“Curie. Why?”
Donald Curie, a demon ghost himself, remained corporeal, and bled heavily. “Why? Because I service you. And we both service Diabhal. I will not let that little bitch Toril win.”
“Not worried about her. It’s her mother who is the powerful witch.What should we do with her?”
“I’ll bury her someplace where she can’t be found.”
“She’s not dead.”
“Hah! As if that matters,” smirked Curie.
“We’re both hurt,” said Dana. “We need to get back, rest, regenerate. But first; help me steady my hand. I need to stop that fire.”
“Fire can’t hurt us,” said Curie confidently.
“We are hurt. Trust me, it can hurt us.”
Curie steadied Dana’s wand arm, who managed to stop the fire from spreading. The dolls were charred from the flames, with the eyeballs being last to melt from the intense heat. From her wand came wave after wave of icy blasts, which choked the blaze until it spluttered to a stop.
Dana slumped to the floor and cried. Curie, uncomfortable around women at the best of times, started to make an exit. “Don’t.” Dana’s voice sounded like she was pleading. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
Curie had never seen this side of Dana before. She was genuinely scared, and wore a look of defeat on her face.
“Curie, you know something?” asked Dana. “I never wanted to be a killer. I just don’t know how to stop.”
“I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“Part of me wanted her to kill me, to finally put a stop to….to what I’ve become.”
“I felt the same. When Troy Jackson shattered my skull, I really thought it would be over.”
“We’ll never be free of him, will we?”
For once, Curie did not offer a reply. That spoke more than a thousand words, shouted louder than any of the long-winded speeches he had become accustomed to giving. But he knew that they would never be free of Diabhal, whose strength increased with every passing moment. The events at the Circle, and soon, the events at Rosewinter were about to collide.
***
The last day of winter.
Rosewinter.
Have you ever woken from a nightmare, and recalled the feeling when you did? Your body shaking, perspiration trying to cool your head? A sickness in the pit of your stomach, stabbing at you? I’m going through this again, and again. I feel like I am paralysed. I cannot move. I don’t know what I’ve done, or what has been done to me. But it feels final. I cannot even turn my head to see where the Mirror is. I feel cold, but it’s strange…I can’t really feel anything.
I did, what I had to do, to be rid of the Demon, once and for all. A hara-kiri moment, perhaps, but it needed to be done. There is a stickiness behind my head and around the waistband on my jeans. My jumper feels like it has merged with my skin. But my body lies still. Contorted, but still. So where am I?
It could be purgatory. I’d heard Beth talk about that a lot. When you die, if you don’t get enough prayers said for you, heaven remains closed. Outside, I could hear two girls talking, but I could not reach them.
The sounds of the girls were drowned out by sounds coming from my own. From within the walls of Rosewinter, it mocked me. The demon knew it had won. Inside my head, it told me its name.
Belial.
Lucifer’s right hand man threw me from one side of the room to the other. As I finally lie in my contorted state, there is only one explanation for the position I am in. The demon has broken my neck, my spine, and my spirit.
Sounds that are nothing like my voice fill Rosewinter with high pitched screams and low pitched growls, shattering very window in the place. I curse until I can curse no more. It is here, in the darkness, that I find myself. Then Belial consumes me once more, and it starts all over again.
***
At Rosewinter, Beth had arrived ahead of Toril. She wanted to go inside, but could not because of Toril’s spell. Even though Tori-Suzanne had given Beth her very own pentacle, she doubted it would protect her. Not knowing for certain, she decided to remain outside.
Beth was happy to see Toril again, but it was tainted with warnings in her head. The young witch, reacquainted with her wand, looked her usual, purposeful self. Toril, it had to be said, was less happy to see Beth. Just what was she doing here? Beth decided to get Toril to talk, and keep talking. She had to stall for time.
Beth didn’t see the movement behind one of the trees, the big oak, the branches of which overhung Rosewinter, but her killer was there.
For her part, Toril looked over Beth’s shoulder, her eyes clicking on each window in the place, which looked eerie in its calmness.
Beth decided to play the subservient role she had become accustomed to.
“Hey Toril. Am I glad to see you. Toril?” She was clearly losing her. “Toril? Let’s clear the air, okay?”
Beth suggested going to the Dying Swan, which one could see through the trees even if standing in front of Rosewinter. To Beth’s amazement, Toril agreed. Boyishly, she even put an arm around Beth’s shoulders, squeezing her towards her. Toril was often standoffish with girls, knowing she was the envy of most, if not all of them. With boys, she was soft, feminine, alluring…the kind of attributes that were attractive to boys.
“Yes. Let’s clear the air, Beth.”
The Dying Swan was a bit like an old man pub. The feeling lingered, despite his sons injecting some money and youthful energy into the project, which, in their words, made it look less like a breeding ground for paedophiles.
Their father protested, saying that surely it wasn’t that bad. Whilst the name remained, over time; the renovations worked, and many young women, just like Beth and Toril would habit the place, and not just on weekends.
“Southern Comfort, no ice, Brendan,” ordered Toril. “Beth? The same?”
“Yeah, thanks Toril.”
The two girls sat down. The bar was bustling, and Beth was grateful that Brendan had no time to inquire regarding the whereabouts of Tori-Suzanne. Looking across the table at Toril, whilst Beth affirmed what most of the locals, drunk or soon-to-be drunk, thought; that she was beautiful...she didn’t look as composed in the way Beth had gotten used to. Beth remained quiet, and played the gambit, trusting that Toril would speak first. Beth won.
“I…apologise for my behaviour at my home.”
Beth tried not to look too triumphant. Toril Withers apologising? Whatever next?
She continued. “I went to the Circle. I...discovered rather unpleasant things about them. After conducting all kinds of tests on me, I believe I passed. But they want me to do something for them. I don’t agree with it.”
Beth’s eyes widened, and she pushed back her hair behind her shoulder. Toril’s observation skills were as sharp as ever. “Have I said something to make you nervous? I just notice you move your hair when you’re not comfortable around someone. Let’s go to the little girls’ room, and I’ll tell you the rest.”
Beth followed Toril into the back of the Swan, but didn’t like where this was going. The image of Dana sinking her teeth into her, whilst masquerading as Toril, pinpricked at her mind. She felt like darts were being thrown against the back of her eyeballs.
Toril checked the cubicles, and found no-one inside. “All clear,” she confirmed. “Despite our fall out, I do care about you Beth. The Circle want me to take the Mirror, and bring it back to them. But I have to trust you to do one thing for me, because they can never have it. You understand?”
Beth nodded, but was not sure she fully understood.
“Beth. Promise you will stop me, if I try and take the Mirror from Romilly. You showed strength and stood up to me before. I’m asking you will you do it again? Promise me.”
“I will, I promise, but now we’ve cleared the air, we really should make sure Romilly is alright.”
“Typical Beth. You always put others before yourself. That’s what I’ve always loved about you.”
Toril pul
led Beth into an embrace, before kissing her on the cheek. “You promised you would stop me,” said Toril, before untangling herself from Beth.
“I-I…” Beth felt something was wrong, before she staggered to the side.
“A little too much to drink, have you Beth?”
Beth’s clothes felt wet. The pub was warm inside, so it wasn’t that. Dark blotches appeared below her ribcage, where Toril had pushed a knife, Beth’s flick knife, no less, into her stomach. Toril placed a hand on Beth’s shoulder, and looked into her eyes, whilst pushing the blade in as far as it would go. The blade met with scant resistance from Beth’s body. Any further and the blade would exit via her back.
“I told you to stop me.”
Before she lost consciousness, Beth could only squeeze her words out slowly. The knife had been expertly buried into her ribcage, and she could not remove it. “Toril….you are many things, but you are not a killer.”
“You haven’t died yet, Beth.”
Toril turned around and booted one of the cubicle doors open, before dragging Beth slowly inside. It was hard to tell if Beth had any awareness of what was happening to her.
***
Toril left The Dying Swan and headed straight for Rosewinter. It was clear why the Circle had chosen her for this mission. What was less clear, is who really made up the Circle hierarchy. Toril believed that Lunabelle, Denzel and Winnie were not the power behind the organisation. But if she was to ever find out, she would have to play her part.
She was not a victim of possession, and she knew in her own mind the cause of her every action. Perhaps coercion was the correct way to describe it. If she didn’t go through with this, she would never discover the real motivations of the group.
Spring was arriving by the weekend, but on this, the last day of winter, the heavens fired down one more icy blast of snow and hail.
Michael Dean, who had been waiting for Beth behind the trees at Rosewinter, was ejected from his cover when ice and snow fell from the branches and peppered the back of his neck with an icy chill. With him compelled to dance on the snowy ground, Toril could not help but burst out laughing at him.
Her smile disappeared when she saw the knife drop from his hands, and of course, she recognised who he was. She raised her wand, pointed at him and fired, but he ducked and the tree was struck instead.
“Oh man, you’re in for it now,” his deep tone warned her. “You are in for it.”
Toril fired at the tree again, only this time, to cool it, and put out the flames. But it was too late by then. The tree was scorched, and Michael Dean started a laugh of his own.
“Well, it’s good to know someone will be in even more trouble than I am. I thought you were Beth O’Neill.”
Toril would have to deal with Dean later. She had no idea why he was looking for Beth.
To Dean, Toril said nothing in response, letting her actions speak for her. This time, there was no ducking or weaving. The blast sent him soaring into the sky, before he landed heavily on the ground.
Finally, the path was clear into Rosewinter. Toril smiled as she realised the spell she had cast eighteen months earlier, was still in place. She placed her hand where she expected the barrier to be, and whilst it had indeed held, its power was weakened.
Someone, or something had breached it.
Toril was terrified that the Mirror had found itself into the wrong hands, but she needn’t have worried. It was inside Rosewinter, and I still had a hold of it.
Toril surveyed the scene in front of her. My knees were bent, the skin between my socks and my jeans were bloodied. My body lay at a twisted, contorted angle. Toril, who was more flexible than me, could see that the position was far from natural, nor had it been planned. Something had forced my body into that position. As for my face – she couldn’t see that; as my head lay to the side.
Toril’s mother had told her of the difficulties surrounding her birth. That day, I saw more blood than I ever thought had been inside my body, Tori-Suzanne had told her daughter. It was almost enough to put Toril off from getting pregnant.
She could not remember the day of her birth, of course, but she could have imagined it was bloody. As she surveyed the blood around my body, she deduced, Holmes-style, that I had lost far too much blood to survive whatever had happened to me.
She couldn’t look at my face. She still had the image of me being with Troy, and as much as she wanted to believe it was the mind tricks of the Circle, and not the reality, it just didn’t seem their style to lie to her about something like that. Still, whilst I had had feelings of hatred towards Toril, ultimately, she wasn’t deserving of that. She did, however, have good reason to hate me.
My hands remained clasped around the Mirror, but she gently prised each finger off until the Mirror was free. The base slid to the floor beside my body, and hungrily mopped up some of the blood on the floor.
Toril could feel anger in the house. A ghost was present, one which had been kindly at one time, but now was capable of the most fearsome malevolence. As her hands lifted the Mirror, Toril felt its awesome power, and even in those early moments of contact, she learned the true motivations of the Circle.
She had to hurry. Whether I was alive or dead didn’t matter, not once someone else had the Mirror in their possession.
Toril picked up a bag and gently slid the Mirror into it. She did not take one more look at my stricken body, but made her exit from the wood-cabin.
She walked down the steps slowly, almost in a trance. Then something caught her eye; a flicker of flames on the silver birch tree had reached the top of Rosewinter, and the damp conditions had not started the beginning of an almighty fire.
Toril walked on slowly; the scratch marks in her back from the Erinyes burned angrily. Toril about-turned and looked on strangely as Rosewinter caught alight. The fire was spreading. Toril slid the bag containing the Mirror from her shoulders, and raised her wand. If she commanded it, she could force the flames to stop. The wand illuminated, and the bolt was sure and true.
Only Toril hadn’t meant to stop the blaze, but encourage it. The windows exploded one by one, and the smell of burning wood rose high into the sky.
***
The raucous laughter and merriment of the Dying Swan halted with the blood-curdling scream of a woman in one of the back rooms. At the same moment, a fireball from the woods could be seen from some distance.
“That old wood-cabin is on fire,” shouted one of the locals, his drunken state cleared up instantly.
“Help!” shouted a girl in near-hysteric state, who had emerged from the toilets. “There’s a girl in the cubicles, and there’s blood everywhere. I’ve never seen so much blood!”
Brendan, the landlord, rushed into the back room, and saw the stricken Beth on the floor. “Somebody get an ambulance now. Jesus Christ.”
After a few minutes, the ambulance arrived to take Beth away. She tried to move her head, and Brendan gently asked her to stay still.
“Rosewinter…Romilly…” she murmured.
Brendan looked towards the cabin, which was at full blaze in the woods. One of the ambulance men had said the fire service was on its way, though admitted it would be too late to save the place.
Beth grabbed at Brendan’s sleeve.
“You have to get to Rosewinter. She’s in there.”
“I’m sorry, Beth…from what I can see of the place, there’s nothing left of Rosewinter. No-one could have survived that.”
As if confirming Brendan’s words, the marks on Toril’s arms began to deepen. Her heart quickened as the painful marks on her skin fused with her veins. There was a final battle to be waged. Dormant for too long, the Mirror sensed it had a new owner; one who would take it to its final reckoning.
Above Toril’s head, the crescent moon clouded over in darkness, and snowflakes fell from the sky. The ground started to harden once more. At least it would preserve the remains of the newest bodies that lay in the forest.
Perhaps the winter
was staying after all.
Dear Reader,
First of all I would like to say thank you for reading this story.
As someone who has always been interested in the paranormal, perhaps it is not surprising that I wrote a horror story with paranormal elements. When the first book in the series was released in 2013, what most surprised me was the many kind comments and positive reviews the book received. I was grateful back then, and it encouraged me, as it would encourage all authors, to keep on writing.
Whilst Dark Winter: The Wicca Circle, is a complete story in itself, readers had said that the story still had much more scope and scale, and naturally I wanted to satisfy their requests. With this book, Dark Winter: Crescent Moon, it was more challenging to have it stand as a complete story. For this reason, the series will complete in the third and final book – it just cannot do so here. I really feel I have completed as many story arcs as I possibly could in this book. I promise that it will all tie up very cleanly in the third book!
Dark Winter: Trilogy Page 61
