The Unleashed

by Danielle Vega

  On.

  Off again.

  The ceiling creaked above her and then, Hendricks heard a voice. It seemed to speak directly into her head.

  I . . . see . . . you . . .

  Nerves crept up her skin. She swallowed. “Samantha?”

  Silence answered her.

  “I know he did something to you,” Hendricks said out loud. “That’s why I went out to the farm. I was hoping you could show me what it was.”

  A shadow twitched in the corner of her eye.

  The shelves in the prop room began to shake, clothes rustling like laughter.

  The voice came again.

  You . . . see . . . her . . .

  Hendricks frowned. “Are you talking about Sidney?” she asked. “I did see her, I—I mean I saw her. Is she important?”

  The low sound of laughter filled the room.

  There was silence for a long moment. The room went still. Hendricks felt her shoulders drop. She was missing something, she was sure of it.

  And then, the voice came again. It only said one thing.

  Watch.

  The lights turned back on.

  Hendricks froze. She felt a scream building in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Something about the small room was different. Her eyes flicked over dusty props, bowler hats from the forties and swishy, fifties-style dresses, and cat-eared headbands and wigs. Had they been there before?

  She jerked around to look at the lion’s head hanging above the door. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to see, maybe the lion’s expression would be different now, smiling at her instead of scowling, or maybe there would be real eyes behind those vacant holes.

  But no. The mascot head was exactly the same. Matted fur, sharp teeth.

  Screw it, she thought, turning for the door.

  Behind her, the sound of wood scraping against wood.

  Hendricks froze. Her skin felt damp and itchy, and something sour had filled her mouth.

  She felt something behind her, something lurking . . . watching. The skin on the back of her neck crept. She had to know what it was.

  Slowly, she turned.

  This time, she saw what was different about the small prop room right away. It was the wall between two racks of costumes, it had sort of opened up, revealing a small, dark crawl space on the other side.

  For a moment, Hendricks just stared. Her heart was rising and falling inside of her chest, steady and hard.

  The wall had opened up.

  “Hendricks,” she whispered to herself. “Do not even think of going into the strange, dark crawl space. Nothing good can come of exploring the strange, dark crawl space.”

  But she couldn’t make herself look away. The darkness seemed to pulse, like a beating heart.

  It felt like . . .

  It felt like it was calling to her.

  Hendricks took a single step closer. Then, swearing, she dropped to all fours and crawled inside.

  There was damp wood beneath her knees and cool musty air all around her. The sounds of music and dancing were suddenly muffled. Once she was just inside the doorway, Hendricks pushed herself back onto her heels and dug her cell phone out of her pocket. Every muscle in her body felt pulled tight. Her pulse was light and fluttery in her chest.

  She found the flashlight app on her phone and switched it on.

  Jerky white light bounced off smeared black paint, melted candle wax. Hendricks wrapped her opposite hand around her wrist to hold the cell phone steady so she could see what she was looking at.

  Pentagrams covered the walls, the paint heavy and black. Black candles had melted into the floor, and someone had written HAIL ARGBÁKTU across the walls. Scattered in the corners of the room were small white objects that looked disturbingly like animal skulls. Hendricks moved her light away quickly. She didn’t want to look at those. She exhaled, noticing as she did that her breath hung in a white cloud before her mouth. It wasn’t just the skulls and the cold. It was the feel of this place, the heaviness in the air, and the way nothing seemed steady. It almost felt . . .

  Cursed.

  Hendricks felt a sharp twist of fear. The skin on the back of her neck pricked.

  All of a sudden a voice reached out from the darkness, singing, “Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like, when doves cry.”

  Hendricks froze. That voice. It sounded so close. She pressed herself up against the side of the crawlspace, suddenly afraid to move. She felt light-headed. She curled her fingers into her palms to stop them from shaking.

  There was a footstep on the other side of the door, a low scrape, like someone dragging their boot across the wood. Hendricks’s throat seized up. Someone was in the prop closet.

  A higher, clearer voice said, “Actually, Justin, I don’t think we need the disco ball after all. I—I’m just going to go back upstairs, okay?”

  “Come on, Sam, it’s right in here.” Justin hummed a few more bars of “When Doves Cry.” “Prince is such a pussy. I don’t know why chicks love him so much.”

  “Yeah,” the girl said. She sounded nervous, and Hendricks felt a twitch of sympathy. “Whatever.”

  Gathering her courage, Hendricks crawled toward the entrance of the crawl space and peered into the prop room.

  A girl stood in the middle of the room, her back to Hendricks. She wore a floor-length, floaty white dress, her hair twisted into a complicated knot at the back of her head. Hendricks couldn’t see her face, but even so, she could tell the girl was beautiful. Like something from a fairy tale.

  Justin stood behind her, looking just as he had when Hendricks had seen him in the graveyard. Black leather jacket. Dyed black hair that was just starting to show at the roots.

  Samantha crossed her arms over her chest, shivering. “Did you find it?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Justin said. But he wasn’t holding a disco ball, he was holding a small, torn dishrag. Hendricks frowned as he crept up behind Samantha, the muscles in his shoulders going tense. “I found it.”

  Hendricks knew what was going to happen a second before it did. She wanted to scream, to warn Samantha, but her cries got stuck in her chest. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth and bit down, fear twisting through her. Every inhale scraped up the insides of her throat.

  Justin grabbed Samantha from behind, holding her arms down with one arm while, with his opposite hand, he pressed the dishrag over her mouth and nose. Samantha released one sharp choke of a scream, but the sound of music drifting down from the ceiling covered it. Hendricks watched horrified as the girl’s shoulders slumped, her head dropping to the side.

  “Good girl,” Justin said. He ran one finger down the side of Samantha’s face, almost lovingly, and Hendricks felt a disgusted shiver move through her. “This will all be over soon.”

  Justin carried Samantha’s unconscious body back up the stairs and through the school halls. Following them, Hendricks saw that the whole school looked different than it was supposed to. The lockers were painted an ugly, muddy green instead of black, and the floor was old linoleum, not wood. A banner on the wall read CONGRATS CLASS OF ’86!

  On instinct, she glanced at the clock hanging on the gym wall.

  9:22, it read.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Hendricks remembered driving to the top of Pikes Peak in Colorado with her parents when she was eight years old. By the time the three of them had reached the summit, her head was swimming and she’d felt sick to her stomach. She’d actually thrown up and had to lie down, sipping warm bottled water in the visitor’s center with a cold compress on her forehead until the swimmy, light-headed feeling passed. Altitude sickness, her parents had told her. It happened because the air at the top of the mountain was too thin, and not enough oxygen was reaching her brain.

  The exact same feeling hit her the secon
d she stepped off the sidewalk and onto the Steele House construction site. She had to pause for a moment, one hand propped against a tree, eyes clenched shut, just trying to breathe normally.

  She didn’t want to be back here. The air here felt wrong, too thin, like there wasn’t enough of it to go around. She drew her arms around her chest, shivering. She’d kept her distance as she’d followed Justin from the school, to be sure he wouldn’t see her. Watch, the voice in the prop closet had said, and that’s all she intended to do. Watch. Learn.

  Even so, she’d known from the moment they’d stepped outside that this was where Justin was going to take his victim. All roads led back to Steele House.

  Justin didn’t carry Samantha toward the house itself but around to the back of the lot, where a copse of spindly pine trees separated the Steele House lawn from the Ruiz family’s house and yard just behind it. Once Hendricks caught her breath, she followed them, her skin buzzing.

  Wind moved through the trees, rattling the branches. Somewhere in the darkness, an owl hooted. Hendricks drew her arms around herself, shivering. Everything looked warped and strange. Sounds seemed too close, like the wind and the owls were whispering directly into Hendricks’s brain. Twice, she thought she heard an insect buzzing around her head, and she flinched and swatted but felt only air.

  Justin dropped to his knees in the dirt and carefully placed Samantha on a bit of packed dirt ground. Hendricks hovered behind a tree a few feet away, as close as she dared come. From where she stood, she could see that the hem of Samantha’s beautiful white gown had been smudged and torn where it had dragged along on the sidewalk, and her hair had started to come loose from its bun, bits and pieces sticking to the sweat on her face. Samantha must’ve woken up during the walk, because her eyes were wide and terrified, shifting anxiously around the clearing, as though she was looking around for someone to help her. Tears trailed down her cheeks, smudging her eye makeup. She made a grunting noise, and that’s when Hendricks realized that Justin had shoved something into her mouth, gagging her.

  Hendricks felt her lower lip begin to tremble. This was horrible. Everything she’d eaten that day churned around inside her stomach, threatening to come up.

  She wanted to do something, to scream for help, or call the cops, something to change this.

  But it had already happened, in the past. The only thing she could do now was watch.

  A few feet away from where Samantha lay, Justin began to build a fire. Hendricks watched him work for a few long moments, uneasy. Something about his movements bothered her, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

  Then, all at once, she realized. Justin hadn’t had to go rooting around in the woods for dry logs and branches. He hadn’t had to clear the brush away from his little circle of dirt. The stack of wood and kindling had already been there, the fire pit ready and waiting for him.

  Whatever he was about to do with Samantha, he’d been planning it for a while.

  It took Justin a few tries, but eventually, red-orange flames leapt to life among the pile of wood, illuminating his hollow-looking face, his greasy hair.

  Samantha’s sobs grew louder. The firelight reflected off her wide black eyes. Fear made them look animal-like and strange.

  “Stop crying,” Justin muttered, casting an annoyed look her way. “This isn’t going to take very long.”

  Hendricks didn’t find that promise very reassuring, but Samantha’s crying subsided a little. She tried to say something, but the gag muffled her words.

  Groaning, Justin leaned over and pulled it out of her mouth. “What?”

  “Wh-why are you doing this?” Samantha choked out. Her voice was thick with tears and fear. “What—what did I ever do to you?”

  Justin’s eyes moved over Samantha’s face, studying it. Next to Samantha, he looked strangely flat. He tilted his head to the side, and Hendricks felt a chill shoot straight down her back.

  “I’ve been watching you for a while now,” Justin said. “You’re . . . different.”

  “I’m . . . I’m not, really, I’m not.”

  “You see things.”

  Samantha closed her eyes, a sob bubbling past her lips. “I don’t, I swear.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me. I know that no one else believes you. But I do. You see ghosts.”

  Hendricks felt a cold finger touch her spine.

  You see ghosts.

  Samantha sniffed. She looked a bit calmer than she’d been a moment ago, curiosity replacing some of the fear in her eyes. She asked hesitantly, “Do you . . . do you see them, too?”

  Justin’s eyes darkened. “My dad died last year. Did you know that?” He shook his head before she could answer. “No, I bet you didn’t. None of your friends, those popular shitheads you hang out with, none of them know that the rest of us exist.”

  “I’m sorry. I—I never meant to ignore you, we didn’t mean anything—”

  “Shut up,” Just snapped, bitter. “I don’t care about that, it’s not why I brought you here.” He threw a couple more sticks into the fire, and for a moment there was only the sound of flames crackling, twigs shifting in place.

  Fear flickered in Samantha’s eyes. “Justin—”

  “I found this spell,” Justin continued. “It’s supposed to transfer the power of the sight from one person to another. I figured you wouldn’t mind. I mean, you don’t even seem to appreciate it, and the whole ritual’s pretty easy, too. All you need is a little smoke, a little sage . . .” Justin lifted his shirt and pulled a hunting knife out of the waistband of his jeans. A leather case covered the blade. He tilted his head and, grinning, added, “And a sacrifice.”

  Samantha jerked like a fish on dry land. “What do you mean by sacrifice?” She pulled at the bindings around her wrists, but even from her position behind the tree Hendricks could see that the rope wouldn’t budge. “What’s that for?”

  “It shouldn’t hurt too much.” Justin removed the leather case and let it drop to the ground between them. The blade glinted in the firelight, the edge wicked, sharp. “My dad used to take me hunting. He taught me how to make it quick.”

  Samantha thrashed against her bindings, shrieking. Justin grabbed her by her hair and lifted her head off the ground, twisting her neck back at an unnatural angle. He pressed the flat edge of the blade to her cheek—

  “No! Justin, don’t, Justin, please—”

  “Hold still, you little bitch.” Justin slammed the butt of his knife into her eye, and Samantha released a sharp bark of a scream that quickly dissolved into more sobs.

  Behind her tree, Hendricks clamped her hand over her mouth. In her whole life, she’d never heard a sound as terrible as those sobs. They seemed to go on and on, causing the hair on her arms and legs to stand straight up.

  Justin brought the knife to Samantha’s cheek again, and this time he sliced down, cutting a thick gash into her skin. Hendricks flinched. Blood poured down Samantha’s face in a dark, glimmering sheet. Her lips were trembling, but she looked too terrified to keep fighting. She held perfectly still as Justin fisted his fingers more tightly in her hair, holding her in place so he could cut her face four more times.

  When he was done, an upside-down star marred her cheek.

  “Shh . . .” Justin said. “Almost done.” He twisted the knife’s blade around the scar, to form a jagged circle.

  “Please, please, please . . .” Samantha was crying again, a low, desperate whimper. Blood covered her face like a mask, leaving her skin completely red except for the space around her eyes and mouth. The inverted pentagram Justin had carved into her cheek seemed to pulse, gushing fresh, dark blood onto Samantha’s skin.

  Hendricks felt vomit rise in her throat and gagged. She closed her eyes and swallowed it, desperate to remain silent.

  Finally, Justin lowered the knife. He grabbed Samantha beneath her armpits and dragge
d her over to the fire. For several long moments, there was only the sound of her struggling to breathe through her cries, the wind in the trees, and the crackling of the fire. With a final grunt, Justin dropped her and knelt beside the flames.

  “Father Argbáktu . . .” As Justin spoke, he sawed roughly through Samantha’s hair, his blade cutting close to her scalp, drawing yet more blood. “I beg you, accept my humble sacrifice.”

  He dropped a handful of Samantha’s hair into the fire. The flames surged.

  Samantha flinched as she watched her hair go up in flames, and something flicked through her eyes. It wasn’t fear anymore but something stronger. She swallowed, and the muscles in her shoulders grew tense.

  Justin held his own hand above the crackling flames. He was crouching, knees bent, balanced on the balls of his feet, and he was facing away from Samantha. Hendricks saw the way that Samantha’s eyes moved over his body, calculating. She dug her fingers into the bark of the tree, thinking, Get up. Fight.

  Justin pressed his knife into the palm of his hand, cringing as the blade drew blood . . .

  Samantha sucked a breath in through her teeth and jerked, slamming her shoulders into Justin’s leg, just behind his knee. He crashed forward, grunting, hands landing in the pile of flaming wood. He screamed and dropped the knife. It landed on the ground just beside him.

  Samantha reached out with her bound hands, grasping for the hilt. Justin was still screaming and cursing, but he recovered quickly. He whipped around and got the blade between his fist—

  “Nice try,” he snarled, and he started to pull the knife out of her grip at the exact same moment that she thrust the weight of her body forward—

  The knife slid into Justin’s chest, all the way up to the hilt.

  Samantha whimpered with fear and let go. But it was too late. The knife stayed where it was.

  Justin looked down. His hands were still grasping the blade and now he tried, unsuccessfully, to pull it out. It was dark and his T-shirt was black, so Hendricks couldn’t see the blood until he moved his hands away. His fingers were bright red, stained with it.