Chapter 4a - Clarksville Horror

Chapter Four – Clarksville Horror

The clopping of the horses’ hoofs mixing in with the sounds of the wind in the trees and an occasional bird’s song has made the trip to Clarksville a rather pleasant affair. With each of us lost in our own thoughts the teamster had to prompt us to hop off his rig at the roads’ juncture. We wave our thanks to him as he continues onward with his cargo to the freight depot. A long low blast of a steam engine’s whistle in the distance heralds the approach of a train. Whither it makes a stop in Clarksville or whither it is just passing through will reveal itself with time.

I turn my attention to the task at hand as we leisurely make our way into the city proper. We must have passed a mystic barrier de-marked by the city limit sign because after a short journey along the street the sparsity of the serene country lane has transformed into the concentration of a bustling metropolitan area. The hard packed dirt track has under gone a metamorphosis as well, for it is now paved with neat red cobblestones and has broad concrete walkways along the sides. An occasional one or two story house or business has yielded to a near contentious chain of buildings towering three, four, and sometimes five stories high!

Seeing these big buildings summons to thought news reports I’ve read of some of the really large cities around the country, places such as Chicago, Atlanta, and New York. By the descriptions I’ve read, they can sprawl for dozens of square miles in all directions, have populations in the millions, and have true behemoths which rocket skyward to unimaginable heights of 50 or more stories! Who would want to walk up all those steps every day? Or live so close to your neighbors you could hear their goings on all the time? I do not understand those who would choose it willingly. Ah well, this is a big world after all and everyone must seek that which will make them happy.

The late afternoon weather is crisp and clear and the fading sunlight has begun highlighting the buildings’ tops with hues of yellow and orange. We’re meeting an ever increasing number of inhabitants, apparently comprised of the work-a-day drones coming back home from their toil at the factories. The traffic is composed chiefly of pedestrians with an infrequent horse or buggy. Most appear weary and looking forward to the nightly reprieve from their day’s labor. A horse drawn trolley makes it way quietly toward us along the avenue, sporadically depositing its consignment of passengers one or two at a time along its route. The soft ding-a-ling of its bell is a melodic accompaniment to the evening’s activity. When it passes it is nearly empty, its duty on this circuit fulfilled. Again the discharge of the whistle can be heard, signaling the train’s inevitable arrival.

The striking exception in the flow of humanity is a singular gentleman riding quickly into town on a paint colt. Sitting high on his horse, straight backed, looking regal and majestic, he immediately commands the attention of everyone surrounding him. He might be 5’ 7” tall. The loose fitting tan duster ruffling around him reveals a plainly dressed lithe body. His long white hair is tied back and the wide brimmed tan colored hat he wears is decorated by a simple ban of colorful beads and a few feathers as well. The distinctive features of his profile are seemingly chiseled from red sandstone and his age could be anywhere between 45 and 95. The manner in which he carries himself portrays a great inner strength, a particular dignity, and a stoic confidence of his intentions. As if he somehow knew I was appraising him at that moment, he turns and gives me a quick nod and a wink with a sly smile as he travels past. The people are moving aside without prompting, as if it is the most natural thing in the world for them to do is to get out of his way. The same way a plow furrows the earth. His horse is fine example of its breed and seems to mirror the power of its rider. It is outfitted with a nondescript saddle. A plain harness, a duo of saddle bags, and a small bedroll complete the scene. His swift pace transports him rapidly toward the heart of town.

The flow of people causes me to inexplicably quicken my pace. The avenue is lined with gaslight fixtures at regular intervals and with tall utility poles replete with horizontal armatures sprouting an ever increasing collection of wires that seem to connect the array to every structure I see. Another long discharge of the whistle, this time closer, adds to the hustle. A city worker is methodically lighting the town’s gas lamps. I find that I am enjoying this trek and by the teamster’s information we have but a few short blocks left before we arrive at the inexpensive lodgings he recommended.

A piercing scream of unadulterated terror cleaves through the evening’s tranquil facade. The echoes ripple mercilessly through the abrupt stunned silence in the town. I find that I’m forcing my way hastily toward the source of the outcry even before I’m consciously aware of doing so.

Aryeh blurts, “Wait up!” as he races to catch up to me.

Turning a corner I survey a curious scene. A crowd is starting to gather outside a high wrought iron gate in a fence which encloses a nondescript warehouse. A trail of blood can be seen leading from the structure to a man who is franticly trying to unlock the gate. Sounds of turmoil is emanating from the building behind him. A woman in the crowd is in near hysterics while others have begun a cry for help. The man has an obvious major injury which seems to do little hinder him in his quest to open the barrier. A series of shrill whistles can be heard cascading across the city as the constabulary summons goes forth. A ringing crash from the building behind him draws a panicked expression and outburst of indecipherable cursing as he redoubles his efforts at escape.

“That blasted metal fiend has gone berserk and if I were you I’d get clear before that thing gets lose! I sure am!”

He exclaims as another monstrous concussion causes part of the front of the building to bow outwards, which prompts the gawking assemblage to retreat a couple of weary paces. A closer trumpet of the train’s whistle is almost lost in the tumult of the unfolding drama.

“What is going on friend?” Aryeh asks as he catches up me at last.

There is a loud click and the injured man immediately beams in triumph as the heavy lock he was working on finally snaps open. He tosses it aside and commences sliding the bar out of the way. The area suddenly reverberates with a thunderous rumble as the warehouse’s edifice shatters and collapses, creating a rapidly expanding dust cloud. Piercing through this billowing gloom a red light is clearly discernibly. Coming back to himself the injured man finishes removing the bar, hastily discards it, and hectically pulls on the gate to no effect.

“For the love of God, somebody help me!” He shouts hysterically.

The distinct sound of fire alarm bells are now heard in the distance. A dark silhouette is materializing from the debris cloud. The red light appears to be coming from close to the center of this emerging specter, and is growing steadily brighter. A silence grips the group of on lookers as the scene is playing itself out. The red light abruptly resolves itself and it is in the heart of a metal construct that is plodding this way!