by Sasha Pruett
Chapter Twenty Six
bear witness of evil.
John 18:23
Viney fingers grasped at his ankles, their thorn ridden claws digging deep into his flesh. The storm had eased into a slight shower and the gleam of a nearly full moon played hide and seek within the clouds lighting his path, except he had no idea what his path was. All he knew was the panic that had consumed his heart, and the terrifying images that had invaded his brain. Visions of a strange man in a tattered, mud ridden suit, spurting blood from his lips as a crimson river flowed from his heartless chest. His eyes narrowing into the empty blackness of death.
Faster and faster he ran, desperate to outrun the horrors inside his own head. He watched the pounding rain wash the splattered AB negative from the sheriff’s headlights and his blood soaked badge drip pink bloodlets from its polished points. Then Katherine’s terrified face, streaked with dirt, blood, and tears, her screams echoing within him. He felt he had lost all trace of sanity as more visions ravaged him. Taillights streaming through the rain, shattered glass flying in all directions, a headless man twitching violently behind the wheel, and a woman’s mutilated face; her muscles left dangling like frayed strings, and her bones protruding from unnatural openings.
He relived the desolation of old man Farley’s cattle and his collies. Michael’s journey to the beginning of Epson’s horrors was now complete, but the images were far from over. He plunged deeper into the forest towards the gates of madness. Further and further his mind transported him to see the beast itself, writhing in agony, imprisoned inside a cave, its monstrous form too massive to slither through the only opening leading to the outside world. It was trapped. Contained in that cave, and that cave... he knew that cave! He had been there only days ago. Had it been that soon, he couldn’t tell? He didn’t know what to believe anymore. The line between fantasy and reality had diminished so much he was unable to trust his own mind, but what choice did he have?
Michael turned towards the caves, hoping that he had received an answer to his prayers, while the visions continued to bombard him. Scurrying over rocks and sand, drenched in mud and sweat, blood and tears, the final image came. - To and fro the pendulum swayed, grasping the light with each rhythmic swing. Finally it ceased its dance; gracefully settling into a spin that slowed to reveal its identity, and miraculously, no sooner had he seen his heart’s desire than he was standing at the grotto.
Michael carefully, but thankfully entered the fated cave, groping his way around centuries old rock formations. He felt for the hole that led to his prison, desperate to hide away from the world. He refused to give his eyes time to adjust to the darkness that surrounded him; time was short, he franticly sought safety not only for himself, but for all those he cared about, and he wasn’t denied.
Elated, he flung himself through the small entranceway, slipping into the inner sanctum, landing on his side with a slight thud. He coughed and grasped for clean air on all fours like a dog in the black abyss. Dirt and sand swirled around him, his hands scavenging the earthen surface, hunting for the mystical talisman of his vision, and his salvation. Over rough rocks and smooth stones his fingers quested. His worthless eyes closed to the dust, his sense of touch their replacement as he combed the ground below, until his palm fell on what he thought to be another large, smooth rock, but it wasn’t heavy enough to be a stone... and rocks don’t have teeth either.
Michael flung the skull back to the ground, disgusted and shuffled away breaking down into sobs, but curiosity soon tackled his fear and he sought it out again. As his digits prodded over the bone he came to realize the skull wasn’t human. Its form was nearly twice the size of a full grown man’s and its upper jaw protruded immensely, housing a set of jagged teeth sharp enough even now to slice effortlessly through the toughest of tendons and large enough to crush the hardest of bones. Here lay the remains of the beast of his visions, the creature of the past.
Was he the previous demon as well, had he somehow been reincarnated to once again destroy life in this quaint hamlet of South Carolina? Were these his bones that lay in the dirt long forgotten, trapped here in this same rocky prison before dying a slow and painful death only to do it again, had he come back to kill even more than before? Was he really some sort of demon, born of Hell, destined, or cursed, to destroy those he knew and loved over and over again, or was there another demon that he was somehow connected to? So many new questions plagued his mind, but one fact was certain, if its bones were still here, undisturbed in this sanctuary after all these decades than the talisman had to be here as well.
The skull forgotten, he turned back to the dusty ground, a femur, a rib, collar bones, a leather strap… torn, tattered, and broken; but there was no amulet, no safety, no salvation. Michael held his breath, reaching back to the earth below. A little to the left, a little to the right, and there, there buried in the soft substrate was the cold metal object of his desire. He clutched the charm to his chest, crying loudly, and fell to the ground. This was it; everyone in Epson would be safe from the monster that lurked within him. He huddled against the furthest wall of the cavern, rocking back and forth to an inaudible beat, repeating these three words, “God help me. God help me. God help me. God help me....”