“Doesn’t it seem that the inside of this place is much larger than the outside?”
Jessup retorted, “Maybe they dug the tunnel underground beyond the structure above.”
“Maybe, but even the upstairs seemed to go on forever.” This compounded the conundrum, maybe this place is an entryway to another place or plane.”
“William interjected, “Yeah, maybe hell.”
Ohh, that wasn’t what the three wanted to hear. Beverly shook the notion off and proceeded to explore deeper into the bowels of the crypt.
They began to detect the familiar odor of candles burning. As they turned into an orifice of the cellar, the opening was lit by what seemed like a hundred candles. Not a word was necessary, the four knew that they had come upon something evil. They shut their flashlights and began to look around the room. There was a noticeable fetid odor, a charnel stench that made William gag. A voice then startled them. It was Balin. Instead of presenting to them the pleasantness of the young, handsome boy, he was his hideous self. “Well my friends welcome to my glorious, but humble abode.” The skin of his face and hands were pallid, it gleamed like marble. In the near corner, a black cat rolled its back and hissed, causing the entire group to jump. Balin was thoroughly amused, “Did Lucifer scare you all, how charming.” He reached down to pet his horrid pet; the cat reared its paw back and viciously swiped at Balin’s hand. Beverly took notice that no blood appeared. Balin rubbed where Lucifer had scratched him and chuckled, “While felines may look cute, cuddly and playful…”
Jessup interrupted, “Cute and cuddly? That beast?”
Balin continued, “…well to each his own. As I was saying…” he turned his attention squarely to the children, “…they can be playfully mischievous as you can see. But I suggest you feed them their milk and get rid of them because,” as he continued his voice attained a foreboding air about it, “because cats are and always have been Satan’s verbilias.” He reached to pinch Lilly’s cheek, she rigorously pushed his hand away, while noticing how frigidly cold it was, it took her young breath away.
He turned his attention to William, “Master William, what a strapping young man you are. Why don’t you leave these useless feeble beings and join me here? I will make you a God, here in my world, in your new world. You will never st…stu…stutter again,” chucking in a villainous cackle.
“Now that you have met my pet, please let me have the pleasure of introducing my master.” The four peered at each other wondering, what nightmare was awaiting them, shadowed in the dark corner. On cue, an ancient woman gnarled in widow weeds, small and bent over, covered in a hooded cape floated out from the darkness. Her hands were gnarled and closed, her fingers were boney with long yellowed fingernails that curled around, and nearly touched the inside of each digit. Her hair was a grayish tangled nest of dried matter. She seemed to strain herself to simply lift her head and peer upon them. Balin motioned towards Lilly, “see, here master, as I promised you. This is unlike any you have had in more than a century’s time. I hope I please you.” He bowed to her. Our four fearless (not anymore) ghost hunters were pondering what their next move was. Should they attack a defenseless old hag and her monstrous imp, or just run for their lives. Without uttering a word, the four seemed to be opting for choice number two. The old woman began to make a groaning noise. It seemed to be coming from within the walls of the cellar, not from her. The groaning started almost as squeals of agony, intense wounds from centuries of turmoil. The squeals turned to moans, even greater with that pain of ages gone by. The cries became deeper, and the four became entranced. The sounds became more ominous and animal-like. The old woman began to turn around and round, faster and faster. Her corpse began to spin so rapidly, she became a blur. Then suddenly the spinning stopped, and then before them was the great beast. Still covered in the cape, its hind legs that held its great body up were thickly muscled and quivered with rage. Its mighty arms arched, dangling massive appendages with sharpened curved claws. Its mouth was agape exhibiting fearsome fangs, dripping with saliva, its tongue flicked back and forth in a desperate attempt to savor the aura of fear.
The beast’s face darkened with a depth of fury and madness in its eyes blacker than the soul of a lunatic. Its body was trembling, nearly rocking with rage. It took a shuddering step forwards like some awkward blind man. It raised its mighty claw and suddenly slashed at Jessup. Its madness and anxiety were murderously taken out on Homel. Its razor-sharp talons tore open Jessup’s neck, blood poured from his body, painting the stone floor below him. The end came in seconds, too fast to be ever be believed under the blood moonlight of later years, but slow enough to recur again and again in our remaining (now fearful) ghost hunters’ nightmares, with painful, stop-motion slowness.
Jessup’s body lay before the three, the final jerks and twitches of his deathly throes brought them out of their ghostly trance. Beverly grabbed the two children and ran into the dark tunnels of the crypt, not knowing where it might take her or what evil might lie before them. Suddenly the sound of a lamb cried out in the distance. The beast was coming ever closer. They began to aimlessly run, wounded prey with the monster just toying with them, their end was sadly inevitable. The tunnels seemed endless, hopeless, turn after turn. As though in revenge to her murder, the faint, glowing apparition of the girl appeared. She floated above the chilled ground, silently bright, she pointed towards a dark corner. They suddenly realized that they still had flashlights. Beverly lit the corner; it revealed a small door next to a staircase. Beverly at first looked up the steps, but it led to nowhere. William now took the lead; he gripped the doorknob and briefly turned towards the ghost. The apparition subtly nodded at him. He cautiously turned the knob, half-expecting it to be locked. It was not. He threw the door open and wrapped his arm around Lilly. It was his dearest friend in the world that the beast wanted, and he would die a thousand deaths before he would allow it. And quite possibly, he would…
CHAPTER 26
HADES SECRET
“Winning is the most important thing in my life, after breathing.
Breathing first, winning next.”
-George Steinbrenner
Hopelessness and fear can invade a person and make their actions seem so futile and foolish. But love for one another, a love like this world rarely encounters can overcome depravity and evilness. William loved Lilly like God had seldom witnessed amongst his harem of angels. These little cherubs didn’t possess mighty bolts of Gods lightening, but they had each other.
William peered up the dark staircase; he reached back and tapped Beverly on the arm. She handed him the light; the stairs seemed to narrow to oblivion. None the less, this would be their only way out. He grasped Lilly’s hand, and they began to steadily climb. William told Beverly who took the rear to shut the door. As futile as it seemed, it couldn’t hurt.
The stairs were endless rising up to nowhere. The walls tightened. Their shoulders and arms went from brushing against the wall to squeezing the fright from them. This house was alive, and it would make escape impossible. William turned briefly to assure Lilly; she pointed to him what lies ahead. He turned back and mysteriously a door appeared. It was a small square wooden door, barely large enough for each to squeeze through. They made it through, hastily closed the door behind them and looked about. They were in the mansion’s attic, the tippy top from which there was no escape. It was barren, except for a myriad of cobwebs and a rodent’s skeleton in the corner. Then they saw there was also a large, oval mirror that was covered with a sheet. Beverly slid the dusty sheet off, revealing an ornate, grand five-foot high mirror that looked a hundred years old. William centered his attention on the mirror while Beverly searched every tight crevice and corner for a way out. There had to be a way.
William brushed his hand across the smooth surface; its brilliance distracted h
im from the impending peril. He held Lilly’s delicate hand; she had been so silent. Instead of spunkiness, she appeared so feeble, so vulnerable. He brushed the mirror again, as though some magic was to pass through him into her. A deep resonating panting of a wild animal brought the three back to reality. It was not the rapid breathing alone that was so frightening; it was the image of what the creature had done to Jessup. Their fate would be much the same.
Would they bar the door with their bodies, or quiver in some tight corner? What should they do?
(My God, think quick!)
(God? He has abandoned us)
Beverly again surveyed the surroundings; every window had shrunken shut to prevent even the blood moonlight to filter in. They could hear the beast climbing the stairs; its growling gave notice of their impending demise. With little shock or awe, the animal swung the door open. Its arms stretched far and roared to let the entire valley know that its sacrifice was at hand. William grabbed Lilly and held her close. They stood behind the mirror, shuttering together, William making a final stand and protecting his love with his own person. The beast lowered its head, its canines dripped with saliva, it began its admonishing growl, but within that sinister grumbling were noticeable words. No, wait. These were not random words. The three could make out what it was saying. It was chanting an evil rhyme; it was beginning its ritual;
Oh blood of thine, the blood of mine
How sweet as wine
The youth of ye, will soon be mine
Oh little one…how dead will thee, and blood be mine…
William could feel every muscle in Lilly’s body began to twitch. Those words made her shiver with fear, as a mouse quivers before an enormous serpent. Beverly closed her eyes and revealed the great sword of the Wiccan. This was her time; the culmination of her life’s work, her passion. Under her breath she too chanted, asking for the courage to slay the mighty beast.
Candle flame and incense smoke,
The God of courage I invoke.
Strong and brave I will now be.
Mars is here! He Blesses me!
The sword began to glow, its magical power revealed to the monster. It cowered momentarily, surmising what dangers the athames presented. While the children hid in fear behind the mirror, the two bewitching combatants slowly circled each other;
Witch against Werewolf. Yes, it was finally said, those words that all had dare not say…a werewolf.
This was the mother of all monsters, made by God and fallen from the sky. Beverly struggled to raise the sword as high as she could, its power and weight strained every muscle. Ages of Wiccan power held within her hands. She knew that she wouldn’t get many chances to strike the beast. It had to be a blow to the neck; she must sever the head of the beast. She made her first wieldy assault; screaming aloud with all her might and lunged. The creature was toying with her; it dodged and slashed, cutting deeply into Beverly’s shoulder as she charged past the werewolf. She stopped short of the corner of the attic, mighty sword resting between her feet. Her wounded shoulder was excruciating and bloody. A guttural chuckle came from the beast. It was enjoying the challenge. It kept one eye on Beverly, while it kept the other on Lilly. The muscle in Beverly’s shoulder was so severely injured; she could no longer raise the sword. In a panic, she struggled, how do I attack it now? She was trembling from sharp pain and bone-deep fear. She dug the handle of the sword into her groin. She strained, sweat dripping down her face, pointing the end of the blade at her foe and with her last breath, Beverly charged at the beast hoping to skewer it. The beast enjoyed this parry, simply stepping aside and allowing Beverly to fall flat on her face at its feet. Its back was now close to the mirror; William took notice to its arched muscular shoulders, thick black hair covering it. What human could conquer such a foe? What could he possibly do to protect his fallen friend?
Abruptly, the mirror began to shutter, scaring the daylights out of William. Its’ frame rattled, the pristine glass clouded. It began a mystical transformation; swirls, and currents of time, planes and lives mixed, allowing the window to open to another reality. Unknowingly, the mighty beast leaned its snout to its fallen prey and took in the sweet scent of fear deep into its lungs. Then, suddenly, without warning, a pair of mighty arms reached through the magical mirror and grabbed the beast. A mythic struggle began, the mirror never moving from its place. The arms strained and pulled. The werewolf swung its powerful talons aimlessly, desperately trying to reach back and dislodge the mysterious grip. The beast roared. Its terrifying howl resonated throughout the countryside, but this time, the valley didn’t answer. This had been enough servantry for the townspeople. They too wanted their lives back. In one final attempt, the mighty arms yanked the great beast into its past. A loud swooping noise signaled the end. The room became silent and still. William let go of Lilly and peered into the mirror, the handsome face of a mighty Huon Indian appeared momentarily. The fog within the mirror began to swirl, a whirlpool of time engulfed the image before him, and then the Indian was gone. The mirror was back to normal.
These had been the mightiest of all arms, the great Attignawantan chief; Deganaweida. After centuries of sorrow and woe, Little Sparrow’s father finally had his sweet revenge. He returned the Skywoman back to her husband, retreating to the sky where the Mother of the Mythic Twins and Goddess of the Iroquois tribes belonged. The townsfolk of Brunswick were well versed in keeping secrets; the legend of the shapeshifter would not be passed on; it would die with them. This bruised and tattered village would no longer know this type of evil again.
. . .
The joys of Halloween were over. The valley returned to normal, and soon they would prepare for next year’s festivities. The two children had missed Halloween, but they had William’s birthday to celebrate. But there was no celebration. Celebrate had a shallow meaning. Both children had lost a parent that week. Beverly would try to console them from her hospital bed. Relatives soon stepped in and separated the two. They would love each other forever, but alas they were taken away from Brunswick, never to see the town or each other again.
Virgin snow began to fall; God’s little way of cleaning the earth. The birds started to sing again in the cemetery, sunlight began to pierce the thickened tangle of dead wood and brighten the tombstones. There was levity to the village; it seemed to take a well-deserved breath of relief. Martha was again cooking her pancakes, as she regularly did, while gossiping away with hungry customers. Larry was still incessantly complaining, and the flock of women at the laundromat where chirping about Mary Higgin who had taken up with the Smith boy. The mortuary’s darkened structure would forever stand silent and isolated. Its bones seemed content for now, the festering, which in reality turned out to be an appetite for revenge, was satisfied. The winter winds would soon begin blowing from the north, turning the black cat that vigilantly stood watch atop the cupola round and round. Waiting for what, this dutiful writer does not know as of now. But I will stand watchful. The magical autumn snow began to cover the widow weeds and brambles surrounding Hades’ mansion. The ivy lost its death grip, all seemed well. The old cellar doors were safely locked; the snow hiding it from the world above. And barely audible, came the sweet, tempting melody of sirens off in the distance…
Go to sleep my little baby…
Oh, Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones…
You and me and the devil makes three…
Is this the End?
BIBLIOGRAPHY
(1) Sherlock Holmes, Season 4, The Abominable Bride
(2) Enchantedgardens.angelfire.com
(3) Paranormal Dictionary
(4) Dexter Kozen
(5) Sacredwicca.com
(6) MBQ-tmk.org
“Didn’t Leave Nobody but the Baby”
– arrangement by Alan Lomax, T-Bone Burnett and Gillian Welch; performed by Emmylou Harris, Alison Krauss, and Gillian Welch
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Word-of-mouth is crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed the book, please leave a review online—anywhere you are able. Even if it’s just a sentence or two. It would make all the difference and would be very much appreciated.
Thanks!
David
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Ruggerio is a celebrity chef. He honed his skills in France at such legendary restaurants as Le Chanteclair, Moulin de Mougins, and Les Pres d'Eugenie. He was honored by Robert Mondavi in 1995 as a one of the best chefs in America. David hosted two television series, PBS’s “Little Italy with David Ruggerio,” and Food Network’s “Ruggerio to Go.” He has also written two acclaimed cookbooks, “Little Italy with David Ruggerio,” and “David Ruggerio’s Italian Kitchen.”
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A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters Page 23