Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  “Funeral?”

  Allyson shook her head. “No. He said she wouldn’t want that. Too much sadness.”

  Peter felt it was time to change the subject to the issue at hand.

  “I want you to come to Em’s house tonight. We’re going to drive Isabel there and bring all the stuff. I think it’ll be safer than her place, since you said your dad knows where it is.”

  “I’ll come,” Allyson said. “I’ll come. But it doesn’t matter where we are, really. If he wants to find us, he will.”

  “Maybe we can come up with a spell to keep him at bay tonight,” Peter said, smiling.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Allyson said, returning it. He leaned forward and kissed her mouth. He held his lips there for a long moment, then put his hands behind her head and pulled her cheek to his.

  They stayed like that for a long time.

  Peter would’ve liked it to have been longer.

  *****

  He held the photograph in his hand. He had commanded that it be delivered to him so that he could evaluate its power. It was delivered as ordered.

  His eyes were sharp and focused. He turned the picture over in his hands. What was special about it? Nothing that he could see. So what was Peter’s interest in this?

  He knew that he was there that day, for he remembered every event from that long ago time as if it happened just yesterday. Running down Stanley Ross on his bicycle was the first bit of torture perpetrated on Christopher Wickham, and the act of killing the boy and watching Chris’s pain was extraordinarily wonderful.

  The physical abuse of Allyson Newland fell right into line as well. Each time he directed her father’s fist to her stomach, doubling her over in pain, or slapping her so hard it left bruises on her face, it was as if he were there in the original castle again, ramming that poker through her body. But this physical beating was more drawn out; this was a thing that could be enjoyed for a long time under the right circumstances.

  Years, perhaps. But much of it depended on whether they had discovered their power. This had always been the one factor that determined how long the four could live.

  Thinking back to the games he played with Ellen and her boyfriend, he laughed. Chris Wickham was never meant to die in the fire set in his studio that day, only to be slightly burned, and of course, intimidated and frightened. It was just a bit of fun, primarily meant to frighten Ellen Carver because that was part of it.

  Ah, the powerful Katherine and her predictions of the future, and the fates of others. What had happened to those abilities? Gone with her memory of her own powers and her multiple lifetime purpose.

  And Katherine’s most current incarnation, Allyson, was positive she now knew who they sought; believed she was closing in on the great sorcerer they called the Evil One.

  She had good reason to believe it was her father, and indeed, Vickar had certainly had some fun manipulating him.

  He smiled. Then he laughed out loud. They called him The Evil One. Evil? No, not really.

  Vengeful, perhaps. Absolutely vengeful. Vengeance that would never die. Never fade.

  But when he cast the original curse, he had not intended to torture only the families of the four; it was directed at his torturers, his executioners, and his keepers, as well as all of humanity. His promise, his curse, was to forever be reborn and to rise within society to positions that would allow him to affect great change – in very negative ways.

  He had succeeded in lives past, leading great armies of men to slaughter entire towns and villages, even great cities. But not always. No, sometimes he was forced, though circumstance, to use others to fulfill his desires, and use them he did.

  The four that pursued him had made one fatal error that had resulted in their deaths time and time again: They had no idea of their purpose with each new life. They had to discover who they were and what purpose their band of fools served.

  They had always been too late. And they would again fail in their quest. He was onto them now, thanks to Peter Webster and his useless photograph. He had discovered Allyson’s identity when she was a little girl, after the child had a strong psychic episode at her mother’s death – she Saw.

  He’d had nothing to do with her mother’s murder, but when the child had the vision, it was powerful; when she experienced the terror and fear at the knowledge her mother was being killed, it rang in his ears like a gong, even shone in his eyes like a spotlight – she was one of the four.

  What dumb luck. He’d kept an eye on her since, but she’d never shown any further abilities, so he decided to stand by and watch. Her father wasn’t under his control either, however there was no need; he dished out the kind of punishment she deserved. The punishment Katherine deserved.

  But what did Peter mean when he suggested he was drawn in? What exactly was happening to them when they touched these photographs?

  No matter. Luck had been on his side throughout the centuries – and power. Power had been on his side, for he had it, he knew it, and he controlled it.

  Now it was time to begin putting them to rest. He had to hand it to them, of course. They were the first to ever come this close to discovering him, and the very first to be on the cusp of learning exactly who they were and what they were meant to do.

  It would be more exciting if the danger were not so great. He had always enjoyed the administration of torture and suffering, but not when his very existence was at risk.

  That took some of the fun out of it. Not much, but it inserted a sense of urgency he could not ignore. They had come close to destroying him once.

  This newfound knowledge was, he knew, largely due to Isabel. Since she was a girl she had been a thorn in his side. Meddling, involving herself where she had no business.

  Of course she had abilities. She had come by them honestly, and learned, at a very young age, how to utilize them; what she could and could not do. How far to go. Her skills had improved with her years, and she was too dangerous now. She too, must be stopped.

  Soon, this thorn would be pruned, once and for all.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I want to try an experiment, and this is very important,” said Isabel, standing before them.

  They were at Emma’s home, and Matt, Peter, Allyson and Emma sat on the sofa side-by-side, mesmerized, awaiting Isabel’s instruction.

  “When two of you are in a particular photograph, I would like to send one of you in through the process of touching the image; you will have no awareness of your current identity. However, the other person I would like to travel inside through hypnosis. That way if trouble or danger should present itself, you will be able to warn the other, who will be deaf to our voices.”

  Matt leaned forward. “What’s the value?”

  “Matt!” Emma said.

  “No, no. It’s a good question, and it’s twofold. You four are now aware of your past, and what you are seeking to do. Your mission, if you will. Chris, Lilly, Ellen and Joshua are not aware of it, nor do they ever learn, of this I am sure. You, while traveling into the past with the knowledge of your life’s purpose will watch for things, perhaps attribute importance to things they would miss, lacking that information.”

  “Isabel,” Allyson said. “You said we’ll meet someone very close to you in our past lives. What did you mean?”

  “I meant what I said.”

  “Then I’d like to go into the picture where we meet that person.”

  “I’m not sure if Emma is ready for that yet,” Isabel said, turning to Emma.

  “Why would it be of more importance to me? Or Lilly?” Emma asked.

  “You will learn. I just don’t know if now is the time.”

  “I believe you said time is of the essence, in so many words. And if it helps us get farther along here, Isabel, then we have to. Whether I’m ready for it or not.”

  “As you wish,” she said. “I told you I want you to direct this as much as possible, and if that’s what you want, then I believe I know the photograph that you and
Allyson should choose. But I also believe that you should go in without knowledge of the present, and Allyson should chaperone, so to speak.”

  Isabel removed a manila folder from her bag.

  “I’ve organized these from earliest to latest, judging from the ages of the subjects of the photograph. It seems these photos span years, even decades. There are pictures you might not have recognized as your past selves in their 50’s and 60’s.”

  “I hadn’t bothered really looking at those,” Peter said. “I just assumed they were of someone else besides us.”

  “No assumptions. The four of you were born between 1979 and 1981, which means in your past lives you died sometime before then. Could be days, months, or even years. In the photos taken around 1939, your past selves all appear to be anywhere from 18 to 22 years old.”

  “Well, we already know that with regard to Joshua Mattingly, it was years,” said Peter.

  “Don’t remind me,” said Matt.

  Emma touched Matt’s arm, then squeezed his hand.

  Everyone sat there mesmerized. Peter wondered if he’d gone crazy. Before he could give it too much thought, Isabel continued.

  “So, if my estimations are correct, aside from Joshua Mattingly, your former incarnations were all born between 1917 and 1921, and except for Father Mattingly, all died somewhere between 1979 and 1980 or early 1981.”

  “Putting us from 59 to 63 years old,” Allyson said.

  “Yes. So clearly you never really discovered your purpose, or the Evil One would have sought to end your lives sooner than he did.”

  “Isabel, why would you assume we died at his hand?” Emma asked.

  “Because you always do,” she answered. “He would have it no other way. In Joshua’s case, it was not because he was a danger, rather a nuisance – with regard to Ellen and Chris. Defying him by helping the lovers be together.”

  Matt stood from the sofa, looking worried.

  “Isabel, I have a question.”

  “Yes, Matthew?”

  “Will some of these photos take us to the point of our deaths?”

  Isabel looked at Matt for a moment, then at the ceiling. She put a hand on the back of her neck and rubbed it, as though a muscle tormented her. Her eyes met each of the four.

  “I believe so, yes. It depends on how long you remain in each photograph. Judging from the stories you’ve all told, and the time elapsed when you’ve been inside the photographs, it seems the hands of the clock turn at least eight times faster than the present world. We watch you transfixed for fifteen minutes, but when you return you tell two hours of story. That would mean four hours would take place in approximately 30 minutes, and so on. If you stay in long enough, you could surely encounter your own demise, if that is what is destined to happen.”

  “And what would happen if we died while inside?” Peter took Allyson’s hand as he asked the question.

  “That is the main reason for my idea to send one with hypnosis. We must perfect it when the risk is low. It only becomes very important as we begin exploring the photos of your older selves. We may even run out of time; reach the final confrontation with The Evil One before you are able to complete your explorations of the past.”

  She shrugged. “But for now, we have much to learn while we know you are too young to die. Let’s go there, first. Matthew, of course you must be more careful. Perhaps only photos with dates written on them for you.”

  The chosen photo showed Lilly and Ellen together, dressed for an evening out. Since dressing up was common for almost all occasions then, there was no telling where they were about to go. Or who else was present when the picture was taken.

  Emma sat on the soft sofa, and Allyson in a comfortable armchair positioned so that she could also see the image when Emma held it.

  “When I come back out of this I’m going to want to talk about spells, Isabel. Peter and I were talking, and if a spell got us this far, it seems they could be useful.”

  Isabel nodded. “I have books. Very old ones. You might find something you can use. But I believe you have not yet found your own skills. You, especially.”

  Allyson nodded at her. “I’m ready.”

  For now the photograph was on the same easel that held it when Peter was hypnotized. And the words Isabel spoke were much the same, her voice low and monotone, like a hum:

  “You will travel to the world in the photo before you. While you are inside, you will remember your identity as Allyson Newland, and you will also realize your identity as Ellen Carver. You will carry with you the knowledge of the woman you were and the woman you are, and you will be a keen observer of all around you. Numbers, names, signs, faces, temperature, energy, fatigue, brightness, darkness, and time. You will be with Emma who will be known as Lilly as you venture back into time, into your past life. You will alert us to danger if you encounter it by speaking out as Allyson.”

  She took the photo from the small easel and moved it smoothly to Emma’s hands. As her fingers touched it, they tightened.

  Allyson’s eyes followed, and they were both gone.

  “Go ahead you two, get closer together this time, and act like you like one another!”

  It was Ellen’s father taking the picture. He was being his typical charming self because Lilly was there, but Ellen would not relax completely until he left.

  He took the photograph and the flash billowed smoke as it lit the room.

  “Is that enough, daddy?” asked Ellen, impatient. “We must get to the show.”

  “It’s fine, I’m sure. I’ve always been quite the photographer. What are you going to see?”

  Lilly turned, her smile broad and challenging. “It’s an old one, a silent film by Alfred Hitchcock. It’s called Easy Virtue.”

  “I know the film. That actress. She’s the one you named Isabel after, right?”

  Lilly looked quickly at Ellen, then back at Carver. “Uh, it is. Yes.”

  “May I see her?”

  “I don’t believe so, Ferguson. She’s been ill.”

  He shrugged. “Very well. Next time, then. What time is the film over?”

  Allyson heard the words in her head as Ellen thought them: “Too soon.”

  “Oh, we’ll phone you. We might have a bite afterward, so don’t wait.”

  Carver left the house without any further questions or glances.

  “Who’s Isabel? A pet?”

  Lilly looked at Ellen. “Not exactly.”

  “Someone else’s pet?

  Lilly shook her head. “Hold on. Wait right here.”

  Lilly left the room and remained gone for nearly five minutes. When she returned, she held the hand of a young girl, perhaps six years old.

  Ellen stared at her, chills running down her spine.

  “Ellen, meet Isabel.”

  She stared at the child. Allyson’s mind was interacting and fighting with Ellen’s mind simultaneously. Ellen’s thoughts were loud, clanging in Allyson’s brain:

  She looks just like me.

  Ellen stared at Lilly, confusion on her face.

  “Lilly, who’s child is this?”

  “She’s my daughter, Ellen. I’m sorry-”

  “Sorry you didn’t tell me you have a daughter?” she interrupted. “What else didn’t you tell me? Her face! Her eyes! Lilly, I’ve seen photographs of me when I was a child, and she looks exactly like me!”

  Lilly laughed nervously. “I’d like to believe she has my hair,” she said, touching her ringlets.

  Allyson listened to the exchange, wanting to return to the present now and tell the others what she had discovered. But she was mesmerized by the information she had yet to learn. Instead, she listened closely.

  “Tell me who her father is!” shouted Ellen, her fists clenched into balls at the ends of her wrists. “And you’re what? 22 years old? How old were you when you had her?”

  “I was fifteen. Nearly sixteen.”

  Ellen stared into her eyes, and she returned the gaze. “Tell me everything,
Lilly. If you claim to be my friend, tell me everything.”

  “Oh, I am your friend, Ellen. I love you, and I adore you. In you I see the person my little Isabel can grow up to be, and I needed to know there would be kindness in her heart, and I see it in you. Raised by such a man and still able to become the person you are, with the kind heart you have.”

  “Why would the person I am matter to you, or make any difference in who Isabel grows up to be?”

  Lilly dropped Isabel’s hand, who had begun to cry. She walked to Ellen, took both her hands in her own, and said, “Because you share the same father.”

  Ellen and Allyson gasped.

  *****

  Allyson gasped so hard and abruptly, she burst from the hypnotic state and back to the present, her hands on her chest and her breath heaving. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  Peter was at her side in an instant, holding her hands. Isabel stood watching, but said nothing.

  Allyson looked at her. “It’s you,” she said.

  Isabel nodded.

  “Who’s you?” Matt asked.

  “Yeah, who’s you?” Peter seconded.

  Allyson looked back to Emma.

  “She’s still in. Isabel, send me back in.”

  “Allyson, you’ve learned-”

  “Then I’ll go back in on my own!” she said, staring at the photograph hard, then closing her eyes.

  And seconds later, she was gone again.

  *****

  “Isabel, please go into your room and play,” Lilly said.

  “Yes, mother,” she said, then stood and threw a small wave and a smile at Ellen before disappearing around the corner.”

  When she was gone, Lilly turned to Ellen again.

  “One evening when I was fourteen,” Lilly said, “my mother had your father over for a visit. They were . . . friends. We’ve never talked about it I know, but my father died when I was very young, and my mother had eventually begun to see other men.”