by Dorian Dawes
"I did this?" she murmured. "I trapped it here?"
"By uncovering the seals placed within the summoning sigil and bringing it once more to the place where it first entered this world," Mr. Sharp explained, "you managed to tie it eternally to its birthplace. Congratulate yourselves, girls. You've sealed away a nigh unstoppable evil."
"What happens to it now?" Veronika asked.
He smiled. "Ironic that it'd be trapped here, a place of failed experiments. Like the others, it goes to the fragmented aether. May it rot there eternally."
"Kara …" the hoarse voice of the familiar groaned pitifully. "Release me. I'm hurting so."
Mr. Sharp recoiled as if he were offended. "Abhorrent little beastie, isn't it? Like I said before, Eileen's ambitions were greater than her talent and all she managed to do was create something that grew far bigger than her control and she had to deceive it to get rid of the damned thing. By all rights, it should never have existed. Sacred bonds were broken here, and look at the result. A being birthed from betrayal and selfishness."
"What is it you think was done here, asshole?" Kara glowered at him. "How many families here were murdered? You're a hypocrite."
He adjusted his glasses. "Careful, girl. You'll hurt my feelings. The goals of Carcosa are for the good of all. Their sacrifices will bring about the golden age and the return of a rightful ruler. The blind idiot despot will be no more. Until then, my dears."
Kara raised a fist. She might have flung herself at him had Veronika not grabbed her by the shoulder. Instead she watched through hate-filled eyes as he walked off whistling that same eerie tune.
"Let's go back to Wakefield," Veronika said in a quiet voice. "I hate it, but it's better than this awful little town."
"Sure," Kara said. "I've had about all the 'closure' I can stand for today."
Blood Moon Rising
Bartleby Prouse heard that morning of a suicide attempt by a woman named Monica Angelou, as he was checking out of the bed-and-breakfast. Even the local gossip in this town was tinged with suffering and darkness. He clutched his keys tightly in his hands, ears tingling as he listened to the sordid tale detailed in scandalized gasps and mock sympathy. His shoulders tightened and his face contorted.
This was not how he wanted to leave Oakridge.
He could feel it, dark storm clouds gradually brewing over the town. After years of investigating the occult, Bartleby knew better than to dismiss such inclinations as vague paranoia. Every anxiety, every fearful, woeful thought in his head, chanced turning into grave premonitions. The Sheriff had warned him too, her fears confirming his own; something foul was coming to Harbinger Island, and Oakridge would be caught damned in the center of it.
Part of him contemplated, if only for a moment, visiting the Angelou woman in the hospital. A bad idea, but something he couldn't shake. He felt he owed her something, as if the attempt on her life had somehow been his fault. He had no details surrounding her personal life or what had led her to such actions, only that he hadn't done enough for these people.
What arrogance, he chided himself. It'd been arrogance to come here, to think he could provide his services in any way to these people, as if they didn't understand their own problems. To think that he, an outsider, could come in and find some solutions for the lives of others, all the while fleeing from his own.
Outside the hotel stood Sheriff Lisa Cunningham, a bronze-skinned woman with a sour expression. She represented a cabal of individuals in Oakridge dead-set on protecting the town from the occult horrors that plagued the rest of the island. The New Dawn, they were called, and they did not take kindly to outsiders, especially the kind of meddling and prodding committed by one Bartleby Prouse.
A few feet away from the sheriff were several other police officers setting up a crime scene barricade. At the center were the remains of his car. It looked as if a wild animal had torn through it. The hood and engine had been completely ripped apart and scattered along the street. They'd shattered every window and torn through the seat cushions like paper. There were also massive dents on the left and right sides of the vehicle as if from great heavy fists ramming into them.
"What the blazes?!" Bartleby nearly dropped his briefcase then and there.
The sheriff folded her notepad and signaled to the men around her to leave her be. She approached him close enough so that only he could hear. "Did you have anything to do with this?" she murmured.
"Sabotage my own vehicle?! I'm an out-of-work college professor. Do you think I have the funds to replace it?"
Lisa Cunningham placed both hands on her hips. "You've already checked out of your hotel, I imagine?"
He nodded. "Certainly."
"I'll arrange for a tow and drop you off at the bus station," she said, turning her back to him. "Come on."
"Madam, no disrespect to your authority, but is shuffling me off the best course of action?" Bartleby said, flummoxed. "In the face of all this?"
Lisa whirled back around to face him. "If anything, Professor Prouse, this makes me double sure you need to get the hell out of this town. Someone means to keep you here, and that doesn't sit right with me. A man as learned and experienced as yourself ought to know that."
He set his mouth in a grim line. None of this made him feel particularly comfortable.
That was when he stopped walking. He watched her bark a few orders to her officers while continuing down the stone steps to her car. This was not his mystery to solve. Though it felt painful, he'd have to release this one into someone else's hands. His hand clenched into a fist and then unclenched slowly. His fingers shook.
"Fine," he said. "I've meddled enough."
The days were getting colder. Not that cold days were a rarity on Harbinger Island. Many blew in from the coast and kissed them all with bitter winds. Bartleby felt today that the cold had a certain meanness to it. Lately though, he personified malevolence in even the smallest of things.
Fifteen minutes later, as the Sheriff was driving him to the bus station, she remarked, "I know what it's like. You get caught in the grips of something horrible that you can't understand. You think that if you can't fix it, you should at least know why. Make sense of it all.
"You're really not that much older than me. About, what? Five, six years’ difference? We should've learned long ago to stop hoping for answers. If there is reason behind it all, it ain't worth knowing."
"Pardon me," Bartleby said in a gruff voice, "if I'm not inclined to give up hope quite yet."
"Not hope …" Lisa fixed her eyes on the rear-view mirror. "Never give that up. What you ought to do, though, is stop trying to understand why and start focusing on what you can do about it, or at least on what's important."
"You don't think answers are important?" He raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. "I can't tell you what's important. Maybe for you, it's finding those answers. I've given up on understanding; that pursuit will have to be left to the younger generations. With what little time I've got, I'd rather spend it protecting those around me. Making sure I've done my part to leave this world a little better than how I found it."
"That's all I've ever done," Bartleby whispered.
"I'm sure of that. Hell, if you'd come here a few years ago - maybe even a few months ago - I would've welcomed your knowledge and expertise. Now's not the time, not with what's about to happen. Your place isn't here, not today."
"What's going to happen in Wakefield?" he asked. "You still haven't made that clear."
"Someone is waiting for you. Man who goes by the name of Warden. Not sure what his intentions are. I know he's at the center of all this. Call it a gut-feeling, a premonition."
"I'm familiar with the man," Bartleby said gruffly. "Foul individual kidnapped me. Unpleasant brute. If he's waiting for me in Wakefield, I've no intention of making that meeting, I can assure you!"
Lisa's hand gripped tighter about the steering wheel. "We're predicting disastrous consequences for those students of yours if you do
n't. I've seen the deaths of those closest to you, Bartleby Prouse. That's why I gotta get you to that station, so you don't find yourself looking back on this day with regrets."
"You say that with a degree of familiarity," Bartleby said.
"No kidding."
He lowered his eyes. "Something awful happened to someone you love. I'm sorry."
They pulled up to the bus station. Lisa's shoulders slumped. She looked like she was holding back all the world's tears.
"Not as sorry as me," she said in a quiet voice. "Now get out of here."
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know you and I have shared disagreements … but, should you ever think of anything you need from me. For any reason at all …"
"I have your card. Now hurry, you've an appointment to keep."
Bartleby nodded and gave her shoulder another reassuring squeeze. He would have hugged her if he thought it appropriate. He left the vehicle and made haste for the next bus bound to Wakefield.
* * *
Justin sat, hands buried in the warm pockets of a fashionable half-jacket that was ill-suited to the harshness of the weather - always the eternal battle between looking cute and being warm. Today, he chose to look cute, and as such found himself regretting that choice while the wind stung his ears and nostrils. With snot drying on his upper lip, looking cute was out of the question.
"Behold … the face of regret," he said, giving a dramatic flourish with his right hand.
Helena had chosen to be sensible and had on a much thicker jacket. She put her arms down, stopping a spell mid-cast to give him an annoyed look. "What are you whining about now?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders and yelled over the wind. "I make poor decisions!"
Dayabir furrowed his brow in a concerned expression. He had his hands tucked warmly inside a big puffy blue jacket that was remarkably unfashionable, but he was noticeably far comfier than Justin at the moment. "Justin, do you think we should go back inside?"
Helena rolled her eyes. "He will survive. He likes to complain."
The three of them had agreed to meet deep in the woods, far from prying eyes. They figured it'd be the safest place for Helena to assist Dayabir getting in touch with his own magic. For once, the island's grisly reputation actually served a beneficial purpose. Not many in Wakefield dared venture that deep in the woods - too many stories and urban legends had cropped up regarding lost hitchhikers and deranged axe-wielding madmen. Helena knew better. For starters, Wakefield Asylum had been closed for many years. Even when it had been open, the patients hadn't been anywhere near dangerous. That was a problematic myth that made monsters out of the neurodivergent, despite the cruelties they suffered at the hands of Wakefield's doctors. The asylum had been a horror show, certainly, but not for the reasons most believed. It was a veritable torture chamber where society's cast-offs and misfits were punished for the sins of being different.
More than that … Helena knew now more than anyone that far worse lurked in the darkness than some hook-handed urban legend. She'd only briefly glimpsed the face of evil, but it was still enough to give her nightmares.
Each was a witness to horror: Helena, Justin, and now Dayabir. Before, they might have only been bonded by their status as second-class minorities in an unjust society. Now they were united by knowledge of the foul things that crept at the corners of the universe.
Originally, Helena hadn't thought much of volunteering to help Dayabir get a grasp on his new-found magical powers. She'd only recently grasped the basics herself, but didn't mind giving him a head start. As the day wore on, she began to doubt she was the right person to teach him at all. "Dayabir …" she said. "Where does your magic come from?"
He tilted his head like a confused puppy. "Not sure I get the question."
She crouched and grabbed a stick off the ground and began doodling in the dirt with it. "It's like this: I'm a witch, our magic comes from the bonds we make with otherworldly beings we refer to as our familiars. They serve as a patron that fuels our hexes and spells."
"You lost me." Dayabir threw up his hands.
She shook her head. "Sorry. Guess you're not the only person who goes too fast around here. What I'm saying is that magic is funky and we tend to classify spell-users based on the origins of how they get their powers. After seeing some of your stuff … I don't think you and I are in the same league at all."
"How so?"
"All right. Show me the healing energy I taught you. Basic spell, right?" Helena demonstrated by whispering a word under her breath. The scarlet butterflies dancing around her head glowed brightly for a second and then a soft pale glow emerged from her fingertips. She gave Dayabir a 'go-ahead' gesture.
He repeated as much of the same actions as he could. Same incantation, same gesturing of his fingers, only instead his eyes flashed an iridescent blue as his entire body radiated with a pulsing wave of energy. It shot out around him for several feet, bathing all who were caught in it in a warm glow.
Justin sat stunned, staring at Dayabir. The Sikh youth was hovering inches off the ground, an expression of peace and harmony on his face. Justin never recalled seeing him so happy.
"I'm not cold any more …" Justin whispered.
Dayabir floated back down to the ground. His expression shifted as he opened his eyes catching the gaping-mouthed stares of his friends. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled his feet nervously.
"What are you staring at me for?" he said in a fast, stuttering voice.
Helena pointed at him. "All right, see that shit. That's what I'm talking about. I've never seen anything like that! And that was the cure spell I taught you?"
"I fucked up, didn't I?" Dayabir lowered his head.
She groaned and gripped the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "No. Not that. I think you got the effect you wanted but it's fucking wild. Not anything I'm really used to dealing with."
"Is that bad?" He looked genuinely concerned.
"Of course it's not!" Helena almost snapped. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. I'm not yelling at you."
Justin buried his face in his hands. "Way to go there, sparky."
"Shut up!" Helena turned on him. "You're not helping much with this."
He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have magic, this ain't my rodeo, but could you not yell at my boyfriend, please?"
Helena looked ready to retort. That's when she turned to look at Dayabir. He was trying his damnedest to look composed, but she'd seen him get like this; his Adam's apple was practically vibrating and she could see his eyelids fluttering. Poor kid was on the verge of an anxiety attack and it was her fault.
"Let's call it a day," she said folding her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry."
"We've hardly done anything," Dayabir said in a meek voice. "I'd like to try. Please."
"I don't even know what you are, Dayabir." Helena shook her head. "I don't think I can help you."
He clenched his hands into fists. "All right." Dayabir turned his back on them and began hurriedly walking out the woods. Justin cursed under his breath and called out his name as he stood to run after him. Helena clutched the zipper of her jacket in shivering hands.
In her head, she knew nothing of the last ten minutes had been particularly anyone's fault. It was frigid outside and they were all tired and cranky. What was more, some of the recent shit they'd endured had made them prickly and over-sensitive. It was easy to step on someone's feelings without realizing it, and even easier to retaliate in anger. In her head, she knew this.
Didn't stop her from grumping at the boys for running off and leaving her to feel like complete shit by herself. She wasn't really mad at them. She just felt mad. So she said nothing and chose to stand there, sulking.
"Ah, fuck!" she yelled, head turned to the sky.
* * *
Kara felt the drive from Kerryville to Wakefield took longer than it should have; the streets of the dying town felt labyrinthine, buildings appeared in view that she had not yet seen befor
e - almost as if they'd sprung up overnight and rotted quickly from within. She felt as if the city were trying to trap her here within its limits. Veronika had been right, there was something deeply wrong with Kerryville.
It was a relief to see the cornfields and empty stretches of road along the coast. Kara made special note that the long streams of static playing out over the radio eventually gave way to pop music and beer commercials. She'd finally left the city limits of that strange, dreadful town.
Veronika had chosen to drive separately, using the car she'd bought from that shitty dealer in Kerryville. Kara had understood. It didn't make the drive back any less lonely or miserable.
It was dark by the time they both drove into Wakefield. The moon could be seen bright and full over the trees and the cliffs beyond. Kara pulled to a stop at the university parking lot and climbed out of her car so she could look at it. She'd never seen the moon hanging so large and bright before.
Admiration turned to revulsion as unease grew within her gut. The moon transformed from a thing of celestial beauty to an ominous presence looming on the horizon. She couldn't shake the imagery of a giant eye leering down at her with cold indifference.
Veronika parked next to her and climbed out of her car. "Sure is pretty tonight. Little unexpected, though."
Kara gave her a puzzled look. "Unexpected?"
Veronika shrugged her shoulders. She leaned against the frame of her car door and pulled her silk shawl tighter about her shoulders. Kara noted that Veronika had taken the time to apply her gothy makeup and garb herself once more in black silks and billowy shawls.
"Witch, remember? I follow celestial charts pretty closely. Not supposed to have a full moon this bright for another month," Veronika said in a casual tone. "Something significant must be happening tonight."
