In The Season of The Damned (Book One)

by Shannon Allen

  I backed away from the scene and slipped on the floor, landing in the bloody water. I lay there for a minute as chunks of skin floated by, and then, in severe shock, I felt cold. My eyes closed, and I slept. I dreamed my father rose out of the water and stare at me, he’d slide down in the bloody water and then slowly slide up again, the look on his face set in stone. I screamed, and then I dreamed that Mason was speaking to me.

  When I awoke, I was back at the place Mason was staying. “My father!” I said, barely able to speak as my throat was still knotted and dry. “What happened to my father?”

  “They did this,” Mason said. “Your father was sacrificed.”

  “Why?” I said. “Why?

  “Your father was one of them; I checked for their mark. Your neighbors are them; they are everywhere and could be anyone. Your father might have killed Amelia for them. This was in the bathroom,” he said, and lifted up Amelia’s dress.

  “Noooo, I don’t believe you!”

  “They are growing. Are you beginning to understand? Do you see what we’re up against? These people are like a plague. They set presidents in place. They are the law enforcement.” I checked your house when you didn’t answer the door and I found that door open.

  “NO!” I said. “What did you do to my mom?”

  “Your doctor, your dentist, the world is getting smaller. The book is about one world order under chaos. Did you read the part about the plague? What they plan to unleash? I’ve been watching you and the people in your life for months now.”

  “You’re crazy!” I said to him. “No, you’re wrong!” I said, knowing deep down he maybe wasn’t. Did you kill my father? Is this some sick, twisted game of yours? Where’s my mother?”

  “I want you to come with me.”

  “Come with you? Why not call the cops. Why not?”

  “Because I’ve had all the opportunity in the world to kill you, and I haven’t. I saved you from Amelia, or have you already forgotten? If I ask a lot of you, it’s because I know the stakes are that high. I’m trying to save your life while I try to stay alive myself, I’m just trying to stay ahead of these people,” he said, putting his hand on my face and staring into my eyes.

  “I’m trying to avenge my children. My son would have been one today. Your brother trusted me to save you; he told me what to tell you. And that’s what I’m trying to do. If I had killed your father, I’d be covered in blood. When I brought you here, you were laying in blood, and I know you couldn’t have done that. I’m scared too, and I’ve thought about just disappearing. It would be easier, but I couldn’t leave you to a similar fate as your brother. If you want me to do that, I can. Just let me know.”

  “I can’t just leave my father there in that tub.”

  “I checked his pulse, Fran, he’s gone.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay, show me then, show me or I’m getting off this train at the next stop and telling everyone what’s going on.”

  “You’d only be telling them you know, and they will stop you before you tell anyone.”

  I knew he was sincere. I knew it, but in a way, I didn’t want to know. “You’ve got this all figured out, then I have a question for you, Mason, why the Alden Marsh killings, were those sacrifices?”

  “I don’t know, Franny, I haven’t figured that one yet, but it looks like they were to feed one of them.”

  “Okay, one more question. Where is my mom?”

  “My guess is that she left willingly. Your brother knew that your parents were into witchcraft; he made the connections. He seemed to think your father was more so than your mom. He didn’t know how far in they were. That is what started his journey into this whole thing; he wanted to find out. I think your mom might have been more skilled at this charade, though. Your brother feared them, that is why he left.”

  I interrupted, “Why are you just telling me this?”

  He looked down slightly and said, “Because I knew you wouldn’t accept it, what I had to say, if I had included your parents. I know I was taking a risk. I also had someone checking up on them. Your brother said that your parents would ritually abuse him. They did all sorts of unspeakable things to him. Some included chicken sacrifices and spiders. Your brother remembered their symbols, and he went looking. Let me ask you this about your parents, your father, did he disappear during long periods of time? Think about it?”

  I thought about it, and putting it all together in my head, came up with something that raised the hairs up on the back of my neck. I had seen items around the house, and in their room. I never paid them any mind. I mean, my parents had a painting, surely it was just a painting, but there was a coven in it. My father disappeared once a month to the cabin for fishing.

  “The cabin at Martines Creek?”

  “How did you know about that?” I asked.

  “Your brother,” he said. “If you want answers, that’s where we need to go.”

  We went outside after wrapping crosses around our necks and got into the vehicle, but by the time we hit the highway, the rain was pouring down. “I’m going to pull off the next exit, it’s raining too badly,” he said, as if asking if it was okay with me.

  “Yeah,” I said. My thoughts and emotions were becoming so mixed. I was feeling so unglued inside, worrying if someone had found my father and noticed I was missing. Would they think I did it? We pulled into a restaurant lot.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “No, I’m crazy,” I said, snapping. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It seems like all you’ve done was try to help me, but my dad’s gone and I’m not even going to the police. My mom’s missing and I haven’t reported it, and on top of all that, they possibly abused my brother. I’m going so far on the words of a stranger.”

  He then did something I didn’t expect, he put his arm around me and pulled me closer. “I know how you feel. When they got my wife, I had no one to turn to. No one to tell.”

  At that moment, I heard a rustling, windy noise and the small sound of a toy flute. Then it happened, the whispering. It was so odd that I could hear this music; it sounded Irish. “Mason, what is that?” I asked, but he just looked hypnotized. “Mason!” I called him again. Out of the shadows walked a little boy. He saluted us.

  “It can’t be,” Mason spoke, breaking his silence. Just then, a rat scurried by almost as if something was attracting it. The boy grabbed the rat quickly and began biting into it viciously till his once-pale face was cherry red. His eyes darted around, as if eating the rat had given him great pleasure. He then turned his attention to us. I can only describe what I felt as sheer terror.

  “Get out of the car, Dad. If you don’t, I’ll have to come in. I want to take you to Mom,” he continued. “You left us, Dad. We were cold and lonely.”

  “He can’t come in,” Mason said. “He isn’t invited.”

  The boy looked as if he was getting angry. “It’s a rental,” I see, he said, showing his teeth. “You don’t own it, do you?”

  “He can’t get in,” Mason repeated, “but he’ll do everything to try and trick us out.” Mason rolled down the window. “Come here, son.” The boy moved closer to the window. “Don’t look directly at its eyes,” Mason shielded my face partly. “Tune him out as much as you can, and don’t believe anything it says.”

  “Daddy can you sing goodnight to me?” the boy growled with an evil laugh that ended in a hiss. “Do you know what Mommy said about you? She said you left us.”

  “You aren’t my son!” Mason shouted, whisking the holy water out the window.

  The boy appeared as if someone had thrown lighter fluid on him. He began to cry in agony, “I love you, Dad. I’m sorry, I love you.” Then he seemed to melt away.

  “I love you too, son,” Mason whispered, wiping away a tear and sitting back in his seat, perplexed. “Can you drive?” he asked, his voice breaking.

  “Yes,” I said “but can I just slide over you? I don’t want to open the door.” I gently transitioned myself into the driver�
�s seat as he slid to the passenger side. “Why do you think they have to be invited in?” was the only thing I could say in the mounting silence. “Why not just bust the windows?”

  He looked out of the window, back towards where his son had been before dissolving into nothing. He then put his head back and said, “I read a book about there being no soul, so then if a demon inhabits the victim, that’s what can’t come in without an invitation. “That part, it’s always been like this,” he explained. “You play with a Ouija and you open a doorway, same with tarots, you invite them in, you ask for them, and your spirit signs off on the contract. The book says there’s some grand rule that nothing can happen to us unless we’re at least partly willing. The outside, however, is the wild, the places we go when our parents aren’t looking, hopping the gate to the curious, strange neighbors down the block never to be seen again. The demons have permission to roam the wild, it seems, until we let them in. In the wild, we go out to them.”

  We talked about a mix of everything as we made our way to the cabin, and some of it was really scary. It felt like this was just a nightmare and I wasn’t waking up, but in a way, I was. The world wasn’t what I thought it was. It was a place where true evil existed and things went unseen. We talked about my childhood, my father, my mother, and things I remembered about my brother. We drove a half day, and we were both tired, so we decided we’d check into a motel.

  I needed a shower, so I hopped into the tub, which probably wasn’t a good idea, because as I showered I could see my father lying in the tub, bludgeoned. Even worse, I started to remember little games my parents played with me, such as locking me up in a closet, seeing how long I could take it before I screamed out. I never liked that game. Then there was the time they told me to stand on a pentagram made of chalk. These were childhood memories I’d suppressed, but now I was remembering. Was it true? Were they witches?

  I climbed out of the bath to see Mason curled up on the bed. He looked asleep, so I just sat in the chair next to him, watching over him. The next thing I remembered was waking up to the smell of chicken, delicious fried chicken, not unlike the kind that I use to make at work, the kind Pat specialized in, and there were biscuits, coleslaw, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Oh my gosh, gravy! “Wow!” I said, “Where did you get this?” not realizing how much I’d forgotten to eat lately.

  He sort of smirked at my excitement. “There was a chicken place on the corner. I took a cross with me to the car and some more holy water.”

  I must have looked like a slob. I ate four pieces to his two and large amounts of the side dishes. “Mason, thank you so much,” I said, wiping my face. I hadn’t really eaten in days, it seemed, and stress usually makes me eat more. He took a towel and cleaned my face, and our eyes met and we were stuck in a moment.

  Just then, someone knocked. “Who is it?” Mason yelled.

  “It’s Cas.”

  “Cas?” Mason said getting up to open the door. “You’re not invited in,” he said as he opened it up. He opened the door and she walked across the threshold and hugged him.

  “I’m glad you’re still you,” she said.

  “Franny this is Cas, she was, well, she became your brother’s friend. Cassandra here is also an insider.”

  “You mean she’s one of them?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said in a smooth voice. “I was raised into this. It’s pretty much all I knew growing up, but when I got older, I realized I didn’t want to be like them. I’ve been trying to find a way out ever since, but you see, they don’t believe in you just walking out.”

  “So, she’s risking a lot coming here,” Mason said. His words had an urgency to them, like I needed to accept this, as he had.

  Cassandra walked to the bed and sat on the end. “You mind?” she asked, pulling a cigarette to her mouth. She was not what you’d expect for a person in a witch cult. She had a classic beauty about her, and she was very tall and slender.

  I noticed something between her and Mason, not unlike a woman and man who hadn’t seen each other in a long time. “Cassandra, what can you tell me about these people?” I asked.

  “I did the checking Mason asked me to do. Your mom is definitely a higher-up,” she said. “I don’t like telling you this, but she was willing to sacrifice you if need be.” She took a hard puff, and the smoke swirled around the room.

  “I don’t believe that,” I said to Cassandra.

  “Well, I can prove it,” she said. “There should be a cut on one of your arms, it would be done with a razorblade, only when you were sleeping; you’d have been drugged. I think you and Amelia were both meant to be sacrificed at this time. Peel up your shirt and look at your arm. It would be X shaped.”

  “Okay,” I said, “I don’t have to peel up my shirt, the X shape is there. Are you telling me my mom gave me that?”

  “Okay then,” Cassandra said, “fair enough, do you remember your mother giving you tea or something? Did she ever give you tea out of the blue like that?”

  “Yes,” I said, “she gave me tea the other night. That’s true, not something she usually did.”

  She took another puff and crushed her cig. “Trying to quit,” she said, “but it’s been a little hard lately. These people are witches, as I’m sure Mason has told you. I guess the quickest way to explain their thought process is to tell you that they worship the hyena. The lion is the hyena’s most natural enemy. The lion is strong and noble; it has its methods. The hyena is cunning, and there are many. Its methods are dark, it doesn’t believe in honor, and it laughs as it rips its prey apart. It overwhelms with numbers, as it knows it is weak alone. The females are the dominant ones of the species. I’ve seen so many things that haunt me. I feel like I’ve done things that won’t allow God to have me. Have you ever heard of 666?”

  “Yes,” I said, “it’s the devil’s number, right?”

  “Do you know what you have to do to get that number? 666 crimes against humanity. 666 things that they choose for you to do.” She pulled at her shirt sleeve. I saw a number written on her wrist: 57 “Every time I do something evil, I get another number. I just got 57.”

  “What did you do to get number 57?” I asked.

  Her eyes welled up with tears. “Let’s just say I’ll always regret it.”

  In my mind, I wondered about the worst thing she had done, but knew not to push.

  “Each number represents a level of power. Each number opens a bigger door and adds a puzzle to the picture. The things you learn about the world are enough to drive you at first: Go to a diner, flash your number to the right person, and you don’t have to pay. Go to the best colleges. But after a while, none of its worth it. Number 10 was lose my virginity before I was ready,” she said. “Your friend Amelia was number 56.”

  I looked at her, shocked. “What did you do?” I said.

  “No,” she said, “I didn’t, well, I had nothing to do with killing her. I did help them steal her body. I had to.”

  “No you didn’t!” I screamed, unable to control myself.

  “I did,” she said. “If you don’t continue to work for them, you reach something they call your end line. If you haven’t done what they ask by a certain date, then others begin to do things to you. I followed your brother that night. I saw him; they took him. Their idea was to kill him, but I fear they did something even worse to him. They buried him in a cemetery. I was told he’s buried in a grave with others buried less than six feet deep. The reason for this is because he’s going to ensure that their plans live on. Someday, someone will dig up that grave and unleash something, what I’m not sure of, I’m not high enough to be privy to that information.

  “I’m sorry, I know this is tough to hear. It may not even be true, just something they said around me. Some of them suspect me. I’ve made your friend mad, Mason, I’m going to leave now. If you’re going to that cabin, be careful, they hold rituals there. One more thing: Your father was a grand wizard. He didn’t give his life, they took it because he didn’t w
ant to sacrifice you, I believe.”

  I looked at Casandra, looked her in the eyes, and knew she was telling the truth. I now felt even more upset about my brother. “What number was my father?” I asked.

  “325,” she said. “Your mom was 666.” With that, she nodded and was out the door.

  “You get some sleep, Franny,” Mason said, fluffing the pillow. “We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

  I lay down. Everything felt so exhausting again. The thought of my mom being evil shook at me. I watched Mason staring at me. I needed to feel something else at that moment, I got up and went to him, and he put his hands on my face. It felt so good to have my attention focused elsewhere. I began to kiss his forehead.

  He cupped the side of my face. “Do you really want to do this?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, and we began kissing.

  “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you,” he said, and then that’s when I felt it, teeth burrowing through my neck, I tried to release myself, I imagine it was a little like trying to get off a hook, because no matter how much I struggled, the teeth just went in deeper.

  I saw Cassandra in the shadows grinning as her flesh began to peel away, revealing a slimy version of herself. “Mason, stop!” I said. “Stop!”

  With that, I woke up; it was all a dream. Mason was on the couch, with the covers pulled over his head. I think it was the hallucinating Mason mentioned earlier. I thought and thought, and then I went to sleep just feeling confused, wishing for the intimacy that the dream first had offered, but not the nightmare; that was horrible.

  In the morning I got up and showered. Mason had left again. After thirty minutes, he walked through the door. “Here, these are for you, pants and a T-shirt.”

  “These are perfect. How did you know my size?”