The Paranormalist 3: Curse of the Abyss

by William Massa

  Fuck.

  With superhuman strength, Cleo grabbed me by the throat and lifted me in the air. My feet kicked out, dangling a foot above the marble floor, while the pressure around my neck increased. Reality grew hazy, swimming in and out of existence. At this rate, I would pass out in a few seconds.

  I stared into the face of my attacker. Where Cleo’s eyes used to be, there were now empty sockets surrounded by ragged flaps of skin. The evil entity had physically changed her during this bout of possession, matching the young woman’s appearance to his own. That wasn’t good. Not completely permanent, not yet. But if I didn’t do something, Cleo would be beyond help—and Vesper would be picking out flowers for my funeral.

  Strangely enough, proximity to death has a way of sharpening the mind. Even though I couldn’t breathe, a surreal clarity had settled over my thoughts.

  It was the eyes. Why was the nightmare priest missing his eyes? It didn’t make any sense.

  And then the answer hit me.

  The Nightmare Priest had tried to take the eyes of his last victim, but Father Jimenez had stopped him, turning his murder weapon against him. Mortally wounded, the killer had sought refuge in his secret lair below the abandoned warehouse, a secret room which he must’ve discovered while squatting in the structure. A place all his own, far away from the prying eyes of other homeless folks seeking refuge in the abandoned building.

  As the bastard lay dying, he must have used the knife against himself. That was. The crazy freak had blinded himself in a mad desire to complete his series of perverted miracles before he drew his last breath.

  A final sacrifice he believed would transform him into a demon. The curse of the abyss. That’s what he’d wanted all along.

  As I peered into the hollow eye cavities, something clicked in my mind. The nightmare priest didn’t realize he was just a restless spirit. When the dead pass on, especially in violent circumstances, it tends to fracture their sense of self. Some ghosts never fully realize that they’re dead. Others become warped by their obsessions and fears in life.

  In his confused state, my adversary saw himself as a full-fledged demon. The crazy bastard thought he’d succeeded in his mad plan by cutting out his own eyes.

  Despite the horror of my realization, hope flickered in my heart.

  I could use this information against my enemy. But first, I’d have to free myself from Cleo’s viselike grip. You know, the one that was quickly squeezing the life out of me.

  Although I’d been unwilling to stab her, I could live with myself if I caused a few bruises.

  I tried to kick out with my legs but barely generated enough momentum to do any damage. Shit.

  Darkness was creeping into the edges of my vision. I could hear the pounding of my pulse like the relentless pounding of a drum. But it would stop soon enough. The damned priest was too strong.

  As I flailed, the gradually building pain in my shoulder tattoo became unbearable. It felt as if someone had driven a knife right into the center of the Ouroboros.

  I gasped with agony, and then my shoulder lit up with a blinding crimson light. My tattoo went supernova, the ink turning to flame, and the Ouroboros transformed into a living serpent made of fire.

  I had never seen my tattoo react like this before. Then again, I’d never been this close to death before.

  The fiery Ouroboros lashed out at Cleo, the snake’s burning fangs sinking deep into her arm. Stunned, the possessed DJ let go of me and staggered back with a cry.

  The moment I was free, the tattoo returned to normal and the searing pain in my shoulder stopped.

  I had no idea what just happened, nor did I care. I was too busy filling my starving lungs with precious oxygen.

  My vision still cloudy, I watched as Cleo’s arm erupted into flames where the living tattoo had bitten her. Instead of blood, it looked like black smoke was pouring from the wound.

  Her cries of anguish reverberated in the church as the murderous entity inside her evacuated her body. My eyes went wide as the Nightmare Priest’s spectral form burst from Cleo and materialized a few feet behind her. The entity shimmered in and out of existence, the eyeless features contorted with rage and pain.

  The magic of my tattoo had struck a severe blow against my enemy.

  At the same time, the cleansing fire engulfing Cleo’s arm went out, her screams turning into whimpering cries before they ultimately died down. Her eyes returned to normal, too. Thank God for small miracles—or, in this case, rather big ones.

  My head reeled as I stumbled erect and searched the floor, determined to find the athame Cleo had knocked out of my hands before the killer priest struck again.

  I caught a glint of metal on the familiar blade and barely suppressed a whoop of joy. About twelve feet separated me from my father’s sacrificial knife. Might as well be twelve miles, when you’re dealing with a ghost who can travel distances in a blink of an eye.

  I had to distract the Nightmare Priest long enough to reach my knife. Armed, I might be able to turn this battle around. Emphasis on might.

  Fortunately, I had the perfect plan to throw the bastard off his game.

  “You think by blinding yourself, you completed your ritual,” I said in my most commanding, confident voice. “You think Hell rewarded you for your work, granting you the honor of joining Satan’s infernal legions. I have bad news for you. Nothing could be further from the truth, buddy.”

  The Nightmare Priest grew stock still, the air thick with tension. I continued my spiel while inching toward the knife on the floor.

  “You’re not a demon, you idiot. Demons can not enter churches. You’re just a spirit trapped in a place you don’t belong-“

  An explosion of shattering glass cut me off. High above me, one of the stained-glass windows erupted into a multi-colored explosion.

  I guess the truth hurts.

  Despite the rain of glass shards, I continued my verbal assault as I moved closer and closer to my knife.

  “What do you think happens once you sacrifice Father Jimenez or when Cleo Dix’s heart gives out and you lose your host body? You’ll just be one more spirit doomed to walk the Earth until the end of days.”

  The pews next to me cracked and splintered as a ball of concentrated psychic energy hit them.

  “You haven’t earned the favor of the Prince of Lies. The demons of the underworld laugh at you. And that laughter will grow louder as the years turn into decades and decades into centuries.”

  Two more church windows blew out as the nightmare priest’s fury reached a boiling point.

  Sorry about your church, Jimenez, but this is for a good cause.

  “You don’t deserve to burn in the pits of Hell, much less serve by Satan’s side.”

  An inhuman scream ripped through the church. The air rippled, and the priest materialized right in front of me.

  His timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Only inches separated me from my athame.

  This was it! I had one chance to grab the knife and strike down the creature that had wreaked so much havoc in my goddamn city.

  Fueled by pure survival instinct, I threw myself onto the church floor. As I hit the hard marble for a second time within minutes, I reached out for the blade. My fingers wrapped tightly around the athame’s pentagram-engraved handle just as the nightmare priest attacked.

  I felt his spectral fist dive into my chest, clenched my jaw in agony as those invisible fingers tightened around my beating heart.

  And then I brought the knife up with all my strength.

  The blade sank into the ghost and unleashed its powerful magic. The Nightmare Priest cried out again, rage giving way to pain.

  An instant later, the killer ghost burst into a blaze of spectral energy.

  The fire burned out after a few moments, leaving behind nothing but a few tendrils of leftover psychic energy. Cloying wisps of the paranormal residue clung to the pews like fog before dissolving altogether.

  I took a deep breath. The
athame felt warm to the touch in my hand.

  I had won this battle, but it had been a close call.

  Footsteps rang out, and my gaze landed on Father Jimenez. He’d gotten up from the altar, his face bruised and bloodied, but thankfully alive. His eyes gleamed with gratitude as he approached me.

  Then his attention turned to the piles of broken glass.

  “Rome won’t be happy when I send them the bill for this.”

  “Just tell them to take it out of my fee,” I said, a grin on my face.

  As we turned our attention to Cleo, who’d regained consciousness. Although the unholy transformation had only been temporary, one injury still remained. On her arm, two bloody pinpricks marked where she’d been bitten.

  I couldn’t shake the image of my Ouroboros tattoo coming alive and striking out at Cleo. Even with all the strange things I’d seen in my life, I had never experienced anything so unbelievable. My tattoo was simply a part of me, often an annoying one—like a smoke detector that beeped every time you tried to cook. It warned me of supernatural danger, but I’d never before sensed that it might have abilities beyond that.

  What was the extent of the tattoo’s power? And more importantly, could its magic turn against me one day? After all, the ink had been a gift from dear old dad.

  So many questions, but the answers would have to wait.

  As Father Jimenez helped Cleo back to her wobbly feet, my cell rang. It was none other than Vesper. This time I answered the call even though I knew I was going to get it.

  Fortunately, my assistant was so happy to hear my voice that she didn’t give me too much hell for ditching her for this last part.

  “Next time, I’m coming with you,” she said, and there was steel in her voice.

  I massaged my throat, thinking of how close I’d come to death. Of how close I’d been to losing everything. And everyone.

  “Hey, Vesper?” I rasped. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  Smiling, I said, “For everything.”

  “Don’t think you’re getting off so easy, Simon Kane. And another thing—”

  As I let Vesper’s voice wash over me, my eyes fell on the Unholy Bible splayed out on the church floor. For an irrational moment, I wanted to drive my athame into the leather-bound tome. I had to remind myself that this was no true book of black magic. The scribblings within those pages were only the deranged thoughts of a madman.

  How many lives had the killer sacrificed during his unholy quest? And how many more lives would perish as other lost souls tried to make their twisted dreams a reality? Sometimes, it felt like the parade of horrors would never end. Part of me wanted to turn my back on all of it. Hadn’t I done enough? Taken enough beatings, risked my very soul—and for what? In the battle between light and dark, this barely registered as a minor skirmish. The nameless priest was a single drop of water in an ocean of evil, and I was just a man trying to hold back the tide.

  I shook off the dark cloud that had threatened to settle over me and gripped my athame with resolve.

  Perhaps paradise would always elude our species. Maybe humanity was doomed to battle monsters until the end of days. I could only draw comfort from one certainty— as long as I’d walk this Earth, I’d fight the darkness. It had begun as a way to atone for my father’s crimes, but now it was more than that. I would not leave the innocent to suffer. Not if there was anything I could do to save them.

  As Cleo Dix threw her skinny arms around me and Father Jimenez gave me a nod of thanks, his eyes filled with emotion, a sense of peace washed over me. It felt a lot like grace.

  THE END

  Simon Kane and Dakota Vesper return in

  The Paranormalist 4: Lost Souls of Venice

  (On preorder)

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  The Paranormalist: Curse of the Abyss

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  William Massa’s Night Hunters

  Also by WILLIAM MASSA

  THE NIGHT SLAYER SERIES

  Midnight War

  Monster Quest

  Shadow Plague

  World of Darkness

  THE SHADOW DETECTIVE SERIES

  Cursed City

  Soul Catcher

  Blood Rain

  Demon Dawn

  Skull Master

  Ghoul Night

  Witch Wars

  Crimson Circle

  Hell Breaker

  Dragon Curse

  Vampire Quest

  THE OCCULT ASSASSIN SERIES

  Damnation Code

  Apocalypse Soldier

  Ice Shadows

  Spirit Breaker

  Soul Jacker

  THE PARANORMALIST

  Servants of the Endless Night

  Soul Taker

  Curse of the Abyss

  Lost Souls of Venice

  THE GARGOYLE KNIGHT SERIES

  Gargoyle Knight

  Gargoyle Quest

  STAND ALONES

  Fear the Light

  About the Author

  William Massa is a produced screenwriter and bestselling Amazon author. His film credits include Return to House on Haunted Hill and he has sold pitches and scripts to Warner, USA TV, Silver Pictures, Dark Castle, Maverick and Sony.

  William has lived in New York, Florida, Europe and now resides in Venice Beach surrounded by skaters and surfers. He writes science fiction and dark fantasy/urban fantasy horror with an action-adventure flavor.

  Writing can be a solitary pursuit but rewriting can be a group effort. I strive to make each book better than the last and feedback is incredibly helpful. If you have notes, thoughts or comments about this book or want to contact me, feel free to contact me at:

  williammassabooks@gmail.com

  Hope to hear from you soon!