Then the intruder gripped his wrist. The man’s skin felt dead and cold.
“Come with me. I have things to show you.”
Tom tried to pull away, but the intruder yanked him out of bed. The man wore an old army jacket and torn khaki pants. Jungle boots on his feet.
The man released Tom’s wrist.
“If you run,” he said, pulling a large combat knife from under his coat, “I’ll pin you down and flay you alive.”
“What do you want? You already took my girls. It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Their blood was necessary. Now let’s go.”
The man forced Tom downstairs and they proceeded to the basement. Tom hit the light switch, turning on the naked bulbs that were hung at various points in the cellar. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
They went to the big steel door that led into a tunnel. Tom had threatened the girls with eternal grounding if they’d ever ventured into the tunnel. The man opened the door and shoved Tom inside.
He spotted a dim glow at the far end of the tunnel. He knew that this led somewhere in the direction of the slaughterhouse. There had been an old hotel here before the house and meat packing plants had been built.
It stank of must in the tunnel. The man grabbed his wrist again, dragging Tom towards the light. A few times Tom stubbed his toes on unseen debris.
“Slow down,” Tom said.
“Quiet,” the man said.
When they reached the other end of the tunnel, Tom spotted the lantern on the ground. The corridor ended in a brick wall.
“What is this? Who are you?”
“My name is not important. Watch.”
The man placed a burn-scarred hand on the brick wall. To Tom’s surprise, the brick seemed to fade, then dissolve, revealing another small passageway behind. He blinked his eyes. “Did that brick just disappear?”
The man stepped through as if the brick weren’t there. Pulled Tom after him. On the other side of the small passageway was another steel door.
“Only I can open that door. You’ll be able to soon, as well.”
“Where does it go?”
“The sub-basement of the slaughterhouse.”
The man turned and looked at Tom. The white eyes, with their pupils gone, unnerved him.
“Is this a joke?” Tom asked.
The knife pressed against his throat. “No joke. You’re about to become me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“This passageway will be yours. They can’t find you here. There are caverns under the town. You can access them through the caves in the park.”
This guy was crazier than a shithouse rat. “This doesn’t make sense. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the Walking Man. And so are you.”
The man had dragged Tom back to the mansion and they were currently in the dining room, Tom seated in one of the chairs. The Walking Man, as he’d introduced himself, stood across from him, knife in hand. Tom remembered The Walking Man legend. Every kid knew it, told stories about it to scare their friends.
At least one person knew someone who’d supposedly seen him lurking around parks and in The Pines.
The man forced Tom to his knees, and he banged his kneecaps on the hardwood floor. A stink like rot mixed with burned flesh came off of the Walking Man.
He circled Tom, the floorboards creaking. “I killed those girls.”
“You fucking bastard,” Tom said.
“My debt is paid,” the Walking Man said.
“You’re insane.”
“You’ll take my place. Then you’ll have a debt to pay.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Tom said.
“Sadly, you can’t,” the man said.
“Who the hell are you?”
“The last Walking Man made me. He killed my family. They died screaming. Then he made me into this. It was right after I came back from the war,” he said. “See?”
He lifted up his shirt, showing melted, puckered skin. A strange symbol that looked like a jagged Z had been carved into the skin. “He made me. Now I’ll make you.”
He was on Tom in a matter of seconds. Tom felt the knife in his guts, a searing pain that stole his breath. The man pulled the knife out and Tom fell to the floor. The man rolled Tom onto his back, lifted his shirt, and carved the odd, Z-shaped symbol into his chest. Blood ran into the cracks of the hardwood floor.
The man stood up and left. Tom attempted to crawl, but the fire in his guts forced him to stop. He wanted to curl up and die. A groan escaped his lips. He’d been stabbed deep in the belly.
He heard the back door slam and then the man’s heavy footsteps. He looked up into the dead eyes. Saw the gas can in the man’s hands. Tom recognized it as the gas can for the tractor.
The Walking Man tipped the can and splashed gasoline over Tom, the fumes stinging his eyes. He coughed, which made the pain in his belly flare up.
“Now you will see. My time’s done. You’ll know when your time is up, and then there’ll be someone to take your place.”
Tom heard a match pop and then the whoosh of flame. He tried to move, but the pain in his belly surged, and he blacked out.
This was some sad shit, O’Bannon thought. First the kid offs the guy’s daughters, and now this. He stood in the dining room of the huge mansion with a handkerchief over his mouth and nose. The handkerchief had been dipped in Old Spice, although it wasn’t doing much to cut the stench of burning flesh.
“Of all the ways to go, why this?” Rogowski said.
His partner was starting to look a little green. His skin had taken on a gray cast, and sweat filmed his forehead. “You gonna puke?”
Rogowski said, “I’ve seen worse than this.”
They’d found an empty gas can near the
