Killer Koala Bears From Another Dimension Part 13

The Jimmy rolled to a stop only two houses down from Tim's aunt's house. The road had been eerily silent during the drive. Although the hue of orange light made everything seem as if it were day, there was something about the street that was very different than any of the others they had driven down on the way there. With his window down, Frank leaned half out looking around.

"Strange..."

He didn't have to explain the statement to the others.

They knew exactly what he meant.

The homes on this small, practically vacant street were undisturbed. Other than Miss Yortsdayle's house, there were three others on this small dead end road. There were no mangled bodies lying in the street. No blood splattered across the pavement. No primitive weapons left behind, or remnants of a ma.s.sacre. No portals of light floated in the distance, suggesting the alien visitors might decide to drop in unannounced.

It was still and... well, strange.

It was as if the people that lived on this dead end street were still snuggled in their beds unaware of any mayhem and chaos flooding the streets in other areas of town.

The house to their left was just like the others. The lawn was unkempt, the gra.s.s and foliage growing out of control. The mailbox was wrapped with what looked like poison ivy. The thin brick walkway that led through the tall gra.s.s from the mail box to the front door was practically nonexistent under the high gra.s.s. None of the lights was on in the house, and from what Frank could tell, the house had been vacant for quite some time.

In fact, that was how all of the houses appeared.

Even Miss Yortsdayle's.

The gra.s.s and vines that poured out from the ground up engulfed her yard and home like a strangling set of tentacles trying to choke out any ounce of life left on the property. The one thing that made Miss Yortsdayle's house stand out from the others was the walkway. It actually looked to be mowed down, not by a lawnmower, but by trampled feet. And Frank knew exactly why that was. She was one to keep frequent visitors. He had been in her house once or twice with Kathie. Kathie was into all of that mystical c.r.a.p. The sign in Miss Yortsdayle's yard right next to the trampled path was also covered in a choking stronghold of overgrown vines and gra.s.s. Although parts of the sign were covered it was still readable. In an almost Celtic font, the faded and peeling paint sign read: Psychic Readings of the Supernatural Kind. The letters at one time must have been a dark red against the painted white wooden sign. Now the white was cracking and almost absent. The once red lettering was now a pink washed out fade of what it once was.

"Do you think those creatures are still headed this way?"

"No telling," Frank said, looking at Joana in the review mirror at the back of her head. She was looking back the way they had come. "But if they are, I'm sure it will be a while before they catch up to us. They were on foot and the witch's house is like eighteen miles from the Recreation Center."

"She ain't no witch for the last time," Tim argued. "She's just... different. Lots of people go to her for help. And there's nothing wrong with that. She's more like a doctor. It's just that her medicine isn't average."

"Yeah, right," Frank chuckled, flicking the ashes from his cigarette out the window. He brought it to his lips, inhaled and spoke while still holding his breath. "More like a witch doctor."

Joana snickered at that and Frank blew the plume of smoke from his nostrils while smiling at Joana in the rearview mirror.

"Whatever, man," Tim cringed.

Frank sat there a moment longer enjoying his second cigarette with the window down. He felt uneasy about the situation. Something was off. Not only was the street silent and void of activity, it seemed like the closer they got to Miss Yortsdayle's house, the more it got that way along the drive. It was almost like all of the crazy Arktos things, as Tim had called them, had gathered at his work to form one ma.s.sive mob. With that, there was hardly any activity anywhere else. He didn't like that. If they were met with a few, he knew they had a chance. But how many of them were back there in the parking lot was just way too much. And he wasn't one to believe in luck, like his girlfriend Kathie. They might have gotten lucky once, getting out of there alive back at the Recreation Center, but there was no way in h.e.l.l they'd make it out of something like that twice. There was just no way. It didn't matter how the odds looked. That many creatures coming down on them like that wasn't something he wanted to face again. And looking on at Miss Yortsdayle's house sitting here on this dead end block was unnerving. If those things did decide to descend on them here at the old witch's house they were f.u.c.ked. No way out but the way they came in. With that, he knew one thing to be true. If those bears did take the time to make that long walk all the way here, they would be coming down on Frank and his friends the same way. He didn't like the idea of being blocked in on three sides with only one patch of road leading the way out. It was a deathtrap. He exhaled a long exaggerated breath of smoke. The smoke almost seemed translucent as it rose against the orange strange light that engulfed his vision in all directions. Its unnatural appearance gave him the shivers. He tried remembering the line of cars back at the Rec Center parking lot. Was one of them Kathie's ca- "So are we going in there or what?" Tim asked, pointing at the old rickety house.

"f.u.c.k it," Frank said, tossing the cigarette out the window and opening his door. "Let's do this."

When he stepped out, slamming the door shut, he heard the two other doors on the other side do the same. Joana and Tim rounded the front of the white Jimmy and looked to Frank as if he were supposed to lead the way.

"I don't think so." Frank nodded at Tim, nudging toward the house with his nose. "Your aunt, your lead."

Tim's shoulders sagged, a grunt of protest hinting in his inflection as he sighed.

Frank just shook his head and Tim got the hint.

Leading them up the unkempt lawn, Tim directed the way. The gra.s.s that hadn't been trampled along the path by Miss Yortsdayle's various visiting customers folded under their steps. A twig snapped just as they pa.s.sed the mail box. Joana jumped, a faint whimper fluttering from her quivering lips.

"It's all right," Frank encouraged, softly pushing Joana along while looking over his shoulder at the Jimmy.

Joana looked down, taking Frank by the hand. He nodded at her, letting her take hold and he helped lead her up the porch steps to the front door.

When they reached the top, Tim stood at the door and hesitated. He froze in place looking blankly at the door handle.

Frank scanned the porch, Joana still holding his hand tightly. To his left was an old wooden porch swing. One of the chains had broken long ago. The swing leaned half on the ground and half in the air suspended by the one working chain. To his right on the other side of the door there were a plethora of candles, all shapes, sizes and colors. All of them had been used to some degree. They lined the porch railing, both on the floor and on the railing itself. They were hanging on the windowsill. A single wooden table laid in the corner of the porch covered in candles, the wax dripped down all along the sides-long hardened.

Tim knocked on the door.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

Frank felt Joana's grip tighten on his hand. He squeezed back.

A light flickered on from inside. The abrupt flash made Joana gasp. When Frank looked over at her, she looked as if she was holding her breath.

"Hey..." he said, soothingly. He ran his fingers through her soft, dyed hair. "There's nothing to worry about, okay? Tim's aunt is going to help us. Remember?"

"Yeah..." Joana lowered her head, obviously trying to make herself believe that.

Frank caught an ugly look from Tim. At first, he wasn't sure what it was for, but then he realized. Tim didn't like him being all touchy-feely with his girlfriend. He smiled at Tim, releasing his grip from Joana's hand. Sadly, if Tim wasn't going to comfort her, someone had to. Since Kathie wasn't there for him to take care of, he felt like it was his job to take care of someone. Tim sure as h.e.l.l wasn't doing it.

The soft pitter-patter of approaching feet reached the front door from the inside.

The curtain on the window to the left of the door peeled back revealing Miss Yortsdayle's pale face. She smiled, left the window, and opened the door.

"Come in... come in..." She said waving them in, her voice frail and brittle like thin gla.s.s. "I've been expecting you all."

The little old lady at the door was at least in her early 80's. It had been several months since Frank's last visit with Kathie. In truth, he thought all of this hocus-pocus c.r.a.p was just one big joke. She was short and slightly hunched over. Sopping wet the little old lady probably didn't even weigh 100 lbs. She was thin, a bag of bones. The clothing on her body sagged. The shirt she wore had a bunch of strange symbols on it that Frank had only seen when visiting her little place of business. But to call your home where you sell incense and trinkets a business wasn't something Frank could really call a home. More of a waste of time. Her shorts were the same dark red as her shirt with none of the odd round and square symbols on it. The shorts were short enough to reveal her boney kneecaps and thin liver spotted chicken legs. She was barefooted. Favoring her right side, her right hand held an old wood cane made from what looked like the branch of a corkscrew willow. The wood had a dark stained shiny finish.

She waved them in.

Tim entered first, followed by Joana, and then Frank.

She smiled up at each of them as they came in. Her smile was wide; the false teeth overbearingly out of place in her narrow head. Her skin sagged and the liver spots that covered her from head to toe only made the perfect pearly-whites in her mouth clash against the look of old age.

When she turned to close the door, she said "Oh, one more thing before we get a pot of tea started."

Frank looked back at her as she stepped to the door.

She reached into her shirt at the collar pulling free a small purple stone attached to a thin rope around her neck. She lifted the stone and chanted three little words with her brittle little voice.

"Degos... bynata... seagintada..."

Frank, Tim, and Joana watched as the stone in the little woman's hand started to glow. She smiled and waved it back and forth over her head. As this happened, they all watched as the orange hue that had fallen down around them was pushed back. Night fell upon them once more. The darkness consumed Miss Yortsdayle's yard as it crept in like a fog.

When she was done, she placed the stone back into her shirt, letting it dangle around her neck out of sight.

The darkness had pushed back the light barrier only up to the street. The front end of Frank's Jimmy was sticking in just at the barrier's edge. Part of the truck looked normal. The rest of it was still cast in the orange hue, making the white paint bright and hard to look at.

"How the h.e.l.l did you-"

"It will buy us some time, yes? Keep them out, no?"

"How did you do that?" Frank asked.

"It's all in the stones. The stones hold the key young boy. Don't you know this already? Haven't you seen its power tonight? Oh, yes... yes..." She smiled, closing the front door and escorting her guests down the narrow hall toward the living room. "I'm sure you have seen many wonders tonight."

"But..." Frank said, pointing over his shoulder toward the front yard.

"Yes... to answer your concerns, young boy. They are coming. We haven't much time. No, not much at all. The field will keep them at bay for a spell. But how long... that is the question. Isn't it? Now come... come. Into the living room. You've come seeking answers. This I know." She laughed, pushing Frank forward down the hall. "I know many things, come to think of it."

"And Kathie?" Frank breathed, locking eyes with the frail old woman.

"In time, young boy, in time. Now let's get ourselves comfortable in the kitchen. These old bones can't handle standing for very long. They need their rest, but first how's about some tea?"

A loud hiss of hot air from the kitchen came just as Frank and the others reached the living. It startled Frank.

The tea was ready.

17.

When Frank and the others entered the living room, it was exactly as he had remembered. Everything in its place and a place for everything.

The living room walls were lined with old torn and cracking wallpaper that must have been there since the house had been built, back in G.o.d-knows-when. By the looks of the striped green and brown wallpaper, Frank estimated the house was at least 80 to 110 years old. The stone fireplace was covered in dust and probably hadn't been used in years. A huge framed portrait of a middle-aged couple hung above the mantel. On his last visit to the shop with Kathie, old Miss Yortsdayle had told them both an elaborate story about how the photo was of her great grandparents and that it had traveled overseas on a pirate ship or something. It truth, like many of the things the old hag had said during the stupid visits, he hadn't much paid attention to the story.

The curtains lining the windows, which overlooked the front yard, were the same as the fireplace. Dust covered. The entire house was just a fire hazard waiting to happen. The lights were down low, only one small lamp in the far corner barely doing much to drive the darkness back.

Really, the living room was less of a living room and more of a shop. Shelves lined the walls on all sides, excluding near the windows. The shelves were about chest high and housed a variety of books. Candle magic. Find your Center. The Inner Light. The Chakra in us All. Soul Food.

All of it nonsense.

Other than the shelves of books, Frank knew he could care less about, the room was stacked with Wiccan paraphernalia. Candleholders, incense burners, pentacles, and all kinds of other silly c.r.a.p were stacked on different tables. Each piece individually priced for sale.

A lamp sat on a display case at the far end of the large living room. An old dusty cash register rested on top. Small impulse purchase trinkets were displayed in little wooden bowls, but the real treasures were the stones and crystal shards arranged on shelves. Some of them seemed to glow against what little light reflected off them from the small lamp. The others didn't stand out as much. They just didn't have that same shine, which was probably why they were priced lower. Frank snickered to himself. He still just couldn't get over how all of this was just a bunch of horse s.h.i.t. This was a waste of time. He needed to be out looking for Kathie, not in here goofing off.

And just as that thought flashed in his mind another took its place. That thing she did with the necklace on the porch-pushing the orange light-field back and causing it to be night time again just around her house. Talk about some crazy s.h.i.t.

And with that... now things were different and he intended to be all-ears, no matter how outlandish and stupid the old lady started to sound.

He followed Joana, Tim, and Miss Yortsdayle past the storefront area into another room. Rather than a door to open and close, the doorway was lined with beads that Frank had to push aside as he entered. The beads rattled in his ear like a hissing snake. The room was one he had been in a time or two before with Kathie. The fortune telling room. One large round table sat in the center.

The room was as cliche as it could get. Mirrors along the wall. The gla.s.s ball on the table. This old chick had it figured out. He couldn't blame her. Gimmick sales. And gimmicks she definitely had plenty of.

As they pa.s.sed through the fortune telling room into another area that he had never been before, the hissing whistle of the boiling pot of water got louder and louder with each step.

The kitchen was surprisingly bright, unlike the rest of the poorly lit house; the overhead lights in the kitchen were all on. The tile floor was a bright white and the counters and cabinets painted a baby blue. The entire room reminded Frank of something out of the 1950's. Steam shot out from the kettle's spout whistling its hatred for pressure. When the little old lady reached up removing it from the stove's burner, the steam settled and the noise faded.

Miss Yortsdayle looked ages older in the harsh light, the liver spots covering her skin much more apparent. She set the cane against the counter, waddling over to a small door next to the stove. It was odd. The door had two handles on it. One on the left and one on the right. She reached over grabbing the left handle. When she opened it, the shelves on the other side of the door were lined with dishes. She reached in, retrieving five mugs. When she looked back at her visitors, she sighed, putting one of the mugs back in its place. She set the four mugs on the counter and closed the door. She then reached over and grabbed the handle on the opposite side. When the door swung open in the opposite direction, Frank's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. The shelves were no longer lined with dishes. Instead they were filled with spices and cooking seasonings. She pulled a clear jar down that was filled with sugar cubes and closed the door.

"How the h.e.l.l did you do that?" Frank gasped.

"She can do crazier stuff than that, trust me," Tim said, looking down at Frank and Joana's joined hands.

"I take it one of you didn't make it," Miss Yortsdayle said, obviously ignoring the comment about her pantry.

"Yeah, but how would she know that?" Joana whispered, still holding Frank's hand.

Tim stepped over, scowling at Frank and Joana. He took her by the other hand, yanking her away from Frank. "You need to back up, man."

Frank just rolled his eyes at the young immature punk and turned his attention to Miss Yortsdayle. "Excuse me, miss... how did you know that..."

His words trailed off, Joana unable to hear him because of Tim. Her boyfriend pulled her aside at the far end of the kitchen and locked eyes with her.

Keeping his voice low enough for just the two of them to hear, he said, "What the h.e.l.l gives, Joana? You got the hots for this guy or something? He's a f.u.c.kin' janitor, for Christ's sake."

"What are you talking about?" Joana said, trying to still hear Frank and Miss Yortsdayle's conversation. The old lady, from what she could hear, was talking about David Outlaw and how he was supposed to be with them. "I just-"

"Just nothing, Joana." Tim grabbed her by the arm, still keeping his voice low. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I just need you to be here, Tim," Joana pleaded.

"What the h.e.l.l does that mean? I am here. I freakin' helped get us here, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah..." Joana sighed. "You are here. But you're not actually here."

"What the h.e.l.l is it with women being all cryptic and s.h.i.t?" Tim shook his head.

Joana started to explain, but it looked like Frank was getting frustrated with Tim's aunt. She walked over, handing her and Tim warm mugs of tea.

"Here you go, sweetie." Miss Yortsdayle smiled, the mug shaking from side to side in her unsteady hand.

"Joana took the mug and returned the smile. "So, aren't you a little old to be Tim's aunt?"

"Oh, yes... yes..." She nodded, turning back toward the stove and shuffling over awkwardly without the use of her cane. "I am actually in no way related to Timothy. I was, however, there when he was born. Watched him grow from afar, yes. Me and his mother were close... once. Not now. Times change, no doubt."

"So you're not actually related?"

"Nope," Tim said, lifting his steaming mug to his cut lips. "Still, I've known her all my life. Look up to her like a second mother, I guess."

"Come... let's have a seat," Miss Yortsdayle insisted, waving them to the small table pressed against the wall in the corner. There were three chairs. She took one, Joana and Tim took the others while Frank stood. "I remember it like it was yesterday. I was there when Timothy was born. What an event." Her eyes glistened and her smile went wide as if rehashing the events in her mind. "He wasn't born in the hospital like most babies these days. No, back then Timothy's mother was a different woman. Free spirited. A natural birth was the only way to go. And the only way I would ever recommend-"

"No offense..." Frank interrupted. "I don't think that now is the time to reminisce, do you?"