Bastard Son of Nelson Creed part 3

Heinrich Mason was a handsome man in his youth. The son of a wealthy oil baron, he bought a mine outside Winghaven, near a settlement that would one day be named Widow Springs. The profits from the mine allowed him to focus on inventions such as “the personal locomotive” which would form the basis of the “Locomotive Man”. He was always known as an eccentric and took an active role in police investigations. After stumbling upon a particularly gruesome murder scene, he began acting erratic and later historians surmised he had undiagnosed PTSD. Considering the time and place, he was far more likely to end up in an asylum (which happened eventually and later earned him the nickname “Madman Mason”). Preventing this from happened was the reason his sister Cornelia visited him.

She did not live in Winghaven so she had to come by train. When she got to the house, she noticed over grown grass and the once-beautiful mansion looked disheveled. She surmised that the cleaning staff had long since abandoned the property and that Heinrich lived alone due to his disturbing behavior. When she opened the door, the front foyer was caked in dust and a foul smell was detected in the air. “Heinrich?,” she called out, “It’s just me.” “Is that my sister I hear?,” a voice echoed through the house , “I’m in the study.” She followed the voice through the waiting room which was dirty with half-eaten food rotting on plates and scattered notes along the table and sofas. She passed through the dining hall and found it to be in a similar state, then entered the den. She couldn’t see the floor for all the paper scattered about. On the far side of the wall was a constellation map and around the other four walls were strange symbols, zodiacs and crude drawings of an eye over and over again that didn’t appear to have any academic importance but was obviously an obsession all the same. On the drafting table was a map of the area with strange red lines crossing through but they did not appear to be roads or railways as they cut through woods and fields. Heinrich himself was on the floor, scribbling more notes that appeared to be mathematical equations. The room was dark with curtains drawn but aside from a few peaks of sunlight, a kerosine lamp provided the main light source. Cornelia put on a brave face, “Shouldn’t your sister be greeted with a kiss?” Mason rose to his feet and in the light, she could see that his clothes were disheveled and his hair was long and matted from a lack of hygiene while his once clean-shaven face was hidden behind a bushy beard, moreover, his eyes were wide and haunting. She tried not to gasp but she did all the same.

“I am not offended, dear sister. I realize I must look a fright,” his voice was raspy as if horse from screaming.

“Nonsense,” her brave smile returned, “Nothing a warm bath and a shave couldn’t solve. You’ve just been overworked.”

“I suppose mother and father sent you here?”

“It was Franklin, actually. He heard of your… affliction and has agreed to allow you to stay with us.”

“You married a good man, Cornelia, but I shan’t embarrass you any further. You can deny it all you like but I know what the family thinks of me,” he peaked behind the curtain for a moment as if expecting another visitor, “I’m sure they’ve not said anything worse than what the ‘good’ people of Winghaven have said.”

“Balderdash!,” Cornelia became adamant, “You are an educated man with a savvy business sense and a clever mind. How many men could say they were featured in the World’s Fair? The Locomotive Man was unlike anything anyone had ever seen or will see for years to come.”

“I’ve seen far more terrible things,” Heinrich became distant, “I’m sure you know by now the Locomotive Man has been destroyed. I had to sacrifice it… after I stirred the great beast awake.”

“I understand you saw… something underground,” she hesitated a moment, “The darkness toys with the eyes and mind. Combined with everything you went through when you discovered those girls in the cave- ”

“It was real!,” Heinrich bellowed and flailed his hands about so suddenly that it gave Cornelia a start, “It lurks beneath this very ground, hidden underneath the feet of blissfully ignorant men and women,” he pointed a shaky finger at one of the eye drawings, “And yet the eye continues to watch. You talk of the greatness of the Locomotive Man but it was only a fly that irritated that monstrosity for a mere moment,” he began to calm down slightly as he noticed his sister’s terrified expression, “Only a moment… a moment to a being of that magnitude would equal several of our life times…,” he pointed to the map on the drafting table, “But I have all the time in the world… The Iseda followers here believe there are lines that can be crossed that allow them to traverse great distances if the correct ritual is performed,” then he raced to the symbols across the room, “These Anglo-Saxon Runes of our ancestors channel wonderous mystic power and if my calculations are correct, they can be used in tandem while crossing the lines and achieve-”

“Heinrich!,” Cornelia stopped him, “All this is utter poppycock. You once told me the belief in the supernatural was the crutch of the uneducated, nothing more than superstition.”

“The hubris of human ignorance is palpable,” he said quietly, “And I am humble enough to include myself in that assessment. I can fearfully admit I was wrong and that fear does not come from an ego that cannot abide being mistaken… that fear comes from knowing a cruel truth that captures my heart and keeps me awake at night.”

“Enough of this,” Cornelia became serious, “They mean to place you in the sanitarium, Heinrich. We received word from the sheriff and he has allotted us the opportunity to take you away from Winghaven.”

Heinrich smiled to himself, “The sanitarium, eh? I’ll be placed among the mad men. Locked away for all time… all time.”

“You’ve gone…,” Cornelia caught herself, “You are not well, brother. The reasons why they haven’t collected you already is simply due to your wealth and achievements and that is the honest truth. That generosity and patience will carry you no further, so please listen to reason.”

“Believe it or not, I am a man of reason,” he sat back down on the floor and continued to scribble calculations on paper, “… Let them come for me. I have all the time in the world…,” he repeated himself, “… All the time in the world.”

Cornelia felt her eyes well up with tears and she quickly turned to leave. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of a scuba diving suit slumped against the corner. “All the time in the world,” he repeated the mantra behind her. In her grief, she didn’t care to ask about the purpose of the suit and raced through the filthy mansion and out the door.

1984…

Creed was only five years old when he first experienced “that same old bullshit”.

His mother enrolled him in kindergarten and they began attending First Baptist Church of Winghaven. With Nelson’s death long behind them, they were ready to start afresh. For the most part, the people from their church were willing to help them out, little knowing what they were running from. For the rest of his life, Creed would remember the day they were in the church sanctuary, talking to the pastor and his wife when he first understood what they had run away from. A wrinkly finger cut its way through the crowd and aimed itself in Creed’s direction.

“Nelson Creed’s boy,” the old woman sneered. His mother didn’t hear it, nor did the pastor or his wife but he did. “Nelson Creed’s boy,” she repeated a little louder, “I told you I thought I seen his old girlfriend and here she is with that boy and you can’t tell me he ain’t Nelson’s.” His mother stopped talking and several people turned to stare. The old lady was accompanied by a middle age man who seemed embarrassed but intrigued. “Jimmy used to run around with Nelson and I know what his girlfriend looked like,” the old lady turned her attention to Mary, “I seen her a few times when Nelson came in his truck. You remember. Just a young little thing sniff’n after older men.”

“Maybe, Mom. I dunno,” the middle age man tried to lead the old lady away, “Let’s just go home.”

“I know Nelson was the one who shot Jimmy. Police couldn’t tell who it was but I know it was Nelson. He owed him money so Nelson shot him and nobody can tell me different,” she glared at Farrell and his mother, “Always play’n cards and hang’n ‘round Nelson. I warned ‘im not to.”

“Nelson Creed is dead now, ma’am,” Mary assured her, her voice slightly shaky as she gripped Farrell’s hand tightly.

“You tell’n me you weren’t there when he killed my son?”

“I’m sorry. Whatever happened to your son… I wasn’t there, no.”

She pointed at Creed, “That boy is big and ugly just like Nelson was. Better make sure he don’t turn out like his daddy.”

The middle aged man managed to take his mother away but that didn’t stop the stares. His mom said a few polite words to the pastor’s family and led Creed out to their car. Once in the parking lot, he asked, “Mom, do you know what she was talking about?”

“I knew Jimmy but I wasn’t there when he was killed and the cops never knew who did it.”

“Did my dad do it?”

“… Maybe,”she answered reluctantly.

“Did you love him?”

“I thought I did,” she bit her lip as she searched for the right words, “But he wasn’t a good person. It took a while for me to really know that.”

He became saddened, “… Am I gonna turn out like him?”

Mary stooped down to get eye level, “Farrell, you gotta make me a big promise, okay? You gotta promise you will never let anyone tell you who you are. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” he said happily and his mother gave him a hug and a kiss.

1979…

20 year-old Gus Davidson drove a car along a dirt road, eventually coming to a stop at a small house. The mines between Winghaven and Widow Springs were shutting down and there were rumors of an odd discovery which piqued his interest. As he had recently started a roadside attraction concerning strange objects in Winghaven’s history, this particular item would be a nice addition. He had been, in his own words, “an armchair historian” that enjoyed collecting strange artifacts and books and once he realized his collection could sell tickets, he turned it into a business. He called the mining company and they informed him that the item was in their office and they were willing to let him have it for no better reason than they would have otherwise left it in the trash. He had to come pick it up himself, of course.

While he wasn’t far from Winghaven, he wasn’t familiar enough with the area to find the office and had been turned around on the back roads so he stopped for directions at the nearest house. The man who owned the house was named Charlie and he was more than happy to give him directions. As they made smalltalk concerning the mines, Charlie’s demeanor changed, however, when he saw a familiar truck pull up to the side of the road and seemed desperate to warn Gus of the large man who stepped out but remained silent. Gus noticed the fear in the man’s eyes and was curious to know what he was afraid of but got his answer when he heard a gruff voice behind him. “Charlie what’s that n_____r doing in your yard?,” Nelson Creed demanded as he approached the front door.

“He’s from out of town,” Charlie said pleadingly, “He just stopped and asked for directions, Nelson.”

“Need directions?,” Nelson stared into Gus’ eyes, “That right?” He was frozen in fear as the deck was already stacked against him enough due to the color of his skin but the size difference let him know that societal prejudice wasn’t the only threat at that moment. “I have directions already,” Gus told him cautiously, “Thanks for the offer.” Nelson stood over him, “I can give ya clearer directions: just get in your car, turn around and drive back the way ya came.”

It was then that Charlie’s wife Miriam came out the front door, undaunted, “Nelson Creed, why can’t you just leave people alone?” Nelson glanced at her and then at Charlie, “Charlie, you better keep your bitch quiet, otherwise I’ll do it for ya,” a sick smile spread across his face, “And that would involve me putt’n someth’n in her mouth I know she’s gonna like.”

Mary was next to show up on the scene and when she left the cab of the truck, Gus took note of her pregnant belly. “Nelson, can we just go?,” she asked nervously, attempting to defuse the situation while also potentially being Nelson’s next target. “Get your fat ass back in the truck,” Nelson snarled as he made his way to her. Once he got in the cab, he made a point to wince at everyone outside one last time before pulling away.

“That was just Nelson Creed. He’s a real asshole,” Miriam told Gus quietly, “Most people in Widow Springs ain’t like that. We’re real sorry.”

“No apology needed, ma’am. I’m just glad he’s gone,” Gus told her as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I have the directions I need so I’ll be on my way.”

“So you think there’s something special about the thing they found in the mines?,” Charlie asked.

“If I can sell tickets to folks passing through, it’s worth someth’n.”

“Think it’s magic?,” Miriam asked half-jokingly.

“Ya never know in a place like this.”

Charlie took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his brow, “Magic or not, it’s damn weird. Why would ‘Madman Mason’ put a scuba suit in a mine?

Continued…