The Suicide Lake (Book of Shadows 2)

by Michael Penning

  There was a new presence among them, something invisible that hadn’t been there moments ago. The air hummed and crackled with its energy.

  The wind gathered in intensity, coming from everywhere and nowhere, whipping at them and howling in their ears. Timber let out a low whine from where he cowered by Colvin’s side. Colvin felt the hairs on his own neck rising. Something told him he had made a terrible mistake; he should never have set foot in this foul and dreadful place. What they were doing was foolish! He should turn away; abandon this place; stop Abigail before it was too late!

  That was when Hawes’ head came to life.

  Chapter 27

  Keenan had never been so afraid in his life. He held fast to Abigail’s hand, his blood thundering in his ears as Jed Hawes’ gruesome head took on a life of its own.

  It began with a flicker of light somewhere within the bloody bowl of Hawes’ skull, like lightning seen through a porthole on a dark sea. Keenan thought it had been his imagination until, ever so slowly, the blood began to move. A ghostly mist appeared, swirling below the crimson surface. As if trapped behind a thin plate of glass, it filled the shallow bowl, churning and coiling with a life of its own.

  And then, Keenan’s very soul shriveled in terror as the mist rose up and came through the blood.

  Too spellbound to move, Keenan trembled as Abigail’s familiars spewed from the portal like smoke billowing through a hole in the roof of a burning house. His mind became a chaotic riot of terror. One thought rose above the others, insisting itself over and over: This isn’t right! This isn’t right! This isn’t right!

  Abigail stood like a rock cleaving through a rushing stream as the unnatural mist flowed past her to the outskirts of the protective circle. Her familiars remained there, encircling the large pentacle. Defying the howling wind, they slithered with a life of their own, a sinister white mass blanketing the darkened woods.

  Keenan went cold all over as a chilling sense of evil rolled over him like a dark wave. All at once, he was overcome by an instinctive, panic-stricken impulse to break away and flee. He tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry. He wished Father Carnes were there to reassure him of the righteousness of their actions.

  As if reading his thoughts, Abigail tightened her grip on his palm and held firm as her incantation climbed toward a frightening pitch.

  Keenan’s heart raced and slammed against his ribs.

  This isn’t right! This isn’t right! This isn’t right!

  Just then—very suddenly—Keenan heard a voice whisper into his ear.

  She wants you dead...

  He froze, muscles going taut, ears pricked. He glanced around at the others. Their shadowy faces appeared disembodied in the dim light of the jack-o’-lantern. Abigail was lost in her chant. Her eyes were closed and her face had taken a feverish shine. Colvin and Josiah were both mesmerized by the sinister mist slithering around the outskirts of Abigail’s protective ring.

  Who had spoken?

  Keenan was sure he had heard a voice. Even through the pandemonium raging around him, it had been clear and crisp and strangely familiar. He tried to place it but found he couldn’t. Had it been a man? A woman? Keenan’s breaths came fast and heavy and his gaze remained riveted by the white mass crawling around the perimeter of the protective circle. There were shapes in there, the vaporous forms of Abigail’s familiars undulating within the murky depths. They rose and receded like figures made of nothing more than smoke.

  Abigail’s chant came to an abrupt end. Her chest heaved and there was something frightening about her face as she spoke. “Bring me Jedediah Hawes.”

  A heartbeat passed as Keenan’s flesh tingled with the otherworldly electricity in the air. Then the mist came alive once more, swirling and coiling as the familiars circled the ring like a hunter stalking prey. They accelerated, gaining force with each revolution. Keenan felt small and powerless like a sailor trapped in the eye of a maelstrom.

  She’s going to kill you and leave you to rot...

  Keenan jumped as if he had been stung. A bone-tingling spark of panic went off in his mind. He did know that voice.

  Keenan’s wide eyes found Colvin’s but the lumberjack’s grim expression gave no indication of having heard anything. A chill shot up Keenan’s spine as a dreadful realization came to him: the voice was speaking to him... and only to him.

  Keenan felt a strange vibration in his head and realized his teeth were chattering. He thought of what had brought him out here to this godforsaken place.

  Suicides.

  An evil spirit driving people to take their own lives.

  Did it whisper to them with a voice just like this one?

  With a voice just like O’Brennan’s?

  Keenan was trembling all over now. It wasn’t possible! O’Brennan’s ruined body lay in a muddy hole miles down the river! And yet, Keenan couldn’t deny he heard his old friend’s voice.

  Save yourself, my friend. Let go of her before she drags you down too...

  “I mustn’t,” Keenan murmured aloud. “I must not break the circle...”

  She’s a witch, Keenan. She’s going to use you and kill you just like she killed me...

  Keenan’s mind resisted the idea. Why was he listening? A bear had killed O’Brennan, not Abigail. She was there to save them, to put an end to the suicides.

  Or was she?

  It occurred to Keenan that he knew nothing about this mysterious stranger, this cool and calculating woman who seemed willing to risk all of their lives to satisfy her own designs. Abigail had barely batted an eyelash at O’Brennan’s death. Keenan knew his most trusted friend wouldn’t lie. O’Brennan had come to warn him, to save him. From what?

  From Abigail.

  Very suddenly, a bestial snarl erupted from within the crimson void of Hawes’ skull. It was deep and malevolent and charged with the promise of violence. Keenan’s blood turned to ice. Nothing living could have made that sound. Abigail’s familiars were dragging something awful before them, something that wanted their blood.

  Another snarl, this one of boundless rage. It was followed by a shriek that was shrill and piercing and terrible to hear.

  Keenan cringed and shrank as another bloodcurdling scream rose from the skull, evolving into words, a howling rush of menace and threats.

  ...tear you to pieces bathe in your blood strip your flesh smash your bones tear you to pieces...

  Shaking all over, Keenan opened his mouth. His throat had gone dry but he mustered enough voice to pray. And yet, even as the prayer escaped his lips, O’Brennan’s voice closed its embrace around his mind once more.

  If you don’t let go of her hand, you’re gonna die horribly, just like those men in the bunkhouse...

  Like a drowning man pulled ever deeper by an undertow, Keenan slipped under the voice’s spell. Conscious thought deserted him and his jaw hung aghast at the image coalescing on the bloody surface of Hawes’ skull.

  A pale face appeared, the ethereal likeness of a bearded man made of mist. Like some ghastly cameo framed in crimson, the image became clearer and more distinct until the spirit finally pushed through the portal and the ghostly figure floated into the air. Even the shifting, colorless smoke of the apparition’s eyes couldn’t diminish their piercing intensity as Jed Hawes’ spectral shape hung suspended above his own rotting head.

  Keenan trembled at the soulless malevolence of the dead man’s unearthly shrieks. He looked to Abigail, hoping for reassurance. What he saw in her face filled him with dread.

  Save yourself, Keenan...

  Keenan’s head swiveled in the direction of O’Brennan’s voice. It was coming from the forest.

  Yes. It’s safe out here...

  The howl of the wind became distant and the raging snarls receded. Keenan no longer felt the pressure of the hands clasped around his own. There was only his old friend urging him on, calling him away from the circle, beckoning him toward the dark safety of the trees.

  They’re gonna tear yo
u to bloody shreds, Keenan. And when they’re done, they’re gonna drag you down, down, down to their cold black hell...

  Keenan knew in his heart that O’Brennan spoke the truth. No one could master such infernal forces. And when Abigail did lose control, her familiars would tear him to pieces—tear them all to pieces. Himself, Colvin, Josiah, even Abigail herself; all would fall victim to the spirits’ terrible thirst for warm blood.

  Leave them, Keenan. Come to me. Let me protect you...

  He no longer needed convincing; he had to flee before it was too late. If he didn’t, he would die. Keenan knew all of this with an awful certainty. O’Brennan wouldn’t lie. O’Brennan cared for him, loved him like a brother. Keenan couldn’t resist; he had to follow his friend’s warm, comforting voice away from this terrible place.

  Keenan’s gaze returned to the black void of the forest. Out there among the trees, he would find O’Brennan. He would find safety.

  His grip on Abigail’s hand relaxed ever so slightly.

  Yes. That’s it. Let go, Keenan. Save yourself...

  Chapter 28

  Something was wrong. Abigail knew it the instant the dead man appeared on the bloody surface of the scrying bowl. Never before had she encountered a spirit so powerful.

  Hawes’ shrieks pierced her mind like an arrowhead, threatening the immense concentration required to maintain her mastery over his spirit. A frozen block hardened in the pit of her belly. She had a terrifying vision of losing control of the deadly familiars that bound Hawes. She imagined the dead man breaking loose, unleashing his terrible wrath upon them all. She knew then that she had made an awful mistake, one that might cost all of them their lives. She hadn’t been prepared for such otherworldly power, such unrestrained fury.

  With rising panic, Abigail’s instincts took over and she lifted her boot, intent on crushing the jack-o’-lantern and banishing Hawes’ spirit back from where it had come. It was the only way any of them would leave the circle alive. She had to do it now, now, now—before it was too late...

  No! she commanded herself. You must maintain control! You must have answers!

  Even as the thought asserted itself in her mind, Abigail felt herself withering under the shocking force of Hawes’ dark energy. The sensation filled her with horror. The ghost had her, and he was dragging her down into his dark realm of rage and despair. Abigail’s throat tightened. She was losing consciousness, plunging toward a black void. A terrible chill crawled into her skin, biting like teeth into her very bones. It was the dreadful cold of Hawes’ grave. His fearsome energy was pulling her inexorably down toward it. A sliver of terror pierced her heart. If she didn’t find some way to resist, she would be lost. The men around her would be slaughtered and the village would be doomed. She had to fight back, had to assert her dominance, had to find some way to repel and subdue the dead man.

  Remember who you are! a voice in her head screamed. Remember your fearsome lineage! Remember what you have done! You are strong! You fear neither the living nor the dead! The dead flee before you and bow at your command! You will defeat this loathsome abomination! You will not fail!

  Abigail grit her teeth and summoned her courage. The world vanished around her. There was no forest, no jack-o’-lantern, no hands clutching firmly at her own. There was only her and this terrible apparition, locked in a deadly struggle of wills.

  Drawing upon all of her strength—all of her indomitable resolve—Abigail began to slowly push against the excruciating shrieks assailing her mind. For a moment, there was a terrible stalemate, as of two unstoppable forces colliding. Abigail was staggered by Hawes’ seething rage, his burning desire to split her open and empty her veins of her warm, living blood. Ignoring the agony exploding in her brain, she pressed her thoughts to overcoming and dominating the horrifying spirit. She grimaced and gasped with the exertion.

  Blood pounded in her ears.

  Her muscles quivered and ached under the intense strain.

  And then, slowly—very slowly—she felt Hawes’ strength begin to falter under the force of her own. A euphoric rush of ecstasy surged from Abigail’s core, spreading through all parts of her being. She was vaguely conscious of Colvin’s frightened eyes on her as she gradually brought Hawes’ spirit under her control.

  The terrifying moments of weakness had passed. The struggle had shaken her, but she was now certain she could maintain her dominance over the dead man—but only if she sustained her concentration. The danger was great. Even now, she could feel the ghost gathering his strength once again, testing her defenses, looking to exploit some unguarded hole that would crack her open.

  If she made one mistake, she would doom them all.

  Abigail didn’t hesitate. She would have her answers from this hateful spirit, even if it meant gambling with all of their lives. “I am the necromancer who commands you by a bond of blood,” she declared, leveling her defiant gaze on the dreadful apparition. “I seek answers to questions you have left unresolved.”

  “I am beholden to none,” came the dead man’s furious reply. His hollow voice rose from a realm of eternal darkness and his eyes were windows into nothingness.

  “You will answer!” Abigail commanded, her tone rising with her confidence. “Or I will leave you bound to this earthly place for eternity! Here you will find no rest, no escape from the memory of your own shameful end! There will be no forgiving oblivion beyond the Veil! Each day of your unending existence, you will bear the pain of of that memory. Here, you will become hell!”

  The heat of the dead man’s simmering anger radiated against Abigail’s skin. An enraged roar burst from his vaporous maw like that of a wild beast awakening to find itself in a cage.

  Abigail braced herself, ready to trample the jack-o’-lantern under foot. An eternity passed until the roar finally subsided. In its wake there came a tense, smoldering silence.

  “Ask what you will,” the dead man seethed.

  In the hush that followed, Abigail became conscious of Keenan breathing a prayer over and over to her right. She stole a glance and saw that he was terrified, coming apart, his eyes too wide for his face.

  There was no time to worry about him now. Abigail knew she had to act quickly. Every moment Hawes’ spirit remained before them was tempting their destruction. With a shudder, her thoughts strayed back to those terrifying moments when she had felt the dead man dragging her down, down, down. She remembered the sensation of the bitter cold crawling through her flesh...

  No. Keenan would have to fend for himself.

  Gathering her own courage, Abigail drew a breath into her lungs and braced herself for what would come next. “Why did you take your own life?” she demanded.

  As if mortally wounded, the dead man erupted with another shrill and tormented shriek. The smoky figure writhed violently against his invisible shackles, his nebulous shape warping and distending like a serpent trying to escape its own skin.

  “I ask you again, Jedediah Hawes!” Abigail shouted over his infuriated wail. “What happened on the shore of Lake Tear of the Clouds? Why did you take your own life?”

  The dead man flailed in the air, struggling against the bonds that held him.

  “I was deceived!” he wailed. His hollow voice was now tortured with despair.

  Abigail’s pulse quickened and thudded in her throat. It was working! “By whom? Who deceived you?”

  “The unlord!”

  “Who is the unlord?”

  The ghost thrashed and faltered, choking on the answer like a man who has been poisoned.

  “Who is the unlord?” Abigail insisted again. “Name him!”

  “The king of the wicked! The venom of God!”

  Just then, Keenan’s palm slipped from Abigail’s.

  Her weightless hand dropped unexpectedly through the empty air and landed against her hip. She shot Keenan a horrified look. He was backing away, staring at her, his lip quivering.

  He had broken the circle.

  “Keenan! No!” Abigail
cried.

  It was too late.

  Keenan hesitated for only a heartbeat before dashing from the protective ring.

  In a flash, Hawes’ spectral shape burst into tendrils of billowing mist as Abigail’s bloodthirsty familiars released their hold on the dead man and streaked through the air after Keenan.

  Freed of his captors, Hawes’ ghost quickly came together once more and hung suspended above his own bloody head. He rose higher, arching his back like a viper ready to strike. The baleful hollows of his eyes smoldered with triumph as he glared down at the woman who had summoned him, this mortal witch who had held him captive and forced him to relive such awful memories.

  He flew at her without warning.

  Abigail had enough time to snatch the talisman from her neck before she was lifted from her feet and sent flying. She crashed to the ground on the edge of the clearing, landing hard on her chest and gasping as the air exploded from her lungs. Rolling in the dirt, her hand scrabbled for the talisman when she felt the spirit’s claws tear through her cloak and rake across her back. A sudden gush of warmth washed over her skin as blood poured from the wounds. The dead man struck again and again, clawing at her flesh.

  Abigail tried to scream but her cry was cut short as she was hauled up and flipped onto her back. It all happened with the speed of a lightning strike, a dizzying blur of blood and pain. She caught a glimpse of Hawes’ vaporous form towering over her before he slashed his claws across her face, barely missing her eye. She could taste the hot copper of her blood streaming over her lips. Another strike tore through her cloak from her shoulder to her breast. The savage fury of the dead man’s assault was overwhelming. He would flay her alive if she didn’t find some way to defend herself. Fumbling desperately, her hand suddenly found the talisman, closed around it, shot up in desperation.