Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: The Varcolac's Diary

by D. C. McGannon

  Lisa marched forward, shooting twice more as the wolf turned. One arrow found its way to the wolf’s bicep, another to its abdomen. The Hunters could all see Liev’s relief as the wolf fell backwards, beginning to topple into the moat. They could see some witty retort already forming on his lips. But he never got the chance.

  “Liev,” cried Lisa, “look out!”

  Even as they all screamed in warning, the wolf clawed out for something to hold onto, nails raking painfully across Liev’s back. He grabbed hold of Liev’s shredded shirt, pulling the boy down with him. The wolf latched onto him with all of its claws, grasping for life and biting deeply into Liev’s shoulder in spite.

  They both disappeared over the edge of the moat.

  “No!” screamed Lisa, rushing forward. But she was too far away. The gargoyle, missing an arm and several chunks of its face, dove into the moat, trying to save Liev‌—‌to protect.

  Lisa reached the edge of the moat beside Liev’s gun, just in time to see the gargoyle and the wolf both being dragged down by the rusalkas. Liev’s body was nowhere in sight.

  “No!” she cried again. “No, this can’t happen. No, no, no, no!”

  She pounded the ground with her fist, breaking down inside. Liev was gone. Her lifelong friend and companion.

  Her brother. Dead.

  The others called for her, but she didn’t care. Weeping, she punched the ground until her knuckles were raw and bleeding. Sorrow mixed with anger, racking through her body like high voltage energy.

  A strong arm dragged her back. It was Nash, trying to get her to the tunnel, grabbing the grenade launcher as he did so. He stomped once or twice, holding running monsters at bay.

  Her body racked with sobs, mind barely conscious under the weight of her brother’s death. Her sobs turned into anger, and without thought Lisa used her gift to strike out. She wanted to hurt the monsters, hurt them as much as she could for taking Liev away.

  Jagged tendrils of energy‌—‌pure black energy, no longer sharing Liev’s white glow‌—‌flew from Lisa’s hands, writhing around and throwing monsters aside like bowling pins, scorching them wherever touched. This was not the usual flowing, netlike manifestation of her gift‌—‌it was hard and jagged, a weapon Lisa subconsciously created in her wrath.

  Nash flinched as one of the tendrils singed his forearm. His small movement sent Lisa’s delirious aim in a wide arc over the monsters. It bludgeoned and even sliced through those it touched, buying Nash just enough time to drag her to the tunnel.

  Lisa’s throat became raw from screaming. Strands of black energy recoiled, seeping back into her shaking form or dispersing altogether. She curled into a ball in Nash’s arms and cried into his shoulder. He took a final glance to where Liev last stood before carrying her down into the tunnel, where the others watched and waited. Tears flooded every single face.

  They were caught between fear and sorrow, looking over their shoulders as they ran through the tunnel. No monsters followed them inside, which made them just as nervous.

  Charlie let Dräng lead his friends. He didn’t feel like playing leader anymore. He could have prevented this, if he understood the Sight better‌—‌if he had paid attention‌—‌Liev would still be alive.

  He walked behind everyone else, dragging his spear and watching the rear, just waiting for a monster to follow them.

  He took Liev’s grenade launcher from Nash, who carried a comatose Lisa. Liev had loaded a final grenade before dying….

  Charlie bit back tears and aimed the gun back the way they had come. He pulled the trigger.

  There was a loud explosion, and a cloud of dust bellowed through the tunnel. Earth and stone crumbled to the floor, sealing the tunnel entrance shut and throwing them into darkness.

  Charlie gingerly laid the gun down, hands shaking, and walked away.

  The Dark Prince watched the battle in fury.

  These Hunters‌—‌no, these fledglings‌—‌had successfully made a mockery of his army. They had stormed through the battlefield with childlike ease, and worst of all, they were now in his castle, led by his treacherous Chief of Assistants.

  All of the varcolac’s servants had fled the Great Hall, terrified. His robes were torn, pillars had been shattered, glasses broken, and bits of the marble floor cracked. The great fireplace no longer lit the room, not after he caused the hearth to crumble inward.

  The Hall was covered in darkness, reflective of the mood of its master.

  But the white-clad fledgling had died, meeting his thrice death as the varcolac had foreseen. It tore the Hunters apart. Even now, he watched them walking through his escape tunnel. They were disorganized and weak, no longer the powerful Hunters they had believed themselves to be. Now they were just children, mourning their fallen friend. And then there was the leader‌—‌he was completely broken.

  This soothed the Prince.

  The Dark Prince stood up from his ruined throne. Despite the progress the Hunters made, all of his hard work was coming together. The pieces were in place, the upper hand lost. The next move was his to make.

  As the Hunters drew near, the varcolac prepared for a final play that would remove them from his way, for good this time.

  Chapter 12: Into the Dark

  Inside Blood Castle lay the Way of Mirrors, a labyrinthine room of looking glasses. It was something of a fascination for the varcolac‌—‌a place where his reflection was forever absent, but where his enemies could be stored, hidden.

  In the Way of Mirrors, one particular reflective panel began to move. It sunk back into a wall with a mechanical click as hidden gears rumbled, causing the mirror to slide away. A secret tunnel opened.

  A little monster poked his head out of the wall, looking cautiously left and right before hopping out. Six humans followed him into the Way of Mirrors. They shivered, immediately smelling the blood and hatred in the room. They felt eyes on them.

  Centuries ago, the Dark Prince brought captured Hunters here and turned them into mindless slaves, forcing them to build the maze. Out of boredom or cruelty, the Dark Prince then used the brainwashed Hunters as finishing touches to his labyrinth. Dräng decided against explaining the morbid history of the Way of Mirrors. He scrambled to his feet and beckoned to Charlie with long hands.

  “This way! Come this way….”

  Charlie let the others pass him, not in the mood to be in front.

  The Hunters had to jog to avoid losing the little domovoi through the mirrors and be disoriented in the maze. Nash and Darcy had to pull Lisa along as she stared dispassionately at the dank flagstones.

  Charlie started sweating. Not from exertion, but because of his Sight. He could see all sorts of dark magic lingering here. Worse than the magic, he saw ghostly shades lingering inside the mirrors.

  These were the varcolac’s old drudges. They stared out at Charlie, their black sockets drawing him forward as they silently screamed, beating uselessly against the reflective silver of the mirrors.

  Charlie was short of breath. When had he started reaching for the mirror? He couldn’t remember. The only thing he could think about was that screaming in his head….

  Something jerked Charlie away from the glass, hard. Shaking, he looked down to see Dräng holding his hand. The monster shook his head.

  “No looking at mirrors too long.”

  Charlie nodded, moving on with difficulty.

  “Ugh, we don’t have time for this,” Darcy complained. “Nash, can you smash through these mirrors with your storm-stepping thingy?”

  “I could try….”

  Dräng tensed, opening his mouth to speak. But Darcy talked faster and louder.

  “We need to get out of here and get to the Prince, now. The longer we wait, the closer he is to getting through the gateway.”

  “Yeah, good point. Here, hold Lisa.”

  Nash raised his foot, and Dräng felt as if his small heart might pop. Charlie jumped forward, shaken out of his stupor by their conversation.

>   “No, don’t‌—‌!”

  He tackled Nash‌—‌or would have if Nash wasn’t built stronger. Nash scowled.

  “Charlie, what the heck is your problem?”

  “Don’t break the mirrors,” said Charlie.

  Darcy hmphed. “And why not? Is this another one of your freaky Sight things?” she asked, raising her voice.

  Charlie spun to face her, glowering over Darcy. “As a matter of fact, it is!” His eyes grew into a deeper, darker red as he breathed deeply through his frustration.

  The others watched as the two stood there glaring at each other, Darcy slowly realizing she was no match for the Sight in his eyes. Lisa looked out from blank eyes as Nash and his two woodsmen friends waited for the room to cool down.

  Dräng coughed, raising a finger. “The boy is right. To break the mirrors would be bad, very bad. The Prince’s old drudges live inside. They are not‌…‌happy things.”

  Darcy turned from Charlie, to Dräng, and back to Charlie. She flung her arm out at Dräng, as if to say “Go ahead then”.

  “Would you like to go ahead?” Darcy asked Charlie.

  Crisis averted, Charlie glared at the dusty floor and shook his head. Darcy went back to support Lisa with Nash, and the group fell back into a steady, tense cadence of twists and turns. Fish squeezed his rabbit foot for good luck.

  “Almost there,” said Dräng. He panted nervously. “There! There is door!”

  He ran and pushed with all his might, letting in a glaring, purple light. It danced around the mirrors, refracting all over the room and momentarily blinding the Hunters and their friends. After adjusting to the light, they saw the Way of Mirrors gave way to a large courtyard. The purple sun of the Otherworld was setting, plummeting just over Blood Castle’s black stone wall.

  They walked into the expansive courtyard, seeing a handful of large doors and two gates. Through the gate far to their left, they could see Wyvern’s Peak and the battlefield, still full of monsters.

  “Why are they out there?” asked Nash. “Why don’t they attack?”

  No one answered because, deep down, they knew why. The Dark Prince was letting them come.

  “Not far now,” said Dräng. His voice was raspy. “The Great Hall is this way.”

  He led them to the other gate‌—‌the one leading into Blood Castle’s towering keep. Through the gate was a large, formal entryway lined with long, dead skeletons. They sat in swinging cages or‌—‌worse‌—‌hung from long spikes nailed into the wall.

  “This is wrong,” said Nash.

  Dräng nodded, having resigned long ago to the horrors that Blood Castle held. He simply focused on the open doorway far ahead of them. Only when they reached it did he allow himself to look around.

  Through this last door, a hallway split, leading left and right around curved walls. They couldn’t see where either led.

  “Which way?” asked Darcy.

  Dräng shrugged his shoulders. “Matters not. Either way leads to the Great Hall.”

  “We’ll go right, then,” said Darcy. She glared at Charlie, still upset about earlier. He did not argue.

  As they walked on, they saw the hallway turned in a giant half-circle, suspecting the same was true of the other side. Which meant the Great Hall was inside a giant circle of hallway.

  Dräng confirmed just that a few minutes later. “This is bad,” he said. “This place is a giant circle used for defensive magic. It should have activated by now. We should be dead, or in very much pain.”

  “So,” said Nash, “we’re alive and unharmed. This is bad… how?”

  “If the magic is not activated by our presence, then the Prince nullified the circle. He let us through.”

  They fell quiet after that.

  The group came to a pair of large doors on the curved wall to their left.

  “We are here,” said Dräng. “Here is the Great Hall.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” asked Darcy. “Let’s go.”

  But Dräng stopped her, gesturing to a different set of doors on the opposing wall. His ears drooped, and he seemed to cower beneath them as he spoke.

  “Before facing him‌…‌there is something you need see.”

  Fish and Dink had to shove open the obsidian doors with their shoulders. As soon as they were open, the group wished the doors had remained closed. The smell of death wafted past them, along with a cold, dank wind.

  Fish grabbed one of the torches from the wall, offering it to Charlie.

  “Lead the way,” said Fish.

  “I‌—‌I can’t.”

  Fish sighed, his shoulders slumping. Darcy grabbed the torch.

  “Come on,” she said. “We should hurry.”

  Together, they forged ahead into the dark.

  Dink tripped over something, causing a clatter on the floor. “Can’t hardly see nothin’ in this‌—‌”

  He stopped as Darcy brought the torch closer and realized what he had tripped on. The femur bone of a human skeleton.

  “Yeesh!” cried Dink, leaping away from the remains. He shivered from head to toe.

  “Yeesh?” teased Fish.

  Nash bent over to look at the skeleton. It looked like it had been leaning against a cage before being tripped over.

  “What is this place? Dräng, why did you bring us here?”

  “It’s a dungeon,” said Charlie. He was looking around the room, being able to see all-too-clearly without a source of light. It was massive, and filled with cages that hung from the ceiling or were bolted to the floor. There were tables with tools on them which Charlie tried his best not to look at.

  “Oh no,” he whispered as he saw the first person, and began to run forward.

  “Wait!” cried Darcy. “What is it, what do you see?”

  They ran after him, which was difficult in the dark. They barely avoided tripping over each other or colliding with torture devices, feeling worse and worse as they saw more of what hid in the dark. And then they found Charlie.

  He was standing in front of an older man dressed in rags. The man’s arms were held up with chains from the ceiling, a heavy collar around his neck, weighing him down. Charlie could not see the man’s face, hidden behind long, dirty white hair and a beard, so he tried brushing the hair away.

  “Sir? Are you…?” He searched for a word. “Are you alive?”

  Bluish-green eyes stared emptily from behind the curtain of dirty hair. They did not move to follow Charlie’s fingers, nor did the man answer his question.

  “He’s dead,” said Charlie.

  “No. He is alive,” said Dräng. The little monster pointed to ragged bite marks on the man’s shoulders and arms. “He is a slave to the Prince now. Long ago the Prince would eat all slaves, but food supply is low now. The Prince keeps all slaves like this; frozen by old magic, unable to live or die without his command. He controls everything about them.”

  “Like some sort of canned food,” said Nash, angry.

  Dräng nodded sadly.

  “Are there more?” asked Charlie.

  “Yes. He keeps them close together, to compare them.”

  Darcy brought the torch forward. Not far from the old man was someone who looked to be an Asian monk wearing destroyed clothes from the turn of the century, if not two centuries ago. He was rigorously suspended in midair by a wooden board and some chains.

  “Guys,” said Charlie. “Look at this.”

  As Darcy’s torch swept across the next figures, they all gasped. Fish whistled.

  “They’re all here, aren’t they?” asked Dink.

  There, in cages and chains, were the missing people of Hunter’s Grove.

  Darcy’s eyes watered, and she nearly dropped her torch. “Mom!” she gasped.

  She shoved the torch at Nash until he took it, and then rushed forward to where her mother stood, haggard and frozen in time. She reached out to touch her face.

  “Mom. She’s alive.”

  “I count ten,” said Charlie to the
others. From Elizabeth Witherington to Robert Wickles, Mr. Tonson the locksmith and Elijah Silverstien the carpenter. Little Bobby Muldor sat curled in a ball, dirty, with an ugly bite mark on his forearm but otherwise unharmed. He saw everyone who had gone missing, all ten. Except, eleven total had gone missing.

  Nash seemed to realize what Charlie was about to say. He handed Lisa and the torch off to Fish and Dink, walking forward to scan the faces from Hunter’s Grove. He scanned them a second time, and then once more in rising panic.

  Suddenly, Nash grabbed Dräng’s dirty robe and lifted the monster into the air.

  “There was one more,” he growled. “An old woman. Why isn’t she here with the rest? Where is she?”

  “T-t-there was one‌…‌like you say,” sputtered Dräng. His robes had caught under his chin, making it difficult to breathe. “The female‌…‌she didn’t….”

  “Didn’t what?” asked Nash. He already knew it. Mrs. McBranson, his friend and wily old coach, was dead. But he couldn’t accept that.

  “Nash,” said Charlie. “Let him go.” He placed a hand on Nash’s shoulder, but Nash jerked away, ignoring his friend.

  Dräng gasped and coughed, struggling for small amounts of air. “She was too frail, strong human. She didn’t‌…‌please, please put me down‌—‌”

  “Didn’t what? Say it!”

  “Nash! Put him down before you kill him!”

  Nash spun around, eyes searing into Charlie’s. However, it wasn’t Charlie’s red eyes that made Nash look away, it was the fact that Charlie was right. Nash dropped the former Chief of Assistants and grasped one of the cold metal cages to hold himself up.

  “The aged female was too old,” Dräng rasped. He rubbed at his sore throat and shoulders. “Too weak. She died very quickly. I‌…‌I was the one to mark her. I am sorry.” He cringed, expecting Nash to pummel him.

  But Nash just wiped his eyes and nodded. “Thank you. For telling me. Is‌…‌is there a body?”

  Dräng shook his head.

  “What about the people still alive?” asked Fish. “Can they be saved?”

  “Their tie to the Prince must be severed, but yes.”