He always saw her on the way to work. Interstate 85 was a long stretch of road, but Jeff could usually count on seeing the woman pushing her shopping cart along the shoulder, on her way from nowhere, destination: same. Sometimes she'd stop and watch the cars on the road... watch the people who were actively ignoring her presence. Other times she'd just wander along, picking up trash and other items from the side of the road.

Jeff wondered if she had his hat.

His baseball cap had blown out of the car window one day last year. The wind had caught it and taken it out of sight before he even knew it was on its way out of teh car. No great loss. It was a cheap old hat; its loss was the perfect excuse to go and buy another one. Jeff wondered if she had that hat. Did she pick it up? Was it worth keeping? One day, Jeff happened to be in the far right lane when he passed her. Going 80 miles per hour, he only got a brief a look at her face, but did manage to see that the cart was full cans, clothing and other assorted junk, most of it stuffed into filthy paper bags.

Jeff wished he could do something for her... stop and give her something, maybe (other than his hat). Whenever he saw her his thoughts would always offer up some Bible verse about charity, making him feel guilty for the next couple of miles afterward. But what was he supposed to do? He gave his share to the charities. More than his share to the church. What was he supposed to do for this woman...take her home, give her twenty bucks, a hot meal and a shower and then put her back out on the street? His wife would kill him. And the bag lady (or was it 'cart lady?') would be no better off. All he could give her were his prayers. God would take care of her, one way or another.

What exactly did that mean, anyway? "One way or another"?

Jeff didn't think about THAT too long either.

These days, Jeff just sighed and averted his eyes as he passed, catching just enough of her image to let him know that, yes, she was still there and that, no, the world was still not a perfect place. He saw just enough of her on a regular basis to know that she was missing.

The first morning didn't bother him. He saw the shopping cart by the side of the interstate about ten miles out of town. Its owner was nowhere to be seen. Jeff thought it was odd. He'd never seen the shopping cart without the bag lady, or the lady without the cart before. Strange.

"She must be off sleeping," muttered Jeff as he looked off into the thick wall of trees that framed the roadway. "Or... doing something else." Jeff cringed at the thought of vagrants releiving themselves in the woods this close to the suburbs where he lived. He'd have to be sure to check the doors tonight.

That afternoon the cart was still there. And the following moring, as well. It hadn't moved. Something must be wrong, surley this poor woman wouldn't abandon her few worldly possessions for an entire day, would she? Maybe she was sick. Or maybe the police picked her up. But for what? Jeff remembered a news story a few years back about a bunch of vagrants that had been living in the big cemetary nearby. The police came and arrested a bunch of them. Drove the rest away. Maybe they had come back and the police did another sweep. They'd keep it hushed up after the beating they had taken in the press over the last time. Maybe that was it. But why didn't they move the cart? Didn't it occur to them that the wind could blow the damned thing out onto the road? He'd hate to be caught up in the traffic jam that would cause. Or to be the one that ran into it at 80 miles per hour.

By the third morning Jeff began to worry. At first, he was just amazed at the fact that his guilt pangs increased exponentially in the absence of the bag lady. He'd have thought they'd go away altogether... but it was the uncertainty that got him. If she was sick, where would she go? Who would she turn to? Maybe she was lying in the woods, crying out for help. Or lost. How long could somebody live if they were lost in the woods?

On the fourth afternoon, Jeffrey decided that he had neglected his Christian duty to this woman (and his fellow motorists) long enough. Something had to be done, and, since this was such a simple thing, he might as well see to it himself. He would pull over, move the shopping cart out of sight, take a quick look around, and be on his way. He called his wife and told her he'd be a few minutes late, then pulled over onto the southbound shoulder and got out of the car. It would take some timing and patience, but Jeff thought he could make his way across the six lanes of traffic to the northbound shoulder to deal with the offending cart. Then agan, maybe it would be better to go down one exit and turn around. Yes. Trying to cross this traffic would be suicide. Jeff climbed back into his car and eased back onto the interstate. He took the next exit and immediately got back on I-85 going north. Two minutes later, he was, once again, pulling over onto the shoulder and getting out of the car.

He reached the cart and grabbed the push-bar. It was slimy. I jerked his hand away and looked at it. It was covered in some kind of grimey film. He retrieved his hankerchief to clean his hands, and then used it to cover his hand as he pushed the cart over toward the edge of the paved shoulder. He wondered if anyone he knew saw him. Who else drove this way? Would anyone see him out here pushing this thing? Something in the back of his mind told him that it didn't matter, but he ignored it and looked around nervously at the passing cars. He realized that anyone he knew would most likely be going home at this time, which would mean that they'd be in the southbound lane. He couldn't be recognized from there. No one would even notice his car until tomorrow morning when they were taking the northbound back into the city. Of couse, he'd be gone by then.

Somewhat relieved, he shoved the cart off of the shoulder and onto the rock ground. There was a steep drop-off, and he could just push the cart down it and go. But what about the lady? Hadn't even looked for her. He scanned the trees. They weren't as dark and imposing as they appeared from the street. He could take the cart all the way down, look around, and climb back up with no real touble. With a grunt, he maneuvered the cart down the slope. Actually, gravity did most of the work, while he just held on and tried not to lose his footing. Still, he had worked up a small sweat when he reached the bottom. He thought about taking off his sports jacket, but he didn't want to lay it on the ground. He certainly wasn't going to put it in that disgusting cart. And if he climbed back up to the car, he was just going to get in it and go home. Perhaps that wasn't such a bad idea. He didn't see anything, and could hear absolutely nothing above the traffic sounds above him. If the bag lady had slipped down the incline and hurt herself, she'd still be here at the bottom. Wouldn't she? Sure. Unless she crawled off into the woods.

"Hello!" he yelled. He could barely hear himself. "Anybody out there?"

Jeff tried to convince himself to leave. She couldn't possibly hear him. She probably wasn't even out here.

"Hello!" he yelled again. What if she heard him but was too weak to call back? What kind of torture would that be; to hear a rescuer calling your name but be unable to call back and tell where you are?

"Well," he said to himself. "Am I going in or aren't I?"

He searched the trees again. He thought he saw movement, but it was just the wind.

"I guess I'm not." Jeff turned and started up the slope. It was more difficult than he thought it would be. He could make it, but he'd risk ruining his suit in the process. Probably rip something with all the exertion. Well, he had done his good deed for the... What was that sound?

"Who's ther..." The last bit of Jeff's nervous call was drowned out by the wet thud of something hard and heavy crashing into the back of his skull.

---

The pain woke him. He sat up in the darkness and felt the back of his head, wincing when he felt the wound. His hand came away wet. Not a lot, but more than enough to make him wish he had a mirror and a flashlight. He had no idea where he was; the darkness was nearly absolute. He thought for a moment that he was blind, but then he saw an ever-so-faint glimmer of light near the floor by one of the walls. Walls. Floor. He was in some kind of room. Or cell. The light must be shining in from under the door. He had to try several times before he could regain his equilibrium and stand upright. His head throbbed with the effort. He lurched toward the door, and reached it just as it opened from the outside.

Two figures came in, and grabbed him by the arms.

"Hey, who are - owww!" The sudden movement jarred him painfully, and he blacked out again.

---

Once again, he was on a stone floor, but it wasn't the same room. There was light here. Flickering light from a lamp on a nearby table. It was very dim, but it was enought for him to see that he wasn't alone.

Two figures stood away from him, against two opposite of the walls of the room He couldn't make out there faces, but both seemed to be facing him. Waiting.

"What's going on? Who are you?"

"brothers," one figure whispered. Then they both remained silent. That was apparantly as much of an explanation as they were going to give.

"Where am I?"

"Not very far..."

<<But far enough.>> The sentence started by the first 'brother' had been finished by the second, but in a most unsettling way. Jay never heard the second man speak. Instead, he felt the words. They seemed to ooze through his mind, leaving a slimy trail across his thoughts. The effect was both shocking and disgusting.

"We ask..."

<<You answer.>>

"Why did you come?"

"What?" Jeff's mind was still fighting against the second stranger's violation of his thoughts. How was he doing that? What are these two talking about?

"Why did you follow?"

<<We felt you watch...>>

"And wait..."

<<And follow.>>

"Do you also feed?"

<<Are you like us?>>

"Do you want to be?"
     
The two stood and waited, while Jeff struggled to understand what was going on.

"What are you talking about?"

"We are many."

<<Are you one of the Brotherhood?>>

"Do you desire to serve..."

<<The Fifth.>>

We are many? Where had Jeff heard that before? What was the Brotherhood?

"Oh, God!," gulped Jeff, "Devil Worshippers! Oh, God!" Jeff fell painfully to his knees and began to pray the Lord's Prayer.

The brothers turned to look at each other.

"Not like us?"

<<Perhaps we erred.>>

"Perhaps not. We will take him to the little ones."

<<To feed?>>

"To watch. Then we shall see."

They turned back toward Jay as he muttered prayers into his folded hands. The first brother approached him and grabbed him by the arm.

"Come with us."

Jeff jerked free of the icy grip and ran for the door. He did not take two steps before his head was suddenly filled with a menagerie of images and sounds, scream atrocities and stopped him cold and brought him again to his knees. The images vanished as suddenly as they appeared, leaving no trace of themselves in his memory. The effect could not be escaped, however. Jeff now knew that running was useless, and he would not try it again.

"Come with us." The first brother repeated. Jeff stood and was led through a door that he hadn't noticed before. In fact, he could have sworn that the door hadn't been there until they were standing in front of it. The brothers were silent as they led him down a downward sloping stone hallway lit at irregular intervals by weak, sputtering torches. A musty smell began to drift up from the passgeway. The air rapidly grew rank and overpowering. Jeff didn't recognize the smell, but he knew what it was. The smell of death. It couldn't be anything else.

He didn't know how long he had walked, or how far into the earth he had gone. The tunnel had begun to level off slightly, and Jeff thought he heard something up ahead. This probably meant that they were close to their destination.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To see...

"The little ones."

"The little ones?" Jeff listened to the sounds in the darkness up ahead. A multitude of shuffling, scratching sounds.

Rats? Large rats. A lot of them. "Oh, Go-"

<<Please don't start praying again.>>

"It annoys us. More importantly, "

<<It annoys THEM.>>

One of the brothers gave Jeff a shove that sent him stumbling forware. He went through a large doorway (Was THAT there before? NO! No it wasn't!) and into the darkness. The smell was horrendous. The brothers filed in behind him and lit torches that spat and hissed, as if the smell of death was a choking to them is it was to Jeff. He looked around. They appeared to be at the bottom a a large stone pit. Several staiways were carved into the walls. The steps were small and narrow, and led up to holes in the walls. The holes, too, were small. Too small to be of any use to Jeff. An enourmous iron grating stood in the wall opposide Jeff. It was from the darkness behind this grate that the sounds and smell of death were coming. Over in the far corner of the pit lay a naked figure. A woman, her skin smeared with filth and blood. She lay on her side, and Jeff could see the face. It was the bag lady. She was dead, but it was an ominously fresh corpse. A rotting skeleton was one thing... but this...

A sound tore Jeff''s attention away from the body. A screech, or a squeal from behind the grate. He peered into the darkness and saw eyes looking back at him. Two small glimmers, reflections of the torchlight, approached the grate. They were too large and high off of the ground to be ordinary rats... perhaps some giant variety? Something stepped into the light and wrapped its tiny, clawed hands around the bars. It was small, much to small to be human, but it had the shape of a man. It walked upright, with legs and arms and a bulbous head with a sloping, snouted face. Its hairless grey chest sported a double rows of nipples. It snarled at Jeff and stuck its hand through the bars, making scratching motions in the air. Another creature joined it at the grate. And another. The small things gathered en masse, and soon Jeff saw the reason for such a large grate. The things clawed at each other to get to the front, where they climbed on top of one another, forming towers of squirming, clawed flesh. They piled five and six creatures deep at the front, trying to squeeze their grotesque bodies through the bars.

"My God."

<<...The little ones.>>

"The army of the Fifth."

<<We wait his coming.>>

"And we feed."

<<...on the lost...>>

"The exiled."

<<the outcasts.>>

There was a loud 'clang" as the porticillus began to rise. The creatures didn't even wait for an adequate opening, they began to squeeze through immediately.

Frozen in terror, Jeff watched as they emerged and filled the pit. They scrambled towards the homeless woman's corpse, ignoring Jeff and the brothers completely.

"Fresh."

<<They like the fresh ones.>>

"Ghouls!" muttered Jeff. He tried to look away, but he just could not

<<No....>>

Jeff didn't pay attention to the words in his mind. He couldn't hear, or think, or move. All he could do was see. He watched as the first of the ghouls reached the body and began to nibble on its fingers. Not biting... not tearing flesh or even breaking the skin. No... no, this was worse. Others arrived, and their little pink tounges snaked out past the sharp teeth and tasted the newly dead flesh. Flicking at the hands and feet, then at the breasts. Not rough or hungrilly, but gently. Lovingly...
     
"No!" Jeff felt the cold hands of the freakish brothers clamp down on his shoulders, holding him in place.

<<To feed...>>

"...to satisfy hunger..."

The little monsters had begun fighting amoungst themselves, now. Scratching an clawing at each other for the chance to play at the more delicate parts of the corpse. Their sharp teeth and claws were not for "feeding," but were reserved for use on one another. They had other 'appendages' to use for 'feeding.'

Jeff couldn't watch, but at the same time he couldn't turn away. The brothers had released him, content now to watch their 'children' play. And watch they did. Horde upon horde of the things poured forth from their cave and joined in the fray, tearing at each other to get close and have their turn with the fresh female corpse.

Jeff watched and lost himself in the horror. The brothers spoke to him, told him about the 'Fifth' and other atrocities. He heard but did not hear. His mind was as frozen as his eyes, a solid block of horror and disgust that no rational thought could penetrate. His jaw fell open as he gaped, releiving himself in his slacks. What was left of his soul struggled to hide itself and at the same time to free itself from the stranglehold of fear. It twisted around desparately inside of him.

Finally, it was all Jeff could do to scream. It was a girlish scream of pure terror, but it was enough to break his body free of its paralysis. He ran. He ran far and fast, faster that he could ever remember. Images blurred past him, faster and faster. Sights and sounds played around him. He watched as his body moved up the steps and out into the cemetary. He saw himself collapse, yet he still ran, seeing and screaming. His screams rang out silently, only he could hear them blot out the sirens as they loaded his body into the ambulance. He ran. He saw hospital and institutions fly past him, and raged at the drugs that never touched him, never slowed him down. He screamed silently at his wife whenever her image flew past. He saw those images less and less. More flashes of doctors and orderlies played around him. Faster he ran, and faster the images came. Blood and ghouls and needles and doctors and brothers and fire and Fifths and beds and bag ladies and shopping carts and highways and wheelchairs and drugs and doctors and torches and cemetaries and nurses and more doctors and fresh corpses at the mercy of the night. He saw himself walking away as no one watched, and, just before the images became too fast to see, he saw himself, ragged and decrepit, looking down into the wonders of his newly liberated shopping cart.