by Judi Calhoun
Shonna Wells is dead!
I gasped, violently jerking upright, my head filled with the strangest hum from that dreadful chant.
The white pages of my sketchpad were smeared with dirt, having tumbled from my lap. Invisible frosty fingers traced every bone up my spine. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. I winced from the pain vibrating in my shoulder blade, where I had been leaning too long against the granite headstone. I didn’t even remember closing my eyes.
The Prince of Darkness plotting my death—nothing new there. Yeah, but who is the other creeper? I shook my head, some new breed of demon wearing designer clothes? I took a deep breath of clean air. “What’s wrong with me?” I whispered into the darkness. How is it possible that my subconscious mind could take a little trip into the Underworld Labyrinth while I slept on my dad’s grave?
I’d heard about nightmares that were out-of-body real. I was always a little jealous of people who experienced perfect recall. Until now, only bits and pieces of my dream world surfaced no matter how hard I racked my brain, but this, yeah, this was way more than just some freaky nightmare. Even the horrid smell still lingered inside my nose! Is this what happens to people who fall asleep in cemeteries? They imagine going into the Underworld Labyrinth? I guess it’s just the beginning of the crazies...
A gentle breeze tossed strands of brown hair across my nose and cheek. I brushed them away, wrenching myself to my feet, shaking loose the rest of the dirt from my sketchpad. I stuffed it deep inside my bag.
I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as they touched the cold ridges, tracing the first three letters cut into the polished granite: S-A-M. Samuel Robert Wells, just Sam to everyone else in New Bedford, but dad to me.
The moment I started to leave, I could almost feel the separation physically shredding my heart, tearing it like paper. I saw the pieces drift down right through the shiny metal lid with blue satin lining, coming to rest on dad’s sleeping chest.
“That’s ridiculous!” Mom said inside my head. I could not get her out. It was always the same static, broadcasting mom 24/7. “Bee, you know your father’s not under that dirt. He’s in heaven.”
I know, for crying out loud! Yet this was the last place I saw him, six years ago today. That’s why I come, to curl up against his stone, against him. If I am quiet—easy in this place--I can almost feel his arms cradling me saying, “I love you, little bee.”
His life was taken from me too soon. Mom said a heart attack, but that was a lie. I had heard my relatives whispering, stopping only when I came in the viewing room at the wake. Everything they said was true. My dad, Sam Wells had been murdered.
I glanced at my watch- 8:05. I’d been in Zombie-land dreaming for three hours. If mom were home, she’d be pacing. I was pretty sure she was still out on her date.
Stepping softly on a thick carpet of freshly mown grass, I headed for the gate, when a weird noise reached my ears. Darkness stirred. I hesitated, listening to the rush of distant wind, my focus narrowed onto Goat Hill. An eerie beacon of green light glowed bright in the night sky.
I had heard the legends. It was impossible not to hear about ghostly hauntings living in our small community of New Bedford, Massachusetts. Sure, the cemetery had old stones dating back before the Civil War and they are definitely spooky in the light of a full moon. I’d be the first to admit seeing unexplained things, but the truth is, these stories are nothing more than urban legends, yet somehow are fundamental to this town’s existence. Residents pass stories around like precious family photos, believing them to be as real as the dead saints they trust in for protection.
Still, apart from tonight’s weird light show, something didn’t feel right. Instead of leaving, I turned right at the fork. Loose gravel crackled beneath my sneakers as I climbed the steep road leading up to Goat Hill.
Any normal girl alone at night in a cemetery might be running and screaming, but I wasn’t normal. I carried a medieval sword and kill demons. There was no fear inside of me for ugly monsters. People on the other hand, were dangerous and unpredictable.
I am not the only Slayer recruited to kill demons. So I’ve been told by my Cherubim mentor, Ariel, who had trained me to destroy evil. Ariel claimed that most Slayers are teens, but I’ve never met another. It’s not like I don't want to, because I do. Some days it’s all I can think about.
I was not fortuned with the gift of discernment like others that sure would make it easier to spot the Slayers from the rest of the blue jeans and hoodies. Unless Jefferson High suffered a major demonic attack, the Super Heroes looked like everyone else.
The moon’s hazy light cast long shadows across the ground. I moved like a ghost past tombs tangled in dead vines and rotting leaves. I inhaled that dreadful toxic mixture of sulfur and rotten eggs—the stench of demons. I should have known.
As I crested the hill, I saw a gravestone emitting green translucent shafts that stretched upward into the night sky like a steady searchlight. Magical. Hypnotic. Dangerous.
A man was standing in front of the light with his back to me. With small movements I backed, away, feeling my clothes transform into my black leather armor. Steel spikes sprang from my shoulder blades and forearms; the ribbed metal vest, in soundless fashion snapped in place. My faith is perfected; all it took now was to think, armor on…ready to kill.
I stepped lightly, my eyes focused on the back of his head. My foot found a branch causing a loud, startling crunch. He jerked his head toward me, while I ducked behind a crumbling limestone angel. My heart hammered so loud I swore he must have heard it too.
After waiting about sixty seconds, I stole a peek, squinting in an attempt to keep my gaze from the mesmerizing light and fixed only on the man. He looked nothing like the monsters I kill. To an untrained eye, he could have been any normal, shirtless guy. Except, I knew instinctively he had come from the Underworld Labyrinth. Of course, the putrid smell and the huge poisonous snake circling his tattooed torso were also a dead give-away.
I could easily take him out. Yet, some impulse kept me well hidden, watching. He glanced around like he was searching for …for what?
The green glow had a spellbinding effect. I wanted to stare at it. Was that its purpose? To distract whoever might be snooping around?
A strong gust of wind blasted the hillside, followed by a burst of brilliant light, illuminating everything green for only a second before thrusting my world into inky blackness. He was gone.
I blinked a few hundred times, trying to rid my eyes of spots before stumbling toward the gravestone. I touched the carved lettering, impossible to read, except for the sizable initials: A.E.B. Initials instead of a name. Seriously, who does that? What was the Underworld’s fascination with this grave anyway? It made no sense.
I mentally shook myself before leaving. It was really disturbing to think that other creatures had prowled the cemetery while I lay sleeping a short distance down the hill.
A thick layer of fog had enshrouded the street lamps outside the cemetery gate. That meant a temperature change, another sure-fire sign of demons. My whole body pushed hard against the Iron Gate to squeeze outside. Something not human whooshed past me, whispering. Demons.
I glanced around the nearly deserted street, hearing the rhythmic tapping of an old man’s cane on the sidewalk. The man wore a floppy hat and was at least eighty, judging by his age spots and wrinkles. His body was bent like the twisted wood on his walking stick. He mumbled in wearisome fashion, as he crept along in front of a nearby field.
Riding his back was a Runt demon…small and easy enough for any newbie Slayer to handle. For me; a fast kill and I am heading home.
The Runt’s hairy fists hammered as if floppy hat was his own personal training bag. The old man flinched with each painful blow, having no idea of the demon’s presence, like so many others believing that their sufferings are symptomatic of old age. Not true. An unseen wickedness exists with us in this world, demons…predators from Hell… preying on the weak and ign
orant.
I sprinted across the street, coming up behind him, tossing my army bag into the field, feeling my clothes shift, into my armor. Instinctively, I reached across my upper arm, touching the badge that turned into a six-foot shield when torn off. No, I wont need it. Not for this small demon.
All of my instincts zoomed into focus…razor sharp, deadly, channeling Triune power. Every inch of me, from my head to the tips of my pink, polished toenails, was charged with raw energy.
“He is coming, Slayer.” The Runt pointed his finger toward the cemetery gate. “You will die.”
My eyes glanced fast toward the cemetery. It was dark, empty, another typical demonic lie. “You are so wrong Runt,” I said. “You’re the only one who’s going to die, tonight.”
His smile melted into a sneer and he made a nasty gesture with his middle finger. Then like some kind of lunatic, he laughed and pounded his fists even harder into the man’s back.
The old man’s expression was a mixture of confusion and fear. “I’m going to die?” He repeated my own words, his voice ratty, and his breath smelling like old wine. “Get lost, little girl! Leave me alone!”
Adding to the fact that he could not physically see or hear the demon, only feel its pain, he was also blind to my sword. Most human eyes cannot see spiritual weapons. Even if he could see them, it was impossible for my sword to cut flesh. I didn’t have time to explain any of this. “No,” I said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Crazy punk kids,” the old man grumbled.
The demon bared his pointed teeth at me in a sort of weird half smile. “The master requires his soul…tonight.” He chuckled as he gently stroked the man’s hair. “I got him first. He’s mine, all mine.”
The man might be a vile murderer for all I knew. It wasn’t my job to judge, only to defend, and since he was not dead yet, there was still hope, and Hell didn’t have any real claim.
“Let him go, Runt!” said a voice from the darkness of the field. “He’s my kill!” I recognized the deep disembodied voice of the vampire Lorcan. It wasn’t the first time I had fought him and it would not be the last. He was a colossal pain in the neck, literally.
If Belial had a contract on this guy, every demon wanting rank would be hunting him. I wondered just how many were here ready to strike.
The Runt’s trance-like, vacant eyes studied my sword. His fingers curled around the man’s neck and he began to squeeze.
The twisted cane slipped from floppy hats fingers, rattling once or twice as it bounced on the cement. The man’s mouth opened wide. His face grimaced in horror as he reached for his throat, gasping for air.
“YESHER!” I shouted, fetching the power that kills all beasts that inflict misery on the children of earth. My weapon understood the spiritual wisdom of this powerful name. That name shook the very foundation of life. There was no evil dominion on this earth or under it that could ever stand against it…ever!
I sliced the Runt in half. Loud screams were followed by rank odor as it vanished. Why are the small ones always the noisiest?
I heard the growl, and readied myself for the attack. Lorcan wasted no time. He sunk his teeth into the man’s neck. The air moved over me. The wind of an evil Stunner spirit stirred my hair as it whooshed past, trying to push the vampire off the man, doing my job.
My sword was hallowed metal, fiery hot. I shoved the tip into Lorcan’s neck, he jerked back, but still held onto the old man. “Slayer,” he said, huffing in frustration. “This man’s life is over. Let me take him now before the Stunner gets him. You and I know, that nothing would be left of him.”
“Let him go!” I screamed.
“I could tear your heart out right now and eat it!” He cussed, but reluctantly dropped the old man; no, it was more like he pushed him. The man staggered, losing his footing, he fell backward onto the sidewalk.
“One is coming,” said Lorcan, standing up…towering over me, yet still keeping his distance from my sword. “He’ll put an end to our torment.”
I grit my teeth. “Yesher!” I shouted again and flung my sword watching it zoom faster than he could vanish, cutting right into his chest. Sending him back to the Labyrinth.
The old man groaned as he tried to stand.
“Are you okay?” I asked, offering my hand.
He sneered at me, using his cane to draw himself up. Grasping his bloody neck, he hobbled away, still mumbling and cursing under his breath.
“You’re welcome!” I yelled after him. Hope you stay alive tonight.
I bent down to pick up my sword, my eyes shifted around the seemingly empty field. Had other demons followed him? There would only be one reason to stick around… to earn a bigger reward, for killing…me.
A winged shadow zoomed over head…I shifted my weight onto both feet, preparing for the deadly Stunner’s attack. Sharp spikes ran up and down his back in rows between leathery pterodactyl-sized wings, beating the air in an almost imperceptible blur. He struck my arm, shoving me sideways, tearing the blade from my fingers. I helplessly watched it go spinning high up into the night sky. I sucked in a breath…I was separated from the power!
I spotted it falling end over end. I watched, anticipating where it would land. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a hand stretching out to capture it.
Another Slayer. Standing right there. Dazzling light flashed over him for only half a second, from the headlamps of a distant passing car. He smiled and tossed my sword back, but I didn’t grab for it. I was lost…completely distracted by this vision of leather and muscle. He was perfect.
* * *
Chapter 2
