Dark Daze

by Ava Delany

  “What do you mean?” Ian studied her movements.

  “He loved the gorier things in life, but he was a horror novelist, so I didn’t think too much about it. Even his writing was odd because he spent very little time in his basement working on it, but he never missed a deadline. And he wouldn’t let me see his work when he wrote a new book. But I had to dump him ‘cause some of the things he did were downright creepy.”

  “What kind of things did he do?” Brie asked.

  “Well, he would get this light in his eye sometimes; as if he were a cat and he had just eaten Grandma’s canary. He would watch the news, waiting for something terrible, and sometimes he would laugh and clap when something bad did happen. It wasn’t all the time, just every once in a while, but it freaked me out, know what I mean?”

  Brie nodded. She probably understood better than the waitress did. Kingsley searched for news of his victims, for his stories to unfold.

  “Was he upset after you dumped him?”

  Shawna stared at Ian as if he were insane for even asking. “Yeah, I mean, who wouldn’t be? But I know the man in the ski mask wasn’t him, because he was at least a foot taller and much thinner than Don. Really, a man can’t just lose thirty pounds in one month, even if he could grow taller. If they ever created a pill for it, they’d make millions.”

  “When did you break up?” Brie asked.

  “About two years ago.”

  “So when did the stalking start? About eighteen months ago?”

  She nodded and glanced at the door then at the clock, her leg shaking again.

  “I only have a few more minutes, so you better get to it.”

  “Okay, Kingsley isn’t exactly the one who stalked you—”

  Afraid he was about to say more than he should, Brie broke into his explanation. “He hired someone to do it.”

  She looked at him, and he nodded. Shawna would call the police on the ‘crazy people’ if they told her the truth. They didn’t even know how he did it yet. If they told her he somehow magically made a monster to chase them and the story wrote itself in his books, they would be in a nuthouse by morning.

  “I used to live next to him about a year ago, and we had a dispute over a tree. We both moved since, but he’s having me stalked. It’s all in his newest book. I think his anger toward you might have made him do the same thing. I believe he wrote this book about you.”

  He pulled the book from inside his jacket and handed it to her. She stared at it, apparently certain it would bite her if she touched it. After a second, she took the book and read the back cover. Her face paled, and she heaved, pressing a hand to her mouth. She excused herself and ran to the bathroom.

  When she came out, she was shaking. Brie thought she might avoid them, but she sat down again.

  “Do you know where he lives now?” Ian asked as the color slowly returned to her face.

  Chapter Ten

  “We’re going to a movie, so if you wouldn’t mind, could you keep Buster for a little while longer?”

  Paul let out a long sigh. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you…Buster took off. I don’t know how he did it, but he slid open the glass door and ran away.”

  Ian stared at the i-com. This couldn’t be happening now. Not when they were so close to Kingsley’s house.

  Paul and Mandy lived in Barstow, only an hour or so past the writer’s California City home, but that time might make all the difference. Ian tried not to be concerned. Buster didn’t run away very often, but when he did, he always came back. He always did.

  “If you need us to stop by, we can. I don’t know if it will help though. He probably found himself a girlfriend and they took off to be alone for a while.” Ian tried to sound nonchalant.

  “Don’t worry, we’re searching for him, and we will find him. You just enjoy yourself, and we’ll deal with this problem,” Paul said.

  “Thanks man. We’ll give you a call when we’re done. End connection.” His i-com clicked, and he slid it in his pocket.

  “Is everything ok?” Brie asked.

  “Buster ran off. He does it sometimes. He has an uncanny knack for doing what he wants, even if you don’t want him to. It’ll be okay.”

  Ian drove up the long driveway leading to Donald Kingsley’s secluded hillside house. The building was three stories above ground and big as a mansion. A glass covered elevator stood on the corner of the manor, and several new cars waited under a thick tarp. Ian pulled his vehicle to a stop at the end of the line of cars, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed too soon. The house seemed empty, which was a surprise because the sheer size of it seemed to call for servants.

  Ian’s limbs locked for a moment. Brie and he would win today. They would win, and they would love each other even more for it. He sent the wish off toward wherever wishes were granted and shoved open the door. Crouching with Brie at his side, they rushed down the row of cars. At the front of the house, a wide window, curtains open, revealed a study or library of some sort. Several books, encased in a large glass box, were displayed inside. Including the book that controlled, or at least influenced, his fate.

  Ian winced as a he slipped on a rock. A deaf man would hear their approach. Ian’s sneakers seemed to find every leaf, every bit of sand. Why were they called sneakers when they were only a little stealthier than cleats?

  Ian swallowed, gave Brie an apologetic shrug, and continued along the face of the building, peeking in windows to find Kingsley. If he was even home.

  A deep rumbling shook the glass as Ian passed the elevator. He pulled Brie behind a shrub shaped like a book. Probably some gardener’s idea of funny. The elevator moved down from the top floor, carrying a lone figure toward the lower levels. Kingsley wore a long black robe with strange red markings, which were barely visible in the darkening evening. He held several items; a large book, two bones, some candles, and various other things too small to see at this distance.

  “What do you think? Should we ring the bell? Tell him we’re reporters with the nuthouse times?” She winked at him and smiled. “‘Cause I think we should sneak in and find out what all this is about.”

  The mischievous look in her eyes was precious. It soothed his tense muscles, if only for a second. His little soldier was trying so hard to be brave and keep her pain from showing.

  She was the one for him. No doubt about it.

  As the elevator disappeared underground, Ian grabbed her and kissed her. For a moment, he let himself enjoy the pressure of her body against his, and the passionate way she returned his kiss. So free, so unique, and fearless beyond words. No matter how much she dreaded this trip, she’d never turned away from it.

  “You’re wonderful,” she said when he released her, her words echoing his own thoughts. “Whatever happens in there, I will never stop feeling that way.”

  “Let’s go.”

  She headed toward the house. They moved around the property, searching for an unlocked door or window, but found none. The front door, unlikely to be open, was their last hope, short of breaking a window or ringing the bell.

  The porch housed a gargantuan door at least nine feet tall and wide enough for two or three people to enter at the same time. A dead bolt and a numeric lock on the knob were the only apparent restrictions to entry. If the locks were engaged, they’d have to find another way to enter. Ian reached out, his heartbeat beginning to accelerate, and turned the knob. It turned easily, and the door opened, unrestrained.

  “Hmm, someone may just be rolling out the welcome mat. We should be extra careful. I don’t trust this.” She once again echoed his thoughts.

  He nodded to her and moved inside the foyer. Brie followed close behind him. Down the hall from the foyer, Ian could see a visitor’s salon. To the left stood the open door to the library and an archway at the end, and to the right, three closed doors. The house must be five or six thousand square feet. This search might take forever.

  He crept down the hall, leaving the door open behind them. Even a
soft click from closing it might alert Kingsley to their presence. Ian moved to the first door on the right, Brie close behind him. The game room featured vaulted ceilings, a gold-trimmed pool table, and a well-stocked bar. The realtor in him drooled, even as the man in him balked. The ostentatious home must have cost Kingsley a fortune.

  The elevator in the corner was the only other way out of the room, but taking it would be like using a bullhorn to announce their arrival. There must be stairs around here somewhere, in case of emergencies. The second room on the right had a formal dining table at its center, elaborately carved cherry wood furnishings, and a swinging door on the far wall.

  He leaned in close to Brie’s ear and whispered, “I’ll bet the stairs are off the kitchen. I doubt Kingsley would allow his contemporary house to be so archaic as to have stairs where the visitors could see them.”

  Brie followed him around the table. Praying the hinges wouldn’t squeak, Ian opened the swinging door into an empty kitchen with stainless steel from floor to ceiling. It seemed like being on a submarine, surrounded by metal casing and the oppressive ocean pushing in. A small niche in the wall opposite them housed the stairs.

  His head spun.

  What would they find down there? And what would they leave with? He’d been trying to be confident and gung ho about all this, but the truth was, he was just as scared as she was of losing what they’d found. The thought made him grit his teeth. He would not lose her.

  Shaking his head, trying to clear it of the distracting thoughts, he edged toward the narrow staircase. The steep incline and decline of the two side-by-side stairs called to mind the funhouses he’d seen as a child. He expected to find them getting narrower and narrower until finally the person climbing them could proceed no further.

  His limbs turned to jelly and his breath rasped so harshly in his own ears, he was sure it could be heard three towns away. Brie slipped her hands into his, holding them for a moment before releasing them. When his muscles solidified, he started down the stairs.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Beginning

  The stairs stretched on forever as Ian stepped from one to the next. His heart beat in a jerky rhythm, and his mouth went dry. They were close. Ian didn’t have Brie’s intuition, but even he could sense it. He hauled Brie behind him when the dark mahogany boards widened into a wine cellar with another stairway at the far end.

  Her breath grazed his ear and neck, and her hand came to his arm, holding him tight all of a sudden. “Be careful.”

  Even in these circumstances, she was frightened more for him than herself. The image on the painting must worry her, though she hadn’t mentioned it since they’d left his mother’s house. Truth be told, it worried him too. What would he find behind this barrier—or the next? Ian glanced at his feet, willing them forward. If only he felt as strong as she seemed in this moment. A low rumbling came from the room within, and he pressed his ear to the door.

  The mumbling in the other room seemed like words. Latin maybe, or some other unusual language. A strange scent wafted from the crack under the door. His hand grasped the knob of its own volition. The well-oiled hinges moved silently. Beyond, he found a narrow room lit by tall candles.

  Kingsley stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by the shadow…enveloped in it. A blank book sat on a stand in front of him, and on either side of it, what appeared to be human leg bones. Ian’s stomach knotted.

  “Dominus hic typicus est.” As Kingsley spoke, he laid a picture of a Felix the cat clock on one page and a kitten face coffee cup on the other. A bit of incense burned in a brass holder beside the book. He picked it up and waved it over the objects, leaving a trail of thin swirling smoke and repeating the words as he did.

  The novel’s cover seemed to materialize. Kingsley shut the book. The image now showed a woman sitting in a chair, staring in horror at a broken window while a claw busted through it.

  How was he doing that? Ian stepped closer as Kingsley began chanting.

  The scene before them made him wish he’d convinced Brie to stay in the car, but if the creature had attacked her, Ian wouldn’t have been able to protect her.

  Kingsley stopped chanting and turned, glaring.

  “I wondered when you would show, Ian. I told you that you’d regret the damned tree incident.” The deep shadows gave Kingsley a sinister appearance, his glasses turning his jolly face into the visage of a hellfire preacher.

  The sneer on his lips sent a shiver down Ian’s spine. A similar shiver emanated from Brie, who clung to the back of his shirt.

  “Why did…How did…” Ian stumbled over the question, fighting the anger and fear mingling inside him.

  Kingsley walked to a table in the corner and uncorked the decanter of brandy. “Would you like a drink?”

  Ian stared at him in disbelief. Kingsley, the congenial party host, offered the refreshment as if they were honored guests. Ian thought of the unlocked front door, of the doors inside the house standing open, of the lack of servants. It had been no happy coincidence. Perhaps he was the host and they the guests, but Ian didn’t think this party would end the way either of them expected.

  “We’re fine. You going to tell us how and why you did this? Or do you just want to wait for the cops,” he asked, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to look more courageous than he was.

  Kingsley smiled and clicked his tongue. “Oh Ian, I know you better than that, my friend. You didn’t call the police. What could you tell them if you did?”

  Ian cursed himself for not calling them. But what would he have said?

  “Please sit. Balrath doesn’t like people to block his view.” Kingsley indicated a row of chairs along one wall with a lazy gesture.

  A soft cry of surprise came from Brie, who tried to move around him and toward the shadowy creature drifting into the basement. The black hole eyes sucked the candlelight into their murky depths. The breath whooshed from Ian, and he stepped back, keeping his body angled so he blocked Brie from both the monster and the psycho. She tried again to push around him, but he held her back.

  “I have seen this thing before.” A thin whisper sounded next to his ear. “I was right. It came through the sky when I was in my brother’s head.”

  “Well, if you’re sure you won’t sit.” Kingsley waved a hand. “Do you remember being scared of the dark as a child? Afraid of the things lurking in it?”

  Ian’s eyes darted back and forth between the two figures, he didn’t answer, but Kingsley didn’t wait for one anyhow.

  “I was never afraid of the dark or the creatures hiding in it. While you were pissing your sheets in fright at every sound in your closet, I was seeking them out. That’s how I found Balrath. I discovered I had the ability to summon him on Dark Day.” Kingsley chuckled. “It just came to me during those hours when the darkness ruled, and I knew I could call forth a demon from the depths of hell.” He lifted the decanter again. “You sure?”

  Ian drew his brows together. Had the man gone insane?

  Kingsley shrugged, then poured the brandy into a glass and pressed the crystalline cork back into the bottle. “Anyhow, I did call him, and it turns out he’s the perfect fit for me. He feeds on fear, you see. I suppose my indifference intrigued him.”

  Balrath moved forward into the doorway, sucking more of the soft light from the room. Ian’s heart thudded as Kingsley continued like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

  “He’d never met a man with absolutely no fear of him, until I came along. We made a pact; I would seek out the weak and fearful, and in turn, he would, shall we say, repay some debts I owed.” He plunked an ice cube into the glass, and it tinkled against the sides as he swirled it around.

  Kingsley sure liked to hear himself talk. Ian would have loved to shut him up. Tell him how delusional he was. And if it weren’t for the proof floating around the room, Ian would have.

  “Finding people to feed Balrath’s wrath wasn’t as easy at first, but one day, I submitted a novel for publi
cation, and the editor refused me. He told me my work needed heavy revisions, my writing wasn’t ready for the public, and my sense of humor was far too dark for human consumption. He said—and this is a quote—’you will never publish a piece of crap like this.’“ His bright smile faded, replaced by a snarl. “I hated him for it.” The expression vanished as quickly as it appeared.

  Ian stepped back, watching for any escape and trying to keep his stomach from rebelling. Kingsley spoke as if he were on stage at a press conference in his honor, bragging about the noble things he’d accomplished, not a psycho in his basement discussing his misdeeds. And this man, like it or not, had them in his control.

  “Anyhow, I was planning my revenge when Balrath approached me and offered me a new deal.” Kingsley grabbed the thick novel off the altar and fingered the cover. “He would give me the wealth, time, and resources I would need to find victims. So I supply the people, and he plays the villain, which feeds him significantly longer than a single kill ever did. I do regret making my enemies the heroes in my novels, but then again, I know the truth about how much they suffer before the last page. The readers get a whitewashed version of the ending to keep them reading.”

  Ian had retreated so far that Brie hit the wall. She let out a huffing sound, still clutching at his shirt and holding him back.

  Kingsley was obviously excited to have someone he could brag to, and Balrath seemed happy to feed off his fear, for the time being. If Ian could prolong the conversation long enough, they might find some means of escape. “Then that’s why there’s a difference between what really happened, and what was written in the book?” Ian wiped his damp palms on his pants. Kingsley would answer. He just had to. He would keep sharing until Ian could figure a way around the looming demon who advanced on them, inch by slow and deliberate inch.

  “Yes. Any reference to me is removed to protect me and anything I would deem boring is extracted and replaced, of course.” He continued the way one would to a child, over-annunciating each word. “I do have novels to sell.”