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Here's another short story that follows Dr. Jones in Taxtin County.
I decided to break it up into four, more digestible parts since it's a total word count of 5870. Part 1 can be found at the end of this post.
Contains scenes of violence and strong language. Not for sensitive viewers.
Part 2 of 4
As the doctor made his way deeper into town, occasional shadows flashed in the windows. The unnatural sensation grew stronger, however, he seemed unperturbed. He stopped at Ricky’s, got some oil, then headed straight for the mansion.
As he turned into Caldero street, something was smoldering up ahead. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, and Dr. Jones saw the pile of bodies as rode past.
‘At least 6 burnt for no reason. There are definitely Stravers about, but could there be Keepers?’
Stravers were common. Although they could cause unimaginable damage, they weren’t adept at working alone. They always required someone or something to command them.
They forced starvation onto the poor and gluttony onto the rich, to the point where everyone started destroying each other, even themselves.
As he reached the high, locked gate to the mansion, Dr. Jones pulled to a stop.
It looked dark and unkempt. Overgrown brush partially covered the road and what were once likely lush green lawns, were a pale brown. Red patches of soil caught his eye. They were spread throughout the yard. He bent down and wiped at the topsoil behind the gate, exposing more of the red, sticky sand.
Dr. Jones pulled his hunting knife from its holster and dug up a small sample. Heading to the back of the carriage, he dropped it into a test tube. Using a mortar and bowl, he proceeded to mix various plants, powders, and liquids before dropping the red sample in.
There was a plume of black and orange smoke that emerged.
“Damn it! I knew it,” he said out loud to himself.
Although red soil was common in areas where demons moved about, the orange smoke was concerning. Dr. Jones’ first hint was the burnt bodies down the road. When he’d reached the mansion, there was little doubt left.
‘Keepers.’
Keepers were extremely difficult to handle. They worked in groups of three or four, moving from one host to the next when they realize you were trying to trap them. When it came to their hosts, greedy humans were an easy target, fooled by promises of more wealth and power.
Now that he knew what he was up against, Dr. Jones proceeded to pick the lock. With a few twists and turns of his lock pick, it sprung open. He pulled the chain off, pushed the gates open, then rode up to the house. He knew they would all be so consumed by the demons, that they wouldn’t even recognize him as a strange individual in the mansion.
Before entering, he walked around the mansion, occasionally sprinkling a jet-black liquid mixture on the soil. This will ensure that no demons could get in or out. Now he could set a trap for the Stravers, who’d come pouring in once their masters were in distress. Sure, there’ll be a few he’d have to deal with inside, however, most of them were spread throughout the town, feeding on the inhabitants.
He drew a large, triangular shape in front of the mansion, and set a bronze flask in the center, with lines stretching out towards the edges of the triangle. Finally, Dr. Jones poured a foul-smelling, watery mixture into the flask, and the lines leading out.
He grabbed his ‘Ghost Gun’, slipped it down a holster on his back, then checked all the other weapons and potions.
Before entering, Dr. Jones recited a hymn.
“For all that leads to silver and gold, where life doesn’t matter, you will be told. We have no fear for you will hear, our words are true and just.”
As the door opened, a mixture of laughter and rotting flesh filled the air. It was truly a strange combination that even made Dr. Jones pause and adjust before entering.
The floors were covered with large, creamy, marble tiles. A few Persian rugs lay towards the sides, with comfortable-looking black leather couches. As luxurious as the foyer appeared, the rugs weren’t straightened, with others kicked up, leaving it folded over on itself. Shoeprints completely covered the once shiny marble, as dirt and dust accumulated throughout.
Bursts of laughter came from behind the large, closed doors straight ahead.
‘Well, I guess that’s where the action is,’ Dr. Jones thought as he pushed on.
As he got within four yards of the door, a suited man burst out. His white, buttoned shirt hung over black trousers. His hair was disheveled, and a patchy beard that seemed a few days old covered his once clean shaved face. The combination of alcohol and metal was quite apparent as the stumbling, laughing gentleman fell towards the doctor.
“I won that bet. Now go get me another,” he said, then headed for the stairs, singing.
“Oh, joy we bring, when wandering, the souls are damned in time. Oh, joy we bring, when wandering, your life has become mine.”
Dr. Jones realized he was possessed by a Straver. His immediate concern though was getting inside the room ahead. The metallic smell of blood was extremely concerning. These demons must have been here for weeks already. After they’re done consuming minds, human bodies are next.
As he walked through the door, the sight was unnerving. The round tables were mostly occupied by elegantly dressed individuals, with a handful of staff scattered in-between. Most of them were looking towards the stage to the left of the room, where three limp bodies hung from the ceiling.
Drinks were flowing with broken glass and empty bottles littering the floors. Occasionally, people would appear from the kitchen, either dressed like high-class individuals, or servants. The smells of rotten meat wafted through the air, as half-eaten plates lay about.
Dr. Jones observed as one of the servants, a lady wearing a long, flowing dress, attempted to sneak a plate away.
“What are you doing, you whore?” shouted the man as he grabbed her arm.
“This is mine. Are you trying to steal from me?”
He got up and slapped the woman across the back of her head.
“I’m sorry, it’s the smell. I thought you may have requested another.”
The man looked down at the table in front of him. There was a pile of plates and glasses, with bits of food appearing to be days old already.
“Bring me the biggest, juiciest steak you have,” he said, as he let go of her arm.
As Dr. Jones started making his way toward the kitchen as a woman dressed in a maid outfit got onto the stage.
“Look,” she said, waving a knife around, “Let me show you where their lies begin.”
She stuck the knife into one of the dead, hanging men, just below his chest. Jerking and pulling down with the knife, the woman opened his abdomen, then pulled some of his intestines out.
“See,” she yelled, then smeared it all over her face, “This is where the lies start!”
Claps and cheers filled the air, with some people getting up from their seats in approval.
‘That’s one of the Keepers,’ Dr. Jones realized.
Keepers were the ones taking control, whilst Stravers simply consumed.
When Dr. Jones made it to the kitchen, a large, burly man, dressed as a chef, chopped what appeared to be a female’s leg. He could tell by the painted toes showing when he flipped the leg over, then proceeded to cut the calve from the bone.
He barked an order to his sous-chef, “Here, I want this cut into one-inch cubes, seared, and get ready to prepare our hearty beef and vegetable soup.”
“Yes, chef,” he said, grabbing the bloodied piece of meat before rushing off to his station.
‘There’s another Keeper,’ Dr. Jones thought as he looked at the chef.
A waiter almost crashed into him as he slid on the bloodied floor. Without looking up, he quickly apologized, then headed in towards the hall.
Most of the staff moving about had their heads tilted down. This was a common occurrence, as demons demanded that as a sign of submission. Dr. Jones knew these were the only people who weren’t possessed.
‘A handful of people in the crowd whose intentions were honest and true.’
“Anthony,” the sous-chef called out, “Get me a four-gallon pot.”
“Yes, sous-chef,” Anthony said as he stepped away from the basin.
“I’m sorry to mention this, sous-chef,” he said as he picked the pot up off the floor, “We’ve run out of soap.”
The sous-chef stopped, looked towards Anthony, then angrily waved his knife at him.
“Do you think me a fool? You think you can get out of here again? You bought soap five days ago. Now bring me that pot before I slit you like a chicken!”
