Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection)

by McCray, Carolyn

  “No!” Jeremy screamed as the god roared in agony. Its form retreated into the woods through the screen.

  “Oh no, you don’t! I’m not done with you yet!” Derek crossed his arms over his face to block the flames, and then leapt through the screen.

  Cheering and clapping accompanied Mitchell’s war cry, as he followed Derek into the woods. Derek hoped that the fire would consume the god. Devouring the leaves and roots. No such luck. The god backed away, with Jill still inside.

  “Any bright ideas, yet?” Derek asked advancing on the Druid god.

  “No, but if it’s any consolation, I think we just saved the president and all of LA.”

  But no one was safe until this thing was destroyed and the Baxter brothers were locked up for life. “Sorry, but not with Jill …”

  A gnarled hand shot out of the cloak. Derek tackled Mitchell. A whoosh of air and a stray branch scraped over their backs. Mitchell gave Derek the “my hero” look as they rolled to their sides they watched the hand pierce the wall of fire on the screen. The god’s shrieks of pain left Derek’s ears ringing. Jeremy and Jason ripped back through the screen, their tuxedos embraced by fire. Their agonized screams blended with their god’s, as their flaming bodies were dumped like unwanted garbage. Flipping around on the ground, their clothes were now a torn and smoldering mess.

  Well, so much for being their Druid god’s pets. Looks like they made it to the list of sacrifices.

  Jeremy pushed to his feet. His stance unsteady, he helped his brother up. Both turned on Derek, their eyes blazing with fury.

  “You ruined everything!”

  “If it’s the last thing we do …” Jeremy spat.

  “You shall pay!” Jason hissed.

  Grasping each other’s hands, the brothers bowed their heads. A chant whispered from their lips. Each beat fed the size of their god. The wind whipped into a frenzy.

  “We’d better do something!” Mitchell yelled over the roar of the wind.

  Derek snorted. A satisfied grin spread over his face. “These two I can handle.”

  Lifting his gun toward the brothers, he shouted, “Get down!”

  But the brothers’ continued, refusing to obey Derek’s command. The wind was so strong that it was difficult to stay upright.

  “I said, now!” Derek ordered.

  Son of a … these guys had balls. Well, Derek would show them whose were bigger. Squeezing the trigger, a bullet tore into Jeremy’s leg. He collapsed on the ground, clutching his leg. Crying out in pain.

  Horrified, Jason could do nothing but stare at Jeremy. “How? We’re supposed to be protected.”

  “Guess your god’s having a hard day himself,” Derek said evenly. Leveling the gun at Jason, he shouted, “Now get down!”

  Jason hesitated, unsure of what to do, now that his brother was injured. Eyeing Derek warily, Jason knelt and linked his hands behind his head.

  “Help us, Lord of the Forest! Protect us!”

  Bellowing its rage, the Druid turned its cloaked form on Jason and Jeremy. A thick cloud of gray smoke burst from the Druid’s cloak. The haze corkscrewed around the brothers.

  “No!” screamed Jason and Jeremy, as their skin thickened and hardened. Branches and leaves sprouted out of their upraised arms and heads. The brothers’ faces were frozen into a wooden mask of terror.

  Mitchell approached the brothers, flicking Jason’s arm with his finger. “Talk about sporting major wood.” Mitchell looked over his shoulder at Derek. “We seriously need to get out of here, though.”

  Derek shook his head. The battle had just begun. Hopefully, with the link to the brothers gone, their god was weakened. “As long as Jill’s still in there, I’m not leaving without one hell of a fight.”

  “Derek …” Jill said, her voice so soft that Derek could barely hear it.

  “Jill!” Derek shouted. He spun in a circle, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

  “… The altar …” Jill’s voice drifted away.

  “Of course!” Mitchell exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Jill’s right! The altar is its weak spot! Destroy the stone, and I bet it can’t remain here physically.”

  “But it’s solid granite,” Derek responded.

  “Okay …” Mitchell held up his hands. “I didn’t say that I had all the kinks worked out of this plan.”

  Derek studied the circle. Clumps of leaves and branches spiraled around him. There had to be a way to destroy the stone. Damn. They had nothing. The stone pillars were too heavy to knock into the altar. Bullets wouldn’t work. Wait a minute! Derek spotted a camera mounted to a light pole. Of course. The brothers documented everything. They wouldn’t want to miss their precious god being resurrected.

  Derek looked at Mitchell, his expression calculating.

  “I don’t like that look,” Mitchell said, backing away from Derek.

  “I need you to reach the pole with the camera.”

  “And?” Mitchell asked.

  “On my signal, knock it toward the altar. We may not be able to destroy the stone, but if it’s the Druid’s weak spot, a strong jolt of electricity might drive it away.”

  “Oh man!” Mitchell looked like he had been told to dive into the god’s cloak headfirst. “I don’t like the number of ‘ifs’ in this plan of yours. You do the pole. I’ll get the Green Giant’s attention.”

  “Just do it,” Derek ordered. He placed his palm in the center of Mitchell’s back, pushing him toward the pole. “I’ll distract him.” The kid completely baffled Derek. He would rather go up against a Druid god than push a light pole over.

  Mitchell frowned, looking from the altar to the pole. As if he had a choice in the matter.

  “On my signal …” Derek hissed, holding his hand up to Mitchell.

  Derek stepped in front of the god, his gun raised in front of him. “There is no place to escape! Return to your forest!”

  The Druid god slowly turned. Its branches snapped and popped with the movement. Derek could feel its unseen eyes drilling through his skull. Derek could see Mitchell slinking behind the god, headed for the pole. “There is no other place for you here! Release your sacrifices, and leave! Or … or I’ll burn this forest to the ground.”

  “Now!” Derek yelled.

  Out of the corner of his eye Derek could see Mitchell, his shoulder pressed to the pole like a scrawny-assed linebacker. Mitchell’s face flushed with the exertion.

  A branch sprang out, coiling around Derek’s waist. He dug his feet into the soft ground, trying to anchor himself as the Druid dragged him toward the altar. The pressure increased around his waist, vacuuming the air from Derek’s lungs.

  “Mitchell …” Derek groaned. It was a flimsy pole. The kid couldn’t be that weak.

  “I told you I’d make a better distraction.”

  Derek watched Mitchell retreat from the pole. What the hell was the kid doing? Derek struggled—clawing at the branch twined around him. Stars danced before Derek’s eyes as he strained to take a breath. He couldn’t pass out. If he did, they would all be dead.

  Mitchell took a running leap at the pole. The force knocked the pole loose, careening into the altar. The light and camera smashed. Sparks of electricity skittered across the surface. The Druid’s body arched beneath the cloak. Jolts of electricity lifted it in the air. Derek’s teeth ground as the Druid jerked him around like a rag doll. A deafening crack cut through the air as the altar split in two. The altar’s jagged edges tipped toward the sky.

  A thunderous howl burst from the Druid. The branch recoiled, and Derek’s body plummeted to the earth with a thump. Derek gasped, filling his lungs with air. He felt like a jackhammer had been slammed into his chest. Mitchell’s cold hands slid under Derek’s shoulders, lifting him into a sitting position.

  “Are you okay?” Mitchell asked, extending a hand to Derek.

  Derek nodded, accepting Mitchell’s help in getting up. The Druid’s form shook, and leaves fluttered to the ground.

  Hands fisted at h
is side, Derek yelled at the god.

  “Return who I love! Or I swear, I’ll burn your home and sow it with salt. Nothing will grow here again!”

  Eerie yellow eyes glared at Derek from inside the cloak. Branches and roots snapped, disintegrating.

  “Your move, leaf-man.”

  With a mournful sigh, the god collapsed. Nothing but a cloak of rotted leaves was left behind.

  “Holy shit!” Mitchell stepped forward, inspecting the abandoned cloak on the altar. “You did it!” Mitchell hopped back as the cloak shifted. “Uh-oh … maybe not!”

  Derek braced himself. His gun was long gone and out of bullets. A dirt-crusted hand broke through the leaves. Cecil clawed his way to the surface. His face was bloodied and bruised. Mitchell ran to him. Clasping Cecil’s arm, he guided him off the altar.

  “Jill!” Derek screamed, tearing through the crackling leaves, scattering them across the altar.

  “Derek?”

  Derek paused. His heart seized in his chest. Turning, he saw that Jill stood behind him. Her skirt was torn, and her hair was matted with twigs and dirt. Derek had never seen anyone so beautiful.

  “Thank God!” Derek rushed to Jill, running his hands over her. Nothing looked broken, just bruised. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” she said as her knee buckled. “But give me a minute before I give you a confirmation on that.”

  Derek pulled Jill to him, squeezing the air out of her. Jill wrapped her arms around Derek. Her fingers clutched at his jacket. “Don’t ever do that again!” Derek said fiercely.

  “Get consumed by a Druid spirit?” Jill joked.

  “No …” Derek pushed Jill away. Derek’s eyes searched Jill’s. “…Don’t ever leave me. I couldn’t take it a third time.”

  Jill leaned in to Derek. Her lips were a breath away. “Don’t worry. I’m liking it right here just fine,” she whispered.

  Derek tipped Jill’s chin up, drawing her lips to his.

  Jill braced her hands on Derek’s chest, halting him. “You know, I heard you … when I was inside.” She flashed him a flirtatious smile. “So … you still love me?”

  “Oh, that …” Love didn’t even begin to describe how Derek felt when he thought he had lost Jill a second time. Derek’s heart had seized in his chest. His will to live was eliminated. If he didn’t have Mitchell to protect, he would have sacrificed himself to save her. He winked at her before answering. “I was referring to Cecil.”

  Jill punched Derek in the arm, and then planted her hands on her hips, pretending to be angry. “As your fiancée, I’m officially jealous.”

  “Fiancée?” Derek acted surprised. “Who says I’ll ask you to marry me?” Thank God he still had the ring in his pocket. Derek’s stubbornness, for once, paid off.

  “As I recall, you asked me already, and I said yes.”

  “That was three years ago.” Derek cupped Jill’s cheek, his thumb swiping a smudge of dirt away.

  “I’ll check with legal, but there’s no statute of limitations on proposals.” Jill threaded her arms around Derek’s waist, tugging him closer. “You’re still stuck with me, buster.”

  “No. That original proposal is definitely void.”

  Jill’s face fell as she pulled away from Derek.

  Grabbing her hand, Derek raised it to his lips and kissed her fingertips. Then he dropped to one knee and found the blue velvet box he had been carrying around with him for three years. Finally, he got to take it out. This time, permanently. He opened the box, resting it on his palm. A three-carat, princess-cut diamond winked up at Jill.

  “I love you, Jill Connor, and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Minus the monsters, of course. Will you marry me?”

  Tears slipped from between Jill’s lashes. Her hands trembled as she cradled Derek’s face.

  “Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “I love you, too. I never stopped loving you.”

  Derek slid the ring over Jill’s finger, content to see it back where it belonged. He rose to his feet and smiled, before letting his lips touch Jill’s. Hugging her tighter, he deepened the kiss.

  “About time,” Mitchell mumbled. “For Christ’s sake! It only took a fifty-foot Druid god to make you two see the light.”

  Yes, well, whatever works, Derek thought as he hugged Jill close.

  All Hallow’s Eve: The one night it is BAD to be good…

  PROLOGUE

  Father Marcus Gonzales knelt before the altar. From the cross, Jesus looked down upon him. Was that disappointment he saw in his savior’s eyes? Mottled light streamed through the stained glass windows encircling his church. The moon must be bright outside to so fully illuminate the darkened sanctuary.

  He had let the staff go hours before. Having others around would not change the dire state of his parish’s financials. They had staved off cutting programs far longer than many churches. But in the end, the after-school athletic program would have to suffer, and they would need to abandon their before-school breakfast program altogether. Gonzales tried to keep a bright smile on his face for his board of directors and staff, but the situation weighed heavily upon him. He was glad for the peace of the empty church to allow his grief to finally run free.

  A sound behind him forced Gonzales to choke back his tears. The church’s large oak doors creaked open. Strange. It was so late. It had been years since anyone had sought refuge in the church at such an hour. Perhaps if more did, they would not be in this financial predicament.

  Gonzales turned to find three young street kids entering his church. He should have known. There would be no last-minute benefactor to save the programs he held so dear.

  Still, he tried to be patient. “It is well past normal worship hours, my children.”

  The tallest of them sneered. “We’ll worship whenever we want.”

  Gonzales rose from the altar and straightened his cassock. The three were Hispanic. Kids from the barrio. These were exactly the youths he was trying to mentor with his programs. These were exactly the youth he used to be.

  “That may be true, but you will need to find somewhere else to express your devotion.”

  A steel chain swung from the leader’s belt as he swaggered up the aisle. His pants were so low that only by nearly crouching down did he keep them on. Gonzales noted the threadbare boxers underneath. He had to keep in mind these wannabe-gangbangers’ origins. Not unlike his own. Poor, hopeless, and desperate. Exactly the triad that gangs exploited.

  “I think we’ll do it right here, Padre,” the boy who thought he was a man announced. “Especially after you open that donation box.”

  Gonzales did not flinch. “Or?”

  That seemed to confuse his would-be robber. He stuttered for a moment.

  “Or,” the boy said, then pulled out a switchblade. “Or I’ll kill your ass.”

  The father hated to tell the child that it would take a far larger blade to impress him. He had seen more dangerous toothbrush shanks in prison. Instead, Gonzales looked past the leader to the youngest member of the trio. Underneath that backward cap and bandana tied in gangsta fashion was a boy he once knew.

  “Tomás,” he asked, “did you learn nothing from your brother’s death?” The boy shuffled his feet, looking anywhere but into Gonzales’ eyes. “You used to come to Sunday school together, did you not?”

  He could reach Tomás. He had to reach Tomás before his life ended as tragically as Enrique’s did. “He’s in heaven, Tomás. Looking down upon you now.”

  “Leave him alone!” the leader shouted, stepping between Gonzales and the boy.

  Tomás seemed to gain strength, now that he was not under Gonzales’ eye. “He didn’t go nowhere but in the dirt!”

  Gonzales smiled sadly. “As are the saints.”

  “Shut the f— up!” the leader shouted.

  But the angrier the boy became, the quieter Gonzales’ mind became, and the softer his heart felt toward these poor, lost souls. He knew the temptations of the street. He knew the stro
ng draw of a gang and the feeling of power to hold another’s life in one’s hand. Gonzales needed to show these boys that there was another path. A righteous path.

  “There is a saint for all. Even you,” he said to the leader.

  “You better hope yours is gonna show up, ’cause I’m about to stick you.”

  Gonzales chuckled. The boy thought swagger was bravery. Instead of retorting or retreating, the father opened his arms wide.

  “Then do so, for the hour is late, and I am so very tired.”

  The boy did not seem to know what to do. He looked at his gang-mates. The chubbier one goaded him on. “He’s bluffing!”

  Oh, but Gonzales was not. Even though the leader brandished the knife, the father walked forward until the tip of the knife pushed up against his coat.

  “Oh, man!” Tomás exclaimed. “He is freaking me out!”

  “Me, too!” the other agreed, then, despite his earlier words, he turned and ran out of the church with Tomás.

  The door slamming shut behind them echoed through the church. The leader’s hand shook as he tried to keep the knife up and against Gonzales.

  “Goddamn it!”

  “Choose your words carefully, my son,” Gonzales said. “You never know when the Lord might be listening and grant your wish.”

  The boy tried to act brave, but his eyes darted from the door, to the tip of the knife, and back to the door.

  “Screw it!” the leader yelled, as he ran down the aisle. He grabbed a fistful of bills from the collection plate on his way out the door. Given the state of the economy, the poor boy only snatched a few ones for his trouble.

  Gonzales sighed heavily as the door closed behind the thief. He took a moment to gather himself as his own hands shook. Clearly, after all these years, he had lost much of his swagger as well.

  Slowly, he walked to the door and bolted it shut. To live in such times that a church had to lock its doors at night. He leaned against the stout wood, closing his eyes in prayer.

  “God, grant these children safety through this dark night…and from themselves as well.” He peeked an eye open. “And I wouldn’t mind an alarm system while you’re at it.”