The Year's Best Horror Stories XXII

PRICE OF THE FLAMES by Deidra Cox

John saw him just ahead, leaning against the mile marker and making no attempt to seek shelter from the rain. He slowed the Cadillac and considered the possibilities. Gnarled hands trembled briefly before steering to the shoulder. He pushed the passenger door open and watched the rain trail down the vinyl.

“Need a ride?” John asked.

A pair of cold blue eyes peered at him and John shivered. If the need hadn’t been so strong, he would’ve left. Hit the gas and took off for greener pastures. But the need was a ravenous fire inside him, licking at his groin, so John stayed and tried not to weep.

After a slow shrug, the youth slithered into the car, making no apologies for the wet stains he made on the seat. They drove in silence, the boy giving no words of thanks. John stole a glance and began to sketch the unknown life.

Black hair was plastered to the boy’s skull like matted weeds in a dead field. Average height. Impossibly thin. The outline of hungry ribs protruded from the ragged Tee shirt. The young face was all angles and bones. A ripe odor flooded the car and John cracked his window.

“Been on the road long?”

“Fuck off.”

John threw him a hard look, but said nothing. Anger poured from the youth in a chilling wave, filling the confined area with the scent. John gritted his teeth as his eyes wandered back to the boy. So young. So fresh and young.

“I just wondered where you’re from,” John said and licked his lips. “Where you’re going?”

A muscle tensed in the youth’s cheek, the violence lying close to the surface. A ripple of bittersweet pleasure moved in John. Good, he thought. That’ll make it easier.

“My house isn’t far from here if you’d like to change out of those wet clothes,” John said. “You could catch a nasty cold if you stay in them much longer.”

“Yeah? Then what?” The boy suddenly came to life, snapping forward and gripping the dash. “So, whattya get outta this?”

The air crackled with electricity and the only sound was the windshield wipers slapping against the glass. John exhaled slowly, anticipation swelling in his chest.

“Whatever you want to give.”

The boy snorted and fell back into the seat. “Goddamn faggots.”

An uneasy calm settled over the two. John watched the boy carefully, waiting for the attack and strangely disappointed when none came. The sour odor grew stronger and John pressed a little harder on the accelerator while keeping a wary eye on the speedometer. Didn’t want to attract the cops. Not at this stage of the game.

He hit the exit ramp with a strange sense of relief mixed with sad wonder. He turned to the boy. “Just a few minutes now. Then we’ll be home.”

The boy sneered. “Is Auntie Em and Dorothy gonna be there, too, Pops?”

John paused, then continued, ignoring the thick sarcasm. “What’s your name? I hate to keep calling you boy. That’s not right.”

An empty silence answered him.

“I’ll tell you mine and you can tell me yours. I’m John Munroe.”

The boy smiled. “Go to hell, John.”

The words echoed in his head at a dizzying rate until he bit his tongue to stop the nervous chatter bubbling within.

Go to hell. Go to hell, John.

I’ve already been there, he thought. Many, many times.

A faint comfort eased over him when John saw the familiar markings of home. On either side of the road, vacant houses dotted the horizon in a thin, continuous line. Broken glass sparkled in the rain, sending jagged rainbows in the heavy liquid. Dead trees and brown grass adorned the landscape.

When had it happened? When did the people leave? Was it a gradual exodus or a massive evacuation?

He couldn’t remember. No matter how hard he tried, John couldn’t pull the memory from his brain. This was bad. Very bad, indeed.

He turned onto a deserted lane. The scenery was a repeat of the streets they’d drove by before. Nothing moved. Not even a stray dog. The absence of any living creatures gave the town an unnerving quality. A fact that wasn’t lost upon John’s guest.

“What the hell is this place?”

John smiled and parked in front of a darkened house, identical to all the others. The windows stared blankly at them like a blind man’s eyes in the relentless rain.

“Welcome to Perdition,” John said. “Surely you’ve heard of us. A few years ago we were almost famous as the town that was eating itself alive. Newspapers, television, radio. They all came to us, wanting a story.”

He removed the keys from the ignition and stepped out from the car. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy did the same. Sulfur, acid and burning, billowed in the wetness, assaulting the senses and leaving the boy slightly nauseous. An intricate web of glowing cracks worked across the ground beneath their feet. Rain sizzled and turned to steam, the heat rising like a cloud and choking them both with the bitter odor.

“Let’s go inside,” John said and motioned to the house. “You can change into some dry clothes.”

They walked slowly, each eyeing the other for any sudden move. The porch sagged underneath their combined weight. “Don’t worry, son,” John said. “It’s okay.”

The door was unlocked as most were in Perdition. The need for safety long past. The living room floor was dusty, red mud caked across the threadbare rug.

Holding the door open, John watched the boy enter. He stiffened and waited for the oncoming attack. A knife was shoved against his neck, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

“Gimme the keys and your money, faggot,” the boy hissed into his ear.

And so it begins, John thought and slammed his fist into the unprotected groin. The knife fell to the floor as the boy collapsed, clutching his injured privates. A vicious chop to the back of the head spelled the end of any threat from him.

John looked down at the unconscious form lying in the dust. The excitement he’d felt earlier was gone, replaced by the weight of time and responsibility. He stared out a grimy window at the eternal rain, then proceeded to undress the boy.

Heat soaked into his skin as the boy slowly slipped to awareness. His eyes watered and he blinked to clear the stinging tears. The ground was hot under his buttocks and his hand scraped against a rock as he twisted around.

A red glow filled the room. No, he thought. I’m no longer in the house. He rolled to his side and nearly fell over the edge of a large break-off. His stomach lurched as he saw the river of molten lava flowing below. Flames licked along the surface, casting crimson shadows across the walls.

Crawling away, he scrambled to his knees and tried to stand. Flashes of light pierced his skull, causing him to stagger forward. A pair of strong hands helped him regain his balance, then lingered about his waist.

The boy jerked to one side, freeing himself from the clinging hands. John stood by him, the warm eyes locking with his. The old man was naked also, his withered sex hanging limply between his legs. A black strap encircled his right thigh and sheathed a large knife.

“They said we brought it upon ourselves,” John said. “Digging the coal from the ground. Setting the explosives. Leaving the earth a hollow shell.

“But they were wrong. The flames were always with us. Since the beginning of lime. Waiting for the proper sacrifice.”

“You’re ape shit, old man,” the boy whispered. The knife called to him, promising freedom.

John smiled. “You’re probably right. But what does sanity matter? What value does it hold? The flesh, the spirit. Only they have merit. The years come and go, but the soul lives on. Eternal. If you’re willing to pay the price.”

He paused and stretched out a hand to caress the boy’s cheek. “What is your name? I’ve told you mine.”

The boy swallowed hard and maintained a steady gaze. “Frog. My friends call me Frog.”

He smiled at the old man and then, in one quick movement, lunged at the knife. Arching his wrist upward, the metal sank into the soft belly, making a sucking sound as the blade tore in the shrunken cavity.

Frog looked up at John, expecting to see the final throes of death written on his face. Instead, Frog received a startling revelation.

A joyous expression enveloped John’s features, hinting of a rapture beyond human comprehension. Frog watched as a hand slid down to the knife and toyed with the hilt. A flicker of fear uncoiled in his chest as John removed the hilt to reveal another razor sharp blade.

Before the boy could react, John shoved him close and impaled him on the double edged knife. “Die with me,” he whispered and kissed the boy softly. “Die and be born again.”

Betraying his abnormal strength, John embraced the boy and together, they leaped into the river of flames. Frog’s screams shattered the silence, echoing through the empty cavern until a subtle change evolved.

Two bodies submerged in the molten lava, yet only one surfaced. Flesh melted, mingled with the flames and then reformed to a different shape.

The man pulled himself from the river and rested upon the bank. A thin coating of ash covered the taut, firm skin. Although the experience was nothing new, he couldn’t help but admire the beautiful interplay of muscle and tissue flexing beneath the babyish skin.

How many times had he endured the purging? Ensnared a soul and claimed it as his own before the flames cleansed him?

John lifted his eyes to the river and watched. How long? 150? 200 years since he and his brother had fallen into the earth and discovered the secrets of the river of flames?

The knowledge was a curse. One he abhorred, yet desired above all else. Still, he wondered. Why had he been spared? Why hadn’t his brother been the chosen one? He beat his fists against his head, impotent rage clouding his mind. His emotions warred with themselves until John dropped his hands to his lap, drained and weary.

His eyes glittered. Lost, all lost. How many lives had been destroyed in his quest to cheat death? How many innocents had he led to the slaughter?

At his feet, the river flowed onward, bubbles rolling to the surface and leaking the strong sulfur odor. He longed for the courage to step into the river alone, without the required sacrifice. Would an end to his miserable existence be granted? Or would a new torment await him?

Gathering his strength, John stood and stared into the boiling depths. The flames danced higher, taunting him with their power. He leaned forward, his heart in his mouth, muscles tense and ready. His head ached from the fire burning inside.

A tortured cry ripped from his lungs and he sank to his knees. It was no use. He couldn’t. The fine particles of ask slowly fell from his body and floated to the ground. To John, it was as if his life faded with them. Loss swept through his soul. Loss and shame. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he wept for the boy.

And himself.