One Night When the Moon Was Blac

If you're not a fan of the X-Files or the Twilight Zone, I'd skip this. For those of you who are, this is 'submitted for your approval'.

I posted this in LW since the howling, whining, and yipping make for a perfect soundtrack.

Thanks to all who leave meaningful feedback, and a special thanks to those who email suggestions.

Halloween Contest 2018

Themes: scary stuff, costumes, Halloween traditions (trick-or-treating, etc.), etc.

Harry Chapin: "Listen to the seasons passing. Listen to the wind blow. Listen to the children laughing. Where do broken dreams go?"

+ + + +

They were trying to hide the body in plain sight. Only those that paid close attention would detect the conundrum. The 1913 headstone was for a stillborn baby. There would be obvious signs of the ground having been disturbed. They worked hard for the better part of five hours. With only the faint light from the mercury vapor light on the maintenance shed, progress was made slowly. It was shortly after midnight when they put the finishing touches on their clandestine burial.

They were visibly shaken by the events of the evening. What transpired would haunt them for years.

The pub was still open so they celebrated their success. After last call they left the pub and headed home to their families. The world was a much safer place thanks to their efforts.

+ + + +

The winds blow, some days a little, and some days a lot. One of those days the wind carried the seed of a tree. That seed wedged itself into the disturbed ground by a headstone in a cemetery.

A few days later the tiniest of roots, much finer than the hair above your grandmother's lip, snaked its way out of the seed. As the years went by the little tree matured. Those tiny roots explored deeper and deeper into the ground. One eventually found the corner of a wooden box. As it split and spread, a root found its way into the box. As the tree grew it became exceedingly heavy. The roots also grew and those that had penetrated the wooden box caused the box to splinter. More years went by and, as the box decayed, and the weight of the tree bore down, one of the splinters punctured the body bag. An immediate and immense temperature drop killed the tree instantly. The temperature returned as quickly as it had vanished.

Undisturbed for twenty years, the tree shed its leaves within days. Trees die every day. No one would appreciate that this tree was as healthy as any in the cemetery a week ago.

+ + + +

My name is James Robert Adams Jr. Everyone calls me J R. I'm a second generation detective for the Wheatville police department. My father was also a detective for that same police department and retired ten years ago. He now lives in an assisted living center as he has dementia. I visit him a few times a week and I share details of unsolved crimes with him. He doesn't always know what to do with the television remote. On a good day he can recount the most insignificant details of a long unsolved crime. Such is this mental disease that afflicts him.

My wife of eighteen years is Loretta. We have two kids in high school. My mother never did like Loretta. She said it was something in her eyes. Mom died several years ago from lung cancer. Loretta made it clear that she wouldn't lift a finger to help with my father or his house. In a sense, I can't blame her. She was never welcome in their home.

I'd like to say my marriage is strong and that the love is growing every day. It isn't, and I can't really tell you why. I know my rotating schedule plays havoc with family time, but it's my job. She doesn't need to do all of the volunteer work she does, but it seems to make her happy. Loretta has a full time office job and was recently promoted.

It's a lot of little things that have me aggravated. A few months ago I bought Loretta an expensive pair of earrings adorned with diamond encrusted dangling angels. She wore them that night and one other time. Even then it was only after I asked her to wear them. Last week I asked her to wear them again but, after searching for a bit, she said she had misplaced them.

There are unexplained gaps in her schedule which have resulted with the kids grabbing rides from friends. The guys I work with have alerted me to the possibility that she's having an affair. I am easily in the denial camp. It seems impossible to me.

I've examined the timelines of what she says she's doing and the conflicting signals afterwards. Sometimes it makes me wonder. If there's been a change in her sexual appetite or performance I haven't noticed it. Something isn't right but I seem to be hesitant to delve further.

I don't travel for my job and neither does she. We're both very involved with our kid's sports programs. There's a lot of fundraising to pay for those competitive teams. We hope the payoff comes when it's time to ante up for their college education.

+ + + +

Wednesday night, after the tree's sudden demise, Rhonda and Mark met at the pub across from the cemetery. She was sneaking around on her husband. Mark was a co-worker and a pussy hound. He had heard she was a disgruntled wife. It only took a few days of hustling to bring their first coupling. They had been doing this for the last three months. After a few beers they scurried to their rented room.

Rhonda shed her top and bra then dropped to her knees. Mark fumbled with his belt as Rhonda unzipped him. His clothes slid down his legs. The slurping sounds and grunting increased until Mark filled Rhonda's mouth.

"Damn woman, you give great head. Get naked."

Mark played with Rhonda's pussy. He really didn't like to do oral on his victims. It would cut down the whining if she had an orgasm, but as soon as he was hard again he planned on driving his cock into her sweet snatch. One hand on his cock, one in her pussy, pumping away at both. He climbed in between those shapely legs and drove his cock into her hot and dripping pussy.

"Oh my, oh my, OH MY, OOOOOOOOOOOO" and she shook violently. Mark loved the feeling of her bucking around. He came for the second time in twenty minutes. She continued to shake and was starting to gasp for air.

Mark, getting very concerned, rolled off. She was staring at the ceiling and still shaking. The only noise she was making were the soft squeaks while gasping for air. With her eyes and mouth open, her time with the living came to an end. Mark was panic stricken.

"RHONDA! RHONDA! Talk to me. Are you okay? Oh SHIT!"

He put his ear on her chest and heard nothing. He searched for a pulse but there wasn't one to be found. He called 911 and dressed while he waited.

+ + + +

Shortly after 8 pm I was alerted to a suspicious death at the motel by the cemetery. I was on my two week stint covering the swing shift. Although the scene looked pretty normal, for a heart attack victim, the paramedic crew thought different. They felt that heart attack symptoms weren't there. It was as if, they explained, she had been scared to death.

Interviewing Mark proved to be a waste of time. They were fucking and she shook uncontrollably until she froze in that position. It was a little chilly in the motel room but I attributed it to the air conditioner running. As I was getting ready to leave it seemed like the room temp jumped and was now about identical with the outside temp. I thought it was odd but let it go. It was a slow night so the wait for the coroner was short. The forensics crew finished their work and the hotel room was released to the proprietor about the time my shift ended.

Plenty of people die in motels. This one was a little odd but not enough for me to lose sleep over. It was a patrol officer who had the unpleasant job of telling the husband of his wife's demise and the circumstances surrounding it.

The next day I spoke with the coroner and he agreed with the paramedics. Rhonda did not die from a heart attack. She suffocated but there were no marks on her neck or body. It was almost as if she had an allergic reaction to something. I contacted Mark and reviewed his time with her. According to him they didn't even snack on the peanuts while they enjoyed their beers.

My focus was diverted to a drive by shooting and Rhonda quickly faded from my memory. That would change the following Wednesday.

+ + + +

Cindy and Jason sat in the same booth that Mark and Rhonda occupied seven days earlier. Cindy was Jason's secretary. Instead of being at a client's site, three hours away, they were here to continue their affair. Jason's wife thought he would be home by 10 pm. Cindy was young, dumb, and about to be full of cum. In her heart she just knew Jason would leave his wife for her. Jason, on his fifth secretary in less than four years, had no such intentions. Each of them were fuck toys until they wised up. His threats to kill them if they told his wife had always worked.

After a beer and a bowl of peanuts, they giggled their way to the motel. It wasn't the same room as Rhonda died in, that one was being repainted. Let's hope they at least disposed of the sheets that were on the bed that night.

Jason stripped quickly and Cindy wasn't far behind. With no foreplay at all Jason shoved his cock into her juice box. He had no intention of pleasing her and shot his first load inside of two minutes. He really enjoyed how tight her pussy felt. While awaiting the return of a usable cock, he mauled her nipples. When he felt a little tingle in his groin he pulled Cindy's head to his cock and fed all five inches of it into her mouth.

He found his rhythm and was holding Cindy's head still as he face fucked her. He started gasping and shaking as if he was having an orgasm. He continued shaking for at least a minute then grunted loudly.

"Oh, oh, OH, OOOOOOOOOO" then fell backwards into the dresser. He sat motionless, eyes and mouth wide open.

Cindy lost it "MARK! OH GAWD, MARK!"

She fumbled in her purse, found her phone, and punched 9 1 1. She was less than coherent as the operator struggled to extract enough information to get responders sent.

+ + + +

For the second week in a row, I arrived on scene to find a naked body with its eyes and mouth wide open. The story was the same. Lovers in a motel room, doing the dirty, when one of them has an orgasm. According to the Mark last week, and the scared shitless lady today, once the orgasm started their lover kept shaking, jerking, and gasping for air until they simply seized.

Much like last week, it seemed as if the temperature in the motel room was much colder than you would expect.

Although the scene looked pretty normal, for a heart attack victim, the paramedic crew thought different. They felt that heart attack symptoms weren't there. It was as if, they explained, he had been scared to death. Talk about Deja vu. This was a different paramedic crew and their observations were practically identical.

Interviewing Cindy proved to be worthless. He was face fucking her then shook uncontrollably until he froze and fell backwards. One difference that might help is that, although he had filled her pussy earlier, he was not having an orgasm as she gave him a blowjob. As I was getting ready to leave it seemed like the room temp jumped and was now about identical with the outside. Again, I thought it was odd but this time I didn't let it go. I checked and found the air conditioner was in the off position. We had to wait about ninety minutes for the coroner. The forensics crew finished their work and the hotel room was released to the proprietor. My shift had ended an hour earlier but getting this case solved had become my top priority.

Much like Rhonda's death, this one was a little odd but not enough for me to lose sleep over. It was a patrol officer who had the unpleasant job of telling the wife of her husband's demise and the circumstances surrounding it.

The next day I spoke with the coroner and he agreed with the paramedics. Jason did not die from a heart attack. He suffocated but there were no marks on his neck or body. It was almost as if he had an allergic reaction to something. I contacted Cindy and reviewed her time with him. According to her, they had lunch at a Subway earlier in the day, and then a beer with peanuts at the pub before using the motel room.

The coroner also had Rhonda's bloodwork results to review. It was a disappointment as it provided no clues. A healthy woman has a seizure, from an unknown cause, then expires. No puncture wounds from needles, no blunt force trauma, and no bruising. Talk about a cold case from the start.

+ + + +

I took my dad out to lunch on Friday. Some days he's off in his own little world. Today he was ready to help me with my cases. You can quit your job, but it's tough to quit what you loved doing for so many years.

I had never seen him react the way he did when I brought up the two unsolved motel deaths. The color left his face.

"J R, do me a favor. Let's drop by the cemetery by that motel. NOW!"

"What is it dad?"

"Let's go, NOW!"

It only took thirty minutes to navigate to the back forty of the cemetery. Dad burst from the car. His walk had purpose and his steps were quick and light. We arrived at a grave for a stillborn baby. The headstone read 1913.

"Where the fuck did this tree come from? Aw crap, there's a hole in the ground. It's on the loose again."

"Dad, slow down, what's on the loose again?"

"The Infideligeist."

"Never heard of it. What's an infitelus or whatever you called it?"

"Take me home, my home, not that sinkhole you have me imprisoned in."

He retraced his steps quickly and was waiting in my passenger seat. As I drove I heard him muttering 'shit, shit, shit.'

I followed him into the house he shared with my late mother. He hadn't lived there in about eighteen months. It smelled a little stale. He hurried into his office and pulled out the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. Down on his knees, he reached deep into the belly of the cabinet. Eventually he pulled out a zippered satchel.

"Join me in the kitchen."

Like a puppy, I followed him. He carefully extracted what appeared to be a very old document. There were several sheets and flakes of paper were drifting to the floor. The rolled pages were very brittle. The script penmanship reminded me of an ancient scroll.

"Here it is! The Infideligeist curse. Call me crazy but let me tell you a story. About twenty years ago we had a rash of lovers dying in the motels down by that cemetery. I was assigned to the case and it was unlike any other I had ever encountered. All told I knew of nine deaths before I put an end to it.

When you are investigating these things, you always suspect that the second or third ones are copycat killings. But they were all just as bizarre and the only thing they seemed to have in common was a stop by the pub before their demise. Oh, and they all died on a Wednesday."

The hair on my neck stood up and I felt goosebumps form on my forearm.

"I staked out that pub. I actually saw three of the unlucky couples leave the pub before one of them met their maker. Nobody followed them. With one of the couples, I was already inside the pub the night they came in. They had a beer, dropped a ten spot on the table, and left. I followed them outside and watched as they walked across the parking lot to the motel. I stayed in my car and was doing paperwork when I heard the 911 call. I was the first one on the scene. It was just like the others.

I lost a lot of sleep over the next few weeks. Two more deaths occurred before I changed tactics. I focused on the husband of the first victim. His wife was the first to die and this dude was weird. He was into the occult and witchcraft. I took him down to the station but he had an airtight alibi. The day after I interviewed him, this satchel arrived addressed to my attention.

You can have it. What it says is that you can bring to life this creature who will suck the life out of an adulterer. The Infideligeist penetrates the body and stays there until the victim has been dead for about an hour. The Infideligeist always returns to its birthplace.

Look in the satchel. There's a note."

I fished it out 'It was brought to life in the pub at 52nd and York'

"Alright dad, let's say I buy into this Infideligeist thing, what does the cemetery have to do with this?"

"If you read through the sheets, you'll find that you can capture the Infideligeist. On a moonless night, you must decapitate the victim. Then you put some occult symbols and other bizarre shit into a container containing the victim, minus its head. You have to do this before the Infideligeist has left the dead body.

Twenty years ago my partner and I followed a couple out of the pub. They must have been poor as they just went behind the dumpster and started fucking. We stayed out of sight and then heard the lady scream and run away carrying her clothes.

We saw this guy with his pants around his ankles laying on his back. His mouth and eyes were wide open. I ran back to my car and grabbed the body bag and sack of occult crap that I had prepared. In record time we had this guy bagged and in the trunk of my car. We put his head under his car.

I drove through the maintenance entrance of the cemetery then located the grave site of the stillborn baby. It took us about five hours to plant the guy. We put him in a makeshift plywood box my partner had constructed. He had stored it next to the maintenance building in preparation for this.

That fucking tree must have punctured the casket and released the Infideligeist."

What a story. I sat stunned and quickly scanned the sheets of paper. Who believes this crap? I was starting to. My two deaths mirrored those my father had described. Dad used the bathroom and then I did too. I found a pair of earrings on the back of the sink counter. The missing angel earrings had been found. Since Loretta never helps me with my folks place, my stomach was cramping and my pulse was racing. After I composed myself I took dad back to his sinkhole.

My shift was just starting and it was a very quiet evening. I reviewed both case files and put in a records request for the files from twenty years ago.

The similarities were too great to ignore. Whatever happened and stopped, twenty years ago, was happening again. I grabbed the satchel and drove over to the pub. It was Friday evening and the place was packed. I read through the occult curse. It would take significant research to understand it. The hair on my neck was standing when I read about how the life would exit the adulterer. Their lungs would constrict causing them to gasp and spasm. Once dead, their lungs would relax and all would appear normal. The triggering events appear to be when the adulterer thinks about their lover's genitalia and their heart begins to race.

I made calls to Mark and Cindy to see if they could remember in which table or booth they drank their beers. Both indicated the booth between the side door and the restroom.

Neon lights from the beer signs shown on the sidewalk as I walked in to the sound of horrible singing. It was karaoke night. The table I was hoping to watch had been confiscated to accommodate the disc jockey.

I left for the evening. My time on the swing shift was over, for a month, but I was prepared to do some freelance overtime.

+ + + +

The more I thought about the earrings the more disgusted I became. The only reasons for taking the earrings off were not very appealing. I have to beg her to wear them and her lover doesn't? Who in the hell was she screwing? It pissed me off to no end that she was soiling my parent's home.

The next few nights I avoided Loretta. I wrote down all of the things I didn't like or had concerns about. I logged into our cell phone account and reviewed Loretta's activity. I marked down the unknown numbers from the calls and texts. A pattern was there to be found and it wasn't too tough to find it. On my swing shift nights, especially when one of the kids had a game, there were calls and texts. I found two numbers with that recurring theme. The account history only went back a year and it's been going on for at least that long.