Voices (Whisper Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Bray

  Reynolds. Skewered on a spike he’d carved from a branch in the night.

  Layfield. In his body bag and then gone. Gone, gone, gone.

  Shaw. Hanging from a tree, face bloated and covered with flies.

  Landro. In the clearing. Disemboweled, entrails between his teeth.

  Levas. Floating in the river. Fish feasting on his bulging eyes.

  Blanchard. Bullet hole in his head, brains splashed all over the forest.

  Drench. Disappeared without a trace. Sounds of screaming, screaming, screaming.

  Cook. Throat slit with hunting knife, gargled bloody laughter.

  Williams. Slit wrists and rock in hand, standing over Brook’s body.

  Brook. Head a pulpy mess without shape.

  Frederick. Gone like Drench. Into the woods never to return.

  He was sure he was about to break. It was inevitable. He wondered if, years from now, they would find him, just another skeleton on the floor with the rest. A forgotten, nameless victim of a horror unlike anything ever seen before. He looked at his hands trembling in the gloom and realized he shouldn’t be able to see them at all. He looked around him, surprised to find he could see the walls, bathed in a soft red hue. The tunnel curved away to the right, the light source coming from whatever lay beyond it. Petrov whistled behind him, and Kimmel had no choice but to exit the tunnel and into the room, somehow managing to stifle a scream as he saw what lay beyond.

  CHAPTER 41

  They came through the trees; wispy forms melting through the branches, white mist forming into human shapes. Men, women, children. All who had lost their lives on the land over the centuries. They lined the edge of the clearing, bodies materializing and dematerializing, weaving between semi-transparent and solid. Their arrival brought with it silence. Emma and the others edged away from them, moving further into the clearing. The ghosts watched; black voids where their eyes should be. Silent. Waiting. Two of them came forward, appearing like some cheap magician’s illusion at either side of Henry. Melody whined, grabbing Emma’s hand and squeezing it, feeling a fear she had almost learned to forget.

  The pale form of Donovan stared at her, hungry lust on his face. Beside him was Eto, clad in full tribute paint, white skull daubed on his face, pointed teeth exposed, symbols on his body in honor of those he worshiped.

  The group stared, unable to comprehend. The atmosphere was so heavy, so charged, it was hard to breathe. They had transcended reality to a place beyond fear, beyond any known capacity to deal with what was happening to them. They knew they were a part of whatever was about to happen, and were completely powerless to stop it.

  Henry spoke, Eto and Donovan’s mouths mirroring his as he addressed those who had come to witness the death of the boy.

  “They want you all to witness the end. To witness their eternal existence.”

  “You can’t get out of this, Henry,” Dane said, thinking about the gun and if he would be able to use it if he had to. “They’ll shoot you where you stand, you have to know that. You don’t have any chances left. You can’t talk your way out of this like you used to.”

  “They won’t be here in time. Not now.”

  Dane pulled the gun from his jeans, hands shaking as he aimed it at his brother. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

  Henry smiled; an expression more of pity than amusement. Dane faltered, realizing he had made a mistake.

  “No, you won’t,” Henry said.

  It was then they came, those on the edge of the circle. They rushed the group, exploding from their positions; a swirling, screaming mass of formless things.

  “It’s time,” Mrs. Alma said. “Form a circle, just like we practiced.”

  Truman, Emma, and Mrs. Alma linked hands as Dane stared open mouthed at the rushing, ducking, diving spirits.

  “You too,” Mrs. Alma said to Melody, holding a hand out toward her.

  “Me? I don’t understand…”

  “You’re part of this too. Join us.”

  “My son…” was all she could manage as she watched Henry and Isaac.

  “Quickly!” Mrs. Alma snapped.

  Melody grasped Truman’s hand and pulled herself up.

  Gunshots echoed around the clearing as Dane fired at the translucent forms of the dead, his bullets passing through them and into the forest.

  Mrs. Alma blocked everything out. She closed her eyes and began to chant, mouthing secret words in a language long forgotten. “Close the circle,” she said, finally opening her eyes.

  “What about Isaac?” Emma screamed above the noise.

  “You know his fate. We can’t stop it now but we might be able to save ourselves.”

  “There must be something we can do.”

  Mrs. Alma looked at Emma, the answer evident in her eyes.

  “Please, close the circle,” the older woman said.

  Sobbing and trembling, the group joined hands. As their link was made, the ground began to rumble and the trees swaying furiously, shedding branches as they were violently pushed by the spirits of the dead.

  In the middle of the clearing, Henry leaned close to Isaac, whispering in his ear. “Every night in my cell I dreamt about this moment. Now, it’s finally a reality.”

  Isaac was about to ask what he meant, but Henry’s hands were already on his throat, squeezing, blocking his airway. Isaac kicked and choked, clawing desperately at Henry’s hands as the life was squeezed out of him. Henry roared in ecstasy, and the trees roared back.

  CHAPTER 42

  The room was located directly underneath the clearing in the woods, and was the same size. What existed within it could only be described as an abomination. It was organic, and clearly alive, its gelatinous mass pulsing and flexing, its skin glowing a dull red. It was an unholy amalgamation of humanity. Legs and torsos, heads and arms. Countless in number. Some of the corpses were putrid and rotten, yet remained alive. Sightless, maggot-infested eyes stared out at their eternal torturer, and the air was filled with screams of everlasting agony. The thing was part of the walls, part of the floor, fused within them, embedded within the very makeup of the chamber. From the top of the giant mass, large tubes fed up into the ceiling.

  The pulsing thing quivered, unleashing a furious roar from its thousand dead mouths.

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” Petrov said as he exited the tunnel, blocking Kimmel’s only means of escape.

  The General wasn’t listening. He couldn’t help but stare at the unimaginable mass that dominated the chamber.

  Putrescent fluid from the decomposing corpses flowed across the floor as the creature withdrew from the center of the room, giving them space. Small tentacles snaked from the mass and sucked the fluid up, reabsorbing what it had lost.

  He turned toward Petrov, who was also watching the creature as it pulsed and quivered. The detective was plainly under the influence of the monstrous thing. His eyes were glazed, mouth open in slack awe.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Petrov whispered.

  “You need to snap out of it, Detective. You need to fight it,” Kimmel mumbled, struggling to resist its insistent probing.

  “I wonder if it was always here. Before man even existed? I wonder if it was always waiting in the dirt, growing stronger, waiting to be discovered.”

  Kimmel headed over to Petrov. The creature quivered, and the detective raised his gun. “Can you hear them? I can hear them.”

  “It’s not real. Don’t you know it’s not real?”

  Petrov leveled the weapon at Kimmel. “Yes. It is.”

  Kimmel flinched a split second before Petrov fired.

  CHAPTER 43

  Melody screamed. She thought she knew fear, thought she understood how far a person could be stretched by despair and horror, but it was nothing compared to what she saw now. Her son, eyes bugging out of his head, the tip of his tongue protruding from between his lips as Henry choked him. She knew she had to get to him, to do something.

  “Don’t break the circle,”
Mrs. Alma screamed, glaring at her.

  “I need to help him!” Melody sobbed.

  “This is the only way to help him. By keeping this circle closed.”

  Emma glared at her as she said it, unable to believe the ease of Mrs. Alma’s lie.

  “Promise me he won’t die,” Melody fired back, fighting to get the words out.

  “The circle must remain closed no matter what happens, Mrs. Samson. It’s the only way to survive.”

  The wind was a thunderous gale, and the enraged wails of the Gogoku were clear within it as they probed at them, entering their minds, trying to break their bond.

  Each of them began to see visions, things designed to terrify them and break the link. Truman saw his ancestor, noose around his neck, tongue purple and bloated, eyes milky and white. In Truman’s head, he heard it telling him he needed to stop, that by continuing he was condemning his family to Hell.

  “Ignore their poisonous lies,” Mrs. Alma said, still calm, still in control. “They can’t harm us while we’re bonded.”

  Emma saw Annie Briggs, glaring and bloody from the knife wounds that killed her. She mocked and chastised, demanding Emma break the circle. Her friends were there too, bodies ravaged from where they’d been nailed to the tree. Carrie mocked, teased and whispered directly into Emma’s head, but she squeezed her eyes closed and blocked it out. Melody saw Donovan, leering with his crocodile grin. His words were eerily familiar, bringing back memories of her ordeal at his hands.

  Teasing cunt bitch.

  Her grip faltered, but Emma was there to maintain it.

  Even Mrs. Alma wasn’t spared. She saw her demons too, her own connection to the clearing. She saw Michael Jones, his bloated, water-damaged face glaring as he gurgled at his last living descendent not to damn him to an eternity of suffering. She knew well enough that the words came from the darkness that resided there, and easily blocked it out, banishing both sight and sound while concentrating on the task at hand.

  II

  Dane was troubled by none of the same horrors inflicted on those within the circle. He was no threat to them or their task. Instead, he glared at his brother as he continued to choke Isaac’s limp body. Dane searched for anything, any semblance of the man Henry used to be, but saw only a monster; a foul, vile creature. There was no redeeming him. No stopping him. Dane’s hope of protecting his brother from death in a hail of bullets was gone. He knew now that death was the only release that could bring any kind of peace to his sibling. There was nothing else for him. Gritting his teeth, he strode across the clearing, flinching as the spirits darted around and through him.

  He pointed the gun at his brother, hand trembling, and Henry laughed, throwing his head back. The wind echoed him, skittering leaves across the clearing.

  “Let him go, Henry. This is over.”

  Henry threw Isaac’s limp body to the floor. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s done,” he said, staring triumphantly at his brother.

  “Don’t kill him, his part in this isn’t over yet!” Mrs. Alma screamed above the roar of the wind.

  “He’s a murderer. He’s killed people. Destroyed lives. Yours. Your families. Mine,” Dane said, the anger inside him growing and swelling with each passing second.

  “Harming him would be a mistake. You’ll go to prison,” Alma yelled. The others in the clearing were still battling with their demons.

  Dane looked down at Isaac. Skin so pale, eyes open and unseeing, ugly purple bruises on his neck. “The mistake would be letting him live,” Dane said, striding toward his brother and pressing the barrel of the gun into his forehead hard enough to turn the skin white around its edge. “I’d be doing the world a favor by splashing his brains across the ground right here and now.”

  “Don’t harm him,” she repeated. “Not now. It isn’t time.”

  “Look, lady. I don’t buy into all this witchcraft shit. This is between me and him.”

  “Not witchcraft,” she said, eyes glittering in the darkness. “Forces. Forces most people don’t or can’t understand, but real nonetheless. Your brother still has a part to play before the end.”

  “They speak louder than you, whore!” Henry spat. “They are already inside him. Nothing can stop them. Not now.”

  Dane wondered if it were true. His intention hadn’t been to harm Henry when he first arrived. Now, however, the idea of killing him seemed like not only a good idea, but a natural one. It was as if something inside his head was encouraging him, spurring him on. He pressed the barrel harder into his brother’s forehead.

  “Enough talk,” he barked.

  “Don’t harm him. I’m warning you!” Mrs. Alma shrieked.

  “And I’m warning you to keep your damn mouth shut!”

  “They want you to kill me,” Henry whispered. “They want you to take my place. Do it. Finish it. My work here is done. The boy is dead. This can’t be stopped. Soon, I go to them. I take my place at their side.”

  “Shut up!” Dane screamed. It felt as if there was a chalkboard in the center of his head with a thousand fingernails scraping down it. “Just be quiet!”

  “Sacrifice me. You know you want to. You need to. They demand it.”

  Henry pushed his forehead into the barrel, eyes glaring at his brother. “Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it,” he repeated over and over again.

  In Dane’s head, the screech of the chalkboard intensified, building until it was all he could hear.

  “I can’t!” Dane said, hitting Henry in the temple with the gun and knocking him to the ground. “I won’t let you manipulate me, Henry. Not again. You’re going back to the hospital.”

  III

  Silence.

  The spirits of the dead faded into the ether and the trees stopped their violent commotion. Exhausted, those forming the protective circle collapsed, the mental energy required to resist the spirits draining them. Dane stood, blinking, ears ringing as he tried to figure out what to do.

  A cry broke the silence. However, it wasn’t from one of the demonic things that had surrounded them, but from Melody when she saw her son. Dane dropped to his knees, checked the boy’s pulse and, finding none, started performing CPR. He compressed Isaacs’s chest, counting along as he went, doing everything he could to avoid staring into those lifeless eyes that told him they had failed to protect him. Slowly, the others approached, standing around Dane as he battled to save Isaac’s life. Emma and Mrs. Alma were with Melody, holding her upright so she didn’t collapse. Time in the clearing seemed to slow as Dane continued to work, alternating his rhythmic compressions with blowing air into Isaac’s lungs.

  Two minutes passed. Then three.

  They all knew the seriousness of the situation, however, none were willing to speak, not whilst Dane was still willing to work. He paused, looking into Isaac’s eyes. Isaac’s lifeless eyes. He knew it was over. There was nothing else that could be done. He turned, putting his back to Isaac, unable to look at the boy any longer. He cradled his head in his hands and stared at the floor, breathing heavily.

  “It’s too late,” he gasped. “He’s gone.”

  Melody did fall this time, landing hard on her knees, unable to breathe, unable to comprehend. All she could do was scream; an anguished sound that reverberated around the forest.

  Isaac Samson was dead.

  CHAPTER 44

  As Isaac Samson lost his life aboveground, the creature below quivered. The tentacles sprouting from its body thrust toward the roof of the chamber, burrowing into the earthen ceiling, ready to claim its prize. With its energy focused on the world above, its grip on Petrov faltered. He blinked, unable to remember what had happened to him since touching the painting. He blinked again, his eyes growing wide at the beast in front of him, as if seeing it for the first time. He screamed, firing off the remaining bullets from his weapon and then, when it was empty, throwing the weapon itself. The creature carried on burrowing, unharmed by the ammunition. It was then, when he looked around the room, that he saw Kimmel, lying on
his side, bullet wound in his stomach staining his shirt. Petrov ran to him, dragging him away from the smaller tentacles near the base of the creature that were already reaching out for him. Kimmel groaned as Petrov dragged him toward the tunnel they had entered by.

  “Stop,” Kimmel grunted. “Stop, it hurts too much.”

  Petrov set him down, still unable to keep from staring at the creature. “I have to get you out of here. God, what have I done?”

  “You have to kill it,” Kimmel mumbled, a bubble of blood expanding in and out of his mouth as he spoke. “Kill it.”

  “How do you kill something like that? It’s impossible.”

  “Light,” Kimmel muttered. “Use the light.”

  Petrov thought about it for a second, unsure if Kimmel was delirious or not. “I’m sorry,” he said, then stood and ran from the chamber, leaving Kimmel screaming as the creature’s appendages began reaching out for him once more.

  Petrov ran up the tunnel, feeling his way, struggling to understand what was happening or what he was dealing with. Breathing was becoming difficult, the air thick, the taste of rot making him gag. He would go for help, he reasoned, trying to convince himself. He would go, and come back with more men, more firepower. More lights. Definitely more lights. He moved through the altar room, remembering how the effigy had first spooked him, something which seemed almost laughable now after the horror he had seen back there. He knew the surface was just ahead, the blessed relief of freedom.

  Then he paused.

  He stood in the gloom, trying to catch his breath, torn between leaving and staying. He knew that if he ran, he wouldn’t come back, despite telling himself otherwise. He had to end it. Petrov tried to focus, relying on his training, on the analytical mind that had seen him rise through the ranks so quickly. An idea, or at least the basis of one, came to him. Something that may or may not work but was worth trying. Although it took a supreme effort of will, he turned away from the tantalizing taste of freedom and headed back toward the awful thing lurking below.