by Lia Davis
An endless vortex stretched before her, calling her. She drifted inside it, weightless, traveling further and further into the void until she hurtled headlong into a sea of nothingness.
But sounds filtered into the abyss followed closely by the too sweet tang of whiskey. Faces reeled before her, flickering in and out of focus. A mist eddied in the darkness, shaping and reshaping before finally settling into the ghost of the beautiful Ophelia. She grabbed Harper with frigid hands and implored her to get up.
No sooner had the slave girl materialized than she disappeared, and the void filled with a tall, broad-shouldered man whom Harper instantly recognized but did not know — her grandfather, William McKinnon. He reached across the nether, cupped his hands around her face and implored her to ‘rise and fight, child.’ Even as she heard those words, the first words her grandfather had ever spoken to her, Harper felt Clay’s warm, strong arms pulling her back to her feet — back to the here and now.
“Harper.”
She opened her eyes to find an angry black mass churning across the bedroom toward her. It spun itself into a thin, shadowy rope then disappeared, leaving behind the malevolent spirit of Buford Judd.
The fireplace roared to life, making Harper jump. Judd’s laughter echoed through the tiny room and magnified, growing louder and deeper as if it had sprung from the very depths of hell. Harper cringed with her hands over her ears which seemed to excite him more.
Clay stepped in front of her and growled. “Leave her alone.”
Judd flashed his rotten teeth and pointed a gnarled finger, sending Clay flying across the room into the corner of an antique armoire. He crumpled silently to the floor.
Harper backed into the corner, keeping her eyes on Judd. He sauntered toward her, licking his lips. She trembled and made herself look small. Towering before her, Judd was anything but a bedsheet of a ghost. He’d come back as flesh and bone. Pluto arched his back and hissed, earning a boot from Judd.
“Been a long, long time for me, girlie girl. Why, you’re a fine-looking dollymop, ain’t ya?” He unbuckled his belt.
Clay stirred and slowly rolled to his feet. His shoulder hung low like it had been dislocated. Even so, he charged Judd again. Judd hissed and whirled around, levitating the fireplace poker, sending it screaming through the air at Clay’s head. It was too close. He wouldn’t be able to dodge it. With a last glance at Harper, he closed his eyes.
Ophelia’s ebony hand reached through the spirit world and snatched the poker in midair. She manifested in solid form, standing tall between Judd and Clay, and tossed the poker aside.
Judd taunted Ophelia. “You couldn’t beat me when you were alive, bitch. What makes you think you can take me dead?”
She dove for him, but he held out his hand as if it were an invisible wall and she crashed to the floor. With his left hand extended, keeping her in place, he turned his attention back to Harper. He lifted her up with his other hand and held her by the neck so her feet didn’t reach the floor. She gasped for air.
As Clay struggled to get to Harper, Ophelia broke Judd’s hold and sprang to her feet. She pushed Clay aside and flung herself onto Judd’s back. He released Harper’s neck, letting her fall to the floor. Clay rushed to her side and together they watched Ophelia fight the demonic Buford Judd.
They moved like dancers one drawing the other in, and the other skirting away, until Ophelia rushed him head-on. He kicked her feet out from under her and pinned her to the floor, but she kneed his groin, squirmed out from beneath him and scrambled to her feet. When Judd righted himself, a gleaming pair of ice tongs hung from Ophelia’s hands.
He chuckled. “That didn’t bode well for ya last time, girlie girl. Care to try again?”
Ophelia circled him slowly, thrusting and retreating over and over. He matched her every step, then lunged. She jabbed at him, but he sidestepped and seized the tongs.
“Tsk-tsk, my love. You lose,” he said, and plunged the tongs into her back.
Tendrils of light burst from her wounds. Her energy seeped through the gashes like golden blood. She turned to Clay with a doleful stare.
Judd raised the tongs to finish her, but his hands were stayed by an unseen force. Harper and Clay watched wide-eyed as the spirit of William McKinnon took shape. He grappled with Judd for control of the weapon, but the elderly ghost looked over-matched and weak. Harper saw the grey in William’s hair and the stoop of his shoulders, but she also saw the grit in his eye and the set of his jaw. Her heart swelled.
My grandfather.
Judd let go of the tongs and twisted out from beneath them. He stared long and hard at William, then raised his eyebrows with a chuckle.
“Well, well. Who have we here?” He cocked his head, looking back and forth between William and Harper, as if studying them. “McKinnons? By God, McKinnons — the both of you!” His eyes came to rest on Harper. “What would Thaddeus say?” Me killing his beautiful descendant.” He tore the whip from his belt. “But first, I need to settle things with Ophelia. Ever seen a head ripped clean off its shoulders?”
Judd snapped the whip. As it sailed through the air, its barbed tip transformed into the head of a snake with venomous fangs and elliptical eyes. Harper recognized it at once — a cottonmouth. The snake head spun its leather body around and struck at Judd, wrapping around his neck.
Judd bellowed, “I know you’re here, you fucking Voodoo bitch. Show yourself.”
A tiny orb of light shot through the room. When it dissipated, there stood a large, weathered woman with skin as black as a moonless night. She wore the livery clothes of a slave and a white cotton head wrap. A finely carved amulet made of wood hung from a leather strip around her neck.
Her name burst from Judd’s mouth like a swarm of angry bees. “Odette.”
She glared at Judd and flicked her crooked finger at the snake’s head. It reared and hissed, snapping at his face. “The evil in you is strong, Massa Judd. But the good in this place be stronger.”
She smiled at the fading spirit of William. Frail and nearly translucent, his eyes were fixed on Harper. “She knows you love her, Mister William. You go on now. Get on back to the light. She be seeing you there someday.”
Harper watched tearfully as the hero she had never known vanished before her eyes.
Ophelia’s plaintive voice floated across the room. “Mammie!” She stretched out her arms, begging for an embrace.
“There, there, baby,” Mammie said. “I’m comin’ — soon as I make things right.”
“Let me loose,” screamed Judd. “Now! You godforsaken witch.”
Mammie’s eyes locked his. “You been stuck here on this land, in this house all these years afraid of movin’ on, knowin’ what you had in store. But the worst part is my baby’s been stuck here with you. And look what you done to her now.”
Judd worked his neck muscles, trying to break free of the serpent-whip. Mammie moved closer until they were nose to nose. After chanting mystical words in a language Harper had never heard, Mammie sprinkled a circle of salt around him. Then she grinned and stroked the scaly top of the cottonmouth’s head. It settled instantly as if following some unspoken command.
“Have patience, Massa Judd,” she whispered, “I ain’t finished with you just yet.”
She turned to Harper, her eyes filled with pride. “I knew one day you’d come. Step over here, child, and do me a blessin’. Bring my baby with you.” Harper took a step back, her face ashen. “You got no cause to be frightened of me. You a McKinnon. This be your home.” She stretched her arms wide. “Now, both of you girls come over here and take my hands.”
Harper glanced at Clay, then took Ophelia’s hand and flinched. She’s cold as ice. The light flowing from inside her had grown dim. Harper held Ophelia’s arm and led her to Mammie. They all joined hands, forming a ring around Judd.
He snarled. “What can you possibly gain from torturing me?”
Mammie brushed her lips against the snake and turned her steely eyes
on Judd.
“Righteousness, Massa Judd... righteousness.” Mammie rolled back her eyes and raised her head high.
“To the one whose name shall never pass my lips, come! Take your son. Take him to the darkness. Put his soul to the fire, and let it burn for eternity. I summon you! Come — take him now!”
Black, shapeless wraiths swirled up through the floorboards and descended on Judd, feasting on him until all that remained was the rotted shell of his soul. Then they dragged him down through the floor, and though Harper couldn’t see it, she was certain they’d taken him past the nether and straight into the bowels of hell, his shrieks echoing long after he disappeared.
The room brightened. The evil was gone.
Mammie cradled Ophelia in her arms and looked lovingly on Harper.
“So strong you are, child. You done well. Now, it’s time for me and my baby to give you some peace. But there’s something you should have first.” She took the amulet from around her neck and slipped it over Harper’s head. “This belongs here, on this land with you — the woman of Bellehaven.” She took Harper’s chin in her fingers. “We’re a strong lot.”
Clay knelt beside Ophelia and looked into her eyes, dim and welled with tears. She touched his face and smiled her goodbye.
A zephyr wafted through the room as the souls of Mammie Odette and Ophelia burst into a thousand points of light and set out for their home far beyond the stars.
Epilogue
Harper stepped into the shower and let the hot water soothe the aching muscles in her neck. It had been a week since she’d met Mammie Odette and witnessed a world few had ever seen. She winced when the water hit her forehead. The goose egg was finally shrinking.
Clay slipped in behind her and pulled her to him, pushing his hips against her. She turned with a chuckle.
“I see you’ve missed me.”
He backed her up against the wall, lifted her by the hips, and groaned, then shrugged it off and tried again with the same result. Harper frowned.
“Your shoulder isn’t healed yet. We don’t have to do this. Not here anyway.”
He nipped at her ear. “Oh yeah, we do.”
She put her arms around his neck and looked into his gorgeous brown eyes. She saw a real man. One who’d stood by her — had damn near died for her. She saw past the handsome stud who’d done his best to annoy her and saw the man who cherished her more than life itself. She owed him everything and if she had anything to say about it, she’d be spend the rest of her life paying him back.
She kissed him long, slow, and wet, tonguing him softly. Then she entwined her fingers into his and whispered. “I have an idea.”
She started at his neck, licking him, fluttering her tongue down his chest, teasing his nipples with her lips and teeth. He leaned back against the shower stall and gave himself over to her. She knelt in front of him and took him into her mouth then cupped his balls in her hand, feathering the seam with her finger from front to back.
He closed his eyes and moaned. “Oh God, Harper, don’t stop. Please.”
She finished him and let him relax under the hot shower, hoping it would ease the pain in his shoulder. She would have stayed there with him, but until he was healed, she had some extra chores to take care of. She opened the shower door, but Clay caught her by the hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’ve got things to do. Pluto’s almost out of cat food. We need groceries, and I want to get a headstone for Ophelia. But there’s another chore I’m going to tackle first. Something that shouldn’t wait until you’re healed.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I’m going to repaint the porch ceiling.”
He shook his head and sighed. “I’m done arguing about paint. You win. Paint it whatever color you want.”
“Well,” she said with a grin, “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll paint it blue. You know ....just in case.”
He laughed and pulled her back into the shower. “That can wait, babe. Right now, I owe you one.” He kissed her hard and whispered, “Better get ready. I’m going to rock your world.”
About the Author
H.R. Boldwood is a writer of horror and speculative fiction. In another incarnation, Boldwood is a Pushcart Prize nominee and was awarded the 2009 Bilbo Award for creative writing by Thomas More College. Publication credits include "Killing it Softly", "Short Story America", "Bete Noir", "Everday Fiction", "Toys in the Attic", "Floppy Shoes Apocalypse II", "Pilcrow and Dagger", "Quickfic", and "Sirens Call". Boldwood's story, "In the Shadow of Fire" will be appearing in the anthology "Saturnalia", published by Hyperion and Thela in late 2017.
Boldwood's characters are often disreputable and not to be trusted. They are kicked to the curb at every conceivable opportunity. No responsibility is taken by this author for the dastardly and sometimes criminal acts committed by this ragtag group of miscreants.
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Contact H.R. Boldwood at [email protected]
Follow her on social media:
Website: Www.hrboldwood.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/HR-Boldwood-1058614790899653/
The Promise
Kim Carmichael
Introduction
Demon Dolan Ciar exists on three simple words: desire, denial, and destruction.
Every four years, he is allowed one night of earthly passion to punish a deserving female. By the time he is finished, his victims are left as willing receptacles for demons yet to come.
Since she was four, a demon has been the only constant in Leora Desmond's life. He taught her how to seize control, to never give up, and to take whatever she wanted. At twenty-four, her self-centered existence is focused on one thing. She wants Dolan, and she won't be dissuaded. A mistake brought Dolan to Leora. A promise bound him to her. Returning once again to ask for his freedom, he is faced with Leora demanding to be his next conquest. The ultimate retribution would be to take from her the ultimate symbol of her selfishness. Now, Dolan must decide if he can doom her to life in living hell or face his own set of unearthly consequences, while Leora must choose between her pleasure and her heart.
The Promise blurs the line between good and evil, desire and love, and promises and commitment.
Chapter 1
DEATH
"What is this?" Dolan Ciar materialized in what appeared to be a long corridor and froze. Empty and silent, this place dripped with the remnants of death, not only the destruction of war now centuries old like most of these large manors in Savannah, but fresh sorrow, new and raw. His usual destinations overflowed with lust and sex, perfect locations for a demon to find his victim and it was too easy to move around on the night the humans reserved for dress up and make believe.
Before making a move, he scanned his surroundings, the ornate wrought iron stair rails, the detailed moldings, all the fittings that the humans in his territory coveted. Pictures littered the walls, and he stepped closer. Rather than the normal images of ancestors in various garbs through the ages to show just exactly how old and renowned the family who lived here was, a man, a woman and a child or some combination thereof took up every frame. Interesting.
The energy throughout the space was off. No doubt this was some sort of mistake, a miscalculation of coordinates or other bad data. Of course, there was always the possibility he was here for the female of the house. Lessons learned in front of the husband were most gratifying, but something told him he didn't belong here.
He continued down the carpeted path, passing two closed doors. At last, a small cry whispered from the next room. Before he left, he needed to investigate, and he stepped down the hall and opened the door.
A child. He paused for a moment, taking in the unfamiliar scene before him. The room was illuminated only by one small lamp in the corner, but he clearly made out the small human form sitting on the bed amongst a sea of stuffed toys. The long curled hair and nightgown told him he encountered a little girl.
Children
shouldn't even see them, and he went to back out, but stayed a second more.
The girl sniffed, took one of the toys shaped like bird and threw it at the wall. "I hate you!"
Without trying to hold back, he let loose one chuckle.
"Who are you?" The little one turned and threw something at him.
A glowing orb flew toward him, and with a shrug he caught the item in mid air. Once secure in his grasp he glanced down to find the little terror tossed a clear glass paperweight in the shape of the earth at him. This silly decoration could do some damage to a human.
"Wow!" She got up from her bed and charged in his direction. The curls he noticed bouncing with every step. "You did it!"
He took a breath. All he needed to do was convince this child he was nothing but a dream and leave. "Here you go." He offered her back her weapon.
"You’re not a ghost. Who are you?" She grabbed his other hand and pulled him inside. "What's your name?"
"Dolan, but I can't stay." Not sure how fragile new ones were, he allowed her to drag him all the way back to her bed.
"I'm Leora Desmond, and you have to. I'm by myself." She crawled back on the bed.
Leora, an interesting name, one that meant light. "Now, I'm sure your parents are here, and you have a nice little light over there. You will be fine." He reached down and helped her get under the covers.
"My daddy won't talk and my mommy isn't here." She caught his wrist. "She's gone."
"Well, I'm sure she will be back shortly." He tried to shake her off him.
She shook her head. "No. She died. We buried her today."
Tears slid down her face and the sniffing started again. "No one will tell me." She leaned up and wiped her nose on the sleeve to his leather jacket.
