Paranormal Anthology
13 Writers tell stories of the beyond
Dawn Jayne, J.B. Sullivan, Theresa Oliver,
J.S. Wilsoncroft, Roy Hudson, Rebecca Nolan, Dawn Kirby, Jana Boskey, Stephen De Marino, Jo-Anne McLeary, Caitlin McColl, Susan Harris,
Stephanie Greenhalgh
Firefly & Wisp Publishing
Anthology Series I
Paranormal
ISBN: 978-0-9827062-5-1
Firefly & Wisp Publishing© 2011
First Edition Print
This is a fiction work. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or
locales is entirely coincidental.
All
rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
use of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic,
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or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of Firefly
and Wisp Publishing, www.fireflyandwisp.com
The chills are creeping up your neck, the unknown watch you from a breath away, and the long dead seem closer than ever…
In the modern age, our five senses are constantly bombarded by the world around us: flashing screens, loud noises, barking, yelling, horn honking, billboards, bustling crowds, arrogant bosses, and the constant hustle of a busy schedule. It's hard to even think of having a moment alone.
But it is when we are alone, that our sixth sense has a chance to surface. I invite you to take a moment, or two, for yourself to sit down, dim the lights and spend some time with the strange and the weird. Sift through some stories that will have you looking into dark corners, listening to the creeks of the floor, and wondering if the movement of your curtain is the work of something other than a breeze.
Enjoy!
~Earl Duncan
Firefly & Wisp Editor
Dying Embers
Dawn Jayne
I was carving out a gourd the night he came to my fire. My hands, aged as they were, still allowed me to hold a knife and perform small tasks without a great deal of discomfort. I watched as the innards from the vegetable spilled to the ground between my feet, remembering a time when this ritual had given me a thrill of excitement. Now, it had turned into an uneasy habit, though part of me longed for it to rekindle some stir of emotion.
My back ached terribly as I sat on the log, hunched over as I was. The chill of the night, not absent despite the raging bonfire before me was a hindrance, and I could feel the sting of it in my bones, deep and biting. The turn of the season was a curse to the old.
A small family arrived, coming up the hill at an anxious pace; a sturdy man, his wife heavy with child, and three young boys wearing masks and chortling with delight until their eyes fell on my face. Then they turned silent, averting their gaze from the sight, as was the natural response to my disfigurement. The father greeted me, and though I’d known him since he was suckling at his mother’s breast, his name escaped me; a frustrating condition that was becoming more common these days.
“William,” he said to me in friendly voice. “Your presence is always a welcome sight.”
I grunted and did my best to stand, using the assistance of a walking staff that had once been a faithful companion to my own father and now served me with equal loyalty.
“I’ve tended the needle-fire for more years than you’ve been alive,” I said, hobbling forward to poke at the flames, more from show than necessity as it was still burning fully. “I will continue to do so until I become bones.”
I didn’t mention that I suspected that day was coming soon, as it would do nothing but elicit sentiments from the young family. I had no wish to hear that I was in fine health, which was an utter falsehood, or to be told I would outlive even the children of the village. I was ready to pass from this world and take my infirmities with me. I longed for the escape of the darkness with more earnestness than I had longed for the embrace of a woman when I was a young man.
“I think we’ll be the last tonight,” the man said as he came forward and knelt near the fire, his own hollowed gourd in his hands. “There’s a storm on the wind, and most have started back to their homes.” He used a small branch on the ground to catch a flame, touching it to the timber in the gourd. He lit his own little fire, cupping his hands around the ember so it would not extinguish. He stood slowly, his family looking on with satisfaction. “Would you like to walk with us?”
“I’ll manage well enough on my own,” I said, sitting heavily back on the log. “I’ve trudged through many a storm in my day, and if one comes, all the better. The rain will put an end to these flames better than I.”
“Not just the storm that should cause you worry,” the young wife said, wrapping her shawl about her shoulders and looking into the sky with concern in her face. “This is no night for walking about alone. We can’t be leaving you here for the dead.”
“I have a wife and four sons that have passed into the next life,” I said, staring into the bonfire with eyes that were starting to redden from the smoke. “If the dead come for me, I might find myself in good company.”
I felt a cold splash of water fall upon my hand, and that single raindrop accomplished more than any words of argument I could find. The woman gathered her children to her skirts and removed her headscarf, using it to protect the small fire in the gourd her husband held.
“We need to take cover,” she said, her voice near panic. “We should take the tree-line home.”
“It will be a longer trek that way,” the husband said. “The children are weary, and I won’t be having you work yourself into early labor. I’m no midwife, woman.”
“Never you mind about that. The boys and I will be fine. It’s the ember that’s important, and I won’t have it doused before I see it to our hearth. We need its protection from the evil that’s coming.”
I almost smiled, recognizing the tone of a woman that would not be moved. My own wife had been of the same temperament, and though I would often chide her for stubbornness, I found it was the arguments the trait inspired that I recalled with most fondness.
“Your woman speaks the truth,” I said to the man. “I won’t have you delayed on my account. See your family safely home, and think no more of this old man. I’ll be taking my own ember with me, and that should be enough to placate the spirits.”
“Aye,” he said. “You take care, William. Perhaps I’ll be seeing you on the morrow.”
“Perhaps.”
The family departed, the children running ahead while the parents moved with caution, keeping careful watch on their ember lest the spark be snuffed out. I watched them until they were shadows, and then I pulled my cloak around me, tossing a piece over my head as more raindrops began to fall. The flames began to dim after a time, and I felt my eyes growing heavy when I heard a voice from the darkness, accented in a way I’d never heard in my lifetime.
“Might I share this fire with you?”
I squinted up, and saw a stranger before me, burdened with a rucksack and wearing heavy boots fit for long journeys. He was partially hidden beneath a hooded cloak, but I could see the edges of a beard, and wisps of dark hair.
“I don’t know your face,” I said, adjusting my position a bit and willing my clouded vision to focus. I felt my back seize up as I moved, and I grimaced in pain. “Are you here visiting kinfolk?”
“I am not,” he said, squatting down and warming his hands. The move was easy for him, and I estimated his age was prime. “My name is Ahriman, and I’m far from my own lands. I’m heading north to the mountains.”
“That’s a long way,” I said, my voice starting to become rough from the cold. “And this is no fit night for traveling. If you have some coin, you might find refuge at one of the farmhouses. The harvest was a poor yield, but some might be willing to put you up, even tonight, for a fair price.”
“Tell me, what manner of night is this that has caused such odd celebration?” Ahriman looked at me, and this time I could see his eyes. They were large and dark, but I saw no ill intent in them. “I passed through a neighboring village, and all were dressed in guise, even the little ones and the old. And fires such as this were blazing across the countryside.”
I laughed, but it soon turned into a fit of coughing. I could taste blood in my throat, as had happened many times of late. It took several minutes to subside, leaving me gasping for breath. I wondered if this would be the corruption that finally brought my body to an end, if I would one night find myself choking to death on my own bile. I cared not; the suffering would be short-lived compared to the eternal sleep it would bring.
“You’ve come a long way indeed if you’re unfamiliar with the legends,” I said, my voice growing weary. “And ignorance can be a dangerous thing.”
“Then perhaps you would take pity on a stranger and educate me in your ways,” he said, smiling. “So that I might better protect myself in these lands.”
I could hear no mockery in his voice, only sincerity that moved me to speak freely about things usually whispered in secret. I gathered my strength and breathed as deeply as my lungs would permit. “Your people are aware of the seasons, are they not?”
“Of course,” Ahriman said, nodding his head at the flames. “And this is the time when the sun relinquishes its power to the moon. The days grow shorter, the nights longer.”
“Aye, but it’s also the time when the veil between our world and the spirit world is thin,” I said, my voice taking on a rhythm that I hadn’t used in many long years, not since my words were used to convey stories to my children. “This night can bring terrible things to those not prepared. Kinsman long dead may appear, and evil spirits abound, creatures great and horrible with gruesome countenance and wicked natures. But, the bonfire offers protection from those, and the guise can serve to frighten them from our midst.”
Ahriman grunted. I watched him closely, looking for a sign that he found me a doddered, foolish old man with a faltering mind and rambling words. I saw nothing of that in him, and he gave every appearance of one with a serious disposition, a quality I’d found absent in younger men of late.
“Have your people no legends?” I asked after the silence began to drag. “I once thought I would travel, see the world beyond and learn things uncommon. But those were the dreams of youth that never came to pass. I pray you will indulge me now, perhaps with a tale of your homeland.”
Ahriman sat back, propping his arms upon his knees. The raindrops were still coming, only a few, but creating sparks as they struck the great fire. The flickering of the light cast odd shadows on my companion’s face.
“We had but one legend that I can recall with clarity,” he said, his voice steady and strong. “That of creatures that roamed at night, searching for blood and flesh on which to feast. It’s said these were once men, but had been polluted by evil and turned into something else, something alive, but yet also dead.” He paused for a long while and then picked up a handful of dirt and let it fall through his fingers. “I never believed in the stories. My friends and I would laugh at them, and find humor in the fear they inspired in others.”
I leaned forward with interest, reveling in the tale. It had been too long since I’d felt the excitement of the unfamiliar, and hoped my failing mind would be able to keep hold of the words so I could recall them later.
“Did you ever come to believe in the creatures as more than a device to inspire terror?’ I asked, my interest growing stronger even as the rain began to come with more rapidity. The fire would soon be doused.
“I did,” Ahriman stated. “There was a girl I knew, perhaps ten years old, and she vanished from the fields one night. We searched for her, but found no trace, save her dress near the river, stained red with more blood than could be lost without death.”
“Tragedy, that one so young was taken,” I said. “Your people believed it was one of the creatures that was responsible for the terrible deed?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “The townsmen believed it was a wolf, as one had been sighted the week before. But there were no tears on the garment, no sign of an animal’s claws or teeth. That people were so quick to dismiss these things, never sat comfortably with me, but I was little more than a boy, and my voice held no weight. I continued searching for her well after others; even her own family had given up hope.”
“You are a brave man to willingly risk confrontation with a being of lore,” I said. “What inspired you to such dedication? Was this girl someone you knew well?”
“I had hoped to enter into arrangement with her father, for purpose of marriage, when she came of age.” He looked forlorn for a moment, his shoulders slouching as one burdened by great weight. “As it turned out, that was not going to be possible.”
“Ah, so she was never found then,” I said, my voice rising in dramatic pitch, the way of practiced story-tellers. I had spent time as the village muse for a while, until my halting memory no longer allowed me to recall the stories properly.
“That’s not the whole truth of it,” Ahriman said. “Years passed, so many that the incident had become lost. Children once again played freely in the countryside, and men traveled the road without weapons. Livestock were permitted to graze without a watchman. It was as though the terrible event had never happened, and even I, despite my doubts over the cause, had become complacent. But one night while I was walking home, I saw her again.”
“She survived,” I whispered, marveling at the way I was being drawn into the tale, led by words dark and foreboding.
Ahriman hesitated, but then nodded and closed his eyes for a time. “At first I thought I was having a vision. She was exactly as I remembered her from childhood. I had grown, but she was still a girl, even her hair was braided in the same way as I recalled. She was standing over the corpse of a woman, her chin and neck covered in blood and bits of meat. I was terrified and started to run, but she called after me in a delicate voice and told me not to be afraid, swearing that she wouldn’t harm me. Despite my fear, I stopped. To this day I know not why.”
“And you were attacked?” I could tell from the tone that something dreadful was approaching, and I felt a long absent knot of anticipation in my belly. “How did you survive such evil?”
“She didn’t lay a finger on me, nor even try,” he said. “We merely spoke, with her asking of her family and the village. Though she had the remains of the dead between her teeth, she seemed no more a monster than any other girl, and it baffled my mind. We talked deep into the night, well after the torch lights had faded. She told me of her life, how she’d been drained of blood and awoke a creature of darkness, able only to subsist on others.”
“Horrifying!” I sat back, running a hand over my face, part of me hoping the young man was just having some fun with an elderly stranger, some brief amusement on his journey. But I doubted this, for Ahriman had turned white as sheep’s wool in the face, and his eyes seemed to grow misty as he spoke as though he were relaying the deepest of pain.
“She told me she could tolerate the hunting, that she’d gotten accustomed to it and had learned how to kill painlessly. But the immortality bothered her beyond reason. She would never grow old or know of love. She would never find a man that would accept her, save ones who had predilections toward children, and she went to great lengths to avoid those or destroy them when the chance arose.” He became silent, his eyes vacant as they stared into the darkness. “Despite the frightful deeds she had done, I pitied her.”
“I cannot imagine a creature inspiring such sentiment.” The thought was so foreign to me that I could scarcely form the words on my tongue. But in the next moment, another round of coughing struck at me, taking me to my knees, which protested painfully against the abuse. I laughed a bit, drawing a curious glance from my strange companion.
“I think, instead of pity, your monster child was worthy of envy. The bloodlust is a dreadful thing, to be sure. But to be young and supple for eternity…” I shook my head in wonderment. “I wonder if that girl, even in her youth, recognized the gift she’d been given. To never grow old, or to watch her beauty stolen a day at a time, or to feel her body become the enemy. Had I met this creature when I was a virile man such as you, I might have beseeched her to corrupt me with her unnatural power, so that I could live as such all the days of the world.”
I shook out my cloak, which had soaked through from the rain which was now in full downpour. So involved in the tale from the stranger, I hadn’t noticed the needlefire had died away. I had a moment of regret that I’d forgotten to gather an ember in my gourd, to place in the hearth at my humble home. I’d never failed in that tradition, one of the few I had kept over my long years, even those times when my body was crippled from pain.
“I must leave you now, stranger. I offer you shelter this night, if you desire such, though my hospitality only extends to a place on a hardened floor. Work is scarce for able men these days, and there is none for those that aren’t. I’ve had to part with most of my belongings, even the very bed I shared with my wife for forty years.”
The visitor did not respond, nor did he make any move to stand, or seem at all concerned that the wet ground was starting to become mud beneath him. He kept his gaze on the remains of the fire, his expression one that my failing eyes could not discern with certainty, but appeared troubled. I wondered if he was in thrall of my tale, or in private agony from his own. Either way, I was content to leave him alone with his thoughts. I gathered my cloak around me, took my walking staff in hand and began the slow trek downhill, taking care on the grass that had turned slippery during the storm.
“Old man,” Ahriman called. “Aren’t you afraid to travel without guise?”
I rumbled a laugh, deep in my chest. “Young friend, did you not see the face beneath my cowl? These scars are from a needlefire three seasons past, one that caught me unawares when it blew the wrong way during a terrible gust of wind. Since then, I have worn a mask far more terrifying than any created by the hands of even the most skilled men.”
I turned away and took a few more cautious steps, my voice lowering, heavy with a despair that accompanied me most of my waking hours.
“And I don’t fear the spirits any longer,” I breathed, struggling with the effort of simple movement, no longer certain or even caring if my voice reached the ears of the stranger. “For what evil can be heaped upon me that a miserably long life hasn’t already inflicted?”
I reached the bottom of the hill, not without effort, and started along the well-traveled road I’d walked since I was old enough to carry myself on two legs. My back gave way to seizures as I continued on, using the short, shuffling steps of the ancient that drew pitying looks in the daylight hours. I reached my home, and with great exhaustion, I lay down on the tattered blankets I now used for a bed.
I struggled to kick off my shoes, but wasted no effort with the rest of my garb, wet though it was. My heart was still burning from exertion and another fit of hacking cough had taken hold. I lamented my plight and longed for slumber, but the room was too chilled for sleep, and my mind was cluttered by stories from far-away lands. I knew that when I did drift away, I would dream of the monster child, and I wondered if I would wake in fright, or in sadness that it hadn’t been me chosen by that creature so long, long ago to live in unnatural perfection.
My eyes fell closed after a time, my raspy breaths serving as a lullaby. Once more, as I’d done every night for many years, I prayed to the Gods, imploring them to see fit in their mercy to snuff out the last, lingering pieces of my rotted and useless body. I did not expect that on this night my pleas would finally be heard and answered in dreadful form.
I heard not a sound, but before my throat was taken in hand. My eyes opened in fright, and I stared up into the smooth face of a girl, braids in her hair and blood stained on her lips. Her eyes were clear and bright, but they held a rage that was unnatural for one so young. I pushed at the small hand encircling my neck, but then the booted foot of the stranger, Ahriman, landed fully on my chest, preventing any movement.
“What is this wickedness?” I gasped, my eyes growing wide with a horror I’d never felt.
“You are the wicked,” the monster child said, her voice as soft as a summer breeze. “You covet me, my youth and my health, without care or concern to my plight. I will never grow to see my body turn ripe. I will never know the love of a husband, or feel my belly swell with new life. I am trapped forever as a child, without even the hope of death to save me. And in this, you dare to find envy.”
She leaned down, so that her face was mere inches from my own, and when she grinned, I saw teeth that were as blades. But even in my fear, I could not douse the hope that sprang forth from my heart. Perhaps this monster child, this unholy creature from another land, was the weapon the Gods would use to free me from my torment. I awaited the attack with a peculiar mixture of emotion, and braced myself for the solitude to come. It did not.
“Get on with it, child,” I said, my voice laden with the effort of forming even simple words. “Deliver the strike and release me from this cursed life.”
“I will show you what it truly means to be cursed,” she whispered. “For as surely as I am trapped in this body, you will be trapped in yours. As I am forced to walk the world in what you deem constant perfection, you will walk in suffering and sorrow, for the rest of all time.”
The implications of the words were not lost to me, but I had not even strength enough to cry out when she bit into my flesh. I struggled, rebelling against the fate that was to be mine, but it was to no avail. In those last moments, before I was made into a creature of eternal lamentation, my dismal eyes caught sight of the hearth and the dwindling flame that danced within; the one, which for the first time, had not been lit by an ember from the needlefire.
Twist of Fate
Rebecca Nolan
“And here I thought he would be dead!” Lana said, "I mean, you totally nailed him with the car… right?”
“Yeah… It’s a truck, by the way, and I got the dent in the front to prove it… just not the body,” Eric muttered, scratching his head in confusion. “Where in God’s name could he have gone?”
“I don’t know; are you sure it was a guy?” Lana looked at the empty stretch of road behind them. She was positive that they had run over a guy, too, but now there was nothing, only a dent in the front bumper and a smashed windscreen.
“Seriously, Lana, it is mid-morning and the sky is clear, we both saw him hit the truck, and I don’t think deer wear PVC pants,” Eric jested half-heartedly. She could tell he was having trouble processing this, too.
“Yeah, I know; I just don’t know how it is that he is not a broken mess behind your car.” Eric glared at her. “I mean truck,” she corrected herself, so tired of hearing about why she couldn’t call it a car.
“Christ, this is like right out of some pathetic horror film… where now he is going to leap out of the woods and hack us into little pieces after torturing us.” Eric groaned. “Either way, I am a dead man.” Lana shot him a quizzical look. “If some crazy, psycho hell-bent on revenge doesn’t get me, then I have no doubt my dad will,” he answered.
Lana sighed, bending down to see if the liquid on the ground was blood. She carefully dipped her fingers into it; they came out a rich red as she studied the liquid a little more and rubbed it between her fingers. Though, she did stop before she was tempted to taste it.
“Well, something is injured; that much I can tell you.” She turned to Eric who was now contemplating the damage to his front end. “We need to go and find him, make sure he is ok”
“You’re crazy, right? This guy got hit by my truck doing fifty, and by the time we are collected enough to jump out, he is gone… I mean really.”
Eric shook his head at her as Lana shrugged her delicate shoulders. “Seriously, we are not going to offer ourselves up to be sliced and diced just because you have a guilty conscious”
“So… what, we just leave him alone… out there… hurt?” It wasn’t who she was.
Eric threw his arms up and walked away. “Lana, get over it.” It was a harsh thing to say, but that is what was needed. There was no way in hell he was about to enter the woods to find some psycho killer. Lana grabbed the bag out of the back and the gun out of the tool box. She passed over the rifles they used for hunting, opting for a classic Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum.
Lana wasn’t sure if she could fire it correctly, but she was sure that if she ran into trouble, it would certainly help her.
Eric watched her, dazed; this was not the usual way Lana acted, and he should know considering they practically grew up together. There was only two years in age between them; Eric being the older one, of course. Lana had moved into his neighborhood when he was eight, and their mothers worked together in the doctor’s clinic. Lana’s dad had been out of the scene for a while, and Eric’s dad was happy to fill in as a part time replacement when needed. Eric remembered the way his dad use to walk in all red-faced after giving Lana a driving lesson. It seemed so long ago, instead of only a few years, and now they were home on break from college.
“So are you coming with me?” Lana looked at him, blue eyes pleading with him to come. She really didn’t want to walk in the woods alone. “You owe me; you know that. Look, we will just go a little way in, and if we don’t see any trace of him we will leave it alone.”
Eric groaned. He knew that he owed her, but really he was hoping to make up for it by helping her decorate her dorm room or something far less terrifying. “Jeez, Lana, this doesn’t feel right. Surely you aren’t too blonde to realize that this isn’t right.”
Lana hissed something lower, and rather abusive he assumed, as she started to head towards the edge of the woods. The trees were tall, dark and thick with foliage. She glanced once more in Eric’s direction, pleading for him to come with her. He was watching, waiting for her to admit that it was crazy to head into the dark and somewhat scary woods to find a person who ran off after being hit by a ca… truck.
Cautiously she placed her foot onto the debris, listening to the crunch as it gave way to her weight. After that, it seemed easier to move forward. Lana looked meticulously down to make sure she stayed on the right blood trail. There wasn’t a great amount to follow, so Lana made sure she left a trail behind her. Another strip of the rag was being tied to another branch when she heard her name being called. Somehow it appeared as if the words were echoing in her head; that was until Eric ran right into her.
“What the?” She screamed half panicked “I thought you weren’t coming?”
“The truck wouldn’t start. I mean, it has no reason why it shouldn’t start, but it didn’t even turn over,” he panted out of breath.
“Well, that’s odd, but why didn’t you just lock yourself in until I returned?”
Eric didn’t look at her; instead he just shrugged his shoulders as if he were too ashamed to admit he was too scared to stay in the truck by himself. Lana laughed out loud, she couldn’t help it. Eric was a six foot two, college-wrestling champion, whose dad was the town sheriff and had taught his son from a very young age how to look after himself. There were only two things Eric was scared of: one, his dad, and two, his family finding out that he was gay… both were completely understandable. That is why they pretended to be a couple, so Eric could buy himself a little more time before he came out of the closet.
“You were too scared to stay there all by yourself… weren’t you?” Lana teased.
“For your information, I wasn’t scared. I just didn’t think it was wise for you to go on this one man search party fully loaded like dirty Harriet and blow some poor, defenseless, little deer’s head off.”
“So what?” She hissed “Now you are working for PETA or something? Since when do you care about poor defenseless animals?”
“No, I am more worried about you, honestly… I mean, doesn’t this all feel a little horror movie-ish?”
“Jeez, you can be a real drama-queen.” They stopped to look at one another before looking around; they could no longer see the road, nor did they have any clue how far they had walked. Nothing looked familiar, and Lana realized she hadn’t spotted the blood trail since Eric arrived.
“We need to back step; I have lost the blood trail I was following,” Lana said trying to sound calm. Suddenly everything about this situation was terrifying. She ripped another strip from the rag and tied it to another branch then turned around and counted twenty steps. Nothing was there; she was sure she had left a marker every twenty steps. She counted another ten, still nothing. Surely she hadn’t walked more than thirty, and if they walked another twenty and still didn’t find anything, then it would be time to panic. They walked thirty not finding any trace that they had been here.
“Shit,” Lana said. “We need to head back to the last marker and then try to find where the others are from there.” she looked at Eric “I need a piece of your shirt it is a different color and will help us mark this path so we know this is the wrong one”
Eric took off his shirt and tore a rough stripe from it before putting his shirt back on. They counted another sixty paces, heading back the way they had just came, only stopping every twenty to leave a new marker. Once the sixty was up they looked around, nothing was there, no marker, no disturbed ground, just nothing. Eric and Lana looked at one another; this was getting creepy, very friggin’ creepy.
“I told you! This is some sicko’s idea of fun before he finally hacks us to death,” Eric yelled as he paced back and forth.
“Calm down, we must have gotten off course is all.”
“Calm down? We are lost in the woods, looking for some guy who can survive being hit by a truck and also likes to wear PVC in summer out here,” He yelled frustrated and scared. This was not the way he wanted to die.
“Fine, let’s just head that way,” she pointed, "maybe if we go far enough we will either hit the road or get high enough to get a signal for our phones.”
“Ok, but just so you know, this is how most B-grade horror films start out, you know lulling the prey into a false sense of hope before they pull out the chainsaw or giant butcher meat hook?”
“You watch way too many movies,” Lana said, rolling her eyes.
“Movies aren’t real, and we aren’t being lead into a false sense of hope… whatever that means.”
“It means they are allowing us to believe we have a chance to get out, when they know we are only putting off the inevitable.” He sulked, tagging along behind her. They walked in silence. Not a sound was heard; the birds didn’t sing, and there wasn’t any wind to rustle the leaves. The further they went, the darker it became as the sun was lost to canopy above.
“Ok, this feels eerily like the path to our death, and like stupid little rabbits, we are following it happily until finally we are trapped, squealing for our lives,” Eric said stopping. He checked his phone again, still no signal.
“You’re forgetting that I still have the gun,” Lana said, suddenly happy to be carrying it. Eric laughed at her.
“Do you even know how to use that thing?”
“Yes. You point and shoot. I am not completely naïve; you know your father taught me a thing or two as well!”
“Yeah, with a brand new 9mm, not a big revolver.”
“Yeah, so it is like all the same, right? You point at the target, and you shoot. It ain’t rocket science you know.” Lana sat digging in the bag for something to snack on.
“Well then, Miss know-it-all-must-save-every-freaky-person, why don’t you give it a go then?” he snickered, studying her carefully.
“And waste the bullets?” Lana shot back at him. “I think that would really be unwise.”
“This place is freaky. It is too quiet, and it feels as though things are watching us, waiting for us to make a mistake so they can fight over the remains.”
“Eric, look… calm down.” Sympathy was not something she was willing to give Eric right now; she needed to think of a way to get out of here. Lana took a good look around, she knew it was early afternoon and yet, darkness was closing in on them.
“This is one hundred percent your fault!” Eric declared as if she didn’t already know that.
“Come on, we need to keep moving.”
“Can’t we rest for just a few minutes, it’s not like we are lost or anything,” Eric said sarcastically. Lana rolled her eyes as she placed the backpack down again. Eric was slumped against a tree, his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. Lana sighed. So much for him being all terrified of the boogieman, she thought. Lana closed her eyes. Only for minute, she thought. She was tired from the walking.
“God, Lana! Get up, now!” A voice yelled at her. She opened her eyes to see Eric seriously pissed off and looking down at her. “Why were you asleep?” he demanded. Lana rubbed her sore eyes and looked around. It was almost dark. How long had they been asleep for?
“I only wanted to rest my eyes, Eric, really! It felt like only for a few minutes,” she stuttered.
There was an uncanny silence in the woods, freaky for this time of night. Lana looked around, which way had they come from? Nothing seemed familiar anymore.
“Eric which way did we come from?” she asked, as Eric turned to face her. Something was not right, the fine little hairs all over Lana’s body stood on end. Eric was grinning, not in the friendly, joking way, but in a way that made Lana want to back away from him. Eric’s eyes were cold and dark, even in this light she knew this was not the boy she had grown up with.
“Follow me, Lana. I will get us out,” he said quietly. Where was scared, drama-queen Eric? Lana thought as she reached into her backpack for the gun… it was gone. Her eyes flickered up to see Eric, standing there casually holding her gun. “Looking for something?” he mocked.
“Eric, I know you think this is funny, but cut it out?” She cried “you win… I am totally freaked out now.”
He tossed her the gun and laughed, “Come on, it will be dark soon.”
She breathed a huge sigh of relief, her heart still hammering away inside her chest.
“You are such a jerk” she screamed frustrated. “Don’t kid around like that.”
Eric laughed again as his arm slipped around her shoulders. “Did you truly think I would kill you?” he asked giving her a squeeze. She swallowed; the lump was still stuck in the back of her throat.
“No,” she lied. It wasn’t even a good lie.
“I am sorry,” Eric said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to scare you, that badly.”
“Forget about it,” Lana snapped. Guiding her through the forest, Eric made sure to stay quiet. He could feel Lana’s rage at having been scared emanating from her. With each step, her foot stomped into the ground, leaving an imprint. If it hadn’t been for the situation, Eric would have found it funny, but it was getting late and dark. The stillness now paired up with the looming darkness was off putting. Eric had long forgotten about the man; he was clearly long gone now. All that Eric wanted to do was find his truck and get out of there.
“What did you say?” Lana snapped at him from out of nowhere.
Eric was positive that he hadn’t said anything. “I didn’t say a thing,” he answered defensively. Lana’s pale, grey eyes burned a hole into Eric. He shrugged “I really didn’t say a thing.”
“Well, I heard something.”
“Like a person or an animal?” Eric questioned.
“A person," she hissed. “I am not so stupid that I would mistake an animal noise for a human!”
“No need to snap my head off, I was just asking.”
“Shhh!” Lana said, "Didn't you just hear that?”
Eric nodded; he had heard it. Something was behind them, speaking to them. Eric felt his blood turn to ice.
“Hello, who is out there?” He yelled into the trees, waiting for a response. Nothing came back. Lana looked at him; her eyes wide with fear. Eric raised the gun out of the bag.
“If someone can hear us, come out and show yourself?” Eric said again. Waiting, he heard only a whisper among the trees. He raised the gun instinctively, a large bang echoing out through the woods. Lana slumped against a tree, her head in her hands. The gun dropped from Eric’s shaking hands.
“Lana!” he yelled, rushing over to her side. “I didn’t mean to do that. Are you alright?” he asked. Lana raised her head a little, tears flowing freely as her body trembled. Eric reached out to touch her, but she cringed away. His hand snapped back. “I really am sorry,” he repeated.
Another loud bang echoed through the woods deafening them both. Lana looked up at Eric, taking in the way his mouth was slightly open, as if he were about to say something. Lana looked down at his chest; there wasn’t much to be seen. A gaping hole had ripped through him, exposing his insides and spraying the ground with bits and pieces of him. Lana looked back at his face; Eric blinked, his eyes connecting with hers moments before he fell back.
Lana screamed. The sound echoed throughout the area and rung in her ears. Desperately, Lana scurried over and tried to hold his chest together to stop the blood that was poured out to pool on the soft ground. Deep down she knew he was dead; no one could survive that. Blood covered her hands and her clothing. She didn’t care. Her arms wrapped around Eric’s body, cradling him close to her chest.
“Poor, little Lana, Lost her friend, Now she is all alone, Let the games begin,” A rich male voice sang out from the darkness. Lana looked up, her face stained with tears. Nothing was there; she looked back down at Eric, wondering how she would be able to carry his body back to the truck.
“Run Lana, it will be more fun if you run,” The voice sang again, this time laughing at the end. “I have the gun,” he went on.
“Show yourself!” Lana yelled into the night. “If you want me dead, well here I am, you sick bastard!”
“Such profanity isn’t nice to hear from such a pretty girl.” A man walked out from behind a tree. He was tall and lanky with dark, black hair and was wearing black, leather pants. Lana shuddered; this man reminded her of the one they had hit with the truck earlier.
“Fuck you!” She sobbed as the man moved closer to her. Barely a few feet away, the gun pointed at her.
“Well, if you insist,” he said with a grin. “I think we could arrange to do that before we kill you.”
Lana trembled; she had no weapon to defend herself with and now the sicko was tormenting her. He moved closer still, his hands grabbing her by the hair and ripping her away from Eric’s body. She screamed, not on purpose. The man laughed as she kicked her legs out at him, her hands clawing away at his arms in a vain attempt to save herself.
“You’re a feisty one.” He grinned. “You will be fun.”
“Just get it over with and kill me,” Lana whispered, tired from fighting, walking and everything else. She was ready, if he wanted her dead she wouldn’t run, wouldn’t let him win. His free hand ran down the side of her neck. So delicate was his touch that Lana barely felt it.
“You are really ready to give up so easily?” He asked, no joking tone, just serious and thoughtful. Lana nodded, she didn’t know if she was really ready or not, but what other choice did she have.
“You would just lie down and die without a fight?” he questioned unhappily, his free hand sitting at the base of his throat gently stroking her collar bone with his thumb.
“If it would mean that you don’t get the pleasure of hunting me, then yes, I would prefer to lie down and die.” Her voice steady, surprising them both. The corner of his mouth turned upwards as he suppressed another smile. His hand wrapped itself around her throat squeezing it lightly.
“Are you sure that you are so willing to die without a fight?” he asked, bringing his head closer, his breath hitting the skin of her neck, sending a shiver of terror through her.
“Oh God, and she thought I was dramatic? J, stop playing with her, and just kill her already, I need to feed, considering you shot me!” Eric’s voice broke the tension held between Lana and the man. They both turned, looking at Eric, who was sitting. The hole in his chest slowly disappearing before their eyes.
“Eric!” she yelled. Was she going crazy? “You are dead… Shot… dead,” she stuttered helplessly.
“Oh, honey, I was dead before J shot me.” He laughed. “Now it is your turn to die, but don’t worry, once you come back you will be better and stronger than any other.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are things you need to know and things you don’t, sweetie. Right now it is time to feed; so be a good girl and shut up,” Eric said walking over to them. The man called J had been silent, just watching with mild amusement.
Eric grabbed her arm, looking at J before sinking his teeth into her skin. Intense pain roared through Lana’s body, causing her to cry out. Eric raised his lips that were now stained bright crimson and laughed. J let Lana fall to the ground, his thumb running over the bottom lip of Eric’s before kissing him. It was one of those kisses which shouldn’t be shared in public; it was deep and full of lust. Lana stared up at them, her wrist still bleeding.
“Eric what have you done?” She sobbed, her body aching all over.
“Oh, sweetie,” J leaned down and licked the blood from her wrist, "you are going to die, and that is just a fact. Nothing personal, but since I do like you, like Eric, I will offer you a chance to live again.” J’s hand cupped the side of her face, his voice but a whisper inside her mind. Lana was scared. No, more than that, she was terrified. She didn’t want to be like them, whatever they were.
“We should just kill her like we planned; you wanted me to bring one with unbending morals, and we need to find a sacrifice or we will suffer. That is what you said. She is perfect for this, isn’t she? I tried everything to make her leave, but she just insisted that we try and find you, to make sure you weren’t hurt.” Eric whined so casually about Lana’s impending death.
“You’re right,” J said. "Get the stuff together and we shall begin.”
He looked down at Lana and shook his head, “Such a waste.”
“Please,” she begged, unable to move very far. Eric began laying out the items: one large combat knife, salt, and a large, red, leather-bound book. J grabbed the salt and began to draw something in the ground; it was a series of shapes and symbols. Standing in the middle he chanted, the words making no sense to Lana. Eric walked over to where she lay and sat down beside her.
“This is really a great honor; you should feel very lucky.”
“You are about to kill me, how does that make me lucky?” Lana asked, drawing on all of her energy to spit out the words at her former friend.
“Because tonight you are fulfilling two duties; one, you are going to make one gorgeous sacrifice, and two, once people know we are missing and see the truck and our blood plus pieces of you, then they will assume we are both dead. And then, I won’t have to deal with my family.”
Lana wanted to laugh. It wasn’t funny, not really, but the thought of her murderer afraid of his father was funny. The temperature within her body began to rise; infection must have been setting in. How long did it take to get an infection from such a bite? Lana didn’t know, but right now her insides felt as if they were on fire.
“Eric, I need water!” she cried out, her body shaking with the inferno. It looked as if she was convulsing. Eric placed the water bottle to her lips so she could drink. The fire within didn’t die down, instead it increased. Eric shot J a fearful look as he watched Lana.
“J, you better get over here.”
“The gates of hell are open; I cannot leave the circle.” J looked at the girl as she lay there convulsing, panic spread over him. “Bring her to the circle and we will begin.”
Eric struggled to pick her up as she flipped around in his arms. Finally, she was at the circle’s edge, J’s arms taking over for Eric’s. He laid her gently down onto the ground and started the chant. Her body stopped moving, her eyes opening so that they stared at him. For a brief second, he questioned whether being a devil’s disciple was worth the living forever. It was only a brief second though; he began to cut the symbol into the flesh of her stomach.
Lana screamed as the knife cut into the surface of her skin, it wouldn’t kill her, but god it hurt. J’s dark eyes flashed the tiniest hint of remorse, but soon it was replaced with concentration. Lana felt the strangest urge to kiss him. She didn’t know why, but all the pain stopped; her arms reached out to J, wrapping around his neck and drawing him closer. Her lips pressed hard against his, her tongue forceful as it entered his mouth. Heat passed between them, so intense that they tried to part, but something held them together. Words forced themselves into her mind; she knew what she must do to live.
Lana pulled away from J, knife in hand and walked towards a bewildered Eric. She had broken the circle and nothing had harmed her, she was untouchable now.
“Stand,” she ordered Eric; at once he was on his feet. Her mouth closed onto his, and she kissed him. Heat did not pass between them like with J. Instead she felt his protect drain from within his body. No longer was he safe from that which should naturally kill him. Pulling away from him, Lana laughed; the prey became the predator… how ironic. The knife plunged deeply into Eric’s neck, almost severing it completely. He dropped to the ground as Lana pulled out the knife; there was no coming back for him this time.
J was about to step out of the circle when she turned “If you do that, you will bring the torments of Hell upon you! Stay there like a good boy, for you are now my slave,” she said, full of energy.
“How can that be?” J asked, his voice quivering at the end.
“Fool boy! I am chosen; you have marked me the Devil’s concubine, and now only He can destroy me!” She laughed. J’s dark eyes widened, he looked as if he might cry, and that pleased Lana. “I’ll come for you when I find a need of you.” She was going to have fun now, with no one to stop her and nothing that could kill her. She left J standing in the prison of the circle as she stepped to the edge of darkness.
“Wait!” J cried. “How long ‘till you return… I will get hungry,” he whimpered.
She curled her evil lip, “You’re the one that wanted to live forever… now you’ll know how long that is.” Lana vanished into the forest like a ghost.
The forest was still, no birds sang, no breeze rustled the trees. The sinking gravity of his fate, settled into J’s mind. As he took a step, to give in to the misery that awaited him, he heard Lana’s voice. It floated to him like a whisper in the trees, “Are you ready to give up so easily?”
He didn’t answer. But the departing laugh of Lana diminished to a hush, leaving J alone for all time.
The Door
Theresa Oliver
Lugging the heavy bucket of water down the hall, Madison prepared to give the spare room a good scrub-down in preparation for the baby. Water sloshed over the brim, drenching her jeans, spilling onto the floor as she set the bucket down.
“Great,” she said aloud, debating whether or not to postpone the task at hand.
She and her husband, Bill, had bought the old Victorian home just two months before. It was in remarkably good condition, despite its obvious age. The turrets and old stone walls were aging, but had been well cared for over the years, which helped to preserve the grand structure.
The old house was a bit big for just her and Bill with its eight bedrooms and three stories, but with the baby on the way, Madison just couldn’t resist, having flashes of producing a quaint bed and breakfast one day. They had been living in the house for a few weeks, when a door Madison hadn’t noticed before seemed suddenly to appear in the hallway. But Madison brushed the thought quickly aside, thinking she must have overlooked it when viewing the spacious home.
Madison placed her hand gingerly on the cold steel of the round knob and paused, for she had not yet ventured beyond its door. A fine patina graced the steel, adding to the mystique. For a moment, Madison thought she might polish it, making it like new again, but she knew she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She just loved antiques.
Slowly, she twisted the knob and pushed. It opened easily, as light spilled into the hallway, illuminating the water beaded upon the hardwood floor. The door creaked loudly as she pushed it open wide, and stepped into the room.
The room was of moderate size with dark hardwood floors like in the rest of the house. Facing the front of the house were two broad windows, bright and cheery as the sunlight streamed into the room. This will be perfect for the baby’s nursery, Madison thought, smiling to herself. The room was right down the hall from the master, within hearing distance. Madison smiled to herself as she vowed to make this room sparkle before the baby came.
She still had time.
Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dark flash. “Who’s there?” she called out. She was alone in the house, as Bill was at the firm and would be working late, as usual. He seemed to be working late a lot lately. She hoped it wasn’t because of the cost and upkeep of this old house. But when she saw the quaint Victorian house, she just had to have it, and Bill, of course, gave her whatever she wanted.
She saw the flash from the corner of her eye again.
“Anyone there?” she repeated, yelling throughout the house, then waited.
Nothing.
She quickly brushed the thought aside, then lugged the heavy bucket into the room as water sloshed over the brim again, having filled the bucket too full. Oh well, she thought, the floor’s going to get wet anyway.