Seems a shame to demolish this old beauty, but you’re the boss.”
“Thanks, Greg. I really appreciate it.”
“No prob, man. Catch you later.”
There was click as Scott held the phone out in his hand with a look of satisfaction on his face. Pressing the “Off” button on the phone, he dropped it onto the desk and sat down in the folding chair that had been pulled beneath the desk.
The retirement home had jumped at his offer to buy the Cavenaugh house as apparently they were having some sort of financial troubles. He had offered far more than the house was worth, and had asked for very little of the land in the process. They had been all right with the fact that his sole intention was to demolish it as he claimed he wanted the land for a potential retirement home of his own. Moving fast, so as not to give any of the historical preservation societies time to formulate their actions, he had hired an old friend who he had worked with once before back when he had first entered the business to demolish it.
Truthfully, the easiest option would have been to drag out a wrecking ball and just hammer it to the ground, but that would take more time and coordination. And time was something that he was short on. There was also a part of him that felt that house was better suited going out with a bang in a big ball of fire. That was the one thing that was going to help him put this whole thing behind him. And whether that house was the source of the evil or not, it was certainly a physical representation of it in his mind, and he knew that once that house was nothing more than a pile of rubble that he would be able to move on.
Greg Danson, who worked in demolitions for a living had to be one of the nicest most well adjusted people he had ever met in his life. He was just like a little kid when he lined up those charges. A sparkle would come into his eye and he was once again a ten year- old kid shoving an M- 80 into an anthill.
The only time he had been available had been a Saturday morning, which he generally never worked, but he had made an exception and called it a personal favor. But Scott knew that he just loved his job so much that he would look for any excuse to prolong his workweek. In fact, he hadn’t charged him the overtime rate, settling on half- rate with a favor to be named later. And any favor that he should require down the road would be well worth it.
All Scott wanted right now was to see that house burned to the ground.
Smiling once again, he could feel a swell of peace rising in his chest. As soon as this was over he would be able to move on.
Bending from the chair, he grabbed the small stack of papers that had fallen from the tray on the printer. Sorting them so that they were all face up, he glanced down at the top one. It was from the People Network.
His brow furrowing slightly, he began to peruse the pile looking for the cover letter. Snatching it from the middle of the pile, he moved it to the top and read it aloud.
“Mr. Ramsey: Is this your idea of a joke? It doesn’t matter, I guess, since we’ve already billed your credit card.”
Scott’s brow furrowed as he reread the cover letter, making absolutely no sense of it at all.
Tossing it aside onto the desk, he grabbed the faxed transmission and began to read what appeared to be an adoption form.
“Subject: baby boy,” he mumbled as he read. “City: Colorado Springs. State: Colorado.”
He scanned past the information pertaining to the issuing agency as well as the preparer.
“Father: Unknown. Mother: Unknown. Status: Orphaned. Description: Child was taken into custody as a ward of the state under extreme circumstances. Hair Color: Blonde. Eye Color: Hazel.”
He paused.
“But Matt’s eyes were light,” he mused, before reading the form once again. “Distinguishing Marks: Birth mark on the right forearm.”
He immediately glanced down at his exposed forearm, staring with intent scrutiny at the small scar from where he had once had the birthmark. His heart began to pound as he turned back to the paper.
“Adoptive Parents: Dean and Susan Ramsey.”
The stack of pages fell from his hand, fluttering to the floor, as his jaw dropped. Thousands of conflicting thoughts raced through his brain all at the same time as he struggled to come to grips with what he had read.
“It can’t be,” he stammered.
There was a creaking sound behind him as the door to the study slowly opened. A dark shadow moved across the floor as a darkened form appeared in the doorway against the light from the hall.
“You have to accept it,” the deep, cracking voice said. “Embrace it… my son.”
Scott whirled and stared at the shadowy form as it breezed into the room across the floor. A wild mane of matted hair was pressed beneath a dark hood, the face shielded in shadows as the figure approached. His arms were folded across his chest, his hands disappearing into the wide sleeves of the tattered shroud, which danced about him on an unseen breeze. Slowly, the figure stopped right in front of him, the bare, cracked and blistered feet floated inches above the ground.
Slowly, the man raised his head as the light from the room crept beneath the hood.
His eyes were yellowed and cracked, as though in one of the furthest states of decomposition. There were no retinas, no irises, just the faint swelling where they had once been. The skin was stretched tightly over his skull, all of the muscles and tendons protruding through the taut flesh. His lips were peeled back from his yellowed teeth that looked to be made of wood, his nose nothing but an almost skeletal looking triangle in the middle of his face. The neck bulged and swelled as he spoke, the tight skin constricting against his prominent Adam’s apple.
“Now you understand,” he growled.
Scott just shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Who… who are you?” he stammered, scooting the chair backward until he ran into the desk.
“You already know.”
“You’re the devil.”
“In a way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am one of many who have walked the earth since the dawn of time, since long before the conception of your religions. We have been relegated by what you would call your God to eternity on this rock until we have collected enough souls to finally end this life, to die, if you will. But we can not take them by our own hands, as we are powerless to do so. We can merely stand by and watch.
“Once we have sent the required number of souls to our master we will finally turn to dust, and our days on this earth will be at an end. There are more of us than I can count, all of us competing for enough souls to release us from our infernal damnation. Wherever you find death, you will find one of us, standing in the shadows waiting to claim the souls of the departed.”
“But what about the number two hundred. Where does that fit in?”
“That is my trademark, if you will. I do not have the patience of the rest of these demons, to wait contentedly at the side of the road for a traffic accident, or to bide my time for a century waiting for a decent war. My dealings are of a higher profile. They attract attention. Having competition from an opposing force makes things… more entertaining.”
“What about Matt?”
“He gave his soul willingly for vengeance, and got just that.”
“What do you want from me?”
The figure just laughed, a loud booming recourse that filled the entire house.
“I wanted to congratulate you.”
“Congratulate me?”
“On achieving your destiny.”
Scott stared down into his lap as his stomach churned with each passing second looking at the abomination that stood before him. He feared what might happen if he were to look up.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“The two hundred souls you are bringing me.”
“I don’t know how you could possibly think that I would ever do that!” Scott shouted, leaping to his
