FICTION BY JG FAHERTY

Born and raised in New York's haunted Hudson Valley and more recently a resident of North Carolina’s equally haunted Cape Fear region, JG Faherty is the author of 20 books, 4 collections, and more than 85 short stories, and he’s been a finalist for both the Bram Stoker Award (twice) and ITW Thriller Award. He writes adult and YA horror, science fiction, dark fantasy, and paranormal romance, and his works range from quiet, dark suspense to over-the-top comic gruesomeness. He is proud to be a relative of Mary Shelley. His hobbies include bourbon, wine, bad sci-fi movies, and building guitars. You can follow him on X, Facebook, and Instagram as @jgfaherty.

DEVILS IN THE DARK
by JG Faherty

No matter how hard Eddie Kemper scrubbed, the stench of the beast refused to go away, clinging to his hands like the memories lingered in his head.

The creature spotlighted in his high beams. Brakes squealing as he slammed his foot on the pedal. The acrid smell of burning rubber. The sickening thump of metal striking flesh.

The face... Part monkey, part dog...the long snout filled with dangerous-looking teeth. Pointed ears, like a Doberman’s. Deadly claws as long as his fingers. And the eyes...

Even now, two hours later, the thought of those horrible orbs sent shivers through him. Black as night but somehow filled with intelligence and fury as the creature stared up at him, its legs twisted and broken, dark, foamy spit oozing from its mouth. Then the life had faded from them, leaving only a bloody corpse.

And the stink.

It was the worst thing he'd ever smelled, like being in a monkey house in the summer, only all the monkeys were dead and bloated. He'd had to stop and puke twice while lifting the body into his truck – no easy feat, considering it was as big as a damn German shepherd – and then drive with the windows open until he reached the motel.

Eddie rubbed the cheap soap over his flesh again, working up a heavy lather. Although he'd never graduated high school, he had enough smarts to recognize a potential windfall when it landed in his lap. And the dead thing in the back of his '69 El Camino might just be the answer to his dreams of getting filthy rich. He'd done plenty of hunting over the years, but he'd never seen nothin' like the thing he'd hit on Highway 77.

Which meant it could be valuable to the right people.

Which was why as soon as he picked up the two pounds of weed from his cousin Max in Bucksboro, he was heading straight to that big college in Charleston instead of back to North Carolina. There had to be some scientist folks who'd pay major cash for whatever the hell it was he'd found.

Eddie thrust his hands under the hot water.

Now if only he could get rid of the smell...

*****

Max Wayne stared at the monster in the truck and gave a long whistle.

"Dude, when you said you had a problem, I didn't expect nuthin' like this."
You don't know the half of it, Eddie felt like telling his cousin. There'd been nothing but problems since he'd hit the damn thing. He'd arrived at Max's house only to find out from Mary-Ellen, Max's dim-witted nag of a wife, that Max was working a double at the Fayette County Fair, repairing generators and wiring the sound stage, and he had the weed with him. He'd driven to the carnival, where he'd had to wait two hours before Max took lunch, the whole time imagining the monkey-dog thing swelling up inside its tarp like a dead deer on the highway, getting ready to split open and spill its guts all over.

Then, on top of everything, Max had told him he didn't want to transfer the weed until it got dark, so they'd have to wait until he got off at midnight. Eddie knew the body wouldn't last that long, not with the temperature already creeping towards ninety. Which meant letting Max in on the secret. When he'd lifted the tarp up, the explosion of stink had made them both gag. After tying a handkerchief over his face, Max leaned in for a closer look.

"Damn, cuz...you know what you got there?"

"Nope. It jumped in front of me on the highway last night. Like a freakin' kangaroo. I never had a chance to stop."

"That there's a devil monkey, dude. Didn't think they was real." Max waved his hand and a cloud of flies rose up. "Sure does stink, don't it?"

"Devil monkey? You pullin' my leg?"

"That's what the old-timers call 'em. Every few years someone'll say they seen one. The paper runs a story about boogems and monsters in the woods and everyone has a good laugh. Now you gone and bagged one!"

"Well, I ain't heard of no devil monkey, but I know this thing ain't natural. I'm takin' it up to Charleston to see if one of the colleges will buy it."

"How much you think it's worth?"

Eddie heard the greed in his cousin's voice. There was no getting around splitting the profits, not if he wanted help.

Of course, Max didn't have to know what those profits were...

"A couple of hundred, I figure." Eddie figured it was worth at least three times that. "I gotta keep it fresh, though. I need ice. You help me, I'll give you half."

Max turned to him and smiled.

"Ice? I can do a whole lot better than that."

*****

Eddie sipped his lemonade, relishing the way the sweet-and-sour liquid carved a cold, wet gully through the desert in his throat.

For once, Max had come through for him. The dead monkey-thing was wrapped up nice and tight in its tarp in the snack bar's walk-in freezer, hidden behind racks of frozen burgers, fries, and hot dogs. With the worry of decomposition gone, Eddie was able to relax and enjoy the day, mostly by eating junk and listening to the latest hits by Foreigner and Skynyrd and Queen and Aerosmith blasting out of the fairground speakers. Hearing "Dream On" played at near ear-splitting levels had helped him make another decision.

He was going to take some of the money he made from selling his devil monkey and buy a cassette deck and some kick-ass speakers for the El Camino.
No more eight-tracks for Eddie Kemper.

After downing the last of the lemonade, Eddie checked his watch. Almost five. The demolition derby didn't start 'til eight. After it was over, he and Max would load up the body and he could hit the road. He'd get the weed on the way back home.

As he walked across the fair grounds to the racetrack, he was already thinking about how to spend the rest of his money.

*****

Behind the wooden platform that served as the concert stage, Max Wayne's walkie-talkie crackled to life.

"Max? We got another gennie that just blew. Where are you?"

Max let out a long, slow exhale, savoring the way the pot smoke burned his throat and tongue. Then he thumbed the talk button on the radio.

"Still at the stage. Ain't nearly done yet."

He'd actually finished checking the amps and lights a half hour ago, but what was the point of busting your butt on a wicked hot night? Let someone else worry about the damn generator. He was finishing his break.

He closed his eyes again and returned to his hazy daydreams of how much money he'd have after Eddie sold that freaky monkey.

It never occurred to him to ask which generator had blown.

*****

"Do you smell that?" Evan June sniffed the air, his face wrinkling from the foul odor attacking his nostrils.

"Something's dead," Grady Bach said.

"Yeah." Evan aimed his flashlight at the deep freeze, where one of the fry cooks was just coming out with a box of hamburgers. "I think it's coming from inside the freezer."

Grady shrugged. "Better take a look."

Evan nodded. Looking for a dead animal in a dark room on the hottest night of the summer wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to do. But it appeared they didn't have a choice, not unless they wanted to spend the next hour working in a room that stunk worse than road kill.

Stepping carefully because melting ice had made the metal floor slick as a December sidewalk, Evan worked his way through the freezer, flashlight moving back and forth, sniffing the air as he went.

"It's coming from back here," he said, stepping around a rack full of boxes. A sudden fear rose up in him, the product of too many scary movies where someone stumbled across a dead body.

"Holy Jesus," he whispered. Behind him, Grady echoed his words and added several others.

It was a body on the floor all right, but not human. Evan could tell that just from the two hairy feet sticking out of the rolled-up tarp.

"It smells like it's been dead for a month." Grady waved his hand in front of his face. "I hope that ain't what they're cooking."

"We gotta see what it is." Evan knelt down, using his free hand to tug open the tarp. After a moment, Grady joined him and they unwrapped the body.

"What in the hell...?" Evan's voice trailed off as he stared at the thing. His first thought was someone'd killed a monkey. But a closer look revealed it was no monkey they'd found. Not with those wicked claws and dog-like snout.

Evan reached out towards it.

"What are you doing?" Grady grabbed his wrist.

"I just wanna see if it's real. Maybe someone put it here as a joke." Evan poked it with a finger.

And screamed when its eyes opened.

The creature attacked so quickly Evan had no time to react. He fell backwards, his second cry nothing but a wet choking sound as blood spurted from a jagged slit in his neck and painted the walls and floor.

Grady tried to crawl away but white-hot agony filled his left calf. He rolled over and saw chunks of his leg stuck to the creature's dagger-like claws.

Movement near the door caught his attention and he waved the flashlight at it.

"Help me," he called to the figure, which was only a shadow against the dark night sky. "Please!"

The figure moved closer, stepping into the dim glow of the light. Grady gasped.

It was a twin to the creature on the tarp.

And it wasn't alone.

*****

"Hey, I wonder what all the commotion's about?"

Max motioned with his beer towards a spot in the center of the fairgrounds, where the telltale flashing lights of police cars outshone the neon of the rides and booths.

Eddie turned around. From their seats at the top of the bleachers, they had a perfect view of the fair and the racetrack. He grimaced as he wiped grit from his eyes and caught a whiff of devil monkey. Even though he'd washed a dozen times after he and Max hid the body, the smell refused to go away.

"What's over there?" he asked.

"Yes!" Max pumped his fist as two cars collided in the center of the track. "I dunno. The arcade? Or maybe the snack bar."

A chill ran through Eddie. "The snack bar? You mean, where we hid...you know?"

"Relax, dude." Max chugged some beer. "No one's gonna find our payday. It's hidden behind, like, a thousand burgers."

"So why are the cops there?" Eddie couldn't keep his eyes off the swirling lights. The rumble of super-charged engines and the thundering crash of metal on metal faded into the background as he tried to see why people were running in all directions.

Then he saw them. Shadows leaping and darting among the crowds. Coming closer. Disappearing under the bleachers.

Someone screamed.

Another voice joined the first. Then others.

A second later, all hell broke loose.

"Watch out!" Max shouted, as someone ran into him, knocking the beer from his hand in the process. The pounding of hundreds of feet on the metal bleachers drowned out the growls of sawed-off exhausts. All around them was total chaos, people running in all directions. Some fell and got trampled by the fleeing crowd. Others tumbled down rows of stairs, the sound of their breaking bones lost in the riotous din.

His eyes dull and wide from pot and confusion, Max turned his head back and forth, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Eddie didn't bother. He knew.

They were coming for him.

The relatives of the thing he'd killed. Somehow, its pack had found him, followed him all the way to Bucksboro.

He spotted them as they leapt onto the bleachers like pint-sized kangaroos, a dozen of them at least. Others hopped the barrier fence right into the racetrack. Cars swerved and slid on the hard-packed dirt, smashing each other worse than during the derby itself. That was when Max finally noticed them.

"Holy...Eddie, did you see that? It's..."

Max's voice faded away as he saw the ones climbing the bleachers. The combined reek of the animals hit Eddie like a punch in the stomach and he vomited up his hot dogs and beer. Next to him, Max gagged and put his arm over his face.

From ten feet away, one of them stared straight at Eddie, its black eyes blazing with hatred. It took another step, and the pack behind it followed in unison.

"Screw this!" Max darted to the right, heading for the closest stairs. He made it only three steps before one of the devil monkeys bounded into the air and landed on his back. Max let out a strangled cry that came to an abrupt end when the creature tore his throat out.

Eddie took a step back and the pack moved another step forward. When Eddie tried to step away again, the back of his legs hit the low protective railing that marked the top of the bleachers.

The troop advanced another step.

"I didn't mean it!" Eddie shouted at them. "It was an accident. I'm sorry!"

The lead monkey leaned closer, its lips drawn back to expose over-large teeth. It raised its hands, displaying certain death. The others did the same.

Another step. It was close enough now to touch Eddie without extending its arm all the way. Eddie closed his eyes, not caring that he was crying, not caring that he'd wet his pants, his only thought that he didn't want to die like this.

The barnyard reek filled his nose and coated his tongue. Rough flesh, like the pads of a dog's foot, pressed against his arms and chest. He pictured them all around him, claws ready to tear him to pieces.

His body was in the air before he realized they'd pushed him over the railing. His body tumbled over and then a terrible agony exploded in his legs, accompanied by a crack like a tree splitting in a storm. He tried to scream but the pain stole the air from his lungs and all he could do was dig his fingers into the dirt and moan.

How long he lay there, he had no idea. A minute? Five? Time didn't exist; nothing existed, only the pain that grew worse each time he moved. It was the stink of the beasts that made him open his eyes. Their leader stood before him again. Only this time it held something in its arms.

The one he'd hit. Alive.

Even through the red haze of his agony, he recognized it. It glared with the same hatred as the others, its legs hanging broken and useless.

The pack turned as one and bounded away. In seconds, he was alone.

Eddie glanced at himself and saw white bone sticking out of pale flesh.

We're the same, he thought. For now. But not for long.

Because no animal could survive those kinds of injuries without medical care. Sooner or later, it would die. And when it did, they'd be back.

It was just a matter of time.