Tremaine's Desert
1
Dean McKarren was having a bad day. He was in Arizona looking for locations when his rental blew a rod. He had to hike five miles to reach any type of civilization.
Dean told himself that's the price for being famous.
"You're that Demon Deacon fella, ain't you son?" one old codger asked as Dean tried to get some assistance.
"That's right, old timer," Dean said, more than a little disgruntled. He was seven feet tall with yellow skin and black, oval eyes.
Who else would he be?
"Don't that beat all?" said the codger, "a real life super hero in Pineston."
"I wouldn't say super hero," Dean said. Every now and then he still had emotional problems with people expecting him to save the world.
"What brings you to town, Mr. Deacon?" asked the codger. "Some villain needs a whupping?"
"My car broke down and I'm looking for a mechanic to have it towed out of the desert."
"Nearest mechanic is in Two Rivers," said the local.
"Two Rivers?" asked McKarren. "Which direction should I go? The car is a rental and the lady I rented it from looked like she would bite my head off if I wrecked it."
"It's about five minutes that way, Mr. Deacon," said the codger. "It's probably a good thing you're here because they're having some kind of animal problem over there."
"Animal problem?"
"Yep," said the old man. "Something is going after anything that moves at night over there. People are saying that Scratch has come back to do his business. Poppycock is what I say. I think it's some kind of Puma or something like that."
"Scratch?" asked McKarren. "What do you mean, old timer?"
"Back in the olden days," said the codger. "When the Wild West was really wild, Scratch would ride at night and bring hell with him. Many an evil doer slept their last under the stars before he sent them to the inferno with that laugh of his."
"Sounds spooky," said Dean. "So everybody thinks he's back and open for business?"
"Yep," said the codger. "It doesn't make sense to me. The Devil doesn't need to eat, does he?"
"Don't look at me," said Dean. "I'm just a stuntman in a monster suit."
The old man laughed.
"If you need anything else, just ask for Bert Lash. Someone will send you to me eventually."
"Sure thing," said the Demon Deacon.
2
McKarren saw the road sign for Two Rivers. He knew he was miles away from the small town. He decided to call Martha and see how things were going back home.
He found a pay phone on a road house and made the call collect to the Ever Brothers studio.
"We had some trouble here, Dean, so I can't talk," Martha Toom said when she came on the line.
"Just wanted to let you know I'm stranded in Arizona and am hiking to some town called Two Rivers to get my car towed," Dean said.
"That's good," said Martha. "Call back when you settle in somewhere."
"Right, Martha," said Dean, to the click on the phone line.
"Glad to talk to you too," said Dean, as he started hiking down the road.
Maybe he could hitch a ride along the way.
Dean McKarren wandered into the small town a few minutes later. He wondered if Two Rivers could even be considered a town. It had one gas station, a small restaurant, a post office, and a sheriff's office.
He walked to the garage. The owner was busy reading a fashion magazine with Coral Anders on the cover. He didn't even look up when the bell rang over the door.
"Could you help me please?" Dean said.
"What you need, Bud?" said the guy buried in his magazine.
Any other time and Dean would have admitted Coral Anders was spectacular but his car came first.
He pulled the magazine down so that he could see the guy's face.
"I need my car towed, please," Dean said, trying to sound friendly.
The guy took one look at Dean's black eyes and fell back in the chair. The magazine fell to one side, fluttering like a wounded bird.
"Devil!" said the proprietor, trying to scramble away from the former stuntman.
Dean grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the floor.
"Stop that," said Dean. "I just need to get my car towed. Cut me some slack."
"Car towed?" said the mechanic, "I can do that. Where is it?"
"It's out on the highway on the other side of Pineston," said Dean.
"Excuse me, and I'll get right on it I have to go to the bathroom."
"Sure," said Dean, letting the man go. He scratched his head as the man ran out of the station and around the corner.
A few minutes later, Dean and the mechanic were rolling down the highway. Dean clutched the door.
"It's still going to be there," he said, through gritted teeth. "You don't have to go like a rocket."
"It's not safe out after nightfall," said the mechanic. "Some kind of animal is roaming this part of the desert, so I want to pick up your car and get it back to the garage before something happens."
"This old guy I talked to in Pineston said everyone is living in fear."
"Not far from the truth, either," said the mechanic. "If you weren't here, I would have just left it out here until the morning."
"I can see your point," said Dean. "I have never heard of something eating anything in sight before. I hope we don't run into it, because I have enough problems right now."
The sun had gone down by the time they arrived at the abandoned rental car.
Dean waited impatiently as the mechanic whose name was Bill Fancinez put his car on the tow bar. A feeling told him someone was watching but he didn't catch sight of the guy.
"You've been listening to this Scratch stuff for too long," he said to himself. "You're jumping at the wind moves for Pete's sake."
Still he knew someone was there and was glad when he and the mechanic were finally back on the road back to Two Rivers.
Night in the desert was spooky enough without wandering about a mysterious predator.
Dean called the rental agency while he waited for the mechanic to finish his once over. Bill clucked as he walked around the car. He shook his head as he inspected the engine from underneath.
"How bad is it?" Dean asked, office phone to one large ear.
"Busted rod, oil pan, some other stuff," said Bill. "Somebody hasn't looked at the inside of this sucker for a while."
"Can I pick up a replacement?" said Dean. "I have a lot of driving to get done in the next week."
"What do you mean everything is taken?" Dean said, almost crushing the phone in his massive hand. "You don't have anything nearby at all?"
"I'll call you back tomorrow," he said, hanging up.
"Bad news?" Bill asked.
"I'm stuck here until I can get a new car or this one is fixed and they won't cover the repairs," Dean said.
Dean looked out of the window. He sat in the dark on a battered couch in Bill's living room. He couldn't go to sleep for some reason, so he looked out of the window.
He wondered why bad things always happened to him since Nebiros had blasted him. It was a curse, an evil curse.
He decided that since he wasn't going anywhere, might as well look into the case of the voracious omnivore.
It would keep him busy anyway.
3
Dean McKarren awoke in the morning, with a loud yawn. It took a moment to remember where he was, but when he did, he remembered his decision also. He pulled a fresh suit of clothes from his suitcase and got ready for the new day with as much cheer as he could muster.
He admitted it wasn't much.
He decided to check in with Bill, first. Then he could talk to the sheriff and see if he could get a handle on this thing before he had to go back to the mundane world of movie making.
Dean walked into town and stopped into the garage. Bill shook his head at the rental. It was a dead horse needing to be put out of its misery the gesture said.
Dean agreed silently.
He walked over to the small sheriff's office. He pushed the door open. He listened as the dispatcher worked her mike, sending deputies all over the county. She must have been eighty at least, from the way her white hair thinned and frizzed from a long braid and the wrinkles of her skin looked like the shell of a pecan.
"Can I help you?" she said quietly.
"I was wondering if you knew what was going on with this creature that I keep hearing about," Dean said. "I'm going to be in town for a while and would like to help out if I could."
"Well, hon, you look like you could be of some help," said the dispatcher. "Let me get some pins and I'll show you where these animal attacks took place."
She pulled out a canister of push pins and walked over to a map on a wall board. She began putting in red pins all over the county. Dean could see that most were towards the border, and Pineston.
"Only hunts at night," said the Dispatcher. "No one has ever seen it and lived."
"Anyone tried hunting it?" asked Dean.
"Yep," said the woman. "Never came back."
"If the sheriff comes in, could you tell him I'm looking into it?" said the Demon Deacon.
"I'm the sheriff, hon," said the dispatcher. "I don't mind if you poke around at all. You look like you can handle yourself."
"Oops," said Dean. "Sorry about that."
"No problem," said the woman. "I don't hang strangers for not knowing. Name's Cinnamon Savage."
She took Dean's hand in a firm handshake.
"How do you want to begin?" she asked.
"Thought I would look around after night fall and see if the thing attacks me. Then maybe I could capture it somehow."
"Do you want any help?" Sheriff Savage asked.
4
Lazarus Walker sat in his chair. The wind from an opened windowed ruffled his white hair slightly. His face was slightly more lined, but still firm of feature. Only his eyes showed a problem. They were as blank as blue marbles, staring into unseen vistas. Some said his soul was in hell, though no one living knew why or how he had come to this state.
Red Feather had gone to his grave, years before. Only he had known of Walker's other side, and how to call it forth. His children, and their children had taken care of Lazarus as befitting a blood brother of their grandfather.
Each had passed the warning of Red Feather along as the caretaker changed with each generation.
In times of need, sing the dirge to Lazarus for aid.
No one knew what it meant, and looking at the old man, no one wanted to know.
5
Dean McKarren looked at the map in the sheriff's office. Maybe it would help to get a look at the scene of the crime.
"You wouldn't happen to know where I could get a car?" he asked. "I seem to be short on transportation."
"I'll drive you," said Sheriff Savage. "It will be a treat to watch a real super hero at work."
"I don't know about that, said Dean, trying not to be annoyed. "I'm not really a super hero."
"Let's go," said the elderly officer. "You can tell me your life story on the way."
She smiled slightly.
"Not much to tell," Dean said. He followed her out to a dusty yellow Jeep parked in the street.
The sheriff drove rapidly to the first site. All the while, she kept Dean talking about what it felt like to be stuck as a movie monster. He found himself liking this stranger despite himself.
Dean and Sheriff Savage toured the sites of the animal attacks. The ones on the people were close to the highway between Two Rivers, and Pineston. The animal attacks dotted the landscape.
Dean noticed that most of the animal attacks circled a hacienda on its own in the desert.
He saw it in the distance as he finished his tour and realized he had been seeing it from different angles all day.
"Who lives in that house over there?" he said, indicating the square building.
"I wouldn't exactly call it living," said the sheriff. "Lazarus Walker lives down there. He's a catatonic. Some of the local indians support him and take care of him and the property. He was a blood brother to one of them a long time ago. No one knows how old he is. Seen him once. He just sits in his chair all day."
"I guess we can't expect him to tell us if has seen anything," said Dean.
"Still, it's odd that a lot of these animal attacks are going on around his place," said Dean.
"Let's go over and talk to Bob and Sarah," said Sheriff Savage. "Maybe they have seen something to point us in the right direction."
"Bob and Sarah?" said Dean.
"They're Walker's keepers," said the law woman. "They just took over from their cousins."
"It can't hurt," agreed Dean.
The sheriff drove her jeep to the hacienda. She parked in front of the main doors.
"You might want to hang back," said Sheriff Savage. "A big guy like you is probably the last thing they want to see right now."
Dean touched his massive forehead with a yellow hand.
"See your point," he said.
Sheriff Savage's door knock was answered by a young woman in jeans and white shirt. Her dark hair was cropped short. Her brown eyes glanced at the elderly woman, and then at the seven foot tall Deacon.
"I see you have been practicing bad medicine, Sheriff," she said with a grin.
"Hello, Sara," said Savage. "This is Dean McKarren. Dean, this is Sara Red Feather."
"Pleasure," said Dean. He held out his hand and took Sara's firm grip in his own.
"Nice to meet a celebrity," said Sara. She almost laughed at his grimace.
"We're here to talk to you about these animal attacks," said Savage.
"You're a bit out of your jurisdiction, aren't you?" asked Sara. "Anyway there's not much for me to tell you."
She led them into a sitting room, and gestured for them to sit. Dean glanced at the room's occupant with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, that's Lazarus Walker," said Sara. "Don't worry, he's a catatonic so anything said will stay in this room."
"That's nice to know," said Dean. "A lot of these attacks are happening around the house here, and we were wondering if you had seen or heard anything."
"I have found some of the bodies afterward and I didn't hear anything," said Sara. "Of course I am not a light sleeper. If it, whatever it is, broke into the house, it would be able to have dinner in bed."
Dean found his gaze straying to the comatose Walker.
"What's his story?" he said, to get away from the morbid talk. He was considering the advantages of vegetarianism over steaks the more involved in the matter he got.
"No one knows for sure," said Sara Red Feather. "My great, or great great uncle was his blood brother a long time ago. So our family has been taking care of him for a while. Family legend says he was struck by lightning for an act of cowardice, and has been a vegetable since then. Physically there's nothing wrong with him according to the doctors who have seen him. He just sits in his chair and stares."
"How long has he been like that?" Dean asked, thinking the answer was something he really didn't need to know.
"A hundred years maybe," said Sara.
"You're kidding, right?" asked Dean. "How has he survived for that long out here?"
"The dryness of the desert is a great preserver," said Sara. "That's an odd question for someone who has seen people fly."
"Only once or twice," said Dean. "I admit the Flying Rat is someone you don't forget, no matter how much you try."
Sara laughed.
"Just one more question," said Sheriff Savage. "Then we'll be on our way."
"Go ahead," said Sara.
"Just want to know if you saw a pattern in all of this."
"Night hunting like a cougar or coyote," said Sara. "It's too smart to be a cougar though."
"Thanks," said Savage. "Let's go, Dean."
"What's your idea?" asked Dean as the two walked back to the Sheriff's Jeep.
"What makes you think I have an idea?" Sheriff Savage asked mildly.
"Because you have that gleam in your eye that means I'm about to get beat on for not minding my own business."
"It occurred to me that the thing in question has been attacking pretty close to the house," said the Sheriff. "Ordinarily I would need a group of men on watch for a creature like this but I figure one Demon Deacon should be enough."
"Your idea is to wait for it to approach the house and then ambush it?" said McKarren, grimacing at the thought.
"Yep," said the elderly woman.
"We can try, I guess."
6
When the night fell, Dean McKarren and Sheriff Cinnamon Savage had taken a post overlooking the hacienda. Dean had pulled his fighting wardrobe from his bag and dressed in the intervening hours. They waited silently, listening to the night noise.
Suddenly all of the insects stopped their chirping.
The Demon Deacon's huge ears detected movement approaching the house. He pointed at the general direction of the sound he was detecting. The sheriff drew her pistol and waved him ahead to check on the noise.
Dean nodded. He leaped into the air and landed yards away. He did that again and he could just make out a figure trying a window. The silhouette moved down the wall, trying each window in turn. Finally one opened and he slipped inside. Dean headed for the window at a top speed. No telling what that thing would do to Walker or Sara now that it was inside the house.
Dean dove through the open window. He shoulder rolled and came to his feet. The thing was gone from the room. He ran to the door. The shadow was moving down the hall. He went after it as silently as he could. The shadow entered the room where Walker had been sitting that afternoon. It moved along the shelves and fell across Walker's rocker.
"Hands up," Dean said, pointing his forefinger at the intruder.
The shadow turned slowly, raising its hands. Blue flames leaped into life around the appendages. A hideously scarred face resembling a movie bogeyman named Dr. Scarabous leaped into focus under the flickering light.
Dean was startled by the hideous face. Then those burning hands were heaving bolts of flame at him. He leaped over the twin streams with the amazing agility built into his huge yellow facade.
Dean blasted at the intruder with fire of his own. The monster turned, letting the flame pass by on one side.
The walking corpse leaped through the nearby window in a shattering of glass and wood. Dean ran over, but the thing had vanished in the desert night.
"Who was that?" Dean asked himself. He turned and beat the small fires out with a rug.
Sara Red Feather paused at the door, tying the belt of a bath robe together.
"What's going on here?" she asked, eyeing the Demon Deacon angrily.
"The Sheriff and I were..." Dean began, as he beat the last of the fire out. "The Sheriff!"
Dean turned and threw himself through the window. He ran for where the old lady's Jeep had been parked, finger ready to fry.
"Oh no," he groaned when he saw the vehicle was empty. "I should have seen this coming."
A note had been left on the seat for him. He picked it up and read it. He rubbed his block chin.
"Excellent," he sighed through gritted teeth.
"What's going on?" Sara asked, as she walked over from the front door of the hacienda.
"The guy who broke in to the house took the Sheriff," said Dean. "He wants some kind of book that Walker has. Otherwise she's barbecue."
He handed the note over.
"I know this book," said Sara. "It's on one of the top shelves in the library."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
She glared at him.
"Okay," said Dean. "Get it. I am going after the Sheriff and get her back from this nut. If he wants a book, he'll get one."
Sara jogged back into the house, and then to the library. She was singing a song from her childhood as she went. Her father had told her it would help her in times of trouble. She had forgotten it until now, but this seemed like the right time to do so.
If there ever was a need for help, now was that time.
Sara returned with the book. The binding of it was strangely alluring to her. She decided to read it after The Demon Deacon had gotten Sheriff Savage back.
Dean didn't feel a thing. His mind was completely on dealing with the fruitcake.
"Good luck, Mr. McKarren," Sara said. "I'll call the highway patrol and the Sheriff's office and explain things."
"Thanks," said Dean. He leaped away quietly in the night air.
7
Dean McKarren didn't know it, but he was being followed by a shadowy figure on a motorcycle. The rider wore a billowing cloak and straight brimmed hat of pure black. A red mask covered the upper part of his face.
The two made their way towards where Dean's car had broken down on the way to Pineston. Eventually Dean saw the abandoned mine mentioned in the note. He landed carefully and looked at the entrance of the mine with his glittering eyes.
A small fire was going in the mouth of the cave. He could see the elderly sheriff sitting by the fire but not the intruder.
He decided to move closer. Maybe the guy was away eating something.
"That's far enough," said the rasping voice that Dean knew so well. "Do you have the book?"
"Yes," said Dean. "You want to send the Sheriff over and I will throw the thing to you."
"Throw it first."
"Don't you trust me?" Dean asked.
"No," said the rasping voice. "Throw the book here in the mine or the woman fries."
Dean tossed the book short of the entrance. He could see it in the light from the fire.
"Send out the old lady," said Dean.
A blue flame leapt to life. It gestured and the Sheriff got up and started walking slowly toward Dean. The former stuntman waited, gauging distance with a squinted eye.
He didn't know if he could take a hit from one of those fire bolts and didn't want to find out. All he had to do was get the Sheriff to safety and then knock this nut case for a loop.
He had the feeling that was easier said than done.
An unlit hand shoved Savage forward while the monster bent to pick up the book. A whip crack and the book vanished into the night.
"What kind of trick is this?" asked the ghoul.
"Got me, buddy," said Dean, snatching the Sheriff up in one hand. He pointed with the index finger on the other hand.
Eerie laughter echoed over the desert.
"Scratch!" cursed Lazarus Tremaine in fury.
"You haven't learned much since the last time we met, Tremaine," said the caped figure. He held the book nonchalantly in one hand.
"Who's this?" whispered Dean. He slowly backed away from the two other devils.
"Scratch," said Sheriff Savage. "I have always heard about him, but to see a myth is real is something I could have done without."
"Tell me about it," said Dean.
"Give me the book, old man," said the angry lich.
"Take it, if you can," said Scratch, white goatee stirring in the wind. He laughed quietly.
Incensed, Tremaine raised his hand and slung a bolt of azure flame. Scratch held the book in both hands to catch the flame. A roaring commenced, deafening those present. A hole appeared in the air as the book sucked the flame in.
Dean saw Tremaine begin to slide across the desert floor as the hole pulled him toward it, feeding on his power. Dean rushed forward. He was tempted to grab one of the scarred hands and hold on with all of his strength.
Then he thought about the dead that had been littered along the highway.
Dean swung a fist directly into Tremaine, knocking him through the portal. It immediately closed on his screams.
When Dean looked around for Scratch, the masked man was gone.
Epilogue
Dean McKarren and Sheriff Cinnamon Savage walked out of the desert as the sun came over the horizon.
Ahead lay the house of Lazarus Walker and the Two Rivers Sheriff Department's jeep.
They had spent the time working out a story for the townspeople of Pineston and Two Rivers if it was required. The last thing Sheriff Savage was going to say was that the mythical bogeyman of the desert, Scratch, had saved her life in a confrontation with a mummy.
They would lock her up and throw away the key.
Members of the authorities were there as the two walked up to the house. Dean pushed through, letting the Sheriff answer any questions. He walked into the house, and then into the library.
"Thanks," he said to the catatonic Lazarus Walker.