The Strange Case of Jenny HooperA Story by GMalloy ...this is a work of Horror, pertaining to anthropological legend and myth of global theologies both forgotten and in use today... 'Call
on the devil, and you may find them out to lunch.' Cheryl
D'Temptress,1742 The ~ To be factual,
there is no thirteenth hour that is used for demonic or diabolical practices,
including as time for the arrival of the four horsemen of the apocalypse (such
the event is slated for October: see ‘The Magus or The Celestial Intelligencer’
by Francis Barrett). Virgins are not a requirement to do or to bring about
evil, (this was instilled by some religious zealot, who, for reasons quite
apparent, felt it a better aspect of arousal than to blatantly torture or kill
(sacrifice) one having carnal knowledge of the flesh). There is no need for an
altar that has been consecrated in blood, nor a ceremonial weapon (most
sacrifices were of burnt offerings). No mystic words, no strange languages
(most ancient tongues used during such a superstitious time are now mostly
forgotten in any event). There is however, the need for a deity; imagine it,
and it is so. ~ St. Dymphna
Hospital had been built in 1788, adjacent to a meadow of Ash, with most of
those treated being veterans of the colonial war. It had then been used for
those of the subsequent following wars, until 1959, when it was bought by
Morgan-Dupree Land Management, and leased for private use. The psychiatric and
medical faculty that were housed and allowed to practice within the newly
leased building, were not diabolical by any sense or reason. They took great
pains to insure the comfort and well being of their patients, doing all to give
them some semblance of normalcy. It should also be mentioned here, that Dr.
William Stansfield, the resident psychiatrist, never did advocate the use of psychotropic
drugs as a cure. He instead believed that past life regression held the key to
a viable cure, and therefore pursued this avenue of treatment with a fervor.
His first action was to put on staff, Anne Marie Fitzgerald, a renown
hypnotist. A beauty with few equals in her profession, the American born
purebred German stood near six foot and topped out at 145 pounds of hard lean
muscle, where despite her Aryan lineage, most mistook her for being a Swede, of
which she played too, and quite well. It had been her
first evening with William Stansfield, that they sat and discussed patients,
which had been chosen prior to their meeting in the immodest suite afforded
Stansfield at the hospital, where one in particular had got her eye. It had all
been planned. Jennifer Charlene Hooper of ”The accident
brought her here?” Stansfield nodded his head yes. “After her stay at
Regional.” Stansfield added. “There was no body or head trauma, even though she
apparently had been ejected from the vehicle.” Anne continued to peruse the
file. “But of what the police report read, you’ll find it in the back, she was
found sitting on the side of the road, facing the burnt wreckage.” Anne looked
to Stansfield. “The…paramedics assume she watched her parents burn to death.”
Anne grimaced. “But? She hasn't said either way.” Anne turned to the back of
the file where she found photographs of the scene. “What the hell did they
hit?” Anne looked to Stansfield catching him shrugging his shoulders. “I asked the same
thing.” Anne glanced briefly to the picture again. “Patrolman Belknap said he
had only seen that much damage after a head on hit.” Again Anne grimaced to the
thought. “Strange thing though.” Anne closed the file after taking a picture
out of the file. “Theirs was the only car on scene.” Anne turned away from
Stansfield, holding her eyes upon what was possibly the last family photo
taken. ~ There are no
Satanists in the world, practicing or otherwise, that agree on any one ceremony
to call the fallen archangel. In the world, other religions are partitioned on
account of how God should be worshiped. Satanists can not agree on any one way,
even though it is a singular (anti) religion if you will, of doing a summoning.
Unusual to the fact, that they do not pray to any god (Lucifer was an
archangel, supposedly created by a nameless god deified by the Hebrews). So
therefore, what had, has, does, stand now as their deity of choice? (rumor
indicates, that man exists because of a god he made, who made the man that
worships the god he made who dreamed of the man), is nothing more than an
entity made by one far more powerful than they choose to worship. A bit
foolish, but…okay. ~ The following
morning Anne took the liberty of walking the grounds at St. Dymphna. The
gardens and sprawling grounds were found most impressive by her, or the fact
that seven gardeners, all Japanese, maintained them to such a pristine appearance,
replete with fountains that equaled those of ”Hey Rydell.”
Anne spoke into the cell phone. “Yeah, it has been awhile.” Her smile gave much
away. ”Nah. Just an occasional joint here and there.” She felt a pang of
craving hit her. “Sober five years now.” She bit her lower lip. “Wow, seven
years! Congrats!” Anne looked upward drawing a deep breath. “The reason I called,
is I was wondering if you could find out something for me.” Her eyes fell to
the ground as she slowly walked on. “Yeah…well, you know me.” She swallowed
visibly. “Selfish to the core!” She chuckled lightly. “A family from ~ Rydell Bishop looked at
the phone on his desk for a second more. “K’lani?” He swiveled in his chair a
quarter turn, now looking out toward the big blue Pacific, trying hard to see
the coast in which to locate a ”Ya boss?” Rydell
held his view steady out the window for a moment. Rydell turned his
chair slowly. “Who do we use now for writs in the ”Barona Kasabian.”
Rydell grimaced a bit. “Ya want me ta find another one?” Rydell drew a quick
breath. ”Nah.” He sat
forward. “She’ll do.” Rydell moved the laptop mouse. “Give’r a call, and have
her call me a-sap.” Kalani smiled lightly. ”Big job comin’
up?” Rydell looked up to Kalani. “Don’t know.” He looked
away briefly. “But something don’t feel right.” Kalani turned away concerned,
as Rydell returned to his laptop. ~ Jennifer Hooper sat
motionless and emotionless upon the cushioned covered wooden chair, set within
the stark white room with black curtains. The chair had been placed at the
exact center of the room facing a digital video camera, which had been placed
at the center of the far northern wall. The floor of the room was of white
polished tile, with a floor drain directly beneath the chair. In each of the
four corners of the room, a speaker had been set, and behind the camera was a
mirror. Stansfield held
his eyes on Jennifer. It had been near eight years since she had come into his
care, and despite the fact that she was coherent, in the sense of acknowledging
her existence in this world, she never spoke, nor showed any emotion. He had
thought of using Force Shock Imagery to incite a reaction, MKU therapy. He
dismissed the use of the therapy as soon as he had thought of it, remembering reading
of the outcome when such was used during the mid 2_th century. Yet somehow, he
had to find a way for her, if anything, to scream, the realization of what was,
and is, in which to begin rehabilitation. ”Good morning
Jenny.” Stansfield spoke into the microphone, his voice being piped into the
room softly. “How are you this fine day.” The lights in the room where he stood
dimmed a bit. “I’m feeling a bit slow today myself.” He glanced to the monitors
taking a quick assessment of her vitals. “I might not have gotten enough sleep
maybe.” He looked to Jenny through the mirror. “What do you think?” No change,
as far as he could tell. “I’ve someone here that would like to talk to you.”
Again, he glanced to the monitors briefly. “Would you like that?” Still no
change. “Her name is Anne.” He zoomed the camera in as close as he could
framing her face. “She wants to meet you in person.” Jenny’s pupils widened. “She
has blue eyes like you.” Jenny’s pupils narrowed. “But golden hair, not dark
auburn like yours.” Stansfield turned to Anne nodding her on her way. ~ The room was as
close to pitch black within as it could be. At various places within the room,
doors, which otherwise always stood open, were closed and as well locked. ~ Josey Carter looked
upward to the ceiling again. He had seen mold and mildew develop in city
apartments before, usually on account of old plumbing that had began to decay.
Mostly, such had occurred within the slums of the city, not in the money
districts, and definitely not like this had been described. Lyle Trevien had
made the call to the building management, who in turn had called the city
building inspector’s office. “Josey.” Josey
Carter looked up from the floor, the smile on his face growing. ”Viv.” Vivian
Asker stepped to within a pace of Josey, her eyes falling upward to the ceiling
from his eyes. ”Damn!” She began
to walk in a haphazard circle. “Must have been building for awhile.” Vivian
looked to Josey. ”Overnight.”
Vivian stopped her movement. ”Excuse me?”
Josey nodded his head. “Overnight?” Again Josey nodded his head. ”The tenant, Mr.
Trevien, said he and his husband had been entertaining friends last night.”
Vivian looked to the ceiling, again walking about it. “They know this wasn't
there, as one of Mr. Trevien’s acquaintance’s, a Mr. Roland Dix, had commented
on the mosaic.” Vivian glanced to Josey catching him shrug his shoulders. “Said
it was beautiful enough to bring tears.” Josey raised his brows. ”To each his own.”
Josey nodded again, seeing Vivian continue. ”Mr. Trevien said
he and his husband were awakened abruptly by what sounded like an earthquake.”
Vivian looked to Josey. “His husband said it sounded more like…rock being
broken…or…something like it.” Vivian now stepped to Josey. “They said…well,
they said they then heard screaming, like…people were being hurt in a ghastly
way.” Vivian smiled. ”In a ghastly
way?” Josey smiled lightly. ”That’s what the
husband said.” Vivian shrugged an acceptance. “The husband said he had heard
those same screams coming from his village where he fled from as a boy.” Vivian
now turned somber. “Apparently he’s from ”I’ll get a
stepped scaffold in here to take some samples.” Josey nodded in agreement. ”You do that,
then find me upstairs. You can get some samples maybe from up there too.”
Vivian nodded agreement. ”See ya there.”
Josey stepped around Vivian after another brief glance. “After I’m done here.”
Josey waved over his shoulder disappearing from her view. ~ Anne entered the
room, her eyes falling on the back of Jennifer’s long dark auburn hair brushed
proper over the back of the state issued pale pink uniform, which fell just
short of her buttocks. She could tell she was a petite girl, not skinny, but
more small in stature. Her body was well proportioned she noticed, as she
stepped closer to the front of the room, with a bit larger than average breasts
and well shaped lips. Her fingernails were long and shaped though unpainted, as
was her face and lips. Anne’s eyes met Jennifer’s, where she felt herself
falling. Not into them, but literally falling from a great height. Yet,
Stansfield had said her eyes were blue. Anne found them instead of Azure. ”Hello Jennifer.”
Anne stepped backward slowly to the camera. ”It’s Jenny.”
Anne stopped. Stansfield moved to the mirror quickly. “Only mom'ma calls me
Jennifer.” Anne unsteadily sat atop the padded metal stool beside the camera. ”Your mother…” She
thought of her words. “…Beatrix?” Jennifer remained emotionless. ”Daddy calls her
Bea.” Anne furled her brows. “Daddy calls me Hummingbird.” Anne leaned forward
looking deep into Jennifer’s eyes. ”I…” Anne could
see Jennifer’s eyes as if Caramel. “…I thought you had…blue eyes…” Still,
Jennifer remained emotionless as she blinked. “They are.” Anne
could now see them as blue as the sky on a Spring day. “Like mom'ma.” Anne
swallowed visibly. “She gave them to me.” Anne, felt scared. ~ The plush
curtains were drawn wide at every wall availed with a window, where the
sunlight entering the high-rise condominium was perfect. The furniture, the
accessories, the plants arranged about were textbook Feng Shui. Floors of
blanched Ash, with large imported rugs set around the entire condominium, that
depicted mythologies from the ancient world, where they all could be found
within one of the many collectible books set upon blanched Ash bookshelves. The
music was ambient at best, some new age artist that had been thought of as
decent. No television to speak of, yet the computer system set atop the long
dark oak table at the far northern wall was more than impressive. Again, the
cell phone that had been earnestly ignored, sounded its tone, which was a young
girl screaming lyrics in a maniacally sickening manner. This time, it was
picked up and answered in a very put out way. ”What?!” Eyes
dark as pitch looked out to the east. “Who the hell else were you expecting?”
The dusk grew along with the ire in the voice. “No! I don't call people.” Eyes
narrowed with enmity. “When!?” A low growl was issued to the world. “A hundred
grand. My account, and before tomorrow ~ The morning light
held a faint remembrance of the night’s passing storm in the far distance. Such
events were not uncommon for the southwest. Thunderstorms were considered
mystic harbingers, that hailed either a great good or a horrible evil. To Dove
Cutter, who had sat through the entire storm outside on her front porch, it
held a message she had heard of while very young. Her uncle Chase had told her
of a story of a time before any primordial life existed, and of a war that
paled that for heaven, by a large margin. The story she had heard went more
like a nightmare, told to children to keep them in-line. It worked, for the
most part. Though with Dove, it made her more curious than anything else. She opened the
screen door of her home and stepped inside, turning her head to the hearth. The
embers of the fire she been tending to during the night had kept the place
comfortably warm. Much as the spiced rum had done for her while sitting
outside. She brought the cell phone active, unlocking the screen, then read the
sent message. There was no emotion shown on her face as she read the text,
which was deleted from the phone after she had read it completely. She finished
the last of the rum left in her glass, then went to her room and started to
pack a singular rucksack. It was of buckskin that looked old, and that had been
well worn by more than just she. There were no clothes or shoes that were put
inside it. There were no pictures or any other personal memorabilia. Only the
small plastic pouch containing her ID and her passport atop the fifty caliber
revolver and long-slide auto, held snug within the shoulder harness that was as
worn as the rucksack itself. ~ Anne had
forgotten about the camera and microphones set throughout the room. According
to Stansfield, Jennifer had not spoken a word in nearly eight years, yet spoke
with a calm and clarity rarely found in people her age. ”What happened
that night Jenny?” Anne felt as if her legs were asleep. Jenny’s eyes widened,
where Anne could see them a brilliant forest green, Stansfield turned his eyes
to the monitors holding Jenny’s image. ”Jenny?” Anne
still could not move. “Are you okay?” Anne begged to move toward Jenny, as
Stansfield checked to be sure that all the equipment was working fine. “Jenny?”
Stansfield looked back to the monitors seeing Jennifer tilt her head slightly
rightwise. “What happened?” Anne, now felt as if she had been dowsed with a
bucket of ice water, as even Stansfield felt it too. ~ Josey, now
standing with the other two police officers who had been waiting for the
building manager, could see him approaching to open the door of the apartment
followed by Buddy Carter, a detective from the 10th Metro station. Josey held
nothing for Buddy by any sense of the imagination. Not that he was a bad cop,
just the type of cop that took the job to be on the inside, as he though it better
to push than to be pushed. Josey thought that by now, Vivian would have started
to have the scaffolding brought up, where he smiled thinking of her. He had
never known a CSI like her before. Even in the TV dramas he had never known of
one like her. She had served six years hard time in the Army, from making the
grade as an infantryman, to gaining her Ranger badge. She had shuffled dust
into some of the most inhospitable neighborhoods and bars on the planet, having
the scars and tattoos to prove it. A true, dyed in the wool, US trained
bad-a*s, who could carve your heart out with either a knife or her eyes, and
whatever she saw in Josey, a ten year US Navy SP, he couldn't figure out. ”I do apologize
officers.” The building manager was more than casual about his apology. “But we
have to do this right.” Josey showed no thought of it either way. “Have to
protect people’s rights and all.” Buddy huffed to the sentiment, showing Josey
the court order to enter the condominium. Buddy nodded his head to Josey who
returned the empty salutation, where they both watched as the key was set into
the lock. ~ Stansfield now stood
as if buried in sand, his breath shallow, with the taste of ash in his mouth. The
taste was more than familiar, as a memory of a fire struck his mind like a
hammer. Anne tried to
cry, but there were no tears forming in her eyes. The fear of her childhood had
paralyzed her. She wanted to vomit. Stansfield could
only watch the EEG and EKG monitors going off the scale. He had only seen this
action once, during his recanting of events where his son died in a house-fire.
Nothing was more ghastly, he recalled, as he could see the house burst into
flame, unable to do anything as he watched. Stansfield shuddered with a great
fear, as it was that fire he tasted upon his tongue and smelled within his
nostrils once more. Anne wanted to
run, but found she could not even move anything except her eyes. She felt her
nails digging into her hands, reopening scars that had long since healed. The
smell of mildew and old clothes mixed with bleach and alcohol slammed into her
mind, along with the sensation of cold and wet leather bindings tight upon her
wrists and ankles holding her naked body restrained. It made her gag. ~ Dove felt as if
she had been struck with a bolt of lightening. Her breath had been taken away
by the unbearable sensation, along with the sight of brown eyes vanishing into
a dark abyssal. She quickly turned her eyes to the sky, seeing it grey as if
the first day of Winter. The lightning that now flashed into the massive storm
front before her, leapt upward from the ground, then arced outward in every
degree forming a perfect circle, where seven esoteric symbols became visible
for a moment within the dark cloud canopy. Seven perfect symbols, with room for
what appeared to be one more, becoming briefly visible to her eyes as she
watched the flash dissipate. ~ The smell, which
rushed through the opening of the double doors to the condominium, was all of
the tomb. Long forgotten deformities slithered into the protective shadows, to
the sudden appearance of light, upon an ooze as primordial as the universe
itself. The building manager turned and vomited whatever was contained within
his gullet to sampling th fetid odor, along with the young cop who had been
awaiting his arrival. Even Buddy, who was never bothered by any aspect of death,
whether new or old, had to swallow back hard, where he could see the sergeant
quickly undo his tie for a calming breath. Josey knew, almost by instinct that
something evil had used the darkened room for whatever hideous need it felt had
to be satiated. He swallowed visibly, then pushed open wide the unlocked double
doors. ~ There are many
things that we humans find fearful, with most being manifest within our own
minds. Most of them all go bump in the night, finding first their way in
through our imaginations. It is this, the imagination, which leads to so many
alien things that have no real corporeal essence to exist. Yet, of the soul, can
we truly say such does not exist? Dream it, and it is! For a certainty, it is
this which we fear for. Not the flesh and bone of body, even though the pain of
death is quite frightening in its own right. It is of the immortal soul which
we manifest into a tangible existence within our own hearts. The esoteric heart
of soul of existentialism, which we fear most for. Of what hideous horrors
shall it suffer, when our personal manifested diabolical hell comes to
fruition? ~ Barona Kasabian,
mulled over the musty paper files that had been placed in a more than proper
order in the Barona felt a
slight tingling at the back of her neck. Something was happening up above, but
for the moment, it had to wait further investigation. She had done her
homework, as finding the information Rydell Bishop had wanted was more than
easy. Everything was scary normal, and that bothered her some. Nobody, her father
had told her, is a perfect person. Somewhere daughter dear, he would say, there
is a monster just waiting to be set free. Yet, Barona could see that maybe, as
her mother had told her, there was always an exception to the rule. ‘Abraham Hooper,
born in Aurora, Illinois in 19_, joined the US Army in 19_, served six years,
honorably discharged, married 19_ to Beatrix Vance, born in Lincoln, Illinois
in 19_, a nurse attached to the USO in Indianapolis’. Barona could not find
anything out of the ordinary for Abe and Bea, no matter how she crossed
referenced them. It was turning out the same for their daughter Jenny Hooper.
She appeared to be a good kid, with good grades in High School, a member of the
cheer squad, and had not gotten into any trouble with the local cops, not even
a traffic ticket. It was that way for all of them, and Barona now wondered if
maybe there was nothing to find. She reached into her inner jacket pocket and
removed her ‘Precise’ e-pad, where she then called up the ‘Stygian browser’ she
used exclusively, that upgraded itself the more it was used. It was an AI
attack and stealth browser an old college roommate had written, she got a copy,
he got a job after hacking the White House security feeds. She switched on the
WiFi hotzone she carried with her, and began the hack-feed. Barona closed down
her cell after sending the text message, then started to walk back as she
listened to ‘Badi Assad’ playing on her cell, while the browser, now back into
her coat pocket, continued to do its job, routing its tasks through every world
wide web available. ~ Anne whimpered,
Stansfield moaned. Jenny, sat motionless and emotionless within the white room
with black curtains. The EEG and EKG had fallen still, and no matter the man or
woman, and even child old enough to reason, all felt as if they had come into
the company of a new and before hidden fear. ~ Josey switched on
the heavy flashlight, and tried hard to peer into the room. He felt scared,
which for him was something altogether new. Josey stepped into the room now,
the luminescence of his flashlight scarcely penetrated the dark depths. He
stepped farther in, he could tell the floor was coated in a viscous substance.
His first thought was of blood, but dismissed the thought, as the logic of it
would have been ludicrous at best, it felt thick and as if coagulating. He
reached for the foyer lighting switches, finding them not working, such things
are as always no surprise. Of what he
remembered, the building manager made his way toward the wall containing the
windows, the floor plan was practically the same as the condominium below. “I’ll
try to reach the curtains.” Josey stopped his advance within the room. “I’ll
try not to hit things as I…” Josey wanted to rush forward, but the sound he was
hearing, meat and bone being ground to bits as if in a garbage disposal, and
the horrified scream of whom he knew to be the building manager, made him
freeze in place. The garbled sound
of the building manager’s voice being devoured made him shiver. “Josey, what
the…” “Freeze!” Buddy
did not hesitate at Josey’s warning. “Just…wait!” Josey glanced to the light
framed within the open doors, then began to shuffle toward what he hoped was a
wall. ~ Vivian could have
sworn she saw the ceiling within the mildew stained ring waver. She panned her
eyes quickly about still shaking slightly, finding no one looking her way with
the same surprise. She glanced upward quickly, while stepping beneath the
center of the ring, moving in-between the scaffolding braces. She began to take
the few steps upward after taking hold of her sample kit. The closer she came
to the mildew ring, the more she began to realize it was not mildew, or mold,
but an acid burn. No, maybe not acid she thought, but a chemical nonetheless. She set the kit
to the platform of the scaffold she stood upon, then took out a swab after
opening it and putting on a second pair of latex gloves. “Okay.” She reached
upward with the swab to take a sample. “Let’s see what…you’re made of.” She
jerked back in a grotesque manner, half screaming, half moaning. Her joints
cracked aloud as she contorted, then fell back to the scaffold platform. She
lay very still, while crying hysterically. ~ Dove opened the
garage doors, a barn converted into a most impressive automotive shop. She
stepped to the east wall, covered in peg-board with numerous sets of keys. She
grabbed a set of keys belonging to a well maintained 19_ Thunderbird,
Turquoise, with a white top. She removed the dust cover, and then climbed
inside. As always, she smiled to the smell and the feel of the collector’s
antique. The engine came to life on the first turn of the ignition, where Dove
then engaged the gearbox and pulled out of the garage, and out through the
yard. She depressed the garage door system, and with a quick glance back seeing
the doors starting to close, she set her eyes forward, now driving out onto the
abandoned state road. ~ Josey suddenly
felt the beads of sweat rolling down his chin, that and his breathing which was
labored and unsteady. He leaned back against the wall he had found in the pitch
darkness, as if it were the only thing in existence, he had thought of it in
those terms the moment he touched it, since it seemed like an ungodly amount of
time had passed until he had. Foremost on his mind, was the building manager,
his call for help went unfulfilled. Josey would, nor could ever forget that cry
for help, and of how he just froze in place, unable to move, scared beyond
anything he had ever known in his life, he was not afraid of anything, or so
the rumor went. ”Move, ya punk
a*s bit_!” Josey wanted to slap himself, but even that he found hard to do. “Christ!
What the hell’s the matter with me?” He took a calming breath, then mustered
enough nerve to slide his right foot sideways, the wall used as a guide. ”Eh, Josey, ya
alright?” Buddy had moved back to the doorway, the sound of the building
manager being ground to death was incentive enough. Josey found it
difficult to talk above a whisper. “I’m okay…the hell!” Josey swallowed
audibly. “Yeah!” He drew a sharp breath, as he edged rightwise more. “Yea,
just…stay put Bud.” Josey raised his eyes upward briefly. ”Yeah.” Buddy
panned her eyes within the darkness. “No sweat.” Buddy still had his 9mm
trained forward into the darkness, just in case. Josey felt his
right hip come into contact with a piece of furniture, the assumption came as
it was waist high and tight against the wall. He switched his 45 into his left
hand, and then slowly reached downward, his heart was racing, along with his
breath quickening. human pathos coming to light. Josey felt nothing there, as
he reached outward to find the surface of what his hip had touched. Closer to
his side his hand fell, he could feel the growing swelter drawing into beads
about his hairline. His voice failed him, a garbled sound of horror mixed with
a realization of terror emanating from his open and contorted mouth. He
tightened his groin muscles, he still felt a bit of wetness growing. The same
viscous essence he felt beneath his shoes, he now felt with his quivering hand,
there was no mistaking the ooze covered skull for anything else but that. ~ Francois Bucher
mulled over the musty tomes located in the long unused bookstore. It was
nothing strange for a Frenchman to be in Marrakech, the French Foreign Legion
still maintains a fort in close proximity to the ancient city. The strange of
the occurrence, other than whom he worked for, was of what he was looking for
in the old bookstore. Daniela San Sebastiani had never sent the same man twice
to do any task she needed done, and for Francois, this was his third outing, it
had something to do with the death of Daniela’s husband. Francois was being
more than meticulous in his search. According to what he had been told, the
tome he was looking for had been written before the rise of the empire of As he continued
to peruse the many shelves, he stepped aware of his shadowed companion within
the dimly lit library. He knew them to be a genuine threat, they moved with a
skilled stealth matched easily. Francois stepped down to the second landing of
the rolling platform. His eyes darting about through the gaps between book and
shelving trying to detect the subtlest of movements, while still looking for
the tome he had been charged with to find. The large razor-sharp knife flashed
in the dim light, an exact replica of James Bowie’s famous blade. Francois had
turned about almost imperceptibly, the blade gliding through the air at a most
lethal level and range. His breath was almost undetectable, as his eyes watched
for the covert attack he knew was on its way. He reached back with his right
hand, drawing a book down upon its spine, a marker of where he had stopped. His eyes shifted
left, where he caught sight of the movement of his shadowed companion. He
nonchalantly stepped down off the rolling platform, then turned and made way in
the direction of the movement. He rushed down the corridor at full speed, the
wicked blade rising and falling as if possessed into being more like a saw in
appearance. The light he had been afforded faded quickly in his growing
absence, the lamp being attached to the platform remained stationary. something
Francois did not think of. The sound was more than disturbing, sickening in any
guise of human understanding. Francois lay twitching upon the cold stone floor
of the ancient library. His head cracked open from the forehead to his chin
completely, cerebral vitro oozing from the devastating injury. His hands were
broken, along with his legs, as his eyes now began to clot, the large knife
held firmly in his chest. ~ A gloved hand
reached subtly forward, taking an aged book that lay quietly upon its spine
from a second tier shelf. ‘Octo Numina’, The Eight Deities. The book was
admiringly caressed, with possibly a pang of every human emotion. For nearly five
hundred years it had been rumored lost, burned in the fire of the library at The sound of
steel-tipped heels resounded upon the metal rolling platform, their echo eerily
taunting, as if beckoning attention from the shadows. Eyes, grey as if formed
from glass, stared far into the distance, sparkling as if charged by a
perverted orgasm of hideous delight. They stared incessantly onward, as now
upon the cold stone floor heels touch down. They resound within the dimly lit
glow of the stationary lamp, as spectral visions looked up from the steel
tipped heels, to silk packaged legs, hidden fashionably beneath a designer
frock of the highest caliber of fabric. Beneath the stark white lace eye-shade
of a most contemporary chapeau, pouting lips painted red, bright as if aflame,
are sensually teased by teeth and tongue, framed by tears of ecstatic joy. The
soft moan issued forth through imperceptibly parted lips, is caused by the
sensual quivering of tightened thighs, moist with arousal, feminine gold of the
flesh, gleaned from burglary, subterfuge, and murder. ~ Josey had edged
himself slowly away from the corpse, it could be nothing else, he had
discovered within the darkness, finally finding the intersecting wall that
formed a corner of the room. He pressed himself hard into the crevice of it, as
if trying hard to define the space he now occupied as a sanctified sanctuary
inviolate. He feared reaching out, as much as he feared reaching up, yet did so
finding the lambrequin as well covered within the viscous ooze he had come into
company with. Prayers were offered to every deity he had ever heard of, his
faith had floundered years before. Josey pushed his mind deep into the
perception of his own existence, finding strength of the soul is far harder
than ever the body. His grip tightened, followed by his arm jerking violently
downward with an audible exhalation of his breath, where the motion was
simultaneously followed by the curtain covered windows becoming bare, and the
room in question bathed in the purifying light of day. ~ Anne fell to her
knees with a wail, whereupon landing hard to the floor of the white room with
black curtains, she wretched violently, a stomach filled with tears, mucous and
bile emptying in a single motion. Stansfield as well had made the floor upon
his knees, though perceptibly slower than Anne, where he soon lay his head upon
the floor and wept uncontrollably, his bladder emptied along with his bowls,
all the while as his teeth sank deeper into the flesh of his hands clasped
tight. ~ Jenny stared at
the camera at the far end of the room, motionless and emotionless, her eyes a
vibrant crystal clear blue. Her cheeks were aglow with an innocent blush, like
a young girl after tasting her first, as it t’were, true-love kiss. Her flesh
was as if snow, pale though opaque, and her hair, set in dog-ears, was as if
fresh spun cinnamon tinted silk. Her black silk stockings ended in a perfect
petite grey bow that peeked out from under her short gray-scale plaid
skirt, which was paled in view by the brightly bleached long-sleeve white shirt
she wore, it had been tailored to her torso with uncanny accuracy with a great attention
to displaying the cut of her nubile body and perfect breasts. Her hips, which
broke with a dynamic precision that set her buttocks at a perfect center to
body ratio, matched her legs, which were superfluous in the length and build
with thighs that matched a perfectly heart shaped derriere, highlighted by the
extremely tight white lace panties she wore, barely visible beneath her skirt.
Her bra, being push-up in nature, drove her breasts up high and very tight
together, maximizing an already impressive cleavage. Jenny, could not have
cared less of her appearance, nor of the clothes she wore, as she had always
been dressed in hospital patient attire. ~ Such descriptive
detail is a given necessity, the digital camera will show when scrutinized by
many, that there was nothing recorded, only Dr. Anne Marie Fitzgerald, a renown
psycho-hypnotist entering the white room with black curtains, and a young
patient known by the psychiatric staff as Jenny Hooper within the room.
Evidence would show them motionless for the duration of x-amount of minutes,
with Dr. William Stansfield, the resident psychiatrist, seated before a desk
next to an observation window monitoring certain equipment, and doing very
little else, the recorded white noise would be deemed a mechanical malfunction. ~ Barona stepped
out through the city registry building, where she stopped abruptly and as
quickly removed her mirrored sunglasses. She knew fully well, that when she
arrived to enter the building, there was enough traffic both on and off the
street to ruin anybody’s day. Now, she could find no one about, and the vehicle
traffic at a dead stop; cars were either abandoned or wrecked. In fact, she had
thought to herself, it appeared as if nobody had been around for quite sometime.
She drew a sharp breath as she made her way to her SUV, as almost imperceptibly
she noticed the cars set haphazardly within the street starting to move.
Without a thought or a hesitation, Barona vaulted straight up into the air. She
kicked her legs outward into a perfectly straight line, then caught a glimpse
of the sandy colored Nissan Sentra pass beneath her in a flash. She could hear
tires screeching to a halt, as she descended back to the street, where she
looked around at the now fast flowing traffic moving in opposition about her. Barona did not
hesitate again, even at hearing the sound of crushing metal and breaking glass
where she had just a split second before stood. She hand vaulted over another
car that stopped, then ran quickly to her SUV climbing inside, where once done
and the engine running, she pulled away into traffic, then as quickly
disappeared around the first available right corner. Since her father’s death
in 20_ at the hands of an assassin known only as ‘Prospero’, she had never let
her guard falter by any measure; she had been struck by one of the assassin’s
bullet first to lure her father into an inescapable shooting solution. She then
witnessed her father’s head vanish in front of her. It took several years to
track down Henri Bauch, and then only a minute to watch him bleed-out after she
slit his throat with a well honed straight razor. She felt the use of the
grooming utensil justified, since she had always loved to watch her father
shave with it. Barona had pulled
over to the curb not more than a few minutes after turning right off the street
she had been parked at. She could not stop shaking or tearing. She had no real
idea if it was from almost being hit by a car she barely saw coming at her, or
the fact that she missed her father; a sentiment that would have made her
patriarch smile to such a concern. Either way, Barona felt scared, which
overwhelmed her more than anything else she was feeling. ‘…fear is not an
option for us my darling Rona; only death…’. “And death will die before we do,
Otets!” Barona put the car in gear, and then accelerated away down the
street. ~ What the large
and gaping orifice centered within the large living-room of the condominium
was, in fact, no one could say. The foul odor of decay was more than
nauseating, and despite the presence of the noxious vapors emanating from the
very edge, the sight of the eight corpses, each stripped practically to the
bone, would have been enough to have caused anyone to wretch. It was the same
with all who had entered the front room of the condominium; male or female
mattered not. They would stand at the door for a brief moment, take a calming
breath before entering, exhale as they stepped over the threshold They would
then inhale on their second footstep within, then bend at the waist and vomit,
turning about to make a hasty retreat to the hallway. Josey had done
the same, almost; he had swallowed back. Josey held his flashlight as close as
he dared to the what he perceived as a dark passage to an endless abyssal; no
light seemed to penetrate the surface. What puzzled him even more, was that
there was no trace of the building manager, not that he was surprised, just
puzzled by the fact that there was no blood or body tissue anywhere. Of what he
remembered of the incident, whether in the dark or not, is that it sounded as
if the man were being spun about in a vortex of a sort. His voice would draw
near, then move away as he screamed; Josey heard it in his head causing him to
grimace a bit shamefully. ”Josey!” Josey
looked up quickly to the other side of the room. “It’s Vivian Asker.” Josey
stood slowly. “Something got a hold of her.” Josey swallowed visibly. “And…well,
it’s…” Buddy glanced away briefly. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Buddy swiped at his mouth. “They’re taking her to Wake Memorial.” Buddy again,
glanced to the floor of the hallway then back. “She’s really weirded up Josey.”
Josey tilted his head rightwise. “Like…she got caught in a washing machine on
spin.” Josey furled his brows with concern. ”Let me know how
she’s doing.” Buddy, who knew more of Josey and Vivian’s relationship nodded an
affirmation. ”As soon as,
Josey.” Buddy gave a heartfelt wave, then left Josey to the investigation of
whatever, that had now become the best kept secret in ~ The razor sharp
knife flew through the air striking deep with little effort into the hardwood
manikin. Barona continued to peruse the displayed files on the large plasma
flat-screen monitor, as she swiveled eerily round-about in the well padded
lounger. Slipping into the police data system was no problem, yet attaining the
complete file seemed to be. There had been additional security protocols placed
on the file, and of what Barona could see, there was not anything within the
file to warranty such an action. She again turned her attention to the family
history files, feeling she had missed something, but again found the read more
than mundane. They had the usual traceable heritage, which more than ninety
percent of the world’s population had the usual bevy of friends and close
relations, both of generation and proximity, and a routine as mundane as the
everything else she had read of the Hooper family. The only thing that stood
out as not ordinary, was the fact of how Jennifer Hooper’s parents had died. A
traffic collision where miraculously the daughter’s life had been spared in a
twist of fate. Another thrown
knife struck hard into the wooden manikin standing at the far side of the
living room. Barona shuffled papers from the dead pile to the center of the
table. “…singular vehicle involved collision…” Barona skimmed further. “…front
vehicle cabin completely compacted…” Barona glanced to the police diagram
briefly. “…vehicle engine compartment crushed…” Barona now took hold of the
police photograph. “…vehicle completely incinerated.” Barona turned her head
rightwise with an inquisitive tilt. “But it doesn't mention whether the gas
tank exploded or not.” Barona turned to the coroner's report. “Well!” Barona
turned her eyes back to the photograph of the car once more. “It must have
gotten awfully hot for a second or too.” She tossed the photograph to the table
top, now stepping to a window. “Hot enough to melt bone, but not the metal of
the car frame.” Barona tightened her hands to fist, knowing there was no heat
capable of incinerating bone, much less capable of melting them. ~~ 'Evil
exists, to punish bad men.' Sutter Judas Caine,
1817 Stansfield opened
his eyes slowly, painfully. It seemed to him that he had received a very brutal
sunburn. He was partially correct. He tried to speak, but found it impossible
through the thick coat of ash upon his tongue. He could tell that he was no
longer within the recording room, as the floor was wood instead of tile. ~ Anne felt as if
she had been lifted from where she had been laying at mach speed. It was such
the sensation that it made her ill instantly. She cowered to the unholy sound
that slammed into her ears. Horns that resounded a tone which was so off pitch as
to make her vomit once more. It slammed into her senses again. Then for a third
time. Anne, did not have anything more in her stomach to vomit, where she
simply retched. ~ Stansfield heard
and felt the resounding as well, though being prone upon the floor could hear
the unmistakable sound of tumblers clicking into place. Not as if a common
locking mechanism, as he had recognized the sound to be as if stone cogs and
their pinions were being pushed into place. ~ Barona stood at
the balcony of the hotel, her eyes held to the horizon. The sun was setting in
the east. Such an event, she knew would mean the earth was spinning clockwise.
Possible, but highly improbable. Yet, the sickening acid green hue to the sky
made her believe that just possibly, the improbable was realized. Her cell
became active. ”What!?” She
turned her eyes to the street below. “What the hell?!” Barona stepped into her
room, where after reaching into a black thick leather bag, returned to the
balcony, again looking to the streets, only now through a very powerful and
precise monocular. Again the cell became active. “I hung up on you for a
reason!” Barona panned the street below slowly. To her, it seemed as if
everyone was just standing still, until a more closer look. Barona was more
than confused, more than afraid. ~ Josey would have
sworn the floor heaved to the tones he had heard. He did not vomit, as he had
done that the moment the room became bathed in the daylight from the open
curtains. He would have sworn on everything he believed; God, Satanael,
the deep blue sea, even Jesus the Nazarene, that when the light fell into
the room, before the maw in the center heaved, he heard it growl. Josey looked
up to the open double doorway of the condo. The man silhouetted within the
framed doorway seemed too unkempt to be a Fed, and too clean-cut to be a
precinct detective. The man entered the room, slowly stepping closer to the
maw. Josey was right, as the man was a priest. ~ Barona made the
landing of the flights of stairs she had taken out into the lobby. She did not
need to exit the building, even though she would anyway. Those standing in the
lobby; men, women, children. All, pillars of salt. She had tasted the powder
from off her left fingers, after caresses the cheek of a girl she knew to be no
more than two. She stood at the revolving door of the hotel, and looked out on
the same scene, only applied a thousand fold. ”I...” Barona
turned... “...please don't shoot?” The Glock 10 was lowered slowly. “I was
takin' a break in the back.” Barona watched the fortyish aged man stepped
closer. “I was listenin' to my cell...” Barona furled her brows causing the man
to stop talking. She had been listening to music on her laptop. She only
stopped when she noticed the sun setting in a different direction. ~ Dove Cutter
opened her eyes, her hands now lowering to their sides. She had seen the
swirling of the clouds, the changing color of the sky. If she had not taken
hold of her grisgris bag which hung about her neck, she would have died. She
had been saved by her Uncle Chase's medicine bag, as he had told her it had
saved him once before. She turned her eyes rightwise, then watched the Murder
of Crows that had surrounded her cawing loudly, now flying away. ”Ashagoteh, da áá!” Dove swiped
away the tears from her cheeks. “You taught me well!” She climbed back into her
car, finding the battery drained. She climbed back out and started to push it,
until gaining enough momentum to jump start the car with a clutch dump in first
gear. Dove speed away down the empty ~
Anne, at the moment she gained her consciousness, held no care as to how
she had gotten outside of the observation room. She did however, wonder how she
had gotten to ~
Stansfield stood slowly. He now realized that his ears were full of ash.
Such a thing did not concern him, as much as the fact of him standing in ~
Josey dared not move. He had found a small place of sanctuary, as he felt
of it, standing between the two large and uncovered windows. He held his eyes
on the priest that seemed to enter the room unconcern to the vision before him,
and as well unaffected by the putrid aroma that seemed to be all engulfing. ”Christ
almighty father!” Josey could see the priest raise his chin. “I sure as hell am
glad to see you!” The priest stopped a few feet from the maw of darkness. ”No
you're not.” Josey tilted his head furling his brows. “In fact? You're more
scared now with my being here than you were before.” Josey knew the priest was
right. “I'm father Judas Caine.” Josey recoiled with a huff. “You can just call
me Caine.” Now, Josey felt a bit off. ”Did
the... ”No.”
Josey drew a sharp breath. “I was in the neighborhood...” Caine looked directly
to Josey with intent. “...having lunch.” Josey felt more than unnerved by the
priest's wry smile. ~
Anne remembered ”Ni
sa bula!” Anne felt like a doe in headlights. “You don't speak Fijian?” Anne
slowly shook her head. “Are you okay?” Anne again shook her head. “You look
quite lost miss.” Anne felt herself tearing. “Have you been hurt?” Now Anne
felt as she were falling. Her eyes closed as she felt the inescapable rush of
gravity. ~
Stansfield turned about, his eyes falling on the ghastly sight of blood
stained walls, where bits and pieces of what he hoped were animal flesh, clung
to the walls, ceilings, and floors of the room he stood in. The smell was
appalling, which made him gag, where soon a feeling of fear and loathing
slammed into his mind like what he imagined a bullet would do. He fell to his
knees, the tears running from his face, where with a deeply drawn breath he
screamed aloud, feeling as if he were on fire. ~
To many, the room would have appeared as if it had been designed to
render discipline upon someone, who had decided not to have done their
schoolwork properly. A rather small desk and chair, with a tall standing lamp
set next to it, was all that could be found within of furnishings. The windows
had been darkened by early century newsprint set against them, with an aged
tape holding them into place. The walls were devoid of any fixtures or objects
d'Art, where even in the dim light one would know that the walls had seen many
years of neglect along with the floor. Daniela San Sebastiani sat
within the seat, her bare buttocks upon the hard wood, though was dressed in
sheer white silk from throat to toe else wise. Her feet were held tightly in
bondage by clear glass stiletto heels, the collar about her throat of the same
material. Her hair, which had been braided extra tight, sat atop and center of
her head. She shivered with delight, as she sat upon the chair, though the
unforgiving hardness of the wood did little to bring her an orgasm nowadays.
Yet, orgasm she did on account of much excitement, after unlatching the lock
set upon the ancient tome she now prepared to open. Daniela remained
motionless, as with the opening of the book, there came what she perceived as
an even more intense silence than the room had first afforded her. It had been
her favorite room since turning twelve, where she learned to love the
intimacies of a leather strap upon her bare flesh. She would never deny the
fact that the molestation she endured had had an effect on her developing mind.
She also would not deny the fact that she could never repay her sister for what
she had given her. She was daddy's little girl in the traditional sense, but
was her sister's w***e anytime and anywhere. She could still sometimes find her
sister's scent within the old house. On a pillow here, or a couch there. It
would cause the memories to flow, and her as well. Daniela turned
the first page over, now looking upon the title page. ‘Octo Numina’. She
giggled like a young schoolgirl, feeling the muscles of her crotch tighten. She
smiled as she could feel fresh ciprine running down to her anus as she spread
her legs open slightly. Daniela opened her eyes after the shiver she endured
from her orgasm dissipated, where again she looked to the front page of the
book. ”What
extraordinary mind created you my beauty?” Daniela gingerly caressed the page
with her right fingertips. “I'd let them do anything to me, to learn how they
knew!” Daniela turned the next page finding the next pair of pages blank. She
smiled, now knowing the tome was authentic. She drew a deep breath, then turned
what was the true first page. Michel D'Charbon, was right. The printing down
the side was hand written in Latin, where next from the hand written tome in
old Aramaic, set between hand written text of Akkadian, of an even far more elder
Eblaite text, which was found side by side at the end of each page. “Sorry
about the poison Michel.” Daniela smiled to the memory playing out in her mind.
“But I had to have your ledger, in which to find this.” Daniela drew a deep
preparatory breath, then began to read. Six years of college in which to gain
the ability to read Latin, Aramaic, and Ugaritic text within the same instant. “Imagine
it, and it will be so!” Daniela tilted her head rightwise slightly. ”Danni!” Daniela
began to shake uncontrollably, her tears now falling through a fear filled moan
to the whisper in the dark behind her. ~ Barona had stolen
the motorcycle. She would not deny it to anyone, but killed the rider? Not
hardly. She just pushed him off where he shattered into pieces on the street.
She rode the bike at less than her usual 'As Fast As It Can Go' speeds, finding
it a bit hard to maneuver through the wreckage of traffic that clogged the
roadways, and as well finding it impossible to travel along any sidewalks. So
many people she knew were dead, everywhere. Turned to pillars of salt. It had
made her wonder of how the satellites for her GPS was still working, but was
grateful, since she had located the nearest community airport quickly. If the
same scene were found there, it would not be difficult for her acquire a Learjet to make way north to “Answer!” She
throttled back the bike. “What?” She leaned into the curve. ”Moy tykva
printsessa!” Barona lost control, now feeling the bike breaking free. She
vaulted through the air landing hard upon her back. She now laid motionless on
the street, beneath the empty stares of the pillars of salt. ~ Dove continued
on, the lights of the Jeep seemingly subdued by the dark of night. Had it not
been for the reflective road markers, it would have been a more cautious ride.
She had made the county marker just before dusk, knowing the battery had
charged back full, yet still, she rode on in silence, not even playing the
radio. She looked to her right briefly then back. ”So how long had
you been waiting?” She swallowed audibly. ”Don't rightly
know.” She looked to her right, wondering if she had lost her mind. ”What are doing
here?” She looked back to the road. ”Don't rightly
know that either.” She fought back her tears. ”Are you real?”
This time, Dove didn't look. ”Probably not.”
Dove slammed her foot to the break pedal, the screeching of the tires more than
unsettling. She stepped from the Jeep quickly walking briskly to the other side
of the road. She drew a sharp breath, then turned and looked back to the Jeep.
There was no one inside. “Da áá!” She let her tears fall as she drew her hands to her chest. She
fell to her knees as well, then wailed aloud. ~
The light within the room of the ICU wing at Chicago Memorial was
lowered, as doctor Helen Fieldsman prepared to exit. She turned back
slightly, taking one more look at the woman, who by all reason was fine by
every medical definition. Yet according to her EEG, her brain activity was off
the charts. Helen had studied brain activity as her specialty, knowing when
people were dreaming. She knew that the woman laying in the bed at the end of
room, was lost inside a nightmare of epic proportions. ”Any
change doctor?” Helen hesitantly glanced to the attending nurse. ”No.”
Helen looked back to her patient. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board!” The
nurse frowned to the occult phrase used. Helen smiled with light chuckle. “Call
me if there is, okay?” The nurse nodded her head once, then stepped to the side
of the bed, not seeing Helen step out into the hallway on her rounds. ”Be
brave miss.” The nurse began to straighten the blanket out of habit. “You'll
get better.” She stepped to the right side of the bed, reaching for the
blanket. She froze instantly, to the grip of the patient's hand about her
wrist. She looked down, seeing the patient looking at her from the corner of
her eye. The nurse began to tear and shake in the same motion, her mouth
opening wide where a grotesque gurgling sound was issued from. The patient now
appeared unchanged, as the nurse turned then exited the room, leaving a trail
of urine in her wake. ~
Josey watched as father Caine circumnavigated the dark abyss set upon the
floor of the high-rise condominium. As bothered by the occurrences he was now
faced with, the priest bothered the kahookoos right out of him on another level
altogether. His nonchalant mannerism, his seeming familiarity with the foul
dark abyss, all of it set Josey on edge. ”Ever
see this before?” Josey caught the glance from Caine, seeing him raise his left
brow. Again, the wry smile from the priest. ”Once.”
Now Josey felt very uncomfortable. “A very long time ago.” Josey caught father
Caine's glance again. “I had forgotten how really awesome the effect is.” Josey
furled his brows, the look upon his face, confused and trepidatious, amusing to
father Caine. “When a gate becomes unlocked officer Carter.” Josey felt like a
deer in headlights. “Now that look?” Josey felt weird. “I am very familiar
with.” Josey tried, but he couldn't step back any further, as he watched the
priest step onto then over the dark abyss, as if it wasn't even there. ~
First a breath, then a following moan that anyone could tell was filled
with a startling pain. Barona tried to sit upright, but it hurt fiercely to do
so. It was fully into the night, as even with her helmet visor down, she could
see the sky was dark and full of stars. She slowly raised her left arm, using
her left gloved hand to push the helmet visor up and away. She smiled, then
laughed lightly. The stars were configured for the southern hemisphere of
earth. She closed her eyes shaking her head with another laugh. By all
accounts, she was in ”Dial
last number received.” She could hear the connection being made, then answered,
by three distinct tones.
>We're sorry. But the number you dialed is no longer in service at
this time. Please...< ”Cancel
call.” Barona wasn't surprised. She lowered her visor back with her left hand,
as she throttled the bike with her right. She set the kickstart out, pumping it
a few times into place, then jumped up and down with all her weight, kicking
the motorbike engine over to start. She revved the motorbike a few times,
ignoring the shattered electronic starter and right rear-view mirror, then with
a perfect wheel stand for a few yards, set the bike down square, then moved
away fast down the street, the airport still her destination. ~
Ice and snow, perpetually. That, and a day, and a night. Corwin was now
in its spring and summer phase, which meant six months of daylight. Not that
anyone from
Ivy Sasku stepped up to the edge of the street. She glanced both ways,
then walked across to the other side. She stepped into the building nodding her
head to all within. She removed her gloves, then made way for the radio in the
far back of the building. ”Hey
Billy.” Billy looked up to Ivy. ”Sheriff.”
Ivy took a seat atop the worn padded stool. ”Any
word yet?” Billy fidgeted with some radio knobs, listening to the
white noise in the headphones shaking his head, the right phone off his ear. ”Nothing
Sheriff.” Ivy lightly smacked her left thigh with her gloves. ”Keep
on trying Billy.” Ivy stood. “If you don't hear anything by night's call? Send
word, and I'll start forming a search and rescue team to head out.” Billy
nodded his head once. ”You
got it Sheriff.” Billy turned back to the radio, as Ivy went out to the front.
Ivy poured herself a cup of coffee, then made way to her office at the
opposite end where the coffee machine stood. She thought about what Henry
Berneski had told her before he left. That there would never be a better time
to get married than now. She told him he was crazy, and then sent him on his
way to do the usual supply run. It normally would take ten days round trip. He
should have been back early in the morning. It was now late afternoon.
They had met on the way to Corwin some twenty years before. The charter
that booked them, had booked one too many. Henry gave up his seat, and waited
until the next charter going out, ten days later. Ivy, was waiting for him when
he arrived. It was fate Henry said. Ivy told him he was crazy then too.
She finally sipped from her cup. A cup she had brought with her that had
belonged to her brother. A soldier lost to combat. The caption read 'Rangers
Lead The Way'. She thought for a moment. He was crazy too. ~ Stansfield looked into the glass of the
observation room. He was, on fire. His eyes widened as the searing pain ate
into his mind, the nerves of his flesh becoming alive through the devouring
heat. He inhaled hot air and flame, then screamed. Anne, couldn’t hear anything from the
other side of the mirror. Not that it wasn’t possible, as the microphone of the
observation room was working. She couldn’t hear his scream over hers, as she
laid prone on the floor. Jennifer Hooper sat quietly upon the
cushioned covered wooden chair, set within the stark white room with black
curtains. She stood from the chair, making her way to the door of the room. She
smiled lightly, turning her head back to look over her left shoulder. She
opened the door stepping through the archway, over the threshold, and then onto
the streets of ~ Daniela, couldn’t breath. The chain choker
about her neck was being pulled so hard, that it began to pinch and bruise her
flesh. She could feel whatever it was that held her wrists and ankles was
alive. Yet, of what she could see within the dim light from the tall standing
lamp, they seemed to be a slime covered tendril with a row of hooked like
thorns that bit into her flesh, pulling her, it seemed, apart. She could feel her consciousness leaving, her
entire body becoming numb from asphyxia. The orgasm she now endured was far
more stronger and longer than any she had ever known, as her breath came
quickly to her with the release of the choker. Her scream filled moan seemed to
echo within the room. Her eyes opened wise quickly, as the
leather lash struck her exposed crotch with a brutal force. Again it struck
her, and again, and it was the third time, Daniela recognized the hand
delivering such brutality. She smiled closing her eyes, as if by some strange
pathos, the tendrils had felt her thoughts, and had now pulled her legs open
wider. The pain was so sweet, the brutality perfect, the love, overwhelming. Daniela opened her eyes quickly again
drawing a deep. She then screamed aloud with such an anguish to her outcry, as
she sat upon the wooden chair in front of the small desk as if nothing had occurred.
She hung her head low and cried softly, the ancient book held tight to her
chest. The legend of the book was true enough. Imagine it, and it will be so. ~ Caine now stood within a pace of Josey,
who by now had almost wet his pants completely. The wry smile on his face now
turned soft, where there seemed to be an extreme amount of pity and a strange
presence of calmness within Caine’s eyes. “I don’t envy you, you know.” Josey furled
his brows perplexed. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?” Josey haphazardly
shook his head no. “Wow!” Caine stepped backward until reaching the center of
the dark abyss. He could see Caine look down, again as if watching something.
“Come, and see!” Josey hesitantly stepped forward, his legs feeling as if of
straw. “At one time?” Josey neared the edge of the abyss, his legs now shaking
uncontrollably. “I was the brightest angel in heaven!” Josey now made the edge
of abyss, where as he peered over the edge and into what had been the great
dark maw, his whole body began to shake. “Behold an elder God!” Josey didn’t even
acknowledge the urine soaking the front of his pants... "And our God, is soon to arrive!" ...nor the hysterical scream
from his throat. ~ Dove felt as if a knife of ice had been
plunged into her heart. She jerked hard on the wheel of the jeep, which
pitched, yawed, then tumbled side over side down the dark and empty roadway. In
her mind, she could see everyone she ever loved, die once again. She couldn’t
breathe right. She couldn’t move right. Yet everything about her was now quiet
and calm. She closed her eyes, blinking free the tears that had formed, then
felt her eyes open as wide as they could go, then watched the darkness close
in. ~
The veranda garden was perfectly shaded, as Jennifer walked up toward the rear entrance of the Spanish villa, after exiting from the pool room at the far end of the veranda. It had seemed as if nothing had changed. She wondered, if the Magus would be home. The Magus. Jennifer remembered meeting Maurice at a benefit one summer in Greece. Charming, educated, rich and sophisticated. Such were the descriptions of the man. Yet, Jennifer remembered the doors he had used. A hallway closet, a bedroom closet, and always never being found within. She had caught one of the doors before it closed, where she followed Maurice through. It had been a deserted desert Island she found herself standing upon, where his voice, causing her to turn back around, is how she met him as he truly was. Jennifer stepped up to the rear entrance door taking hold of the door knob. She turned it right twice, then left once, then right once more pulling the door open. She stepped into the kitchen of the villa, a grand smile growing upon her face. "How long has it been?" Jennifer giggled lightly, catching the glance over Maurice's shoulder. "A day, a year...forever as I recall." Maurice chuckled lightly, turning with a pair of cups filled with Lady Grey tea, sweetened with orange blossom honey, cooled with ice. "You've changed your appearance." Jennifer turned around slowly. "I like it." Jennifer now faced Maurice proper. "It suits you." They both sat within the breakfast nook. "Much better than the last time." They both sampled the tea. "Thank you Maurice." Jennifer bowed her head slightly as did Maurice in return. "I must tell you, that I was becoming a bit concerned." Maurice sipped his tea to clear his voice. "Seven gates are now opened, held in check by Lucien. Yet, he can not hold them within at bay for much longer. Not with the eighth still having its tumblers held into place by Aka!" Jennifer glanced to the table then back. "True. But until the eight judges are found and then gathered, I am useless." Maurice leaned back into his seat drawing a deep breath. "So what happened to you then?" Jennifer looked to the table top briefly. "How did all this happen?" Jennifer stood from the table stepping to the kitchen door. "Will you do the honors, Maurice?" Maurice dipped his chin then stood from the table. "You're the only one who knows the way." Maurice took hold of the door knob and turned it to the left, where he and Jennifer then stepped out through the archway, now coming to stand before the great temple of Tengri within Shangri La. ~ Within the Convent of Sister Magdalena of the Cross, Constantina Murrow, a young novitiate, finished her ten year odyssey of life, taking her final vows. The mother superior, Sister Francis, who had been a mentor to her since her first days at college, teared as she became a full fledged nun of their order. Never had there been any doubt of her commitment. Never any doubt of her faith. She watched her young protege step away and enter the small room afforded her to pray, where the door was closed, then locked from inside. "Congratulations." Constantina looked up quickly to the man standing in her room. She watched, as the man stepped closer, then into the dim light of the candle's glow. "Father." Constantina curtsied properly. "Why are you here in my room?" The priest stepped forward, coming to within a pace of of her. "Very pretty." Constantina swallowed visibly. "You will do just fine!" Constantina recoiled slightly drawing a deep breath, then felt the possession take hold. ~ Henry Berneski stood by the downed twin engine Beech Craft Le Baron, looking of to the east, then back west. The sun would normally be setting soon, in other parts of the world, but this far north, life above zero was extreme and radical. He had enough fuel, and the weight distribution was perfect. His servicing of the aircraft engine before leaving was sound. He stood by the aircraft puzzled as to why the engine just stopped running. He glided the plane to the ground smoothly, where no damage occurred, and though he tried every trick in the book, the plane's engine would not turn over. In fact, it wouldn't move in any manner at all. He had only gotten static on the radio, which was something he was mostly used too, but what worried him, was that he three bottles of water and half a pack of Beef Jerky to survive on. Henry looked around at his surroundings, staring at the thousands of acres of desolate ice covered landscape. A rescue would be attempted by Ivy. He would bet his life on it. He drew a deep breath. The airplane was white, sitting on a field of white, where all he had of any color, was the red scarf he had gotten from Ivy on their first date. He had tied the scarf to the engine propeller, then after a final look around, he climbed back into the plane closing the hatch. He took his seat within the cockpit, just in time to see a rogue blizzard closing in on his position. ~ 'There is no bad, that good will not come from.' Maria Socorro Vasquez, 1962 Barona stood atop the ramp of the fuel truck, the nozzle attached and dispensing fuel into the Learjet 75. She glanced to her wristwatch. Time was still moving at its usual pace, yet to Barona, it didn't feel right. Her right arm still ached something fierce, and her butt felt numb, but overall she wasn't broken, and that was a plus. The spill valve closed down, where she waited a few seconds, then removed the dispenser nozzle from the wing's fuel port, closed the hatch, then after securing the fuel hose, drove the fuel truck back up near the hanger she had taken it from. She stepped backed into the hanger, looking around once again. She recoiled slightly, then stepped into the hanger toward the back. She hadn't noticed the rather young looking girl standing frozen in place. She had been too interested in finding the keys to the business jet out on the tarmac to notice anything else. Barona stepped closer to the girl, her fears rising up like a hideous viper. The girl, had been turned to stone. Barona caressed her face gently, lovingly. The girl's features were perfect. No distortion. As tall as Barona, with a long braided ponytail, a smaller backside, but larger breasts. Barona looked deep into the girl's eyes. She could see no pain or distress. Barona leaned forward tonguing her lips with a quickly drawn breath. She could feel the cold lifelessness of the stone as she kissed the girl tenderly, passionately. "So much for true love's kiss." Barona stepped back, then after a forlorn caress of the girl's right cheek, she turned making her way to the awaiting aircraft. ~ The young nurse cried, then whimpered, then cried again. She ignored the intense pain coming from her feet and legs, where she kept walking until making the deep center of the forest. Illinois was beautiful in the Autumn season, with all the colors on display. Nurse Hansen, didn't even notice. Hansen, V.. Her badge had it hand written in black marker on it. The plastic ID badge waggled haphazardly about her chest, blotted with droplets of blood that had fallen from her eyes and nose. She stopped abruptly, then began to shake. She tilted her head back, continuously applying pressure, causing the bones in her neck to crack, the moan emanating from her mouth, soul wrenching. The clouds overhead spun counterclockwise at an alarming rate, the center now void of any real existence. An inexplicable tone resounded from her open mouth, causing every tree for a measured mile to snap at their base and fall hard to the ground. Again the tone was sounded, where the ground ran as if like rushing water all about her. A third time the tone resounded, and the mountains about the forest turned to glass. Nurse Hansen shuddered grotesquely, then let go a short yet loud scream, as her flesh became peeled away from her bones downward rapidly to her feet, leaving her bones, still holding her organs, standing, with a horrified scream frozen into place. The sky overhead turned grey and menacing. ~ Caine watched as the elder nuns took sister Constantina away. Her chanting in a language none of the others had ever heard of. He stepped from the shadowed corner, finding sister Francis holding her Rosary, and praying feverishly. "Oh father." Caine smiled lightly. "I am so glad you're here!" Now, She began to cry. "I have known that child for years." She took the kerchief offered by Caine. "What could have happened?" Caine embraced sister Francis comfortingly. "Of such things sister?" Caine looked off seeing the nuns caring for Constantina disappear from his sight around a corner of the convent. "I can not say." He now looked into sister Francis' eyes. "Just know?" His smile more calming. "God's will, be done!" Sister Francis nodded her head lightly in agreement. "I...I wish I had known what she was saying." Sister Francis took a few steps in the direction the others had gone. "She said, 'I am not worthy to judge, yet judge Vosiguul, I will!'." Sister Francis recoiled slightly. "It was the Apache tongue, sister." Sister Francis felt her eyes widen as she now looked intently into Caine's eyes. "A native of the North American Continent." Sister Francis wailed loudly, falling to the floor of the convent, now completely blind, hearing Caine walking away. ~ Jennifer continued to play with the small dog, tossing the ball a short distance away each time it was returned. She had heard the resounding, yet held no care to it. There was nothing she could do about it anyway. At least, for the moment. "How many times has this taken place?" Jennifer glanced to Maurice, then turned back tossing the ball to the dog. "It never has, Maurice." Jennifer reached down petting the dog, then turned to joined Maurice on the bench set in the shade of an old Walnut tree. "The only time anything like what is happening occurred, was when the gate to hell was opened." Maurice looked to the ground then back. "Lucien was cast down along with his followers. Six hundred, sixty, and six!" Maurice tightened his jaw and hands. "You are old by ways of all, yet not so old as they." Jennifer looked out to the far distance of no where. "I can't say why all this has now taken place Magus." She turned now looking Maurice in the eyes, warm and reassuring. "I don't know what will become of all this either." She turned to look back to the distance. "But the eighth gate must be opened." Jennifer reached down lifting up the small dog into her arms. "They, must be awakened." Maurice brought his right hand quickly to his lips, as Jennifer set the small dog down to the ground, and begin rolling the ball to it once again, laughing as she played. ~ Shane Griffith looked at the monitor screen. He had reread the column more than ten times, with each time being dissatisfied with the result. In three hours it would be dawn, and with thirty-eight minutes following, he would either have his by-line ready for print, or be late, again with it. He had been in a bad slump lately. Actually, for quite a spell, with nothing to fill his now two row mid-page column on advice for those wondering of their dearly departed. It had been a featured article on the front page of the Obituary Listings, though now, it was somewhere near the back. Maybe Deidre was right. He was a believer, just in the wrong way. She had been an Atheist all her life. Her adult life. Since turning sixteen. She hadn't lost her faith or her belief. She just never had any to begin with. 'God, is an entity made up by humanity, to use as an excuse for its horrible behavior.'. Now, with it being the eleventh anniversary of her death, he couldn't help but wonder what made her change her mind at the very end. Yes, the fact did remain that he tried to convert her right from their first meeting, and all through their marriage. But she was steadfast against it. The subject was rebuked every time it became discussion. Even after she became ill. Shane looked at the monitor screen after one more reread. He then hit send. The message read it had been sent to the editor. He looked at the first line of the first column and smiled. Deidre, he thought, would have found it more than amusing. 'There is no God, except that which we make, to carry our memories to a heaven, we have built with hope.'. She had said that just before the conversion. Shane wondered if it had taken, as she went silent with her eyes closed before the Priest had finished. At least that, was what he was told. He had sat outside her hospital room as the priest gave last rites, and she was dying. He felt himself a coward for not facing the inevitability of human existence. He would have no choice but to face his, and he feared as well, the inevitable hell he had built, with his wife tucked neatly in the center of all. ~ Anne stood slowly, her crotch aching along with her anus, and her mouth felt abused to the back of her throat. Her jaws hurt terribly, where within the salty sour taste, was that of metal. She turned and looked into the mirror of the white room with black curtains. She snickered to the fact of the song with that line entering her head. That song was playing when she was rescued. She had been held for eighteen days within the basement of the man living not more than three houses down. He said she was such a pretty girl, with a sweet looking a*s and a mouth to kill for. Sadly enough, Anne found out, she wasn't the only one. Her father had left when she was barely three months old, with her mother left to fend for them both. Try as she could, she failed miserably. Not in the motherly aspect, but at life, where on Anne's fifth birthday, she committed suicide. Anne Grace Fitzgerald, who was adopted by Robert and Grace Fitzgerald, was Born Gabriel Luciana Erzengel. She grew up in a very big family, after loosing her identity, where she had found the cliche life story. Booze, drugs, parties, and so many men and women. Some just because, others for the money. Somewhere between life and death she found redemption in an CIA asset named Rydell Bishop, while recuperating in Bonn, Germany. He needed a cover story. She needed a reason to live. ~ Barona usually flew safe and sane. Yet the time at hand was moving at a pace of a second advanced per second passed. The digital watch was being tampered with, which meant everything electronic was being tampered with. However, she thought. You can't tampered with physics, without making it too noticeable. A stick in the ground, her father had told her, can find not only the time of day, but your way home. The shadowed projection of the stick was moving faster than the digital watch's seconds count-up. Now, everything had to be done in her head. Airspeed, fuel to weight ratios, headwinds, distance, everything aeronautical. She had planned to make the next fuel stop in Vancouver B.C., then swing north-east until Juneau, Alaska. She could go autopilot to get some rest after flying though California airspace, and then into Canadian. She would fly low key and close to the ground just in case of some overzealous fighter pilot hunting the skies. ~ Stansfield laid curled up into a ball, unable to move save the uncontrollable shaking he endured. The memory of an almost forgotten night fifteen years ago entered his mind like a specter, possessed of an acidic touch. He had experienced something more than just simplistic memory recollection, as he had suffered the ordeal with every sense of his being. Something he had debated while studying at UCLA. It would be impossible for anyone to know an actual life event of another. He now knew it was more than possible. Yet, under the circumstances, it would be considered a miracle at best. No, he thought again, his eyes held shut tight. A miracle would denote an act of benevolence. The investigation went on for almost a year after the fire. He had been cleared as a suspect of what had been the crime of the century in the small rural community of Forest Falls. Such a tragedy had befallen the new young family, the article had read. Johanna Stansfield, 26, found strangled and violated outside the rural community of Forest Falls, was the wife of Dr. William Stansfield, a practicing Psychiatrist at Trinity Station, and mother of a ten year old son. According to sources, Johanna Stansfield left her home unnoticed, her husband discovering her missing at about 6:45 in the morning when he awoke. He had told Nick Grady, reporter for the Forest Falls Morning Star, he had heard the alarm sounding as usual, though found his wife, Johanna, missing from their bed. He quickly entered his son's room to check if he were there, and then upon finding his son safe, called the local police after checking round the ten room home which he and his wife occupied with their son, Griffith, 10. William Stansfield also reported of seeing a strange man lurking about the property. He mentioned it may have been Willis Carter, a transient that had had a run-in with local authorities in the past. The connection between Stansfield and Carter, was of one giving a hand-out to another, according to Stansfield and certain town eyewitnesses, who had seen the act of benevolence. So far, there has been no clue as to Carter's whereabouts, though is considered a suspect, and at large. The fire, happened a year later. Griffith, died inside his bedroom, where fireman Joseph 'Dallas' Weatherspoon found him. He found it 'Strange', as the boy was not found in the usual position most fire victims are after such a tragedy. to Joseph Weatherspoon, it seems as if' '...he were simply sleeping.', following by saying, '...he just never woke up.'. Stansfield could taste the bile in his mouth as it seemed to rise from his gullet. His skin felt seared, his mind in a fog. 'Doctor, heal thyself!'. The thought rushed into and through his mind clearing it away. He knew why Griffith never woke up. He couldn't. He wouldn't, no matter what had happened. He was dead. Killed by an overdose of insulin his father gave him, just before he set the fire. It was easy enough to do. Griffith had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance before, after he had stuck one of his mother's bobby pins into the outlet. Stansfield placed one inside the socket near the foot of the bed, after shutting down the power to Griffith's room, then turned it back on, just before entering the den. Griffith's bedroom was on the far end of the house, the den was also a level down. The fire, unnoticed by Stansfield, until the alarms sounded, by then, too late to do anything. It had not been the Diabetes, nor even the Dialysis that led him to do it. It had been the onset of ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. He would never see his twelfth birthday. Stansfield, wept in agony, and in silence. He missed his son more than anything he had ever known. He felt it much better to have sent his son on to God's reward, than to have had his wife take him away to a hospital in Canada, after filing for divorce. He had killed Willis Carter, after promising him a large sum of money to kill his wife, which ofcourse Carter did have a hard lust for. Stansfield could understand it, as it had been that same human emotion which had attracted him to the 6'2" ebony goddess, as he had seen of her. He had often wondered what it was she saw in the eyes of her 5'9" husband to marry him, but for the time, he was happy of it. He had often wondered what she saw in Willis Carter's eyes, after he raped her then strangled her to death with barbed wire. It was upon that thought that Stansfield realized, he was choking to death. ~ 'The mob rules.' Titus Flavius Caesar Vespasianus Augustus 71 AD Airla, Celsa, Elisha, Kemsit. Maurice had forgotten most of them and now, Jennifer. The one he would not, or could not forget, was her name when they first met. It had been in the season of Spring, during the reign of the Viking king, Ivarr. She was to be betrothed to Brynjar Skau, serving at the time in the house of Asger Hexum. She was introduced as Ingeborg. He thought of the name chuckling softly to it. It meant simply, 'God's Protection'. "Do you like the chocolates?" Jennifer smiled nodding yes, as she took another bite. "I'm glad to hear it!" Jennifer squinched her eyes with a wrinkling of her nose. "So wizard." The Tibetan monk turned, stepping across the room to Maurice. "Why have you brought her here?" Maurice drew a deep breath as he stood shaking his head. "I don't know." He stepped to the balcony railing turning back. "She told me to? And I obeyed!" The monk smiled wryly. "She does wield a great power." Maurice chuckled lightly. "We had heard that seven of the gates had opened." Maurice rubbed his chin as he turned to the balcony once more. "Who emerged first?" The monk came to stand next to Maurice. "Vosiguul..." The monk drew a sharp breath... "...the immoral." ...his stance wavering. "The earth worm will move the world off it's orbit!" Maurice nodded his head lightly. © 2015 GMalloyAuthor's Note
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Added on February 9, 2015 Last Updated on December 17, 2015 Tags: horror, fear, diablerie, possession, psychotica, myth, anthropolgy, theology, Pandora |
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