Dark Exodus

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  “Better?” the Messenger asked.

  “Striking,” the Cardinal said with an affirming nod.

  The Messenger noticed that the Cardinal was staring at the girl, whose lower body now continued to pulse and glow.

  “Is that it?” the Cardinal asked him.

  The Messenger was now staring as well. “It is.”

  “Impressive,” the Cardinal praised.

  “Isn’t she?” the Messenger agreed, then turned his attention back to the Cardinal, holding out a long-fingered hand.

  “Do you have it?”

  “Of course,” the Cardinal said, reaching into the folds of his cloak of flesh to present what had been asked for.

  The key moved and changed size like a living thing, and the Messenger looked at it with a scrutinizing eye.

  “It’s not complete,” he said.

  “Yes,” the Cardinal said. “But it will be.”

  The Messenger glared as the demon lord motioned for its human servant to come closer.

  “This is Fritz,” the Cardinal said, presenting him to his superior.

  “Fritz,” the Messenger said, looking him up and down.

  “He aided me in my journey,” the Cardinal said. “I’m not sure if I would have succeeded in getting here without him.”

  “It appears we owe you a debt, Fritz,” the Messenger said, watching as Fritz smiled.

  “You owe me nothing,” the human said, bowing his head. “Everything that I do is done for the glory of Hell.”

  “Your loyalty is stunning,” the Messenger said. “But there is still one thing you must do for me . . . for us . . . for Hell.”

  “Anything,” Fritz said, his chest puffing out proudly.

  “The key,” the Messenger said.

  “The key?” Fritz asked. “Yes, what . . . ?”

  “The last piece,” the Messenger said, stepping in close to the human and driving his fingers into the man’s belly like the blade of a sword.

  Fritz gasped aloud, bending his body forward around the intruding demon hand.

  The Cardinal reached over and attempted to straighten Fritz’s posture.

  “Did you find it?” the demon lord asked its superior.

  “Not yet,” the Messenger said, fumbling around inside the man’s belly.

  “Ah!” he then said, removing his hand with a terrible sucking sound, holding the item he’d sought. “There we go.”

  The Messenger held it up, admiring the blood-covered piece of the hellish tool.

  Fritz stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding stomach, and collapsed to the floor.

  The Cardinal and Messenger barely noticed.

  “Now to open the Vessel,” the Cardinal said, handing over what it had of the key.

  “Time to bring Hell to Earth,” the Messenger said, taking the bulk of the key and adding the final piece. Making it whole at last.

  26

  Scopa House welcomed them in, enwrapping them like a funeral shroud.

  One could feel it as soon as you stepped onto the property; something bad happened here, something very, very bad.

  And it left quite a bit of itself behind.

  John could tell that the others were feeling it as well. You didn’t have to be a sensitive in this case. It hung in the air surrounding the mansion like Georgia humidity, so thick and oppressive it wasn’t unrealistic to think that you could feel it if you ran your hands through the air.

  “Okay,” Nicole suddenly blurted out. “I’m gonna be the one who says it. Can anybody else feel this?”

  They’d left their car at the gate out in front, slipping between the padlocked gate onto the Scopa grounds.

  John was sure that the property had been quite opulent and beautiful in its day, before the ritual sacrifices and all.

  “I can feel it,” John said. “It’s pretty damn strong, I’m sure we’re all feeling it.”

  They didn’t have to speak to tell him that he was right.

  They stood at the end of the walk looking up at the house, at the strange, pulsing white light that radiated from the lower windows.

  “Think I should call Elijah again?” Brenna asked, her eyes fixed upon the mansion.

  “Don’t think that’s necessary,” Griffin said. He’d walked away from them to check out the back of the property.

  “Why’s that?” John asked.

  “I think they’re already here.”

  John was taken aback by the words.

  “There’s a transport chopper parked on the lawn out back,” the man said. “I think the Coalition was the first to arrive at the party.”

  “Party,” Nicole muttered, stroking the ghostly cat about her neck nervously. “Can’t go to a party empty-handed. Maybe we should head down to the liquor store, pick up a case of beer, some snacks . . .”

  John headed toward the front entrance. If the Coalition was already here, then why weren’t they contacted? Why hadn’t they been kept in the loop?

  Warning bells were going off inside his skull as he walked up the stairs to the front door and let himself in.

  It was even more oppressive inside, a miasma of pain and misery heavy in the air. He could see why this place had been untouched by vandals and squatters. Nobody in their right mind could stand to be in such a place, the atmosphere of foreboding was so very thick.

  John stood in the foyer for a moment, getting his bearings, then gestured for the others to follow him down a first-floor corridor.

  “So what’s the plan?” Nicole asked.

  He was sure that the others were likely thinking the very same thing but were too proud to ask.

  “Well,” John said, keeping his voice down low just in case. “We’ll head down this corridor, moving toward the light, see what the hell is going on, and hopefully be able to stop it.”

  “What if we can’t,” Nicole then asked.

  John paused, staring at the large set of double doors that greeted them at the end of the corridor. The doors were partially open, the strange light that they’d seen outside leaking out into the hallway.

  “Haven’t really thought that far ahead yet,” he told them, moving toward the open doors and the room beyond it.

  Like a moth to flame.

  • • •

  The Messenger held the key in his hands, feeling it come alive with purpose.

  He had waited a very long time for this . . . to be as it was meant to be. To be whole.

  He brought it closer to the Vessel, who stood perfectly erect, her body trembling, programming put in place when she was little more than an infant corpse, activating. He held the key toward the Vessel and watched as it reacted, its mercurial state changing as it searched for its proper form.

  The Messenger wondered if it was possible that it had forgotten; broken up and festering in the bodies of sinners, it had been incomplete for a very long time.

  He held it out a little closer, and that seemed to do the trick. The key grew long and firm and pointed toward the end in a beak-like protrusion that opened up and began to sing.

  It was a beautiful yet sad song that spoke of Hell during the last of its days and how it would soon be no more . . . but it also talked of second chances, and how Hell would be born again when it was time for all to cross over, when the exodus was ready to begin.

  The wailing dirge almost brought a tear to his infernal eye as he gripped the key firmly, feeling a powerful life flowing through the shaft as it was ready to perform the task that it had been created for.

  The Messenger looked over to the Cardinal, who watched with wide, eager eyes.

  The key pulsed and throbbed eagerly in his grasp. He brought it close to his mouth, planting the gentlest and most loving of kisses upon it before gripping it firmly.

  And thrust the pointed end into the young woman�
�s body.

  The key entered her, piercing clothing and flesh, but there was no blood or cries of agony.

  There was only the ululating hum of purpose as the woman’s body went rigid, her arms going out on either side of her as the light emanating from her body continued to intensify, as the Vessel gradually opened.

  And a gateway between worlds was established.

  • • •

  Elijah gasped as he watched the events transpire, a gateway between this world and . . .

  “So they’ll be coming through.” Theo spoke in a flat monotone.

  Elijah shifted his position, careful not to move in any way that might cause his insides to spill out onto the floor.

  “What is this, Theo?” he asked her. “What is happening?”

  Her eyes were fixed upon the scene.

  “Hell is on the verge of being destroyed . . . erased as if it never were,” she said. “The infernal can’t bear the thought of not being . . . so they’re coming here.”

  Elijah didn’t understand. The physics of Hell and Earth were vastly different; there would be no way demons’ physical forms could travel over from Hell to the earthly plane unless . . .

  “Every man, woman, and child will be their hosts,” Theo said. “The infernal will live inside their bodies, and Earth will gradually be plunged into internal darkness, eventually becoming the new Hell.”

  He was beyond sickened by the concept and the part he had played in its possibly coming true, horrified by his stupidity and how easily Hell had duped him.

  “We can’t let this happen, Theo,” Elijah said, squirming around in a puddle of his own blood. “You must do something in order to . . .”

  Theo shook her head no.

  “I can’t, Elijah,” she told him. “I’m completely helpless . . . nothing more than an observer within my own body.”

  She turned her tearful gaze to him.

  “Something was done to me . . . the markings giving the demon control over me, and the infernal inside.”

  Elijah felt his will to live slowly being sapped away. He had been responsible for this as well, going to the Messenger for aid in concocting the symbols of power that would go upon her flesh, helping her against the demons that plagued her.

  But giving the false angel control as well.

  It was all feeling very bleak, Elijah thought as he lay there, slowly bleeding out . . .

  Until he heard the voice.

  “Theo!”

  Painfully, he angled his body in such a way as to see John Fogg coming through the doorway, his team close behind.

  For an instant, Elijah hoped there was still the slimmest of chances.

  But that was before the Messenger looked away from the pulsating passage between Hell and Earth to see that someone new had arrived.

  “Theodora!” the Messenger bellowed, raising a clawed hand to point at John Fogg.

  “Kill him.”

  And Elijah realized that the slimmest of chances had become even more dreadfully slim.

  27

  All Theo could do was watch.

  The demons did as they were told, moving her physical form to attack.

  Moving her body to attack her husband.

  “Go ahead,” Theo screamed within the confines of her psyche, so loud that all inside could hear. “Your master commands it!”

  Most of the demonic did not respond, enjoying the idea of killing the man she loved and causing her so much pain.

  “Be the perfect little dogs that you are,” she said. “Doing everything that your superiors command you to do.”

  The demons ignored her, moving her body toward her prey.

  She was starting to panic, desperate in so many ways when she noticed him.

  Billy Sharp was standing amongst the throng, but he was watching her, not what was going on outside in the physical world.

  “We’re going to kill him you know,” he said gleefully.

  “Of course you are,” she said, trying not to show how upset she was. “I wouldn’t expect you to disobey your masters.”

  Billy Sharp’s face curled up as if he’d smelled something bad.

  “They’re not our masters,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “Of course they are,” she said. “They’ve been in control of you since they removed you from Hell.”

  Billy recoiled as if physically struck.

  “They don’t control us . . . they’ve never controlled us.”

  “Really?” she asked. “I must be mistaken then . . .” She paused. “But I don’t think I am.”

  She made sure that he saw the smirk upon her face.

  “This will likely kill you,” he said to her. “To have your love torn limb from limb, and all you can do is watch.”

  She closed her eyes in resignation.

  “Do you always do what you’re told?” she asked him.

  The demon child looked as though he was going to respond, but she cut him off.

  “Even though the ones that command you took you from Hell without permission, imprisoned you, which resulted in your being trapped inside me, and now expect you to jump through hoops because they tell you to.”

  Billy Sharp watched her, a snarl tugging at his lip.

  “We’re going to hurt him very bad before we end his life,” the child said, turning from her to look out through the eyes of her physical form. “And in doing so, we’re going to hurt you.”

  He then turned his childlike gaze back to her.

  “Because that’s what it’s all about.”

  • • •

  Cassie Royce lay curled upon the overstuffed leather couch between her two new best friends, Stephen and his husband Raphael. They had been watching Frozen, the three of them singing along and having popcorn, when eventually she found herself getting sleepy.

  It was a good thing that she’d already seen the movie a few times because she would have really been upset if she’d fallen asleep without seeing the end.

  She’d been asleep for quite a while, the Blu-ray having returned to the menu, when she opened her eyes, suddenly wide-awake. Stephen was snoring on one side of her and Raphael on the other, and she wondered why she had awakened.

  Sitting up, she didn’t see the shape of the old woman right away, and was midstretch, considering whether or not she had to pee, when the woman made her presence known.

  “Who are you?” Cassie asked the old lady with the cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.

  “I’m Nana,” she said.

  “John’s Nana, right?” the little girl said, remembering that Nicole had met the woman earlier the previous day. “And you’re a ghost.”

  “I am indeed,” she said, taking the smoldering cigarette from the corner of her mouth and blowing clouds of smoke into the air.

  “You know that’s not good for you,” Cassie told her.

  Nana looked at the smoldering cigarette. “Now she tells me!” And the old lady began to laugh.

  Cassie smiled, liking the sound of the old woman’s laughter.

  “What are you doin’ here?” Cassie asked. “You looking for Nicole or John?”

  The old lady shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “I’m looking for you.”

  “Really? What for?”

  “Your daddy and his friends need your help.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  The old lady extended her glowing white hand toward her.

  “Will you let me take you?” Nana asked.

  Cassie started to crawl off the couch.

  “What about Stephen and Raphael?”

  “They’re sleeping,” Nana said. “They’ll be fine.”

  “Hope they don’t miss me too bad when they wake up,” she said, looking at them. “May
be I should leave them a note.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Nana told her, drifting closer, glowing white hand reaching for hers. “I’ll be sure to let them know.”

  “Okay,” Cassie said, taking the woman’s hand.

  “Your hand is cold,” Cassie said, walking alongside the ghost.

  “Sorry about that,” Nana said.

  “That’s okay,” Cassie told her. “Maybe my hand will warm yours up.”

  “Maybe,” Nana said, leading her from the den and down the first-floor corridor.

  “Where are we going” Cassie asked.

  “To a special place in the house,” Nana told her.

  “Why is it special?”

  “Because this place can take you anywhere that you need to go.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Can it take me to Daddy?”

  “It can.”

  At the end of the corridor, they had reached a door to the cellar. Nana waved her hand in front of it, and the door popped open with a creak.

  “Down there?” Cassie said, peering down into the darkness.

  “Yes,” Nana said. “Be careful on the steps, you don’t want to end up falling.”

  Cassie took hold of the railing as she descended.

  Nana was already waiting at the bottom when she got there.

  “Where is the special place?” Cassie said, looking around the darkened space.

  “It’s over this way,” the ghostly old woman said, drifting to the far back of the cellar. Cassie followed.

  She stopped when she saw Nana standing in front of an old door, propped up against the stone wall.

  “Is this it?” Cassie asked her.

  “It is,” Nana said.

  “But it’s just an old door.”

  “It’s an old door that opens onto where you want to be . . . where you need to be.”

  The little girl stared at the door.