Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Stormtide fumbles around. A match strikes and burns, and he drops it into the cauldron.

  The liquid bubbles and froths.

  He pats his hands above it, and dirt falls into the mixture. “Next is air.”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” I warn.

  “You’ve never controlled the wind?”

  I scowl, not liking his tone, not liking any of this. “You know what I mean. Magic this powerful, magic with all of the elements…”

  “Don’t be scared, young Crystal. You can do this. If not, Vince will die, I can assure you of that, and then I’ll kill you.”

  “You’ll have no leverage with the witches then.”

  He sighs as if I am very stupid. Maybe I am. “Wind. Now.”

  I can’t think. My thoughts are all jumbled up, and I can’t figure out a plan. Where’s Gavin?

  “What if I mess up? By accident?” I ask, stalling.

  “By accident.” He snorts. “Don’t even think about double crossing me.”

  “What if I can’t give you back your magic?”

  “You won’t know unless you try.”

  I slowly call for a mild breeze. Dirt swirls around my ankles, and I float a pebble to my hand. The alien magic pulsates within the stone, its allure intoxicating. All that remains of the dead witch, Emerald Lion, is his want of destruction not only toward Mr. Venator but toward all those on Earth.

  A flick of my wrist and I toss the pebble back onto the ground. If I give Stormtide magic, it won’t be his but theirs. I can see the twisted blackness of revenge already living in his heart. To have the power and the added vengeance of the countless witches—he’d become even more consumed by revenge, and the world would become the focal point of his wrath. No matter what, I can’t allow that to happen.

  Trying to call back the mild breeze only makes it stronger. The dead witches are funneling their power into it, as if they know how close they are to having a vessel for their blind vengeance.

  I’m powerless to stop it as the wind increases its strength. My clothes and short hair billows around me, and I have to firmly plant my feet on the ground to not be knocked over.

  “Yes, yes,” Stormtide cheers. “Add it to the cauldron!”

  Breathe. Limitless magic, remember? I can do anything.

  With every fiber of my being, I fight and battle the wind, twisting it together, forcing it to bend to my will. A wind funnel forms, and I direct it toward Stormtide.

  “No!” he shrieks. He starts to run, but the force of the winds captures him. His wailing sounds horrifying, louder and quieter depending on whether or not he’s facing me.

  What have I done? I only meant to stop him, not hurt him!

  My attempt to lift the funnel and send it away fails. The wind turns against me. The dead witches will not be denied. Their voices shout at me mentally. They speak of how they died, who killed them, and what they would do once free: destroying everything that those still living loves.

  “No!” My cry echoes Stormtide’s. Nothing I do to temper the airstream back or to halt the funnel works. The gale refuses to die.

  What looks like a windy arm pulls free of the funnel. I focus all of my energy and power on the arm, and it slowly reaches toward the tree. If I can slow the gust down…

  But the arm refuses to listen. It picks up a large rock and throws it.

  The first several rocks I jump or duck out of the way of until a large one plows into my left shoulder. A loud popping sound echoes in my ears, and I collapse. Another rock connects with my head, and I see flashing bright lights. “No…” I say weakly.

  “Crystal!”

  Gavin!

  “Where are you?” I ask, but the roar of the funnel makes it hard for even me to hear myself.

  My vision dims and loses focus. At times I can see clearly; other times, my vision darkens to the point where I’m not sure my eyes are open. Somehow, I spy Gavin. He’s crawling toward the cauldron, but the wind fights against him, so strong it looks like it might be tearing at his skin.

  I have to do something.

  With shaking legs, I climb to my feet. “Take me. Use me!” I shriek.

  The collective mind of the dead witches stops for a second then focuses on me.

  That second is all I needed. I force the arm to grab the tree. It wraps its fingers around the bark. The funnel slows ever so slightly. Good. Very good.

  But the force of the wind is too strong and starts to uproot the tree, and a groan cuts through the howling gust.

  Gavin’s screaming, but I can’t hear his words. He tips the cauldron over. Purple smoke fans out everywhere and covers the clearing like a heavy fog.

  Something falls from the top of the tree. Acting on impulse, I run to catch it. Time seems to stand still as the tree collapses with a roar that eclipses Stormtide’s screaming, the funnel slows more but remains intact, and the bundle continues to fall. I almost want to force the funnel to slow the blanket-covered item’s descent, but I’m not willing to risk using magic here. Somehow, I catch the heavy large bundle and land on my butt. The blanket covers…

  Vince!

  He’s still as a stone, his body cold. I kiss his forehead then his lips. He doesn’t stir, and through my magic, I know that although he isn’t dead, he isn’t completely alive either.

  Chapter 33

  MY VISION BLURS again, this time from tears. I look to the heavens. Dear Lord, you aren’t supposed to take him. His family has lost so much already. Vince has lost so much already. Don’t take him yet. Don’t. Please don’t.

  If anything happens to Vince…

  How could God allow so much evil in the world? Has my faith for all these years been in an entity who doesn’t care about our plight? Or does God not exist in the first place?

  Through my tears, I watch Gavin reach around on the ground for something. The dagger. He picks it up and slowly advances toward the funnel. It spins, but most of its power is gone. Blood runs down Stormtide’s face, his clothes torn and tattered, the ex-shaman still trapped in the gust. In the back reaches of my mind, I hear the mutterings of the dead witches, but they’re dimmed, as if I’m hearing them through earplugs.

  A subtle shift in the air above me startles me. Three figures appears above my head and float to the ground. I make no move to stand and rearrange myself so Vince’s head is in my lap. They might be more shamans, but I can’t make myself care. All of me is consumed by Vince, my every thought, my every action.

  The figures land a short distance from the funnel. In one voice, they chant, “Air, leave the wind. Air, leave the wind. Air, leave the wind.”

  The funnel slows even more and dies. Stormtide collapses to the ground. He doesn’t have time to brace himself for impact, and his face greets the dirt.

  “Stormtide,” one of the figures says in an unfamiliar, powerful voice. “You were stripped of your magic years ago for a reason. You are selfish and seek what you want, regardless of how it affects others. I had hoped… The time for hoping has passed. You have crossed us too many times, Stormtide.”

  Gavin glances at the witches then back at Stormtide. With a yell, the dagger high in the air, he races toward Stormtide’s fallen form. Silver Tiger lifts her arm, and the dagger flies out of his hands.

  Gavin whirls around. His chest rises and falls swiftly as he gulps down long, deep breaths, his eyes dark and cloudy. “Let me do it.”

  Amethyst Wolf—somehow I know it’s her—shakes her head. “Blood should not stain your hands. Not yet anyway.”

  Stormtide lifts one foot into a kneeling position. He leans heavily on it to push himself up to stand. “You,” he croaks, his voice breaking. “Give me back my magic.”

  “Stormtide, you are nothing but evil. Your time here on Earth has expired.”

  A growing numbness fills my body. The witches are acting like they’re God. Is it fair that they are about to execute this broken man before them?

  I can’t bring myself to care about Stormtide o
r his fate. I caress Vince’s face. Once the witches are done with Stormtide, they can help me bring Vince back from wherever he is.

  “One last chance,” he begs, falling to his knees. “I’ve done nothing wrong since you stole my magic.”

  “Is that so?” Silver Tiger says dryly. “What of the people of Stonecoast?”

  His face contorts and twists, turning purple with violent fury, and he jumps to his feet. “I was their shaman. It was my duty to protect them.”

  “You left them to suffer through a famine without aid,” Amethyst Wolf says.

  “I had no way to help them after you stripped me of my magic!”

  “You could have helped them move to more fertile ground, or you could have found new crops to grow,” Sapphire Belladonna says.

  “Instead you abandoned them. Tell me, Stormtide, do you wish to know their fate?” Amethyst Wolf asks.

  He shakes his head, but his tongue betrays him. “Yes,” he whispers.

  “I helped them move more inland. We found a flowing river. The embankment had much fertile land, and after the harsh drought of the winter, they were able to start farming. Only three lives were lost due to the famine.”

  “You… you helped them?” The disbelief in his tone is genuine. “Why?”

  “They should not be punished for having an evil shaman.”

  “Please, help me now. I’ve seen the errors of my ways.” He clasps his hands together.

  “All you’ve seen is your impending doom,” Amethyst Wolf says dispassionately. “Your death will come now.”

  Stormtide whirls around in a frantic circle until he spies me. “You have to help me. Save me!”

  I can’t feel pity for him. Stormtide is beyond saving.

  The ex-shaman releases a piercing wail, but I keep my gaze on Vince’s face. The witches murmur a chant, and after a moment, Stormtide stops yelling. Only then do I look up.

  All that remains are his clothes.

  Silver Tiger makes a come here motion, and the dagger floats toward her. “It has to be destroyed.”

  “Why?” Gavin asks. His eyes remain on Stormtide’s clothes, and he looks traumatized, much like he had ten years ago.

  “It’s too powerful,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “Now that there’s so many elements within it, it’s possible that if you had tried to kill him with it, he may have, instead, been giving his magic back.”

  “Not his magic,” I cut in. My voice is raspy, as if I haven’t spoken in days.

  “What’s that, child?”

  “Not his magic. There’s old magic here. Can’t you feel it? Dormant and powerful…” The voices of the dead witches have dimmed even more, almost to the point of sounding like gnats buzzing, annoying but harmless.

  The three witches glance at each other.

  Sapphire Belladonna glides over to me. “Crystal, we should leave this place.”

  “No. Not until we save Vince.” I hug him, pulling more of him onto my lap.

  The other witches approach, Gavin trailing behind them. Amethyst Wolf tucks the dagger within her long, flowing skirt. Maybe the old magic makes it a bad idea to try to destroy it here. Silver Tiger roots through Stormtide’s clothing and retrieves Doctor Jenkins’ cane.

  How can they be worried about artifacts when Vince needs our help?

  “He’s here, but he’s not all here,” I try to explain, placing my hand on his heart. His heartbeat’s slow but steady. Even though his chest doesn’t rise and fall, air and blood circulates throughout his body.

  The other witches take turns touching him before stepping back and talking amongst themselves in hushed tones.

  Ignoring them, I cup the sides of his face and look into his mind.

  That’s where the problem lies. My Vince is trapped within his mind.

  I look up, relieved to have figured out that much, but the witches wear identical somber expressions. “What’s wrong? Can’t you fix him?”

  “No, Crystal.” Sapphire Belladonna clasps her hands behind her back. “That spell is ancient one, one that was never to be used again. To be trapped in one’s own mind, to never be able to move again, to never feel anything but fright…”

  “Fright?” My heart pounds in my chest.

  “Yes. You are doomed to a life trapped in your worst nightmare.”

  “No.” I gasp. “There has to be a way.”

  Once more, I place my hands on his cheeks. Closing my eyes, I’m able to see inside his mind, to see his nightmare.

  The car crash happens again, only this time, I’m not wearing my seat belt and I fly through the window shield. Mrs. Fuller also dies. Only Vince survives.

  The scene shifts to the school cafeteria. I watch as I smile at Vince but positively glow when Gavin walks into the room. On my tiptoes, I kiss him.

  Again, the scene changes. Vince is at home when the doorbell rings. Officer Wallace is at the door. He gives his heartfelt apologies, but there was an accident, and his father didn’t make it.

  On and on, each scene brings with it pain and anguish.

  Somewhere inside of here is Vince, the real Vince. I have to find him before the pain of repeatedly losing his family and loved ones proves too much and snaps his mind.

  Chapter 34

  FOOTSTEPS BREAK MY concentration, and Gavin kneels beside me. “It’s been a long night. You should get some rest and try in the morning.”

  “In the morning?” I make a noise similar to a dying laugh.

  He nods toward the witches. “They don’t think you can save him, but I do.”

  A knot forms in my throat. At least someone believes in me.

  I glance at him, unable to look away from Vine for long. “You’re hurt.”

  He touches his bleeding forehead. “I’m fine.”

  If he isn’t, the witches should be able to handle a simple head wound. At least I hope so. I’m starting to doubt their abilities. What good is their magic if they can’t help people?

  I jerk my chin toward the witches. “Ask them where my mom is. And how Stormtide could have done this.”

  Gavin’s face twists into a sad grimace. “I fear I may know who.”

  My heart sinks. “Your father?”

  “Yeah.” He stands and brushes dirt from his jeans. “It’s a wonder you don’t hate me.”

  “You can’t choose who your parents are.”

  But sometimes, someone can choose to be a parent even when they can’t have children biologically.

  He smiles sadly and joins the circle of witches.

  With surprising ease, I shut down all contact with the outside world, blocking out Gavin’s and the witches’ voices and the few crickets that started to chirp. All I hear is my thudding heart. I concentrate on my breathing to slow it down. Vince’s eyes are closed, and he looks peaceful, as if he’s sleeping.

  If only that was true.

  I close my eyes and reenter his mind. The nightmares replay without end, some the same as before, others new ones.

  The Vince involved in the nightmares isn’t my Vince, but a dream projection of him. Somewhere else is the real one.

  Without hesitating, I imagine my body within the nightmare landscape. The car crash nightmare begins again. Vince stops at the light. My hand goes through the door, as if I’m a ghost. How weird. I hurry to put on my dream self’s seat belt.

  But I’m too late. The other car collides with ours, and my dream body flies through the windshield.

  Even though it’s only a nightmare, I feel the glass shards cutting into my dream body. I look at my hands. Cuts and bruises appear on my imagined body.

  Vince runs to the dead dream Crystal’s side.

  I back away from the car. The other car, Mr. Venator’s, is reversing.

  And Mr. Venator is staring directly at me.

  Can he see me?

  I gulp and suppress a shudder.

  The nightmare fades after Vince learns of his mother’s death. When the new one initiates, the wounds on my arms remain.

  T
o stop the bleeding, I press my right hand to my left wound and do the same for my other arm. Even though this isn’t my real body, I’m in pain. Just a construct of the nightmare? My mind playing tricks on me…

  I hope so, because if dream Mr. Venator knows I’m here and manages to kill me, will I die in the real world?

  I don’t want to find out.

  The car crash nightmare replays. This time, I run in the opposite direction of the car. At the end of the block, there’s only a drab grayness.

  A new nightmare starts. I search for something outside the norm of the bad dream. On the edges of the scene is the same grayness, almost a nothingness.

  When the scenery changes again, I race to the edge. I can sense the end of the nightmare, so I brace myself and jump into the grayness. Nothing happens at first, but then I’m yanked backward, forced to renter the dream.

  Well, that was unexpected.

  The nightmare alters again, and I wait throughout several, not moving, not daring to breathe. Each time Vince dreams a nightmare in which I get hurt or killed, new wounds slice through my body, the intensity increasing with each new injury. It takes effort, but I ignore the throbbing and harness my energy. I will not fail.

  As soon as another nightmare begins, I find the edge, imagine myself within a bubble, and leap into the nothingness. As soon as I land, I feel the tug and shed the bubble. Only the bubble is brought back to the nightmares.

  I shiver and rub my bleeding arms. The nothingness is freezing.

  “Vince?” I call. “Are you here?”

  Far in the distance, a figure appears.

  “Vince!” My legs refuse to cooperate. It’s like I’m walking through quicksand. With barely a thought, I hover inches above the grayness and fly toward…

  Mr. Venator.

  His smile is the nastiest smile I’ve ever seen. “Hello, Lydia.”

  Lydia? Why is he calling me—oh, right. Because Gavin lied about my name.

  I flip my hair back. “Mr. Venator, it’s good to see you again.”

  He raises an upside down V-shaped eyebrow. “Lies don’t become you.” A dagger appears in his hand, and he uses it to pick at his teeth.