Blackdamp: The Novel. A Nerve Shredding Suspense Novel

Chapter 1

Present Day

The suffocating humidity hung in the air, thick and viscous. Barely a breeze could be felt, with the dried browning branches of the tress hardly moving an inch.

In the suffocating atmosphere, the call and response of unseen insects rose and faded away, only to be replaced by a cacophony of others. The sound was a continuous pattern that never seemed to end.

The only unnatural sound came in the form of the grinding of tyres on gravel. The vehicle kicked up dust and small stones that struck the car, creating the impression of rain coming from the ground. The old Cadillac struggled to carry its bulk up the incline. Behind it, lost behind the dry foliage lay the dried-up brook, and the town of Silver Creek. The area was just a pattering of buildings and homes spaced out over what couldn’t have been any more than several miles at best.

The car lumbered forward, and the complaining whine of brakes filled the air, as the bulky cruiser came to a grinding halt. The vehicle was supposed to be a deep dark green, with yellow stripes running down the sides. But the abundance of red dust local to the area gave the car its rust-like complexion. Despite this, the vehicle was well kept, although on the aging side, and the words on the side were still legible. Silver Creek Sheriffs Dept.

Detective Sergeant Allana Vasquez killed the ignition and stepped out into the smouldering heat.

Despite her Mexican heritage, she could still feel the midday sun beaming down and burning her skin.

The screech of metal hinges rang out as she closed the door, and walked into the settling dust cloud.

As the red cloud settled, Vasquez found three people just ahead of her, nestled within a thicket of trees. Two were junior deputies called Rand and Washington. The third was kneeling on the ground, who she knew to be the ME, a man called Dysart.

As her eyes scanned the area, she spotted the police cruiser that Rand and Washington had used. In the back, she saw an older-looking man. Who had white stringy hair, and a thin face. He was pale and appeared to be fighting the urge to vomit.

He better throw up out the window, she thought.

She continued towards the group of men.

‘What’s old man Kavanagh found for us?’ Vasquez said, approaching one of the deputies.

Everyone in town knew old man Kavanagh was a drunk with a penchant for bugging the cops with nonsense calls. But an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach was telling her there was something more to the situation other than the ramblings of a drunk. Due in part to the colour of young officer’s face.

‘Sarge, we've got a body,’ the deputy said.

Vasquez raised an eyebrow. She knew this wasn’t the first time the deputy had seen a corpse. Silver Creek was a small town, but it still had people dying. Either from natural causes or the odd accident.

Vasquez’s time as a corporal in the Marines had subjected her to violent death more than once, so the sight of a dead body wasn’t going to disturb her.

‘What’s with the face, deputy? This isn’t your first time seeing a body. There was that incident a few months ago, when the Smith guy misjudged the bend in the road up at Moonshine Bluff. Sent his car right over the edge. A piece of wire took his head clean off.’

The young deputy swallowed uneasily. Vasquez had read the report. She knew he’d been one of the first responders. If that didn’t traumatise him, he was tasked with trying to find the victim’s head.

They walked over the dry gravel and the deputy spoke. ‘Sarge, there’s something wrong with this one.’

Vasquez signed, taking in a lungful of the hot air. Her initial thought was that a drunk had pissed someone off and ended up taking a shotgun blast to the face.

           ‘Is it looking like foul play?’ she said.

           The deputy’s face seemed to go paler than it already was.

           ‘We err…don’t know, Sarge.’

She looked up at the deputy, confused. Surely, he was capable of determining whether this was a homicide. He was a sheriff’s deputy, for Christ’s sake.

‘Surely there’s something you can tell me?’ Vasquez said.

The deputy stopped, pointing to the ground. ‘Check it out, Sarge.’

Vasquez followed the man’s pointing finger. In that instant she understood why the young officer was unsure whether this was a homicide or not.

Dr Dysart, the main physician the department used to determine deaths, was crouched over the body. From where she was standing, Vasquez could tell he was mystified.

Vasquez took another step but abruptly stopped.

‘Holy shit,’ she said, recoiling.

It was a strong pungent scent, reminding Vasquez of spoiled spiced meat.

The deputy continued. ‘Yeah, we thought it was the body, but Doc says there’s no sign of any postmortem…’ he hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘er, leaking.’

The other deputy, the one called Washington, spoke.

‘In other words, the guy didn’t shit himself before he croaked it.’

Dysart stood up with mild difficulty, groaning as he did. Bushy grey hair hung over his face, which he flicked with a small movement of the neck. Graceful and practiced.

‘What’s the verdict, Doc?’ She asked.

‘I’ll need to do a further examination, but I’m not sure that I’ll be able to tell you what the cause of death is or who this was.’

Vasquez looked down at the body. The man, if this could even be classed as a man anymore, lay on the ground, balled up in a foetal-like pose. The skin looked to have a waxy-like texture to it. Wrinkled, like it had been left in the water for too long. Only far more exaggerated. The body looked pale, to the point of being completely white. As if all the blood had been drained from the man. Worst of all was the face. It looked contorted in a disturbing and unnatural scream. Frozen in place from the moment of death.

Vasquez felt a cold shiver run through her. But the foul scent found it’s way up her nose again, and she felt her stomach lurch. The lingering scent seemed out of place, but Dysart had said the victim hadn’t lost control of their bowels in the moment of expiration, so whatever she was smelling wasn’t coming from body.

‘Any idea where the stench is coming from?’ she said, trying hard not to breathe in the acrid smell.

Dysart, who seemed to be unnerved by the odour, shrugged at the comment. ‘We’re not too far from part of the old mine. It’s possible it could be a sulphur deposit.’

Vasquez knew what he meant. Although she’d only been with the department for only a few years now, she knew Dysart was referring to the mining operation that was shut down in 82 after a mysterious accident.

She breathed in to sigh, but regretted doing so, as the odour brought on another wave of nausea. She turned her head to turn away to stop the rising sensation making its way to her throat.

She raised her hand to her mouth, desperate to stop breathing in the sickening odour.

‘How long until the CSIs are here?’

‘State Police said they’ll be here in an hour,’ Washington replied.

She already knew the answer before he spoke. Whenever there was a death in town, the State Police forensic team were the ones to come and work a scene. The local police force didn’t have a forensics team. Hell, even the ME, was the town doctor.

‘Once they document the scene, and do initial forensics on the area, get the body out of here.’ She turned to Dysart. ‘I want to know how he died, and who the hell he is.’

‘Yes, sergeant,’ replied Dysart.

Turning on her heel, she headed back to her cruiser. She wasn’t in the mood to stick around any longer than was necessary. The smell was becoming overwhelming.

‘Sarge,’ Rand yelled.

She turned to face the deputy, hoping that whatever he had to say was going to be short.

‘What is it?’

‘Sarge, this guy’s been dead for months. He’s probably a homeless bum who came into the woods to die. These parts of the woods aren’t well travelled. We should chalk this up as a natural death.’

Vasquez raised an eyebrow at the comment.

'Deputy, with the sheriff out of town, it’s down to me to make sure shit doesn’t go south. It’s my call, and I’m telling you to get the area secured, and get the body sent away for autopsy.’

She walked down the side of the car jerking open the driver-side door. She turned to continue speaking to the deputy. ‘If this guy has been dead for months, why is there next to no animal activity?’

The deputy appeared lost for words. He seemed to be fumbling his bottom lip struggling to find his voice, but Vasquez spoke before he had a chance.

‘Get it done, deputy. I’d hate for someone to write of this case for it to turn into a clusterfuck.’

Rand seemed to sink back into himself, nodding vigorously. ‘You got it, sarge.’

He turned on his heel and headed back towards the scene. Vasquez got in the car, sinking back into the seat as she closed the door. Even though the temperature was in the high 80s this time of year, she didn’t want to open the window out of concern the fetid smell would follow her inside. What the hell was that? she thought. If it was sulphur escaping from some long-forgotten passage of the mine, what was causing it to be released now? Vasquez twisted the key in the ignition, prompting the old vehicle to belch a diesel-filled splutter before roaring its ancient engine into life. She began pulling at the wheel, manoeuvring the car away from the scene, the crunching of gravel reverberating through the chassis.

She continued at a slow pace over the rough terrain until the dry trees cleared and a lone stretch of black asphalt cut through the growth. Off the gravel and back onto the smooth tarmac, she gunned the bulky cruiser back towards town.

The car growled a stubborn angry burst of revs but was slow in building up speed.

‘Need a new goddamn car,’ she grumbled.

As the hulky vehicle began to gain speed, she reached for the radio on the dash.

The bizarre state the body hung heavily on her mind, but she shrugged off the odd sensation and radioed in.

‘Dispatch the is car fifteen, over.’

There was nothing but the metallic creak from the car on the road, before the dispatcher came through on the radio.

‘Roger, car fifteen, this is dispatch, over.’

         ‘We’ve got something up here at Red Bluff. Are there any reports of recent missing persons in the area, or strange goings-on, over?’

‘Stand by, fifteen.’

The chassis of the car continued to creak as the vehicle struggled along the road. The sun was beaming down on the car, like a super-heated laser being fired from high above. Vasquez wished the air con in the vehicle was in working order, but this was one of several functions that were inoperable. She considered cracking the window, but there was the possibility the foul odour would still be in the air, and she decided against it.

The trees cleared with the road running through an open area. She looked to her left, at the rough, green and brown covered rocky face that was the side of the valley. A gradual and steady rise, leading up to the highest point of the county that overlooked the town. Like she’d done hundreds of times before, she turned to her right and saw the town. About two hundred feet below the edge of the road.  

The stifling air inside was becoming too much, and she decided the smell would be tolerable than the heat. She rolled down the window. It squeaked as it lowered. As the window opened, a blast of moderately cool air flooded the car, and Vasquez was relieved to find the stench was gone. Whatever it was, it didn’t reach this far.

As she pondered this thought, the dispatcher came back. ‘Fifteen, this is dispatch, over.’

‘Fifteen here, dispatch. What have you got for me, over?’

'We’ve got nothing on any missing persons. Old man Frederick is complaining about some of his livestock going missing. Saying shit like aliens or the government are abducting them.’

‘Sounds like he’s been hitting the sauce pretty hard this time.’

‘Probably. But that’s all we’ve got so far, other than some talk about a guy who’s just come into town. Shall I tell him you’re going to swing by?’

‘No, I’ll get one of the deputies to head over later and get his statement. It’s more than likely he’s miscounted his cows, or they’ve got out and he’s too lazy to go look for them.’

‘Roger that, fifteen. We’ve also had Old Lady Jukes in the station again. Apparently, she thinks someone’s been in her house and taken some things, over.’

The mention of the name caused Vasquez’s head to ache at the mention of her name. If there was something or someone to complain about, Old Lady Jukes was the one doing it. In the last couple of weeks, she’d become more vocal and seemed to be down at the station more often than was usual.

‘I’ll swing by to see her later on, over.’

‘Copy that, fifteen. Other than that, we’ve got nothing. Over and out.’

Vasquez put the receiver back down. As she watched the black asphalt along her route, she began to wonder about what the despatcher had said. Specifically, about the visitor in town. Why would some come to this random slice of ruralness in the middle of nowhere unless it was for a very specific reason? It wasn’t unheard of for drifters to come in, commit murder, and hit the road again. But the state the body didn’t seem to follow the usual MO of a serial killer. Something about this stank. Other than the repugnant odour, that she felt was stuck in her throat. Maybe there was some truth behind the ramblings of old man Frederick was rambling on about. But she then put this away. Her manner of thinking was more fitting of a Twilight Zone episode than real life.

The road dipped down, and the car creaked on worn suspicion, its centre of gravity shifting. As the asphalt turned, she saw buildings up ahead now. With the morning sun hitting several windows, creating a shimmering mirage effect. This was her territory. The place where she kept the law in check. This was the town of Silver Creek.