June 11, 2014
"There was a man standing near the river.
I crept forward slowly, careful to avoid the dry twigs sprinkled at my feet, but unable to take my eyes off of him. For some reason I felt if I took my eyes off of him he might disappear. A bird above ruffled the branches of the trees and took off, squawking loudly, as if trying to give me away.
The man did not move or give any indication that he had heard.
He wore an ill-fitting black suit. His hands were incredibly pale and protruded long and gnarled from beneath the too-short sleeves of his jacket. He was tall. Too tall. Abnormally tall.
Rogue River flowed on lazily in front of him, the water building in a crescendo to the anticipation of the rocks further down the bed. The man’s back was to me and I could not see his face.
Suddenly the smell wafted to my nose. It was light at first, merely drifting to my nostrils on the mild gust of wind in the gulley. One final, forceful breeze brought the smell to me fully, and I froze in my tracks.
The smell of rotten things. Spoiled eggs.
Sulfur.
A smell that brought back a childhood memory, one that I had tucked far back in the annals of my mind, pushed behind happier memories, even fantasies that I had created in order to avoid thinking of the truth. Remembering.
Those lost 18 hours.
And the man who held my hand and led me away...
My hand slowly strayed low to the piece at my side, my fingers tracing the familiar metal as I pulled it from the holster.
That smell. I had smelled it once before. An unfamiliar car, littered with trash and beer cans as I crouched low in the backseat as I had been instructed to do.
Those lost 18 hours.
The man began to turn, as if sensing that I was there. I heard him make an odd sound; one that seemed out of place.
Sniffing.
He was sniffing me out.
Finally his face turned to mine. There didn’t seem to be anything out of place with his features. I tried to search his face for a glimmer of recognition of any kind but found nothing. He did not look familiar.
Yet his eyes.
Those eyes were beady and not right. And then his lips curled, the corners of his mouth snarled upward obscenely.
A moment later, he was gone.
Vanished.
And there I was, weapon in hand, shivering with fright over childhood demons.
Not sure who he was.
What he was.
Or if he had anything to do with the body of the dead little girl we had found lying two hundred yards away…"
I crept forward slowly, careful to avoid the dry twigs sprinkled at my feet, but unable to take my eyes off of him. For some reason I felt if I took my eyes off of him he might disappear. A bird above ruffled the branches of the trees and took off, squawking loudly, as if trying to give me away.
The man did not move or give any indication that he had heard.
He wore an ill-fitting black suit. His hands were incredibly pale and protruded long and gnarled from beneath the too-short sleeves of his jacket. He was tall. Too tall. Abnormally tall.
Rogue River flowed on lazily in front of him, the water building in a crescendo to the anticipation of the rocks further down the bed. The man’s back was to me and I could not see his face.
Suddenly the smell wafted to my nose. It was light at first, merely drifting to my nostrils on the mild gust of wind in the gulley. One final, forceful breeze brought the smell to me fully, and I froze in my tracks.
The smell of rotten things. Spoiled eggs.
Sulfur.
A smell that brought back a childhood memory, one that I had tucked far back in the annals of my mind, pushed behind happier memories, even fantasies that I had created in order to avoid thinking of the truth. Remembering.
Those lost 18 hours.
And the man who held my hand and led me away...
My hand slowly strayed low to the piece at my side, my fingers tracing the familiar metal as I pulled it from the holster.
That smell. I had smelled it once before. An unfamiliar car, littered with trash and beer cans as I crouched low in the backseat as I had been instructed to do.
Those lost 18 hours.
The man began to turn, as if sensing that I was there. I heard him make an odd sound; one that seemed out of place.
Sniffing.
He was sniffing me out.
Finally his face turned to mine. There didn’t seem to be anything out of place with his features. I tried to search his face for a glimmer of recognition of any kind but found nothing. He did not look familiar.
Yet his eyes.
Those eyes were beady and not right. And then his lips curled, the corners of his mouth snarled upward obscenely.
A moment later, he was gone.
Vanished.
And there I was, weapon in hand, shivering with fright over childhood demons.
Not sure who he was.
What he was.
Or if he had anything to do with the body of the dead little girl we had found lying two hundred yards away…"
Excerpt from Rogue River
Tenebrous, Volume 3
Rogue River & The Treatment of Dr. de Rais
Rogue River & The Treatment of Dr. de Rais
Angela Darling
© 2014 Amontillado Publishing. All Rights Reserved.
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