American pickers
**Shhzzzzzzt**
“Ahhhhh!! That’s some really good shit! FUCK, that’s like a circus in my head ready to open the curtains for the big show. MIKE, check this out!”
“Look here Frankie, you can’t be doing that much blow at one time. Who knows what this hooker got in there. We’re in the middle of nowhere, how’d she even get that?”
**SSHHHHZZZZZTT**
“FUCK MIKE WHO CARES!”
Mike rolls his eyes and prepares for the evening ahead of them. It’s been a long trip and he is excited to finally get out of the backwoods of America. A week alone with Frank will do that to ya, especially when you’re traveling through the shit part of Illinois. Camden to be specific, current population 81. What a fuckin dump Mike thought. Nothing but abandoned homes sparsely scattered across plains of wild grass and battered roads. Welcome to southern Illinois. Mike hated everything about it. He would have thought this trip was a waste until they ran into Stacie.
Ahh. Stacie.
Mike salivates with anticipation.
Mike checks his watch. 2:35 am. Plenty of time. He looks over at Frank, who is now only wearing a tattered old wife beater, clutching his flaccid penis in his hand. He’s mumbling something to himself as he frantically paces in circles over the unconscious Stacie.
Stacie was groupie, a town whore maybe? She only wanted what everyone else wanted. An escape. An escape from her bleak and pointless existence, rotting away in the middle of nowhere, unable to liberate herself from the binds of, honestly, the circumstances of her birth. Mike takes off his glasses and starts to rub the bridge of his nose. He looks a Stacie’s near lifeless body. He lets out a sigh and feels almost sorry for her. She didn’t choose this life. She didn’t choose to be born poor, with a druggie mother. She didn’t choose to be raised in a trailer, with dirt floors, where she had a higher chance of catching syphilis and going blind than getting out of the state and making 10k a year. This is an eventuality. This is fate. Stacie is just a cog, a means to an end.
Defeated, Mike sits in a chair in the corner of the room. He stares at Frank as he anxiously tries to opens a cold can of Heinz Frank and Beans. Frank struggles to open the can in his hurry, but manages to pry open one of the sides with a screw driver. He shovels huge spoonfuls in his mouth, letting the cold liquid bean residue drip down his beard and onto his shirt.
Frank’s limp penis grows with every mouthful. His eyes fixated on Stacie’s body as he paces around her. He starts screaming, flinging mashed beans and bits of hot dogs from his mouth to all corners of the room.
“FRANK AND BEANS!!! FRANK AND BEANS!!!”, Frank howls repeatedly.
He throws the empty can at Stacie’s head, jarring her awake. It takes a few seconds for Stacie’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Then she sees him. The bearded man. The laughing fool. Le gros homme. She wished she was dead, and starts sobbing immediately.
Stacie has been held captive in a barn basement since last evening. Her arms bound above her head, with her legs spread apart and tied to the ceiling. Shes completely helpless. Her body shutters and convulses. Strange symbols and Hebrew letters are littered through her body. Etched into her skin with a box cutter.
“GOOD MORNING BEANS”, Frank screams, inches from her face.
Before Stacie can even scream, Frank shoves his tongue down her mouth. The taste of cold beans and hotdog slurry floods down Stacie’s throat. She starts to bite down on Franks tongue, but realizes that she has no teeth. She sobs harder, gasping for air as Frank continues to kiss her. She starts to gag, and vomits into Frank's mouth. He doesn’t relent. Vomit, blood, and bile spills from Stacie’s lips.
“That was a wonderful kiss, my sweets!” Franks says as he pulls back, “You’re so precious, my darling! Mother will love you!”
Stacie manages to mumble a few words to between her gums, “merse my teet…. Peas...stahp…”
Frank laughs, and gently caresses Stacie’s cheek. “You won’t need them honey bunch. Mike did a real nice job taking them out without hurting you too much right? Mike...?”
Frank abruptly stops talking and looks over to where Mike is sitting. A strange cold breeze passes through the room, and candles flicker to stay lit. Tears run down Frank’s face, and fear grips over Stacie’s body. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t move.
Silence falls on the room. It feels like an eternity to Stacie. She doesn’t even move to look at Frank. Just nothing…
In the dimly lit room, sitting in solitude was Mike’s lifeless body. He’s slumped over with his head tilted back. Blood, from large gashes on his wrist, form a pool around him. His wounds are rough and jagged. The injuries sustained looked like Mike bit into his own arteries to open them.
3AM
A cold gust enters the room and blows out the remaining candles. It startles Stacie and she tries to squirm out of her restraints in a panic. Frank gently grabs her by the face and whispers, “He’s here baby. Let him embrace you”.
Stacie’s distressed face scans the room. “Who’s here?” she thought. That’s when she heard the bones crack and footsteps from the corner of the room. She squinted hard to see through the darkness of the basement. Then she sees it. A creature made of pure blackness. Stacie watched in horror as it rose from Mike’s lifeless corpse. It pulled and pushed it’s way from Mike’s being, as if shedding its corporeal form. She could see it. In pure darkness the creature was darker than the shadow.
Even with her eyes closed Stacie can still see the creature inching towards her. She felt it’s presence, it’s deep loneliness and melancholy. It spoke to her. Inside her mind she could hear it. She knew it’s name, Fenrisúlfr.
The wolf. Vánagandr, from old norse mythology. The Monster of the river Van. The world devourer.
With her eyes still closed she saw the beast standing by her feet. She could feel it’s sharp claws grazing her skin. She dare not cry or try to break free. It starts tugging on something deep within her. Like a fisherman jerking on his fishing pole. She feels its breathe, the gravity of his being, and hot nails digging deep inside her. She fights, her soul fights and start pulling. She's losing and she begins to weep. NOOOO!!! she screamed inside her.
*snap*
Almost instantaneously the creature vanished from Stacie’s mind, but there was no relief. There was no reprieve from the overbearing void that surrounds her. . Stacie is wide eyied and in horror as she finds Frank, dripping with Frank and Beans, inches from her face, straddling her.
“I NEED YOU TO BE SCREAMING FOR THIS”
Frank plunges his thumbs into Stacie’s eye sockets. Stacie’s screams and Franks laughter fills the room.
“I CANT GET HARD IF YOU’RE QUIET BABY!!”
2 DAYS LATER - The Rhoades Barn
“Agent Giroux? You’re...agent Giroux aren’t you?”
An older Native-American man looks up from sipping his coffee. He is partially bent down, examining a pool of blood that has collected below a chair.
Giroux works for the FBI's behavioral analysis unit, the BAU. The BAU's main mission is to provide behavioral based investigation or operational support by applying case experience, research, and training to complex and time-sensitive crimes, especially crimes that involve acts or threats of violence.
Though he may not be the smartest or the most perceptive agent in the department, he has been known for his dedicated and meticulous field work.
Giroux is in his mid fifties now and too old to be out in the field. He takes off his fedora to wipe the sweat on his brow, and brushes his trench coat as he gets up. He’s a bit of a romantic, and never leaves the house without his hat and coat. He gives the woman a quick once over before saying “Yea, well well, who might you be?” as he start to walk away.
He’s seen those types before. Young and ambitious. Why do they gotta try so hard for? Giroux thought. The time, the loneliness, the anguish, it breaks everybody.
“Agent Giroux, my name is Agent Marron from Kansas City and I…”
“Let me guess,” Giroux interrupted, “You’re fresh out of Quantico and you wanna hop on the case? Got something to prove because you’re young, a woman? You want to be taken seriously by your peers?”
Agent Marron looks at him flabbergasted.
“What?? Where did you even come up with...", Agent Marron said in flash of anger, "..Look, Agent Giroux, I’m afraid you are gravely mistaken. I’ve got word from Director Maddox to bring you in and have local law enforcement take over this case. He wants you to finish your assessment of the crime scene, and hand over your findings. You’re needed back”
“Oh…sorry” Giroux says reluctantly and slightly embarrassed, “I can’t leave yet…this case is something else...”
Giroux walks off into another room furiously jotting notes in his pad.
Agent Marron lets out a long sigh. She’s seen his type before. “Self-righteous prick” Marron thought. “Why can’t these old timers just relax?”. They’re always complaining about how this job breaks people. The solution is simple Giroux, get a hobby. These work-a-holics are either alcoholics, divorced, or hiding some serious baggage. Sad dudes. It's been a while since shes been in the field, and she'll play along.
“Okay Giroux, what do you got?”
“Are you sure you’re up for this kid? We got a woman practically disemboweled in the other room, satanic writing on the wall, and enough blood to drown in”
“Agent Giroux, I am only going to tell you once, I am flattered that you think I just graduated from the academy, but I’m Thirty-Fuckin-Five and been with the department for nearly a decade. I'm not "kid", or "lass", or a damsel in distress. Your suppose to be back in the main office, but since your adamant about resolving this case, hey, I might as well stick around. So humor me.” Agent Marron points to her face, “Oh, It’s called moisturizing. Remember to drink plenty of water.”
“Oh…” Giroux said, embarrassed, that’s twice she caught him off guard. “Well, we got a victim. Woman. Early 20’s. Uneven bruising and injuries sustained indicates she was held captive for a few days…”
Giroux starts walking around the victim losing his train of thought. Marron picks up where he left off “....Body decomposition puts time of death, roughly 2 days ago.” Marron continues, “Cause of death, unknown, but I’m guessing it’s this gaping hole in her abdomen.”
The lass did know her stuff Giroux thought. “Look at the flesh around her stomach. Looks like she was ripped open. Don’t think this was done by an animal. Detective, you notice this?” Giroux points to a mound of flesh.
Marron shakes her head and sighs, “It’s a Placenta. We got a triple homicide on our hands?”
“Triple homicide?” Giroux asks
“Look at how much blood is on the floor by that chair. It’s staggering”
“That’s the thing Detective Marron…” Giroux points to a set of foot prints leading to the chair. “You can see by this set of footprints that someone walked to this chair and sat down and bled to death, but look at the blood pattern. There’s no indication that the body was moved. No trail mark, no bloody footprints. Nothing.”
“It's as if the body just disappeared from the chair...”
“Another thing, blood usually takes about 15 minutes to coagulate. Unless someone has no clotting blood, this looks fresh”
“Jesus Christ what is going on??”
Marron was born in South Central LA. The tough parts. Where being a petite woman of her stature invited all the wrong kinds of attention. She grew up poor and caring for her grandparents when she was younger. Her dad was a corrections officer and when the opportunity came, they moved away from California to Kansas to start anew. That's when she studied, graduated and dedicated her life to putting people away.
She begged Director Maddox for an assignment in the field. All he did was use her as an errand boy across the country. He has always been protective of her.
”...Okay, I’ll speak to Maddox and brief him on our findings, give you a few extra days. Anything else you want to add?”
Giroux smiles as if he was hiding something, “Have you heard of the Cimmerian Shade?”
*Just outside of Illinois*
“Fraaank…..where are we??”, a voice from the back of the van yells out
“Well well, rise and shine mister sunshine!”
Mike crawls out from the back of the van to join a gleeful and smiling Frank in the cabin. He lets out a grunt and plops into the passenger seat. He has been sleeping since the incident. Frank hands him a Kit Kat bar. Mike gives him an unwelcoming look, and reluctantly starts to unwrap the bar.
Frank watches Mike as he slowly nibbles only on the chocolate edges of the Kit Kat bar, leaving only the wafer intact. He finishes off all 4 bars in this same manner before throwing the rest out the window.
"Mike, why do you eat your kit kat bars like that? That's weird"
"Fraankie", Mike says in better spirits, "I'm an international man of mystery, I can divulge all secrets"
"Yea, tell me about it. A real double-oh, double-oh"
"Well, Money Penny", in a Sean Connery accent, "Where is our next mission??"
"I was waiting for you to say something" Franks says with a smile, "Danielle found an old grimoire in a shanty town. The seller seems really intent on getting rid of it"
"Well where we headed??"
"SALEM"
It was so long ago and far away
I have forgotten the very name men called me.
The axe and flint-tipped spear are like a dream,
And hunts and wars are like shadows. I recall
Only the stillness of that sombre land;
The clouds that piled forever on the hills,
The dimness of the everlasting woods.
Cimmeria, land of Darkness and the Night.
– from ‘Cimmeria’ by Robert E. Howard