VEIL OF THE DAMNED.
a horror novella by
K. Massari
Veil of the Damned.
By Karen Massari
Copyright ©2015 Karen Massari
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events or organizations, is purely coincidental.
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Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part Two
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part Three
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part IV
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Dedicated to all those who are and ever were bullied.
Prologue
That meant NO. Wallace tried to hide his feelings. Okay. He had done some things wrong in the past. Was that really reason enough to … make him go? And where was he supposed to … go now?
He tipped an imaginary hat. Nodded his head, and managed a tight smile. His brother just stared at him. Wallace turned and walked out. The last three steps.
He was now officially homeless.
Harold had been the last person he could ask for help. And Harold obviously hated him.
The slice of pizza was growing cold quickly. Wallace had his hand wrapped around a bottle of Sprite. He would go down to the beach, find his pals, hang out with them, and take it from there. The weather wasn’t all too bad, it wouldn’t rain for another day or so. Forcing himself to eat, Wallace looked at the other people in the diner and imagined their homes and apartments. How they would be opening the door, kicking off their shoes, walking barefoot over carpets – with smiling children and frantic dogs.
He saw splashes of gasoline in Harold’s living room, he saw himself setting his brother’s house on fire. Orange bursts licking up the walls, beams crashing down, neighbors in a panicked frenzy. Wallace would watch from afar, sipping his Sprite slowly, down to the very last lukewarm drop.
Part I
Chapter 1
Wallace tried to smile. He was getting tired. He didn’t want drugs or beer, just sleep. And a hot bath, maybe. It was late, an hour before midnight, and how it would end, he did not want to know.
Mr. Lighthill had been up watching a movie, when he had escaped down Harbor Road. Wallace hadn’t had the nerve to ask. Okay, so no bath. He would try the pool, tomorrow. Which he never did, anyway, not with all his bulges. He would figure something out.
He sensed he was being watched. Many tanned legs moved about, creating a blur; he tried to focus. It was quiet now, he could hear the sea, first sucked back, then tumbling forward. Someone passed a wine bottle. Wallace was seriously beginning to feel sorry for himself.
After another cigarette, he saw her. Her coal-black eyes were not piercing. They were huge; they looked as if they belonged to a doe. She looked at him. Nothing more. He looked back. ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ he thought. ‘Bitches want money. They can’t help. They just want you to take care of them.’
It had been a while, though, since he had had sex, and he was just dirty enough now to come across as masculine, and not hopeless.
He locked into her gaze; she went to his head like the wine. He could see flowery tattoos all over her arms, and small nipples under a small black sleeveless top. Some jewelry, and lots of black, shiny curls. She smiled. It came as a surprise. What? Him? Here? On dead end beach?
Perhaps she was a runaway, looking for that shoulder to cry on, the way he was looking for someone to help him make it through the night. The only home he had right now was Mr. Lighthill’s basement, and God only knew, Lighthill could drop dead at any moment, and his picture-perfect children would kick Wallace out pronto.
Someone he knew, Danny, nodded in his direction. “Are you coming?” he mouthed, meaning a ride back into the neighborhood. Tears welled up in Wallace’ eyes. Good old pal from South America, always looking out for him.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much,” he said and waved. “Not tonight. Got other plans.”
Which was a lie. He would just fall asleep, further back, in the bushes, deep in the bushes, here on the beach.
“Okay,” Danny said, much louder, “take care. See you tomorrow?”
They waved and grinned.
Danny left with Esmeralda, his girlfriend, and her baby girl.
The beach party was calming down, the next day, Wednesday, being a work day, and most of them had jobs and schools to return to.
Except for The Man, an African American who had lost his mind long ago. Wallace was suddenly alone on the beach with him, the tattooed girl and a fire that had died. He was still nursing the bottle of wine. He did not dare offer her any. She sat quietly, her hands folded over her knees, as if she were waiting for him to finish and then go. With her.
“Hi,” Wallace said and smiled.
“Hello,” the girl answered.
Wallace tried to guess her age. Hard to determine. Was she eighteen? Or twenty-two? Or even thirty …
“New here?” Wallace asked.
“No. I come here all the time.”
“Really.”
“Yes,” she said and giggled. “Really.”
They did not talk. They sat staring at the embers, and listening to the waves. The Man moaned, but when Wallace handed him the bottle of wine, he stopped. Darkness was closing in all around them. It wasn’t threatening, it was soothing; Wallace knew, even if he slept outside, the night would be warm, and the sleep, for hours at a stretch, refreshing.
The young lady was the first to speak:
“By the way, I’m Valeria.”
“I’m Wallace.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said shyly.
“Nice to meet you, too,” said Wallace and smiled a broad smile.
“So … you intend to sleep in those bushes tonight?” she asked, pointing her chin in the direction of a field of wild shrubbery.
At first, Wallace was taken aback. How did she know? Well, she hung out with the crowd here, didn’t she? She knew the score.
“I guess so.”
She nodded.
“Want to come to my house first, have some coffee?”
How did she know he loved to drink coffee, around the clock? Mere coincidences.
“Lady, I don’t know you that well yet.”
“It’s on Chestnut.”
“Do you live there alone?”
“Yes, with my cats and dogs.”
At this, Wallace relaxed a little.
As if she sensed it, the young woman got up and walked towards him.
Wallace twitched nervously. Was she coming on to him?
Valeria was at his side. She looked him in the eye, and ran a hand along his shoulder.
“I am here to help you.”
Wallace jumped to his feet. Valeria was small and fragile; with his hulky frame and extra pounds, he towered over her like a fortress. He felt weak, though.
“La
dy, I think we’d better call it a night, and go our separate ways.”
“I have a message for you.”
“What about?”
“Come with me …”
“Please,” Wallace pleaded. “I am too tired for games like this.”
“No games. Honest concern.”
With her large brown eyes, and beautiful tan complexion, Wallace could not help feeling at once comfortable, and aroused, in her presence. ‘Let her tell you more,’ a voice in his head whispered.
“Okay. One cup of coffee, then I go.”
Valeria smiled, a pleasant, charming smile. It was nearly impossible not to like her. She took his hand.
“Come.”
Chapter 2
Wallace looked over to The Man, slumped forward with the wine bottle dangling from his dirty, bruised hands. Wallace felt uncomfortable about leaving him, alone, on the beach.
The Man’s head suddenly jerked up, and his eyes changed. All at once, he was sober, intelligent, and somewhat younger. It lasted only for a few seconds, then his eyes dulled, their light turned to gray, and it was all gone. Wallace shuddered. He was imaging things.
The Man was a shell, a homeless person. And no one missed him.
Wallace tried to push the thoughts away, the despair creeping up on him. Would he end like that? Was he working his way towards a life of lonesome misery?
Valeria led him over the sand to a small wooden bridge that connected with a lawn. The stars were out, and the waves were murmuring softly. Her cool hand was smooth as ivory. Wallace rejoiced in touching this woman. It had been so long since he considered himself a candidate for love. He had nothing to offer right now.
His mind flashed ‘girlfriend’, but he quickly pushed the word aside. Impossible.
Valeria stopped, made a half-turn, and smiled up at him. ‘She must be reading my mind,’ he thought. (‘Or by now, I am fragile, made of glass. My options few, my reactions predictable.’)
That was probably it. He bowed his head and let her lead him out into the street.
Her black Honda was parked in front of the path snailing down to the beach. Wallace’ body slid comfortably into the cool, leathery car seat. In the discreet, shaded darkness, the Honda’s hood glistened like the flanks of a sleek, strong panther.
“What the hell,’ Wallace thought and smiled inwardly. He could easily get used to this.
Valeria drove two blocks down the street. Passing a Subway, she turned to Wallace and raised her eyebrows as if asking a question. ‘Do you want any?’
“I know we agreed on coffee …” she said playfully.
Wallace licked his lips and touched her cheek. It was very cold.
It hit Wallace. For the second time that night, tears welled up in his eyes. With a clumsy hand, he tried to wipe them away. Valeria was buying dinner for him, and it was Subway. His favorite food.
There were good people all around, people who were willing to help out, and who were willing to take care of him. Even if his brother Harold cast him out, Harold, who had a heart as cold as stone.
Valeria drove into the parking lot, and went inside for food.
She brought back many bags with a smile.
“There,” she said. “We’re all set to go.”
He took some of the bags, the rest went to the back seat. Valeria started to drive, and after another two blocks, they were on Chestnut Avenue, where she parked in front of a very impressive white mansion in the moonlight. The house was obscured by huge shade trees, giving it an aura of mystery, as if it had something to hide. Well, after all, it was home to Valeria, mysterious lady from the beach.
Wallace did consider how much danger he might be in. She was trying a little too hard to put him at ease, to gain his trust. He decided it was best not to let his guard down completely.
“Look,” Valeria said somberly. “You don’t know me. You can leave at any time. The front door won’t be locked. Hell, I can let you have the spare key until tomorrow.”
She sighed. “Please believe me. I have an important message for you.”
She was crying. “It’s very, very important.”
Wallace was at the end of his rope, though. All he wanted to do was sink his teeth into his Subway sandwich. He eagerly started to unwrap it. Could Valeria cut out the drama, and let him eat?
Valeria sighed again, looking straight ahead.
“Go on,” she said. “Enjoy.”
Wallace sipped his soft drink thoughtfully. “You have a message for me? Who sent it?”
“We have to go inside.”
“That does not make sense.”
“Wallace. Just come with me.”
“Okay, look,” he said. “I will eat my sandwich in this car in peace. Then I will come in the house with you. But I am really tired. And not in the mood for silly games.”
“No games.”
“Okay.”
With that, he tore into his Philly Cheesesteak Sandwich. Valeria drank a Coke and leaned her head against his arm. It had all been okay until she started to display her wealth. A woman of her standing picking up guys on the beach who were down on their luck …
“I’m tired, too.”
“Are you a vampire, or something?”
“I know things, Wallace. I see things.”
Wallace did not know what to think. He had met a millionaire beauty on day one of his homelessness.
“Will you try having sex with me?”
“They both laughed a weak little laugh.
“Not the first time,” Valeria answered, opening a small bag of potato chips.
“That sounds like you mean it.”
“Well, good for you.”
They laughed again, louder this time, and continued eating.
“This is kinda ridiculous, eating in my car, in front of my house.”
“You sure want me in there, don’t you?”
Valeria nodded. “I do.”
“You said you have a dog, or dogs. Shouldn’t they be barking?”
“At least one of them is behind the front door, wagging his tail in anticipation.”
Wallace tried a macadamia cookie. He picked up the crumbs and looked out the windshield at the street. Valeria bit her lip. They finished eating.
Getting out of the car slowly, Valeria stretched and waited. Wallace had to hold onto the roof to maneuver out of his seat. They built cars so small these days. Brushing off his clothes, he showed Valeria the Subway bags, but she waved a hand. It didn’t matter. He put the litter back in the car. Now he was really curious.
Chapter 3
Valeria walked towards the house, locking the car. She then unlocked the front door. A large dog, a chocolate Labrador, came to her slowly, gently. Cats, more lively, poured out of all the corners of the house. Most of them looked like abused warriors of the street.
Wallace shied away from the cats missing ears, tails or eyes. And he was very tired now. But weird animals or not … would she let him spend the night? In such a spacious house, was there a corner for him?
Again, as if she could read his mind, she said:
“I know. You’re tired. You can crash on the couch. Soon. I promise.”
“That’s a cool trick you have. You always seem to know what I’m thinking.”
“WE … We know what you’re thinking,” Valeria said softly.
Wallace patted one cat, a white one, with tiger fur on her sides in splashes. He walked into the house. It was like walking into another century, in another country. Spain, he mused. Gold-ornamented mirrors reflected rich red embroidered carpets. The furniture was dark walnut. Valeria lit candles and shooed the animals away.
“Come,” she said with a smile.
She took his hand and led him to a large oak door. Turning the golden handle, she motioned for him to follow her …
He walked into a graveyard. Behind the tombstones, ravaged faces appeared, in torn clothes. They hid quickly, seemingly frightened.
Wallace ope
ned his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His heartbeat drummed in his ears; he was close to a heart attack.
“We’ve been watching you,” Valeria said, a part of her cheek now missing.
“You’re the one.”
Wallace didn’t hear. He had fainted.
Chapter 4
Wallace was asleep, restlessly mumbling. With a part of his mind, he heard noises, beings moving around quickly behind the heavy oldfashioned walnut furniture. Another part of his mind did not want to wake up. He did not want to face disappointment and shock yet again. But he could no longer deny it, slowly drifting into consciousness, that he was in Valeria’s creepy house, and he was not alone in the room.
One of the cats slept curled up on his chest. Two were wedged in between his large body and the upright end of the couch. One cat sat perched on the armrest down by his feet and watched him, purring. The dog stood by the door, watching the shadows moving, his ears laid back in fear.
Wallace woke up with a whopper of a headache. The cheap wine down by the beach had done its fair share to help that along. He rose to a sitting position slowly, careful not to upset too many of the cats. There wasn’t much light in the room; a few dim rays drifted in from the outside, moonlight perhaps and the street lamps. The curtains were half drawn and made of a thick cloth, velvety and full of dust. There was no air in the place, it smelled of death and the weight of many, many years past.
The more Wallace came to, the more the house returned from its otherworldly glory to a tragic, abandoned state in the here and now. The restless shadow beings had faded away.
Once on his feet, Wallace tried to focus and he looked around slowly. Considering his options, he thought it would be best to move to the door and go through it. He wasn’t on the ground floor, he was much higher up, so climbing out a window would have been impossible, if not very dangerous.