Copyright © 2023 Edward Crae

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Chapter One

The cabin was in a secluded area of the forested hills of Brown County. The log structure sat atop

a large ridge overlooking ravines and gullies around it, with a nice view of the nearby town of

Nashville—if one looked through the closely spaced trees. The driveway had been long and

twisting, at least a half mile in length, and immediately gave Randall Green a sense of dread as he

thought of how difficult it would be to get in and out in the wintertime.

He stopped his car in the gravel parking area near the northwest corner of the house, looking

out the driver’s side window at the mostly intact structure. It wasn’t much, he saw, but thanks to

a recently deceased unknown relative it was his. All his. Though he had no idea who this distant

cousin was, it was clear through his attorney’s research that Randy had been his only surviving

relative. The family line merged somewhere near Randy’s great-grandfather’s generation,

meaning he and this older man were cousins of some sort.

He had no idea how it worked.

Randy had received the call at work as he was closing up the day’s insurance claims. Tim had

been pretty excited to tell him the news, as it meant that Tim himself would get a cut of Randy’s

new “fortune”, which as far as he knew consisted of the deed to this house and a few thousand

dollars. But more than that, he realized, it would also mean that Tim would no longer have to

hear his constant complaining about the day-in, day-out nature of Randy’s miserable life.

This news was a fresh start, Randy hoped. He could either move here permanently, getting

away from the hustle and bustle of Indianapolis or if things didn’t work out, he could sell it for a

pretty penny. Land in Brown County was a commodity, he had heard. Either way, he could finally

get out of the shithole inner city apartment that was more like a prison cell than a home.

Though he had initially favored the former choice, his heart began to drift toward the latter.

The more he stared at the natural, rustic cabin, the more peace he felt. It wouldn’t be easy, he

knew, but the thought of getting away from modern life—employed or not—was extremely

appealing. Maybe, if he felt at ease, he could finally do what he had always dreamed of and settle

down and write that damned novel.

He smiled as he pictured himself hunched over a laptop in a cabin in the woods, pecking away

at the chicklet keys like some sort of mystery writer. He could almost smell the vanilla tobacco

that he would stuff in his pipe, holding it in his mouth as he typed, mumbling dialog to himself

and suffocating from the smoke.

He would have to buy a pipe, though.

He sat for a few seconds longer, looking at his phone. He had two bars. Not bad, considering

the location. He supposed the elevation helped a little. The house also had an antenna; one of

the old ones that looked like something from Dr. Frankenstein’s lab. He would have to get some

sort of converter for it, probably. At least one of those little plug-in RF modulators. Or maybe the

Cable Company had lines up here.

What was he thinking? He was at a cabin in the woods and all he could think of was TV

reception. It was the most beautiful, quiet, and serene place he had ever seen in his forty years

and he already wanted to isolate himself and zone out in front of the tube.

“Pathetic,” he whispered.

He opened his briefcase and took out the large envelope the agent at the local Abstract

Company had given him. Inside was a copy of the deed, some brochures detailing local activities

and businesses, and the keys to the front door and outbuilding. He took out the keys and closed

the briefcase, finally stepping out onto the property.

His property.

The air was fresh and clean, quite the contrast to the concentrated filth smell of the city that

he was used to. Maybe some time out here away from that shithole would do his health some

good. It was already improving his mood.

He closed his car door and began the trek up the natural stone steps to his new house. All

around him, birds were chirping and singing, and the sounds of rustling leaves gave him a sense

of peace and serenity that he hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever. The front porch was covered, as

would be expected, and its floor was made of fine wood slabs that ran perpendicular to the front

of the house. There was a rocking chair by the door with a small side table, an old easel near the

railing in the corner, and opposite the front door was the stone block chimney.

It was at least six feet wide. Big fireplace, he imagined.

The front door was rather plain, with a six-paneled glass area on the upper half. He peered

inside, seeing very little except for the light from the windows on the other walls. The key slid in

easily and made a loud clicking sound as he turned it. It was almost satisfying. As he pushed the

door open, he was greeted by the smell of cedar, but with an underlying scent of mildew that

was mostly tolerable.

That was to be expected, though. The house had been empty for over a year. No one had

been around to care for it, and Randy was surprised that no one had broken in and established a

little squatter’s hole. The house was clean inside, with only a slight layer of dust. No more than

that, to his surprise. There was a couch facing the fireplace, with a coffee table that was stacked

with hunting and gun magazines.

The mantle above the fireplace was empty, meaning it would be a good spot for a TV. There

was even a cable near the left side of the fireplace that probably went to the outside antenna. On

that same side, in the corner, was a writing desk piled with papers and old books. The chair was

plain and wooden, likely homemade like the desk.

On the opposite side of the room was a dinner table, again homemade and piled with papers.

Behind it along the back wall was a small kitchen. There was an old fridge, a counter that was

clean but cracked in places, and an old gas stove. The cabinets above were empty and open, the

doors having fallen open for some reason.

The area behind the couch was dominated by a staircase that led up to a loft overlooking the

living room. From the ground floor, he could see a few windows up there, and he imagined that’s

where the master bedroom would be.

Other than that, there was a hallway leading to the back. He followed it, finding a small

bathroom, a bedroom with a dresser and a queen-sized bed that was still made, and one more

door. He stopped in front of it, reaching out to turn the knob. But as his hand touched it, he

hesitated for some reason. He froze, not fully understanding why, his heart beginning to beat

faster as if he was about to open the doorway to Hell.

Cha-Ching! His phone sounded off, scaring the shit out of him.

It was Tim.

“Jesus,” he said. “I gotta change that fucking ringtone. Hey Tim.”

“Hey guy, you at the house?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, going back out into the great room. “Just got here. Having a look around

now.”

“Great! Check out the outbuilding when you get a chance. Lots of woodworking tools in there

you might enjoy.”

“Why?” Randy laughed. “I’m not a carpenter or anything like that.”

“That’s okay. Play around with them a little. Maybe you can take up a hobby or something. Get

rid of some of that stress in your life.”

That was a good idea. “I might do that. Meantime I think I might head into town to check out

the area.”

“You staying?”

“Yeah maybe,” he said. “I have a bag in the car. If I like it, I might use my vacation time and

rough it for a while. Can you take care of my apartment?”

“Well, that’s why I called. I was hoping you would say that. Deanna’s on the warpath, man.

She’s had it, I guess. I need a place to crash for a while anyway. Do you mind?”

Randy laughed to himself. “That’s fine. The more I walk around, the more I think I might take

that time off and stay here.”

“Awesome! You should come get more stuff though.”

“Yeah, I will. You have my spare keys right?”

“Yep. Thanks again, Randy. I’ll keep it clean.”

“Sure you will. No parties. No girls under eighteen.”

“Aw, but daaaaad.”

“Ha! Talk to you later, Tim.”

“Adios.”

Randy stuffed his phone in his pocket. He took another look around the kitchen, opening the

fridge to check its cleanliness. It appeared mostly clean, and the light was on. Evidently, the

power was still on, which made him wonder who had been paying the bill—or if he would have

to catch it up.

Satisfied he would be comfortable here for the night, he decided to check out the building

outside. There was no path to it, but the area in front of it was dirt and rocks; somewhat of an

extension of the driveway. The door had a padlock hanging from it, and he fished out the keys. It

was tight, but he managed to unlock it and open the double wood doors.

The shed was dusty and dark but for a beam of light that shined through the single window

above the workbench. In the center, hanging from the rafters, was a single light bulb with a pull

string. It still worked. The floor was dirt, covered with straw, and thankfully dry. There was one

workbench to his left, complete with a drill press, a vise, and what looked like a welding machine

of some kind. Nearby, crumpled up on the floor, was a large pile of burlap sacks or tarps.

There was a pegboard on the back wall behind another wider workbench with drawers and

shelves. There were tools of various types hanging there in their proper places. The previous

owner had taken the trouble to trace their shapes onto it. Randy went to the bench and opened

a few of the drawers, seeing how neatly and organized everything was. It seemed crazy, but he

liked how anal this guy was. Strangely, though, a lot of the tools he saw didn’t seem to fit in a

woodworking shop. There were old cleavers, gut hooks, and other things one might use to skin a

deer. Above the pegboard, dusty and stained, was the skull of a large deer, complete with its

antlers. It stared empty-eyed into nothing. It gave Randy the creeps.

On the right side of the shed was a lawnmower, a tiller, and another pegboard with yard tools.

To his surprise, a shotgun was also hanging there. He didn’t know much about shotguns, but

thought the house would be a better place to store it. He grabbed it, wondering where its owner

would keep the shells. As he turned back to the doors, he saw an old dresser to their left. There,

inside the top drawer, he found shotgun shells, firearm cleaning tools (he guessed) and bullets

for guns he had not yet seen.

“God damn,” he said out loud. “That’s a lot of ammo.”

He grabbed a box of shotgun shells and left the shed, pulling the doors closed but leaving

them unlocked. He didn’t imagine anyone would travel this far up the hill to rob him. Why the

hell would anyone steal yard tools anyway? Pulling out his keys, he tossed the shotgun in his

trunk for some reason and went back up to the house to lock the front door.

It was time to visit Nashville.

Chapter Two

Nashville was nothing like he pictured. Having only passed through it going between Bloomington

and Columbus, he had never really noticed how quaint and cozy it was. It wasn’t Nashville,

Tennessee, that was for sure, but there was something equally artsy and cultured about it that

appealed to him. Most of the buildings that weren’t part of a chain were of a log cabin or

plantation style. The roads were narrow and cramped with pedestrian traffic—mostly tourists—

and many of the stores were located in tiny alleyways that were paved with brick and nicely

landscaped. He felt peaceful and alive for the first time in a long time, and wanted nothing more

than to be a part of it all.

But, today was not the day for a tour. He had to get supplies.

The dollar store seemed like a good place to get all the cheap things he would for a few nights.

There was no need to make a trip to nearby Columbus or Bloomington, as he could always take a

trip back home to get the essentials. For now, a twenty-four-inch TV, a small and cheap

microwave, and a hotspot device for internet access would do just fine. He strolled down the

aisles, whistling to himself as he grabbed some canned and frozen foods, cleaning supplies, and

an energy drink.

Everyone in the store seemed friendly, including the older but attractive clerk at the register.

She was probably only a few years older than Randy, he noticed, but she seemed like she had

lived a fairly stressful life that, admirably, didn’t affect her demeanor.

“Hey hon,” she smiled as he unloaded his cart onto the counter. “How are you this evening?”

“Just fine, thanks,” he said. “Just needed a few things for my weekend stay.”

She laughed. “Of course. Can’t live without a TV. Are you just visiting?”

Randy shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, sticking his debit card into the machine. “I haven’t decided

yet.”

“Where are you at?” She asked. “Are you renting a cabin out in the county?”

“I guess I own one over near Bean Blossom,” Randy replied. “A relative left it to me.”

Her smile faded slowly, and she kept quiet, which made him a little nervous. He decided to

keep the conversation going, though.

“Is there a good place to get takeout? Other than McDonald’s, I mean.”

“There are a few places in town,” she offered. “Just take a right at the light. I’m sure you came

through the main drag on your way in.”

“Well, I came in through Hoover Road. It seemed like the quickest way on the map. It wasn’t.

I’m not much of a highway driver, though.”

She grinned. “Well, there’s a few pizza places. They have wings and stuff, too. Right there at

the light, there’s a liquor store, a drug store, and a Subway. The gas station has a nice deli, too.”

He set his milk up on the counter, followed by the canned foods. “What kind of food there?”

“Fried stuff,” she said. “Chicken tenders, potato wedges, cheese sticks. Stuff like that. One

seventy-five ninety-eight, babe.”

Randy typed in his PIN. The machine buzzed at him.

“Do you want your receipt?”

“Sure. Maybe I can write it off as a business expense.”

“Have a good night. Thank you.”

Randy grabbed his bags on put them in his cart, smiling and waving as he walked toward the

exit. He turned to look back at the cashier. She and a person who was behind him were looking at

him, but turned away quickly. Another person in line was still looking at him. Her gaze was stern,

like an old substitute teacher in grade school who still smacked students and always seemed to

charm her way out of it.

Randy shook his head and went out, heading toward his car. There was a Sheriff’s SUV parked

beside him. The deputy was standing outside on the driver’s side talking to another person. It

was a younger man on a bike, laughing and talking to the deputy like they were best friends. Or

maybe the kid was an informant of some type, telling his informal boss about his new contacts.

The deputy looked in his direction as he passed, nodding silently with the same grin he had

been giving the kid. Randy waved. The kid shut up for a second to stare. Randy gave him a nod as

well, but the kid ignored it and went back to his humorous ranting.

He opened his trunk, saw the shotgun, and briefly thought of slamming the lid down before

the deputy saw it. But then he realized the officer was on the other side of his vehicle, and having

a shotgun in your trunk wasn’t illegal. This was Indiana, for Christ’s sake. He hefted the TV and

microwave into the trunk, followed by the groceries, and slammed the lid.

The deputy was right there.

“Hey there,” the guy said.

He was tall, somewhat older, and sported a dick mustache. One of the ones that was trimmed

neatly and too short to see unless you were right up on the bearer’s face.

“Hey,” Randy greeted him.

“You new here?”

Randy stuck out his bottom lip, shaking his head. “No. I don’t live here. I’m staying up in a

cabin for the weekend. Just came to town to grab some stuff.”

“Where at?”

“Uh…” Randy stammered, wondering why the guy was asking. “By Bean Blossom.”

The deputy nodded, smiling. “You know, there’s a dollar store over there, too.”

“I saw it,” Randy said. “They were closed. Gas leak or something.” He lied. He didn’t like that

particular chain.

“Hmm. Didn’t hear anything about that. But anyway, you renting somewhere?”

Was that a common question?

“No. A relative left me a cabin up there. It’s close enough to see town over the trees.”

“Oh okay. You gonna live there or sell it?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Randy said. “But I’m kinda hungry. I’m gonna head back. Have a good night,

officer.”

“Deputy,” came the reply. “I work for the Sheriff’s Department, not the Police.”

“Right,” Randy grinned. “Sorry, deputy.”

Well. I’m off to a great fucking start, he thought.

“Have a good night, sir.”

“You too,” Randy said. “Thanks.” He had no idea why he said thanks.

The deputy tipped his hat and climbed into his vehicle. The kid, still staring at Randy, rode off

on his bike, looking back occasionally before he disappeared around the strip mall’s corner.

“Jesus Christ,” he said out loud. “Is everyone here fucking nuts, or what?”

Small town, he realized then. I’m an outsider. That’s gotta be it.

With a quick stop at the liquor store for a bottle of Scotch, Randy took the road back home. It

was dark by the time he arrived in Bean Blossom, and if there had been any businesses of note,

they would likely have been closed.

He slowly crept up the gravel driveway and parked in front of the cabin. It was dark as Hell,

and silent; almost to a frightening degree. He stopped for a moment when he got out, just

listening to the sounds of the night—or lack of sounds. There was not a single car horn, yelling

crazy person, or even a siren. It was calm, serene, and dead quiet.

It was kind of nice.

He decided to take in his groceries first, laying them on the counter. Then he went back out to

grab his new toys. He would hook up the TV, play around with the hotspot and surf Twitter, and

make a nice and shitty meal in the tiny microwave. He would get drunk and enjoy the solitude for

the night before making his phone calls in the morning.

Or the afternoon, depending on how drunk he got.

He put away his food items, throwing the microwave dinner in for the standard six minutes.

He had decided against the pizza as the propane tank appeared to be empty. While the food was

cooking, he hooked up the TV, setting it on the mantle before throwing a few small logs in the

fireplace. The reception was pretty good, and he was able to tune in over two dozen channels

with the old, shitty antenna.

As a Forged in Fire marathon played in the background, he poured himself a drink and settled

down on the couch with his microwave stir fry and the hotspot. The little internet device would

have to suffice for the moment. He would call whatever local internet companies were available

in the morning. For now, 4G it was.

With the booming voice of Wil Willis telling him the contestants now had one hour to finish

their work, he began his weekly reports. For some reason, he realized, the work came easy. He

didn’t even have to look at his notes as he wrote. It all came out as if every event of the week had

just happened. It wasn’t until an hour later that he figured out why.

Everything was calm and quiet. Despite the sound of the TV, the silence was something he

hadn’t experienced in quite a while. He decided to turn the volume down for a moment and sat

quietly as he looked around the dimly lit, cozy cabin. The fire crackled faintly, the gentle winds

outside blew pleasantly, and the lack of neighbor kids banging on the walls all filled him with a

sense of peace. It was like he was all alone in the world, away from the horror of city life. The

feeling was even more prevalent than it had been before.

It made him smile.

“I could get used to this shit,” he said loudly. Then, he laughed.

He cocked his head, waiting for the inevitable knock on the wall. When it didn’t come as it

usually did at his apartment, he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. He sat still,

enjoying the warm fire, the solitude, and the soft caress of gentle fingers on his neck.

He leaped off of the couch instantly, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest as he spun to

face the kitchen. There was no one there. He quickly ran his hands along his neck and hair to

check for spiders. Nothing.

“What the fuck?” he whispered, breathless.

His heart was pounding like crazy. It thumped so hard he could feel it in his ears. He could

even feel his blood coursing through his veins, threatening to burst through and splatter all over

the place. But as he looked around, took deep breaths, and clenched his fists, he began to calm

down enough to rub his face. His forehead was sweaty and his skin felt cold. He slowly sat back

down, keeping his eyes on the hallway by the kitchen. It was dark and shadowy, and he could

swear something was there.

Something had to be there. Something had touched his neck, he knew it. There was no spider,

no flying lint or anything else that could have caused it. Could he have imagined it? He reached

out and chugged the rest of his drink, pouring another glassful with shaking hands. He lit a

cigarette too, inhaling deeply and slowly, still staring at the hallway behind the couch.

Still, there was nothing there.

Jesus Christ, Randy, he thought. Calm the fuck down. Nobody’s here you dumb bastard.

With one last deep breath, he sat back down again, this time somewhat reluctantly. He turned

the volume back up, took another drink, and went back to his work.

Chapter Three

Randy had slept, dreamless, for several hours. He had awakened suddenly, as if a loud noise had

disturbed his sleep. But, he had heard nothing. His eyes simply popped open, and he was

instantly alert. That too was strange. Even though he had been drinking since he got home, he

wasn’t groggy, or even slightly hungover.

He reached for his phone to check the time. It was 3:33 am. The TV was still on but had

changed to a paid infomercial for an airbrush that one could use on their face. He snickered as he

watched the blemished model cover up her flaws with a gaggle of other geese watching in

amazement. It was enough to make him pour himself another glass of Scotch.

He lit a cigarette and sat back with the glass, relaxing in the dim light of the TV. The living

room was somewhat well-lit from the moon shining in the windows, and the thin curtains

seemed to billow slightly, giving everything a ghostly look. The fire had gone out for the most

part, and only the faint orange glow of the embers remained.

He took a drag from his smoke just as a creak sounded in the hallway behind him. He froze,

listening to make sure he had actually heard the sound. He flicked the ashes from his smoke,

craning his head around to face his ear in the right direction. There was no sound other than the

refrigerator motor. But still, the sound hadn’t been anything similar to a motor.

He got up and faced the hallway, taking another drink from his glass and setting it down on

the table. He slowly went around the couch, peering into the kitchen and the hallway. There was

only the moonlight shining through the bedroom window and the dresser that was directly

across from the door. The door was in the same position it was before.

Something creaked again.

This time his heart skipped a beat, and he nearly coughed as he blew out his smoke. He

stamped out the cigarette and walked into the kitchen. He looked at all of the cabinet doors,

seeing they were closed, and then walked further into the hall. The cellar door was ajar. He

stared at it for a moment, feeling the skin on the back of his neck begin to crawl. He wanted to

close it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Was he going nuts?

He closed his eyes, realizing he was just creeping himself out. There was no reason to freak

out over a door creaking. There was probably a draft. He shook his head and went to the door,

stopping there to listen. There was no sound from the cellar. He wasn’t about to go down there

at this hour, but it was the only way to ensure that he was right. It was a draft.

But he would check tomorrow.

He pulled the door closed, tugging on it until it clicked. He stood there smiling, laughing at

himself on the inside. Then, he turned to go back to the couch as he shook his head. He was

being ridiculous. He was a grown man afraid of creaks and shadows, scaring himself because he

was spending the night in a new house.

The door popped open and creaked again.

He spun quickly, nearly shitting himself. The door had opened only slightly, and he could see

that the frame was askew, but why had it waited until he had walked away? He went back and

pulled it shut again, this time latching the metal hasp and hook to hold it closed. Then, he

shuffled back to the couch, sat down, and wrapped the blanket around himself.

Randy picked up the remote and switched over to streaming mode. With the hotspot, he

could do a little binge watching. His paranoia was growing and he had to take his mind off of the

ridiculous thoughts that were building in his head. He had experienced the same feeling before.

Sometimes, in a darkened room or outside taking a piss during a party, he would latch on to

random noises and his mind would go wild. It would get to the point where he would finish what

he was doing quickly in order to get out of the room or go back into the house.

His imagination would just run rampant, squirming with all sorts of scary thoughts.

His friends had always told him he should use that imagination to write horror stories. Randy

thought it was a good idea. Nothing brought out creativity like terrorizing yourself while taking a

nocturnal outdoor piss. But, try as he might, the stories never came. He was a claims adjuster,

nothing more. He would always be just a claims adjuster.

His phone dinged, and he stared at it for a moment before picking it up. There was a text.

Let me out.

He tossed his phone away as he leaped up to his feet.

“What the fuck!?” he said, rather loudly.

He stared at the phone lying there on the floor, seemingly taunting him with that message on

the screen. Then, it dinged again. He reluctantly went to pick it up, seeing another text.

Ya there?

Both texts had been from Tim. He was calling that bastard back.

“Hey, man,” Tim answered.

“What the fuck, Tim?”

“You up or what?”

“Yeah, why are you awake? What the hell do you want?”

“Oh, I was just texting you to see if you were still awake. I can’t sleep. This case I’m on in

Monroe County is just killing me. Why are you up?”

“I don’t know,” Randy said. “I just am. New house, you know. What was up with that text?”

“The let me out thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Like you said, new house. Thought I’d mess with you a little.”

“Well, that shit’s not funny, man. Scared the shit outta me.”

“Why? You got a dead hooker in the basement? Already?”

Randy laughed, rubbing his face, slightly embarrassed at his reaction.

“It’s just… you know. This place is old and creepy. There’s a cellar and the door keeps popping

open.”

“Oooh, scary.” Tim laughed.

“Not funny, man. I’m just sitting here freaking myself out.”

“You gotta stop doing that, man. You’ll drive yourself nuts. But how is it, anyway? Other than

being old and creepy. Is it clean?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty clean. A little dusty, but I didn’t have to mop up any filth.”

“That’s good.”

“What was the guy’s name anyway? I don’t remember the name on the deed.”

“Uh, shit. I don’t remember. I’ll have to text it to you tomorrow. Meantime, you should get

some sleep.”

“Yeah. By the way, what’s the name of the internet provider here?”

“It’s the power company. They put fiber lines in when they reinstalled the power lines. It’s all

underground now, so you don’t have to worry about outages during storms. Just go to their

website and set up an appointment. I’m pretty sure the lines are already there to the house. There

should be a white box outside with a tube or conduit going into the ground.”

“Ok, I’ll check. Thanks.”

“Get some sleep after. You should go into Nashville tomorrow and see the town a little. I

recommend the library if you want some more info on the previous owner.”

“Not the courthouse?”

“There too, but it’s a small town with all that historical mumbo jumbo. The genealogy records

are there at the library. Should be an interesting quest.”

“Right. I’ll check it out.”

“Alright then. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. There should be plenty of them, being in

the woods and all that.”

Randy pressed the red button, putting the phone back on the coffee table. The catalog of

streaming apps was displayed on the TV screen with the option to connect to a network. He sat

and typed in the SID and the password of his hotspot, and opened an app. He stared at it for a

while as a nagging feeling tugged at his psyche. He had to know what was down in that cellar. But

there was no way he was going down there in the dark.

Maybe he’d just drink more Scotch and watch Friends reruns until he passed out. Or not.

“Fuck it!” he said out loud.

Grabbing the shotgun and the flashlight he had bought earlier, he slipped on his shoes and

stood at the cellar door. He took a few quick breaths and then reached out to pop the hasp. The

door creaked as it fell open, and a small blast of cold air came through, giving him the chills. He

turned on the flashlight, using the muzzle of the shotgun to push open the door.

The walls of the stairwell were brick—old brick. The stairs themselves were wooden and

appeared to be in poor shape. There were cobwebs everywhere, but no sign of any spiders. That

was good. He hated spiders. He stepped onto the landing, cringing as it creaked. He stood still for

a moment, then bounced up and down slightly to test its sturdiness. It felt somewhat safe, so he

shined his light down the stairs.

There was another door down below, old and decrepit, and slightly open. Taking a few deep

breaths, he slowly started down, his heart beating quickly and heavily in his chest. Each step was

a gamble, he realized, and he took each one slowly and carefully. Every single board creaked,

sending shivers up his spine, and when he reached the center step, it broke.

His foot went straight through, sending him into a downward plunge. His finger accidentally

pulled the shotgun’s trigger and the blast deafened him. He landed crotch-first on the step

behind him, dropping the flashlight as his leg dangled in the darkness below. The door below had

been hit by the buckshot and was now open, a large and jagged hole near the knob.

It was a good thing he had been pointing the shotgun toward it. Otherwise, he could very

likely have blown his brains out.

“Fucking shit,” he growled in pain. “Bad trigger finger.”

Putting his hands on the step behind him, he pulled himself up into a sitting position and

grabbed the shotgun. The flashlight was down below, pointing upward and leaning against the

brick wall. He pulled his leg through, seeing that the skin around his ankle had been scratched.

He was bleeding slightly, and the sting was incredible.

But at least he hadn’t shot himself.

“Nice job, fuckstick,” he whispered.

Randy stood, creeping the rest of the way down the stairs to grab the flashlight. As he bent to

pick it up, he could see the dimly lit cellar. The floor was dirt, and the walls were made of older

stone blocks. He couldn’t see any details beyond the flashlight’s ambient glow, but he could tell

the space was larger than he expected.

He picked up the light and shined it inside the room. He could see cobwebs everywhere, a few

wooden columns, and another door that was closed and latched with a makeshift wooden lock; a

two-by-four sitting across metal bars on either side. Nearby was an old wooden table with a

rickety lamp that was plugged into an unseen outlet within the ceiling beams. There were no

cellar windows anywhere, but there was a single light bulb mounted in the center with a pull

string that swung back and forth.

He wondered why.

The sting he felt in his leg was beginning to get worse. He had scraped his ankle as well, and

that made his whole leg ache. He would have to take care of that tonight before he went back to

sleep. There was no time for this shit. He slung the shotgun over his shoulder and took one last

look. Before he turned to climb the stairs again, however, he swore that he could see a faint flash

of light underneath the far door.

He stopped, cocking his head and staring at the empty space. There was nothing further,

though. No flash, no glow, nothing. He chuckled, realizing he was probably imagining things. But

he would check again tomorrow, after bandaging his leg and getting more sleep.

Chapter Four

After showering in the morning and taking another trip into town for bandages and a fast food

lunch, Randy sat on the couch waiting on hold with the gas company. The music was upbeat but

old and out of date; Linda Ronstadt or something similar. He pecked around on his laptop as he

waited, making his way to the power company’s website. There was an online form for their

internet service, indicating that they were signing people for their new fiber lines free of charge,

with a reasonable monthly fee.

Fortunately, the first open appointment for installation was the next day. Evidently, their new

underground lines had already been installed in the area and the job only required a drop from

the utility pole near the edge of the parking area. He had wondered why there were no power

lines from the street to the house, now he had his answer. He entered his information and

pressed the submit button just as the gas company rep returned to the conversation.

“I have a tech out in the area right now,” she said.

“Great,” Randy replied. “How much will it cost?”

“That depends on the tank and how empty it is.”

“Oh, it’s empty. What is it, five hundred gallons?”

“Usually.”

Randy made a nearly inaudible sigh. “That’s fine. Gotta have propane.”

“Okay, Mr. Green,” she said. “All set. They’ll be there around soon. Sometime before five.”

“Great, thanks.”

“I’d also like to let you know that you can bring in your twenty-gallon tanks. We refill them for

fifteen dollars plus tax.”

“Cool. I’ll have to buy a grill.”

“Have a great day, sir.”

Randy hung up, rubbing his leg as he set his phone down on the table. He turned on the TV

and unpacked the fast food bag. Soon, he would have propane for the stove, and tomorrow the

internet would be fully functional. He supposed he could take a trip back to Indy to get more

clothes, but maybe that could wait. He still hadn’t decided whether he would stay, especially with

the weirdness going on. But, he was sober now, mostly, and the thought that the fucking cabin

was haunted seemed ridiculous.

Ridiculous enough for him to laugh out loud with a mouthful of Quarter Pounder with cheese.

Besides, as he realized before, it was a beautiful area. He could be at peace here.

But still…

He finished his garbage, wiped his mouth, and looked at the shotgun leaning next to the

fireplace. His mind went back to the strange door in the cellar, and how it was locked with a

board. Obviously it was meant to keep something in, as opposed to keeping anyone out of

whatever room was beyond it. But what?

He decided to check again, but he wouldn’t bring the shotgun this time. Whatever was in that

room didn’t warrant a shotgun. If there was something alive in there, it would be dead by now.

Right? He grabbed the flashlight and went back to the cellar door, opening it and shining the light

down the stairs again. He could see the busted board, and the newly busted door that was still

open from his last excursion.

Staying to the outside of the stairwell, Randy slowly went down, testing each board again

before stepping onto the next one. Once he reached the bottom, he shined the flashlight into the

main area. Same room it was before, he noted. Same cobwebs, same desk at the opposite wall,

and same door with a board across it.

He crept across the dirt floor toward the desk, stopping to pull the string to turn on the light.

The bulb came to life, casting a dull orange glow to the whole cellar. He could now see more

details. The desk had a large drawer underneath the desktop, and two drawers along the side. He

flicked off the flashlight and pulled open the main one, seeing a spiral notebook, several pencils,

and a stray spent bullet casing.

The notebook was labeled “June” for some reason. He flipped it open, curious as to what was

inside. The pages were covered with sloppy scrawlings that were barely legible. Among them

were odd-looking doodles of unknown objects or symbols. He was unsure at the moment. He

would have to study it in more detail later.

He set it down on top of the desk and opened the top side drawer. Inside was a leather-bound

book, old and tattered with several loose pages stuffed inside. It had another strange symbol on

its cover, seemingly pressed or engraved in the leather. It was a circular design like something

you’d see in a magic shop.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

There was a revolver in the drawer, old and tarnished, with what looked like ivory handle

scales. He smiled, picking it up and checking it closely. He didn’t know much about revolvers,

either, but it looked like it was loaded with five rounds; one missing. That would explain the spent

casing, but why was it in the drawer? Who shoots a gun and puts the empty casing in a drawer?

He stuffed the revolver in his back pocket, set the tome on top of the notebook, and retrieved

the flashlight. The bottom drawer was empty, he noticed, except for a dead spider and a large

and strange rusty key. Ignoring both, he swung around and started toward the barricaded door. It

was painted white, but chipped and stained at the bottom. The board was plain and weathered,

and the metal bars that it sat across were rusted and pitted.

He gently placed his ear against the door to listen, deathly afraid and curious at the same

time. There was no sound from inside, only the gentle buzz of the light bulb behind him. The

door was cold, much colder than he imagined it would be, even for a cellar. It wasn’t terribly cold

in the room, but the door seemed to be for some reason. He then realized that he could see his

breath when he exhaled. He leaned back, looking in front of his face as he exhaled again.

Nothing.

Grunting, he reached out and touched the door, feeling its nearly icy surface. He could see his

breath again.

“Well, what the shit?”

He backed up and looked at the gap below the door. After switching off the flashlight he bent

down to see if the weird glow was still there. There was nothing, but the light in the room could

have affecting his vision, he reasoned. He bent down further, holding his hand near the gap.

There was a draft coming from beyond. It was oddly cold.

The cellar door slammed behind him, causing him to drop the flashlight and jerk the revolver

out of his pocket as he spun. The door at the bottom of the stairs had slammed shut, and a few

splinters of wood had fallen to the floor. It was now hanging from one hinge, crooked and open

once more.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, cocking back the hammer on the revolver.

It clicked several times, and the cylinder spun, telling him it was at least in somewhat good

working order. He bent down to pick up the flashlight, shaking it and banging it against his leg

when it wouldn’t turn back on.

“Damn it,” he cursed.

He’d had enough. With one last look at the white door, he went to the desk, grabbed the two

books, switched off the ceiling light, and went back upstairs. He pulled the door shut behind him,

locking the hasp and carrying his new treasures to the coffee table. The flashlight began working

again, he noticed. He shut it off and sat down on the couch, his heart still racing from the scare.

Had the breeze from underneath the white door suddenly gusted hard enough to slam the

other door? He hadn’t thought so. It felt like a gentle draft—a cold one, but a draft nonetheless.

There was no reason for the door to slam. What was in there? And why was he so afraid to look?

His phone chimed then, startling him slightly. The message across the screen read “new e-mail

message.” He opened his laptop and started his email client. There were two new ones; a

message from his boss, and one that he had been expecting:

Your Ancestry results are ready.

He would have to look at that later, he supposed. His aunt Mary had urged him to try it out,

ranting and raving about how cool it was to see not only DNA relatives but also the ancestry mix

from the various “old countries” of Europe. For now, the email from work took precedence.

Please submit your weekly report ASAP. Do not reply to this email.

“Oh shit,” he said.

He had forgotten to submit them last night. And of course he had. Whiskey did that. He

quickly opened up his browser and navigated to the company website. He would submit the Excel

file and be done with it. But come to think of it, he still hadn’t called his boss to let him know that

he was taking time off.

He dialed, and Eric answered almost immediately.

“Randy, nice timing. I was just getting ready to call you.”

“Sorry,” Randy said. “Stayed up late last night getting the report ready.”

“Okay…” There was a typing noise. “Ah, I see it. Thanks. So… are you coming in today?”

“Sorry again. I thought I might take some time off and check out this cabin in Brown County.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. How is it?”

“Great,” Randy lied. “Nice and rustic. It’ll take time to decide whether I really want it or not.”

“Well, let’s see.” There was a pause. “Looks like you have sixty-three days. Shit, when was the

last time you had a vacation?”

“It’s been a while. How about we go with fourteen days for now?”

“That’s fine. Enjoy it, and let me know if you wanna keep it going. I can transfer your clients

temporarily if need be. Gwen could use some more time in the field. She’s good, but needs some

practice.”

“Okay then, thanks Eric.”

“Talk to you later.”

He ended the call, placing the phone on the table just as a loud rumbling sound came from

the driveway. The propane truck had pulled up and the driver hopped out to take a look at the

propane tank. He moved the notebook over the revolver to cover it up for some reason.

“That was quick,” he said, happy that he could have a real meal later.

He went to the front door and stood right outside. The driver waved at him, but gave him a

strange look; that strange look that everyone in town had given him. It was a look of recognition,

as if everyone had seen him before. But he had never been here before, despite being so close. It

was strange.

He had to get to the bottom of it.

“Hey,” Randy called out, stepping off the porch and approaching the tank. The driver looked

up and smiled. He looked friendly.

“How’s it goin?” the driver asked. “Beautiful day, huh?”

“Yeah, it is,” Randy agreed.

“You just move in?”

“Not yet. I got here yesterday afternoon. Haven’t brought any stuff over yet. Just a bag for the

weekend.”

The driver looked at the gauge for a second. “You should stay,” he said. “You’ll like it here. You

must be related to Frederik.”

Frederick, Randy thought. So that was his name. “Yeah… distant cousin or something. Not

sure.”

“Oh, you never met him?”

“Nope,” Randy shrugged. “Didn’t even know he existed. I guess I was the only family he had

left. Besides my aunt Mary.”

“Huh,” he grunted. “That’s weird. You look just like him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been filling this tank since I got this route five years ago. He was older, obviously,

but I swear you could be father and son. Weren’t there any pictures inside?”

Randy thought for a moment. He realized he hadn’t seen any pictures at all, much less

pictures of this Frederik. He shook his head, thinking how strange that was.

“Well, he was a nice enough guy. Always waved. Seemed like he was pretty stressed out all the

time though. Maybe a little lonely. Livin’ out here will do that to you.”

“I suppose so,” Randy agreed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Do you know anything about the family?”

“Your family, the MacKinneys?”

“That was my grandma’s maiden name,” Randy remembered. “But my name is Green. Randall

Green.”

The driver shrugged, unscrewing the hose from the tank valve. “Well, you might check the

library. This is pretty history-centered county. They keep all the records there about the locals,

their histories and stuff. Me, I don’t know much. I just know his Grandfather died about… um,

shit… before I was born, probably. What was his name?”

“What about his parents?”

The driver shook his head. “Don’t know. Before my time here. I live in Morgantown up 135.”

Randy nodded. “Okay then. I’ll stop by the library. Thanks.”

“No problem, Randy.” He stuck out his hand and Randy shook it. “I’m Greg, by the way. I’ll be

fillin’ your tank.” He smiled weirdly, which caused Randy to grin.

“Thanks Greg. Do I pay you?”

“Nope. They’ll send you a bill. Shouldn’t be too bad after this fill. I come by once every two

weeks to check. Not as often in the summer.”

“Well, there’s no furnace that I know of. It’s all wood heat. Only the stove and the water

heater are gas, I think.”

“Alright then, Randy. Have a good one.”

Randy waved as the driver packed up the fill hose and got into the truck. He drove off slowly,

giving Randy one final wave before continuing down.

So, the library was a good place to see county records. He would have to go check it out. First,

though, he should look at the ancestry report. He had paid a pretty penny for it, and it was the

perfect time.

Chapter Five

Randy stared at the laptop screen, looking over the family tree. According to the info, only he and

his aunt Mary had ever done any testing. The other spots had been manually filled in by Mary

herself. It went back on his mother’s side all the way up to her and Mary’s mother—his

grandmother, Isla MacKinney—and one generation above his grandfather.

But for some reason, Mary was labeled as his half-aunt. What the hell did that mean? Was she

not his mother’s actual sister? She looked a lot like his grandmother, probably even more so than

his mother did. Had Grandma had an affair or a previous marriage? He stared for a while longer,

biting his lip in frustration. He realized if he wanted some answers, he would have to call her. It

was 4:27 pm, so she was probably sitting down to dinner somewhere, or waiting for her dinner at

home. But hell, what would it hurt? Old ladies need to eat at reasonable hours, damn it.

She picked up after three rings. “Hey kiddo,” Mary answered. “How are you?”

“I’m great. You doing alright?”

“Oh… I’ve been better. But I’ve been worse. To what do I owe the honor?”

Randy laughed. “I got the ancestry report… finally.”

“Oh, that’s great,” she replied. “Not much help though, since nobody else did it. Just some

random kinfolk on our dad’s side.”

“Well,” Randy began. “I was wondering why it has you labeled as my half-aunt. Did you and

mom have different dads?”

He could hear her sigh. She paused for a moment. “Well, honey. I suppose I can tell you.

Thomas Clarke wasn’t your grandfather. Your mother had a different father. Your grandmother

was pregnant with her when she met my father.”

That was a shock. Somewhat. “So, who’s my real grandfather?”

“I can’t rightly say,” Mary said, sadly. “I’m sorry. Our mother never talked about it. She only told

me after Grandpa died. She never told Victoria that I know of. She wanted her to love Thomas as

her own, like he did her.”

“Well, damn,” Randy said. “I wish it went farther back. I’d like to know about the guy who left

me this house. Did you know a Frederik MacKinney?”

Mary was silent again and Randy could hear her breathe uneasily. “Oh… I suppose you would

be the only one of the MacKinney descendants left. Frederick was the grandson of Malcolm

MacKinney, and your mother and you are descended from Malcolm’s brother Robert. So I guess

that would make you his… oh…”

“Yeah, I don’t know either,” Randy laughed humorlessly. “Some kind of cousin, I guess.”

“I suppose so,” Mary said, her voice becoming even more uneasy. “Listen, Randy. If you’re

there at that house, you shouldn’t stay. Go home. That place… that family was bad news. There’s

bad blood there in Malcolm’s bloodline. That’s why he and Robert grew apart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know all the stories, but Malcom’s own son Gaven went missing or something,

leaving Frederick to him. Malcolm was not a good man, either. An even worse man, I hear, than

his own father from the old country.”

“The old country?”

“Yes, dear,” Mary said. “Scotland. That’s where the MacKinneys were from. His name was…

um… I don’t remember. Luke maybe? He left for a reason, and I don’t think it was a good one. A

man don’t just leave his own country with his two sons without their mother… if you know what I

mean.”

“Jesus Christ,” Randy gasped. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m not saying anything, Randall Green.” Mary said sternly. “And don’t you take the Lord’s

name in vain. I’m just saying you should just sell that house. Or better yet, burn it down.”

“I’m just sticking—“

“Oh, I have to go, dear. Meals on Wheels is here. Love you, Randy. Goodbye.”

Randy’s mouth was still open when the call ended, and he sat there staring off into space for a

few seconds before setting the phone back down.

“Well, damn,” he whispered.

Mary always did that. Old women always did that. Talk about something uncomfortable and

they’ll change the subject and politely excuse themselves from the conversation. His mom was

the same way. Still, he wondered who his real grandfather was, and why this Gaven disappeared.

Why was Malcolm such a bad man? Why did the family patriarch come to America, leaving his

wife behind?

Though he wanted more answers, some answers, he wasn’t sure the library would be of much

help. Why would a small town library keep genealogical records of the locals? But, he was hungry

anyway and itching for a drink. The bottle of Scotch was empty, and his stomach was rumbling

something fierce. He might as well see if the library was still open.

His phone buzzed, vibrating across the coffee table.

You want me to pack you some clothes and stuff?

It was a text from Tim. Why the fuck didn’t he just call?

“No,” he typed out. “I’ll be there Sunday to pack some shit. Don’t break anything, loser.”

LOL. Find out anything about your guy?

“Not much. His name was Frederik. Just a cousin or some shit.”

Everybody is cousins in a town like that. Go have a drink or something and chill. I’ll hold down

the fort.

Randy didn’t answer back. It seemed pointless. But Tim had a good idea. Maybe he should

shower, get dressed, and head to town. Surely there was a nice douche-free bar somewhere. A

pizza place didn’t sound very entertaining. Probably a bunch of kids, millennials, and stuffed suits.

He was trying to get away from that shit for a while.

The town was rather busy, seeing it was near the peak of tourist season. Out-of-towners

flooded the streets in droves, blocking traffic, jaywalking and being general dickwads as he had

heard so many times in the past. There was nowhere to park, except for a few pay lots around

the downtown area, and a few rare spots along the residential streets. How anyone could live in

those neighborhoods was beyond him. It was bad enough living in downtown Indy with all the

traffic, but to have all of these people walking right in front of your house…

That was crazy.

Passing a frontier-themed pizza place—probably the one the dollar store clerk had

mentioned—he saw a sign for the library. It was a minimalist outline of a person holding a book.

Ironic and hilarious; a library sign with no words on it. It gave him a chuckle. He turned right at

the last intersection going north out of town and drove slowly toward the end of the dead-end

street. Though he was hungry, it was still early, and he wanted to at least pop in and scope out

the library before it closed. But as he pulled around to the front entrance, the sign indicated they

were open until 8 pm. That was odd.

“Well, fuck me,” he said. That left plenty of time to get a foothold, at least.

He pulled around the after-hours book drop box and parked. He was amazed at the building’s

architecture as he walked up. It was fairly modern with a rustic feel, he noticed, kind of like a

Viking-style longhouse with two stories, large wall-like windows, and a real stone façade that

covered the outer walls of the first level. The entrance canopy was supported by stone columns

made of the same type of stone; likely large river rock. The landscaping outside was well-kept

and colorful with small flowering shrubs and pampas grass that was nearly as tall as him. It was

quite pleasant.

As he entered, he saw that the main area was upstairs, with meeting rooms, offices, and

archives on the ground floor. He should have parked on the other side of the building, where the

ground met the second floor. But, he could probably use the exercise.

There was a short flight of fancy stairs to his left, and he raced up them to the front desk. An

old woman was there, typing away at a computer while cataloging returns, probably. She was

tiny, friendly-looking, and seemed to enjoy her work. Her smile widened even more when he

stepped up.

“Good afternoon,” she said warmly. “Can I help you with something?”

“Uh yeah,” Randy stuttered. “I’m… looking for some info on a local family. I inherited a cabin

near Bean Blossom and want to know more about the previous owner.”

Her eyes seemed to light up as he spoke. “Oh, you must be talking about the MacKinneys,”

she said. “Frederick was a very nice man. Are you a MacKinney?”

“Oh no… well, sort of. My name is Randy Green. MacKinney was my grandmother’s maiden

name.”

“Of course,” she said. “You must be from the other side of the family. Are you from the area?”

“No,” Randy said. “Indianapolis. I just got word a few days ago that Frederick had passed and I

was the only living relative.”

“Oh yes,” the woman recalled. “He came in a few times looking for some info about his

grandfather’s brother. Robert I think was his name. You’re the one he must have found out about

before he had his heart attack. Are you descended from Robert’s side?”

“That sounds right.”

“Well, the records ended there, I’m afraid. For that side anyway. But we should have some

good records for Frederik’s direct ancestors since they lived right here in the county. Let me see if

I can find Melinda. She’s taken it upon herself to be the town historian. Such a lovely young

woman.”

“Thank you,” Randy smiled, watching her hobble off into the rows of book shelves.

He looked around, noting the large children’s section that was directly in front of the desk, and

the row of computers that divided it from the rest of the library. There were a few people using

them, oblivious to his presence, typing away on their social media pages or researching random

things. At the far end, there was a fireplace with a wide stone chimney that rose up to the

vaulted ceiling.

It wasn’t long before the librarian returned with a woman about Randy’s age. She was pretty,

but somewhat plain-looking. She had a nice smile, dressed conservatively, and had long dark hair

that was well-kept and non-descript. She was definitely not what Randy expected—no cat’s eye

glasses or bun in her hair—but still seemed to fit the part well.

“This is Melinda,” the librarian said. “She’ll be able to help you.”

“Thanks,” Randy said.

“You must be Randy Green,” Melinda greeted him. “It’s nice to meet you. You’re looking for

some family history?”

“Yeah. Thanks for helping. I just wanted a little info on the previous owner of my house.”

“Of course,” she said. “Let’s look at the county records on one of the computers here.

Everything, well almost everything, has been digitized.”

She led him to the closest computer, logging into the system and perusing a list of local

names. She clicked on MacKinney, Frederik, and read the info for a second before turning to

Randy.

“There’s not much in the county records about him other than his obituary, but the known

family tree is over in the genealogy section. I can get it if you’d like.”

“Sure,” Randy said. “But what info is there in the records? How did he die?”

She looked back at the screen, clicking here and there. “There’s a history here that I can print

out if you’d like. Or you can look at it here on the screen. I won’t invade your privacy. You can

probably find whatever you need.”

“No, that’s okay,” Randy said. “Anything you can tell me would be great. I’m not much of a

researcher myself.”

“Okay then,” she said, standing up. “But let me grab the family tree real quick.”

She walked over to a rack of large, bound sheets of what looked like old newsprint. She ran

her finger along the plastic and metal spines, looking at the numbers, then pulled one of them

out. It was roughly three feet long, two feet wide, and made of sheets of old paper that were

loosely bound together with the six-ring binder. Her smile was warm and pleasant as she

returned and set it down on the table, flipping toward the middle page.

“Okay,” she began. “Here we go. This has been updated fairly recently. Frederik himself was

added after the fact. It looks like he was born in 1945 at the old hospital in Bloomington.”

“Isn’t that where John Mellencamp was born?”

Melinda grinned. “Maybe. Not a small town after all, huh?”

“Yeah,” Randy chuckled. “Liar.”

Melinda laughed. It was an awkward laugh with a little snort at the end. It was cute.

“Let’s see,” she continued. “His father was Gaven MacKinney. His mother was Celia Robertson

from a local well-to-do family.” She paused, rolling her eyes and smiling crookedly. “Oh my.”

“What is it?”

“Well…” Melinda stammered. “Gaven seems to have disappeared in 1950.”

“What?” Randy gasped. Unbelievable. He had thought Aunt Mary was exaggerating when she

told him the same thing.

“Celia disappeared when Frederick was five, and Gaven disappeared soon after. This

references an article in the local paper from that year. I’ll have to look into it more if I can find it.

Those would be in the archives downstairs. Strange though, both of them disappearing like that.”

“Jesus Christ,” Randy whispered, shocked and now speechless. “Both of them just up and

gone.”

“Not sure yet, but Frederick was left to be raised by his grandfather, Malcolm. He was the

eldest son of Lachlan MacKinney, who came here from Scotland with his two sons, him and

Robert. They came from the Perth area, outside a town called Kirkmichael.”

“When?”

“No definite date mentioned, but it looks like he settled here in the late 1800s and built the

cabin himself.” She looked at him with a crooked grin. “Is there power and plumbing there?”

“Yeah,” Randy said. “It was obviously added later, though.”

Randy thought back to what his aunt had said about Malcolm being a bad man. But what

about Lachlan himself? The fact that he had come here without the mother of his two sons was

odd, to say the least. And why Brown County in the first place?

“What was the appeal for this area at the time?” He asked.

“Well, land here was cheap back then. It was an artist colony among the rolling hills and was

originally called Peaceful Valley. Most of the original settlers were from Kentucky. But it looks like

Lachlan came here directly. I’m not sure how he would have found out about the area from

Scotland, but maybe he had heard about it when he arrived and made his way down here?”

“Is there anything about him?”

Melinda shook her head as she clicked around. “Not really. He was a farmer but obviously had

to give that up, so he just built furniture and helped with the construction around the county. But

this is interesting.”

Randy leaned in.

“Gaven had another child besides Frederik,” Melinda said. “With a woman named Isla.”

Randy nearly shit his pants. “That was my grandmother’s name,” Randy said, stunned. “Isla

MacKinney.”

Melinda looked at him with a brow raised. “Interesting,” she said. “But I guess that’s not

uncommon. Especially back then. But the child’s name was never mentioned. Maybe Isla was

forced to move away. If she’s your grandmother, then that means Gaven was your—“

“Real grandfather,” Randy finished her. “I just found out today that the man I thought was my

grandfather wasn’t my mother’s real father.”

“What’s her name?”

“Victoria Clarke,” Randy said.

“And how did you find this out? About your grandfather, I mean.”

“I got one of those ancestry kits and got the results today. It listed my Aunt Mary as being only

a half-aunt. She was born after my mother, and they were both raised by Isla and Thomas Clarke.

When I asked her about it, she told me she didn’t know who my mom’s real father was.”

“Well,” Melinda said with a smile. “The plot thickens.”

“Yeah,” Randy agreed. “It sure does.”

Melinda cocked her head and looked straight into his eyes. She seemed genuinely interested

in the whole story, which made Randy feel welcome. It was nice to meet someone with a

genuinely inquisitive mind.

“You seem troubled,” she said. “I can understand why. That’s quite a shocking revelation.”

“Well, it’s not really that.” He wasn’t sure how to explain. “There are just some things I need

to research. Not really even Frederick himself, just… other things. Did you ever meet him, by the

way?”

“No,” she said. “Marge helped him with his research. When she came to get me, she said you

looked just like him.”

“Well,” Randy shrugged. “He’s my mother’s brother. I guess that’s logical.”

Melinda smiled again. She kept her smile for a strangely long time, and Randy began to notice

little things about her in that few seconds. She smelled nice. There was a pleasant air about her

that he couldn’t put his finger on. He couldn’t tell whether it was perfume, or maybe

pheromones. Either way, she was unusually attractive to him.

“Well,” she said, finally, breaking the tension. “If you need any more help at all, you know

where to find me. It’s my job. In the meantime, I’ll try to find that article about Gaven in the

archives.”

“I don’t want to bother you with all of this,” Randy said.

“Oh no, it’s okay. Really. Nothing much happens here and this kind of thing is what gets me

goin’.” She accentuated the last sentence with an exaggerated uppercut-like motion with her fist,

followed by another goofy laugh.

“Well, thanks,” Randy said, standing. “I can put this back for you.”

“Nope,” Melinda said, grabbing the parchment binder. “That’s what librarians are for. We’re a

little anal.”

She pursed her lips then, slightly embarrassed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Randy grinned. “It was still funny though.”

Chapter Six

Randy ate dinner at a downtown restaurant. Though somewhat crowded, the service was good,

and the bar, located in a separate area from the dining room, was nice and quiet. He ate at the

corner of the bar, watching the local news and drinking a few local brews. They were pretty bad,

he thought, but the atmosphere was nice.

No one seemed to notice when he left, however. He hadn’t spoken to anyone but the

bartender. She didn’t ask if he was local or anything else. She simply commented on the news

stories and the local elections. Boring. He left her a nice tip and headed to the liquor store for a

bottle of scotch, and some whiskey made by the local distillery.

It was 8:02 when he got home, stuffed and ready to relax for the night. If he could keep his

mind off of the day’s news, that is. He was still dumbfounded by the fact that his grandparents

were first cousins, which meant Frederik wasn’t a distant cousin at all. They were far more

connected than he had previously thought. He wondered if Frederik had found out as well. Still,

the more concerning news was the uncanny disappearance of Frederik’s parents.

First, his mother had disappeared, then his father. The poor kid, no more than five years old,

had been left to be raised by someone whom Aunt Mary had referred to as “a bad man.”

Whatever that meant. She hadn’t been any more specific, but her statement that he should burn

the house down was a bit disturbing. Seeing as there was something uncomfortable in the cellar,

there was a chance that she may be right.

And that got him thinking about it again.

He thought about the door, and the odd cold breeze coming from beneath it. Though he

realized that was what had caused the upper door in the kitchen to pop open, it was still bizarre.

If there was a breeze, that meant there was airflow from somewhere. Perhaps there was a

window beyond that door, an old basement window, or maybe even a vent. Who knows?

He poured himself a glass of the local whiskey and swirled it around in his glass, sniffing it and

looking at it in front of the light. He wasn’t sure why. It was decent, but not great. He supposed it

was just a typical overpriced novelty spirit, popular only because it was local. That was another

thing, he realized. There were a hell of a lot of breweries, distilleries, and wineries in the area.

Fucking drunks, he mused to himself as he drank his whiskey.

He turned on the TV, leaving it wherever it was the last time he turned it on. He sat for hours,

spacing out thinking about the things that his Aunt Mary and the librarian had told him about his

family. How had Mary not known details about someone disappearing? Maybe she did know but

just didn’t want to tell him. There had to be a reason she had warned him against staying at the

cabin. She also likely knew that her mother had been impregnated by a family member, and

would definitely not have told him that.

So why tell him to burn down the cabin? Did she know something else? Did she know what

was in the cellar in that old coal room? He sighed, chugging his whiskey and pouring another

glass. The librarian’s face flashed in his mind, bringing a smile to his face. That changed his

demeanor right away. He liked her. She was pretty in a nerdy sort of way. She smelled nice, too.

Or, again, was it pheromones? Why was he thinking so fast?

Cha-Ching!

“Jesus Christ!” he jumped, spilling his whiskey.

There was a text from the power company, he guessed.

Your appt. is confirmed for Saturday morning from 8am-12pm. Please be home to let the

installer in.

“Sweet!” he said, making a victorious fist pumping motion.

That was good news. At least there was that. He could get rid of the hotspot and juice up the

whole cabin now. It made him unusually happy, considering the circumstances. The hotspot

could only handle a few devices, and the network was unbearably slow. Now, at least, he could

stream and surf at the same time and maybe do some long-ignored gaming since he had the

time now.

For the time being, he turned sideways on the couch and leaned on the armrest to relax and

channel surf. Though somewhat distracted now, he still thought of Melinda and her pleasant

smile, her goofy demeanor, and the sound of her voice. He wasn’t sure why he felt the way he

did. They had just met literally a few hours ago, but meeting her seemed to melt away all of the

stress that was left over from his job.

He was beginning to really enjoy himself.

Randy opened his eyes, still lying on the couch. The room was strangely quiet, and there was a

foreboding feeling in the air. The TV was off for some reason, and the ceiling fan far above him

was moving slowly as if it had just been turned off. The doors of the fireplace were closed, and he

didn’t remember having closed them.

He sat up and looked around. Through the windows, he could see a strange glow outside. It

was bluish and dim, like refracted moonlight, and made the glass glow with an eerie, cold light.

Though that wasn’t very alarming, the silence was almost deafening. He could hear his heartbeat

pounding in his ears, and that’s when he noticed how quickly it was throbbing. He placed his

hand over his chest, but couldn’t feel it through his clothes.

Randy, came a woman’s voice. It was a seductive whisper.

He spun around, planting his feet on the floor, startled by the voice. Someone was in his

house. The throbbing in his ears became stronger and faster, and he could feel his skin crawl.

Randy.

“What the fuck,” he mumbled, standing up and facing the hallway behind him.

He looked up at the loft, seeing nothing but shadows there. There was no one in the kitchen,

and no one in the hallway itself. But as he turned his head to the left, he saw a silhouette in the

window near the kitchen counter that made his heart jump. It was a hooded figure standing in

front of the window, casting its shadow over the glowing glass.

He quickly reached down to feel around for the revolver. It wasn’t there.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Randy, the voice came again.

He quickly turned his head back to the hallway. Nothing. The shadow at the window was gone

when he looked back. But he could feel a dark presence that was still there, or at least was now

coming for the front door. He bounded over the coffee table and latched the door, backing away

from it slowly as a faint scraping sound came from outside. It was footsteps; slow, deliberate, and

coming toward the front stairs.

A creak sounded from behind him. He turned, seeing the cellar door slowly open. He felt the

cold draft blow through the kitchen, surrounding him in its frigid embrace. He was terrified, and

he felt that he was about to die. What the hell was going on?

Come to me, Randy.

The voice was calm and pleasant, though ghostly. But for some reason, it brought him

comfort. He felt compelled to go to the door to investigate. It seemed like it was the safest place

to go. He hesitantly stepped forward, slowly making his way toward the open door. He then felt a

gentle warmth coming from the opening. The cold melted away as if having come from the house

itself. But now the cellar draft was warm, inviting him to follow it into what he knew was a cold

cellar.

As he stood in front of the door, he saw a warm glow from the stairwell. It looked like the

dancing flames of a fire reflecting off of the stone walls. It felt safe, he realized; much safer than

staying upstairs. When he reached to push the door all the way open, it felt warm as well. It

creaked slightly as it opened, and the warm draft enveloped him like a blanket. It felt good. It felt

safe.

Come to me, Randy. I need you.

“Shit,” he whispered.

He stepped onto the landing, his heart still pounding in his ears. He didn’t feel the need for his

flashlight, though. The glow from beyond the shotgun door was enough to light his way; enough

to draw him in with its promise of safety. He went down the steps, stopping at the shattered slab

that was now whole and unbroken. The shotgun door was also whole as if the blast from the

buckshot had never happened.

“What the…”

Come to me, my love.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the cellar. What he saw took his breath away. The

walls were the same stone as they were before, but new and smooth. The floor was level and

clean, despite being dirt. The musty smell was gone, replaced by the lovely scent of jasmine and

sandalwood. But the door, that mysterious door that had been wedged shut, was gone. In its

place was just an opening into the room beyond.

He went closer, and the air became warmer and more inviting. The enclosed area concealed

something beyond its walls, something where a fire was burning. The scent became stronger, and

he saw that braziers were hanging from either side of what looked like an opening to a cave.

There was a rough corridor beyond, with walls of natural sandstone that danced with the flames

of a bonfire that burned within.

That’s the way, Randy. Come to me. Warm yourself by my fire.

Randy swallowed. He noticed that his heart was no longer pounding, and the strange feeling

on his skin was gone. It was replaced by the warmth that he felt from inside the cave. That was

the only place to go, it seemed.

He stepped into the cave opening and could see the chamber beyond. There was a fire

burning inside, and the glitter of what looked like gold and gems just beyond it. He could see an

altar or dais, something higher than the rest of the floor where someone could stand at the head

of a small congregation or other group.

He went forward, stepping into the chamber. The fire was burning inside a stone circle, one

made of sandstone blocks that were nearly perfect in their shape. It burned gently, fueled by

some unknown force. There were no logs or sticks there, only the flame. Behind it, on the dais,

was a wide platform covered in what looked like silks and satin cushions that sparkled in the

flame.

Then, a woman appeared from behind the dais, causing Randy to jump back in surprise. She

stepped up onto the dais from a short stairway behind it, her naked body glowing in the firelight.

She was beautiful. Her figure was perfect in every way. Her large, firm breasts barely moved as

she walked, and her hips and thighs were firm and full. She walked slowly, with a purposeful and

seductive gait, her green eyes staring at him from behind a mane of long black hair that blew like

silk in the warm drafts that swirled around in the chamber.

As he beheld her body, he could feel himself become aroused. Whoever she was, he wanted

her—badly. He could not take his eyes off of her body. Even her skin was inviting. It was smooth

and pale, with not a single hair upon it other than her eyebrows and that gorgeous mane of black

hair.

He was stunned and frozen as she came around the platform and stepped upon it, going to

her knees and exposing her whole body to him. Her smile was slight and seductive, and the way

she cocked her head seemed to invite him to come closer. And he did.

Worship me, she said.

Randy went around the fire, stepping up onto the platform and going down to his knees

before her. He stared longingly at her body, feeling himself grow harder and harder with every

second. She ran her hands up her thighs, around her hips, and up her torso toward her perfect

breasts, kneading them gently.

Worship me, Randy. I need your love.

Randy could only nod, unable to move. Before he could even think of doing anything else, she

moved her legs to turn around. She was upright on her knees now, her back arched and her head

back. Her black hair draped over her body, stopping just above the most perfect backside he had

ever seen. She slowly ran her hands over it, gently rubbing each side. His mouth began to water

as he watched, and he felt himself on the verge of ejaculation.

Worship me, she said again.

Randy reached up and placed his hands upon her ankles. Her skin was as smooth as silk, and

her flesh was firm and tight as he ran his hands up her calves, around her thighs, and up to her

hips. He felt compelled to kiss every inch of her flesh, to taste her with his tongue. He squeezed

her buttocks hard, unable to control himself. He leaned forward, placing the side of his face

against them, slowly rubbing his skin against hers. He heard her deep breaths of ecstasy, her

moans of pleasure as ran his tongue over her skin.

Worship me, she said.

He squeezed her flesh once again, turning his face directly into her, his tongue slowly making

its way between her legs and up—

There was a banging at the door that jerked Randy awake. He sat up, confused and

disoriented. It was morning, and he had been dreaming, he realized. The banging sounded again

and he stood up. He was still hard, and there was a wetness inside his pants.

He had ejaculated in his sleep.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Mr. Green?” came a man’s voice at the door.

He pulled his shirt down over his crouch to hide his erection and answered the door. There

was a technician there, dressed in a typical IT/Field uniform. He was wearing a hardhat for some

reason. He spun and smiled.

“There you are,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah,” Randy stuttered, his mouth dry as a bone. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” the guy said. “I’m just gonna do some testing out here on the fiber line and

then we’ll get you hooked up.”

“Cool,” Randy said. “Just come in whenever you’re ready. I’m gonna… take a shower or

something.”

“Okay. Take your time. It’ll take about an hour or so to get the interface installed out here.”

“Great.”

The tech bounced off the porch and went back to his van. Randy closed the door, standing

there for a moment before realizing he was even awake. He must have fallen asleep without even

realizing it, and the erotic occurrence had been a dream—a wet dream. Oh, but what a dream it

was.

Who was the woman he saw? He had never seen anyone like her, with her strangely beautiful

features that didn’t seem quite human. There was an oddness to her face that he couldn’t quite

figure out. And her body had been perfect—too perfect. There was not a single flaw on her skin

anywhere that he could see. She was like a perfect specimen, created just for him. Everything

about her, her smoothness, her complexion, even her scent, was perfect. And her accent was the

stuff of fantasy. It was something Celtic, he realized, Irish or Scottish maybe. Much like his

ancestors…

He began to get hard again just thinking about her.

And why was she in the cellar, beyond that strange door? Is that why it was barred? His

curiosity was growing now just thinking about whether she was really in there. But surely she

wasn’t. There’s no way someone could survive in there that long. It was just a dream anyway. She

wasn’t real. She couldn’t be.

Chapter Seven

After a shower—a long one—Randy ate some breakfast while the tech finished up his work on

the inside. The man had commented on the skillfully-installed conduit that provided the power in

the surface-mounted outlets, asking Randy if he knew who had done it. He had no answer,

obviously, but doubted Frederik had done it himself.

After about another hour of drilling, running a cable inside, and bringing in a router, the tech

finally asked for Randy’s laptop and showed him how to log in and change the network name and

password. He was helpful and friendly, with a slight Southern Indiana accent that reminded

Randy of his Aunt Mary’s.

After signing the work order, the tech left, and Randy sat down on the couch, turned on the

TV and selected an English sitcom from Netflix. He now had high speed internet, and for the first

time in a while he felt like a king.

He started up his laptop then, opening the email client. There was one new email.

Melinda Barret Yesterday 6:43 pm: New info for you

“Hmm,” he said to himself. How the hell did she get his email address?

He opened the message, shaking his head as he contemplated how she had managed to find

his information.

Hey, Randy. This is Melinda from the library. I found the article in the newspaper archives. Very

important. Call me 812-555-3423.

Interesting. He wasted no time dialing her number.

“Hello?” Melinda answered.

“Hey there,” Randy said. “It’s Randy. I got your message.”

“Oh, hey. How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said with a humorous tone. “I just got your message. How did you get my email

address?”

She laughed. “I Googled your name and found your company’s website. Your email address

was right there on the screen with your headshot. It’s what I do.”

“I’m impressed,” Randy admitted. “Seems so easy.”

“It was. Sorry if I creeped you out, but I found that article about your Grandfather. It’s really

disturbing news and I’d like to talk to you about it in person. It’s not something I would want to

tell you over the phone.”

“That serious, huh?”

“Yeah. Do you want to meet somewhere in town later this afternoon?”

“Are you working today?”

“I usually don’t but I volunteered to help Marge with organizing the archives. I noticed they

were a little messy last night when I went to look for the article. I should be done in a half hour or

so. We’re just cleaning up all the dust we kicked up.”

“Okay,” Randy said, looking down at the clock in the bottom right corner of his laptop. It was

11:15 am. “Where do you want to meet? At the library?”

“At my work? No…”

Randy laughed. “I gotcha. I understand.”

“There’s a small outdoor coffee shop across from the Salvation Army building. You know where

that is?”

“No,” he said. “But I can look it up.”

“How’s noon-thirty sound?”

“Noon-thirty?” Randy laughed. “Sounds good. I’ll see you there.”

“Bye.”

Randy hung up, realizing that hearing Melinda’s voice made him completely forget about the

strange woman. That was good news. There was no point lusting after an imaginary woman

when there was a real woman with a good heart and an actual personality. Though, he thought,

he would keep the imaginary woman in “the vault” for future recreation on those lonely nights.

The little coffee shop was in a courtyard between two eclectically decorated businesses. The

shop itself was small, but the outer bistro was roomy and seemed fairly private. Though the foot

traffic on the street was rather heavy, the bistro itself was occupied by only an elderly couple, a

douche with a laptop, and the lovely Melinda.

Randy stopped and watched her for a moment as she sipped her coffee and sorted through a

folder she had brought with her. She had that same pleasant smile on her face that she had been

sporting when they first met. It made her look like an angel—or at least someone completely

oblivious and immune to all of the evils in the world.

Randy decided to bring the tome he had found in the cellar, along with his laptop and the

spiral notebook. All of them were stuffed into his leather work bag, and he realized that he

suddenly felt like the douche on the laptop.

At least he didn’t wear glasses or a stupid man bun.

“Hi,” he said as he walked up.

Melinda looked up and flashed that lovely smile, making Randy’s heart sink.

“Hi,” she replied. “I’ve got everything here. I got you a cup of coffee. All you have to do is go

inside and get it fresh.”

“Oh thanks,” Randy said, putting his bag on the ground beside his chair. “You didn’t have to do

that.”

“Oh, trust me,” Melinda said. “You might need it. And maybe a bottle of whiskey afterward.”

Randy grinned. “I like whiskey,” he said. “But I already drink too much as it is. I’ll get that

coffee.”

He quickly went inside and asked for his coffee from the fresh-faced young girl at the counter

and returned to the table, eager to find out what Melinda had discovered.

“So what’s the story?” He asked.

Melinda pursed her lips and pulled out two photocopied newspaper articles.

“This one is about Frederik’s mother,” she began. “Her name was Celia Robertson like we

found out before. She was from a really prominent family here in the county, so you can imagine

how much of a fuss her disappearance would cause.”

“Oh yeah,” Randy said. “Definitely.”

“She disappeared in 1949 and was never found. She was presumed dead and Gaven was the

main suspect, being her husband and all.”

“Oh shit,” Randy said, looking at the second paper. “I think I can see where this is going.”

“Gaven was hanged outside of town,” she went on. Randy stopped, looking up at her.

“Holy shit,” he said. “That’s fucking crazy.” He then looked up, seeing her crooked grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I say fuck a lot in my head.”

“Well,” Randy said, confused. “If they never found her, not even a body, then how could they

even have a trial and hang someone?”

“Like I said, she was from a prominent family. Plus, back then there wasn’t much of a court

system like there is today. The authorities were only a step up from lynch mobs or vigilantes.”

“Even in 1950?”

Melinda nodded. “Small town mentality. If there were a trial, there would have been records

of it. It looks like it was just swept under the rug.”

“Wow,” Randy said, nearly speechless. “Uh… Are there any pictures of Celia?”

Melinda cocked her head. “No, why?”

Randy shook his head, dismissing the matter. “Just curious. Robertson is what? Scottish?

English?”

“I don’t know,” Melinda admitted. “But like I said, pretty prominent in the area. I’ve heard of

the name being Scottish before, I think. But not everyone named Robertson would be related. It’s

a pretty common British name.”

“Right. Kind of like Green.”

“Actually,” Melinda grinned. “That might be German. It’s probably an Anglicized version of

Gruen, which is the German word for green. That name might have come from a knight back in

your father’s family tree. Teutonic Knights often took colors for surnames. The Green, the Black,

names like that.”

“Cool,” Randy said, not being able to focus on the article.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah… I just… it’s really fu—messed up. I mean, wow. I can’t believe something like this

happened in Indiana. They never found her body, either, huh?”

“No,” she said, sadly. “But there’s something else.”

She opened her folder again, pulling out a few more papers.

“There were also articles from the newspapers in the surrounding area about other

disappearances. These were happening long before Celia’s disappearance, starting in the early

1900s. Over sixty people went missing without a trace, all of them from the counties around the

area, and all of them men. Celia was the only woman.”

That made Randy want to know what Celia looked like even more. He imagined her down

there in his cellar, not dead, but some kind of witch calling to him in the night, wanting him to lick

her all over. He shook the thoughts out of his head, gritting his teeth.

“This is all… crazy,” he said, finally.

“I know,” Melinda agreed. “I’m am completely entranced by his whole thing. I get easily

obsessed by things like this.”

“You would make a great detective,” Randy complimented her. “And I mean that.”

She cocked her head then, smiling as she looked at him. “You seem to be handling this a lot

better than I thought you would.”

Randy laughed uncomfortably. “I’m totally speechless, actually,” he said. “I’m just

dumbfounded, and kind of in shock. But, in all honesty, I was expecting this whole situation to be

weird.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Uh… well,” he began. He reached down and pulled the tome out of his pack. He looked at the

strange circular engraving on the cover, and then handed it to Melinda.

“Wow,” she said, fascinated. “What is this?”

“I found this in my cellar,” he explained. “I don’t know what it is or what the symbols are. I

don’t even know what language it’s written in but it looks… weird, to say the least.”

Melinda traced her fingers on the engraving, nodding her head. “Well, this is just a simple

Celtic knot,” she said, opening the book. “And these are all runes.”

“Runes?”

“The Celts and some Vikings used it as a written language for a while, but nowadays it’s

mostly used for pagan or Wiccan rituals, demonology sometimes.”

“I’m sorry,” Randy said, dumbfounded. “Did you say demons?”

“Demonology, yes. The Celts had myths and legends just like any other culture, and some of

them are just as frightening as any monster myths you’ve ever read about. Some even more

frightening.”

“Do you know about these legends?”

“Some of them,” she said. “I’ve always been interested in European folklore. This… just gets

me even more excited about all of this. Like I said yesterday, the plot thickens.”

She looked through the book, glancing at some of the loose pages, nodding, and flipping

again. “The book is written in Irish or more modern Gaelic,” she said. “These notes, though, are

English. Some of the words are Celtic, but the English is what you’d expect from someone in Rural

Scotland in the late 19th Century.”

“Hmm,” Randy grunted. “So the notes could have been written by this Lachlan MacKinney?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe. But not the book. It looks more like a woman’s

handwriting. But the loose pages look like notes someone was making. They’re definitely written

by a man. One that couldn’t read or write very well, at that. Likely a farmer like Lachlan himself.

They could also be journal entries.”

“What kind of notes, do you think?”

Melinda shook her head. “Maybe trying to make some sense of what the book is talking

about, or things that happened. It’s hard to read but I can try to transcribe it into something

readable for you. It could be someone was trying to put something together from the symbols in

the book. Maybe spells or rituals… something. It looks like a spellbook.”

“Spells?” Randy asked skeptically. “Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

Melinda shrugged. “Do you believe in a bearded man in the sky?”

Randy smiled. He had been raised Catholic, though didn’t really believe.

“We’re twenty feet from a church,” Melinda said. “So there are people close by who believe

things. These legends are no different, and the people who wrote them and believed in them

thought they were just as real as the figures in Christian, Muslim, and Jewish tales. Who’s to say

what’s real or not?”

“Right,” Randy said. “I thought maybe you believed in something, being so polite and kind and

all that.”

Melinda smiled again. “Oh, I do,” she said. “Not gods or aliens or things like that, but I do

believe there are things that existed and still exist that we can’t explain. All of these things were

written down for a reason, right?”

“Right,” Randy agreed. “So what are some of the symbols there in the book?”

“Some of them are ambiguous,” Melinda said. “But the script has words in it I recognize. But

they’re Gaelic spellings.”

“Like what?”

Melinda turned the book around and pointed at a word spelled bean sidhe.

“This is the Gaelic spelling of banshee,” she said. “It’s a female spirit attached to a particular

family. It keens or screams when someone in the family is about to die. But that’s all it really

does. I wouldn’t consider it a monster, more like an omen or portend used as a metaphor.”

“Okay,” Randy said, not really understanding.

Melinda leaned forward with a smile. “The name Kennedy is spelled really goofy in Gaelic,”

she said. “C-A-N-N-E-D-A-I-G-H or C-I-N-N-I-D-I-D-H.”

“Wow,” Randy said, grinning. “You are a walking encyclopedia.”

Melinda laughed shyly. “Thanks, but it’s mostly useless crap. I just have a curious mind. And

you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Well, good,” Randy said.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she teased. “When my interest is piqued, I go all in. I tend to get a little

obsessive. You’re never getting rid of me now.”

Her smile was serious, Randy saw, and it made him smile, too. He was glad she would stay in

contact now. He never wanted to be without her smile, her eyes… or her scent.

“That’s not a bad thing,” he said.

“I can translate the notes for you,” she said. “I’ll just have to take them home with me if you

don’t mind.”

“Please do,” Randy said. “And see if you can make some sense of that tome.”

“I can do that,” she said. “It might take longer since I’ll have to translate the language. Thank

God for Google, right?”

“Right. Definitely.”

“And thank God it’s written in English characters and not completely made of runes.”

“Those are English characters?”

“Definitely,” Melinda said. “Just a strange script called uncial. There’s a computer font with the

same name. It’s what’s used as titles for books or other media that portray Celtic themes. It’s just

a little more archaic-looking since it’s handwritten.”

“Okay,” Randy said, kind of seeing it now that he looked closer.

Melinda was quiet for a moment as she stared at the book in her hand. Her smile was timid

and anticipatory, like a child’s smile on the night before Christmas. He knew she was excited

about doing the research, and he was glad she would be all in. Any help he could get trying to

make sense of what was going on would be outstanding. Especially if it was the help of such an

angel like Melinda.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” she said, finally. “This is a mystery we can solve together. If

anything else comes up, you’ll let me know, right?”

“Of course,” Randy said. “Anything at all.”

He reached out and took her hand, placing his other hand over hers, and looked her in the

eyes. “And thank you,” he said. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your help. I really

needed someone with a brain to make some sense of all this.”

“Well,” Melinda said with a warm smile. “Like I said, it’s what I do. And you’re welcome, Randy.

I’ll get to work right away and I’ll call you as soon as I have something more to tell you.”

“Awesome. You have my number right?”

“I sure do. Talk to you later Randy.”

She stood and gathered everything up, smiling the whole time. She looked excited as if he had

given her a copy of the combined total knowledge of the human race. And from what little he

understood, he might have.

He decided to keep the notebook to himself for now, and the cellar, obviously. He would keep

that information secret until he actually found the courage to open that door. Until then, he

didn’t want to reveal anything that would spoil any chance of this woman falling in love with him.

That’s what he wanted more than anything.

Chapter Eight

Having decided to enjoy the beautiful day, Randy strolled down the main drag through town.

Though he disliked large crowds, the fact that there were so many interesting things to see

helped distract him from the hustle and bustle. There were vendors on the street, musicians

playing violins or guitars at every corner, and even a guy with a monkey doing stupid human

tricks.

The storefronts were plastered with decorations that took up nearly every square inch of

usable space. The doors were all open, despite the season, and people went in and out in droves.

The smell of pipe tobacco drew him toward a store near the northernmost end of the strip, and

he followed the scent to a fine-looking shop that appeared to be catered toward men. He

decided to stop in and check it out.

As soon as he opened the door, the pipe smell wafted out. He closed his eyes just for a

moment, imagining being at his grandfather’s house and taking in that aroma as the old man

whittled with his knife on the front porch. That was a good memory, and it brought back a

nostalgic feeling that he enjoyed immensely.

He turned toward the front counter after closing the door, seeing a small collection of rifles

mounted on the wall behind it. There were handguns, revolvers, and knives of various types in

the glass display and a wooden Indian statue that probably would have gotten some criticism

from a more largely populated town.

There was an older man behind the counter who smiled as he saw Randy glance at the rifles

behind him.

“Good day for it,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” Randy replied, assuming he meant a good day for a trip to the range. “Nice

collection there.”

“Just got a few new ones in yesterday,” the man continued, pointing out a few fancy leveraction

rifles with brass hardware. “Got some Henrys here, got some new Hi-Point carbines for

budget-minded folks. Whatever you need.”

Randy went to the counter. “I’m actually looking for a good pipe at the moment. Thought I’d

take up writing.”

The man grinned. “Well, that’s as good a reason as any. Got a whole case of them over there

in front of the bows.”

“I’m not really sure what to get. I’ve never smoked a pipe. Cigarettes yes, pipe no.”

“Alright.” The man went over to the display, unlocking it from behind and pulling out a basic

pipe with a black plastic handle and a large wooden bowl with nice-looking grain.

“This is about the most basic one we have if you just wanna give it a try. Only twenty bucks

plus tax.”

“That sounds alright,” Randy said. “What is the tobacco I smell?”

“That’s Mac Baren cherry,” the old man said. “One of the best brands, if you ask me.”

“Is that Scottish, by any chance?”

“Sure is. You Scottish?”

“Mostly,” Randy said. “MacKinney was my family’s name.”

The man went quiet for a moment, and Randy realized he probably should have kept his

mouth shut. But there was no anger or anything like that in the old man’s eyes, just a strange

expression that Randy couldn’t figure out.

“You related to Fred?”

“Actually, yes,” Randy said. “He left me his cabin up by Bean Blossom.”

The old man nodded and held up a finger. “Hold on a minute. I got something for you here.”

The old man went into the back for a moment, and Randy glanced around the shop at the

other customers—mostly tourists—that perused the shelves looking for souvenirs. Some of them

glared at the guns from the opposite end of the store, obviously fuming over the fact that not

everybody held the same negative opinions.

After a few minutes, the old man came back with a large package. It was a medium sized box

with multiple shipping labels and customs stamps. The man handed it to him and stood a little

closer than was comfortable.

“Fred had me order this for him,” he said. “It was really important to him. Not sure why. I think

he was dealing with… some things up there. I’d wait until you get home to open it.”

“Okay,” Randy said. “Do I owe you anything?”

“Nope. He already paid for it.” He winked. “Still want that pipe?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, unsure of what was happening. “I guess I’ll need that tobacco, too.”

“Righto. Name’s Jim, by the way.”

“Randy.”

“Good to see that Fred was able to track down some kin folk.”

“Yeah,” Randy shrugged. “I guess I’m the only one left.”

“Family’s important,” the old man said, ringing up his items. “Real important.”

Randy looked at the package in his hand, wondering what was in it that could be so heavy.

There was obviously something heavy inside of it. He couldn’t tell why, but he knew right away

this called for an immediate trip back home.

“Thirty-five ninety-eight,” the old man said. “Cash or card?”

“Card,” Randy said, pulling out his wallet.

As he swiped his debit card, the old man bagged up his goods and set them on the counter. He

looked up at Randy, eyeing him as if wondering if Randy knew something.

“Fred was a good man,” he said. “He had some things going on, I think. He kept to himself

mostly, but he was always friendly so I don’t judge. You look a lot like him, by the way.”

Randy grinned and nodded. “That’s what they tell me. Never met him.”

“Well,” the man said, handing him his bag. “Stay out of trouble, and enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.”

Randy left the shop, not wasting any time getting back to his car. He would stop at the liquor

store again, making sure to stock up on liquor for the rest of the weekend. He had the feeling he

would need it. But, as he walked back to his car, he wondered if Melinda liked wine. There was no

reason to wonder about it. It was simply a thought that popped into his head. But hey, better

safe than sorry.

He saw Marge exit the liquor store with a wrapped bottle in her hands. She smiled at him

when he stepped out of the car. He stopped, suddenly wondering if she knew anything about

Gaven, seeing as she was elderly and would likely have lived in town during that time.

It was worth a shot.

“Hi, Marge,” he said. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m doing well,” she replied. “Did you meet with Melinda?”

“Yeah. I was wondering about something.”

“She’s single,” she said with a wink.

“Oh,” he laughed, embarrassed. “That’s good, but that’s not what I meant. I was wondering if

you know anything about Gaven MacKinney.”

She scratched her chin, sticking out her bottom lip. “Not much,” she said. “I was only a kid

when he disappeared and didn’t care much about those kinds of things back then. I didn’t know

Frederik very well, either. He never went to school. At least not the same school I went to. What

was it you wanted to know?”

“Was there ever a trial about his wife’s disappearance?”

“Not that I recall,” she said, leaning in. “But if you ask me, they hung that man for no reason.

Never was a body found. People just overreact sometimes, especially when they’re uppity folk

like the Robertsons. They never liked any of us lowly folk anyway.”

“So they didn’t like Gaven?”

Marge laughed, shaking her head. “They didn’t like anyone,” she said. “It was kind of a Romeo

and Juliet story. Or maybe Westside Story. Two different worlds, those two. A rich girl and a forest

peasant. He was a decent man, I suppose. Never got into any trouble. He was a good father, but

not like his own. Now that man…”

“What?” Randy asked after she paused for an unusually long time.

Marge shook her head. “I can see why the Robertsons wouldn’t like him. And if you ask me,

that man may have had something to do with that girl’s disappearance.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I was afraid of him,” she said. “He always had this look about him. Like he was… hungry or

angry. Can’t rightly say. I stayed away from them. I only saw Frederik here and there, and he

never did anything but fix cars and build things like his grandfather did. Not the cars, his

grandfather didn’t work on cars, but he built things out of wood. I hear that old man was a good

smith, too. I bet there’s one of them anvils up there somewhere.”

“What kind of things did Frederik make?”

Marge shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Never saw anything, but I guess he probably made

furniture parts or knives, things like that.”

“Whatever happened to Frederik’s grandfather?”

Marge paused again, shaking her head as her face took on a blank look. “You know, I’m not

sure,” she said. “I’m sure he just passed away and nobody cared. Nobody would care. He was a

frightening man. I suppose if I had even noticed he was gone I would have been happy. But I

never heard anything. For all I know he’s buried up there somewhere.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Probably in the late 60s maybe. Can’t rightly say. Listen, dear, I’m late for my pills. It was good

to see you. If you see Melinda later, say hi for me.”

“Sure,” Randy smiled. “Nice to see you. Take care.”

“You too, dear. I’ll be enjoying my wine until bedtime.”

She chuckled as she turned away, leaving Randy to wonder about things even more. Now the

mystery had deepened, and he wondered about Malcolm. Could he really have had something to

do with Celia’s disappearance? And why didn’t Marge know anything about the story? Surely,

everyone in the county would have at least a vague memory of the event. Rich girls didn’t just

disappear without a trace without anyone noticing.

Sighing, Randy went inside and got another bottle of Scotch and two bottles of local wine.

One red, one white. A nice Merlot and a Chardonnay. It always pays to have choices for your

guests.

It was early evening when Randy arrived home. He still hadn’t arranged for a trip to Indy to

gather more possessions, but that could wait for another day or two. He was on vacation, after

all, and still had plenty of clothes. For tonight, he would relax and wait for Melinda to contact him

about the book.

And drink some scotch.

He stared at the package on the coffee table, wondering what could be inside. The owner of

the shop in town had seemed a little uncomfortable giving it to him. That was likely due to its

contents, which is why Randy himself was reluctant to find out. There could be anything in there,

he realized. Anything at all.

Psyching himself up, he took a drink and set his glass down, picking up the box. He ripped

open the tape, practically drowning in horror as he pictured a human head or something similar

inside. But that was ridiculous. The box had sat there in the shop since Frederik’s death. It would

surely stink by now.

He opened the flaps, seeing what looked like several books wrapped in styrene cloth and held

in place with plastic air pillows. The first book was thick, he noticed, and was a hardback. He

ripped open the cloth, seeing that it was old and used. The cover read Old Scottish Tales. It was in

the same script that Melinda had called uncial. The author’s name was unknown.

The second book was a collection of pagan and Wiccan symbology, written by a woman

named Edith Planke. Surely this was useful for identifying some of the symbols he had found,

especially in the book that was now in Melinda’s hands. He wondered why Frederik had needed

hard copies of these texts. Surely the internet was a good source for this information. Then again,

he was an old man. He probably wasn’t internet savvy.

The third and final book was an incredibly old copy of Abdul Hezred’s Necronomicon. Not the

skinny paperback that was obviously fake, but the original version compiled by the Mad Arab

himself. He had always thought the book was fake, but it was clear that this was a genuine

manuscript, albeit printed in rather plain English. Why Fred needed this was unknown.

“Well Freddy,” Randy said out loud as if actually speaking to his uncle. “You were a strange

fella.”

That got him thinking about the spiral notebook. The loose papers in the tome were likely

notes written by Fred’s father and maybe great-grandfather for some purpose, according to

Melinda, but it was pretty clear that Fred had taken notes of his own in this notebook. There

were likely others somewhere around the house—he still hadn’t explored the loft bedroom, after

all.

He took it out of his bag and opened it up, flipping to the first page. It was oddly sloppy, as if

Fred was mostly illiterate. But that wouldn’t make sense. Why would an illiterate person need so

many books? But still, the script was rushed and sloppy. Maybe he was in a hurry, or afraid.

There were places in the book where the script was readable, and Randy thumbed through

them, seeing nothing of note. Mostly daily activities concerning the upkeep of the door in the

cellar. There was one passage that caught his interest.

The door still held, even after the impact from inside. The iron bracings were easy to forge and

install, and according to the strange woman they should be strong enough to keep the chamber

safe from the inside. Still, I can hear her voice—and his—sometimes. Grandfather is angry that I

tricked him. That I trapped him. The dagger I found will keep his restless spirit in place.

“What the fuck?” Randy said. “Dagger?”

Had Frederik killed his grandfather? To what spirits was he referring? He read on.

He was a sick man. Father’s journals that I had gathered said so. Father said it was all

grandfather’s fault. It was his fault that she had been cursed. It was his fault that they had to

leave the old country. Great grandfather had tried to satiate her, but she was too hungry. The

farmers were getting suspicious. They had to come. Great-grandfather should have left

grandfather there. Should have killed his own son to keep the evil from spreading. But I

understand. But I still do not understand why Grandfather had to take Mother. I barely knew her. I

barely knew Father. And grandfather was angry and abusive to me. I should have run away. But I

couldn’t. I couldn’t leave him to feed her. He made it all worse. All of it. His own sickness grew. I

watched it. If I hadn’t done what I did, he would still be killing.

“Holy shit,” Randy said. “What the fuck does this mean? Was Malcolm a murderer?”

He had no idea why he was speaking out loud, but now his heart was pounding. What exactly

was behind that door? Why did it need to be reinforced with iron? Was Malcolm in there? He

closed the notebook, grabbed his glass, and chugged the rest of the scotch in it. He then poured

himself another glass, suddenly anxious and paranoid.

“Talk to me, Freddy,” he said, looking around. “Show me something. Tell me what you want

me to do.”

The last entry on the page was interesting as well.

Marge has been helping me track down my family. I requested her help because if I asked the

younger woman, she would be in danger. He would want her. She looks like Mother.

“What?”

Was Frederik referring to Melinda? Had he just put her in danger by asking for her help? He

began biting his nails, thinking about her beautiful face and her gentle nature. If she was in

danger, he would have to stop seeing her. Maybe Frederik was crazy, after all. What did Frederik

mean by he? Was it Malcolm? Surely Malcolm was dead by then. He had to be. Nobody lives that

long. This journal was only a few years old, maybe more. Frederik would have to be in his 70s at

least.

“Melinda,” Randy whispered.

Cha-Ching!

Randy tossed the glass straight up in the air, barely catching it before it shattered on the table.

“Jesus Christ!” he growled.

It was a text from Melinda.

I think I know what this tome is. If you want to talk about it, call me. I don’t have much else

yet.

He took a deep breath, unsure how to respond. But he decided to call. She didn’t say it was

sensitive information like last time. It was only 6pm, so a call would be okay, he thought.

“Hi Randy,” came her lovely voice. “I take it you got my text.”

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just a little weirded out by all this.”

“I can understand. But this book is really interesting.”

“What is it?”

“I think it’s a pagan or Wiccan spellbook,” she said. “It belonged to a woman named Duna

Caomhanac.” She spelled it out but had pronounced it Cavanaugh.

“I have no idea who that is,” Randy admitted. “But it’s a spellbook? Was she a witch or

something?”

“Not a witch. She seemed to be interested in nature and healing. She was more like a druid or

something. That would make sense considering the area.”

“What’s in it?”

“Well, there are simple little spells and recipes for tonics, herbal treatments for sickness.

Things like that. I recognize some of the herbs she mentions. Kratom, Mandrake, etcetera.”

“Mandrake?” Randy repeated, remembering that herb from Arthurian legends.

“Yeah, just an archaic word for Ginseng. Nothing magical about it. She wrote this book, but as

it goes on and on, she begins talking about warding spells.”

“What are those?”

“Little rituals to keep evil spirits away. Protection symbols, um, spoken words. Things like that.”

“That sounds strange,” Randy said. “Does she say anything about her children?”

“I haven’t found anything yet. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Randy struggled for an explanation. “My Aunt said Malcolm was a bad

man. Like she said, they left Scotland for a reason.”

“Yes, that’s strange. I’m not sure what to say. I’ll keep reading. Maybe I’ll try to read some of

these notes. So far it looks like they were written by three different men. Not just one. I haven’t

gone over them yet, but a few of the older ones look like letters. They’re signed by Lachland

MacKinney, as well as a Father Wallace. MacKinney is written in the old spelling.”

“I won’t ask what that is.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Randy replied. “Just getting a headache. I think maybe I’ve been drinking too much

lately.”

“I think I would, too,” Melinda laughed. “Considering.”

Randy laughed, too, his spirits lifted a little by the sound of her laughter.

“Try to get some rest,” she said then. “I’ll let you know if I find anything else. Okay?”

“Great. Again, thank you for doing this. You didn’t have to. If it gets too stressful or weird, I’ll

understand if you wanna bail.”

“Not a chance, Randy. I told you before, you’ll never get rid of me now.”

“Well,” he said, defeated but relieved. “Okay then.”

“I’ll call you later if I figure out anything else.”

“Okay. Have a good night, Melinda.”

“You too.”

He hung up and set the phone on the coffee table. He sat back, still a little freaked out about

what he had read. He didn’t want her to get hurt. He had no idea if that would even happen,

though. This was just a weird story, nothing more. There were no monsters, no demons or

anything else. No witches, either. He chuckled to himself as he thought about it more. He was

just freaking out for no reason. Maybe he just needed some sleep. He could pass out for a few

hours. No harm in that.

Chapter Nine

There was candlelight around him. The warm flicker of dozens of tiny little flames brought a

sense of warmth and comfort. The cabin felt cozy. The couch was soft and embracing. The sound

of the wind outside was gentle and calming.

Randy knew he was dreaming again.

He knew because he didn’t feel the cold drafts from the poorly insulated walls and windows. It

felt like a fire was burning in the fireplace, and indeed it was. He hadn’t lit it. He had only lit it

once since he had arrived and had let it burn out. But now it was crackling softly, adding its light

to the heavenly aura that surrounded him.

The dark-haired woman was squatting nearby, her back leaning against the warm rock of the

fireplace mantle. She was naked again, glossy with sweat, and breathing heavily as she caressed

herself slowly and deeply. Her green eyes were locked onto him, closing now and then as waves

of pleasure swept over her.

Randy looked closely between her legs. Her right hand was there, hiding her womanhood as

she pleasured herself. He could see the wetness spilling over her fingers, between her buttocks,

and dripping to the stones below her. Her left hand massaged and kneaded her right breast,

squeezing it tightly and invitingly. He felt himself grow hard rather quickly.

Her breathing was quick and shallow and she began to lick her lips. He was frozen, unable to

look away from her body, and her bright green eyes that were trancelike with their depth. He

reached down below his blanket, feeling that he was naked, and as hard as he had ever been in

his life. Her eyes followed his hand and focused on the now-moving shape underneath his

blanket.

He slowly pulled it off of him, pushing it down below his groin so she could see. She began

licking her lips, moaning softly as she watched him stroke himself slowly and purposefully. Her

caressing became faster and deeper with her breath, and he could see her belly moving in and

out quickly. The moisture between her legs increased, spreading over her inner thighs with the

quick movements of her hand, dripping onto the mantle.

Randy quickened his pace, squeezing harder and pumping faster as he approached climax. She

too began nearing her peak, her fingers now going in and out. With her other hand, she reached

behind her, massaging between her buttocks with the same rhythm. Her eyes were focused on

his right hand, and the flesh it held. It was the flesh she wanted.

Then, the waves of ecstasy washed over them both. Randy moaned out loud, causing her to

moan with him. He closed his eyes then, feeling the pulsating carnal energy flow through his

body like it never had before. Her moans were loud and echoed throughout the cabin, her lips

mouthing words that he could not understand.

Then, as he collapsed back onto his pillow, she went to her hands and knees, crawling toward

him slowly and seductively. He watched the curves of her body move in rhythm with her steps,

and felt the warmth of her breath as she moved over him. Her lips touched his chest, and her

tongue began swirling over his flesh, working its way down to the tiny drops of semen that lie in

wait. She licked them up, moving her tongue all along his abdomen with the ferocity of a starving

beast. He closed his eyes and let her satiate herself, feeling the unusually odd level of pleasure.

Her breath was hot and the sound of her breathing spurred him on even more. He could feel

her tongue swirl around the tip of his persistent erection, going up and down on it, taking in

every drop of fluid. Then, her tongue went back up his to his chest, to his throat, and then to his

lips. He opened his mouth to take it in, feeling the intense pleasure of her deep kiss, and the feel

of her silky tongue on his.

She pulled away, still hovering over him. As he opened his eyes and saw deep into her soul, he

could see her pain. He could feel it. She was lonely. She was hungry. He felt sympathy and fear at

the same time. He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to feel himself inside of her.

“I need you,” she whispered with that strange accent. “Worship me, Randy.”

She had actually spoken that time. Out loud. She was not speaking mind to mind as she did

the first time. He saw her lips move, felt the warmth of her breath, and heard the sound of her

voice. It was soft and smooth, like the music of angelic spirits in the Garden of Eden. It was pure

and innocent, with a sultry undertone that drew him in and made him want her even more.

“Free me,” she said. “Free me and be mine. I need you. I need your strength and your body.”

“Yes,” Randy stuttered. “Anything.”

She smiled, and her mesmerizing green eyes lit up with delight. He felt drawn to those eyes as

if he could simply jump into them and swim in the ocean of her beauty. He wanted to be with

her. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted her with all of his body and soul. He would be hers.

Forever.

“Gentlemen! You now have thirty minutes to finish your blades.”

Randy’s eyes popped open. He turned his head to the left, seeing that the TV was on, and the

woman was gone. His pants were wet on the inside, and he could feel the growing spots of

moisture on his clothing. He threw off the blanket, laughing at himself when he saw that he was

still hard, and the zipper and snap of his pants were undone.

“Damn,” he whispered.

That was an intense dream. Why had it happened? It was the second erotic dream in as many

nights. The same woman was there. She had touched him this time, as well as herself, and he had

indulged in mutual pleasure with her. It was the most erotic fantasy he had ever had, and it made

him want the woman even more than before. What was it about her? She was just a woman

after all. Though attractive and unearthly, she was still just flesh and blood. There was nothing

ethereal about her, only those green eyes and that pale, milky skin that begged to be caressed.

“Okay,” he said, sitting up. “That’s enough.”

He reached out to grab his glass, pouring himself another three fingers of scotch. He smiled as

he counted the fingers; the three fingers that the woman had used to caress herself.

“Damn it,” he cursed, guzzling the scotch and pouring more.

Now he wanted more than anything to open that door. That goddamn door that was a bane to

his existence. There it was, in the cellar, just waiting to be opened. There, beyond it, was that

woman. She was there, he knew, somehow trapped and isolated but still alive. He could free her.

He could be with her. He could touch her, taste her, and make love to her.

He stood, grabbed the flashlight, and headed for the cellar door.

As he approached it, it slowly opened, inviting him down. He paid it no heed, but threw it

open and carefully headed down the stairs. He flicked on the flashlight, shining it into the dirty

space, seeing the door in all of its glory. He went to it, feeling its surface. It wasn’t cold as it was

before, but warm and inviting.

Randy set the flashlight down on the floor, bracing himself as he grasped the board that held it

shut. With a grunt, he pushed up, freeing it from the iron hooks that held it. He dropped it to the

floor, grasping the door’s lever-type handle, and pulled.

There was a gust of warm and stale air. He stared into the darkness, hearing nothing but the

whisper of wind, and the sound of water slowly dripping somewhere inside. He grabbed the

flashlight and pointed it into the darkness. The room was small, and the far wall was broken. A

large hole was gaping there, leading to what looked like the opening to a natural sandstone

chamber; some cavern that had been broken into in an effort to enter an old cave system. That

was where the sound of dripping water came.

He went inside, seeing that the blocks that had made up the original wall had been broken

and resealed several times. They lay strewn about, just outside the hand dug tunnel. Inside, he

saw, there was nothing; only the feel of a gentle gust of wind that was warm and stale. He went

inside, following the short corridor to the cracked inner wall of the chamber.

It was nothing like in his dream.

The cavern was rough and uneven, surely natural, and the floor was dominated by a large rock

formation that had been chiseled into a makeshift altar. Nearby, to the left of it, there was a

mummified corpse.

Randy jumped in surprise when he saw it. It was withered but still moist as if the years within

the wet cave had kept it that way. He began to notice the smell. Though the corpse was rotten,

there was still a way for it to go before it was completely bone. He saw that it had a beard, gray

and twisted, with a mane of longish hair to match. Its empty sockets stared into nothingness, and

its skeletal grin showed through its withered lips.

In the center of its chest was a large dagger. It jutted from its position, having been thrust

through the man’s heart. Randy breathed deeply to chase away the fear that he felt; the

revulsion at looking at an actual corpse. How long had it been here?

Was this… Malcolm?

The clothes it wore were what one would expect from a farmer or some kind of laborer. He

had been a large man, probably well over six feet tall. The corpse still wore boots, and they were

tattered leather that had cracked and molded over the years. Marge had said Malcolm had just

disappeared. There was no explanation as to where he had gone, leaving Frederik to fend for

himself.

This was the answer, he realized. This was Malcolm. Someone had murdered him, and

probably for good reason. Randy stared at him, unable to look away as he imagined the cruelty

the man must have displayed to be murdered in this cave and sealed away. But why had the

cavern been uncovered again?

Randy shook his head, shining the flashlight toward the back of the chamber. He could see the

shimmering trickle of a tiny rivulet of water flowing toward the right of the chamber. Where it

ran, he could not guess, but the gust of wind came from that direction. There was likely a small

exit somewhere in those cracks and eroded holes. Somewhere that led to the outside.

As he rounded the rock formation, his light caught the dark, metallic surface of some large

box. He approached it cautiously, moving the light along its surface to find its shape. It appeared

to be an iron coffin. That was its general shape, anyway. It was about three feet long, and two

feet wide. It was too small for an adult unless that adult was in a fetal position.

On its surface were many runes, like the ones that he had seen in the tome. But these were

different. They were circles, magic circles. Wards, Melinda had called them. But for what? What

was inside? There was what appeared to be a lock in the center of the box’s lid. The hole was

large, and the lock itself was in the shape of a skull, with the keyhole in its mouth.

“What the fuck?”

He thought about the dagger. Maybe he could pick the lock with it. Surely the corpse it was

stuck in wouldn’t miss it. In fact, it would probably thank him. Malcolm would thank him. He

quickly went back to the corpse, eyeing the dagger. He bent down to get a closer look at it. The

handle was cruciform, like a Templar’s blade, but was shaped like the very crucifix itself, complete

with a little metal Jesus, dying and suffering in agony.

He reached and grasped the handle, looking at the corpse’s face as he did.

“Sorry, buddy,” he whispered. “I need this.”

There was a squishing sound as he twisted and pulled. The dagger came free and pulled out

tendrils of rotting flesh along with it. It glopped to the floor, bringing its vile stench with it. Randy

gagged for a moment, covering his face with the crook of his arm. When he regained his

composure he pulled it free.

The blade was dark iron, tarnished and worn, but still intact. It was obviously not stainless

steel, but something rougher and older. Far older. There were strange runes carved along its

surface. They were different from the others. They looked like Greek letters, rather than Celtic

scrawlings. Why were they there? What did they mean?

Randy shook the thoughts away, returning to the coffin. He stuck the blade in the keyhole,

moving it around like he actually knew what he was doing. He didn’t. It was then he noticed the

remains of a fire nearby. Within a circle of rough stones were the charred remains of…

something. There was nothing but fragments of what looked like bone. And among them, there

was a tooth of some kind.

He grunted in wonder but returned to trying to pick the lock. It was no use. He wasn’t skilled

enough to pick a lock, especially one like this. If only he had…

A key!

He remembered the key in the desk in the main room. He grinned with excitement, stuffing

the dagger in his belt and going back to the door. In his excitement, he tripped over the corpse,

dropping his flashlight and nearly slamming his head into the sandstone wall.

“Fuck!” He cursed loudly.

He turned to pick up the flashlight. There, in his vision, was a ghostly figure. There was a man

there, dark and featureless, but a man shape nonetheless. Randy’s heart jumped from his chest.

He began to back away, but the ghostly figure suddenly reached out. Randy felt the intense cold

of its hand upon his forehead. There was a jolt that sparked throughout his entire body, and he

felt himself falling back.

Before he hit the ground, there was blackness.

He sat chained up to the wall of Grandpa’s woodshed. It was dark except for the pale

moonlight that filtered in through the gaps in the wooden walls. He could hear Grandpa outside,

struggling and groaning with anger as he approached the door. He felt terror at that moment,

knowing that Grandpa was bringing another sacrifice into the shed, and would prepare the

offering on his workbench.

That workbench that had seen so many slaughters that it was stained with the blood of man

and beast alike.

He stuffed himself into the corner near the dresser, wishing he could reach up and find

Grandpa’s gun. But it wasn’t in the dresser. It was somewhere in the house, locked away for

Grandpa’s own protection. Grandpa knew he would use it against him. He knew he wouldn’t think

twice about putting a bullet in his head.

“Open up, boy!” grandpa yelled.

He crawled to the door, sobbing as he struggled with the weight of the chains. He reached up

and pulled the doors open, shuffling to the side as Grandpa dragged another body inside. He

closed the doors, crawling back to his corner to hide his eyes from the horror that was about to

take place.

He could hear the muffled cries and screams of the person in the bag. He began to cry, trying

desperately to hide his tears and his whimpers, lest the old man beat him again. Grandpa cursed

and kicked at the bag, tearing it open and pulling it away from his victim.

It was a young man, he saw. Someone he didn’t know. Someone he would never know. The old

man grabbed him by the hair, pulling him to his knees. He was handcuffed with Grandpa’s old

irons, and his face was a mask of absolute horror. His eyes were wide and pleading, and his

breath was fast and shallow.

Grandpa, kicked him in the face, knocking him back and to the floor. He could feel himself cry

again and sympathize with the poor young man. He knew this was his end. His very horrible end.

The poor man would never see the light of day again.

Grandpa, pulled the unconscious man over to the workbench, hefting him onto it and chaining

him to the iron loops that were bolted into the back wall. He looked up, seeing the lifeless eyes of

the deer skull staring at him with those dark sockets. He was afraid of it. He knew that sometimes

Grandpa would wear it on his head, along with his burlap rags. He was the epitome of horror, like

the old Leshens that Uncle Robert had spoken of.

Leshens.

Grandpa wrapped his thick hands around the young man’s neck and strangled the life out of

him. He struggled only a little, then fell limp with his last breath. Then, Grandpa grabbed his

machete, concealing what he was doing. But he could hear the sickening rip of flesh as the man’s

gut was opened up. The blood ran into a bucket nearby through a small gutter that Grandpa had

screwed onto his workbench. He could hear the drip drip drip of it slowly filling the galvanized

metallic container.

Grandpa reached for his gut hook, tearing the flesh and drawing out the man’s innards. They

glopped onto the floor; food for the dogs later on. He hung the gut hook back on the pegboard,

grabbing his machete once again. He closed his eyes, wishing away the sound of Grandpa

chopping the man into pieces. Pieces he would eat himself. The blood…

Was for her.

“Lots of blood for Mother,” Grandpa said. “She’ll be strong in no time. Strong as an ox, boy!”

He gritted his teeth, knowing that he was right. With a new supply of blood, the monster could

return eventually, strong enough to hunt on her own. Great-grandpa had put her down long ago,

but Grandpa had brought her back. It was all his fault. All of it. From creating her to feeding her

the remains of innocent people.

He had to kill Grandpa. He had to. But he was not strong enough.

Not yet.

But soon, he knew. Soon he would put Grandpa down and bury him in with her. He would keep

her company in their prison forever. He swore it. He would do what it takes to end this curse, to

set his family free. Grandpa had started it, and he, Frederik, would end it.

This he swore.

Chapter Ten

“Jesus!” Randy shouted as he bolted upright.

It was cold again in the cellar. He was there on the floor, halfway in and out of the white door.

What had happened? There was a stranger in his house. Someone had followed him down the

stairs and into the chamber. Or was it something else? He didn’t remember anything.

He felt drained as if he had run a marathon. His feet were sore, and his leg muscles burned.

And his hands… his hands were scratched and covered in blood.

“What the fuck?” he whispered in shock.

He had dreamt again, for the second time that night. It was a horrible dream. It was about

Frederik. But he was Frederik in the dream. He saw Malcolm slaughter an innocent man,

chopping him to pieces. But why? To eat?

Her.

He heard the word in his mind. Frederik had said her. Whom did he mean? The woman? Was

it Celia? And what did it mean that Malcolm had started everything? Why was it his fault?

So many questions.

Randy rubbed his hands on his pants, standing up painfully. His flashlight was there on the

floor, still lit and pointing into the chamber beyond. He grabbed it, fearfully gazing into the

darkness inside. With careful steps he entered, shining the light around the room. The corpse

was still there, unmoving and lifeless.

He shined the light into the back of the chamber, seeing the box was still there, unchanged.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know why. Whatever was in that box was dead, if it was

ever alive to begin with. He would figure it out later, he thought.

Still miffed and terrified he went back out, closing and barring the door once more. Whatever

was in there would stay in there. He was done. He wanted nothing more to do with it all. He

would go back home, leaving the cabin behind. Or maybe he would burn it as Aunt Mary had

suggested.

That was a good idea.

Flicking off his flashlight, Randy ran back upstairs and closed the cellar door, latching the hasp

and leaning against the wall to catch his breath. He turned to lean on the counter, going over the

dream sequence in his head. It was a brutal vision, telling him that Malcolm was not only a

murderer, but some kind of slave to an imaginary demon… or something.

That’s when he noticed that the light to the woodshed was on.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

He realized that he had never locked it back after exploring it the first time. He fumbled for his

keys, seeing the tiny padlock key on the ring. He grabbed his flashlight again and headed outside,

but not before grabbing the shotgun from beside the fireplace. He cocked it, checked the safety,

and then stepped out onto the porch.

It was cold out, and very still. There was no sound other than the gentle breeze, and the

moonlight gave the whole property an unearthly and eerie glow. He stepped off the porch and

quickly made his way to the shed. The door was partially opened, and there were drag marks in

the rocks.

“Oh, Jesus,” he whispered, remembering how Malcolm had dragged a man inside to slaughter

him.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, reluctantly pushing the door the rest of the way open.

As he stepped inside, he opened his eyes. There, on the far workbench, was a body. He dropped

the shotgun, covering his mouth with revulsion. Where had this body come from? Who was it?

Beside the workbench was the bucket. As he approached it, he saw that it was filled with

blood. Whatever blood had been on the workbench was gone, but the stains remained. The body

was gutted and naked. It was a man, or what was left of a man. Randy felt the bile rise from his

stomach, and the taste of metal filled his mouth.

He leaned over and puked on the floor. But it was not vomit. There, on the floor and dripping

from his chin, was blood—lots of it. Randy’s heart jumped, and he turned around to finish

vomiting. There was more blood, and then after his gut finished wrenching, some actual vomit.

He leaned over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath between heaves.

What had happened? He was vomiting blood, but why? Had he drank this man’s blood? Had

he eaten his flesh? The thought made him wretch more and he dry heaved for several minutes as

the terror built up within him. He had killed a man. A young one in his prime. Just the sight of the

man’s lifeless eyes brought him a sense of doom. All he could think of was sitting in prison, or

being strapped to an electric chair, shocked lifeless as Melinda watched in disgust.

“Oh my god,” he whimpered.

He had to get out. Now.

Picking up the shotgun, he stumbled to the door. He turned and grabbed both of the heavy

wooden slabs, and began to pull them closed, but stopped. He looked above the workbench

where the deer skull had been before.

It was gone.

The pile of burlap was gone as well.

“What the fuck!?”

He slammed the doors shut, snapping the padlock into place, and then backed away slowly as

his head began to swim. Something was happening to him. He was going nuts. That was it. Not

just nuts, fucking nuts. Totally fucking slap ya’ momma nuts.

Too horrified to cry or scream, he turned and headed back to the house. He slammed the

door behind him, locking it and gathering an armful of wood for the fireplace. He had no idea

why, but he was freezing. He would start a fire and curl up on the couch, wrapping the blanket

around him to hide from the world. He would never answer his phone again.

He piled the wood into the fireplace, crumbling up some scraps of paper from the nearby

dining room table, and lit it up. He squatted there for a moment, right where the strange woman

was, watching as the flames spread from the paper to the logs. He held his hands up near the

flames, warming them as his teeth chattered and his heart pounded.

He would just go, he decided. He would go and never look back. Screw the body in his shed.

Screw the mummy in the cellar. And screw the woman, wherever she was. She was probably in

the fucking box.

“Goddamn it,” he growled. “What the fuck is happening?”

Now that the fire was going, he regretted starting it. He should have just left. That would have

been the smart thing to do. He could just leave the fire burning, he supposed. What difference

would it make? He could just grab his shit and go. He could go and forget everything. But

eventually, he knew, the body would be discovered. Someone would file a missing persons report

and the entire county would be on alert.

He would be the first suspect.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” He shouted. “Fuck it!”

Prison or not, he wasn’t about to stay here. He would forget Melinda. She never existed as far

as he was concerned. She was better off without him anyway. He would just get her killed, or

imprisoned. Or worse, she would hate him. She would think he was a murderer, a foul killer with

bodies in his cellar. She would never love him. And rightly so, he thought. He was a murderer

whether he had killed that person or not.

“She’s better off,” he muttered.

He tossed the poker into the fire, snatching up his laptop and everything else on the coffee

table. Screw the TV, the microwave, and all of his clothes. They could burn for all he cared. They

didn’t matter. What mattered was getting the hell out of this shithole and somewhere he could

die in peace. That’s it. He could drive away and put a bullet in his head. Hell, he had two guns

now.

He went out the door, fishing for his keys. He got in his car and started it up. Without looking

back, he turned the car around and headed down the driveway. He would drive as fast as he

could and get the hell out of dodge. He would take 252 up to Martinsville and then on to Indy.

Really fast.

He pulled onto the route, taking a screeching right and speeding past the dollar store. He

barely stopped at the stop sign before going left and flooring it. It was then he realized his hands

were bloody and scratched up. He suddenly felt dizzy, but not from the sight of the blood. The

feeling increased the faster he drove and the further away from the house he got. By the time he

reached Morgantown, he could go no farther.

He pulled into the abandoned parking lot of the local shit grocery store, laying his head down

on the steering wheel. His mind began to slow down, and the dizziness faded. But it was still

there. He decided to just push through it. He pulled back, making a loop in the parking lot. As he

faced the direction of Bean Blossom, his dizziness went away. He could breathe now, and his

head was clear. But there was still a nagging feeling in his soul.

He couldn’t leave, he realized.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He pulled forward, feeling almost ecstatic as he went in that direction. The closer he got to

home, the less shitty he felt.

“No,” he cried, realizing that something was keeping him from leaving.

He had opened the door. He had answered the woman’s summons. He had let loose some

kind of evil. It was his fault, and there was no running away. He felt doomed, hopeless. There was

nothing he could do.

He pulled out of the parking lot and headed back home. As he drove, the bad sensations all

over him went away and he began to feel like himself again. Even the horror and the guilt were

gone, replaced by some odd feeling he didn’t recognize. His fate had been determined for him.

There were only two choices; kill himself or end the evil he had awakened.

Neither of those prospects were at all acceptable.

When he arrived home, Randy quickly went to work on disposing of the body. Resigned to his

fate, he realized that the only thing he could do was burn it. The chamber in the cellar had a fire

pit where, quite obviously, other bodies had been burned. It was his only option.

He wrapped the grotesque corpse in a plastic sheet, hefting it over his shoulder, trying

desperately not to vomit. The man was heavy, young and muscular, likely taller than Randy. But,

with some effort and a near heart attack, he managed to carry it to the front door, where he

began to drag it to its fate.

The chamber was unchanged. The corpse was still there, the coffin was still there, and the pile

of charred logs and fragments of bone as well. Though he wondered how anything had been

burned down here without filling the entire cabin with smoke, he did feel that same draft as

before. Perhaps the smoke had been able to escape those other times.

He grabbed a can of lighter fluid from the shed and returned squirting it over the charred logs

and carefully reached down with his lighter to ignite it. The flames shot up instantly and as the

smoke began to form, he saw that it rose upwards toward a crack in the rock. It likely vented

outside somewhere, forming some kind of natural chimney.

Lucky him.

Randy unwrapped the body, trying hard to avert his gaze. With a grunt, he hefted the man

onto the growing flames, grabbing more wood scraps from around the fire ring. The corpse

began to smoke and sizzle. It reminded him of grilled pork with a little bit of burnt cloth thrown

in. It disgusted him to think of the smell that way. This was a living human being in his prime,

murdered by some unknown force.

Or perhaps he had done it.

In the vision he had seen after being waylaid by whatever that dark shadow was, “Grandpa”

had murdered a man as well. He had choked him to death and chopped him apart while he

watched--or while Frederik watched. He wondered why he had seen that vision anyway. He was

watching through Frederik's eyes, it seemed. Not a third-person observer; from the boy’s point of

view.

Why? And how?

As Randy gazed over to the metal coffin, his mind went to that key in the desk. He was going

to retrieve it when the dark shape had appeared. Perhaps it was best not to bother with it. It was

already bad enough that he had awakened something dark, but to open what could be a

Pandora’s Box of endless Hell was even worse.

Though he knew it wasn’t a good idea to leave a fire burning in the cellar, he couldn’t handle

the smell or the sight anymore. He backed out, making sure the door was closed tightly and the

bar was replaced. As he bent to pick up the board, he noticed that the side that had been facing

the door itself was engraved with more of the strange circles. Again, wards. That was the word

Melinda had used.

Perhaps he would do some research on them with the books Frederik had ordered. He barred

the door and went upstairs again. The books were piled where they were before, right by his

phone. He realized he had forgotten it in his rush to escape. There were three phone calls from

Melinda and one text.

Sorry to call so many times, but I need to talk to you again. Call me ASAP.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He noticed that it was 6:13 am. The sun would soon peek over the horizon and make the

smoke visible. But perhaps no one would notice or care. This was a rural area, after all. He could

always tell anyone who asked that he was simply smoking some pork. People did that, right?

“Sure they do,” Randy grinned. “Every fucking day.”

He went back out to the shed where the half-full bucket of blood still sat on the floor. He

remembered how Frederik referenced the blood being for “her”, whoever that was. He was still

confused by the vision. Was he remembering something that had never happened to him, or was

he just seeing something he did from someone else’s point of view?

Even more confusing still was the fact that he wasn’t panicking. He had found a dead man on

his workbench, gutted and drained of blood, with no explanation of how he had got there. There

was a chance that he had killed the man himself and just didn’t remember. Perhaps he was still in

shock, and it would hit him later.

Either way, he had to get rid of the blood.

He picked up the bucket and carefully carried it outside, stopping to close up the woodshed.

Though he didn’t want to, he looked up again at the space where the deer skull had been. It was

still gone. He hadn’t imagined it. Someone had taken it for some reason along with the pile of

burlap rags. He couldn’t imagine how heavy it was, not to mention bulky. It wasn’t your everyday

deer with a head small enough to fit in your hands. This one had been a giant. Maybe an elk or

something.

He had no idea.

Putting those thoughts aside, he took the bucket back inside. He would dump it in the

chamber in the cellar where it would likely get washed away by the moisture or absorbed into

the dirt and rock. Surely that was the best solution other than dumping it down the drain.

He went down, setting the bucket on the floor to open the white door. The cold gust of air

came as expected, and he carried the blood inside. The chamber was blessedly free of smoke,

mostly, and there was only a slight smell—again, roast pork. The fire was smoldering, and the

bulk of the body was still there, though burnt to a crisp and mostly bone. He would have to throw

more wood on the fire and stoke it up to burn the bones.

He shined his flashlight around, finding the small stream of rainwater that flowed through the

cave. He wasn’t sure where it went but didn’t remember seeing any outflows anywhere. It likely

ran into one of the ditches outside and down into the roadside drainage. But, he reasoned, by

the time it got there it would be diluted and unrecognizable.

“That’ll work,” he said to himself as he headed toward the stream.

But his foot caught a knob of sandstone, and he went flying forward, the bucket splashing its

contents onto the metal box. He landed hard against a large outcropping and the bucket went

flying out of his hands.

“Fucking shit!” He cried out.

He rolled over and stood up, his left knee throbbing with intense pain. His pants had been

ripped, and a huge gash was there underneath. It hurt like hell, and he had to crouch down as his

head filled with proverbial helium. Though his vision was blurred and he saw spots before his

eyes, he saw that the blood had pooled around the casket, and what had splashed on its surface

was now gone.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, hoping it had just run onto the floor.

Surely it was just a box, nothing more. It shouldn’t matter if the blood was splashed on it. If he

or whoever had killed the man outside wanted to feed the blood to her, then they would have to

open the fucking thing. That’s why the bucket had been left outside, he thought. The key was the

only thing that could open it, and it was in the drawer out in the main room.

Or was it?

He quickly went out to the desk, pulling open the drawer. The key was there, thankfully,

undisturbed. He thought of sticking it in his pocket but thought better of it. If the event that

happened before was repeated, the key would be easily found in his pocket. That made sense.

He gave up, heading upstairs to gather more wood from the rack by the fireplace. The sun was

coming up now, and he looked out the window to see if the area was filled with smoke.

Thankfully, there was nothing. He shrugged, grabbed an armful of wood, and headed back

downstairs.

With more fuel and another generous squirt of lighter fluid, the remains of the unknown man

went up in flames once again. Soon, there would be nothing left; no evidence at all except for the

blood that was splashed on the floor. He grabbed the empty, blood-stained bucket and washed it

out in the tiny stream, watching as the blood dispersed and disappeared into the depths of…

wherever.

He filled it up with water, dumping it slowly over the puddle around the casket, sighing with

relief as it absorbed into the dirt. Now all of the evidence was gone as far as he knew. He could

relax a little, and likely start freaking out once the shock went away. He didn’t enjoy that

prospect, but it was good that he hadn’t panicked—although he had at first.

He laughed at himself for running away, realizing how stupid an idea that was. Even if he had

managed to make it back home, leaving the house abandoned, the authorities knew that he now

owned it. They would have found the corpse in the woodshed, the bucket of blood, and the iron

dagger sitting on his coffee table.

For once, he was glad that he was as robotic as always. Level-headed, uncaring, and

emotionless. Indifferent to everything but that beautiful woman he had met at the library.

Chapter Eleven

It was 8:30 am by the time Randy had scrubbed down the workbench, showered, and threw his

clothes in the tub to soak. He sat down on the couch, grabbing the bottle of scotch to have a

drink to calm his nerves. It was the best glass of scotch he had ever tasted. The warmth it gave

his gut was comforting and relaxing, and he was able to breathe easier knowing that most of the

evidence was gone.

Besides, why would anyone ever suspect anything?

That reminded him. He picked up his phone, thinking of what he would say to Melinda. It was

clear she wanted to meet again soon but now wasn’t exactly the best time. He did need answers

though, and should think of something to text her to let her know that he wasn’t up to meeting

at the moment.

He typed out his response, but with shaking hands. Sweat was also beginning to bead on his

face.

“We should meet later on. Didn’t sleep well. I’ll call you later.”

There, he thought. No details, just a basic fuck you see you later. But in a nice way.

It wasn’t long before he got a response. Of course, she was awake. She was a librarian. It was

Sunday. She was probably at work.

I’m sorry to hear that. I wanted to give you the printouts of the letters and talk about the other

papers. I’m starting to worry. Do you believe in supernatural things?

“I’m starting to. I’m curious about the letters. How are you?”

I’m good, just freaking out a little. I get off at five if you want to call me then. Meantime I can

email you the letters. Pretty disturbing.

Well, that didn’t sound good. But maybe what she knew would help the situation. He

wondered if he could trust her enough to show her some of the things he had found—not the

body. He would keep the cave to himself, and the sexy dream woman.

“That sounds good. I’ll rest for a while and check them out. I’ll call you as soon as I wake up.”

OK. Sounds good. Take care and I’ll talk to you later.

“TTYL” He hated that acronym shit, but she knew what he meant.

After setting down his phone, Randy’s mind wandered to the dagger that sat nearby. He

picked it up and looked it over. He wondered what use a dagger made of iron would be. Iron was

hard, for sure, but not very suitable for making a blade. It wouldn’t hold an edge for shit. He

learned that from his favorite show. Maybe there was something else to it. He set it down and

opened his laptop. Perhaps he would look it up.

Use of iron in paranormal, he typed into the search box with some difficulty.

An info box appeared on the right side of the screen along with various website results. It

caught his eye, as he had not expected anything specific.

Iron is known to have properties related to the subduing of supernatural entities. For example,

iron chains were once believed to restrain restless spirits, demons, and other malevolent and

benevolent beings. The Greek God Prometheus is said to have been restrained with iron shackles

as punishment for giving fire to mankind.

Many holy weapons from ancient times to modern have been forged of iron, as it was thought

to be the only material that could kill mythological creatures such as demons, fairies, banshees,

and other creatures of legend. Pictish legends say that only iron weapons could kill the Sidhe (or

Sith, prn. SHEE) or dryads. Succubi are also affected by iron, as well as their male counterparts,

incubi. Iron nails driven into a witch’s footprints can render her powerless, and legends state that

this is why brooms were often used for transportation, though this thought may vary from culture

to culture.

“Interesting,” Randy said.

A dagger was definitely a weapon, and since it wasn’t very decorative, it was likely forged for

this reason. It had been stuck into a corpse, he remembered, and said corpse was locked behind

a door with iron brackets. He had removed it, and as soon as he had, the shit hit the fan.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, looking over at the dagger.

He thought perhaps he could put it back where he had found it, but whatever it was subduing

was already loose. It wouldn’t do much good to stick it back into the corpse. And what about the

casket or coffin? It looked like iron, he realized, and that made his heart begin to race. Something

was locked away in that box, and he had splashed blood on it.

The blood was for her, he remembered himself thinking when he was seeing through

Frederik’s eyes. Malcolm ate the flesh and gave the blood to her. Panic started setting in. Was he

referring to the woman in his dreams? Why would she need blood? She was a strange woman,

indeed, but one who drank blood? No. She couldn’t be.

She had only asked that he worship her and that she needed him.

For what? For sex? Or did she need... blood?

Holy fuck, he thought.

There was a notification on his laptop indicating he had a new email message.

“Transcriptions of letters,” said the subject line.

Randy, I transcribed the letters into plain English to make them easier to understand. It looks

bad, and kind of scary. Whatever came of this conversation between Lachlan and a local priest

must be why your family came to the USA in the first place. And it appears they were writing back

and forth on the same papers.

“Okay,” Randy said, reading on.

Dear Fr. Wallace,

I am writing to you to ask for your help in an urgent matter. It seems Duna has succumbed to

some kind of illness that I cannot explain. I’m afraid she’s become bewitched and I ask for your

presence at our home. I fear she is in need of an exorcism. Please respond or arrive at the farm at

your earliest convenience.

Lachlan MacCinneach

An exorcism? Randy gasped audibly. What the fuck? He read on.

Dear Mr. MacCinneach,

I am sorry to hear your wife is ill. Such things are a bad omen. But, as you can well imagine,

the Church will not sanction such a ritual in this day and age. Particularly for a woman who

practices witchcraft. Though I am sympathetic, I am unable to help you in this matter. Please

accept my dearest apologies and condolences.

Sincerely,

Father Gabriel Wallace

Dear Fr. Wallace,

You know as well as I do that Duna is a good woman from a good family. She is not a witch as

the Church would believe. She is an herbalist who practices medicine like our ancestors did. She

has helped many people in the village, their lads and lasses included, and has never done

anything to harm a soul. I beg of you to please help her. I pray to the Lord every morning that he

will strike this witchery from her.

Lachlan MacCinneach

So she wasn’t a witch, just a healer who used herbs. That was not uncommon nowadays;

there was one here in Brown County. Why had the priest refused?

Dearest Lachlan,

I must once again turn down the request for an exorcism. This ritual is used for demonic

possession, nothing more. I am sure Duna, a fine woman she is, is simply ill. I will pray for her

myself and with the congregation. Please attend church on Sunday, and we will pray together. I

am sorry, Lachlan, my hands are tied. Going against the church’s wishes could lead to

excommunication. I have nothing else but the Lord Himself, and I do not wish to burn in hell.

Sincerely,

Father Gabriel Wallace

“Well,” Randy said, mocking the priest’s intentions. “Fuck you, Lachlan.”

That was pretty much what he had gathered. Even though Father Wallace knew that Duna was

a fine woman, he refused to help her out of fear of excommunication. Did he not understand? Or

was he simply a skeptic? Though Randy didn’t believe in demons, the fact that he had pulled an

iron dagger out of the heart of a mummified corpse definitely had a convincing effect.

Fr. Wallace,

I must respectfully request to meet you soon as I want to give you more details of the situation.

This is truly a demonic possession. There is no other explanation. I fear my son, Malcolm, has

brought this curse upon us. I confess that he has done witchery against his mother’s wishes.

Though he is not possessed himself, I fear that he has brought a demon into the world and it has

taken my wife. She has been sleeping during the daylight hours and disappears at night with no

explanation of where she’s been. She has also grown fonder of Malcolm, which is not the way it

ever was. She has always feared his potential for evil, and now I can say that he has fulfilled that

fear.

Lachlan

Randy sat back, breathing slowly as he contemplated those final words. The grandpa that

Frederik mentioned would be Malcolm, according to the family tree. The same Malcolm that

Aunt Mary had called a bad man. The man he, and Frederik, had witnessed murder a man in cold

blood and chop him to pieces. Likely also the same man who was mummified in the cellar with a

dagger in his heart. An iron cruciform dagger.

Lachlan,

That may change things, but not the exorcism. If the church were to get wind of this situation,

your entire family would be in danger. On Easter Sunday, meet me at the cellar doors of the

church before I give my service. Though I can’t help you directly, I may be able to provide you with

the materials to get rid of this scourge yourself. I will have them sent to your forge. God be with

you.

Father Wallace

That was the last letter. The correspondence had ended there unless Melinda had more to

transcribe. Despite there not being much to go on, the letters told Randy that a demon had been

involved. Or, at least, those folks back then thought it was a demon. He knew right away that one

of the tools the priest had mentioned would be this dagger. It looked like something used in an

old and outdated religious ritual. It was probably a priceless church artifact, forged hundreds of

years ago for the simple purpose of stabbing someone through the heart.

That would explain why it didn’t have an edge.

Still, though, could this truly be one of those tools? And what about the box? He hadn’t

noticed any modern religious symbols on it. But then, what church routinely locked witches in

boxes? They were usually burned or drowned, from what Randy remembered. Whether that was

true or not, he didn’t know. It was all likely old wives’ tales.

Fascinated by the whole story, he went over the letters again, wondering about Malcolm’s part

in everything. Melinda had said Lachlan and his two sons had come to the US in the late 1800s,

and from the family tree, Randy guessed Malcolm would have to have still been fairly young. No

more than twelve or so. How does a twelve-year-old accidentally summon a demon?

And if the box and dagger were part of these tools Father Wallace had spoken of, did that

mean Lachlan had been forced to kill his own wife? Did he kill her and bring her body here to

Brown County, Indiana? If so, why? Why not just bury her in Scotland and leave her there?

Then, a thought occurred to him. If this Duna—his great-great-grandmother—was a witch or

possessed by demons, would she be able to communicate with others nearby if she were dead

and sealed in a metal casket? Was it Duna that he was dreaming of? Was he having erotic dreams

of his own ancestor?

“Oh my... fuck,” he said, rubbing his head.

It couldn’t be her, he reasoned. If she died in the 1800s, then why was her body completely

hairless? Women didn’t do such things in the 19th century, did they? It was likely even Lachlan

didn’t shave his face very often, given the tools available. Why would a woman shave her pubic

hair with those same tools? Legs, maybe. Groin, no. The thought of using a crude blade to shave

his balls made him shiver.

Cha-Ching!

“Goddamn phone,” he cursed after about shitting his pants.

It was a text from Melinda.

Did you get the email?

“Got it,” he replied. “Really weird. I’m not sure I believe any of this paranormal stuff, but it

makes for a good story.”

Well, get on that. I bet you’d be a great writer. You sure look the part.

Randy chuckled nervously, the shaking in his hands somewhat subsided but still there.

“Thanks? Anyway, I’m laying down for a while. Got to try out the bed.”

You haven’t slept in your own bed?

“Nope,” he typed with a grin. “Been crashing on the couch. Still nervous and wary of the

strange place. I’ll get over it.”

Haha. Call me when you’re awake and ready to meet. Any time is fine. I just want to make sure

you’re ready for this. I’m off tomorrow, so we’ll have plenty of time to go over these journal pages.

“Gotcha. TTYL.”

Jesus Christ, he did it again.

Randy nervously climbed the stairs to the loft, carefully testing each step before putting his

weight on it. When he reached the top, he was relieved to see that the room was in good order.

There was a double bed, stripped but clean, a large dresser, a linen closet with room to hang

clothes, and another desk.

There was a stack of boxes in the corner across from the stairs that he would have to explore

later. For now, though, he would make the bed and lay down for a few hours before calling

Melinda.

He picked out a set of decent sheets and put the bed together. The pillowcases didn’t match,

nor did the blanket that was folded on top of the dresser, but the bed was cozy and warm. He

climbed in, pulling the blanket over him and laying back on the fluffy pillow. The house was quiet,

a little too quiet, but he felt relaxed. The events of the last twenty-four hours seemed to melt

away as the bed enveloped him in its comfort.

There was a creak on the stairs.

His eyes popped open immediately, and he turned his head to look. There was nothing there,

but he could feel the presence of someone nearby. At least he thought he could. He lay still and

quiet for a moment, his heart beginning to race as he pictured the corpse climbing the stairs,

angry and hungry.

Suddenly, he felt paralyzed. Though he could feel the covers over him, and the slight draft

from below, he couldn’t move. His body began to tingle as if someone was reaching out to touch

him, though he could see no one. Then, at the foot of the bed, there was another creaking

sound. He swallowed, terrified.

He saw and felt the mattress compact as if someone had sat down there. His breathing

quickened along with his heart as the end of the cover lifted slightly. A large lump appeared

underneath it, slowly making its way toward him. He could feel the warm touch of someone

beneath the blanket, and the tickling sensation of hair being drawn across his skin.

Still, he couldn’t move.

The shape stopped at his waist, and he felt hands grasp his waistband, slowly tugging his pants

down. A warm hand caressed his upper thighs and groin, and he felt lips gently pulling on his hair.

He began to grow hard as a warm wet tongue swirled around his navel and down to his inner

thighs. A hand grasped his hardness, pulling it up to a warm and soft tongue that licked him up

and down. He felt wet lips surround the tip, drawing him inside with a slow and seductive up and

down motion.

Though terrified, he closed his eyes, trying to put the situation out of his mind. But as the

pressure built inside him, he instinctively reached down under the covers and grasped the

feminine shape by the back of the neck, pushing himself into her. She quickened her pace,

running her hand up his abdomen and massaging his chest. Before long, he felt the growing

quivers of a climax pulsate through his body. With a gasp, he erupted, moaning with the

sensation.

The woman continued her motion until his climax was over, slowing down and cleaning up the

fluid he had spilled with her warm and soft tongue. Then, as he slowly went limp, the shape

seemed to collapse beneath the covers until he was left alone once again.

Randy lay there, breathless and drained, his eyes closed. He began to regain some function

and reached down to pull his pants back up, confused and bewildered. What had just happened?

He wasn’t dreaming, he knew. Had he just gotten a blow job from a ghost? Or was there

something even more sinister going on? Whatever it was, he knew it was the same woman. Her

hair felt the same as it had before when she had cleaned him off on the couch.

Even the feeling of her lips and tongue were the same.

“What the fuck?” He asked out loud.

Chapter Twelve

Having felt drained, both physically and mentally, Randy slept for a full eight hours. It was now 4

pm, according to his cell phone, and his head was still swimming with guilt and revulsion. It was

beginning to hit him that he had possibly killed someone, and the thought of doing so, and

spending a lot of time in prison, filled him with an overwhelming sense of dread.

He could only stare out of the side window at the woodshed, his whole body trembling as he

pictured the dead man on the workbench. He wondered who the man was. Was he a local? A

tourist? Someone just passing through?

And then there was the fact that an invisible woman had given him a blow job.

He had only dreamt of her before. They had been interesting dreams, for sure, albeit highly

erotic. They had also become disturbing as he realized the woman could possibly be his own

ancestor. What a sickening thought. Still, she was desirable to a fault, and he couldn’t put her out

of his mind.

That’s it, he thought. I’m out of my mind.

He was not looking forward to meeting with Melinda, feeling the way he did. Not that he

didn’t want to see her, or get some answers, he just didn’t want to go out in public. He would be

paranoid; would think everyone was staring at him thinking he had something to do with the

missing man. But, the man had only been missing for less than a day, as far as he knew.

But what was most disturbing was the fact that the large skull and burlap scraps were missing.

Not only was there a body on his workbench when he went inside, but the frightening skull

was gone. Why? Why would anyone take it? The antlers were large, so it would be an

inconvenient thing to lug away. One would have to have a car nearby, and he hadn’t seen any

other tire tracks. What would be the purpose anyway? Surely whoever stole it wouldn’t hang it in

their own house. A few people in town must have seen it at least once, and it was pretty unique

in its size and shape.

But, Randy gave up. He sat down and poured himself another glass of scotch. Luckily he had

had the presence of mind to buy a gallon-sized bottle. That was a big one. But it was heavy, and

not cheap. He enjoyed it though, and now felt a little bit of relief as he downed the three fingers

he had poured.

Melinda would be off soon, though, so he would have to keep it under control. If he drank too

much, he would be unable to drive, or she would think he was a lush. He didn’t want either of

those things, but it was just so good. He poured another glass and downed it quickly before

heading to the shower.

After drying himself off, Randy stood in front of the mirror staring at his face. His eyes

appeared to be slightly sunken with dark circles, likely from the lack of real sleep, but also likely

from the trauma. He hadn’t shaved for several days, and the stubble was thick and scruffy. He

decided to shave, not wanting to look like a homeless person or crackhead when he saw Melinda.

As he shaved, he thought of her. Even imagining her face made him feel more at peace. She

just had that effect on him; and probably other people as well. She was pure of heart,

intellectual, and just an overall kind person who really seemed to care about her role at the

library. She was a wonderful person, and he was glad he had met her, but the recent events

would prove to be a major obstacle in any future he would have on his own, much less with a

woman like Melinda.

He sighed as he tapped his razor clean in the sink. As he looked at himself again, noticing that

his look had improved greatly, there was a knock on the door. He felt the paranoia return

immediately, and his hands began shaking again. He took a few breaths in the mirror and went

out to the living room.

There was a Sheriff’s Department SUV outside.

“Oh, fuck,” he growled, his heart now pounding like crazy.

He took a large swig from the bottle of scotch as the knocking continued. Then, after

composing himself as best he could, he opened the door. It was the deputy from the dollar store.

“Hey, off... deputy,” he smiled nervously.

“Ah,” the deputy grinned, giving him a point with his finger. “You got it.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you’ve seen any hunters around today.”

Randy shook his head. “No. I’ve been inside most of the day. Not feeling well.”

The deputy nodded, putting his hands on his belt.

“Okay,” he said. “Mark Benson, a local, went missing last night. His cell phone was pinged and

found in the woods nearby. He was out hunting before dusk last night and never came home. His

wife is worried sick. I have a photo.”

He produced a printout of a family photo, unfolding it as he held it up. Randy’s heart slowed

down with relief as he saw that it wasn’t the same man.

“Doesn’t look familiar,” Randy said, shaking his head.

“Not surprising,” the deputy said. “You’re new. I get it. I was just curious because his phone

was found so close by. Kinda strange, don’t you think?”

“Was it on my property?”

“No,” the deputy said. “A few parcels over. Private property, but unoccupied.”

Randy nodded. “Well, if I see him or hear anything I’ll let you know.”

“Good. Anyway, I was also looking into an abandoned car found in the parking lot at the dollar

store. It was registered to someone in Danville, Illinois. Not your problem though. Just thought I’d

stop by and check for the owner’s sake, wherever he is.”

“Do you have a picture?” Randy asked.

“No,” the deputy replied. “But his license says he was around six foot, a buck sixty, maybe,

around thirty one.”

Randy shrugged nervously. That matched the basic description of the dead man.

“Okay then,” the deputy said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “If you see or hear anything, give

me a call or shoot me a text.” He handed Randy the card. “I also wanted apologize for the other

day if I seemed a little hostile. We don’t normally treat outsiders like jerks. I was just irritated with

that kid I was talking to.”

“Who was it?”

The deputy smiled humorously. “It’s the police chief’s son, Ben. He’s a rotten little fucker and

he irritates the shit out of me.”

Randy laughed, effectively covering up his absolute terror. “Fucking kids, right?”

“Right. What’s your name?”

Randy stuck out his hand. “Randy. Randy Green.”

“Joe,” the deputy said. “Just like it says on the card. Joseph Woodrow Wilson. My friends call

me Woody. Man, your hand is sweaty.”

Randy pulled back his hand. “I just got out of the shower,” he said, grinning uncomfortably.

“Dry off next time,” Joe grinned. “Have a good one. And if you get a chance, check out the

country restaurant down the highway there. Good food if you like good old-fashioned American

cuisine.”

“I will, thanks.”

The deputy nodded and turned around to step off the porch. Randy watched him get into his

SUV, start it up, and then close the door. He leaned against it, breathing slowly as he tried to slow

down his racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

That was a close one.

It was time to call Melinda. Randy sat down on the couch, wondering what to say. He had

been drinking since he woke up, and would likely not be able to drive. A DUI on his record could

cost him his job, and small towns are notorious for being strict about drinking and driving

nowadays. Gone were the times when the local deputies would just tell you to go home and

would follow you there.

This wasn’t Mayberry. Or was it Maybury?

He decided to shoot Melinda a text first to make sure she was off work. He didn’t want to

disturb her with a phone call in case she was behind.

“You off yet?” He typed out.

It was only a minute or so until he responded.

Just finishing up. Do you want to meet somewhere?

“Honestly,” he replied. “This is all a little stressful. I’ve been drinking today and I hear drinking

and driving is frowned upon.”

LOL. You heard correctly. That’s fine. I know where the cabin is. I can stop by. I feel like having a

few drinks, too. We’ll definitely need them after looking over all of this.

That didn’t sound good. “That’s up to you. I don’t want to pressure you into going somewhere

you’re not comfortable. We’ve only met twice, after all.”

That’s okay. I’m a pretty good judge of character. Besides, I’ve been wanting to see the cabin.

I’d like to put a place with the face. Frederik’s, I mean.

He remembered reading Frederik’s entry about not wanting to get to know Melinda, as “he”

would want her. Randy wasn’t sure what that meant, but seeing as Malcolm’s corpse was in his

cellar, and something related to him had been released, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. But,

he was too curious to put off the meeting.

“Okay, then,” he responded. “Do you like scotch?”

Does anyone really like scotch? Not me. I do like white wine though. Shall I bring some?

“I have a fresh bottle I bought recently. Red, too. Chablis okay?”

Yes!!! My favorite. I hope you don’t mind but I made some scans of the journal entries. I didn’t

want to damage the originals.

“That’s fine. Good thinking.”

Great. I have everything with me. I’ll be around in about a half hour.

“Okay. TTYL.”

Damn it. Same shit.

He tossed the phone on the coffee table and went to the kitchen cabinet. The bottle of

Chablis was there with the Merlot. He realized he didn’t have a corkscrew.

“Shit,” he said.

He would have to let her know that he wasn’t prepared.

“I just realized I don’t have a corkscrew,” he texted her.

That’s okay. I’ll drop by the dollar store on my way.

“Sounds good. Sorry.”

No problem.

“Well,” he shook his head, laughing at himself. “That was… pathetic.”

Deciding that he would show Melinda Frederik’s notebook, Randy sat down to go over it a

little more before she arrived. As before, most of the text he saw as he flipped through it was

either too sloppy to read or had been damaged by moisture or mildew. But one passage toward

the middle of the book caught his eye.

I keep seeing her in my dreams. They’re disturbingly real and I don’t know how to keep them

away. They got worse once the right bracket on the door fell off. Much worse, and more real. So

real, in fact, that I had one while I was awake. She came to me while I was lying in my bed. That

seems to be the strongest part of the house; where the dreams are more real. But I do think the

absence of the wards had something to do with it.

Later that day, I went to check on things and saw that the bracket had become loose and my

wards were on the floor. The board had fallen off so they weren’t there to keep her inside. She’s

not here physically, but without the wards, her psychic presence can do things in the real world. I

must remember that.

If I could only figure out how to get rid of her for good. Why did great-grandfather bring her

here? He should have left her in Scotland. But I guess I can understand why. She was his beloved

wife, and despite the evil that had consumed her, he still loved her. Grandfather loved her, too, it

seemed. He not only couldn’t figure out to destroy her, but he didn’t want to. He wanted her to

return, but he couldn’t feed her fast enough. She was too hungry, and it was too risky.

Fortunately, I never succumbed to that kind of urge. I want her gone.

I just want to be free. There is no one I can think of to help. I can’t trust anyone. Not the police,

not the clergy. Neither of those ideas is an option. The clergy would just laugh and call me crazy.

No such thing as monsters, they’d say. And they’d be right. Not in this day and age. All of the

monsters are human. Thankfully, the monster that was my grandfather is gone. I made sure of

that.

But through all of this, I am helpless to continue. My heart is getting weaker. She is draining

me, I just know it. Soon, I will be dead and someone will find her. They will free her or demolish

the house, making sure that she is protected forever. Then, one day, someone will find her again,

and she will continue her haunting. I need to find someone to take over for me. Someone who will

know what to do. I should start leaving clues around for them to learn all about what she is. For

now, this journal will be kept secret. When I know the end is near, I will burn it like I did the others.

I should burn her tome, too. I don’t want this happening again.

That’s how Malcolm caused all of this. That’s how she died, and that’s how she came back.

Demon is what Great-grandfather had called her. A demon that was once his wife. Now a

monster. Unkillable. Immortal and evil. A temptress.

I will write more later. It’s the only way to keep my sanity. But I fear if anyone find this it will

have the opposite effect.

Randy flipped a few more pages in, finding nothing readable in the rest of the notebook. He

began to have second thoughts about showing it to Melinda. What would she think of him? This

whole situation. As far as Randy knew, it was just an interesting story to her; one that may be

disturbing, but a story nonetheless. Would she take it seriously? Could she help?

“Nooooo,” Randy thought out loud.

Even if she could do something to help, that would likely put her in danger. Frederik had

already mentioned her, keeping her out of it. Probably for good reason. Malcolm would want her.

But for what? The disappearances, other than Celia, had all been men. But maybe Celia’s

disappearance was what Frederik was referring to. Perhaps Malcolm had taken her, too, but for

himself.

Randy tossed the notebook onto the coffee table. The sun was beginning to dip below the

horizon outside, and the dark bluish glow of dusk was setting in. It was a good atmosphere for

wine and maybe a junk food dinner. He should have bought some actual food, he thought. He

was a pretty decent cook, and Melinda deserved a nice dinner—not pizza or anything else frozen.

She was classy to a certain degree, but would probably appreciate simple things. Still, frozen food

was a little too simple.

He began to pick up around the house a little. Just a minor bit of straightening up to get rid of

the dust, the clutter, and the overall condition of the house. He straightened the pillows up on

the couch, folded the blanket, and wiped the thin layer of dust from the coffee table. He turned

on the TV, landing it on the local news for the atmosphere, and then got a few clean glasses from

the cabinet, the bottle of wine, and his bottle of scotch. He turned on all of the lights in the living

room and kitchen, keeping them dimmed but bright enough to read by, and then lit a small

crackling fire.

There, he thought. Classy and romantic without being too obvious.

He stood near the front window to wait for Melinda, staring off into the woods. Though dark

and shadowy, there were still lots of details, and the distant lights of the surrounding homes

brought a little bit of civilization to the scene. It was pleasant, for the most part, and the air was

cool and still.

But a slight movement caught his eye some distance behind the woodshed. His eyes were

drawn there immediately, and he saw the antlers of a large deer turn and duck away from sight.

It still made his stomach drop as he thought about the missing skull. Surely those were just

antlers; the antlers of a deer wandering around in the woods. But did deer have antlers during

the early winter?

The flash of headlights reflected off of the trees as a car made its way up the driveway. It was

a small, dark green sedan, neatly waxed and clean. Geniuses always picked green, he

remembered. Surely it was Melinda. As she pulled into the parking space, Randy smiled and

waved, genuinely happy to see her. And as she stepped out with her stunning smile, his heart

dropped.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi Randy,” Melinda replied, reaching in to pull out a small bag. “I’ve got everything right

here.” She closed the door, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “Prepare to have your mind

blown.”

Randy laughed. “Oh, my mind has been blown since that first little conversation.”

Melinda retuned the laugh, throwing in that little snort. “Mine too.”

“Say,” Randy wondered. “Do deer have antlers this time of year?”

Chapter Thirteen

“How was your day today?” Randy asked as he closed the door behind them.

“It was alright,” Melinda said. “We had to set up one of the meeting rooms for a rock club that

will be meeting there soon. Other than that, pretty uneventful. It gave me the chance to find

some more articles to photocopy.”

“Oh,” Randy said, cringing at the thought. “More weirdness then?”

Melinda nodded, her face seemingly showing some concern. “Yeah. These stories are just way

out there,” she said. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Well, how about with a glass of wine?” Randy said.

“Sure,” Melinda said, pulling out the corkscrew.

“Oh thanks. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Randy opened the bottle of wine, pouring her a glass as she sat down on the couch. He sat

down next to her and poured himself a glass of scotch. Melinda swirled the wine around in her

glass, sniffing it and making an approving face.

“Good?” Randy asked.

“I don’t know,” Melinda laughed. “It smells good. I always wondered why people smelled it.

Oh, good, Randy thought with a grin. She’s not one of those.

“So,” she said after a sip. “Take me on a tour.”

Randy chuckled nervously. He raised his hand and waved it behind him. “There you go.”

Melinda laughed. “That’s pretty typical. Not much to a cabin I suppose, but it’s a lot more neat

and tidy than I would have expected.”

“All the amenities, too,” Randy said. “Even good internet. Do you need the password?”

Melinda pulled out her laptop. “Sure,” she said. “That will help.”

Randy went to the router, copying down the default password that was printed on the sticker.

“I haven’t changed it yet,” he said. “So it’s still this weird string of junk.”

He handed her the slip of paper and sat back down, watching her as she connected her

laptop.

“So… do we just get right into it or what?” he asked.

Melinda shrugged. “If you’d like. Like I said, it’s all highly disturbing. Maybe we can talk a little

first. Tell me about yourself.”

Randy sighed and took a deep breath. “Well,” he began. “I’m a claims adjuster for an

insurance company. Exciting I know. I’ve been doing that since I was about twenty five. I grew up

in Indy, unfortunately. I’ve had aspirations of being a writer but never even sat down and tried to

write anything.”

“That’s interesting,” Melinda said, taking another sip. “This would make a good story. But

what got you into the insurance field?”

Randy shook his head. “I don’t really know. I guess I needed a job at the time and they were

hiring customer service agents to take phone calls. I started there, worked my up to customer

relations, and then the claims department.”

“Did you go to college?”

“Here and there,” Randy said. “Nothing major. No pun intended.”

Melinda gave him a sly smile.

“So, what about you?” he asked. “Why a librarian?”

“Well, I’ve always had a love for books. But mostly I’m a history buff. This area has an

interesting history, especially the history I’ve discovered doing all of this research. But that’s my

passion. I love doing research. I could never move to a big city to go to college though. I’m a

small-town girl and always will be. Is that a Colt Python?”

She pointed at the revolver on the coffee table. Randy had forgotten to put it away.

“Um, I guess so,” he said. “I don’t know much about revolvers.”

Melinda grabbed it, carefully opening the cylinder and spinning it. “It’s still in pretty good

shape,” she said. “But it’s old. And these rounds look like they’ve been reloaded.”

“Reloaded?”

“Used and then reloaded to use again,” she explained. “You can tell because there’s already a

mark from the firing pin.”

“Oh wow.”

“Is there a reloading machine somewhere?”

Randy shook his head. “I don’t know. There are some tools in the shed. A welder, drill press,

and all that. But nothing I could see being used to reload bullets.”

“Well, this is interesting,” she said, tilting the revolver to allow a bullet to slide out of the

cylinder. “The slug on this one looks like iron.”

Randy’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest. “Iron?”

“That’s strange,” Melinda said. “Really strange. There’s a reason for that, I guess.”

“I’ve read things about iron as it relates to…”

“Paranormal things?” Melinda finished him.

“Yeah.”

Melinda reinserted the round and closed up the cylinder, setting the revolver back on the

table. “Well, then, we should talk.”

“About those letters,” Randy said.

“Yes, that first.” She pulled up a document on her laptop and scrolled through it. “You read

them, right?”

“The correspondence between Lachlan and the priest? Yes.”

“Well, it’s bizarre. According to the pages of Lachlan’s journal, he wasn’t telling Father Wallace

the whole story.”

“Oh?”

“His wife Duna didn’t suddenly start acting like she was possessed. This journal here starts

with Lachlan noticing that Malcolm was acting strangely. He was getting agitated more easily,

leaving the carcasses of small animals everywhere, and even saying strange things in his sleep.”

“Okay,” Randy said. “That is strange.”

“Duna tried to make potions for him to cure him,” she went on. “She would give him herbs to

help him sleep, but he would only get ill. Everything she did to try and help him just made him

worse. She told Lachlan that she thought he was doing forbidden rituals in the forest at night.”

“Rituals like what?”

Melinda shook her head. “Lachlan says black magic and the sort. Malcolm was only a boy, but

he attracted the attention of something dark. Something that taught him how to summon

demons and other monsters.”

“Jesus.”

“One day, Malcolm came home at night muddy and smelly, as if he had gone swimming in the

peat bog. It was after that everything went really south.”

“How south?”

“Lachlan thinks he found something in the bog and brought it back to the surface. And that’s

where this word is first used.”

She pointed to a phrase on the screen. It was Baobhan-sith.

“What is that?”

“It’s pronounced bavan-shee,” Melinda said.

“What is that? Like a banshee?”

Melinda shook her head. “Not exactly. It’s more like a vampire or succubus. You know what a

succubus is, right?”

“Yeah,” Randy replied. It was a demon that raped men. A female demon that raped men. Men

like Randy. He began to breathe heavier.

“It’s an ancient Scottish legend that goes back to the Picts, the ancient people that fought

against the Roman occupiers, and later the Saxons. I’ve heard that some Pictish tribes used their

own shamans to make these creatures. They would sacrifice young women to the goddess

Morrigan, who would turn them into one of these creatures to protect the tribes from invaders.”

“Hmm,” Randy grunted. “I’ve never heard that. That’s crazy.”

“Details about ancient pagans vary from source to source, depending on how the storyteller

viewed each particular tribe.”

“Makes sense,” Randy said. “Robert the Bruce was a hero to the Scots, but an outlaw to the

English. Depending on who is telling the tale.”

“Exactly,” Melinda agreed. “Which reminds me, some of these entries list your ancestors’ full

names. Malcolm’s middle name was Wallace, and Robert’s middle name was Bruce.”

“Well, fuck me,” Randy said, laughing. “I guess old Lachlan was a big fan of the tale of William

Wallace.”

“That’s right. William Wallace’s father was named Malcolm Wallace. I think the priest’s name

is unrelated, but you never know.”

Randy nodded, finding it interesting but not very helpful in this context.

“But anyway, this creature not only kills men, but if bound or trapped somehow it can

command the men as thralls to bring them blood and flesh for them to feed on.”

Randy gulped. Frederik had said the blood was for her. And Malcolm had killed the victims for

her. Maybe he had been the same thing in Scotland.

“What… kind of thrall?” he dared ask.

Melinda shook her head. “I don’t know. It could be anything. A man enslaved to act as a

familiar, like a witch’s cat or raven. Something similar.”

“If it was a man, would it dress in weird costumes?”

“Why do you ask?” Melinda said, cocking her head.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen old pictures of monsters in Europe wearing the skulls of deer.”

“Oh,” Melinda said, typing something into her search box. She brought up some artwork of a

tall creature with large claws and the skeletal head of an elk or moose. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, now thinking the deer head he saw in the distance was skeletal. “What is

that?”

“It’s called a Leshen or Leshy,” Melinda said. “It was a monster in Slavic and Russian folklore.

Very nasty. Not a man in a suit though.”

“But if someone wanted to make people think he was a Leshen…”

“I see,” Melinda sighed. “I suppose that would be scary enough to thwart any investigations by

local peasants. Maybe that’s where the legends came from. But if Baobhan-sith were real, then

why wouldn’t Leshens be real?”

“It’s a head-scratcher.”

Melinda typed some more, bringing up pictures of beautiful women with odd clothing and

hooves for feet. She combined them with other photos of what looked like Succubi. Though the

first group varied in appearance, the Succubi all seemed to share one common characteristic;

black hair.

“These are Baobhan-sith,” Melinda said. “They lured men with their songs, like a siren, or by

their beauty alone. But they wore clothing that could hide their legs. The second group is

Succubi. They looked different from each other, but most legends describe them as having black

hair and sometimes green eyes. But that’s probably fear talking. Like how some cultures were

afraid of people with red hair.”

Randy looked closely at the Succubi, realizing that the woman he had seen resembled these

pictures. She, too, had black hair and green eyes. But if she were a demon, then why are there

Celtic legends in the family?

“Could these two be related somehow?” He asked. “Like could the Baobhan-sith just be

Succubi?”

Melinda shrugged. “I wouldn’t think so. The Succubi fed on the semen of men they raped in

their sleep. The Baobhan-sith feeds on blood. I don’t think they were ever associated with each

other, but maybe what Lachlan was describing wasn’t a Baobhan-sith in the first place. Maybe

Duna was possessed by a demon, a Succubus to be exact.”

“Did people… worship them in any way?” he asked.

“Worship?”

He thought about how the woman had asked him to worship her. Surely there was a meaning

other than the literal one.

“Worship me,” Randy said with a haunting and humorous tone.

Melinda laughed. “Maybe. But I think that concept was more of a God or Goddess principle.

Um… witches who worshiped Satan, which most of them did not, by the way, would worship the

Devil in rituals, and maybe they would require their underlings to perform the same… worship as

they did, only on them.”

Randy shook his head, confused. “I don’t follow.”

Melinda sighed, smiling shyly. “There was something called the Devil’s Kiss,” she explained. “It

was something that witches not only performed but could conceivably demand from their

underlings.”

“The Devil’s Kiss?” Randy repeated. “What is that?”

Melinda’s face began to turn even redder, and she became visibly embarrassed. “It means…

analingus.”

“Anal… oh,” Randy laughed, his own face becoming beet red. “Well, I guess I’ve been

worshiping the Devil my whole life.”

Melinda’s eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. But, thankfully, it retained its smile

shape, much to Randy’s relief. Finally, she laughed, covering her mouth with embarrassment.

“Okay, then,” she said. “Whatever floats your boat.”

Randy’s heart began to flutter, thinking maybe he had just spoiled it. But as Melinda’s typing

continued, so did her smile. He watched her face as she pulled up more documents. She looked

beautiful, very beautiful. She smelled nice, too, and it seemed like a pleasant Earthy smell.

Something like the smell of trees and flowers in the springtime.

“This,” she said, snapping him out of his trance. “Um… this second one here keeps the story

going. Lachlan says he met with Father Wallace later on and was given a journal written by a local

blacksmith. It contained instructions on how to forge a cruciform dagger, and how to build an

apotropaic box out of iron.”

“A what?”

“Apotropaic magic is the magic of wards, like the little symbols I told you about before. They’re

protective sigils, meant to ward off demons and evil spirits. An apotropaic box would probably be

something to trap a demon inside.”

Holy shit, he thought. So that’s what the box is. That iron casket in his cellar was designed to

trap something inside. The wards on the crossbar over the door were meant to keep something

inside the room itself—probably Malcolm himself. But the dagger…

Oh shit, I forgot to put the board back.

“Um… I found a dagger,” he said, reaching under the table. “Is this what it would look like?”

Melinda’s eyes went wide again, as well as her mouth. She slowly reached for it, taking it in

her hands and examining it, unblinking, unbreathing.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Randy, where did you find this?”

“It was in my cellar,” he said. “I, um…”

“In your cellar? What else is down there?”

Randy was speechless. He didn’t want to get into too many details just yet. He didn’t want to

scare her off. He needed her help.

“Just a desk and these books,” he said.

Melinda’s eyes went back to the dagger. “This journal here keeps going. And that’s where the

dagger comes into play. Malcolm discovered how to bring this creature back to life, and it killed

his mother, Randy. It killed Duna, ripped her throat out.”

“But I thought it only killed men.”

“Normally, yes,” Melinda said. “But if it kills a woman, she becomes one too. But that only

happens if the creature itself knows that it will die. It needs to pass on its essence, like a vampire

would.”

“So Duna became one of them?”

Melinda nodded. “That’s what Lachlan says. And he killed her, Randy. He killed her, but she

came back.”

“What?” Randy was shocked. He knew it was coming, but it was still a shock.

“That’s where his own journals ended,” Melinda went on. “The rest of them were Gaven’s.

Your grandfather’s. He was writing down what his own grandfather had told him on his

deathbed.”

“What did he say?”

“He says that Duna began killing men in the countryside. Dozens of men were found

slaughtered over the course of several years. Father Wallace became suspicious, and he

organized a lynch mob of sorts. Lachlan feared that they would figure out that it was Duna, and

would kill his whole family. So he killed her. He killed her and locked her in the box. But she

wasn’t dead. Even this dagger wasn’t made of the right material, despite it being blessed.”

“How did she get here?” Randy asked, realizing he had just spilled the beans.

“Here?” Melinda asked.

“I mean, how did the dagger get here?”

She looked at it again, and Randy feared that he had said too much. Everything she had just

told him, if added up with everything he had read in Frederik’s journals, would lead any

reasonable intelligent person to see that Lachlan had brought Duna here. Melinda had even

detailed several missing persons cases from the early twentieth century.

“Everything is adding up, Randy,” she said. “The disappearances, the artifacts, everything. She

is here somewhere. She has to be.”

“Do you believe in monsters?” Randy asked, seriously. “Do you believe this could be real?”

Melinda shook her head. “I’m not ruling anything out. I’ve always had an open mind. But I

can’t believe Frederik would keep a monster anywhere here. If he had, then surely he would be

susceptible to its calls. If she was real, he would kill for her. Gaven said Lachlan had done so a few

times after he had locked her away. He couldn’t stand the guilt or resist her calling. Lachlan told

him this on his deathbed. It was soon after that Celia disappeared. Gaven believed that Malcolm

had taken her and that he had been killing people too. Killing for his mother.”

“Jesus Christ,” Randy said. “And Gaven was blamed for it.”

Melinda nodded. “Yes. Convicted with no evidence and hanged in the forest.”

“Oh my god,” Randy said, rubbing his eyes. “This is all fucked up.”

He stood, biting his nails and staring out the window. He fully expected to see the creature

outside. The creature that had hunted for its mother.

“Is there anything else, Randy?”

He shook his head, returning to the sofa and pouring another glass of scotch.

“Good idea,” Melinda said, pouring another glass of wine.

“I’d rather believe that none of this ever happened. It couldn’t have happened, right?”

Melinda laughed uncomfortably, shrugging. “Let’s hope not.”

“Let’s take a break, maybe,” Randy said. “We can get back to it or we could continue another

day if you want.”

Melinda set the glass down, looking into his eyes. “Randy,” she whispered, taking his hands.

Just then, the door behind them creaked, popping open. Melinda jumped, and Randy’s heart

began racing.

“Oh my,” she said, laughing and holding her hand over her heart. “That scared me.”

“Stupid door,” Randy said.

“Um…” Melinda continued. “Let’s take a break. Would you like to kiss me?”

“Kiss you?” Randy asked, wondering how she could just forget about everything they had just

talked about.

“On the lips, I mean,” she grinned. Randy laughed.

Chapter Fourteen

Melinda’s kisses were deep and passionate, and Randy found himself unable to pull away. Her

lips drew him in, captivating his entire body with their softness and their hunger. The two of

them seemed locked together, with no hope of coming to their senses. This even though they

had both been disturbed by the previous revelations.

Melinda was pressed close against him, her body entwined with his. Her arms were tightly

wrapped around him, squeezing him as hard as he was squeezing her. He was highly aroused to

the point of near pain. He felt as if he would explode at any moment, and her heavy breathing,

scent, and grip on him drove him on.

His hands wandered down her back to the satin of her skirt. He rubbed and squeezed her

buttocks, loving the way they felt, how they only slightly yielded under his grip. Her hand rubbed

his upper thigh, inching ever closer to the hardness that he tried to fight. Her lips went to his

neck, just under his ear, and she sucked on his flesh. The feeling was incredible like he had never

felt before.

Melinda pushed him back gently, lying on top of him as her lips went back to his. Her hand

went underneath his shirt, stroking his abdomen and his chest. He could only reach down with

both hands, squeezing both of her buttocks tightly, rhythmically kneading them, his breath

becoming faster and faster as both their excitement built.

She sat up, quickly removing her top with a swift, singular motion. She then pulled off her bra,

freeing her beautiful breasts. Randy reached up, taking one in each hand as she knelt back down

to pull up his shirt. He let them loose long enough to allow her to slip his shirt off, then grasped

them again as she returned her lips to his neck. He kneaded them eagerly, enjoying the feel of

her lips on his flesh.

Then, Melinda slowly kissed her way down his chest, over his abdomen, and then just above

his waist. She unsnapped his pants, pulling the flaps apart and reaching in to grab him in eager

hands. Randy closed his eyes as she pulled his pants off, her lips and tongue quickly painting him

with their wetness, slowly working down to his scrotum.

He wanted to taste her but enjoyed the feeling of her mouth on him. She seemed to enjoy it,

too, taking him in and tightly pulling off with her lips tightly gripped around him. She seemed

much more into it than he would have imagined, but that was just fine. She was bringing out a

passion in him that he hadn’t felt in a while, and her skill was enough to put him into a frenzy.

She raised up, going onto her knees to pull her skirt over her head. Her body was incredible,

and Randy’s eyes were frozen upon her form as she pulled her satin panties off. Then, to his

surprise, she turned around and placed her knees on either side of his head, putting her perfect

backside right onto his face. His tongue immediately went to her wetness, licking it with all the

enthusiasm he could muster. He sucked on her flesh, rubbed his face into her so deeply that he

couldn’t even breathe. She moaned and growled with pleasure, her mouth taking him in again

and bringing him to the brink of climax.

What the fuck is going on? Randy thought.

Though actually shocked at her passionate behavior, Randy couldn’t bring himself to resist.

This woman who he had just met had taken a complete turn in personality. Gone was the shy,

meek and demure librarian. She had been replaced by a sexually charged and hungry beast that

was almost too much for him to handle.

But he couldn’t turn her away. He wouldn’t.

Melinda rolled off of him, grabbing his hands and pulling him on top of her as she lay back.

She wrapped her legs around him, grabbing him and guiding him inside of her. She was warm and

snug, and her moans told Randy that she was ready. He grabbed her shoulders from behind,

firmly mounting her and plunging inside. She bucked her hips along with him, her moans and

growls growing in ferocity and volume.

“Don’t stop,” she growled. “Don’t stop.”

Randy grabbed her tighter, moving in and out roughly, grinding against her as firmly as he

could. Her lips were curled back, exposing her teeth, and her eyes were closed tightly. He could

feel her fingernails on his back, digging in as her pleasure mounted. He moved as she moved,

matching her rhythm, and responding to her moans with just the right angles. Soon, her nails dug

in as she threw her head back and groaned with pleasure.

She became hotter and wetter as she convulsed with an intense climax. Randy followed,

keeping his rhythm as he exploded inside her. Though breathless and drained, he kept going,

enjoying and reveling in her responses. But then, she pushed him off, throwing him back onto the

couch and mounting him from the top. As her moaning continued, she ground her hips into his

roughly, the sound of their pleasure growing and growing. To his surprise, Randy climaxed again.

But she kept going.

She growled and called out again and again as she rode him, grinding hard against him faster

and faster until finally she collapsed onto him, sweat-covered and breathless. He put his arms

around her, enjoying the warmth of her body as they both began to relax. He was completely

drained, both physically and mentally. But, despite the odd encounter, he could feel their

connection growing with every passing second.

He never wanted to let her go.

“Oh my god,” Melinda said, finally rolling off and to Randy’s side, settling between him and the

back of the couch.

She was still breathless and covered in sweat, and Randy rolled slightly to look at her beautiful

body. He caressed her gently, leaning in to kiss her again. Though she returned his affection, he

could see that her brow was raised in an expression of shock. Or was it guilt?

“That was… crazy,” she stammered.

“I know,” Randy laughed. “But I loved it.”

Her eyes opened and she looked right into his soul. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m

sorry.”

“No, no,” Randy assured her. “What’s there to be sorry about? That was awesome.”

She shook her head, rubbing her eyes, her teeth gritted. “No, I’m… a librarian. I don’t do

things like that.”

“Not in the library, anyway,” Randy jested. “But you’re still a woman. Your private life is your

private life.”

“It just wasn’t me,” she said, sitting up with her legs across him. “I’m sorry. I felt like an animal.

I’m not that kind of person.”

“It’s okay, Melinda,” Randy pleaded with her.

She scooted forward, reaching for her clothes, shyly covering herself as she did so.

“What are you doing?”

“I… can’t…” she was speechless. “I’m sorry.”

She began dressing quickly, and Randy’s heart sank as he realized she was leaving. Had he

ruined everything? Did that happen too quickly? He hadn’t wanted to just have sex with her. He

had genuine feelings for her. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted her to stay the night so he

could hold her underneath the warm covers, feeling her skin against his.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“No, no, no,” she said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just disgusted with my behavior.

That was great, it really was, but it wasn’t… what I do.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have to go,” she said, pulling on her shoes and gathering her laptop. “I’ll leave the printouts

here so you can go over them.”

“Wait,” Randy said, sitting up to pull on his own clothes. “I don’t want you to go. Please stay.”

Melinda put her hands over her face, and Randy could see the slight movement of quiet

sobbing. Now he was torn. He didn’t know what to do. What had just happened? Did he do this?

Did she just release her inner sexuality? Or was it something else?

Her?

A sense of doom settled over him as he thought about the way she had licked him. It was the

same sensation he had earlier in the upstairs bedroom. The woman had come to him and

pleasured him, seemingly in the physical world. And now, perhaps, she had been the puppet

master. Had she influenced Melinda somehow? How was that possible?

Melinda grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulder. Randy could see tears in her eyes.

He knew that look that he saw. She was ashamed. But was she ashamed of him or herself? He

stood, going to her and offering his arms. She leaned in and put her head on his shoulder,

allowing him to embrace her. He felt close to her, and obviously, she felt something, too. But

there was a wedge there now, one that might end things before they even started.

He should have restrained himself better.

“I want to see you again,” he whispered. “I don’t want our friendship to end.”

She looked up at him, her face twisted in a mask of sadness and regret. “I’ll call you in a few

days,” she said. “I want to see you again, too, I’m just… I need to figure out what’s going on. I

don’t think this was just… me. Not that I’ve never done anything like that before. It just didn’t feel

like it should have.”

“I thought it was wonderful. But I understand. Please call me again.”

“I will,” she responded quietly. “Just give me some time.”

She turned and headed for the door, looking back one more time to ensure she had not left

anything behind. Randy felt a knot in his gut, one that told him he truly felt something for her

and was now sad that she was leaving.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said. “Do you want to take the wine home with you?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll be okay. Take care, Randy. I’ll talk to you soon.”

With that, Melinda was gone, leaving Randy to stand alone in his house. Or was he alone? He

quickly pulled on his clothes, not even bothering to clean himself off. Something was wrong, he

realized. Duna had something to do with this. She had to have had something to do with it. That

was the only explanation.

Grabbing his flashlight, he went down to the cellar. He felt anger and desperation. Whatever

had happened, had ruined things between him and Melinda. He knew it.

“Goddamn you!” He shouted at the door. “Get out of my house!”

There was no sound. But as he looked, he realized that he had forgotten to put the bar across

the door. It was open; only a few inches, but that seemed enough. He angrily slammed the door

shut and returned the board to the door, making sure to face the wards toward the inside.

“Stay in there, you bitch,” he whispered. “Leave me alone.”

He turned to walk away, suddenly realizing that he was angry. The dead woman had ruined

any chance he had of forming a meaningful relationship with a wonderful person. Their

interactions would be awkward now. He knew unless there was some way to get past it, things

would never be the same.

But another part of him wondered if that’s what had happened. Though the evidence of

something supernatural happening was mounting, there was always a chance he was using it as

an excuse for what really happened. What if he had taken advantage of Melinda? She had

seemed normal when she arrived, but then after a glass of wine, she suddenly became a raving

sexual beast.

Should he have resisted her? Politely refused? How would she have reacted?

“Fuuuuuuuck!” He said in a long, drawn-out growl.

A deafening crash sounded behind him, and he jumped, turning around to face the door. The

bracket on the left side had come loose, and the crossboard was crooked, but it still held. What

had hit the door? Surely the creature that was locked inside the box couldn’t get out. But he had

felt her actual body upstairs in the bedroom. He knew it was her. She was there, even though she

wasn’t there. She was some kind of force, maybe spirit energy with the power to interact with

the physical world, even without a physical body.

Surely ghosts could do that, but this was not a ghost. From what Melinda had said, it was

more of a vampire-like creature of legend; a vampire with demonic nature. Now, it was angry. It

was angry at him; jealous of Melinda. Had she possessed Melinda’s body to get rid of her, or

simply to show Randy that the pleasure she could offer was so unreal that he would be willing to

do anything to have it again?

He wanted it again.

“No, goddamn it,” he said to himself. “No, no, no. Leave me alone!”

He covered his face, thinking of Melinda’s smile. He thought of her eyes, her hair, and her

kindness. His heart fluttered, and he knew Melinda was what he wanted. Not a creature of

darkness. Not this witch. Not this demon. The thought brought anger and sickness to his heart.

He would resist whatever temptation this witch offered. He would not succumb to her influence

like Malcolm had.

He would be strong.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered to Duna. “You’ve done enough. Go back to sleep.”

He slinked away with his head down, and his shoulders limp. All he could think of was how to

make it up to the woman he really wanted. Though he could think of a million things to do, he

realized that the best thing for now was just to leave her alone and let her work through it. That

was the only way. Bothering her would simply slow down the process, making things worse. He

didn’t want that.

Randy, a voice said in his head. It was her.

He ignored the call, making his way upstairs and firmly locking the door behind him. Whatever

she wanted now, she couldn’t have. He would rather kill himself than give her anything. Even

with her perfect form and her soft skin… even with her long and silky black hair…

He felt himself get hard once again, and it angered him greatly. He could only close his eyes,

grit his teeth, and pound his forehead on the closed door until the thoughts went away. He would

have to occupy himself for a while to distract his brain from the evil that was down there. He

would research things he could do to rid himself of her forever. It was the only way he could have

a normal life.

Chapter Fifteen

The half-full glass of wine mocked him. Randy stared at it longingly, wishing Melinda was still

there sipping on it and reading him the rest of the journal entries she had transcribed. What he

had learned so far was startling as well as disturbing, but there remained more things to read;

more things to investigate.

He picked up the stack of printouts she had made, flipping through them to try to make some

sense of their sequence. She had placed them in what she believed was chronological order

based on their authors. The initial entries were those made by Lachlan, followed by some written

by Gaven before his disappearance. But it was Lachlan’s entries that caught his attention.

Melinda had done her best to copy them down in a more modern language. 19th-century

Scottish farmers spoke English for the most part, but their use of it was barely coherent by

today’s standards. Fortunately, she was well-versed in such an odd dialect. According to Lachlan,

he had witnessed his son, Malcolm, undergo strange changes that were uncommon for a preadolescent

boy.

He’s at it again. This morning I found the carcass of one of my sheep. I don’t know what he did

with it, but it’s lost its skin. I know he knows how to tan leather, but I don’t find any traces of his

finished pelts, only the skinless corpses of the animals.

I don’t know what he’s doing with them, but the skinless flock is even more disturbing than the

headless elk I found. He disappears almost every night to do his dirty work. I try to follow him, but

he loses me every time. The closest I’ve gotten to catching up to him was when I followed him to

the swamp. There, I found the bare skull of an elk, freshly skinned and boiled down to the bone.

I did find some pelts along with it. They were sewn together like a cloak, a large one. I don’t

know what the boy is doing now, but I dare not ask. He’s angry and he’s dangerous. Duna is afraid

of him, even more than she was before. She asks him not to do these things. She knew she should

have destroyed the book her grandmother gave her. It is full of dark things. There are spells that

Duna says are the work of witches and warlocks. Spells to summon demons and other evil spirits.

I think Malcolm has been performing these rituals. The book disappeared long ago, and I know

it was he who took it. Duna does too, but she is a meek lass, and I am a cowardly old fool. I dare

not ask anyone for help. Though he’s a wild boy, he’s still my son and we both love him. Robert,

being but a wee lad, won’t even go near him. Children are good judges of character, at least those

kinds of characters. If a child is afraid of someone, it is probably for good reason—even his older

brother.

I don’t know what to do. I am at a loss. Duna is becoming more fearful every day. She won’t go

near that swamp. She says there is something evil there. Something ancient and horrifying.

Maybe the Devil himself. That is where Malcolm is going. Somewhere, in there, bringing things to

whatever is in there. I cannot keep him in the house no matter what I do. Duna has tried to weave

her spells to chase away his darkness, but it only makes him ill. The lad is possessed by the Devil, I

just know it.

“Wow,” Randy whispered.

Perhaps the thing in his dreams wasn’t Duna, after all. Malcolm was feeding something else.

Could it be the same thing he was feeding as an old man, forcing Frederik to watch in chains?

Again, though, why bring it here? And what actually happened to Duna?

Strangely, he felt a sense of relief believing that the woman he dreamed of could possibly not

be his kin. It made the thoughts a bit less disturbing—but just a bit. Still, he wondered why the

woman was calling out to him. Malcolm was dead, but the fact that the large skull and pile of

rags in the woodshed were gone told him not all was as it seemed.

Surely, there was something that remained; some remnant of Malcolm’s darkness. Frederik

had killed him and ended his reign of terror in the area, but then had spent the rest of his life

trying desperately to keep that darkness at bay. Now, Randy feared the task was up to him.

But where would it end? He had no children. Who would take the mantle when he had a heart

attack of his own?

Randy tossed the stack of papers back onto the coffee table. There was nothing he could do

about it now. He could still burn the cabin down, but what good would that do? The fire wouldn’t

be hot enough to destroy the casket, and there was no way he was opening it to see what was

inside.

Sighing, he poured another glass of scotch, grumbling as he realized he was going through it

more quickly than usual. As he took a swig, he briefly looked over to the revolver. Melinda said

the bullets were made of iron, not lead, and had been recycled from spent casings. That was odd.

He wondered who could have reloaded them. Maybe the guy at the shop where he had gotten

the package?

There was a sudden low rumbling that Randy could feel in his feet. Startled, he set the glass

down on the table. He watched as the surface of the scotch rippled and roiled with some

vibration that was shaking the entire cabin at just the right frequency. He could barely feel it, but

it was there.

He stood, straining to hear the sound, but there was nothing audible. It was more like a

subconscious rumbling, like the sound a large truck would make idling in the distance.

Regardless, he felt it in his bones and his soul. His skin crawled, and he began to feel breathless

and panicked.

What was it? Was something happening in the cellar?

Suddenly, there was a horrifying howl outside. It was a cacophonous howl that echoed in the

night, like a chorus of demons singing in anguish. Randy felt his heart race painfully, and he ran to

the door, daring to look outside. Though it was dark, he thought he saw movement from the left

side of the woodshed. There was a bang; wood on wood. He knew then that the shed’s door had

slammed shut.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

The howling sounded again, and Randy backed away from the door slowly, an even greater

sense of dread overcoming him. He turned around quickly, making sure nothing was behind him.

The cellar door was still closed and locked, and the only light in that direction was the moonlight

coming through the window and onto the floor.

A shadow moved across it.

Randy reached for the revolver, cocking back the hammer and gripping it tightly as he listened

again. The wind was howling outside. It had come on suddenly, like the demonic sounds, and was

growing in intensity. Then, something large impacted the outside of the house to his left. He

spun, pointing the revolver toward the window. Something moved across it; large and pale,

almost skeletal.

The skull!

He saw the antlers and the empty eye sockets as plain as day moving right past the window.

And now, something was scratching the outside of the house, moving along the wall toward the

front corner. Randy held out the revolver, his hands shaking and his lips trembling in terror. The

scratching stopped, but there was a large thump on the far corner of the porch, and then a creak

as if something heavy had stepped onto it.

“Oh my fucking god,” he whispered, his heart nearly ripping through his chest as it pounded

relentlessly.

There were heavy footsteps, like a large animal; hooved or clawed. They slowly approached

the center of the porch toward the front door. Though it was dark outside, Randy’s porch light

was on so he could see at least the far post that held up the porch’s roof. But as he waited for

something to appear, the footsteps stopped.

And were replaced by the sound of growling.

It was a deep growl, not like that of a predator, but a large herd animal. A bull of some kind,

angry and cautious, preparing to charge. Randy quietly stepped to his left, revealing more of the

outside in that direction. If he could just get at the right angle, he might be able to see what was

out there without alerting it.

And there, nearly as high as the roof, was a pillar of burlap, blowing and tattered in the

howling wind. Sitting atop it was the skull, its antlers nearly scraping the ceiling. Randy’s heart

jumped, and he raised the revolver with a shaky hand once more. But as his finger went to the

trigger, the figure disappeared. The wind began howling louder, and the terrifying sounds of a

horde of howling creatures sounded outside.

They came quickly, slamming into the log siding, nearly shaking the house from its foundation.

Randy squatted on the floor, dropping the revolver and covering his ears to drown out the

cacophony of demonic howls and screeches. There were deafening scraping sounds all around

the house as if a horde of tiny demons were trying to dig through the walls.

As he looked up, the large figure was right at the door, the empty eye sockets staring down

through the glass, and a large, clawed hand raised and ready to strike the glass. Randy fumbled

for the revolver, not being able to tear his eyes away. The claw shot through the glass, shattering

it all over the floor. That was enough. Randy’s vision began to go black. He was about to pass out

from the terror. The tornado of howls outside was deafening, driving him mad with the horror.

Pick up the dagger.

“What?” He shouted over the howls.

Pick up the dagger. Use it.

Randy crawled over to the coffee table, blindly patting his hand on the surface, desperate to

find the iron cruciform weapon. Who had told him to grab it?

Pick it up, boy. Pick it up and end him.

The claw tore open the top half of the door, reaching down to scratch at the inside. Randy’s

hand found the dagger’s handle, and he picked it up and held it in front of his face. The runes

along its blade were glowing in a bright yellowish red. They spelled out in nomine Patris.

In the name of the Father.

Kill it!

Randy stood against the wind that was now bursting through the broken door. The howls

outside continued, rising in pitch and ferocity. He gripped the dagger tightly, crying out like a mad

Viking as he charged. He swiped the claw with the blade, and the creature howled with pain. It

gripped both sides of the door, cackling wildly as the front of its cloak opened up.

A twisted and deranged head shot out toward Randy, held by a long segmented and skeletal

neck. Its dark mouth was jagged and torn, its eyes were black and oozing, and the beard and hair

were wild and gray.

Kill it!

Randy charged forward, plunging the knife into the creature’s maw. He felt the squishing

impact and the satisfying slide of metal into flesh. He laughed out loud, glaring in triumph at the

monster that now bore a mask of doom. It howled relentlessly as Randy twisted the dagger back

and forth. He could feel the energy of his own soul surging through the blade, and the creature’s

own soul melting away.

Then, it was gone.

The howling died down, as did the wind. He was alone, holding a dagger in his hand, and

laughing maniacally. The floor was covered in glass and shards of wood. Debris which had blown

around from the wind was scattered everywhere, including several items that had blown off of

the nearby desk that he had yet to search.

Randy dropped the dagger, backing away and looking around at the dead-silent cabin.

Whatever had just attacked was gone. Whatever tiny demonic creatures were outside were also

gone.

Put the dagger back in his corpse where it belongs.

“What?” Randy shouted. “Who are you?”

Put the dagger back in his corpse where it belongs.

“Fuck.”

He picked up the dagger, quickly heading for the cellar. He pushed open the door, stumbled

down the steps, and charged toward the white door. He reluctantly pushed up on the crossboard,

knocking it to the floor, and pulled open the wretched door to hell. Without thinking, he charged

in, stumbling over to the corpse that still lay there rotting and staring into space.

Put it back.

He dropped to his knees, thrusting the dagger back into the hole it came from. Then, as he

watched and stepped back, the corpse began to wither even more than before. But, from the

other side of the chamber, the iron casket began to clank. Something was pounding on the inside

surface, angry and dismayed.

Get out now!

Randy turned and rushed back through the door, pushing it closed and collapsing against it,

breathless and still terrified.

Put the runes back, fool!

“Shit!”

He reached down and grabbed the crossboard, hefting it over the brackets and locking it back

in place. The ruckus inside the chamber began to calm and quiet, as did Randy’s breath.

Whatever had just happened, it was over.

For now.

“Now what?”

There was no answer.

“Who are you? Frederik? Lachlan?”

Again, there was no answer. Randy stood silent for a moment, looking around in the shadows.

Something didn’t feel right. Something felt off as if there were another person nearby. But, there

was nothing. He saw no movement and heard no sounds, and eventually, the feeling subsided.

“Hello?” He called out. “Fuck.”

Giving up, he went back upstairs, closing and latching the door behind him. He had a mess to

clean up now; broken glass and shards of wood from the door panels. He grabbed the broom

from the kitchen and went to the clutter on the floor. He blindly swept up the glass, gathering it

into the dustpan. For a moment, he glanced out the window near the dining table, and his heart

nearly stopped.

The door to the woodshed was open.

“Fuck,” he said. “Not again.”

Still in shock from the attack, Randy stepped out onto the porch, dreading seeing what, if

anything, was in the woodshed. Curiously, the deer skull and burlap were gone. He had fully

expected the items to be there, lying on the porch where they fell. But they were gone, and that

sent Randy into another panic.

He tossed the broom into the house and headed up the path to the shed. He walked slowly,

his dread building with every step. The wind began blowing again, and the door began banging

lightly against its frame. His heartbeat matched the rhythm, bringing even more dread and more

panic into his already racing heart.

He reached out and pulled the door open, peering into the shadows inside. All was quiet,

except for the wind, and the smell of blood and flesh filled his senses. He stepped inside,

reaching up into the shadows to turn on the light bulb.

There, on the workbench, was another corpse.

He vomited on the dirt floor, begging and pleading to no one that he was just imagining

things. But as his senses cleared and he looked back up, the corpse was still there. It was dressed

in hunting clothes, its head missing and the exposed skin covered in bite marks. Something had

bitten large chunks of flesh off of the very bones, and the blood around the wounds was dried

and crusty.

“Goddamn it,” he whispered.

He was fucked now, he knew. The deputy had mentioned a missing hunter as well as the

young man whose car had been abandoned at the dollar store. He had burned the young man’s

corpse, and now he had another one to get rid of. This time, however, there was no bucket of

blood. That bucket was still there in the chamber, sitting right next to the fire pit.

With his gut twisting and churning, Randy hefted the corpse over his shoulder, taking one last

look at the mess in the shed. Thankfully, there was no blood on the workbench. There was no

blood on the floor, only his puddle of puke. But, leading to and from the work bench were the

hoof prints of a large animal. Though they were similar to a deer’s, he knew what they were.

They were the footprints of the creature he had hopefully destroyed.

“Good god,” he croaked. “Help me, please.”

Chapter Sixteen

Randy watched the corpse burn. He sat in front of the fire, his knees pulled up to his chest and

stared into the flames. His mind was swirling. He thought about the creature, the aggressive

attack, and the reality of the whole situation. What the fuck was going on? Was he going insane?

Had he killed this hunter too? Was there really a creature out there somewhere, killing people

and bringing their corpses into the woodshed?

Randy, a woman’s voice echoed in his head. He ignored it.

Randy. I need you. Let me out. Bring me more.

“More what!?” He growled. “What do you want from me?”

Feed me, Randy. I can give you anything you need. Set me free.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Just shut up. You can rot in that box forever.”

You killed my son. My Lemure. My dark servant.

Randy looked over to the casket, wondering if he was again imagining things. Why was she

talking now? Was he really hearing her?

“Rot,” he said. “Rot in Hell, you bitch.”

He stared at the casket. It was horrifying. It was constructed of iron, obviously, but with bronze

hardware; hinges, rings where chains were locked around it, and the keyhole itself. As he stared

at the keyhole, he noticed a glimmer of firelight that reflected off of it. It looked wet.

“What the fuck?”

He crawled closer, not daring to get too close. He looked back, grabbed a small stick that was

aflame, and held it out in front of him. There was a wetness there around the keyhole that he

could see. His heart began to pound again as he realized what it was. It was blood.

Where had it come from?

There was a splatter there, then another. He looked up, holding out the makeshift torch. As he

followed the rising smoke, he saw the crack that led to the surface through which the smoke was

escaping. There was blood around it as well.

“Holy shit,” he said, standing.

Taking one last look at the casket, he headed out of the chamber, barring the door once more.

He raced up the stairs and outside into the coming dawn. He stepped off the porch, figuring out

the floor plan in his head. The hole had to lead to somewhere behind the house. He should be

able to see the smoke pouring out. He could smell it.

Randy tossed away the stick and rounded the cabin, following the thin clouds of smoke that

hovered just above the ground. He saw a small column of it coming out near a large outcropping

of sandstone. He went to it, kneeling down and covering his nose against the smell—that roast

pork smell. There on the ground, surrounding the vent, was dried blood.

“Oh no,” he said. “The blood.”

The creature had fed her. He had fed her once—accidentally—and now she had fed again.

That meant she was growing stronger. She had already invaded his reality once in his bed. Now,

with even more strength, she could do more. As if the dreams weren’t bad enough, the physical

contact had been even more real. Now what would happen?

She said that Randy had killed her son. That would be Malcolm. He was the corpse in the

chamber; that much was clear. And since that was the case, it was Duna in the box. And that also

meant he had been fantasizing about—no, experiencing—his great-great-grandmother.

He vomited again.

After recovering from the shock somewhat, Randy had gathered some scrap lumber to cover

the upper part of the front door. The entire glass panel had been broken out, leaving only the

bulk of the door slab. He quickly nailed the old lumber over the hole, making sure to line the

spaces between them with rubber cement he found in the workbench drawer.

As the sun began to creep up above the trees, he also noticed that the attack had left many

deep gouges in the log siding of the entire house. Though he had thought the horde of screaming

things was imaginary, it was clear that there were many attackers. What they were was anyone’s

guess. But now they were gone.

He hoped.

Surely Malcolm was gone now, or at least immobilized once again. He had driven the dagger

back into the corpse, and that had seemed to help keep him in place before. But, in his initial

dream, he had seen someone in a hood watching him through the window. He had ignored the

strange man as he descended into the cellar, but now he wondered who it was.

Then, there was the voice that had told him to grab the dagger, kill the creature with it, and

then put it back in Malcolm’s corpse. Were they the same man? Was it even a man? Could it be

Frederik’s ghost? He didn’t know and didn’t care at the moment. So far, everything was clean—to

his knowledge. There was nothing out of the ordinary left in view outside, only the terror he felt

inside. He could get shitfaced and sleep.

He would worry about reality in the morning. For now, he needed to forget.

He went back to the house, locking the door behind him—what was left of it, anyway. The

couch looked comforting, despite the horror he had just experienced. At this point, he figured,

what did it matter? Nothing could change what had happened. Besides, it was probably all in his

head anyway. He refused to believe any of this was happening. He was simply going insane.

He grabbed an armful of wood from the rack beside the fireplace and started a fire. He

squatted there as it spread, staring into the flames with his mind blank. After the fire was going,

he plopped down on the couch and popped open the remnants of the bottle of scotch. There

was enough to get drunk on, and if he ran out, there was still plenty of wine left over. Melinda

had only had two glasses.

Melinda.

He took a big swig of scotch and felt the warmth in his gut as he swallowed. It, like the couch,

brought him some peace. But overall he still felt like shit. His hands were still shaking, his mind

was reeling, and he was filthy. He would shower in the morning if morning came. For now, he

would turn on the TV and forget everything.

“Yeah, right,” he said out loud.

Duna had said a word that intrigued him. Lemure. He was sure Melinda had also used it, but

he still didn’t really know what it meant. He woke his laptop and typed the word in the search

box. He wasn’t quite sure how to spell it, but maybe Google would know.

A lemur (from the Latin Lemure – ghost or spirit) is a wet-nosed primate of the superfamily

Lemuroidea.

“Lemure,” he said with an affected French accent.

He erased his search term and typed in the correct spelling.

A Lemure is a restless spirit or shade of the malignant dead in Roman mythology. They are the

spiritual remnants of those who have died traumatic deaths, or even those who were enslaved by

other spirits or demons.

“Interesting,” Randy said.

Duna had called Malcolm her Lemure, meaning he had served her—quite obviously by

bringing her the blood of his victims to feed her and keep her strong. But she was trapped in a

box. What good would it do to keep her strong? Why couldn’t Malcolm open the box? The key

was right there in the desk. Surely Lachlan had brought the key, so why didn’t Malcolm ever find

it? And why did Frederik keep it?

Frederik could have destroyed the entire box if he wanted to. He could take it to a forge, an

incinerator, or something similar. Surely that would destroy whatever was inside. Or would it?

Randy had seen plenty of movies and TV shows that stated ghosts and spirits could be killed by

burning their earthly remains. But this wasn’t just any spirit. It was more like a vampire. Surely

burning a vampire’s corpse would destroy it.

So why was it still in the cellar? Why was it brought here in the first place? Maybe Lachlan

brought it here in hopes of curing his beloved wife. And Malcolm was enslaved to her. That would

explain why he hadn’t destroyed it. He was trying to wake her up, to bring her back to her

horrible undeath—or whatever that state would be called in this case. Frederik on the other

hand had no connection as far as he knew. He had never met Duna. He was trying to keep her

dead until he found a way to destroy her for good.

So why keep the iron casket?

Randy sighed, reaching for the notebook again. He thumbed through it for several minutes,

seeing only a few entries regarding the casket itself. According to Frederik’s writings, he had done

everything to avoid succumbing to her calls. He ignored them, seemingly at the cost of his sanity.

He had never given in to her. He had kept his head, and his heart, and had died a free man.

Lucky him.

Now the burden was on Randy. It was he who would have to ignore her calls for the rest of his

life. He would also go insane, he imagined. Or, more likely, he would answer her calls. Frederik

seemed like a man with mental strength. Randy was weak, and easily influenced. He had already

succumbed to her calls; the ones in his dreams. He had already “worshiped” her—in her own

words. The Devil’s Kiss was Melinda’s phrase for it.

It was a good thing he never told her about it.

“It wasn’t real, anyway,” he said. “It was a dream.”

He was talking to himself again. That had been happening a lot lately, along with the weird,

erotic dreams. How long could he keep this up? How long before he went down there, opened

the box, and made love to a monster in real life?

Was that what she really wanted? Or did she just want to devour him?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered at the moment was making sure no one found out what was

going on, other than people he could trust. He could likely trust Melinda, if only she would trust

him again. He had to find someone else, someone who knew what to do. But he was out of ideas.

Defeated, Randy thought of his next move. He was on the verge of passing out as it was, but

he wasn’t quite ready yet. There were things he needed; more clothes, some food and other

things. He couldn’t go back home and grab any of these things either. It looked like the local

stores and the internet were his only options.

But he could call Tim about personal items. Tim had offered to ship him some goods. Maybe

he could talk him into bringing some things down, as long as he didn’t stay too long. He decided

that Amazon was his best bet. Hell, he had Prime. He could order some things and get them the

next day. Even groceries could be delivered that very day.

He got online and perused the selections on Amazon’s website. Within a half hour, he had a

cart full of clothes, toiletries, and groceries. Though he would have to wait until tomorrow or the

next day for the non-perishable items, his food was available for delivery that day. The hub in

Indy had everything he needed, and the next available delivery slot was in six hours.

That was enough time to get some shut-eye.

Randy sat at the dining table nearby, his hands on its wooden surface, and his head hanging

low. There was someone next to him, but he couldn’t raise his head to see who it was. He could

hear the ragged breathing of what was obviously a man, and even smell the old man cologne he

wore. It was Old Spice or Aqua Velva. Something cheap and mildly unpleasant that only an old

man would enjoy.

“Who are you?” he asked quietly.

“Raise your head, son,” the old man spoke, his voice rough and as ragged as his breathing.

Randy looked up slowly. His eyes drifted from the pair of old leather boots on the floor, up the

leg of a pair of blue work pants, the gray work shirt, and then the trimmed beard and wrinkled

face of an old man.

“Nice to meet you, Randy,” the old man said. “You know who I am.”

“Wha… Frederik?”

The old man nodded.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not really here, son. I’m dead, as you well know. But this is the only way I can talk to you.”

“Is this real?”

“You’re dreaming,” Frederik said. “But like I said, this is the only way I can talk to you.”

Randy sighed, already sick of the dreams. But this one might help, he reasoned.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

“I told you what to do earlier, and you did it.”

“Now what?”

“You need to find a way to destroy her for good before she escapes. I kept her long enough. I

stopped my grandfather from letting her loose.”

“You killed him,” Randy said matter-of-factly. Frederik nodded.

“I did. With a dagger right through the heart. It was the only way. But that was not the only

reason.”

“Then why else?” Randy asked, curious.

“He killed my mother,” Frederik said. “I was only a boy, but I know it was him. He killed her and

fed her blood to the witch. Then he ate her flesh like some kind of wild dog.”

“Jesus,” randy sighed, sickened.

“And then he blamed it on my father,” Frederik continued. “They hung him out in a field in the

middle of nowhere. They left him there to rot. He was a good man. He never harmed another soul

in his life. Even… even your mother knew this.”

“He was my grandfather.”

Frederik nodded. “Victoria was their daughter’s name. Your mother. When Ilsa became

pregnant, the only way to hide their love was for her to be taken away and the child kept secret.

But he knew. He knew it by the time I was born.”

“Did he ever tell you that you had a sister?”

“No,” Frederik said. “I found out only recently when I did my search at the library. But I found

my father’s journals then, too, along with the key to the box.”

“The key.”

“My father kept it hidden. Lachlan gave it to him when was a boy. Told him to hide it. And he

hid it well. My father never found it because it was in the one place he would never look.”

“Where was that?”

Frederik leaned in with a smile. “In a book.”

Randy smiled. “Good place.”

“Yes, it was. It stayed there for decades until long after my father died. He knew that

grandfather had killed my mother, but couldn’t tell anyone. They would ask why there was no

body, and he would have to tell them something that they would have hung him for anyway.”

“So you were left alone with… him.”

“Yes. Malcolm was a bad man even before all of this. It was his fault the creature was

awakened in the first place. Even though he was only a boy, he found the witch in the swamp and

brought her to the surface. He fed her, brought her back to life, and she killed my greatgrandmother

who now lies trapped in that iron prison in the cellar.”

“If it killed her…”

“That’s what happens. She could kill men all day long and they would just be dead. But if this

creature kills another woman, then that woman becomes one, too. That’s what the legends say.”

“And how did you find out all of this?”

“Lachlan’s journals, mostly,” Frederik said. “But most of those have rotted away. I was barely

able to read them, myself. But I also studied those same legends at the library, and by asking

some locals who dabble in that sort of thing.”

“Wiccans and such?”

“More or less,” Frederik said. “But through all of that, I still never figured out how to destroy

her for good.”

“Why couldn’t you have just burned her?”

Frederik shook his head. “The evil is stronger than that. Even ashes can be brought back. The

legends say that iron will kill them, but that is what Lachlan used to kill Duna in the first place. All

it did was kill her body. Her spirit remained, as did the spirit of the creature that made her.”

Randy remembered the tools mentioned in Lachlan’s letters.

“The priest in Scotland, this Father Wallace. He said he would give Lachlan some tools to take

care of the problem. What were they? The dagger and what else? The box?”

“Lachlan forged the dagger himself with the materials Father Wallace gave him. The box, I

have no idea where he got the plans for that. The dagger was used to kill Duna after she returned

from the dead, and then she was put in the box. Why Lachlan didn’t just sink it back into the

swamp is beyond me. But I assume it was his lingering love for her.”

“I understand,” Randy said, thinking of Melinda. “It’s a tough feeling to overcome.”

“You must overcome those feelings,” Frederik said, leaning in again. “If that woman comes

here again, she will be in danger. Duna already knows about her. She tested her body in your

presence. You know this."

“Yeah,” Randy said, remembering her aggressive sexuality. “She completely changed at that

moment. We weren’t even talking about anything when she asked me if I wanted to kiss her.”

“And you said yes,” Frederik said, raising one eyebrow. It wasn’t a question. “You need to be

stronger than that. That wasn’t her. That was Duna.”

“I know that now,” Randy said. “But maybe I knew it then, also. I just couldn’t resist.”

“Luckily she doesn’t blame you. But she blames herself. You must never tell her the truth. She

will get over the guilt. She would never get over the truth.”

“Right,” Randy said. “But I feel like I owe her an—“

“No,” Frederik said. “She must never know anything. Let her be the innocent woman she is.

Don’t allow her soul to be darkened as yours has.”

Randy considered Frederik’s words carefully. The man was right. His soul had darkened

somewhat. And the prospect that it could become darker was disheartening. He could already feel

himself longing for not only Melinda but for the woman in the box. It was hard to tell the

difference between the two of them in his mind. His heart longed for Melinda, but his body was

another story.

It was hard to resist Duna in the physical respect.

“Seek help from those who apart from this,” Frederik said. “You now live in an area that is full

of people who practice old magic. But do not assume that you need the magic of those you

associate with these monsters. Sometimes, the best weapon against evil is one that is not

expected. Scotland is far away. So is its magic. Find something different. Something… closer.”

“You mean like Native Amer…”

“Answer the door, Randy.”

“What?”

“Answer the door.”

There was a persistent knocking. Randy snapped awake, seeing that he was sitting at the

dining table. How had he gotten here? He thought he had laid down on the couch and passed

out.

Knock knock knock.

“Fuck,” he whispered, going to the door.

There was a young man there with a crate full of grocery bags.

“Randy Green?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, rubbing his eyes. “Come in. Thanks.”

The young man came in and set the crate down on the kitchen counter, unloading the bags

quickly and efficiently. When he finished, he handed Randy a receipt.

“Did you want to check to make sure everything is there?”

Randy shook his head. “No, it’s cool. Never had any problems with Amazon before.”

“Okay then. Have a nice day.”

Randy let the young man out, nervous about him sensing or seeing anything. To his relief, he

got back into his box van and drove off without saying anything else or even glancing around.

Randy sighed, closing the door and taking a deep breath. He had now had some real food he

could cook, which he did immediately. He needed a good meal after the events of the last few

days, not to mention more sleep.

Tomorrow morning, he would seek help from the outside. Whatever that meant.

Chapter Seventeen

There were no dreams that night. Randy had drunk himself to sleep as usual, waking up on the

couch once again with a huge hangover. He sat up and rubbed his head, ashamed of what had

happened two nights before. He regretted not only the events, but the fact that he had drunk

himself into a stupor just to avoid the bizarre dreams.

He had to do something, and he had to do it soon.

He checked his phone, hoping there would be messages from Melinda. There was nothing. He

sighed sadly, realizing the best thing to do was simply wait. He would give her a few more days to

work through things, and just be patient. He tossed the phone down, opening his laptop. Today,

he would begin doing some independent research into occult things. Maybe he would also try

and find another person who knew about these things as Frederik had suggested.

A psychic maybe? A Wiccan? One who actually practiced “magic” in the real world? Was there

such a person out there? Had he really spoken to Frederik?

There were always commercials on late-night TV advertising psychic mediums. But these were

call-in-type commercials. Likely, they were just small companies with multiple customer service

agents just telling people what they wanted to hear and charging them ridiculous fees to do so.

That’s not what he needed. What he needed was a real, live flesh and blood person who could

not only advise him, but possibly even help him physically. Someone who could investigate the

door, and maybe even enter the room.

But who could do that? There was a corpse in there for Christ’s sake.

He typed, Local ghost hunters.

He knew it was a long shot, and that he would probably get either the phone book or a list of

completely unrelated topics. But, to his surprise, there were actually a few listings for local

businesses out in the surrounding areas. There was one that caught his eye immediately.

Queen Indigo, Manbo, and healer. Ritual cleansing, spells, and potions.

Randy grunted, wondering what a Manbo was. He opened another tab in his browser and

typed it in.

“A Voodoo priestess,” he read. “Interesting.”

He wondered if a voodoo priestess would be of any help. The phantasmal Frederik said he

should seek the help of outside forces, whatever that meant. Surely, a voodoo priestess was as

far removed from Celtic magic as possible. Or was it?

He didn’t feel up to talking to anyone on the phone just yet, but maybe the website would

have a contact form. He clicked on the link, and the browser went straight to Queen Indigo’s site.

It was themed in various shades of purple, decorated with symbols he didn’t recognize. It was a

one-page site aimed at providing a list of services, directions, and a brief photo slideshow

showing the actual shop located outside of Bloomington.

That was a strange place for a voodoo shop, Randy thought.

There was a contact link at the bottom. He clicked it, and sat back to think as the form popped

up. What would he say? How much info should he give? Maybe he would simply introduce

himself and ask a few vague questions.

Hello. My name is Randy Green and I was wondering what kind of services you offered related

to ghost hunting. I would also like to know more about demonology and if there is a cultural

difference in the types of evil spirits a priestess can deal with.

There, he thought. A silly message, but straightforward without giving too much away up

front. That should be enough to pique anyone’s interest. He clicked the submit button after

typing in his phone number and email address.

“Now we wait,” he said.

He got up and went to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of milk and guzzling it in front of

the sink. He always thought that milk was the best thing to drink in the morning after heavy

drinking. It was just so refreshing. As he finished it and placed the empty glass in the sink, his

phone dinged.

“That was quick,” he said, hoping it was Queen Indigo.

Hi Randy, this is Keri, Queen Indigo’s daughter. She passed away a few years ago and I took

over her business. You can call me at this number, but I don’t know if I can be of any help.

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Randy said, pressing the call key.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Randy. I just got your text. You must have been monitoring the site.”

“Not really, I was just checking my email and saw your message come in right away. What can

I help you with?”

Randy wasn’t sure how to begin, but starting with an obvious question seemed to make the

most sense.

“First of all, was your mother the real deal?”

There was a laugh on the other end, and he was glad the question wasn’t offensive.

“She was as real as a voodoo priestess could get. She stopped being active a long time ago

when she came to the States and opened the shop. But she did offer some services on the side.”

“So did you take those things over, too?”

“Not really. I’m more of a researcher in the paranormal. I’m not really into the magical aspect.

That’s more my brother’s territory. Maybe he can help you. Feel free to come to the shop

whenever you want. He’s usually here, too.”

“Well okay,” Randy said. “But my next question is the same as in my message. Is there any

relationship between the spiritual myths of different cultures?”

“Oh, definitely. An evil spirit is an evil spirit. There are only a few occasions where someone of

a specific culture would be needed for a haunting. Is there some kind of disturbance in your

house?”

“Um, you could say that,” Randy said. “I’m not really sure what’s going on, though. I’m having

a hard time believing any of this is real.”

“I understand. But may I ask what you think the origin of this disturbance is?”

“It’s family-related,” Randy said, not really knowing how else to explain it.

“And where is your family from?”

“Scotland. They came here in the late 1800s.”

“Oh my,” Keri said. “Are you related to Frederik MacKinney by any chance?”

Randy’s heart skipped a beat. Was this a good thing or a bad thing?

“Yes,” he said hesitantly.

“I see. Well, he had come to my mother shortly before she died. She gave him some spells and

a few other things. I assumed the problem was taken care of.”

“What happened to her? Could Frederik have had…?”

“Oh no. She died of cancer. She had come out to the cabin where he lived a few times and

performed some cleansing rituals. But that’s about it. After her second visit, we never heard from

him again. That’s why we figured she had solved the problem.”

Randy sighed. “So what pieces did she leave him?”

“Some stones in a paquet. They’re basically black tourmaline or selenite stones. They’re

protective. He would have carried them in his pocket to keep spirits away and to protect himself

from being possessed.”

That sounded like something Randy needed, but he didn’t want to reveal too much.

“What is a paquet?”

“Just a small velvet or leather pouch to carry the stones in. Other cultures might call it a witch

bag or a hex bag. It’s all the same.”

“Okay then. One last question. Did he ever show her anything… disturbing?”

There was a pause.

“We should talk about this in person. Maybe you could come to the shop. Big brother is always

listening.”

“I hear ya,” Randy said, feeling hopeful now. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Should I bring

anything?”

“It would be helpful to bring anything you think might have belonged to the spirit. Do you have

anything like that?”

He thought of the tome. Melinda had left it behind, thankfully.

“I’ve got just the thing,” he said. “It’s an old spell book of hers.”

“Hers? As in the spirit itself?”

“Yes. It was hers back in Scotland. My friend said it was her spellbook. It’s written in English,

mostly, but with some old Gaelic script.”

“Okay. I think my brother Jacob could help with that. He studied old Gaelic when we were

teenagers. Our father was Irish. We both got his blue eyes.”

“So where was your mother from? Haiti?”

“Yes. She came here with our father soon after they met. I think she cast a spell on him to

make him fall in love with her so she could get away from Haiti.”

“Well, then,” Randy laughed. “That must have been one hell of a spell.”

“Must have been.” Keri laughed. “If you believe in spells like that.”

“At this point,” Randy said. “I’d believe in Bigfoot alien Elvis.”

Keri laughed again, this time louder. She sounded nice.

“That’s a new one. But we’ll be here all day.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there in a little while.”

“I look forward to meeting you. See you soon.”

Randy hung up, setting the phone down on the coffee table. This was good news, he thought.

The more help he could get, the better. Anything that didn’t involve simply opening the casket

and jamming the dagger in the heart of whatever was in there—if it even had a heart—was the

better choice. But he was now getting another person, maybe two, involved. Melinda knew

nothing about the corpse or the casket, or even Frederik’s journal, but he had the feeling he

would have to share more with these two.

They seemed like the kind of people he needed.

After stopping for fast food and coffee, Randy was on the road to Bloomington. The shop was

located on route 446, just southeast of town, and likely in a secluded area, which was good. The

drive west was uneventful with very little traffic, but as the road wore on Randy began to feel a

familiar sense of doom.

His heart began to pound, and his head was throbbing. The nausea he had felt during his

attempted escape returned, and his vision became cloudy with every second. He pulled over to

the side of the road, barely conscious by the time he came to a complete stop.

“Goddamn it,” he hissed, pounding on the dash with his fist.

Again, he couldn’t escape. He couldn’t even visit the next town. He was trapped.

“What the fuck?”

He pulled out his phone and dialed Keri’s number, frustrated and on the verge of tears.

“Randy?” Keri’s voice was shaky and desperate sounding.

“Keri,” Randy gasped. “I can’t… make it there.”

“You’re trapped?”

“Yeah. This isn’t the first time, either.”

“That’s not a good sign. None of this is, but that’s bad. Go home.”

Randy sighed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“We close at 6,” Keri said. “Text me your address, and Jacob will come to you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Don’t worry,” Keri assured him. “I didn’t mention it before but Jacob is a lot like our mother.

He can do things that I can’t, such as help you find the nature of the spirit. Right before you

called, he came inside and warned me that you wouldn’t be able to come.”

“What do you mean? How did he even know we talked?”

”Like I said, he can do things I can’t. Now he knows this spirit is attached to you. He can see

things like this. He says he will help you.”

Randy felt a sense of relief then, knowing that someone was sympathetic and truly

knowledgeable about his plight. Even Melinda and her interest and knowledge weren’t enough

to help in any practical way. She was a wealth of knowledge, but not magic—if there was such a

thing.

“Alright then,” Randy said. “I’ll go back. I can pay you whatever it takes.”

“We’ll talk about that when the job is done. Take care, Randy.”

Randy tossed the phone on the passenger seat, letting his heart slow down and his head stop

swimming before he made a U-turn and headed back to the cabin.

Deputy Joe was parked in the driveway when Randy arrived. At first sight of the department

vehicle, Randy’s heart pounded and his panic began to set in. He pulled up with a giant knot in

his stomach, parking next to Joe’s SUV. To Randy’s relief, the deputy smiled and waved.

“Afternoon, Mr. Green,” he said as Randy stepped out.

“What can I do for you, off… deputy?”

Joe chuckled. “Just came by to let you know that we think there’s a bear or something in the

area.”

“A bear?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, taking off his hat and looking down at his feet. “We found some remains

pretty close by. There was some hunting gear, some blood, and some… uh… other materials. The

hunter we were looking for was obviously attacked by an animal, but we weren’t able to find a

body. That tells us we’re probably dealing with something large enough to…”

“Eat the body?” Randy finished him, relieved.

“Yeah, sorry. There’s no other way to put it.”

“A bear huh? Well, what should I do?”

“Do you have any firearms?”

“There was a shotgun here,” Randy said. “It works.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Randy grinned. “I almost blew my head off.”

The deputy laughed strangely. “Well, don’t do that. That’s good though. Keep it handy, and if

you see anything out here make sure to stay inside and call 911. Better safe than sorry.”

“I’ll do that,” Randy said. “Thanks, deputy.”

“Have a good day, Randy.”

The deputy put his hat back on and got into his vehicle, driving off with a wave. Randy

watched him, his heart slowing down with each passing second. He had been sure the deputy

knew what was going on but was relieved that the authorities had guessed there was a bear in

the area. Bears ate people occasionally, he had heard. He hadn’t thought of that.

But, he was thankful the deputy wasn’t insistent on searching his cabin or even the woodshed.

Even though he had cleaned up everything, to the best of his knowledge, he had been in a panic.

Surely he wouldn’t have seen everything. There were likely still some clues left somewhere. But

he wouldn’t worry about that now.

What he was worried about was this bag of stones Frederik had been given. As he went to his

front door, his mind went to the various places in the cabin he had not looked. Though he hadn’t

searched the boxes in the upstairs bedroom, such an item wouldn’t likely be there. That would be

something Frederik would keep on him, from what Keri told him.

It wasn’t until he finally sat down on the couch that his eyes wandered over to the desk to the

left of the fireplace. He got up, looking over the pile of old papers on the top. There were old bills

marked PAID, junk mail, and ad packets. There was a three-year-old local newspaper as well as a

few grocery lists written on scrap paper. Other than that, nothing.

The top drawer was full of batteries, staples, and other small items. But the bottom drawer

contained a small pouch, a Crown Royal bag with small items inside. He picked it up and looked

inside, seeing some black, red, and green stones, as well as a pinkish crystal with splotches of

green within.

“Bingo,” he said, closing it and stuffing it in his pocket.

For some reason, the feeling of having it there gave him some comfort. The panic that was

already subsiding went away completely, and a warm feeling came over him. Maybe there was

something to these stones, but the fact they were in a Crown Royal bag was somewhat amusing.

Cha-Ching!

“Fuck,” he said, nearly stumbling as he turned around.

There was a text from an unknown number.

This is Jacob. Keri gave me your address. I’ll be there in about an hour.

He texted back, “Thanks, Jacob. See you then.”

He grinned, sitting back on the couch and pouring a drink. Now that someone who knew what

the hell they were doing—he assumed—was coming to physically help, things began to look up.

He looked forward to meeting Jacob, and hoped the man could help solve the problem.

Or, at least, give him some idea on how to do it himself.

Chapter Eighteen

It was after 6 pm when Jacob arrived. Randy heard him pull up and went to the window to see

the mid-sized black sedan parked next to his own car. Randy went outside to meet him, glad that

he had finally arrived.

Jacob stepped out of the car and Randy could see the blue eyes that Keri had mentioned. He

was fairly tall, a little taller than Randy, caramel-skinned, with long braids and a boyish face that

was a stark contrast to his focused and stern demeanor. The man’s eyes immediately went to the

woodshed, and he paused to stare for a moment before finally greeting Randy.

“Randy?” He said, coming around the car to offer his hand.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you, Jacob.”

Jacob nodded and went back to gazing at the woodshed. “Something’s happened there,” he

said. “Not just recently, but for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Randy said. “Bad things. If you want to just forget this, I understand.”

“No, no,” Jacob assured him. “I came to help. Frederik was a good friend to my mother. He

was a good man. You’re his kin?”

“Apparently I’m his nephew,” Randy explained. “And his father was my actual grandfather.”

“Show me this woodshed,” Jacob said. “I feel a darkness around it. There’s something around

in the forest, too. Something watching, I think.”

Randy thought he had taken care of the Malcolm problem. Evidently, it was more involved

than simply jabbing an iron dagger in a corpse.

“I can’t explain anything,” Randy said. “Nothing makes any sense. But yeah, there’s…

something out there.”

He led Jacob to the shed and unlocked the doors, pulling them open slowly, unsure of what

would be waiting inside. Jacob immediately stepped in, going straight for the workbench. He ran

his hands over it as his brow furrowed and his lips tightened.

“People have died here,” Jacob said. “Violently.”

“There’s some things I need to tell you,” Randy said. “But I’m sure I can really trust anyone to

keep it a secret.”

Jacob turned to him, and his blue eyes seemed to have a calming effect. “You can trust me,”

Jacob said. “Things like this are way beyond the police. Whatever you tell or show me stays

between us.”

“Well,” Randy struggled to explain. “Two people were recently killed here. I thought it was me

at first because I blacked out and found the first one when I came to. I had blood on my hands,

too.”

Jacob nodded understandingly, his face not flinching at all. “I see,” he said. “And what did you

do with the bodies?”

“I… I burned them.”

“Good. Where?”

“In the cellar, where the…”

“Where the spirit lies,” Jacob finished him.

Randy nodded.

“What do you think this spirit is?” Jacob asked.

“I don’t know. Something from the old country. Scotland. I think it’s my great-greatgrandmother.”

Jacob nodded again. “A family spirit. Those are the most difficult to dispel. Who or what do

you think killed these two people?”

“I’m not sure, man,” Randy admitted. “But I believe it was the spirit’s own son, Malcolm. My

great-grandfather.”

Jacob’s eyes lit up. “Ah, I see. He was feeding her. That tells me a lot. My father was a

spiritualist like my mother. He was from Ireland, and these family spirits are common in their

folklore. Though I don’t think it’s a banshee, it sounds like something similar, only worse.”

“Well, come inside and I’ll show you some notes that my friend transcribed for me.”

“Okay,” Jacob said, setting down his pack. “But let me smudge this woodshed. I can cleanse

some of the darkness for a while, but we need to exorcise the spirit that resides here. This

Malcolm.”

He removed a felt pouch from his pack and pulled out what looked like a giant joint with a

charred end. He lit the end of it with a lighter and began walking around the shed with it, his eyes

closed and his lips moving in some kind of chant.

“What is that?” Randy asked.

“Sage,” Jacob said. “It’s an herb that has a powerful cleansing property. The smoke can drive

away evil spirits and their residue.”

Residue?

“Tell me of this friend of yours,” Jacob said. “The person who transcribed the notes for you.”

“Uh… she’s a librarian and historian at the local library. Her name is Melinda. She was really

interested in this whole story, but I haven’t spoken to her for a few days.”

Jacob glanced over at him as if expecting more. “Why is that?”

“I… things happened when she was here. I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“Did you have sex with her?”

“Yeah, but it was weird. It was like it wasn’t her?”

“What do you mean?” Jacob asked, continuing his cleansing.

“She’s a nice and quiet woman,” Randy explained. “Timid and kind of nerdy. But then that

night she just went crazy… horny, I guess. She was very aggressive, unlike her usual self.”

Jacob grinned. “That doesn’t mean anything in and of itself,” Jacob said. “People can be the

complete opposite of themselves when they’re feeling any kind of strong passion. Case in point, a

meek and timid man who resorts to violence to protect his family or a battered woman who kills

her abusive husband to protect their children.”

“Well, this was different,” Randy said. “It happened kind of suddenly. She was talking about

something called a Devil’s Kiss…”

Jacob stopped then, lowering the sage and looking over at him again. “Why would she bring

that up?”

“We were talking about demons,” Randy explained. “How people worship them and their

servants. You know, dark witches.”

“Right,” Jacob said. “Was there some demon worship going on in the past?”

“I don’t remember our exact conversation. But I didn’t tell her about the dream I had.”

“What dream was that?”

“My first dream here,” Randy said. “I went into the cellar where there was a natural cavern.

There was a dark-haired woman there, naked and… absolutely perfect in every detail. She kept

asking me to worship her… so I did.”

“You gave her the Devil’s Kiss, then?”

Randy nodded, ashamed.

“Well then, she has you trapped now. I understand how difficult it would be to resist, but once

you did that, you were hers.”

“It was just a dream, though,” Randy insisted. “It wasn’t real.”

“Oh, it was real,” Jacob said. “Without a fully functional physical body, a creature like this can

only visit potential victims through their dreams. I think she trying to bind you to her, which she

managed to do, it seems. Maybe her son wasn’t fulfilling her needs well enough since he was

dead, so now she needs another one. Someone who’s actually alive. I think maybe Melinda was

possessed by her. Other than her behavior, did she seem different in any other ways at that

moment?”

Randy thought back to that night, but he couldn’t think of anything else other than similar

sexual acts.

“Did you… worship Melinda?”

Randy nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Jacob stamped out the smudge stick, placing it back in his pack. “That should do for a while,”

he said. “The spirit won’t be able to enter anymore until the magic wears off. Stay out of here if

you can.”

“Not a problem,” Randy said.

“So, show me this cellar.”

Randy opened the cellar door and started down the stairs. Jacob followed hesitantly, and

Randy was glad he did. As he stopped at the broken step, he moved to the side and pointed it

out, showing Jacob the gaping hole.

“Watch your step there,” he said. “I went right through and about blew my fucking brains out

with the shotgun I was carrying.”

“Good to know,” Jacob said with a grin.

As they reached the bottom, Randy went to the light and pulled the string. Jacob looked

around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small stone. He held it out, moving it from side

to side, stopping at the white door.

“I take it the thing is in there,” he said.

“Yeah. The desk is where I found the tome and the journals, as well as a revolver with iron

bullets.”

“Iron bullets huh?”

“Yeah,” Randy said. “Melinda said that must mean something.”

“Iron has special properties in the paranormal world,” Jacob said. “But I don’t think it will stop

what I think this creature might be. If it ever gets out, that is.”

“It’s behind that white door.”

Jacob nodded. “That’s what the stone is telling me. That’s where the corpse is, too, right?”

“Yeah. Malcolm’s body I think.”

Jacob put the stone back in his pocket and examined the crossboard. He lifted it up slightly,

looking at the inside surface and nodding as he saw the runes.

“These are the right wards,” he said. “Frederik must have gotten them from my mother or

from that tome. You should show me that when we’re done down here.”

Jacob lifted the board out and set it on the floor. He then reached into his pack and pulled out

another pouch. He reached into it and drew out a handful of what looked like salt, sprinkling it in

a line in front of the door.

“Is that salt?” Randy asked. Jacob nodded.

“Witches and other bad things loathe salt,” Jacob explained. “They won’t cross it, so keep this

here and replenish it if you need to.”

“Regular salt?”

“That’ll work, but kosher salt is better. Not for the reason you think, though.”

Randy decided not to ask.

Jacob slowly opened the door and then looked back at Randy as the smell of burnt flesh and

smoke wafted out.

“How many bodies have you burned in here?”

“Just two,” Randy replied. “But I guess two is enough.”

Jacob pulled out a flashlight and stepped inside. He then lit the smudge stick again and waved

it around as he approached the opening to the cavern. Randy followed behind him, nervous and

shaking. They entered, and Jacob immediately crouched down to examine Malcolm’s body. He

held his light right at the handle of the dagger.

“This has likely been blessed by a priest,” he said. “But the blessing has faded quite a bit, I

imagine. How long ago was it first used?”

Randy shrugged. “From the journals, it looks like my ancestor forged it over a hundred years

ago. He must have used this to kill his own wife, who I think is in the box over there.”

Jacob shined his light over to the box. There it was, unchanged from the last time Randy saw

it.

“Interesting,” Jacob said. “That looks like a type of Dibbuk Box.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a box used in Judaism to trap demons,” Jacob said. “That one looks like a witch box. Same

basic principle but used to trap witches and other dark female spirits. I’ll have to get a closer

look, but we have to burn this corpse here. This dagger isn’t doing much good at the moment.”

“There’s a fire ring over there to the left of the box,” Randy said. “The smoke goes right out a

crack just above the box.”

“And it just goes outside?”

Randy nodded.

“Alright,” Jacob said, setting down his light. “Let’s get this corpse over to the fire pit and bind

it.”

“Bind it?”

Jacob opened his pack again and pulled out the salt. “Salt can also bind a spirit to its remains

until they completely decompose or are burned.”

Randy nodded. That made sense, he supposed.

“Is there a tarp or something down here?”

Randy retrieved the tarp he had used to hide the first body he had dragged down. Together,

the two of them carefully slid the corners under the corpse, being careful not to break any of it

off. Once ready, they carried it over to the fire pit and laid it in the center. Jacob sprinkled the rest

of his salt on the body and then pulled the dagger out, examining it.

“This is definitely a design from a Catholic priest,” he said. “It was probably very powerful at

one time, but like I said the blessing has faded. It must have been forged out of blessed materials.

You should take it to another priest and have it blessed again.”

“Are you serious?” Randy laughed. “Hey, Father, can you bless this demon-slaying dagger for

me? No reason. Asking for a friend.”

Jacob laughed, handing it to him with a grin. “Okay, maybe not in this county. Or you can try to

sneak it into a chapel and dip it in holy water. That should do the trick.”

“Okay,” Randy agreed. “That sounds like a better idea. I don’t know how someone would react

if you asked them for a favor like that.”

Jacob shrugged. “It’s not really uncommon,” he said. “That’s what they’re there for, really. But

let’s check out this box.”

Jacob crawled over to the box and pulled out a few crystals. He closed his fist around them

and closed his eyes, waving his hand over the forged surface. As he moved the crystals over the

lock, he stopped and opened his eyes.

“This is where the spirit is fed,” he said, looking closer. “I can see the dried blood.”

“Yeah,” Randy said. “That’s where it dripped from above, too.”

Jacob leaned in closer, examining the runes that were scratched around the keyhole. He

grunted a few times, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I don’t know what these are,” he said. “They’re not Celtic or Latin or anything. It looks

almost…”

There was a loud thud as if something heavy had banged against the lid. Jacob jumped back,

falling over some chunks of sandstone and hitting his head on the floor. Randy scooted back,

making his way toward Jacob as he sat up rubbing his head.

“What the fuck?” Jacob cursed. “Jesus Christ.”

“That’s happened once before,” Randy said. “When I stabbed the corpse again.”

Jacob sighed. “The box will hold,” he said. “The physical form anyway. Those runes on the

crossbar out there aren’t doing much to keep her spirit inside though. She’s invaded your dreams

already. We need to put some more powerful wards out there to keep her at bay until we find a

way to destroy her.”

Randy nodded, still wondering why they couldn’t just destroy the whole thing altogether.

“Couldn’t we just put the whole thing in a hot fire, like a forge or a foundry or something?”

“That box probably weighs a ton,” Jacob said. “And I don’t even know if that would work.”

“So what do we do now?”

Jacob stood up, looking fearfully at the box. “Let’s get out of here for one,” he said. “I’ve seen

enough to know that there’s nothing we can do today. I don’t have what I need to destroy the

body.”

“We can’t salt it and burn it?”

“No, that won’t work. This type of spirit is more powerful than that. It would just find another

host.”

“Another host?”

Jacob nodded, pulling a flask of oil from his pack and going over to Malcolm’s corpse. “Yeah,”

he said. “I think this creature is something like a vampire, but not like… Dracula or anything like

that. It’s an old Scottish legend. It’s like a banshee, but more demonic.”

“A Baobhan-sith,” Randy said. “Yeah, I got that so far.”

Jacob looked at him grimly. “Someone told you that?”

“Melinda did. It makes sense.”

“Right. It’s not good. This scares even me. But if this thing was your ancestor, I wonder who

the original creature was.”

“What do you mean?”

Jacob made an oil trail from the fire pit to about a foot from the entrance. Randy followed him

out as he knelt down to light the fire. It went quickly, traveling across the floor of the chamber

and into the pit. The corpse burst into flames, and the two men stared at it for a few moments

until every part of it was engulfed.

“The Baobhan-sith will only pass on its curse when it thinks it’s about to die. It will then kill a

woman to do so. And that’s the only time it will kill another female.”

Randy knew that. Melinda had told him. The journals had said Duna was killed by the creature

Malcolm had awakened and she had come back from the dead.

Screams began to erupt from the box, and the two men covered their ears over the horrifying

sound. It shrieked in an unearthly, almost alien tone, agonized and furious. Randy feared the

creature would burst from the box and kill them both, and obviously Jacob feared it too, as he

gently nudged Randy out into the cellar. He closed the door and replaced the crossbar, fumbling

through his pack to find a small book.

“There are a few runes that will help suppress her astral projections,” he said. “You shouldn’t

have any more dreams. But if you do, let me know right away.”

Randy nodded. Jacob carefully drew the runes onto both the top and bottom halves of the

door. They were similar to the other magic circles he had seen, but with the addition of some

runes or letters he didn’t recognize.

“So what do we do now?” Randy wondered.

“Now, we need to get the whole story,” Jacob said. “Ever channeled a spirit?”

Chapter Nineteen

“These look familiar,” Jacob said when Randy showed him the stones in the Crown Royal bag. “It’s

funny that he kept them in a little whiskey bag. I don’t think my mother gave that to him.”

“I haven’t seen any little whiskey bottles around,” Randy said.

“There are a lot of people in the county who buy these bottles and have no interest in the

bags. It’s weird. I think they’re pretty cool. They’re good for keeping your weed in.”

Randy chuckled, remembering doing the same thing as a teenager.

“Speaking of which,” Jacob said, reaching into his pack again. “To perform this ritual we need

to get you in the right state of mind. Do you smoke at all?”

“Weed?” Randy asked. “I haven’t smoked for a long time. But that sounds good. Probably

better than drinking scotch, right?”

“You have some scotch?”

“Yeah, you want some?”

“Sure,” Jacob said. “I’ll roll this up while you pour a couple of glasses. Where’s that tome, by

the way?”

Randy pointed at the tome on the coffee table and then went to grab a few glasses from the

cabinet. He poured a few fingers into each one while Jacob rolled a joint and looked at the open

book in front of him. He sat cross-legged in front of the couch, facing Jacob as he watched him

expertly work the rice paper.

“What was this woman’s name?” Jacob asked.

“Duna something or other,” Randy said. “I don’t remember, but Melinda said that was the

tome of an herbalist.”

“Mostly,” Jacob said. “She knew some spells, though. Mostly Celtic things pertaining to

cleansing and healing. She was pretty well-versed if you ask me. This is probably pretty valuable.”

“Is there anything in it that would help?”

“Possibly. Some of the later pages have spells to drive away malicious spirits. Or…

mischievous, more likely. Nothing evil like demons or anything. Shit like sprites or annoying little

fairies."

That was interesting. Randy had never seen a fairy, or even heard of anyone who had. He

wouldn’t think such things existed. But then again, witches in boxes weren’t very common either.

Not to mention, dead men who dress in horrifying costumes to go out and kill people.

“Malcolm was here last night,” Randy said. “He attacked my house dressed in burlap rags and

a deer skull.”

Jacob looked up as he lit the joint, then his smudge stick. “A deer skull?”

“Yeah,” Randy said. “The whole getup looked like pictures Melinda showed me of a Leshen.”

“That’s weird,” Jacob said, taking a hit and handing the joint to Randy. “That’s not a Scottish

thing as far as I know. I wonder where he got that idea.”

“I saw another piece of art that showed a similar thing here in America. It was called a

Wendigo or something.”

“Ah,” Jacob said with a look of recognition. “That makes more sense. Similar spirits, I imagine,

but I’ve never heard of a ghost using that appearance. But I guess he wouldn’t have been an

actual ghost. Something more like a…”

“Lemure?” Randy finished him, coughing a little when he said it. He was starting to feel a buzz.

“Right,” Jacob said, pointing a trigger finger at him. “That’s what they’re called.”

Randy, slightly stoned at this point, began to feel nervous about what they were going to do.

He wasn’t sure what Jacob had meant about channeling a spirit. Was someone going to possess

him? He wasn’t comfortable with that thought.

“So,” he began. “What are we about to do? You said channeling a spirit?”

“Sort of,” Jacob said. “Not exactly. If everything goes right you’ll be accessing family memories.

Memories passed down through psychic energies can be brought back and you can watch them

in your mind like movies.”

“In the third person?”

“Right. You won’t actually be living them and you won’t be putting yourself at risk of

possession. The spirit energy itself is only used to channel the memories. Since all of these

ancestors lived in this house at one time, their energies should be here. I’m sure of it. I can feel

the spirits of at least four men, Malcolm included, that lived here.”

“What about the people who were killed here?”

Jacob pursed his lips and nodded grimly. “Them too. But we won’t worry about them unless

you want to watch their last moments.”

“No,” Randy said. “Not really. I had one dream from Frederik’s point of view and that was

enough.”

“What happened in that dream?”

Randy put his hands on the coffee table, taking a deep breath as he remembered the

horrifying scene.

“Frederik was chained to the wall and forced to watch Malcolm slaughter a young man.

Malcolm drained his blood into a bucket to feed to the monster, and saved the flesh for himself.”

Jacob’s eyes went wide. “He ate him?”

Randy nodded. “Yeah. And when I woke up, that’s when I found the first body in the shed.”

“What made you look in the shed?”

Randy held his hands up. “Blood on my hands. Blood and dirt. And then the Sheriff’s deputy

came later on to ask if I had seen two men that were missing.”

“And you found the other man here, too?”

“Yes. Right after the Leshen attacked with its little cronies.”

“There were other creatures with him?” Jacob asked.

“I didn’t see them, but yes. They were just scratching the house and howling and screeching.”

Jacob grunted, seemingly unsure of what they could have been. “I’ll have to look through my

mom’s books. Have you tried looking them up on Google or something?”

“No. But maybe I should have.”

“Well,” Jacob said, stamping out the joint and taking one more swig of scotch. “Let’s get this

show on the road. Close your eyes and relax. Focus on opening your mind to your ancestors…”

Randy felt like he was floating. He opened his eyes, seeing nothing but the dim light of the

moon that illuminated a murky swamp in the middle of a thick forest. Fog rolled across the

ground in an eerie pattern, and the sound of frogs and other swamp life filled the air.

He was positioned right above the stagnant water, close enough to its still surface to smell the

filth that floated within. It felt hot and damp, and his breathing was labored. Still, he knew it was

just all in his mind, and he ignored the discomfort he felt. He was simply watching, nothing more.

There was no reason to panic.

In the distance, two torches began to move toward him. They broke through the thick cover of

vegetation, casting a glow on the surrounding fog. They were moving quickly, with a sense of

urgency that told Randy they were coming this way for a reason. He began to hear voices; a man

and a woman. They spoke to each other in hushed tones, arguing over something that Randy

couldn’t comprehend.

Finally, as he watched in growing anticipation, the two broke through to the clearing in front of

the swamp. It was a large man, long-haired and dirty, dressed in farmer’s clothing and carrying

an axe as well as a torch. The other was a woman. She was dressed in an old but clean and

colorful gown, with a pack strapped to her waist, a torch in one hand, and a large, black dagger in

her other hand.

They spoke to each other in a language that Randy guessed was English, but with such a thick

accent it was almost incoherent. The woman tossed her torch on the ground and began rifling

through her pack as the man kept watch around them, his axe at the ready. The woman began

drawing a large circle in the dirt, using a large twisted branch that she had taken from the forest

floor.

The circle looked familiar to Randy. It was similar to at least one of the runes he had seen

drawn in the back of the tome. Randy then realized that this woman was Duna. She was identical

to the woman in his dreams. Her hair was jet black, straight, and silky as it moved with her.

Though he couldn’t see them, he guessed that her eyes were green.

She was beautiful.

She finished drawing the circle and sat cross-legged in its center, beckoning the man to stand

behind her. She began chanting in a different language, holding her hands out at her side. The

man crouched behind her, his torch lying beside him in the dirt, his eyes closed as the woman

continued her chanting.

Five small fires appeared along the circle’s perimeter, burning in a strange green light. Below

him, the swamp water began to boil, and the smell of sulfur wafted up from its depths. He moved

himself back, looking downward into the rapidly moving water, waiting for the inevitable. With a

splash and a howl, the surface broke, and a horrifying female form appeared.

It shot straight up from the water, its body withered and skeletal, its hair and clothing tattered

and filthy. Her screams filled the air and racked every bone in Randy’s body. It was the most

horrifying thing he had ever heard; even more so than the demonic howls of the Leshen’s cronies.

The woman stood, drawing a long and gleaming black dagger from her belt. It appeared to be

made of some sort of black stone or glass, and she held it out in front of her as she continued her

chants. The monster raised its arms, revealing long and sharp claws that curled menacingly, like

those of an eagle after its prey.

“Begone, swamp witch!” The man shouted in English. “Begone with ye!”

The creature shot forward, and the man reared back his axe. The woman’s eyes opened,

glowing with that same green light that surrounded her. She too stood, and her hands began to

glow as well. As the creature neared, she blasted it with a green flame, sending it back toward

the swamp, screeching and howling with that unearthly keening.

It shot forward again, this time quickly dodging the woman’s magic and coming straight up

and down toward the axe-wielding man. He swung, catching the monster in the gut as he

dodged. The woman, Duna, spun and blasted the creature again, this time knocking it against a

large and twisted tree. Her magic bound it there, and saplings sprung up from the ground,

trapping it even further. She quickly charged, plunging the dagger into the creature’s breast, right

into its black heart.

It screamed demonically, unknown words spilling from its gaping, fanged maw as Duna

twisted the dagger and injected her magic through it. The green fire began to engulf the creature,

and its body tremored and shook as the flames consumed it. But with one last-ditch effort at

defense, it lashed out, ripping out Duna’s throat with its claws.

The man shouted in horror as Duna fell back, convulsing and choking as blood sprayed from

the mortal wound. The man—Lachlan, he now knew—charged the creature, swinging his axe

with all the rage he could muster, chopping the creature’s head clean off. He then left it lodged in

the tree, falling to the ground next to his wife, cradling her trembling body in his arms.

There, in the swamp, he wept.

“Jesus Christ!” Randy shouted as he jerked awake.

Jacob was across from him, his eyes closed and his hands clasped in front of him.

“That was quick,” he said as he opened his eyes. “You went under faster than I expected.”

“Holy shit,” Randy said, breathless. “I saw it. I saw the creature. And I saw them kill it.”

“Your grandparents?”

“Yeah, Lachlan and Duna. They killed it. She used her magic and a… dagger of some sort.”

Jacob leaned in. “That’s good!” He said happily. “That tells us we need a specific weapon.

What was it?”

Randy shook his head, unsure of what he had seen. “It was black… glass maybe?”

Jacob’s eyes lit up. “Did it look like it was knapped like flint or chert?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, realizing that was why it had an odd surface texture. “Like an Indian knife

or something.”

“Okay,” Jacob said. “Then we need obsidian. That makes sense.”

“Do you have an obsidian knife?”

“Not with me,” Jacob said. “But my mother had one. I should have known. I just didn’t think it

was this serious. She didn’t. I guess it would have helped if Frederik had told her everything.”

Jacob leaned in then, raising an eyebrow. “Have you told me everything?”

“Uh, yeah,” Randy said. “As far as I know. I told you about the two people I may have killed,

didn’t I?”

“You didn’t kill them,” Jacob said. “Malcolm killed them. Whether he used your body to do so

is not important. At least not in this situation.”

“It would matter to the police.”

Jacob nodded. “Of course. But they don’t need to know anything. There’s nothing they could

do anyway but arrest you. You did the right thing contacting my sister.”

Randy sighed. “I’m just glad you’re discreet and understanding.”

“There are things in this world that the authorities don’t understand nowadays. It would have

been different in the past, but very few people actually believe in this sort of thing anymore. Evil

exists, but in the eyes of the law it really doesn’t. Murder is murder in their opinion. If I thought

you had murdered two people yourself, I might have gone to the cops. But I know you didn’t.

Malcolm murdered them and many others. Your conscious is clear.”

Randy felt relieved. At least Jacob understood. “Okay, so now what?”

Jacob held up a finger and pulled out his phone. Randy gazed out the window as he dialed,

assuming he was calling his sister. He noticed that it was dark, and the moon was casting a

strange reddish glow on the trees outside. He stood and went to the window, looking out with

reluctant eyes. There, silhouetted against the trees, was the Leshen.

Randy’s heart jumped, and he backed away, looking back at Jacob just as he began talking.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need mom’s obsidian dagger. Do you know where it is? Um… I think it’s a

Baobhan-sith. Yeah. I know. I know. Uncle David? Oh, fuck. Okay. Maybe we can find something in

town in the morning. Everything’s closed now. Uh-huh. No. No, don’t come here. You know why. I

don’t want my big sister getting killed and coming back as some vampire sex demon, right?”

Randy went back to the window, looking out again. The Leshen was gone, but Randy knew it

was still around. Jacob continued.

“I guess I’ll come back here in the morning, then. If plans change, I’ll shoot you a text. See if

you can find that dagger just in case Uncle David doesn’t have it. I don’t know why momma

would have given it to him anyway. Okay. Love you. Bye.”

“Dude,” Randy said. “That Leshen was out there. I saw it.”

Jacob stood, rushing over to the window and looking out. “Where was it?”

Randy pointed toward the tree line. “At the edge of the trees over there. I looked away and

then looked back and it was gone. I thought we took care of it.”

“We did,” Jacob said. “It must be something else.”

“I never did find the burlap or the deer skull after I killed it with the dagger.”

“That’s not good,” Jacob said. “Not good at all.”

“I know it’s still out there,” Randy said, that nagging feeling growing in his heart. “I can feel it.”

“Alright, alright. We gotta come up with a plan B for that thing.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go out there and go home,” Randy said. “There’s a spare bedroom in

the back if you just want to crash here. We’re going into town tomorrow anyway, right?”

“Yeah. But if I’m crashing here, I prefer the floor right in front of that fireplace.”

“Deal,” Randy said. “Good thing I have plenty of scotch left.”

“And I have plenty of weed.”

Randy chuckled. “Jacob,” he said. “I think you just might be my new best friend.”

Jacob grinned, holding out his fist. “Bet.”

Chapter Twenty

Jacob sat cross-legged on the floor near the roaring fireplace while Randy lay on the couch

staring up at the ceiling. Tonight’s revelations into the family history had made quite an

impression on both of them, and Randy’s retelling of it made Jacob want to go over the journal

entries himself.

Randy tried to forget about seeing the Leshen outside, as difficult as it was, and his mind

avoided the thought like the plague. He focused, instead, on thinking of Melinda and her

enthusiasm for the story. He picked up his phone occasionally, hoping maybe she had messaged

him. But, as always, there was nothing.

“So,” Jacob said. “It looks like Lachlan used the iron dagger to subdue Duna when she came

back from the dead.”

“Yeah. I wonder why he didn’t just destroy her with the obsidian dagger.”

“I suppose he couldn’t bring himself to do it,” Jacob suggested. “He loved her a lot, according

to his own words here. I can sympathize.”

“So he just subdued her and put her in the box, then. I wonder how he even built it.”

“I don’t know,” Jacob said. “It doesn’t seem like it would be easy. The iron dagger, maybe. It’s

not that hard to forge a simple weapon if you’re skilled enough. I imagine he was at least a little

skilled. He probably made horseshoes and other simple things.”

“The carvings on the blade, though,” Randy said. “The Latin words are near perfect.”

“He probably used a stamp or something. There was probably a printing press nearby in town.

He could have built a stamp using the letters. Just attach them and put the whole thing on the

end of an iron rod… there you go. The little Jesus, though… I don’t know.”

“No mention of that anywhere?”

Jacob shook his head. “Not that I see. I’m curious about Gaven’s story though. It seems like he

was on to Malcolm, especially after his wife disappeared. Malcolm was his first suspect. I don’t

know if he knew about Duna in the box or what. But I can’t imagine how it would make him feel

knowing his own father murdered his wife and probably… ate her.”

“Jesus Christ,” Randy whispered. “Yeah.”

“For a non-Christian, you sure say Jesus Christ a lot.”

Randy chuckled. “Fuck it.”

“Well, I wonder if that corpse is burned up yet.”

Randy shrugged. He didn’t really care at this point. The other corpses had burned up with no

problem, and they were still fresh. I dried up and mostly mummified corpse would probably burn

like sticks. There was still the matter of all the bones, though. Bone was much harder to burn.

They would have to build one final—and extremely hot—fire for those.

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to burn any more of them,” Randy said.

“If we manage to destroy the creature, we’ll have her corpse to burn too.”

“Maybe,” Randy said. “I hope it’s like a movie where it just goes poof.”

“I doubt it,” Jacob said, smiling. “But here’s something interesting. This entry by Gaven says

that he could see things out in the forest. Weird things that ended up not being real.”

“What does that mean?”

Jacob shook his head. “We burned Malcolm’s corpse,” he said. “So the ghost should have been

destroyed. Maybe the creature can cause hallucinations. Things that aren’t really there. She

could project a physical force, according to your story about the blow job in the bedroom

upstairs. I don’t know. Or maybe there’s some part of Malcolm left somewhere that keeps his

spirit here in this realm.”

“What if there are still pieces of his bones left?” Randy offered. “Would that keep him here?”

“Not likely,” Jacob said. “The fire itself would have expelled the spirit. There has to be

something else.”

“Damn,” Randy said. “If so, I wonder what it could be.”

Jacob straightened up and began looking around the room. His eyes went to all of the dark

corners, and up to the loft where the master bedroom was.

“Have you searched the entire house?” He asked.

“All of the rooms, yeah,” Randy said. “Well, mostly. I never looked through any of the boxes.”

“Boxes?”

Randy pointed up. “There are stacks of boxes up in the bedroom.”

“Let’s look there,” Jacob suggested. “Maybe there’s some important possession of Malcolm’s

somewhere in there.”

The two of them unstacked the boxes, arranging them all on the floor. There were a dozen of

them, at least, most of them taped up or “alternate flapped” to keep them closed. After careful

searches, it was clear that most of them were simply old clothing, rotten books, and paid bills

stored away for some reason.

But, there were two left over that were taped even more securely than the rest of them. They

cut them open, seeing that there were smaller boxes inside. In one was a stack of old photos;

very old photos.

“Wow,” Randy said, seeing a photo of a young couple that was torn and tattered. The man was

dressed in what he imagined a farmer would wear, including a wide-brimmed hat and

suspenders. The woman wore a dress that looked like it would have been fancy at one time but

was faded and slightly tattered. They were definitely his great-great-grandparents.

“Look at this,” Randy said, handing Jacob the photo.

“Who is that?”

“It looks like the two people I saw in the vision, Lachlan and Duna.”

Jacob took the photo and looked closely. His brow furrowed after a moment, and he sighed.

“Look at what the woman is wearing,” Jacob said, pointing at Duna’s neckline.

Randy looked at the photo closely, seeing that Duna wore a locket around her neck.

“What is that?”

“Probably a baby locket,” Jacob guessed. “I’ve seen them before. Mothers can put locks of

their babies’ hair inside. If there’s some of Malcolm’s hair in that locket, it would explain why his

spirit is still here.”

“I wonder where it is,” Randy said. But then, they both froze and looked at each other.

“She’s probably wearing it,” Jacob said.

“Oh fuck,” Randy said. “In that case, we can’t get rid of Malcolm’s spirit unless we…”

“Open the box.”

“Well fuck that,” Randy said. “Not until we know how to kill her for good.”

“Obsidian should do the trick,” Jacob said. “But I wonder why Lachlan didn’t keep that dagger.

I would think he would, knowing it was the only way to permanently kill the creature.”

“Again, it was his wife.”

Jacob nodded, but was silent.

“We should get some sleep,” Randy said. “It’s getting late.”

“Good idea,” Jacob agreed.

Randy’s eyes popped open and he was immediately aware of a strange and dead calm that

surrounded him. The room was evenly lit with no light filtering through the windows. It was as if

there was a false ambient light with no shadow or no beams. Outside, there was nothing but

gray.

He sat up, noticing that Jacob had awakened at the very same moment. They looked at each

other, both of them confused and paranoid. Randy reached down to look at his phone. It was

3:33 am.

“It’s 3:33 isn’t it?” Jacob said. Randy nodded.

Jacob stood, looking around the room at the odd fog that seemed to hang in the air. He waved

his hands around, attempting to stir it up, but there was no movement. The mist too, it seemed,

was false.

Randy stood up and listened. There was nothing but dead silence. The only thing he could

hear was his own breathing, as well as Jacob’s. Even the old floor didn’t creak as it usually did

when Randy took a few steps. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t real. They were some kind of

dream world.

“What the fuck is going on?” Randy asked.

“I don’t know,” Jacob said. “I think we’re both dreaming.”

“At the same time?” Randy asked skeptically. “The same dream?”

Jacob shrugged, moving toward the closest window next to the fireplace. He parted the

curtains, stared out for a moment, and then closed them. He turned, and Randy saw that his face

was completely blank.

“There’s nothing out there,” Jacob said.

Randy’s heart jumped. “What?”

He went over to the other window and looked outside. What he saw took his breath away.

Jacob was right. There was nothing. There was only the pale gray fog, the ground below it, and

no sky at all. Even the tree line was gone. It seemed like they were in a different world; one that

was featureless and almost ethereal.

“Holy fuck,” Randy said, backing away.

Jacob raised his arm and pinched himself. “I’m awake, I guess.”

Randy pinched himself, too. He felt the sting. He was awake as well. Or so it seemed.

“Are we dead?” Randy wondered out loud.

Jacob shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he whispered. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

The screen on Randy’s phone began to blink, catching their attention. He reached down to

pick it up. The wallpaper and clock were gone, replaced by the image of swirling fog and solid

black lettering that simply read, “SET ME FREE.”

“What the fuck?” Randy said, showing Jacob the phone.

“Set me free?” Jacob read. “Have you heard that before? Or read it?”

“No. That’s not what Duna kept telling me in my dreams. Not those words anyway.”

Jacob cocked his head, skeptically. “I don’t think this is her,” he said. “If she is trying to seduce

you into letting her out, this wouldn’t be the way to do it.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door that startled them both. Jacob quickly spun his head

to look at Randy, his eyes wide and his mouth open. He mouthed the words, “What the fuck?

Don’t answer that.”

Randy shrugged. He hadn’t planned on it.

The knock came again. They stayed frozen, neither of them willing to move or even breathe.

Randy’s heart was pounding painfully. He began shaking with terror, his hands trembling and

numb.

The knock didn’t come again.

“We should look outside,” Jacob said, finally.

They both moved toward the window reluctantly. Randy dreaded what they would see, but

again there was nothing but fog, with the faint outline of the shed in the midst of it. That hadn’t

been there before.

“The shed,” Randy said. “Something…”

“There’s a shape nearby,” Jacob said, pointing to the right of it.

Randy’s eyes wandered over to the side, and he saw the figure of a man in a wide-brimmed

hat barely visible against the fog. The hat was similar to Lachlan’s; the hat he had been wearing

when he and Duna had killed the creature.

“I think he wants us to go into the shed,” Jacob suggested.

“Yeah,” Randy said begrudgingly. “I think I’ll pass.”

“The dagger might be in there.”

Randy sighed, shaking his head. “I looked. I didn’t see anything.”

“Are you sure you looked all over?”

“Well…” Randy thought. He hadn’t checked thoroughly. “Not exactly. I opened a few drawers. I

didn’t really search all that much. The skull kind of freaked me out a little… a lot.”

“It’s just a skull,” Jacob said. “Pretty common around here with all the hunters. They’re

collectible. You said it was large?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, nodding. “Bigger than a regular deer. Probably more like an elk.”

“From Scotland then,” Jacob said. “Worth even more, probably. Are you sure isn’t just stolen?”

“I saw the creature wearing it,” Randy replied. “In real life and my vision. At least, it was

implied.”

“Maybe the message was from Malcolm,” Jacob suggested. “He wants to be free. I can’t

imagine a young boy willingly killing people for some swamp creature. Even if it was his mother in

a box.”

“So you think maybe he was killing people against his will?”

Jacob shrugged. “It makes sense. He would be her familiar or Lemure like you said. They’re not

exactly willing participants. Some kind of mental or spiritual slavery would make more sense. You

injured Malcolm, or the creature he became, and possibly made him realize he was enslaved to

Duna. Now he wants to be free. If the dagger is in there, he is asking you to kill him and giving

you the tool to destroy his mother for good.”

Randy nodded half-heartedly. It did make sense. Why a young boy, the son of a farmer and an

herbalist, would resort to murder for some ancient witch or vampire in a swamp was beyond his

comprehension. Whatever it was that he found could have put a spell on him, forcing him to feed

her until she was strong enough to hunt on her own. Once Duna herself was killed and took on

the characteristics of the creature, maybe she had also bent his mind to her will.

“But if Duna was freshly made,” Randy began. “Why would she need a servant? Wouldn’t she

be strong enough to hunt on her own? And why wouldn’t she enslave her own husband to do it

for her?”

“Maybe she did,” Jacob said. “Or maybe Lachlan killed her with the iron dagger soon after, put

her in the box, and she began calling out to her son since he had already killed before.”

Randy rubbed his head, trying to ease the throbbing. “This is all crazy,” he said. “None of it

makes any sense. Are we sure this creature, or Duna, are a… baobhan… whatever?”

Jacob shrugged again. “Not exactly. The vision you saw earlier reminded me of old stories

about swamp witches. Sure, it drank blood, but a witch trapped in a swamp and halfdecomposed

would need blood to heal anyway. And we’re talking about actual witches here, not

like Sabrina the teenage witch, or Cindy the neighborhood love potion maker. Actual, evil, devilworshiping

witches.”

He emphasized the last few words with strong head nods. As comical as it was, it made sense

to Randy. It made way more sense than a simple vampire-like monster. Then again, that might be

what the creature was. A Baobhan-sith could just be a witch who dabbled too deeply in the dark

arts and became cursed with vampiric urges and weaknesses. It could be a curse from which she

could free herself by passing it on to another woman—an unwilling woman. An innocent woman

like Duna, perhaps, who helped the villagers overcome illnesses and hardships with her magic

spells.

A white witch, as it were.

“Is there anything like this in voodoo?” Randy asked.

“Not really,” Jacob said. “There is black magic. Not black as in my black ass, but black as in dark

and evil and shit. A black magic practitioner is called a Bokop or Boko. Different spellings of the

same thing.”

“And what are you?”

“I’m just a dude,” Jacob said. “I dabble in my mother’s old interests and do some Druid rituals

as well. I’m a hybrid, I guess. Haitian and Celtic magic together. I wouldn’t call myself an actual

Oungan or Druid. Again, just a dude who dabbles. My only goal is to find the truth.”

“Alright then,” Randy said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go out there and find the truth.”

Jacob grinned.

Chapter Twenty-One

Randy had the revolver ready and loaded up with the iron rounds. Jacob held the iron dagger out

in front of him, his free hand pressed against the pommel for leverage. They crept out onto the

porch quietly, taking in their surroundings and smelling the sulfuric odor that hung in the air. The

mist was thick and impenetrable, and they had to squint to see the outline of the woodshed.

Fortunately, they seemed to be alone.

There was no human figure like there had been before. Randy began to think he had imagined

it, but that wide-brimmed hat was plainly obvious to him. Whatever was outside, if anything, it

was a shade of Lachlan, dressed exactly the same as he had when he and Duna had killed the

swamp creature.

Randy led the way, trudging up the path to the woodshed, careful not to trip over any rocks.

He cocked the hammer back slowly, gritting his teeth with each excessively loud click. He began

to sweat. Not just from nerves, but the strange humid warmth that surrounded them. It was late

fall, but it felt hot; much like a hot and overcast day after a rainfall when the rain began to

evaporate. It was quite uncomfortable.

“Do you see anything?” Jacob asked.

“Nope,” Randy whispered. “But I’m keeping my eyes on the door.”

They reached the front of the woodshed and Randy placed his ear against the wood. It felt

cold and wet, and the smell of mildew was overwhelming. But he reached out and undid the

latch, realizing that it was not locked. He thought he had locked it once he and Jacob had

searched it before.

The doors swung open with no sound other than a minor creak at the end. They stepped

inside and Randy stuck the revolver in his back pocket, carefully uncocking the hammer. Jacob

closed the doors and they stood there in silence, listening to the wind that had picked up outside.

“I still wonder if this is real,” Jacob said. “I don’t feel anything strange like we’re sleeping.

Everything is just… weird.”

“If we’re awake, then something is happening to reality. It’s like time stopped but we’re

unaffected.”

“Right,” Jacob agreed. “Now where did you say that elk skull was when you first got here?”

“Right above the back workbench,” Randy said, pointing. “And the pile of burlap was in the

front corner there.”

“That might be the key to where we’re supposed to look.”

Jacob went over to the bench, placing his knee on the top of it and pulling himself up. He felt

around where the skull had been mounted, shaking his head.

“Just a nail up here,” he said. “A nail on a board.”

He turned around and squatted to hop off, but then stopped. His eyes went in a circle around

Randy and he seemed to be tracing a design with his finger.

“Was that always here?” He asked.

Randy looked down, not sure what Jacob was referring to. “What?”

“There’s a Celtic cross scratched into the dirt,” Jacob said. “It’s barely visible.”

A shovel suddenly fell from the wall, clanking against the boards as it hit, then falling over onto

the wall. Randy looked up at Jacob, who raised a brow.

“Where do we dig?” He asked.

“The center of the cross is to your right,” Jacob told him. “Can’t you see it?”

Randy looked down, trying to make out any kind of pattern in the floor. But, he saw nothing.

“I don’t see shit,” he said. “Just dirt with random footprints and little rocks.”

“Grab the shovel,” Jacob said. “I’ll tell you where the center is.”

Randy went over and picked up the rusty tool. He watched Jacob’s face as he pointed the

spade at the floor, moving along with Jacob’s hand gestures.

“Right there,” Jacob said, holding up his hand. “Dig straight down. I’ll find another shovel.”

“Where are the points of the cross?” Randy asked as he planted the shovel in the dirt with a

thrust of his foot.

“The head of it is right at the door,” Jacob said. “The foot is probably under the bench, and the

arms are right at about three feet from the front wall.”

Randy wondered why there was a Celtic cross on the floor, and why he couldn’t see it. Maybe

Jacob was more sensitive to such things, or maybe he was imagining it. But he dug nonetheless,

throwing the dirt to the side carefully as Jacob looked for another shovel. It wasn’t long before he

heard the clank of something metallic about two feet down. But as soon as the sound broke the

silence, the wind picked up outside, going from a minor breeze to a howling gale in a matter of

seconds.

“What the fuck?” Randy said, going to the small window near the left workbench.

Outside, the gray remained. There were still no signs of the surrounding forest, just that thick

fog that obscured the world around them or cut them off completely. But among the howls of

the heavy winds, other sounds gave Randy the impression of life. They were chattering sounds,

like small creatures flitting about on the ground below, just outside the woodshed.

“What are those noises?” Jacob asked.

Randy breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you hear them, too,” he said. “That’s the sound I

heard last night when the attack occurred. Now we just wait for—“

There was a bang against the wooden wall behind the back bench. They both spun quickly,

seeing the entire wall shake with the impact of something large. It was followed by a deep and

drawn-out growl that sent shivers up their spines. Jacob looked back at him, his eyes wide with

terror.

“What the fuck is that?” He whispered.

“He’s back,” Randy mouthed.

Jacob knelt down quickly, using his hands to claw away at the remaining dirt. Randy bent

down to help him, and soon they uncovered a long metal box. It was bronze, heavy, and

decorated with the same types of symbols on the casket in the cellar.

“I bet it’s in here,” Jacob said. “The dagger.”

“And the last remaining piece of Malcolm, I hope,” Randy added.

Jacob wedged the end of the shovel underneath the box and pried it up. Randy pulled it out

and set it to the side, looking it over for any signs of a latch or hinges. Outside, the growling grew

into a low roar as a large creature’s footsteps rounded the building. Randy began to panic, seeing

no way to open the box.

“Shit,” he growled. “How the fuck do we open it?”

“Stand back,” Jacob said, grabbing the shovel.

He pointed the tool straight down, raising it above his head like a spear. With a grunt, he

jabbed it downward, striking the box on the lid. There was a spark and the lid showed a large

dent, but it was still closed.

“Do it again,” Randy said, desperately.

Jacob struck the box again, this time denting the lid to the point of breaking the hinges. Randy

grabbed the edge and pried it open with his fingers. Inside was a large swatch of leather wrapped

around a long object, and a golden heart-shaped locket.

“The locket!” Randy said, excitedly.

The small windows around the shed suddenly burst, shattering loudly as small dark figures

jumped through. Randy rolled away from the box, holding the locket in his hand as Jacob leaped

up and reached into his pocket. The dark creatures pounced, looking like feral gray-colored

babies with fangs and glowing eyes.

“What the fuck?” Randy shouted.

Jacob waved his hand out in front of him, dispersing some kind of powder that burst into

flames, engulfing the sickening creatures. They screeched in pain, igniting like sticks and

stumbling around blindly as they attempted to attack. Jacob grabbed another handful of the

powder from his pocket, flinging it at the remaining creatures that charged Randy. They stopped

and fell to the floor, rolling around to extinguish the flames.

Randy grabbed the shovel, swinging it at the closest creature and knocking it back to the

ground. It fell limp, quickly burning to ash as its kin scattered and began climbing the walls. Some

of the flames ignited the splintered wood but sputtered out as Jacob flung a handful of dirt from

the floor. Soon, the injured creatures began to fall from the walls and ceiling, their flesh quickly

disintegrating in the fires that engulfed them.

Suddenly, the doors were ripped open with a shower of splintered wood. Jacob and Randy fell

back, horrified at the sight of the antlered creature that stood in the opening. The skull seemed

alive, its hollow eyes glowing red and fresh blood and tissue dropping off of the antlers in wet

glops. Jacob raised the shovel in defense just as the creature charged. Its claws swiped at the air

in front of him, narrowly missing him. Jacob flung more of the powder, striking the creature in the

torso and setting it on fire.

But the fire didn’t last long. The creature’s red aura spread over its body, putting out the

flames and forming some kind of barrier that kept Jacob’s magic at bay. Randy tossed Jacob the

shovel and rolled away, looking for another weapon. Jacob swung the shovel, striking the

creature’s arm. It growled, the sound jarring the two men with its unearthly volume.

Randy grabbed the locket, ripping it open as he crouched near the wall. There was a lock of

hair on the inside, red and curly like a child’s. He shuffled around in his pockets for his lighter,

pulling it out and holding the lock of hair over it as he flicked the wheel. The hair went up quickly,

smoking and stinking as it disintegrated.

The creature let out one last howl, throwing its clawed hands out at its side. Jacob speared it

in the trunk with his shovel, shoving it back toward the door. Then, with a burst of light and puff

of smoke, the burlap and skull fell to the floor. Jacob stood, breathless, his eyes wide with horror.

“Holy shit,” Randy said. “Is it dead?”

Jacob stepped forward, poking the pile of burlap with his foot. There was nothing but cloth

there, and the lifeless skull that sat on top of it. Then, with a growl, Jacob smashed the skull to

pieces, sending shards of bone everywhere. He smashed it again and again with the shovel until

it was nothing but a pile of broken bone and shattered antler.

“We should burn it,” Randy said.

He ran to the back of the woodshed, grabbing the remaining can of oil. He poured it all over

the pile of rags, stepping away when he was satisfied that it was completely saturated. He made

a trail of oil, stepped back, and lit it. The pile went up in flames, smoking and sputtering. Jacob

laughed, sticking the shovel into the dirt as he collapsed onto the floor.

“That did it,” he said. “I hope so anyway.”

As they watched the pile smoke and burn, the gray fog that surrounded the shed began to

dissipate. The darkness of night returned, becoming peaceful and almost surreal in its silence.

Randy pulled the box over to him, pulling out the leather wrapping. Jacob watched as he unrolled

it, finding a black glass-like dagger with a bone handle. Jacob grinned.

“Is that the dagger you saw in your vision?” He asked.

“It is,” Randy said, relieved. “This is what Duna used to stab the creature before Lachlan

chopped off its head.”

“That might be necessary again,” Jacob said. “We should bring an axe with us when we…

phew! When we put her to rest for good.”

Randy nodded but was still skeptical. Even with the dagger, there was no guarantee that it

would work. Maybe Duna’s own magic helped with the killing; a spell or just her magical aura.

There was no way of knowing.

“Will this even work?” Randy asked.

“Did you see or hear Duna recite any magic words?”

“No,” Randy said. “She didn’t say a word. The only words I heard were Lachlan saying ‘Begone

with ye!’ when he chopped her head off.”

He said it with a Scottish accent, bringing a grin to Jacob’s face.

“That was a good impression,” Jacob said. “I think this will do it. Let me see it.”

Randy handed him the dagger, and he looked it over. He closed his eyes, holding it close to his

heart, seemingly trying to sense its power. He nodded and smiled.

“I can feel a strong power in it,” he said. “It’s not just a dagger. It’s infused with magic. White

magic, similar to what we call juju, just the Celtic version, I guess.”

“Good,” Randy said. “So when do you think is a good time to do it?”

“I would say we should get some sleep first. It won’t be easy and we need to be rested. It’s

probably better to do it at night, too. So maybe tomorrow night. I should call or text Keri. She’s

probably worried.”

“Okay,” Randy agreed. “That sounds good. I need a fucking drink.”

“No shit,” Jacob grinned. “I hope you have plenty of scotch left. Let’s bury these remains first,

though.”

After digging a larger hole and throwing the remains of the skull and burlap inside, the two

locked up the shed, taking their new weapon into the house. The sun was beginning to rise,

casting a pink hue into the sky at the horizon. It felt peaceful, especially after the short but

intense battle with the Leshen.

They were both lucky that neither of them had gotten hurt.

They both collapsed onto the couch, and Jacob began to text his sister. Randy picked up his

phone as well, seeing that there was a single message from Melinda. He opened it excitedly.

I’m sorry about not contacting you. I’ve just been confused and scared. I’m ready to talk

whenever you are.

“She finally texted me,” Randy said.

“That’s good,” Jacob said. “I expected it to take longer. That was one hell of an encounter from

what you said.”

“Extremely weird, to say the least.”

“What are you going to tell her? Does she really know what’s going on?”

Randy shrugged. “I’m sure she’s aware that something strange is happening. She said herself

that she felt like she was overtaken by someone else.”

“It’s good that she doesn’t blame you, but you should warn her to stay away for a few days. At

least until we get this shit figured out.”

Randy nodded. “Good idea, but I’m not sure how to say it without sounding like a dick.”

Jacob shrugged, pouring a glass of scotch. “Maybe you should sound like a dick. It’s better

than putting her in danger.”

Jacob was right, but Randy couldn’t bring himself to do it. He liked her. A lot. He didn’t want to

chase her away for good. Maybe a little white lie would do the trick.

He texted back, “It’s okay. I understand. I need to go back home for a day or so to grab some

more things and tie up some loose ends at work. I’ve decided to stay.”

He pressed send and hoped she wasn’t awake at the moment. He was still terrified about the

attack and wasn’t sure having a conversation with her was a good idea. But then, when he was

about to set his phone down, he saw the wavy ellipses symbol of her reply being typed out.

“Damn it,” he whispered to himself.

He poured a glass of scotch as he waited. Jacob drank in silence, perusing the tome that was

open on the coffee table. He seemed interested in one particular page. Randy watched him,

suddenly wondering what Jacob had thrown at the creatures in the woodshed.

“What was that powder you used?” He asked. “That was pretty cool.”

Jacob looked up. “Flash powder,” he said. “I always keep some in a little pouch in my pocket.

It’s pretty handy in a tight situation.”

“How did it just burst into flames like that?”

Jacob chuckled. “Magic, my brother. Magic.”

Randy shook his head, looking down at his phone once Melinda’s message finally appeared.

Okay. Call me when you get back. I had a strange dream I wanted to talk to you about. I think

there’s something more going on than what you’re letting on. Though I appreciate you trying to

protect me, it’s not necessary. You don’t have to worry about me freaking out and going to the

cops, either.

Randy grunted, a little confused. Did she know more than she was letting on?

“I know,” he typed. “It’s all a little confusing and frightening. We’ll talk about it when I get

back.”

Okay.

“There’s something in this book here,” Jacob said. “Toward the end there’s a spell that I don’t

understand. It looks like some kind of awakening spell. I wonder if this is what young Malcolm

used to find the creature in the swamp.”

“That’s strange,” Randy said. “Is it written in the same script?”

“Yeah. But it looks like some of the materials needed were written in another language.

Malcolm must have mistranslated them or something. Maybe he used the wrong materials and

awoke the creature by accident.”

“I got the feeling from Lachlan’s letters that he had summoned a demon or something.”

Jacob shrugged. “Well, a Baobhan-sith isn’t an angel. I suppose someone who didn’t know any

better would think it was a demon. Maybe a succubus or something.”

“Melinda mentioned that,” Randy said. “Like the creature’s characteristics were a cross

between a vampire and a succubus.”

Jacob nodded. “And when you dreamed about Duna she looked like a beautiful woman.”

“And asked me to worship her,” Randy added.

“Interesting,” Jacob said. “Maybe we should be looking at this as an exorcism of sorts. That I

can do.” He paused. “I think.”

“Is it possible to exorcise a demon from an undead monster?”

“Well,” Jacob said, then paused to think. “It would still die. I’m just worried that if we kill it, the

demonic force would still be there, but then it would be free. We should prepare some wards

and draw or paint them on the stone floor in that chamber. Something to contain it until it could

be banished. I don’t know.”

Randy remembered the other books that Frederik had ordered from the man at the little store

in town. He picked out the book of magical wards, handed it to Jacob, and then reluctantly

handed over the Necronomicon.

Jacob laughed when he took the latter book. “This, my friend, is just a work of fiction based on

HP Lovecraft’s Cthulhu mythos.”

“Shit,” Randy said. “Really? It looks pretty official.”

“Yeah. It’s interesting though. The names of the demons in here are accurate, and so are some

of the wards. But there really is no relation to what we’re dealing with. Nice copy of it, though.

This book by Ms. Planke might be helpful. She seems to know what she’s talking about.”

“Well, that’s good. But man, I’m exhausted.”

“Me too. I texted Keri, so she knows I’m still here. We should get some rest before we start

with the rituals.”

“Good idea,” Randy said, chugging his scotch.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Randy slipped into unconsciousness quickly, having downed just enough scotch to knock him out

but keep him somewhat lucid. His mind was awake, he knew, even though his body had slipped

into its usual alcohol-induced coma. He now found himself among the rolling hills of what he

guessed was Scotland.

It was dusk, and the sun was beginning to disappear below the horizon. It cast a reddishorange

glow on the landscape, highlighting the many small trees and shrubs that dotted the hills.

He stood next to a wooden fence, some ways away from a small farmhouse that stood among

several larger trees.

Nearby, a few yards away from the house, was a forge. There, a man was banging away at an

anvil, pounding out what looked like a dagger. Randy could see the shape of the blade, and he

knew it was the cruciform dagger that he had found embedded in Malcolm’s chest. It was not yet

complete, but the blade itself was taking shape.

Malcolm flattened it, bringing it to a sharp point with his hammer. His strikes were accurate

and powerful, and he worked quickly to bring the blade into shape. Lying nearby on the floor,

Randy could see a set of metal rods, all of them tipped with a grouping of letters with which he

would inscribe the Latin words that the dagger bore.

Randy guessed he was watching Lachlan forge the very dagger he used to incapacitate his

wife. The wide-brimmed hat he wore was identical to the one he was seen wearing in Randy’s

vision. He watched the man with interest, impressed with his skill at the forge. Having watched

numerous episodes of his favorite show, Forged in Fire, Randy imagined three judges sitting

nearby talking amongst themselves and commenting on the skills of all of the contestants.

This man would have gone all the way to the end.

Lachlan stuck the blade back in his coal forge, working the bellows to bring the fire to a hot

glow that illuminated its interior. Then, when it was hot enough, he placed it back on the anvil

and reached for the stamps one by one, striking each of them onto the blade to create the words

of power. When he was satisfied, he placed another piece of metal into the forge—the

crossguard—and waited for it to come to temperature.

When it was glowing orange hot, he shoved the blade through a small opening in the center

and pounded it down to the bottom of the blade where the tang began. With a few strikes of his

hammer, he forge-welded it in place and then stuck the entire dagger in a trough of water

nearby. It steamed and popped for a few seconds and then Lachlan withdrew it.

He reached for an object on a nearby bench, placing it over the tang and again pounding it

into place. Randy could see that it was a metallic rendition of Christ, complete with arms that

were outstretched over the wings of the crossguard. Lachlan heated up the end of the tang that

protruded from its very end and then pounded it flat to lock the entire weapon together.

Then, with a smile and a nod of admiration, Lachlan took the blade to a grinding wheel. He sat

at the device, using his foot to pump a small pedal that spun the grinding wheel, whistling as he

worked an edge onto the blade.

“Nice work, Lachlan,” Randy whispered to himself. “You’re going to the final round.”

When Lachlan was satisfied with the dagger, he stood. He looked it over as tears began to well

up in his eyes. Randy wondered what was about to happen now, and why Lachlan had chosen to

forge the blade so late in the day. But, as he thought about it, he realized that Lachlan was about

to do the unthinkable. He was going to kill Duna then and there—or at least incapacitate her

enough to lock her in the iron box that Randy now saw was in another area of the forge.

Randy could see the look of anguish on his face. He held the dagger close to his heart, the

point of the blade facing downward toward his feet.

Lachlan was praying. His lips were moving slowly, forming familiar words that Randy

recognized as the Benediction. Latin, spoken in hushed tones, being recited as a cleansing ritual

before performing a dastardly deed—at least dastardly in Lachlan’s eyes.

Then, as the prayer was finished, Lachlan went to a nearby grove of trees, where the roots of

a large oak were tangled around a small wooden door leading to what Randy guessed was a root

cellar. He followed, hearing the sound of Lachlan weeping silently. Lachlan stuffed the dagger into

his belt and reached down to open the wooden door. It creaked as it fell away, and Lachlan

stopped to look up at the sky.

“Forgive me, Lord, for what I am about to do,” Lachlan said with a thick Brogue. “And forgive

me, my beloved. I do this for you, and our sons.”

Lachlan ducked into the root cellar and Randy followed. He knew exactly what was about to

happen, and he wanted, one time, to see Duna as she was in life—or undeath, as it were. He

went to the opening, peering into the dim chamber. Lachlan lit a match, touching it to the wick of

a nearby lantern that hung just inside. The cellar was full of potatoes and other root vegetables,

Randy saw, and a large shape that lay in the center of the floor.

Randy went closer, watching as Lachlan approached the shape. The man reached out to pull

away the blankets and rags that covered the shape, revealing a shallow grave where there lay a

pale woman dressed in an old cloak and frilled dress. Both were dirty and covered in stains that

looked like old blood.

Randy could see her hair; black as night and as smooth and glossy as the finest silk. Her skin

was pale and milky like porcelain. She lay on her back, her arms crossed over her ample breasts,

her hands gripping the opposite arm. She was beautiful, but there was a darkness about her that

Randy knew was feral and dangerous.

Still, Lachlan crouched over her, tears beginning to fall onto the stained dress. Without

another word, he drew the dagger, holding it over the woman’s chest. He gasped, grabbed it with

his other hand, closed his eyes, and plunged it deep.

There was an unearthly howl, and the woman began thrashing and clawing at Lachlan. He

withdrew the dagger, shouting in Latin as he plunged it again and again into the woman’s

struggling form. Her screams were horrifying, and Randy had to cover his ears as their painful

tone ripped into him.

He had to back away in his bodiless form, hiding from the horror that he saw. He could hear

the continuing screams, the endless impacts of the dagger plunging into flesh, and the cries of

the man who was murdering his own wife. But Randy knew she was no longer his wife. She was

another creature, like the one the two of them had killed in the swamp.

Randy could feel himself begin to weep, but he did not know why. Perhaps it was sympathy for

Lachlan, or maybe for Duna herself. Regardless, his throat tightened, and he felt a hollowness in

his gut that spread over his whole body. He had witnessed a sickening act, and now his mind and

body were both reeling with revulsion.

He heard the door slam shut, and mustered the courage to look up as Lachlan appeared there

with the lifeless body of his wife cradled in his arms. He watched as Lachlan slowly carried her

toward the forge, its fires still glowing dimly. Randy followed, seeing that the iron box was open

and ready to receive its prisoner.

Lachlan laid the body inside, curling it up into a fetal position, her face exposed and ghastly.

Her eyes were open, and her mouth was moving as if she were pleading for her life before it

slipped away. Randy couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers, and as he watched, they turned to

him. She glared at him, those green eyes dark and animal-like in their fury.

Then, the dagger was withdrawn, and Lachlan slammed the lid, locking it with a large iron

key—the key that Randy had found in the desk in the cellar. Lachlan stood, wiping the tears from

his eyes, and looked down at the dagger. He wiped the dark blood off with his jacket, throwing

the blade into the ground.

“Papa,” a tiny voice said from the shadows.

There was a young boy there, maybe five or six. He stood in the dim light of the forge, a long

nightshirt covering his frail body.

“Robert,” Lachlan said. “Go back to bed, son. Papa’s got work to do.”

“I see men comin’ from town,” Robert said. “I see their fires. They are comin’ this way.”

“Where is your brother?” Lachlan asked.

“He’s asleep,” Robert said. “He fell asleep when we heard the screams. What were the

screams, papa?”

“Never mind, son,” Lachlan said. “I was just… getting a lamb ready for trade.”

The boy looked around, seemingly looking for a slaughtered animal. When he found none, he

looked back at his father, his eyes wide and his brow raised.

“I don’t see—“

“Back to bed, boy,” Lachlan scolded him. “I’ll talk to the men. Don’t you worry about it. We

have work to do tomorrow.”

The boy lowered his head, nodding as he turned and ran back to the house. Lachlan watched

him go, breathing deeply as he knelt once more by the box. He placed his hand upon it, lowering

his head in prayer.

“Forgive me, wife,” he whispered. “I can’t do it. I can’t send you to hell in this box. You’ll have

to wait until I can free your soul. Forgive me.”

Randy felt his pain. Lachlan’s words finally explained why he had brought her to their new

home. He couldn’t bring himself to damn the woman he loved to an eternity in purgatory. He

couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering. He wanted to cure her, or at least find some way to

atone for her sins himself.

“Randy,” Jacob shook him awake.

Randy opened his eyes, seeing Jacob there above him, his face twisted in some grotesque

expression of terror.

“Wake up,” Jacob said. “Something’s happening.”

Randy sat up, his heart racing. It was daytime, he saw through the window, but there was

another strange fog that had settled overnight.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“It’s almost noon” Jacob said. “There was a scream from the cellar. It happened just a few

minutes ago. I was trying to wake you up. I think you were dreaming.”

“I was,” Randy replied. “I saw Lachlan killing Duna and stuffing her in the box.”

“You saw it?”

“Yeah. It was gruesome. Not just one stab. He stabbed her over and over, praying the whole

time.”

Jacob sat next to him, scratching his head. “I think it’s time, then. Something is happening

outside, too. Another fog came in. It was there when the scream woke me up.”

“I’m not ready,” Randy said, truly meaning it. “It’s… we need to prepare more. This is going to

be harder… harder than I thought it would be.”

Jacob nodded. “We need more spells,” he said. “More wards… something. I had a dream, too.”

“What did you dream about?”

Jacob looked him in the eyes, his lips pursed tightly in a grim expression. “I dreamed of a dark

cloud in the cellar. It didn’t look like it did when we first went in there. It was… different. Um…

built up like a temple or something. There were fires everywhere, burning in censors and hanging

lanterns.”

Randy wasn’t sure what Jacob meant. Why would the place look different in Jacob’s dream?

Was he dreaming of the same cellar? The same chamber? Or was he having a dream of his own

ancestors? His description was similar to what Randy had seen in his first dream. When he had

knelt at what looked like an altar. Duna had appeared from behind it, naked and glistening, and

crouched before him. Had Jacob been asked to worship her as well?

“I don’t get it,” Randy said.

“Me neither,” Jacob said, standing up. “But I need to gather more incantations, find the right

protection spells and such. We’ll have to guard ourselves against her magic. And we need to

avoid getting bitten or scratched. If she harms either of us, we’ll die. She needs blood, and I think

whatever you dreamed about woke her up. She’ll be hungry. She will need to feed.”

That was not a good prospect. Randy’s dream had likely awakened her. Or perhaps Lachlan

was here like he believed before. He had definitely seen that wide-brimmed hat near the shed.

Maybe Lachlan’s spirit was here, trying hard to assist them in putting Duna down for good.

Maybe there were more clues around; something Lachlan left to help them. At least he knew

now why Lachlan had not destroyed her for good. He was trying to find a way to free her soul

before doing so.

“Jacob,” Randy said. “Whatever happens, I just want to thank you for your help.”

Jacob stood and went over to his pack, pulling out several books and small bags. He seemed

silent and morose, but eventually, he looked up and smiled.

“It’s what I do,” he said. “It’s what I was meant to do.”

Jacob’s phone dinged, startling both of them. He picked it up and read a message, sighing

when he was done.

“It’s Keri,” he said. “She wants to bring me some more artifacts. Two amulets of protection.”

“She shouldn’t come here,” Randy said.

“I know,” Jacob agreed. “Especially with that fog out there. I don’t know how far it goes.”

“Surely not all the way to the shop,” Randy said. “It’s probably isolated around the house.”

Jacob shook his head, dialing his sister’s number. She picked up immediately and Jacob began

their conversation.

“I don’t think you should come here,” he said. “It’s too dangerous. If you’re hurt… yeah. I don’t

care what mama said. She wouldn’t want you here, either. What? When? Last night? Okay, well…

right.”

Jacob sighed. Randy could hear Keri speaking, but couldn’t make out the words. Jacob simply

nodded as he listened, looking up occasionally as if she were talking about Randy. Then, Jacob

spoke to him.

“Keri wants to know if you’ve been baptized.”

Randy shrugged. He had no idea.

“He doesn’t remember. Is your family Catholic?”

Randy shook his head. From what he remembered, his Aunt Mary was Baptist.

“Baptist maybe?” he offered.

“He doesn’t know. Possibly Baptist. Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. I might have some but it’s

not something I usually carry. Maybe. I think there’s a church right down the street. Okay, we’ll

check. We gotta see if this fog is all over the place anyway. It might affect what happens later on.

No, I haven’t checked. That’s a good idea. Okay. I’ll call when we’re ready. I love you, sis. Bye.”

He hung up and sat silent for a moment. Randy picked up his phone and checked the weather

app, not seeing anything about fog. Apparently, it was isolated, likely much like the fog the night

before—or this very morning.

“What did she say?” Randy asked.

“She suggested we get some holy water, but I’m not sure how that will help us. We already

know the dagger has been blessed, but that’s not what we’ll be using. The obsidian dagger

doesn’t need a blessing. It’s the material that holds the power. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“I doubt the church down the road has any holy water available.”

Jacob shrugged. “Most churches have a font near the front door,” he said. “Just a little bowl of

tap water usually. But if there’s a pastor there, maybe he’d be willing to bless it for real. In the

meantime, Keri suggested making some Rowan crosses and placing them around the property

and maybe inside the chamber.”

“What’s a Rowan cross?”

“They’re just little crosses made of twigs,” Jacob explained. “Simple talismans to help ward off

black magic or witches.”

Randy nodded. “Okay, good idea.”

“And we should go to that church and see if we can talk the pastor into blessing some water

bottles.”

“Will that even work if he’s not a real priest?”

Jacob shrugged. “Don’t know. Better than nothing, I guess.”

“Alright,” Randy said. “We can do that. There’s nothing in the weather report about fog, so it’s

probably just centered here. That’s weird. I hope it doesn’t attract attention.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The small church was about a half mile down the main road, right across from the dollar store.

They took Randy’s car, slowly navigating the fog until they reached the bottom of the driveway.

Curiously, the fog persisted and appeared to extend in every direction around them.

Dumbfounded, Randy continued their sluggish pace until they reached the church’s parking lot.

“This is fucked up,” Jacob said. “No fog on the weather report, but here it is, thick as fuck.”

“Yeah,” Randy agreed. “Strange. I don’t see anybody, either.”

“There’s not a single car in the parking lot, and it looks like the dollar store is empty too.”

“Well, goddamn,” Randy said, putting the car in park. “Are we even awake?”

“I just talked to my sister,” Jacob reminded him.

Randy looked over at him, skeptical that they were, in fact, in Randy’s car. “Are you sure you

really talked to her?”

Jacob shrugged. “I think so.”

“Did she sound normal to you?”

Jacob thought for a moment. “As normal as she would be in this situation.”

“What was it she said about your mother? You said you don’t care what Mama said.”

“She said…” Jacob stopped, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t remember. All I know is that she

wouldn’t want Keri to be here, considering the nature of the spirit. She would be in danger. Not

just in real life, but… damn.”

“What?”

“Mama never knew about this,” Jacob said. “Frederik never mentioned a Baobhan-sith. Only a

haunting. She never would have said anything to Keri about it if she didn’t know.”

“Text her back and ask her where your mother is,” Randy suggested.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Jacob shrugged and typed out a quick text. In a few minutes, Keri texted back.

“Holy shit,” Jacob gasped. “She said Mama is at the doctor’s office.”

Randy gasped as well, completely shocked. This wasn’t real, he realized. They were stuck

somewhere outside reality. That would explain the fog that nobody else saw. It would also

explain why the area appeared to be completely empty.

“Text Melinda,” Jacob said. “Ask her something only she would know. Something Duna

wouldn’t know.”

Randy thought for a moment. He supposed he could bring up something they spoke of at the

library. But what? The only thing he could recall was her mentioning that librarians were very

anal. But how could he bring that up? Maybe he could wing it.

He typed out, “When is your next day off? We should meet again soon. Maybe at work.”

He set his phone down to wait, staring outside at the strangely thick fog that rolled by. He

rolled down the window, taking a big whiff of the air outside. It smelled strangely like the fog

from a machine at a dance club, that scented oily fog that covered everything and smelled like

vanilla or any number of other false odors. This time, it was the familiar scent of Jasmine.

"Does the fog smell funny or something?” Jacob asked.

“Yeah,” Randy said. “Smell it.”

Jacob rolled down his window, taking in the scent of the air outside. He rolled the window

back up, looking over at Randy with a strange expression.

“It smells like tacos.”

“What?”

“What does it smell like to you?”

“Jasmine,” Randy replied. “The same scent that Melinda wore when she came over. The same

thing I smelled in my visions of Duna.”

“You could smell things in your dream?”

“Yeah, I could smell the jasmine, the fire, Duna’s…”

“Worship area?” Jacob grinned. Randy nodded.

“Why would it smell like tacos to you?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob admitted. “Maybe it’s because I’m hungry.”

Randy’s phone vibrated. He unlocked it, giving Jacob an apprehensive glance.

I don’t work, silly. I’m on disability. You know that. Can I come over? I’m really horny. My pussy

is aching for you.

“What the fuck?” Randy cursed, showing Jacob the phone.

“Goddamn,” Jacob said. “I take it that’s out of character?”

“Extremely.”

Jacob nodded. “Okay,” he said, suddenly nervous. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Randy put the car in gear, pulling out into the street recklessly. The tires squealed as he shifted

into drive and gunned it toward his driveway a half mile away. The fog obscured everything, and

even the road was barely visible, but he pressed on, following the white lines on either side.

“I can’t see shit,” he said. “The fog is getting thicker.”

“I’m not feeling good about this,” Jacob said, looking around in every direction. “Something’s

not right.”

Jacob was correct. They should have gotten to his driveway by now, Randy guessed. It wasn’t

that far, yet they seemed to have driven more than a half mile. Even though he was driving

slowly, they should have reached it by now.

“Stop!” Jacob shouted.

Randy slammed on the brakes when he saw the dark figures in the road ahead. The shapes

were familiar: small, ghastly, and infant-like. They began to swarm around the car, and Randy

gunned the engine again. But the car went nowhere. The creatures began squealing and

chattering as they did before, and some hopped onto the hood, baring their fangs and their

horrifying red eyes that burned like fire.

Randy locked the doors, slamming the car into reverse. The car lurched back, throwing several

of the creatures onto the road, but still, they swarmed, their bodies impacting against the car like

bricks.

“Holy fuck!” Randy shouted. “I thought we killed these things. What the fuck are they?”

Jacob smacked the passenger side window, trying to scare off one of the creatures that had

clawed its way up the door.

“Biloko!” Jacob replied in a panic. “They’re biloko. Little cronies of the Leshen, I thought. They

should be gone. We killed the Leshen.”

“Did we really?” Randy shouted, slamming the car into drive and gunning the engine again.

As the car shot forward, they could hear the impact of little bodies against the front bumper.

Several of them tumbled over the hood and onto the windshield, screeching and screaming as

Randy swerved to shake them loose. Ahead, Randy could see that the road was an endless

straightaway, never curving, never-ending, completely clogged with the scampering black figures

that blocked their escape.

“What the fuck, man?” Randy shouted again. “Where the fuck are we?”

“I don’t think we were supposed to leave,” Jacob shouted back. “If we ever did in the first

place.”

“Goddamn it,” Randy said, suddenly slamming on the brakes.

The car came to a screeching halt. The creatures horded around them, cackling and squealing

like demonic rats about to tear apart their prey. Randy closed his eyes, picturing himself and

Jacob sitting on the couch back at his cabin. That was the only thing he could think of. He could

hear Jacob banging on the windows, trying to scare off the attackers, but their deafening noises

continued unfazed.

But then, all was quiet.

Randy opened his eyes. He was sitting on the couch. Jacob was at the other end, still swatting

his hands at nothing. He stopped, looking over at Randy with a bewildered expression. They were

both breathless, and Randy could feel his heartbeat in his ears. But as they both realized they

were back in reality, they slowly relaxed, looking around at the room. They were safe.

For the moment.

“What just happened?” Jacob asked.

“I don’t know. I think we were just imagining that we left.”

Jacob got up and went to the window. As he opened the curtains, his mouth dropped open.

“It’s nighttime,” he said. “We missed the entire day.”

Randy joined him at the window, looking out in shock. Jacob was right. It was pitch black, the

only thing visible being the tree line and the dimly glowing wisps of fog that still obscured

everything else. They had not only imagined leaving the house but had somehow lost an entire

day. At least.

Randy pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking at the time and date. It was 10 pm, the

same day. There was also a message from Melinda.

What? Why would you say that? I thought I meant something to you.

“What the hell?” he said, shocked.

He opened up his messenger app and checked the conversation. Every text he had sent in real

life was there, but not the text he had thought he sent earlier. Her response was also missing.

But, to his shock, he had sent a message during his and Jacob’s missing hours.

“You’re a whore. I never want to see you again.”

Randy’s heart sank. He didn’t remember sending that. He would never send that. Why would

he say something so horrible to someone that he… loved?

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, heartbroken. “What did I do?”

“What’s going on?” Jacob asked.

“I must have sent this message instead of the one I thought I sent.”

He showed Jacob the conversation. Jacob gritted his teeth as he read, shaking his head. Then,

he pulled out his own phone and read the conversation with his sister.

“Jesus,” he said. “I told my sister she needs to go fuck herself and stay away.”

“Did she text back?”

Jacob shook his head. “No. I don’t think she would ever believe that I said that. If she’s

suspicious, though, she’ll call. Or maybe I should…”

He texted something back, nodding his head as he typed.

“I need to tell her what just happened,” he said. “There’s not enough signal for phone calls,

though. Something about the fog, maybe.”

Randy went back to the couch, wondering if he should call Melinda to explain. But would that

do any good? She seemed to believe that he had actually called her a whore. Otherwise, her

response would have been different. Surely, she knew he would never say anything like that to

her. He typed out another message, seeing that his signal was also too low for a call.

“Something strange is going on. I didn’t text that. I would never call you a whore. You know

that.”

Jacob chuckled as he came back to the couch. “This is good. Keri said she knew it wasn’t me.

She’s going through our mother’s spell book for a protection spell. She can email me the

incantations so I can protect us from something like that happening again.”

“Did you tell her what happened?”

“No,” Jacob replied. “She just knows. That’s weird, though. She’s not sensitive to these things

like I am. Mother must be watching over us or something.”

Randy checked his phone when it vibrated again. Melinda had responded, to his relief.

I would hope not. But now I feel like you’re in danger. I’ve been trying to call, but it just went

straight to voicemail every time. I want to help. Please tell me what I can do. Where are you?

“I’m at the cabin,” he typed. “But there is someone here helping me figure this out. I need you

to stay safe. So please let me deal with this, and then everything will go back to normal.”

He saw the responding symbol as she typed.

I can’t just sit and wait. I can help. I know things. I know what’s going on now. The journal

entries are pretty clear. I’ve been reading them over and over again. You need to burn whatever is

in that room. Take it outside in the daytime and burn it.

What? How could she know anything? Were the journals that specific?

“How do you know these things?”

You never read Gaven’s journals. He knew his father had murdered Celia. He murdered her

because she found out what was going on. Gaven knew, too. His grandmother was in that room,

and Malcolm was feeding her. I mentioned this creature before.

She had, Randy remembered. So Melinda knows what’s going on. He wondered how long she

had known and if that was why she had taken so long to finally speak to him again. Did she know

that Duna had heightened her sexuality? Did she know why she didn’t feel like herself that night?

“She is still here,” he typed. “She was here that night, and I think she possessed your body.”

I know. But I feel like she was trying to keep me away, not force me to have sex with you. That

was me. I just lost my self-control. It was just that strong, and I wanted to do those things with

you.

“That’s good to know, I think. But I don’t want you to get hurt. Jacob is helping me figure

everything out. Once we solve the problem, I want you to come back. But not until then.”

OK.

“That should keep her occupied for a while,” Randy said. “At least until we figure out how to

kill the bitch. Duna, I mean.”

Jacob nodded, smiling. “I know what you meant. That’s good.”

He went to his pack and pulled out a laptop. Randy wondered for a moment what else he had

in there but let it go once Jacob opened up his email app.

“Good,” Jacob said. “Keri sent the incantations. These look Celtic. I’m pretty good at

pronunciation.”

“Melinda is, too,” Randy said. “I wish she could be here to help, but I don’t want her in

danger.”

“Right,” Jacob said. “These are pretty simple, though. I can memorize them in no time. Just

give me a little while, and we’ll get the show on the road.”

“What about the charms and shit?” Randy reminded him. “The ones your sister mentioned.

What were they called?”

“Rowan crosses,” Jacob said. “Those are easy. Just go out and grab some twigs from the

woodpile on the porch. You just need some twigs and some string. Pretty simple.”

Randy looked at the door, gritting his teeth. He supposed he could go out there briefly. Just

long enough to grab a few sticks. There should be some at the bottom of the pile. Not to

mention, there were still splinters of wood from the attacking little creatures.

“What did you call those little things?” Randy asked.

“Biloko,” Jacob replied. “Little imps of African legends. That’s what they reminded me of

anyway. I’m sure they’re called something else in other places. Nekkers, nixies, knockers. Any of

those.”

“Biloko,” Randy repeated, heading for the door. “Okay. Either way, they can fuck right off.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Randy sat assembling as many Rowan crosses as he could while Jacob memorized the incantation

and gathered every talisman, herb, powder, and charm he had in his bottomless pack. Jacob’s

smudge stick burned on the coffee table nearby, filling the air in the entire cabin with its soothing

smoke. They were both terrified, and it was pretty obvious. Neither of them wanted to go into

the cellar, but it was the only way to put down the creature for good.

It would involve opening the box and plunging the obsidian knife into Duna’s heart before she

could escape. It was unknown how strong she would be from the two feedings she had received,

but it seemed that she had been fairly quiet. Neither of them had any dreams of her or heard any

strange whispers. Randy dreaded that fact, however, and realized she may be conserving her

strength. That would mean she knew what was about to happen.

That was also a terrifying thought.

“The first thing we need to do,” Jacob began, “is to make sure we’re each protected. I have

this amulet I always wear.” He pulled a large necklace from beneath his collar. “It was a gift from

my Uncle David, who studied Druidism. It’s imbued with the spirits of the forest, supposedly, and

should help protect me from any dark magic Duna uses.”

“Great,” Randy said. “What about me?”

Jacob handed him another necklace, this one having a large medallion made of copper,

inscribed with a Celtic knot surrounded by tiny runes.

“This will protect you from her voice,” Jacob said. “If she manages to speak to you and

convince you to serve and protect her, it’s game over. This should do the trick. She won’t be able

to control you.”

“Ideally.”

“Ideally,” Jacob nodded, smiling crookedly.

“So how is this gonna work, then?”

“First, you’ll get the key from the desk or wherever you put it. Then, we’ll go into the chamber

and inscribe a spirit trap on the floor with salt and sulfur powder. The salt will form a barrier that

she can’t cross over, and if need be, we’ll light the sulfur. It should help immobilize her… ideally.”

“This is all crazy,” Randy thought. “I’ve lived my whole life not believing any of this, and now

here I am about to kill a hundred-plus-year-old witch monster from Scotland. It doesn’t get any

more fucked up than this.”

“Oh, it can,” Jacob said. “I’ve seen shit that’ll make your blood run cold. I’ve banished many

spirits, just like Mama did.”

“That brings me to my next problem,” Randy said. “How am I going to repay you for your

help?”

Jacob paused, raising an eyebrow and smiling crookedly again. “I don’t do this for money,” he

said. “If I did, I’d be really poor. I have a gift, just like my mother did, and it’s my duty to use it for

good. Moses didn’t ask the Israelites for money to free them from Egypt, did he?”

Randy shrugged. “Maybe he did. Who knows? They didn’t listen to him anyway.”

Jacob chuckled. “Do you know why he was mad when he came down from the mountain and

saw them worshiping a cow sculpture?”

“Well… because they were worshiping a graven image?”

“No,” Jacob said. “Not at all. When Moses went up into the mountain to commune with God,

it was the last night of the age of Taurus. When he returned, it was the age of Aries. They didn’t

know that. They were still in the age of Taurus in their own minds, worshiping the sun god of that

age. Jehovah was the sun god of the age of Aries, whose symbol is a ram’s horn. That’s why Jews

use the Ram’s horn in their rituals. Now, when Jesus came, he was the sun god of the age of

Pisces. That’s why his symbol is always related to fish. The Jesus fish, feeding people with two

fish, Jesus met two fishermen. All that.”

“Wow,” Randy said. “That’s nuts. Never thought of that.”

“Later on, Jesus told his followers I will be with you until the end of the age. He didn’t say until

the end of time. He said the end of the age, the age of Pisces. When you meet the water bearer,

follow him into his house. He was talking about the new sun god, the Water Bearer, that will

come at the beginning of the Age of Aquarius. Follow him into his house means worship this new

guy when he comes.”

“Well, who the hell will that be?”

Jacob shrugged. “Don’t know. But if you look at the years when these ages start and end, you

see a pattern of 2150 years. Moses went into the mountains in 2150 BC. When Jesus was born, it

was right at the end of the Age of Sagittarius, and he will reign, so to speak, until 2150 AD. That’s

when a new sun god will appear.”

“Jesus… um…”

Jacob chuckled. “It’s all just astrological metaphor, man. Jesus had twelve disciples; there were

twelve houses of the Zodiac. Those twelve houses follow the sun or the son. The year is divided

into four seasons, and if you look at the holy cross itself, you see the Son at the center, four parts

of the cross that divide time into four seasons. It’s just a truncated zodiac wheel, not just a copy

of the Egyptian Ankh, as some people say. But they do symbolize the same thing: wisdom and

eternal life.”

“So why are people such douchebags?”

“For the same reason people are always douchebags. Their myths and legends have been

perverted and changed over the years to fit with the times or the needs of society. The big issue

with Islam is that the Qur’an isn’t put together in chronological order like the Bible or the Torah.

It’s random. When the scriptures say to be like Muhammad, it’s not clear what they mean. The

older stories tell of Muhammad’s life as a warlord. He was a murderer, a rapist, and a pirate. He

later changed his ways and became a man of Allah.”

“I see.”

“So when the people who read and teach the word to others, there are those who don’t

understand that to be like Muhammad means to be like the new Muhammad, the changed man

who found peace and lived a life of virtue. The Islamists who run around chopping people’s heads

off and blowing shit up are trying to be like the old Muhammad. And that’s why it’s important to

put your shit in the right order.”

Randy laughed. That made complete sense. Why would there be so many people acting in

extremely violent ways when they are supposed to be following a so-called religion of peace?

Well, now Randy understood the answer. They’re just applying the words to the wrong stories.

“That’s a great observation, man,” he said. “You know a lot about religions you don’t follow.”

“I got interested in Catholicism once I realized that Voodoo is kind of a mix of old African

beliefs and Catholic rituals. The Oungon, Manbos, and other priests revere the Catholic Saints.

Their names are used in rituals a lot. What’s your birthday?”

“July twenty-fifth,” Randy replied.

Jacob held out his hand in a “you see” type gesture. “St. Christopher’s Day. He was the patron

saint of travelers. Good example.”

“Hold on a second,” Randy said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. There was a little charm on his key ring

that Aunt Mary had said was a symbol of St. Christopher. He showed it to Jacob with a grin.

“That might help a little,” Jacob said. “It won’t help much, but he was a very wise man. Maybe

it’ll help you figure out what to do if something goes wrong.”

Randy nodded, not sure whether that made him feel better or not.

“In the meantime,” Jacob said. “I think that’s plenty of Rowan crosses. We’ll sprinkle these

around all over the house, mostly in the doorways. They should at least make her hesitant to

cross through if she can get out of the circle somehow.”

“Great.”

“Keep that revolver in your pocket, cocked and loaded,” Jacob said. “Have that dagger ready.

I’ll unlock the box, stand ready with the dagger, and once I throw open the lid, plunge that

mother fucker right in that bitch’s heart.”

“You have a way with words, my friend,” Randy said, beginning to feel even more terrified.

Jacob’s phone vibrated then, and as he checked the screen, a look of concern crossed his face.

“Damn it,” he said. “Keri is around.”

“What?” Randy said. “Here?”

Jacob shook his head as he typed. “Not here, exactly. She says she’s placing wards around the

area. She checked the plat maps earlier to find the property lines for this address. Now she’s

warding them so Duna can’t escape.”

“Well, at least she’s nearby if something goes wrong.”

“Yeah, but she’s not a practitioner. If she were to come face to face with the creature, any of

them, it could be bad news.”

“Ask her if the fog is anywhere else.”

Jacob nodded, typing more into his message.

“She says it’s centered around Bean Blossom but thickest here. We need to get the show on

the road before it spreads. It’s probably Duna’s creation. If Keri doesn’t put the wards around, the

fog will spread, and so will Duna’s influence. I suppose this is a good thing.”

“Right,” Randy agreed. “I’m ready… I think.”

With all of their equipment ready, Randy and Jacob approached the cellar door. Randy gave

Jacob a quick look before unlatching it and slowly pushing it open. The stairwell was cold, and the

door at the bottom was ajar. Randy went first, holding the small bag of Rowan crosses in one

hand and the flashlight in the other.

They both avoided the broken step, peeking through the crack in the door. The entire cellar

seemed oddly dark, even in the flashlight’s beam. It wasn’t until the door was opened that they

noticed the fog seemed to have filled the cellar as well. It smelled of sulfur, with the underlying

scent of Jasmine.

“It’s like going into a bathroom where somebody just shit and sprayed jasmine-scented

Febreze,” Randy said.

“Jasmine seems to be connected to her somehow.”

Randy immediately went to the desk, took the key, and stuffed it in his pocket. Jacob went to

the door, putting his hands on the crossboard. He motioned for Randy to throw some crosses

around the floor. Randy reached into the bag and removed a handful, tossing them around and

then joining Jacob at the door.

The board was removed and set aside. Jacob sprinkled salt across the threshold and gave

Randy a nod. Together, they pushed the door open. The chamber beyond the collapsed block

wall seemed to be illuminated with a dim red light that swirled and fluctuated like the surface of

a pool. Randy remembered the same effect from his dream.

“She’s definitely gained some power,” Jacob said. “I can’t imagine how unless we missed a

victim or something.”

Randy’s heart began to pound quickly, and he felt a tightening in his throat. Before he could

step forward, Jacob’s phone vibrated again.

“Damn, Keri,” Jacob whispered. “We’re trying to kill the monster.”

He looked at his phone, shaking his head in frustration.

“She says Deputy Wilson is driving around the area. He saw her and parked at the dollar

store.”

“Shit,” Randy said. “That’s too fucking close. Can she lure him away, maybe?”

“I don’t know, man,” Jacob said. “She’s not a good actor at all. If he pulls her over, it’s done.

He’ll come up here and wonder what the fuck we’re doing with a dead lady in a box.”

Randy watched him type out another message, shifting back and forth as his eyes darted over

to the short tunnel that led to their possible deaths. He could see the fog rolling through the air,

glowing red as it reflected the supernatural light within. His mouth was dry now, and his

heartbeat was getting even faster. He felt a panic attack coming on.

“Dude,” Jacob said. “Take it easy. I can do this myself if you gotta bail.”

“No way, man,” Randy protested. “This is my responsibility. Let’s do this.”

“Good,” Jacob said, nodding. “If you had said okay, I would have smacked your bitch ass.”

Randy faked a chuckle, swallowing and breathing deep to try and calm down.

“I told her to go to the fork near the bottom of the driveway and turn her lights off until the

deputy leaves.”

“Good idea,” Randy said. “No reason for him to trespass. Although he didn’t really ask the last

two times he was here.”

“Of course not,” Jacob said, shutting off his phone. “They never do.”

Jacob took the lead, holding his smudge stick out in front of him. The short tunnel was filled

with the strange mist, even stranger looking as the red glimmer illuminated it with its water-like

flashing. There was a deep rumble within, barely audible but intense and foreboding. It made

Randy feel ill, and he could tell that it affected Jacob as well.

As they entered the chamber, they were stunned by what had happened in their absence. It

no longer seemed like the simple sandstone cave it had been before. The red glimmer was

concentrated above the iron box, reflecting from the rough ceiling from a mysterious, unknown

source. The floor of the chamber was smoother than it had been before, and it seemed that a

pedestal was slowly forming in exactly the same place where Randy had dreamed it.

Jacob stopped, looking back. He seemed as stunned as Randy and was obviously nearly as

terrified, too. But he simply shook his head and set down his smudge stick, pulling two pouches

from his pocket. He slowly approached the box, grabbing a handful of salt and sulfur. He began

forming a large circle around the casket, carefully drawing the runes and mumbling the

incantations under his breath. Randy crouched behind him, turning off the flashlight.

Jacob gestured again, telling Randy to toss around more Rowan crosses. He did so, spreading

them out evenly on the floor near the front of the chamber. Jacob finished his circle, reaching

into his pocket to retrieve other powders. He knelt down, forming a line of runes in a curved

pattern on their side of the circle and drawing another magic circle where Randy would stand

ready with the obsidian dagger.

Then, he waved Randy up, holding out his hand.

“Key,” he whispered.

Randy handed him the key, also drawing the dagger. Jacob moved to the left of the box, the

key in one hand and a handful of salt in the other.

“When I unlock the box and throw open the lid, get ready to drive that dagger into whatever is

in there. Once you do that, just fall back into the circle. You should be protected there.”

“Should?”

“Should,” Jacob confirmed. “But be ready with the revolver just in case. Do you have that

amulet on?”

Randy nodded, patting the charm underneath his shirt.

“Okay,” Jacob said, gripping the key in his hand.

He scooted closer to the box, sniffing the air as he reached toward the keyhole. There was a

tiny wisp of black vapor coming from the opening, rising up into the air like cigarette smoke. As

he moved the key near the box, the red light above began to shimmer more quickly, as if it

anticipated the opening of the box. Randy watched it, shifting nervously as he gripped the dagger

above his head and scooted closer.

His heart was racing. They were about to potentially free a dangerous monster of legend,

something that would definitely happen if they screwed up in any way. They had to be quick,

precise, and couldn’t hesitate for even one second. Not even a split second.

“Ready?” Jacob whispered.

Randy nodded.

Jacob slowly inserted the key into the hole, giving Randy a nod. With one quick motion, he

turned it. The lock clicked loudly. The lid suddenly exploded open, throwing Jacob back several

feet. Randy fell back, thrown away by the force of the massive burst of dark energy that came

from the open box. He struggled to sit back up, but he was stunned. He couldn’t move. All he

could do was look over at Jacob, who lay unconscious on the floor nearby.

A burst of red light shot upward, joining the dancing lights above. The floor rumbled, and bits

of sandstone fell from the ceiling around them. Then, to his horror, Randy heard his name.

“Randy,” a choked female voice cried out.

Though still stunned, Randy managed to look upward toward the box. Red and black smoke

poured out, pushed upward by the red light that emanated from within. Through the glow, Randy

could see two withered hands snake their way up and over the lip of the box, grasping its edges

with bony fingers and dark, broken claws. Then, to his horror, her face appeared.

“Kill her,” he heard Jacob whisper.

Randy gritted his teeth, trying desperately to raise the dagger and lunge at her. But his body

wouldn’t move. She had some kind of spell on both of them.

“Randy,” the voice said again, this time more intensely.

The dark figure within began to stand. Its body was cloaked in an old dress, the same dress

Duna was wearing when Lachlan had killed her. Her dark hair was stringy and muddy, her face

withered and horrifying, and her eyes glowed red with the fury of a hundred years of solitude.

But still, despite her withered flesh, Randy knew it was Duna.

She stood, her filthy dress blowing around her as she began to float upward. Her hands were

held out at her side, palms up. She turned her face upward toward the lights, closing her eyes

and beginning some kind of spell. Randy looked over at Jacob, who was struggling to raise his

hand to fling its contents at her. But he, too, was still stunned.

“I am free,” Duna whispered.

She lowered her face, glaring at Randy with those glowing eyes. Her lips parted, and Randy

could see the sharp teeth that were there, glistening in the flashing lights. She grinned, her

mouth widening to an evil shape that exposed her fangs and the snake-like tongue that darted in

and out between them.

“You came here to kill me,” she said. “You and this… witch.”

She turned her head toward Jacob, who was now wide-eyed and pale.

“Stop,” Randy croaked. “Leave him alone.”

Duna laughed, lowering herself onto the floor just outside the box. She turned toward Jacob,

taking a slow and menacing step toward him. Then, as her withered foot crossed over the magic

circle, she screeched in pain. Her flesh sizzled as the power of the ward repelled her. Her face

twisted into a mask of rage, and she rose up again, this time chanting another spell. The air

began to swirl around her, gathering speed into a small gale-force wind that blew debris around

the chamber.

Then, she shot upward, bursting through the stone ceiling. Randy was immediately animate

again, and he rolled toward Jacob, grabbing him by the arm as he stood, dragging him away.

Massive chunks of stone fell, crushing the box and nearly killing both men. But they managed to

dodge the debris, staring helplessly as the crumbling roof fell through. The witch’s screams

echoed outside, and her cackling laughter sent chills up Randy’s spine.

“Holy fuck,” he said. “Now we’ve done it.”

“Goddamn it!” Jacob cursed. “My sister’s out there. We have to find her. Let’s go.”

Jacob began climbing the rubble toward the gray sky above. The entire roof of the cavern had

collapsed, leaving enough chunks of rock to climb through to the outside. Randy followed,

stuffing the dagger in his back pocket and drawing the revolver. Outside, Duna’s screams

continued, and the sky seemed to break open with the clapping of thunder.

For a brief moment, Randy truly thought tonight would be his last night on Earth.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The sky was overcast and dimly lit with the blue glow of the moon. Fog rolled across the ground

at an unusually fast pace, giving Randy the impression that they were on some alien world.

Occasionally, bright flashes of lightning illuminated the forest, bringing an even greater feeling of

unfamiliarity.

Off in the distance, beyond the woodshed, Duna’s screams echoed in the woods. She was

likely heading for the property line to escape. Hopefully, Randy thought, Keri was able to ward

the forest adequately.

“She obviously didn’t sense Keri’s presence,” Jacob said. “We have to get to her before she

escapes.”

“What about the wards?” Randy said, huffing and puffing as he followed.

“This property is pretty big,” Jacob said. “There’s no way Keri could have completely circled it.”

There was another flash of lightning in the distance, and the pathway into the forest was lit up

enough to see a dark human figure hovering slowly along, heading away from them. Randy

gripped the revolver tightly, his heart racing with terror. Even in the dim light, she was horrifying.

Her clothing flailed all around her in the wind, and she floated with her hands out at her sides.

Her hair flapped in the wind as well, looking like black flames that crowned her head like some

demon of nightmares.

“There she is,” Randy gulped.

They ran faster, rounding the woodshed and heading down the path. Randy remembered

there being a small pond in the direction, just over a ridge that dropped off rather steeply. Maybe

Duna was heading there, looking for a source of water where she could hide.

“Do you think she’s looking for a swamp?” Randy asked.

“I don’t think so,” Jacob replied. “She’s likely looking for someone to kill. Our amulets must

have scared her away. Otherwise, she would have attacked us.”

Duna’s form disappeared over the ridge, and Randy and Jacob approached slowly, peering

over the edge into the area below. The fog obscured the view, and all they could see were the

dark skeletal forms of the trees.

“Shit, where’d she go?” Randy said.

Jacob held out his hand, craning his neck to listen to a rustling below that was getting louder

and louder. Then, several dark figures burst from the fog, rapidly clawing their way up the slope.

There were stick figures, man-shaped and formed from the rotten twigs and branches that had

fallen from the trees.

“Jesus Christ!” Randy shouted, raising the revolver.

“Don’t waste the bullets,” Jacob said, reaching into his pouch.

He flung a handful of flash powder down toward the climbing creatures. It burst into flame,

igniting them, but they kept coming. In the distance, Duna screeched, having obviously sensed

the wards that Keri had placed.

“It worked,” Jacob said. “I think she’s coming back.”

He was right. Behind the ghastly golems, Duna’s form broke through the fog. Her face was a

mask of rage, pale white and grotesque in its visage. Her fangs were large, and her mouth was

opened impossibly wide.

“Shoot her!” Jacob shouted.

Randy raised the revolver, taking aim at her heart. As he cocked the hammer back, she looked

in his direction, her face softening somewhat and her eyes flashing green for just a split second.

Randy felt a strange sensation as if she had reached out to gently stroke his body. He hesitated,

mesmerized by her eyes and the sensation of her fingertips on his flesh.

“Shoot her!” Jacob shouted again.

Randy snapped himself out of his trance and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck her chest,

sending her back into the fog, screeching and howling as the iron pierced her flesh. Randy cocked

the hammer back again, watching the stick creatures collapse and slide back down the slope.

Though immobilized for the moment, they all kept their form.

“We need weapons for these things,” Jacob said.

Randy thought about the woodshed. “There’s a few axes in the shed,” he said. “Doubleheaded

ones.”

“Let’s go before she recovers.”

Taking another look downslope, Randy followed Jacob. Duna’s howls sounded behind them in

the distance, getting louder and more intense.

“Aren’t axes made of iron?” Randy wondered out loud.

“Steel,” Jacob said. “Steel is made of iron, but the other metals in the alloy could affect its

properties. Is there another can of that oil in there?”

“Yeah,” Randy said, pulling open the door.

They ran to the side wall, each of them grabbing an axe. Randy was now loaded with

weapons: an obsidian dagger, a revolver, and a big, clunky axe that he could barely lift.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I don’t want to get trapped in here again.”

A scraping sound began to come from outside. The stickmen had managed to catch up to

them and were gathering around the back of the woodshed, trying to get in. Randy ran to the

door, reaching out to grab the handle. But one of the creatures appeared from behind it, clawing

at him as he tried to pull it shut. The creature grabbed the door, making a shimmering scratching

noise to alert the others.

“Get the oil!” Randy shouted.

They slowly backed away, going toward the workbench in the back. Jacob opened the oil can,

ready to dowse the attackers as soon as they came through the door. They began pouring

through, a dozen of them at least, all made of branches and sticks with no heads or features at

all. Jacob reared back, splashing them with the oil as they came. Then, he set the can down,

flinging more of his flash powder at them.

The whole group went up in flames, spreading the fire to one another as they scattered and

knocked each other over. Jacob swung his axe at the nearest one, chopping off its leg and

sending it to the ground. Randy pushed another one with his axe head, knocking it into the

others.

With the stick creatures busy putting out their flames, Randy and Jacob slid past them, closing

the doors on their way out. Randy closed the latch, locking them inside, and they both backed

away to watch the whole shed go up in flames.

“I hope it rains,” Randy said.

Suddenly, there were flashing blue and red lights. They both turned to see the Sheriff’s

Department vehicle pull up, its cherries and berries flaring menacingly. Deputy Woody jumped

out, his handgun ready and pointed at them.

“What the hell is going on up here?” he demanded.

“Deputy,” Randy said, dropping his axe and holding his hands out. “Let me explain.”

“What the hell are you shooting at?”

“There’s something you need to know,” Jacob said.

Woody pointed his gun at Jacob, and Jacob backed away with his hands up. “Who the hell are

you? And who is the girl in the car in your driveway?”

“That’s my sister,” Jacob said. “My name is Jacob, and she’s Keri.”

Woody began heading toward them, pressing the button on his radio as he watched the

flames consume the shed. Then, the doors burst open, and a flaming stick creature came

stumbling out, dropping to the ground as others followed. Randy and Jacob went to work,

chopping them to pieces right there in the dirt. Woody looked on with his eyes wide and his

mouth hanging open in shock.

“What the fuck?” he said, dumbfounded.

Randy finished off the last of the creatures, setting his axe down again. “That’s what I was

trying to tell you. Something strange is going on, and I have no idea how to explain it.”

“Well, you’d better think of something,” Woody said. “Or I’m taking you both in.”

“For what?” Jacob asked bitterly.

“I’ll fucking think of something unless you tell me what the hell’s going on and what the hell

those things were.”

“Those missing people,” Randy began, stammering. “They didn’t go missing. They were killed

by a creature in the woods.”

Woody was silent but lowered his gun. “Go on,” he said.

“I don’t know exactly what it was,” Randy said. “But it’s gone now. But there’s still another

thing to kill. I don’t know how to explain it any other way but to say it’s… something

supernatural.”

“Like a vampire,” Jacob added. “A vampire witch.”

“Hold on,” Woody said, going back to his vehicle.

He opened the passenger side door, pulling out a tactical shotgun. He then went to the back

door, rummaged around, and returned with a handful of strange-looking shotgun shells. He

began loading the gun as Jacob and Randy looked at each other.

“What kind of shells are those?” Randy asked.

“Rock salt and iron pellets,” Woody said, cocking the shotgun. “This ain’t my first rodeo. When

I found those remains, my first thought was whatever was killing people decades ago was back. I

thought maybe it was a werewolf or something. I don’t believe in werewolves, normally, but the

remains found all those years ago were way too fucked up to be some animal attack.”

“They weren’t,” Jacob said. “We already killed the vampire’s servant. Something called a

Lemure. Spiritually enslaved to do this creature’s bidding.”

Woody nodded, seeming satisfied. “So that’s what I saw then. The thing with the antlers. I

thought I was just seeing things.”

A deafening screech sounded from above them, and the dark form of the Baobhan-sith

descended quickly. Woody fired upward, blasting the creature and throwing it back. Though

visibly wounded, she still came, snatching Woody from the ground and carrying him into the air.

But he blasted her again and came falling to the ground as Duna disappeared into the darkness,

screeching and howling like the dark thing she was.

“Jesus Christ!” Woody shouted as he stood up. “What the fuck was that?”

“Are you all right?” Randy asked him.

Woody nodded. “We’re gonna need some better weapons,” he said.

“Those shells will help stun her,” Randy said, pulling out the obsidian blade. “But she can only

be killed with this.”

“What is that?”

“It’s an obsidian dagger,” Jacob said. “Normally, creatures like this can be killed with iron. But

this one is different. She’s more powerful than others of her kind. I don’t know why.”

“Was she human?” Woody asked, fetching more shells from his vehicle.

“A long time ago,” Randy said. “She was my great-great-grandmother.”

Woody looked up at him, shaking his head. “So that’s what Frederik was hiding. I knew he was

up to something.”

“He was trying to keep her asleep until he could find a way to kill her,” Randy explained. “He

didn’t know about this dagger. We only found it recently.”

Woody nodded, loading up his shotgun again. He motioned over to their right, toward the

cabin. “She went that way,” he said. “Let’s go get her.”

The three men followed the sounds of Duna’s frustrated growls. There was a path toward the

south end of the property that afforded them a quick route downward. The way was choked with

wild roses that snagged them with nearly every step, and the sounds of snapping twigs all around

them slowed their pace even more.

Woody led the way with his shotgun ready, pointing it from side to side with each suspicious

noise. Randy and Jacob walked side by side when they could, and Jacob sprinkled salt in every

direction as they went. Duna was ahead, somewhere, likely riding the property line to find a way

out. They couldn’t let her get away.

Jacob pulled out his phone to contact Keri, texting her as they walked but still keeping his eyes

open and his free hand working to spread the salt. After a few minutes, he shut off his phone and

whispered, “She’ll stay just outside the property line to keep safe.”

“What’s so special about the property line?” Woody asked.

“She placed wards around it,” Jacob said. “The whole thing. But she says her necklace

detected a lot of older ones as Frederik or someone had already placed some before. Duna is

trapped.”

“She’s not gonna like that,” Woody said. “Once she realizes it, we’ll be her first meal.”

“We’re pretty safe,” Jacob said. “My mother’s magic will protect us. You, on the other hand…”

Woody turned and gave Jacob a blank stare, then continued on. “Great,” he whispered.

“I wish I had more paquets,” Jacob said. “But I wasn’t expecting any more help.”

“That’s okay,” Woody said. “We all die someday. Might as well be in the line of duty.”

Randy snickered. “Would the department even consider this your duty?”

“Good point,” Woody said. “I don’t think their policy covers death by vampire witch.”

The Deputy stopped suddenly, holding his hand up and then pointing ahead. There, on the

path, illuminated by the moonlight, stood Duna. She was about twenty yards away, facing their

direction with her face turned downward, and her hands curled into claws. Her stringy hair

swung limply as she swayed from side to side, and her breaths were raspy and slow.

Randy swallowed loudly, gripping the revolver tightly. Woody crouched, raising the shotgun.

Jacob gripped the paquet around his neck, grabbing another handful of salt. As they watched in

silence, Duna’s hands slowly rose up, her fingers turning upward and her mouth moving as she

chanted.

“Shit,” Jacob whispered.

The forest floor exploded around them as large roots shot through the surface. Before they

could react, they were each wrapped tightly, immobilized by the rough wooden tendrils as they

spiraled around their bodies. Randy dropped the revolver as he was lifted into the air. Duna

slowly walked forward, exposing her face. It was pale, demonic, and filled with rage. Her eyes

glowed red, and her lips were black and shriveled with rot.

She smiled widely, her lips parting to expose the glistening fangs underneath. The three of

them struggled against their bonds, desperately trying to escape before she could reach them.

But it was too late. Duna shot forward, immediately leaping upward and wrapping herself around

Woody. He groaned, thrashing and kicking to get free as she sank her claws into his throat. As the

blood spurted from his open wound, a long snake-like tongue spiraled out of her mouth, lapping

up the fluid and embedding itself inside his throat. Randy looked on helplessly as Woody’s eyes

faded to pale white, and his skin shriveled like dried leather.

Duna released him, waving a single hand over his collapsing form. The roots that held him

began to pull him underground, breaking his limbs and ribs as they crushed him into the dirt.

Duna licked her face clean as her flesh began to fill in and grow smoother. She had fed, and now

her strength was returning.

“Randy,” she said seductively. “I’ve been waiting for this moment. Thank you for freeing me.

Now, get rid of the wards and I will leave you be. I will go elsewhere and feed to my heart’s

content. But first, one last thing.”

To Randy’s horror, Duna’s eyes turned to Jacob. She smiled, still horrifying in appearance but

with flesh that was filling out quickly. The root that covered Jacob’s face pulled away, revealing

that he was mumbling the words of some incantation. Duna’s brow furrowed in rage, and her

mouth opened again, ready to strike.

But Jacob suddenly fell free as the roots that held him were burned away by some unknown

force. Duna screamed in rage, flying up into the air to attack from above. But as Jacob collapsed

to the ground, he rolled quickly to the side, grabbing the shotgun and blasting her with the rock

salt and iron pellets. Duna was thrown back, screeching and howling in rage. Randy was suddenly

free, his roots shriveling and snapping as Duna’s spell was broken. Jacob grabbed him, pulling him

to his feet.

“Run!” he shouted, pushing Randy forward.

Behind them, Duna’s growling and screaming faded as they escaped. They ran as fast as they

could, desperate to get out of the trees. Roots shot up around them, whipping and thrashing the

trees as they passed. Jacob flung handfuls of flash powder and salt behind them, destroying the

roots before they could catch either of them. Breathless, Randy’s vision began to blur. He wasn’t

used to running. He was a goddamn insurance adjuster, not a marathon runner.

“Come on, man!” Jacob urged him on. “She’ll recover quickly.”

“Woody,” Randy groaned. “She got Woody.”

“Better him than us,” Jacob said as they burst through the tree line. “We should check his

vehicle for more shells. Grab that shotgun from the cabin. Two guns are better than one.”

“I don’t even know what gauge it is,” Randy said, heading there anyway.

As he leaped onto the porch, Jacob tore open the SUV’s side door and got in to search. Randy

ran into the cabin, looking around for the shotgun. He couldn’t remember where he had put it.

Thankfully, it was there on the kitchen counter, though he didn’t remember having left it there.

He rushed over and grabbed it and then made his way back toward the door.

His phone lit up and vibrated across the table again.

“Damn it,” he said, grabbing it desperately.

Melinda.

I can’t sleep. Have you left for Indy yet?

“Going in the morning. Can’t talk now.”

He set down the phone, hoping his message would be enough for Melinda to drop it for now.

But then, there was a bright flash and a loud popping sound from outside that startled him. He

rushed to the door, looking out of the glass. There was a strange glow surrounding Woody’s

vehicle, and sparks were dancing across its surface. Several orbs of blue light were swirling

around it, slowly dissipating and rising into the air.

There was another flash as a group of more orbs streaked out from the forest. They hit the

vehicle, sparking and popping as they impacted. Randy tore open the door, running off of the

porch and toward the SUV. He could see Jacob inside, motionless and leaning back on the rear

seat. His eyes were open wide, and his mouth hung open strangely.

“Fuck!” Randy shouted.

He opened the door and jumped inside, shaking Jacob by the shoulder. His head fell to the

side, and his body felt limp. But he was breathing.

“Jacob,” Randy shouted. “Wake up.”

There was no response. He grabbed Woody’s shotgun, tossing it outside along with the big

pouch of shells Jacob had found. From the corner of his eye, he saw another flash coming from

the forest. More orbs were streaking his way.

“Shit,” he whispered, pulling Jacob out of the vehicle and onto the ground.

The orbs smashed into the SUV again, and Randy pulled Jacob away quickly, narrowly avoiding

them as they burst. He rolled Jacob onto his back, shaking him and calling out his name. Still, no

response. However, his eyes were open, and his pupils seemed responsive. He had to get him to

safety before Duna returned or cast another spell.

“Jacob,” he said again. “Wake up. Fuck.”

He remembered that Keri was nearby. Thankfully, she hadn’t followed the deputy up the

driveway. Maybe he could carry Jacob there and get him to safety. Obviously, the SUV wasn’t

going to work. He stood and fished around in his pockets for his car keys, thinking he would just

use his own car. But his pockets were empty.

“Damn it.”

Jacob’s car!

“Sorry, buddy,” he said as he reached into Jacob’s pocket.

The keys were there. He went to Jacob’s sedan and opened the passenger door, dragging his

limp form into the seat. A howl echoed from the forest, causing him to pause for a moment. He

crouched, watching the tree line for any signs of Duna or whatever else was in there. Then, he

crawled over Jacob and settled in the driver's seat.

Thankfully, the car started right up.

“All right, man,” Randy said. “Let’s get you to Keri.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Using Jacob’s phone, Randy found Keri’s number and pressed the call button. She answered

almost immediately.

“Where are you at?” he asked. “Jacob’s hurt. I need to get him to you.”

“I’m at the dollar store in the parking lot. What happened?”

“I don’t know. He’s alive, but he’s just staring off into space and not responding.”

He looked over at Jacob, who was still in the same state. He was motionless other than his

head bouncing from side to side as the car went over the various bumps in the road. Ahead, a set

of headlights coming in his direction caused Jacob’s eyes to flutter.

“Look at the amulet he’s wearing,” Keri said. “It should be behind the paquet.”

Randy pulled the chain from underneath Jacob’s shirt. His amulet felt warm, and there was a

slight green glow to it.

“It’s glowing,” he said.

“That’s good. It means the amulet protected him from a spell. He’s just stunned. Get him here,

and I’ll come back with you to help.”

“No,” Randy protested. “I got this. His pack is still at the cabin. I have the obsidian dagger, too.

I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. There’s no reason to put yourself in danger. Just get Jacob home, and I’ll take it

from here.”

He looked up at the rear-view mirror. The car that had just passed was gone, showing only a

set of taillights that looked as if the car had turned left into a driveway.

“Shit,” he whispered, hoping it wasn’t his driveway.

Ahead, the dollar store came into view. Randy pulled in, seeing Keri standing outside her car.

She was very pretty, and even in the dim moonlight he could see her striking blue eyes. Like

Jacob, she had braids, but they were highlighted and bundled up on top of her head. He smiled

when he saw her wave and pulled the car next to hers.

“How is he?” Keri asked, immediately going to the passenger side.

“Still the same,” Randy said. “Alive but in some kind of trance.”

“Just leave him in there,” Keri said. “Take my car back to your cabin.”

“All right.”

“Where’s the deputy?”

Randy sighed, shaking his head. “She got him.”

“Oh damn. You better get rid of his vehicle if you can.”

Randy nodded. “I have an idea of where to keep it for now. Just get Jacob to safety.”

Keri closed the passenger door after putting the seat belt on Jacob. Randy got out, allowing

Keri to take his place in the driver’s seat.

“Thank you both for all your help,” he said. “I’ll figure out some way to return the favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Keri said. “Just get it done. And here, take this.”

She pulled a bracelet off of her wrist, handing it to him. It was a Celtic Claddagh, a golden

braid inlaid with emeralds and small rubies.

“What is this?” Randy asked.

“It was our father’s. You need it at the moment. It’ll give you more protection from her magic.

If she killed the cop, then she’s stronger now. You need to stay strong as well. You need to ignore

her pleas. Got it? No sympathy. No quarter. Kill her. That’s all there is to it.”

Randy nodded, slipping the Claddagh onto his wrist. “Thank you, Keri. Thank you both. It was

nice to finally meet you. Considering.”

“Call me when it’s done.”

Randy closed her door and watched her pull out of the parking lot. He waited until she was

out of sight and then got in her car. As he put it in gear, he took a deep breath, scared shitless

and unsure of what was about to happen. Hesitantly, he pulled onto the street, heading through

the fog to what might be the last moments of his life.

The driveway was shrouded in the thick fog, even more so than before. Duna’s power was

likely keeping it here on his property, with only a small amount of it drifting onto the surrounding

area. The trees seemed odd-looking as if they were even more dormant than they should be for

fall. They were pale, skeletal, and dead-looking.

He rolled down the window as he crept forward, noticing that everything was dead quiet.

There were no sounds at all, no wind, no crickets. There was only the sound of the engine and

the tires crunching through the gravel.

As he approached the last bend where the driveway opened up into the parking area, he saw

the rear lights of the SUV, his car, and, to his horror, one more. His heart nearly skipped a beat.

He thought maybe another deputy had arrived to check on Woody. He had absolutely no

explanation as to where Woody had gone. No one would believe him.

He pulled up beside his car, and the dome light of the new vehicle turned on as the door was

opened. This time, his heart nearly stopped as he saw Melinda step out. He quickly slammed the

car into park, shut it off, and jumped out.

“Melinda!” he shouted, running toward her. “What are you doing here?”

She closed her door, turning to him with a puzzled look on her face.

“Why is it so foggy?” she asked. “What’s going on here? There’s a cruiser here and—“

“You have to go,” Randy insisted, gripping her shoulders and looking into her eyes. “It’s

dangerous. I’ll explain later, okay?”

“But I needed to see you. I think you’re in danger. All of this stuff we talked about… it’s…”

“Look,” Randy said, trying to gently nudge her back toward her car. “It’s just—“

There was a maniacal laugh from the direction of the woodshed. Randy instinctively reached

into his back pocket, grabbing the dagger. He would have to get to the shotgun as well, but he

had to get Melinda to leave.

“Just go for now,” Randy said. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Who’s out there?”

The laugh came again, and as they both watched, the fog cleared to form a corridor from the

parking area to the woodshed. There, naked and seductive, stood Duna. She was fully healed at

this point, and her silky black hair blew in the gentle wind that came through. Her skin was

perfect once again, just like it was in his first dream, and her green eyes nearly pierced his very

soul.

“Who is that?” Melinda asked curiously. “And why is she naked?”

“Randy,” Duna said, her accent thick and seductive. “Who is this pretty lass?”

Randy held out the dagger, slowly moving his way toward the porch where the shotgun lay on

the ground. With his free hand, he gently directed Melinda back toward the driver’s side door of

her car.

“I feel strange, Randy,” Melinda said.

“Just get in your car and go,” Randy insisted again. “Please.”

“Let her stay, Randy,” Duna said, rubbing her bare breasts and licking her lips. “The more, the

merrier.”

“Leave her alone!” he shouted.

Duna held out her hand, making a waving motion in his direction. He was immediately

knocked back and stunned, unable to move anything but his right arm, around which the

Claddagh began to glow. Though weak and clumsy, his fingers wrapped tightly around the

dagger’s handle.

“She is truly a lovely thing,” Duna continued, seductively approaching Melinda.

Melinda seemed frozen as well, and her eyes were wide with terror as she realized whom she

was now facing. Duna reached out, stroking Melinda’s cheek with her fingertips. Her face

quivered with the witch’s touch, and her eyes clenched shut.

“Leave her alone!” Randy said again, desperately trying to draw the strength to move.

“I know who you are,” Duna said. “And I can see why Randy wanted you. But know this, lass.

Randy is mine. Now and forever.”

With those words, Duna’s fingertips grew into claws. Her face became a mask of rage, and her

lips curled back, showing her fangs. She drew her claws across Melinda’s throat, ripping it open

with a cackling laugh that tore Randy’s very soul. Melinda’s eyes shot open and widened. Her

mouth dropped open, and her hand went to the mortal wound.

“No!” Randy shouted in rage, drawing enough strength to rear back his forearm.

With all the power he could muster, he threw the dagger. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as it

tumbled end over end toward its target. It buried itself behind Duna’s right breast, striking with

enough power to drive the blade halfway in. Duna’s scream pierced the night, echoing through

the darkness like the shrill cries of a thousand ravens. Randy was immediately free, and he

quickly jumped to his feet, digging his heels into the dirt as he charged the now-wounded witch.

He plowed into her, throwing her to the ground with enough force to knock the blade out. He

saw Melinda slowly collapse to her knees as he pounced on top of Duna’s thrashing body. He

grabbed the dagger once again, gripping it with both hands and raising it above his head. The

Claddagh began to glow brighter, growing hotter and hotter as its power built and strengthened

Randy’s arms. He howled in rage, gritting his teeth as he drove it downward into Duna’s heart.

His body was racked with a jolt of dark magic as the blade pierced Duna’s flesh. He was

thrown back, hitting his head on the hard ground and groaning with the pain of the impact.

Duna’s thrashing grew, and her screams became fierce and echoing as her body began to wither.

Breathless and drained, Randy rolled to his feet and headed straight for the nearby axe that lay

against the bottom step of his porch.

He snatched it up, running back with it raised above his head. He screamed at the top of his

lungs, swinging the heavy weapon as hard as he could. It chopped right through Duna’s neck,

severing her now demonic-looking head from her body. Then, he dropped the axe, rushing over

to catch Melinda as she toppled forward.

“Melinda,” he whispered, cradling her body and trying to stop the massive flow of blood that

gushed from her large wound.

It was no use, he knew. There was no stopping it. Duna had dealt the innocent woman a

mortal wound from which there was no return. Melinda would die, and he would be left all alone

once again. He closed his eyes and held her close, feeling her body slowly relax as her life slipped

away. He blocked out the sounds of Duna’s body dissolving and sputtering. He could feel the

force of her magic escaping and her body being consumed by darkness.

Then, Melinda grew still. Randy opened his eyes and looked down at her beautiful face, his

vision clouded by not only the tears that gushed from his eyes but by the rage and sorrow that

now filled his heart. He loved Melinda, he realized, and now she was gone.

She was gone.

He looked over to Duna’s body, seeing that nothing was left but slowly collapsing bones that

melted into the ground. Even her blood was gone, having been taken back by the earth

underneath her. In just a short time, before he finally cried out in rage, she was completely gone.

Nothing remained but him and the body of his beloved.

He was alone forever, doomed to suffer the loss of a woman that could have made his life

perfect. But what would he do with Melinda’s body? How would he explain it to Marge? What of

Keri’s car? The deputy’s SUV?

It was hopeless.

The thick fog began to dissipate when the rains came. He could see that the sun had begun to

rise at last, lighting the scene in an eerie and oppressive light. Everything around him seemed

dead, never to return. There was nothing he could do but weep endlessly as he held Melinda. His

world was shattered. Her world was shattered. All of it; the deaths, the destruction—it was all his

fault.

“Rot in hell, you bitch,” he hissed as he looked at the place where Duna had lain. “Rot in hell

with your bastard son.”

Through the thinning fog, Randy could see the dark shape of the wide-brimmed hat-wearing

man near the woodshed. Though he could not make out any features, he could see the figure

nod his head a single time before fading from existence. Randy watched the shed for a moment,

wondering who or what the figure really was. But in his heart, he knew it had to be the spirit of

Lachlan, nodding his approval.

With Duna gone, the man could finally rest in peace.

Epilogue

The scotch tasted bitter. Randy cradled what was left in the bottle against his stomach as he sat

on the couch. The cabin was quiet, and the sun was dropping below the horizon at last. The long

day—the long task—was finally complete.

With a heavy heart, Randy had laid Melinda’s body on the bed in the back bedroom. He

cleaned her up, wiped the blood from her body, and wrapped her in a clean white sheet. Then,

he had parked Woody’s vehicle in the woodshed after clearing away the clutter. It would stay

there for now until the day he could find a place to ditch it.

Keri’s car would have to stay there until she or Jacob picked it up—if Jacob had survived.

When that day came, he would stay in the house, avoiding both of them, not wanting to tell

them what had happened to poor Melinda. He would look weak. Though he knew deep down

they would understand, there was no way he could face them, knowing he had failed to protect

the one person he cared about in the whole world.

He had failed.

He took another swig from the bottle, holding it up in front of the light from the window.

There was very little left. But he didn’t care. He was all alone once again, left to rot in the

darkness of this fucking cabin. Maybe he could use the revolver or the shotgun and blow his

brains out. He could end his life and not have to worry about anything else ever again.

That was better than being alone.

Cha-Ching, his phone chimed.

Randy reluctantly picked it up. There was a message from Keri.

Is it over?

“It is done,” he responded. “How is Jacob?”

He’ll be fine. He just needs to rest.

“That’s good. I’m sorry about everything.”

There is no need to apologize. None of this was your fault. He knew what he was getting into.

“Thanks for everything.”

We should avoid any contact for a while. Jacob will call you when things return to normal. Take

care of yourself, Randy.

“You too. Goodbye for now.”

With a sob, Randy gulped the last of the scotch and threw the bottle into the fireplace. It

shattered loudly, startling him. He laughed at himself, shaking his head as he felt the tears come

again.

But then, there was a creak behind him. The floorboards back there had made noise every

time he went in and out of that bedroom. Through the silence, he heard the soft sounds of

footsteps slowly making their way toward him from behind. His heart pounded as he listened,

and he felt the tugging feeling of loss and the warm feeling of hope at the same time.

The footsteps stopped behind him, and he heard the sound of someone kneeling there. Soft

hands caressed his neck and shoulders, and the warm feeling of lips upon his flesh made him

smile. Melinda’s hands moved over his shoulders and down his chest as she kissed his neck

passionately. He closed his eyes, reaching up to grasp her left hand in his.

“Randy,” Melinda whispered in his ear. “I’m hungry. I need you.”

“I know, my love,” Randy said with a smile. “I’m all yours. Forever.”