Slay Belles & Mayhem: A Medley of Dark Tales

by Dani René

  “W-Where are we?” I stutter, not truly wanting an answer.

  I’d prefer, instead, to wake up from whatever nightmare I’m in. My parents step aside, and I see a man, another stranger, standing in the center of the room. He’s dressed in a long black cloak and holds a book in his hand. I try to read the title on the cover but the shadows falling across it prevent me from doing so. It looks likes an ancient Bible, but something tells me there’s nothing holy about this book.

  “Welcome to your new home, Nyah,” Malachi addresses me.

  “My new home,” I repeat, sounding like I’m learning a foreign language for the first time. “Mother, Father, please tell me what’s happening?” I turn to my parents.

  “It’ll be alright, Nyah. You’ve been preparing for this your entire life,” my father responds.

  “Preparing for what?” I shout, my confusion turning into anger.

  I wish someone would give me an honest answer about what’s happening here. Why am I being kept in the dark about everything?

  “Your marriage to me.” Malachi grips my hand tighter and tries to lead me toward the man in the black cloak.

  I dig my heels in and stare at him like he’s grown two heads. Maybe being kept in the dark was the better option for me.

  “I’m not marrying you,” I tell him point-blank in refusal.

  “You are.” My father’s stern voice comes from behind me, and I turn to face him with a pleading look.

  I can’t believe I’m hearing these words coming from his mouth. The man I’m being forced to marry is a similar age to my father. He’s also evil looking and scary. Worst of all, it seems he can do strange magical things, which until a few minutes ago, I didn’t think were possible.

  “Why are you making me do this, Father?”

  “It’s your duty, Nyah,” my father replies. He’s towering over me now with his brows furrowed together in annoyance.

  “Duty? I don’t want to do this. Why are you forcing me?”

  “Let me explain better.” Malachi sighs in frustration. “You mentioned the Salem witch trials. Well, I was a part of them.”

  “You were a part of them? You can’t have been…that would make you…”

  “Well, I was fifty when I was hung, so that would make me three hundred and seventy-six years old now. I don’t think I look bad for it.” Malachi interrupts my quick mental calculation with a laugh. My parents nervously join him.

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “I was one of those hung as a witch. But unlike all the other innocent souls that were killed, I am magical, and far from killing me, they unwittingly helped to unleash amazing powers within me. I’m eternally grateful to the idiocy of their puritan pride.”

  “So you’re dead…but not dead.” I manage to get the words out of my increasingly dry mouth.

  I wish I’d taken another couple of painkillers earlier because my migraine has returned with a vengeance.

  “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose. Anyway, your ancestors helped restore me with the gift of their virgin daughter, and ever since, subsequent generations have provided me with an innocent female when I’ve used up the remnants of the last one.

  “Remnants?” I question.

  His words don’t sound particularly pleasant—in fact, they sound particularly like a nightmare.

  “Yes, my powers come from fucking virgins like you. The first time, when I take your virginity, the energy released is particularly powerful. It will leave me young and virile again. Unfortunately, the effect dwindles the more times I take you until you eventually die, and I move onto the next innocent girl.”

  I gape at my parents, “And you’re going to let this happen?”

  “Yes,” they both reply, nonchalantly. “It’s tradition.”

  “You’re going to allow this man to slowly murder your daughter.” I can’t believe they’re letting this happen—do I mean nothing to them?

  “It’s not murder, Nyah. It’s a sacrifice for the greater good.” My father tries to excuse his actions.

  I don’t know who these two people are in front of me. Has my whole life been a lie? Don’t they care about me? They certainly aren’t behaving like the loving parents I’ve believed them to be my entire life.

  “I beg to differ,” I spit out at them.

  It appears I don’t have any more time to argue when the man in the black cloak points at the clock.

  “It’s nearly time, sir. You don’t want to have to wait another year for her to be ripe again.”

  “No, I certainly don’t.”

  Malachi pushes me toward the man I now realize is a priest. He takes a piece of old cloth and wraps it around my hands and Malachi’s, binding us together.

  “Mr. Hayes, do you take Miss Stratton as your concubine in marriage? And do you promise to look after her until all her powers have been spent?”

  “I do.” Malachi replies happily.

  I shake my head in refusal as my parents appear at my side. My father holds me still while my mother places her hand over my mouth.

  “Miss Stratton, do you allow Mr. Hayes to feed off your virginity and your body for the purpose of giving him life?” the priest asks.

  I try to scream ‘no’, but the word can’t be distinguished due to the pressure exerted by my mother’s hand slammed over my mouth.

  “She does,” my father answers for me. I stand there shaking my head furiously, trying to escape my parents’ hold.

  “No, she doesn’t.” The stained glass window next to us shatters as my brother bursts through it.

  “Connor, don’t do this.” My father lets go of me and runs toward my brother to stop him.

  “No, Father. It’s you who shouldn’t be doing this,” Connor responds.

  Then my brother raises the gun he’s holding, and without another word, he shoots my father in the head. My father’s brain splatters out behind him, and he falls down in a pool of blood.

  It seems I’m in the middle of a terrible nightmare—none of this can be real. It’s a horror movie come to life.

  “No.” My mother runs to her husband who’s bleeding out on the floor. “Have you gone insane, Connor?”

  “Not me, Mother,” Connor spits out. “I won’t let you do this to Nyah.” He holds the gun up, and closing his eyes, he shoots her too.

  I let out a loud scream. My brother has just killed my parents...parents who were forcing me to marry a man who intended to feed off me during sex. This is the worst nightmare I’ve ever had…except it’s not a dream, it’s reality.

  My hand is still bound to Malachi’s, and as I struggle to free myself, he pulls me to him, so I’m pinned against his body.

  “Continue the ceremony,” he orders the priest. “I have to marry her before the clock chimes.”

  The priest opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get another word out as my brother takes aim and shoots him as well. I’ve never seen this side of my brother before. I don’t know whether to be elated, because he’s actually doing something to try and save me, or worried in case I’m the next person he shoots. Oh god, he just shot our parents and killed them. I start hyperventilating in Malachi’s arms.

  “Just one left,” Connor growls at Malachi.

  “Foolish boy. You think you can stop me?”

  Malachi swirls his hand around, forming what looks like a bolt of energy. He throws it toward my brother who manages to jump out of the way at the last second. Connor rolls on the floor, turns around, and aims the gun at us. I urgently need to get away from Malachi, and I stamp down hard on Malachi’s foot. I use such force he has no choice but to let me go, and I run to my brother at the same moment he shoots the evil man I was destined to marry.

  “Quick, Nyah,” Connor urges as he gets back up on his feet, and grabbing my arm, he pulls me along behind him, heading toward the door. “We need to get away from here and disappear.”

  But before we have a chance to take another step, a blast of energy pushes us apart.
>
  “No!” Connor shouts. A clock chimes somewhere in the room. “It’s too late. Let her go, Malachi.”

  Malachi rises from the floor in an unearthly manner and floats toward us on a swirl of black smoke.

  “It’s never too late. I’ll just have to wait another year,” Malachi responds. I start to run again, instinct telling me to get the hell out of this place, but I’m stopped in my tracks when a glass cage surrounds me. “Welcome to your prison until then, Nyah.”

  “No,” my brother yells.

  Connor picks up a nearby vase and starts to hammer it against the side of my prison—the vase shatters, but the cage remains intact. He then picks up a chair and throws it at the glass, and still it doesn’t crack. While my brother is trying to free me from the outside, I am trapped inside, pounding the walls with my fists, but our efforts are all in vain. There’s no hope of escape. I’m trapped, and no matter the force used, I know this magical prison will never shatter.

  Malachi lets out an evil laugh that freezes me to the core, and in that moment, I realize we’re defeated.

  “And as for you. There’s only one way to deal with a troublemaker like you,” Malachi smirks, waving his hand toward Connor.

  My brother screams, and I’m helpless in my glass cage as I watch his bones crack and reshape. His feet turn to hooves, great antlers grow out of his head, and fur covers his body. Malachi has turned him into a stag.

  Malachi continues, “We’ll be requiring a wedding breakfast in twelve months time. While I fuck my new wife and take all the power her virginity can give me, I’ll be feasting on her brother.”

  Connor, now in deer form, turns and looks at me once before trotting out of the house, leaving me alone in my prison to contemplate my future.

  Chapter Two

  Griffon Taylor

  One year later

  The heavy rock music of Black Sabbath blasts out from the stereo of my black McLaren 5705 Coupe. Over the last few days, I’ve been traveling from San Francisco to Boston for a job. It’s a long drive, but you won’t get me on a plane. I’d much rather pound the kilometers by road than in the air, flying defies all logic. Gravity says I should have both my feet on the ground, and I plan on keeping them there. My boss doesn’t mind. It’s one of the first things he learned about me when he hired me. If I can do my work without getting on a plane, I will. He’s got other men to do jobs that require traveling in a tin can for hours.

  I’m an elite assassin for the San Francisco Reapers run by the notorious Dominic Cooper—he’s the godfather of all things going on in the Golden Gate city. Here in America, I’m one of the best there is. Having been trained and well prepared for my role, I now devote my life to the Reapers, even though I know if I’m caught, I’d be on my own. It’s the way this life goes. So far, I’ve been lucky. I’m currently on my way to Boston for a job. A hit on a guy accused of playing with kids. It’s something I despise and I’ll ensure he’s harshly punished for it. He’s going to suffer by the time I’ve finished with him.

  The song changes to Metallica’s ‘Creeping Death’, and I turn the stereo even louder. My love for old school rock comes from a mother who brought me up in the late eighties/early nineties, listening to this stuff. It definitely keeps you awake on a long road trip.

  The song cuts out, and my Bluetooth rings with an incoming call. I glance over at the dash and see it’s Dominic.

  “Hello,” I answer by pressing the button on the steering wheel.

  “Any news on your ETA yet?” he asks his tone stern and demanding

  I look at the distance left on my GPS.

  “Should be another three hours.”

  “I wish you’d fly. If this fucker gets away, I won’t be impressed.”

  “Don’t worry, boss. I’ll track him down if he attempts to disappear.”

  “Just get it done, Griffon, and in the most painful way possible. I know you love knives—so use them. I’ve got another job for you straight after.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  I hang up.

  My bladder tells me I need a leak. I knew I shouldn’t have had two coffees earlier. This area is notoriously crap for rest stops. All around me are trees, for as far as the eye can see. Fuck it! I pull the car over to the side of the road. It’s quiet, so I should be able to get away with having a quick piss in the bushes.

  I switch the engine off and climb out of the car. It’s cold, and there are heavy clouds overhead, threatening snow. My legs are aching, so I do a couple of stretches. I probably should get a more sensible vehicle. Being over six foot four tall means I’m cramped in my current sports car—my height is another reason I don’t fly.

  I pull my aviators off my eyes and throw them onto the driver’s seat of my car. Then, clicking the button on the key fob, I lock the vehicle. I’m not going to take any chances. As well as several guns, I’ve also got an assortment of knives in the trunk. I’m not about to risk having them stolen even out here in the middle of nowhere. If the cops pull me over, Dominic has provided me with proof I’m permitted to travel with my extensive arsenal. It was particularly handy when I got a ticket for speeding in Iowa. The cops’ faces were hilarious when they saw my weapons’ collection, but having checked my paperwork and called Dominic, I was free to go once the ticket was issued.

  I head into the trees, colorful leaves crushing under my feet. When I reach a secluded spot, I unfasten my designer jeans. I’m only wearing a black t-shirt on top, which I’m now realizing is a mistake because it’s close to Christmas, and there’s a distinct icy chill in the air. Reaching into my pants, I pull my dick out and proceed to relieve my bladder on the mossy forest floor. It feels good, and I shut my eyes to enjoy the moment.

  Suddenly, a crack of a twig comes from behind me. I spin around, dick still in hand, but I’m ready to attack. A massive stag stands before me, its dark eyes staring intently at me. I know they can be temperamental beasts. They aren’t as dangerous as a wild cat or a bear, but if he charges me, his antlers could tear through my flesh. I haven’t got a knife with me, but I don’t need one. Releasing my dick, I open my palm and form an energy ball in it. I’m not only an assassin but also part witch, on my mother’s side, although I prefer to use knives rather than spells. It’s more painful when you peel skin from a body with a blade.

  All the Reapers have something magical about them. I’m one of two witches. We also have a lion shifter, a wolf shifter, and a vampire who doesn’t enjoy human blood unless it belongs to a pedophile—even then, it’s not to drink but to color the floor red as the perpetrator dies. Dominic, I swear, is the devil himself. His powers are incredible. I’ve never seen anything like him before.

  At the sight of my energy ball, I’m certain I see the stag’s eyes go wide with shock. He snorts and then scrapes his hooves on the ground. It seems he’s about to charge, but he doesn’t. Instead, he comes slowly toward me, sniffing the air as he approaches.

  “Are you a shifter?” I ask but don’t get any response. “Change back to human if you are. I warn you I will throw this if you try to attack me.” I hold the energy ball up higher.

  The stag is directly in front of me now, but something tells me not to throw the ball. When he lowers his head to me as a sign of submission, I realize he’s been assessing me the entire time and knows I won’t hurt him unless he charges at me. “Can’t you change?” I ask.

  He shakes his head ‘no’.

  I extinguish the energy ball and reach out to touch the stag’s coat. He allows me to stroke him. The magnificent creature’s aura is all wrong. He’s not a deer by nature. His soul is completely human.

  “Have you been placed under a curse?”

  This time his head nods to indicate ‘yes’.

  He looks behind him, deeper into the woods, then he looks back to me. His brown eyes are filled with sorrow, almost pleading with me.

  “Do you want me to follow you?”

  Another positive nod.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t h
ave time. I’ve got to get back on the road.”

  The stag slumps his shoulders in defeat. He starts to turn away, but I stop him by running my hand over his coat. Everything is wrong here. The stag’s sadness is overwhelming. There’s no malevolence or hatred emanating from him. All I can sense is love and a need to save…but to save what, I can’t figure out.

  “Ok, I’ll follow you. Let me just get some weapons from my car.”

  He shakes his head and then nudges at the hand that’d held the energy ball.

  “Are you saying I’ll only need my magic?” I question.

  He snorts a ‘yes’.

  “Ok.”

  The stag turns, and I follow him through the forest. It’s wet underfoot, and I need to be careful of my step. The magnificent beast clears a path for me as best he can. His large antlers swiping aside the branches. The deeper I get into the forest, the more magic I begin to sense. Something wicked is at work here. It’s cold and calculating and causing pain to those around it. Overwhelming melancholy emanates from the stag and hits me in the chest. It’s so strong my legs weaken, and I need to take a moment to compose myself.

  “What the hell has happened to you?”

  My magic isn’t as strong as my mother’s, but she and my grandmother taught me how to protect myself if needed, and Dominic has guided me also.

  I take a few deep breaths, suppressing the mixture of emotions cascading through my body. Sensory perception was an essential part of my education at the hands of my mother. She wanted me to always be in tune with the type of magic I encountered. It’s the reason why I can now sense that the suffering in this place is almost unbearable. Whoever has used magic on the stag has not done so with any good intention.

  Strengthened, I continue to follow until we reach the edge of the forest. In front of us stands the entrance to a Gothic style house. It’s overbearing, built in dark stone with small windows and gargoyles watching as security. I can feel there’s never been any happiness here…only sorrow and death.