Dark Winter: Last Rites

by Hennessy, John

  I wanted the sound to stop, but if anything, it was getting louder, ringing in my ears repeatedly.

  I pressed on regardless. Above me, the sky had darkened still further. At least, that’s what I thought it was, until an object above me collided with my face, momentarily knocking me to the ground. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, because Troy was hanging from his neck, his feet bound together, thumping against the side of the tree. He mumbled incoherently as the last moments of his life ebbed away. But his eyes, once so warm and inviting to me, now pierced through me.

  I didn’t care for the eyes, which bulged out of their sockets at me. I could see the blood veins encircling his irises. His mouth gaped open, and I half-expected him to speak.

  When he didn’t utter a single word, I didn’t know whether to be sad or angry. Anyway, by passing him, I would pass another tree. That was progress, and I didn’t need to look back. You would get no argument from me on that.

  However, his arms which had been still by his side suddenly came to life, grabbing at my hair. I squealed as a clump of the mousy brown follicles were yanked from my skull.

  His corpse wasn’t done though, and through bony fingers he pulled me towards him. Beth wasn’t to know, but I had relieved her of her small knife. Beth wasn’t the only one good at pick pocketing.

  I slashed at Troy’s fingers until he let go. At first, the blade connected with the thickest part of his hand, drawing blood but not stopping his attack. I swished the blade again, and this time; a thumb tip plus his forefinger gave way, the former coming clean off, the other hanging on by the thinnest of margins.

  The only thing that kept me going was the belief that just like the Dana doll, this Troy-corpse was a trick of the forest, no doubt aiming to halt my progress.

  But for Curie’s attack, I may have made it to my goal at the last time of asking. Still, I saw it as a delay, nothing more. I half-expected the old devil to be conjured up by the forest; after all, these things come in threes.

  The forest had something special in mind for me though. Despite my squeals it knew I was no longer easily frightened. I had been through too much for that. As if to remind me, I saw a tarantula bump into my foot, before scuttling on top of it.

  A few years ago I would have been terrified of the creature, and perhaps rightly mocked for being so. I was no longer that person. I proved it by crouching down and letting the hairy arachnid climb onto my hand.

  “Well handsome, we meet again,” I smirked. Its fur probed the skin on my hands. It stopped when it reached the third finger on my hand.

  “Surprised, aren’t you?”

  In another half-expectation, I thought the tarantula might just give me a response.

  ‘Yes Romilly, bad luck losing your fingers to a banshee. Bet you don’t think I’m so scary now.’

  Spidey was correct. He was ugly, but no longer frightening to me. I still didn’t like the feel of its body against my hand, so I placed it on the ground and carefully stepped passed it.

  I knew I shouldn’t, but I took a cursory glance behind me. The corpse of Troy hung downwards from the tree, blood pouring from his finger tips where I had sliced them open. There was an additional wound that caught my attention, yet I knew it was one that I had not inflicted.

  I was clear on one thing, and perhaps the forest understood that too. Wherever Troy was and whatever he was doing, the image before me was not him, not for real. It was a trick, the forest knew it, and so did I.

  It was still very unsettling to me though. The forest understood that all too well, and would continue to feed me these images until I gave up my mission. I tried not to think too hard about that, because if the forest could read my thoughts, it would use that information against me.

  It’s most curious thing, walking aimlessly in the woods, yet feeling like I knew exactly where I was going. An inner voice appeared to keep telling me to keep on going, that my body would come to a halt exactly when it was supposed to do so.

  Try as I might, I stopped walking, which I knew was a mistake.

  “Romilly.”

  Oh my God. No.

  “Turn around. Let me see your face.”

  It was the voice of my father. I knew I hadn’t grieved for him properly. I could not do that in public. People would see that as a weakness and they would be correct. I had to put up a strong defence, a defiant front. Whoever this was, it was not my father. I did not believe it was the ghost of my father either.

  “Mills.”

  Good try, forest, good try.

  Still, part of me wanted to look on him once again. So whilst every sinew in my body willed me onwards, I could not do it. I needed to see him.

  When I turned around, I saw a man in his late forties. My father had kept his young looks, even when he got older, and this version in front of me was a pretty good representation. For all intents and purposes, this was Ronald Winter.

  “Hey, Romilly.”

  I didn’t know what to say, exactly. But I was determined to get out of this what I wanted to. I would not let the forest dictate to me.

  “Hi.”

  “Is that all you have to say? Hi?”

  “It is.”

  “You wouldn’t have turned around just to say hi. I know my daughter better than that.”

  “Then I must not be your daughter,” I replied. “What happens now? Blood bursts from your chest, your arms get wrenched from their shoulders, your face disintegrates into ash? What trick will you pull now?”

  “I just wanted to say hi, Romilly, and for you not to worry about me. I am at peace. I’m watching over you, and I know that in the end, you’ll be the last one standing.”

  I could almost believe what I was hearing. This was more like the man who had raised me all of those years. But I knew too that he could not be standing in front of me, and although I had cast iron proof of the existence of ghosts, whatever this was, was some evil representation of my father. That was what I had to constantly remind myself.

  He extended his arms to me.

  “How about a hug for your old man?”

  That didn’t require any delay in responding.

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You’ve really grown up, haven’t you? No longer the naïve girl I remember. You used to be more trusting. The Romilly I know would have hugged me already.”

  “As Donald Curie told my good friend one time, ‘you can’t hug a photo.’ ”

  “Donald Curie? Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Look, what’s important is that you really can hug me. Now where would be the harm? You trusted your Nan, didn’t you?”

  He had a point. Whenever the image of Nan appeared, I trusted that it was her, communicating with me from beyond the grave. It would make sense that my father would appear close to me, close to the grounds of Rosewinter, where both of us had many fun times. Memorable times. This would be a memory I would gladly purge.

  “I did trust my Nan, and I trusted my father. Whatever you are, I am sorry he died the way he did. I miss him. Even if I don’t show it, I do miss him. But you are not him, nor a ghost returning to comfort me.”

  “Romilly, come on, come here.”

  Oh God. It all seemed so plausible, so convincing. Having failed in its attempts at horror, it was almost succeeding in reminders of happier times. I took a step back, and the figure took a step forward.

  “Don’t do this,” I said. There was a commanding sound that should have come from my voice, but as I heard my own words, they sounded like I was pleading.

  “You don’t have to be afraid, not now, not ever again, Romilly. Just give me a hug and everything will be all right. As it once was. You weren’t to know back then that Toril’s Ouija game caused our deaths, your mum and I. You can let go of the past, honestly you can. Let it go.”

  His voice was so dreamy, so comforting to me that I almost convinced myself that the apparition was indeed a benevolent ghostly one. He was right, I trusted the image of my Nan w
ithout question. But that was because she had never meant me any harm. Shouldn’t I treat the image of my father just the same?

  He, or it had just made an error. The younger me would not have picked up on it, but only one thing caused the death of my parents. I had just passed an effigy of her just now.

  Dana.

  I was less aware of Tori-Suzanne’s involvement in the near destruction of Dana herself. I was less clued up about her residing in the chest and lungs of my good friend Beth. But for this entity to say that the Ouija game was at fault was untrue.

  “Do you know what the Ouija board spelt out?” I asked.

  “What?”

  I took a step forward, and repeated my question.

  “Well, no..er, on this side Romilly, we don’t really focus on the small things.”

  “I don’t think that the death of my parents in a car crash is a small matter.”

  “That’s because you are seeing things from a human perspective. Now look, Romilly, the reason I know you will be the last one standing is because I want you to join me here, now. With me, your mum and your Nan.”

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I have seen the future, and it’s not this. Not yet.”

  “Your mind is playing tricks on you,” he replied. “You must know that the chances of you putting the Mirror to rest are gargantuan. You already know your friend is going to die, so why would you put yourself through any more torment?”

  The man I knew as my father would never talk like this. He would encourage me to fight, to keep on going. He would die for his family and his friends.

  “Two Will Die,” I said. “That’s what the Ouija board spelled out.”

  “I told you not to mess with such things, Romilly.”

  “It didn’t say which two, and in any case, I wasn’t actually there.”

  “But you have used a Ouija board since.”

  Oh? Interesting. He actually knew something of my recent past.

  “Anyway, it should be obvious which two the board was on about, because I am here appearing to you in the woods.”

  “So what? My father visited these woods a lot. You’ve merely taken his image. We also lost Jacinta, so that makes three, okay? Three.”

  “Are you looking for it to be four, five, six? One by one they’ll pick you off. The rogue elements within the Circle. Tori-Suzanne, Beth, Toril. You.”

  It was clear which side this entity was on. No mention of Dana, Diabhal, Curie.

  “It was nice to see your image again. That’s about all I can say.”

  I turned around, away from the image of my father.

  “Don’t do it, Romilly. Don’t turn away from me.”

  I did not answer. I wanted to break into a run, but there was another figure up ahead in front of me. Even though fear began to find me again, I was at least happy about one thing – Beth and Toril were far away from this. If we had come in the forest together, I believed our group would have suffered more losses. We lost Jacinta because we trusted Troy, who was under the influence of Diabhal via his puppet Curie. I was done with ending up on the losing side.

  “Romilly!”

  The figure behind me rose in size and shadowed the night sky. The voice had changed somewhat, no longer needing to mask itself. It sounded like the boss of the demon inside my own body. Aware of its master, it began to wake once more.

  Up ahead, the figure in black spread its arms far and wide. The arms looked too slender to belong to a man, but they were definitely human.

  “I see,” said the huge cloaked figure behind me. “I see you, and I feel the need for a celebration. Come back to our family, Luna.”

  So that’s who it was. She was the one who had patched me up after Curie stabbed me.

  “Don’t lose your head, child,” she said. “Duck.”

  I did, but not a moment too soon as she fired a lightning bolt in the direction of the dark one, Diabhal.

  He raised a scythe into the night sky, preparing to bring it down on me.

  “If you come back to the Circle, our Circle, dear Luna, I will spare her life.”

  I turned to look at Diabhal, the cause of much of my torment, but Lunabelle slapped me so hard I hit the ground.

  “No child, do not let his eyes look into yours.”

  “There was a time you would enjoyed looking into my eyes, my dear witch.”

  Lunabelle showed no fear to Diabhal. I knew something was wrong with the entity presenting itself as my father, but the Devil himself? I found it hard to believe, and yet here we are.

  “Begone, Diabhal. Begone from these woods, and these lands. You have no power over us here.”

  “You can’t protect her, not all the time,” he said. “You need to be lucky at each and every turn. We only need to be lucky once. Don’t you see it’s hopeless?”

  Lunabelle thought it was interesting that he didn’t even mention the Mirror. I was unimportant to him. But the Mirror? That was everything to him.

  He doesn’t even know I have the Mirror, thought Lunabelle.

  If I could have read Lunabelle’s thoughts, news of that would have cheered me. She had the Mirror. It was safe. He didn’t even consider Lunabelle enough of a threat to destroy her.

  Maybe our luck was finally turning.

  ***

  “I’ll go, Luna, but only because I choose to. You may think you have saved your little friend there, but she carries one of my own. I’d try and force him out if I were you, because before you reach your destination, he will rip her apart. You will be powerless to stop it.”

  “I said begone!”

  Lunabelle uttered something in Wiccan and the forest howled at the mention of the word. It was enough to shift Diabhal back into the shadows, but he would be back. Of course he would. He had made a miscalculation though. I believed he thought we were going to east Gorswood, to Diabhal Takh, to destroy the place.

  I had no intention of going there.

  Lunabelle produced a vial from the seemingly endless array of pockets she had within her cloak. She tapped the vial with her wand, and the contents inside it sparkled. Finally, she poured the contents on to my lips, and I woke with a start, not recalling that she had knocked me out, but I remembered all the details with great clarity.

  “You understand now, don’t you child? Why I brought you here.”

  I thought Lunabelle was asking me something, but a witch who had been around a long time would be certain of what she was saying, and how she was saying it.

  “You’re making a statement,” I said. “You’re saying that you brought me here. But I have never met you before.”

  “Not formally,” smiled Lunabelle. “But we’ve met. I fixed you up after your caretaker man’s latest attack on you. My name is Lunabelle. You may call me Luna.”

  “Your name is from the Latin for the Moon.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And he called you Luna.”

  “Right again, Romilly. My friends call me Luna. Everyone else calls me ‘Belle. Only my mother really called me Lunabelle.”

  “I take it he is not your friend now?”

  “No child, he is not,” affirmed Lunabelle.

  “But you were inside his Circle, weren’t you?”

  I knew I was asking too many questions, and that here in the woods was perhaps not the best place to ask those questions.

  “I was, but I have learned the folly of blind loyalty. Now I have saved your life twice. I ask nothing of you, except to trust me, until we get to a place of safety. I have something to return to you, but first, we must remove that which is destroying your life.”

  “If you mean the demon, then use your powers to save Be- I mean, my friend.”

  “That may not be possible, child. This is usually a one time thing.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because once I force the demon out of you, it will have the power to kill me.”

  Demon One:

  Chapter 17

  Beth had not spoken for w
hat seemed like hours, but was more likely just over an hour. Toril had been flipping back and forth through her book, huffing and puffing when she couldn’t find a spell that she thought could work. Every now and then she would say “Oh maybe that’ll work,” and when Beth’s eyes brightened and was about to say something, Toril would sit back in her chair, looking all flustered.

  “No. That won’t work. I need…I need something else.”