Scott Nicholson Library, Vol. 4 (Boxed Set)

by Scott Nicholson

  In a weird way, I felt fully alive—or at least in the full mockery of life that only the undead can feel.

  But all I could think about was rescuing the people that had been snatched by demons. Not all of them were security guards, as I saw fluttering robes and blonde hair dangling beneath some of the flying creatures. Apparently the demons had invaded the grounds and found fresh prey.

  Parker had gotten what she wanted from me—a feeding.

  And I’d gotten what I wanted from her—a feeding in return, from the abandoned host she’d granted me.

  I could have called it even and left Cloudland forever, granting Parker all the power she’d ever craved and letting her have dominion over her flock of demons and Erasmus Cole, the man she’d pretended was her father.

  But my blood—such as it was—still boiled from her previous trickery, and the way she’d played the innocent victim and deceived me into helping her.

  And despite not having been human for so many, many years, and despite the cold spot in my chest where a heart once raged with passion, I had a burning desire for revenge.

  With no weapons at hand to take down a twenty-five-foot statue, I figured that instead of bringing the battle to Parker, I’d have the battle carry me to her.

  I burst out of my concealment and ran toward one of the buildings, flailing my arms like I was one of Erasmus Cole’s Cloudland disciples. Even though I was no longer wearing a robe, I figured a winged demon fresh from the bowels of hell pretty much perceived that one fleeing person was as good as another.

  I ducked my head as if I was scared, but in truth, I didn’t want any of those claws to puncture my neck. I hadn’t seen any of the demons feed, and they seemed intent on serving their newfound goddess, but the sight and smell of blood makes monsters of so many of us.

  The only difference was, instead of heading for the safety of the buildings, I bolted straight toward the dirt platform.

  It took only moments before I heard the flapping of wings and one swooped down behind me. I braced and then felt the claws dig into my shoulders, hard enough to get a solid grip but not tearing through my shirt and piercing the skin.

  Just before I was borne aloft, I reached down and grabbed the item I’d been seeking: the ceremonial stake that Parker had dropped.

  As I was lifted into the air, someone screamed, and I thought it was one of the teen blonde runaways, it was so high and girlish. Instead, it was The Answer, Erasmus Cole, wriggling beneath one of the demons. So much for personal growth through self-empowerment...

  The stake in hand, I relaxed and let the demon carry me into the chilly night. Up high, without the branches of the tree to shield the view, I caught the full glory of the glistening Mount Shasta and could understand why humans fell under its mystical spell.

  But at the moment, I had a different type of spell to worry about, and I thought I’d be next on Parker’s menu.

  Instead, the demon that had snatched Erasmus Cole made a beeline for the stone bitch’s mouth, obviously an overachiever that hoped to get a right-hand seat at the throne.

  I recognized the irony of Erasmus finally learning the true meaning of sacrifice, but I doubt he appreciated the lesson. Because the demon laid him squarely between the statue’s creaking basalt lips, and they came together with a loud clatter.

  I was close enough to see Erasmus’s eyes widen in shock and pain. In his last moment, he stared at me, and I could have sworn he smirked a little bit, as if secretly pleased that at least he wasn’t the only one to serve as Parker’s late-night snack.

  But the smirk died away with a final scream, and Parker slurped and sucked, draining his vital sauces into whatever passed for the belly of the beast. The statue was invigorated by the fresh feeding, and she threw open her mouth to roar, letting Erasmus’s crushed corpse fall to the ground while dark, glistening blood streamed down Parker’s chin.

  She raised her arms into the night, as if acknowledging the mist-shrouded mountain, and she took a couple of lurching steps toward it. I wondered if the statue had some innate connection with the mountain, born from its stone and harboring its power. She was moving much better now, more strong and fluidly, and I knew the feeling, because I was also rejuvenated from my recent feeding.

  As the demon clutching me soared through the chilly air toward Parker’s head, I tightened my grip on the stake.

  I couldn’t help gazing at her hard, smooth neck and wondering if my fangs were strong enough to pierce it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Just as that thought occurred to me, I saw that something was happening to the stone itself. It seemed to be changing color or shape. Or both.

  No, it was changing composition.

  Indeed, it seemed that the more blood the entity consumed, the more the stone transformed into something living. It wasn’t quite there yet. It was still somewhere between flesh and stone, parts of it pliable and horrific, like a collaboration of Stephen King’s and H.P Lovecraft’s worst nightmare.

  Blood dribbled from its rapidly transmigrating lips. Lips that had once been stone, but were now stretching back to reveal a deep, black maw, with rows of curved, ivory-colored teeth. I could have easily been looking into the opening of a cave with so many stalagmites and stalactites.

  But I wasn’t. I suspected I had been duped once again. I suspected for this creature’s transformation to be complete, it needed one last meal.

  One last blood sacrifice.

  It needed me.

  And all my precious vampire blood.

  Jesus, I’d stepped into it again.

  Above me, the demon beat its black wings. The wind of its downdraft thundered over me. I sensed the hate and evil coming off the creature, the repellant emotions spreading down to me like a living, foul thing. Its black talons hooked under each shoulder, gripping my upper arms. A painful deathgrip, for certain, but a pain I ignored.

  One thing I knew how to do was kill an immortal. Demons were no different. Especially demons who inhabited living bodies, be it flesh or stone. Kill the body, destroy the creature. Or at least, send the creature back from whence it came.

  I glanced up at my dangling right hand which still held the stake tightly. How strong was I? Very strong, fully rejuvenated from my recent feeding. Strong enough to take on a flying demon? I didn’t know, but I was about to find out.

  As the stone creature that was rapidly turning into something more than stone opened its mouth wide, waiting for its special-delivery meal, I reversed my grip on the stake—and had a moment of panic when I nearly dropped the damned thing. I had just enough leverage to drive the point hard into what would pass as a calf on the demon that held me.

  Another thing I know about immortals...nothing is impervious to silver.

  I stabbed down hard—and although bullets might have bounced off its black hide—the silver stake plunged deep inside. The creature shrieked and jerked violently, and released its grip on me.

  I dropped like a rock.

  But there was a method to my madness. I was falling short of the hungry mouth...and directly toward the beast’s heart. Did I really believe that a stone statue had a heart? No. No more than I had a heart, as my own human organ had quit beating ages ago and been replaced by an ancient rhythm of misery.

  There was dark magick at work here. Otherworldly magick. It was, after all, such magick that kept me alive—and fueled the beast before me. In a strange way, we were of the same flesh, birthed from the same dark hole in the universe.

  Who created such magicks, I didn’t know. Toward what purpose, I knew not either.

  But one thing I did know was this...dark magick can be undone, and one such way was a silver stake. Be it through undead flesh or living stone, the silver would drive the demon out.

  I wondered how much of Parker—the human Parker—was still in the thing, and if she would die along with the creature.

  Great. Another innocent victim on my scorecard.

  But I couldn’t let that stop me.
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  And as I tumbled through the night air, falling toward the beast, I righted myself.

  I held the silver stake out before me with both hands.

  And drove it deep into its stone chest.

  The statue bellowed. Except it really wasn’t a statue anymore. It was something else now. Something living. Something from mythology. It could have been a Titan. It could have come from the pages of The Odyssey. Or stepped out of the Arabian Nights, but whatever it was, whatever it had become, it was dying.

  And it would not go quietly into this good night.

  It thrashed wildly on the dirt stage while I hung from the protruding stake handle with all my strength. The monstrous creature began stomping and shaking, and I could have sworn even Mount Shasta cowered with fright.

  Finally it swatted at me and I went flying, landing head over ass in the nearby grass. When I sat up, I saw that the stone statue had completed its transformation even while it writhed in its death throes.

  Standing on the stage was something straight from the bowels of hell. A blackish creature with wet-looking skin. It towered over me, and as it threw back its head and roared with rage, I realized with some certainty that I might have been looking at the devil himself.

  And if not the devil, surely one of the most vile, wickedest, bitching-assed entities I had ever seen.

  It clawed at its chest and found the silver stake. The creature pulled it free and heaved it aside, but it was already much too late. Having witnessed the deaths of vampires and other creatures of the night, I knew the damage was already done. The center could not hold. Steam hissed from the wound.

  Overhead, the flying demons circled their dying dark goddess.

  Then, one after another, they dove down into the exposed pit on stage, tucking in their wings and disappearing from view.

  The demoness—or perhaps even the devil—dropped to a knee. It held its chest, where steam continued to hiss through the small puncture wound. It raised its head and its red eyes fastened onto me. I think I might have swallowed. I know I scooted back in the grass.

  It seemed like the creature might fall over. It was certainly leaning heavily in one direction.

  Instead, the red light disappeared from its staring eyes, and the black flesh was replaced by stone again. The lifeless statue had returned—a statue that was even now teetering on stage.

  I watched as it slowly fell over, crashing with such force that the ground shook and a dust cloud erupted.

  When the dust settled, I couldn’t help but notice that the statue had fallen directly over the pit into hell.

  Sealing it completely.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I wasn’t in the mood to hang around and answer police questions about the death of Erasmus Cole and several others. Let them try to come up with a logical explanation from the testimony of the drugged-out Cloudland groupies, or some dimwitted security guard.

  Cloudland was a cult, so the square press would deliver the typical horror stories and veiled moral lessons about the dark mastermind behind what would likely be called “group suicide.” Erasmus Cole would get a zillion hits on his website, and probably a few losers and loners would be inspired to join the cult. Maybe even some charismatic idiot would try to take charge.

  Mount Shasta would get in the news and the hotels and bars would be filled and crystal sales would boom, and all the Lemuria legends would get some play. The History Channel might show up for a feature documentary one day.

  But none of that mattered. I’d seen such stories play out over the years—pretty much everywhere I’d ever been, come to think of it.

  It made me feel as lonely as ever. It seemed I was always walking away from the wreckage.

  I heard crying and wailing from inside the buildings, which I took as a good sign. At least some of them were together enough to experience shock and horror, instead of believing the apocalypse had come and that it was time to join The Answer in whatever sicko afterlife he’d promised them.

  I was nearly to my car when I heard a rustle in the nearby stand of trees.

  I spun, wishing I had kept the silver stake. What if one of the winged things had been late to dinner and was still on the prowl?

  Then Parker stepped from the shadows. Or, at least, the young woman Parker had possessed and upon whom I’d fed.

  “Hello, Spider,” she said, shyly.

  Crap. Why did this always happen to me?

  I studied her face in the moonlight. She looked like just another teen, a girl and a woman all thrown together in the same confused mass of flesh that all her kind learned to deal with. Her eyes were downcast, and her hands were by her side.

  She didn’t look like a spiteful demon intent on ripping my heart out and feeding it to the devil.

  “Is it you?” I said.

  She nodded, biting her lip as if she were about to cry.

  But she didn’t cry, and I took that as a good sign. Tears would have meant she was trying to trick me, playing on my hero impulse until I let down my guard again.

  I nearly said, “Prove it,” but how do you prove you are human except by doing stupid human stuff like falling in love?

  Instead, I said, “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

  Her face lifted and her eyes widened in shock. I noticed for the first time that she was intensely beautiful. “You mean...you didn’t know? You would have killed me to get rid of that beast?”

  I shrugged. “So, are you really Erasmus Cole’s daughter?”

  “No. He...” She looked away, ashamed, and I realized I didn’t want to know the degradation and manipulation she’d endured. “He used me.”

  “Well, that’s good in a way,” I said, as her eyes welled with tears that didn’t fall. “I imagine the taxes on this place are a real pain in the ass. Who’d ever want to inherit it?”

  I heard a distant siren echoing through the valley. Maybe one of the security guards had slipped out, or one of the disciples with a contraband cell phone had put in a 911 call.

  “You want a ride?” I asked.

  She headed toward the car, and, like a true gentleman, I opened the door. I guess I was right to trust my instinct. She wasn’t bad, she was just weak.

  Just like me. God help us all.

  When I got behind the wheel, she touched her neck and said, “Did you really bite me?”

  “Nah. I just made a pit stop to fuel up for the finish line.”

  “How did you kill it?”

  “I got lucky.” I turned the key.

  We got out of there and rode in silence, passing a fire truck, three cop cruisers, and an ambulance coming from the other direction. I kept it under the speed limit until I could no longer see Mount Shasta glistening in the rearview, and then I punched it to the floor.

  I felt her hand crawl to mine. She drew away a little at the chill, but then tightened her grip. I let her. I don’t know why.

  “Erasmus was right about one thing,” she said. “You’re a vampire.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  We’d made ten more miles before she spoke again. “That debt I owe you? The thing you said I’d need to do for you if you killed Erasmus Cole?”

  Her finger teased the pad of my thumb. I almost wished she was a demon trying to manipulate me instead of a fool falling in love with the wrong guy.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I meant what I said. I will do anything.”

  She scooted over in her seat until I could feel the warmth of her body. At that moment, I would have traded my soul for a little warmth to give back.

  But I no longer had a soul.

  “Anything,” she whispered in my ear, and her breath was like the fresh spring breezes of my nearly forgotten youth. It had been so very, very long ago.

  “Okay,” I said.

  I was Spider. That’s the way I rolled these days.

  “You can help me study for the history test,” I said. “We’re in night school, remember?”

  She moved away a little.r />
  Not too much, but just enough.

  The night stretched out before us, and all the miles, the endless, endless miles.

  About the author:

  I hope you enjoyed these tales, and that you will lend your copy or write a short review. I’m author of more than 30 books, including Liquid Fear, Chronic Fear, and The Red Church. I collaborated with bestselling author J.R. Rain on Cursed, Bad Blood, and Ghost College. I’ve also written the children’s books If I Were Your Monster, Too Many Witches, and Duncan the Punkin, and created the graphic novels Dirt and Grave Conditions. Connect with me on Facebook, Goodreads, LibraryThing, Twitter, my blog, or my website.

  If you enjoyed this book, please leave a short Amazon review in your own words, so that others might share your experience and join the fun. Feel free to drop me a line anytime at hauntedcomputer@yahoo.com, or visit my Author Central page at Amazon to ask a question. Thanks for reading me.

  Table of Contents

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  THE SKULL RING

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  Julia Stone will remember, even if it kills her.

  With the help of a therapist, Julia is piecing together childhood memories of the night her father vanished. When Julia finds a silver ring that bears the name "Judas Stone," the past comes creeping back. Someone is leaving strange messages inside her house, even though the door is locked. The local handyman offers help, but he has his own shadowy past. And the cop who investigated her father's disappearance has followed her to the small mountain town of Elkwood.

  Now Julia has a head full of memories, but she doesn't know which are real. Julia's therapist is playing games. The handyman is trying to save her, in more ways than one. And a sinister cult is closing in, claiming ownership of Julia's body and soul . . . .

  Learn more about The Skull Ring and False Recovered Memory Syndrome or view it at Amazon or Amazon UK