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    Night Comes
    Night Comes
    Night Comes
    Ebook281 pages4 hours

    Night Comes

    By Nathan Ford

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Confronted by an ancient evil, unlikely hero, Sheriff Clay Benson investigates the deaths of several people in his County. Overweight and overmatched Sheriff Benson tracks his quarry across the Country.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateOct 1, 2015
    ISBN9781483557700
    Night Comes

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      Book preview

      Night Comes - Nathan Ford

      18

      -Prologue-

      Ramiro held his youngest brother’s misshapen head and wept in his failure. They had come with General Pedro de Villasur, the Pawnee and French had destroyed them. Ramiro was the last of his line, had come to the Spanish Colony in New Mexico to restore the family name and fortune. Everything was lost; he would seek damnation and revenge. His mortal weapons were gone but he still had the Demon of El Bailadero. Ramiro could feel it contained in the silver Reliquia, it always came alive when a storm was coming. Madre me perdone! Lightning was striking all around him and the sky had turned green. Hermano, yo te vengará! Demonio me dan rabia! Ramiro’s family had guarded the demon for generations, now he would set it free. The demon would possess him then destroy his enemies. Ramiro ripped the chain from around his neck and placed the silver colgante in his mouth then bit down. The vessel was crushed, immediately his body was racked with convulsions.

      Chapter 1

      The crows sat on the high-lines above the corn field, the green leathery leaves extended to the horizon. There was a pattern that followed the terrain, the rows far too numerous to count. The crows departed as an old rusted pickup passed on the gravel road sending up a cloud of dust spooking them into flight. The cloud of dust hung for a moment then fell back to earth. There was no breeze or clouds, just the stifling heat of summer.

      The heat was sure to drum up a violent lightning storm in the evening. Maybe it was the heat, or a change in the barometric pressure, but Jon stopped pulling on the fence stretcher and looked out at the corn field. He pushed back the stained hat that had once advertised the local feed store and wiped away the sweat that had accumulated above the band. Jon shook off the feeling of being watched and returned to work; but stopped again, then returned to the pickup and pulled the water jug from the open window. His eyes never left the corn; he drank and swore that there was movement between the rows. Jon walked up the shallow ditch and stood on the road, wiped his eyes on the back of a leather glove, he stood for at least a minute watching the field then returned to work. Jon found himself anxious and unable to concentrate, his skin shivered. Crimped the slack wire and then released the stretcher, he ran to the driver’s side and threw the tools on the passenger seat. His heart hammered away, and stopped just for a second when the old truck’s engine was slow turning over. The truck’s worn tires kicked up dust and Jon rocketed down the gravel road. The AM radio blared out a tune by Waylon Jennings popular ten years before he was born; hot wind blew through the open windows. Jon felt immediately better, and then smiled at his foolishness, eyes darted to the rearview mirror, this time it was there. The old truck nearly rolled when Jon over corrected, not letting off the accelerator the rear end fish-tailed down the road kicking up more dust obscuring the mirror. He barely slowed down when turning south on the blacktop.

      Jon turned off the paved road pulling up to the farm house. The door protested being opened with its usual metallic creak. Martha, his employer’s wife was working in the front yard flower bed wearing faded jeans and an old denim shirt; sandy blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and covered with a floppy straw hat. Martha took one look and said, Come in the house, I’ll git ya cool drink. Jon’s feet seemed heavy and nearly tripped walking to the side door that went directly into the kitchen. Martha had a concerned look on her. Ice rattled into the glass and frosted over as she filled it from the tap. Jon sat at the kitchen table. Martha spoke in an upbeat tone, You look pale, too much sun. She handed Jon the glass then went to fill her own. In her opinion any ailment that occurred during the summer was due to prolonged exposure to the sun.

      Jon replied, It’s not that…. Is jes over by Miller’s field n’ I don know but I saw. Martha dropped the glass and it shattered on the floor, she exclaimed and moved to get a mop but avoided looking at him. She had left the kitchen; Jon could hear her talking in hushed tones. Martha returned to the kitchen, she chatted about the heat as she cleaned up the spilt water and broken glass. Her nervous composure was obvious; Jon was relieved to hear another vehicle pull into the yard.

      Jon left the kitchen and thanked Martha for the water. Ben Anderson had pulled his truck next to Jon’s. Ben dropped the tailgate on his truck and motioned Jon to come over and have seat. Jon walked over and leaned on the side of the truck, he didn’t feel like sitting; and wasn’t able to discern Ben’s mood. Ben threw him a cold PBR from the red Igloo cooler on the front seat, Jon backed up from the truck and cracked it open letting the foam spill to the ground, then resumed leaning against the truck as he took a long drink.

      Ben had taken his own and leaned against the side of the truck across from Jon. It’s been a hot one today, been work’n ya to hard, why doncha take the rest of the afternoon off. Jon had never been let off early in the last three summers not when it wasn’t raining or had a legitimate excuse. Ben had more to say but took another long drink instead. Bout time to check the swather over, gonna start the second cut’n by the creek. Anyway go see that girl of yers don’t waste yer summer work’n fer me.

      Jon finished the beer and crushed the can and deposited it the back of Ben’s truck with the other empties. Thanks see ya tomorrow.

      Ben watched the boy drive off; he poured out the rest of his unfinished beer and dropped the empty can into the truck bed. Ben entered the kitchen to find Martha drinking a beer; he hadn’t seen her drink in the afternoon since before they married eighteen years before. Martha asked, So did ya talk to him?

      Ben replied, Yeah, it was just the heat, been work’n him to hard. He’s a good boy; gonna work around the yard tomorrow.

      Martha was almost willing to accept Ben’s answer; even wanted to. Ya need to slow down to, there’s no reason to work yourselves like this in the heat. The lie was so easy to accept, especially since that was what she wanted to hear. The truth was too much to consider; tonight neither would sleep.

      Jon made it back to the old farm house that his Mom rented. His mother’s name was Barb; she worked at the local diner during the day and the local bar at night. Bill Kelso, his Mom’s current boyfriend lived with them. Jon’s father walked out when he was six and had never been heard from since. From that time there had been a different Uncle living with them every four or five months. Barb never varied from construction workers and bikers, she had a strict rule about not being involved with musicians and cowboys they were just not dependable. Jon had come to take advantage of the situation and appreciated that there was always someone available to buy him beer. He didn’t recall a single Uncle he didn’t like; but had long ago given up trying to know them, or form any kind of attachment.

      Ben was the only father figure Jon had. Ben employed and paid him well, gave the pickup he drove, bought the gas, tires and oil. Jon could sense the other parents in town looked down or pitied him; though at seventeen he had become popular among the kids of the local community. Jon always had a vehicle filled with gas, available money, beer and a place for hunting. Jon played football but didn’t think he’d play this year. Jon was average sized and a bit uncoordinated, but the main impediment to furthering a sporting career, the coaches all seemed to lust after his Mom but would play just about anyone in a game except him. It was a small town, you look good for church and put on a face for the public, but deep down charity and love was not to be found.

      Jon left the bathroom; the second after he’d dried off the heat caused him to be just as damp. He pulled on clean faded jeans and a short sleeve button shirt that Jon left open. Driving into town he kept his eyes on the rear view mirror. There was still six hours to sunset and he was glad for it, Jon wanted company; couldn’t lie to himself about what he’d seen. It wasn’t really a what, but a man. Not just a man something else, he could see the face clearly in his head but couldn’t describe it. Jon imagined himself cross examined by the Sheriff.

      The County Sheriff, Clay Benson, looked a bit like Chris Farley would ask, So you saw a man?

      Jon would reply, Yes, maybe. Could’ve been a woman.

      Ok, so you saw someone. Black r’ white?

      I don know.

      Well what was the person do’n?

      Jus stand’n n’ Miller’s corn.

      Alright then we’ll put out n’ APB on this guy.

      Jon didn’t have a clue what APB stood for but he always heard it while watching cop shows. The conversation sounded ridiculous in his head; but Jon had seen a man in the field and it gave him the same sensation as picking up something from the ground and finding a rattlesnake underneath. Evening was fast approaching and the heat gave no sign of letting up. Thunder heads were building to the west. The sky was beginning to darken and the clouds began to tower above, Odin was angry.

      Jon pulled into the local convenience store/truck-stop/diner where his Mom worked. He snapped half of the buttons on his shirt and entered the diner; then was hit by a wall of cold air and the smell from the grill. Jon found seat in a booth. Barb slipped over and hugged Jon removed his going to town cap and kissed the top of his head. Hello stranger, you look to thin. Want your usual? Barb loved her son more than anything in this world. Thirty four and still wearing the cloths she had in high school, literally. Still wore her hair the same way and listened to the same records. Barb loved the man who walked out, and never moved on. Men came and went mostly by her provocation. Barb drank a little and smoked like a chimney; but never touched drugs. Her weakness was men, she loved men. Not just one, all of them; soon as they started getting close, out the door they would go. She only had one real girlfriend, Barb didn’t trust other women to her they were the most backstabbing dishonest sex. The women in town considered her the biggest Jezebel around; though she never once consorted with a married man.

      Jon was still anxious about what he’d seen, but wouldn’t tell his mother and cause her worry. His mother brought out a bacon cheese burger, double order of fries, with a chocolate shake. Barb hugged him and kissed his head. You’re growing up to fast. Then she was off, the diner way busy for a Thursday night.

      Jon drowned the food in ketchup then proceeded to devour four thousand calories of decadence. For some reason he recalled that the English teacher called him Oedipus, then forgot about it in the same instance. What remained was a feeling that someday he’d get a piece of the bald, fat bastard. Jon finished, wiped his mouth on a paper napkin and waved good bye to the cook and his Mom. She blew him a kiss, making him blush as he pushed open the door.

      The heat of the evening hit him like a hammer, with it came the realization he’d forgotten for at least half an hour of the face in the corn. A feeling of impending doom overwhelmed him. An American flag proudly displayed on a pole in the parking lot hung straight down, the sky to the east was clear and sunny; to the west it was dark and began to have a greenish hue. Two blocks from the diner he pulled to the side of the road and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the road. Jon shut the pickup door and slumped back on the bench seat, then wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. He un-wrapped the foil from a stick of Big Red; taken from an overlarge pack that could always be found in the vehicle’s ashtray. The gum, like the condoms kept in the glove box, were examples of his optimistic nature. The pack of gum was replaced weekly, there were only two wraps missing from the box in the glove compartment. One given to friend, the other he’d tried on to see what they felt like. Larry, the Uncle prior to the new one gave them to him. It was a great gift since there was only one drug store in town and buying them there you would become gossip for the town, thusly ensuring your entire time spent in High School would be celibate.

      Jon drove to the Dairy Queen where his secret girlfriend worked. Secret in that her parents were not to find out that they were dating. Heather had blond hair and a thin athletic build. Jon read a short story by Updike where a young girl’s breasts were described as two scoops a vanilla ice-cream; every time Heather came near he tried to recall the title. The objects of his rapt attention were restrained by a red sports bra covered by a white T-shirt that was far too tight. She was also adorned in small red shorts that showed off tan willowy legs. Jon was irritated that her parents did not consider him worthy, but that concern was of little consequence, he was infatuated with the prospect of removing those previously mentioned articles of clothing.

      Heather saw Jon’s truck and yelled to the manager, Tak’n a break, then skipped to the pickup. The store manager was irritated, he was near forty and infatuated with the girls that worked there. Of course it didn’t take long for the employees to figure out they could do just about anything and not be fired. Heather approached the vehicle and saw Jon’s expression and knew that something had happened. Are you ok?

      Jon hadn’t considered that he looked any different than usual. I’m ok, but think ya can get off early?

      Give me an hour; pick me up on the corner. Heather squeezed his hand and tapped the side of the door twice, winked and skipped back into the building.

      Jon watched her go into the store, shook his head and said, Damn. He shifted in reverse and idled down the street. It was almost six, an hour to kill. Jon saw his shop teacher walking his Golden Retriever down the sidewalk. Max Steven was at least sixty and had been at the school since anyone in town could remember. People would come back in the summer and ask if Steven still taught shop, and then would imitate some of his mannerisms. Jon pulled over to the curb if anyone knew about Miller’s corn field it would be Max. Jon got out and stood on the boulevard with his thumbs in his pockets, Evening Mr. Steven.

      Max was the guy who could build engines from scrap, or quote some historic event like he’d seen it firsthand. Jon you don’t look so good, y’al right?

      Well sir, don’t know how to explain it but. Do you know anything about Miller’s corn field to the south?

      Max’s face went pale, and looked like he was about to speak several times but no words would come. Finally he managed. You see something Jon?

      I was fix’n fence along the road near the field today n’ I saw a man in the corn. Can’t say why but it shook me up a little.

      Max was still pale, You stay away from that place, nothing you need to worry about. Now run home its fix’n ta storm. Max reversed his direction and took off for his house at a brisk walk.

      The temperature had done nothing but climb all day, still no breeze could be felt and the clouds to the west had become dark but had not advanced toward town. The sky was beginning to darken as the sun was blacked out from the clouds. The cicadas should be buzzing but all that could be heard was the occasional car. Besides the Diner and Dairy Queen the town look quiet, garages were all shut, there we a few homes with the front door open trying to entice a breeze through the screen. It felt like the entire town was holding its breath.

      Jon pulled down the street from the DQ and found Heather waiting; she had to leave her car there to keep up appearances. She entered the passenger side and slid across the bench seat and kissed Jon’s cheek. She squeezed his hand then placed her hand on his thigh, Junior woke up. Jon required his right hand to work the gear shift. He told her about the day’s events as they idled up the street. Heather was good student but kept a wild streak. She dressed in a way that was provocative but socially acceptable, and secretly dated boys her parents would not approve of. Jon was a bit of both, his Mom had the reputation, and he drank a little beer but was definitely not wild. They drove out to the lake and parked under a Cottonwood.

      Heather listened to Jon’s story but was not convinced of anything. She understood he was upset but ultimately regretted leaving work early. Jon had not lived up to his bad boy reputation, for the most part he was a nice guy who worked all the time. Heather was not so self involved to not sympathize with him or even be a little freaked out about the story. She checked her watch and estimated there was about an hour before needing to be home. Heather hugged Jon and they began the ultimate struggle that only the most jaded person could not smile about. Parked in the growing darkness in a pickup lit only by the glow of an AM radio cranking out today’s hits and songs popular twenty years ago, they fought with the desire young bodies are infused with. Jon struggled with not going to fast and possibly ruin the chance of joining the club he’d spent the last four years fantasizing about. Heather struggled with wanting him to pick up the pace while still being appropriately reserved so not seeming to easy. These impediments work themselves out naturally if given sufficient time and privacy.

      The couple was interrupted by two outside influences. Jon had just rounded second and was quickly gaining ground on third, when the truck was rocked by a gust of wind followed by Phil Collins singing Heat of the Night. Jon being a farm laborer was always conscious of the weather even when every thought and nerve ending was focused on a singular objective, that gust of wind was enough that he broke away to look at the clouds. Heather protested by pulling on the back of his neck. The second boot dropped, I can feel it coming in the Heat of the night oh Lord.

      Jon sat up, albeit a bit uncomfortably as his jeans we a little too tight in the groin to allow for free movement. The storm is here, we better get going. Had Jon looked down at Heather now naked to the waist prior to speaking something else might have been said. Instead he stared out the unnatural darkness caused by the storm. True darkness was still a least a couple hours away. Phil was interrupted by the National weather service droning alarm. Jon switched off the radio then pulled on his shirt.

      Heather humfed then collected her own clothing. Heather’s vocal disappointment was intentional; she began dressing slowly while facing Jon so he’d be certain to understand what was missed. Lightning was flashing and large drops of moisture began to pelt the pickup. Heather’s white t-shirt was in a sad state, covered in dust from the floor mats of Jon’s truck. The temperature dropped twenty degrees, rain drizzled through the passenger window. Heather worked the window crank; the effort was difficult as the plastic knob had broken way years ago. The pickup roared to life Jon didn’t pull away immediately, he looked at Heather and began to laugh.

      Heather was certain the she was never going to speak to Jon again a moment before, smiled and laughed along. She slid up close and kissed Jon’s neck and said, Next time.

      The old pickup spun away back into town, windshield wipers beating back the deluge hammering down from the clouds. Jon in one of the most appropriately timed events of his life turned on the radio and heard Heat of the moment. He wanted to beat his head against the steering wheel; Heather sat coyly looking at the storm while her hand worked at the bulge in his jeans. Pulling up to the DQ she got out his side of the truck they kissed, and then Heather was off down the street.

      -Tuer-

      Lightning lit up the sky, a man strode from the field and stopped on the spot where Jon’s pickup had been parked. He had overlarge bare feet with long yellow, cracked nails. Well over six feet tall wearing non-descript black slacks, and a dirty white shirt; stood conspicuously in the middle of a downpour. The man had a long pale face and a tall forehead, his stringy black hair hung to his shoulders. The features of his face seemed to shift never giving a clear picture of race, age, or gender. Should a person get glimpse they would probably remark that he had a familiar face; and that would be very close to the mark. Nostrils flared as he breathed in deeply, eyes closed, for a moment there was a thin smile showing yellow crooked teeth.

      -Jon-

      Jon was traveling south back to home, the rain and lightning showed no sign of letting up. Upon leaving the city limits he noticed a strange orange glow; it

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