Dark Winter: Trilogy

by Hennessy, John

  Toril stood up and began to walk across the road when the ambulance turned up.

  “Hey! Mrs Dawson. Hey!”

  She was ignoring Toril, the taxi driver had one hand clasped around the back of her neck, and he was pulling her towards him.

  Meanwhile, Kenneth Dawson was being attended to. “Alright fellah?” asked the ambulance man. “Dressing looks good. We’ll have you looked at in no time.”

  They lifted him into the ambulance, with Toril becoming increasingly agitated with the situation.

  “Mrs Dawson! Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  She never answered, but as the ambulance drove off, Toril continued to storm up to the stationary taxi. She could hear a sucking sound, like they were making out. A woman in her late sixties and a taxi driver in his twenties, doing this in plain view of her husband, who was bleeding from a savage attack? What was going on?

  Toril went to grab the woman’s arm, but the taxi driver raised the height of the window, crushing the woman’s windpipe as the window sluggishly attempted to slam shut. Her head twisted around to reveal that her eyeballs had been pulled from her head, her nose bitten clean off, and most of her face had been burrowed through, the very same as if a ravenous rat had attacked her.

  The window slid down once more, and the woman fell to the ground. Emily Dawson was dead, but that was better than becoming the thing that had killed her.

  The taxi driver grinned, a look of insanity in his eyes, which emitted a luminous shade of blue.

  “Come here, witch! Come here, whorefuck!” he shouted, making slurping sounds as he spoke. “I wasn’t finished eating. May as well finish on you.”

  Toril tried to scream but he had placed an incredible grip on her throat. She kicked out at the door to stop him from pulling her inside. Toril scratched at his face, and finally, she got a reaction.

  “Oh, you fucked me. Wanted blood, did you? I’ll give you blood.”

  His chest cavity exploded, covering Toril in a mix of blood, intestines and other shrivelled-yet hard-to-identify body parts.

  “Oh, that’s disgusting,” shrieked Toril, but was relieved to see her own body intact.

  When Toril walked back to the house, Beth was up and about again.

  “You look like you’ve been digging a dead body up,” said Beth.

  “No, just fighting with one,” she replied. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was, but there was a sound coming from downstairs. When I checked it, that book of yours was flicking through its pages by itself. A bright golden light come from it – I couldn’t stay asleep then.”

  Blood and entrails fell from Toril’s hands onto the book, which appeared to have been rejuvenated by the addition of new blood. The pages she had left it open at now had words and diagrams on it that had not been there previously. The attack by the zombie had changed things.

  “You’re not still thinking about raising the dead, are you?”

  “Not for the moment, Beth.”

  Maybe it was the demon leaving Beth. Maybe it was the chat she had with Mr Dawson. Maybe it was the attack by the zombie. Maybe it was seeing the bloody entrails of the demon on her body. Or maybe it was something else.

  Whatever it was, Toril was starting to tell the truth again.

  (iii)

  Last Rites

  A Dark Secret Unearthed:

  Chapter 20

  I couldn’t believe it. Without a fight, without any more hypothetical tests, Lunabelle was actually going to return the Mirror to me. The witch continued to massage my hands, rubbing oil into them and putting me at ease. For someone with great powers, she was charming and disarming. Toril was too. Maybe they all were. She could tell me most terrible of things, and yet I would probably accept her way of thinking. The way of the witch. I was not a true believer in God, Beth’s God, but I believed in something. Something undefinable.

  “The crescent moon suits you, Romilly. I wear it too sometimes. A triple moon pendant. But it is little more than a trinket; there is no real power there. But the pentacle I wear -”

  “-contains the power of ten thousand stars going supernova,” I completed, whilst not being sure where those words came from.

  “Yes,” said Lunabelle. “A great power indeed. And now, as you consider your next move, I wonder what power you seek.”

  I had to think about that for a second, but the answer was easy enough.

  “I don’t seek power.”

  “My dear child, that is exactly why you should have it.”

  “No,” I stated firmly. “I seek closure to my mission, that’s all.”

  “You speak as if you know what your mission is.”

  Of course I knew what to do. As long as the Mirror existed, people good and bad would seek it, demons would destroy all in their way for it. As for me, I never wanted the Mirror, but my Nan had left me no choice. Now, there was only one thing left to do.

  “To destroy the Mirror.”

  Lunabelle smiled. “Ah, now we get to it. And if this Mirror could be destroyed, what means would you employ to effect its destruction?”

  “I suppose something that contains the power of ten thousand stars going supernova.” The words were mine this time, and totally made sense to me now.

  “Your Nan, the girl I knew as Maria, told you that the Mirror could not be buried someplace, for fear it could be found by those loyal to Diabhal, or perhaps Diabhal himself.”

  I looked hard into her eyes. I wondered why she had no fear to mention his name, especially here, in the Circle. I wanted to discover any element of misdeed, trickery, or deception in her statement. I could see none.

  “What did you think of my Nan?”

  “That she was a good, decent girl. Just like you.”

  “I’m not decent. I have just killed a man.” I heard myself say it, and it confirmed why I felt so horrible about myself.

  “Sometimes decent people must do indecent things.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she harboured dark secrets, just like you do Romilly.”

  Lunabelle’s words hung in the air, then I believed they would settle its weight around my neck until it snapped. Maybe decent people did indecent things, but surely they should have a choice in the matter.

  Whatever happened in the future, I wanted to ensure that the must do indecent things part would not apply to me. Never again. Nan wouldn’t have killed anyone, so why did I have to?

  “You have no basis for your hypothesis,” said Lunabelle. “Sorry. I apologise for reading your thoughts. But the fact remains you do not know whether your Nan killed anyone or not.”

  “My Nan didn’t kill anybody!”

  “Can you prove it? Can you, Romilly?”

  No, I could not prove it. Of course I could not do that. Maybe that’s how it was – we retained a rose-tinted view of those who had left us. I could not bear anyone saying a bad word about my Nan. Instead of getting over-emotional, I would have to deal with Lunabelle’s charge calmly.

  “No, I can’t prove it.”

  “Think about it for a second, Romilly. Your Nan kept this Mirror in her possession for seventy years, and you don’t think something might have happened to make her use it, or the dark power within her hands? The same dark power that now courses through your hands? Come on, Romilly. Your Nan wouldn’t have given it to you if you weren’t capable of doing something extreme.”

  “Like murdering someone.”

  “If you are referring to Denzel, that was self-defence and you know it.” Lunabelle was pretty sure of herself, that much was certain. I had to accept that once he killed her, he would have killed me. I still did not feel like I had committed an act of self-defence. It was a pre-emptive strike. Oh, Lunabelle and I could bandy around terms all day. We were wasting time.

  “I have to destroy the Mirror, Lunabelle. Don’t you understand that?”

  “By that statement I understand you have moved on from singular acts to mass murder. Maybe y
our Nan would call it prevention. But before you decide to destroy this old object-”

  “I have decided.” Yes, this was me sounding commanding and confident. It wasn’t working with Lunabelle.

  “-you should really hear me out about your Nan. A witch. The one who gave you the Mirror. The best decisions are made when all the facts are known, child. Wouldn’t you at least agree with that?”

  Again, I was in the presence of someone reciting unfailing, unquestionable logic.

  “My Nan was not a witch. No way.”

  “Yes, way. You can accept your Nan was witch, or maybe you can’t. If you were to look away from the Moon, could you deny its existence? The moon is real, and what I’m telling you is real.

  So tell me, Romilly, when did you first hear about Dana, the demon whose spirit resides in your friend?”

  It seemed like years ago since I first heard about Dana.

  “Toril was in my bedroom one day. I was planning to show her the Mirror, when she found a doll in my room. The White Roses for Dana doll.”

  “Your Nan would make your bed every day, and when you came home, she placed a rose in a glass, in your bedroom window. You could see it when you returned home from school. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So, with such open access to your room, your sanctuary, as she called it, is it beyond the realms of possibility that your Nan placed the doll there?”

  I could not accept that. Lunabelle was twisting every good thought I had about my Nan.

  “It’s possible, that’s all, but-”

  “You see Romilly, your Nan had a gift. She could read tea leaves and predict the future, to some extent. But you don’t need to read tea leaves. You have the gift of foresight. Are you beginning to understand why you chose to wear a crescent moon around your neck?”

  Yes, I knew all about my Nan’s gifts, her special way of looking at things. There was a logic, a Wiccan logic, to everything Lunabelle said. So why couldn’t I accept it?

  “Your Nan was a witch. A good witch. But Dana was well ahead of her, and lured your Nan to the woods to be sacrificed by the Axe Man. You may know him by another name. He has many, as I am sure you know, child.”

  “Dana was the same age as my Nan,” I offered simply.

  “But she wasn’t as decent as your Nan. She had lured a man to the woods because he had offered her sweets at the school gates. You see, Romilly, she was in league with Diabhal. She had used a Ouija board long before it became fashionable for older teens to try it. I’m sure she thought it was all a joke, but it became very serious for her all too soon.

  Diabhal appeared to her one night and told her that her soul was his for all eternity. When she refused, he made her an offer, which meant that she had to bring him sacrifices. The man, as I am sure you know from your Gorswood history, was found with his stomach hollowed out.

  Your Nan, who Dana knew as Maria, was going to be the next sacrifice. But Diabhal had a grander plan in place. He had chosen Dana to be the one in charge of his Mirror. He didn’t want to take her life, but wanted the blood of your Nan. When Maria took the Mirror instead of Dana, things changed.

  Dana had a change of heart too. When it come to it, she realised she could not sacrifice Maria to Diabhal, choosing instead to jump to her death.”

  “Yet even that was stolen from her,” I added. I felt some sorrow for Dana, yet I did not think she deserved it. Her track record since that time wasn’t exactly showering her in glory. But we were wasting time, talking about long dead demons. I needed to get out of here.

  “You are not tricking me then, Lunabelle? I can take the Mirror and walk out of here?” You won’t try and stop me?” I just felt I needed to know.

  “Why would I do that?” asked Lunabelle. “Though I am curious to know how you plan to destroy it. It has been around a long time. A thousand of your lifetimes and all of your Nan’s. You should, however, wait until I have told you the rest. I know you don’t care about the fate of Dana, but I believe you would be interested in the fate of your parents.”

  But I knew all that. Toril and her flipping Ouija board game, Two Will Die and all that. The bloody red D on the window of my parent’s mangled car.

  “I must apologise. Reading someone’s thoughts are a little offensive, but you would have to agree, it saves time.”

  “I could live without you witches doing that, Lunabelle.”

  “Have you not considered becoming one yourself, Romilly? A witch, I mean? You have this most unique of powers. It would be a shame not to use it. To fulfill your destiny.”

  My destiny? I thought I had already told her I did not seek power, did not want power. Why did she keep pushing this back to me?

  “You really don’t know who were the original ones who used the Ouija board, the one your friend Beth keeps at her grandparents house. You don’t know, do you?”

  With everything else going on, I would have been the first to admit that this was probably the last thing on my mind.

  “Your parents sacrificed the life of a cat. It’s blood seeped into the Ouija board, and the very next day, your mother was pregnant.”

  I smiled, because that’s the only thing you can do when presented with such outlandish statements. I’m sure my parents did many things they thought was cool when they were younger, but meddling with a Ouija board? Sacrificing an animal to the Devil?

  “This goes against everything I know about my parents.” I heard how I said it. Lunabelle could spin a tale, that much was true, but it was so believable, so logical. How could it not be true?

  “Please understand, Romilly, that your parents had no real knowledge of witchcraft. They got involved with some dark craft, and yet something good, something pure came out of it. You.”

  I just wanted my parents back, along with my Nan. If I believe everything Lunabelle has told me, it changes my view of them. Did I really want that?

  “You say something good, yet if I’m to believe all that you say, then I am the product of dark craft. How can that be something good?”

  “Your self analysis can wait until your mission is complete. I just wonder who you will sacrifice to achieve that aim? Beth, or Toril? You must put sentimentality aside and choose the most logical path.”

  Oh, if only Lunabelle knew what I thought about logic.

  “I’ll be practical. I don’t want to sacrifice anybody.”

  “Then you have made your mission virtually impossible to achieve.”

  “I think I’ve done alright up until now.”

  “You would have died in that forest if I hadn’t come to your aid. Embrace your Wiccan heritage, Romilly. Don’t deny it, or yourself.”

  I didn’t want to involve Lunabelle or anyone else. I knew that it would be a lone mission, and I have always known that. This all started at the Devil’s House, Diabhal Takh. So that is where I must take it. I must go to that house of horrors one more time.

  Yes, you must journey to that hateful place. But seek out more answers at the grave of your Nan. Open the casket. I promise you will find something there that you will need.

  I will not desecrate my Nan’s grave.

  You will offend her memory by not doing so. You must open the casket where she lies.

  When you have not been given the answers you seek in life, you must seek them in death. Dig her up!

  No.

  “Bless the Deity, why are you being so stubborn, Romilly? This is not a game!”

  “I know that, but you are asking me to do something that is grossly offensive to me and the memory of my Nan.”

  Lunabelle produced a knife, gunmetal in colour, and slid it across the table towards me.

  “I’m not to say much more, except to add that your Nan would want you to do this.”

  “What’s the knife for?”

  “There’s a photo of your Nan on her gravestone, yes?”

  Yes. It was our favourite photo of her, taken at my parent’s wedding. In truth, she didn’t look that much older when
she died. We placed it inside an oval glass frame and it was fixed to the stone itself.

  “Yes there is.”

  “I know, because I put something there. Underneath the glass, behind your Nan’s photo. You can prise it off easily using this blade. Rip off the back of it, and you will find something enclosed from your Nan. A letter addressed to you, which I was under explicit instructions not to reveal until after her death.”

  “I’m supposed to believe all this?” I asked. It seemed to be stretching all credibility with Lunabelle’s story. My Nan was a witch. Lunabelle wants me to become a witch. Is there anyone in Gorswood who is not supposed to be a bloody witch?