Witch Hunter: Into the Outside

by J. Z. Foster

  But somehow, he knew Beth was wrong. “Something’s down here.” He took two steps forward. “I can feel it.” Something pulled at his soul, something that was trying to warn him, to speak with him, but he didn’t know what it was.

  It’s watching you.

  “Richard?” He heard her but could no more slow his feet than he could stop the call to move forward. He dragged Beth a few steps before she caught up.

  “Can’t you smell it? Feel it?” He took in a breath of musky air and held the candle up as they moved past another heap of rusted trash. He turned back to look at Beth and sank into her eyes, unsure of what he was feeling.

  Is this a curse? Did it get me too? Is it compelling me?

  Something clattered at the other end of the basement, causing Richard to nearly yank Beth off her feet when he jumped.

  I’m the witch hunter. I can’t jump at noises. I need to be strong, for Beth.

  They wove through the strewn-about trash maze, avoiding the sharp edges that stretched to greet them as their candlelight illuminated the back stone wall of the basement. Richard leaned down and placed his candle on the floor. “Beth, can you shine the light here?” He didn’t know how or why, but as sure as a hook and line in his lip, he was drawn there.

  Beth turned the light up onto the wall and Richard raised his hand to touch the stone; it was smooth and cold. He rubbed his fingers together, feeling a layer of grime that had come from the wall.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know.” Richard moved farther down and stopped.

  Erlend Boberg.

  Richard found the name carved into the stone, inked in red that leaked from the edges and down the stone. It swallowed him as he stared at it. A simple thing that he knew meant more than it appeared.

  “What is it, Richard?”

  He hesitated. “I think it’s the witch’s name.” He drew in a deep breath. He couldn’t find it in himself to say it aloud.

  This is power. This is its strength.

  Beth didn’t have such troubles. “Erlend Boberg?”

  Something in the darkness replied. Rusted metal dragged against rusted metal, screeching a hail of terror. Richard felt Beth spin around and aim her light into the dark. Two small green orbs shone and floated in the abyss of the basement. The orbs became eyes as a creature moaned and whimpered, stepping out from darkness, between them and the stairs.

  Its skin was a putrid white. It wore tattered rags and was covered with boils and patches of coarse, black hair. When it spoke, Richard could hear the menace in its voice. “Long has the age been since I’ve last feasted on the living.” Its lips curled up, showing splintered teeth. Its back arched as it pounded forward, with the knuckles of one long hand beneath it like a third leg, and the other three-fingered hand reached toward them. “Your flesh will relieve me from the torment of my hunger.”

  Richard stumbled back, his shoes sliding in the slop of the dirt. They couldn’t fight it; he didn’t even know how to fight it. His brain raced, trying to find something, anything, he could do. He didn’t want Beth to die here in this cold basement. He refused to freeze again. He refused to fail Beth. He refused to die.

  Do something! Do something!

  He fumbled for words, and they spilled out. “I uh, I have a Snickers in the car.”

  The creature halted. Beth’s light shone up to find its face, but it didn’t seem to mind. Its features twisted even more horribly as it spoke. “You would snigger at me? The memories of your death throes shall fill the enjoyment of my slumber!”

  “What…? No!” Richard pulled Beth back against the stone wall. “No, no! It’s a candy bar! A Snickers is a candy bar! It’s chocolate with nougat and peanuts and caramel and I think there’s usually like some cream mixed in…”

  Run! Run!

  Its soulless eyes fixed on his. “Caramel?”

  “Yeah.” Beth took up Richard’s pitch. “I have some other things too, in my purse outside.”

  The flesh pulled tightly on its face, making it difficult for Richard to see if it was angry or curious. It twisted its head up to an odd angle. “In what measure could this Snickers be compared? What manner of beast surrenders its flesh toward this Snickers that it may be more delicious than that of the meat of man? I know not of any creature of nougat.”

  Work the sale, work the sale.

  Richard took a breath and breathed fire into his nerves. His hands didn’t twitch; he wouldn’t let them. His feet stayed strong on the ground; he refused to let them do otherwise. Something was different in him, something he had never known before but had come just at this moment.

  “Have you ever had chocolate before? It’s not made of flesh. It’s made of some kind of bean thing I guess? I don’t really know. It’s a bean thing, right? With milk?”

  “Yeah.” Beth agreed, but stayed a foot back. “It’s really sweet and I think I have a can of chips in the van too…”

  Richard didn’t know what the thing was, or why it was there in that basement, but he did know one thing about it.

  “Chips?”

  It’s an adventurous eater.

  Chapter 6

  “Listen here now, boy. You mean to tell me you got yourself face to face with a wight and you talked your way outta having your ass on the dinner menu by giving it a Snickers and some ‘tater chips?”

  “Yeah.” Richard squinted. “Wait, how’d you know it was a wight?”

  “I got HBO, son. Bit of a Thrones fan myself.” He laughed. “So you mean to tell me that if we go back there we’ll find ourselves an old gangly creepy sumbitch hiding out there in that basement, munching down some junk food?”

  “No, no you wouldn’t.”

  Minges simply stared at Richard, waiting for him to elaborate.

  “Well, we talked with him.” Richard sheepishly looked away. “I had a snack pack in my bag in the van. Witch hunts are usually a lot more ‘low key’ than this one. I mean, usually we just walk around in the woods or an abandoned house while I say a few words in Latin and flash my light around asking people ‘Did you hear that?’ or ‘Did you see that!’ But now I’ve got a knife that’s pointing me through haunted woods, a ghost possessing our cameraman, and a wight that wants to eat my face but likes the taste of honey butter more!”

  “Listen, son!” Minges brought him back. “Calm yourself and let’s get back on track now, you hear? So, where we at? You persuaded this wight not to start chomping down on some man-meat in exchange for… snacks. So you went to the car, grabbed that snack-pack you were hoarding, snuck past some angry cameraman that’s God-knows-where at this point to go back into the basement and have a discussion with a creature that clawed its way out of hell. Am I right so far?”

  Richard shrugged and looked down at the table. He couldn’t quite believe it himself. “Well it sounds stupid when you say it all like that.”

  “Yeah, well. Whatever. We need to make sure that we have all this craziness at least in an organized fashion to present our case of you as a brainwashed lunatic deserving of some special care, not a lethal injection in that fat arm of yours.”

  Richard stared at the cracks on the wall of the cell. “What a nightmare.”

  “Just you leave that nightmare talk to me son. I’mma paint this whole picture as one big nightmare for you. Juries love this kinda shit. But. Let’s continue to elaborate. Tell me now, son, what’d that rottin’ wight fella talk to you about?”

  “Hunny budda? Such a treat must have led to many great wars to secure it amongst the most powerful empires of man. You have done well, male, to bestow such a gift upon me.” The wight plunged his hand into the bag and pulled out a handful of honeycomb-shaped snacks and shoveled them into his mouth. A bounty of snacks was placed before the wight, all that Richard had plus a pack of crackers that was in Beth’s purse.

  “Oh yeah, Honey Butter is a big thing coming on right now.” He gave a proud grin and shrugged his shoulders. “I get those chips from an import store. They�
�re from Korea. You have to pay a little extra, but you can spend half as much for something that tastes half as good. But are you looking for a meal, or are you looking to enjoy yourself? That’s my thoughts on it.” Richard knew this was all insane, but he couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even understand it himself. Their mutual love for exquisite snacks was uncanny.

  The wight bobbed its head. It plunged a crumb-covered hand into the bag again and pulled it back empty. It started to lick its fingers with a tongue the color of spoiled meat. “A king’s fortune!” it said between licks. “A king’s fortune for such a bountiful treasure.”

  Richard watched the wight proudly before Beth pulled his hand. She motioned to him that it was time to go. She’d sat there, silent and patient, while Richard and the wight had quietly discussed the finer points of the flavor of BBQ chips versus sea-salt bitterness.

  He’s not so bad, when you get to know him.

  Richard cleared his throat. “So, a wight, huh? What’s a wight doing here? I mean, why are you in this basement? Why aren’t you out raiding villages and plundering homes like the old stories? Why are you trying to eat anyone that comes here?”

  The wight glared for a moment before turning again to rip at the next bag. He seemed uncaring if the chips fell to the floor; he simply reached his inhumanly long arm to grab them without so much as bending over. “The last of your line of questioning should be clear. I hunger, so I eat what I may.” It grabbed a few chips from the ground and dropped them into its maw. “As for the others...” It turned and then stretched its arm, several feet in length, before it pointed a finger toward the name, Erlend Boberg, on the wall.

  “He put you here?” Beth cut in. “Why’d he do that?”

  “Warden of the Calling. His name.” The wight nodded. “It is not a rarity for warlocks of sufficient power to imprison the likes of myself as a keeper.” He presented his teeth in a fanged and disgusted snarl. “I was enslaved, dragged in from the pit to the realm of man and chained to this hellish prison.” He bit through and noisily chewed a candy bar without unwrapping it.

  “So you’re just left here to guard his name?” Ever the reporter, Beth persisted. “That’s what Warden of the Calling is?”

  “Such revelations surprise you female? A name holds power. It connects and gives form to a thing. With a name, a thing can be called upon. It can be controlled. This much I know of the rules of witchcraft.”

  “But why would he write it on a wall if it’s so powerful? Why leave something like that out to be found?” Beth’s gaze darted between Richard and the wight.

  The wight simply stared at Beth before turning its head to Richard.

  “Ah, she’s new to this sort of thing.” Richard said calmly. He cleared his throat as the wight resumed eating. “There’s certain, uh, rules—restrictions, maybe—that the Other World must adhere to. The warlock’s name is here for him to garner power. How, or why exactly here, I don’t know. But there’s nothing in the lore of them doing something like writing it on a piece of paper and throwing it into the ocean or putting it into a safe deposit box.”

  The wight burped and continued eating. Beth shook her head in disgust. “So what do we do next, Richard? We have his name, but Ted’s still running around out there, God knows where, and now… this.” She tipped her head at the wight.

  “Oh yeah,” Richard chirped. “We were looking for some bones from the ghost upstairs. Any idea where they might be?”

  “Bones of the fallen? I know nothing of a spectre among these grounds. Nor of bones laid here amongst my humble domain. Likely a spook drawn or forced here by the warlock.”

  “Damn.” Richard stomped a foot. “I don’t know what to do then, Beth.” He considered for a moment. “What can we call you, by the way?”

  The wight had bent to the floor and was now clawing beneath a piece of furniture for a chip that had fallen there. It looked up toward Richard and spoke in a monstrous, gargling noise. “To properly say my name, you must separate your tongue into three sections of equal length and master the language of Abyssal, with its various overlaying and under-lapping mouthing postures.”

  His throat went dry; the look of the wight grew suddenly uncomfortable. He shelved the fear. “Oh, I see.” Richard smiled politely. “Mr. Wight then. How’s that? Would you happen to know what we could do for our friend? He’s possessed and moving about somewhere around here with a weapon. How can we exorcise the ghost?”

  “Simplicity would demand you dash his skull with a blunt object. Typically, at the base of the skull. I’ve found men to detach from their head with ease when proper strength is applied to the base of the skull. Spirits find the dead difficult to inhabit. Perhaps with a large bludgeoning weapon? Or something with a proper, narrow focal point would be best in exorcising this spectre from your friend.”

  “Oh yeah? Hadn’t thought of that one.” Richard gave a scratchy laugh. “But we were thinking of more of a way where he’d still live and we could leave with him. So we’d rather not have to crack his skull or anything, you know?”

  “Are you angel-touched, or dragon-tongued? Hmm? Have you any tears of saints? Perhaps powdered devil’s bone, or lycanthrope blood? No? Water blessed of a holy man?”

  “That one!” Richard nodded his head. “We have holy water!” He was still gripping Beth’s hand as he reached down into his bag and pulled it out.

  “Under the proper use of incantations, a spirit will find itself unable to retain the bounds of the host should the host first ingest this holiest of waters.” It stretched out one of its long, pointed fingers at the small bottle. “Drain this within the host’s mouth-hole. Do not be confused or attempt to insert through any other flesh-hole, you will not receive the desired results.”

  “Yeah. Mouth. Makes sense.”

  Beth spoke again. “So we get Ted to drink this holy water and then you say your words, Richard?” She considered this. “Would you help us hold him?”

  “I? I am bound to this horrid prison, which you refer to as ‘dank basement.’ ” The wight sneered, showing its dozens of small, pointed, yellow teeth. “I am a slave until the time in which he releases me, or upon my destruction.”

  Richard cleared his throat. “What if I were your master?”

  “What witchcraft do you declare, mortal?” The wight looked up baffled. “Be you a warlock of old with genuine power to challenge the master that has enslaved me? Or hath you devil’s blood in your veins? Perhaps a lick of faery magicks?”

  Richard’s heart picked up and his pulse throbbed in his ear. He shook his head to all of those. “No.” He licked his lips, not quite sure of himself. “But I know his name. And I think I can undo his control of you and take it myself.”

  The wight threw its head back and spat out a hearty laugh. Richard was sure Ted would hear that.

  “Perhaps our union here has run its course?” It drew a lip up into a fanged sneer. “Would I trade one master for another? What depravities would I be commanded to perform under your name? Would you have me toil in your hunny budda mines? Better now to feast upon you than subjugate myself to new humilities.”

  Richard squeezed Beth’s hand tightly; he needed every little comfort he could get. Whatever he had fooled himself into thinking before, the monster was exposing itself for what it truly was.

  “No.” Richard was trying hard to make sure his voice didn’t break. “Help us rescue our friend, and we’ll get you even more food. But just, no eating people, alright? No people.”

  The wight pondered Richard’s words, “And what do I have to ensure such a promise?”

  “Nothing.” Beth cut in and took a step closer to the wight, as if to show it she wasn’t afraid. “But your alternative is to sit here in this basement from now until the end of time. What could be worse than that?”

  Its head jolted from side to side as it mumbled to itself. It bent down and repeated Richard’s words, rehashing them for its own purposes. It shot a glare at them and then back to the ground. Richa
rd was sure that it was done, that it would turn on them.

  It’s going to kill us.

  But it stopped. And then, standing up and straightening its back and lowering its tone: “The proposal is accepted.”

  It wasn’t long then for Richard to light a few candles and go through his book. He rested on the page: Binds of Servitude and Commandment of the Infernal. He spoke in Latin, chanting incantations that the world very likely hadn’t heard in some time, from a book writ of heroes long-dead, in form long-forgotten.

  “…conteram domo servitutis, Erlend Boberg…”

  Using the strength that was the warlock’s name, he broke the ethereal chains that hung around the creature. A sizzle of smoke arose from the wight’s face, curling up and twisting in the air, forming symbols and strange patterns. It hissed, clearly in agony, as Richard continued. But as he set about placing his own incorporeal locks across the creature, his own mind betrayed him.

  “…ligabis ad me—”

  What am I doing? This was fake for me just this morning and now I’m binding something dragged out of The Other World to my will. I can’t control this, I can’t survive this. I’m going to die. I’m going to get everyone killed.

  He must have frozen, the doubt holding him still, because Beth whispered in his ear, “Keep going, Richard. We have to save Ted.” It was enough.

  “Ligabis ad me. Magister Richard Fitcher.”

  A surge of new energy filled him and he finished the last of the words. The basement grew quiet as the wight slumped to the floor, looking drained. Everything was quiet, and still, except the light of the candle that continued to flicker.

  Slowly, the pale white creature raised its head. “Your bidding, master?”

  Richard stiffened his back and smoothed his jacket out. A powerful new confidence spun through his bones. “We’ve got a spirit that needs a little ass kicking. And a friend that needs saving.” Richard spat the words out. Beth laughed and her eyes softened.

  She believes in me.

  The thought was comforting for Richard. If he couldn’t be brave for himself, then he was going to be brave for her.