The wind roared and howled and beat against the windows like an angry demon intent on entering. It nearly drowned out the crunch of tires on gravel as the beat up old Chevy approached the house, but Abigail had tuned her ears to hear it. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:39 am. Her whole body tensed. Downstairs the front door slammed and heavy boots clomped across the kitchen floor.
Next she heard the refrigerator door open and close. Coming home never meant an end to the drinking. She had learned this over thirteen years of marriage. She needed something to calm the anger that raged inside her like a savage beast.
Who was it this time? What woman did he give his night to, when he should have been home with his wife?
Under the mattress she found a bottle of vodka. Her hands shook as she unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Just one. And another. Just two, that’s it. The bottle was stashed in its original hiding spot.
Abigail glanced in the mirror across the room; saw the blue and purple blob that surrounded her swollen eye. Her split lip had puffed like the botched result of a bad Botox injection. She rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. She shut her eyes tight. Just let me die.
The bedroom door slammed open. Abigail’s anger turned to fear.
“Why didn’t you finish the dishes?” Tom hissed. “This place looks like a shit hole.” His words were slurred. He’d clearly downed more than a few drinks. Abigail remained quiet. “Answer me!” he screamed.
Tom grabbed Abigail by the wrist and twisted her arm violently. She howled as pain shot through her. He didn’t let go, but flung her off the bed. Her head slammed into the wall. Pinpoints of light dotted her vision.
“This place better be clean tomorrow,” Tom said. Then he left the room. Abigail crawled back into bed and cried herself to sleep.
In the morning Abigail found Tom passed out on the couch, a half empty beer bottle in hand. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off. Without waking him she tiptoed out of the house to start the never ending, grueling chores that the ranch demanded to survive.
The sun barely peaked its head over the brown hills on the horizon. Abigail turned and stared at the signpost at the foot of the drive. “Walking M Ranch,” it said. She frowned. A year ago Tom had inherited the ranch when his uncle died, and the couple had been obligated to leave their home in the city to take over its care. In the beginning Abigail had thought it could be a fresh start for their relationship. They tended the animals together and spent hours discussing the finances, the auctions they would take part in, and the livestock they would buy or sell. But Tom was bitter about having to leave the city. He was bitter that Abigail could not give him children. He hated the ranch and he hated her, and in a short time it became apparent.
Now, as on every other morning, Abigail was forced to do the chores alone while Tom slept. And as on many other mornings, she cried as she went about her tasks. While her practiced hands drew milk from Guri, her favorite goat, the trickle of tears became a torrent. She leaned her head into Guri’s flank and sobbed.
When the tears had dried, Abigail did not move for several minutes. Finally she stood, knocking over the half-filled bucket. She walked, almost floated, in a daze, toward the barn, her face as blank and unreadable as a rock wall. Inside the barn she collected all the chains she could find and hauled them to the loft.
For several days and nights she worked. She rarely stepped foot in the house. She hardly ate. She talked to herself and hummed and cackled.
“You’ll pay,” she said over and over. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done, what you’ve turned me into. You want a child? I’ll give you a child. One that comes from hell to haunt and terrorize you.”
By lamplight Abigail toiled. She put her sweat, tears, and blood into her work. By the fourth night she was ready. On a table in the loft lay a heap of chains, welded into the shape of a man. She pulled a knife from her belt and drew the blade determinedly across her palm, slicing deep into the skin. The wound wept scarlet tears. She let the seeping blood drip over the pile of chains. They began to rattle. She smeared her blood over the arms and hands, then the feet and the head. The chains convulsed violently. Abigail tore out her hair and tossed it over them. The man-shaped form began to rise. She gathered it in her arms and drew it against her own body. She willed her life force into the creature that she called Chainman.
“Take my life,” she said. “And then take his.”
Abigail laid the chain man on the table. It sat up and watched her lift the rope she had secured to the rafters above. At the other end of the rope, a noose had been tied. Abigail slipped it over her neck, pulled it tight, and stepped to the edge of the loft.
“Goodbye,” she said. Then she jumped.
Chainman leapt off the table and reached out, but he was too late. The woman who had given him life dangled below, her neck bent at an impossible angle.
Tom hurled an empty beer bottle across the kitchen. It smashed against the wall with a satisfying crash. If he drank a lot before Abigail’s death, now his drinking was out of control. He picked up his eighteenth bottle of the night and peeked out the window at the barn.
I oughta burn it down.
He hadn’t slept much since the night he’d found her body swinging from the rafters: blue, cold, frowning. Eerie noises kept him awake. A scratch at the window, the rattle of chains, something dragging across the floor. He kept his shotgun by the bed.
The sun had set long ago. Tom made his way wearily up the stairs to the bedroom where his wife had so recently slept. Images flooded his mind of her body at the other end of that rope. Judgment and wrath poured from her otherwise lifeless eyes. Tom shivered. He crawled into bed, drunk enough to pass out into a coma, yet he couldn’t sleep. He knew the noises would start soon.
Rata-tat-tat. Rata-tat-tat. He looked out the window but saw only darkness. He pulled the covers to his chin, his eyes wide.
Creeeaaakkk. It was the front door opening. Tom knew he had locked it.
Scratch, scratch. The sounds of chains dragging across the floor. They came from the hallway. Tom grabbed his shotgun and aimed it at the bedroom door.
The door slowly opened halfway. Tom fired the gun. Stillness. Then the door began to ease open the rest of the way. In the void stood a man made of chains. Tom squeezed the trigger again. A spark flashed as the bullet glanced off the chain man. It dragged itself toward the bed.
“Help!” Tom yelled. “Stay away from me!”
He swung the gun like a club at the figure. A chain wrapped around the shotgun and ripped it from Tom’s hands, then flung it across the room. Tom tried to back away, but a chain arm shot out and wrapped around his neck. It squeezed. Tom’s eyes bulged. He tried to shout but could make no sound. More chains encircled his body, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs together. The circles of chains tightened and constricted. Tom’s bones snapped. His tongue protruded from his mouth, engorged. Blood vessels popped in his eyes. Finally the chains loosened. Tom fell to the ground, dead.
Chainman left the house and went back into the fields, where he mourned the death of his creator and swore vengeance against humankind.
Seven-year-old Roman’s eyes opened wide. His jaw dropped.
“You’re lying, Nicky,” he said to his thirteen year old cousin, not believing his own words.
“No I’m not. The story’s true. We’ve seen evidence. Haven’t we Ella?”
Roman’s eleven-year-old cousin looked solemn. “He lives out in the fields. We see chain marks all over the ground out there. And we find dead chickens and cows. He eats them, or sucks their blood, or something.”
“He’s not a vampire Ella,” Nicky said.
“But he’s a monster,” she responded vehemently. “Everybody who’s lived on this ranch has either left because of him, or been killed.”
“D-d-d-does he kill kids too?” Roman asked, shaking.
“He kills kids,” Nicky answered. “Especially ones from the city. He hates city folk. And today is the anniversary of the day he was created. If he’s gonna come, it’ll be today.”
“I’m getting out of here.” Roman hurried down the dilapidated ladder from the barn loft to the ground. He sensed Nicky and Ella following him, seeming to enjoy his fear.
“Roman’s a scaredy cat,” Nicky whispered to his sister, just loud enough for Roman to hear.
Inside the house Roman peeked into various rooms.
“Where’s my mom?” he asked.
“She’s gone,” Nicky replied matter of factly. “She left with my parents to go into town. They’ll be gone all day.”
“Then who’s making those noises?” Roman asked with trepidation.
From outside came a din of clanking and rattling chains.
“It’s Chainman,” Ella whispered. “He’s coming. We need to hide!”
The three children tripped over each other running into the nearest bedroom. Nicky slammed the door and twisted the lock. They stared at it as they backed toward the far wall in a huddle.
Rata-tat-tat. The sound came from the window that looked on the fields behind the house. On the other side of a mere inch of glass hovered a mass of chains. It raised an arm and scraped it against the window. Roman squeezed his eyes shut and counted to three. When he opened them, Chainman was gone. A few seconds later he distinctly heard the front door creak open. Maybe it’s my mom. He knew it wasn’t.
The chains rattled and clinked as they advanced down the hall, toward the bedroom where the children cowered. Roman’s chin quivered.
“I-i-i-is it ok if I cry?” he asked his cousins shakily, tears already in his eyes.
Nicky’s confident grin was long gone. “It was true,” he whispered, eyes wide.
Bam! The door rattled as the creature slammed into the other side of it. Bam! Bam! Again and again. Each time the door shook. Then it began to splinter around the knob.
“Out the window,” Nicky shouted.
Ella scrambled to unlatch and lift the scratched pane of glass. As soon as she had raised it enough for them to fit through, she hefted her leg over and crawled out. Nicky followed. Roman remained in the corner of the room, frozen with fear. Nicky stuck his head back through the window.
At last Roman bolted after his cousins. He tumbled through the opening and rolled onto the ground outside. As he pushed to a standing position the bedroom door crashed open.
“Hide in the barn,” Nicky said. The three children dashed toward the bulky structure. Nicky reached it first. He hauled open the barn door and rushed the other two inside before he pulled it shut behind him. Enormous bales of hay filled the ground level. Roman slunk behind a stack of them near the back of the barn.
With his nose pressed against the hay, its earthy smell nearly gagged him. His tears had dried but his body shook with terror. Roman didn’t know where his cousins had gone. He guessed they’d followed suit and hidden behind other bales of hay. He glanced around for an escape route. About ten feet from his position, the rickety ladder rose to the barn’s loft. His eyes traveled to the second story high above, dizzying him.
At that moment the barn door swung open. Daylight poured in. Roman was momentarily blinded. When his eyes adjusted he peeked around his hay bales. He hoped to find Nicky at the door. Instead he encountered the man of chains. It loomed in the doorway, giant, evil. Hot liquid streamed down Roman’s leg. The smell of urine filled his nostrils. Its pungency jolted his senses and startled him into motion.
The ladder sagged under Roman’s weight. Splinters jabbed his fingers and palms as he grasped the rungs. He ignored them and continued to climb as fast as he could. In his periphery Nicky and Ella climbed over bales of hay and slid between tall stacks of them. They were headed toward the barn door. Roman twisted his torso to see behind him. Chainman stood at the foot of the ladder.
He forced himself to keep moving. Chainman sped up the ladder behind him. Halfway up, one of the rungs shattered beneath Roman’s feet. He lost his grip as his feet crashed through the broken rung and he began to topple downward. His arms grasped empty air as he flailed for another grip on the ladder. Below him chain arms snaked upward toward his falling body. Finally his hand made contact with a rung and he wrapped his fingers around it. His arm nearly ripped from its socket as it caught the weight of his frame. His shoulder throbbed. He had fallen too far. One of the chains reached him and wrapped around his ankle. It clenched so tightly that Roman thought it would crush his bones. He kicked wildly, but the chains held on. Fear swallowed him and he shrieked. The ear-splitting sound seemed to be more than Chainman could bear. His arm released its grip on Roman’s ankle as he writhed in agony.
As soon as he was free, Roman scrambled the rest of the way up the ladder and hauled his scrawny body onto the floor of the loft. Without pausing to think he wrapped his arms around one of the bales of hay that littered the loft floor. It was too heavy for him to lift. He put his back against the far side of the bale and pushed with his legs. It inched toward the ladder, then gave way and tumbled over the side of the loft.
Crash. Roman heard it collide with the mass of chains, though the sound was muffled by the hammering of his own heart. There was no time to look and see if Chainman had been knocked to the ground. Besides, Roman didn’t dare peak over the loft’s edge. His head could be grabbed by chains and ripped from his body.
His eyes were drawn to the hole in the wall through which the late afternoon sunlight poured; sunlight that seemed to steel his nerves and banish the overwhelming fear that had possessed him.
Roman scurried to the hole and leaned out. He looked on the fields behind the barn. Far below, Nicky and Ella shielded their eyes from the harsh sun as they peered at him. Next to the barn under the hole sat yet another gigantic pile of hay. Behind him the ominous rattle of chains moved up the ladder once more. Roman hoisted his legs through the hole and stepped gingerly onto the ledge outside. The drop appeared impossibly long. When he looked down the barn seemed to sway beneath him and the ground swam. He took aim, squeezed his eyes shut, and leapt.
Pain shot through Roman’s back and legs as he landed hard on the solid bales of hay. He turned to look at the hole through which he’d just escaped. Chainman leaned through it, his chain arm grasping the air as if he’d been inches away from grabbing Roman mid-leap.
Ella squealed. Roman jumped to the ground and the children sprinted together through the fields. About a mile in a barbed wire fence threatened to impede their way. Nicky and Ella hurdled it like they’d done it a thousand times. Roman tried to do the same. As he clumsily leapt over the fence, one of the barbs caught his leg and sliced into his shin. Unable to right himself, he rolled on the ground. Blood smeared the dirt. Ella halted and returned to his side. She helped him up and they ran again. Roman’s lungs felt ready to burst by the time they finally came to a rest. All three leaned forward, hands on their knees, and fought for breath. A statuesque elm tree stood over them like a sentry. Though they peered hard in every direction, there was no sign of Chainman.
“Eeee!” Ella screamed. She stared at the ground behind the elm. The boys came to see what had frightened her. A wooden X made of sticks tied together by twine jutted from the dirt.
“This is where he’s buried,” she said. “Tom Avery!” Roman stared at her, agape. “This is where Chainman put his body after he’d killed him,” she continued.
“That’s it.” Nicky said with excitement. “They say the only way to kill Chainman is to prove to Abigail’s ghost that her husband is really dead. She wanders the fields of the ranch, looking for his body. If she sees it, supposedly she’ll call off Chainman.”
“Then we have to dig him up,” Roman said with a new authority. He’d never felt this brave before. “I’ll get the shovels. Wait here.”
As Roman crept back toward the barn where the shovels were stowed, he kept his eyes peeled and his ears tuned for any sign of Chainman. The place loomed as still and silent as a graveyard. He collected the tools they needed, then dashed into the house and back again before he hurried to the elm where his cousins waited.
For several hours the children dug, until the sun had snuggled into its berth and stars dotted the dark sky. They didn’t speak as they plunged their shovels into the hard earth and flung dirt to the side. Then Roman’s shovel hit something more solid than the packed dirt. The children doubled their efforts until they had unearthed a full skeletal body. Tattered clothes hung in rags from the bones. The skeleton face was forever set in an expression of utter horror. Worms crawled through its eye sockets and open mouth.
The children lifted the body carefully out of the hole and set it on the level ground.
“Now how do we call Abigail’s ghost?” Ella asked.
“I thought we might need some candles, for like, a séance or something,” Roman said. He produced the candles and the lighter he’d taken from the house. With the candles lit, an eerie glow pervaded the scene. The flames flickered and licked at the open sky as if they called out to any ethereal beings to come forward. They waited.
Before long the children heard sounds approach, but they weren’t the sounds they hoped for. The clatter and clink of chains reached their ears like news of the devil. From what direction it came, they could not tell. In an instant a chain arm reached out of the tall grass that surrounded the elm’s clearing. It grabbed Nicky around his chest and began to pull him backward.
Roman dove across the distance that separated him from Nicky to clasp his cousin’s ankles. Another chain arm wrapped around Nicky’s neck and began to squeeze. Nicky clawed at it but the grip did not loosen. He gasped for air. Then a female voice that was not Ella’s pierced the air.
“Is that Tom? Is he really dead?” the voice asked.
Nicky’s eyes bulged and he could no longer even gasp for air.
“Prove it. Cut his head off,” the ghostly voice demanded.
Roman released Nicky’s ankles and jumped to his feet. He wasn’t strong enough to pull Chainman off of Nicky, so he had only one other option to save his cousin’s life. He picked up a shovel and placed the blade against the neck of Tom’s skeleton. With one swift motion he threw all his weight onto the shovel. The skeleton’s head snapped off and rolled back into its grave.
“It is finished!” the voice shouted gleefully. “I am free.”
The chains that held Nicky it their vicelike grip fell to the ground, lifeless.
Back in his plush city bed, Roman had the indulgence of time to think about his experience with his cousins at Walking M Ranch. Nicky and Ella’s parents, Albine and Rory, had never learned the truth. The children had invented a story about a bully on one of the neighboring ranches, whose name they didn’t know, who had attacked the boys and caused the scrapes and bruises on their bodies. Nicky wore a turtleneck to hide the gruesome marks around his neck, and said he’d lost his voice from shouting at the bully to leave them alone.
The trio vowed never to tell anyone what had really happened. Nobody would believe them.
“They’d stick us in a loony bin,” Nicky stated.
Roman felt that he’d grown up in way. He had been brave in a situation like none his friends had ever faced. He had saved his cousin’s life. And he was no longer afraid of the boogey man.
Biography: Dominique Collier’s work has appeared in Roar and Thunder Magazine and The Lorelei Signal. Dominique has a degree in psychology and apart from writing, she works in the behavioral health field in Phoenix, Arizona