by Ron Ripley
“Because once the ring is set up,” Fred said, “then anyone in the ring at the time of the final casting will be bound within. That’s why it’s so effective against the faery folk. The original ring was far from the town’s original few roads. And as the town expanded, the ring's distance grew shorter and shorter until it was literally just the Blood lands that the faery folk were bound in. From what I read, it helped that the older families patrolled the original ring. The faery folk couldn’t get out, but they sure as hell could be seen.
“The elder families, you see,” Fred continued, “didn’t want anyone entering the ring and putting themselves at risk, or seeing a giant or a goblin and putting the word out that something strange was living on the Blood lands. That’s why the elder families patrolled. They kept the faery folk away from the edges so that no one would see them, and made sure the townspeople knew that no trespassing was permitted.
“But,” Fred sighed, “If we can get those seven signers and a new barrier put up, we should be okay. We’ll need to patrol the damn thing just like the elder families did. But once the barrier is up, it should work. It’ll piss the little bastards off, since they live just about forever. It means that they can’t get out.”
“But whoever finishes the casting will be trapped as well?” Jim asked.
Fred nodded.
“With a bunch of pissed off faery folk.”
Again Fred nodded.
“Wow,” Jim said, “that really does suck.”
“Yes,” Fred agreed. “Here’s another part that’s a little disagreeable for most folks. The binding is only good so long as there are direct blood descendants in the town of Thorne and the ring remains unbroken.”
“This was why Hollis was so concerned about the breaking of the contract.”
“Yes.”
“So,” Jim said, “we need to find seven willing participants to sign a contract stating that they and their descendants are never going to move away from Thorn.”
“Correct.”
“One of them is going to have to be on the inside of the ring and risk almost certain death. And more than likely an unpleasant death.”
“Correct.”
“And if the ring is broken, like with a development, then the whole deal is going to essentially be null and void anyway.”
“Correct.”
“Yeah,” Jim said, shaking his head, “this is pretty much a miserable situation.”
“That too,” Fred sighed, “would be correct.”
Chapter 2: Brian Ricard and Gilson Road
Brian sat on the hood of his cruiser and looked down the length of Gilson Road, one of the few roads that traveled from Monson into Thorne. At seven o’clock in the morning, someone attempting to get home to Thorne by way of Gilson had discovered that the road was blocked.
For all intents and purposes, it looked as though someone had scraped up an acre of old growth trees and thrown them across the road. In fact, as far as Brian could see through the trees, there was deadfall and the like forming a barrier that curved off to either side.
Downed electrical wires skidded and surged across the pavement. Miraculously, they had ignited nothing in their whip-like passage from one side of the road to the next. The lines were part of the grid that connected Monson, Hollis, Brookline, Pepperell, and Tyngsborough with Thorne. Understandably, the electric company was nervous to cut power to those sections. Granted, there weren’t a lot of residents, but schools, businesses, and farms would all be shut down for an unpredictable amount of time.
New Englanders could understand a power outage after a thunderstorm. They would deal with a power outage after a heavy wind, and, well, a snow storm was a guaranteed loss of electricity.
However, they would not abide a loss of power for no apparent reason whatsoever. Those people unfortunate enough to be trapped within the curious circle which had been made around Thorne, well, they would simply have to remain where they were until the electric company got everything up and running properly.
A few calls had come in on the state’s 911 line, but they hadn’t made any sense to the State troopers in the area. More than a few of them had joked over the radio about a gas leak somewhere being responsible for the callers’ odd comments and descriptions.
Brian knew that the calls weren’t jokes, though.
People were calling in giants, goblins, hell, somebody had even called in a troll, and all Brian could think of was Matthew running around the house after having watched the first Harry Potter movie yelling, “There’s a troll in the dungeon!”
This wasn’t the movies, though.
Brian took his hat off, checked the brim for the twentieth time, and put the hat back on his head. He looked at the barrier. He didn’t have to trick his eyes anymore. He could easily see the goblins guarding the barrier.
“They’re afraid to come out,” a voice said suddenly from Brian’s right.
“Jesus!” Brian yelled, nearly sliding off the hood with the way he reacted. With his heart thundering in his chest, he looked over and saw a young, pale boy standing by the car. The boy wore a black suit, the back of it torn up the middle. The boy smiled at Brian.
Brian gave a nervous smile back. “What are you doing out here?”
The boy looked at him, confused.
Brian put on his policeman voice. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“I’m dead,” the boy said simply, still smiling as he turned his attention to the barrier once more, “and even if I weren’t, I would be old enough to be your grandfather.”
The policeman's tone died in Brian’s throat.
“What’s going on here?” Brian managed to ask after a minute.
“Too much,” the boy said sadly.
“What do you mean?” Brian asked.
“We’ve had to erect a barrier around the town of Thorne,” the boy explained, “that doesn’t keep them in, but it makes them cautious.”
“Who?” Brian asked, shaking his head. “I mean, I saw some things earlier, but I don’t know what they were.”
“Goblins,” the boy said simply. “The faery folk have had a long time to think about how they’ve been ill-used. From what we can tell, many of them are actually working together. The goblins, as you can see, are at the barrier. Further in, the giants are preparing to storm a section of the barrier that they think is the weakest, and somewhere, we’re not sure where exactly, we can hear the hounds of the hunt.”
“Oh,” Brian said. He really couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The little boy was next to him for a minute before asking, “Since you’re a sheriff, do you know Trooper Jim Petrov?”
“I do,” Brian said, suddenly worried. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” the boy said. “Nothing’s wrong. He’s inside of the barrier. I think that he’ll be fine. He’s with a man named Fred.”
“Fred?” Brian asked.
“Yes, Fred,” the boy nodded.
Brian thought about that for a moment, and then he smiled. “Mr. O’Dierno, I had him for history in high school. He’s a good man.”
“Yes,” the boy agreed. “They both are. I hope they can save you.”
Chapter 3: John Kenyon and the Little Red School House
John had the longest driveway on Indian Rock Road. It stretched for almost a quarter of a mile up into his land. Yes, it was a pain in the ass to plow in the winter, but the seclusion was well worth it. Few political supporters found their way to his door. This was an exceptionally good thing since New Hampshire served as the first in the nation for the presidential primary.
Too much political grandstanding and stumping as far as he was concerned.
John climbed into his beat-up pickup, started the engine and started driving down the long driveway. Faintly, he could smell smoke. It wasn't the good, sweet smoke of autumn and winter.
This was the smell of a house fire.
John stepped on the gas and sped up to the end of the driveway.
&
nbsp; Looking left, he saw one of the new houses that had been built a few years earlier. It was burning brightly in the morning sun. Looking over to his right, he saw a car racing towards him.
It had once been a Lexus, although the grille was smashed, and the headlights as well.
And a giant was chasing it -- a great, blonde-haired thing perhaps ten feet in height and grinning from ear to ear. The Giant was having a hell of a good time, the ground shaking as it kept after the car, although it was evidently not trying to catch it.
As the Lexus drove by, something screeching in the bearings, John saw a frantic woman behind the wheel. Packed into the car were children of all ages crying.
When the giant started to pass by, John put his foot down hard on the accelerator and blasted out of his driveway, smashing fully into the giant.
The seatbelt stopped John from bouncing his head off of the steering wheel as the truck came to a sudden stop. The giant collapsed as its left knee buckled in the wrong way, howling with pain. John tried to back up the truck, but he heard only the grinding of gears and smelled the sickly sweet scent of anti-freeze.
The truck was dead.
John left his keys in the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt. He forced open the door and took off running down Indian Rock Road towards Hollis, New Hampshire. He needed to get out. That thing looked like a secret government project gone wrong.
As John ran up the road, the Giant rose slightly. By the time John reached the top, he could see down the road where the town line was. There was a barrier there -- a great mess of trees that blocked the road and spread out into the forest on either side.
The Lexus was there, parked at a haphazard angle in front of the little red schoolhouse. The children were running to the school house door where one boy, of perhaps ten or eleven, was desperately trying to unlock the door. The woman, who had driven them, was standing behind the last child looking out. She had an extremely large handgun.
Finally, the boy got the door open, and the children flooded into the school house. The woman followed slowly, looking left and right and then stumbling.
An arrow was lodged deep in her left thigh.
There was another in her right arm.
They were small arrows, John saw as he got closer, but they were arrows nonetheless.
A third arrow zipped in the air and drove into the unknown woman’s head.
She collapsed just as John reached the school door. He whipped the door closed behind him as he heard what could only be an arrow striking the building where he had been just a moment before.
John turned around and saw seven children in the room. All of them were young. Not one could have been older than the boy who had opened the door. John glanced around the room at the tall windows. Locking the door behind him, John hurried to the windows, making sure to stay on one side or the other as he drew the blinds. Then he looked to the children, who in turn were looking at him in complete silence.
“Can anyone tell me what’s going on?” John asked.
The key boy raised his hand.
“Yes,” John said.
“Fairy tales are killing people.”
One of the little boys started to cry quietly.
If John hadn’t rammed a giant with his pickup, he would have laughed at the boy, but he didn’t.
“Were you trying to leave?” John asked.
The boy nodded. “Weren’t you?”
“No,” John said, shaking his head, “I was just trying to get to work, although that doesn’t exactly seem like it’s going to happen today.”
He looked at the children and forced a smile. “Why don’t all of you go ahead and sit down on the floor. You can even lie down if you want to. Someone will come to help us soon, I know that.”
A few of the children smiled at him, and all of them sat down.
John walked back to the door and sat on its right side. He crossed his legs Indian-style and adjusted his glasses. God only knew if someone was actually going to be able to come and help them, but he wasn’t going to say that and freak them all out.
A gentle knock came at the door.
“Hello in there,” a soft, feminine voice said, her voice carrying a gentle Irish accent.
John waited just a moment before saying, “Hello out there.”
“We’ve come to negotiate with you, man,” she said pleasantly.
“Negotiate?” Paul asked. “I don’t have anything to negotiate with.”
“Yes, we want to negotiate,” she said. “For the children, you see.”
John laughed and shook his head. “Oh. Well, you see, that’s not an option. Not an option at all.”
“We’ve simple enough terms,” she continued.
“I don’t need to hear your terms,” John said. “I’m not negotiating with you about the children.”
“Oh but you already are, man,” she said sweetly. “As I said. We have simple enough terms. Your life for the children.”
John sat and smiled at the children who were staring at him in horror and shock.
“No,” John said to her. “No. My life is nothing.”
“True,” she said, her voice carrying a sad note. “But I’ll say this for you, there’s not many of your kind who would offer up their life to save the lives of children they don’t know. I’m sorry that we’ll have to kill you.”
A moment later, the windows and the door blew inwards, and small, armored creatures came rushing in. All five were slim, with narrow faces and long brown and dark green hair. Their armor shined, and each of them carried an ax.
The children screamed, huddling together as John launched himself to his feet. Two of the creatures came at him, and he managed to avoid the swing of the first ax, but the second caught him in the stomach. He folded over the weapon, gasping as he reached out and caught the thing by the neck. He started to throttle the creature, the thing’s bright green eyes growing larger as John squeezed.
Then there was another one screaming at him in some language, breaking his fingers to get them off of the thing’s neck.
Next, one blow and then another slammed into his back, driving him to the floor. John watched his blood collect in dark pools around him. He raised his head and saw the children being carried out by the things when John realized that he couldn’t hear anything.
He pushed himself to his knees and grabbed one of the creatures passing him. It yelled in surprise, turning on him with the ax. John managed to catch the weapon as it swung down towards him, but another creature had appeared. Even as John wrenched the ax free, the second creature brought its ax crashing down.
John lay on the floor, his face in his own blood. One of his feet twitched spasmodically, and he watched his blood slip away.
Chapter 4: Gerald and the Draugr
Gerald Greene had a scanner -- one that he had purchased off of the Dark Net so he could monitor the police. He didn’t want to be caught completely unaware when the police eventually came for him.
He knew someone somewhere would talk.
They always did.
He had listened to the scanner all night. He knew that there were fires burning uncontrollably in Thorne. He knew that there were lines down and the state was arguing with the electric company about getting everything back up and running.
He had heard that there was some sort of barrier around the town. A sheriff from Monson had called in two roads that were blocked, and one of the Hollis PD had done the same.
Essentially, Gerald was trapped in his home, which he didn’t mind. He had everything he could want. He was, if necessary, completely ready to live off of the grid. He had solar panels, backup batteries, freeze-dried food --the whole deal. Everything.
Bring on the end of the world. Gerald Greene was ready for it.
Except, he had left his laptop in his car. Gerald had moved it earlier that morning to let his roommate drive out for work.
That meant Gerald was going to have to go out to the car and get it. Going out to the car would requi
re him to get off of the couch, use the bathroom, get dressed in somewhat acceptable clothing, and walk the twenty yards to his car. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew that he had to do it. If it really was the end of the world, or just a major cluster for some reason, then he wanted to make sure that no one stole his laptop.
It held too much incriminating evidence. There were several police departments that wouldn’t be too happy to know how much he knew, and not only about daily operations and such, but interpersonal issues as well.
Oh no, he needed to get that laptop.
Grumbling to himself, Gerald got up off of the couch and wandered into the bathroom where he relieved himself. He washed his hands, went into his small bedroom, and got dressed in his usual fare -- sweats and sneakers. Grabbing his keys, he headed towards the side door.
When he stepped outside, he felt the cool air and smiled. Gerald, being as big as he was, had a distinct dislike for heat. Autumn in New Hampshire was a blessing, and being able to sleep with the windows open until February was fantastic.
Gerald paused.
The street was abnormally silent.
He looked around and saw that there were a few people out, walking in a sort of daze as if they weren’t quite there. They looked like extras in a mass casualty exercise for some tyrannical police force like the LAPD or the NYPD.
Funny, Gerald thought. I don’t remember hearing anything about a mass casualty exercise. Shrugging he went to the car. He unlocked the passenger door and bent over to pick up his laptop, which he had hidden under a large, stained white towel. Straightening up, he winced at the pain in his back, tucked the laptop between his large arm and larger breast, and closed the door.
Turning around, he found himself confronted by one of the mass casualty actors.
The man looked spectacular. The torn flesh hanging from the man’s face looked so realistic that Gerald had to turn away. The man stared at Gerald with dull eyes that set Gerald’s teeth on edge. Something was wrong.
Gerald eased his way around the man, and the man turned to watch Gerald hurriedly walk to the side door, but there were more mass casualty actors between him and the door.