Boogiemen of Susick

BOOGIEMEN OF SUSICK

BY

DAVID L. FORAND

DEDICATED TO KIM COLLEEN DISIPIO

Boogiemen of Susick

COPYRIGHT 2012 DAVID L. FORAND

Smashword’s Edition

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Check out my other adult novel: Right to Life. Thomas Carver must stand trial for the killing of a strange creature. The charge is first-degree murder. The innocence of a game that quickly turned into a life and death struggle, is Tom’s only defense. However, is this creature part Human? Does it have the same Right to Life as Tom, or any of us? This will surely be the Trial of the Century.

At the end of this story, is the prologue of Right to Life.

PROLOGUE

Even with their infantile brain functions, mankind found a way to rise above all other species. Our limited ability to think, our simple thoughts, separated us from the lower forms of life. Clearly, we remained alone in the quest to dominate all that stood before us. Many humans believe the ability to use our thumbs propelled us beyond predestined extinction. However, I claim this is not so! It is our thoughts! Our thoughts led to ideas, then ideas became reality, and reality became our true destiny.

Blessed be our thoughts, for this essence led to many exciting avenues. Thoughts establish emotions; they also help choose which path we take in life. Thoughts dominate every waking hour and sometimes fill our dream states. Without them, we would remain empty shells of existence.

By accepting this gift, we also inherit a dark secret--an oblique truth that lays hidden in the depths of our minds. This curse has always plagued the raw elements of humanity. The thinking of illicit thoughts has ravaged us since our very conception. The proof lies in our history--a history filled with self-fulfilling prophecies.

We once worshipped multiple gods. We devised a god for every occasion. From there, we went on to believe in magicians, sorcerers, and dragons. Next, came the infamous witches and warlocks. Not long after, we developed the thought of ghosts and goblins.

As our minds expanded, we developed superior thought processes, which brought us into a new era of reckoning. Werewolves, imps, blood-sucking creatures, the practice of Voodoo, and other taboos steadily toiled in our minds. We thought and then we believed. We thought harder and brought out more creatures. Trolls and a myriad of other bipeds entered the scene. Yet, still we thought, we thought about more bizarre, creations. Then we thought longer and harder, until we could no longer reason.

Modern man appears no better than his predecessors. With all the intelligence we possess, our thoughts still lead us down the path of unholy beliefs. We fear everything we cannot understand. We twist the facts of monstrosities that humanity cannot or refuse to understand in order to fit illogical data.

Today our thoughts both quell the bygone days of yesteryear and forever put to rest the ogres, witches, sorcerers, and goblins. Nowadays, our thoughts lead us into another dimension. Today we believe in ESP, the notorious Big Foot, Nellie of Loch Ness, and Aliens. We have come a long way since mankind’s birth . . . or have we?

If you believe we have, then maybe you can answer this simple question. Why is it that a man, strong in both body and soul, fears the lonely walk along a barren dirt road at night?

Only one enemy befalls the lone soul--thoughts. The rustling of leaves, the snapping of a twig, or the unknown sound greatly heightens the thought process. This thought process easily arouses dull senses. Senses stimulate emotions with reckless abandonment. A swollen mind races, as fear overcomes the brave.

But, what does this man fear? It is not the darkness, or the eerie sounds, or nature sparking terror in a man. Maybe the mere combination of two or more elements curtail man’s ego. On the other hand, maybe he simply fears the not knowing and nothing more.

If you believe we haven’t come far at all, you stand in the minority. As for myself, I know of only one person who fears nothing. Maybe his thought processes produce insufficient electrical energy to stimulate his brain function.

We will always remain thinkers, that’s just part of our being. Today, as in the near future, humanity wonders about endless possibilities. We seem more determined to think about falsehoods while dispelling truths. The falsehoods of our past and the falsehoods of our present engulf our engorged minds.

These falsehoods cause thoughts to erupt violently in our fragile minds. We twist known data; we indulge in bizarre realms; and then we extrapolate falsehoods to create impressions, which are truly false. Yes, we do indeed think of ways to conform mere slivers of beleaguered misconceptions into a single belief: truth.

Who of us really knows the truth? Truth . . . whose truth does humanity seek? Let us think about the concept. Since this is another factor separating us from all other created life. Is it God’s truth or our own self-made truths that humanity seeks? So let us think . . . let us think a little harder. We think of ourselves as Demi-Gods capable of deciding what creature or being shall live and which ones should we need to destroy.

The past teaches us that we had no need for such foolish beast we titled Dodo bird. Then we thought, Oh my, what have we done?

Next, we thought why stop there, and so the reality crusade became the killing crusade. If you fear it, kill it! Shark in the water, kill it! Bears in the back yard, kill it! Ugly looking creature, kill it! Just kill it, kill it, kill it!

The present teaches us even less, for now we turn against Mother Earth herself. We thought it out many times over. Mankind even used the brightest minds in the world to do our thinking for us. We believed in them; we believed they could really think; we believed they could evolve us into new beings that need not think for ourselves.

Such a sweet surprise awaits us in the future. Relieved of the burden of thinking, we can go about our daily lives enjoying life and all it has to offer. We shall bow to the might of the one hundred genetically altered beings who will process staggering amounts of data. Sure they will think. Their minds will swell, and their bodies shrivel. They will have no need for appendages and their only nourishment needed will be fresh data.

Mankind will become sheep foraging for food in a beautiful meadow. We shall become game for the hungry hunters that have come to feast on our delicate bodies of fat and flesh. Unable to think for ourselves, they will slaughter us in droves. We will not escape far, even if we are able. Why, because we cannot think for ourselves. Those few who manage to make it back to the Great Thinkers will speak out of fear. Their tale will go untold as they ramble on like the Dodo bird of yesteryear.

Yes, this will eventually happen. All this has been foreseen by the Greatest Thinkers of our time. Great Thinkers who know not of life itself, or of the self-fulfilling prophecies they forgot to think about.

Whether you choose to believe in thought matters not in other worlds. There are worlds like our own, worlds that exist within our own realm, and worlds, which exists in other dimensions. There are, and will always be, other forms and other beings walking among us. The other forms or beings are probably with you right now, as you watch television, or eat dinner at the dining room table.

Most, but not all, will have limited thought processes. They have no need to analyze each moment in life. Nor, will these beings care about any future thoughts. Their thoughts maybe of only three: nourishment, producing offspring, and survival. Some may have a much higher thought process than our own. However, there is no reason for them to ponder on it.

Who or what causes that picture to fall off the wall when no one is near? What about the unexplained feeling you get and can’t pinpoint what it is? Believe you saw someone or something who suddenly appears and then disappears. Why do goose bumps form unexpectedly? Why do the hairs on your neck rise without warning?

You may not know the answers to any or all of these questions, but I do. For I have seen so many things in my life that cannot be explained. Yet, I know they happened; I know they were surreal! How, you ask? Because I was there! I saw things no person would dare view, let alone comprehend. Let me tell you of one account with many facets.

It is a true story most people will deny as truth. Nevertheless, it did happen! The evidence to support my claim is all around. The most important evidence remains locked under guard at a high security center outside Phoenix, AZ. However, there still remains enough evidence to convince any non-believer of this morbid truth. The government has, so far, been unable to get a hold of this critical evidence, so they can keep this case shut forever. This is my best and last chance to reveal the truth. You will be amazed at the power of thought.

CHAPTER ONE

No one knows when this unholy war began or for how long the demons have walked among us. More importantly remains the fact that nobody knows if anything can stop these bizarre beings. This startling declaration of fact or fiction underscored Jacob’s written thoughts.

For whatever trivial reason buried deep inside his tormented soul, Jacob felt obligated to send his nephew remnants of his meager existence. The oak chest contained two diaries, a small stack of newspaper clippings, a manila envelope, a broken pocket watch, and a faded pin striped suit.

One must digest a peculiar oddity whenever an uncle gives a chest filled with personal items to a nephew he barely acknowledged. Surely, an uncanny circumstance or purpose existed that caused Jacob to commit such an overt act. Perhaps a feeling of guilt would suffice; perhaps it implied a slice of malice.

Jacob always displayed an explicit and distorted queerness. No one ever challenged this fact--at least not in his presence. In any true sense of the word, he conveyed no such evidence. However, he did maintain a twisted and bizarre way of expressing himself.

By the look on David’s face, anyone could easily see he remained unsure about investigating the journals. Yet, there lingered an inescapable desire to know what lay just beyond his reach. Insignificant queries held David fast until a solitary focal point erupted.

The diaries yielded precise details to certain untold happenings. What an unfortunate set of circumstances for anyone to have thrust upon them, especially for David McKinnly. He immediately fell victim to the intrigue and mystery that besieged him. Uncle Jacob’s diaries overwhelmed his sense of being and beckoned him to accept an exotic role in an offbeat and minuscule play.

"For most of the day, the grapevine cast muffled whispers of some unholy fate. The rumor exhibited a stark truth--one heavily laden with grotesque overtures. Many hours sifted by without end; and still no word from the coroner’s office. To me, the authorities wished to cover up the death of my best friend, Stanley Robert Kelly."

Half way down the page, Jacob had scribbled a note reminding him to meet with Assistant District Attorney Thomas Gramm at three o’clock.

"I arrived shortly before three, at the Roadside Diner in St. Johnsbury. To my dismay, Gramm’s beat-up jalopy failed to deliver him on schedule. My anticipation neared unbearable as a forbidden blackness exploded inside me. I would never again hear Stan’s voice or seek comfort from him.

I blamed Father Time for his early departure and no one else. I could not give sound reasons why Stan’s spirit shot forth his wrath. Seconds ticked by with excruciating agony, as stagnation ruled their movement. Vengeance showed it’s ugly mask, as minutes turned into empty echoes of eternity.

Now comes a whirlwind of beleaguered memories. They poured from my mind and emptied into my heart. The pain felt in my stomach justified the overflow of turmoil and despair."

David sat back as distant memories surfaced. He remembered little about this man, Stanley Robert Kelly. He knows the name was mentioned in a few casual conversation years ago, but had no recollection of who said it or why. Nor, could his mind register its meaning. Yet, there remained something all too familiar. David’s need, to know, commanded him to read more of the journal.

"Gramm finally arrived at twenty past the hour displaying a most profound look of disgust. When Gramm sat, he spoke in an abrupt tone. His rude manner suggested depraved images lingered on his heart. ‘Murdered! Brutally murdered!’

I asked the usual questions, even though I knew of his inability to respond. Gramm shook his head while handing me a large manila-envelope. ‘Everything must remain between us!’ My friend left me with the distinct impression he wanted nothing more to do with Stan’s death."

Something about the murder or victim caused the town to ebb into David’s mind. Vague images appeared barren of meaning, as confusion settled into his frayed soul. David’s alter ego begged him to read further into the first diary.

"I dared not open the envelope until reaching the privacy of my den, as an uneasy feeling lurked inside me. A vile sentiment cautiously waited to pounce upon my soul. I felt it would strike should my guard falter.

The local authorities will soon arrive and ask a myriad of imbecilic questions. My pacing continued, as I waited for the inevitable to happen. Sorrow crept into my being and dispelled any relief at my disposal. This feeling sliced deep my heart and castrated all emotions. The bitter stream of life now emptied into oblivion. This fact will surely haunt me until the day I die.

However hard I try, I cannot release the past memories of my best friend. I plan to shirk any rest until the authorities apprehend the party responsible . . . or I am dead. Our unending friendship extends well beyond brotherhood. I feel quite willing to die for my beliefs.

I’ve made a hidden compartment in my chest in case anything should happen. My one precaution will serve as a reminder of my past and present life. Everything I cherish will go to David, for he knows not his true destiny. I, at least, owe him this much. No more shall I hold back the remnants of my past . . ."

Jacob’s heartache and sadness for the loss of a friend slowly ebbs into David’s crusted soul. This might explain why Jacob tore the next page and a half out of the book. However, David could not convince himself of this fact. To him, it made more sense the missing pages contained information about his uncle’s interview with the local authorities. The portion left read: I know only too well my deep sadness, as these papers amplify my anger. Horror sets whenever I view the envelope marked Photos.

David scanned the next several pages looking for any data on the hidden compartment. No such references existed; so, he turned his attention to the small tomb of fate. His search proved fruitless when the chest yielded no access door, no secret latches, and no compartment.

Determination set in, while David observed the chest with utmost scrutiny. It didn’t take long before he began the manual dissection of the chest. At first, he tried to salvage the lining. David wanted to reset it and removed each screw with precision. However, his mind swam in a pool of unrest when he found no evidence of any compartment or access door.

Three sides came off as expected, but the fourth held fast. His jackpot surely lay just beyond his reach. David’s heart careened against his ribcage in such rapid succession it made his face flush.

One panel stood between him and the knowledge he so desperately sought. The barrier simply refused to budge, so David attacked the chest with such furry and devotion it stood little chance.

His gallant effort paid off when the chest yielding to his whim, there was an access door. However, one problem immediately popped into view. The door contained the type of lock that required an old-fashioned skeleton key. David tried picking the lock with a paperclip, and then he tried a bobby pin in a futile attempt to open the lock. Yet, this childish attempt only brought out a hidden rage, prompting him to seek a more drastic action.

David’s heart sank when the tip of his jackknife broke off in the lock. Next, he shoved a screwdriver into the lock. However, his heavy thrust, along with an awkward angle, caused the wood to split and the beast wound up gashing David’s left hand. By now, rage had so overpowered, he beat on the damn box with a sledgehammer. Nothing on earth or in Hell could keep him from his goal.

The chest lay in shambles, but did relinquish a small white envelope. It took twenty minutes to calm down and another five to realize his actions. For a brief moment, he had reverted to his parent’s way of dealing with problems. Even if in town at the time, they always blamed poor little David for any problem.

He cleared the kitchen table and tossed the envelope onto its center. David recomposed himself with a fresh cup of coffee. From here on end, his desires had to take on new meaning. David studied the envelope while wallowing in shameless victory over the chest.

After calming down, he tore open the envelope and emptied the contents onto the table. A single brass key struck the surface with a subtle twang. The lifeless object radiated a new future--his new future. David realized his uncle chose this deliberate torment to satisfy an unknown lust.

David believed the brass key would show him the way to a new life. Surely, a vast fortune waited for him to uncover its dirty little secret. He grabbed the envelope and viewed the open chamber, however his eyes only fell upon the white sheen of the envelope.

He realized that many more traps lay half-submerged along the twisted path Jacob blazed. If only he could find a clue that would lead to his vast fortune. This setback infuriated the helpless victim. What could Jacob want? Why the big mystery? Wherever the cursed container lay, David knew he must find it before some other fool blindly stumbled upon the chest, his chest.

The key looked too big to fit a padlock and too small to be a house key. No way would it fit a safety deposit box as the grooves matched those of a common car key. David picked up his adversary and gave it a thorough examination. The brass key held three markings: Yale, 275, and do not duplicate.

His imagination told him the key opened a footlocker at a bus or airport terminal. David powered his fist into the table, glanced at the broken chest, and then at the contents. Another clue must lie somewhere in the pile of junk.

David knew which direction he must follow. Jacob wanted him to earn his quarry. An irritating smile spread over David’s face as he tried to hold back a devilish giggle. Jacob wanted him to read the diaries to obtain the hidden clues.

He settled and reached for the large manila envelope. The tab yielded after he applied an enormous amount of pressure with his index finger. An emotional tide crested as the contents spilled forth. However, the last thing he ever expected evoked a distraught feeling.

Ten photographs of the late Stanley Robert Kelly lay fully exposed. The impact of the naked truth consumed his destitute existence. Jacob’s pictures displayed the most hideous and gruesome scenes David ever had the displeasure of seeing. Nor could his belly stand such an unnerving sight. There was no way to contain the matter in his head or in his soul.

His stomach spewed forth Stan’s misery in such uncontrollable waves he barely had time to push away from the table. His uncle’s demented ways portrayed him as one sick bastard. How could anyone put another person through such a torment?

Still, David moved forward as his greed overrode his fears. These photos flaunted the only visible remains of a man who walked the earth just two months past. In all, ten photographs showed the victim sprawled on the ground. Each carried a different angle and each displayed the same disgusting image of a tormented soul. The close up of Stan’s face embraced David’s worst fears.

Only a ghoul would have committed the fiendish act of removing body parts. Someone desired Stan’s eyes and plucked them clean out of their sockets. A contradiction of logic suggested someone had surgically removed both eyes. Whoever created this monstrosity managed to erase any knowledge of their existence. The elusive perpetrator had taken the time to preserve the astonished expression on Stan’s face.

The close ups, of the victim’s hands, disgusted David as much as the victim’s face. Whoever murdered Stan inflicted excruciating pain by systematically ripping every finger out of its socket. Upon further investigation, David concluded: the victim retained all other features. The legacy left on the victim told everything he needed to know.

This fanatic possessed enormous strength and the maniac’s signature spoke of his willingness to use his unnatural gift. David placed the photos back in the envelope, since he desired to expel their dastardly messages. No other clues passed before David as he wondered why Jacob wanted to put him through such misery. The only conclusion reached established a benign focus on Jacob’s eccentricity.

On top of the pile lay the preliminary police report. The basic who, what, where, and why scenario read:

Time of death: 9:30 a.m. Date: May 7, 2003. Day: Thursday.

Victim: Stanley Robert Kelly.

Gender: Male. Race: Caucasian. Weight: 235 pounds. Height: 6 foot 3 inches.

Color eyes: Unknown. Hair color: Black

Marital Status: Single. Nearest Relative: None

County: Caledonia. Town: Susick. Address: 15 Lower Elliot Road. State: Vermont

Cause of Death: Manslaughter. Weapon: Unknown

Coroner Report: Incomplete. Time Notified: 11:35 a.m.

Reporting Officer: Peter J. Barton

The second report included brief summaries leading to the event:

11:35: Thursday the 7th day of May 2003. I received a call from a Ms. Rebecca Florence who wanted someone to respond to 15 Lower Elliot Road. She had spotted an unconscious man lying on the ground.

11:39: Arrived at the home of Mr. Stanley Kelly and proceeded to the location given by Ms. Florence. I saw Mr. Kelly lying face up in the middle of his garden.

11:43: Radioed for assistance to the St. Johnsbury Police Department and for an ambulance from Lyndonville. Arriving at edge of garden, I noticed the victim showed signs of a physical assault. Note: one set of footprints entering the garden and none leaving.

11:50: Mr. Kelly dismembered. I called in a Code 68 to summon coroner. Backups arrived.

12:00: Area sealed off by special unit. They carried out a more in-depth search for evidence. Results were negative.

1:35: Coroner pronounced Mr. Kelly dead.

4:00: Began list of suspects.

5:00: Started interviews with people in neighborhood.

7:15: Interviews concluded. Filed report with State Attorney General.

It hit David when Barton mentioned Susick. While scanning ahead in the diary, he discovered another clue. Sure enough, it started four pages from where he had left off. The subsequent pages appeared like a census paper. Why did his uncle bother to include this in the diary? He first believed Jacob wrote the description to help an outsider get the general layout and make up of the tiny village. Then David realized Jacob wanted to provide him with information he would need in the near future. His uncle wrote extremely detailed information.

"Susick, Vermont consists of two hundred and twenty-five acres. This small and unique community contains one main road, one side road, and one crossroad. In the early eighteen hundreds, Lower Elliot Road served as the main connection between St. Johnsbury and Lyndonville. This artery begins in the center of town and travels two miles northwest before changing to a more northerly direction.

From there, the luxury of the asphalt highway disappears and one discovers all the pleasantries of traveling over a washboard of a dirt road. A crusted outcropping of granite proudly