D A Fowler [Fowler - The Devil’s End

A blustery September wind swept through the surrounding trees, filling the night air with the sound of countless hissing snakes. A storm was coming in from the north, announcing its approach with an occasional roll of thunder and forked streak of lightning.

Down a narrow path carpeted with pine needles, two elderly women followed the impotent beam of a flashlight. The one holding the flashlight kept glancing around nervously, as if expecting at any moment for an attacker to jump from the dark foliage. Her companion, white-haired and bent with age, trudged fearlessly behind the flashlights beam, mouth set in a grim line.

Where the devil is it? she said, wheezing. Are you certain were on the right path?

The other angled up the flashlight with a slightly trembling hand, eyes straining to penetrate the gloom ahead. Its just a little further. I think I can see one of the markers. The wind whipped errant strands of her gray hair about her withered face, and a nearby clap of thunder brought her heart up into her throat. She could hardly believe the old woman hadnt read her guilty mind, discerned the real reason for bringing her up here in the dead of night. But maybe she had, and just wasnt saying anything, wouldnt say a word until the truth was manifested, guilt confirmed, and then

She shuddered to think what would happen then, and cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. Her fear was taking large, ominous shapes around her, stalking her with all-knowing eyes and a smile that guaranteed she wouldnt get away with this. For the hundredth time since theyd left the house she reconsidered her plan, but concluded, as always, that it had to be executed. Or at least attempted.

They finally reached the end of the path and entered a clearing where the wind buffeted them with a vengeance. Before them lay a small cemetery, its leaning headstones testifying to abandonment, but a scattering of litter crumpled paper cups, beer cans, cigarette butts, and used condomsindicated that it was still visited, though obviously for reasons other than mourning the dead. In the unyielding darkness these irreverently discarded objects were unseen by the two women as they carefully made their way through the stones toward the single crypt.

Approaching its shadowed door, the older woman came to a sudden halt, snowy head cocked to the right. Ill hold the flashlight. You go in.

Her companions heart fluttered with fear. There had been suspicion in those words, and no attempt had been made to disguise it. She thought of the serrated steak knife hidden up the left sleeve of her jacket, and wondered in a moment of panic if she should pull it out and use it right now. But she meekly handed over the flashlight instead, avoiding the old womans piercing black eyes, then stepped in front of her to the crypts door and from one of her jacket pockets pulled a large silver ring holding one key.

This isnt how it was to have happened, the old woman said, her feeble voice quickly carried away by the violent wind threatening to tumble her over. She muttered something else, but it was drowned out by the frantic rustling of leaves.

Having inserted and twisted the key, her companion reluctantly faced her, wincing in the upturned glare of the flashlights beam. How else would you explain it?

You still havent explained why you came to look in the first place, the old woman countered, fighting to keep her balance.

I told you, I was just curious.

Curious. A skeptical smile touched the old womans puckered mouth. Well go on, open the door before this goddamn wind blows me away.

If only it would, the other woman thought. Pushing on the crypts creaking metal door, the tip of the concealed steak knife pricked her wrist. With the sharp pain flashed a vision of bloodbright crimson soaking into dark, dank earth. The grave shed dug two hours earlier, shortly after sundown, was waiting less than a dozen yards from where they stood.

Give me the key, the old woman suddenly demanded, holding out a bony hand.

The other quickly turned, eyes filled with alarm. What for? she asked in a tremulous voice, but she already knew the answer; the old woman intended to lock her inside the crypt and leave her to slowly die. So she did know; there was no question about it now. Odd that she would resort to something like this, considering what she could do. But that was hardly important. All that mattered at the moment was the knife hidden in her jacket sleeve and its purpose for being there. She began working it into her left palm as inconspicuously as possible.

The old woman thrust her hand out farther. The key, she repeated, her words punctuated by another jolting thunderclap. A split second later the sky above them was momentarily brightened by a long, jagged spear of lightning that revealed the vengeful intent written in her expression.

No. The other woman clutched the wooden handle of the steak knife and summoned all the courage she possessed, which had never been very much or she would have done this long ago. I cant let you do it. Not this.

The flashlight beam wavered as the older woman suddenly began to laugh, a chilling sound coming from her, as always. You ignorant fool! Theres nothing you can do to stop it. Havent you heard, where theres a will theres a way? Or that necessity is the mother of invention? More laughter spilled from her lips, but her mirth was abruptly terminated by the knife blades swift and deep introduction to her throat. The flashlight fell to the ground and she stumbled backward, mouth opening wide to issue a scream that came out as a strangled gurgle. The next moment the sky seemed to split in two as a deafening crack of thunder ripped through it, the accompanying flash of lightning illuminating her panicked attempt to pull out the knife. When she succeeded, a thick stream of blood spouted from the hole, spraying the face of her advancing attacker. Grimacing at the unappreciated taste of salty-sweet copper, the other woman grabbed the knife away from her and shoved her to the ground, falling upon her to plunge it again, this time deep into her left eye socket, assuming the wound would be instantly mortal, an end to both the will and the way. Blood surged to fill the sunken cavity, but the old woman continued to struggle, reaching up to claw whatever flesh her long yellowed fingernails could find.

Die, damn you! the other screamed, hammering the knifes end with the palm of her hand, driving it in up to the hilt. She began to fear that the old woman would survive no matter what she did, a fear that was reinforced by the inexplicable burst of strength in the bony, withered arms that fought to throw her off. With the fallen flashlights beam aimed in their direction, she could see steam rising from the bloody throat wound that rhythmically opened and closed like a fishs gill, systematically vomiting another gout of blood with each expelled steamy breath. Another nerve-jarring crack of thunder tore across the sky, and seconds later a punishing rain began to fall. Soon afterward the old womans body finally went limp, and the hole in her throat closed for the last time.