Dark Winter

by John Hennessy

  Five Lives For Five Souls

  Curie had been given orders by Diabhal to get at least three souls. He would be so pleased with him when he learned that he had not only got three souls ready for trading, but that another two were on the way.

  Not only that, but one of those he had already trapped, possessed the long lost Mirror of Souls.

  Today was a momentous one, to say the least.

  He wondered if Toril and Jacinta would have turned around ran home as fast as their legs would carry them, if they knew what was in store for them.

  He also knew, of course, that the girls had entered the house.

  No matter. He had moved the girls’ bodies out of the side entry, just in case Toril and Jacinta were as stupid as the other two had been.

  He wanted to make both myself and Beth look good for our presentation though, and well, now he had less time to do it in. Toril and Jacinta had arrived early.

  Still, along with the boy, that was five souls to trade. What a huge day this was going to be.

  Being male, and 6’1” in height, Troy Jackson had been the hardest to kidnap, but Curie had done it. Diabhal had a test for Curie and for Troy, but the test was unknown. All he knew, was that it would have to wait until he had wrested the Mirror from me.

  Now that my body lay dead, he could claim the Mirror and use it for himself. He just had to keep my soul intact a little while longer. Cinderfyll, made from orchid tips and ground cinnamon powder, was all that was needed. He had dumped our’ bodies into a wheelbarrow, then carried them, one by one into the carving room.

  He set Beth up first, sitting her into a chair. Then he carried my body and put it in another chair.

  He looked at both of us, and decided it wasn’t quite right, and placed Beth’s hands in her lap, then placed my hands over mine.

  My neck was weak from Beth’s strangulation, and my head kept flopping forward, bobbed around a little, then stopped moving. When Curie tried to straighten me up again, the same thing happened again.

  His eyes brightened when he saw a thin red sash, like a belt, on my torn and bloodied jeans. The blood had soaked into my jeans quite deeply, but somehow, the sash was unspoilt.

  He slid the sash out gently, wrapped it around the top of my head, and with great care, pulled back on it, and tied it to the back of the chair.

  He clapped his hands together. “Good! Good! Oh yes, this looks just great!”

  Looking around the room, which was pretty sparse in furnishings except for the chairs, Curie decided it was time to bring in the boy.

  “He’s going to love this,” said Curie to himself. Getting a damp cloth, Curie cleansed the remaining blood from Beth’s face, before working on mine.

  We looked almost normal, but the subterfuge wouldn’t last long. Our souls would be departing soon.

  Curie pushed his hands down on windows he already knew were locked tight, but he checked them again and again anyway.

  Hands on hips, he smiled brightly and looked in our direction.

  “Can’t be too careful, eh girls? Got to keep-you-two-safe-and-sound.”

  He gestured, pointing at us with his right index finger to further emphasis the words.

  “Don’t go away, I’ll be right back,” he laughed.

  Beth and I sat, bolt upright, knees placed together, our hands overlapping. We bore a deathly vacant expression on our faces. We were dead. We were going nowhere.

  * * *

  Moments later, not that the passage of time meant anything for us anymore, Curie returned. If our ears had been functioning, you would have heard him panting as he made his way back up into the room. The bodybag snagged angrily on a nail sticking up from the floor where a bit of old carpet had been stuck down.

  A moan from the bag was heard elsewhere in the house, but they wouldn’t find him just yet, and when they did, everything would be in place. It couldn’t be avoided. It was meant to happen. It will happen. The trade would be made in the carving room.

  * * *

  “There! I told you!” said Toril to Jacinta. “Didn’t you hear it?”

  “No, I didn’t,” said Jacinta. “You know I’m deaf in my right ear.”

  “What about the other ear?”

  “It’s only half as good.”

  “Well, I heard it. It’s him, Curie. He’s in the house.”

  “Did you really expect anything else? It is his place after all.”

  “That’s not what I mean. He’s up to something, and we are going to catch him at it.”

  Toril could hear footsteps above and to the right of their position. There was a short hallway followed by a staircase. Toril abandoned being quiet, and galloped up the stairs, with Jacinta close behind.

  * * *

  It’s the weirdest feeling, being dead. Of course, you don’t know you are dead for sure, because your body is still clinging to the physical life you have just left behind, and so, it’s all rather uncertain. I had no idea what Beth must be feeling, but if I survived this being dead situation, I’d be sure to kill her.

  How could she do this to me? Was she being coerced somehow? I keep seeing her dead ball eyes in my mind. That’s not like Beth. No. Something was very wrong, and now that I was dead, I could not do a single thing about it.

  * * *

  Huffing and puffing, Curie dragged the body bag along the wooden floor, the under zip making a scratching sound as he did so. The bag looked too big to contain a small boy, or a teenage girl, and through the dead eyes that sat in their sockets, I realised who it was.

  Troy Jackson.

  I knew this because he had been given a ring, a Celtic ring from his father. In one of the few conversations I had started with him, in the hope that he would ask me out, he told me all about the ring.

  “Look here, Rom. It’s a Celtic ring. My father gave it to me. See how the design has been lasered on to the black plating? This ring is old, and yet it doesn’t look like it, does it?”

  “It certainly doesn’t look old,” I said, my grin turning into a full-blown smile.

  Getting a bit lost in his blue eyes, I tried to stay on track.

  “So, er…what’s the ring made of?”

  “Tungsten,” Troy said proudly. “Heavyweight tungsten. Look at the polish on it. I’m not given in to jewellery, Rom, but this…this is cool. My old man must be proud of me after all.”

  I wondered why he would say that. Had he done anything to make his father anything less than proud? I couldn’t imagine so. It was hard to concentrate. I was falling for him, and I couldn’t wait for the week to pass so another music class would happen, and we would be working together again. In the other classes he hung out with other friends. Or he could just ask me out.

  I would occasionally get a “Hi Rom!” from him, and nothing else. I couldn’t nor wouldn’t correct him on calling me Rom, either. I just wanted him to notice me a bit more. A lot more.

  If he was now lying dead in the bodybag, maybe we would get to spend a lot more time together after all. His hand lay limply to the side, with the Celtic ring’s shine, dulling in the late afternoon sun.

  * * *

  Toril frantically opened each door, cursing each time there was nothing and no-one in there. Jacinta wanted to ask “So is this how you remember Holmes doing it?” but for once, kept her opinions to herself.

  She had started to feel very uneasy. There was a stench of something in the air. She pulled at Toril’s clothes.

  “What now?” said Toril.

  “Can’t you smell that?”

  “What?”

  “It’s like…it’s like….”

  “Rotting flesh, I know.”

  Jacinta was taken aback. Toril was smart, no doubt about that, but to perceive her thoughts so accurately – that was frightening.

  Another door pulled open. “Just how many rooms are there?” said Toril, frustratingly.

  Curie, two floors away, laughed to himself. “More than you think, Toril Withers, and more than you can ever hop
e to deal with.”

  He looked at the axe in the corner of the room. Of course, he had gotten a reputation as The Axe Man, or Diabhal by the kids in school, but what they didn’t know was, that the real Wood Cutter did exist, and was no bogey man – Curie knew him as the Master. To address him as Diabhal bore pain of death to anyone who dared to do so.

  Curie realised he had suffered as a result of being a tool of Diabhal, but he would be rewarded handsomely, once he had been able to give Diabhal the Mirror of Souls, unleashing all the zombies and the rest of the evil undead into the world. Imagine that – an entire world burning, with bodies reduced to ash, where their screams would be the only echo.

  In an instant, the smile disappeared from his face. When would he be free to make his own choices, and be free of Diabhal?

  “I’ll take your pretty little head, Toril Withers. Your so-called Wiccan powers and that pathetic wand of yours, won’t profit you here.”

  He turned back to the bodybag, and stared at it intently. Curie wished he was twenty years younger. Subduing a big lad like Troy Jackson wasn’t easy, but he was supposed to be bait for me, and I had turned up early, and so he sent Beth to do his dirty work.

  In the haze that I guessed was some kind of afterlife, it was becoming clear to me that Beth hadn’t wished to kill me at all. Poison had filled her mind. Illness, sleep depravity, and the dark words of Diabhal, had turned her into a violent, remorseless, unemotional killer. I could not blame Beth for any of this.

  Where was she though? Shouldn’t she be here? We died at the same time, right?

  I looked around, and although I was alone, I was still aware of things. I wanted to squeeze her hand, maybe jolt her into life again, but it was not going to happen. My soul was leaving – or perhaps had already left my body. I would never know what it would be like to be in Troy Jackson’s arms, or look in his dreamy blue eyes again.

  No. I had to accept it. I was dead, and I was no longer the Mirror’s keeper. It would only be a matter of time before Curie found a way to imprint himself on it. The marks on my arms had already started to fade. My Nan would be so disappointed in me. I had failed her. Failed everyone.

  It was all up to Toril and Jacinta now.

  * * *

  Curie rolled Troy Jackson’s body onto a pallet truck, and wheeled it into another room. I could not see nor sense what he was doing in there. He was up to no good, that was for certain.

  I was certain of something else too. I would no longer be able to stay in this room much longer. My soul seemed to be escaping, despite Curie believing – with canny accuracy, that old wives tale about leaving windows open, so that souls of the recently departed could escape.

  The windows were not as secure as he would have us believe. But there was something else pulling me. I could not be certain. But someone’s shape was forming in front of me.

  “Beth?” I said, straining my neck to see beyond the mist.

  No. It wasn’t Beth. It was my Nan. Tears streamed from my eyes. I could no longer possess a human body, surely. But the sensations were real. I ran towards her as fast as I could. In that moment, I was overwhelmed with love. I forgot about Beth, Troy, Toril, my parents. Everything and everyone. I had come home.

  * * *

  Toril burst through the door. She screamed when she saw me and Beth. She composed herself to draw her wand out of her bag, and shouted out to Curie.

  “Get yourself out here, Curie. Your reckoning is at hand.”

  The door behind me and to my left opened. Out walked Curie, as calm as you like.

  “Toril Withers. How good it is to see you, and your friend with the white hair? Yes you! Jacinta, come on in. Wouldn’t want you to miss any of this.”

  “You wouldn’t want us to miss what, exactly?”

  “Why – the same as you of course. The reckoning, isn’t that what you called it?”

  “What did you do to Beth, to Romilly?” Toril spat the words out through gritted teeth.

  “What?” Curie looked confused. Why didn’t they appreciate what he was doing? Why didn’t they appreciate his work? He went around the chairs, to Beth’s side first, and said “What-you….you don’t like it? Would you like them to stand? It’s a bit difficult but I suppose I could manage it.”

  Toril walked forward, and raised her wand.

  “Oh come now, silly girl. You think that little toy of yours could harm me?” Curie snorted with disdain.

  Toril didn’t move one further step forward. She had never used a ‘banish’ curse before, but now was the time.

  “From the deepest ocean to the sky on high, I banish you from here to the hell, and to die.”

  A white-blue light emanated from Toril’s wand. She could barely keep her hands still whilst the spell’s power encircled Curie, and then disappeared.

  “Hmm. Quite invigorating,” said Curie happily. Then his smile turned into a frown, and he snarled “I hope that was your best shot, little girl. You won’t be getting another chance.”

  Toril looked flummoxed. Jacinta was experiencing one big emotion – fear. She cowered and fell on her knees.

  “Good. Good,” said Curie, picking up his axe. “You too, witch, and I use that term very loosely. On your knees.”

  “No, I won’t do it,” said Toril. “Go back to the hell that spawned you. Lucifer’s bitch.”

  “On. Your. Knees.” Curie raised his hand, and Toril’s knees buckled. Some strange power was welling within Curie, and Toril could not fight it. Perhaps there was none who could.

  Toril was hurting, but still focussed. With shaky hands, she drew a circle with her wand and wanted to enclose Jacinta in the circle, but Curie rushed at her and knocked her clear of the circle.

  “What the-“ said Toril.

  “I need her,” said Curie. “I don’t need you, witch. Stay in your so-called Circle, and be damned.”

  Jacinta was dazed, but otherwise unharmed. Curie grabbed Jacinta by her arm, and pulled her up. He got behind her, and wrapped his right hand behind her throat.

  “Curie! No, damn you…!” Toril pointed her wand at him. “Let her go, I’m warning you.”

  Jacinta wriggled but could not get free. Curie tightened his grip on her neck. Jacinta grimaced, and her skin started to turn a dark red.

  “Or what, witch? You’ll shine a light in my eyes like you did last time?”

  He walked towards Toril’s protective Circle, and pushed Jacinta close to Toril, but still out of her reach.

  “The wand, girl, give it to me.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Jacinta was going faint in his grip.

  “All I have to do is squeeze.”

  “It’s logical you are going to kill us anyway, so what the hell do I care?”

  “Oh, you care, alright. You don’t want blood on your hands, Toril. That’s why you couldn’t kill me. You knew the Banish Spell would result in my death. But pointing your wand, saying the words isn’t enough, is it? You have to believe, and you don’t. You’re not a real witch, you’re just playing at being one. You don’t even have the genetics to beat me. Now, when you consider all that, doesn’t it sound logical to you?”

  Toril seethed, but did not entertain him with an answer.

  Curie seemed most pleased with himself. “The wand. Now.”

  “Damn you to hell.”

  “I’ll kill her.” Curie sang the last word, like he meant it.

  “Go on then. I call your bluff.” A short pause from Toril, then she folded her arms, stamped her feet on the floor, solding Curie. “I won’t be yielding to you.”

  Toril really didn’t know if Curie would carry out his threat to kill Jacinta. She was betting they were there for some as-yet-to-be-revealed higher purpose, and simply that Curie needed Jacinta. Also, any opportunity to curse at him was logical.

  “Gah!” shrieked Curie, and threw Jacinta aside. She grasped her throat, gagging for breath, crawling along all fours towards the safety of Toril’s Circle.

  “Oh no
you don’t,” screeched Curie, and kicked Jacinta hard in the stomach.

  This time, she was winded, and lay on her back, coughing violently.

  “Damn you Curie!” screamed Toril.

  Curie ignored Toril, crouched over Jacinta, and wore a disappointed look on his face. “I thought you were going to be smart. I just saved your miserable life, after all.” Grabbing her blouse, he pulled her towards him.