by J. Thorn
“This is my duty,” she said. She thought she detected a lingering essence of humanity in its face, like a glimmer of flame in a distant campfire. The creature paused and stepped away from her. It looked to the sky and then over its shoulder into the woods before turning back to face her.
“I’m one badass Hunter,” she said, smiling to herself. “Fucker knows he’s going down.”
When seven more of Gaki’s minions stepped from the trees and hopped the guardrail, Sage understood exactly what the creature in front of her had been doing, and she cursed herself for being so unobservant. If she somehow survived the impending melee, she would never make the same mistake again.
***
The others loped forward on silent feet like the first one had. The all had the same spindly limbs and translucent, bluish-gray skin, but they were distinctive, as well. Two or three towered above the others, and each had unique facial features that Sage had neither the time nor the interest to explore. All of the creatures opened and closed their mouths, dripping blood, feces, and other indescribable fluids. They had answered the call of the first and now had come to its aid in the face of a Hunter.
“Fuck,” she said as the demons surrounded her on the empty highway. Sage looked from horizon to horizon but could not see the reflection of any light, let alone the penetrating beams of headlights. She realized she was standing in the middle of the highway in a remote area, in the middle of the night, surrounded by a tribe of hungry ghosts sent by Gaki to keep her from reaching Ravna. Sage giggled and shrugged.
“At least I’m not making a cappuccino for the forty-seventh time tonight.”
The demon she had almost struck with her car stepped forward, hissing and gnashing its teeth. The others followed its lead and circled around her.
Sage closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She calmed her breathing and brought her heart rate back down.
Good. Now you are remembering the training.
The mental feedback was what she needed. Sage opened her eyes, moving her hands into the defensive position taught by her Aikido instructor. Mashoka may have taught her the ways of the Hunter, but her sensei had taught her how to protect herself. She drew back, remembering to go with the movement, to step into the attack. Most Westerners who attempted the ancient Japanese martial art struggled with the intention. Unlike Judo or Karate, which had expressly offensive maneuvers, Aikido did not. The goal of Aikido was to not have to use Aikido. That was a paradox that Sage understood completely, and this was probably why the laws of the Hunter did not confuse her. She knew that by stepping into an attack and moving with the energy, she would survive.
The first hand touched her shoulder and yanked. She let the momentum carry her toward the creature, adding her entire body weight to it. It stumbled backwards and fell to the hard asphalt while the others moved closer. Each creature came at Sage, and each time she moved with the attack, turning it into a defensive maneuver. She kept her eyes closed most of the time, feeling rather than seeing. After a flurry of movements that brought sweat to her forehead, Sage opened her eyes to see the backs of the creatures moving away from her. All but the first had turned and were now moving through the trees, disappearing into the forest of rural Pennsylvania. The gaki that remained stared at her for a few seconds before following the others. In a matter of minutes, Sage stood alone on the dotted line of Interstate 81.
“I don’t get it.”
They were sent to slow you, but Gaki underestimated your ability.
Sage walked back to her car and slammed the door shut. She saw muted light coming over the horizon and looked at the dashboard, noticing that it read 2:58 a.m., the same time it had read when she put the car into a fishtail to avoid the demon running across the road.
She reached for her phone and decided that more Nine Inch Nails was in order.
***
Let us show you, dear.
The other apparitions moved behind the woman standing before Kelly in front of Robert’s body. She felt the temperature in the room drop dramatically, forcing her to shiver.
Watch.
Kelly closed her eyes and could see fog hanging on the Blue Ridge Mountains like a light shroud. She flew over the treetops, faster than a bird but lower than a commercial aircraft. She had the sensation of flight but also of being formless, like an observer in a place she did not belong.
Her progress slowed until she hovered above a clearing in the highlands of the mountains, a field nestled in the forest at the top of the ridge. Night was coming, and a fire spat sparks and flames upward along with black, oily smoke. Kelly could see several forms sitting around the fire and what appeared to be a wooden shack sitting along the tree line. It was 1699 in the most remote region of the British colonies.
As her presence descended, Kelly noticed that the figures around the fire were all women. They wore heavy fabrics, earth tones, their hair bundled high and their heads covered. A cauldron made of black cast iron sat atop the fire, and one of the women stirred the contents with a slow, steady hand.
“He done provided the finest eve for us.” The woman who spoke did so with a dialect from the forgotten past. She stood, and the others remained sitting.
“You’re here to sign the book. You’ll be sworn into his realm.” Another one of the women tossed something into the cauldron, bringing a flash of light that quickly subsided. Kelly could see their faces in that split-second illumination. She recognized the look, having seen it in Robert’s face so many times.
The woman continued speaking.
Concupitio mala, tu nequamquam dilige Christum.
>Daemona secteris, nec pete salvifcum.
Despicias, rogo te, Christum: nec tempore toto
Conspice praesentem te fore judicio.
Veridicos preme, nec laudes, sed carpere gesta
Quaerito cujusvis, non tua respicias.
Dispereas male, ne quaeras tu coelica, verum
Crimine frangaris, ne fuge delicias.
Kelly could not decipher what was being said but knew enough to know that it was probably Latin. As if reading her mind, the vision rewound and she heard the woman speak again, this time in English.
Lust after evil, and do not at all love Christ.
You follow the devil; do not seek Him who gives salvation.
Despise Christ, I beg you, and realize
that never will you stand before a judgment.
Suppress those who speak the truth,
and do not praise the deeds of anyone, but seek to slander them.
Do not consider your own; let your end be an evil one.
Do not seek the things of heaven;
Let yourself be broken by crime.
Do not shun pleasures of the flesh.
The women sitting around the fire dropped their wool coats to the ground, exposing their naked flesh to the night. Kelly turned away, the scene more frightening than sexual. Another shadow moved from the shack toward the group, clothed in a hooded robe.
“Tonight you shall sign His book.”
The man was Floyd Williams. He should not have been born for another two hundred years, yet here he was in a vision of the distant past. Kelly sighed, hovering above the scene that became more confusing with each passing moment.
The woman who had spoken in Latin, and then again in English, walked over to Floyd and put her arm around him. She opened her mouth, a black tongue caressing his lips in a profane embrace. Floyd’s robe opened to where his jutting erection stood upright, the head touching the pubic area of the woman. Kelly gagged with revulsion. Floyd took the woman in his embrace, his hands massaging her long, thin breasts. The other women stood and walked over, surrounding the two pawing at each other like wild beasts. The woman with the black tongue turned around, putting her back to Floyd. She bent down, her hands grasping her ankles. He moved behind her and began thrusting, knocking her hair from the bun and closer to the flames. The other women watched as he drove into her again and again, his face twisting in a sickening scow
l.
Kelly’s attention wavered, not wanting to see how the cursed copulation would end. The powers that flew her over the scene would not allow it. They forced her eyes to him as Floyd came. His head reared back, exposing a sweaty, hairy chest. He howled with his hands holding the woman by the hips, keeping himself embedded in her. The others began to rub themselves. Even the older women, gray and toothless, placed a hand between their legs.
“Why?” Kelly asked. “Why are you showing this to me?”
It was then that her question was answered. She looked back at Floyd, and he was no longer Floyd. Floyd was now devoid of hair, with a bulbous, distended stomach resting on the top of the woman’s buttocks as he pushed every last inch of himself inside her. His translucent skin glowed with a sickly, blue tint, and his arms looked like a rubber hose stretched impossibly thin. Floyd’s mouth or the creature’s mouth—Kelly could not tell them apart—opened to reveal nothing more than tiny teeth. Around that hole, dark, foul liquids had been smeared across the skin. The other women were not bothered by the hideous transformation, or were not aware of it. They continued rubbing themselves with soiled hands.
“Gaki,” Kelly said. “The hungry ghost. Preta.”
“Yes,” replied the forces keeping her there. “This is Preta’s Realm.”
Kelly closed her eyes and felt dead air circle around her. When she opened them, she was back in the room. Robert’s corpse was on the floor, and she began to detect the first rotten smells coming from it. She looked around and saw nothing in the house. Kelly listened for the wolves but could not hear them, either. She sighed, not surprised at the intensity of the nightmare, given her current predicament. The moon had slid farther down the sky, dawn being only several hours away. Kelly smiled and, for a moment, thought she just might make it, until the name came to her tongue from a very distant time and place.
“Gaki.”
***
Ravna smiled. He felt Karen. He would never be able to explain how, and then he laughed. How could he really explain anything that had happened in his life over the past year and a half? He had recovered from the fight with Gaki and then went on with his life after Drew escaped, knowing full well they would meet again. Ravna remembered the feeling of Drew’s empty room in the mental hospital, and the discovery of his name written in blood. He had managed to meet Karen and enjoy a wonderful six months with her until Jasper took her from him. Ravna let his smile fade at the thought of Jasper. It had not really been his fault any more than it had been Drew’s. Sure, they were weak in a way that allowed Gaki inside, but blaming the victim would get him nowhere. He would settle up someday, somehow, and Ravna felt like Doug might be the one most likely to help him do that.
He knew Karen was in the room, and even though she did not speak to him, he recognized the love and forgiveness she shared. She was telling him that it wasn’t his fault, any of it. She was thankful he had been able to end her suffering in the most humane way possible, given the situation. Ravna began to cry, but he quickly turned them into tears of joy. Karen had passed through a Portal. He would not have felt her spirit if she hadn’t. That meant she’d go another round through the Cycle. Karen was soft and kindhearted and clearly would not be extinguished like the fire that had taken her mortal remains.
He also became aware of something else. Gaki was no longer across the hall. The corporal energy, the kind that bound him to this world, was gone. Ravna knew better than to think the hungry ghost had simply vanished. Drew was gone, and the flesh that held Gaki was as well, but the demon was on the move again. Ravna felt the spread of the insatiable desire through the town, feasting and feeding on the weak. Pine Valley was more susceptible than other places, and Ravna wondered if Gaki had planned that when he consumed Jasper, or if it had been a random, opportunistic moment. It didn’t matter now. The demon was spreading its corruption, and that meant tainting more flesh than that of a single human. Gaki had amplified his greed, which was now increasing like an aggressive virus. If the hungry ghost was not dealt with soon, Ravna feared the consequences for the rest of the souls inhabiting this Portal, many of which would not step through to another.
As the machines clicked and purred above his bed in the ICU ward of University General, Ravna also felt another Hunter within proximity. This one was young, inexperienced, but with a spirit that would not be denied. He paused, searching the cosmos for her energy until he felt it nearby.
Sage.
He laughed, shocked that he had not detected her sooner. The days he had spent in the coffee shop and the times he was there with Mashoka, he had been so consumed by his own training that he had not detected her. There were moments of physical attraction, and given the age difference, nobody would blame him for the harmless flirtations. But knowing he’d had her so close when he could have used her energy made him feel a bit remorseful, and he hoped she would have a chance to help change that. Yes, Sage was on the way, and Ravna felt better about their chances, until the next feminine spirit entered his world. A woman named Kelly was there, too, and he could not yet tell which way her tendencies would fall, although Gaki had already started mind-fucking her. Perhaps it would be too much for her to resist. Then there was the police officer. Ravna turned, pulling a tube from his arm and setting off a series of alarms. The nurses came rushing in and quickly rectified the situation, but Ravna now felt worse. Doug was green, and so was Sage. If Gaki was aligning strength through the corruption of spirit, all might be lost.
Chapter 9
In the early 1990s, renegade filmmaker Freddy Fanning set up cameras inside Williams’ Place to film what he believed to be “real” ghosts. Pine Valley turned its back on the crew, forcing them to pack their own meals and explore the terrain without a local guide. The old timers in Caroling County refused to acknowledge their history, claiming Fanning and his crew were only there to cash in on the sensationalism of the story with Hollywood’s sickening embellishments. In one of the first “found footage” films to go to market, Fanning relied on actors holding handheld cameras. They filmed themselves moving through the house and playing amongst the rotting headstones in the cemetery. With the new technology known as the “Internet” breaking globally, Fanning used the momentum to create a buzz about the film, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. Some believed the actors were ghost hunters, and others thought they were there to make a low-budget horror film. Freddy Fanning did nothing to dispel either story. He used the publicity to his advantage, and when filming was in full swing in the fall of 1991, those in the media were not sure what to believe, either.
The first disappearance inside the house was attributed to Fanning and his PR machine rolling through Virginia and planting stories in the local newspapers. Caroling County was buzzing with possibilities, and even the deputy became involved. The elders in Pine Valley, the ones who had shunned the media attention in the first place, were the first to claim that the disappearance had been perpetrated by none other than Floyd Williams. Inside News and Entertainment Nightly rushed to the scene, interviewing other cast members but not getting an audience with Fanning, who had been spotted drunk and disorderly at the local watering hole near the abandoned company town in Pine Valley. His agent kept the enigmatic filmmaker hidden from the cameras in a bitter stroke of irony. The police concluded that the disappearance was nothing but a stunt and refused to waste man hours on an investigation, especially in a small town devastated by the company closing and the rapid emergence of a systemic drug war on its streets. They refused to comment or even file a report until the second cast member disappeared the following week.
When the third actor disappeared in the fourth week of shooting, Fanning was forced to close up shop and move to a soundstage in LA to finish the film. The families of the missing actors sued, injunctions were filed, and civil suits were launched, yet Freddy Fanning refused to be stopped. The story would be told, and the film would be released.
When The Haunting of Caroling County debuted in 1993, the film in
stantly found a home amongst the occult classics. Horror enthusiasts raved about it while the general public debated its authenticity. Fanning created an accompanying website, further fueling speculation that the film was real and that Caroling County was, in fact, haunted. The media eventually moved on to more sensational stories, and Hollywood went full speed into the CG era shortly thereafter.
Fanning shoved the end of a loaded twelve-gauge shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger on April 5th, 1994. His suicide note was a seven-page rambling manifesto. The three missing actors from The Haunting of Caroling County were never found.
***
“Where the hell’re you taking us, Gramps? We ain’t suckin’ no dick, if that’s what yer fruity ass’s got in mind.”
Frank walked behind the four teenagers, smiling but not saying a word. He had parked the truck at the side of the service station where Jasper used to leave his. The boys complained about walking, not used to activities not involving a piece of electronics or a handgun.
“Yeah, fuck that gay shit,” one said. The others nodded to confirm they had absolutely no homosexual tendencies.
“I need you to find something for me. Something lost.”
“Like one of yer hard-ons?”
The boys laughed at the joke made by the driver.
Frank ignored them and continued. “It’s in a cave, an item lost long ago that I must find.”
The boys looked at each other and kept walking. They did not want their parents called or, worse yet, to have the police show up and issue them a citation that would make its way back to the insurance company, which would cancel their policy. In a small, rural town like Pine Valley, the boys needed their wheels.
“We don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no cave up here,” the driver said.
“What’s yer name, son?”
“Bob.”
“I’m serious,” replied Frank. “What’s your goddamn name?”
