It Came from the Garage!, page 28
Thum-thum…
Thum-thum…
The steady beat started slow, almost unnoticeable amid the screams, but it grew in intensity with each strike.
Thum-thum-thum…
Ben crawled through the haze of shadows, searching for an exit, or at the very least, a safe place to catch his breath.
Thum-thum-thum-thum…
Something tackled him, pulled him at the wrists until his arms were folded behind him. He screamed and cried out for help.
The eyes were upon him just as quickly.
He blinked, and the world before him changed. He was strapped to the rusted-out hulk of an old Ford truck. The eyes, narrowed with fiendish glory, were those of the ambulance. Its engine rumbled, letting up a horrid noise that was equal parts grinding metal and animalistic growl. Its hood was up, exposing the engine.
Not far off, lying on the tailgate of a Dodge, was William, a defiant glare in his eyes. Standing over him was an emaciated figure in tattered robes and a with ram skull mask over his face. He had a long, wicked knife, something Ben would expect to see in a Hollywood picture about the knights of old Europe.
“Ah,” the figure said, in a mild accent Ben could not place. “So, you awaken.”
“What in the fuck is going on here?” Ben demanded, tugging at his restraints.
“This fucker hit us, rolled the ambulance!” William answered. “I woke up to him cuttin’ up the guy we were savin’!”
The figure gave a lazy wave to the bed of the truck. “The eleventh soul scorned by life yet stolen from death. He marked the final entry for the innocent.”
“He keeps sayin’ flowery shit like that!” William yelled.
Ben realized he was going to die if he didn’t get out of here. He tugged at his arms, his breath catching in his throat when he felt his wrist slice into something sharp. Biting back the pain, he sawed his restraints against the unseen piece of jagged metal, and could feel the rope around his hands begin to fray.
“I say flowery shit to intone Samp!” the figure cried, raising his hands into the air. “With the final two souls, I can bargain with the ferryman of the damned and fulfill my true calling!”
Ben, his brow furrowed, glanced in the hooded figure’s direction. “Gerard? Is that you?”
The figure chuckled, then removed the skull mask.
“I thought so,” Ben spat.
Gerard was grinning ear to ear. He turned to face the ambulance and said, “Ah, it was only a matter of time before one of them figured it out.”
The ambulance revved its engine in reply.
“Wait, it can understand you?” Ben stammered. Suddenly, he had a flash of insight. He wasn’t yet done cutting through his restraints; he would need to buy time. And to do so, he had to do what all EMS personnel were trained to do.
Keep them talking.
Gerard turned and laid a hand on the engine, which seemed to thrum at his touch. “He can. Samp’s lifeblood, harvested from Prudhoe Bay before the oil fields were set up. I heard Him, y’know? Deep beneath the ice, trapped and forgotten.”
“Who did?”
“Samp, the Black Engine,” Gerard intoned, reverence undergirding his tone. “With the first drill I drew up his blood, what the engineers mistook for oil. I brought it south, here. And ever since, I’ve been feeding it the bodies of those who life has given up on.”
“Life has given…” Ben said, trailing off. Then it clicked. “You mean you’ve been feeding people to it? As a paramedic?”
“How?” William growled.
Gerard smiled. “I found one of the newest models, something suitable for a newborn god. I used Samp’s blood in lieu of oil, giving spark to the new life. Then, I just needed to feed it.”
“You’re sick!” Ben spat.
“Yes,” Gerard said, ignoring Ben. “I thought I was in trouble when the orders came down that my Lord was to be transferred. I’d fed him ten souls across Louisiana. But then, I found you!”
“Me?” Ben said.
“Yes! I knew it as soon as you had the dream! You’ve been touched by the Black Engine!”
“You’re nuts!”
“You’re like me,” Gerard whispered, stepping around the tailgate, trailing a hand over William’s bound body. “You can hear Him.”
Ben nodded, jerking forward as he sawed at the restraints.
“You can sense Him,” Gerard continued, lifting the knife high, its blade slick with blood.
Ben hardly had time to scream in protest when Gerard plunged the dagger into William’s chest.
“You will feed Him,” Gerard intoned, his bloody blade flickering with a burst of white light. William’s body went slack as Gerard pulled the knife from his chest. He turned and held the knife over the engine. “Rise, Master, rise and lay waste to the unbelievers.”
The Criterion’s motor roared louder as the blood dribbled onto the hot engine block.
Gerard turned back to face Ben, raising the knife over his head again. “You will be the final offering. You will be the key that will start the Black Engine.”
Ben frowned as he cut through the last of his restraints. He waited until Gerard drew close, then lashed out with a kick to his knee. Gerard howled in pain, dropping to the grass in agony.
Ben wasted no time, pushing himself up to his feet. He rushed forward, hesitating only when Gerard brandished the sacrificial knife at him.
“Yes!” Gerard screamed, standing on wobbly legs. “A fight between us! Let us see who will start the Black Engine! Who among us will usher in the new age!”
“Jesus Christ!” Ben shouted back at him. “Just shut the fuck up, you lunatic!”
Gerard lunged forward, slashing the knife across Ben’s chest. Shirt torn with a clean slice across his pectorals, Ben fought down the scream and punched Gerard. He caught him square in the nose, sending him stumbling back into the rusted truck Ben had been tied to.
Ben pressed his advantage and grabbed at Gerard’s arms, fighting to get the knife from him. Gerard grabbed at Ben’s face, fish-hooking his mouth with his fingers to try and pull him back, but he was too thin, too weak. Ben used his weight, leaning into Gerard until the man’s forearm snapped. Gerard screamed in pain, a scream that cut to a groan when Ben kneed him into the stomach. Gerard spilled to the ground. He looked up at Ben with wide eyes.
“Now stay down! Don’t make me hurt you!” Ben ordered, pointing the blade at Gerard.
“No,” Gerard said, low and quiet. “No, one of us has to die! Kill me!”
“What?” Ben cried, stepping back as Gerard grabbed at his legs. “No! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“In that case,” Gerard said, looking around the dimly lit junkyard. His eyes widened in glee. “What freed you will free our lord!”
“What? No!” Ben said, waving a hand as Gerard grasped the piece of metal he’d used to saw through his restraints. Grunting with effort, Gerard yanked a short piece of construction rebar out from under the junked truck. Its end had been snapped off, leaving a pointed end that resembled the tip of a primitive spear.
Gerard stood before the Criterion’s engine compartment. Its lights formed a halo of warmth around him. Then he turned, smiling madly at Ben.
“Let him be free!” he crowed, raising the sharpened iron rod high above his chest. “I am the key! I will start the last engine this world will ever know!”
And then he speared himself, the jagged metal piercing his robes with a wet sound. Gerard teetering in place as red welled up from beneath his vomit-green robes. He grinned, spitting up blood and bile, before dropping backward onto the engine.
Ben stared in horror as the hood slammed down over the body, crushing Gerard into the running engine. Blood spattered out from beneath the hood while the growling of the engine rose in tenor. Gerard’s severed limbs fell from the jaws of the ambulance, blood raining down over the headlights in a crimson wash.
“Holy shit…” Ben whispered, watching as the Criterion creaked and groaned.
The bumper peeled down from the body into a freakish maw. The wheels swelled, the thick tires growing massive as the high-top stretched and flexed. Thick tubes snaked out from under the hood, slithering along the length of the red and white body. They stopped and drilled into the frame, black veins throbbing from the entry points as the metal began to pulse.
The vehicle was transforming before his eyes, and Ben felt powerless in the face of the creature it was becoming.
Wait! The thought pierced the terror overcoming his senses. It’s still just a car!
Before Ben even realized it, he was running towards the ambulance. He jumped up to reach the driver’s side door, climbing inside as quickly as he could.
Thick, black veins spread like spider’s webs on the seats, vile oil pumping through the arteries to the beat of a monstrous heart. Ben grabbed the gearshift and popped it into drive. He was surprised, elated even, when the ambulance lurched forward. The tires spun in place, screeching against the gravel.
Driving out of the junkyard, Ben smiled when he saw what road he was on. “I’m close to Lake Concordia… that’ll have to work.”
Barreling down the road, Ben fought against the steering wheel as it threatened to turn in his hands. The Black Engine seemed to be gaining strength with each passing second. The radio crackled to life, buzzing for a few seconds before a screech echoed out from it.
Ben could feel blood welling in his ears. He struggled to keep the wheel straight as he reached for the radio in a vain effort to turn the handset off.
He let out a pained cry when the radio uncoiled from the stand, bobbing like a cobra. He swatted at it to keep it back, the heavy plastic serving as a cudgel that battered at his hand. The screeching barely drowned out his own scream when the radio broke two of his fingers. Even with a mangled hand, he managed to grab the device’s cord and yank it out of the console.
This was a short-lived victory, as the cord snaked around his arm. It constricted his limb and the flesh turned blue, but Ben continued fighting. All the while the ambulance kept trying to drive off the road, to plunge into the woods.
He wouldn’t let it.
Charging down Lake Drive, Ben allowed the ambulance to veer into the woods that ringed the lake. Concordia glimmered beneath the half-moon, the night’s peace destroyed by the heavy bass howl of the revving engine. Ben grappled with the wheel, turning it inch by inch to wrestle the monster toward the lake. The ambulance ground to a halt, the gear selector shifting into park.
“No,” Ben said, his voice lost in the maddened cries of the Black Engine’s revving. “Fuck you!”
He forced the vehicle into drive, foot slamming down on the accelerator. The ambulance lanced forward, whipping side to side as it fought against his control. Ben winced as the driver’s side door opened. Wind whipped at him, the smell of gasoline pouring in from the vents. The Criterion raged as it sped toward the lake, but Ben held strong.
He slammed the ambulance into the water with a boom of searing metal against a cool wave. Steam rose from the water as the Criterion sank. Ben, arm limp from the radio cord’s attack, pushed out of the side of the ambulance and paddled up toward open air.
Just as he broke the surface, something lashed around his ankle and dragged him back down. A scream escaped his mouth in a torrent of bubbles. Looking back into the shadowy depths, Ben saw the Black Engine in all its profane glory. Its blinding headlights seared into his soul. Now more than ever he saw those headlights for what they were—the eyes of a long-forgotten god.
Beholding the face of such an ancient entity stirred up within him a maddening despair. Instantly, he lost his sense of place. All conscious thought was beaten from his skull, replaced by cosmic awe and horrified wonder. The incongruous mix of sensations manifested within him as uncontrollable hopeless laughter.
Water flooded his lungs as he laughed upon peering into the fatalistic wisdom within those ancient eyes. Then his body went slack, sinking further into the crushing depths.
The low growls of the engine lulled him to his eternal sleep, at peace with his god.
Forever.
About The Author
Nicholas Paschall
Born and raised in Texas, Nicholas Paschall started his career in writing at an early age, jotting down stories on scraps of paper when he could and saving them to read aloud at lunch to all his friends. The teachers, upon learning this, asked him to stop as the stories weren’t exactly school-friendly, but this only spurred him on to continue his career as a writer.
After a stint as a journalist and editor, he started his career as a horror author. He’s been published in nineteen different printed anthologies and magazines, served two years as a recurring columnist for Dark Eclipse Magazine, and is a current columnist for The London Horror Society. His work can be found across the web, where he spins new yarns for all to enjoy on a daily basis.
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