Tales From The Mist: An Anthology of Horror and Paranormal Stories

by Scott Nicholsonan

  Before he could answer, the voice continued. “Gatherer, to my side.”

  Compulsion drew Agaar to his feet. He fought, resisted as he never had, but still his feet carried him through the barrier to stand at Tükenis’ left hand. Once facing the enclosure he closed his eyes and bowed his head hoping Lily would accept his silent, sorrow–filled apology. A soft mental caress spoke of her understanding. He lifted his gaze and she nodded.

  Lily recognized the signs of another’s control. She’d used it often enough on humans with little thought but to her own desires. His sorrow touched her, made her feel cherished, cared for, loved. She understood as well how after centuries of being alone, this one night had brought her love. And now, death—her death—would take that all away.

  Movement at Death’s other side drew her attention and she frowned. “Rochna? I thought I sensed you.”

  A dark emotion filled the ancient vampyre’s expression and Lily sat back on her heels. She’d often seen that look when a child, a prelude to his punishment of locking her in a closet of burning light. Never again. She squared her shoulders and rose, wrapping the sheet around herself, and stomped to the visible edge of her jail. She jabbed her finger in his direction. “What do you have to do with this?”

  Rochna laughed. Agaar took a step toward him but Death lifted one hand and held him in place. A wise move, for her lover had no chance of survival in a battle with Rochna.

  The ancient vampyre snarled. “Stupid bitch. Why shouldn’t I want you dead?”

  The hate–filled question startled her. “I’ve always considered—”

  “You killed my mate.”

  “I didn’t kn—”

  “Yes, I had a mate. Loved her as you’ve never loved any but yourself. And you destroyed her. You took the blood, the gateway to everlasting life I’d shared with her. You took vampyre eternity from her, then ripped her human body to shreds.”

  No. He couldn’t mean her mother. Wouldn’t he have told her he was her father in truth? Wouldn’t he have loved her as a daughter, rather than as a duty?

  “Ha! I see you understand, demon. What you did. And why you must die.”

  Lily dipped her head. With Agaar she had experienced love and now she understood how the glorious sensation could grow through the direst situations. She could be herself, and still know love. Rochna had never loved her. Not once in all these decades. She saw him through this new understanding and found him lacking. Still, she had to know. “Why didn’t you kill me then, at my birth? Or when I was a helpless infant?”

  The vampyre flexed his fingers as if imagining her neck between them, then fisted his hands. “God help me—”

  Agaar snorted.

  Rochna whirled on him. “You have no right to judge me, minion. I call upon who I will.”

  “Leave him be, Vampyre.” Tükenis echoed Agaar’s disbelieving stance. “I, too, am curious why you didn’t call on me at that time.”

  Giving them his back, Rochna faced Lily. “I couldn’t destroy you myself because my mate, the woman who bore you, the woman you murdered, elicited a promise from me that I would do nothing to harm you. Then you were such a novelty to the clan, I could hire no other to exterminate you. Instead I was forced to keep you near.” The tips of his fangs glistened in his twisted grin. “And deliver punishment for every infraction your willful nature incurred.”

  “You hoped the light would destroy me.”

  “Yes.”

  Finally she understood why she’d been forced to endure, and the knowledge filled her with strength. “How terrible it must have been for you to open the door each time and discover me frightened but alive.”

  “Yes.” Rochna turned and glared at Agaar. “And you ... you created a child in her. What kind of monster have you made? It’s almost a shame she won’t live to have her child tear through her body and rip the life from her. A fitting punishment.”

  Agaar clenched his fists and cast a pleading look toward Death. Lily added her plea. “Let Agaar go.” Then the elder vampyre’s words registered. “Wait. Rochna, what did you say?”

  Keeping his focus on Tükenis, the vampyre calmed his voice to a dull, compelling monotone. “The child he says you carry should destroy you as you murdered my love. Though I do doubt the veracity of one who so obviously cheats to break a bargain.”

  “Child?”

  A gentle smile seemed at odds on Tükenis’ face. “Your soul is entwined with the new life in your womb. As such, I will not take your soul. The young one’s soul is not scheduled for gathering and I cannot take one without the other.”

  Closing her eyes, Lily searched within and discovered a tiny point, a swirling of light and dark. She gave the spot a tender mental nudge. Joy, acceptance, love flowed through her. Her daughter loved her. Loved Agaar, her father. Lily opened her eyes, met Agaar’s wide–eyed gaze and smiled. “Our daughter.”

  Rochna rushed Tükenis, wrapped his fists in Death’s robes and lifted until his feet left the ground. “I will have the satisfaction of a bargain fulfilled. Now, Death. Take the soul.”

  The insanity in his laughter chilled Lily. The tentative touch with her child dissipated and she pounded against the enclosure. How did even Death fight a crazed vampyre? Myths of her kind spoke of entire villages destroyed, entire races lost to vampyre anger. She screamed for Agaar. He had to do something, anything to stop Rochna. Agaar strained until his muscles stood in sharp relief then shook his head. The compulsion held him.

  “You wish me to harvest a vampyre soul?”

  Death’s soft question made Rochna angrier. His face flushed with the brightness of flowing blood before he growled and tossed Tükenis to the ground. “Such is our bargain—the many human souls I will send to you, for one vampyre.”

  “Ah yes, the bargain.” Death rose and brushed at his robes. He glided to Rochna and gripped his shoulder with one hand. The other he placed on the vampyre’s heaving chest. “So be it.”

  He drew his hand away, a tiny, dark brown, wrinkled mass cradled in his palm. He glanced over his shoulder at Agaar. “Not the loveliest of souls, eh Gatherer?” Then he focused on Rochna. “The bargain was struck, witnessed, and now concluded. I have taken a vampyre soul.”

  “Not mine. Hers. The bargain,” Rochna shouted.

  “The identification of the requisite soul became muddled. The soul of the vampyre Lily is currently entwined with that of her child, voiding her as an option. You insisted and I made an ... executive decision.”

  Oddly dispassionate, Lily watched agony steal the anger from her father’s expression. Perhaps one day she would mourn, but now the pain of knowledge and of his betrayal were enough.

  As Tükenis slowly closed his fist around the disintegrating soul, the imperial tilt of his head sealed Rochna’s demise. Once the soul’s dust joined the crumbling body, Death turned his back, pulled a bit of silk from a pocket and wiped his hands. “Nasty business, that.”

  Lily slammed her fist against the barrier. “Let me out. Or is there another bargain? Someone else want me dead?” Sorrow stole her anger. She’d never given death a second thought, even those few times she’d drunk the life from another. She sniffed back tears and sent a silent apology to the woman who loved and forgave her as her father never could.

  With the joy of new life growing in her, Lily understood the choice her mother had made. The choice she now made; to bear a child of love no matter the consequences to herself. This child, however, would be loved by her father. Lily hugged herself. Once Agaar forgave himself for his part in this night. As she’d already forgiven him.

  The compulsion burst from Agaar and he collapsed, but scrambled to his feet and faced Master Death. “Let her go.”

  “Of course. I have no reason to hold them. But, what of you, Gatherer? What is it you wish of me?”

  “Give me an assignment so I can once again earn my freedom.”

  “You wish to be with them?”

  To ease the tension and dissipate a need for battle, Agaar r
olled his shoulders. “Tükenis, Master Death, such is my only wish. If they will have me.”

  Death stared into the sky. “Stand before me, Gatherer.”

  Awaiting his next gather, Agaar positioned himself as his master commanded, but so he could also see his pale Lily.

  Tükenis’ thin lips spread in a smile. “In accordance with the law, the edicts by which Gatherers are bound in their agreements, I release you. Struck shall be your name from the gates, the stone forever cleansed of this bargain.”

  Surprised at his master’s words, Agaar forced himself to relax. The cleansing of a bargain could be an onerous process. He glanced at Lily. She stopped pounding and stood with one palm pressed against the barrier, waiting. For him.

  He angled to face Lily and extended his hand toward her. The barrier shimmered. Tükenis continued the lengthy ritual, the words soothing the remnants of honest anger burning Agaar’s skin. He ceased hearing the words. Despite his foolishness in forcing the original bargain, he trusted Master Death. There would be no tricks. No complications.

  Lily was another matter. Life with her would be extremely complicated. Raising an undead child would increase the complications. Actually looking forward to the coming years, he whispered her name.

  Lily’s head jerked and she lifted her gaze to his. She covered the life within her with one hand and offered a tentative smile. Her lips moved.

  That moment, the feeling he’d worked for, waited for, the one he despaired of ever experiencing, burst over him. Healed and whole, his soul expanded, filled not just with his nature, but overflowing with Lily—and their child. Silent, he repeated her words and a corresponding light burst over her expression.

  He vowed the creation of his undead life would bind them together until—

  Tükenis chuckled. “Go to your woman, ex–gatherer. You shall see me only once again.” He sighed with mock sadness. “Though I fear not for a long, long time.”

  About *lizzie

  *lizzie always made up games and stories to keep her company, so, a witch lived in Grampa’s weather research station and was only held at bay by waving a certain weed. An ancient road grader morphed into boat a carrying wild adventurers to islands filled with sheep that turned into lions and cannibals. Now, filled with fantasy and love, the stories of her imagination have found their way into the mundane world. And when *lizzie has to return to that mundane life, she’s *the Lunch Lady* at a private school. Author and lunch lady—what a combination! You can find more about *lizzie at her website, www.lizziestarr.com., find her at Twitter and Facebook.

  BENEATH STILL WATERS

  (Part I)

  By Stacey Joy Netzel

  An old legend tells of a beautiful witch unjustly persecuted who became a ghost bent on revenge ...

  The danger lies in not believing.

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  Becca accepted the bottle of Cherry Pie from Liz and did her best to keep the smile pasted on her face. She was supposed to be having fun. Annie had told her once she got past rush week, being part of the sorority would be her favorite part of college. She’d go out with friends and maybe even meet someone she’d care enough about to finally lose her virginity.

  No longer just the smart, studious sister, she’d be popular like Annie, who’d been the unofficial ‘queen’ of Delta Cappa Phi and ruled for three years. Becca had no such lofty ambitions to follow in her older sister’s leadership footsteps; she just wanted to fit in and have a little fun.

  With that in mind, she pressed the bottle to her lips and upended it, making it look like she was taking a long drink. The liquor was sweet and tasty, but she didn’t want to get drunk. Swallowing the small bit that’d trickled onto her tongue, she refused to wish she was in her dorm room studying for her first history exam instead of sitting in the middle of the Rocky Mountain National Park next to a campfire with two girls she wasn’t even sure she liked, one guy she wanted to avoid, and two guys she didn’t know.

  The late September night was cool by many other areas of the country’s standards, but for Colorado, it was unseasonably warm. Last year at this time, sixteen inches of snow had blanketed the mountains. Thankful the ground was frost–free, Becca fingered the open zipper of her thin hoodie as she passed the bottle.

  Liz and Megan didn’t seem to have any such reservations about drinking too much. Either that or they were both more accustomed to the heady liquor. They each took a hefty swig and then Megan passed the bottle on to the handsome college football star, Ted, who enjoyed the view provided by Liz’s plunging vee neck tank top.

  At the start of the semester, Becca had gotten the impression the talented junior was interested in her. She’d been thrilled when they hit it off at the move–in week social—until Liz showed up and staked her claim in no uncertain terms.

  “Besides,” she’d said, “You’re nothing more than a bet his fraternity brothers put him up to. You didn’t seriously think he liked you, did you?”

  Since that incident, Becca and her wounded confidence steered clear of the quarterback, even when Liz wasn’t around. She’d have done so again tonight if Liz hadn’t been hell bent on joining up with the guys, and as Annie had drilled home, during rush week, you didn’t tell a member of the Phi’s no.

  So Liz had Ted, and surprisingly, Megan was flirting like crazy with the heavier–set brown–haired guy, Johnny. The few weeks Becca had known the bubbly yet vain little blond, she hadn’t dated anyone with less than movie–star looks and a body to match. Like Ted. Johnny might be nice, but Megan’s deference also emphasized the pecking order in their trio.

  Which left Becca with guy number three. Not that she’d complain—he was very cute with rich auburn hair tousled on his forehead and the flickering firelight accenting high cheekbones and a strong, square chin. The moment she saw him, her heart had done a couple flips and her gaze found him infinitely intriguing.

  He wasn’t drinking—which was fine, but she also noticed the other guys almost seemed to be ignoring him. In fact, Becca didn’t even remember hearing his name spoken by any of them. Maybe his silence was why Megan hadn’t thrown herself at him instead of the average–yet–talkative Johnny?

  Bolstered by the little bit of alcohol creating a tingling buzz in her blood, and wanting to prove Ted’s presence didn’t bother her, she focused her attention on the quiet guy and smiled. After an initial look of surprise in his brown eyes, he smiled back.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” she said. “I’m Becca.”

  “Shane.”

  Next to him, Ted burst out laughing. On the opposite side of Johnny, Megan giggled. Eyebrows raised, Shane cast them a sideways glance.

  “Ted, I think Becca needs another drink,” Liz said with a huge grin.

  The red liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass as Ted passed her the bottle. Not quite sure what was so funny, she lifted the liquor bottle toward Shane in silent offer, but he shook his head no. Wishing he’d have given her an excuse to prolong any additional consumption, she sat back on the log that doubled as her chair.

  “Hey, any of you ever hear the story about that guy who died up here a couple years back?” Johnny asked.

  Liz’s eyes widened. “Someone died up here?”

  Johnny nodded. “His friends said the Ghost of Still Waters lured him into the wicked currents and he drowned.”

  “Ghost?” Megan shifted closer to Johnny.

  “He probably fell in and couldn’t swim,” Becca quipped.

  Ted scooped up the flashlight at his side and flicked it on to shine the light up from beneath his chin. “The Ghost of Still Waters,” he intoned in a low, spooky voice.

  “Ooh—I love scary stories,” Liz said.

  “I don’t,” Megan protested.

  “Tell us,” Liz urged. “I’ve never heard this one.”

  When Megan leaned against him, Johnny put his arm around her. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “What do you think, Becca?”

  At Liz’s question
, Becca shifted her gaze from Megan’s anxious expression, past Johnny’s amusement and Ted’s steady regard, to the hint of a smile tilting the corners of Shane’s mouth upward. Finally she came to Liz’s expectant face, lit only by the fire on this moonless night.

  Surprised they’d asked her opinion, she shrugged. “What’s a campfire without a ghost story, right?”

  “You say that like you don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You haven’t heard this one yet,” Johnny said.

  Megan cringed, hunching her shoulders and nervously nibbling on a fingernail even though the story had yet to be told.

  Still smarting over their earlier laughter, Becca couldn’t help but scoff. “Oh, Megan, really? Ghost of still waters? Wicked currents? This oughta be good.”

  The blond relaxed a bit at Becca’s open cynicism.

  “There’s this place along the river where the surface of the water is so still you’d swear you’re looking at glass,” Johnny said in a low, quiet voice. “But the currents beneath the surface are wicked fast.”

  The ominous fact was underscored by the sound of rushing water tumbling over the rocks and boulders of the riverbed barely twenty yards from their campsite. Becca never would’ve admitted it out loud, but a shiver shimmied up her spine.

  Megan’s manicured nails clutched Johnny’s shirt. “This river?”

  “This very river,” he confirmed. Clearly happy to have her plastered against him, he tightened his hold and grinned at his teammate. “Go ahead. You tell the story better.”

  Ted set the flashlight aside before sitting up straighter, rubbing his hands together in delight. “All right, here we go.”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was a play the two had run more than a few times. Megan was practically in Johnny’s lap and beside Becca, Liz leaned forward in eager anticipation. Her breasts were ready to pop free from her bra—an enticing view not lost on Ted, Johnny, or Shane.

  After a glance down at her own green T–shirt, Becca gave a mental sigh. Sure, the color went well with her red hair, but the modest neckline did nothing to show off what she considered a decent figure—size six jeans and a generous c–cup. Maybe if she started dressing more like Liz, or even Megan with her shoulder–baring halter–top and low–rise jeans, guys wouldn’t overlook her more often than not. Or use her as a bet.