Silence fills the night again.
“Starker’s right,” Nauls says, “six scarecrows… six of us.”
“Not anymore.” Landon makes sure he smiles at Snow before he takes the lead, moves by the first scarecrow and heads for the rotting remnants of the old farmhouse. “Scratch one Carbone. Dead guys don’t count.”
“Before this night’s over,” Snow mutters, “I’m gonna end that fuck.”
The others move on, following Landon now, who has gotten several yards ahead of them and is barely perceptible in the darkness and fog. When they catch up to him, they find themselves standing before a ramshackle two-story structure with a dilapidated porch. To the side of the house and further back on the property is a barn in even worse shape. From the face of the farmhouse, a series of blown-out windows stare down at them, opaque eyes gaping in judgment, perhaps in warning.
A rusted metal sign has been staked a few feet from the front porch steps.
~ KEEP OUT—THIS PROPERTY IS CONDEMNED ~ “Yeah,” Landon says with a smirk, “didn’t see that coming at all.”
Rooster immediately feels something so unsettling it leaves him breathless. He squints through the darkness at the looming structure. “I know this place,” he hears himself say.
Snow nods, eyes fixed on the house, his mouth hanging open. “So do I.”
“Me too,” Nauls says, voice shaking.
“Like we’ve been here before,” Starker says.
“Don’t worry about it.” Landon tests the first step, and once satisfied it will hold his weight, climbs up onto the porch. “These old farmhouses upstate all look alike. You’re spooked, that’s all. Come on.” He ambles across the porch to the front door, which lies on its side next to the doorframe.
“Got to love Landon.” Nauls chuckles nervously and climbs the stairs, hoisting the duffel bags of cash along with him. “He ain’t afraid of anything.”
Snow climbs the steps next. “Too busy being an asshole.”
“Let’s get this done.” Battling uncertainty, confusion and a growing sense of dread, Rooster forces himself up the steps. “I don’t want to be here.”
Already fearful they will never leave this awful place, Starker, who began in the lead, is the last to enter the house.
He joins the others in a large filthy room just inside the entrance. A few broken pieces of what was once furniture are scattered about the otherwise empty area. The floor is rotted in several spots, littered with jagged holes.
Landon sticks the revolver he’s been carrying into his belt and pulls free a flashlight. He switches it on, punching a hole in the darkness. Countless dust motes float about in the beam. He sweeps it around. Thick spider webs dangle from the ceiling and fill every corner. A moth flits into the light then spirals off. “Check it out, Nauls. Looks like your apartment, only nicer.”
Their movements disturb something in the air, stirring up a pungent odor.
“What the hell is that smell?” Nauls asks, dropping the duffels to the floor and crouching down next to them.
Landon points the flashlight at Snow. “Dude. Seriously. Put your shoes back on.”
“You don’t get that off me it’s going up your ass sideways.”
Drifting deeper into the room, Starker watches the ceiling as if expecting something to attack from above. His considerable size causes the floor to creak and shift. He sniffs the air. “It’s sulfur.”
Nauls opens the first duffel, stares at it dumbly a moment then scrambles to the second one and begins rifling through it. “Landon, put the light here!”
He illuminates the duffels. Both are stuffed with neatly banded pieces of blank paper designed to resemble money.
Snow leans in for a closer look. “Where’s the cash?”
“It was here,” Nauls says, “I—”
“Unbelievable!” Landon spits. “You assholes stole scrap paper!”
Rooster steps back for a better angle on the others.
Nauls struggles to his feet. “Me and Rooster loaded the cash into the bags. I saw it. It was all there. The bags were full of it.”
Landon draws his revolver. “Yeah they’re full of it all right.” He points it at Rooster. “Where the fuck’s my money, crew chief?”
Rooster, Snow and Nauls simultaneously pull their weapons and point them at each other. Preoccupied, and unconcerned with the others, Starker wanders to the back of the room, where a large unusable staircase resides. Littered with broken wood and debris, he gazes up into the shadows of the second-floor. Something dead—probably an animal of some sort, though he cannot be sure—lies in a mangled heap at the very edge of the landing. The walls and upper portion of the banister are streaked with what might be blood.
“Everybody calm down,” Rooster says. “We’ll figure this out, we—”
“Fuck that,” Landon snaps. “Somebody switched out those bags or the money or something and one of you pricks is gonna tell me what’s going on or I swear to God I’ll shoot every last fucking one of you.”
“How could we switch the bags out?” Nauls frantically moves his gun from one person to the next then back again. “They went straight from the armored car to the van, and we were all in the van until we got here. Nobody could switch anything out! We were together the whole time!”
Snow, who has been holding one of his .45s on Landon and the other on Nauls, lowers them both. “He’s right.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Landon says. “That money didn’t just disappear, so where is it? Rooster, you and Nauls were the ones who loaded it, and since Nauls is a fucking mongoloid, you better start talking.”
“Mongoloid?” Nauls cocks an eyebrow. “What the hell is a mongoloid?”
“It’s them little elf-looking motherfuckers,” Snow explains, “the ones with the pointy heads and shit.”
