by Elle A. Rose
his knife.
“There may be more seavodes or vodepods roaming in the house, so stay on your guard. I’m heading for the kitchen next, so meet me there.”
I respond with, “Yes, sir,” as I turn back and place my hand on the stone railing which leads up a massive spiral staircase, thankful that lit lanterns illuminate my ascent.
Sheep, like all other animals, died out centuries ago. Xecerptavodes grow the only plants from which fabric is made. I would like to stuff at least one of my sacks with cloth. One sack is already filled with the meat from the attack on the road, and I’ll wait until I meet back up with Dad to fill the third sack. When I round the final few stairs, I spot two smaller xecerptavodes sitting still in the long passageway. They, too, are in stasis. I believe they are both female and appear to be playing some sort of marble game. I want to swipe the marbles from the floor and bring them home to my sisters. I wonder if the females would know they were missing. Would they be upset if their toys disappeared? I’ve decided to mull this over as I make my way to the first room. Perhaps I’ll snag the goodies for Thea and Rylee on the way back.
I’m amazed by the items that adorn the creatures’ walls. Paintings and clay works align the space, whereas, at home one sees nothing but cracks and holes in the mud that holds our structures together. I resist the urge to place one of these items in my bag as well. I finally find what looks like a linen cupboard. Everything the xecerptavodes produce is in shades of gray, brown, and sometimes green. I grab a handful of different size towels and blankets, and cram them into the bag. With my sack half full, I search for the resting quarters. During my quest, I stumble upon a xecerptavode woman. I can tell it’s a female by the hair. She has something in her hands. I edge around her, careful not to touch her. She’s holding a book. I bend to read the spine, but it’s written in their native tongue, and I have no clue what it says.
I’m wasting time, so I move on to find other fabric. With a few tops and bottoms from the resting quarter’s safely in my bag, I go in search of the smaller females’ rooms. I bet Thea and Rylee can fit in some of their clothes. In another room--not the one I wanted--I find candles and a few more matches. Just as I add the wax to my sack, a loud crash comes from downstairs. I take off running. “Dad? Dad, are you okay?” I receive no response. My feet race down the unremitting hallway, past the two girls and pound their way to the first floor.
On the main floor, I search for my dad. Neither he nor Uncle Etan are in sight. As I make my way in the direction in what I hope is the kitchen. I stumble, losing my balance. I slam onto the hard stone floor and the sacks spill from my hands. The impact knocks the wind out of me. Blood pools in my mouth. Gasping to replenish my lungs with air, I wipe blood from my jaw. As my eyes refocus, I find my father battling a spirit in the center of the room. A renewed sense of strength washes over me. The spirit has Dad by the neck. His face is turning a dark blue. Back on my feet, I start moving toward the soul. I dig into my pocket to retrieve the matches Dad gave me, only to find I must have broken them during my fall. I can’t light any of them, and still have enough flame to throw it on the deranged soul. Instead, I reach for my knife.
The spirit is unaware of my approach. Dad is unconscious. I can only hope he’s still breathing. Just before the ghost throws Dad into the wall, I strike. Bits of flesh fall to the floor and a hollow scream echoes through the castle, as the full bodied ghost spins around to face me. The soul charges and I attempt to cut at it again. “Uncle Etan!” I cry. I thought he would be inside by now. With a lucky few swipes, I hack away at the creature again. That’s when I notice chopping the ghost was not a good idea. The pieces of flesh have begun to regenerate. No one has shared this information with me. I guess this is why we burn the souls back to the other side. Now, instead of fighting off one soul, I must contend with three.
Uncle Etan has to be on his way. I only need to make it out of this room. As I step backward, the ghosts draw near. I reach and try to pull one of the lanterns from the placement in the wall, with no luck. I need fire. Just as I’ve almost made it to the entrance of the room, I hear a grisly sound behind me. I dare to sneak a peek at what has made the noise. My heart, the one I doubted could beat any faster, stops. I’m surrounded. Behind me, coming up fast is a huge vodepod.
I have to think of something. Scanning the room, I remember Dad still has matches on him, and I have matches in the sacks I dropped in the outer hallway. One way leads me to face the vodepod, the other way the three spirits. I believe the ghosts to be the lesser of the two evils. I just need to make it a few yards. I know I can do this. As everything seems to close in on me, I take a deep breath and then it hits me. The lanterns on the wall! Those are lit flames. Heat from the one nearest to me on the wall warms my face. With no matches to use, I rip and tear a few shreds of cloth from my jacket.
A sharp grounding noise echoes in the hallway behind me, but I do not stop to check the distance between myself and the impending attack. While my eyes never leave the ghost, my hand reaches up and runs the three strips of fabric into the lanterns. Salty, burnt mold fills the air as tatters of my jacket catch fire. I need to move fast, before the clothes burn me and not my three pursuers. As I go to release the strips, something sharp pierces my leg. I fall forward, letting out a scream.
The vodepod pulls harder on my leg, and I fight to free myself. With a quick jab with my left foot, I kick the beast in one of its scent glands. It causes the animal to release me. Before the creature strikes again, I fling one of the burning cloths at it. It shrieks and the hallway flashes blue, as the vodepod retreats, flames bouncing off its scaly back. I have no time to celebrate. Twisting backwards, the last two pieces of jacket leave my hands just in time. Both wicks land on the spirit closest to me. He bursts into flames, screeches and flays his arms, hitting one of its clones.
My hopes of all three souls taking each other out go up in smoke. The third spirit avoids its brothers by diving towards the ground as the middle ghost begins to thrash about. Our heads smack, making an awful hollow thud. I reel backwards and roll to my side. There’s a loud hum in my ears and the room is spinning. I wheeze, saliva thick in my mouth, as I try to crawl away. Dad is still sprawled on the floor. He hasn’t moved, but his color seems to be returning.
“Dad?” it’s such a small cry, it doesn’t even echo off the stone walls. I inch my way closer to Dad, with a sharp pain shooting through my leg. As I near, he stirs and his eyes open. A weak smile settles on his lips before his sight shifts. Panic washes over Dad and his hand shoots out, pointing behind me.
“Verick!” rushes from his bruised lips and a hot pain zips up my leg. I yelp and my arms buckle. Fingers gouging into the bite from the vodepod draw spots to my eyes. The distance between Dad and I widen as I’m pulled backwards. My hands grasp at the cracks in the flooring, only ripping the nails away from the skin. The xecerptavode spirit yanks me closer to him and flips me over on my back. A knife looms over my head. I must’ve dropped my knife during the struggle. Putrid gases spew from the ghost’s mouth, and his tentacles brush my upper lip and cheek. He’s missing an eye and one of his tentacles. That had to have occurred before his real death.
Behind me, Dad whimpers. I recall him saying he won’t go home without me. He was there the night his brother died. The family doesn’t talk about it often, but Dad blames himself. He shared once, how he was nearby, and yet, could not make it to help his brother. I can’t let there be a repeat. Struggling under the soul’s grip, I fumble for the broken matches in my pocket. I don’t have to throw the match far to vanquish the spirit. The only problem is I’m going to burn myself in the process.
With one hand, I fight to hold back the knife—my knife—in the ghost’s clutches, while after a few attempts the other hand finds the top of a match. I give one hard shove, granting me room to pull my salvation out and rake it across the floor. The scratching sound of the match lighting sings in my ears and I flick the flame onto the ghost. Bluish-green flames fill the room along with the cri
es of the spirit. But before I catch fire too, the ghost is jerked from on top of me. The knife clinks to the floor next to my head, and Uncle Etan’s face appears.
“Well, that was close.” He reaches out his hand and helps me sit up. “I would’ve been here a little sooner, but after someone set the vodepod on fire, it triggered the rocks in the entryway. There was no other way in, so I had to clear the doorway.”
His gaze shifts from me to Dad. I turn and see Dad is trying to stand up. Uncle Etan and I move to help him. My leg still hurts, but I ignore the pain and go to my dad’s side. Dad reaches out to steady himself using my shoulders.
“What happened to your leg, son? Is anything else hurt?” Dad’s voice comes out as a harsh whisper.
One hand comes to rest on my chest, to feel my heart finally pumping at a normal rate, while his eyes probe over me. “I’m okay. The vodepod that triggered the wire bit me.” Uncle Etan drops to his knees to examine the wound. I take the time to check Dad out. There’s purple and brown bruising in the shape of handprints around his neck, a huge gash on his chin and his bottom lip is split in four places.
Uncle Etan stands, “Let me get some saltwater to clean the wounds. We need to get moving soon. Will you both be ready?”
Dad and I nod and Uncle Etan retreats to collect the water.
“Jason?”
All movement stops.
“Yes, I’m in here.”
“Jason? What are you doing?”
Lillian enters the room and finds Jason sitting right where she left him a few hours ago. He turns and gives her one of his breathtaking, make-you-forget-your-name-and-what-you-wanted-smiles. Lillian’s face flushes and she turns to hide the effect her best friend has over her. As she busies herself with a string on her outfit, she attempts to speak in a normal voice.
“I can’t believe you’re still playing that silly game.”
Jason laughs. “I play Halloween Xe, every year.”
“Yeah, I know. Well, it’s time for the party. You’re going to make us late if you don’t put your costume on soon. You know I hate bobbing for apples after other people have had their mouths in the water.”
Jason laughs again. “All right, I’ll finish playing later. Give me a few minutes to get changed and we can go.”
Jason watches Lillian leave the room in her Lydia Deetz’s costume, then hits save on the game, before putting on his Beetle Juice attire for the school Halloween party.
Note from the author: Though this is a short story, please let me know if you would like to see more of this story and Verick. Visit either my Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/ellearose2012 Or Twitter: @Elle_A_Rose. Thank you and I look forward to your response.
A Grim
Tale
By Elle A. Rose
Copyright © 2012 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.