Dark Winter: Trilogy

by Hennessy, John

  She gasped for air as the oxygen depleted around her. She could feel herself going lightheaded, her unseen enemies winning with every passing moment.

  Toril could no longer tell what was real and was what fake anymore. Dana said she had never left the Circle. If that was the case, did Lunabelle somehow project an image of Dana in Toril’s home in order to get her to pick up the wand?

  Dana had to be destroyed, Toril was very clear about that. But if she had never left the Circle, then all this was the Circle’s design. All of this was without logic, and yet, if this was an illusion, or another test, Toril could not die in this coffin.

  She decided not to fight it, though part of her felt the coffin was real. She thumped the side of the casket, and it unsurprisingly failed to yield. Of all the ways to die that she could have imagined, this would not have been the way to go. Suffocating, gasping for breath in the dark, with only Curie’s dismembered head and Dana’s bloodied dress for company. They wouldn’t let her die.

  They will, Toril, just like they let me die.

  Toril kicked out viciously at the coffin, which refused to budge. She pounded her fists at the lid above her, all to no avail. She had been there to help others when they need it, but there was no-one to help her. She was completely alone.

  Her lips trembled and her eyes welled up with tears. Toril only wanted to have good thoughts as she faced her end. She hoped her friends would have happiness, peace and love in their lives, and that Dana and the Circle would be destroyed.

  Toril’s breathing slowed, and she uttered out one final sentence.

  “Sweet Jesus. I’m going to die in here.”

  If the black soil that mercilessly pounded the top of the coffin could speak, it would agree with Toril’s assertion. Finally, the pounding of the soil stopped, as did the pounding from inside the coffin. Her breathing slowed, and although she wanted to fight this with every ounce of her being, the effort of keeping even slow breaths going was just too much for her.

  Toril’s fists unclenched and lay limp-wristed at her side. At least she wouldn’t be alone. Curie’s dismembered head and Dana’s bloodied dress would keep her company forever.

  (iii)

  Gethsemane

  The Devil doesn’t come to you brandishing a pitchfork and wearing a red suit. He comes to you, smiling. He turns up as everything you need, and all you’ve ever wished for.

  Tear My Soul Apart

  I drove at a speed that would surely have the local police after me, but I couldn’t be concerned with that right now. Eighteen months ago, I agreed that Toril was right to secure the Mirror at Rosewinter, but it was needed now, and without her, I would have to find a way to breach the spell that she had cast around Rosewinter.

  I also had to consider that Troy would find me, and he would have the strength and support of the Demon to assist him. No matter how fast I pushed the dial, doubts bit at me; I started to believe that it was all hopeless.

  Ahead of me, there was a figure on a bicycle. At this time of night, whatever this time actually was, I had no idea. I hadn’t the presence of mind to check the dashboard. I could read that I had enough fuel to get to Gorswood, and that was all that mattered to me.

  I didn’t want to slow down, but the road narrowed, making overtaking the cyclist impossible. In front of my disbelieving eyes, the cyclist sped up, and the legs were a blur. I could not tell if the cyclist was male or female.

  Suddenly the road widened again. It was like a recurring dream I often had, where the road would allow me to drive fast and climb, but it was like a roller coaster circuit and as I reached the top of the curve, I was unable to maintain my grip, and I hurtled to my death. I have this dream, nightmare, more times than I care to count.

  I know it scares me to death each and every time. I don’t want it to play out, especially now that I’m driving at break-neck speed down the highway. I know my father wasn’t speeding when my parents’ car careered off the road. Dana had everything to do with that, and maybe this is how it’s supposed to end, with me using the Mirror to trap her once and for all.

  Right now, I don’t care whether or not the Mirror works on her or not. I’m just so sick and tired of running. I can’t truly move on with my life until this is dealt with. Last time, it was Beth, Toril and me against the demons. Even Troy, bless him. I suppose there’s one benefit to doing this on my own. I won’t have to debate my decisions with anyone else.

  I’ll leave it up to other people as to whether or not I am a truly horrid person. But wherever you are Toril, I hope you are okay.

  The images in my head and out there in front of me continue to split into pieces before joining up again. Clearly, someone or something doesn’t want me to get to Gorswood, to retrieve the old Mirror. Dutifully playing his part in this, the cyclist turns and smiles, and removes the visor so I can see who it is. Only it is not a man.

  It’s my Nan, and she pedals the bike so fast towards me that a collision is unavoidable.

  ***

  I slam the brakes on the car and steer the wheel hard, full lock to the left. I don’t hit anything, but I’ve hurt the remaining fingers on my hand. I experience wicked, painful tremors in my hand, and grab my wrist with my good hand to steady the shakes.

  I look over the dashboard, and there’s nothing ahead of me, but there is the old Gorswood Priory, the ruins of which stand scarily on guard. I’m almost certain I can make out the figure of my Nan standing underneath one of the arches of the Priory.

  I’ve always been terrified of that place. I’ve passed it many times, but never stopped. I wasn’t sure I could get the car started again. Still, I had to know, I just had to know if that was my Nan. The pull was too great. Everything I knew to be true said to me drive on, and the girl of two years ago would have agreed. I thought I had made progress over the last two years, and grown as an individual. The grown-up me would say that to follow my Nan towards the ruins of the Priory was a very bad idea, and if the girls were with me, they’d stop me, just like they did when the Mirror trapped the armies of zombies.

  I wasn’t hurt from pulling the car up short, maybe a little in shock, but otherwise, unhurt. As I looked around, the bicycle was nowhere to be seen.

  It couldn’t hurt to have a quick look, surely? The figure that was my Nan had discarded her cyclist clothes, and wore something more familiar to me. Her kindly figure was so familiar, so homely. I could not stop myself from following her into the cold expanse in front of me.

  The figure kept walking ahead, or maybe she was gliding ahead of me, and I struggled to keep pace. I heard a thump of a fist, or something bash the side of the car. Perhaps I had a ghost behind me too. In case it was a malevolent spirit, I decided to keep pace with my Nan.

  I always wondered if I would ever see her again. Even the closest ones to you, once they’re dead, they stay dead. I heard somewhere that ghosts are the spirits who can find no rest in the after-life, that they must do some task in payment of some debt that they failed to deal with in their human existence.

  I wanted to see my parents again, but I was still numb from the experience of their loss. Nan, for her part, would not want me to lament over her either. People never believe in ghosts until they see one, and if you ever do, you had better hope and pray it is a kindly spirit. The evil ones will scare you to death.

  I was nervous, and a bit scared, but it was more to do with the ruin of the Priory, and the fact that it was dark, except for the moonlight which crept over the top of the brickwork, which dated back to Norman times.

  The figure of my Nan suddenly disappeared, and I realised I would have to make my way back to the car, not knowing if the malevolent force was waiting for me at the roadside. I laughed on the inside at the thought of my own demon meeting the one by the car, and fighting it out between themselves.

  I corrected that thought quickly. I shouldn’t acknowledge its presence. By doing so, I would be giving validity to something I didn’t want to believe could be real. But I had seen it
s power, and its anger. It could rip me apart if it wanted to, and yet, so far, it had chosen not to. Could my Nan make the demon leave me?

  I realised that she had gone around the corner of the eastern wall. The Priory had been in a state of disrepair for some years now. Some of the kids had put graffiti on it too, only for Toril to have swished the offending marks away.

  Toril. She had not been in my thoughts for some time. I suppose I felt I had moved on from her. I hope if I ever see her again that she won’t hate me for what I did.

  Don’t count on it, Romilly. Don’t. Count. On. It.

  I kept moving. The grass clung around my ankles. I felt at any moment they would pull me down, and I would be staying with the nuns of the Priory forever. Oh yes, the nuns. Burned to death back in Cromwell's time, just for having a belief in something pure, something good. More and more, I was understanding Beth’s belief in the Cross. If the nuns were slaughtered, it was because Cromwell feared them. Back then, England wasn’t a safe place. Cromwell thought he could silence the prayers of the nuns.

  I swear I can hear the chorus of nuns singing. It’s pitch black, cold, and I only have the light of the moon, which is made to look menacing as clouds jostle for position in front of it. The shade from my Nan's image has gone. If I am to follow it, I must turn the corner. I can’t seem to stop myself, even though the ruins of the ancient Priory terrify me to my very soul.

  If there was a chance that ghostly figure was my Nan, I have to know.

  My sluggish walk breaks into a run. I feel like someone or something is pushing me from behind. I don’t look back for fear I will see a malevolent face. I cannot deal with that right now. The claustrophobic feeling intensifies, as it seems as if the air has been sucked out of the place and yet, having come this far, I just have to see what is around the corner. My early confidence leaves me as I approach the corner, not wanting to look, but needing to with all my heart.

  The pushing and shoving I am feeling in my back has ceased too. It’s like the evil spirits are saying I could have a breather just before I see, what they want me to see. Are they going to tease me with the ghostly images of slaughtered pigs? How about a scene where the nuns are burning to death? Too theatrical, even for the disciples of Diabhal. It’s the sort of crass scene Curie would have come up with. I’ve grown up, and though such things might unsettle me, I’m not going to let them see I am scared.

  In the nano-seconds it takes me to process this information, I am unable to make it around the corner before it hits me.

  The ghostly image I had seen, and followed into this Godforsaken place, jumped out at me, and hovered in front of me before passing through my body and exiting via my back. It sped up towards the exit of the Priory. I gave chase as fast as I could. My legs feel like I am wearing concrete boots. I simply cannot catch my breath.

  I continue to give chase, but there’s no closing of the distance between the ghost and me. In fact, the distance is increasing, and by the time I exit the Priory, I’m bent-kneed and nauseous and the figure, that probably had no need of the bicycle, is long gone. The Demon, for once, offers some stark instructions, and tells me that I must beat the ghostly apparition to Rosewinter.

  I laugh at the absurdity of it all. I chase a ghost, back to a place I am supposed to have moved on from. Beth said I still had ‘work’ to do. No kidding, Bethany. So though I know I can’t catch the ghost up, much less know what to do if I ever could, I go as fast as I can to Rosewinter.

  The roads become more familiar, and I can see the sign for Gorswood on my left. The letters are obscured by something. The light above the sign flickers on and off, but it’s not an electrical fault. It’s a bird. A magpie.

  One for sorrow, two for joy.

  No sign of the second bird. One damned magpie on its own. At least it’s not a raven. As I pass the sign, I realise the magpie is not moving. The bird has been impaled on the sign, and sight of the blood that drips down the street post stays long in my mind.

  You screwed your friends when you screwed with that boy.

  The Demon is not being helpful now. But at least it’s not stopping me from heading to Gorswood. A mile and a half later down the main road, I take the turn off to the left. I have to pull over, because my determination is momentarily overwhelmed by sadness. Do I go to Rosewinter, or stop by the cemetery, and see my parents graves? Gorswood Cemetery was one of those few places that was always open. For some reason, it was never a target for vandals.

  I’ve never been one to take drugs, nor hang around with those that would. But I realise that the Mirror is like a drug to me. I need it. I need it so bad, and I need to know its secrets. I need to know what it is really capable of, and I need it to destroy my enemies, especially the one that lies within. Can I really worry about the harm to me? Whilst the demon exists, it can go from me, to someone I care about, and back to me again. It has to be destroyed.

  And it’s three for a girl, four for a boy, you smarmy bastard.

  I restart the car and make my way to my old home. The light has left the sky now, and it seems that this battle could only take place under a cover of darkness. I say battle,….because I have to get beyond Toril’s spell. Troy had been blasted some thirty or forty feet when he tried to breach it. I had to expect some resistance.

  My Nan had told me that ‘if you have the Mark, it’s possible.’ She had also said that ‘it ends when you break the circle.’

  I also knew that the marks she spoke of, were wounds on my hands that would never heal. The marks were not superficial. I felt as if they burned up to and right through my bones. So even if I kept the gloves on, I would always be aware of this Mark.

  In case I bumped into anyone, especially the sweet but slightly annoying Dawsons, I kept the gloves on. No need to give the neighbours any more to go on. Also, I didn’t want them involved. They knew my parents, that was enough. This was a solo mission.

  The wind slowly rose and howled in the night air. My hair blew all over the place and light rain spat at the skin on my face. It was mildly unpleasant, but a sign that maybe the long winter was coming to an end. The snow on the ground felt more like slush, and though difficult to navigate, I kept my footing.

  I walk slowly but purposely towards Rosewinter. I find it remarkable that so much of the foliage hasn’t been kept at bay by the harsh winter. It hangs over Rosewinter ominously, forbidding me to go forward, but daring me to do so anyway.

  My reasonably confident walk ends when I trip over and fall flat on my face. The mound of earth that had relieved me of my balance came out of nowhere, just like when I was walking with Troy, and suffered that fall into Curie’s hell-hole.

  Forget Troy. Forget Curie. Focus.

  My clothes are wet, but that’s not what shocks me. I’m covered in blood, and it stings. Huge, bulbous eyes emerge from the mound of earth, with a familiar shock of hair, that clings around its neck.

  “You killed me, bitch. You do remember killing me, don’t you Romilly?”

  God. I do wish dead things would just stay dead. Yes, I remembered my first kill, if that’s what it was. Back then, I did everything based on instinct. Now, I try and do things because I’ve thought them through, along with the consequences of my actions.

  I take unsteady steps up towards Rosewinter. The twin trees, so pretty in the daylight, looked their polar opposite. That had always been the case. Beyond Rosewinter, lay the hateful place where Curie tortured me. Stay dead, bastard.

  Clammy hands grab at my legs. I know the voice. It spits its hateful bile through a child’s voice. Dana’s voice.

  I ignore her curses at me. You can stay dead too, you hateful bitch. Even though I know it’s not her at all, but are images projected at me by the demon, I want to avoid the real Dana if it’s at all possible. I curse back at the demon, momentarily forgetting my rule about not acknowledging it.

  My curse is in a language familiar to Beth’s Gaelic roots, and not something I’d know, but it comes out nonetheless. “Go ndéana a
n diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn,” which loosely translates as: “May the devil make a ladder of your back bones while picking apples in the garden of hell!”

  I really don’t know how I knew what to say. But it’s the best way of saying go fuck yourself without actually saying it. Yes. I’ll acknowledge the demon. What’ll you do now, you pointy-eared bastard?

  The demon remains quiet, but it won’t stay that way. I couldn’t see the barrier, but I could feel it. Toril’s spell had held, and she’d cast it to keep evil out. She meant the horrors in the wood that would try to take it, not me. But she wouldn’t want me breaching the barrier, not without her knowledge.

  Sorry Toril, you’re not here. You would not like me that much if you were here, and I’d bet you would try to stop me. Thank goodness we are apart. Small blessings and all that.