MIRACLES OR SIN
THE TRUTH LIES WITHIN
WILL WE EVER WIN...
INDEPENDENCE DAY EXTRAVAGANZA
July 4th,
2020
I
t was twilight. In downtown Penobscot, at the Penobscot
Mall—but especially in the parking-lot of the Mall, Melody’s Illusion was
throwing a concert to a crowd of 2800+ people. The streets were blockaded by
the authorities and crowd-control was in affect; vehicles were parked bumper to
bumper on the streets, and filled the designated areas to full capacity. And
festivities for a fireworks extravaganza was getting underway.105.5- KBGM was
broadcasting the concert live, while KLT Channel Four was showing footage to a
crowd at home.
The Granger’s Eziate, Moonshadow, was out beyond the bay
of Penobscot
William Talbot was giving a Tarot
Reading in the galley to Rene Barnes, and Shelby Davenport was watching with
fascination. While in one of the cabins Brian Cooper was screwing with stocks online
while his girlfriend Lisa Peters wanted only to either screw him, or throw the
laptop overboard.
Bethany Hart amazed Gordon as she
glided from starboard to aft performing a collective cartwheel, and ending with
a one-handed push-up.
“God-damn! How do you do that?”
Gordon asked in awe.
Beth pinched his cheek and said,
“Mind over matter; don’t mind, and it won’t matter…”
Conrad Parker pulled out his
electric guitar and amplifier. He was going to compliment Ashford Will’s
performance, while listening to the broadcast of Melody’s Illusion.
All those on board, with the
exception of Brian Holt, were looking forward to Conrad’s performance. Brian
just wanted to screw his girlfriend.
“Ah—c’mon baby, the bed is soooooo
cozy…”
“I want to watch Conrad.” Carlene
Potts told her boyfriend.
The kids began to filter onto the
deck.
Moraine was the first one to see
it. Off in the distance, away from the bay, a storm cloud. Or what appeared to
be a storm cloud. Scotty Brown seemed to acknowledge it next, but he observed
that the borders seemed to glow with actinic flashes of white, like lighting,
and trimmed in a yellow-green luminescence.
After a time it seemed to grow
larger.
Melody’s Illusion started their
concert.
Conrad started his.
And Bill Hobbs noticed the cloud
coming in as well. “That’s strange,” he observed.
No one
besides himself, Scotty, and Moraine seemed to have taken notice of the cloud.
They were too busy trying to get drunk, get more drunk, making out, trying to
get the fireworks good to go, or just kicking back with a drink and listening
to the concert aboard ship.
Soon
Conrad’s guitar wept, blaring melodic.
And yet
Moraine and Scotty could have sworn that they heard a low droning sound that
wasn’t coming from the boat.
Where was
it coming from?
The cloud?
Strange as
it may sound, after awhile, it actually did seem like it was coming in
direction of the cloud. But what was it that was making the noise?
Moraine was
suddenly reminded of the sound that locust make when they swarm. It was
similar. And it was growing louder.
The first
fireworks were let go from the city, to climb into the sky, and explode
brilliantly in red and purple over the bay, followed immediately by blue-green
illumination, and yellow-white.
“Hey,
everybody!” Gordon yelled. “The fireworks are starting!”
“Hey!”
Scotty called out to Gordon. “Take a look at that storm cloud over there. Have
we gotten any reports of rain?”
Conrad
stopped playing.
“What about
it?” Gordon said, looking at the cloud, which he inwardly admitted looked
rather large. “No, no call of rain as of yet.”
“Was there
a red sky this morning?” Moraine asked.
“I don’t
know,” Gordon said, almost sounding annoyed. “I’m not up that early. Not unless
I gotta’ be on the set.”
“Well do
you hear that?”
Another salvo
of fireworks filled the sky.
“Hear
what?”
“Wait until
the fireworks stop for a minute, and listen.”
Gordon did
so. And as he did, he found himself thinking over the events of the past week.
Friends of his were dead, one of them by his hand, and he and Todd were once
again out partying like nothing had happened. Then he heard it too, or thought
he did. A low droning, that was growing increasingly louder. “What the hell is that?”
“Beats the
shit out of me.” Scotty said. “It doesn’t sound friendly, whatever it is.”
And then
Joshua Mathews saw it while on the deck at the stern with Kathy McAllister.
“Hey, babe. Get your camera.”
“I will I
will.” She said, thinking that Josh was referring to the fireworks going on
overhead. But she was more interested in making out a little more.
“It’s like
something out of Close Encounters.” Moraine said finally.
And then
she saw them. But she wasn’t sure at first just what exactly it was she was
seeing. Insects, bioluminescent, the size of softballs, flying toward them from
out of the cloud. Countless numbers of them.
“Holee-shit…”
Scotty commented.
“Everyone
below deck, now! Everyone!” Gordon yelled.
Shelby and
Beth were near Brian and Carlene and were swift to move, looking at the swarm
of insects that now came for them. While Moraine and Scotty cleared the stern
and made their way to port, the insects converged on Kathy and Josh. It was
evident that they were either being stung or bitten, because their screams
filled the air. The insects seemed to miss Moraine and Scotty as they made it
around to the aft, where they could access the lower cabins. The men let the
women go first, entering below deck, with the exception of Kathy, who was in a
bad way, covered by the Sanhen’loci
that swarmed. Five young women and two young men were all that would make it
below deck, before the movement of the others was compromised. Strangely Gordon
and Todd were left untouched by the Sanhen’loci.
Those below
could hear the insect-demons outside and above, milling for a time. They
scraped the deck with their carapaces and stingers. They could be seen inside
crawling across the outside of the portholes, glowing like some hellish
lightning-bug nightmare-spawn. And each one of their stings brought forth a
chorus of agony, before they once again took flight, joined the swarm above
them, and moved on toward the beach.
“What the
hell is going on…?!” William demanded.
“It’s an
invasion, or infestation of mutated insects.” Scotty answered.
“A what?!”
“He’s
telling the truth!” Moraine vociferated.
“It’s
impossible.” Carlene said. “This can’t be happening. Those things can’t be
real! Brian! Brian!”
“There’s
nothing you can do for him!” Scotty yelled.
“You saw it
yourself.” Beth affirmed.
“I don’t
know what I saw.” Carlene countered. “It was like nothing I ever saw.”
“They were
like little demons.” Shelby
The Sanhen’loci swarmed over the beach, and
their sting was like that of a jellyfish. And people screamed, some ran, those
that could. And some of those that ran, collapsed under the stings of the
malefic locusts. And soon the daemonic horde was over the beach and flying into
Penobscot Mall parking-lot and into the concert.
Pandemonium
soon followed, as people raced helter-skelter, trying to avoid the sting of the
Sanhen’loci, trying to make it to the
safety of their vehicles. While less than half making it to some form of
shelter, and less than half of that running into the mall, the others managed
to make it to their cars and trucks.
Those that
made it to their vehicles, more than half of them soon found themselves in a
cluster-fuck of escaping motorists. More than a hundred cars applied their
horns.
And still
the Sanhen’loci swarmed.
And people
screamed.
Half of the
vehicles that weren’t caught in the cluster-fuck, were soon involved in an
accident of some kind, as their visibility was conceding by the swarming
insect-demons.
Cars and
trucks eventually took to the sidewalks, trying to go around the vehicles in
the streets. More than a dozen people were run down in the process.
Horns and
cries pierced the night, accompanied by the occasional gunshots.
There
followed again the sound of a vehicle impacting with another, a hollow crash,
the sound of shattering glass scattering, followed by still more screams.
The screams
were followed by an explosion, a concussive detonation that hammered the night
with its reverberations.
Another
collection of vehicles ran across the courtyard of the Holiday Inn, across from
the mall, mowing down pedestrians and runners, and several slammed into traffic
running behind on Braughton Street
“Good god,”
spoke a relatively soft voice, next to Dale Rafferty, who was observing the
activity outside from inside the Penobscot Mall peering through a large window.
A window that the swarm had avoided, just as they avoided the other windows
that gave light. Dale turned to see a woman with lustrous dark hair and trendy
blond streaks, she had deep blue eyes, and she came up to his shoulder in
height. “What is happening?”
“Ain’t you
got eyes, girl?” A stocky man with a silver mustache spoke up. “It’s the End of
Days, and those are the Locust from the Apocalypse.”
That made
about as much sense as anything else that Dale could come up with, but inwardly
he argued against it. He wanted to say something reassuring to the woman, but
nothing would come. He suspected that he might be in shock. That made sense
too.
Across the
street people ran crazily from the swarm that was pushing its way through
downtown Penobscot. Another explosion ensued; this one Dale could feel in his
legs, as the Sonoco next to the Dairy Queen exploded.
A burglar
alarm blared in the distance of the night.
Dale turned
to see a small congregation of people that had somehow managed to escape into
the mall. How little or many that were safely in the mall was a puzzlement to
Dale. There must have been at least thirty people, ranging between the ages of
early teens to late thirties—the only ones that had been fit enough to outrun
those that had been stung behind them before they could reach the doors. And
how it was that none of the nasty fuckers had not managed to gain access to the
mall inside was also a mystery to Dale. There seemed to be so many them. Flying
everywhere. One would think that at least one of the insect-demons had managed to
gain access inside the mall. But as Dale gazed upward toward the ceiling more
than fifty feet overhead, he couldn’t detect any sign of the nasty fuckers that
might have managed to get inside.
Maybe they avoid the light. They avoided the
mall windows. Maybe, unlike the moth that is drawn to the flame, these mutant
insects from hell have an enmity toward the light. After all, they did come out
at night. And your average insect is drawn to the light that illuminates the
darkness; whereas your conventional crawler avoids the light. So is this some
scientific or military fuck-up, or both…?Saint
John
Mindy Riddley of 38 was looking in
a bad way. She had been at the concert with her husband Cort, and they had gone
to the concession-stand to get two Big Gulps before the concert started. And
when the Sanhen’loci swarmed one of
the nasty little fuckers knocked her beverage from her hand before she was
stung. She remembered very little of that, save for a purgatory of her own
screams of pain and misery. But things were starting to get better, she felt,
even if her husband looked grave at her current condition. Oh sure—her skin was
starting to take on a bruised hue, but at least she was no longer in pain.
And…well, now come to think of it, there was something going on with her eyes.
Her vision seemed to be improving, if not becoming downright acute.
Cort wouldn’t agree that his wife
was getting better. She looked to him like she was knocking on Death’s Door.
And he was doing all that he could to be reassuring, and make her comfortable,
just as he had tried to do, when Mindy had a miscarriage six months ago. That
had been a hellish experience. But—my god! Mindy had looked better then than
she did now. And Cort couldn’t bear the idea of losing her. And…what was
happening to her eyes…? Her beautiful brown eyes! One was growing darker, while
the other was growing brighter…
“It will be alright, honey.” Mindy
said to Cort. “I promise it will. I know it will. In fact, I think…I’m finally
beginning to see…the light…”
Where did the flame come from? Cort
would never know. What he did know,
was that his face was suddenly on fire, and he thought that he had screamed—he
didn’t know how it was possible not to—but it also felt like his lungs were
filled to capacity with a gas that would not be pushed through. He
instinctively grabbed for his face, and believed then and there that he heard
the screams of others rivaling his own.
When the screams started again Dale
was standing at one of the doors that led to an access corridor. It started as
a lone wail, like the child of a banshee. This was followed by a succession of
three other cries, then a man’s curdling howl. And Dale did the only thing he
could do at that moment in time; he walked through the door and let it close
behind him.
What the others witnessed, those
left behind, was beyond the capacity of their imagination, let alone their
reasoning.
Pyres of flame, like twin jets of
fire erupted from those that had been stung less than an hour prior. Erupted
from their eyes! As one turned to the color of coal, the other eye became like
a miniature star, yellow-white. And those that had been within their sight,
were engulfed in a relatively hellish conflagration.
G
etting footage of the Sanhen’loci
and the swarm’s movement was no mean feat without the problematic institution
of being stung. Several reporters had made an attempt, including Gail Roberts
of KLT Channel-11, Brad Sherman CCS Channel-2, Ron Simpson of KAVT Channel-13,
and Marin Crenshaw of NBT Channel-28. Gail Roberts and Ron Simpson had both
been killed in the line of duty while trying to gather footage of the Sanhen’loci, while Sherman Sherman
A
s the trio reached the door that would lead
outside—following another alarm of course, they heard the sound of helicopters
beyond the door. At least it sounded like helicopters. Had the locust sounded
like this earlier? If they did, then it was a sure bet that the kids didn’t
make it. And was further likely that those on the other side wouldn’t make it
as well. But then the noise dropped away, like the choppers were making a sweep
of the mall.
“CDC?” The man with the silver
mustache said.
“Could be.” Dale answered. “I don’t
remember those nasty little fuckers sounding like this.”
“Well, if it is the CDC, we better
get while the getting is good. True dat?”
“Sounds like the right thing to
do.” Dale answered.
The man opened the door, the alarm
sounded, and a blaring light died away.
“Something’s going on out here.”
The man said over the sound of the alarm. “Let’s get the hell gone.”
Justin Lyn, age 32, couldn’t
believe what he was seeing. Three people had suddenly burst into flames around
him. Their screams were horrid. But no more ghastly than what was happening to
them. They danced around spasmodically, while flames coursed up and down their
bodies. Their clothes burned, their flesh sizzled and grew black, before the
integumentary system was swiftly removed by the fire that embraced the folk--to
reveal just as quickly what lay beneath, and singeing that tissue as well and
just as swiftly. It was horrible! Justin didn’t see what was responsible for
the human torches; he did the only thing that he thought sensible at the time.
He ran. He ran like hell, away from the people, and toward the center of the
mall. And he wasn’t the only one. Five other people suddenly seemed to be
coerced by the same thought that their collective reasoning deemed prudent.
They were not far behind Justin. And then one of them ignited like a Roman
Candle.
Bodies, bruised-colored and
swollen, laid about the parking lot, unmoving. It was a hellish vision; it was
like a land of darkness and dead-magic, where the dead go to lie and rot…
Beyond the parking-lot was a line of vehicles in the street that also wasn’t
moving, headlights pierced the darkness, the illumination of unseeing eyes.
Dale looked around. “Shit,” he
commented, looking at the aftermath wrought by the locusts.
The trio followed the building
around front, even as they saw three white vans and two police cruisers come by
way of the Holiday Inn courtyard, and cross the street to the mall.
“Looks like it just hit the fan
again.” The man with the silver mustache said.
“Sounds like it too.” Dale agreed.
“We can’t get out that way.”
“We’ll have to go around back, cut
through the woods to Dreyfus Street
Good god in heaven, what was going
on?! It was impossible. It didn’t make sense. Absurdity and insanity had a
voice, and their sound was filled with maniacal laughter. This was madness! On
a scale that the handful of people running could not begin to fathom. The
people that had been stung, had translated into some kind of automata that
literally had fire bursting from their eyes! Killing people whose gaze fell
upon them.
The authorities that entered the
building had obviously not been prepared for something of this nature—who
would?—and as eyes of the automata fell on them, they became collateral damage,
courtesy of nightmares from hell.
The trio crossed the wide expanse
of pavement that ran to the edge of the woods behind the mall. And soon they
were inside, making their way through the brush, illumination made available by
the surrounding sources. The men and woman did not walk blindly through the
woods. But half way through, they heard a droning, that once again reminded
them of the locust. They shuddered in spite of themselves, and looked for
available places to hide. It turned out to be a lone motorcycle, moving like a
bat out of hell, weaving its way through vehicles that had been stopped in
mid-flight on Dreyfus Street
The handful that had escaped,
pushed their way through the door leading to the access corridor. They ran in a
line toward the door that would take them outside. Justin pushed the door open
without thinking about it. And again the alarm sounded. However Justin quickly
discovered that the door did not in fact lead outside, not anymore, but instead
it opened into an umbilicus that led to a preliminary testing station of the
CDC. Furthermore, Justin was greeted by figures in white environment suits.
“Run for your lives!” Justin
yelled, not believing what he had just said—it sounded so stereotypical.
“Whatever is after us has already killed at least ten people. And the cops
couldn’t get a shot off before they were taken down and out of the equation!”
However the CDC wasn’t quick to
believe Justin’s words, and they tried to restrain him, and those immediately
coming after him.
“You goddam fools!” Justin
declared. “You’re going to get us all killed. Let go of us!” He demanded.
But the CDC would not let go, and
Justin was hit with a sedative that made his legs weak, his eyelids heavy.
“Yooooo Stuuu-piiid fuckers…”
And still the alarm from the opened
door sounded.
And then there came another sound.
At the end of the long corridor, behind those who were struggling to keep from
being subdued. Just loud enough to be heard over the alarm. And Justin, with
reasoning suddenly becoming bleary, thought abstractly that it was a deliberate
and cryptic sound. Coming from the end of the hall.
It was the sound of the door
leading into the access corridor opening and then closing. And it was either
another escapee—which Justin fearfully doubted, or the automata didn’t have the
brain-dead nature of a zombie.
“Weeeer upper-cased fucked…” he
said, then passed out.
While the others in the hall
screamed, ranting and protesting.
“You don’t know what you have
stumbled into.” A man in his late twenties declared.
“Don’t sedate us! No! Don’t do it!”
A woman shrieked. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“Those things will kill us all!”
Another man said boisterously.
And then those in the environment
suits saw it. While the others tried to push passed them.
A figure stepping with seemingly
calm deliberation came into a view. A rather innocuous looking gentleman, save
for the bruised color of his skin. And then flame raced down the corridor,
entering the umbilicus and reaching the oxygen in the tent beyond. An explosion
quickly followed that vaporized the CDC tent, and everyone that had been in the
corridor.
“What the hell was that?” Samuel
wanted to know, looking back over his shoulder. “It came from the mall.”
“Then it looks like we got out just
in time.”
“But what the hell happened?”
“If you want to go back and check
it out Sam, feel free to do so. But I’m moving forward.”
“This is a nightmare, a bloody
nightmare.”
“You said it yourself, it is the
End of Days.”
“I don’t actually believe that. But
something…”
“It’s close enough. We are going to
have to get out of the town. If they quarantined the mall, they are likely to
quarantine Penobscot.”
“We need transportation. And right
now the authorities are sitting on our transportation.”
“Then we’ll have to find
transportation elsewhere.”
“You mean steal a car?” Carlotta
said.
“Under ordinary circumstances I
might say no. But these are far from ordinary circumstances. And pretty soon
Penobscot is going to be a cage. If they don’t already have the access roads
blocked off.
The men and woman came out of the
woods.
Dreyfus
Street New Hampshire Massachusetts Virginia Virginia Mexico Carlotta ,
Mexico Mexico California Mexico Dreyfus Street
T
he walk towards his apartment for Eugene Stark and friends
was not without incident, even though the skies no longer occupied the
Sanhen’loci. He had left the mall with ten people through the access corridor
before the CDC arrived. Six of which were his friends, four of which had broken
off from the group and gone their own way. His vehicle, and that of David
Armitage could not be moved through the mass of cars that had blocked the area
around the mall. And ten blocks from his apartment and more hell broke lose.
This time it was in the fashion of automata that looked like something out of Night of the Living Dead, except when
they looked at things or people, flames leapt from their eyes, and things
caught fire, and people died. Cars ignited and exploded, and Eugene Eugene Eugene Main Street Albion ,
and standing in front of the Arbys, right before the road became Route-4, a
half-mile east, and right before the turn-pike, there was an area that
Penobscot quaintly called Five Corners. It was because traveling east the road
broke off in three separate directions at the intersection, with one street
going south, and two streets traveling south by south-east; the streets were
Edison, Cooper, and Pines. It was at this intersection where three gazers of
fire staked their positions.
And cars, for a time, came down Main
Street Edison .
Each driver witnessed the explosions of the two vehicles and tried to avoid
them. They did so, however they slammed into one another like bumper cars side
by side, and both hit the median that the AMX had crossed, only then to be hit
explosively by the gazers. Each vehicle ended up almost in the middle of the
intersection before their process was discontinued. Both vehicles looked like
crushed cans covered in fire.
A LeSabre
and Sebring were following close behind the Hummer and AMX, and maybe they saw
the gazers—maybe they didn’t. At any rate, they too were hit by the attacks of
the automata; three fireballs slammed into the vehicles with the roar of
dragonfire, and for the cars it was like hitting a low wall; both vehicles
upended simultaneously, spilled through the fireballs, and landed in a heap
atop the BMW and Quattro with a thunderous crash. Eugene Main Street Eugene
Most of the
hospital had been evacuated by the time the fire department arrived to put the
fire out. By this time floors 1, 3, and 5 were almost completely engulfed by
flames. Five gazers at the same time stepped through the sliding-glass doors of
the entrance.
Mark Barnes
was the engineer of the unit, and he had never witnessed a fire truck exploding
with him still inside of it. However that’s exactly what happened when three
fireballs slammed into the hook-and-ladder. And the truck left the pavement by
about twelve feet, and rolled once through the air, before landing haphazardly
on the driver’s side, thirty yards from where it had been initially. Scattering
its payload all over the parking-lot. People screamed. But this time the gazers
of flame seemed to ignore them, walked deliberately from the entrance, and
stepped out into the night.
The police
cruisers used the sidewalk to try and get close to the firestarters. By this
time traffic was backed up for almost a quarter of a mile, looking not unlike a
dealership or a new junk-yard suddenly taking offers, while six cars were
piled-up in the intersection, looking like crumpled and twisted boxes of tin
and fire. And Eugene Eugene Eugene Eugene Eugene
Gordon
Granger and his friends were almost five miles away from the hospital when
Fire-Unit 15 took a roll. They were heading south on I-40. William’s Citroen
followed Todd’s BMW, with Shelby Maine
Eugene and
his friends were out of breath by the time they reached the other side of Main
Street noon ,
and now it was going on ten-o-clock. They had all planned on getting something
to eat after the concert. They had no idea that their meal would be post-poned for
five more hours—that is, if they made it to Eugene noon , where did that come from?” But no one
held the reaction against her as their own stomachs churned and turned, and Eugene Dianna
Spring Eugene Eugene Edison .
“We’ll
cross over when we reach a safe distance.” Eugene Edison , they looked down toward the
intersection and saw that the pile-up had somehow been transformed into a
bizarre ice-sculpture.
“Liquid
nitrogen, I’m guessing.” Alex said. “Whoever was up there, hit the gazers with
liquid nitrogen!”
“Outstanding.”
Eugene
I
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DARKNESS BEYOND: Charlie and the Caladesh
DARKNESS BEYOND: Charlie and the Caladesh
Charlie Edmonson pulled the black Durango into the long drive of the parking lot of Goodall’s Physical, Occupational, and Speech Therapy. The facility was surrounded by woods, which gave the modern structure of the Goodall Hospital division a rustic appearance; an aura of simpler times seemed to surround it. Charlie was bringing his mother of seventy-two years to the center at the referral of Dr. Bennet after having been diagnosed with spinal stenosis in the lower lumbar region, and bones spurs in the upper cervical region of Martha’s back; surgery was looking to be a necessity to avoid the possibility of paralysis, however, even this was not guaranteed. As a student of massage studying at Seacoast Career Schools, Charlie set his sights on working with the health-care team to encourage ROM—range-of-motion, before things became too serious. He had seen the X-rays and MRI provided to him by Dr. Bennet, after the good doctor learned of Charlie’s status. And Charlie had already determined his own course of action based on his assessment of his mother, and he was looking forward to speaking with the physical therapist to find out how close he was in proper assessment. It would turn out that Charlie was right on target, although he wouldn’t get the chance to have that confirmed today.And now the arthritis in her back was pressing against the nerves that traveled through the sacrum, causing extreme and debilitating pain at times. Something had to be done and very soon. Dr. Bennet had already prescribed her Vicodan, which she took when her pain tolerance was at a 7 on a scale of 1-10. Martha didn’t believe in taking medication unless it was absolutely necessary. And because she had lived with back pain most of her life, it was sometimes difficult to discern when the need for medication was in fact a necessity.
Because life can sometimes be so ironic, Charlie just happened to be friends with Vincent Stallon, and they each found that they had more in common with one another than what might otherwise be preferred. Or—maybe it was their mothers that had more in common with one another; that is Vincent’s mother-in-law, versus Charlie’s mother.
Both men were writers and artists. Well, that wasn’t altogether true; Charlie was still struggling toward publication, while Vincent—with the promotional assistance of his publisher, Unity Publishing—had sold more than $1000.00 in books…in five years time! Hardly worth the seven years of blood, sweat, tears, and soul, which Vincent had poured into his psychological science-fiction/adventure novel, The Outsider. Vincent had plans to throw a party when his seven year contract was up with Unity. And he made sure to let other aspiring writer’s know to stay away from the publishing house and not make the same mistake that he made. Now he and Charlie were working on a Fantasy Horror novel entitled The Darkness Within, and hoped to be recognized by Epic for their achievement. Charlie was a little put off by Vincent’s attitude of publication; sure he hadn’t produced a best-seller, or at least not one that would be recognized enough by Unity to promote it as such—just put it out there on the web and see what happens. But the bottom line was that he was in fact a published author. So many people never had the privilege of seeing such opportunity bear fruition. There were old men with no teeth eating Ramen Noodles that were still struggling to be published. True, Vincent was ten years older than Charlie, and maybe that had something to do with his bitterness and resentment toward other authors who had in fact gotten lucky; oh—they had to be decent enough to stay “lucky”, but the truth be told, publication was all about luck—it had nothing to do with how good you were at crafting your work, and Vincent was a hell of a writer. Maybe a lot of his resentment stemmed from the fact that he didn’t want to be a massage therapist, but rather have a residual income with writing. And Charlie supposed that there was nothing wrong with that, in spite of how good a massage therapist he was—that is, student of massage therapy. According to Amarie he was the salt of the Earth, and that was a hell of a compliment to be given by such an attractive, vibrant, and…professional woman as Amarie projected herself to be. And just where had she been the past week, now that he thought about it.
He sipped at his Latte’ with six sugars in it, and his thoughts returned back to his mother, whom he loved dearly. Something else that was a contrast with Vincent; because although the women shared similar symptoms and disorders, Vincent didn’t get along with his mother-in-law, well…at all. He didn’t come right out and call her a bitch—he would never do that; however the things that were said about her definitely didn’t place her in the category for the possibility of winning the Mother of the Year Award. Mildred, who was a retired nurse had her own perception of how she expected things to be; while Vincent busted his ass juggling candles that were burning at both ends, and never quite achieving what it was that he set out to do. His grades were above average at Seacoast, and he might have been an A-Student or the Seacoast Star for that matter. But that would mean being on Dave Taylor’s A-Team, and after hearing about the affair that School Director had compromised with one of the instructors, Vincent had no interest in being on Dave’s A-Team. And as far as the Seacoast Star went, Vincent liked where he parked, he didn’t care to have the Star’s parking place, just to show others that he was an achiever.
And Vincent was an achiever, a hell of an achiever. Like Charlie, Vincent suffered from bipolar disorder; unlike Charlie, Vincent also suffered from schizoaffective tendencies; which meant that he heard voices during his times of depression—voices that discouraged and condemned Vincent, and otherwise had him walking through his own personal hell that no one saw, unless they looked close enough to try to. He never made excuses concerning his disorder, although there were times when the medication wouldn’t absorb properly in his system, and Vincent would have to excuse himself from class, lest he fall asleep during the course. Most people saw this as a weakness, they had no conception of how incredibly strong Vincent was.
Charlie pulled into a parking space in front of the building. “I’m going to finish my coffee and smoke a cigarette,” he told his mother. I will see you inside. Give you enough time to fill out the forms that they have for you before I see the physical therapist.”
“Alright.” Martha moved stiffly. Pulled the seatbelt aside. Charlie got out on his side, came around the back of the truck to the passenger side, let his mother out. “Thank you,”
“I’ll see you inside.”
Martha trundled toward the double entrance—two sliding glass doors before reaching the reception area.
Charlie retrieved his coffee, then took out a cigarette.
As he smoked and drank his coffee, he heard the sounds of dirt-bikes somewhere in the woods; they made a cackling rumble that always reminded Edmonson of a deranged bird, or some mechanical insect. There must have been a trail nearby in the woods.
After awhile a white Grand Marquis pulled into a parking space across the lot.
That’s when Charlie heard the long winding whine of one of the motorcycles going full-throttle, and then sputtering.
This was followed by a long winded scream, as if one of the bikers lost control.
And then another scream cut through the air, which gave Charlie the impression of two bikers colliding with one another. Their dirt-bikes idled for a moment, then fell silent. This was almost immediately followed by a howl of something sounding much like a wolf, only larger and more powerful.
The howl rose and rose and…then there was the high-pitched wailing of screams cutting through and echoing throughout the woods. Charlie was taken aback, and suddenly he had this image of the bikers being attacked by some kind of monster, something akin to a lycanthrope. And he wasn’t far from his mental conception at all, as he soon realized, when the beast suddenly made an abrupt appearance in the parking lot—or maybe there was more than one of them…
The beast leapt up atop a Suburban, which was right next to the white Grand Marquis. The woman apparently hadn’t heard the screams in the woods, as she was busying herself with retrieving something from the car. She became quite familiar with her own screams, as the monster sprang from the roof of the Suburban to the driver’s-side of the Marquis.
Charlie saw blood spray, the creature attacking in an upward swipe, in much the same manner as a cat. The woman fell back, her head bent in a position that would otherwise be considered uncompromising. The impact of her skull hitting the driver’s window was sufficient enough to shatter the glass. And all Charlie could do was watch, his stomach tightening in cold knots. And then he suddenly felt as if too much time had passed. Too much time. To allow him to be rooted to the pavement, with a hot latte’ frozen in his grip, a cigarette pinched between two fingers of his other hand, while unbridled carnage unfolded before him, less than a hundred yards away.
Terror and horror gripped him in a manner that he never dreamed possible.
Thoughts unmitigated and normally inconceivable raced through Charlie’s mind. What was happening was too unbelievable for his cognitive rationale to initially grasp. It was impossible. Monsters didn’t attack like this—so suddenly and in broad daylight. And this was for good reason that they didn’t behave thusly; because monsters didn’t exist in the first place, not in the really real world. Then what the hell is that thing making hamburger out of the woman?
Some kind of mutation?
Then something went off in Charlie’s head like a gunshot. And suddenly he was running toward the front entrance of Goodall’s Physical, Occupational, and Speech Therapy, having no memory of dropping his coffee and his cigarette, as he weaved his way through a parked Jeep and Taurus SE, before reaching the small stretch of concrete that led to the entrance of the facility.
He almost slammed into the second set of automatic doors, but pulled up short as he recalled something that he had learned while working for Professional Security. He stopped just inside the first set of doors, reached up and above them and clicked the lock in place. Then he went through the next set of automatic doors and did the same.
“Excuse me,” one of the receptionists behind the desk inside acknowledged Charlie in a strained voice. “But you can’t do that.”
“Under the circumstances I think that my actions are wholly justified.” Charlie replied, looking for things in the receptionist area to block the doors with. “You don’t believe me, ask the woman in the parking lot. Oh—wait, you can’t; she’s dead.”
“Whaaaat!?”
The other receptionists looked at each other. While those waiting in the receptionist area exhibited all manners of expressions.
Charlie spotted the snack and soda vending machines up against a wall just inside the door. “I don’t stutter,” Charlie said evenly, as he moved to get behind the snack machine. It was a tight fit. “And my English is more than adequate.” With this Charlie added, “Call the police! We may need some high-powered weaponry on that thing in the lot.”
“What are you talking about? Did you say a woman is dead?”
“Or “deadish”. I’m sure that after that thing—whatever the hell it is— is through with her, it will insure that she won’t be having supper tonight. And if it gets in here, we’re going to have a shit-storm.”
Charlie gauged his weight against that of the vending machine, as he wedged himself between the wall and the vendor. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it weighed 500 pounds. But then again he didn’t need to carry the damn thing. He just needed to tip it over. It would not be easy. He wasn’t a heavy-set man—perhaps a little heavier than average; which was good, because it allowed him to get behind the vending machine. If he weighed thirty pounds more, he wouldn’t have been able to fit behind it. On the other hand he could have used an extra thirty or forty more pounds to his advantage to challenge the weight of the snack machine. He began pushing against the vendor as he faced the wall, using the strength in his legs, his quads, his glutes, and finally his back.
“What are you doing?!” the receptionist bellowed.
Those in the facility that were unaware of Charlie’s actions soon heard the crashing sound of the vendor hitting the floor, it sounded like the whole place was coming down. The receptionist that first witnessed Charlie, did the only thing she seemed capable of; she screamed at him.
Pines Bergendoff was in the left wing working with a female client of fifty that suffered from scoliosis. “What the hell?”
The other therapists responded in similar fashion. Each told their clients to wait while they looked to see what was going on.
The vendor blocked the door, if only by about two feet from the floor. Still, Charlie surmised that if the creature outside came through the glass, it would have an awkward time of it.
Charlie was feeling weak, and stars danced in front of his eyes. Dropping the vendor took more out of him than he anticipated. He was vaguely aware of the other two receptionists that appeared to be in a race to see who could reach the police first. That was fine with Charlie. Let them come. They needed to come. Guns were strongly warranted against the monster outside.
Speaking of which, Charlie looked through the double set of doors and saw the creature going through the motions of tearing the woman outside to pieces, as if for the sheer joy of it.
Trent Adams was a few years younger than Charlie and was waiting in the receptionist’s area for his grandmother. He was among a handful of others that waited in kind—including a little girl who was now clinging to her mother, Trent rose from his seat to address Charlie. “Hey man, you’re scaring a lot of people. I don’t know what your—“
“They don’t know the meaning of scared.” Charlie said plainly. “But if that thing gets in here, they will know. They will know what it means to truly be scared.”
“What thing? What are you talking about?”
As if on cue a red Eclipse pulled into the parking lot outside.
No.
Sorry Charlie.
There was nothing that Charlie could do. And he could feel a part inside of him slowly dying. He had gone to school to learn how to help people, and yet here he was, suddenly feeling the ice cold reality of futility. Whoever got out of the car would soon be attacked. And there was nothing that Charlie could do about it.
He saw the car park. Saw the two people get out. A man in his forties, a woman possibly in her thirties. The woman walked with a limp.
It didn’t take long for the two of them to reach the doors, only to find them locked. They looked at each other in question, then tried to peer beyond the glass to see if they could establish a clue as to why the doors weren’t opening.
Charlie looked at them. Trent looked at them. And then the beast was pushing both of them through the glass of the first set of automatic doors. The impact was thunderous, and Charlie was sure that bones had snapped just as easily as the glass had shattered. Blood flew up against the second set of automatic doors. And then the creature proceeded to tear the couple apart.
Trent stared, stunned, unable to move. His eyes refused to believe what he was seeing.
“Help me!” Charlie yelled at him. “I need you to help me push over the soda machine—block the door!”
Someone—a woman screamed, and Charlie wasn’t sure if she had seen the creature, or merely responded from the cacophony of the shattering glass.
Trent moved to help Charlie with the soda machine.
Pines came around the corner. He probably out-weighed Charlie by about forty or fifty pounds, and he looked to be a sculpture of muscle. “What is going on out here?!”
Trent yelled, “Help us, man!”
“What?” Then Pines saw the creature outside. “Geez-zus!” He moved to assist the other men with tipping the soda machine over. A moment later and it crashed down atop the snack machine.
Pines stared in horror at the savagery of the beast, less than fifteen feet from him, separated by only three inches of shatter-proof glass. Shatter-proof glass that exploded with the weight of the creature impacting with the hapless couple. Rene and Dugan Myers. He knew them both. Had been seeing Rene for almost eight months off and on. Now they had been reduced to nearly unrecognizable cadavers. The thing was like the monster from An American Werewolf in London—only leaner, like a sleek panther, and somehow this physiognomy seemed to give the creature a more ferocious personification. “Good lord,” he gasped. “What is that thing?”
By now, others—including the receptionist and staff members, gathered wordlessly toward the doors, to see what it was that the men were trying to keep out. Not just a few onlookers regretted their decision to look—seeing blood and gore splattering the glass and the walls on the other side. What they saw filled them with terror, and the sounds that came from the beast during its proceedings were like that of a great cat in a frenzy, chilling their blood with its keening.
Two women—staff members—screamed.
“Be quiet, hush!” Charlie warned. “It may not know we’re here.”
The woman stifled their cries of hysteria.
But it was too little too late. The beast looked up from its feeding, and looked toward the blocked doors.
Eyes of glowing embers peered toward the screaming that had been hushed.
And now the little girl that clung to her mother began to cry.
This is getting out of hand. Charlie thought to himself. Aloud he said, “Are there any other ways in here?”
“Not without a key-card.” Pines replied.
“We’ve got to get everyone to a place of safety, in the event that that thing makes it through the door.”
“There’s the rec-room.” Pines suggested. “The doors are reinforced with steel-plating—“
“Start moving everyone to the rec-room.” Charlie told Pines.
“The police are on their way,” one of the receptionists told the therapist.
But…
“But I didn’t know—“
The other receptionist interrupted. “We thought the man was—“
“Crazy.” Charlie finished for them. “I only wish that I were.” He turned back to Pines. “They will probably be sending a couple of units. Or—knowing Sanford’s Finest—they will send three or four units. At any rate they have to be warned of what they are walking into.”
“I will call them on my cell when we get everyone to the rec-room.” Pines said.
Too late.
Sanford’s Finest showed in a timely fashion, and Charlie saw two units pull up out front.
“Shit,” Charlie cursed. “We don’t have the luxury of seeing how this turns out.” He said. “We can only hope for the best.”
“They are going to be killed!” The first receptionist declared.
“Get everyone to the rec-room, now!” Charlie ordered.
Almost twenty minutes later and everyone in the facility took up space in the large rec-room, with its assortment of equipment for various exercises. Two minutes later there was the sound of gunshots and someone screaming. Then there was the sound of shattering glass, and a cacophony of noises; like compromised metal impacting and broken and scattering hard plastics, the soft explosions soda bottles make when they rupture, the breaking of wood; the sound of a phone being thrown against the wall. Scratches. The sound of many feet running down the hall outside And then a thunderous pounding on the rec-room door, followed by further scratching that put everyone’s teeth on edge. Along with these sounds there surfaced a growling and a keening. The beast had obviously not been stopped by the police, and had breached the barrier set before it. And it was in fact right outside the door to the rec-room. People did their best not to scream. People did their best not to panic, hoping against hope that the door would keep the monster out.
It stood to reason that if the creature had not been stopped by the police, it was because it couldn’t be. And that would mean that the monster had killed the cops outside.
However, there soon followed the sound of more gunshots. Subsequently followed by roars and growls and more keening. And then there was the abrupt sound of something moving around on the roof. More gunshots. Followed almost immediately by high-pitched screaming.
There was more than one.
There had to be.
At least two. Maybe more.
What those in the facility could not see, the police could. For as long as they remained alive.
There fell the sound of more breaking glass outside. One of the creatures must have broken a window somewhere. Then there was a commotion of something crashing heavily to the floor—a filing cabinet perhaps. And that would mean that there were in fact more than two of the beasts.
The police had the unwanted privilege of seeing dozens of the Caladesh. Fiends that sprang from nightmares. The harbingers of the Dark Maiden’s demons. And they soon breached every available obstacle that they could to enter the facility. Those that didn’t, attacked the police. Seemingly oblivious to the sounds of gunshots, or the shells that manufactured them.
Soon no member of the units that responded to the initial call was left standing. And they died horribly under tooth and claw, expiring in pools of their own blood. Eventually more units would arrive, responding when the others failed to report back. While those in the rec-room waited haplessly, wondering, in debilitating fright and terror, who would save them?
JUST KEEP TELLING YOURSELF
THAT IT IS JUST A STORY…
All hell breaks loose when
The Dark Maiden, Sial’lalorna lays claim to our world from her dark dimension,
and sends her Avatar and Harbingers to herald her coming. Demons, aberrations,
and other abominations infiltrate our realm to eradicate all that would oppose
their power and might, paving the way for the Dark Maiden, even as she chooses
a man to be her consort. Hers is the desire to reshape the world into a
perverted and representation of her own realm. And nothing will stop her from
achieving this end.
It’s happening now, right here and now. And for you
folks playing along at home, if you haven’t yet realized it, I am uppercased
FUCKED! Would you like to trade shoes with me now…?
Would you like to go through all the shit that I went
through, only to come to this? My wife is dead. She isn’t snoring or coughing
in the next room, she is DEAD! Slammed into a fucking gasoline rig. How’s that
for going out with a bang? And now I am soon to retire, in the most
unconventional way. Can you dig it? And can you say Life Compromise…? I thought
you could.
Or is this not such a big deal after all? Maybe I’m
making this thing out to be greater than it really is; I have a knack for doing
that. They call it aggrandizing. Well, hell’s bells, I’m doing the best I can
here, trying to keep it in perspective, without losing my head, or without
complaining. But, we are after all talking about the compromising of everything
alive on the planet—how would you like to have that shit on your conscience?
Am I being too fucking sensitive…?!
Am I just feeling sorry for myself, now? Should I just
let you all fucking burn! And say thanks for the fish?! Oh--no, I wouldn’t do
that… Not me. Not Mr. Fucking Nice Guy. Wouldn’t fucking dream of it…In spite
of all the shit that you put me through while I was living on the streets. That
would be some truly perverted shit. Amen?
But it is what it is people. Now what the fuck am I
supposed to do with it? Walk down the Lonely
Street
Funny thing, I had dreams, and trust me when I say
they weren’t nearly as dark as what is planned in store for you now. I just
wanted to be a writer, ya’know. A best-selling author. Now it looks like I will
get my chance. I will be writing the new Bible before all is said and done. And
after forty-five years of waiting for my break, I guess it just stands to
reason that things would turn out like this. Call it irony at its finest. But I
never wanted this. Not this.
If only we could have all just learned to get along.
The Dark Maiden is drawn toward corruption, and now we all fit the bill quite
nicely. Things would have been different, if only you would have listened to my
song…If only you had chosen not to be blind; if only you had chosen peace over prejudice. If only you had
appreciated the smaller things in life, without taking them all for granted.
That’s what I was all about. That, and giving everyone a chance for something
greater.
But ultimately this is the bed you chose to make. And
even though I saw it was a mistake, you weren’t listening to what I had to say.
Because my words weren’t making someone a million dollars or more. That’s what
it ultimately comes down to with you now. Money. It’s what makes the world go
around. And the one that dies with the most toys, wins. Well, I guess that is going to
be me now.
Maybe in a way I should be flattered. I will have my
dark dreams, and you will reap the nightmares resulting from them.
God dammit, why
wouldn’t you listen to me!? Was my story
not rich enough? Did it lack the proper elements necessary to warrant your
attention? Well, I will get your attention now. And who do we have to blame for
it?. I would have done things differently, but you just wouldn’t give me that
choice. Now your choices will be made for you. And for that you will be undone.
I have nothing more to say on the matter, this conversation is over, save
that…you have my sympathies…”
ANOTHER TALE OF
ILLUSION
BY
EARLE BLESSING
AND
STEPHEN CLOTHIER
Only the perfect
Illusion
Is one that is
Incredible…
--Miracles
ST
For Promises to
Keep
Forgive me for
being imperfect
Sometimes Second
Sight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be
In with the
Shadows
Out with the
Light…
Adusk
--ST
Finite stones of
gold in stairways to castles so high in the sky…
Simpletim
--The
Magician the Illusionist, and the Thief
--Saturday,
June 13, 2020
The two jet-skis rode the
waters of Grave’s Lake beneath a clear blue sky. The weather was warm, the
breeze light, and the couple, for the moment, had the entire lake to
themselves. It was the perfect lake to come to, in order to relax, catch fish,
swim, or as the couple were doing now, jet-skiing their asses off. For a
Saturday, at 10am in June, the absence of people was a little unusual,
although it was not predominantly questioned by Richard Olsen--and, Amarie
Gracious, for her own reasons, didn’t question it at all. The weather
previously had been full of rain, almost two solid straight weeks of it. People
were probably expecting it to rain again, in spite of what the Weatherman,
Pierce Miller, had to say about it. Eventually people would filter out of their
homes and enjoy the sunshine. By noon
they might even be at the lake. However, Amarie expected to be home by then.
For now the couple would take advantage of the day that seemed to be strictly
written with them in mind. At least that’s how Richard perceived it. And
following the past two months, and the arguments intrinsic within that he had
had with Amarie, he couldn’t ask for more.
Well,
he could have; he would have asked for Amarie to be a little more
demonstrative. She was still acting a little distant. For the most part she
exhibited closed-body language, and spoke less than usual.
On
the other hand she did agree to join
Richard out on the lake, which was less than a hundred yards from Amarie’s
colonial home. This was a start. And a good one at that. After all Amarie could
have denied his offer. She could have said no. But she didn’t. He could work
with this then. Richard felt that the outcome of the day would work in his
favor. And before it was over, he saw the two of them in bed, where he would
make Amarie scream so hard that she would forget about what happened two months
ago.
The
issues of the last two months were after all not severe enough to warrant
separation. They were small, almost petty things, as far as Richard was
concerned. They were no big deal. Nothing that the two of them couldn’t get
over given time.
And
just what were the issues? Would you believe an attempt to discredit Amarie’s
massage partner, and semen on her breasts?
Richard
had been drinking. Not at lot. Certainly not enough to prevent him from getting
an erection. But it had been enough to instill doubts concerning his own
insecurities, and the relationship that Amarie had with Vincent Stallon. And
when Richard tried to discredit Vincent, just like he was any other man,
Amarie’s face grew stern.
But
Vincent could not be discredited. And Amarie was appalled at Richard’s attempt
at doing so. Vincent however, was one of those rare individuals that were—not
only—the lonely, beyond reproach, but
above it as well; no matter what
might take place, he always kept things professional and ethical. He was an
honorable man. And one who certainly deserved more than his current wife. But
even given the opportunity, even with his marriage on the skids, Vincent would
not remove his wedding ring long enough to do anything that he might regret later;
furthermore he would do nothing to jeopardize the friendship that he had with
Amarie.
A
friendship that was more than just superficial—with Vincent, none of his
friends were superficial. Amarie had an idea of how much Vincent loved his
wife, in spite of recently unseen validations that might or should otherwise be
forthcoming in a harmonious relationship. Validation that Vincent’s wife failed
to provide, and—as Amarie discovered--Vincent needed little validation.
He
was very low-maintenance. Hell, he lived on the street for four years! He knew
how to deal without. And he knew how to deal with long periods of isolation. A
hug and a smile, and the occasional genuine “I love you”, was enough to give
Vincent the courage to brave any storm, to have all the confidence that was
needed to accomplish any number of exuberant tasks—no matter how seemingly
unreasonable, or petty said tasks might be. How petty was it to climb a flight
of stairs and knock on Vincent’s office door, just to smile at him? But
Vincent’s wife couldn’t even call him on the cell phone to tell him those three
integral words of validation, without asking him to do something first. She
couldn’t—or wouldn’t climb the stairs to validate him with words, or even ask
him if he wanted a blowjob. Even after busting his back blowing snow for three
hours was he entitled to a hummer by his wife.
And
Amarie knew this, not because Vincent came right out and told her—he would
never do such a thing—but Amarie had broached the issue, and Vincent, feeling
the way that he was at the time, didn’t bother to hide his answer from her. Sex
was the first thing to take a header in Vincent’s relationship with his wife,
since his mother-in-law moved in five years prior. Natalie preferred to spend
more time with her mother than she cared to spend with her husband. And it was
only after Vincent had threatened to walk out, that Natalie decided to be a
little more demonstrative than she had previously.
But after the smoke had cleared, after she was
comfortable enough to believe that Vincent wasn’t going to leave her, Natalie
went back to her old ways. Amarie was of the opinion that Vincent deserved
someone better. She herself would never treat him that way. But instead would
give him all the validation that he was entitled to. It’s funny how life works
sometimes. Vincent was as kind as he was honorable, and he encouraged people
and inspired smiles. He hardly deserved to be treated like a dog. And Natalie’s
mother was no help, with all her excuses and bitching concerning her infirmities,
including, but not limited to diabetes, pariformis syndrome, sciatica, and
neuropathy; not one time in five years has she ever told her daughter that she
needed to spend more time with her husband, but instead basked in all the
attention that her daughter gave to her. Vincent feared that it would only be
until after Natalie’s mother passed, that he would once again get the attention
that he deserved. And he suspected that he would be in his sixties by that
time.
Not
if Amarie had anything to say about it.
And
she would have something to say about it. Just as she had something to say
about Richard trying to discredit Vincent. He had been wrong concerning his
suppositions of Vincent. He had been wrong in trying to belittle him.
And
he had been wrong and/or out of place when he let his ejaculate fall on
Amarie’s breasts. The action had bothered her considerably. After all Amarie
had been a survivor of sexual abuse by her father, even as she became a
teenager. Amarie’s mother had passed from encephalomyelitis disseminata or multiple sclerosis when Amarie was nine. And with no
mother around to make sure that he behaved himself appropriately when he got
drunk or was under the influence of narcotics, Amarie’s father took her again
and again, forcing himself upon her, forcing himself inside her, and always
ejaculating on her breasts.
Until
one day, a week before Amarie’s sweet-sixteen birthday, Amarie smashed a lamp
into her father’s face, then took a bat and bashed his skull in. So it was that
when Richard ejaculated during oral-sex and jacking him off, Amarie started,
and was taken aback. And she was hurt. There still remained the residue of
having been violated twenty years ago. Violation by a man that Amarie should
have been able to trust with the world. Her father had robbed her of her
innocence, and suddenly the world took on a whole new perspective.
However,
Amarie had let the moment slide between her and Richard, even if she did
initially call him a bastard. Her father was dead.
Retribution—to
a degree, had been achieved with his death. And Amarie was old enough to know
that sometimes men can’t contain themselves in moments of euphoria. She had
wiped the semen on Richard’s sheets, and got up and left his house, but she
still didn’t intend to hold the moment against him. Richard wasn’t Amarie’s
daddy, and therefore he shouldn’t be treated in a manner that suggested that he
was evil. It was only when Richard tried to discredit Vincent, that Amarie
became angry with Richard.
And
then there were the dreams. Nightmares that Amarie had months prior to the
event.
But
the choice had been ultimately up to him.
Like, for instance, to clean up his act…
Which
is why she was now out with him on the jet skis; Amarie had dreamed of this
moment.
And
Richard’s confidence was slowly returning.
After
a time he suggested that the two of them race from where the truck was parked,
to the dock that was behind Amarie’s house, which was a stretch of about a
quarter of a mile.
Amarie
agreed, and a moment later, the two of them were speeding across the lake
toward Amarie’s house.
Richard
was half way across the lake, and about thirty feet ahead of Amarie when he hit
something. Or something hit him.
It
was like slamming into a brick wall.
And
as Richard flew heels over head through the air, his initial thought was that
his jet-ski had to be totaled.
Then
he hit the water. Disorientation swam around him. And it took a moment to
determine which way was up. He broke the surface of the water, wondering what
the hell had happened.
Amarie
reduced the speed of her jet-ski and navigated it over to where Richard was
treading water. He was about to say something to her, when he noticed the look
of detachment in her eyes. It frightened him in a way that he couldn’t clearly define.
And then something from beneath the water wrapped around his legs like a giant
constrictor and pulled him under.
The ripples of ri’kiare were in affect…
Similar to Kundalini…
That far to say…I love…you…Amarie…
Needless
to say, Amarie had made the mistake of wearing her heart on her sleeve.
And
as we know, no good deed goes unpunished.
It
was time for Amarie to start taking back what was hers…
In
with the Shadows.
Out
with the Light…
And
Amarie had watched the activity of the moment with eyes that were dead calm.
Richard had rolled his eyes. It was a deliberately
exaggerated gesture designed to get Amarie’s attention.
“Well?” she asked. “Are you just using me?”
“Well,” he said, in a mocking tone, “maybe I might be the caring lover that
you so crave if you spent less time at your precious clinic during your days
off”
“I’m making up time in proctor, you know that.”
“Uh-huh, then tell me who the hell was that guy I saw
you with on the steps yesterday?”
“That was Vincent,” Amarie said, getting up.
“And just how do you know this Vincent?” Richard asked, his voice suddenly
taking on a rather menacing tone.
“He’s studying with me,” she answered. “Don’t worry. He’s married.”
“What
the fuck does that matter? Do you think for one minute I would believe that his
being married would stop you from getting involved with him? And it’s a massage
therapy class he’s taking with you, isn’t it? He seems like a pretty
good-looking guy, too; what
opportunities! And, with all those weird books you’ve been reading lately – I
have had a look at them, you know – I doubt whether you’ve maintained any
traditional values.”
“Oh,”
Amarie said, “you mean like the Christian values that you so piously live by –
presumably while you were hitting on me before your divorce was even
finalized?”
Richard ignored this question –
mostly because he could not think of a good comeback line. It just dawned on
him that she was almost completely dressed. “Why
in the hell have you got your clothes on?” he asked, clearly peeved.
“I’ve had it for the evening. Why? Did you think we were going to go for a
second round?”
“Yeah,” Richard said, “just maybe I was.” He pulled down the sheet, exposing his penis, which was becoming erect.
He grasped it, and beckoned to Amarie.
“This needs some more attention.”
Amarie glanced at Richard’s organ in
disgust. “Well, then, take care of it,” she
said.
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than out of nowhere she saw a shadow
creep over his groin. A rust-colored tentacle seemed to snake its way up from
below the bed and wrap itself around his penis, which immediately turned black,
like the ink from a squid. She closed her eyes in horror. When she opened them,
everything looked normal again.
She shuddered in spite of herself. What she saw, or
what she had imagined seeing,
reflected the dreams that she had been haunted with for the past few months.
Nightmares, of something living in Grave’s Lake .
Then her anger was kindled again, and she reminded
herself of why she had dressed so hastily. What Richard had done was
thoughtless and self-absorbed, it was apparent to her that he obviously had no
regard of her feelings, her practices of ethics, or those of her friend. How
could he be so cruel? So fucking cruel. What had she done to deserve such a
careless judgment? Nothing. Not a goddam thing.
She was through the hall, across the living room, and at the
front door before she had realized it. Tears started to rim the corners of her
eyes, she fought them back. She would not give Richard the satisfaction of
having made her cry.
--No tears for the
nadis…no tears for the dead…
Whispers in the winds of her mind. Coming to her from
beyond the world that she knew so well. Coming to her from her dreams. A
woman’s voice, full of authority and provocative affluence. She experienced
chills that ran down her spine, and moved through her like an undertow. Chills
that were not altogether unsettling, and were just a little more than
stimulating.
She was out the door and down the steps of the porch
in a heartbeat, making her way down the walk to the driveway where her red
Spectra awaited her. Time seemed to move away from her. And she was behind the
wheel of the car a moment later. Then she realized, almost with a feeling of
dread, that she had forgotten her purse. She would have to go back inside the
house to retrieve it. She had her keys in her pocket, and she argued briefly
with herself about getting out of the car to get her purse. Mere seconds of
indecision and she was out of the car and heading back up to the porch. Cursing
under her breath as she climbed the stairs again. If Richard had anything to
say to her when she entered the house again, she decided that she would tell
him to fuck off. She could hear him snoring from his bedroom when she entered
the house. The thoughtless fuck had fallen asleep. He had fallen asleep! In the
time that it took for her to leave the house and return— certainly less than ten minutes! And knowing that he had
obviously upset her, it didn’t bother him enough to keep from passing-out. This
added to the fuel of Amarie’s anger.
--No tears for the
nadis…no tears for the dead…
She grabbed her purse from off the couch, and left just as
quickly as she had returned. Tempted to slam the door as she did so.
Soon she was behind the wheel of her Spectra and putting
the key in the ignition. Starting it up, and backing out of the drive onto
Cooper’s Lane.
On her drive home she kept reminding herself that what
Richard had done was wrong. Very wrong. It bordered on unforgivable.
--No tears for the
nadis…no tears for the dead…
And Richard had been wrong about Vincent too. Vincent was the
kindest man that she had ever met. He was the salt of the earth. That was so
obvious to her now. So what if they
had been partners during massage? There was nothing between them (not that
Amarie didn’t realize how much better off she would be with a man of Vincent’s
caliber)—and yet Richard had tried to tarnish their perfectly benign
relationship with his suspicions. Benign? Well, not quite. Maybe symbiotic was
more like it; after all, while Richard was away, Vincent had showed up out of
the blue to help ease the depression that Amarie was having over the suicide of
a best friend. And he had done so without sex. Or even implying sex.
But
Richard had intimated that because the two of them were in massage class,
Vincent might take advantage of her, and that she might take advantage of him.
Amarie was so appalled by Richard’s suppositions and attempt to discredit
Vincent, and discredit her as well!
Not that it could be a serious attempt, since
he and Vincent had never met, and never would. And oh, how Vincent was lucky in
that respect! And yes they had been partners during massage. And Vincent had
accidentally exposed her during a practical. But when she saw that he had
slammed his eyes shut and squinched his face before he could see anything,
Amarie new that her intuition about him had been true to form. Vincent was
someone that she could trust herself to implicitly.
And
Richard had tried to tarnish that with his misgivings. Tried to make her
believe that Vincent was less than the man that he was. That was unacceptable
too. And Amarie recalled a recent slap to the face. She couldn’t recall what it
was over. Only that there had been a slap to the face. And there may have been
another forthcoming in the future, because men could be abusive. She learned that
from more than one relationship. And if nothing else, that was as good as any
reason for taking Richard out of the equation.
And now Richard was dead. And soon he would be fodder for
the Olughtonach that lived in Grave’s
lake, after it robbed the man of his seed. And no one save for herself would
have any prior memory of Richard, save for herself. A wrinkle in reality would
be created that would wipe the man’s life away from existence. There would be
no police investigating Richard’s disappearance, because Richard never was.
That was the power of the Olughtonach.
But that wasn’t all that the monster was cable of. And now that Amarie had been
given the gift of second-sight, she knew that soon—very soon, Vincent’s wife
would die in an automobile accident. And that was only fitting. The bitch
didn’t deserve Vincent anyway. She treated him like a dog. Her and her mother
both. That self-absorbed velociraptor of a hag that had lived with Vincent and
his wife for five years, had neutralized Vincent’s marriage relationship, while
she vied for the attentions of her daughter, taking away the time and
validation that Vincent so desperately needed. She would die too. And although
the Olughtonach would gain nothing
from the woman’s death, it would still see to it. And that was fine with
Amarie. Just fine.
Richard’s jet-ski vanished from the lake as if it had never
existed.
Amarie steered her own toward her house and the dock. As
she got up from it, the jet-ski followed its owner’s example. She saw the truck
and the trailer across the lake ripple, distort, and disappear as well. All
things were proceeding as planned. The first feeding was as smooth as silk.
There would be others. More men to feed to the monster beneath the surface of
the lake. They would come to her. Even as Vincent would eventually come to her.
And each would find their place in the scheme of things. Each would find their
place in the darkness that would soon fall. And each would see to the coming of
Nod’deg-armas, the coming of Sial’lorlanna, the coming of The Dark
Maiden
--TO BE CONTINUED…
For those in the audience that would like to read more,
signify by leaving a comment and I will provide more. “Darkness Beyond” is a
novel that is significantly larger than “Within Darkness Beyond” or what is called
at this time “Darkness Within”. And there is plenty to go around. And…until
good fortune somehow smiles on me, I find that decent agent, publisher, or
both, I’m going to be around here for awhile. You can always make my work more
popular by spreading it around—offering this link through the various
communities, until it has no choice but to reach a decent agent and/or
publisher. I speak honestly when I say that I am doing all I can for that to
happen, in as much as I am doing everything I can to insure decent
entertainment value for my audience…
HARBINGERS OF SHADOWS
HARBINGERS OF SHADOWS
DARKNESS BEYONDChapter Two
HARBIINGERS of SHADOWS
July 10, 2020.
At ten till midnight Sanford, Maine, dispatch received an anonymous call that went something like this: “Listen, and listen carefully, because there is not much time. At 2440 Chestnut Lane a man with two broken legs hangs suspended by hooks and barbs in his skin—fastened to a free floating rack…an incision almost an eighth of an inch deep has been made from thoracic cavity to the pelvis. In just under eight minutes his insides will spill outside all over the floor. Good night…”
The cell phone was clicked shut.
Christie Dior turned to look at the aspiring writer, Ken Novak. “Sorry sweetie, no offense, but the Dark Maiden needs to see if you are worthy enough to write her story…” She kissed him on the forehead.
Christie Dior dropped the cell phone on the wooden floor of the large condominium. It made a relatively substantial echoing clattering sound, and Ken wondered abstractly if it had broken on impact with the floor.
Then, taking an artist’s paint brush, Ms. Dior dipped it into Mr. Novak’s blood, and wrote a message on the wall behind him. Then she left deliberately through the front door of the condo
.
The blood poured gingerly from the incision that she had made with the ceremonial knife. From thorax to pelvis. A pool of blood began forming on the polished hardwood beneath the man.
Almost three minutes later and six squad cars arrived with an ambulance, and a laser-suture specialist.
It took almost a minute to assess the situation and gain entry into the condo. The front door had been locked.
It took less than a minute to find, and recover from the shock, of seeing a naked man suspended by his skin by means of barbs and hooks attached to the stainless steel rack. The rack gleamed wickedly under the illumination of flashlights.
It took less than ten seconds to see the message inscribed in blood on the wall:
THE DARKNESS IS COMING...
Pressure from the man’s suspension—his ribs pushing against the incision in his chest…just enough to further compromise the integumentary system, and, if not for the gag in his mouth, Ken’s screams would be unfathomable.
It took another 25 seconds for the situation in the condo to be assessed.
Another fifteen seconds for an argument between EMTs and cops to determine that in an extreme case such as this, the victim needed to be able to speak; he might have information vital to the case and pertinent to the apprehension of the perpetrator responsible for his condition.
It took almost twenty seconds to remove the leather gag from Ken Novak’s mouth. It had two buckles to it.
Blood poured liberally now, coating the floor, it glistened under the lambent ambiance.
Ken grunted and screamed. “The Dark Maiden…is coming…” He gasped at last.
The emergency team readied a thin pressure vest. This could be put on the man, secured, and keep his insides from spilling out, while the laser-suturist sealed the wound.
Applying the vest took less than 35 seconds.
“Who did this to you?” Officer Steve Marcus demanded. “Where are they?”
“She is the…devourer of worlds, she…will cast ours into…oblivion…”
Ken Novak spasmed. No one could prevent this movement, or the movement from his intestines pushing forward, just before the vest was secured. Ken Novak felt himself preternaturally turned inside out. And his scream was fathomless.
DARKNESS BEYOND...HARBINGERS OF SHADOW
DARKNESS BEYOND...HARBINGERS OF SHADOW
176:50 PM
Within the printing press chamber of Unified Publishing, business was proceeding as usual. Unified Publishing, founded in 2002, and based in Galviton Maryland, was a Print on Demand Publisher. That is to say that if the public had a demand for a book, the publisher would print a copy to meet that demand. The trouble was that they offered no promotion or marketing for the author, so in order for anyone to know that the author’s work was available, the author had to reach the public through their own feat of marketing or promotion.
Most of the authors that signed
with Unified didn’t know the ramifications of this clause before signing,
including Vincent Stallon; the contract had been a little vague in explaining
this key factor concerning publishing on demand.
And for Lee Smith, that didn’t
matter. He didn’t know Vincent Stallon from Adam. His job was merely to put the
disc from pre-production into the CPR of the printing press, and let it do its
thing. For $13.50 an hour, he didn’t even need to know how the press worked.
Nor did he need to know what the sign read above his head in a rolling flashing
LED of red letters: Big Day Tomorrow…The
Fortunate shall have their work sent to Stephen Kane…
Neither did anyone in the chamber
recognize when the message changed to read: YOU
ARE ALL GOING TO DIE…
What the authors wouldn’t know—what
the publisher would not tell them--is that Stephen Kane had no interest in
receiving material from Unified Publishing, or anyone else for that matter; he
didn’t have time for it. However Unified would not tell the authors this,
instead, what they would eventually tell the authors when said authors asked
about their work being seen by Stephen Kane, is that they sent it, and that’s
all they could do; the rest was up to Stephen Kane.
But all that didn’t matter now.
Because Unified would never get the chance to walk its walk of integrity.
Perverted or otherwise.
Two other people managed the other
machines, Kristian and Chad
The discs that they received were
from authors that could pay $300 to $1000+ to have multiple copies of their
book printed. These authors were fortunate enough to have their books displayed
in book stores, Wal-mart, Starbucks; to be seen by celebrity talk-show hosts,
and to have them perused by DreamWorks. Those authors that couldn’t afford to
pay, knew no such rewards, and well…that’s just how the cookie crumbles.
Or does it…?
“It’s
not our fault if the authors can’t reach the Big Time…” Harriet Barnes was
often heard saying. To Vincent the declaration had been stated thusly: “It’s a one out of 1% chance that an
author’s book ever reaches the shelf.”
Yet if you could pay, your chances
were increased dramatically.
So Lee, Kristian, and Chad
No one was immediately made aware
of the raven that flew about the room, until it landed on Lee’s printing press.
:”Hey—how did this bird get in
here?” Lee wanted to know.
“That’s a big fucking bird.” Chad
And suddenly the reality around Lee
began to ripple and distort. Until the press room was gone. Replaced by a
lavishly decorated bed chamber with dark musings. And the raven was gone too.
Replaced by an exquisite, leathery-winged female, with blue-green skin, and
iridescent hair that flowed like a wavering nimbus around the countenance of
the woman. Her eyes shined with a glowing luster akin to mother-of-pearl, while
her full lips formed a suggestive smile, as she sat at the foot of the large
bed.
The bed chamber was nothing shy of
that found in a fantasy novel of barbarian men and women, a tale suggesting
sword and sorcery. The bedclothes were mostly glistening furs and skins from
animals, while the frame of the bed was wooden, and carved with sensual
depictions of lovers embracing one another. The walls were like stone from some
cave hidden far away, and there were candles burning, resting on furniture,
while torches burned in sconces.
The woman was adorned in a
diaphanous robe, and she was decorated with lots of jewelry that sparkled like
her eyes.
“Do you find me desirable?” The
female asked Lee seductively.
Admittedly Lee did. And he found
himself nodding his head, with a slightly open mouth, even as a veil of arousal
fell over him—cascading down, and surging through his lower extremities.
“Then come to me.” The winged
goddess replied alluringly. She held her arms out to him in open invitation. “I
desire to sire your child.”
Lee looked at her, a look of
uncertainty coming to his face.
“Fear not, you will find the
copulation highly enjoyable.”
The Suchi’lym lay back on the bed, her wings splayed out behind her.
And Lee found her exceedingly desirable. There was nothing that he wanted more
at the moment than to be inside this angel, this goddess before him.
And nothing was stopping him.
He came forward, approaching the
large bed. His loins ached, and his legs were weak, but he wanted to fuck this
woman like no other. The Suchi’lym met
him halfway, and pulled him toward her, enfolding him in her voluminous
breasts, and there was euphoria.
And Lee
experienced the copulation, the moans of the goddess bringing him to
mind-numbing states of elation. And when he climaxed, the Suchi’lym performed Tymhorti.
Wherein time was reinstated and it was like living the moment over again.
And then
again…
And then
euphoria was almost immediately followed by excruciating agony.
The scene
and environment soon faded, and Lee found himself in an exquisitely painful
quandary.
He was back
in the printing press chamber.
His arm, up
to his shoulder, was trapped within an open vent in the press with a sign of
admonition that read: Keep Hands Away!
Lee felt
his bones in his fingers being crushed, the phalanges pulverized. His carpals,
metacarpals, and wrist, grinding to powder. His radius, ulna, and humerus,
compromised almost to the point of liquidation. And blood poured freely from
the vent, while thin lasers beyond added to the trauma. Lee heard himself
screaming in a manner that he could not have ever conceived.
The Suchi’lym stood next to him in a cloak
made of shadows. “You have insulted the consort of the Dark Maiden,” she spat.
“I would not sire your child if you were the last mortal left on this pathetic
ball of dust. You have sown the breeze, now reap the whirlwind!”
The others
in the room had also been subject to Tymhorti,
and they too had their arms compromised by their individual vents, their
screams were hellish. Norala left
them, vanishing as if she never had been.
Following
this activity the Suchi’lym paid a visit to the remaining printing floors, and
did the same to those that was initially done to the previous victims.
The
acquisitions editor, Harriet Barnes was going over her email in her office when
Norala appeared in the center of the
room. Her robes seemed to flow on an inexplicable breeze. Harriet did not look
up from what she was doing as she sat in her custom-made $500 leather-back
chair. It was only after Norala spoke
that Harriet realized that she was no longer alone in the room.
“An odysius not fit for meditation or the
dust from the boots of the Dark Maiden’s consort.”
That is
when Harriet raised her head. An expression more of annoyance than surprise
appeared on her face. “What the hell are you supposed to be?” Barnes demanded,
looking Norala up and down. “How did
you get in here?” Then she saw the Suchi’lym’s
eyes, and immediately thereafter, her leathery wings. “What…are you…?” She said in amazement laced
with awe.
“I am
vindication.” Norala replied. “For
years you have been the suffering of the Dark Maiden’s consort as he crafted
his work. He shall suffer no more by your hand. The same cannot be said for
you. Now you will produce tomes in damnation…”
By an
unseen force Harriet was thrown from her $500 leather-back chair and up against
the curtains of the window, six stories above the street below.
She was
suspended in the air, supine, almost a foot from the floor of her office. She
tried to scream, however she suddenly had no mouth to do so—flesh covered the
space where her speaking orifice should have been.
She felt
unbridled terror.
And then Norala conjured a fireball, three feet
in diameter, and it too hovered in the air, right above the computer that
started to spark and melt from the heat of the fiery sphere.
Harriet
could feel the heat radiating from the fireball as well. Especially on her face.
It was like a hot sunny day at the beach. A very hot and sunny day.
Without a
word Norala produced a vial from her
robes and stepped forward toward Harriet, who tried thrashing, and only managed
to shake her head back and forth. It was like she was paralyzed from the neck
down.
Norala poured ointment from the vial
into the palm of her hand, then applied it liberally to the exposed skin of the
acquisitions editor.
Soon
Harriet could smell her skin starting to cook.
And she
could feel it.
And she couldn’t
scream from the horror of it.
In the
processing room there were fifteen cubicles and two exits made of glass. Norala entered unannounced and spoke: “The
breeze is heavenly tonight. You could just fly on it.” She said calmly. “Trust
me…”
At the suggestion
of her words, eight employees—five men, and three women, stripped down naked,
and followed one another out the three open windows in the chamber.
Five-stories above the street and pavement waiting below.
When the
screams started, something like fire and lightning flared in Norala’s hand, and speared the woman
closest to the other exit. The woman flew apart, and the fire and lightning
traveled until it hit a man rising from his seat; both man and seat flew apart
under the impact of the Magick. But it didn’t stop there. Two other people—both
men, were disintegrated, as the tongues of energy ran their course..
Another man
tried reaching the exit, scrambling passed the two victims of disintegration. “What
the holy-fuck is going on!!?” he screamed as he ran. Then he crashed
through the glass door that Norala had mentally forced closed. The man fell
limp upon shards of glass on the other side of the threshold.
Norala
looked at the three people that remained on this floor—two women and one man.
“To hell
with the rest of you.”
And
straight away the trio vanished.
Three
blocks away from the building that was Unified Publishing, a fireball could be
seen vaporizing the structure in an explosive display, lighting up the darkness
of night, fire climbing toward the sky, creating a cloud like that of a
mushroom. Two other buildings—taller than the one that had been Unified, collapsed
and fell in on top of themselves. While Norala
rose like a phoenix above it all, and vanished into the clouds high above,
into the night.
At almost
the same exact instant in Sanford , Maine Markham Maine Main
Street
Vincent
Stallon was in class when he received the news that there had been an accident.
Vincent slept alone that night at the Springvale Motel.
THE VEIL IS LIFTED--"DARKNESS BEYOND"
THE VEIL IS LIFTED--"DARKNESS BEYOND"
Vincent was out of his seat in an instant.
“Don’t look so horror-stricken, Vincent.” Amarie said calmly, almost coldly. “What you have witnessed this evening is a small presentation to that which the Dark Maiden deems appropriate.”
However, Vincent was horrified. To the point of palpable fear. And before he realized what he was doing, a writhing aura of darkness formed around him, and tendrils of shadow like unto serpents undulated within and around the aura. Before another word could be spoken, these serpentine manifestations lashed out at Amarie. They became as smoke before reaching her.
“Silly man, the power that you have been given comes from the Dark Maiden, and as her Avatar, they have no affect against me.”
“What is happening to me?!” Vincent demanded, more than just merely unsettled.
“You are to become the consort of the Dark Maiden, hon. Your service to her will shake the very foundations of the Earth.”
“What do you mean, Amarie? What is going on here?”
“Oh, come now. Surely you have heard of the devastation of Unified Press from the news. Did you think that was just happenstance?”
“I—I haven’t been wha-wha-watching the news.” Vincent stammered.
“Oh? Well then let me tell you what happened. There was an explosion. A rather large explosion, which destroyed the building of Unified Press, everyone related to the company is dead.”
“D-dead…?”
“That’s right, dead. Now I don’t expect you to shed a tear for them; it was retribution. And it was a long time in coming. And for the way that you have been treated by them, it is only deserving. And any who might oppose you in the future will meet with a similar fate; so decrees the Dark Maiden.”
“This is insane.”
“No, Vincent. It isn’t insane. What is insane, is having the world shit on you when you have the power to grab it by the throat and force it to give you what you want. For years you have been a victim of the world’s cruelty. All the while you tried desperately to show them the Light—through your writing, through your poetry, through your art. Beautiful work. Paramount. But the world didn’t want to see you in the Light that you proffered. Now the world will have little choice but to see your Darkness. And either profit by it, or be destroyed utterly,”
“No, I don’t want this. I don’t want any part of this.” And Vincent trembled furiously in spite of himself.
“Really? Then what do you want? And let’s be honest with ourself, shall we…?
Vincent seemed to give it some thought. But he knew without thinking what he wanted. “I want my wife back. I want her alive and well.”
“And you could have that, my dear Vincent. You could have the life back that you shared with your wife, and she would go on continuing to ignore you, while your mother-in-law vied for her attention. But…if you scorn the Dark Maiden, I cannot lie to you about your chances of surviving the horror that waits to reshape this world. Still, you would have my sympathies.”
“Why? Why is this happening? Why me?”
“Quite simply Vincent, because it is time. The Darkness has waited and listened. And now it is time…”
awesome I would love to see this on the silver screen.........keep up the great writings
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