Dark Wind

By james dow

 

                             

                                                                                                Dark Wind

                                                     

                                                          

 

     Turner, Illinois is a sleepy town about to be shocked out of its lethargy. The inhabitants have enjoyed years of tranquility, but are about to find out that nothing, even peace, comes without a price. The bill has come due, with terror, fear, and death being the only acceptable currency. 

     When two children disappear without a trace  from the streets of this idyllic community where few people bother to lock their doors, the citizens are stunned. The reappearance of the abductees brings little relief to the confused populace. The ten-year- old girl and eight-year-old boy return disheveled and incoherent, unable to give an account of what happened to them. 

     After a stay in the hospital, the still unresponsive girl returns home. Soon, a neighbor's pet dog is attacked at night in its owner's backyard. While most chalk the incident up to coyotes, the town soon discovers that greater dangers lurk in the shadows than mere wild animals. 

     The job of making sense of this mess and protecting the town, is left to Sheriff John Barker, a lifelong, small- town lawman who quickly finds he is out of his depth. He has no shortage of suspects to investigate: there is Juandelina Arequippa, the odd lady who lives on the outskirts of town, that nobody seems to know much about; there is Jake Lohmann, a young man afflicted with many phobias that make him seem an unlikely candidate to be involved in such wrongdoing, yet whose name pops up at every turn of the investigation; there is Terence McNally, a local ne'er do well; and even one of Barkers's own deputies who exhibits increasingly troublesome behavior as the case unfolds. 

     Another abduction and a killing spree propel the investigation well beyond the sheriff's ability to handle. He appeals to the state police for help. The investigator they send is waylaid and executed before he makes it to Turner, leaving John Barker on his own once again. The twists and turns of the continuing inquiry unearth dangerous secrets, and lead to a final, deadly confrontation where some will face and overcome their greatest fears, and others will fall prey to their own twisted desires. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: james dow
• Release date: Jul 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201187613

Book preview

Prologue

Kako Einai. Kako Einai. Kako Einai.  The old woman’s voice became more shrill, more desperate with each invocation.Kako Einai. Kako Einai. She rocked back and forth, raised her hands above her head, a candle clasped in one, a tattered tome in the other. It was taking a long time.  Would it work?  Who could tell?  Demons, after all, seemed to get a charge out of giving themselves names like The Deceiver, The Beguiler, The Devourer of Hope. Corny, right? Maybe even laughable. Only not so funny when one turned up in the night, putrid froth oozing from a mouth filled with mangled teeth ready to sink into the flesh of any being dumb enough to venture near.

She had sacrificed many animals hoping to entice a demon. Some were bought from farms, others snatched from backyards and cars. Either way, it was never enough. Never enough suffering, enough blood, enough  death. What to do? The Thysia - a ritual she had read about in the ancient book she now swung around in the semi darkness. All it called for was the sacrifice of an innocent, a human innocent, not squirrels, cats, dogs, or birds. A human.

The subject of the ritual was tied up at the foot of an altar built from the small skulls of past sacrifices. Pots of burning incense filled the dirt-floor basement with a sickening, acrid odor. The victim struggled against zip ties that bound her wrists and ankles. The gag in her mouth made it hard to breath even without the smoky stench that fouled the air and scorched her lungs every time she tried to inhale.

The old woman paused for a moment, the muffled sobs of her captive and the sputtering of candles the only sounds that assailed their solitude. The girl was perfect: young, pure, prepubescent. And terrified. Demons love fear. They feed on it, bathe in it, wield it as ruthlessly against friend as foe. To be in the presence of such power was to achieve an ecstasy that was worth laboring for, yearning for, killing for.

Again and again, the supplicant raised the book and candle over her head, crying Kako Einai. Kako Einai. Nothing. Then a faint humming noise. The woman fell silent. Listening. The sound was gone. No. There it was, stronger, more insistent. A soft red glow filled the basement. The light had substance, like a malevolent gel that made it hard to move, hard to escape the horror that was forming.

Victim and abductor watched as a small orb took shape in the middle of the room. It hovered a few feet off the ground, exhibiting neither color nor definition. It was an undulating ball of... nothing. It grew. A face began to take shape. A horse. A unicorn. Not a unicorn, this head had two horns protruding from the top of its skull. Feet began to form: round and leathery. Hooves. The legs they supported were gnarled and twisted like deformed tree trunks. The stomach was large, round, gelatinous. The creature existed in a constant state of flux: unquestionably solid one moment, a wispy spectre the next.

A stench that made the pungent incense seem like a breath of fresh air filled the room. The girl gagged. The woman drifted into a state of rapture, rotating slowly and muttering, You have come. You have come. I am yours and you have come.  The creature ignored her and moved toward the sacrifice. The girl squirmed, struggled madly.  The creature was pleased. This servant had done well. Perhaps she would be allowed to keep her life as a reward.

The abomination reached out for the child. Its touch felt like a thousand worms crawling across her body, nipping at her eyes, invading her nostrils, burrowing into her ears. Despite the cloth stuffed in her mouth, she screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

Chapter 1

Jake Lohmann opened the front door - and froze. The scene before him was familiar: the fading lawn with its bald spots, the slightly overgrown cobblestone path leading  to a chain link fence and a gate desperately clinging to rusted hinges. There was an old tree to his left. A rope swing still hung from one of the branches even though it had been years since anyone had used it. Just he and his grandmother lived here, and at the age of twenty-five, his tree- swinging days were pretty much behind him.

Beyond the tree, in the driveway, sat an aging Mercury Marquis. His grandmother didn’t drive much anymore, and he could do so only occasionally, on what he called his Good days: days when he could bring himself to venture beyond the safety of his house and into the confusion of an uncertain world. If he could accomplish that, he could often also bring himself to get into the car, drive to town, get some errands done. Those days were becoming fewer. 

His legs brought him as far as the doorstep. No further. The bottom half of his body became useless, leaving him unable, or in his grandmother’s eyes, unwilling, to leave the house. He was sweating, his body shivered as he tried to will himself forward. It wasn’t going to happen. Today was not a Good day.

He stepped back, closed the door.

His grandmother put down the magazine she had been perusing and looked up from the sofa. Jake called her Oma, an homage to the family’s partially German roots. His mother had given him her family’s surname, his father’s name being listed as Unknown on his birth certificate. Not going to work today? Jake was unable to hold a regular job, so work referred to the household chores he did to justify his upkeep.

Before he could answer, his head bobbed up and down, the result of a tic that had a way of appearing at the most inopportune times.

You are going, then?

No, Oma, he responded, still nodding his head. I’ll clean up inside today.

You are a challenge Jacob. You say no, nod yes, and either way never seem to get anything done.

Here we go again, he thought. Whatever he cleaned was never clean enough, dishes were never put back in the right spot,  garbage bags were never tied properly or taken outside quickly enough. It was maddening, but it was the price of his room and board. He’d been paying it since he was five years old when he and his mom came to live with his grandmother. One day, his mother went to look for a job. Must be one helluva job, he thought. Twenty years later, she was still searching. And he was still paying.

Pick me up some yarn when you go into town. See Maddy at the craft store, she’ll know what to give you.

Jake tried to shoot her a withering glance, but her head was already back in the magazine. If he had it in him he would have screamed: Didn’t you just see me try to go out, you stupid hag? Do you have any idea how hard is for me? Don’t you think I would love to be able to come and go whenever you wanted?  Don’t you think I want to be like everyone else in the world?  The truth was, he had no idea what she thought. His grandmother’s solution to his problem was to ignore it, as if his malady was just a phase he would grow out of in time. According to her, the real problem was he was just like his mother. No he wasn’t. His mother at least had the good sense to get the hell out of this mess. He couldn’t blame her for that, even though he was the one who suffered for her freedom. He turned back toward the door. One day, he swore, he would walk through that door, and keep on walking until this house was just a speck on the horizon. He was determined. He also knew it would never happen. Jake went to the kitchen, reached under the sink and grabbed a roll of paper towels and some spray cleaner. Time to pay the rent.

Chapter 2

John Barker had been with the Turner Township Sheriff’s Department for twenty-two years: fifteen as a deputy, the last seven as sheriff. As police jobs go, it was a pretty good one.  There wasn’t much crime in this town of slightly more than two thousand souls. They were a good two hundred-fifty miles southwest of Chicago and all its big-city problems. Being such a small town, solving the few crimes that did occur generally required little more than asking around. Rarely did things happen in Turner that somebody didn’t see, or hear about from a friend or relative. Which was why the current case was so perplexing, and frustrating.

A ten-year-old girl, Josie Marcourt, disappeared a couple of days ago on her way home from school. Barker was tracing her path from school to home, stopping at every house and business on the route. It was slow going. He often had to backtrack. Not everyone was home when he knocked. Shopkeepers and employees he wanted to talk to weren’t always available; some were out making deliveries or visiting customers, others simply had the day off. He could have assigned the tedious task to one of his deputies, but nothing like this had ever happened in Turner before, and he was not going to turn the investigation over to an underling. Besides he knew Frank and Evelyn Marcourt, and their daughter. It was a small town. Everything was personal.

Next stop, 1717 Bristol Street. Barker pulled into the driveway alongside a Mercury Marquis. Big car, he thought. They certainly didn’t make them like that any more. Even police cruisers were forced to sacrifice size in favor of better gas mileage. He was surprised some lawyer hadn’t yet gotten it into his head that his client suffered cruel and unusual punishment by being stuffed into the downsized  back seat of a squad car.  Give it time, he thought, someone will get around to it.

The house in front of him was an older Cape Cod. It was in need of a paint job, and the wooden shutters had seen better days, but it was clean and solid. The sheriff tried the bell and waited. Nothing. He tried again, this time pressing his ear against the door to make sure it was sounding inside. Silence. He rapped on the door several times. A muffled voice called out.

Jake, somebody’s at the door.

Jake was busy scrubbing the toilet in the second-floor bathroom. I’m up here. Can you get it? he shouted.

Maybe his grandmother heard him, maybe she didn’t. Jake, the door, she repeated.

Jake wrenched the rubber gloves from his hands and hurled them into the sink. Fuck.

He tramped down the stairs, muttering all the way.

The door, Oma repeated.

Jake kept his retort to himself and opened the door, surprised to see a policeman standing there. Good morning. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m hoping you can help me with a case we’re looking into.

Jake stared at the officer for a moment. A case?

"Yes. A little girl—-

"Who is it? a voice interrupted.

My grandmother, Jake explained.

I’d like to speak to both of you, if I may.

Wait here. Jake left the door open and went into the living room. It’s a police officer, he announced.

What does he want?

He wants to talk to us.

Why?

I don’t know, Jake answered, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt.

Of course you don’t, his grandmother spat. You never know anything. Where is he?

At the door.

You left him standing at the door? Well, he must think us a rude bunch. Could you possibly show him in? If you can bring yourself to do it, of course.

All these years of one stinging barb after another, Jake thought. He supposed he should be used to them by now, should have built up some kind of defense or tolerance. But no. They hurt now every bit as much as they did when he was a kid. I’ll get him, was all he said.

A tall, middle-aged man entered the room, removing a baseball cap that had TSD embroidered above the bill.  Good morning ma’am. Sorry to interrupt your day. I’m Sheriff Barker.

Wilma Lohmann. And there’s no need to apologize. In fact, it is I who should apologize to you for my grandson’s rudeness. Try as we might, it seems this younger generation refuses to grasp the importance of good manners.

Barker smiled. That’s all right. Your grandson seems like a fine young man.

He is. I’m very proud of him. Jacob, come shake officer Barker’s hand.

Jake wanted to barf. Watching his grandmother play the sweet old lady role never failed to turn his stomach.

After the two shook hands, Barker removed a photo from his top pocket. I wonder if you wouldn’t mind looking at this for me. He handed the picture to the lady first.

She studied it, tilted it slightly toward the window to get better lighting.  She’s an adorable child. I hope nothing’s happened to her.

Barker  took the picture and handed it to the young man. I’m afraid we don’t know what’s happened to her. She disappeared two days ago on her way home from school. In fact, she was last spotted a block from here, over on  Delacourt Street. I was hoping maybe you noticed her passing by.

No, I’m sorry. We don’t spend a lot of time outside, the lady answered. Do we Jacob?

Another barb. At least the cop wouldn’t catch the reference. No, we don’t.

Barker retrieved the photo and handed Jake a business card. If either of you see or hear anything, no matter how small it may seem, please give us a call.

Of course, Jake agreed.

The elderly lady rose from the couch. I wish we could have been more helpful. Let me show you to the door. She glanced at her grandson. Some of us around here still believe in etiquette.

Chapter 3

Jake’s eyes shot open. Sweat poured from every gland. The pillowcase and sheets were soaked. He wanted to free himself from their clammy grasp, but couldn’t. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and hyperventilating. A rescue inhaler sat on a nightstand inches away, but it would take several minutes for the paralysis to pass and allow him to reach for it. That’s the way it was after the nightmare.

The dream had plagued him since childhood. A fickle visitor, it would at times assail him once or twice a week for months, then disappear for as long as a year. Lately, it had been dropping in almost nightly.  Regardless of its erratic frequency, the scenario remained consistent. 

Most of it was foggy, ethereal. He could tell he was in a room, not a shed or a garage. It was a dank, enclosed space. A basement. His movements were confined to a slight swivel of his head. There was a staircase behind him. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did. To his left was a bare, stone wall. Where the wall met the ceiling, there was a small, rectangular window. It was covered with grime and dirt. There must have been a full moon outside, because a subdued glow emanated from the pane. It was the only light in the room.

He twisted his neck as far to the right as he could. It wasn’t far, but enough for him to make out three or four rows of wooden shelves filled with Mason jars. The jars, like the window, were covered in filth, but not so obscured that he couldn’t make out movement within them. There were...things trapped inside. He couldn’t tell what (probably a good thing), but he could see them writhing and squirming, struggling to free themselves from their glass prison.

A sound drew his attention. A muffled, nondescript echo, all the more horrifying in its simplicity. He peered forward into the gloom. A shadowy figure was bent over something on the floor. There were some scuffling sounds followed by another stifled cry. Then silence.

The figure seemed to sense his presence. It straightened up and spun around sharply. An ominous hissing noise emanated from unseen lips. Whatever it was wore a shawl, or maybe a cape, that billowed out around it even though there was not even the hint of a breeze in the room.

Jake wanted to flee, but couldn’t. Every muscle in his body shook as if it had suddenly developed its own tic. The menacing shape drew closer. The hiss became a growl, an unworldly rumble, a promise of unspeakable evils to come. A fetid aroma filled his nostrils. Jake was beyond fear, beyond thinking, beyond hope. Long, bony fingers reached out for him. The spectre stepped into the faint ray of moonlight and Jake saw... the ceiling above his bed. Felt his chest heave as he gasped for air.

Chapter 4

Jake continued to stare at the ceiling, calmly waiting for his body to return to normal. One thing he had learned from his assorted afflictions and phobias was patience. No situation was so dire that it would not pass.  Even in the throes of his recurring nightmare, he knew the terror was a temporary matter. In time, it would play itself out and slither back to the hidden nether world of his mind where such atrocities were spawned.  Which wasn’t to say the fear wasn’t real. It was. Real, and, for all Jake knew, deadly. As with so much in his life, though, he lacked the skills to fight it. All he could  do was latch  onto his sanity like it was a lifeboat. Persevere. Survive.  After all, wasn’t survival  a victory in itself?

Eventually, his breathing settled into a more casual routine. Soon he was able flex his hands and regain control of his motor functions. He reached over and snatched the inhaler, sucked in two puffs from the mouthpiece and let the albuterol descend into his lungs.

Good days and Bad days, he thought. And Worse days. Today was Worse. On a Bad day, he could at least drag himself out of his room, make something to eat, do a menial chore or two. Not today. He stared at the several prescription vials spread out on the nightstand. All the latest medications. The best modern medicine had to offer. All useless.  What he needed wasn’t on that table. He’d have to go outside, leave the house to get it, impossible to do on a Bad day, and this was a Worse day. 

He swung his feet over the side of the bed and reached for his cell phone. He needed help and Jenny was the only one he could turn to. He first met Jenny Park when they shared a cubby hole in kindergarten. Their friendship endured over the years, although he was certain putting up with him and all his issues must have often been trying for her. Although she never told him, he knew she had sacrificed more than one romantic relationship because of her ties to Jake. He was more grateful for that than he would ever be able to express.

Hey, Bozo.  Perhaps Jenny could have come up with a better nickname for her friend, but Jake cherished it. It was her special name for him, something only the two of them shared. She didn’t ask him how he was doing. She knew every day was a struggle; no need to make him recite a litany of all the things that might be bothering him on any given day.

You busy today? He asked.

What’s wrong? Jenny didn’t have to be told that Jake was having a particularly difficult day. She could hear it in his voice.

Jake hesitated. In all the years they had known each other, Jenny had never refused to come to his aid. In fact, she’d be angry if she found out he was in distress and didn’t reach out to her. Still, he knew he was getting a lot more out of their relationship than she was.

Can you hold on while I get a pair of pliers? Jenny asked.

A pair of pliers?

Yes. If I’m going to have to pull teeth to get you to talk, I at least want to have the proper tool to do it with.

Funny, Jake thought. None of the myriad antidepressants he ever took made him feel as good as a few sarcastic words from Jenny. If this were merely a Bad day, he might have even laughed.

It’s just that I have to go somewhere, and I’m having trouble. It wasn’t necessary to describe the trouble, she would know.

Where do you have to go?

He took a deep breath. Juandelina.

She didn’t like him going there, but she also knew there were times when he couldn’t get relief any other way. Is it that bad?

Jake’s voice broke. Yes. I’m...I’m sorry.

Don’t you ever be sorry to tell me anything. I’ll be right there.

Chapter 5

Juandelina Arequipa lived in a cabin in a wooded area just outside of town, not far from the UPS depot.. She lived an unobtrusive life, venturing into town only long enough to pick up whatever supplies might be needed, before quietly returning to her retreat. She had no visible means of support, at least no one had ever caught her working anywhere. That, and her aversion to idle chit-chat, led to a good deal of small-town tongue- wagging.  Juandelina, depending on whom you asked, might be anything from a cagey drug dealer to an eccentric heiress driven to a solitary existence because of a doomed love affair. The children of Turner maintained that Juandelina was an ogre who smashed the skulls of small animals and sucked out their brains.

For the most part though, the town left her alone and she returned the favor. The only reason she and Jake crossed paths was she kind of saved his life a while back when he was in the sixth grade.

It was around the time his disorders began showing themselves more in public. He had always sensed he was different from his classmates. He would say inappropriate things, although for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why people got offended. Often, he was merely telling the truth. His grandmother tried to explain to him that sometimes the truth was better set aside, but then she would drag him to church where quotes from the Bible urged the congregation to: Speak the truth to one another... or ...let us not love in work or talk but in deed and truth.  Very confusing.

Sometimes his mind drifted and left him unconnected to his surroundings. Like the time he zoned out in gym class during a game of dodgeball. Someone on the other team took advantage of his state and smashed the ball right into his face. Everybody laughed. The Retard got it good. That was his name now. No more Hi Jake, or What’s going on Jake. Now it was Hey Retard, or sometimes just Tard for short.

He found freedom on his bicycle. On it he could outrun the malicious