by A. I. Nasser
Rachel looked at Fiona through tired eyes. “There has to be a way to stop this once and for all,” she said, “without the bindings; without any more sacrifice.”
Fiona leaned in, her eyes piercing Rachel’s as she spoke in a slow, measured tone. “It’s your job to fix this,” she said. “Do something, or find someone else to run the Council.”
Rachel frowned, her anger barely contained as she watched Fiona stand up and walk out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
Rachel balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking.
She needed Alan Carter.
***
David Whelm despised Melington the minute he had set foot in it.
He was a city boy, born and raised, and anything outside New York fell very short of being in any way impressive. He loved the sounds of the city, the morning and afternoon rushes, the ringing of sirens and the fact that the city never slept. David had never imagined himself living anywhere else, and every assignment he took outside the city was done out of pure desperation.
He scoffed every time someone suggested that being away from the noise and stress of New York was good for the soul. He always thought people who believed that didn’t deserve to live in the greatest city in the world, and would probably be better off outside it where they couldn’t infect New Yorkers with their bull.
David never understood small town appeal, the charm of it all beyond him. All he ever saw were lazy residents who had nothing better to do than coax tourists into spending their well-earned dollars on worthless trinkets and absurd nature walks. There was nothing charming about old colonial houses set out on long roads, fake compounds full of worthless two-stories, or the friendly smiles of locals who went on and on about the history of a town that would have probably gone unnoticed if not for its place on a map.
Melington was no different.
He had driven into town two days before, unimpressed with what he had seen. His editor had promised him it would not be the average New England town; that it had grown exponentially over the years into a luscious haven with a charming mix of old and new. David couldn’t see it, and even after driving around the town for a few minutes before finally settling on a motel looking slightly inhabitable, he had not been impressed. All Melington promised was a few days of mundane questioning that would only result in urban legends and folktales, nothing he could use for a proper story.
David cursed his editor as he idled into the motel parking lot and pulled up in front of his room. Over the years, he had been assigned many stories that usually ended in nothing more than speculations, forcing him to write embarrassing fluff pieces. His new assignment seemed to promise much of the same, and after a few quick tours in the local pubs and random chats with locals, David could tell he was wasting his time.
His talents were being squandered, and it was slowly frustrating him.
He remembered the earlier days of his career, fresh with a degree in journalism and a knack for finding information where no one else would think to look. He was top of his class, a rising star in the eyes of many of his professors, and the future had looked very promising. Now, ten years into the job, he was no closer to his dreams than he had been on day one. The internet was killing his profession, and in an age when owning a computer and a blog turned amateurs into so-called journalists, he was finding it difficult to come to terms with the fact that simply having a job was a blessing.
David stared out through his windshield at the door to his room, his hands clenching the steering wheel as he contemplated turning his car around and driving back to New York. What would it matter, anyway? He could fake interviews, write out bogus notes to show his editor, and come up with a decent fluff piece within two days. And he could do all that without having to endure another useless moment in this town.
It’s not like he hadn’t done it before.
David sighed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, toying with the idea for a few more seconds before giving in and climbing out of his car. Two more days; he’d give this town that much, and no more. Besides, it wasn’t like two days would kill him.
***
Alan could only see darkness.
He knew where he was. It was the smell that struck him first, the familiar stench of cold decay and rot that always accompanied his dark surroundings. He could feel the cold stones of the floor against his back, and he instantly pushed up into a sitting position as his hands brushed against the moist surface.
Alan waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. This wasn’t his first time in the small room, and he had quickly come to terms with what to expect; darkness, silence and a sickening feeling of claustrophobia.
Every night he came here was the same. Each time he laid his head down on his pillow, falling asleep to Deborah’s gentle breathing beside him, he knew where his dreams would eventually take him. Alan pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his hands, the chill of the small room harsh against his skin and the stench nauseating.
It’s just a dream.
Alan knew better.
It’s just a dream.
Only it wasn’t, and Alan was not going to convince himself otherwise.
The first time he had woken up here, he had just looked into the eyes of the devil himself and had lost himself. Alan remembered how his mind had bent and broken while thrashing in the firm grasp of Copper Tibet’s hand. He remembered the invisible threads that had coursed through his head and had ripped at his sanity, throwing him into this abyss to rot along with everything else here.
He remembered it well, and it was that memory that scared him the most.
I escaped.
Alan shook in frustration as he raised his head and tried to force his eyes to adjust to the nothingness around him. The cold was getting worse, and for a minute he could feel the air reach down through his open mouth and cut across the insides of his throat.
There was a door. He was sure of it. It had opened for him before, the very first time he had been here.
When the nightmares had first plagued him, he had been foolish enough to believe he could find it on his own. He had searched the walls in the darkness, blind and panicking, unable to comprehend what was happening to him. He had struck his fists against the cold stones and had screamed out in frustration, kicking at the walls when he couldn’t find it.
Now he waited, feeling it was only a matter of time before the door would open for him again. He would have to be patient.
He replayed the events of his first visit here, when he had been lost in a coma and Deborah had patiently waited by his hospital bed. There had been a girl then, a young blonde in a room of her own, and she had shown him a way out. Alan knew he needed to find her again if the nightmares were to stop. He needed to understand why he was still coming back here, why every time he closed his eyes, he would find himself in this dark abyss.
I escaped.
Alan closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. He would wait, as he did every time he came here, and hope that this would not be the night he didn’t wake up.
Six Months Ago
“It began with the Carters.
There’s very little to go on other than the stories told down from one generation to the next. I can’t give you proof, or tell you that any of this is one hundred percent accurate. All I can tell you is what our grandparents told us, and what their grandparents had told them.
Allison Carter. Daughter of Jeremiah and Abigail Carter. She was the first girl to go missing in Melington. This was back in 1826, when it was not unheard of for a child to lose themselves in the woods and die from the cold. Only, no one ever found Allison Carter’s body, and when the second child was taken, a boy, it was clear it wasn’t a coincidence.
They investigated, but kept it local, between themselves, away from the eyes of the big city authorities. There are rumors saying Jeremiah Carter had tried to get officials in Hartford involved, but there’s very little
to support that. What we know for sure was that when Allison Carter’s dress was found, it was bloody and torn, and in the possession of Copper Tibet.
They burned him alive. The townspeople played judge and jury, and they burned the poor man alive. Some say it had been a mistake that our ancestors had condemned an innocent man to death, but it didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was Copper Tibet’s promise, his dying words as the fires engulfed him; “No child in Melington would ever be safe.”
Copper Tibet kept his promise. Jeremiah Carter lost a son one year later, on the anniversary of Copper’s execution, and it had been enough to tear the Carter family apart. Jeremiah’s second son swore that a man had come out from under his brother’s bed and pulled the boy away, thrashing and screaming. Nobody believed him, although deep down, I think most of them must have thought that their demons had finally come to haunt them. Abigail Carter committed suicide, and Jeremiah made sure his last son had been sent as far away from Melington as possible.
For almost a decade after, a child would go missing at around the same time of the year, and more and more children reported hearing laughter behind their closet doors or heavy breathing under their beds. It drove the Council crazy, but no one really knew what to do about it. Families left in bulk, and for a short period of time, the town had turned into a shell of what it had been.
The stories are a bit vague as to when the families had begun trickling back to Melington, but what was clear was that the Coles had made major changes to the town. You have to remember, there were only three or four families left by then, and very little accountability to anything they did. The Coles had expanded their lands by several acres, including the large field where Copper Tibet had been executed, and no one understood why.
It didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that no children had gone missing for years, and that was enough for the returning families to look the other way and let the Coles do whatever they pleased. Soon enough, a new Council was formed, and it was only then that the truth finally came out.
The Council learned all about the blood bindings.”
Chapter 3
Stanley Turk watched his daughter dash across the small playground and race up the slide, her yellow skirt blowing around her small legs as she made her way to the top. He smiled and waved to her as she adjusted herself and slid down, landing comfortably on both feet before running around and climbing up the ladder again.
He made his way to a small bench and sat down with a sigh, his stomach starting to grumble in protest. They had been to the local burger joint, and although his daughter seemed to be energized, the meal was not sitting very well with him. Still, he fought the urge to drive home and do something about it. He rarely had enough time to spend with his daughter anyway, and he wasn’t going to deny her the pleasures of the weekend.
Stanley scanned the other benches around the playground, smiling at the mothers sitting and reading as they watched their children play. He had brought his own book, but he knew Tracy wouldn’t give him a chance to read, constantly calling out to grab his attention as she showcased her talents on the swings or monkey bars.
Stanley Turk closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing his senses to saturate with the sounds of the park around him. It was good being outside for a change. The endless hours in front of a computer screen were getting to him, and he was getting sick of the constant demands of his job. It was one thing to be freelancing and working from home; it was something else entirely to have to sit behind a desk where your boss could constantly look over your shoulder and ask for a progress report.
Not that he minded the career in itself. Ever since he was a child, he had loved the idea of electronics. When his father had bought him his first personal computer, Stanley had been over the moon. He loved the intricacies of the machine, the way it spoke to him as if both he and machine were locked in a constant numerical conversation. He loved the codes, the tapestry of intricate lines of letters and numbers, and the results that played out in the end.
He wouldn’t have traded his career for the world.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
Stanley opened his eyes and gazed at his eight year-old as she raced back and forth between the different games in the playground. He knew that it was only a matter of time before she would wave him over to help push her on the swings. She looked over at him and smiled, and as always, he felt his heart melt as he smiled back.
Tracy was the one exception. He would give up everything for her, and in a way, he had.
Stanley tried not to think too much about the last few months; the struggle his wife had fought and lost with cancer. The devastation had taken over his entire life, and if not for his daughter, Stanley would have probably lost his mind. It had been hard trying to man up for the little girl, but he had done all he could to make sure that, although her mother was gone, Tracy would always feel loved and appreciated. It was a promise he had made to her and to himself.
It did mean he had to make some serious life changes to fulfill his promise. Leaving Boston was probably the most important of them; his childhood home an integral part of his life. However, in the grand scheme of things, when it came to his daughter, Stanley knew he couldn’t be selfish about things like that.
Boston had too many memories, and the only way for Tracy to grow up healthy and strong was to make sure she wasn’t constantly subjected to those. A part of him knew that leaving Boston would be good for him, too, and eventually the choice hadn’t been as difficult as he had imagined.
He had applied to several jobs in New England, and although he had received many offers, Melington had been the most promising of them all. He needed a change of atmosphere, and although he could have moved anywhere in the country while keeping his clients, he knew that staying at home would make things more difficult than they needed to be. He hated the idea of a nine-to-five job, but after a month on the job, he welcomed the numbness it provided.
Stanley watched his daughter hang on the monkey bars, giggling as she showcased her talents to her new friends. He could already see the changes Melington was making to her mood; the sullen look that had constantly been on her face gone completely as she adapted to the new environment. Even the school had been a warm reprieve from what she had been accustomed to in Boston. He could already see that this town was going to be good for the both of them, and there was no doubt in his mind that he had made the right choice.
Stanley Turk opened his book and began to read, his eyes shifting from the pages to his daughter, then back again. Melington was going to be good to them; he could feel it.
***
David Whelm parked his car in front of the Melington Police Station and switched off the engine. He stared out at the small building, counting three cruisers parked to one side, and shook his head in dismay.
This was his last stop for the day, and he was already feeling the burden of having to talk to one more person who would give him nothing more than what he already knew. The other two stops before this had provided him with hearsay and rumors. The interviews were a complete waste of time and energy, and he had already decided that there was no need to spend another night in this town.
David grabbed a file off the passenger seat, scanned the notes he had scribbled inside, and hoped he could be done with this meeting in half an hour and be on his way. He didn’t even know if the Sheriff would be inside, and a part of him was hoping that she wasn’t. Besides, he could already imagine a portly woman sitting behind a small desk drinking coffee and smiling ridiculously as she answered questions.
David sighed. This was going to be hell.
Stepping out into the afternoon heat, he trudged towards the station, his eyes quickly scanning the streets on either side. There were ridiculously few people out this time of the day, and David was already looking forward to going home. This town was too quiet, too peaceful, and it was getting on his nerves.
Cold air welcomed him as he pushed into the
station, and David could feel the chill race to his bones where the heat had left sweat stains down his back. A woman with a badge on her uniform looked up from what she was doing and smiled, and David could feel his muscles tighten. One more smile, and he would probably murder someone.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, her voice a little too cheerful for an officer of the law. David wondered how long this one would last in the streets back home. A day, maybe two, tops. If her colleagues didn’t shoot her.
“I’m looking for Sheriff Fiona Bright,” David said, faking his own, small-town smile and feeling his stomach turn at the hypocrisy.
The woman pointed to an office at the far end of the station where a blonde was pacing back and forth, her cell phone in her hand and a scowl on her face.
“I’ll have to warn you, though,” the chirpy officer whispered. “She’s not in a very good mood.”
David fought the urge to reply with something sarcastic and nodded. “I’ll be careful,” he mocked.
He thanked the officer and made his way briskly towards the Sheriff’s office. He watched the woman through the glass, sizing her up as their eyes met and she watched his approach. David suddenly felt the air around him get much colder as the Sheriff’s eyes bore into his, and he could see that the woman would not be the pushover he had suspected her to be. No, this one seemed like she had taken a few serious punches and had lived to tell the tale.
David was instantly intrigued.
He knocked on her door and stuck his head in just as she hung up.
“Sheriff Fiona Bright?” he asked, flashing her an award-winning smile.
The woman stared at him for a few seconds before nodding slowly. David took that as an invitation and let himself in, walking right up to the Sheriff and extending his hand.