The Edward King Series Books 1-3

by Wood, Rick

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh, I do. This whole thing is for him. Once we have completed this ritual, the devil will bring forth who he is, what he is. He will no longer be the Edward King you know. He will not be able to return. He will be the antichrist personified, the evil representation, the eternal dictator of this world.”

  He laughed.

  “You don’t stand a chance,” he told her.

  “And what do you get?”

  “Life. Money. He brought me back from the dead.”

  “Even he can’t bring people back from the dead.”

  “Can’t he?” came a voice from the back of the room.

  A man walked forward. A man who appeared older than Bandile, with a beard, and weary eyes, and…

  She knew him. She had seen his face in so many of her nightmares. Again and again and again.

  She had chopped his head off.

  “How…?”

  “Hello, Kelly,” Jason spoke softly. “I am sorry about this.”

  “You’re sorry?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked down, ashamed.

  “Sorry enough to stop this happening? What the hell are you doing?”

  “This is the only way to save my family from him, to save us from an eternity in hell.”

  “Or you could not do the ritual, then –”

  “Shut up!” Jason cried, desperate not to hear it. “You don’t know anything. You’re a little girl. With no idea of true sacrifice.”

  He retreated into the far corner of the room, sank into shadow, and she could no longer see him.

  “And Derek?” she aimed at Bandile. “What of Derek?”

  “I’m afraid I wasn’t lying there. Jason crashed his plane. He’s dead.”

  “Did you see his body?”

  Bandile smiled and dropped his head.

  “You are such a prick,” Kelly told him.

  He reached out to a bag beside him and withdrew some duct tape. He pressed it against her mouth, then tied it around her head, bringing it around her mouth once more. He tied it around and around her head until she couldn’t even breathe through her mouth, relying solely on her nose.

  He slapped her face jokingly. “I’m tired of talking.”

  He turned toward the shadow Jason had disappeared into.

  “I’m going to get the wounded. We complete the ritual at 3.00 a.m. Get her ready.”

  He took a ceremonial gown out of the bag and flung it on the floor beside his feet.

  “A few hours and you will be free, Jason.”

  And with that, he disappeared into the darkness of the opposite side of the room.

  A door open and shut, then bolted multiple times.

  Kelly bowed her head and closed her eyes. Her body relaxed, but not from a release of the tension she felt; it was from the despair that spread throughout her. There was nothing she could do. There was no way she could protest, could fight, could even move.

  By the time morning came, she would be dead.

  Please, Eddie. Please.

  She closed her eyes and prayed in her mind to a God that had done nothing to help them so far.

  She would have to put her faith in the good in Eddie, that it would win. Without that faith, she was as good as dead.

  The world would be as good as dead.

  39

  After fumbling his keys, his clumsy hands finally twisted the lock, and Eddie nearly barged the front door off its hinges. It slammed behind him as Eddie sprinted in, leaving it clattering against the wall.

  “Kelly?” he shouted, pausing in the hallway, awaiting a response.

  Silence.

  He ran into the kitchen, his eyes darting around. His mug from that morning’s cup of coffee hadn’t even moved.

  Kelly hated dirty mugs being left out. She became agitated with Eddie every time he left one out, putting it in the sink for him whilst ranting.

  The cup hadn’t been moved.

  The cup sent chills running throughout Eddie’s body.

  “Kelly?!” He tried once more.

  He stumbled forward, struggling to retain his balance, clambering into the living room and looking around.

  Nothing.

  He rushed to the stairs and ran up them, falling onto the floor of the landing and climbing back to his feet.

  “Kelly?!”

  He kicked the bathroom door open first, darting his eyes to every corner. He even shoved the shower curtain aside, ridiculing himself in his mind for it – did he really expect her to be waiting in the shower?

  Through the hallway, he made his way to the bedroom, rushed in.

  Nothing. Another bad sign.

  He rushed to the spare room. It was empty.

  Rushing back to the main bedroom, he ran to the window and looked out into the garden.

  The trees were still, the grass was neat, the shed door hung open.

  He accelerated down the stairs once more and fell, landing on his arm. He didn’t care. He’d deal with the dead muscle later. For now, he needed to check the final place of the house he had not checked.

  He rushed to the backdoor.

  Praying she was there, hoping, wishing, desperately needing her to be there, he peeled the door open.

  In his gut, he already knew the answer.

  The garden had remained untouched.

  The shed door was open. Vacant. An empty wooden box. The leaves of the bushes fluttered in the breeze and the open grass remained blank.

  Shutting the door behind him, he made his way to the kitchen. Slowly. He had stopped rushing. This time he walked stiffly, absently unaware of where his legs were taking him.

  The whole movement of walking slowed down to a meagre blur.

  His feet fell like empty lead, weighed down yet floating forward.

  His belly was vacantly sick. His head full of nothing. His soul a hefty abyss.

  His body slumped onto the chair, his eyes staring into nothing and not moving from that nothing. His arms propped out on the table, his breathing increasing, his heart racing. He felt himself unmovable. Frantically stationary. Triumphantly lost.

  She was gone.

  He couldn’t think what to do next. This was the kind of situation where Derek would swoop in with some answer, casting an illumination of wisdom over the situation.

  Except, Derek was not there. And if Bandile had been right, he would never be coming back. If what Bandile had said was –

  Bandile…

  It struck him like a sharp migraine. Where was he?

  He had left the number of the hotel he was staying at. Kelly had written it down and left it…

  He dashed to the kitchen side, where he found a ripped-out piece of notepaper with the number of a hotel. He took the phone off the wall and allowed his dead fingers to urgently dial it in.

  Placing the phone to his ear, he found no surprise in what he heard.

  “We are sorry, but the number you have dialled is incorrect.”

  He slammed the phone back against the wall.

  Leaning against the kitchen side, he allowed a tear to fall.

  But only a solitary tear.

  He was distraught, but resolute. At least he had a clue, an inkling as to who might have taken her.

  That’s when his next realisation came. The Devil’s Three… They had their sacrifice now, ‘the suffered’ – which was Kelly.

  They also required a prophet.

  Bandile.

  They also required the wounded. But who –

  Fuck. No. You idiot, Eddie, you absolute idiot.

  He knew who was next.

  He knew who the wounded was.

  Grabbing the car keys, he ran to the door.

  In his gut, he knew it was already too late.

  40

  Martin slumped on the sofa, waiting impatiently. Eddie had said he’d be back soon, but he was taking his time. Why had he been so desperate to get out of there?

  What was it about his mum that freaked him o
ut so much?

  Looking at his mum, he understood why she may perturb some people. She was making him increasingly uncomfortable. She had never been like this before; she had always been strange, irate, unfair even, but never had she sat like she was at that moment.

  Her empty eyes rested on Martin. Her head was dropped down, slumped against her shoulder and her neck, without any movement, those eyes focussed on him. Those eyes looking up at him without movement, adamantly pinned.

  But they weren’t his ma’s eyes. Ma’s eyes were sometimes irritable, but usually warm.

  These eyes looked sadistic. Brutally vulnerable.

  Her breathing was the only sound that filled the room. Deep and croaky, like nails on a chalkboard. The smell of foul burning occupied the house, but there was no smoke. He had searched for the smoke everywhere, but to no avail.

  He could even taste the contempt in the air, like a mixture of condensation and heat, forcing his tongue to boil.

  This was not Ma. Ma was long gone.

  Four thumping knocks resounded on the front door.

  About time.

  Martin left the room, keeping his eyes on Ma until the moment he had walked into the narrow doorway. He peeled the front door open and stood in stumped shock at what he saw.

  “Hello,” said a large, black man with a funny accent Martin couldn’t pin. It wasn’t British, but beyond that he couldn’t tell.

  “What?” Martin grunted. This wasn’t the time for a cold call. Yet, this man didn’t look like he was a cold caller. His had a large grin on his face, warm yet unsettling, as if he knew something Martin didn’t.

  “I’m here to help you with your mother,” the man told him.

  “Oh,” Martin replied, wondering who he may be. “Are you with Eddie?”

  “Sure…” the man replied, taking his time, clearly mulling something over in his mind. “Yes, I’m with Eddie. He sent me. May I come in?”

  With a cautious look up and down the stranger, a narrow-eyed stare trying to suss this guy out, Martin stood back and allowed him in.

  Wiping his feet on the welcome mat with thorough precision, the man took another step in, allowing Martin to close the door.

  “May I wash my hands?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Martin replied, and nodded to the kitchen. He watched as the man walked into the kitchen and washed numerous times, ensuring the soap went through each of his fingers and over both sides of his hands.

  After drying every part of skin on his hands with the manky towel left strewn over the kitchen side, he made his way back to Martin.

  “That’s better. May I see her?”

  Martin nodded elusively, still staring at him. He had a nervous feeling about this overwhelmingly tall and muscular character, but trusting the fact he had said he was sent by Eddie, he led him into the living room where his ma was waiting.

  The man’s grin grew even bigger as soon as he feasted his eyes upon Anna, spreading right across his face, his eyes lighting up with pertinent joy and clear jubilation.

  “Lovely,” he acknowledged.

  “Lovely?” Martin repeated, confused. “Mate, this ain’t lovely. Eddie said she was possessed or somethin’.”

  “Yes. She is. Terribly possessed. I will need to take her away right away.”

  “Take her away?” Martin’s voice rose, his temper growing irate. “Eddie said nothin’ ’bout takin’ her away. What you on about?”

  The man turned his face toward Martin and tightened his lips, as if entering deep thought, attempting to decide on a difficult conclusion.

  “Who are you?” Martin demanded. “What’s your name?”

  “My name is Bandile. Ask Eddie, he knows me, he will tell you.”

  “Right, well, she ain’t goin’ nowhere till Eddie gets back. He said ’e’d be back, an’ we’ll wait till then.”

  Bandile chuckled.

  Martin’s blood surged.He grew furious.

  This guy was laughing? His ma was in this shitty state, and this guy was having a joyous moment over it? Who did he think he was?

  “Fuck you laughin’ ’bout, mate?” Martin squared up to him.

  Bandile clenched his fists.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “What’s my name got to do with this?”

  Bandile sighed and nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Nothing, I suppose.”

  He reached his hand out and tightened his grip around Martin’s throat.

  41

  Flattening his foot on the accelerator, Eddie ran the third red light in the last three minutes.

  He checked his watch. Not sure why; time wouldn’t help him, nor would it indicate whether he would make it back before it was too late. He just needed something to glance at. Somewhere to direct his attention.

  Struggling with directions, he made it to a roundabout next to the estate the boy lived on and racked his brain, trying to remember which way to go.

  Was it left? Right? Straight on?

  Left. It was left, surely.

  Yet he recognised the houses to the right.

  As he slowed down to a complete stop, the car behind him honked his horn.

  “Fuck off!” Eddie shouted into his rear-view mirror.

  Right. It must be right.

  He shot his car around the roundabout, skidding into the right turn and into the estate.

  He was correct. The decrepit houses around him were the same decrepit houses he had gone past earlier.

  He wasn’t far. Just around the corner. It must be just around the corner.

  A lady crossed the street with her child without looking and Eddie screeched to a halt. Gesturing his hands in the air to ask what the hell she was doing, she just squinted a repulsed look at him and continued.

  He turned the corner and recognised the house beside him. Pulling the car to the side, halting it half over the pavement, half blocking someone’s drive, he swung the car door open and dashed out.

  Making his way around the car and skidding slightly, he ran up the narrow path to the house and banged on the door.

  He banged again.

  Nothing. No answer.

  He tried the door handle. It was open.

  Without giving it a second thought, he jumped over the threshold and through the doorway.

  Rebounding off the side of the door, he ran into the living room and fell to his knees.

  In front of him lay a vacant wheelchair on its side, the wheel still rotating slowly. Beside it, Martin lay upon the floor, groggy, blood trickling down his face and hoarse breathing exuding from his mouth.

  He didn’t need to search the house. Not this time. He knew she wouldn’t be there.

  They had her.

  His fists clenched and he rose his head to the heavens, screaming out to the sky, putting all his anger and frustration into a bellow that made his throat sore.

  If there is a God – something that, despite all he had done, he still occasionally doubted – then why won’t you lend us a hand?! Do something divine, intervene to help us! We fight your battle and you just sit there on your cloud and do nothing!

  They had everything they needed. The prophet, Bandile. The wounded, Anna. The suffered for a sacrifice, Kelly.

  They also required ‘the dead’ – something Eddie had no idea where to search for, but ultimately, deep down, he knew they would have it.

  They could now bring forth the devil. They could kill his girlfriend.

  They could bring the heir of hell out of him.

  And Eddie could do nothing about it.

  He crawled forward toward Martin and turned him over. His eyes were open, but they were groggy, dizzy and suffering. He wept, but could force out no tears.

  Eddie helped Martin onto the sofa, where he propped him up. He shook him slightly, knowing it would hurt him, but would have no choice.

  “Martin, can you hear me?”

  Martin blinked wearily and lifted his head.

  “Martin, please, you hav
e to answer me.”

  “Wh –” Martin coughed.

  “Just give me an indication, Martin. Do they have her?”

  Martin’s eyebrows narrowed.

  “Your mother. Do they have her?”

  Eddie was able to detect a faint nod.

  Fuck.

  “And… who? Who did it?”

  “Band… Bandi…” he attempted.

  Eddie nodded. He didn’t need to complete the name.

  “Martin, do you have any idea where they took her? Any idea at all? Anything they said or did that might give us a clue?”

  Martin’s head dropped and shook back and forth.

  “Okay,” Eddie nodded.

  He tried to find some words of comfort. Something he could say to him to indicate that his mum was safe.

  He found himself at a loss.

  Instead, he fetched him a wet towel and put it in his hand.

  “Use this to dab your face. You’ll be fine.”

  He wouldn’t be fine. No one would. Soon, everyone would likely be dead.

  42

  Eddie stumbled onto the driveway and fell to his knees. The summer sun had gone and violent rain pounded downwards, hitting his face like liquid bullets.

  He looked to the sky, his fists clenched, baring his teeth and moulding his mouth into a vehement scream.

  A familiar presence came over him. Something he had not felt for years. Something that reminded him of the scorching heat of hell.

  “Come on then,” he sputtered antagonistically.

  He looked around himself. Wind grew, bustling the hedges with more vigour, aggressively beating against Eddie’s body.

  “Come on then!” he rose his voice even louder.

  The rain turned to sleet and he felt it shatter his face, but he did not falter. He turned his gaze to the sky and clenched his teeth.

  “I know you are there! Come out and face me!”

  “Okay, you can stop shouting.”

  His face jolted, turning immediately to the sound of the voice. The source of which stood in front of him with irritating arrogance.

  A young girl, no more than seven or eight. Smiling. Feeling nothing of the torrential weather against her neat hair and black dress.