The Dark Sacrifice: A Horror Novel

by Jay Bower

  The Dark Sacrifice

  A HORROR NOVEL

  Jay Bower

  Copyright © 2018 by Jay Bower

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Jay Bower

  https://jaybowerauthor.wixsite.com/author

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2016 BookDesignTemplates.com

  The Dark Sacrifice/ Jay Bower. — 1st ed.

  Want more scares? Sign up for my monthly newsletter and get a free short story. Sign up here.

  This is dedicated to my mom and step-dad. Thanks for introducing me to the joys of horror and letting me be me.

  CHAPTER ONE

  TEN-YEAR-OLD TODD lay motionless on the bloodstained sacred altar. Built from the very maple tree under which Nathaniel Browne sat when he received his first vision many years ago, all that was left was a worn and discolored two-foot-tall stump. He shivered in the cool night air in his hand-made wool pants, the only clothing allowed for the sacrifice.

  The boy watched as Father Sam walked slowly around him, his long black robes dragging along the dirt and his short grey hair waving slightly. A cold breeze blew in the moonlight, rustling the leaves as the nearby bonfire crackled. Restrained as he was, Todd had no way to escape, even if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t.

  It was up to Keepers like Father Sam to perform the ritual to prevent the curse first placated by Nathaniel Browne, and Todd understood his duty.

  Todd’s brown eyes followed Father Sam as he circled slowly around him. Though he knew what needed to be done, he still feared the pain. He knew the stories about the preceding Chosen Ones and their willingness to die. He memorized their names in order from Elijah to the present, as his parents had taught him. The names scrolled through his mind, one after another. He stopped when he came to Harold, who was, in his estimation, the bravest of them all.

  Harold had lain himself on the altar, the same one Todd now lay chained to, but he didn’t need the restraints. Harold lay perfectly still as the ceremony commenced. Not one tear fell from his eyes during the ritual. It was rumored that he smiled and whispered softly, “Brownsville, this is for you,” before slipping away to blessed paradise. Todd wanted to be like that; to be remembered for his strength and fortitude. But these days, all Chosen were restrained, regardless of their pleas.

  Todd attributed that to William, one of the most cowardly of all the Chosen. His name was rarely mentioned, and if it was, it was always followed with scorn and disgust. Todd memorized William’s name anyway, even if his act did not bring the Dark One’s relief and favor. In the town’s history, it was the only time two Chosen were required. The Keepers were more selective after that. They vetted potential Chosen and their families more carefully, and since then, the ceremony had gone off without a hitch for more than one hundred years.

  Now, future generations of Chosen would know Todd’s name. They would recite the long, proud list (except for William, whose name would never be mentioned with pride), and among the greats like Harold, Todd’s name would forever be recited and remembered. He’d have an eternal impact while enjoying paradise for his bravery.

  These thoughts calmed his nerves and settled his heartbeat. His breath came slow and steady as he watched Father Sam speak to those summoned this night.

  Large stones surrounded the altar in a circle about thirty feet across. Todd always thought the configuration reminded him of a shorter version of Stonehenge without the top stones. He and his friends had played there without the adults knowing and performed mock rituals of the one he now found himself part of. The large rocks created a barrier that the onlookers would not cross, as it was forbidden. There were exactly fifteen of them, he knew, because he’d counted more than once when they played there. They represented the original settlers, including Nathaniel Browne and his son, Elijah. Todd turned his head and guessed there were about twenty witnesses sitting or walking around Father Sam as he performed his theatrics. The Keeper paced along the stone circle and gazed at each person as he shared his treatise on the great Nathaniel Browne.

  “It was with great trepidation that Nathaniel followed the vision he received from the Dark One. For years, he and his people suffered the brutal elements and natives of this land. His people barely survived their first winter in 1813. They suffered from starvation and harsh weather. Savage natives repeatedly attacked their settlement.”

  Todd strained to watch the Keeper, who stared at Mrs. Ward as he spoke. She stared back, stoic and quiet. Todd had seen her at previous sacrifices, and she always wore the same stone face.

  “And those savages,” Father Sam said slowly as he walked past Mrs. Ward around the ring of onlookers, “raped and killed the women of the settlement. The only survivors were Nathaniel, two young men, one of his slaves, and his nine-year-old son, Elijah.”

  A gasp escaped the crowd. Father Sam spun, focusing on the source of the interruption. Todd winced as his six-year-old sister Meah made a commotion. It was highly inappropriate during the ceremony and Todd turned away from her.

  The mention of Elijah often elicited a response from the listening crowd. He was The First. What he had done lived on in memory. If it weren’t for Elijah, Todd couldn’t go on to his paradise and redeem his people. Trained from a very young age to appreciate the ceremony and be ready if his name was called, Todd tried not to struggle against his bonds. He knew this was the right thing, but the fear of pain lingered. He’d witnessed previous ceremonies and it appeared painful, especially as the Chosen writhed and fought against the restraints. They knew better. They served a greater purpose, so why should they struggle?

  Now, his time had come. He would offer himself and attain the Promised Land.

  For weeks leading up to this night, Todd had dwelt on the great significance of his sacrifice. While other kids played outside in the cool autumn weather, he pondered his greater purpose. He was doing it for them, yet many didn’t seem to have a clue. But those watching him now, the Keepers and their families…they knew better. They knew, and they applauded him.

  Walking through the grocery store with his mom and sister, he received pats on the back, and on more than one occasion, a free soda or some candy. They knew what he would face, and they were grateful.

  Meah didn’t understand why he was getting all the attention. She cried when he was offered ice cream and she wasn’t. His mom had to get her a chocolate cone to calm her down. She was too young to understand that this privilege only belonged to select boys of Brownsville. He hoped someday, she’d get the same honor as his mom did in being the mother of a Chosen One. What he did tonight would allow that to happen in the future. Little Meah, Todd’s nickname for her that everyone else also called her, would have to figure things out on her own. He was going to paradise.

  Father Sam continued his exaggerated theatrics, swooping his arms up and down as he expounded on the Dark One and Nathaniel’s original Chosen One, his son Elijah. His voice grew louder, almost drowning out the suddenly gusting wind. It was as though the Dark One himself was there and ready for Todd’s offering. The trees bent and swayed, leaves scattering. The fire crackled and snapped. A loud pop sounded. Sparks flew in the rush of air, and floated past Todd’s face before winking out. Todd forced himself to hold still, not wanting to seem scared in front of the people. He had to
be brave and courageous. He wouldn’t let himself go down in history as another William.

  The wind died down and Father Sam stood facing Todd. He spun around quickly to face the assembled guests. Father Sam looked from person to person seeking approval while keeping a look out for any dissension. He circled the stones, and no one indicated their disapproval. Todd was grateful for that.

  Father Sam turned back toward Todd, who lay perfectly still atop the maple altar, as he’d been taught. He was bound at the ankles and his wrists were strapped to large metal eyelets that stretched his arms away from his body. He breathed heavier and tried calming himself, the anticipated pain troubling him. He hoped it wouldn’t hurt too bad. The thought of sweet paradise awaiting him on the other side offered some consolation. He often imagined what that would be like, talking to the previous Chosen Ones, playing ball with them, going fishing, and just enjoying his new life.

  Suddenly, Father Sam’s face was within inches of his, locking eyes with Todd. He gently caressed Todd’s head. A chill ran through Todd, but he was ready.

  Father Sam stepped back and produced a dagger, holding it high above his head. Todd knew this was the same blade Nathaniel used to sacrifice Elijah. It had been in use ever since.

  Todd wanted to scream but suppressed the urge. He was not going to be another William. He would be brave, like Harold. His family was there, and his sister needed to see how brave her older brother was. She would remember him as strong and courageous. Nothing like William.

  Todd stared at the dagger above him, at the worn bone handle and the long, menacing blade with its razor-sharp edge. He was told the pain would be temporary and his glory in paradise eternal. He had a hard time wrapping his head around that. He didn’t like pain. He didn’t do well with shots, and the dentist was never his favorite place to go. He dug deep and braced himself.

  With a fluid motion, Father Sam plunged the dagger deep into Todd’s heart. The pain felt excruciating. Todd stifled his scream; he was no William. Father Sam raised it again and stabbed harder, grasping the handle with both hands. Blood splashed on Father Sam’s face.

  The wind picked up again, blowing leaves down on them.

  Sound faded in and out for Todd. His breathing grew labored. He wanted to clutch his chest, but the restraints held him back. Feeling the rope dig into his wrists, he tried to relax himself. He didn’t want to appear scared of his duty. If he didn’t willingly follow through, all would be chaos and the Dark One would not be appeased. He had to stay strong and resolute, whatever that meant; probably to not be a wuss, like William.

  He held sturdy, his hands opening as he relaxed the tension within, letting the weight of the ceremony take hold of his thoughts. Father Sam rose up again, his blade dripping with Todd’s blood. Father Sam scanned the crowd. Todd turned his head, observing their approving faces. The Keeper pulled back, then thrust the blade down.

  At first, the pain wasn’t as bad as what Todd expected, but when Father Sam slammed the dagger into his chest this time, it was excruciating. He resisted the urge to scream. His lungs burned. The wet sound of the blade finding purchase in his chest was surreal. Inside his head, his scream was deafening, but he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to let anyone hear his cries of pain. His arms strained against their bonds. His legs stiffened and threatened to pull toward his chest. With willpower he’d honed over years of study, he gathered the strength to resist.

  Father Sam pulled back one last time and drove the dagger down hard, the ancient blade again piercing Todd’s heart.

  Meah’s scream was the last sound Todd heard. He frowned as all went dark. He was not a William.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “MEAGAN, I CAN’T WAIT. I have to go,” Patrick said, slamming the bedroom door. He pulled on his dark brown pants and khaki uniform shirt. Satisfied by his appearance after inspecting himself in the mirror on the back of the door, he opened it.

  Deputy Patrick O’Shea worked the overnight shift in St. Clair County, Illinois, and had to be ready to go by ten. He spent most of his nights in East St. Louis, a dangerous city after dark. There was never a shortage of crime. Patrick spent his nights arresting drug dealers, thieves, and carjackers. Most of the time, he dealt with drugs. He hated the way it destroyed lives and turned good people into animals. Patrick still believed in the goodness of the world, but every night on the job made him more and more jaded.

  He’d worked as a deputy for over seven years. Lately, he and his wife didn’t get along as well as they used to. He tried not to dwell on it. Instead, he ignored the growing tension, believing in a deluded dream that someday it would fix itself. He provided for her and their son, Noah. They’d learn to adjust to having a father and husband who wasn’t around all the time. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d make it work. He had to if he was going to give them the life he thought they deserved.

  “Meagan, I gotta go,” Patrick said. He slipped on his black boots and laced them tight. Dressing for work gave him a sense of clarity, as though donning the uniform kept his home life behind when his public, law-enforcing side took over. He hid behind those clothes.

  “Already?” Meagan replied with a wink. She’d play coy; a game Patrick grew tired of. It was her way to try to keep him thinking of her. “But, I thought you were gonna call in tonight. Can’t you just stay home with us?” she asked, sticking out her bottom lip. He smiled.

  “Meagan, you know I can’t. I’ve got to go to work. I know what kind of people are out there, and the more of them I can get off the streets, the safer it is for you and Noah.”

  “But Patrick,” Meagan whined, “we’re in St. Louis. They’re way over there in Illinois. It doesn’t affect us. Stay home, please?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, messing up his hair. He frowned, and she giggled. Patrick felt her crawling under his skin, as she always did when he was about to leave.

  “Dad, stay home tonight. We can watch movies and make popcorn and—”

  “Noah, please. I have to work. You both know this. If I don’t work, we don’t have money, and without money, we go hungry and have to live in a box.” Patrick stood, straightened his pants, and put on his dark brown round-brimmed hat. He opened his arms and scooped them both up, hugging them tight.

  “Dad…I…can’t…breathe,” Noah said. Patrick held a moment longer and then let them go. Meagan patted his arm.

  “Patrick! How many times have I told you not to do that? Poor Noah.”

  “Poor Noah what? He’s fine, right, son?” he said tousling Noah’s hair.

  “Yeah, Dad, it’s okay.”

  Patrick bent and kissed him on the forehead, and Noah took off toward his room. “Bye, Dad!” he said and closed the door.

  Meagan knitted her brow and kissed him. “Be safe, Patrick. I worry every time you leave. You know, maybe one day, you can transfer to Brownsville. It’s quiet there, and we could start a new life. I could ask my dad if there’s anything available for you.”

  Patrick gave a fake shiver. “Brownsville? Meagan, I told you I’d think about it, didn’t I? I gotta go. I’m gonna be late. Bye. I love you,” he said as he kissed her and left.

  ***

  MEAGAN STOOD IN the kitchen watching Patrick drive off. Her knuckles turned white as she held to the sink. A scream of frustration built inside, but she held it in. She knew Noah would need her strength.

  Not more than two weeks ago, Meagan’s mom had called. The conversation lagged until she got around to it. At her mother’s words, Meagan sat trembling and silent with the phone in her hand.

  “Megan, did you hear me? Are you still there, dear?” June asked. Meagan’s voice caught in her throat, making it impossible for her to form words, any words.

  “Dear, you three need to move back here. You really do. It would be great for Patrick. And Noah. He’d enjoy his time here for sure.”

  Meagan nodded, the phone in her hand.

  “Hon, are you listening?” June asked again.

  With the strength her mother had taught her,
Meagan spoke, though her words were quiet and soft. “Yeah, Mom, I heard you. I’ll check with Patrick and see what we can do.” She hesitated, then said, “Are you sure, Mom?”

  “Yes, dear, I am. Also, I think there might be an opening in the police department. I know it’s not as much money as Patrick makes now, but you three will be fine. The four of us lived quite well with only your father’s salary, if you recall. You can do it,” June said. Meagan closed her eyes, holding her hand to her forehead. Convincing Patrick to move would be one of the hardest things she would ever have to do.

  The conversation drifted to local town gossip, and after several attempts by Noah to get Meagan off the phone because he was hungry, she ended the call. Her mom’s words lingered. She thought about them for days.

  Standing at the sink, those words roared back to the forefront, and she knew what must be done.

  ***

  PATRICK DROVE IN silence. Meagan’s recent nagging about moving to Brownsville, closer to her parents, sprang to his mind. He hated the small town. Patrick enjoyed the busy life of the city and all its trappings. Born and raised there, he had no intention of moving to small-town southern Illinois. How Meagan had grown up there and now wanted to go back, he’d never understand.

  Still, he couldn’t get her words out of his mind. As he drove on listening to KPNT, the local alternative station, he tried to focus on Anthony Keidis singing about his adventures under a bridge in Los Angeles, but Meagan’s words and her pleading eyes kept appearing in front of him. She seemed so intent on moving the family to Brownsville.

  “Damn it, Patrick, why won’t you listen?” she screamed one recent night.

  “I am listening, Meagan! I don’t want to go. Simple as that. You two are fine right here. Our life is here, not there,” Patrick said. Meagan slumped down on the couch. Patrick sat next to her, pulling her close as she sobbed. “Listen, we can make it here. We don’t need help and we don’t need to move to Brownsville. We can visit, but our life is here.”