Aketa's Djinn (The Caine Mercer Series Book 1)

by Cale Madison

  “Look at what he did to me!” she continued to bellow from the hallway.

  Dust and debris began to fall from the ceiling as everything began to quake and rattle. The door fell from its hinges and revealed Rubia standing at the threshold, screaming at the top of her lungs. I panicked and crawled beneath the bed to avoid falling pieces of tile and wood. From underneath the mattress, I watched in terror as the entire manor began to collapse around me.

  When I opened my eyes, I was no longer beneath a bed in a whirlwind of destruction and madness; I was standing in the courtyard again, but everything had altered drastically. Ash fell from the blood-red sky in flurries, piling onto the grass in heaps of white and grey. Everything reeked of sulphur and burnt flesh as the gently-falling ash became a raging storm, leaving a wonderland of soot in its wake.

  In a daze of confusion, I began drudging through the blinding haze of ash, but in no particular direction. Fear was now inevitable. I was uncertain if I would ever see Aketa again after this chaotic debacle - the parchments that I had collected, although unintelligible, seemed to be missing pieces of something bigger. Through the swirling mists of grey I continued walking as ash collected atop my head and built mounds upon my shoulders. Bright, yellow eyes darted around in the distance; I appeared to be surrounded by shadowy creatures, stalking my every move.

  In the distance, the outline of an old cabin became visible. The sky was no longer a beautiful array of violet and azule; now it was smothered in grey and red. I reached the threshold, ignored the faint rasping of demonic figures behind me and kicked open the heavy, wooden door.

  Inside was only one room with a dining table, seven chairs and a fireplace, still omitting traces of smoke from a previous night. Dinner plates and expensive silverware were laying on the floor; shattered glass lay in fragments, indicating a struggle had recently occurred here. I approached the table and noticed something hiding beneath one of the silver plates. Another torn shred of parchment. I placed the three pieces onto the table to observe them closely and noticed that, oddly enough, they were steadily becoming easier to understand - this mysterious parchment was a crumpled letter, but I was missing the final piece to complete it.

  Suddenly, loud footsteps rang throughout the empty house. In a few seconds, blurred specters appeared; they appeared to be of Bartok and Rubia, reenacting a scene of the past. She sat at the head of the table while he paced back and forth behind her, shaking his head and frowning in anger.

  “How can we afford this place now?” she asked, “we have nothing left.”

  Bartok seemed to be embarrassed, replying, “You think I’m a joke.”

  “Darling, I have said nothing of the sort. We could ask my father for money? He would be more than happy to help us.” Rubia suggested. This angered her husband even further.

  “I will not cower behind your father’s money! The shame...”

  “Where is the shame in this? Everyone falls on hard times, Bartok.”

  “Not me. I’m meant to be rich. I never wanted this shite cabin for a home. Do you see the way people look at us as they walk by? Makes me sick to even consider...” her husband responded, rubbing his eyes.

  “You are no nobleman, nor am I a nobleman’s wife but we do have each other. You told me that once, remember? On our wedding night, you promised that we would never let anything come between us.”

  “I also promised you a hedge maze, a fountain, and an orchard. Where are they now, hmm?” Bartok asked, grabbing the back of her chair and peering down at her, “Where is the porch for your paintings? We live in this rank, dusty shack with fantasies of a glorious palace.”

  “Money isn’t everything, my beloved. I hope, one day, you see that.” said Rubia, looking down at the empty plate before her. Tears began to fall silently, rolling down her pale cheeks then falling into small puddles onto the metal dish.

  “I did not wish for this...this peasant’s life.” he said before departing the room.

  The cabin door swung open quickly, giving me very little time to hide beneath the table. A thin, frail creature hobbled into the room, its flesh stringy and dropping to the floor, leaving a bloody trail as it moved. The creature was without a face - only a large, gaping mouth with sharpened, yellow teeth. It moved slowly with long, flailing arms and black fingernails. This was a monster of nightmares.

  I held my breath to the best of my ability as it circled the table. My heartbeat raced at the thought of this monstrosity discovering my poorly-planned hiding place, lifting the table and devouring me within seconds. The faceless creature gnashed its teeth together, silently hobbling through the room until it eventually disappeared from view. I crawled from my hiding position and sprinted to escape, knocking over a chair in my haste.

  Outside, the ash had ceased to rage and began falling softly, resembling flakes of snow; dropping to the earth in clusters. I circled the home and sprinted into the mist, unaware of where I was headed, only focusing on distancing myself and that frail monster. Aged trees surrounded the property, twisting in strange convulsions as their leaves fell to the earth below.

  “Trespasser.” a voice whispered through the fog. In a few moments, the voice was all I could hear, echoing into a deafening roar. I ran until the voices began to fade away. The ash began to fall less frequently, creating visible outlines of buildings far away. Ahead, I could barely distinguish what appeared to be a person kneeling beside something against a now ebony and sickly fountain. Red spewed from the tiers to fall into the reservoir below; dark blotched red that reeked of blood.

  The person kneeling looked to be trembling, shoulders shaking while clutching a body in its arms. I peered around the fountain to see that it was a woman without eyes with a lifeless corpse in her grasp. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Hey, there!” I called out to her, but she never noticed.

  I recognized the body she was holding as Rubia, with dark-blue bruises across her cheekbones and encircling her left eye. The eyeless woman also held delicate features, much resembling the body she held. Confused, I began to run. I aimed to find this woman; no more apparitions or haunting spirits. There was a mysterious enigma surrounding the Quinn’s and I aimed to unravel the threads.

  I stumbled into the orchard but this time, the trees had become stripped of their colorful leaves, their bark crumbling and falling to the ash that covered the ground. “Trespasser.” Rubia’s voice whispered again.

  Suddenly, I was no longer alone in this place. Across the courtyard, two specters emerged from the darkness: Bartok and Rubia von Quinn enacting another scene from their past.

  “Where the hell are you going?” he yelled at her.

  “Leave me be, you lying bastard! I know it was you,” Rubia screamed back at him, “I saw you with her!”

  “Darling, please calm down.”

  “What are we to do now? Everything has been spent. How are we to survive? What will our families think?” Rubia asked, dropping to the steps of their manor.

  Her husband scratched his scruffy beard, shaking his head before answering her, “We’ll find a way. We always have.”

  Rubia avoided his gaze, her blue eyes glued to the ash at her feet. A deep scar ran down her neck, indicating signs of past violence. I sensed certain signs of tension as they spoke to one another, as if neither one wished to be in the presence of the other. This was rather far from a happy marriage.

  “I cannot live this way anymore.” she said to him.

  Bortak grabbed her by her shoulder and whispered four haunting words in a calm, yet precarious tone into her ear, “You’re never leaving me.”

  The apparitions quickly dissipated. The doors to the manor opened yet again, as if someone wanted me to continue watching. Inside revealed a seemingly endless hallway with empty picture frames dangling loosely from the walls adjacent. Through each frame, I could see Rubia struggling against her husband who seemed to be severely intoxicated. He would bring home ladies in the middle of the night, thinking Rubia was asleep
when she revealed herself to be listening from other rooms. The frames continued to transition to the next.

  “You’re never leaving me!” Bartok repeatedly shouted at her.

  The fighting ceased after he threw her helpless body against the wall like a rag doll. In the next frame, she was crying on her knees while he gently ran his fingers across her shoulders. The following scene revealed them to be fighting once more; Rubia threatening to leave while Bartok intervened, eventually leaving her unconscious on the floor. The Quinn’s were apparently victims of a vicious cycle of domestic abuse, leading to tragedy and deceitful protests. Protruding from a crevice in the wall revealed to be the final piece of the letter and, after scrambling them together on the floor, I could finally read it:

  Dear Bartok,

  You arrogant whoreson. Time and time again, you claimed to be nothing like your father, yet you have ended up his spitting image. Our coin is gone. Our families are gone. Not one soul dares to lift a finger to you, least of your concerns being me, yet I slave away, cooking your meals and listening to your whining and blaming, you pretentious prick. I will not live as a fool’s maiden anymore, Bartok, so please keep the estate and everything inside the manor. I might have once loved you but the monster you have become is far from the man I married.

  - R

  I gazed through more frames, watching as they fought, broke apart and rekindled their love before repeating the cycle all over again. As they continued, Rubia’s once lovely face began becoming bloody and unrecognizable. In one of the last frames in the hallway, I watched as Bartok summoned the Djinn in their dining room. Once appeared, the magical being spoke to him.

  “Are you the man who summoned me?”

  “Yes. I’m desperate.” Bartok responded, crawling towards him.

  “What do you seek?” the Djinn asked.

  Bartok thought for a moment, contemplating the right way to word his next sentence perfectly. Surrounding him were the summoning stones, indicating that he knew of the same ritual I performed.

  “I desire wealth. To never die. Fame beyond all measure.”

  I scowled in disgust as I realized what was happening.

  “A treasure so unquantifiable would require something...rather special in return. You are aware of what I ask as payment, yes?” the Djinn asked.

  “What would you need from me?”

  “Three requests. Three tasks that must be completed in seven days. You will live forever in extravagant luxuries, known by all, never to be without again. Truly a life worth living.” the Djinn proclaimed to Bartok.

  I watched through the final frame as the desperate man agreed to the bargain. It was all becoming clear in that moment. The untold truth had been finally realized. Once I had opened the final door in the corridor, I could see Rubia standing before me with blood pouring from her eyes as she wept.

  “Do you see, now, what he has done to me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered, “you’re the victim. I’m terribly sorry for everything you’ve had to endure in your time with him. He failed in his task and the Djinn took you as collateral.”

  “He cared,” said Rubia, “we bickered and fought, but I knew that in his cold, black heart, he did care. About what, I thought I knew.”

  The woman approached me, weeping bloody tears as she continued to speak, “Do you know what it’s like, being here, alone for years without even a shred of knowing if someone would ever come for you? I waited in the orchard, by the stream. Eventually, I gave up. I stopped counting the days and finally accepted this nightmare. At least I can live in these moments as I remember them.”

  “It’s not too late, Rubia. You can come home.” I told her.

  “What is home anymore? My family severed ties with me after we married. My friends have all forgotten my existence. This place is all I know, now,” she said to me in utter defeat, “doomed to live out my days in the shadows of a forgotten life.”

  “What of Bartok? I’m sure he’s been-”

  “He’s just a man,” she interrupted, “all of you are the same, seeing us as sexual objectives or a trophy to be paraded around with. Tell me this, stranger: why didn’t my cheating husband come after me? Did he mention the true reason why I’m imprisoned here?”

  I shook my head, replying, “I assume his words were lies from the start.”

  “Then you are learning after all,” she said, “that bastard never even attempted at his first task. He chose to bask in the gold and glory of his newly-found riches and when the time came to settle his debt, he willingly traded me away. Even in the end, I died a barterable possession.”

  “I’m so sorry. I could not imagine a life in this hell.”

  “You know nothing of hell.”

  In an attempt to steer the conversation back for my favor, I replied to her, “You can watch Bartok be punished. In his attempt to save you, he elected himself to be taken in your place. My guess is that he grew a conscience after all.”

  Rubia scoffed, “How do you expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t. But you will never know unless you trust me. I came here to save you and in return, save a love of my own so please, listen to me. I gain nothing from lying to you..”

  The scorned woman thought for a moment before nodding, saying, “You have a kindness in your eyes. Something I have not seen in a very long time. Perhaps, it would be pleasant to watch that prick get what he deserves. What must I do?”

  I pulled the journal from my pack and handed it to her.

  “Read this.”

  Once Rubia von Quinn had finished reading the summoning spell, the Djinn appeared in a blast of white smoke and blinding lights. He looked us over and gave us his usual friendly, welcoming smile.

  “Very pleased to see you again, my lovely,” he said to Rubia, “as expected, you have not aged a day since we last parted.”

  “The last time we parted? That’s a hoot, you smug son of bitch.” Rubia said, crassly. The conversation was not heading in a favorable direction already.

  “Come now. Was it all so awful, living in your happiest memories?” he asked.

  “Happiest? I hated this place, you monster! I painted these portraits from memories I wished to escape. By that river, Bartok nearly drowned me after I told him I planned to leave him. He beat me more times than I care to count in his orchard and everywhere else in this godforsaken house, so do not dare speak to me of fond memories,” she cried out, “I have been tormented by my own nightmares to the point I no longer fear death. I welcome it.”

  The Djinn laughed in response, replying, “Then by all means, let us leave this wretched tomb. I was never much of an art-enthusiast, myself.”

  * * * * * *

  Another deafening, sharp noise and blinding light before we were returned to the Quinn Manor I remembered. Bartok stood across the hall, smiling as he laid eyes upon his wife. “Rubia! Oh, Rubia!” he cried out, reaching for her. She opened her eyes and, in a disoriented daze, saw her husband then launched herself at him with all of her strength. In a whirling flurry of hands and nails, she pinned a protesting Bartok against the wall despite his feeble attempts to fend her off.

  “Well, good to see we’re all reaquainted,” the Djinn interjected, “once you two have finished, we can continue.” Rubia released Bartok and began pacing, lost in her own thoughts.

  “How the hell could you live with yourself!?” she yelled at him.

  “What do you mean, my love? I was not at fault?” Bartok argued, rubbing his bloodied chin, “I never wanted this?”

  “Not at fault? You sent me there, you prick! You knew I planned to leave and used me as collateral. So help me God, I will see you burn for this.” Rubia said, angrily as her knuckles became white from clenching her fists.

  “How long was I gone?” I asked.

  “Several hours. Felt like days, I’m certain. Now, without further ado, we have business to conduct.” the Djinn said, turning towards a stammering and bleeding Bartok. He attempted to crawl awa
y, grasping the floorboards to gain balance.

  “I-I’ve changed my mind! You mustn’t do this!” he pleaded, “take her and the boy, please! I’m no use to you anyway!”

  The Djinn grinned at his last request, turning his gaze toward Rubia, as if requiring her final approval on what was about to come. He stated to her, “I believe if anyone in this manor has the right to judge this pig, it’s you.”

  Rubia stood still for a moment, as if savoring each stammering breath her husband made as he cowered on his knees before them. She watched with the wrath of someone betrayed and then risen from obscurity, whispering, “Go to hell.”

  Instantaneously, Bartok doubled over in agonizing pain. He clenched his stomach, choking back muffled screams while crawling in a feeble attempt to escape his fate. The Djinn calmly followed him, walking slowly while his blackened eyes flickered gold and red. As they reached the end of the hall, Quinn began writhing, as if an invisible hand was digging through his insides.

  “Played me for a fool, Quinn,” the Djinn shouted, his booming voice bouncing throughout the manor, “but there is nowhere left to run or hide.”

  With that, he raised his arm and waved in a singular motion; Bartok quickly transcended into a spiraling vortex of blurring colors, dissipating into oblivion. Flesh seemed to rot from his cheekbones, tearing in sections as the wind ripped his body apart within seconds in a gruesome combination of agonizing shrieks and gory dematerialization. His screams faded with the lights, leaving the three of us alone in the hallway. All that remained were his multicolored rings and his expensive clothes.

  “I must apologize for that,” the Djinn then said to us, “quite dramatic.”