Unlocked

by Kevin Solomon Missal

  Caspar nodded. “Through the window,” he paused. “Give me a signal so I know it’s safe to go inside.”

  She remained quiet as he headed for the backdoor and hid behind a large boulder. She hurried toward the entrance and knocked upon the door three times. She paused and knocked three times once more.

  The door opened. Two men were standing several inches from where she stood. They looked as if they were made out of clay. Their eyes appeared to have been punctured by something conical and they had a rocky smile on their faces. They were tall, almost eight feet in length, and were big, bulky, and broad. They were also uneven and misshapen. The golem’s bodies were shining, the light wavering about in multiple bulbous patterns.

  “Welcome, Mistress,” they greeted.

  Fran was having a hard time in acting normal. She knew she had to act as if her being there was an everyday thing, but it was difficult. If anything were to go wrong, she would be nothing more than ashes once things were said and done.

  Walking slowly, she entered the common room. Two witches walked past, giving her a small bow. She bowed in return. She looked around to make sure that no one else was there and cautiously made her way toward the room at the end of the hall.

  She passed several rooms as the corridor became long and narrow. Her chest filled with anxiety and tension, something she could never cope well with. Within every room, tucked into the corners, she found witches talking, sitting down, or practicing magic. The coven’s mistress, Delirium, was not visible.

  Where was she? The door seemed close now. Only few steps...It was only few yards away from her. Come on. Come on!

  She dove into the room with haste and closed the door behind her, breathing hard. No one had watched her. She was safe for now. Looking around, she found two sparks suspended in the air. They were spells. She approached the floating sparks. They illuminated the entire room.

  “Ego vos ad deactivate,” she whispered and snapped her fingers.

  The sparks fizzled and fell to the floor, as they were nothing than more than balls before turning into bitter powder.

  Ok. Ok. I can do this.

  Turning to face the window, she gasped with surprise as she found someone she never expected standing there. “Clary!” The words slid past her lips, slowly. “What are you doing here?”

  Clary was both surprised and shocked. The expression on her face was unstable. She came forward, her blonde ponytail shook and her sparkling blue eyes glistened within the dark, gloomy room. She was fair, beautiful, and extremely helpful, sometimes, but now her look was one of disbelief and uncertainty.

  “Why did you switch off the spells?” she asked and pointed at the powder. “Why did you do that?”

  Fran had never expected this to happen. How long had Clary been in the room? Sweat dripped from her forehead and her chest felt heavy. She couldn’t take it any more. She couldn’t!

  “We are killing people!” Fran exclaimed. “We are killing them.” “What are you talking about?”

  “You remember the client?” “Yes. Mr. Schuster.”

  “He did something that killed an innocent human.” “That’s not true.”

  “I read the paper, Clary. I saw what was written on it. The doctors said that some thing razor-like had clawed his chest, causing his death.”

  “That could be just a coincidence.”

  “No. No, it wasn’t. That human was killed just two hours after Spring Heeled Jack was freed. You have heard about Spring Heeled Jack, right? He has claws instead of hands. Who could have killed him, then? Was it a coincidence?”

  Clary shook her head as if trying to convince herself that what her fellow witch was talking about was not true. Slowly, the deceptive appearance, the musty face, and the mysterious identity of the client seemed more than what he’d shown them. It was making sense, somehow.

  “Fran, humans killed many witches in earlier times. They used to burn us just because we were different.”

  “The older witches did some horrible things, too. They misused their magic. Sometimes, they used it just for fun. Every action has its consequences. It was their fault.”

  Clary was stunned. She opened her mouth to argue, but there was nothing she could say. Fran could sense Clary coming over to her own side.

  “What is your plan?”

  “I am letting an investigator in through this door so he could help us in breaking the source that connects to Spring Heeled Jack.”

  Clary nodded. Fran had a valid point. She sauntered close to her and comforted her. “All right. I’ll help you.” Her hands softly caressed Fran’s hair. “Don’t worry.”

  “I must signal him to come inside.”

  “This can go horribly wrong, Fran, dear.” Clary licked her lips; terrified by the plan she was going to set into motion. “Before we do anything, I want to say one thing. I love you.”

  Fran was confused. What did she mean?

  Clary leaned toward Fran’s lips, but she immediately backed off. “What are you doing, Clarissa?”

  “I love you. I loved you from the very beginning, since I first saw you. You remember the day, don’t you? When we met here, our hands touched gently and we looked into each other’s eyes.”

  Fran’s pulse increased. Impulsively, she said, “We never met here. We met at our house, when you came to take me to this . . .”

  “I apologize, then,” she said.

  Yet it wasn’t Clary’s voice that came through. It belonged to someone else. Fran’s heart skipped a beat. The body fell down with a broken head, few steps away.

  ***

  Caspar got the signal. Someone waved at him through the window. He sprinted out of the clearing and reached the door. It was partially opened. He slipped inside and turned around to bolt it behind him. His pupils dilated as he shifted and took in the scene spreading out before him.

  The corpse was sprawled on the floor. Spots of blood were scattered all over the room. The corpse’s head was flung away from the body, its eyes opened and skin pale like cement. He recognized the cadaver. He recognized it well. It was Fran, decapitated in cold blood. He looked up, fingers clutching the cane. A girl with blonde hair stood nearby. A small smile crossed her lips.

  “I didn’t want to kill her. She was beautiful, but she resisted, so I had to...do what was necessary.”

  “Who are you?”

  The blonde girl’s appearance slowly changed. Her body metamorphosed into that of a suited man, tall and slender, with pointy white nails. The face changed into tattooed ruins with an ashy complexion seeping through its skin. Golden hair became raw and short, like thorns, pulled back with a silvery color flowing through it.

  “Manfred!” Caspar hissed.

  “Caspar,” he mocked. “Are we dramatically calling out our names to each other like they do in movies?”

  “You were the client, weren’t you? The one who wanted Spring Heeled Jack,” Manfred smiled with amusement. “Spoilers.”

  “Why would you want a slaughter demon? For what purpose? To kill? No. For something big. Something really, really big. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “Do I really look like one of those villains who will explain the entire plot to world domination?” He smirked. “You came here for the source, am I right?”

  “Yes,”

  “Bad luck. It’s not here. It’s with me now.” “You can’t go on killing people. You know that.”

  “Just four. I am just gonna kill four people. One is dead. Three are left. When it’s done, I’ll personally gift you the demon, if you so fancy that much.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Once again, do I look like an old fashioned villain, eh?” “The girl was right. You used the witches.”

  He chuckled. “I used them? Please. They want the same thing I want.” He clapped his hands. “Okay, okay, you are so curious! How cute! Well then, I should give out more spoilers. She was new. She didn’t know I was not a client, but more like a permanent member of this coven. She thoug
ht I gave them money in return to summon Spring Heeled Jack, but I didn’t. Her sisters were already working for me.”

  The door opened and twenty or so of the witches enter the room as if they’d been summoned. They gazed at Caspar with wild eyes.

  “What do you and your witches want?”

  Manfred didn’t say a word. He turned to witches instead. “Do me a favor, girls. Don’t kill him. Trap him and starve him. I’ll come again to meet him, but I want him alive when I return.”

  “But Mr. Croft, he would be a nice snack for us,” one of the witches said, licking her lips with desperation.

  Manfred stonily approached the witch. His frozen glare was fixed upon her. “Darling, if you don’t listen to me . . .” The witch started to shake. “You’ll vaporize...like this.”

  He snapped his fingers. The witch’s body started to fade, turning into ashes and smoke. In seconds, the woman had vanished and the powder scattered as if it never existed in the first place.

  “If anyone harms Mr. Socrates, I shall have no mercy.”

  With utter disgust, the witches growled, their fangs slicing the air. Manfred’s cold eyes swept over each and every one of them. He walked across the room, past Caspar, who remained silent.

  “Why don’t you just kill me?” Caspar asked as his lips trembled. “Because then it won’t be as fun.”

  His gauzy laugh echoed loudly. “Happy vacation!” he said before he disappeared from Caspar’s view.

  Bl

  eeding Night

  It had been one day. Caspar’s pupils were now colorless. His lips had turned white and his tongue was tasteless. A pungent sourness squeezed within him whenever he licked his lips. He ran a hand through his dusty and slightly sticky hair.

  The cell had no light. It was a dark and solitary confinement. The air came from cracks along its edges and a ray of light was like magic for him.

  Manfred Croft.

  It had been days since he’d seen him. Yet he couldn’t believe it.

  His curious manner compelled him to think. Why was he there? What was his motive? Was it the endless happiness of mankind he was trying to corrupt?

  He knew Manfred. He knew him quite well. What he didn’t understand was why he’d killed a normal human. He’d used a demon to take Aaron’s life, something that could have been done by another human. Manfred had an agenda and he desperately wanted to know what it was. Sitting in a pitiless darkness with the rotten smell of dead rats, the cool breeze the filtered into his cell was the only relief he currently felt.

  Madness overwhelmed him. Clawing at the walls, he tried to get out, hoping that perhaps he could taste the sound of water, but the rough bricks and their starchy taste scraped his tongue and made it dry. He couldn’t see his body dehydrating slowly in a cell. He didn’t make the deal with Death to die there out of thirst and starvation.

  He could feel every ounce of his bones, paining and choking him, weighing him down. His cheeks clashed against the harsh ground, his eyes slowly closing.

  His weapon satchel was taken away, as was the gift from Assyria Death had given him. He was left in the cell with the clothes he’d put on after his last shower, cold and alone. Flashes of his life came to him of his family, of his sister, of his dog. He smiled to himself as he remembered. It was a hint of happiness rarely seen on his face.

  ***

  “Pumpkin, come inside. It’s hot. And bring Jessie, as well.”

  “Mum, I want to play with Jessie. He’s finally active since his accident.” “I don’t care. You’ll get a stroke. Come inside now, young man.”

  “Aww!” The small boy was full of sadness as he patted the retriever’s head. “Come on, boy. Mum will get angry.”

  “Woof!” the retriever barked and wagged his tail with excitement.

  ***

  The door opened. The light shone upon Caspar. With a flash of irritation, he fell back against the wall and tried to hide from the striking light of despair as if it burnt his flesh. He held his hands in front of his eyes to block it. He tried to stay away from it as much as possible. It was hard for him to face that intense beam of light.

  “Take this, mortal,” a voice gruffly replied as its owner pushed a bowl of water toward him.

  He crawled toward the bowl and carefully dipped his hands into it. His lips quivered with pain. He splashed the water across his lips, his eyes, and his nose and

  felt the cool sensation deep within him. The sensation was one of pure joy. He grasped the bowl and gulped the water in hopes of quenching his thirst.

  “Give it back,” the voice ordered.

  The bowl had a bit of water remaining within it, presumably for someone else to drink. He pushed it back toward the shadow. Hands reached for the bowl. Caspar caught the person’s hand. It was made of clay. It didn’t take long before the golem wrung its hand free of Caspar’s hold. It tried to catch his wrist, as it was the most natural reaction. It was unaware of the fact that Caspar wanted it to do just that. The movement had been a sham.

  A kick landed on the golem with great force. The creature stumbled back, freeing Caspar’s wrist. He stumbled out of the cell and smiled. He was out and free. Finally.

  Rats scurried along the small passageway. Water leaked through several cracks in the ceiling. Long armor plates and swords of various lengths hung upon the stone walls. Paintings of animal sacrifices, witches performing a show in a cauldron, golems kneeling down in front of women wearing conical hats, witches dealing with a tall red-colored figure, presumably to be the devil, were scattered about.

  The golem came to his senses. The punctured eyes turned their stony gaze toward Caspar as if trying to find out what had happened. With surprising agility, it made its move. The hand came swiped at him, solid and hard, but Caspar deflected the attack, though the pain of it shook him.

  He knew about the golems. They were one of the toughest creatures out there with a body of enormous mass, made of clay, and impossible to defeat. Ordinary people would get crushed beneath the big boulders of rocky hands they have, but

  Caspar was not one of the ordinary. He knew that punches and kicks wouldn’t do any damage and evasion was not an option.

  A light bulb went off inside his head. Water!

  He dove for the bowl, ignoring the spilled some water where it had fallen. He smiled, as there was still a bit left within the bowl. He rolled over as the golem’s hand of golem hit him across the back. He collapsed to the floor. The bowl was mere inches from him. He crawled toward it and grabbed it to promptly flip onto his back. A large foot was headed straight toward his face.

  Caspar pulled the water bowl in front of his eyes. The golem’s foot started to dissolve upon impact. The water slowly seeped inside, turning clay into mud. The creature lost its balance and crashed heavily to the floor with a great thud. Caspar quickly pulled himself to his feet.

  Golem didn’t die. Nor did he dissolve entirely. The water was just enough to handicap him, for the time being.

  Caspar’s stomach gurgled, as if shouting out for food. He clutched his chest, slowly moving his fingers across his abdomen. He was weak. Defeating the golem had weakened him further. He panted softly as he tried to regain his breath. Without any further thought, he ran.

  ***

  He soon realized that he was in a basement as he ran past a number of locked cells. He could hear yawns and snarls from the creatures locked behind those doors. He found a flight of stairs as he came to the end of the basement. He also perceived a

  sudden change in the temperature. It was now annoyingly cold. He started rubbing his palms together keep warm.

  “Psst!” a gurgling voice spoke up abruptly. Caspar grew alarmed and looked around. “Here, mate, here. To your left!”

  He turned to find a metal cage with two white eyes peeping out. They blinked. Once. Twice.

  “Help me,” the creature hissed. “Why should I?”

  “I can help you in escaping this place. You are the same human kid, right? I know where
your things are kept. The cane and that satchel of yours,”

  Caspar raised his brows. He did need his inventory. His satchel contained several important items and the cane would come in handy. Besides, he could use a hand. After all, he was a tad weak because of his starvation.

  He wanted revenge, too. Revenge because they’d trapped him in a cell with only water as his source of nutrition. He burned with the urge to kill each and every witch living under that roof. The thirst for retaliation overcame his emotions.

  He moved toward the lock and with his elbows, he tried to knock the lock away. It was difficult, but eventually the lock loosened. He utilized his boots to break the lock completely and pulled the door open. Although he couldn’t see a thing, he broke the chain tied around creature’s ankle. He stepped back to face the being he’d just saved.

  The unexpected creature fluttered out of its cell. Caspar had expected a humongous troll or some other beast. Instead, he found a gargoyle with big silver wings, small chunky legs, and big arms that made it difficult for the gargoyle to stand.

  The wings allowed them to effortlessly suspend within the air. Long pointy ears, a conical nose, and a constant frown upon its forehead, which made him, look quite frustrated. The gargoyle smelled of dead rats. Caspar assumed that he might have been eating the ones inside its cell.

  “That’s a relief. You get claustrophobic inside that pit hole,” the gargoyle quipped.

  Caspar narrowed his eyes. “You are a baby gargoyle, aren’t you?” “I am an elderly gargoyle.”

  “Don’t lie. I know when someone lies.”

  “Hmmph.” He crossed his arms. “My name is Balthazar, by the way.” Caspar took the gargoyle’s clawed hand and shook it. “Caspar Socrates.” “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Louis.”