Chapter 51: Purple Lightning and Ancient Hungers
Note: We keep meeting them goals. Here's two-chapters, enjoy!!
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The Texas sun beat down on the Rust Bucket like a hammer on an anvil, turning the RV into a rolling oven despite the AC running full blast. We'd been driving for six hours straight, following energy signatures that Grandpa tracked on his Plumber equipment. Every mile took us deeper into nowhere, endless stretches of scrubland and the occasional dead armadillo.
"Huh, there's something weird," Max said suddenly, pointing to a turnoff I would have missed entirely. A weathered wooden sign read 'Maplewood Farm - 2 miles' in faded paint. "A separate but similar energy reading suddenly spiked there. This might be related to the Sword?"
"A farm?" Gwen looked up from the book she'd been studying – some dense tome about Mesoamerican mythology she'd downloaded to her tablet. "I'm not sure, Grandpa. Why would Mayan artifacts be on a Texas farm?"
"You'd be surprised what ends up where," Max said, turning onto the dirt road. "I once found Atlantean technology in a Saskatchewan Tim Hortons."
The road was more suggestion than actual path, all ruts and rocks that made the Rust Bucket bounce like a boat in a storm. Through the windows, I could see the landscape changing. The scrubland gave way to actual vegetation – corn fields that looked surprisingly healthy for this time of year.
"Is it just me," I said, "or is this place way too green for the middle of summer in Texas?"
Gwen frowned, pressing her face to the window. "You're right. It's like someone's pumping growth hormones into the soil."
As we crested a small hill, the farmhouse came into view. It was one of those picture-perfect places that belonged on a postcard – white clapboard siding, wraparound porch, even a tire swing hanging from a massive oak tree.
But something felt off. Maybe it was the way the shadows fell at weird angles or how the windows seemed to watch us approach.
"Ben," Gwen said quietly, "look at the field markers."
I followed her gaze and felt my skin prickle. What I'd first taken for fence posts were actually stone pillars carved with symbols that definitely didn't come from any Texas Home Depot. Mayan glyphs covered every surface, so detailed they seemed to writhe in the afternoon heat.
"Okay, that's not normal," I muttered.
Max pulled up in front of the house, dust swirling around the RV. Before we could even unbuckle, the front door opened and a woman stepped out.
Holy hell.
She looked like she'd stepped out of a country music video – sun-kissed skin, curves in all the right places, and a smile that could melt steel. She wore a blue overall with a pink tee-shirt that clung in ways that definitely weren't accidental, and when she waved, everything moved in slow motion.
[Image Here]
"Well hello there!" Her voice had that Southern honey drawl that made simple words sound like invitations. "Y'all lost or somethin'?"
I was out of the RV before my brain caught up with my body. "Not lost, just... exploring. I'm Ben."
"Ben," she repeated like she was tasting the name. "Ain't you just the sweetest thing. And so tall too." Her eyes did a slow sweep from my feet to my face, lingering on the way my shirt stretched across my chest. "We don't get many visitors out here."
"Can't imagine why," I said, flashing my best smile. "A beautiful woman like you? I'd think men would be lining up at your door."
She laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "Oh, you are a charmer, aren't you?"
A sharp elbow to my ribs reminded me I wasn't alone. Gwen stood beside me, her expression sweet as arsenic. "Hi, I'm Gwen. Ignore my stupid cousin. And you are?"
"Joan Maplewood," the woman said, though her eyes never left me. "This is my farm. Been in the family for generations."
"It's incredible," I said, gesturing to the fields. "Everything's so green. You must have one hell of a green thumb."
"Oh, I've got all sorts of talents," Joan purred. Then, as if remembering herself, she added, "Y'all must be tired from the road. Why don't you stay for dinner? Maybe even the night? Gets awful lonely out here, and my boy Todd would love the company."
Grandpa Max was also off the RV by then as he approached us. "That's very kind—" Max started, but I cut him off.
"Of course, Miss Maplewood. If you need me to stay, I'd spend a year here."
Joan giggled and touched my arm. "Aren't you just the sweetest? And please, call me Joan."
Gwen's hand found mine and squeezed. Hard. I glanced down to find her smiling at Joan, but her nails were digging crescents into my palm.
"We'd love to stay," Gwen said, her voice dripping false sweetness. "Right, cousin?"
Why's she so mad? I'm just playing around. Before I could reply, a boy appeared in the doorway behind Joan. Maybe ten years old, with sandy hair and eyes too serious for his age. He looked at us like we were his last hope for... something.
"Todd, honey, we've got guests," Joan said without turning around. "Go set extra plates."
"Mom, I need to tell them about—"
"Todd." Her voice cracked like a whip, all honey gone. "Plates. Now."
The boy flinched but obeyed, disappearing back into the house. Joan's smile returned instantly, but I'd seen the steel underneath. It was difficult to trick my eyes lately.
"Kids," she said with a nervous laugh. "Always making up stories. Why don't y'all come in? I've got sweet tea cooling in the fridge."
Grandpa, Gwen, and I exchanged glances. They hadn't missed the weird vibe from her either. While I did flirt with her, I wasn't foolish. She was trying a bit too hard to keep us the night, wasn't she?
As we followed her inside, I noticed more things that didn't fit. The porch pillars had the same Mayan carvings as the field markers. The wind chimes weren't made of metal but what looked like polished bone. And was that a ceremonial obsidian knife being used as a door stop?
The inside of the house was a war between Norman Rockwell and Indiana Jones. Quilts and family photos shared space with stone artifacts that belonged in museums. The air smelled like apple pie and something else… something old and dusty and patient.
"Make yourselves comfortable," Joan said, gesturing to a living room that looked like it hadn't changed since the 1950s. "I'll get that tea."
The moment she was gone, Gwen rounded on me. "Really? 'I'd spend a year here'? Could you be any more obvious?"
"What? I was being friendly."
"Friendly?" Her voice pitched up. "You were practically drooling!"
"I was not—"
"Oh, Mom's company didn't leave?" Todd appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking at us with those too-old eyes. "Good. Maybe now someone will listen."
Max knelt at Todd's level, all grandfather warmth. "Listen to what, son?"
Todd glanced toward the kitchen, then beckoned us closer. "You gotta help us, old man. Something's wrong here. The purple lightning, the weird sounds at night, and..." He swallowed hard. "The walking dead guy."
My blood chilled. "Walking dead guy?"
"In the fields. Late at night. He's looking for something, digging holes everywhere. Mom says I'm dreaming, but I'm not!" His voice cracked with desperation. "She won't let me call anyone, won't let me leave the farm. Says we have to 'guard the legacy' whatever that means."
Gwen and I exchanged glances. Her magical senses must have been screaming because she looked ready to bolt.
"Todd, honey?" Joan's voice drifted from the kitchen. "You bothering our guests?"
"No, Mom!" He gave us one last pleading look before scampering away.
"Kid seems scared," I said quietly.
"Kid seems smart," Gwen corrected. "This whole place reeks of magic. Old magic. And something else..." She shivered despite the heat. "Something hungry."
Joan returned with a tray of glasses, ice cubes clinking like tiny bells. "Here we go. Nothing beats sweet tea on a hot day." She handed me a glass, fingers brushing mine longer than necessary. "So what brings y'all to my little corner of nowhere?"
"Research," Max said smoothly. "I'm writing a book about unusual geological formations in Texas. Your field markers caught my eye."
"Oh, those old things?" Joan waved dismissively, but her eyes sharpened. "Been here forever. My great-great-grandfather found them buried on the property. Family tradition says we're supposed to protect them, though Lord knows from what."
"Fascinating," Gwen said, and I could see her mind racing. "Do you know what the symbols mean?"
"Haven't a clue, sugar. Just know we're not supposed to move them. Or dig too deep near the old barn." She said it casually, but there was weight behind the words. A warning.
As the afternoon wore on, Joan kept finding excuses to touch me – a hand on my arm when she laughed, fingers in my hair when she noticed some dust. Each time, Gwen's jaw clenched a little tighter. I was caught between enjoying the attention of a curvy older woman and worrying Gwen might actually explode.
Dinner was a little tense. Todd kept trying to catch our eyes, mouthing words when his mother wasn't looking. Joan regaled us with stories about the farm, each one carefully edited to sound normal. But I caught the gaps – the mentions of family members who "went away" or areas of the property that were "off limits for safety."
"You know," I said, pushing my luck, "those field markers remind me of something. Mayan, maybe?"
Joan's fork paused halfway to her mouth. "You know about such things?"
"He reads superhero forums," Gwen said dryly. "Apparently they're very educational."
I kicked her under the table. She kicked back harder.
"How interesting," Joan said slowly. "And what do these forums say about Mayan markers?"
"Usually that they're marking something important. Burial sites. Treasure. That sort of thing."
"Or prisons," Gwen added quietly.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Joan set down her fork with deliberate care.
"My family has been on this land for six generations," she said, steel creeping back into her voice. "We know every rock, every tree, every secret it holds. And we protect them. That's our job. Our burden." Her eyes bored into mine. "Some things are better left buried, Ben. Better left forgotten."
Todd made a small sound, quickly stifled. Joan's head whipped toward him.
"Bed. Now."
"But Mom—"
"Now, Todd."
He fled upstairs, feet thundering on old wood. Joan's smile returned, but it didn't reach her eyes anymore.
"Kids," she said again. "Always so dramatic. Now, who wants pie?"
****
Later, she showed us to our rooms – Max in one, Gwen and I sharing another "since you're cousins and all." The moment the door closed, Gwen whirled on me, climbing on top of me.
"What the-?" I pulled her by the waist, grinning. "Can't hold yourself back for even a minute?"
She punched my arm, "No, let me go. I'm here to whisper!" she whispered. "She knows exactly what's buried here," she hissed. "And she's terrified of it."
"Yeah, I got that from the whole 'better left buried' speech." I sat on one of the twin beds, springs creaking ominously. "Question is, what is it? And what's this walking dead guy Todd mentioned?"
A soft knock interrupted us. The door cracked open, and Todd's face appeared.
"You guys awake?"
"Come in," Gwen said gently.
He slipped inside, closing the door carefully behind him. In his hands was an old leather journal, its pages yellow with age.
"This was my great-great-great-grandfather's," he whispered. "Mom doesn't know I found it. It tells what's really buried here."
He opened the journal, revealing pages covered in cramped handwriting and detailed drawings. My Spanish was rusty, but I could make out enough. Mentions of a fragment, a piece of something larger. And repeated references to "the Sleeper Below."
"What's the Sleeper Below?" Gwen asked.
Todd's face went pale. "The dead guy. Only he's not dead. Not really. The journal says he's been sleeping under the farm for hundreds of years, waiting for something. And now..." He swallowed hard. "Now he's waking up."
Thunder rumbled overhead, which was weird because the sky had been clear all day. Through the window, I saw a flash of purple lightning arc between the field markers.
"It's starting," Todd whispered. "Just like last night. The purple lightning comes first. Then the sounds. Then..." He clutched the journal tighter. "Then he walks."
Another flash of purple lightning, closer this time. In its brief illumination, I saw something that made my blood freeze.
A figure standing in the cornfield. Tall, gaunt, wrapped in what looked like ancient bandages. And it was moving toward the house.
"Okay," I said, already reaching for the Omnitrix. "I think we just found our walking dead guy."
Gwen grabbed my wrist before I could transform. "Wait. We need information first. Todd, what else does the journal say? What's buried here exactly?"
The boy flipped through pages with shaking hands. "A piece of something called the Corazón de Muerte. The Heart of Death… It says it's part of a key, but a key to what—"
The lights went out.
In the darkness, we heard Joan scream.
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