Darkness Rising
Title Page
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part Two
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part Three
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part Four
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
About the Author
Darkness Rising
Brian Moreland
Books by Brian Moreland:
Darkness Rising
The Vagrants
The Devil’s Woods
The Witching House
Dead of Winter
Shadows in the Mist
Dark Needs
Darkness runs deep ...
Marty Weaver, an emotionally scarred poet, has been bullied his entire life. When he drives out to the lake to tell an old friend that he’s fallen in love with a girl named Jennifer, Marty encounters three sadistic killers who have some twisted games in store for him. But Marty has dark secrets of his own buried deep inside him. And tonight, when all the pain from the past is triggered, when those secrets are revealed, blood will flow and hell will rise.
Darkness Rising
2nd Edition, eBook edition
Copyright © 2015 by Brian Moreland
Published by Rising Horse Books
Dallas, Texas
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photography, xerography, broadcast, transmission, translation into any language, or recording, without permission in writing from the publisher. Reviewers may quote brief passages in critical articles or reviews.
Originally published as an eBook by Samhain Publishing September 2015.
Also included in a collection of novellas: Blood Sacrifices: Four Tales of Terror, published by Samhain Publishing April 2016.
Republished by Rising Horse Books February 2017.
Cover artist: Angela Waters
ISBN: 978-0-9986846-0-4
For my friends in my writers group:
Bridget, Lisa, Max, Pat and Paul
“Some are born to sweet delight,
some are born to endless night”
—William Blake, “Auguries of Innocence”
Prologue
Deep in the Oregon woods, the lake watched in silence as the woman crawled across the muddy banks, dragging her wounded legs. A switchblade jutted from the back of one thigh. Moonlight glinted off the exposed bone of her hip. Hair, caked with blood and dirt, clung to the woman’s face as she clawed her way into the shallow water.
She found her husband, or what was left of him, floating facedown near the shore. Hugging his butchered torso, she wailed, an animal cry that echoed across the valley. A flock of ducks took flight.
Behind the mutilated couple stood the killer with the white rabbit mask, head cocked, a bloody machete resting on one shoulder. Then two more joined the rabbit, a toad and weasel, both taller, their clothes covered in dark stains. The three masked killers admired their blood work.
The frantic woman released her husband’s body and attempted to swim away, flailing her arms, but Toad and Weasel waded in after her and brought her screaming back to shore. Then Weasel picked up the video camera and began filming again. White Rabbit continued torturing the woman. Then Toad had his fun.
At dawn, the woman’s screams finally ended.
The lake watched in silence as the three animals danced around her corpse, then slipped into the forest.
Part One
The Poet’s Muse
Chapter 1
If I am an heir to darkness
And loneliness is my prison
Then could Jennifer be the light
To guide me from hell to heaven
Marty Weaver did not so much write as carved the poem into his journal, engraving his feelings onto the pages for a girl so radiant, so angelic, just thinking about Jennifer Dalton made him grateful to be alive. When writing poetry, he often got lost in vivid daydreams about the two of them together.
“Head out of the clouds, Weaver!” An annoying voice woke Marty from his musing. He looked across the courtyard to see his boss, a bearded man in gray coveralls, tapping his watch. “Break time’s over, back to work.”
Marty stood, dusting grass off his gray work clothes. He set his journal next to his sack lunch and returned to mowing the campus lawn. St. Germaine was a beautiful, hundred-year-old college in a small town nestled in the Blue Mountains of Northwest Oregon. He loved working here, especially during spring semester when the sun shone in the clear blue sky and all the flowers in the gardens and cherry blossom trees were in full bloom. Maybe everything seemed brighter and more colorful because for the first time in his life, Marty was in love. He thought about Jennifer as he pushed the mower up the hill.
Chiming bells echoed from the bell tower that loomed above. Bustling students poured out of the surrounding buildings. They walked past Marty as if he were just another of the statues adorning the campus. At least that’s how he felt among them in his janitor uniform. He watched the students go by, chatting about the coming weekend. Marty envied them because they had classes to go to and bright futures ahead of them. They got to go to fraternity parties and social clubs and on group dates to basketball games. The kind of college life Marty could only dream about.
He was their age, twenty-one, and determined to one day enroll at St. Germaine College. He’d already saved up a couple grand working here as a janitor and maintenance man. He was basically good at two skills: fixing things and writing. He dreamed of someday being a professor, teaching English Lit and Poetry like his mother had when she was alive. If all went according to plan, he would be a college student within a couple of years. Until then, he had a long list of chores to do.
“Marty! Marty!” a girl’s excited voice reached him across the courtyard.
His heart surged as he spotted Jennifer walking towards him with a big smile. Her honey-blonde ponytail swung behind her as she hurried down the hill. She wore a polo shirt and white shorts that showed off her tan legs, toned from years of ballet and playing tennis.
Marty killed the mower, happy to see her.
Jennifer held up a sheet of paper, waving it back and forth. “I passed my final exam! Look, my professor called my essay on Shakespeare’s sonnets impressive, exclamation point!” She laughed. “I got an A! All thanks to you, Mr. Poet.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek.
Marty blushed. “You did all the hard work. I just made a few suggestions.”
“Are you kidding?” She playfully pushed his arm. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have been lucky to pass.” She reached into her backpack. “Here, I want to give you this.” She offered him a present
wrapped in pink and yellow paper. The gift felt heavy in his hands.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A little something, something to say thank you. Open it.”
He tore off the paper and unwrapped a hardback book: The Illustrated Edition of William Shakespeare’s Sonnets and Plays.
Marty felt tightness in his chest. It had been years since anyone had given him a gift. “Wow, Jen, you shouldn’t have.” He flipped through the pages, admiring ink drawings of his favorite characters from Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, Romeo and Juliet.
It was Shakespeare who had brought Marty and Jennifer together. Three months ago, Marty had been raking leaves while Jennifer and a few students were sitting on the lawn, trying to interpret Shakespeare’s sonnets. Marty, who knew enough to give a lecture on the subject, told them his interpretation. He hadn’t expected them to take interest, but pretty soon the rake was out of his hand, replaced by somebody’s book, and he was reading, showing them where the breaths were and how the beats lay, like the poet’s heartbeats underlying each line. There was a moment when he looked up and found Jennifer watching him. That was the moment when love had struck his heart. Most girls ignored Marty. But listening to him that day, she had given him the warmest smile.
Afterward, she’d asked him to tutor her. This surprised him because Jennifer, like most St. Germaine students, came from a wealthy family. Most rich kids didn’t associate with the guy who mopped their floors and took out their garbage. He couldn’t believe that a girl as pretty as Jennifer would want him to tutor her. She offered to pay him, but Marty wouldn’t accept her money. He just wanted to spend as much time with her as he could.
For the past three months they had met at the library, at the coffee shop in the student union and, on sunny days, had picnics in the garden and read passages from Shakespeare’s sonnets. She took copious notes and seemed genuinely interested in understanding the meaning behind the words. Marty taught her that poetry offers an outlet to express emotions and to see the world on deeper levels. Poetry has an invisible power that transcends the soul, he had told her. It wasn’t long before the Bard’s rhythmical words echoed Marty’s secret feelings for Jennifer:
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die
Being with Jennifer had inspired Marty to write his own love poems. Before she entered his life, he’d written only stormy poems about his pain, sorrow and rage. Now, seeing her beaming about the grade on her essay, the fact that she’d kissed his cheek, had given him such a thoughtful gift, he began to wonder if she might possibly have feelings for him too.
“Well, do you like the book?” she asked.
“I love it…I…” Marty found himself beyond words, so emotional that he was tongue-tied. He hugged her. “This means more than you know.”
They both stared at each other for a long, awkward moment and then she looked away.
Ask her out, he told himself. She’ll say yes.
No, she won’t, said his doubting voice. There’s no way she’d date a janitor.
You’ll never know if you don’t make a move.
Every day he tried to work up the courage to ask her out on a real date, but his fear of rejection kept him silent. He was afraid if she said no, he would lose her altogether. Then he would descend to his old familiar territory—a black pit of depression and despair. And then he would start writing the dark poems again. The dark ones scared him.
Dawn slashes across the night
A winter day bleeds through
My windows stained with gray light
I awake to suffering anew
At times he worried that if she did agree to date him that she’d eventually see he was not all good inside. There was a part of him he kept buried in the tar pits of his mind. The last thing he wanted was for her to see his bad side.
Jennifer noticed his journal on the ground and picked it up. “Hey, are these your poems?”
“Don’t look at those.” He grabbed the journal from her, a little too roughly. Seeing the shock on her face, he said, “Sorry, I don’t share these with anyone.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, sounding disappointed. “I thought it might be nice to read some of your poetry.” She put her paper away and shouldered her backpack. “I better get to my next class. Thanks again for tutoring me.”
He didn’t want her to leave on a sour note. They were done with the tutoring. She had passed her final. Would she call him again after this? Summer break was coming soon, and she had told him she was on the fence about whether to stay here over the summer or go home to Laguna Beach. He imagined her going home and meeting someone, only to return next fall with a boyfriend.
Quit stalling, you idiot. Ask her out before she’s gone for good.
As she started to walk away, Marty took a step towards her. “Uh, Jennifer…would you…?”
She turned back around. “Yes?”
Marty was about to ask her to dinner Friday night, when another girl’s voice chanted, “Creepy Marty, Creepy Marty, better not let him crash your party.” The cruel words were followed by laughter.
He turned around to see Skylar Herron flanked by a couple of her monogrammed sidekicks. Because her dad was a senator and had his name engraved over the entrance to the library, Skylar acted like she ruled the college. She looked at Jennifer with pursed lips. “Hmm, I wonder what Mommy and Daddy would think if they knew you were hanging out with white trash.”
Marty tightened his fist to keep his anger down.
Jennifer stepped in front of him, protectively. “Leave him alone. Marty is the sweetest guy I know.”
“Don’t come crying to me when rumors spread that you’re screwing the help.”
Jennifer squared up to the bitch. “You mean like you’re screwing Professor Maxwell to pass Economics? I’m sure your daddy would love to have that scandal splashed all over the news.”
Skylar’s face reddened. She narrowed her eyes and stormed off with her friends in tow.
Marty felt embarrassed that she’d called him “Creepy Marty” in front of Jennifer. Skylar had a vendetta against him ever since what happened last semester. The dark part of him wanted to make that bitch pay for spreading the nickname, but if Marty retaliated, he’d lose his dream of becoming a professor here. So time after time, he took the high road and endured her ridicule.
That Jennifer stood up for him made him love her all the more. “Don’t listen to a word she says. You’re a good guy, Marty Weaver.”
He wished he could believe that were true. He had been mistreated so many times that he didn’t know how to respond to someone saying something nice. Especially when he was madly in love with that someone.
Another awkward silence fell between them. Then Jennifer looked at her watch. “I gotta run. I’m way late for class. See you around, Shakespeare.” She hurried up the hill. Marty watched her as she disappeared into one of the campus buildings. He wondered if that was the last conversation she’d ever have with him.
Chapter 2
At six o’clock, Marty went to the employee locker room to clock out and change out of his grimy work clothes. He was furious with himself for not asking Jennifer out when he’d had the chance. If there ever had been a right moment, today was it and he had blown it.
As he kept to himself at his locker, a few of the other maintenance crew and janitors talked about stopping at Logan’s Draft House to knock back some beer. That’s where they often went after work to play pool and check out college girls that none of them would end up with. Sometimes Marty grabbed a beer with the guys, but tonight he had other plans.
Lyle Dinkman, a tall, overweight security guard, walked over to Marty’s locker. “Hey, Creepy Marty, I saw you with your girlie friend earlier.”
Marty bristled hearing the nickname, but kept his face hidden behind his locker door.
“Who’s the girl?” one of the guys asked.
“A smokin’ hot piece of ass from Riverside
Dorm,” Dinkman answered. “You guys should see Romeo in action.” The security guard pranced around. “He’s been trying to charm this girl for months. Taking walks with her in the garden. Having picnics together. Talking about making words rhyme and shit. He thinks reading poems is gonna get him into her panties.”
This brought on a round of laughter from the guys.
Dinkman slapped Marty on the shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, Creepy Marty, but she’s so far out of your league you’re about as likely to bag her as I am to fuck Miss America.”
Darkness Rising: A Novella of Extreme Horror and Suspense Page 1
