.

Evil Always Waits

By Chuck Semenuk

      Mike Bond adjusted the radio, looking for some upbeat music. At twenty years old, he was on his first road trip by himself. He finally finished rebuilding his 1986 Monte Carlo, flame red with chromed rims.  It was a really sweet ride.  As he came around a bend in the road, he got a strange feeling that he had been on that road before.  As he approached the outskirts of the small town of Weller, the feeling of familiarity was uncanny.  Glancing at his gas gage, he noticed that he was down to a quarter of a tank.  “I’ll stop at the gas station a couple of blocks over,” he thought.  He made a right hand turn and drove two blocks down.  Reaching the gas station, he pulled up to the pump closest to the building. “How did I know this station was here?”

      He turned off the ignition and got out of the car.  On a chair next to the door of the garage sat an old man, grey haired and wrinkled.  The man looked at him, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.  It was as if he knew Mike but, that was impossible.  Mike had never been in this town in his life.  The look on the old man’s face seemed almost fearful. Mike was feeling a little creeped-out by the old man.  He removed the nozzle from the gas pump and began to fill his tank.  His gas tank filled, Mike replaced the nozzle on the pump, fastened his gas cap and walked toward the old man to pay for the gas. He had a wad of bills in his pocket and as he reached for them, tears began to form in the old man’s eyes and he began to tremble.

      “No! Please!” the old man pleaded.

      “What’s wrong?” asked Mike.  A sheriff’s car rolled up behind Mike and the driver quickly got out.

      “Ben! Are you alright?  You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

Ben’s eyes remained fixed on Mike as his mouth began to move but no sound came out.  The sheriff glanced at Mike and did a double take.

      “My Lord,” he exclaimed.  His hand automatically reached for his weapon.  “Who are you?  Where did you come from?”

      “Whoa, Sheriff, “said Mike as he raised his hands.  I just stopped for gas.  I just want to pay-up and I’ll be on my way.” 

      “Son, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.  I’m sure that Ben won’t mind if you park your car alongside the building while you come with me to my office.  I’ll bring you back to your car when we’re through.”

      Mike pulled enough money from his pocket to pay for the gas and handed it to Ben.  Ben’s hand trembled as he took the money.

      “I – I don’t have change for this,” he uttered.

      “Keep it,” said Mike.  “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

      Mike parked his car and walked back to the sheriff.  “What in hell is going on here,” he mumbled to himself.

######

      
      As the two men drove to the sheriff’s office, Mike was amazed that he seemed to recognize many of the older buildings.  He knew exactly where they were going.

      “I don’t understand.  I’ve never been here before,” he thought.  He looked over at the sheriff. He thought, “Pooch hasn’t changed much in the last twenty years.  How the hell do I know that?  The sheriff’s name was Frank Pucherra.  Everyone calls him ‘Pooch’.”

      They sat in silence all the way to the sheriff’s office.  Frank parked the car next to a side door in the building and they went inside.  A young deputy at a desk looked up and said, “Hi, Pooch.  We’ve got a guy in the interrogation room waiting for his lawyer.  Do you need to get in there?”

      “Hi, Bobby. No, we’re good.  We’ll be in my office if you need me.”

      Pooch showed Mike to his office and closed the door behind them.

      “Have a seat.  Can I get you something?  Coffee, soft drink?”

      “Coffee would be good, Sheriff; if you don’t mind.”

      Pooch smiled as he walked to the credenza and poured two cups of coffee.  

      “I’ll give you fair warning. Bobby’s coffee has been known to take the paint off an old door.”

      Mike laughed, “I think I can handle it.  It can’t be much worse than mine.”

      The Sheriff set the steaming cups on the desk and settled back in his chair.  Mike sipped at the dark brew.  “Ah, just like home,” he smiled.

     Pooch stared intently at Mike.  “You say that your name is Mike Bond?  Where do you live, Mike?”

      “I live over in Garretville, in Brogan County.”  The sheriff’s eyebrows rose slightly.

      “Are you parents still there?”

      “Carl and Barbara Bond were my step-parents.  They were both killed in a car wreck a few months ago.  They were good people.  They adopted me from the Brogan County Orphanage when I was small.  I never knew who my real parents were.”

      The sheriff rubbed his forehead as if struggling with an important decision.  He finally stood up and walked to a file cabinet, removing a file folder from the second drawer.  He sat back down and looked into Mike’s face for a moment.

      “Maybe you’ll leave here hating my guts but I’ve got some things to tell you.”  He took a photo from the folder and placed it in front of Mike.

      Mike’s jaw hung open as he stared at the photo.  “This looks like me,” he exclaimed.  “Who is he?”

      “The man in that photo is Larry Thorne.  He’s your natural father.  Your mother’s name was Linda Thorne.”

      Mike was speechless for a moment.  “What happened?  Didn’t they want me?”

      “That’s not true. Your mother wanted you very much; to the point that she ultimately gave her life to protect you.  We had been friends since grade school.  I wasn’t much older than you when she came to me for help.  Your father was very abusive toward her.  He beat her often; each beating worse than the previous one.  She asked me to take her away so your father couldn’t find her.  She was afraid that she would miscarry from the beatings and lose you.”

      Mike’s brain began to struggle as he tried to absorb what he was hearing.  “Did you take her away?”

      Pooch took a swallow of coffee.  “I had made an arrangement to borrow a car from Ben at the gas station.  He knew what was going on.  He gave me a set of keys to a car he kept out behind the garage.  Your mother called me one evening; she was crying.  She said she couldn’t take it anymore.  I went to Ben’s garage and picked up the car.  Your mom was in pretty bad shape when I got there.  I drove her to Brogan County.  She was beginning to deliver so we went straight to the hospital.  She died giving birth.  I gave fictitious names and you were placed with the Brogan County Orphanage.”

      “Where – - Where is my mother buried?” asked Mike.

      “I had her buried in a small cemetery outside of Garretville.  I can give you directions to where she is.”

      “Where is my father?”

      “He’s dead.  That’s all I can tell you.”

      Mike sat motionless and quiet, staring blankly across the room.  Finally, he managed to compose his thoughts and began to speak.  

      “It’s getting a little late to head for home.  Maybe I can find a place to stay for the night.”

      “Sounds like a good idea,” said Pooch.  I’ll take you back to Ben’s garage to get your car.  There’s a small motel about a block west of the garage.  Nothing fancy but it’s clean.  I’ll arrange for you to stay at no charge.  It’s the least I can do for you.”

      “Thanks, Sheriff.  I appreciate it.  I’d like to thank you for helping my Mom, too.”

      “I’m sorry that I didn’t get her out of here in time to save her.  It’s bothered me all these years.”

      As they left the office Pooch turned to the deputy at the desk.  “Man the fort, Bobby.  I’ll be back in a little bit.”

      “No problem, Pooch.  We’ve got everything under control.”

      Pooch grinned to himself as he thought; If Machine Gun Kelly and his gang had just rolled into town Bobby would still have everything under control.

      When they got to Ben’s garage, Pooch said “If you like home cookin’, there’s a nice little restaurant next to the motel.  My daughter Jenny is working the afternoon/evening turn.  Tell her I said to put your meal on my tab.  Maybe I’ll see you for breakfast; around eight-o-clock?”

      “That’ll work,” smiled Mike.  “See you then.”

########

      Arriving at the motel, Mike grabbed his duffle bag from the trunk and went to check in. The woman behind the desk smiled as he entered.  

      “Good evening.  May I help you?”

      “Yes, I’d like a room.  My name is Mike Bond.”

      “Oh, of course.  You’re Pooch’s friend.  I have a room all ready for you.  Number seven.  You can park right in front of your room.”

      She took a room key off of a hook on the wall behind her desk and handed it to him.

      “Thank you, ma'am.  What time is check-out?”

      “Whenever you want, sweetie.  Folks are seldom in a hurry around here.”

      “Thanks much,” he smiled.

      Once in his room, Mike took a long hot shower.  As he dried off, he looked into the mirror over the bathroom sink.  His face smiled back at him from the glass.

      “What the -----?”  He realized that he wasn’t smiling.  He scrubbed at the foggy mirror; his image seemed to be laughing at him.  Mike turned on the cold water and dunked his head in the basin, covering his head and face.  He slowly raised his head and looked into the mirror again.  His image appeared normal, only reflecting his movements.  “I must be more tired than I thought,” he reasoned.

      Mike put on clean clothes and walked next door to the restaurant.  A pretty little redhead smiled at him as he entered.  She ushered him to a table against the wall and gave him a menu.

      “What can I get you to drink?”

      “I think I’ll have a coke.  Do you have any suggestions for dinner?”

      “Well, all the food’s generally pretty good here but since my Daddy’s buying, you might want to consider the steak dinner,” she laughed.

      “Wow, I’ve never been in this town before but everyone seems to know who I am.”

      “Maybe you just look like you belong here,” she grinned.  “So, does the steak sound good to you?  It comes with a baked potato and salad.”

      “Sounds good.  Sour cream on the potato and Italian dressing on the salad, please.”

      “You got it, Mike.”  She scurried off to the kitchen.

########

      Back in his motel room, Mike reflected on the happenings of the day.  The news about his parents was a shock but a good dinner with the company of a pretty girl sure was nice.  Business was slow and Jenny sat with him through most of his dinner.  Mike climbed into the comfortable bed and quickly fell asleep; or thought he did!

      Mike awoke suddenly, sensing a presence in the darkness.  He fumbled for the switch on the lamp next to the bed but it didn’t work.

      “Who’s there?” he called.  “You’d better get out of here while you can still walk!”

      A gruff voice answered him from the dark.  “That’s some pretty big talk, little man.  You’ve got more guts than your mother had.”

      “Who in hell are you?”

      The voice laughed.  “Hell, indeed.  You’ve got that right.  I’m your dear old dad.  I’ve been waiting for you to come back here for the last twenty years.  I figured you could help me even the score with that SOB Pooch, and old Ben for sticking their noses into my business.”

      “I thought you were dead.”

      “Your friend Pooch killed me but like they say, ‘ya can’t keep a good man down’.”  The voice laughed hysterically.

      ”I don’t know who you are but I’m not helping you do anything,” Mike shouted.

      “Oh but you will, little Mikey.  I’m going to give you some pointers on how to treat that sweet little Jenny; just like I did your mother.”  The voice laughed again.

      Mike jumped from the bed and ran to the main room door where the light switch was on the wall.  Mike whirled around as light flooded the room.  No one was there.  He checked the closet and bathroom.  No one!

 

########

      After one of the most miserable nights he had ever had, Mike dragged himself over to the restaurant to meet Pooch who was already seated at a table next to the window.  Pooch stared at him for a moment.

      “Mike, what the hell happened to you?  You look like crap.”

      “Feel like crap too.  I had company last night.”

      “Oh?  Who was that?”

      “My father.”

      “What?  That can’t be.  He died twenty years ago.”

      “Well, if he’s really dead, I had one PO’d ghost in my room.  He said that you killed him.  Is that right?  Is he still alive somewhere?  I need to know the truth, Sheriff.”

      Pooch was visibly shaken.  “This isn’t the place for us to talk about what happened.  Let’s go back over to your room.”

      Pooch called to the waitress; “Margie; Can we have a couple of large coffees to go, please?”

      “You sure can, Pooch.”

      The two men carried their coffee back to Mike’s room.  Pooch took a chair that was sitting in the corner while Mike sat on the corner of the bed.  Pooch took a swallow of coffee and slowly began his story.

      “After your mom died, the local preacher and I gave her a Christian burial.  She had no family and there was no way I would hand you over to that scum bag father of yours so, I left you with the Brogan County Orphanage.  I figured you would have the best chance at a decent life.  When I got back home, I went to Ben’s garage to give him the car back.  When I got there, the place was a mess and I found Ben all bloodied up in the store room.  Your father found out that he had lent me the car to help you mother get away and he beat the stuffing out of old Ben.”

      “Did you call the Sheriff?”

      “Police protection in this town left a lot to be desired back then.  I guess that influenced my choice to get into law enforcement.  Between your mom and Ben, I was seeing red.  I went looking for your father.  I checked your mom’s house.  It was a shambles.  Apparently, when he got home from a night of drinking and found her gone, he tore the house apart.  One of the neighbors told me that he used to crash at the old Miller farm on the edge of town when he didn’t come home.  I drove out to the Miller place and sure enough, his car was there.  As I drove up, he was sitting in an old rocker on the front porch.  He came off the porch with a whiskey bottle in his hand, swearing and wanting to know where your mother was.  I wouldn’t tell him.

      He came at me with the bottle.  We knocked each other around for awhile.  I got in a good lick and he fell down, hitting his head on the lid of the old cistern.  He wasn’t moving; didn’t seem to have a pulse.  I pried the lid off the cistern and dumped him in head first.  There was a lot of nasty stuff in that cistern and it seemed to me that it was where he belonged.  As I pulled the lid back into place, I swear that his feet started to kick.  I closed the lid and sat on it.  I actually felt good.  All the anger I had inside seemed to melt away.”

      Mike sat speechless.  He wasn’t expecting to hear a story like the one Pooch had just told.  Finally he asked, “Didn’t anyone look for him?”

      “Really, he was such an SOB that nobody cared.  There’s an old quarry on the Miller place.  I drove his car back there and let it go in.  Folks did wonder about your mother.  She was a nice girl.  I just told people that she ran away to somewhere he couldn’t find her and she was safe now.

      Now you know it all.  What’s next?  I guess you can turn me in to the State Patrol if you want.”

      Mike looked straight into his eyes.  “It looks like you probably did the world a favor.  I wish you could have saved my mom.”

      “I tried, son.  I really did.”

      “I know you did. Does anyone else know what happened?”

      “Just you, me and Ben.  My daughter Jenny doesn’t know anything about it and I’d like to keep it that way.”

      “She won’t hear it from me,” smiled Mike.  “I’m thinking I should head back to Garretville this evening.  I’d like to visit my mom’s grave.  I need to say what I’ve been feeling and say goodbye.”

      “I understand.  If you ever need anything or want to come back, you’ll be welcome.”  The Sheriff stood up to leave. “I think I’d better get to doing my job before folks start looking for a new Sheriff,” he laughed.

      Mike extended his hand.  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

      “Call me Pooch,” he grinned.

########

      Mike had checked out of the motel and packed his belongings in the trunk; he was just finishing dinner at the restaurant and enjoying pleasant conversation with Jenny.

      As he was leaving, he looked at Jenny, thinking “Why am I leaving?”

      It was starting to get dark as Mike headed down the road toward Garretville.  He glanced at the rearview mirror and almost went off the edge of the road.

      “Hello, Mikey!  Leaving so soon?”  The eyes glared back at him.  Mike brought the car to a screeching halt on the shoulder of the road.  He turned and looked into the back seat, seeing only a shape in the darkness.

      “Here’s Daddy!” the voice mimicking Jack Nicholson in the Shining movie.  It laughed wildly.

      “I’m leaving and I won’t be back.  I’m not helping you hurt these people,” shouted Mike.

      “Oh but you will,” snarled the voice.  “I’m in you now and getting stronger.  I will control you!  Sooner or later, I’m going to have Jenny.  M-m-m-m, so sweet.  Just like your mother.  You’ve already helped me get stronger.  I’m getting into Ben, Pooch and his cute daughter.  I’ll have my way.  I’ve waited for a long time.”

      The apparition faded away, maniacal laughter trailing off into the darkness.  Mike sat for a moment, trying to compose himself.  His pounding heart gradually returned to a normal rhythm.  He put the car into gear and made a squealing U-turn in the middle of the highway.  Mike soon screeched to a stop at the Sheriff’s office and ran inside. 

      Deputy Bobby stood to stop him.  “Whoa, cowboy.  You can’t just run in here like that.”

      “Let him go, Bobby.  It’s OK,” Pooch called from his office.

Mike closed the door and sat across from him.  He was holding his head in his hands. He slowly looked up at Mike, his eyes sunken and hollow looking.

Mike gasped.  “He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

      “Ben too!”

      “He wants Jenny.  We have to do something,” said Mike.

      “We’ll stop him or die trying,” said Pooch. He made a quick call to Ben and strapped on his weapon. “Can you handle a gun?”

      “I hunt,” said Mike.

      Pooch went to a gun locker and came back with a shot gun, handing it to Mike.

      “Grab a box of shells from that drawer,” he pointed at a cabinet.  “Let’s go out to the Miller place.”

      As they hurried out of the office, Pooch hollered “Bobby, I’m off duty for awhile; you’re in charge! Don’t look for me.”

      A bewildered Bobby stuttered “Y-Yes sir!”

They made record time to the Miller farm.  As they got out of the car, Ben was coming up the long driveway with a fuel oil delivery truck.  Pooch stood next to the cistern and waved Ben over.

      “Mike, get the pick from my trunk.”

      Pick in-hand, Mike pried the lid off of the cistern; a terrible stench filled the air.  Ben shined a flashlight into the hole.

      “Yep, he’s in there; still swimmin’ with his relatives,” he scowled.  “Time to fill ‘er up!”

      Mike dragged the hose from the fuel truck and Ben started the pump.  It didn’t take long to fill the cistern.

      “Move the truck back, Ben.  We don’t want to blow it up.”  

      Pooch took an oil soaked rag and set it on fire.  He looked at his two partners, “God, help us!”  He tossed the burning rag into the open cistern.  The fuel oil erupted into a roaring inferno.  After what seemed like an eternity, the fire started to die down.  Pooch moved closer to get a better look. “What the ----?”  A form of some sort of creature seemed to be crawling out of the flames.  Pooch pulled his weapon and emptied it into the fearsome shape.  Hysterical laughing from somewhere filled the air.  The creature kept coming out.  Mike took the shotgun and blasted away to no avail.  The shape only appeared to be laughing at them.

      Filled with anger, Mike grabbed the pick and moved close.  “This is for my mother, you bastard!”  He raised the pick high and brought it down with all his might, burying the pointed end deep into the creature’s head.

      Suddenly, methane gas from the old leach field met with the burning fuel oil.  The resulting series of explosions blew the men off their feet.  Being the closest, Mike was blown clear back to the fuel truck.  He awoke to the face of Ben leaning over him. 

      “Mike!  Mike!  You alright, boy?”

      Mike smiled.  “Yeah.  I’ve got to learn not to play near the fire!”

      “Too bad,” laughed Pooch.  “I was thinking we might put you in charge of our July 4^th fireworks.  That was awesome!”

      The three men sat and watched the gate to hell as it burned most of the night.  As the last flames died, Pooch said “Well, what do you guys think?  Is he gone or still crawling around in the goop at the bottom of the cistern?”

      Mike smiled broadly.  “He’s gone!  I can’t feel him anymore!  He’s gone!”

      “I have to agree,” said Ben.  In fact, I feel better than I have in a long time.

      “I don’t feel him either,” said Pooch. “I live the closest.  Let’s go to my place and shower off this crap and fuel oil mixture.  We’ll wake up Jenny and get her to make breakfast.”

########

      Jenny was awake when they got there.  When Pooch didn’t come home that night and Bobby didn’t know where he was, she spent the night worrying.

      “Excuse my French but, where the hell have you guys been all night?  You smell like you fell into the sewer.”

      “You could say that,” said Mike.

      “E-ewe! What’s in your hair?  Is that -----?”  Jenny started to gag.  “OK.  One shower down the hall, one upstairs, and one down in the basement.  Get to it before I barf.  Those clothes are going into the trash burner.”

      “Be careful that they don’t explode,” laughed Pooch.

      Finally clean of the nasty mess and dressed in some of Pooch’s clothes, the three sat down to a great breakfast prepared by Jenny.

      “So, what are your plans now?” asked Pooch.

      “I don’t know.  I have no family and jobs aren’t too plentiful.”

      Ben spoke up.  “Try this on for size.  I had plenty of time to check out that classy red car of yours.  Did you do the work?”

      “Yessir!  I rebuilt the engine and tranny, did the body work and paint.”

      “Well now, my old joints are getting a little too painful to be working on cars all day.  I could use a good man to run things for me.  Plus, I’d be willing to let you set up that end bay at the station so you could build cars like that Monte Carlo of yours.”

      “I don’t know what to say, Ben.  That would be my dream job.”

      Jenny elbowed him in the ribs.  “Say yes!”

      “You sure?”

      “Yeah, now that you don’t smell so bad, I wouldn’t mind you staying around.”

      “It all sounds good to me,” said Pooch.

########

      Back at the Miller farm, a smoky haze still hung over the cistern and leach field.  A stray cat gingerly picked his way through the debris and stopped at the cistern opening.  He crouched down and slowly peered into the hole.  His back arched, he spun around and ran for the nearest tree like the devil himself was chasing him.

Funny thing about cats.  They seem to see things that people don’t.