The Dark One

by Jennifer Martucci

  “No, I don’t think so,” he replies.

  I stand up. “Sorry for this.” I gesture among the three of us. “I have to go.” I immediately begin making my way back along the path I traveled to get to the clearing where I found him and Debbie.

  “Hey!” Chris calls after me. “You’re not going to tell Tyler about this, are you?”

  “No,” I shout over my shoulder before I set off at a gallop out of the woods and to my car. Once there, I call Tom’s house. He doesn’t pick up and my heart speeds frenetically. I try his cell phone next and do not get an answer there either. I scramble with my phone and connect with the Internet, quickly looking up his address. As soon as I have it, I enter it into my GPS. The app estimates that his house is approximately five minutes from the school. I test the engine of the CRV and race down the long, winding driveway of the school and out on to the main road. I follow the female voice directing me. I arrive at the address listed only to find a dilapidated structure that looks as if it would collapse under the weight of an inch of snow. Streaks of black lap at the outer walls facing the street, undoubtedly caused by fire and the upper windows are covered with planks of wood. The house is not Tom’s home, of that I am certain.

  Overwhelming waves of panic claim me. My hand trembles as I pick up my phone and dial Sarah’s number. It rings over and over and my heart lurches into my throat. I immediately call her home phone and it rings four times then goes to a prerecorded message, Sarah’s voice, and it states that the Millers aren’t home but will return my call at their earliest convenience.

  My phone falls from my hand and lands on my lap, and awareness claws down my back with icy fingers. I realize I may have failed Sarah, that I may be too late.

  Chapter 13

  Stomping down on the accelerator of the CRV, I tear out of the drive, kicking up a spray of dirt and gravel. My mind spins, my mouth goes dry and my heart beats a dangerous rhythm as I race to Sarah’s house. All the while, a single question hammers at my brain: Was it really Tom this whole time? It doesn’t seem possible. He’s a normal teenager, my friend, isn’t he? He couldn’t possibly be capable of the heinous murders in town. Chris had to have been mistaken, or thought he saw something different than what was really happening. If Tom were fiddling with a lock, with my lock, he had to have had a good reason. And maybe Sarah isn’t picking up her cell phone or the house phone because she’s out with her parents and left her phone home. It happens all the time. It probably happened today. I hope it happened today.

  All hope dies, however, when I pull into her driveway and up to the house. Both of her parents’ cars are parked out front, and so is hers.

  Turning off my car and slipping out, I dash to the front door and immediately begin knocking. As I knock, the door creaks open revealing a sliver of the foyer.

  “Sarah?” I call quietly. Then a little louder, I say, “Mr. and Mrs. Miller?” Several beats pass. “Hello?” My voice is met by preternatural stillness, and the stillness pulsates with darkness, with danger. “Sarah!” I try again and step inside through the foyer and into the living room. Light from the television flickers as camera angles shift and scenes change. My eyes travel the room, stopping as they land on a scene so macabre, I look away, nausea and revulsion make my stomach pitch. My body chills and I close my eyes, but it’s no use. The image of Mr. Miller, Sarah’s father, is indelibly etched in my mind’s eye. His body is slumped against the wall behind the sofa. His head is caved in, crushed so that bone and gore are on display, and bits of matter are peppered within a large spattering of blood.

  Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I turn my head and open them slowly. When I do, though, I see that Mrs. Miller lay lifeless on the floor a few feet from her husband. Her neck is twisted so that her head faces her back.

  Tremors rack my body and my stomach plummets to my feet. All I can think of is Sarah. I fear Sarah has suffered the same fate as her parents. Taking the steps two at a time, I bound upstairs and go straight to her room. Her bed stands unmade, her laptop open but the screen dark. In the instant that I see that, that I see a room that was occupied not long ago, I feel as if every ounce of my blood drains from my body and pools at my feet, my legs leaden for several moments before they spring to life and I take off. I search every room in a wild panic, throwing covers and pillows to the floor, digging past shoes and boxes in search of her. But my search is futile. She is not in the house. Chest heaving and sweat trailing down my back and stippling my forehead, a chilling revelation strikes me. I know where she is. I know where he’s taken her.

  I race to my car, my heart lodged in the vicinity of my throat and drumming away frantically. I call Luke as I drive. I do not bother with greetings. As soon as his voice crackles on the line, I say, “She’s at the Hanson Mansion. I’m sure of it. He killed her parents.” The words rush from me in a frenzied jumble.

  Luke doesn’t ask questions. He understands exactly what I’m saying. “Don’t go in until I get there,” he warns. “You can’t handle him on your own, he’s very powerful.”

  His words mean little, though a voice in the back of my mind cautions they should. I can’t imagine myself waiting for Luke to arrive when I know Sarah’s life is on the line. I depress the gas pedal, not relenting until it touches the floor, and speed, recklessly passing cars and red lights until I turn on to a long, gravel driveway that winds and bends, lined by towering pines. The trees resemble mustached watchmen, guarding the threatening house of horror that looms at the end of the lane. Knowing that she’s there, that she’s within the walls of a kill house, the next in line to be slaughtered, sends waves of terror prickling across my skin.

  Headlights slicing through the smothering dark of night, the backdrop of the sprawling chateau is menacing. Swathed in gloom and sitting atop overgrown land, the abandoned structure is surrounded by a forest of pines and cedars, their needles intact, while rows of trees, dried and dying, line the space between. Windows are boarded though the wood sags. It is just as I remember it. It is the stuff of nightmares. It sends a bolt of dread and fear through me that adheres to the marrow in my bones. I do not heed it or Luke’s warning. As soon as I slow to a stop, I rush out of the car and around the house, wading through tall grass, to where a window, previously boarded, is now vulnerable, the same window Tom used a crowbar to enter through the first time I came here with him, Sarah, and a group of friends. I climb in and am greeted by pitch-black darkness. It absorbs me fully until I fiddle with my phone and activate my flashlight app. The shaft of light skates across the space, reflecting dust and debris in the air. In my periphery, I see the statue that, during the last visit, I mistook for a human. This time, I do not whirl to face it. I do not slow to look at it even, and I do not let my guard down as I move deeper inside. My mind calls upon the mental map made last time. To my immediate left is a hallway. Shadows crawl menacingly up the sides of the walls, and piped masonry carved in a pale, decorative pattern intersects at the apex of pointed arch ceilings painted cobalt. All are vaguely familiar. All were seen when I was here with Sarah, Jenny, Tom and the others. And again, I’m slammed by the sensation of being caught in a gravitational pull so potent it threatens to yank my bones through my skin. A current of energy rockets through me, ripping through me and causing me to stumble for a moment. Heightened awareness whirs through my blood, and the oppressive evil present in the house manifests itself fully.

  I dash to the kitchen and immediately spot the thick wooden door that leads to the cellar. Yellow police tape once cordoned the frame but was torn down when last we came. Thirteen creaky steps I remember well lead us into the bowels of the home. Dankness mingles with the scent of incense and another metallic stench tinged with sourness I cannot place. The combined effect is overwhelming, cloying. The light from my phone dances over the enormous pentagram on the concrete floor and the all-consuming pull I feel to the far left corner of the underground pit of horror leads me exactly five steps before my eyes rest on a sight that causes the air
from my lungs to whoosh like a punctured life raft. My shoulders hook, my chest collapsing in on itself.

  Sarah is pinned to the far wall, held in place by an unseen force. She holds a large blade to her wrist with her right hand. Her eyes are wide with fear, tears streaming from them as they dart to and fro. They flicker upward and she sees me, the slightest flash of hope glimmering in their crystal-blue depths. “Danny, help me, please.” Her words are tremulous, terror strangling them.

  I advanced a step but am intercepted by Tom. No longer bearing the jovial demeanor he maintained before, his eyes are pools of inky blackness swirling with malevolence, with hate so profound it plunges to the pits of hell. His mouth is curled at the edges to form a cruel sneer. “You made it, buddy.” He holds up his fist for me to bump it with my own. I ignore the gesture, envisioning his fist rammed down his own throat. “We’ve been waiting for you.” The balled hand releases and he makes a sweeping gesture toward Sarah. He leers at her then returns his gaze to me. “What’s the matter, Danny? You can’t say hello to a friend?” His tone is pure acid. He is bitterness personified.

  “Let her go right now.” The words tremble from my lips. “She didn’t do anything to you.”

  Tom levels me with a gaze that accuses me of losing my mind to ask that question at all. It quickly transforms, however, to a malicious stare topped by a smirk. “Or what, Danny?” he says through his teeth. “Do you honestly think there’s anything you can do to me?” The air thickens and is suddenly laden with the stench of sulfur, and before my eyes, a transformation begins to occur. Rippling and burbling, Tom’s skin changes, darkening to black and sprouting coarse hairs that stick out like deadly spikes. The sound of bone crunching and shifting is a sickening sound that fills the space around me, and I watch in stunned, horrified silence as his spine lengthens, curving near his shoulders, but extending so that he towers over me and stands at nearly seven feet tall. The whites of his eyes glow a garnet hue, and teeth that were once straight and even are replaced by sharp, deadly fangs that drip with saliva. Evil radiates from every foul pore of the creature before me. Any and all humanity Tom possessed is gone.

  Instinct compels me to lunge at him so I do, but before I am on him, he raises a giant, clawed hand and an invisible force hurls me backward, slamming me into the wall behind me. Pain explodes at my back and snakes down my limbs and through my skull. I slide to the concrete floor and try to get to my feet, scrambling to a standing position. I try to advance a step and attack again, but my arms are locked at my sides and my legs react as if anchored to the surface beneath me. I cannot move a muscle.

  “Oh Danny, really?” The beast that was Tom addresses me, his voice gruff and raspy.

  No sooner than the words are out of his mouth, Luke bursts into the room. Black hair tethered in an elastic band swings like a pendulum as his hands move quickly to produce a blade which he promptly launches at Tom. He does it with such speed Tom cannot react fast enough. It sinks into his shoulder. As Luke tries to retrieve a second dagger, Tom rushes him, raising his other arm. Within seconds, he is within reach. He grabs a fistful of Luke’s shirt and tosses him with ease across the room. Luke’s body collides with the wall, his head ricocheting against the wall with a sickly thud. He goes limp, his head lolling, and drops to the floor unconscious, possibly dead.

  Tom in his beastly form shakes his head and makes a tsking sound as he looks down at Luke’s inert form. “Oh, too bad.” He sighs heavily. “I was hoping he was going to get to watch this.” He clips his oversized head toward Sarah. “You two pathetic creatures came to this town thinking you’d be able to stop me.” Vicious laughter drips from his lips like venom. “I’ve been walking this planet for five centuries. Neither of you had a chance. I was just having fun with you.”

  My breathing, labored and coming in short, uneven pants, hitches further. “Why are you doing this?” I ask perhaps the dumbest question known to man, the first words that come to mind.

  The heavily creased, leathery dark skin at Tom’s brow arches on one side as if to ask if I’m kidding him. But quickly, his brow lowers so that it nearly covers his eyes. “Because it’s fun,” he snarls. “Now get ready for the final act.” He looks to Sarah who is sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. With a flick of his wrist, he gestures to her. Her hand moves as a marionette’s would, the razor-sharp blade she clutches in one hand dragging vertically up her forearm and creating a gaping wound.

  Sarah emits a scream that pierces my very soul.

  Blood seeps from the open wound, slowly at first then faster until it drips to the floor in fat crimson droplets.

  “Danny, help me!” she screams, her face contorted in agony. Every fiber of my being responds to her plea, to help the girl I love, and adrenaline saturates my cells. I writhe and fight with every ounce of strength I have against a power so potent it is insurmountable. I am helpless, forced to watch as she suffers, terror and anguish carving her features.

  “Stop! Please don’t do this.” My words are hoarse, strangled by the thickness in my throat, by the lump of dread lodged there.

  Tom simply slides me a sidelong glance, the ruby-red surrounding his pitch-black irises and charred black skin glowing devilishly. They narrow to hateful slits and a malicious smile reveals saliva-coated fangs as he draws a vertical line in the air with his index finger. His motion commands Sarah’s blade. After switching hands, she slices her other forearm from her wrist to her elbow, carving a deep ravine of crimson. Blood gushes from both wounds and her color drains as quickly as her lifeblood. “NOOOOOO!” I cry a scream of despair so loud it could be felt around the world, but Tom is unfazed. He looks on with an expression of demonic glee as Sarah fades fast. “No! No! No!” I wail from a primal place within me. I watch her gaze grow vacant, her eyes blank.

  The weight of shock and profound sorrow drags my bones down, down deeper than the depths of hell. My body lurches forward. The only thing that keeps me from falling is the power holding me hostage, holding me still.

  “Well that was fun, wasn’t it Danny?” Tom says. He turns on me, eyes wide like a predator with his sights set on prey. “Now it’s your turn.” He enunciates each word but I hardly hear him. Sarah is dead.

  Sarah is dead.

  I watched it happen.

  Sarah is dead.

  Why couldn’t I save her? Why couldn’t I keep her alive? The calling, the pull that brought me here, it didn’t matter, did it? Luke and whatever power I’d been instilled with when I died wasn’t enough to prevent the Dark One, pure evil. Justice didn’t exist. I am suddenly angered by my newfound power, by what I thought was a gift. I reject it. I reject the Universe and all that it stands for I’m repulsed by it, angered by it, embittered by it. Whatever it is I serve I no longer want to serve or be a part of now that Sarah is no longer a part of this world. The pain, the loss, is simply too much.

  Numbing cold diffuses from the center of my chest and down my limbs until it touches my fingers and toes, and I close my eyes briefly. My chin drops to my chest and I open them only to find that my life has narrowed to a pinprick of light, color and sound. A spell of dizziness and uncontrollable trembling claims me before all goes still. Tom cackles, a dreadful wheeze that is muffled and indistinct, as if I’m hearing it from under water. Then suddenly, the air is filled with a strange and sweet perfume. Molecules of light reverberate, vibrating and echoing all around me like pure white bells ringing out, before strength, unlike any I have ever felt, roars through my veins. Awareness tingles across my skin and energy ripples within me. A current of energy, more powerful than the mightiest of tides, pulses at first then rages like an awakened beast of vengeance, of righteousness.

  Lifting a foot that was frozen in place seconds ago, I slide it forward and take a step. My power surges, bucking the counter resistance and succeeding, and I take another step, this one easier than the first.

  Seeing my movement, Tom’s head whips around. He raises his hand and a wave of power crashes into me, pushing m
e back for a moment. I fight it, moving against it until it yields. Confusion clouds his soulless features for a split second before it is replaced by something else, something dark and sinister. Brewing beneath the surface of his skin is a volcano, an explosion of deadly force. Growling, his eyes drill into me. “Impossible,” he mutters. A razor-thin membrane of control is all that separates him from lunging. He quivers with a tempestuous urge to tear my throat open. I sense it. I feel it. But with it, I also sense fear, an emotion I doubt he’s never felt before. It is an emotion I do not feel at the moment.

  Fueled by inexplicable power and motivated by the purest of pain, I push forward slowly, bulldozing the dark energy coming in a steady stream that rams into me. I do not stop until I reach him. With him at arm’s reach, I smell the stench of sulfur and blood, of death, hate snapping around him like sparks from a lit fuse. I feel the frictionless clash of our energies. Balled and coiled tightly, his energy is an enormous blood clot that pulses, radiating blood-soaked viciousness and palpable malevolence.

  Forcing it back with every ounce of newfound strength I possess, I launch my hand forward. It rockets out, my hand gripping his neck. Lifting him off the floor, I slam him into the concrete wall behind him.

  He cries out on impact and his eyes squeeze shut in pain. “No,” he whimpers. But instead of conjuring mercy, all his mewling does is incite me. I pull him toward me then slam him again. His skull knocks against the hard surface a second time and a thin rivulet of blood trickles down his temple.

  Gnashing his teeth so loud I hear enamel splinter, his eyes roll back in his head. He tries in vain to harness his pain, to reign it in and challenge me. He staggers forward, swinging clumsily at me in an attempt to land a blow to my chin. I take a small step back, avoiding the swipe with ease. Then, capitalizing on his forward momentum, I grip his shoulders and drive him to the concrete floor. His head knocks violently. He flounders for a moment but I don’t relent. I lift him off the floor. He tries to resist, kicking impotently. I raise him and thrust him against the closest wall, ramming his skull into it again and again.