The Gathering

by Fiore, L. A.

  The sun shined through the window. I hadn’t been sleeping, had been up for hours. It was our anniversary. I hurried from bed and dressed. I didn’t need to; he had seen me at my absolute worst and still thought I was beautiful, but I wore a sundress I knew he’d love, fixed my hair in the way he’d always liked.

  In the kitchen, I had the picnic hamper out already. I’d prepared the food yesterday, knowing I’d be in too much of a hurry to do it today. Filling it and grabbing the blanket, I moved down the hall to the front door. Pictures covered our walls, lifetimes of memories. I stopped at one, traced his face with my fingers. My heart still raced and butterflies still danced in my stomach. I kissed my finger and pressed it to his image and remembered.

  It wasn’t a long walk up the hill out back to the large old oak tree. Its ancient branches reaching up to the heavens; others hung low, touching the grass in spots. We had planted that tree.

  My eyes moved to the single stone resting under it. Time and weather had softened the edges, the roots from the tree pushing it up so it rested lopsided. I lost him so long ago, but it seemed like only yesterday. People say they wanted to live forever, but living forever was a curse. You didn’t get to experience life. You didn’t change with the time, your hair didn’t turn gray and lines didn’t form on your face. You didn’t appreciate and savor each and every birthday, knowing they were counting down your finite time. You still woke up every morning, your heart still beat, and your lungs still drew in air even when what grounded you, what sustained you, what you didn’t think you could live without died. I wouldn’t be seeing him again. He wasn’t somewhere waiting for me to join him. Ours was just a moment, a brief and beautiful moment in my very long life, but I’d never forget him. I’d never stop coming to this hill even long after the tree and the stone were gone because love had a magic of its own.

  The memory faded. I dropped to my knees, the sob ripped from my throat. I couldn’t remember him, and yet, I mourned him, someone I had never met in this lifetime. The same one I waited for in France? The same man from the meadow? Was he real? He was. I knew he was because I felt him in every cell of my body. He had been real, as real as I was. When had I met him? How many lifetimes had I lived? My dreams, my book of memories, were they from previous lives?

  “Ivy?”

  “He was real. He was real.” I glanced over as Dr. Ellis walked into my room. “He’s real.” I turned to him. “Dr. Ellis, he’s real.”

  “You know that he isn’t.”

  “No, he is. I know he is.”

  Bart grabbed my arm with enough force there would be bruises.

  “I need you to calm down, Ivy,” Dr. Ellis urged.

  Anger burned through me. Bart’s hold on me tightened as he dragged me from my room.

  “You need to calm down.” Dr. Ellis sounded almost nervous.

  “I am calm.”

  I wasn’t calm. I was so pissed. Why couldn’t they just leave me in my head? I could be happy there. I realized where they were dragging me, and I dug my heels in. I didn’t want to forget. “No!”

  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Dr. Ellis was using his soothing voice, but it only enraged me more.

  “Leave me alone!” I screamed and tried to break Bart’s hold on me.

  We grew closer to that dreaded room; hopelessness warred with rage. Bart roared, as his hand dropped from me. “She fucking burned me.”

  I burned him? The fire when I was a kid, my attempt to summon it, was it possible Tristan was right? Did I have a connection to fire? I didn’t want to forget, but if Dr. Ellis got his way, I would. I ran, but I didn’t get far. I felt them before I saw them. Tucking into the shadows, I hoped they wouldn’t see me; they appeared in my peripheral vision, grotesque figures like something that stepped out of a nightmare. They stood upright with gray skin, sharp cheekbones, yellow empty eyes, elongated teeth and long, bony fingers that ended in talons. I’d seen them my whole life, but this time, they closed in. I shut my eyes, laced my fingers into my hair, and slid down the wall. I pulled my hair hard, hoping the pain would snap me out of the vision. I counted to ten, my heart pounding in my throat; I peeked over at the creatures. They were still coming. That was when the screaming started. Not in the hall, but in my head. I shut my eyes and still the scene played behind my lids. I stood in a field. The smoke was so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of you. The smell of burning flesh filled my nose. A wind stirred, the smoke billowed up to the heavens, clearing the field that stretched out before me, one that was littered with bodies. Darkness slithered in, a cold that seeped to my bones. I walked through the field, pain cutting me like a knife because among the fallen were friends…family. Devastation slammed into me, my legs giving out as I dropped down next to a body. Tears welled and streaked down my face. My heart ripped from my chest as I reached out to him. Cold, lifeless…the loss so profound I couldn’t breathe through the agony.

  I screamed. Yanking on my hair, sitting in the sterile hall, I screamed for it to stop. I didn’t fight when I felt hands on me, didn’t fight as they dragged me back down the hall and strapped me into the chair. I didn’t fight when they put the pads on my temples, the bit in my mouth. A single tear rolled down my cheek because I wouldn’t remember. A little piece of me was erased every time they subjected me to the pain. Soon there would be nothing left. I willed myself to remember him; it was the last conscious thought I had before the electricity jolted through my body.

  I sat in a wheelchair in the courtyard. It was peaceful. I watched a butterfly move from flower to flower. A rabbit darted under a bush. Two crows appeared, perched on the wall watching me. I didn’t know why I was drawn to this overgrown mess, but I was. My gaze lifted to the gargoyles on the rooftop. I smiled because I had never noticed them before, but I liked them.

  I pulled my robe closer because the temperatures dipped as the sun tucked into the clouds. I didn’t know where I was or why I was here, but trying to remember made my brain hurt.

  The grass shook near me right before a little field mouse appeared. Moving through the tall weeds, he stopped when he reached my feet. He was adorable then he nipped my toes. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

  I put out my hand, and he scurried into it. His fur was so soft and his eyes were an unusual green color. “You are very pretty.”

  The crows cawed, before they flew off. I watched them, their freedom, and envied it. Dark clouds rolled in from a distance, a shiver moved through me. A storm was coming. “I think it’s time to go in.”

  To my surprise, the mouse stayed with me.

  A loud clapping rumble woke me. I lay in bed, staring out my window as a storm raged outside. Thunder cracked across the sky and bolts of lightning lit the darkness. There was something else brewing, an odd ripple in the air as restlessness settled over me. I wasn’t falling back to sleep, so I headed to the rec room. There, I’d get a front row seat to the storm. It was late, most were sleeping, and still the silence was unnerving. Curling up on the sofa in front of the windows, I watched the storm dance across the night sky.

  Lightning lit up the overgrown courtyard, and my jaw dropped at the same time my heart slammed into my ribs. I caught a glimpse of a fight before the courtyard was swallowed by the darkness. Another crackle of lightning and the old stone bench was nothing but a crumbled pile of concrete. The two fighting seemed almost otherworldly as an odd aura wrapped around them, one light and one dark. The figure with the light aura turned and what looked like an expanse of wing appeared before the courtyard was draped in shadows again.

  Another flash of light and I saw a hoof and a tail as the dark being lunged for the light one. The horrendous cry when the light exploded had my hands clamping over my ears to drown it out. Its head jerked to me, and I saw the blood red eyes staring out of an inhuman face. The courtyard plunged back into the blackness. I waited for the next flash of light. When it came, the courtyard was empty, and not just empty, it was untouched. The stone bench was sitting amon
gst the weeds. My hands shook, and my breathing came out in hurried breaths as I tried in vain to see through the darkness when the light faded again. I felt death. It saturated the air.

  I returned to my room and struggled to find sleep, and when I did, my dreams were haunting because I felt it…something was coming, and it was coming for me.

  8

  He waited, and he prepared. It couldn’t be stopped. He knew that now. Any attempt to stop it would only lead to death. He didn’t want to die; he wanted to live forever. Sure he sold his soul, but with that, he got not just riches and the promise of everlasting life, but respect and even better…fear. He was feared, a mere mortal stirred fear. And there would be no judgment day for him, not when he’d be sitting at the right hand of darkness.

  He studied the symbol he painted on the cold cement floor, the offerings he had started to gather. He wasn’t a violent man, but he had developed a taste for killing. He didn’t actually do the deed, but setting the stage, watching the fear and later hopelessness of his victims, it aroused him. He never thought he’d be the type, always thought himself a pacifist, but after the first kill, he was freed of that misguided notion.

  She screamed behind the gag, her bright blue eyes wide with fear. He grew hard at the sight of her terror, the urge to rub it out was strong, but he was now a servant…earthly pleasures of the flesh held no interest for him anymore. He was transcending, becoming something more.

  He wanted to watch as they tore apart her tender flesh, feasted on her with the ravenous appetites that only their kind had, but that was the human in him. The screams came from below. He’d kept them caged and withheld their food. Hunger was driving them mad. Unlike the others, there would be very little of her to find.

  “Don’t fear. Your death will not be in vain. Your blood will help bring forth my master.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She feared death; he felt that from her. Such a human response, so small minded. She had been selected, had been chosen as one of the sacrifices. She should be jubilant, not clinging to her pathetic existence.

  “When the darkness comes, you’ll be free of your earthly form, liberated from the mundanity of your life. You should be thanking me.”

  She cried out, but her voice was muffled. “No one can hear you.”

  And still she tried.

  He strolled to the door, the remote in his hands to release his beasts. He glanced back at her and smiled. Throwing the heavy metal bar over the door, he released them. Their claws against the concrete caused a shiver to move down his spine, her terrified scream brought a smile. He walked away to the sound of his children feasting.

  9

  Josiah

  The crime scene unit was going through the LeBlanc place again. So far, they turned up nothing. It didn’t make any damn sense. We had an eyewitness who saw Henry Werth enter the place, but he left nothing behind: no fingerprints on the door, no hair, no footprints.

  If the McKinnons had been killed there with the amount of blood they lost, there should be evidence somewhere. The team pulled up the floorboards and checked the subfloor. Nothing. No one was that meticulous. I didn’t care how well you planned. Something was always missed, but not in this case.

  A constant tingling stirred at my nape. The house was seriously creepy. It had been unoccupied for a long time, but it was still furnished as if people lived here. Sure it was dusty as hell, the cobwebs were so thick you had to brush them out of the way, but every room had furniture, paintings and pictures. It certainly earned its reputation as haunted because it had a vibe that gave me the creeps.

  Cyril wouldn’t come in. He was outside walking the perimeter. Nick was with me. I had to give it to him, he was thorough, attentive, and if he felt uneasy he didn’t show it.

  “What do you have?” He was studying some photographs on the wall.

  “Kind of creepy how it is all still here. Like the people just got up and walked away.” He glanced over at me. “They haven’t found anything, no trace that Henry or the McKinnons were ever here. We know Henry was in here. Have you ever had a case like this?”

  “No. How are you doing with looking into this place?”

  “I’ll have something for you later today.”

  “Good. Any hits on other wild animal attacks?”

  “So far nothing that pops.”

  “As soon as you have the—” A sound came from upstairs.

  Nick radioed the team. “Anyone upstairs?”

  “No,” the response came back.

  He reached for his firearm at the same time I did. The floorboards creaked. “Someone is up there.”

  We moved slowly up the stairs, and at the top, I went high, he went low. The hall was empty. I signaled for him, he followed. I palmed the knob of the first room off the stairs. Our eyes met. Pushing the door open, I moved to the right, he took the left.

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  Another sound came from behind us; we both turned but empty space stared back. We stepped into the hall.

  “Is it me or did it get colder in here?” Nick whispered.

  It wasn’t him. It was cold enough I was surprised we couldn’t see our breath. We moved through the rest of the upstairs, clearing each room. There was no one here, but I felt someone. Nick didn’t return to the hall after the last room we cleared. I found him in what must have been a child’s room.

  “What did you find?”

  He was studying the floor. I joined him to see someone had etched something into the hardwood. I couldn’t exactly say what moved through me because it was the same design I had tattooed on my arm.

  “Don’t you have something similar on your arm?”

  “Yeah. Got it done one night when I was drunk. I’ve no idea what it means.”

  “Weird coincidence.”

  I wasn’t so sure it was. And now, I was sounding just like Cyril.

  Nick hunched down and pushed on the floorboard, but it didn’t budge.

  “You think there’s something under it?”

  “Yeah.” He radioed to the crime scene unit. “I need someone upstairs, last room at the end of the hall.” He looked up at me. “Someone took time to etch that and from the look of it, did it often.”

  “And likely it was done by the people who last lived here, two hundred years ago.”

  Nick studied me a second before he added, “Two hundred years later the sheriff investigating the scene has the same mark.”

  “One more in a long list of bizarre shit.”

  A tech arrived, and Nick had them pull the board. The space under the board was empty, but how the dust settled suggested something had been there. From the look of it, whatever it concealed had been removed recently. “First bit of proof that someone has been in this place. Nice work, Nick.”

  “I wonder what they took and how they knew where to find it?” he asked.

  “Good questions. Maybe that will shake out once we figure out what happened to the people who lived here.”

  I had three bodies, same assailant and no leads with a possible fourth victim who may have been the first, twenty years earlier. I could reason that away; he was incarcerated and just got out, got cold feet and has been practicing on victims that weren’t humans, but it was Jasmine’s discovery with the bodies…I couldn’t explain that, Lee and Kathy’s bodies or Henry’s. So far, whatever was happening to Henry, it hadn’t happened yet. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe we were just freaked out because if ever a case was to fuck with your head, it was this one.

  I also couldn’t explain how I carried the mark someone had etched into a floorboard in a notoriously haunted house. We had definitely crossed over into the supernatural. I didn’t want to say it out loud, to even think it, but if Cyril knew, he’d be throwing around the word magic.

  A knock had my head snapping up. “Nick.”

  “I’ve got the information you wanted on the LeBlanc place.” He settled in the chair across from me. “I can’t find an owner on record.” />
  “Someone has to own it. The bank?”

  “Nothing that I’ve found, but I’m still looking. There isn’t much officially documented on the place. I did discover that Tobias and Elizabeth LeBlanc were the last owners in the mid-1800s.”

  Explained why it was still called the LeBlanc place.

  “From what I’ve read, the LeBlancs were sadistic. They didn’t discriminate in their hatred either. No one was immune. They had a son and daughter; his body was among those found, but she disappeared.”

  “Wait? What bodies?”

  “There are all kinds of rumors about the place. There are those who think the land is marked.”

  “With what?”

  “Evil. Like I said, there’s not much officially documented, but I Googled it, and there are a lot of hits out there. Several accounts claim that location was the host to some of the most gruesome blood baths in human history.” He leaned up, pulled a hand through his hair. “Massacres and hangings, murders and suicides. Most recently with the LeBlancs, they say it was neighbors, family and friends going after each other like animals.” He looked down a second. There was fear when his head lifted. “The victims had claw marks across their necks.”

  Jasmine. I jumped from my chair and ran to the morgue. Nick was right behind me. Was that what Henry Werth was changing into, some kind of mindless killing machine? How was that possible? But it would explain why his killer left him practically at our front door.