Under The Blade

by Serafini, Matt

  Cyrus Hoyt was bloodthirsty, and the screams of his victims were music to my ears.

  Until he got himself killed. Twice.

  A lawman found his way down next, carrying the poor, stupid boy all wrapped and bound. Reminded me of what they’d done to my vessel all those ages ago. When I touched his thoughts, I learned that the boy had a half-sister. If she could come within my grasp, I could find a way to make things interesting again.

  She came many times, but it was recently, on a nostalgic afternoon hike in the forest, that she finally got close enough for me to do something. Not much, mind you, but I plucked the boy’s consciousness out of the void and stuffed it inside of her—a little sibling trick from the old world, used by selfish souls who were so desperate to keep their life that they thought nothing of stomping out the one belonging to their child.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it was the only way left to keep him alive. I could not bear to see this community bury its dark past. Why should they be afforded an end to such tragedy? This was the only way to keep me entertained. It would’ve worked better if he had been more than a half-brother, but sister is such a mess of confusion and doubt now that I’m starting to believe it worked out perfectly.

  Sure, I would have tried to sit inside her brain had she gotten closer. But it is so rare for me to receive visitors down here. Besides, does not Trish look cute when dressed up like big bad brother?

  Now stop fighting me. Your skin fits me like a sword fits a sheath, and yet you have the audacity to struggle. You are reluctant when all I want to do is leave this place. These surroundings are sickening. A few more steps and we will be on our way. Just keep going.

  You know Nate Brady is never coming back. That is beyond even my ability, and perhaps I was wrong to lie to you about it. If we are going to have a relationship, you and I, I need to make you trust me. If it were not for those thoughts of perfect days and lusty nights, you might not have allowed me inside. See, you have to agree to my ‘intrusion.’ And, in turn, I can help with all of that rage and resentment. Oh, please let me help you with that.

  No. Do not try hiding your most secretive moments. If there are things you have never admitted to yourself, then we will explore them together.

  No. Do not scream, you insolent bitch. I will not allow it. As we come to know one another intimately, understand that I am not content to guide you like cattle. It will be much more interesting to allow you to discover the darkness inside yourself. I know your body is hurt, but you will not die with me deep inside you.

  There. See. We’ve cleared the cavern and now, as I inhale through your nostrils, I realize this is the first time in two thousand years that I smell fresh air. So tell me: what shall we do first?

  I see the answer in images and it is all very interesting.

  You want revenge.

  We are walking through the forest and I am getting used to controlling a vessel again. Your brain is so much more interesting than the last one, and I pick and choose information like books on a shelf.

  So much to learn.

  It’s a brave new world out here. And it is ripe for the taking.

  ELEVEN

  Trish’s eyes and nostrils were runny when she came to, and pulling the slicked coat off her body revealed that her hairs stood on end. Her head hurt like hell, but for the first time in days, her mind was incredibly clear.

  Her cheeks were slathered in what felt like goopy face paint. She rubbed a palm over her forehead and tried to understand what had happened, and where she was.

  The last thing she remembered was freaking out in her childhood bedroom. Another headache set in as soon as Dad had gone—a preface to the inevitable blackout.

  A bloodied axe lay on top of what she hoped was a collection of animal’s bones. As her eyes adjusted to the low levels of light, she counted half a dozen human skulls and promptly vomited all over them.

  This was worse than any heroin comedown, but the symptoms were remarkably similar.

  I’m beneath the camp. That had to be it.

  There was always chatter about some kind of cavern beneath the forest in high school, but no one ever managed to confirm it as reality. It wasn’t for the lack of looking, either, because if a secret place to smoke up and fuck existed, then her classmates would’ve pioneered its discovery.

  It was dark, and she inched her way out of the structure, thrashing her arms around to refrain from smashing headfirst into anything. The human refuse was up to her ankles and she kicked a path straight through it, spotting the outline of something in the pew closest to the doors. She quickened her pace to get there.

  “Oh God.”

  Tanya was dead, the life strangled from her. Her face was pocked with dark splotches of post-mortem straining, and her tongue was poised between her lips like she was blowing a permanent raspberry. In a quick flash, Trish remembered the chain in her own hands, lassoing it around the girl’s neck and tugging with a hideous growl.

  That couldn’t be right.

  She hurried on through the cold and unwelcoming cave, guided by unconscious intuition. Déjà vu hit her hard as she recalled being down here before—several times, actually. That recollection spread as she stepped along the narrow pathway that ascended into the forest.

  She had been chasing someone last night, right? No, that wasn’t it. It was her brother who gave chase. He was after a battered blonde woman, and could think only of killing her.

  Trish couldn’t understand how she knew that Cyrus Hoyt had gone after Melanie. An especially blurry memory came into focus, intensifying her confusion. In it, Melanie was nude and almost completely submerged beneath a mountain of bubbles, resting after a recent jog. But Trish was inside the room already, in hiding and waiting for her return. Only it wasn’t her. She would’ve had no reason to do that. But he would.

  My brother’s long dead.

  He wasn’t, though, and now she knew it. Cyrus had been all set to kill Melanie while she stretched out in that tub, her long and smooth legs dangling over the edge—taunting him to come get her. He thought he was ready for it, too. Until he had stalked past the room’s mirror, knife in hand, and saw something reflected in it that he could not process—the reflection of Trish Brady staring him back.

  Last night, Cyrus had been enraged to see them set fire to the cabin. For the second time, he had almost lost Melanie to unwanted competition. They surrounded the building, preparing her for sacrifice while he went around back—the very opening that Trish now squeezed through. It was a last-ditch effort to beat them to the kill. After everything, he was not willing to lose her at the end.

  Dad had been down here, injured and close to death when Cyrus found him. No, he couldn’t let him go like that—not when there was so much unfinished business between them. It’s what drove him to bury the pickaxe deep inside his chest with enough hatred to lift him off the ground.

  Dad was dead, and it made her feel sick all over again. She stopped to puke before crawling up through the forest floor. All she wanted to do now was go to Nate and beg him to leave this place. Mom had been right all along—they could never be happy here.

  She remembered something else about last night that got her heart pounding.

  Melanie hadn’t been alone in that cabin.

  Nate had been there, too.

  “Oh God,” she said as the tears came. Trish hurried for the camp, despite the feeling that it was already too late.

  ***

  I can’t fight this.

  It was akin to riding shotgun in your own head. You saw the road, but had no control over which direction was taken. Melanie tried stepping one way and her feet fell another. Wanted to look around, but glared straight ahead. She couldn’t even control her own voice.

  “Do not be scared,” it said. “I told you that I mean you no harm.”

  Fight this.

  “But why fight? Is it my invasiveness? You will have your lovely body back, believe me. Melanie, you are so much more interesting when left to you
r own devices.”

  Then go now, she screamed without screaming.

  “I know why you came here…to the grove.” She tried stopping herself from talking, but it was no use. Her own words had turned against her. “And I would love to see you leave fulfilled.”

  You want to help so much that you let that crazy bitch try to kill me.

  “Do not go blaming Trish. She is a victim same as you. When her brother took over, he was in complete control. Yes, some of their thoughts might have mixed together, but that could not be avoided. I am more interested in you now…because you chose to remain here, despite the attempts on your life. You risked it rather than tucking your tail between your legs and going home a failure. To you, that is scarier than death.”

  Death is only scary when you have something to lose.

  “Do not pretend with me. You have done nothing but fight. And you expect me to believe you have nothing to live for?”

  I don’t fear death anymore. That doesn’t mean I want it. I have nothing waiting for me back home.

  The intruder considered these thoughts as they moved. Its mind was wide open, and peering into it was like looking through a two-way mirror. She suddenly recalled the old tongue as though she always had known it. There was a world of winged creatures larger than jumbo jets, and monsters the size of skyscrapers. Others battled them—both through words and actions. An unfamiliar time and place beyond her own.

  That didn’t interest her. Not now. All that mattered was getting the intruder out of her head. It was quite experienced at hiding its vulnerabilities, and each time she searched for one, its attention shifted elsewhere—the thought lost like ashes on the wind.

  “You are a fighter,” her voice beamed. “Good. I know that I made the right choice. All that is left is to make sure that you have it in you.”

  “Have WHAT?” The words that came past her lips were hers, and that surprised the intruder.

  “Do not question me. Be grateful that I have not stripped you nude and splayed you between these trees, inviting every creature to have its way with what is between your legs.”

  Melanie didn’t respond. If she was going to survive, she was going to have to be smart.

  “Correct.” Her voice was strange again, singed with cruelty. “Know your place. Start thinking about how you intend to prove your worth. I must admit, I was upset to see the Obviate take our lawman from the equation. How I would have relished the look on his face when he saw that it was you coming to take his life.”

  Melanie stopped moving. The intruder moved her eyes back the way they came. Its mind flashed with excitement. “Brady may be dead…but his wife is not.”

  But Hoyt is still inside her.

  “Was. His resurrection was a display of my power. Now that I am free, I require all of my energy. We can do better than him, and I tire of this place.”

  Melanie wondered if the Obviate would hear the whispers with the intruder gone. Could they keep on sacrificing to a God that would no longer speak to them?

  “It will be fun to find out, will it not?”

  All she could think about was killing Trish Brady. A girl she now despised, but also pitied. Nate’s wife had become a blunt instrument against her own will—a fate no one deserved.

  Would it really be so bad? Killing that ungrateful bitch?

  The intruder laughed and clapped her hands together at the cerebral mention of murder.

  Melanie liked the idea the more it marinated. Trish Brady was nothing more than a thirty-year-old teenager. She willingly turned her marriage into a sham because she couldn’t maintain a nightly routine of martini parties and pretentious art blather. She never deserved Nate. It was appalling to see a person who refused to appreciate the things they had when others would’ve killed for them.

  I will kill for them.

  It was easy to find the remnants of Camp Forest Grove. The wooded air was heavy with the smell of charred cabin embers. All that remained of the counselor’s bunk was the stone chimney and a few ankle-high sections of wall that the fire hadn’t managed to nibble away just yet.

  Melanie moved softly through the smoldering debris. Trish was on her knees at the ruins’ edge, stroking Nate’s blackened skeleton as tears dribbled down her bloodied face. If she noticed that she had company, she didn’t seem to care.

  She wondered how the girl had recognized the body of her husband before the chief’s burnt badge caught her eye in the morning sun.

  As much as Melanie wanted to kill this woman, she was much too weak for a straight-on attack. All weapons were underground, meaning she was going to have to find another. She crept toward Pete Dugan’s old cabin, leaving the grieving widow lost in her own misery. Breaths were harder to get as her stomach rose in painful bursts, but it was almost unnoticeable thanks to her intruder.

  The cabin was a ruddy mess and she fished a rusted butcher’s knife out of a puddle of rainwater from the kitchen’s broken drawers. Heart racing, she headed toward her prey, hobbling through crab grass with clenched fists.

  Trish hadn’t moved. Her shoulders trembled with distress while cradling Nate’s remains.

  Melanie inched forward, blade raised.

  At the back of her mind, the visitor spoke: Very good. I want you to have a better life, Melanie. Believe me.

  I do, she thought. Watch me gut her like a fish.

  Melanie rushed ahead while the intruder whispered final words of encouragement that failed to resonate. She was in control of her actions here, and imagined throwing the girl on her back and carving through that opaque skin. As bad as she wanted the girl’s husband, she wanted this bitch’s life more.

  Trish was within stabbing distance now.

  With her teeth gnashed, Melanie raised the blade and then slammed it down with a shriek. It tore through her own belly and she twisted it with such violence that a full-bodied scream escaped her lips in spite of the intruder’s lockdown.

  It was angry, demanding to know why she gave it all up. Your enemies were going to know what it was like to suffer at your hands. And your students…all those impressionable minds. You threw everything away.

  The intruder lamented this lost opportunity, and Melanie screamed over its whispers. “Trish, pick up the blade and kill me. Please. It’s in me!”

  Trish’s confused eyes locked onto the knife.

  “Grab it, Trish. Hurry. Before it takes you!”

  Blood spilled through Melanie’s fingers like a broken damn. No point in putting pressure on the wound. It was time to go, taking this monster with her.

  I can keep you alive for as long as I want, you fool. This accomplishes nothing. Last time they stopped me, those weapons were blessed. Blessed!

  Trish scooped the knife but kept her distance as a terrified spectator, Melanie’s pleas for murder lost on her. That, or she was unwilling to help.

  Her inhibitions may not be as…interesting as yours, but they will do. I can grow them into something wonderful. We shall start by taking the life of the woman who tried stealing her husband away. While she is killing you, remember all the things you could have had, but elected to give up. Its taunts continued in a foreign tongue that berated her further.

  The old tongue.

  That was when she caught it. Just as the intruder could snatch her own thoughts, she found what she had been looking for in its memories.

  The prayer.

  It was what the Holy One had used to bind him—the language of long ago. Just like that, the incantation was in her head. A split second later, it was on her lips, a long-forgotten tongue that she now spoke with fluidity.

  She repeated the harsh sounds and clicking syllables as spilling blood softened the ground around her. This was the end, and the least she could do was keep the intruder inside—a temporary conclusion to this nightmare would have to do. She was willing to die for that.

  As soon as Melanie made peace with her passing, Trish fell to her knees in tears, screaming, “YES, YES, YES!” in response to an unspoken
offer.

  And then, the intruder was gone.

  Melanie spouted the words again, quickly and before the memories faded. The evil had to be contained somewhere, and now it was going to have to be in Trish.

  A short-lived but mischievous grin flashed across Trish’s mouth as the bloody face charged, dropping onto Melanie and striking in frenzy.

  The knife shot down and Melanie lifted her palm to her eyes—her last remaining line of defense. The blade ripped through it, halting the implement an inch away from her eyes. She yanked her impaled hand away, taking the knife with it as ropes of blood splattered wide.

  Trish’s eyes glowed yellow for a second as she shifted her weight onto Melanie’s self-inflicted stomach wound. Then they flecked back to hazel-green as the younger woman’s assault continued, undeterred. The intruder’s influence waned following the incantation, but not fast enough.

  Melanie couldn’t survive much more of this. “I wanted to save you.”

  Trish leaned in so their noses scraped together. “I’m going to kill you,” she growled.

  Melanie slapped her injured palm down on the back of Trish’s neck, and the protruding blade tore into her flesh with a gummy squish. She grunted and closed her free hand around the knife’s jutting hilt, shoving it through her hand, sending it sailing deeper into Trish.

  Trish’s hands came for her throat, but Melanie forced the blade to dig further, even as the attack kept coming—hands wrenched around Melanie’s neck, squeezing and pinching.

  The girl on top of Melanie was no longer recognizable as her short-lived friend. She snarled like an animal.

  Melanie was desperate to get this thing off her, and it had to be now if she ever wanted to breathe again. She lifted her head as much as it could go, biting at the deranged face. She caught the tip of Trish’s nose between her teeth and then it was her turn to growl, crunching through it with a clenched jaw. The nose severed and dropped onto Melanie’s tongue as her teeth scraped together. Melanie spat the detached tip into the dirt as the girl convulsed and then slumped to one side with alarming quickness.