Tag: Evil

The Creek

It wasn’t there before. I was sure of it. The tumbledown cottage was just barely visible over the creekbank, granted, and the trees were only recently bare. I might have missed it if I wasn’t paying attention. Still, that roof had to have been falling in for years to reach its current state, and I walked this creek every week.

Well, usually. I’d had to babysit my little brother all month while my parents volunteered all the fall functions the town council insisted on hosting in October. I was pretty sure only homework got us kids out of that; not that it saved me at all. Instead I got talked to death about costumes, jumped out at from corners every five minutes, and regaled with every free Halloween soundtrack available on the internet.

Now that I could finally visit the creek again, it didn’t offer the respite I expected. Something had been off since I started walking. It wasn’t just the bare branches; even the water felt dark, as if something malevolent hung over it. And now that cottage had me looking wound to see if I had somehow lost my way, even though I had followed the creek like always.

Something bright in the tangle on the bank ahead caught my eye. I took a step closer, peering to make out a tiny bonnet and what looked like corn husks wound tight. For a second I thought it must be one of the town decorations and started to reach for it before the panic set in. My hand froze in midair and against my will my gaze jerked to the almost hidden roof. As I turned to run I heard the water cackle, and leafless talons scored my back as the creek closed over my head.

The Story

https://pixabay.com/photos/fairy-tales-fantasy-forest-girl-2693683/

Priscilla prided herself on telling a good story. When Elouise pouted because Ms. Charlotte, the governess, made her rewrite her dictation for poor handwriting, she whispered funny stories about monkeys or kittens who misbehaved. When history lessons were just too boring, she embellished the lives of generals and queens with fanciful romances or tragic mishaps. But the story she told to punish Ms. Charlotte for keeping her in the schoolroom instead of taking her to the town festival changed everything.

It was just the old woman who lived in a shoe, with a Priscilla style twist to scare the timid governess. She was just as surprised as anyone when the impossible shoe appeared in the middle of the schoolroom, along with a mossy, misty forest. Ms. Charlotte was nowhere to be seen, but Elouise huddled close to Priscilla, her eyes wide. Priscilla stamped her foot, hiding her own confusion under mock impatience.

Before she could say anything, Ms. Charlotte stepped from behind the shoe house, but something about her was not quite right. Her walk was just a little stiff, her parasol just a little too upright. And Ms. Charlotte’s hair would never be that messy. As the woman’s mouth opened, the girls heard a whirring sound, then a click as the head cocked to one side. “Who – visits – the – shoe?” The voice was harsh, almost as if someone could make words by tapping on tin. “Girls. We – must – have – girls.”

Priscilla heard a grinding sound as the woman jerked closer, and the front of the dress slid open. Elouise screamed through her own fingers pressed tightly over her mouth, and Priscilla’s heart pounded as metal arms unfolded and reached for her. Tinny, emotionless laughter filled her ears. “The – story – teller – sets – us – free.”

Book Teaser: The Confrontation

Despite the distance, I approached Dracul far too quickly and my heart pounded at sight of him. His skin was bloodless and translucent, revealing blackened veins beneath. His head, with only a few greasy tendrils of hair clinging to it, was topped with what appeared to be a rough leather turban, the fur worn patchy and nondescript. His body, lean and bony, seemed swallowed in a ragged cloak of the same material, tossed back over one shoulder in the warmth of the sun. His nails were longer than those of the other vampyr I had seen, less broken but filthy, and his eyes gleamed yellow like a wolf’s eyes. He had turned from the battle and watched my approach, lips parting in a feral glee that revealed yellowed but terrifyingly sharp fangs. Around him a circle of dead foliage that reached into the tree line and dimmed the sparkle of the crystals at the cliff’s edge testified of his nature.

“Ah yes, the little human,” he hissed, his voice slithering into my ears like a snake. His nails clicked against each other as he waggled his fingers in obvious satisfaction. “At last you have come to me. They always come, don’t they?”

I glanced around, startled, thinking to see another vampyr, but could see only the three of us. Confused, I faltered and hesitated, just at the edge of the dead circle. “Who always comes?” I asked. “And why should they?”

He cackled, an unnerving sound of dry leaves and branches shaken by the wind. “Who can resist my charms?” he hissed, stepping toward me. “My power! Who could defy me?”

“I know many who have not succumbed to you,” I argued, setting my chin. “And some who have broken free from your influence. Where is your power now?”

His lip curled and his oily brows knit together. “A pitiful satyr so unfortunate and witless to find himself caught? So young as to be swayed by the manipulations of a girl?” he sneered. “A giant king of a dwindling kingdom, unable even to hold his own daughter’s loyalty? What are they to me? Dead and buried in their own weakness.”

“They are not so insignificant,” I insisted, silently willing my heart to stop pounding so loudly. “They are the beginning of the web unraveling. You are stretched too thin.”

He sniffed. “Overconfidence is unbecoming in one so young,” he snarled. “What do you know of power, girl?”

Vlad

How long had it been? One hundred years? Two? Locked deep within the castle vaults, skin burned black and then white by the silver of his sarcophagus, thirst that would not be assuaged by his own blood turning his mind to enraged madness. How long since his screams of pain had turned to bitter silence, how long since the silence had been broken by his own maniacal cackling?

He remembered companions. Barely. What companions had they been. Women whose blood slaked his thirst and woke already fading emotions. Sycophants who pleased him for what he could offer – wealth, the illusion of power, eternity. Dust all of them. Worth less than that in life. No matter, he no longer cared for companionship.

He remembered children. Children of blood who hunted with him in the night, children who had filled the earth with their fascination and their hunger. Children who had fallen to the mobs who would not bow to their new gods. No matter. There would be more.

This one who had freed him would be the first. She stood before him, unbending, unyielding, unworshiping, unafraid. She would turn, oh yes, and she would be a queen such as had never been. They would rule a world of their own remaking. The crumbling throne before him waited for the liege lord, and all others would soon bow before it or die.

The Ghost

FB_IMG_1589074214619The monk stood beneath the arch, staring down the endless corridor of archways. Once echoing with the sounds of prayers and sandals, once filled with the bounty of the fields waiting to be distributed where needed, the archways stood empty and silent. He was alone.

No one had foreseen the disaster. The unholy thing had slipped in so easily, feasting on the contentment of the people. There had seemed no need for guard; the peace of the community had been unbroken for centuries. The stranger was welcomed with open arms and generous kindness.

The monk barely remembered the first disappearance. An old man, he thought; or perhaps it was an old woman. The forgotten went first. The children were next, and with the first of those losses came the fear. By then it was too late.

One by one they were taken. One by one the community dwindled. When it came for the monks they were powerless. Their own fear and grief was their undoing. They fell to the unholy stranger like the last in a chain of dominoes.

The monk stood under the arch, staring down the endless corridor of archways. Here he would stand forever, the ghost of all those he had taken. With their deaths he had died, trapped forever in this empty hall of his own making.

The Reflection

FB_IMG_1570588551040Midnight in the wood. Everyone said if you went to the wood at midnight you would see your true self in the mist. It was a stupid legend, fit to entertain highschoolers and frighten children. Yet here he was.

If it weren’t for the strangeness of the last few days, he would never have even considered coming. The October chill was bone biting under the trees, and he hated hiking. But things had happened. Things that could not be ignored. Even chasing a stupid story was better than that.

He stamped his feet and shoved his numb hands deeper into his coat pockets. Mist rose from the rotting loam inder his feet, enveloping him with suffocating speed. He gasped for air, only to realize that he hadn’t been suffocating at all, merely holding his breath. His eyes darted from one side to the other, and he swiveled nervously, his rapid breathing creating temporary pockets in the mist.

A blinding light brought his hand to his eyes, a shield against the pain. A shadow rushed across the light, and he squinted through his fingers, his heart pounding, trying to discern the threat. His eyes widened as an impossibly large hand, the mirror image of his own, parted the mist. Another joined it, lifting into the light without being illuminated by it. Shaking, he followed the second hand as it rose above a faceless head.

The shadow giant stood facing him, seemingly frozen, and he let out a sharp chuckle at his own gullibility. Just a play of light and shadows, someone playing a long standing joke on the town, no doubt. At the sound of his voice, two eyes snapped open in the shadow head, freezing his breath in his lungs. Their glowing pinpoints burned whitehot into his brain. He didn’t even hear his own scream.

They found him the next morning, stiff and frozen, eyes staring in horror with the image of the shadow etched into his eyes.