One Star
Page 6
Suddenly the occult beast cackled and snatched up his prey, digging long talons into the man’s flesh. “Wait! No!” Quintin immediately understood everything within Akko Soggathoth’s mind—Quintin had been the target all along—it was a trick! Only a noble sacrifice could open the paths to the Darque!
Akko Soggathoth’s presence forced Quintin’s mind out like a shucked clam, completely obliterating it as the goatman’s essence bled into the person and took its form. He stuffed his infernal makeup within the body as if it were a glove.
Victoria screamed as the ground flashed and burned with supernatural fire. The portal opened to the Darque and the smell of charred flesh filled her nostrils as flames immolated the corpses of her fellow cult members.
“No! No,” she screamed as she snatched up Quintin’s handgun. “Make it stop!” She shrieked until panic overwhelmed her. She screamed and screamed until the noise suddenly stopped with a loud, self-inflected pop of the forty-five.
Victoria’s body crumpled into a heap. Her blood trickled out like a burst hose, spreading across the stone floor.
Akko Soggathoth, wearing the flesh of his cryptozoologist, emerged from the shadows and cackled. The dead cultists remained unburned, though scattered like chaff. There had been no fire and no portal—only the pressing need for sacrifice so that the door could be opened in earnest.
As the moonlight glinted off the pool of blood, an etched sigil shined upon the floor. The black goat made a series of hand signs; the markings of the arcane sign broke further apart with each one until it finally busted. Finally unlocked after so many centuries, the ground seemed to disintegrate and fall away, creating the bridge between worlds.
The path was open and Akko Soggathoth was free. He could feel the presence of his kindred.
Into the Darque Dimension.
19
Kurtis dropped the book. It clattered on the floor like the crack of a taskmaster’s whip but startled him only slightly. Whatever psychosis had taken him, Kurtis remained entranced. He took one final glance across the room to ensure he’d everything necessary for the last lesson where he fully intended to bring Feeny to the steps of the Darque.
His laptop remained open with the online listing for Black Goat up. He clicked the browser’s refresh button out of habit. The review count suddenly changed!
Kurtis blinked his surprise. He’d gotten four new five-star reviews from readers who loved it and shared their thoughts—even if the text disturbed them on a deep, psychological level.
Kurtis shook his head which immediately cleared. “What… what have I done?” He dropped the knife and jug as his mind reeled back to his recent, uncharacteristic actions. The darque hold on the author momentarily released. From the corner of his vision the black wall called to him, trying to reassert its will.
“No!” he screamed, determined to keep his grip retained over his own will. He tore the shades from the window and let the light pierce the darkened living space. Kurtis could feel the oily presence slither away from the forefront of his mind.
He risked a glance at the dark scribble. The light did not make it appear any less menacing—perhaps only moreso by comparison. He could feel the evil radiating off of it like heat; it called his name, demanded satisfaction, promised to cradle the man’s fragile psyche like a heroin to a junkie.
“No!” Kurtis shouted again, grabbing the canister of fuel he’d dropped. He splashed and flung the accelerant all over the floor before finally casting the container against his spiritually polluted wall.
He lit and cast the book of matches inside before fleeing through the door, grabbing only the face-down photograph frame of his family on the way out. The fuel ignited with a loud whoosh!
Kurtis could feel the black presence still screaming in the back of his mind as the doors and windows blew out of the home he’d once shared with Felicia and their children. He ducked his head and sprinted for his car.
Tossing his photo frame onto the passenger seat he roared out of the driveway even as flames and dark, greasy smoke reached into the sky; consuming the asphalt roof it spewed acrid fire high overhead. Kurtis didn’t wait around—he had to get to Feeny, and fast. Kurtis didn’t want to be a murderer, and he had to act fast to rescue Feeny and save his own humanity!
His fat enemy was unkind and had caused so much pain—even contributed to Julie Baird’s death, but Feeny was not some kind of animal who could be caged and left for dead! I’m no killer, Kurtis told himself. He would rescue the man and face the consequences of whatever mental break he’d suffered from, whatever they may be—but first he had to get to his old family cabin and make sure that Mark Feeny was still alive!
He floored the gas pedal even as the wailing sirens of nearby firetrucks reached his ears.
20
Feeny panted and wheezed as he struggled against the restraining duct tape. His chest felt tight and hot; both weakness and bodily numbness made any sort of continued attempts difficult.
He pushed and groaned, but it did no good. He’d just begun to give in to despair when his ears heard the distant roar of a vehicle coasting over gravel.
A renewed sense of panicked invigoration struck him infusing the prisoner with a final burst of energy. He shook and screamed and raged at the injustice of it all until he finally rocked the seat forward onto the front two legs.
Balancing precariously on his own sensation-blinded feet, Feeny began to teeter. He screamed and put all his energy into one final, jumping thrust backwards.
The chair’s rear legs bent under the maneuver and it burst apart into ragged splinters of heirloom wood below the impact of the hostage’s girth
Feeny scrambled onto his belly and shook off the bonds, peeling away the sweaty, sticky wrap that still clung to chunks of the busted furniture against his pain-festered, raw flesh.
He tried to get to his feet, but the pins and needles coursing through his veins prohibited it and he collapsed to the floor again—wracked by an altogether different sort of pain. He spotted a pitcher where he knew Kurtis had poured water from before and wormed his way across the floor and slithered up the cupboard to reach for it. Feeny prayed the whole way that it still had water—he knew the cabin didn’t have plumbing but there was a pump somewhere outside.
The jug was still about a quarter full and he guzzled it greedily. The first three swallows revolted and he vomited them back into the container. He didn’t care about the contamination. Keeping an eye on the door he slammed the rest of the water down his gullet. It cramped inside his gut, but stayed in.
His pulse pounded hard and he heard the vehicle stop outside, crunching the gravel drive. A car door slammed.
Feeny knew his tormenter had arrived to bring him the final lesson! He tested his legs—this time they held up and he rushed in search of a weapon. The fire poker was gone—still outside from his last escape attempt. He whirled around in search of a knife, a fork—anything sharp to defend himself with.
The chains rattled against the door and the sound of dropping keys chilled Feeny’s blood. He could hear Kurtis snatch them up and try again—his assailant seemed in as big of a hurry as he was.
“Feeny!” he howled, pounding on the door. “Feeny, I’m coming in—are you still alive in there?”
Again the chains shook and keys fell. Kurtis cursed on the other side of the door. Feeny spun and his head swam as he frantically searched for a weapon. Anything!
The chain growled as Kurtis zipped it through steel grommets and freed the door of it.
Feeny finally spotted something as the latch lifted. He seized a heavy wooden chair leg and held it like a club. He tried to croak a battle cry as the door swung free but his throat stuck like he’d swallowed fish bones.
Kurtis ran through the door just as the fat man swung his makeshift truncheon. He clobbered the author and sent him reeling towards the kitchenette.
Feeny screamed again—this time a ragged, breathy shriek came out and he c
harged towards his captor.
Hands held high he howled, “No! Stop! I didn’t mean it—I didn’t mean for any of it to—”
Feeny’s pulse raced and pounded in his ears. He didn’t hear the words—or he didn’t care—even he didn’t know which it was as he pounded over and over, beating through the author’s defenses as he bludgeoned the man who he trapped between his protruding belly and the counter where a washbasin and cutting board marked the rustic kitchen.
He saw red and battered Kurtis’s hands aside, finally rendering him defenseless. Feeny stuck him in the face with the club. Over and over again he swung until Kurtis collapsed and the blows caved in his skull. Sick, ruby mist sprayed all over, slicking the floor and making Feeny slip and fall.
A beating like drums pounded in his ears as he collapsed on the floor, staring at the mangled, unrecognizable face of the man who’d abducted him. Finally he caught his breath enough to make good his escape.
Feeny didn’t dare take his eyes off of the man, however. He feared that looking away for even a fraction of a second would let the psychopath get back to his feet and return the beating.
He didn’t have a choice. Feeny tripped over the errant copy of Black Goat on his way towards the door and tumbled face first to the floorboards.
Cursing, he looked back at Kurtis accusingly, but the body hadn’t moved. Feeny snatched up the book and flung it across the room with all his remaining fury.
Still assuming he wasn’t safe he yanked the door wide and stiffened like a board.
Standing on the front step, barring his path, stood a horned, black goat. It stared at him with hideous and hollow yellow eyes as it wagged its beard threateningly. He could almost swear that the creature laughed at the bloody, fat man.
Feeny clutched his chest and staggered backwards, groaning. His heart beat erratic and he felt like a spear of ice lanced him from collarbone to abdomen.
Collapsing into a heap he maintained eye contact with the vile animal. The goat merely glared at him unsympathetically. It pawed slightly at the ground and the door slowly shut as the uneven hinges turned with gravity, finally breaking their shared gaze.
The door he’d stared at for so long mocked Mark Feeny as his heart palpitated uncontrollably and rendered his arms limp. He stared at the crude drawing as his circulatory system finally froze and his heart locked in place. The light died behind his eyes as he glanced a final time at the thing that robbed his life: one star.
The End
Dear reader,
Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won’t you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer (or on Amazon.com as a safe default) and share this title with your friends on social media? Discoverability is the lifeblood of success for authors and we can’t continue writing without your help! Internet pirates have literally made more money off of my stories than I have and I’d certainly love to make a career out of my passion!
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Christopher D Schmitz
About the author:
Christopher D. Schmitz is the traditionally published and self-published author of both fiction and nonfiction. When he is not writing or working with teenagers he might be found at comic conventions as a panelist or guest. He has been featured on cable access television broadcasts, metro area podcasts, and runs a blog for indie authors.
Always interested in stories, media such as comic books, movies, 80s cartoons, and books called to him at a young age—especially sci-fi and fantasy. He lives in rural Minnesota with his family where he drinks unsafe amounts of coffee. The caffeine shakes keeps the cold from killing them.
Schmitz also holds a Master’s Degree in Religion and freelances for local newspapers. He is available for speaking engagements, interviews, etc. via the contact form and links on his website or via social media.
Discover other titles by Christopher D Schmitz
The Last Black Eye of Antigo Vale
Burning the God of Thunder
Piano of the Damned
Shadows of a Superhero
The TGSPGoSSP 2-Part Trilogy
Dekker’s Dozen: A Waxing Arbolean Moon
Dekker’s Dozen: Weeds of Eden
Dekker’s Dozen: The Last Watchmen
Why Your Pastor Left
John In the John
Gospels In the John
Wolf of the Tesseract
Wolves of the Tesseract: Taking of the Prime
Wolves of the Tesseract: Through the Darque Gates of Koth
One Star
The Kakos Realm: Grinden Proselyte
The Kakos Realm: Rise of the Dragon Impervious
The Kakos Realm: Death Upon the Fields of Splendor
The Kakos Realm Collection Alpha
Anthologies No.1
Anthologies No.2
The Indie Author’s Bible
The Indie Author’s Bible Workbook
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