Evil Origins by JD Simser
chapter THREE
Mike
In the local paper of the town where I grew up, weddings and births were conveniently listed under the heading of “Life Changing Events.” My childhood friend and companion, Renaud was just starting his journey toward fame and fortune. He had already written the book that would be his claim and made him a house hold name to single woman everywhere and horny house wives wishing for more romance but its meaning changed entirely because of those three simple words. The book that the world would remember him for had been written to do one simple job that it was never able to accomplish. He never talked about why he only wrote one love story. Well, at least the true reason there was only one, but I know because I was there.
Renaud, like most of his family fell head over heels in love from a single kiss. For some people, love was a long journey with little milestones that they build on similar to the foundation of a house. For others, a single, heartwarming kiss is all it takes. That kiss came to Renaud in his senior year of high school and it changed his life and how he viewed the world completely. In his clan, a kiss could make you the king of the world or completely destroy you. His brother Harrow’s death was caused by a kiss and rumor had it that he returned from the dead, but that is another story for another day. Some might say that kiss that stuck in Renaud’s heart like a bad tattoo that never goes away. Despite all the money he eventually made in the process of trying to get back that kiss, it was never the money that he had longed for. It ruined his heart and stopped him from ever loving another woman. I was there to watch him write his book and felt the darkness take over as all hope faded from his memory. I was there for the three years it took him to perfect his craft and I was there the day that the sparkle of optimism faded from his eyes. He had written all four hundred and ninety-three pages with a single goal in mind. It was not to win the hearts of the millions that bought the book. It was to remind Jennifer Andersen that they had had a fairytale romance. Not just boy-meets-girl, they fall in love and live happily ever after forever onwards. For Renaud, it was boy-meets-girl, boy falls in love with girl, and her smile and laughter is all the boy can think about. It was written specifically because he was lost without her and her smile. It was the hope that he could regain that love that made it possible for Renaud to live his life. He wrote eight different revisions until it was perfect. He took every ounce of romance and charm that he had and penned their story as if it was a child being nurtured into adulthood. Renaud dedicated his life to it with the intent of rebuilding their happy ever after. The “Life Changing Events” section in the mid-October Sunday morning paper stole his hope. Reading “Mr. and Mrs. Andersen are happy to announce the marriage of their only daughter Jennifer to Wilson Bailey” hurt him dearly, tearing the heart out of him. After reading that line, he hated his life, the town he grew up in, and the world around him. In the month that followed the announcement, Renaud drank and slept with every willing woman that our small town had to offer before vanishing, never to set foot in it again. The paper cheerfully said that he joined the army with his brother Harrow in order to fulfill a lifelong dream of serving his country, but personally, I always thought that he ran away to join the army with the hope that a war would offer him a valiant, worthwhile death. Either way, that was the last time I ever saw Renaud. It was the last day anybody saw him, if you believe the rumors. The day that Jenny got married not only was a life changing event for her, but it was also one for him too. He was not made a better man, but a colder one.
I sometimes ask myself why I kept returning here to the water front. It's not to gaze at the neon skylight glowing over the crime-stricken city across the river like Renaud did. I haven’t seen its beauty in some time now. They can turn the riverfront into a park and add statues and monuments all over the place, but it doesn’t change its history. I come here surrounded by the kids playing pirate with their loud incisive laughter as they running around polluting the air. It's not even to remind me that fairytales don't really happen, either. I return here to remind myself that it's not the happy ever after the great romantics write about but the journey and I wonder if just maybe love is the illusion. It occurred to me that despite spending our whole childhood together along with his brother, we were strangers now. At first, we exchanged a few emails throughout the years, but I haven't thought of, let alone spoken to, Renaud in such a long time that even the memory of him seemed to have lost all meaning. To him, I was part of the town and life he left behind so many years ago. A reminder of life and a love that he could never let go of and never get back. Up until yesterday I, like most of the world, thought he died or fell off the face of the earth, until I got a text telling me that he is returning to home like some long lost war hero. It occurred to me soon after that, for too many years, that was exactly how I saw him instead of what he really was.
I have to admit though, I truly believed he would have returned home by now. They say blood is thicker than water and when his brother Nathanial died last year, it was in all the papers, including the major ones. After all, he had single-handedly taken a small-time welding shop and turned it into a multi-million-dollar empire in less than a decade. I didn’t think that he’d return for the money, since after his book he had more money than even he could spend, but I thought he’d return to say goodbye to his baby brother. Even if he hated every memory he had ever built here, I thought his blood-ties would have brought him home. I guess in his eyes; blood wasn’t thicker than water, it was just a case of DNA.
The coastguard was zipping up and down the Detroit river so fast that the ship seemed to be skipping across the water. I hadn’t seen this much traffic from either side of the river in decades. It wasn’t just rapid scurrying on the American side of the river, but the Canadian side too. Usually, you see the two countries come together for various reasons throughout the year, but it’s always been for ceremonial events. It was a pleasant show of unity to me. “Peaceful relations,” we called it. An example of neighbors coexisting with our similarities rather than fighting over our differences. It was easy to see where the ships were heading. In the middle of river there was an empty cargo ship that resembled a ghost ship from another era. It floated on the water, eerily silent and almost motionless but for its gentle bobbing on the waves. It seemed strange and out of place. From this distance I wasn’t able to see anybody walking around on its deck, but there was feeling that something was off.
I sat there trying to control my imagination as I watched the ships, but a low, clunking sound caught my attention. At first I looked around searching for kids playing basketball, but there weren’t any. The park was unusually empty now, leaving my imagination and I alone in the dark to search for ghosts that weren’t really there. I listened intently as the water slapped against the rocks, and then the sound occurred again. The hollow thudding sound echoed towards me. I waited again to hear it. It was probably my imagination playing tricks on me. I stood up and was about to head back to my house when I heard it again. It was faint, but definitely there, like something dark whispering for me to come near. Damn those horror movies.
I let my curiosity get the better of me as I walked towards the noise, wondering what it could be. Of course, there were the obvious things like an old cooler that was tossed from a fisherman’s boat, or some large fish whose carcass had gotten caught on the rocks. There were a million possibilities as to what could be making that noise.
I crept towards the general area where the sound was coming from like a frightened child who despite being told there was no monster under the bed something still screamed its lying there with claws ad fangs just waiting for you to be alone. I was a meter away from the rocks when I thought I saw something slithering around, beyond my sight. Likely a muskrat or other rodent splashing around, I thought. Please don’t be a real rat I thought. Anything but a damn rat. As a child I saw a cornered sewer ran the size of a cat kill my family dog and it freaked the hell out me. Of course my family dog was a mean little Chihuahua that thought h
I leaned forward slowly, peering into the dark water into the dark water, but seeing nothing. I found myself stretching further towards the edge, desperately trying to get a glimpse at whatever was beneath the water. Slight ripples stood out from the waves, drifting towards the shore. I waited intently for something to happen, even though I had no idea what it could be. I am by no means a thrill seeker, but I found the whole situation rather exciting. I am not sure if it was the fear or excitement building, but either way my whole body shook as if I was caught in a mid-winter storm. My world is not just filled with faith, but it's built on it so I am used to the unknown. I guess even an old priest who lives under the light likes to think he can look into the darkness unscathed.
I was almost on top of the source, but I couldn't see or figure out what the hell it was. There was definitely something bobbing under the water, but thankfully it wasn't a rat. I reached into the chill water, prepared to yank out whatever was under the waves. It would even be worth the potential loss of a finger to finally know what was making that peculiar sound. Growling exploded from the water, followed by deep rumbling noise that gave way to series of sharp hisses. Instinctively I yanked my hand back, tucking it in close as something flew out of the water. Clear, glowing eyes blazed through the darkness and came flying towards me like a dart, hissing as it passed by. I covered my face, crouching as a spray of water hit me, but nothing else happened.
I turned to look at it as it stood, watching me with eyes that seemed to be staring right into me. Its body shook as it lowered its head and growled from its throat. It took a few seconds for my brain to register what my eyes had just seen, a few seconds longer then common sense would dictate it should have taken to realize that the beast that had leapt from the water was a common alley cat. I watched as it seemed to wait just long enough to make sure I wasn't going to chase it before it leapt into the night. If it wasn't for the fact that my heart was pounding in my chest, I would have fallen over laughing at myself and my stupidity.
The strange sound began again from the other side of the square white stones. It was growing louder and more rapid with each passing second. I figured that if I had come this far, I might as well take my amateur investigation all the way. I climbed up over the stone and carefully made my way towards the river. It was too hot and humid even this late in the season and the cool river breeze was welcomed, even with is faint smell of dead fish.
I had only gone a few feet when something grabbed me hard enough to make my skin burn. At first I panicked and tugged my arm back with all my strength, but whatever latched onto me refused to let go. I wasn't thinking as I pulled back trying to free myself from its grasp, but I couldn’t get free. Finally, I was able to break free, the force sending be flying back into the stone. I winced as the rocks bit into my back.
Despite the pain and the realization that flickering lights were approaching from behind me, my eyes never left the water. Terror enables you to notice everything around you, but only lets you concentrate on one thing. My concentration was on whatever was in the water and, despite knowing I had to run away fast, my feet wouldn't listen to me. I’m knew many people before me had experienced this exact issue. They talked about the adrenaline flowing through their veins and how they ignored the pain to make their escape, but when they needed to run they were suddenly helpless.
I saw something struggling to make it through those wretchedly treacherous rocks and each time it got closer, my chest tightened just a little more. Slowly, it yanked itself out of the water and onto the shore, grunting and mumbling. Voices from behind me and the flickering of flashlights told me I wasn't alone and that help had arrived. Fearlessly, the figure dragged himself forward, coming straight at me. I could hear only snatches of words amongst the creature’s nonsense.
"That she demon… watch out for that shetani." He was almost on top of me when I saw the empty holes where the man's eyes should have been. He bellowed his warning one last time, before falling limp on the rocks.
I was screaming as they approached on foot. The flashlights and the static hum of their radios told me I was safe. I didn't even try to move, my body numb from the fear. Instead I sat there broken, staring at the lifeless man lying before me with his face trapped in my memory.
"Over here! I found our missing sailors," a voice called out from behind as the light skipped over the water. If seeing this single man filled my heart with fear, what I saw next broke it completely. Lifeless bodies bobbed up and down in the water. I followed the light as it skimmed across the water from body to body.
"Are there any injured?" A voice on the radio chirped.
A stunned response followed. "No, I think they are all dead."