by John Hansen
Shawna - or was it Shelly this time around? - she could hardly keep track anymore, sprinted like wildfire across the desert, to a nearby hill. Tucked behind it, a small craft waited. It looked like a common glider plane, but it wasn’t, and the team would arrive soon to repair the burned out engine. Then she’d be on her way. The broken down truck had just been a lucky break. Some old guy came back this morning to have it carted off. It had sure made her look authentic, though. And the boss would be pleased to hear she’d scored another human incubator. His head should be aching right about now and when the birth process kicked in sometime tomorrow morning, all he’d know would be a sudden urge for mass murder followed by suicide by fire…it was best to leave no trace of the vessel.
Bryan - or was it Ryan? - had been her fortieth incubator. She was kicking ass over the rest of the crew, who jealously insisted she was cheating. She wasn’t. She just wanted to earn special recognition and privilege when the blue planet became all theirs.
Ouija’ust Wanted To Have Fun
by
Dominique Goodall
None of us could have been expected to realize that we were making a mistake. We were young and it wasn’t exactly like we knew what we were doing when we all sat around in a group, our fingers touching a glass in the middle of a board. Someone screamed when the glass moved, though I had my mind set on the fact that it couldn’t be happening, not really. When the glass moved to the letters I, C, A and N – even I had to start panicking. There wasn’t any reason for one of us to scare anyone else…we were just young and trying to have fun.
When I heard Krystal scream, I followed suit. She was my sister as well as my best friend – and if she was scared well…that meant there was a reason to. She was sat to my right and Sara to my left, while Tony and Edward were sat across from us. It had been Edward’s idea to come to the old abandoned De’Morte house and do an Ouija board. We had all agreed with him, buoyed up with false bravado and stolen gulps of cider. Krystal had been the only one of us to complain, but I had urged and blackmailed her into coming along, not wanting to be left alone with Tony and Edward.
I heard crying from in front of me when the glass moved again to the letters S, E, E and then paused, as though taking a breath. I tried to remove my finger, but couldn’t, though my hesitation seemed to urge whatever was directing the glass onwards, giving it energy to complete what was being spelt out. Y, O and U completed the selection of words with the glass going to the middle of the board, no longer touching any other letters. This paused us for a moment, before we actually realized that this could only have left us with only one thought on our minds, that someone, or something had clearly just had us spelling out ‘I can see you.’ The fact that Tony was crying scared me. He was the leader of our group. The reckless one, the one we ran to when we couldn’t do something dangerous - here he was sniffling and crying like he had just watched someone he loved die.
When a door slammed, we all jumped out of our skins, and I wasn’t the only one to scream, at least one of the others screamed with me. My heart was thumping, was all I could hear before doors began to slam open and shut without a wind to cause them, making us all jump, cringe, cry or as I did – scream until our throats were hoarse. A silence fell suddenly, before the glass started to move without us even touching it, the movement catching our eyes and drawing our heads down in horrified fascination. Words formed where before we’d had to piece together the letters into small sentences. ‘I will find you. I will get you. I will take you. You are mine.’
Krystal was whimpering beside me at this point – and I definitely wasn’t telling her to shut up, especially not when I felt like joining her. All I could do was put my arm over her shoulders, and cuddle against her, she may have been the older sister, but I was definitely the braver one of us, the one most likely to go along with what Tony said or urged us to do. I sat there, cuddling Krystal against myself before jumping when Sara spoke.
“I’ve heard that you can use salt to protect from things like this. Did anyone else think to bring any? I only have a few little sachets.” When we all wordlessly shook our heads, she huffed before sighing, and closed her eyes, putting on her thinking face – that she was angry was something she liked to make very clear.
Edward was the next to speak, and the sound of his voice had Sara snapping her eyes open.
“My sister told me that white candles are meant to bring only good spirits in. I thought she was joking, but I do have a candle in my bag. I could only find one, but it’s white. I don’t know if that’ll help?” I sat there myself, trying to rake through the chaos that was my memory. I was so sure that I remembered something, but Tony speaking ruined it for me, made me forget what was planning on my mind and lingering on the top of my tongue.
“Sage is what we need. I have a little in my pocket. I didn’t want to come without something…just in case.”
I sat there, feeling like an idiot until I heard Krystal clear her throat and look at me. It was only when I returned her gaze that she spoke with a gentle smile that made me relax just a little.
“There are prayers you can say, to help drive away bad presences and to ensure protection. I know them, and can coach Dominique in them while we prepare. Surely we can all use what we have to do something?”
When I looked at her, she smiled briefly, though we both cringed as the glass scraped against the board and drew our attention back to it. ‘Your plans are fruitless. Nothing will get rid of me. You are mine. Mine! You are mine to devour. Only mine to scare and scar and feast and feed on.’ Whatever was controlling the glass was certainly not benign in nature.
After the glass stopped moving, everyone started arguing around me. I could feel the pressure in the air gathering above me, making me cringe just a little as everyone’s words ran together on a never ending reel of film. Harsh voices and mean faces ran in front of my eyes.
“My salt will do the job!”
“No, a candle, we don’t need stupid salt to do anything!”
“Will you just burn the sage?! That’s what Google told me to do!” I was shocked when my sister stood up, Krystal didn’t normally force her opinion on anyone, but here she was, just doing that!
“I’m sure the prayers would keep us safe, so we can get out of this house!” The argument carried on, rolling and rocking back and forth like we were on a boat, in stormy seas, leaving me getting more and more tense until I sat up and just screamed, letting lose all the frustration, fear and anger I was feeling in that moment.
“Everyone, can’t you just stop?! Just stop it! Please! We can’t all fight like this. We’re going to end up doing what that thing wants us to!”
When my voice finished ringing through the room, everyone went silent, turning to look at me with shock in their eyes. I’d never ever been this loud before, because although I was brave, I didn’t shout scream or rage at anyone normally. Edward went quiet first, sticking his hands in his jacket pocket and nodded silently at me when my eyes hit his face. One by one everyone else nodded, and I stepped forward into the guise of leader. Tony was too shaken to be the fearless leader we needed him to be, so who else could have done it?
“Sara, get the salt please. Edward, Tony. You need to get the candle and sage. I have a plan. If you come here Krystal, then I can learn what you meant by these prayers.”
The glass was sliding sluggishly back and forth between the letters H and A repeatedly, a clearly mocking tone that was lacking in energy as we redirected our fear and focus elsewhere. When Edward lit the white candle, and then started to burn the sage smudge stick, the glass faltered in its movements, now moving to the word NO on the right-hand side of the board. Again and again it moved towards that word, and the snippet of what I remembered was suddenly hooked on a sweeping, search line. I left Krystal beginning to recite a prayer to the Goddess (something stronger to us than the prayers to God and Jesus, as we are a pagan family) and Sara making a thin, but complete circle of salt around the table.
&nbs
p; I put my finger on the glass, and began a battle of wills. Mine must have been stronger as I moved the glass to the word Goodbye, hopefully sending whatever spirit had tormented and frightened us away from the space we were purifying and back to whatever hellhole it had come from. I didn’t leave it there; I grabbed the glass and threw it out of our circle, listening to the satisfying smash of glass and then the sudden silence that came over the house. It was peaceful now, no longer haunted with malignant and evil beings of anyone’s imagination.
We began to recite the prayer, our voices reaching out in shocking crescendo, the words almost sung, and the magical pitch of the invocation unmistakable.
“I am a witch of ancient lore,
I petition these trees, and forest floor.
Converge myself upon this site,
spider weaving, power and might.
Air and Fire, Water and Earth,
aid in my quest, I call you forth.
Aradia, Aradia, I intone,
thrice the power you have shone.
Open my spiral of strength and sorcery,
encompass the soul, you have granted me.
Pentacle of old, stones of deep,
protection around, assistance I seek.
Marry my veins, to this Earth,
Cernunno’s I summon you forth.
Steel needles and pins,
red blood of sins.
Buried deep in clandestine dusk,
liquid Venus, scent of musk.
Hear my words from Moon to Moon;
Cite the Lord & Lady’s Rune
By the law of three times three,
so mote it be…”
We recited this at the top of our lungs until we walked out the front door, our voices now hoarse though we were triumphant at escaping the house behind us. We collapsed against the door, laughing – only for laughs to turn to screams when something thumped loudly. We did what anyone would do, that day. We ran, ran and never turned back to look for what had made that noise.
We never looked back after that, never went back to the De’Morte house – though we heard that it had tried to be knocked down, only to be back the next day as though nothing was wrong. The house and the spirit it had housed. I like to think we grew up that day, but that night also symbolized the breaking point of our little group – me and Krystal found a coven to join, training us to be better in the service of our Goddess and God than we were. Tony changed too, becoming withdrawn and almost appearing haunted after the events of that night.
Edward and Sara started going out, and became the golden couple of our school – but despite our differences, every time something happened in the De’Morte house – our eyes would meet and we would shiver in remembered fear and panic at the way what had happened had twisted us so savagely that even Krystal and I argued when she suggested going back to the house and making sure that the spirit was to rest. I didn’t care, and fortunately – she listened to me…this time.
We were even more grateful that we never went back there when we opened up the newspaper one day, to the small headline that made tears roll down our cheeks.
Local Boy, 19, hangs himself outside the De’Morte house. Tony Maggorio was found hanging outside, from the large tree that overshadows the property. Foul play is not believed to have happened. More will come when the autopsy reports are in.
We both knew why, it was two years after we had done that fateful Ouija board, but it was poor Tony who had paid the price for our childishness.
Ghost Reapers
by
Rebecca Gober
“Excuse me, Miss!” A young man calls out from a booth in the back.
Realizing he’s calling to me, I set down the maple syrup container I was filling, wipe my hands on my wrinkled apron and head over to his table.
“Yes, may I help you?” I ask not looking up from my notepad. Eye contact is not really my thing. Too many emotions can be received through a simple gaze. Nearing the end of my double shift, I’ve just about hit my pain quota for the day and my meds are already wearing off.
“Oh yes you can.” He says in a flirtatious tone that hints of a man who is used to getting his way.
I roll my eyes. My head is down, focused on my notepad so he doesn’t notice. It’s not uncommon for me to get hit on by men based purely on my outward appearance. If they saw what was inside me though, the shell of a girl that I once could have been, who screams inwardly in torment; they would turn and flee from me. People, they don’t look deep, so I just brush off the wasted advances knowing that they can offer me nothing.
I clear my throat waiting for him to give me a real answer.
“Well then, can I have a menu please?” He asks amused.
Great he’s one of those guys who like a challenge. Without responding to him I grab a menu from the booth behind me and hand it to him continuing to avoid eye contact as to not encourage him in anyway.
I stand there trying to be patient while I wait for him to make his drink order. He whistles while he reads the selection.
To make a point I start tapping my foot in annoyance only to realize that the front part of my shoe is breaking apart from the sole. Just great! Unlike the average nineteen year old, a pair of shoes is the last thing I want to spend my money on. An unnecessary expenditure for such a thing cuts into my savings, which means I will have to wait another month for my procedure.
A month is excruciatingly long when all you think of and all that you feel is pain. I have been so wracked with pain that it has become a part of me; it has become who I am. Since my seventh birthday it has been there, taunting me, prickling every edge of my soul. There is a way to turn it off. Ghosting is the medical term for the procedure. A permanent fix that turns off all human emotions and feelings; it’s rarely recommended except to those with the most extreme gifts.
A gift; what a ludicrous name for this plague that thrashes my very soul. The doctors confirmed that my circumstance qualifies me for the procedure but it comes with a hefty price tag. I have been saving up for it ever since I can remember. Employed in some shape or form since I was ten, I have saved nearly all of my income in anticipation of getting rid of this agony that has haunted my life.
The man clears his throat and finally gives an answer. “I would like coffee and a slice of blueberry pie please.”
“Okay, may I have your MediCard?” I ask. That’s when I make the mistake of looking up and into his eyes. I vaguely hear the clank of my pen hitting the ground right before I’m caught up in it. A feeling of utter tranquility washes over me in intense waves. It rushes steadily over me, hypnotizing me by some great force while I stare into this stranger’s crystal clear green eyes. A small voice from within me tells me to stop staring, that I’m being rude, but I ignore it. Instead I continue swimming in the feeling of peace that these steadfast eyes bestow upon me.
His voice stirs me from my hypnotic state. He hands me his MediCard.
I hesitate a moment because to grab his card from him would mean I’d have to look down, away from the emerald city that lies deep within those eyes. His eyebrows rise a bit in question.
Being caught in the act of staring should make me blush, but nothing embarrasses me. I do on the other hand need all of the tips I can get, so I’d better stop staring and get back to work. I have to forcefully blink my eyes to sever the connection. The instant my eyes retreat from his, I feel it, the icy cold loss of serenity.
Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs, I quickly brush off the strange connection I just had and grab his MediCard. I scan it with my tablet and wait for a response. It beeps a minute later with a conditional approval. I show my tablet’s screen to him saying, “You may have a slice of blueberry pie and black coffee. You do not have a caloric allotment left today for cream or sugar. Is this okay or would you like to revise your order?”
The insurance companies control the government these days, which means that our every action is being medically tallied and controlled in order to reduce medical tre
atment costs. The MediCard monitors our weekly exercise regime and our daily caloric allotment. It’s just another way our government controls our lives.
He raises one eyebrow and gives me a sly boyish smile. He is a rather stunning young man. Not that I care much about physical appearances but this man’s black hair provides a striking contrast to the bright color of his green eyes. He winks and says, “Black coffee it is then. Thank you, Austin.”
I’m not sure why, but I get flustered when he says my name. Perhaps it’s the way my name lingered on his lips, as if he knew me intimately. I look down at my chest for the reminder that my name is engraved on my nametag.