by Ira Robinson
There were no lights on in the church as Carver pulled to a stop. The engine hummed beneath him as he tried to peek through the windows at the front, but he could see nothing through them. No sign of movement inside, or anywhere else, for that matter.
It was not the best looking, the white siding of the walls fallen into disrepair, needing a good scraping and repainting, while the weeds grew in abundance. An old junker of a car was parked nearby, in such a bad state it was practically rusting into the pavement. It was not Malachi's, but had, according to his friend, come with the property when he bought it.
He claimed he liked living there because it gave him the sense he was still tied to the priesthood in some minor way, but he did little to fix it up. Too much work, and too little time. It was enough, and being in a small place like this town presented him a feeling of anonymity he may not have elsewhere. People minded their own business, no matter how strange things might be.
Carver switched off the ignition and got out, the breeze picking up a little as he did. He pulled his jacket tighter around him to stave off some of the chill and stepped toward the church, rounding the corner to make it to the side door Malachi always used.
There were a few lights on in the place, after all, though they must be tiny. He could barely catch a glimpse of them until he was close to the window beside the door.
A door standing wide.
Carver halted his steps, his stomach bracing as he stared at the gaping hole on the surface of the sanctuary. The entrance was open, the darkness beyond nearly matching that of the night.
He pulled his hands from his pockets, dropping them to the pack at his waist.
Whatever else he might be, Malachi was as paranoid of a man as Carver had known. He would not leave his entry like this, not without some reason.
He didn't know Carver was on the road here, so it could not be that, and besides, he would have been there in the foyer greeting him.
He lurched forward, his ears perked for any sound, but other than the calls of the insects around him, there was nothing. Everything seemed as normal as it could be.
But this was not right.
He took another step, his stomach anxious, but there was no sensation of the pulling he always felt when a demon was close. None were there, no shadows lurking and watching him that he could see.
Two wooden steps led up into the church and Carver mounted them slowly, his eyes flashing back and forth as he hesitantly made his way into the apse. His knees bent as his mind raced, seeking out any signs he was about to be attacked.
He got through the doorway without being accosted, but a strange scent was in the air, hanging and cloying into his nostrils with each breath he took. Darkness, barely illuminated by the three candles beyond the apse. These rested near the altar, remaining there despite the building no longer being used for worship, left behind for Malachi to get a feel he still belonged.
Carver stopped, the dimness hard to cut through, but the smell, musky and coppery, started the pacing of his heart so fast it caught his gasp.
He lifted a hand and let a small bit of his power bleed out, the glow around it a beacon in the blackness gripping the chamber. He stepped again, the shoes on his feet dragging silently across the red threadbare carpet lining the entry, and passed the archway into the church proper.
Pews were lined, their wood reflecting the white of his light as he made his way up the middle of the aisle, his eyes locked on the patch of something there in front of the shrine.
He gasped and his heart stopped for a moment as he got close enough to see the large figure of Malachi laying on the floor, his hands and arms outstretched like the cross behind the altar.
His hand dropped and a cry guttered from his throat, cutting off the glistening reflection of the still-wet entrails of his friend scattered around him, the blood caked and drying in a flood across the floor.
He spun, his insides lurching with sickness, whirling from one side to the other in search of whatever had done this to Malachi, but there was no trace of movement beyond his own and the groups of flies making their home among the offal that had spilled from Malachi's abdomen, their buzzing loud as his senses went out of his control.
Carver didn't bend to touch his friend, didn't try to see if he was still alive. There was no breath in him, nothing left of the man he had once called brother, a bastion of sanity in a mad world.
He was gone, leaving behind this stinking body with his intestines ripped and laying around him in the shape of wings.
Carver fled the building, not caring if anyone saw him, with the only thought in his mind that of the dark face of Indris smiling at Lisa.
That visage followed him as the engine gunned to life and he squealed down the street.
Chapter 15
Lisa's legs twitched, her eyes widening to the darkness.
She stirred, her body lifting from the bed as she wiped the crust away from her lids and squinted into the darkened room, her heart beating faster than it should.
What was that?
Had there even been a sound? Or was it only part of her dream, a remnant of an echo and nothing more?
Finally adjusting to wakefulness, the blur in her vision cleared. The tiny night light she kept plugged into the wall shed only a little illumination but it was enough for her to tell Jessup was beside her, stock-still on top of the thick covers she loved to sleep with, their small bunny imprints and pink bows mixing prettily with the soft blue glow.
She turned her head this way and that, breath caught as she listened, but there was no sound other than Jessup's slight sniffing.
A low growl began in his throat, and, with it, the pace of her heart blew up, pounding in her chest so hard it radiated into her neck, throbbing over and over. She gasped, then, the noise of it loud in the otherwise silent room.
Jessup jumped to his feet, his rumbling lungs jarring her fully awake.
She stared into the surrounding shadows, seeking any signs of movement other than her own and Jessup, but there was nothing, only her myriad stuffed animals she kept as trophies of times passed, even though she never pulled them out for play anymore. Their tiny eyes glittered in the soft light from the wall, its tendrils reaching across the white paint nearly all the way.
When the hand reached out from the darkness and grabbed her foot, she screeched, a high pitched whine of a frightened little girl piercing the thick air of the room.
Jessup's body erupted, his skin toughening and thickening into almost an armor while his fur transformed into matted bristles. Another few seconds later his size was large enough it took up practically the bed. Lisa screamed as the hand scrabbled up her leg higher, and she tried to yank it from whatever it was attached to.
She managed only a few inches.
Jessup pounced, the great weight of his dire wolf form lunging at something Lisa could not see, and the hand grappling her released as loud thumps and bangs resounded from the foot of her bed. The shelf nearest the bed with her stuffed animals tipped, scattering the things across the area in a flurry, some of them ripped as Jessup's claws sought purchase with what he attacked.
Lisa skittered, her legs and arms hauling her body from the end of the bed, bunching herself into the headboard before she sprung off the mattress and flung open the door. She tossed a fast glance back as she bolted into the corridor beyond and saw Jessup's jaws, gleaming in the blue glow of the night light and the white of the small hallway lamp she kept on all the time, his saliva pouring out as he gripped the shoulder of a long, lanky figure. They were dressed in black nearly as deep as the darkness of her room.
She flew down the hall, her bare feet barely making noise on the thick carpeting, until she reached the stairwell and started down them. The soles made a snip-snip-snip sound as she grabbed the banister and used it to steady herself down the wood steps, the sweat of her feet clinging slightly to the solid surface.
Who was it? How did they get in? Her eyes flashed across the front door, but it remain
ed shut and bolted, the light from the large bulb outside edging in through the windows bright, still on.
She swallowed, trying to catch her breath, the clicking in her throat dry and rough to cut through. Her heart pounded beyond control, nearly flying from her chest as her stomach heaved acid fear.
She spun, the deafening howl from Jessup rebounding down the stairs and piercing the darkness of the living room.
Rapid footfalls, staccato mixed with a deep and ponderous laugh as the shadow of a tall figure rounded the top of the steps and began to bound down. Lisa screamed as the face of Indris with his gaping maw of a smile approached her with a speed her eyes could not keep up with.
His jacket was ripped at the shoulder and there were glints of dark blood that oozed from a wound Jessup must have been able to manage across the black coat, the lining within spilling forth into the dim light in the living room.
"Ahh, there you are, pretty one," he muttered as he ducked the kitchen counter she scrabbled behind and reached his long arms toward her.
She maneuvered around, grateful for the distance between them as her hands sought purchase for something, anything, she could use to help defend herself against this man so much taller and steadier than she.
Breathe, her mind screamed. Breathe!
Shaking too hard, the small bits of paper and envelopes waiting to be opened fell to the floor, scattering everywhere, while Indris weaved.
He could have been on her in a moment, but he kept inhaling deep through his nose, grinning the whole time, as if playing with her and taking in the scent of her fear.
She whirled, her eyes wide and gleaming, seeking any sign of something she could grasp.
Her fingers finally found purchase and, as Indris reached for her once again, only feet away, she snatched it up as she ducked her knees a little, giving herself as much balance as she could.
The long knife sliced across the dark skin of the man's fingers and he whipped them back, a soft cry coming to the lips she was gratified to see dropping the smile. He frowned, his brows creasing as his face darkened more, and she brought the knife up again, holding it parallel to her arm, level to her chest, the blade pointing toward her elbow, edge out.
It was a stance her father taught her, ran over with her time and time again, offering her the chance to both punch, if need be, using the weight of the blade to add more force, and a way to slice if the punch was followed through.
Sweat slicked Lisa's face as the stench of her anxiety wafted from her, but she forced her hand to grip tighter to the wood handle of the knife.
Indris ducked at her again and she flung her arm out, the skin of her knuckles connecting with his upper teeth, and, as he backed again, surprise marred across his eyes, she kept the swing going, slicing the blade on the cheeks of the horrible man, tearing a gash wide enough to immediately seep blood.
He roared, the resonance so loud she winced, but she held herself as steady as she could, though her fear pushed her to run as fast as she could away from this creature, this being no longer entirely human.
Her feet planted in place as she whispered, "I'm my father's child. I'm not as weak as you think."
"So much the better, little bitch." His arm rose, swiping away some of the juice pouring out of his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket.
He rushed her, the full weight of his body crashing into her before she had a chance to react, pushing her backward into the cabinet behind her. A bark of shock shot from her mouth as the edge of the blade nicked her on its way down to the floor, the metallic clank bouncing from sight under the other counter. She squirmed, the pain intense as the stink of the man, heady and sour with old sweat and the acrid scent of his blood mixing in.
Fear drove her, her hands scrambling against him as he pressed into her harder, trying to weaken her as much as he could, but the thinness of her own body worked for her as she slipped downward, prying herself away.
She slid along the floor a few inches before leaping up again, the soles of her heels pounding across the kitchen into the living room. She did not turn, did not look to see where he was. He was following her, he had to be.
She grabbed the shotgun near the door, the cold weight of it slipping from her grasp slightly before she was able to get a full purchase on it. She cocked it and turned in one smooth flow, screaming as she pulled the trigger, aiming for the trunk of the tall man only feet away and moving fast.
The bang was horrendously loud in the small area, the hard edge of herbs and salt, gunpowder and ash, flowed from the end of the cannon and sailed across the distance. Her legs kicked out from under her as the stock pushed back, her grip on the gun not strong enough. She called out as the ache slammed into her rib cage, and the air was flung from her lungs. Her spine once again flared with agony as she fell into it, the rifle dropping from her hands to the floor.
Indris, too, was moved as the bullet entered his shoulder, next to the spot Jessup managed to pierce, and a brief "uhhh" joined him as he went down.
He picked himself up before Lisa had a chance, her mind stunned by the volume of the shot and the hurt in her body. He stood still for only a second, shaking his head, perhaps to clear his own brain.
Then he pounced, his arms wide and enfolding her as he shouted something she could not understand. She had no chance to return the fight, no time to react as he grappled her and pulled her from the wall, her lungs heaving with his stench and the effort.
She was lifted, carted only a few feet from the window before she was flung through it, the glass shattering, bits of it flooding her skin. Her breath once again was taken as she bounced onto the ground outside, sliding a few inches across the dew-damp turf, the light of the moon above shining into her wide-open eyes. It gleamed as the water behind her lids flowed out over her pupils, blurring everything as she gasped in anew.
Lisa tried to roll over and get up again, but the blur in her vision was awash with shadows surrounding her, and she fell to the dirt, her cheeks stained with trickles of blood and grass.
The nimbus leaped for her and the darkness became all she could see.
Chapter 16
Truck tires kicked dust away as he slammed the gas again, the long driveway to the house shrouded in darkness.
The stars gazed down, their dim shine lending nothing but judgment as Carver pushed the vehicle far too fast, barely maintaining control.
The wheels peeled, sliding with the pressure of his foot, slamming down hard enough to made the metal press into the floor. He flung the door wide, bouncing it as he tried to jump out but scrambling back in for a moment to drive the gear lever into park.
His breathing quickened and the tension in his neck rose to new levels as his eyes swept the front of the house. The broken glass on the ground reflected in the shine of the headlamps, sparkles of the stars above captured and scattered across the turf. The hole where the window used to be gaped, the dim light barely visible with the stark halo of the lamp above the still-closed door to the home he had known for so long now.
There was no movement, no sound other than the gentle calls of the frogs in the trees and the insects skittering around.
His feet squelched against the damp grass, the rubber soles of his sneakers dampening as the dew wicked up into his dark jeans, the chill of the night air slinking in beneath the cracks and creases of his clothing, but it was nothing compared to the sweat-chills and anxious breaths puffing from his lungs.
He squinted, lifting his hand as the power within him rose, and the white light in the palm burst forth. He closed his eyes for a moment, shifting on the hex-sight he hated, the ache in his head beginning before he could open the lids again.
He spun, turning every way with the sight and his hand at the ready, but nothing of any entities beyond the tiny creatures of the night were seen, no movements in the shadows of things stalking him, nor his little girl.
He bounded toward the door, whipping the keys from his pocket again and pushed them into the locks, unbolting them o
ne at a time. His fingers traced a pattern on the wood frame as he chanted softly beneath his breath the words that would deactivate the hexes guarding it.
He swung the door wide, bashing it into the wall as he raised his hand again, seeking anything beyond.
Nothing. No sense of the pull when a spirit was near, no taunting from the shadows. No chattering and scratching.
Only the darkened room, the lamp on the end table lit but crashed to the floor and scraps of scattered debris.
He held his breathing, listening for any sounds, but nothing from inside came to him.
Oh, God.
Carver moved in, the alloy of the long barrel of the gun gleaming in the soul light he was emitting, the carpet around the end of it slightly singed from the heat of it being fired.