Witches of Rascar Pablo: Part II

Chapter 8: Death of a Sheriff

5:33 pm Friday, May 19, 1984 (PDT)
Grants Pass, Oregon

“How long have we been waiting here?” said Benny.

Rachel turned over the ignition until the clock lit up on the dash. “About fifteen minutes.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah… I don’t think they’re gonna turn up here.”

“So… what’s it like going to St. Anne’s? I mean… besides with your friend Jessica.”

“Pfff… it’s… you know… pretentious, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Benny gave a slow nod.

“I mean… there’s like… so many people there who are so conceited – they think the world begins and ends with them.”

Benny crossed his eyes and smiled sidelong at her. “I know what pretentious means… I promise.”

“I know,” she said with an involuntary burst of laughter, “that’s not what I meant. What’s Hidden Valley like?”

Benny sighed. “I don’t know. The same, I guess, except instead of pretentious Catholic school girls, we have brain-dead redneck hicks.”

“Who’s that hella rude, shady-looking guy you’re always with? At the bus stop, I mean.”

“Deezer?” Benny laughed. “He’s my friend.”

“Okay.”

“He might seem a little… scetchy,” said Benny, picking up on the hint of sarcasm, “but he’s a good friend.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“What makes him a good friend?”

“What makes him a good friend?… I don’t know.” Benny peered out the passenger window, as if in search of the explanation. “I’ve known him since the sixth grade – we were at Lincoln Savage together. At first we were just… I don’t know… buddies that would ditch sometimes to smoke a bowl – stuff like that. This one time, though, after ditching, we went to that BP station on the corner of Williams and New Hope to get some drinks cause we had really bad cotton-mouth, but there was no one there in the store. I mean, there was no one there behind the counter to ring us up. Anyway, long story short, we bolted with some drinks and a pack of cigarettes. A cop that just pulled in for some gas saw us and chased after us. He tackled Deezer. I got away. He also found my bag of weed that I ditched when I ran.”

“But I don’t get it. Why did he chase after you? I mean, how did he know you guys shoplifted, or whatever?”

“I don’t know, I guess because we were running?” Benny peered back out the passenger window. “I guess I wondered that too.”

“Sounds like you guys were just way too unlucky.”

“Seriously, right? And they tried all kinds of stuff to get Deezer to give me up, too. They threatened him with juvenile hall, expulsion; they even knocked him around a bit.

“So did he? Give you up?”

“Nope.” Benny looked at her. “And we’ve been kickin’ it ever since.”

“If I did something like that in the sixth grade, and got caught, my dad would’ve lost his shit.”

“Yeah,” Benny looked away. A long, awkward silence ensued. He turned back to her.

She met his gaze. The air became electric.

Benny defied his nerves and slowly leaned over to kiss her. His lips met hers. Then something caught his eye.

“What is it?” asked Rachel.

They both watched as a short, bald, dark-skinned man with a heavily tattooed face climbed out from behind a mound of dirt on the other side of the pit and then ran into the woods.

“Did you see that?” asked Benny, sticking his head out of the passenger window to get a better look.

“What is that he just climbed out of?”

Benny climbed out of the car and ran over to the mound. There was a deep hole on the other side. Rachel followed him. The sun was about to set and the diminishing light made it difficult to see all the way to the bottom. It was recently dug, about fifteen feet deep and, at the bottom, a small patch of red mushrooms with white polka-dots was barely visible.

“Hey,” shouted Benny. “Wait!” He started after the tattooed man.

“Wait,” Rachel called after him. “He looks… I don’t know… like someone you don’t want to be chasing after.”

“What?” snapped Benny. “Lucas might be in these woods, and Paul might be with him – I want to at least ask him if he’s seen anything.”

Benny and Rachel chased after the man but he vanished. When they reached the place where the man seemed to have vanished, they found another hole. This hole was only a couple of feet deep and, rather than a patch of mushrooms at the bottom, there stood one huge mushroom – also red with white spots.

“Wow,” Benny reached down and tore the giant red fungus from the recently dug earth. “Look at the size of this thing!”

It was heavy with moisture. He fondled it for a minute before handing it to Rachel. It left a cool slimy residue on both of their hands, which Benny tried wiping off onto his jeans. When a nearby twig snapped it frightened Rachel and she dropped the mushroom, splitting it open.

“Hello,” shouted Benny into the darkness. “Is someone there?”

The ground began to move like liquid under Benny’s feet. Rachel felt the atmosphere expand and contract and then expand again, as if the forest were breathing. They looked at each other and said, simultaneously, “I feel high.”

Benny, pondering the source of the sudden hallucinations, glanced to where the mushroom lay split-open, but it wasn’t a mushroom anymore, it was a cactus, and it was festering with insects. He had a funny feeling like it had been a cactus all along.

“Do you see that too?” he said.

“What? The cactus? Of course.”

The earth on which they stood became sand. The ferns and bushes were succulents and cacti, the trees columns of red volcanic rock. The forest transformed into an arid desert-like land that breathed as they breathed and echoed as they spoke. Rachel fell to her knees and began shivering uncontrollably. Benny draped his hoodie over her and helped her up. The moment his hand touched hers, a wave of insecurity and inadequacy washed over him. He felt naked in front of her. He felt his male parts shrink and as though she could see them shrinking, he turned away from her, embarrassed. Rachel felt herself become ugly, and turned away from him ashamed.

The two convulsed and groaned as their guilt-ridden memories stabbed at them and their bodies ached. Benny relived several of the times he’d lied to his grandmother, and the times he’d neglected his own younger brother for his own benefit – to get high, to go to some party. Rachel saw herself cower far away while her father attacked her mother and younger brother, verbally and physically. She saw Jessica and Mr. Fredericks in a naked embrace and they laughed at her, and the shame of letting herself be crippled by fear bit down on her and secreted its venom. They looked up at the moon and it was a skull glaring down at them, and they screamed and ran. They ran through patches of prickly succulents, cacti, and columns of red volcanic rock on which strange incandescent lizards perched. Demonic laughter propagated and echoed from all directions like they were surrounded by some unseen desert imps.

The columns of red rock came to an end and they found themselves on the floor of a deep canyon with steep canted rock faces, over a hundred feet up on either side. They descended deeper into the chasm. The ground was red clay, dry and cracked as if a river had once run through it.

They heard what sounded like the steady trot of someone running toward them from a distance. They looked back up the moonlit canyon and could see a dark figure, barely visible, sprinting toward them. They stood and watched, and as it came closer – about fifty yards off – the prospect that it was friendly became impossible. It was a man in a stained and tattered law enforcement uniform, its face warped and demented. It opened its mouth and released a fountain of translucent, multicolored energy that rippled and snaked its way toward them. The blurry fountain traveled faster than they were running, and to avoid its trajectory, they dove into an adjacent depression at the edge of the canyon floor. The energy snaked by, just missing them, and they felt its heinous vibrations and high-pitched scream as it passed.

They recovered from the fall and found themselves in a pile of human-like bones. They were everywhere, scattered about. Rachel noticed an intricate stairwell carved into the massive canyon wall.

“Come on,” she said as the demented stalker neared them.

They started up the stairwell, a series of flights that cut and twisted up the crags, covered in cobwebs and strewn with bones. Skulls and rib cages snapped under their feet as they frantically trampled their way up and away from their pursuer. After ascending nearly twelve flights they were out of breath. They looked down. The deformed figure was right below them. Its head demented, oblong, asymmetric, dented and bloody. Its lips were missing where it had chewed them away, and its teeth and gums were exposed.

They came to some wooden double doors with an old painting of a lizard with three tongues, and the letter ‘D’. The paint was faded and chipped away. Benny kicked at the doors. They flew open. The demented stalker opened its mouth and released another translucent scream. They went in and slammed the doors shut just before it reached them. The vibration shook them so hard they could barely hold the doors shut. It took all of Benny’s might to slide the bolt over to lock the door.

Their pursuer slammed into the doors, kicking and scratching. Benny and Rachel raced down the hallway and came to a stairway made of wood and old tattered rope. They started climbing. The wooden steps creaked under their weight, and the old rope began to tear.

“It’s going to break,” cried Rachel.

They could hear their stalker break down the doors and enter the hallway. They made it to the bottom hatch of a rotting, termite-infested cabin. They went in. It was ceilingless, and the skull-moon glared down at them. They avoided making eye-contact with it. The walls were covered by a web of glyphs of some strange codex. In the center was a bathtub packed to the brim with worm-ridden mud, and a man buried in it up to his chin. The man appeared to be breathing.

“This guy’s alive,” said Benny.

He reached toward the man’s neck to check his pulse when a giant neon-green bat jumped out at him, flapping its wings incessantly. Benny jumped back. The bat sprung toward him, but was jerked back, mid-air, by a tether that bound it to the leg of the tub. “Holy shit!”

Their pursuer was half-way through the bottom hatch. Benny charged it, tried to stomp it back down the hatch, but missed. The thing opened its mouth, but before it could release its translucent scream, the bat shrieked and discharged a cone of energy that rippled through the body of the demented thing, blasting flesh from its skull and burning its eyes from their sockets. It fell to the floor where it remained motionless, its face sizzling and smoking.

* * *

8:02 pm Friday, May 19, 1984 (PDT)
Grants Pass, Oregon

Benny and Rachel awoke in the forest to the intense chirps of birds and insects. It was evening. Benny stood and looked around the moonlit wood, not recognizing where they were.

“Benny,” cried Rachel.

Benny turned to her and found her looking down at the body of the very recognizable Sheriff Wilson. He was dead as could be. His face was restored to normal – it was no longer deformed – nor were his eyes missing.

“So… that really happened?” asked Benny, with sincere confusion in his voice. “I mean… was it him the whole time… who was chasing us? Was it the Sheriff the whole time?”

“I don’t know.”

They heard the sound of fingers snapping and turned, and standing behind them was Orion with a black bat perched on his forearm.

Orion had on an old faded Star Wars T-shirt, and had tied to himself by a webbing of shoelace thongs an assortment of plastic bottles filled with various liquids. Around his neck hung a couple of small leather pouches, and on his belt hung a sheathed bowie knife. He snapped his fingers and grunted excitedly at Benny and Rachel.

Benny was dizzy, and his vision was blurry, so he sat down in a bed of pine needles. He looked up at Rachel. “His name’s Orion,” he said, “he goes to my school.”

“Oh.” Rachel greeted him with a reluctant waive. “Hello.”

“Sssssplaaaahhhhhkkkaaaaaaaa!” Orion sprayed spittle and spewed gibberish.

Rachel sat down next to Benny. “What’s wrong with him?” she whispered.

“I think he’s… you know… special,” said Benny, tapping his index finger against his temple.

“I feel sick.” She stood up and then sat down again.

“You okay?” asked Benny.

She got up and vomited into some bushes.

Orion knelt down next to them and spewed more gibberish.

“Wow!” said Benny, referring to the enormous bat perched on Orion’s shoulder. “Are you sure you know how to operate that thing?”

“Sssssplaaaaaaaah!”

“We can’t understand you, man,” said Benny.

Orion sat down across from Benny and with a swipe of his arm cleared the pine needles from a section of moist earth. He picked up a twig, and into the dirt wrote the words, POISON MUSHROOM, and pointed his finger at him and Rachel.

“Yeah, no shit,” said Benny, “that was some bad trip. And… I think… I might have done something terrible.” Benny glanced over to where the Sheriff lay.

Orion wrote the words, NO. BAT KILLED SHERIFF. He pulled a plastic bottle full of brown liquid from the makeshift shoelace thong and wrote, DRINK TO STOP POISON.

“Hell no!” said Benny. “I’m not drinkin’ that shit.” He tried to stand but fell down, and then contracted into the fetal position and groaned.

“Maybe we should try it,” said Rachel.

She took the bottle from Orion and removed the cap. “It smells like rotten eggs.” She cringed, and took a swig. She handed it to Benny and he also took a swig.

“Why was he chasing us anyway?” said Benny, referring to the sheriff. “He was trying to kill us.”

“I thought it was all a bad dream,” said Rachel.

Orion wrote the words, NOT SHERIFF. WORM.

“Worm?” said Benny, “What worm?”

Orion unsheathed his bowie knife, went over to Sheriff Wilson’s corpse and cut a slab of flesh from the back of his neck.

“No,” cried Rachel, “Don’t!”

He peeled it back and revealed the translucent jelly-like tentacles of the creature lodged in the base of his skull.

“What the…” started Benny, “what the hell is that?!”

Orion wrote the words, YOUR BROTHER LUCAS. WHERE?

* * *

7:26 pm Friday, May 19, 1984 (PDT)
Grants Pass, Oregon

Carlos and Harmony pulled into a small strip mall off of Redwood Highway. It was almost 7:30 in the evening and there were few shoppers.

“Qué es eso?” asked Carlos, referring to the largest building on the lot.

“Oh,” said Harmony, “that’s Fred Meyers. It’s a department store – they have everything.”

“Go around back,” he said.

She pulled around the back of the building. It was empty.

“Shall we get you some clothes?” she asked.

Carlos checked the back of the building for cameras. There were none.

“I have some money,” she said, “but not much.”

Carlos got out and examined her license plates. They were white with black letters and numbers.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I need a roll of black… uh… cómo se dice… electrical tape.”

“Electrical tape? What for?”

“I just need it. Can you go get some?”

She got out of the van. “What about shoes and clothes?”

“I’ll get those in a minute. Can you just get the tape?”

“Okay,” she started toward the Fred Meyers. When she was gone, he took the taser from the glove compartment and slipped it under his hospital gown.

She returned after a few minutes with a roll of black electrical tape. He pulled a couple of strips from it and carefully plied them to each of her license plates so that the F looked like an E and the P looked like R.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“Keep the car running,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” she said, “don’t you need some money?” But he’d already gone in.

He emerged fifteen minutes later from the back of the store fully dressed in new clothes, pushing a shopping cart filled to the brim with various items. He threw open the side door to the van and started chucking things in – there was a Fender Stratocaster, a car stereo and amplifier, extension cords, power converters, bundles of wire coat-hangers, and several boxes of crystal brandy snifters.

Harmony watched him from the driver’s seat, “Did you steal that stuff?”

A security guard came sprinting out the back of the store. Carlos pulled the taser from the pocket of his new jeans and loosed the electrodes at the man’s chest. He went stiff, convulsed, and fell to ground.

“Fuck! I told you I had money!” said Harmony.

“Drive, chica!” shouted Carlos, as he jumped into the passenger seat.

Harmony just sat there. “There was really no need for that.”

“Cómo chinga! Drive!”

Harmony floored the gas pedal and they tore out of the lot. The security guard picked himself up and started shouting into his radio. Harmony ran the red lights, took the corners at fifty, down shifted at the most opportune moments, and broke with perfect economy. Carlos couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“What are you staring at?”

“You, chica. I like how you drive.”

She downshifted, swung onto Highway 99, and sped toward the country. She gave him a sidelong glance and noticed his gaze had fallen onto her breasts.

“Stop staring at me,” she said, “you’re creeping me out.”

“Sorry…” he turned away, “nice driving.”

“I’m probably going to jail anyway. I might as well help you out… you helped me. Anyway, what’s a couple more misdemeanors?”

Carlos looked down at his hands. The creases in his palms flashed bright blue. It was the compass, directing him toward the One Tree. “Turn left here,” he said.

She turned.

“Go to jail? Why? That pig I killed? Don’t worry about it, chica, we threw his car in with him, remember? They will think he crashed and cracked his head open.”

“No,” she sighed. “I have two warrants out on me already.”

“En serio? Porque?”

“Trafficking.”

“Trafficking? Trafficking what? Turn right here.”

“Weed, mostly. I live in a commune in Provolt – the Children of God Commune.” She skidded onto a side-road that led to Williams and sped up again before pulling off to the side and slamming on the brakes.

“Go right in there, next to that tree. I’m supposed to meet someone.”

“You’re supposed to meet someone? Here? Who? You still haven’t told me why you were in the hospital, or why you ran, or anything.”

“I told you,” said Carlos. “I don’t know why I was in the hospital.”

“And you’re forty?”

“Sí.”

“Fine.” She sighed, rolled her eyes. He got out and removed the strips of black tape from her license plates. When he came back she was looking at him sidelong, with curiosity. He looked back at her. “You are actually kind of handsome,” she said, confused.

She took Carlos’s hand placed it on her breast. It was shapely, soft to the touch, her nipples were hard. Carlos quickly became aroused. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he went unconscious.