walked in with fresh coffee and tea. She was an attractive young woman in her early twenties working her way through college. Although she knew to keep her place, Rebecca could easily see she felt attracted to Charles. Had anyone else in the family even suspected Lucy’s interest in Charles, she would have been out of a job. Rebecca, nevertheless, secretly hoped Lucy would manage to seduce him someday.

Have you taken breakfast to Jonas, yet? asked Cameron, addressing Lucy.

No, sir. I was just about to. Lucy leaned over to serve tea, and gave Charles an ample view of her cleavage. She smiled sweetly, but Charles ignored her.

Good. Make sure you bring him the orange juice I left in the refrigerator for him; and please, no sausage links! Cameron was very particular about the preparation of his fruits and vegetables, and he would get up early every morning to make fresh juice for everyone. Let me know when John returns, will you? I have use for him today. I’ll be at the library, he added.

Yes, sir, replied Lucy.

Well, Charles, said Rebecca. Are you going to drive me into town today?

I’m sorry, I can’t. I have a big date tonight; I want to stay home and relax, He smiled broadly.

May I borrow your car, then?

It’s not here. They came to pick it up this morning. It was time for a tune up, said Charles as he cut a piece of pancake with his fork. What’s wrong with your car?

I lost the keys, replied Rebecca with embarrassment.

Why don’t you have John take you in the limousine? asked Reuben.

I don’t want to spoil Uncle Cameron’s day at the field. I’ll just take the BMW—if I can get it to run, that is.

Yeah, Charles drawled, good luck!

Gerald, the butler, stepped out on the terrace. Excuse me, he said to Reuben. There’s a call for you, sir. Where will you take it?

I’ll take it here. Thank you, Jerry.

Gerald raised his left eyebrow, and, with a stone-faced expression, replied, yes, sir, then went inside to get the telephone. Often Rebecca tried to penetrate his seemingly impenetrable barrier of aloofness, but to no avail. Not that Gerald was ever disrespectful to her, quite the contrary. He just didn’t seem comfortable with anything less than a strict, formal relationship between himself and his employers. Finally, Rebecca gave up. Some people are what they are, she thought, and there was nothing she could do to change that. She was sure he disliked being called Jerry and made it a point to watch his face whenever someone treated him with an air of familiarity. He was the very model of restraint; a butler’s butler. Gerald, either had a strong dislike for her family, or was completely indifferent to them. She wondered which was true.

Rebecca finished her toast and got up from the table. I’ll see you all later, She said as she walked back into the house.

On her way up to her bedroom, she stopped at Jonas’s door to check on him. The curtains were open, and the room looked bright. Jonas lay on his bed—paralyzed; his nurse sat close to him on an easy chair. The nurse raised her