Scot put his back to the hall wall and shifted to see all three members of the football team as they approached. All three football heroes stood over six foot tall and weighed over 200 pounds. In contrast, Scot was short and only weighed 165 pounds. His small frame was all muscle from two years of weightlifting and MMA training. He had close-cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes set in a handsome face.
No words were spoken. The trio pounced in a pack. Scot was bombarded by blows and holds as the mob mauled him. Scot lashed back in a flurry of fists and feet, along with knees and elbow blows that jounced jaws, nailed noses and bludgeoned bodies. It was a whirlwind of lashing limbs and battling bodies.
Scot was pounded down by the crowd, which then proceeded to hop and stomp at him. Scot seized an ankle with a jujitsu twist of his wrists that made a bone pop and the boy screamed and fell holding his injured ankle. Scot slipped another's grip and continued in combat with the pair pummeling him. The sneaky fourth foe used a lunchbox to slam Scot's skull. Scot dropped dazed.
Fred Bender stood over six foot tall but was extremely skinny. He had bright orange hair that was always greasy and hung over his eyes. He had bad acne and never had a girlfriend. Two days ago the football team had stuffed a jock into his mouth. That final humiliation made him homicidal. He pulled out a sawed off .22 semi-automatic rifle. Students spotting him froze or fled.
He found the football team members that bullied him beating someone. His rifle rippled out rounds in sharp cracks and his accurate enfilade of projectiles peppered people and made blood blossom on bodies. Fred’s fusillade of fire felled all four football players and numerous others as he ruthlessly raked his rain of rounds over the crowd. Fred emptied his ammo clip and almost casually reached in his pocket to pull out another clip. This time his eyes were on Scot.
Scot hopped up. His kick flipped Fred's rifle away and it clattered on concrete. Fred pulled his pistol and it popped shots that scythed the ceiling as Scot wrestled Fred for the gun.
Scot snatched Fred's knife hilt that jutted from his coat and Scot buried the blade in Fred's body. Fred fired twice in Scot's face. Both fell. Fred's dying move was to toss a pipe bomb after the fleeing mob. The blast smashed a path through people with shredding shrapnel and concussion clubbing force. Fred died choking on his own blood that flooded his lanced lung.
Scot lay silent, seemingly dead.
***
Three Days Later
Fred's father, Mark Bendon, spotted the cop sitting outside Scot's hospital room. Mark mistakenly believed that Scot had bullied and slain his son, and he intended to avenge his slain son. The cop seated outside Scot's door spotted Mark too late. Mark's .44 revolver boomed, and both bullets buffeted the cop's body like a battering ram. The awesome impact dropped the cop dying on the floor.
At age fifty, Mark was a tall, lean, red-haired man. Mark suffered manic depression, just like his son had. Mark was also an alcoholic. Losing his only son had pushed him over the edge. Mark kicked open the room door to find it empty. Angrily he ran to the bathroom and peeked in. Scot scrambled out the room door behind Mark. Scot had managed to hide and glide away, evading Mark. Mark cursed and spun.
In the hall, Scot froze in fear. Four huge jet-black shadows loomed. They were like dark gouts of smoke shaped and sized like grizzly bears. Scot intuitively sensed he was seeing demons. He couldn't see all the details of their facial features, but their smoke outlines bristled with bull horns on their heads, very long claws on their paws, shark-type teeth, spikes up their spines, and barbed tails undulating behind them. The demons' eyes glowed like burning coals. They loomed immense and intense before Scot.
The quartet of demons clutched a bright glowing silvery human silhouette that had a face matching the cop on the floor. In Scot's mind he heard the cop's astral energy soul screaming as the demons moaned with pleasure at his pain and fear, feeding on it as they mauled him. Scot watched in shock as a swirling dark tornado appeared. The demons moved through the dark wormhole into another dimension, disappearing with the screaming doomed cop's glowing soul.
Suddenly Mark burst in the hall and was caught by surprise at Scot's proximity. Scot was quick to flick a fist that knocked Mark's nose. Bone and cartilage crunched from Scot's punch. Mark was bowled over and laid low by the hard blow. Scot fled. As Scot moved through the hospital, he became aware of the mobs evacuating out all the doors.
Scot was born a crack baby. He'd grown up in foster care and got in trouble going through a lot of rebellion. From ages twelve to fourteen he lived on the streets of Chicago, slinging drugs for dealers and stealing cars. After being busted, he'd been out on probation back in a foster care center. He discovered the corner gym and buried himself in training. He'd done well in school too.
But recently during a fight with the school quarterback, Scot tore the jock's retina with a punch. The jock pressed charges, and Scot went to jail facing felony battery. And to compound problems, the DA requested a hearing to try waiving Scot to adult court. His public defender got him out on a signature bond. He was facing six years in adult prison. Scot had gone to the party and the football team had sought revenge. The fight was a violation of his bond. The DA wanted his bond revoked.
Scot was fleeing from the demons when he abruptly stopped in shock again. Ahead of Scot, a bright white light tunnel had beamed through the ceiling and was entering a nearby hospital room. Scot watched as what looked like a white man's glowing soul soared up the light tunnel and through the ceiling swiftly. The tunnel of light abruptly evaporated. Scot wondered if the blow to his head had made him delusional. He continued moving.
Mark glared at the body of the cop he'd just shot dead. He felt like a fool because he'd killed that cop in order to reach Scot and kill him. But Scot had slipped away leaving Mark with a bloody nose. His mission had been to avenge his dead son by slaying Scot. He'd failed his mission. Mark was already dying of cancer, so with his son dead he wanted to die too. He'd planned to shoot Scot and then make cops kill him. Suicide by cop.
Mark tried to leave the hospital.
"Don't move!" A security guard shouted, pointing his pistol from fifty feet away behind a desk.
Mark's former army combat experience kicked in. He ducked down and a flurry of fire buzzed above Mark like a hive of hornets. The guard's sloppy shots missed Mark. Mark's .44 boomed like a beast hopping in his hands. Mark's single shot sledgehammered the sentry's shoulder twirling him like a top that dropped. The big .44 bullet had hit him like a wrecking ball bashing all the fight out of him as his blood jetted from an open artery.
Mark moved on and slipped out a side door.
"Don't move!" A cop shouted while pointing a pistol. Mark spun with his gun risking a hip shot like he'd often practiced. His shot shocked the cop's gut like a club blow, tearing a hole through his torso. A spotlight blinded Mark. Another cop's shotgun thundered, and nine buckshot pellets hit high to shred Mark's head. His flak jacket couldn't save him from that. It was a quick death.
***
Scot was passing a body hidden under a sheet in the hall when he noticed a very pretty blond haired, blue-eyed, slim and shapely, ghostly female soul hovering near the body. Her astral luminescent essence was beautiful and he couldn’t help staring. The woman made solid eye contact with him and flew close to him.
“You can see me!” she accused him.
“Yes. I feel like I’m going nuts seeing ghosts and demons,” Scot admitted grimly.
“You’re not crazy. I’m really here. I need your help. I was raped, tortured and murdered by a man named Dan Goran. He has another girl there that he’s still torturing. I need your help to stop him. He needs to pay for what he’s done.” The ghostly lady explained.
“I guess I could call the cops with a tip, but for now I have to escape this place and the cops myself. I’ll have to escape here and call it in anonymously. “Scot replied while wondering if the head blow had made him schizophrenic. “My name’s Scot.”
“I’m Amanda Potter. I’m coming with you.” She insisted.
Scot continued walking with a ghost floating by his side and the thought that his life had just got more interesting.
"Watch out!" Scot's new ghost lady warned him.
"Stop there kid!" A huge hospital security guard hollered and grabbed Scot. The guard was in his twenties and built like a bull from steroids and weightlifting. In comparison, Scot was a short, stocky, sixteen-year-old kid with the left side of his face and forehead bandaged where the bullets had hit him. The guard's grip slipped as Scot made a smooth jujitsu move. He grabbed the guard's wrist with a twist that made the man shout and slug Scot's skull. Scot bounced back from the impact and tried using the momentum to turn and run. But a second sentry tackled him. The trio became a blur of blows, holds, throws and rolls. Amongst the mad melee, Scot jabbed one guy in the eye and rolled low from a blow that gave him room to flee through the confused crowd. He didn't stop running until he reached some trees and shrubs beyond the hospital grounds in a small park.
"Why did they try stopping you?" Scot's ghost lady asked.
Scot blinked as his mind dealt with the surreal situation. Impulsively he swooped a hand through her foggy form, and it passed through like smoke.
"You're not nuts. I'm really here." She assured him.
"This is nuts." He complained. "I get hit in the head and wake up seeing a ghost. What's your name?"
"I told you, Amanda Potter." She reminded him. "Why were the guards after you?"
"That's a long story I don't want to discuss now. Didn't you see a light tunnel when you died?" He was curious.
"Yes, but I was afraid to enter it. I wasn't religious. I was a hooker. The man that murdered me needs to pay for what he did. Will you help me get him?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"He's holding another girl captive chained in his basement. He held me hostage over a week raping and torturing me. He's doing the same thing to her. She likely doesn't have long to live." She explained.
"I could call the cops with a tip about it." He offered.
"That might not be enough for the cops to get a warrant to go in his place. She might be murdered before she's saved." Amanda argued.
"What do you expect me to do?" He questioned grimly.
"OK, listen to this. Dan Goran works nights. He's at work now. I know where he keeps a lot of cash hidden. There's over a grand cash there right now. He doesn't have any burglar alarms or dogs. If you break in you can free his hostage Maggie and steal his money. He's got a pistol there too. Plus, clothes you can use. He's even got a second car there and I know where the keys are. You could steal all that stuff and free Maggie. Plus, he keeps recordings of Maggie, me, and other girls that he held down there before killing them. You could be a hero and help yourself. Interested now?"
He considered it. He currently had nothing but a pair of blue hospital scrubs. "Any cameras?"
"None."
"How far away is it?"
"Less than a mile." She assured him.
"OK. Let's go." He agreed.
***
Scot made the trip quick even though he only had socks on without shoes. Goran lived in a two-story duplex that he owned. He kept all windows barred and curtains over them. Both doors were thick metal and had multiple deadbolts. There was a ladder chained out back along with tools in the garage. Amanda helped him find gloves to wear and a hacksaw that he used to cut the ladder free. He stood it up on the back roof and climbed up there. He used a roofing hammer and pry bar ripping a vent out. He widened the hole and Amanda acted as his guide through the dark attic that he dropped down into. He could see her soul glowing in the dark and followed her guidance. He dropped down into the house. True to her word, Amanda guided him to almost a grand in cash. But the gun was gone. Goran was a huge man, so his clothes and shoes were very oversized on Scot. But it was better than what he had. She showed him where there were keys for a Ford Escort parked outside.
They went to the basement door. It was steel with two deadbolts. Amanda showed him where the keys were hidden, and he opened it up. They descended and he hit the lights. There were soundproofed panels on the walls and no windows. Maggie was sitting on a big bed watching TV. Her leg had a chain attached to it, she was only 18 and quite cute with blond hair and brown eyes. She was nude displaying a beautiful body. Scot was tongue tied. She looked at him with a combination of fear and hope.
"Please let me out of here." She begged.
"Yes, I will." He agreed and went to her. "I'm going to have to hacksaw this manacle. I don't have a key. You've got to hold still." He warned her.
"Please hurry." She pleaded frantically.
Scot sawed away. Once done, Amanda pointed at a shelf. "Grab those jump drives. Those are the recordings he made of me and other girls he murdered." She directed.
Scot grabbed them. "Let's go."
Maggie was ahead of him rushing upstairs. He found her at the front door trying to open it without success. She was panicking.
"We've got to leave another way Maggie!" He insisted. But she mindlessly fled through the house for the backdoor, stumbling into walls and furniture in the dark house.
"She's panicking." Amanda sighed.
"Yep." Scot agreed. There was a sudden louder commotion in the kitchen, and he hurriedly followed.
"It's Goran!" Amanda yelled too late.
Scot found himself facing Goran. He was over a foot taller and extra hundred pounds of muscle and fat. He was an average looking white man with balding brown hair and dark eyes. Maggie lay stunned at his feet. Spotting Scot, he pulled a pistol from his pocket. Instinctively Scot snatched a wall rack and smacked Goran's gun hand. The pistol clattered on the hardwood floor. Without hesitation, Scot swung again, slashing a gash in Goran's cheek. Goran bulldozed into him, and they hit the floor in a flurry of fighting moves. Goran tried to use his superior size to ground and pound Scot. Goran landed several strikes before Scot seized one of his fingers and bent it sideways, snapping it. Goran shouted in sudden pain. Scot's two years of mixed martial arts training along with his many real fights came into play. He locked a rear naked choke on Goran's throat, putting pressure on the carotid artery and his oxygen supply. Goran dropped atop Scot trying to break free, unsuccessfully. Goran's rolling brought them to the pistol, and he grabbed it. He would have shot Scot if Maggie hadn't suddenly rushed in grabbing, clawing, and kicking so he dropped the pistol. He swatted her skull, and she flew away dazed.
Scot jumped on the gun. It was a revolver, and he had time to cock it before Goran pounced. The revolver roared, firing directly against Goran's chest. The round pounded Goran, lashing through his lung. Scot shoved the monster's body away so he could rise. Goran was making ghastly gurgles and spewing blood as his lungs flooded with blood. Amanda got up, too.
Up to that point Scot was wearing work gloves he found in the garage. He'd been careful not to leave prints or DNA in the house. Now he knew he'd left DNA on Goran. Obeying instinct, Scot wiped the gun with the curtain. Then he risked grabbing Goran's hand to press his prints on it. Goran weakly flailed and started coughing more blood. Scot tossed the gun out of Goran's reach. It might look like suicide when cops came. Or like self-defense by a victim fighting him if cops saw the snuff recordings.
"Is he dying?" Maggie asked.
"Probably. Grab one of his shirts to cover yourself." Scot advised because she was still nude. She obeyed his advice. He put the jump drives on the kitchen table and scribbled a note for cops to read. If cops looked at the jump drives the snuff films would explain a lot.
On the floor, Goran breathed his last gasp. Scot and Amanda watched as a black swirling wormhole formed churning in the room without disturbing any of the objects around them. From that dark tornado four black shadowy demons stepped looming huge and horrific with their bristling horns, spikes, claws and maws full of terrible teeth. Their eyes glowed like fire. The demons reached into Goran's dead body and yanked out his glowing soul.
Goran's shimmering soul savagely struggled against the demons as he screamed in utter anguish. The demons just chuckled and rumbled in their gravelly growling language, clearly relishing Goran's agony and misery. Goran looked right at Scot and Amanda and cried out to them for help. Then he disappeared into the dark wormhole trapped in the demons' grasps. The twisting tornado evaporated after them. Scot and Amanda shared an incredulous glance.
"Let's get out of here." Maggie pleaded as she returned dressed.
"OK." He agreed. "He probably has the keys in his pocket." Scot snapped Goran's back before patting his pockets. He grabbed the keys and wallet. There was over three hundred in cash, and he handed Maggie some money. She took it without comment as if Scot was another trick. He found the right keys. They exited the back door. Scot had his hood pulled over his features in case of witnesses. He started up the Escort car.
"There's a police station a half mile away. Do you want me to drop you there?" He asked Maggie.
"I'm a prostitute. I highly doubt the cops would believe me. I want to check on my mom. Can you take me there?" Maggie gave him the address.
"OK, but do me a favor. If you do talk to cops, tell them, you never got a good look at me because I wore a mask. They might find our DNA there. But I left a note with the snuff drives. If cops and the DA see them, they'll know he was a serial killer and rapist. The gun only has his prints. It was a pointblank wound that could be by suicide or a struggle. If cops do speak to you, have a lawyer present. Don't talk to cops alone."
"I learned that lesson long ago." She snorted. "If cops do speak to me, I'll say you wore a mask. I owe you my life."
Scot nodded and they were quiet the few minutes it took to reach Maggie's destination.
"Thanks," she blurted and ran off barefoot wearing Goran's big shirt.
"I thought she'd never shut up." Scot sighed while driving away.
"What now?" Amanda asked.
"I'm going to drive to Chicago and hide out there awhile. What about you? Gonna look for a light tunnel?"
"They appear often." She admitted. "I've sensed and seen three so far. I'm hesitant to enter one. I didn't believe in any God or afterlife. But now I've seen the tunnels of light some souls go through and the dark tunnel that demons come through to grab other souls. Do you mind if I keep you company for a while?"
"Sure. Have you ever played poker or blackjack?" He questioned.
"Blackjack. Why?"
"Well, I need more money and I'm pretty good with cards. If you were to tell me what cards the other players had I could win a lot of money gambling. How about helping me cheat gambling?"
Amanda smiled. "Sure. Sounds fun."
"Then this could be the start of a beautiful friendship." He grinned and hopped on the highway headed for the windy city.
Bio:
Tom Kropp’s work has appeared in Chiron Review, Churches, Children and Daddies, Down in the Dirt, The Horror Zine, Freedom Fiction Short-Story Me, Dark Harbor Magazine, Blood Moon Rising, Flash Phantoms, Phantomania, Lowlife Lit, The Listening Eye, J Journal, Evening Street Review, Conceit, Spotlight on Recovery, Muscle and Fitness, Outdoor Life and many other magazines. His play Jailhouse Confessions was performed at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC in 2019. You can find more of his writings at tomkropp.wordpress.com. He has many fantasy novels published.