Beavers Creek Chapter 3: Walker Rides

WALKER RIDES

Mark Walker, currently pursuing graduate studies in Environmental Engineering at the Old Dominion University, Norfolk VA and the only child of Vivian Walker and the late Frank Walker, drove into Newcastle, Virginia. The snow had stopped falling and the roads had been cleared and Mark’s Cherokee cornered into Melrose Avenue easily. The car radio glowed red and blue and the local radio jockey was dedicating an Elvis Presley song from Jake to Melissa (Oh won’t you be, mah Teddy Bear). Mark was looking for a place to stay for the night, en route to Beavers Creek, VA, just about the same time that the Change started taking place there (some 75 miles North East as the crow flies) in that second week of December.

His plan was to halt overnight in Newcastle, pick up Mary Clark and drive over the next day to Beavers Creek and meet up with Hank Borden for Christmas.

The traffic was minimal, people preferring to stay indoors rather than venture into the chilly night air. Most of the stores were closed. Mark cruised down Melrose Avenue passing a McDonald’s, and past the Lido cinema playing ‘The Lost World’. A Honda Civic slowed down in front of him its left blinkers coming on and the driver executed a neat turn into Stanton Street.

Up ahead on his right, Mark saw the Blue Neon sign for the O.K. Corral Motel with a green neon sign proclaiming from 30 feet in the air ‘ OOMS AVAIL BL ’. Below it was a red sign, now unlit stating in capitals - ‘NO VACANCY’. Next to the O.K. Corral sign was the Marlboro Man lit up by hidden lights at the top of the board .The Surgeon Generals somber warning crawled across the bottom, effectively stating that Smoking would generally and eventually succeed in killing you.

The parking lot was empty two places to the left. A wino clad in a tattered old long jacket (sheepskin and a salvation army cast off) and faded and torn Levis was rummaging in the dumpster at the end of the parking lot. Sheepskin seemed oblivious to the cold. Sighting the Jeep turning into the parking lot, the wino stopped his rummaging and hurried over as best as he could in his drunken state to where Mark had parked his car and tugged at Mark’s sleeve.

‘Hey !. . .! Misser, hey Misster’ – the wino called to Mark who turned around, eyeing sheepskin with trepidation and not a mild sense of distaste.

‘Misser , Im hunreean’culd , ain’t ate nuthin’ fur two dez’. He lifted his sheepskin jacket and the faded Iron Maiden T-shirt (No Prayer for the dying) to try and reveal his ribs to emphasize his statement .

‘Misser, hobbut a dollar?’.

Walker thrust his hand into his jacket and came out with a ten dollar bill, handed it over . ‘Get yourself a meal, friend’, Mark patted Al on the shoulder and turned away making for the yellow light coming from the diner, signifying a mellow warmth.

Sheepskin stared owlishly at the bill and when he finally comprehended that he had ten dollars he felt a wave of strong emotion for his benefactor and began sobbing loudly like a big baby.

Mark walked up the path to the diner and pushed open the door and walked in to the diner. The diner was warm and though the furniture was old and worn it was cozy, especially because of the warmth and Mark found a few tables occupied. Low lamps hung, and the air was hazy with cigarette smoke. A juke box was playing Honky Tonk Moon by Randy Travis’.


The diner had a comfortable smell of cigarette smoke, beer, Pizza and fries. A large burly man with long dark hair and a French beard was serving drinks behind the bar, while polishing the bar surface with a soft cloth. Two waitresses were taking orders at the tables and one of them was talking to the barman. They were clad in red and white check blouses and short red skirts.

He found a table as far away from the door as possible and dumped his backpack on the floor. He ran his fingers through what there was of his black hair that was clipped in a sensible crew cut. The waitress in conversation with the barman broke off when she saw him and glided over to him. Dora Lee (the name tag announced) appeared, pad and pencil in hand, a bored and tired look on her face (She was getting off in another half an hour and faced the prospect of going back home to her husband and three noisy kids).

‘What can I getya ?’ Dora Lee poised a pencil over pad and shifted her weight from leg to leg to ease her tired calves.

Walker ordered the day’s special with a mug of cocoa and Dora Lee disappeared into the kitchen to place his order. Mark glanced around him, taking in the customers and nodded his head and smiled to a couple seated two tables away from him. Dora Lee put his tray in front of him and Mark realized just how hungry he was and ate ravenously and paid his bill.

Levi’s was huddled in the corner of the diner now and apparently was really hungry from the way he was wolfing down his food.

Mark finished his food and again stepped out into the cold November air and around the corner past the diner . He walked slowly down the path, which was paved with stone slab, which curved across the lawn towards the Corral Motel which was housed in a separate building.

The manager was an old man maybe in his late fifties, dressed in a red checked flannel shirt and jeans and had a considerable beer belly. On his desk was a sign proclaiming him to be ‘Kevin Jones - Manager’. He was seated behind the counter with his head bent down over it, exposing his partially bald scalp.

‘I’d like a room for the night’, Mark was really tired now and feeling it in a mild body ache and wanted to keep conversation to the minimum.

‘That’ll be thirty dollars plus 5 percent tax up front. Check out time 10 a.m. ’.

Kevin Jones pushed the register across for Mark to sign and made out the receipt after handing Mark the change from the fifty dollar bill and after verifying Mark’s name in the register.

‘Third room down to your right’, intoned Jones.

As Mark walked down the corridor, the manager called after him, ‘Light switches to your left as you open the door’.

Mark walked down to his room closed the door and turned up the heating. He pulled the curtains closed and pulled of his shoes and opened the bathroom door and ran the shower testing the water till it was exactly to his liking. After a quick hot shower which served to ease his stiff muscles, he flopped down on the comfortable bed and surfed the channels on cable TV but found nothing worth watching .He switched the lights of and pulled the covers up and fell into a deep but uneasy sleep.

Mark dreamed.

In the weird perspective that only dreams can have he saw his erstwhile friend in the sheepskin jacket and levi’s walking next to him with a sorrowful look on his face. Both of them were walking through what seemed like a jungle of vines and thorns and damp, hot and fetid undergrowth till they reached a clearing. The Zombie on the wino’s Iron Maiden T-shirt seemed three dimensional and writhed and billowed out in front, his skeletal left arm crushing the neck of the fat man who had opened the tomb to release this creature from hell and had

The fat man was screaming

a look of pure terror on his face. The lamp he held spluttered and as his throat was crushed the blood flowed out of his mouth and it fell in dark rivers to the open mouth of the abomination. It then turned its head and fixed its dark eyes on Mark and grinned as if to say:

‘Come on buddy; join the fun friend ‘n how ‘bout a bit of brains for breakfast and chum, maybe you’re next.

‘Hey Mr. Walker’ levi’s whispered and the zombie cocked its head upward to look inquisitively at him.

‘Mr. Walker, you mustn’t go there’ He pointed forward, his hands trembling.

‘It’s, I mean its dangerous man . Hey! Hey! There are wolves there man, in the Black Forest and they walk and they talk and they got big teeth

all the better to eat you (tear your fuckin’ heart and throat out man) with

and Mr. Walker sir, there are things out there and things happening out there , things you don’t wanna know nuthin’ about.’

The Zombie hissed and growled and casually tore of the mans head in another gout of black blood and stuffed the head down its throat and the blood now flowed down and stained the crotch of the faded levi’s. The zombie was out of the tomb and now squatted on its haunches, its white hair matted with blood and thrust its hand down its throat and pulled out the fat mans heart like a worrying fish bone.

‘Hey !’ this time more urgent. Levi’s had a worried look on his face and blood had started to trickle down from the corner of his mouth and the flesh seemed to be melting away and he seemed to be

transforming

changing his features like you see in the movies with incredible special effects and

‘Hey !, Things are goin’ bad man , you been nice to me man, stay ‘way from there ‘cause they’re gonna get you eat you kill you fry you , Man we’re gonna gut you, cut you, bite you, chew you man , welcome to my parlor said the spider to the fly .’

Now levi’s was the zombie from the Iron Maiden T-shirt and blood soaked Levi’s, and his canines were growing longer, his eyes were red and silver and his skin was like some old yellow decaying parchment. He reached for Mark and Mark screamed.

Mark tried to turn around and move, to run, but his legs were rubber and would not move even though he was trying to kick forward with his full strength and the zombie was shambling after him. Suddenly he fell, tumbling down and down. He felt his heart thudding hard and painfully somewhere high up in his chest and his bowels had turned to water. He fell and fell and then found himself stuck in a spider web only it was at the bottom of a deep pit where the spider was waiting for him and he struggled and struggled and succeeded in ensnaring himself more in the sticky strands. The spider with zombie’s face was now in the pit but transformed and now crawled towards him on eight legs, its hairy body now segmented into that of some arachnid from hell, with tatters of

human

skin and flesh and bone hanging from its maw. A chain of human skulls hung around the first segment. The zombie cocked its head to the side as if listening to something, grinned and then spoke in

the wheezing hoarse voice of an old man

‘Mark, Mark boy, yu kilt your pa diddin ya son, he kinda lit a shuck diddinee ?’

the disapproving, accusing voice of Vivian Walker

‘Why did you do this to us Mark ? Why ? Mark, why ?

Vivian breaks down into huge sobs

The voice of a child

‘Mark, Mark,
killed his Papa ,
He... is a..
pile of crappa !
nyaah, nyaah, nyaah !’

The zombie spider was now standing over Mark and in a weird clarity Mark saw the moon high up in the sky. The moon had the face of his mother and seemed to be smiling down with an air of satisfaction at the tableau of terror and death being enacted in the deep pit of the spiders lair. The zombie spider grinned down at Mark, drops of corroding acid dripping from its fangs. The zombie dipped its head casually and ripped of Mark’s leg in a spurt of blood and a crunch of bone and the ripping sound of wet canvas .

Mark woke up screaming.