9 Tales Told in the Dark 6

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  “I know what you are,” the old man said and brought his face to within inches of Random’s. “Look at these eyes—look!”

  Random tried to retreat but the old man reached out with claw-like hands and snatched a hold of his long-coat. “I know…I see them, too.”

  “I’m leaving now,” Random said, breaking free from the old man’s grasp. “You can come with me and be safe or stay here and die.”

  “I’d be dead already if it weren’t for you,” the old man growled and took a swing at Random that met only air. “Now get!”

  Random took another step back and heard more noise coming from the street beyond. The whispers had returned as well and he knew it was time to get moving. The old man met his stare with one of his own and as Random swept around the corner those ancient eyes followed his every step.

  At least a dozen people were approaching from the main street one block up, not saying very much and with eyes dull as death. The shadows were growing closer, focusing once again on the alley, and Random stole one more glance around the corner at the old man standing defiantly in the middle of all that garbage. As the old man’s head moved to catch his glance a stray beam of light shone across his face, reflecting off his eyes in a manner Random thought uniquely his own.

  Then the moment was over and Random moved away from the mouth of the alley. The mob approached quickly and most of them made the turn into that dark corner where he’d left the old man standing just moments before.

  Stumbling back a few more steps, he noticed several of the figures on the street still rapidly approaching. Random broke into a run and soon found himself back on the main street, working his way through the crowd and throwing many quick glances over his shoulder. After a few more streets all signs of pursuit disappeared but, back there, about a minute ago, he could have sworn he’d heard the old man’s screams emanating from the inescapable depths of that alley.

  “What a way to go,” Random said and suddenly realized that his heart had been pounding in his chest ever since the old man had started accusing him of spoiling his plans for death. Something the old man had said kept ringing in his head, he couldn’t shake it. The word was ‘Deathstaller,’ a word that he thought he’d created himself to describe whatever it was he did night after night. For no one could stop death, it eventually came for everyone, but Random found that he could stall it…put it off, at least for a few of the lucky ones.

  He could push it away for those whose time on this Earth wasn’t really up yet. The shadows, those evil amorphous shapes, were constantly trying to take a few souls just a bit earlier than planned from this world. Ever since Random found that he could see them, sense them and drive them off, he’d felt compelled to do so. Against his will, more or less, since he couldn’t identify where the compulsion came from—not his conscious mind to be certain.

  But, nevertheless, he could stop it when he stumbled upon it…just like the scene he’d interrupted not too long ago in that dark and polluted alley.

  Amazingly, the old man seemed to be able to do it, too…see them, sense them. Living with that for seventy years or so, seven long and haunted decades, would probably drive him insane, too, Random decided.

  But was the old man a fighter? Had he done back then what Random did now? Had he brought the battle to the shadows or had he run from them in fright? Had he been compelled to find them, as Random was, or had he been purposely avoiding them for the past seventy years?

  Questions, so many questions, and yet—the most important questions of all remained unanswered. If the old man had been just like Random, how many others could be out there? Others like him? Or others who weren’t like him…others who could sense the evil and choose to help them instead of repel them?

  These thoughts reeled through Random’s mind as he raced through the streets of this ugly and decaying city. People made way for the small young man as he sprinted at full speed toward some unknown destination. Undoubtedly, from the many looks he was getting, some of them had noticed the weird reflection from his eyes, reflections from the seamy half-light being cast by this half-dead town, and made haste to give him as much distance as possible.

  Others, he noticed, watched him with keen interest as he ran…one in particular, with a wicked grin smearing his face, actually turned to follow. Random noticed a few shadows creeping along that side of the street as well.

  Maybe he had finally attracted the attention of the one shadow whose pull he could always feel the strongest, lingering somewhere just out of reach but stronger than most of the others he’d spied over the years. Maybe, just maybe, he had finally stuck his nose somewhere where it truly didn’t belong, earning some measure of evil punishment for his actions.

  Random stole another glance over his shoulder and found the wicked grinner running along the other side of the street, gaining on him, the number of shadows just behind the man growing. Adrenaline punched into his system and he surged ahead through the streets—running for anywhere but here, running toward a place where he could regroup, rethink his strategy and formulate an attack.

  Another tingle appeared at the back of Random’s neck but this one wasn’t like the others. This one was a lot like those he used to get back in high school, when the beatings from the other boys came early and often. This one was something that he hadn’t felt in quite some time and it surprised him. The running man was moving with an unnatural grace, covering ground quicker than any man should be able to as he crossed the street to take up position just behind him. Random’s legs kept pumping but, although he kept himself in good shape, he wasn’t sure just how long he could keep this up. It was only one man, just one…but the relentless chase was working on his confused mind, throwing off his concentration, blurring his focus and bringing that tingle at the back of his neck on stronger than it had in years.

  Random knew that feeling, knew it all too well, it had been with him for many a long day back in his teens. It was a feeling he thought he’d left behind, far away in the darkness of his past, along with his parents and the hellhole he’d lived in.

  But now, here it was, staring him in the face, making him look back much too often at the man who was now just mere steps behind him, not letting up, showing no signs of stopping.

  Kat Random knew fear again in all its terrifying glory and as his fingers reached for the knives in their sheaths at his hips an icy hand fell on his right shoulder, a leathery thumb scraped across the exposed flesh of his neck and he felt in that fleeting instant the eternal frigid coldness of his death…

  Random gasped, broke free from that lifeless grasp and urged his legs to run harder, run faster. The breath of the man chasing him felt creepy on his neck, filling him with an overwhelming sense of being unclean and somehow soiled, but the next time that icy hand reached out for him, the fingers met nothing but air.

  Kat Random’s shoulder was now several inches out of reach, his pumping legs driven by terror, and the memory of that inhuman grin lingering just over his shoulder helped him continue to widen the gap.

  THE END

  Witchskin by Rik Hunik

  Dressed in black hoodies and sweatpants, the sisters were invisible in the moonless night. They dared not show the slightest light and the stars provided so little they had to feel their way along the stone wall up the dark alley, but they were familiar with the route and stopped together at the door at the back of the church.

  “I got us here. Now it’s your part.”

  Ysis winced at the volume of her older sister’s whisper. Without speaking she produced a key, felt for the keyhole, fit the key in, turned slowly until it gently clicked, then pushed the door open, revealing a darkness inside that equaled the darkness outside. Lois entered and Ysis followed, closing the door and returning the key to her hidden pocket.

  Lois said, “A more accomplished witch wouldn’t need a key to open a locked door.”

  Ysis felt a flare of irritation. “I used magic to get the key.” Instantly she regretted speaking up. She ha
ted herself when she felt she had to justify her methods or choices to her sister.

  Lois laughed almost inaudibly. “Don’t worry, sis. If this works out right you won’t need to use a key anymore. And I won’t need matches.” She scratched a match on the side of the box and blew it out as soon as the candle was lit, then lowered the hood over the candle so only a dim beam shone out ahead.

  They made their way downstairs and found the electrical room, where they threw the master switch. For their spell to work there must be no electromagnetic activity anywhere nearby.

  Down the corridor they found the door they wanted and entered a dusty storeroom. They closed the door and moved a little desk from beside the door to in front of the door, blocking it. Lois lit five candles from her black bag and Ysis helped her set them up on the desk. To their dark-accustomed eyes the light was adequate.

  Wide shelves lined both side walls, and back to back rows ran down the middle, leaving two aisles. All the shelves were crammed full of cardboard boxes, wooden boxes and crates, and metal trunks. The majority had labels, but the labels were mostly faded, peeling, or otherwise illegible.

  Lois’s lip curled as she said, “That nerd I dated told me Grandma’s stuff is in the bottom shelf in this corner.” She squatted, flattened a label and leaned close to read the faded print. “Abigail B. Simms. This is her.”

  As Ysis helped her sister pull out the wooden box she reflected on the chain of events that had brought her to this point, burglarizing a church at midnight.

  It started when her mother died last year at age forty-five, after a painful bout with stomach cancer. That left her and her sister, now in their mid- and late twenties, on their own, in full possession of their family’s goods, including an old house, a car, a bank account and some stocks, leaving them comfortable but not as well-off as they felt they deserved.

  Among the goods they inherited were boxes of books and papers they had never seen before. A few of the items they had heard mention of, but assumed were long gone. Most important of those was their grandmother’s diary.

  Most of the diary was written in code but enough was in plain, if dated, English that the sisters figured out their grandma, on their father’s side, had been a notable witch, as had their father’s only sister, Aunt Abby, named after her mother. Apparently Lois and Ysis were witches too, from a gene carried dormant by their father, but the family’s most powerful witch, mentioned only once in the uncoded pages, was Aggie, great-grandmother of the sisters.

  They found other books and papers written in the same code. They worked on the code for months before finally cracking it, but when they read what they deciphered they agreed it was time well spent.

  It told them how to be witches and they learned quickly, eagerly. Over the months their increasing knowledge gave them a greater advantage over regular folk, but it just wasn't enough to satisfy them. Then they cracked a code within the code and discovered a way they could become more powerful than they imagined, and rich beyond their dreams. They agreed that nothing could possibly live up to that hyperbole, but it was a goal worth pursuing nonetheless.

  It took months for them to track down this box, which Grandpa had bequeathed to the church, and more weeks to finally gain access.

  Lois dug a small, flat pry bar out of her bag. Rusty nails squeaked as she pried the lid off.

  Ysis took the lid from her and set it aside, wondering how many decades the box had been sealed. “I love you mom, and you too, grandpa, but why did you have to hide this from us? Why?”

  Lois gave her that are-you-retarded-or-what look and said, “Obviously because they didn’t want us to have it. We’re extraordinary and they didn’t want us to be. They wanted us to be like them.”

  Ysis didn’t want to rehash that discussion here so she leaned over to look in the box. Antique sheet music and hymn books, which might be worth a bundle to some people, but they were after something far more valuable. They lifted out a four-inch layer of the old music and set it aside, revealing a smaller box of sanded birch. This they lifted out and set on the desk, between the candles. A slippery sensation under her fingers warned Ysis that binding spells and wards were still intact.

  Across the top, in lettering they knew was visible only in candlelight, were the instructions for opening the box without being killed or destroying the contents. They unlatched all the latches in the proper sequence while saying the proper words and nothing happened so they removed the lid and set it aside.

  They removed some books, bound in cracked leather, the pages yellowed with age, all written in the same code and doubtless contained fascinating and useful lore, but the sisters were here for a greater prize, that which was contained in the final box, about eight inches square and four inches high, its black lacquer surface polished to a high gloss.

  Ysis felt some kind of dark energy radiating from the box and for the first time she had doubts about what they were doing. She looked up to meet her sister’s eyes, bright with excitement, and knew there was no turning back.

  Without any further ado or discussion Lois uttered the incantation in the unknown tongue, finished with, “Blood of your blood,” and cut into her palm with a small knife Ysis hadn’t even seen before.

  Blood flowed and Lois smeared it liberally on the lacquer, which hissed like an overflowing pot while green lightning danced across the surface. When the hissing and lightning stopped Lois wrapped a hasty bandage around her hand and Ysis taped it in place.

  Ysis could tell that Lois wanted her to pick up the lacquered box, and she meant to do it, but she hesitated too long. Lois reached past her and grabbed it, set it down and flipped the lid off. Inside was a wad of something that looked like loosely folded rice paper.

  Lois poked it with a finger but it wasn’t as crinkly as rice paper. “Well here it is, great grandma’s skin.”

  Ysis barely repressed a shudder as she looked in the box. “That’s an entire skin?”

  “Only the first layer. No one knew Grandma had this removed before she was embalmed and buried.” Lois’s eyes gleamed with excitement, her pupils huge in the dim light. “It was magic that removed this skin, magic which we’ll learn to do.” She picked up the top fold and rubbed it between her fingers. “I wonder how they did it.”

  Ysis touched the skin with a tentative finger and an image flashed in her head, of an old woman’s skin peeling off from the top down, leaving all the hair behind, and the woman screaming in pain but smiling. “She did it herself, while she was still alive.” She couldn’t suppress the shudder this time.

  Lois didn’t notice. “Yes, I believe you’re right.” She held up the first fold.

  Ysis saw the head shape, like a flattened Halloween mask, in her sister’s hand, and such a chill ran up her spine that she nearly broke out shivering. “I don’t think you should go through with this crazy idea.”

  “Don’t be a fraidy-cat.”

  “I don’t trust those papers we found. There’s something they’re not telling us.”

  “We’ll figure it out later. I’m doing this.” Lois shook out the skin. It rustled like discarded snakeskins as it slowly unfolded and hung from her hand.

  “Right here? In the church?” This was too much.

  Lois shrugged. “We won’t be interrupted and nobody will hear us.” She turned a steady gaze on her younger sister.

  Ysis blinked and lowered her gaze, deferring to her older, larger sister yet again.

  Lois raised her arms and chanted the first verse of the spell. The skin swayed gently in the slight draft. Lois let go and it hovered in the air rather like a kite, slowly filling out and assuming the shape of a petite woman.

  Ysis felt every hair on her body prickling as the temperature dropped about eight degrees. This felt so wrong, but there was no stopping now. She was glad Lois had volunteered for this part because she knew she couldn’t go through with it, no way, never, not at all. Her soul recoiled from the thought.

  Lois quickly stripped naked and turned he
r back to the floating shell of skin, raised her arms and chanted the second verse of the spell. As she uttered the last syllable the skin drifted toward her, like hair to a static charge. It’s arm touched her arm and there was a snap of electric discharge that made Lois twitch, but she stood firm. More sparks flashed as the skin moved closer. To Ysis the skin seemed to drift not around, but into, or through her sister, until they both occupied the same space.

  Lois’s whole body tensed at once, then relaxed. Her arms fell, her eyes closed, her head nodded and her knees sagged. Ysis stepped forward to catch her sister but Lois’s eyes snapped open and the look in them stopped her. Physically they still looked like her sister’s eyes, but they were deeper, and there was something dark in them that hadn’t been there before.

  Lois caught herself, straightened. Her eyes stared past Ysis, engrossed in what she saw in her mind’s eye. Ysis scrutinized her sister, but could detect no sign of the witch’s skin.

  After nearly a minute Ysis’s concern grew to the point she was about to say something, but Lois breathed, “It worked.” She came to herself and noticed her sister, smiled broadly and grabbed her by the shoulders. “It worked. Wealth and power are ours and it’s right in our own damned basement. Come on, let’s go and get it.”

  “Don’t you think you better get dressed first?”

  Lois looked down and seemed surprised at her nudity. “Of course.” She smiled up at her sister and reached for her panties.

  Ysis smiled back but her smile wasn’t as strong and didn’t last as long. She still felt there was something wrong.

  They put everything back in place, exited the church the way they came in and walked calmly the two blocks to their car. Lois let Ysis drive home to the house their grandfather had built, decades ago. That was unusual but Ysis attributed it to her sister’s cut hand.

  Lois went to their workroom to get some chalk and fresh candles. Ysis noticed that Lois moved with even more confidence and assurance than usual, and all her movements seemed a little bit faster. That could have been because of her excitement, but Ysis suspected something else. She grabbed a few things too.