The Stench of Death

As the crow flies was too slow because crows had to deal with wind speeds that sometimes went against them.

Ghouls like Blake and Louis didn't have to worry about headwinds because they were ephemeral. They were doing 'as the ghoul flies' speed which never needed to take into account mundane things like headwind or even tall obstacles in the way.

They sped towards La Hacienda Mountain Range, following the highway below.

At the point where the mountain began to incline sharply, there was a single stop light where the road forked into three directions. The lateral road went around the base of the mountain and the one vertical road went on a winding path up the mountain.

Blake pointed to the intersection and down they swooped.

At this time of the morning, the road was deserted, but the telltale signs were everywhere.

Thousands of tiny glass bits glinted in the morning sun. They covered the road on both sides, with an empty spot at the center and nothing in front or back.

This meant it wasn't a head-on collision since the front windshield was intact and there was no other damage debris except for the broken glass. It was the side windows that had been broken into.

This was an ambush but it was a clean one.

There was no sign of the car, nor was there any bodies lying on the ground.

They had all been taken away.

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"Straighten up over there!" Randy shouted and glowered at the file and rank of the scuzzy boys of Red Tiger Gang. The boys had done their drills for the morning and it was time to get the real work done.

"Alright, get your asses to the cafeteria and grab some lunch. Paul and Nate, you come with me." He gestured at two of the bulkiest boys in the squad. This was going to be a bitch job.

"Paul, get the dolly and meet me in the Ghoul's Room. Nate, run and get a sheet from the laundry room and some binding cords. You got five minutes, so RUN!"

He snapped his fingers, sending them off in separate directions. Then he strode across the compound towards the direction of the Tiger Temple.

At 5'11", sporting 190 pounds of muscle and bone, Randy was a force to reckon with. He wore his army fatigues every day even though he had been honorably discharged some years back, and he kept his shoulder-length black hair tied back with a band.

He was only 32 but had already risen to the top of the command chain of the Red Tiger gang. The only person who was above him was Anh Hai.

Within minutes, Randy was standing at the back entrance to the temple.

He raised a finger and pressed the buzzer to the door. The musical chime caused a chill to run up Randy's spine.

In any other house, the sound would have been welcoming. Here in this spooky mansion, it was downright macabre.

It took a few minutes for the hired help to answer the door. Stupid slow Bin Dat acting like he's the boss man himself, sucking up to Anh Hai for favors and shit. People like him pissed the hell out of Randy.

He pushed past the shrunken old man and sauntered into the back area of the temple without saying a word. He didn't want to be here in the first place and he'd be damned if he had to make small talk with the servants.

Randy flicked a cigarette down from behind his ear and stuck it in his mouth.

"What do you think you're doing?" Bin Dat glared at him.

Randy began fumbling and patting his pockets for a lighter. It was damn cold in this old tomb and it was just his luck that the only book of matches he could find in his jeans pack pocket had nothing left but stubs.

"Filthy habit. I suggest you don't do that in the temple," the old man muttered as he went to close the front doors.

"Mind your own business old man," Randy muttered around the unlit cigarette. "I'm here to do a job, so just keep your old shriveled lips shut or else I'll make you carry the fat cop outta here yourself."

He tucked the cigarette back behind his left ear and turned towards the temple room door. The boys had run out of time. They'd better get here fast before he lost his temper and decked the old man.

Just in time, Paul and Nate had arrived, pulling behind them a large dolly.

"Come on kiddos. Let's go do this." Randy waved his hand and headed towards the door to the main chamber of the temple.

"Do what you have to, but make sure it's more professional than the last job you did." Bin Dat sneered. "You destroyed the entire hallway getting the cop into the temple."

"You just stick with your dusting and all that woman's work, old man, and let us take care of the manly stuff."

Bin Dat sniffed with disdain.

"Let's see how manly you'll look like when you have to explain to Anh Hai how you messed up his expensive carpets."

"Shit, he knows gutting a pig is dirty work. Just mind your own business old man and we'll get along just fine."

He flicked his middle finger at Bin Dat.

"Come on boys, ain't got time for this chit chat with the hired help."

He pushed past Bin Dat and led Paul and Nate through the doors that led into the hallway leading to the main temple chamber.

The hallway was a wreck.

There was a long blood trail all the way down the middle, culminating in a crimson pool which extended four feet from what he and the boys called the Ghoul's Room.

The walls were smeared with the sticky smelly stuff and the Ghoul's Room doors was spattered with dried brown drops clinging to the doorknob, running in dirty streaks down into the soggy carpeting.

Randy made a mental note to have 'discussions' with his underlings, the ones who'd been charged with getting the cop into the Ghoul's Room.

"Open the door," Randy commanded a green-faced Nate who fumbled with the key trying to get it in the lock.

There was a click and the door swung inward.

Careful to keep from touching the gory mess on his new army boots, Randy pushed the door in with his foot, exposing the contents of the room to full view.

Paul and Nate both gagged in an effort to keep from vomiting as a foul stench wafted through the open doorway.

Inside the Ghoul's Room, there was no sign of violent struggle. The smooth expanse of carpeting and the masses of floor-length cream drapes was the backdrop for the man splayed in the middle of the room.

His dead eyes were staring blindly at the painting of the nude chick, as if paying homage to her naked body. Of blood, there was none.

"Why's he stinking already?" Randy muttered to no one. "He's only been here a few hours and it's freezing ass cold in here!"

"Maybe it's because a demon killed him and ate him?" Paul suggested weakly.

"This is damn sick man." Randy shook his head. "It's one sick joke, letting some demon kill a person. Why not just shoot the bastard? It's so much cleaner and you don't go against the rules of the Universe." Randy grumbled as he stepped into the room to inspect the corpse.

Nothing about the man suggested death by a ghoul, but Randy knew better than to doubt the reality of that fact.

He stepped over the corpse's bulk and, with some effort, turned the body over with his boots. It was heavy and stiff with rigor mortis.

"Aw, man." He whispered and tried not to stare at the corpse's eyes which had frozen into the terror the man had felt before dying.

"Alright, cover him up and let's get outta here."

As the boys covered the body and carried it onto the dolly, he took the binding cords and strapped the corpse down.

This close to the corpse and Randy could clearly tell that the horrible stench was not coming from the dead cop. The recently deceased could not possibly smell this bad.

It had only been a few hours that the cop had died. There hadn't been enough time to generate this much stink. The smell that permeated the room was the stench of death, of course, but it was one that could only be generated by a corpse that had been dead for at least several days.

He, more than anyone, knew the smell well. He had been a grave robber since the age of seven, digging down into graves and poking around for small coins inside the eyes and mouths of the dead along with bits of jewelry and wedding bands buried along with the body.

He could almost tell the time of death from the different smells that emanated from the bodies. There was no way of faking that smell of rotting flesh and bloating internal organs.

There was no way of masking it either.

Something very decomposed had slunk into this room in the past couple of hours.

Randy would bet his last dollar that it was the same something that had killed the old fat cop.