RESORT
VOLUME TWO OF THE KHAOS HEXOLOGY
A NOVEL BY LOUISE MANSON
First eBook edition
© 2015 Louise Manson
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CHAPTER ONE
In the small hours of darkness, in a clearing amongst a quiet patch of scrub-like trees, a group of hooded figures huddled round a makeshift camp fire. One voice, a male, spoke. The rest were silent, captivated.
‘You scream but no one hears you. All around you is death, everywhere you look, a bloodied arm here, a disembowelled torso there. A severed head, but there’s no skin on the face… then out of the darkness, you hear him coming. Heavy feet and something metal, you can hear the wind whistling through it. Then you see him.’
‘Who is he?’ a girl’s voice trembled.
‘He’s covered in blood. He’s wearing your dead friend’s face. The eyes that look out through the corpse-mask are… not human. Right now they are looking at you. You try to run, but in your panic, you slip and fall. You turn, just in time to see his shadow over you, and his blade, swinging towards you… ’ The speaker stopped to drink from a plastic bottle that was being passed around.
The rest of the group, of which there were five in total, gazed at the speaker in admiration. That was a good story. Ripper really knew how to set the scene. He sat cross-legged now, lighting a cigarette, his smug smile lit up by the lighter flame.
The young woman sitting opposite him shuddered, and Barden, the young man beside her, put his arm around her protectively.
‘It’s only a story.’
‘Or is it?’ Ripper mused. ‘Who knows what lies in the shadows? Who knows what monsters lurk in the darkness out in the middle of nowhere? In places like this, perhaps?’
‘Very impressive, Ripper. You can drop the act now, you’re scaring Georgi.’
‘I’m not scared! You’re the one who’s shaking!’ Georgi shrugged off Barden’s arm. ‘Besides, I’ve heard better stories back home in my country.’
‘Yeah right. Nothing happens in England,’ Ripper mocked. ‘What’s your horror story then? Did someone eat with the wrong cutlery? Did someone cut in line at the post office? Did someone sound their horn on a Sunday?’
‘No, actually! My story involves death and blood and stuff too!’
‘Go on then, Georgi,’ said Barden, squeezing her thigh gently. ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘Well… ’ She took a sip from the bottle. ‘Did you ever hear about the unexplained cases of murder by arson? This was about, oh, six, seven years ago now? Ten victims. Ten different places, all over Great Britain. All murdered the same way; burnt to death.’
‘I think I did hear something about this. House fires, weren’t they? That happens all the time.’
‘Do the victims of the fire normally get slashed to pieces first? By a burning sword?’ She had their full attention now. ‘The victims that they found were covered in lacerations that had cauterised. Two witnesses reported that they saw a winged figure leaving one of the scenes of the crime, a burning sword in one hand, a live, screaming baby in the other.’
‘What… what happened to the baby?’
‘Who knows. It was never found, I heard. Taken to her lair, perhaps.’ Her audience’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, the winged figure was female. They called her the “Angel of Death”.’ She paused for dramatic effect.
‘What happened? Did they catch her?’ Ripper’s eyes glimmered by the light of the fire. He loved horror.
‘She disappeared, and the death and destruction stopped. No one knows if she’s still out there. She might have moved on to a different country to find fresh victims. She might even be dead. Some people even believe that she cannot die, but will roam the earth forever, harvesting souls to drag to Hell.’
The captivation of the group was suddenly interrupted by the bearded, rough-looking man whom they referred to as ‘Bottle’; as drinking was his main preoccupation. He had not been forthcoming with any other name, nor corrected them, so the name had stuck.
‘How long are you going to hog that drink! My throat’s as dry as the sandman’s ass-hole!’ he spluttered.
‘Oh sorry, Bottle. Will you pass this round?’ Georgi proffered the shared beverage to Ripper, who passed it on to the eager man.
‘That’s enough stories for one night I think,’ said Barden, glancing furtively around, just in case there really were murderers hiding in the shadows.
‘Ok, Georgi, you win tonight for most scary story. Want me to bring you back something from town tomorrow?’
‘No thanks, Ripper. I know your methods of getting stuff all too well.’ Georgi got to her feet. ‘Time for bed I think, if we’re going to make it to Foodmart tomorrow morning, Barden.’
‘Yes, we’d better sleep.’ Barden rose and stretched before following her.
‘Me too.’ Ripper stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Got big plans for tomorrow. Got a meeting with the board of directors.’ He winked conspiratorially to Barden, as he also rose to leave.
Georgi turned back to the camp fire and addressed the fifth member, who had remained quiet throughout.
‘Kay? Are you sleeping tonight?’
After a long pause, the figure muttered,
‘Hmm. No.’
‘Don’t stay up too late.’ But Georgi’s attempt at motherly concern was wasted on the still figure, who muttered something indiscernible and stared into the fire.
After one last long pull on the shared beverage, even Bottle was ready for bed.
‘I left you some; don’t drink it all at once,’ he slurred, indicating the dregs at the bottom. He dropped the bottle in front of Kay.
Now alone, Kay reached out a gloved hand and took the bottle, greedily draining the contents. After a moment, the thoughts began to recede. All the bad thoughts were restrained for a little longer, replaced by the fluid calm of drunkenness. Somewhere amongst them, the voice was there, like a little fly buzzing in her ear, annoying but ignorable.
With her free hand, she stroked the sparse grass rhythmically, occasionally pulling on a randomly chosen sprig until it snapped.
They’d got the story wrong.
She had thought she had escaped it, found somewhere that did not know anything about it, but now it had caught up with her, rearing its ugly head again, more monstrous than ever before.
The baby did not die.
She’d saved her.
Some had to die, so others would be saved…
There weren’t ten. Were there? Were there? Sometimes, through the stupor and confusion of her thoughts and memories, she couldn’t remember.
She dug her fingertips, numbed by the thick leather gloves, into the dry dirt.
No! That’s not me anymore! Away from me, bad thoughts! She reached for her emergency supply; a small metal hip flask in her inside jacket pocket. She sipped from it until her mind settled, and a comfortable smile spread across her face.
Across her left wrist were two small black tattoos.
Beneath her fingertips, which were pressed against the earth, small cracks formed and widened, spreading across the surface of the ground.
CHAPTER TWO
Memories always returned with sharp focus the morning after. In the bright, early light of dawn, harsh reality stabbed thro
ugh to the forefront of Kay’s mind. In her troubled, shallow sleep, she was too confused and tired to try and push the thoughts away and merely lay there, letting them play like a video montage.
She felt small and helpless. Drowning. She could taste the water in her nose and mouth, terror gripping her mind. Then two brown arms, her saviour, reached in and pulled her out. Almost fondly, though the memory still seemed detached from her, she recognised the arms to be her father’s. Swiftly, the memory changed; she never got to see her father’s face.
A man kneeling before her, his face decayed and drawn, like a living corpse. Yet he was laughing. He was mocking her. Two hands reached toward him, her own hands, she could feel the heat building in her palms. Fire crackled at her fingertips.
Then that memory was spirited away and replaced with another. A boy this time; at least he had the sense to beg for his life. This time her hands were pinned to his throat.
Another, the stench of burning flesh filling her nostrils. Surrounding her were walls of orange flames, and in her arms, a baby, its wailing cries like a siren, cutting through all other sound.
Another, a young beautiful woman, surrounded by luxury. But in her eyes was the madness of jealousy. Suddenly, she wasn’t human anymore. The beauty turned to hellish ugliness, a huge and monstrous demon with a mouth full of fangs. Two hands, Kay’s own again, holding a flaming sword. Now the sword was buried deep in the demon’s throat. And always in her head was the painful reminder: you have to do this. This is the path you must tread, be it dangerous and lonely. The world is full of evil, and only you can stop it. In you, in your hands is the power to destroy all the sin of the world, whatever the cost.
Then a face appeared that filled her with a deeper remorse than any of the others. A young woman’s; perfectly clear skin complimenting shimmering dark hair. Copper eyes looking through long dark lashes at Kay. Not looking. Glaring. The eyes were filled with hatred, the pretty mouth turned up in disgust. One word formed on her lips: “Murderer”.
Carmen.
Kay had promised herself she wouldn’t say that name again, but in her fitful half-sleep she muttered it remorsefully, over and over, as if repetition would invoke some sort of forgiveness. None came. Instead the eyes kept staring, accusing.
‘Carmen.’ Kay squeezed her eyes shut, the guilt washing over her like the water of a cold river, paralysing her.
She rolled over, covering her face with her hands, weeping.
More memories poured in; a warm hand stroked her head.
‘God has a plan for you,’ a voice soothed. Her mother. She saw her again, as she had remembered several times before: her mother sitting on the bed, staring at a piece of paper, hand over her mouth. This time, Kay could hear the choking sob. And she felt it too; guilt always accompanied this memory.
The vision changed once more, and she was surrounded by hands, touching her face and head and shoulders and arms, and a strange muttering that she could not quite make out. This memory only served to confuse Kay. What was that quiet voice saying? Was she being restrained? But the hands seemed gentle…
She was small again. In her hand was something soft and cloth-like. She raised it into her line of vision; a well-loved soft toy horse was clutched in her little hand. She lifted it to her mouth and chewed it nervously. Her toddler eyes alighted on a figure in front of her. A well-dressed woman with her back to her, young-ish judging by the style of dress she was wearing, the full colour of her hair, the skin on her bare arms. Could it be her mother, younger perhaps? Her shoulders shuddered. Was she crying? There was something in her hand, but Kay couldn’t quite see…
A noise in the background, whilst these memories flitted by, rose from a buzzing sound, like an overheating lightbulb, then to the volume of a whisper, then gradually to a booming crescendo:
Khaos! Khaos! Khaos, Destroyer of worlds! Get up! I command you! How can you lay there, letting apathy take hold, when the demons are all around you, taking new souls every minute… !
‘Silence, Spirit Voice! I’m not listening to you!’ Kay sat bolt upright, swatting her ears to try and make the noise stop. ‘Khaos is dead, there’s no one here by that name,’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Go and ruin someone else’s life!’ She scrabbled in the grass for her flask. Her hand clasped the little bottle, which she discovered with a gasp to be half-empty. Quickly she sat up and gulped down the contents, letting the warmth of drunkenness seep through her veins. Idly, she scratched her shoulders, lingering over the two scars between her shoulder blades, noting that they still had not healed…
‘Do you always start the morning with whiskey?’ said a voice that was not in Kay’s head. She glanced up to see Georgi, folding her own bedclothes a few feet from where Kay had been lying, staring at her thoughtfully. Kay had been unaware anyone else was awake. She wondered how much she had heard.
‘Or whatever else I can get my hands on,’ Kay muttered in response.
‘You must have been dreaming, you were shouting at someone.’
‘Oh… Yeah… Just raving, you know.’ She drained the last few drops of liquor and smirked to herself, noting that it was somewhat ironic that she had replaced one spirit with another.
‘You’re all out?’
‘Huh? Yeah.’
‘Well, since you’re awake, why don’t you come to the Foodmart with me and Barden?’
‘There’s nothing there of use to me,’ Kay said bluntly. Georgi looked away then, and it occurred to Kay that she was being unnecessarily rude; it was not Georgi’s fault that Kay had woken in a foul mood.
‘Which one are you going to?’
‘The west end one on the outskirts?’
‘I suppose if you are not going right into town, I will come,’ Kay conceded. She would soon need more liquor, so a shopping trip could not be avoided forever.
‘Great! Want some breakfast?’
Kay hesitated. It was always a gamble, being offered breakfast by a freegan.
‘What are we having?’
‘Pears!’ Georgi exclaimed, holding up a handful by their stalks.
‘Where did you get those?’
Georgi pointed directly above Kay’s head. Kay turned and realised she was pointing to the tree Kay had slept under, which last night had been a leafless grey stump. This morning it was fresh and green, with a healthy crop of pears bobbing among the leaves.
Kay almost groaned out loud. She could turn down the volume, but she couldn’t turn off the power.
CHAPTER THREE
Khaos had not premeditated the mutiny; something had suddenly snapped inside her. It was the moment when she stood in that lonely land of Dead-Time, staring up at the endless stars, searching through the history of all the mortals of the world, past, present, and future, searching for the next demon. Or, in other words, the next doomed life that Khaos must finish.
It had not been long since she had slain her last conquest, the demon Envy, and Carmen’s voice was still ringing in her ears. The voice had pushed her on to her next task relentlessly. Nyx, in the form of a flying horse, had carried her there, that desert between dimensions where only the immortals could tread. The Spirit Voice in her head had commanded her onward without remorse.
Then something else had caught her eye.
The end.
There was an ending to these stars.
It wasn’t a happy ending.
There, at the end of a network of glowing constellations of human life, a burning, spinning ball of turmoil. The world, the whole planet was on fire. Not just on fire, it was a burning hot coal. The seas had become molten lava. But what was most distressing was that, whilst the rest of the stars were filled with chatter and noise and laughter and screams, this burning planet was silent.
Then, as Khaos watched the burning orb, a solitary black figure, smoke streaming from its hands and feet, flew out of the flames. The flapping of its enormous dark wings was the only sound. Cold sweat poured from Khaos. She knew this figure.
She knew
then that it would most certainly happen. The world would end. Not with heavenly angels and a benevolent saviour and the promise of Heaven but with fire and death and destruction. Nothing would be left.
And it would be her doing.
As she stared up at those ancient stars, she knew: she didn’t want to do this anymore. She did not want to bring about the end of the world. Why did it have to be that way? Why must she suffer all this and cause so much suffering, only to end it all? How could this be the only solution to the sin and evil of the world?
And why did it have to be her? It was her life, wasn’t it? What was really stopping her from leaving right now?
So she jumped. She chose a random star in time and leapt toward it. Leaving that cold lifeless desert behind.
Fear had gripped her as she fell through time and space, but she knew she could not die. Nyx had tried to follow her of course, but did not force her to come back, though she was sure he could if he wanted to.
She had ended up somewhere in The United States, that much she knew by the accents of people she came across. But she had had no idea where exactly she was or how close she was to the demon. She did not want to know.
She barely knew whether it was day or night half the time, but she did not care.
She let herself sink to lower depths than she could have imagined. She had no place in the world and no purpose. Nowhere to go except the streets.
It was the Spirit Voice that was the most troublesome. For days and nights it had bellowed in her ears, accusing her of wickedness for straying from the path, telling her that there was no place for her in Heaven if she turned her back on her destiny. It tried to take control of her body again, and it took all her strength to fend it off. Obviously people thought she was just another crazy person, standing in the street shouting at herself, hitting herself in the face.
Then one day, someone had reached out.
Resort Page 1
