Copyright (c) 2016 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.
CREEPAS
Part
2
The
Scarlet Monastery
By R. Peterson
Sheriff Walker and Tony Lemon climbed the intricate
inlaid stone pathway and stairs that led to the mansion’s entrance. The once
elaborate and pristine landscaping, once filled with exotic flora from all over
the world, had withered and yellowed over the decades. A massive ironwood
exterior-door, surrounded by carved beams and moss-covered stone, had no doorknob
just a heavy cast-iron gargoyle knocker that looked ready to bite-off someone’s
fingers.
The Sheriff motioned for Tony to use it, and when Tony
hesitated, the Sheriff smiled and banged it loudly three times. The twenties-something
lady who opened the door a minute later, was pretty and far from looking like the
oldest woman in the world. Tony gaped at a glowing gold medallion with strange
markings dangling between her ample cleavage.
“I’m Sheriff John Walker and this is Tony Lancer. We’d
like to speak with Mrs. Descombey if that’s possible,” the Sheriff lightly
thumped Tony’s head, “is she at home?”
“Of course,” The woman smiled. “Melania has been
expecting you. My name is Alison Weatherbee;
I’m her in-home caretaker and apprendista.”
Allison led them down a long hallway overflowing with framed
portraits of cats. Many were exquisite oil-paintings. Tony recognized several famous
artist’s signatures: Georges-Pierre Seurat and Pierre-Auguste Renoir from an art appreciation
class taken his Sophomore year at
Cloverdale High School, along with others. “These must have cost a fortune,” he
gasped.
“Actually they were all gifts,” Allison said with a
wink. “Melania has hundreds of friends
from this century … and even more from the last.”
Melania Descombey’s thin frame
was sunk deep in a French-wing
armchair in one corner of a very-large library. She was gently stroking a
mangy, half-starved cat that looked like it might have just crawled out of an
alley after a garbage truck ran over its tail. The Sheriff seemed relaxed, but
Tony was a bundle of nerves.
“I see you love
cats,” Tony blurted. “Is this your only pet
… or do you have more?”
Melania laughed and shook her head. “Lenard is not my pet … he’s my
chauffeur.” She sat the cat down before she continued. “I pay him and the other
servants every Friday and this one has a bad habit of squandering his money in
saloons and bawdy houses. Every Sunday morning I have to send one of my other
employees searching the town for him.”
“I don’t seem to recall
issuing a driver’s license to a gray tabby with a bent tail,” the Sheriff
snickered.
Melania smiled back and lifted a document from the table next to her
and gave it to him. “You should,” she said. “You road-tested him and signed the
motor-vehicle chauffer’s permit yourself.”
The photo on the license showed a graying man in his late sixties with
a crooked smile and unkempt wooly hair. The name above the signature, read Lenard
M. Walton.
“But enough about me and my family,” Melania continued. “We have some
real troubles in our town don’t we Sheriff?”
“I thought the
murder of the vagrant last year was a one- time horror,” the Sheriff said.
“Now we have two brutal killings and a missing girl … and it’s only Tuesday.”
“You can’t run
away from a fight,” Melania turned and spoke directly to Tony. “Some people in
this World, and non-human things in other worlds, just won’t let you walk
away.”
Tony could somehow tell by looking in the old-woman’s eyes that she
knew everything about him without him saying a word. “It was just a game,” he
stammered. “I’ll sell my computer, I’ll never play again … I just want this to
stop!”
“Creepas is no
longer in her cyber-word … she’s in ours,” Melania said. She stood and used a wooden
cane with the top carved like a bear to shuffle toward a door sunk into the
bookcases. “It’s a pity about what happened to your dog and to Mr. Lewis but at
least that pixilated demon is in our world now and not in her own.” Melania
removed a coat from the closet and Sheriff Walker helped her slide it over her
boney shoulders. “ There she has the
advantage… here in this fair town … we
do.”
“But how can I fight
an undead monster Rogue in real life?” Tony gasped.
“You’re a good
player,” Melania said. “Level sixty I believe. You should be an equal match for
our murderous non-living slasher.”
“But that’s a video
game,” Tony stammered. “This is different!”
“William Shakespeare
said … All the world’s a game and the
people merely players,” Melania told Tony with a sly grin.
“I believe what the
Bard said was … All the world’s a stage …”
Tony corrected her.
“Don’t tell me
what I heard,” Melania was indignant. “I was with Billy yesterday morning inside
his house in Stratford-upon-Avon near London. He was playing Final Fantasy part-two on a Dell laptop
and winning. You can’t expect him to huddle in some British library re-writing
all those dusty plays forever can you?”
A gray-haired man,
slightly hunched over, and with bloodshot eyes, entered the room. “Your car is
warmed-up and ready for travel,” he informed Melania.
“Thank you
Lenard,” Melania replied. She smiled and looked at the Sheriff and Tony. “It’s
getting late … we must be on our way.”
“Would it be too
much to ask what exactly what is our destination.” The Sheriff gently took her
arm as she followed Lenard.
“It has to be the Scarlet Monastery,” Melania said.
“Wasn’t that your destination when all of this started?”
“I guess so,” Tony
stammered. “But I didn’t consider going into that place alone. It takes five
players to do an instance.”
“Then we’ll stop and
pick up two more on the way.” Melania stared at the setting sun. “It will be
dark soon. We’ll have to enter the dungeon
while we can still see.”
“Where exactly is
this world’s version of the Scarlett
Monastery,” the Sheriff asked.
“High on the side
of Bear Mountain inside Motha Forest,” Melania told him. “It was called the Crimson Robe of Christ refuge when
father Joseph Blanche and his monks lived there about one-hundred sixty years
ago … but it’s close enough to mirror Tony’s game in our world.
Melania’s driver stood next
to an idling 1949 Roadmaster in
immaculate condition. Colored lights inside the trademark Buick Venti-ports
were wired to flash on and off with the distributor and made the automobile
resemble a World War II Spitfire. Both back doors were open. Sheriff Walker
helped the old woman settle into the large rear-seat with the bear-cane across her
lap while Tony walked around to the other side.
Lenard had a fit of coughing just before he slid behind the
steering-wheel. He ground the transmission
gears, and the antique car roared away. Tony wasn’t surprised to look out the
side window and see a large fur-ball lying on the cobble-stone driveway where
the slovenly chauffeur had stood.
-------2-------
Tony had two
friends he played online with regularly. Most instances took a five-man team and
they usually picked up the two others in-game.
It took five minutes of ringing the bell to get David Wickham to answer
the door. “I almost had a group put-together for Dire Maul,” he complained. “Everyone’s looking for a #&^%@&
tank. Sometimes I think I’m the only warrior on this realm.”
“We’re going someplace
a lot more unique ,”Tony said as he dragged his cursing friend out to the
Roadmaster, “…and a lot more dangerous.”
Sheriff Walker recognized David when he climbed in the front seat next
to Lenard. “Hey, aren’t you the punk we caught jamming wads of bubble-gum into
the parking-meter coin slots?”
“#&^% … that was over a year ago,”
David said. “I’ve #&^%@&
grown-up since then.”
“Are all your
adjectives swear-words?” the Sheriff shook his head.
“What’s a #&^%@&#
adjective?” David looked bewildered.
The next stop was in front of a ramshackle trailer-house where an obese
boy, with an army of pimples waging war on his face, was pushing a squealing girl
on a tricycle across a weed-infested lawn. “Hey Tugg,” Tony yelled. “You want
to do a real-life dungeon tonight.”
“I can’t,” Tugg gaped
at the antique Buick shooting fire from the port holes and then smiled. “Mom
and Jim are drinking-up mom’s welfare check down at the Four Bullets Bar. I
promised them I’d watch Tina.”
“Tugg is our
Hunter … a puller,” Tony said. “He gets the enemies to come to us one-at-a
–time so we don’t get blitzed. I don’t think we can do this so-called dungeon without him.”
Melania was looking through a handful of very-old Tarot cards taken
from a wooden recipe box with the word Ombré
and other things carved on the front. “Bring the sister along,” she called as
she held one of the cards up to the fading light. “She likes to play games
doesn’t she?”
“I change the
password on my computer at least twice a week,” Tugg said, “and she still gets
in and plays all my characters.”
“How old are you,
Tina?” Melania pulled the tiny girl onto her lap, when they all crowded into
the old car.
“I’m five,” she
said, “but my Druid can turn into a
cat.”
“Is it a nice
cat?” Melania asked her.
“No it kicks ass,
and bites people!” Tina made her face into a scowl. “So watch out!”
Sheriff Walker and Melania both laughed. Tony, David and Tugg were busy
doing up their seat belts as Lenard took the Buick up to ninety along a
cliff-lined winding-road heading into the mountains. Lenard opened his window
and his mouth and let out a prolonged yowl that reminded Tony of the dark furry
shapes on their back fence at home, that his sleepy father sometimes threw
shoes at on hot summer nights.
-------3-------
The Crimson Robe of Christ refuge looked like it had
been carved into the solid granite of the mountainside. Long-dead but still
standing Lodge-pole pine trees, stood like forgotten sentinels around a
twisting path that led to the entrance. “I believe we’ll find weapons just
inside the gate-keepers house,” Melania said. “The monks who lived and died in
this place had to protect themselves from Indian attacks and roving bands of
ex-confederate soldiers.” She pressed a button on the Buick’s dashboard and
instructed Sheriff Walker to open the trunk.
The Sheriff lifted-out a very old wooden box containing what looked
like stacks of white linen. “These are Mormon Priest garments meant to protect the faithful from harm,” she said as she
hobbled around the car with her cane. “The Mormon’s Nauvoo Temple was burned on the night of October 8th. 1848.
My mother was camped nearby in a wagon and was awakened by the smoke and the
shouting. She saw a smoldering man carry this box from the flames and then
collapse at her feet. She sensed the magic in the holy garments and kept them.” Melania looked at the gaping four males
and smiled. “These will do for our instance armor!”
“I
don’t know about any of you,” David said. “But no way am I wearing any #&^%@&#
Mormon underwear.”
“Suit
yourself,” Melania said as she and the others, even Tina, slipped on the white
garments. “But you won’t survive long without them.”
“I don’t see how
some #&^%@&# underwear is going to protect anyone,” David grumbled as
he reluctantly slid a white top over his Siouxsie
& The Banshees t-shirt.
“The Latter Day
Saint women who crafted these garments had great faith,” Melania said. “Enough
so to protect even a fowl-mouthed non-believer like you … should you somehow be
found worthy.”
The group of six started along the path toward the entry
gate and a rocked-in structure that must have, at one-time, been a guard-house.
“The weapons we need should be inside this hut,” Melania said. “But be
cautious. There might still be remnants of the Crimson Robe of Christ hanging
around.”
“Not #&^%@&#
likely,” David sneered. “No one ever gets to be over one-hundred sixty years
old.”
“Watch your
mouth!” Tony slammed his fist into David’s shoulder.
“Pay no attention
to the man behind the curtain of profanity,” Tugg was trying to break the
tension by imitating the forceful voice from the Wizard of Oz. “David’s
big-brother just got out of the Navy and David tries to imitate his delightful
speech.”
“Joseph Blanche had a devoted following,” Melania said
ignoring all three boys. “It’s possible that some of his monk’s descendants are
still protecting his dominion.”
“What exactly happened to this place; why was it
abandoned?” Sheriff Walker was sweeping the overgrown path with his flashlight.
“Joseph Blanche was assigned by the Catholic Church to
convert the native Indians to Christianity,” Melania said. Her voice suddenly
became a whisper as they ducked under a thorny Russian Olive branch growing
over the path. She stopped to examine a bleeding scratch on her arm. “He
oversaw the construction of this abbey and after it was completed, sent for his
devout mother and sister to join him in his glorious service God.”
“Things go all-right until #&^%@&# women come
on the scene,” David snickered.
Sheriff Walker looked at the boy and shook his head.
“Mrs. Blanche and
her daughter never made it to the Monastery,” Melania continued. “Tugg, better
cover your sister’s ears. After the boy obliged fighting with a struggling sister,
Melania went on. “Their wagon-train was massacred by a hostile band of crow
Indians under Chief Burns His Hand.
The women were especially brutalized, the fortunate were skinned-alive and
lashed to cactus plants … the others met a much more hideous fate.”
“It was a test of Joseph Blanche’s power to forgive,” Tony
suggested.
“If it was … he
failed,” Melania said. “Joseph Blanche used this domain as a place of
retribution.” She shook her head in sadness. “He began by secretly torturing
Indians, even innocent women and children. It became a refuge of evil. After a
decade, he’d spread his calling to
the judgment of whites, especially Mormons and others he deemed had lost God’s favor.”
“I’ll bet that
made him popular with the early settlers back when Cloverdale was called South
Fork.” Tugg said sarcastically as his bulging eyes scanned the darkness.
“Sadly, it did for
many,” Melania said. “Fear makes people do horrible things. Joseph Blanche’s
followers actually expanded, although many held absolutely no Christian ideals
and some that might be called Satanic.”
--------6-------
They were nearing the stone guard-house. Melania put a
finger to her lips and motioned for everyone to continue in silence. The closer
they got, the more they noticed the building seemed to have been abandoned for
years. A heavy-plank door stood half-open. Dry Kali tragus (Russian Thistle) and other trapped tumbleweeds,
clogged the doorway.
“Wow! You #&^%@&#
had me going for a minute,” David said as she kicked away the weeds and forced
open the door. “See nobody home!”
Tina screamed.
The dark figure who leaped from the shadows was at
least seven foot tall, wore a dark hooded robe and was brandishing what looked like a large
sword. Sheriff Walker grabbed David and forced him to duck , just as a
razor-sharp blade swept across his scalp leaving less than a quarter inch of
hair on his head. Two other sets of fanatical eyes sprang upward in the dark
guardhouse and raced toward them. The Sheriff rolled with David and began to draw his service revolver with a
lightning speed that would have impressed
even his famous lawman ancestor Thomas Lang, but the towering brute kicked it
from his grasp with surprising ease. The Sheriff and David were pressed against
the splintered door and couldn’t move. The man raised the saber high over his
head and was about to cut Sheriff Walker and David in half when a fiery blast
roared from behind. Two more shots followed in rapid succession dropping the
two other guards who also fell against the door. All four men stared at the
smoking gun in the old woman’s hand.
“My mother Jesska
used to say there is magic in everything,”
Melania said, “and I’m sure that includes a Colt Peacemaker.”
“What the hell are
these things?” Tony took the Sheriff’s flashlight and shown it on their
attackers. Rotted skin and dark stringy hair clung to one half of the bodies
the other half was nothing but moss- crusted bone laced with plant roots as if
the figures had lain half-covered by dirt for a century.
“These men obviously made a sacrosanct covenant to guard this entrance
for eternity,” Melania told the group. “A promise of that type must be
fulfilled … even after death.”
At the back of the room they found a large wooden chest complete with
iron bands and a rusted lock that looked as if it might weigh ten pounds. “It
may take some time to open this,” The Sheriff said as he tried to pry away the
hasp with his belt buckle.
“Search the guard’s
pockets for a key,” Melania told them as she extracted one of the Tarot cards
from her recipe box, stepped into the doorway and held it up to the light from
a rising moon. Beyond the entry gate, an ancient graveyard surrounded the
Monastery. An aged and yellowed fortune card
showed a traveler with all his belongings tied to a stick and about to walk off
a cliff. “There may be more than one key.” Melania added.
Tony tried to turn
over one of the bodies which broke in half spewing a vile yellow liquid that
reeked like rotting cabbages and caused him to stumble into a corner and vomit.
David picked up a squirming Tina and held her in his arms as if she was now suddenly
his responsibility.
Tugg shrugged his shoulders, held his nose and thrust
his hand into the slime. After some minutes of gagging he pulled two large
skeleton keys and another object from the goo. “What’s this?” he asked Melania
as he handed her what looked like a bird-in-flight carved from white ivory.
“This was placed
here for me,” Melania said. She was already attaching the figure to her cane in
place of the bear. “It looks as if I am to stay here and be your Spirit Healer. You five must enter into
the instance without me.”
“Then when we die
you can resurrect us,” David was almost laughing, “and I thought this was going
to be #&^%@&# hard.”
Melania took another card from the recipe box and again held it up to
the moonlight. It was the Three of Cups
upside down. “I can bring you back to life twice,” Melania told them. “On the
third time, death becomes irretrievable.”
“But we will win
won’t we?” Tony stepped forward. “Whatever has taken Cynthia will be destroyed
and she will be returned to our world …. right?”
“Outcomes are not
meant to be discerned,” Melania told him. “To do so … binds us to their fate.”
“But I have to
know that everything will work out,” Tony pleaded. “I can’t go on without
knowing.”
“Very well but
this is beyond my judgment,” Melania said. She extracted another card from the
recipe box and was holding it up to the moonlight when Tina’s frantic scream
made it slip from her fingers. Everyone looked in the direction the girl was
pointing.
A hunched bony
figure with long stringy dark hair was leaping over headstones and dragging a
terrified girl across the dead grass. That’s Cynthia,” Tony gasped. He started
to chase after them, but Sheriff Walker held him back. They watched as a stone
door opened and Creepas and the girl disappeared down a dark stairway inside a moss-covered
crypt. Seconds later the door closed with a low boom.
Tugg had the chest open and was extracting a sword, an axe, a long-bow with
a quiver of arrows and what looked like a New Year’s Eve noisemaker.
“Four serious fighters
and a distraction,” Tony said with jubilation. “This will be perfect.”
Melania took the Sheriff’s flashlight from David and was searching the
floor of the room for her dropped card. Moments later, she let out a small
shriek. A somehow pristine and un-yellowed Death
card lay on the stone floor.
“Is this going to
be a #&^%@&# wipeout,” David gaped.
“It’s difficult to
predict,” Melania told them. “One thing is certain. One member of our party
will never return to this world.”
To be continued ….
