by A. R. Wise
314
Book 3
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2014 Aaron Wise
Cover art by Lauren Patrick and AR Wise
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
PART ONE – A New Game
CHAPTER 1 – Suffer the Children
CHAPTER 2 – Watch
CHAPTER 3 – Alma Harper
CHAPTER 4 – No Such Thing as Truth
CHAPTER 5 – Fewer Players
CHAPTER 6 – Practice Makes Perfect
CHAPTER 7 – The CORD
CHAPTER 8 – The Ship
CHAPTER 9 – The Right Door
CHAPTER 10 – A Gift
PART TWO – With New Rules
CHAPTER 11 – All in the Name
CHAPTER 12 - Sacrifices
CHAPTER 13 – Skeletons
CHAPTER 14 – Rest in Peace
CHAPTER 15 - Liars
CHAPTER 16 – Back Again
CHAPTER 17 – No Witnesses
CHAPTER 18 – An Offering
PART THREE – And No Winners
CHAPTER 19 – Loose Ends
CHAPTER 20 – Burn It All
CHAPTER 21 – Beneath the Cords
CHAPTER 22 –This Might Hurt
CHAPTER 23 – Wherever That Takes Us
CHAPTER 24 – Are They All Dead?
CHAPTER 25 – At the End
CHAPTER 26 – Hidden Truth
CHAPTER 27 - Lambs to the Slaughter
CHAPTER 28 – Cogs in the Machine
CHAPTER 29 – 3:14 on March 14th
CHAPTER 30 – I Want to Watch
CHAPTER 31 – It Begins Again
AUTHOR’S NOTE
PART ONE – A New Game
March 15th, 2012
“So you don’t believe in ghosts?” asked Wendell.
Pierce groaned and shook his head. “Look man, we’ve been through this before. Sorry, but I don’t believe in that sort of thing. Never have, never will.”
“Even after all the stuff I sent you?” Wendell loaded his paper plate with the pizza that had just been delivered. He’d invited his friend over to drink beers and watch a bad movie, a tradition they’d shared ever since they were in high school.
“Those videos can be manipulated, bro,” said Pierce. He was standing in front of the fridge, grabbing a couple of the beers he’d brought over. “You can’t believe everything you see online.”
“All right, all right,” said Wendell as he licked sauce off his thumb after setting his paper plate down beside the pizza box. “Then I’ve got another one I want you to see.” Wendell was determined to convince his friend. He grabbed his laptop and flipped it open.
Pierce sighed and then laughed as Wendell’s computer booted. “There’s no video you’re going to show me that’s going to convince me of anything, man. I mean, come on, that shit’s all fake.”
“Most of it,” said Wendell as he nodded in agreement. “But not all of it.”
“No, all of it is,” said Pierce. “Those shows they’ve got on TV, with those jackasses running around haunted places, jumping every time the wind blows and saying it’s proof of ghosts – you’re really telling me you believe that shit.”
“I’m saying there’s more to life than we know,” said Wendell. “That’s all. You can go around pretending like you know everything, or whatever, but I’m just saying you should keep an open mind.”
“An open mind’s one thing,” said Pierce as he used the bottle opener on his keychain to pop the tops off both beers. “Letting yourself get lied to is a whole other story.”
Wendell just responded with a half-hearted “Sure,” as he waited for his computer to boot.
Pierce set Wendell’s beer down beside the computer and then walked around to the other side of the island in the kitchen, opposite his friend. Wendell’s face was illuminated by the computer screen, and was changing color as he navigated the web.
“This is the site I wanted you to see,” said Wendell.
“All right,” said Pierce. “Let’s get it over with.”
“They’ve got a video on here where this hot chick is touring this old, abandoned place, and you can totally see a ghost in the background.”
“Okay,” said Pierce as he made his way back around to stand beside Wendell. “Let’s see it.”
“Yeah, hold on a sec,” said Wendell, preoccupied as he read something else on the site. He pointed at the screen and said, “This is new. This just popped up. They haven’t had anything new on the site in a while, but they just posted this video.”
“Click it,” said Pierce.
Wendell pressed play.
“Hi, my name’s Rachel Knight,” said the woman in the video.
“You were right,” said Pierce. “She’s hot.”
Wendell hushed his friend.
Rachel continued, “We’re recording this on March 13th, 2012, in the basement of a facility owned by a company named Cada E.I.B.”
CHAPTER 1 – Suffer the Children
Widowsfield
March 14th, 1996
Ben was lost in the fog.
He cried out, but no one answered. He yelled his sister’s name, but she didn’t remember him anymore. He even tried to call for his father, but he knew Michael wouldn’t come looking for him.
There was a constant din of metallic sound, like the grinding of gears as a great machine fell apart somewhere far off. Ben was walking through something wet, but he couldn’t see the ground through the thick, swirling fog. For a moment he thought he saw the glow of a sunrise in the distance, but then, as if in response to his glance, the clamor of machines grew more intense and the fog swelled to block out the light.
The grind of metal revealed a sudden, familiar rhythm that might’ve been words. Ben tried to walk towards the noise, but he never seemed to get any closer. And every time he caught a glimpse of the warm glow of the sunrise, the fog would move to intercept him. He felt like he was tumbling through the ether, despite being able to feel the ground beneath his bare feet.
Again, the metallic grind came in the rhythm of speech, and this time he thought he heard his name. At the same moment, his face began to tingle, as if something wet and warm had fallen on it. He touched his cheek and felt a hot wetness that confused him. When he looked at the tip of his finger, he saw blood there.
“I’m hurt?” asked Ben, but his confusion quickly turned to fear as the pain came back. It wasn’t just the pain that returned, but also his memory of what had happened. He felt his cheeks burning as blisters formed, and he tasted the caustic soup he’d poured into the tub to try and burn away the corpse of the woman his father told him he’d murdered.
Ben screamed in pain, but his voice was nearly lost, an echo from far off, barely heard through the fog that shrouded everything. His teeth began to chatter from the pain, and his hands were shaking as he watched the blisters form on his arms. As the pain grew worse, he began to see a break in the fog ahead. He ran to it, hoping for any sort of salvation from the agony he was being forced to endure.
At first, the only thing he could perceive within the fog was a square of darkness, but as he got closer he began to make out shapes. He was within a massive, rectangular room, but the edges were distorted by the fog. He could feel the cold wood beneath his fe
et, and he looked down to see that the mist had begun to dissipate. Far in the distance he saw what appeared to be a bed with a young boy sitting at the edge, and in front of him was a man.
The metallic grind finally formed words, “Would you bleed the lamb?”
A crash of metal silenced the scene and the fog swelled again, blinding Ben as he tried to run forward. It felt like he’d fallen face first into a fire pit and was struggling to push himself free as the flames licked at his eyes. The skin on his arms continued to bubble from the heat and he watched as the boils burst, leaking bloody pus that dripped down to his elbows. He clawed at his face, desperate to peel away the fire, desperate to be free of this agony.
“You must bind him,” said the voice again, but this time it sounded closer than before.
Ben cried out, “Daddy, help!”
“Ben?” asked Michael Harper.
Ben tried again to call out for help, but this time a sudden crash of metal silenced him. The fog swept in and grasped at Ben, like a cold rush of air from a freezer on a scorching, summer day. The fog soothed his pain. It covered his face and pulled away the agony, giving Ben a reprieve from his torture.
Then the fog cleared again, but this time in a new direction. He couldn’t see the bedroom anymore, but was instead staring out at rocky terrain that was dotted with scant, wiry brush. The white fog continued to dominate the area, as if intent on blocking out the sun’s warmth, and as Ben walked, the fog stayed beneath him.
There was a path that led through the brown rocks that dotted the parched earth, and Ben followed it until he caught sight of something moving ahead. There was a lamb cowering in a bush ahead, and it stopped and stared down at Ben. The creature became taut, as if ready to flee, but stayed where it was and waited for Ben to make the first move.
Ben tried to comfort the frightened creature, but his words were lost within the fog.
Then he heard his own voice cry out from far off, “Daddy, no!” He looked up the hill and saw a man with a knife stabbing down at a bound shape on an altar. The man was at least fifty feet ahead of where the lamb was hiding, but the frightened animal reacted to the thrusts of the knife as if it were the one being stabbed. The creature yelped in pain, but stayed where it was in the bush. The man ahead stabbed back down a second time, and again the lamb reacted as if pained, but didn’t flee. The creature stayed where it was, screaming in pain, and its off-white wool suddenly bloomed with bright red blood.
The lamb quaked where it stood as its body burst blood that quickly streamed across the dusty earth. Ahead, the man on the hill continued his sacrifice to appease his vengeful God.
Ben couldn’t look away. He wanted to turn and flee, but he was trapped within the fog. He was forced to stare at the lamb as it continued to bleed. The creature’s eyes locked on Ben, but then blood began to seep from its nostrils. Its glassy eyes were gushing fluid that started clear, but quickly turned to blood. The lamb’s eyes bulged and popped forth from its skull. The bulbs dangled from the creature’s head by white cords that suddenly snapped and let the eyes plop down into the blood that fed the thirsty dirt.
As if suddenly freed, the lamb finally began to walk. It shambled forth, weak and feeble, and its front legs crumpled, sending the creature’s face slamming to the blood-wet dirt. It let forth a deep howl of pain as it pushed itself back to its knees and then tried to get back to a standing position. Its quivering legs finally found the strength to stand, but Ben noticed that the creature didn’t have hooves; it had human hands. The bloodied hands looked like they belonged to a child. Then the animal collapsed again, but this time with its front legs stretched out in front of it. The tiny hands clawed at the ground and pulled the shambling mass of wool and flesh forward. As it moved, parts of the creature were being torn away and left behind, and as the wool was ripped away, Ben saw a naked, human boy pulling himself away from the corpse.
The child’s head was down, and his dark hair was mopped with the blood of the creature he was crawling free of. Then the boy looked up at Ben, and revealed that his eyes were missing. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but his jaw continued to extend until he was a grotesque impression of a human face that had been warped and broken.
A child’s voice whispered in Ben’s ear, “Suffer the children.”
The fog released Ben and he turned in shock and fear to try and see who it was that had spoken to him. As he turned, the fog swept back in, blinding him from everything but its presence. He tried to scream out, but his voice was barely audible.
A black cord pierced the fog ahead and shot out at him. It grasped his wrists and then quickly bound them together. He felt himself being pulled forward rapidly, and the fog zipped past him as he found himself suddenly sitting again on the edge of Terry’s bed as his father wrapped the black wire around Ben’s wrists.
“Bind the lamb,” said Michael Harper as Ben was hoisted into the air.
All the pain and suffering returned as the fog abated. Ben was left staring at the smiling visage of his father. Ben was the lamb that was sacrificed that day, and Michael was absolved of sin. Ben’s pain was his father’s salvation.
“Suffer the children, for they know not yet of fear. We will teach them.”
Branson
3:14 am
March 13th, 2012
Ben Harper wanted to boil his father alive. He wanted to peel his skin off and pour bleach in the wounds. He wanted to drown him in a tub of chemicals and blood. Michael Harper would pay for what he did. Through all the years he’d been stuck in The Watcher’s prison, Ben Harper had dreamt of this moment.
“You left me to suffer,” said Ben as he stood from his wheelchair. He was no longer bound by the frail prison he’d suffered within on the trip here. Michael had made the mistake of stepping into a place where The Skeleton Man held reign. “You cast me into Hell so that you could escape. But I’ve come back, and I’ve got so many things to teach you about pain. Before this is over, I’ll murder you in a thousand different ways.”
Ben felt his skin shedding as he walked, leaving the husk behind him. He was slick with his own blood, and he looked down in wonder at the musculature that emerged. Parts of him were sliding off, like skin off a boiled chicken. The muscles beneath looked like they were made of white thread, and blue veins snaked along his arm. He pinched one of the veins and pulled it away. When it snapped free, he tossed it to the ground at his father’s feet. The vein writhed like a leech, growing long and suctioning one end to the floor so that it could pull its other half along in a looping motion.
Ben Harper’s skeletal frame, formerly trapped in the wheelchair, too weak to move, now lunged forward. His skin hung from him like wet clothes from a line, and his yellowed teeth were bared as he screamed. His eyes were globes, with lumps of gelatinous pus and Vaseline around the lids. His pupils were pinpricks of black in the center, focused on his father as the wraith stampeded the space between them.
Michael tried to scream, but his voice was muffled.
Ben collided with his father, and he bore a strength that his weak body shouldn’t have afforded. He threw the older man back, causing him to crash against the stove. Then Ben rose taller. He reared back, with his hands splayed like the claws of a beast, and he cried out in fury.
Michael reached back and gripped the handle of the pot of boiling water. He raised the pot, intent on flinging the contents at the monster, but the handle warped as if melting. As his arms swung forward, the pot lost its shape, as if he’d grasped a pot of clay that hadn’t been fired. The boiling contents spilled out onto his arm, searing his flesh as he screamed in agony.
A bubble of air rose from Michael’s mouth, as if they were both stuck at the bottom of pool. Michael stared at the bubble in shock and surprise, and then the sound of rushing water became suddenly louder, as if a flood was moments away from overcoming them both.
“No,” said Ben as he clawed at his father. “Don’t wake up!”
Michael burst from the tub, gasping an
d flailing. The water was still running, and he surged forward to shut it off. Water splashed over the side of the tub and to the towel that he’d spread out for a mat. He coughed up water and pulled himself to a seated position.
Ben was sitting in his wheelchair, still in the same spot where Michael had placed him – still staring in at his father. Michael realized that he’d fallen asleep in the tub, and that the nightmare hadn’t been real. He struggled to erase the sense of fear that had gripped him, and sat heavily on the toilet as he pulled another towel off the rack behind him.
“Son of a bitch,” he said between gasps as he wiped off his face. “I almost drowned.” He laughed, more out of embarrassment than humor, and shook his head while looking at his son. “Did you see that, kid? Your dad almost drowned and there would’ve been nothing you could’ve done.” He blew his nose into the towel. “Think of that, kid. You would’ve been fucked for sure. Who’d take care of you if something happened to me? Huh?”
Ben’s tongue flopped in his open mouth. His wide eyes stared at Michael, and he was issuing a pained gurgle, as if trying to speak. His hands shook and his fingers tried in vain to grip his armrest.
“You all right?” asked Michael. “Were you scared?” He stood, nude and dripping, and tossed the wet towel into his son’s lap. “Were you scared you were about to lose the only person in the world that gives a shit about you?”
Ben quivered. His Adam’s apple rose and fell as his tongue flicked in his parched mouth. His gaze followed Michael as the meth addict walked past.
“That sure was a hell of a dream,” said Michael as he fell heavily upon the bed, near the entrance to their suite. He perched himself up against the pillows and picked up the television remote to turn on the set on the dresser that faced the bed. His gun was also on the dresser, with the barrel pointed his way.
Ben turned his head and stared at his father, still clicking his tongue in a desperate attempt to speak.
“Oh, I’m sorry kid. You probably don’t want to sit there staring at me all night.” Michael got up and jiggled his exposed genitals. “I like to air dry.” He laughed as if the two of them had shared a joke. Michael had found a nurse’s smock in the back of the car he’d stolen from the lady in Widowsfield and was planning on wearing it once dry. The smock had a faint odor of gasoline on it, as if the nurse had an accident while filling her gas tank, but he didn’t let that bother him. It would be nice to wear something clean instead of the dingy t-shirt he’d had on for days already.
