Banshee Box Set

by Sara Clancy

  “I hadn’t meant to hurt her,” Benton mumbled.

  “Well, that changes everything,” Logan snorted.

  “Logan,” Dorothy sighed. “It was an accident.”

  “Did his Banshee yell hurt my baby?”

  “Our baby.”

  Logan choked on his words before sputtering with force, “All the more reason for you to be alarmed and a little resentful.”

  “Darling, I am cold, sore, concerned, and frustrated. So, if you could do me a favor and remember one of the many conversations we’ve had over the past few months, I’d be very grateful.”

  “Any conversation in particular?” he shot back.

  “Pick any of the ones where I mentioned how co-dependent these two are getting.”

  Benton hunched his shoulders. “We’re not−”

  “Oh, that sounds healthy,” Logan said.

  “But also proof that Benton would never do anything to hurt her. He wouldn’t do that to himself.”

  Biting his lips, Benton fought down the urge to defend his honor. While he was far from a Prince Charming, he wasn’t a psychopath, either. His reasoning for not hurting people didn’t solely revolve around how it might affect himself. Dorothy pushed the issue for a few more moments, and, eventually, Logan came around to her way of thinking. There was no great change in the way he interacted with Benton. There was still suspicion and anger in his gaze. But he did let the Banshee check on his friend without death stares, so Benton supposed it was a win in his favor.

  Another hour of walking, and Benton forgot what it was like to be warm. The Rider family traveled light. Benton had been given Nicole’s overnight bag, and each parent had taken ownership of their own duffle bag. Unfortunately, no one had Benton’s shoe size. Logan’s oversized boots didn’t fight off the chill, but they succeeded wonderfully in sparing his feet from the sharp gravel. Nicole’s jacket was still draped over his shoulders. It didn’t quite fit and barely helped keep in the minimal body heat he had left. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to ask for another. It would just be too awkward. Right now, his goal was to get back home having spoken as few words as possible.

  The night was as dark as it was cold, with only the glow from their phones’ flashlight apps to break it up. Benton could barely see his own feet. It made it incredibly easy to avoid eye contact. Gravel crunched under their feet. The wind curled around them with a low howl. A feeling came creeping back before it slammed his spine like a physical blow. Benton stopped short and turned around. He had borrowed Nicole’s phone. The ‘accident’, as he would continue to call it, had left her screen with a vicious crack. The light worked well enough. He cast the narrow beam from one side of the road to the other. Flurries swirled around them, casting shadows and creating the illusion of movement, like a thousand small beasts crawling through the undergrowth.

  His arm jerked to the side, focusing the beam on the swaying wall of grass without any conscious input from him. Snow gathered along the sleeve of his jacket as he stood there, waiting, certain in the knowledge that he was being watched.

  A shadow crept into his peripheral vision. Benton stifled a startled scream as he jerked away. With Nicole effortlessly cradled to his chest, Logan still managed not only to creep up on him, but to also crouch down to the same height.

  “What ya looking at?” he asked in an almost sing-song tone.

  “Don’t creep up on me,” Benton hissed.

  “Nah, I think I will. You’re kind of hilarious when you’re scared,” Logan replied. “Question; are you whispering because I whispered, or because you think something’s out there?”

  Benton had to think about that for a moment. “Because you whispered.”

  “Ah. That’s less interesting. Pity, though.”

  Benton stammered. “That we’re not being stalked by some unseen creature?”

  “Yeah. I kind of want to shoot something paranormal. I don’t know why. It’s just a thought that’s got stuck in my head.”

  Benton tried not to notice the way Logan’s eyes slid over to study him closely.

  “What are you classified as?”

  “Your daughter’s best friend,” Benton said, still unable to work his voice any louder than a whisper.

  “Are you done toying with him, Logan?” Dorothy snapped from a few feet away.

  “Not yet, honey,” Logan called cheerily over his shoulder.

  Dorothy deadpanned. “You’re an embarrassment.”

  “Okay, baby. Love you, too. You look so hot today.” Logan’s abundance of enthusiasm and childish glee disappeared the second he met Benton’s gaze again. “You do anything to hurt my girls again, I’m going to make you suffer. A lot. Like, in really gross, disturbing ways. Then I’ll shoot you. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, sir,” Benton said in a low breath.

  “I’m really glad we’ve had this talk. I feel like we’ve grown closer. Don’t you?”

  Benton couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to Nicole, silently begging for her to wake up and tell him what to do. Logan walked a tightrope between playful and menacing. No matter how closely Benton watched the man’s twitches and mannerisms, he couldn’t figure out how he was supposed to react.

  It was unnerving. As discreetly as he could, Benton leaned away from the man. Logan moved with him, somehow still easily cradling Nicole’s sleeping form in his arms.

  “Logan,” Dorothy snapped, rage bubbling on the edges of her voice.

  “Coming, love of my life and woman who agreed to spend her life with me. No-take-backs. That’s what the ring says.”

  Benton was convinced that the soldier was hovering somewhere between insanity and stupidity for half a second. That was all it took for Dorothy to take the bait. The impulse to educate her husband on the true meaning behind wedding rings overrode her original annoyance. Despite the miserable, painful cold, Benton found himself smiling. It wasn’t often that Dorothy went ‘full Nicole.’ Although, even at her best, she could never rival Nicole’s inner perfectionist. Right now, he’d love to be listening to her prattle on about all of this. He snuck a glance at her face. Carrying her more like a child than a teenager, her face was obstructed by the oversized bulge of Logan’s bicep.

  They resumed their trudge toward the town, but Benton could no longer keep himself from constantly looking around them. The sensation had become a constant pressure. There was no doubt left in his mind anymore.

  Something was watching him.

  “So, what do paranormal creatures have against cars?” Logan asked.

  Benton didn’t stop searching the darkness around them. If Logan noticed, it didn’t stop him from continuing.

  “Nicole’s jeep. The police cruiser. Oh, and the Mac truck. Thanks for that one, by the way.”

  Most of the words had bled together into a meaningless rumble, but the Mac truck did ring a bell. Benton liked to believe that he was prepared for anything Nicole threw at him. However, even he hadn’t seen her chasing a monster out into traffic. That was how they had realized his snap-fire screams could do some real physical damage.

  “Sorry?”

  “Thanks for saving my girl,” Logan repeated. His brow furrowed as he studied Benton’s face closely. “Don’t be so obvious. Just keep walking.”

  “Sorry?” Benton repeated.

  “I noticed it about a mile back.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. But I’m not all that keen to fight a coyote or two while Nicole’s passed out.”

  “Coyote?”

  Now that it had been spoken out loud, Benton knew with absolute certainty that whatever was following them wasn’t a natural part of the wildlife. There was nothing he could turn to as a reason for his thinking. Nothing he could grasp onto to try and explain. It was just a feeling. A whisper of absolute certainty that what stalked them wasn’t anything he had experienced before. It just didn’t feel natural.

  “They like to stalk things for a while before they decide if they’re going to
try and take a bite,” Logan said. “Just keep walking and it’ll hopefully go away.”

  The soft breeze brought with it another rush of flurries and the tell-tale crunch of grass. Benton’s hand trembled with the urge to whip the light around, to search for the lurking creature again, even though he knew that he wouldn’t be able to see it.

  “Don’t,” Logan said as he watched the flashlight beam tremble over the rocks.

  Dorothy slowed her pace, falling back until she was on Logan’s other side.

  “Do you see it?”

  “Heard it,” Logan said. “Bit back to the left. A few yards in. Should I give Benton my gun?”

  “No,” Dorothy snapped quickly. Lowering her voice, she added, “He’s a horrible shot.”

  “I’m not that bad,” Benton protested.

  Dorothy scoffed at that, and neither adult deemed it necessary to comment further. He tried not to take it personally. Knowing the Riders, all it would take was a loose sense of competition for them all to work their ways to sniper level perfection.

  “Benny,” Logan said. “If this coyote gets excitable, your job is to protect Nicole, okay? Just, scream at anything that comes near her.”

  “It’s not a coyote,” Benton whispered.

  He hadn’t really intended for anyone to hear it. So it was a little startling to be confronted by two laser-focused glares. He shrunk away slightly.

  “What is it?” Dorothy asked in a clip, professional voice.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What does it look like?” Logan asked in a tone that was creepily similar to his wife’s.

  “I haven’t seen it.”

  “Then how do you know?” The words were barely out of his mouth before they were followed with a gasp of barely contained excitement. “Are your Banshee senses tingling? Is that what this is? Do I finally get to see this in action? Honestly, I thought it would be more aesthetically impressive for some reason. Don’t ask me why.”

  It went against all logic that the man could talk that fast without his words bleeding together. He left no room for any kind of reply. It was more like he was vocalizing a conscious stream rather than actually having a conversation.

  “So that’s where Nicole gets it from,” Benton said, still not daring to raise his voice or glance behind him.

  The longer the feeling remained nestled behind his ribs, the more it evolved. After another half mile, Benton could swear that he could feel the creature’s body heat, almost hear the snow as it melted upon its skin. Logan tried to get general conversation going but was careful never to pick a topic that was too interesting. It was more about breaking the tension that threatened to consume the air, rather than serve as any kind of distraction.

  Something in the air shifted and Benton whirled around. At his startled gasp, Dorothy had her weapon drawn and Logan had twisted his body, keeping the still slumbering Nicole behind his bulk, while freeing one hand to fend off an attack. Out of the corner of his eyes, Benton could see them cast a few unsteady looks at him. Neither of them saw the figure a fair distance down the road. As black as the night surrounding it, the Grim Reaper’s form was noticeable only by the motion at the edges of its being. The way its body evaporated like smoke, curled like oil in water, while its central mass remained solid. The specter of death hovered a foot off the ground. Bone white smears served as its hands and face. They burned like hot coals within the darkness.

  No matter how many times he saw the reaper, it still brought a slither of dread. He stopped walking, ignoring Logan’s grunt of protest, and kept the beam of the flashlight lowered to the ground. The winter air swirled around them, never touching the figure even as it ravaged Benton’s skin. Its presence pushed on his awareness. Ever since his vision at the sweat lodge, he knew that this was something close to communication. A language he couldn’t understand.

  Logan huffed, juggling Nicole in his arms and casting odd glances to the surrounding grass.

  “What is it this time?” he grumbled.

  “Mic is here.”

  “Mic?” Logan put an unnecessary amount of emphasis on the name. “Where have I heard that?”

  “Mictecacihuatl,” Dorothy said, already readjusting herself to hold the gun with both hands.

  Logan’s face was expressive enough that even muted light couldn’t hide the realization dawning on his features.

  “Isn’t that what Nicole called Death?”

  “One of them,” Benton replied.

  Logan clicked his tongue and cast a look towards his wife. “Yeah, this wasn’t in my basic training. Love of my life, any suggestions?”

  “Basically, mind the perimeter while she does whatever she came to do with Benton,” Dorothy said.

  Benton didn’t need to look back to know that the idea of inaction didn’t sit too well with the soldier. Still, he followed his wife’s lead. He closed ranks with her, protecting Nicole between them, while remaining a few feet behind Benton.

  “Hi,” Benton said awkwardly. Conversations with the Grim Reaper never came easily. Anything he thought to say just seemed stupid. “You’re not here for Nicole.”

  He said it as a statement, hoping that he wasn’t about to be contradicted. Mic never moved. Never spoke a word. Still, its presence dominated his mind, consuming his thoughts until he almost forgot about the unseen creature lurking within the shadows.

  “What was that about Nicole?” Logan snarled. “If it moves an inch towards my girl –”

  Dorothy placed a steadying hand on his arm, instantly cutting off his words. Benton didn’t look back at them. His focus was on Death alone.

  “Is it trying to hurt me?”

  “What’s ‘it’?” Logan snapped. A small hiss left his mouth before he whispered harshly to his wife, “I don’t like being on the outside of this conversation.”

  “I know. I love you. Shut up.”

  Benton did his best to ignore the couple, a task made easier when the dry grass to his side rustled. His eyes snapped around to face it. Slowly, the smear of white that served as Mic’s face did the same. Silver streaked across his vision. His throat swelled with a barely contained scream as he staggered back a step. Gravel shifted under his feet, loud enough to almost cover the rustle behind him. He snapped around to find the same silver glow.

  Eyes. They’re eyes.

  “Communication skills, Benton.”

  Dorothy elbowed Logan in the ribs, turning the last of his snapped words into a pained grunt.

  Can’t they see it? He balled his hands tightly. Being the only one able to see these nightmares was quickly getting old. Drawing in a harsh breath, he turned to Mic, finding the Grim Reaper still tracking the unseen creature.

  “Is it here to hurt me?” Benton asked.

  The answer came without motion. Simply appearing in his mind as if it had always been there. Yes.

  Benton turned on his heel. He knew that his time was coming. They had shown him as much in his fever visions. Of course, they had refrained from giving him any information that bordered on helpful.

  He didn’t know when it was coming, but it wouldn’t be tonight.

  “We need to get out of here,” he ordered the pair.

  “What was its answer?” Logan asked.

  “They always want to kill me,” Benton snapped.

  Shoving past them, he skidded to a stop. Reapers stood as dark pillars along the stretch of dirt road. For some, only their faces were visible. Patches of white on an endless blanket of ebony. Dozens stood as silent witnesses for what was coming next.

  “I’m not dying here!” he bellowed, his fists trembling as adrenaline pulsed through him.

  In unison, the Grim Reapers morphed, each pale face drifting in an unearthly glide to face the right side of the road. Benton snapped his arm up, training the phone’s beam onto the patch that had captured their attention. Dorothy and Logan followed suit. The combined force of their weak lights didn’t break up much of the night but gleamed off of something small and s
ilver that hovered several feet off the earth. It wasn’t until it sunk back, emitting a low hissing growl as it faded into the darkness, that he confirmed they were eyes.

  “That cannot be anything good,” Dorothy whispered to herself.

  “Okay gang−” Logan paused to take an audible gulp. “Who’s up for a lovely jog into town while pretending that we’re not terrified?”

  Dorothy barely took a few fingers off of her gun handle to indicate that she was up for the idea. Benton shoved his hand straight up in the air, his eyes still locked onto the patch of night where the beast had disappeared. The constant pressure that had knotted his stomach slightly loosened, and he took a sobering breath.

  Without a word, they broke into a sprint, keeping as close to each other as possible.

  Chapter 4

  Nicole jerked awake, her breath like a rock in her throat, choking her as the Banshee’s wail shattered the silence. The sound lingered somewhere between terror, rage, and disgust — human and something undeniably not. Her bulky noise-canceling headphones struggled to muffle the sound. But it was still painful to hear. The sound chilled her blood, filling it with shards of ice that scraped along her veins. Her heavy pulse slashed her brain into ribbons. Pain whited-out her vision as she bolted upright. She pressed the sides of her headphones harder over her ears, enduring the pain in an attempt to lessen the sound.

  Blinking back tears, she tried to focus. The room hung around her like a mist; intangible and surreal, more of an illusion than reality. Benton was the only thing in sight. His eyes were open but unfocused, fixed on some unseen point while his whole body worked to purge the horrors from his mind. He screamed long beyond the capacity of his lungs, his face turning white instead of the splotchy red that would generally reveal oxygen deprivation.

  Photo frames rattled against the wall. The small bulb of her nightlight flickered and hissed. Fine cracks snaked out across her window glass. Nicole couldn’t hear the screech of them grinding together but she knew they were. Wrapping one arm around his shoulders, she clasped her free hand over his eyes, trying to shield him. On the few occasions Benton had actually blown out the glass, the larger shards had always been hurled outside. It was the smaller airborne ones that she was worried about. They cut deep and were impossible to remove.