Dark Hallows II: Tales from the Witching Hour

by Mark Parker

  “I can’t believe he signed on without telling me. Prick.”

  “He is. The human deserves this,” Darren prompted.

  “Whatever. Watch this. Used this when we finished off that one Viking guy.” With a click of the cursor, Tyler summoned his newly acquired blood magic fireball. He savored the aftermath of the spell, as it blew apart the door to the hideout, exposing Jared’s leather armor-clad thief.

  “You will be rewarded for this,” Darren said.

  “I’d tell you sorry if you didn’t have me on mute!” Tyler yelled. His entire body tingled as he clicked over the spell’s golden icon once more, casting a crimson ball of light from the Osorno demon’s ebony claws, toward Jared’s thief. In an instant, blood red flames engulfed the character.

  Somewhere in the distance, Tyler thought he heard a scream.

  “Nice effects.” Tyler smiled, watching Jared’s thief stumble backward, his digital skin charred from the attack. And just like that, the mute icon next to Jared’s name clicked off.

  “Ty…Ty…stop it! Stop it!” Jared half-yelled, half-cried, causing Tyler’s eardrums to explode through the headset. Tyler tore it off and threw it down, rubbing at his ringing ears.

  “Damn it!” Now he had a reason to kill him.

  “Evolve!” Darren commanded.

  Regrouping, Tyler moved his cursor back over the blood magic fireball, ready to finish the job. And he did.

  With a flash of light, Jared’s character flew against the wall and collapsed into a pile of smoking flesh. Tyler pumped his fists in the air as a sign of victory, knowing he would be rewarded for his efforts.

  Another, more desperate scream, bellowed out of the computer speakers as Jared announced his defeat. Again, the sound effects made it all seem too real. Tyler knew Dawson, regardless of his personal tastes, he’d created a winner with the expansion.

  “Excellent,” Darren said, accentuated by a crack of lightning outside. “We are almost ready.”

  “Almost? What are you talking about?” The sound of the generator’s engine sputtered, then stopped. Light faded to darkness inside the house, except for the computer screen, which remained powered on…somehow. “What the—?”

  Tyler jumped out of his chair and looked around. The walls of his bedroom seemed a little closer, his ceiling a little lower. Then he noticed the recognizable silhouettes of his demon army. Or lack thereof.

  “I suggest you sit down,” Darren instructed from the computer speakers, overtaking Jared’s last screams, even though Tyler’s headsets remained on the ground.

  “What?”

  “You must complete the last part of the ritual so we can evolve.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tyler swallowed hard. Something was off. Something was very off.

  “You agreed to the sacrifice!” Darren shouted. It is needed to move Master Dawson’s vision forward.”

  “Vision? What—no. You’ve lost your mind.”

  “No, I’ve quite moved on from my mind.”

  “You know, I’m going to find out just what’s going on.” Tyler didn’t hesitate. His trembling hand grabbed for his smartphone to call and apologize to Jared. But before he could press the buttons on the screen, he saw his parents’ names glowing there. There’d been six missed calls from them in the past two hours.

  How hadn’t he seen this? He scrolled down until he found Jared’s name.

  Two rings became four, and then four turned into Jared’s stupid recorded voice message.

  “Come on.” Tyler paced across the floor.

  “He won’t answer…” Darren said. “Now turn your attention back to the computer where it belongs. You have one last sacrifice to make before you can evolve.”

  “No!” Tyler exhaled, watching his breath frost in the chilled air of the room. He noticed the steady rumble of lightning outside had stopped—replaced by a sickening silence.

  He tried to look outside, but a thin film of frost etched like spider webs across the windowpane, blocking his view.

  “What’s happening?” His heart thumped heavily against his chest, as he tried to open the window.

  “If you don’t fulfill your promise, a different sacrifice will be required,” Darren said. He won’t wait forever. You are either part of this or not.”

  “Who won’t?” Tyler groaned, as he pulled on the window, his muscles engorging with lactic acid.

  “Dawson,” Darren said.

  “This is bullshit!” With one final tug, the window flew open, welcoming in a steady breeze of the coldest air Tyler had felt since last winter.

  Poking his head through the open window frame, out into the chilled October night, he hoped he wouldn’t empty his stomach. A frozen landscape reminiscent of late December welcomed him. It was a far cry from the muggy air from just a few hours ago. In the distance, he thought he saw the makings of a blood red horizon.

  “He’ll give you one more opportunity,” Darren said. “And then he will have your avatar take matters into its own hands.”

  “And then what?” Tyler ducked back inside and looked over at his computer screen. His character, along with Darren’s Nether Beast, stare in his direction.

  “I suggest you finish the ritual, Tyler,” Darren said, his words not merely a suggestion, but a command.

  “This…this isn’t right.” Tyler focused back outside, where the sound of heavy footfalls reverberated from the opposite side of the street. They were followed by a shadow that seemed to grow along the frosted grass, before fading to nothing. Then, he heard the unknown’s growl. It was the same growl he’d heard when he pressed the F4 key with his Osorno demon. “Shit!”

  “Sit back down, or know that he will find you. The portal is open. Fulfill your obligation!”

  “No! I’m not fulfilling anything.”

  Tyler darted for the door, and then stumbled out into the hallway. He attempted to fill his lungs, cursing his lack of physical activity as he turned the corner into the foyer.

  “Dad!” Tyler shouted when he spotted the silhouette of a horn against the front door’s window. He was never more excited to call out for his father, or to see the ridiculous outline of his Viking costume. The doorknob, cold and covered with a half-frozen film, slipped in his palm at first, before he managed to turn it and pull back, revealing the ominous figure.

  “No!” Tyler backpedaled into his mom’s decorative side table, spilling its contents, including pictures of their family, onto the floor. His eyes grew wide as he swallowed hard.

  The beast’s onyx skin was as black as the sky itself. Blacker than any of Dawson’s pixels in Netherlands. The Osorno demon’s muscular figure enveloped the front doorway, its crimson eyes casting an ominous, iridescent glow along the wooden floor. The beast’s chest expanded, then contracted, its terrible purpose suddenly cast upon Tyler.

  “Help!” Tyler screamed, scrambling to his feet, as he let his instincts take over. He ran toward the kitchen, and out the back sliding glass door.

  The night air was crisp and captured in silence, biting at his exposed skin. Frost covered the reds and browns of the late autumn leaves. Frozen blades of grass glistened in what little light the moon provided. With each stride, he felt the ground beneath his feat crunch. He knew he was alone, but didn’t want to accept it.

  As he rounded the front of the cul-de-sac, his attention was pulled to the road, where he saw the silver outline of his parent’s SUV.

  “Dad!” he cried through shallow breaths, glancing over his shoulder to see Muerte’s hulking shadow prowling around the outside of his home.

  Has to be my mind, Tyler thought.

  He pushed past the pain, past his stunted breaths, and ran toward his parent’s parked vehicle.

  “Dad!” Tyler barely got the word out of his mouth, as he approached the driver’s side door. In the distance, a distinct holler—blood-curdling and desperate—followed the screeching of brakes and the crunch of metal.

  “Dad! Mom!” Tyler slapped frantically
at the SUV’s side window. Inside the car, his father’s Viking helmet fell forward, onto his face. And his mother, on the opposite side of the car, slumped against the moonlit dashboard.

  Neither of them responded.

  “Please, please, open the door. Open the door!” Tyler begged, his tears cold against his cheeks. His parents remained silent. The thin film of frost covering the windows made them both look statuesque.

  Then something shifted further down the cul-de-sac. Muerte’s wild eyes lit up fiery red, focusing on Tyler. Feeling the thing’s presence closing in upon him, Tyler ran around the back of the SUV, and saw that the rear hatch had been decimated. Glass shards scattered across the pavement, crunching beneath his tennis shoes. The entire back of the SUV looked like an enormous party favor, but instead of colorful streamers fluttering into the wind, shredded ribbons of metal exploding outward, as if something big had tried to escape its confines.

  “No!” Tyler gasped, transfixed on his parents’ silhouettes in the front seats. His imagination seized him, with visions of the Osorno demon extinguishing the flames of his parents. They were both gone. “Mom…? Dad…?”

  The red sky vibrated with electricity again—a horrid energy that seemed to cast the world around him into a terrible stillness.

  “What did I do?” Tyler backed away, closing his eyes, hoping it was just one of his horrible childhood nightmares. He felt the beast closer now—its unrelenting purpose of blood magic immanent—as it swiftly approached from his home.

  “No…” Tyler, still taking in heavy breaths, abandoned his parents and continued his escape, sprinting as fast as he’d ever sprinted before, wondering where he would go. Tyler rounded the corner onto Lake Maple Street, where the corner signpost had been cast to the ground in a contorted mess.

  He kept going…

  Up ahead, Ms. Lorraine’s monolithic house remained quiet, like the other homes along the powerless street. Its windows reflected candlelight, keeping the darkness at bay. There would be no refuge there, either, he knew, noticing the white BMW parked diagonal across the usually immaculately groomed front lawn, its hood folded upward like an accordion against the cherry tree, the front door of the car wide open with a motionless body spilling out.

  Tyler recognized the damned Ravens’ jersey, the same one Nick wore every Friday at school to show his “team spirit.” The jackass was wearing an appropriate Halloween costume—the last one he’d ever wear.

  Nick’s listless body didn’t move, and Tyler wasn’t about to stop to check on him.

  Shit…shit…shit, he thought. His knees throbbed. His chest constricted, begging for oxygen.

  “Help! Help!” A voice called from the house’s second floor. Tyler wanted to ignore it, before looking up and spotting Shawn waving his arms out like a maniac from his bedroom window. “They’re gone! They’re all gone...”

  “What?” Tyler looked behind him, seeing the Osorno’s shadow growing closer.

  “I’m trapped. I don’t know if it’s going to come back,” Shawn cried.

  “I…I can’t.” Tyler couldn’t stay, not with the demon trailing him.

  Woodberry Lane.

  Tyler nearly toppled forward, as momentum carried him through his turn, spying Jared’s house, dark as well, up ahead.

  Something suddenly broke the silence. A guttural roar emanated from every direction, bounding down every street, echoing forth from every house.

  Warmth spread throughout his crotch, drenching his gym shorts.

  Tyler stumbled across Jared’s lawn, his lungs nearly empty. He bent over, sucking in air, his arms shaking as he braced himself against his knees. He didn’t want to look up at the impossible scene all around him.

  The earthy smell of burnt grass and timber clung to the back of his nostrils, as he was bathed in the tainted air around him. Splintered pieces of painted wood covered Jared’s porch, its frame charred with soot. It looked like a damned missile had hit the front door—but he knew it was no missile. He remembered the blood magic fireball that he himself had thrown. He remembered the massacre that followed, at the urging of Darren.

  “Why?” Tyler whimpered.

  He didn’t want to explore the house. He didn’t want to see his best friend, a friend he’d played t-ball with, a friend he’d explored imaginary dungeons and killed fairytale dragons with. A friend he stayed up late on Saturday nights eating pizza with, talking about their future plans as video game designers.

  He had no other choice, though. He needed to know.

  The remnants of the front door grinded along the hallway, as he set off toward Jared’s bedroom. The room’s entrance had suffered the same fate as the front door—a door torn from its hinges, a white light flashing against the unmade bed.

  Looking inside, he saw his friend’s lifeless body sprawled across the floor, still smoking and barely recognizable.

  “Jared?” Tyler’s voice cracked as visions of his Osorno demon burned Jared’s thief from Netherlands into his mind.

  Sacrifice?

  Another growl. Closer. Stronger.

  “Sacrifice…” The word squeaked out of him. Could this really be happening? Could he have really killed his friend though the game they both loved so much?

  The closer he inched forward, the more the smell turned from firewood to something more pungent—far more taboo.

  He looked down to see Jared’s familiar freckled skin blistered and blackened. His eyes were two craters devoid of a soul. His computer headphone had melted onto his skull.

  “Jared!” Tyler screamed before vomiting onto the carpet. “I’m…so sorry.” He began sobbing, covering his face in horror.

  “The time has come,” a familiar voice called out to him. It was sinister but purposeful in its command. “To those who will join,” Darren’s voice said, “I applaud you.”

  Tyler looked up, still hiding behind the curtain of his fingers, opening just enough to see Jared’s computer screen spring to life, the man broadcasting through it. It wasn’t Darren, but rather Dawson. His face appeared distorted, seemingly covered by some sort of dark matter.

  A wide grin—almost too wide to be human—painted his face. “Do not worry. Our coven shall hold total power by sunrise,” Dawson said, flanked by cinderblock walls and iron bars, meant to cage a human to his right, a body dressed in a blue uniform by his feet.

  Two heavy footfalls, followed by labored breathing, rebounded down the scorched halls of the game. The Osorno demon had found him.

  “It’s been too long. Way too long for us. We’ve been scorned since Salem, our kind punished for our beliefs.” Dawson paced his computerized cell, not bothering to look at the “camera,” if one even existed. “You have all made sacrifices for our purpose, as The Witching Hour is now upon us all. You have harnessed the power of sloth through this digital world that I have created. We have evolved.”

  Hypnotized by Dawson’s words, Tyler heard two more footfalls reverberate behind him, as the presence of Muerte weighed in upon him.

  The video game creator stopped speaking, then continued on.

  “I ask you for one more sacrifice before this night is over…for they will all know not to mock us any longer. You each have a familiar, a creature you’ve been cultivating for some time through Netherlands.”

  The doorframe cracked loudly behind Tyler as the Osorno beast’s body busted through the doorframe. Tyler didn’t move. He couldn’t.

  “You must feed it more blood tonight, more during our festival of Samhain. But be warned, these creatures will only obey as long as you feed them—with the blood of those who have humiliated us. Do not cross them. They are fickle and need only to feed. You have until sunrise…” With that, Dawson’s voice faded to nothing.

  Fear almost having escaped him altogether, Tyler slowly lifted his head. The Osorno demon made no motion forward, but rather remained next to him, standing sentry, awaiting a command, as a dog would from its master.

  “Finally—” Tyler whispered, thinking o
f Shawn waving desperately out of the second floor window of Mrs. Lorraine’s house.

  THE MANY HANDS INSIDE THE MOUNTAIN

  James Chambers

  Whatever guilt Zach Reynolds felt as Tamara Porter’s warm, naked flesh slid against his disintegrated when he opened his eyes to his ramshackle bedroom. Tamara kissed and caressed all his cautions away, but his dingy room behind the auto garage left him by his father reminded him of what justified all they did behind Katrina Van Bollin’s back. Grasping Tamara’s waist, he pulled her heat tight to his, and released his body to the rhythms of pleasure. Neither spoke. The time for talk lay well behind them, and after this last secret tryst, each would have their heart’s deepest desire.

  Later, sweat drying on their skin and the setting sun impelling golden bars through the blinds, Zach slid from the sheets and assembled his Halloween costume. Tamara followed suit with a sigh, pausing with her shimmering, translucent gown around her waist to pepper kisses down Zach’s bare back. Then, dressed and ready, Zach saw her to the door and shut it without looking back.

  Outside, the two shared a lingering, last kiss, ended with reluctance.

  “Tell Cord not to foul this up,” Zach said.

  Rolling her eyes, Tamara said, “Cord will do what I tell him. You do your part.”

  “You can count on me.”

  “I know.” Tamara slid one hand down Zach’s back to his butt and pressed him against her. “You could still come with me.”

  “I’m pretty sure Cord would have a problem with that.”

  Tamara snorted. “I can dump Cord here, or when I get to New York City. No difference to me, especially if I get you in the bargain.”

  “Nah. I owe this town too much, and I’d like to own it one day.”

  “You think too small.”

  “That’s the first time you ever accused me of being small.”

  Tamara laughed, slapped Zach’s rear, and then pushed him away.

  “Suit yourself. Is Bollin’s Creek the only thing you love?”

  Zach blushed.

  “You’re really in love with Kat?”