Witching Hour (Witching Hour Series Book 1)

by A. I. Nasser

  “You know where he is,” Gadge said, his voice a mix of dozens of voices speaking in unison, piercing like hot rods into her ears and scratching at the fabrics of her sanity. “You will tell me where he is.”

  Aley tried to kick at the demon, but it only laughed at her and squeezed her neck harder. She could almost feel her windpipe break in its grip, and she struggled against the pain and lack of air. Her efforts only made the demon laugh harder.

  “Take me to him,” the demon hissed, the sound of it like nails against a blackboard. “Take me to him or die.”

  ***

  “Wake up, Kyle.”

  Kyle’s eyes fluttered open. He stared up at flames crawling across the ceiling above him, black smoke curling about and reaching in through his open mouth. He coughed, gagged, and rolled onto his side, his stomach hurling nothing but bile and his eyes watering. His hands brushed against the carpet beneath him, and in the glow of the flames around him, he briefly recognized the charred patterns.

  He looked up, fear coursing through him as his eyes darted across the room, recognition flooding through him with every piece of furniture they fell upon. The couch set, the burning painting of horses running through an open pasture, the curled limbs of the cheap chandelier he and Jennifer had found at a garage sale that she absolutely had to have. In a corner was the desk where he had spent most of his afternoons writing, flames now curling around the mahogany wood as it burned.

  He was home. Not in Kent, but in his old house. Back in Los Angeles.

  Kyle shot up, quickly jumping to his feet, feeling the warm hilt of the knife in his hand and tightening his grip on it. The flames came at him from all corners, the heat pushing at him, blinding him, wrapping him in its embrace like a blanket of pending death. The living room was in flames, and as he turned about swiftly, looking for a way out, he caught sight of a shadow in the corner.

  “Rise and shine, sleepy head,” the shadow cooed.

  Kyle felt his heart almost stop, and he braced himself as the figure stepped out into the glow of the flames. Jennifer was wearing the red dress he had bought her, only now it was scorched and the fabric curling as little flames danced across it. Her skin was covered in burn blisters that popped as she moved. The skin on her face had peeled off, the dermis below it splitting as yellow fat poured out of her wounds and melted across the sides of her face. The muscles on her face had begun to shrivel, and her eye sockets appeared much larger than they should have been, her lips peeled back to reveal blackened gum and missing teeth. Her hair had all but burned off her head, the remaining strands stuck to the fat on her face in dark tendrils.

  She lurched towards him, arms reaching out, fingers curled and deformed. She tried to smile, but that only made it worse, and her lips cracked and oozed.

  Kyle took a step back when a hand reached out and grabbed him by the leg. He swirled around and stared into the deformed remains of his son’s face.

  “Daddy.” The voice was enough to drive Kyle insane. “Daddy, help us.”

  Kyle staggered back, flames licking at him and scorching his skin, but he felt nothing. Only the horror of seeing his wife and son amble towards him, like two corpses that had just crawled out of their graves. One of his son’s ears fell off his face, and a grotesque squishing sound followed as Michael's bare feet stepped on it.

  Kyle’s screams lodged in his throat.

  “Honey, we’ve been waiting for you,” Jennifer said, the hoarseness in her voice scratching at the inside of his head, like fingers reaching into and behind his eyes, ripping at his nerves. “You’ve been missed, baby.”

  Kyle took another step back, and flames wrapped around his legs, burning him as he watched what remained of his family come closer.

  “No,” he croaked.

  Jennifer smiled as she trudged closer. “You’re weak, you know that?” she mocked. “You couldn’t save us before, and you can barely look at us now. What good are you? What use does this world have for you?” She reached out for him, her fingers barely brushing his face. “Come now. Join us. Give into it and just close your eyes. There’s nothing left for you in this world.”

  “No,” Kyle whispered as he moved further into the flames behind him. He could feel the flames eating at his skin, and still he felt nothing. The horrors he was looking at were enough to override any other sensation he might have.

  “You cannot save this world,” Jennifer said as Michael’s small hand wrapped around his, the flames engulfing his son as he held him tight. “You cannot save anyone.”

  And in her eyes, he saw it. The red flames of the demon. The mocking gaze of its eyes as it wore his wife’s skin and goaded him into surrendering. He could see it clearly; rotten flesh and deformed body, twisting its grotesque form inside her, moving her like a puppet.

  “I see you,” Kyle whispered, and the grip on his hand tightened until the bones of his fingers were crushed in his son’s grasp. “I can see you.”

  “Will you kill me, Kyle?” Jennifer asked, her tone swiftly changing into the gentle voice he had fallen in love with every day of his life, over and over again.

  His heart jumped, and his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. For a split second, she shifted into the perfect image of herself, standing beautifully in her red dress, her eyes locked onto him. For a brief moment, the flames receded, and they were alone in a vacuum of nothingness. She reached for him, her hand brushing his cheek, and he shook with her touch.

  “You let me die once, Kyle,” she said soothingly. “How can you bring yourself to kill me again?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kyle stuttered, his eyes watering, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, baby,” Jennifer cooed. “It’s alright. I’m here. We’re finally together.”

  She moved until her face was inches from his, and beneath the charm, beneath the loving gaze and the smell of the perfume she wore because he loved its scent, he could smell the distinct aroma of decay.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kyle cried, and with one quick motion, swift and steady, he brought the dagger up and into his wife’s stomach.

  Jennifer screamed.

  It was a horrid screech of pain and anger. Her eyes flew open and burst into flames. Her skin shifted and ripped, flames bursting from her body and engulfing them both in their fury. The demon emerged from within her, its mouth agape in horror, its anger evident in the way its body twisted and turned around the knife protruding from it. It grabbed Kyle, both hands wrapping around his neck and squeezing until he felt like it would snap him right then and there. It lifted him off the ground and slammed him against the wall, screeching in a million angry voices as the flames burst from it in scorching waves.

  It pulled him back and slammed him into the wall, again and again, until he felt the world around him spin out of control. He succumbed to the brutal beating he was taking, his vision blurring as the demon wailed and screamed.

  Kyle’s hand found the hilt of the knife protruding from the beast, and with what little strength he had left, he turned it and pushed it in deeper. The demon’s screams rose to deafening levels, fire engulfing it as its body ripped and tore around the blade. It let go of him, and he fell to the ground in a heap, watching as bit by bit, the beast’s body tore apart. It clawed at the knife, trying to pull it out, but the blade wouldn’t budge, as if somehow it had locked itself in its place.

  With a final scream, the demon exploded into a shower of burning flesh and ash that rained over Kyle. He felt his head swim, and he fought to keep his eyes open. The world darkened around him as the flames quickly receded and the vision of his old house fell apart before him.

  And then there was nothing.

  ***

  I’m going to die.

  Aley felt her head spin and the onset of suffocation take over, her eyes closing as she gasped for air. The hands around her neck tightened even more, and Gadge’s voice curled into her head as it sought out the information it wanted.

  If you’r
e going to die, at least don’t give it anything.

  With what little strength she had left, she fought the prying fingers in her head, pushing them away, struggling to protect Kyle’s whereabouts from the monster that wanted to kill him. The monster that was slowly killing her.

  Suddenly, the grip on her neck loosened, and Gadge let out a guttural scream that shattered whatever sanity she had left. She felt that scream cut through her like a knife as she fell into a heap on the ground, her broken body protesting in waves of pain that overwhelmed her completely.

  Through half-open eyes, she watched Gadge scratch wildly at his face as he staggered back and slammed against what remained of Kyle’s Ford. He shook wildly, foam pouring out the side of his mouth, eyes staring wildly at the night sky. He continued to shake even after he had fallen to the ground, his back arching and his legs kicking out.

  He looks like a fish out of water. She was only half amused by how ridiculous this thought was before her eyes closed and darkness enveloped her.

  ***

  Kyle’s eyes opened to the distant sound of thunder and the flashing of lightning in the skies above him. He was lying on his back in the parking lot of the Kent Country Inn, the knife still held firmly in his hand. The skies opened, and rain fell in showers around him, soaking his burning body, and drenching him in cool comfort.

  He tried to get up and quickly realized that he was too exhausted to move. In the distance, there was still the distinct sound of sirens, and the soft cackle of fire quickly being drowned out by the starting storm.

  How he had found his way down from a locked room to the inn parking lot, he had no idea. And he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was no longer surrounded by flames and demons.

  All that mattered was that he was still alive. And that it was over.

  Is it over?

  Kyle smiled, gave into the exhaustion, and drifted away.

  Chapter 12

  Kyle awoke to a loud knocking on the door.

  He opened his eyes slowly, every inch of his body groaning in protest as he turned his head to look at the time. For the fourth day in a row, he had slept for over twelve hours, uninterrupted by nightmares, with the curtains drawn open. The sun fell on his face with a soft warmth that he greedily welcomed.

  The knocking came again, and he lazily rolled out of bed. He pulled a t-shirt over his head and stretched as he ambled to the door and looked through the pigeonhole. With a tired smile, he opened and let Aley in.

  “You look like you’ve been asleep for days,” she said, dropping her bag to a side and closing the door behind her.

  Kyle sat down heavily on the bed and watched as she inspected the small motel room he had been staying in for the last four days. She pulled out a chair, took off her jacket and sat down, folding it onto her lap. He waited as she scrutinized him.

  “You look good,” he said.

  “I would say thank you if I didn’t feel like shit,” she replied.

  Kyle nodded. He had a good idea what she had been through over the past two weeks, especially since he had been put through the same tedious routine since their last night in Kent. The National Guard and FBI had found their way to Kent quickly, cleaning up the mess that followed the fires and the complete decimation of the Kent police force. Alost twenty men and women had died that night, all burned to the point where they could only be identified by their dental records. Several of the injured had been raced to nearby hospitals in Sharon and Torrington when the Health Center couldn’t keep up. All in all, it had been a complete mess.

  Kyle had gone through several rounds of strenuous interrogation. He had been asked all kinds of questions, starting from the fire that had taken away his family to the night Aley had found him in the ditch by the Country Inn. They wanted to know about his relationship to the Sheriff, his relationship to Aley, and his relationship to every single person in Kent. Which meant he had a lot to tell.

  They had kept them lodged in the Country Inn for three days, separated except during dinners when there were at least three agents watching their every move and listening to their every word. It had been tiresome, and after what he had been through, Kyle had just wanted to finally be left alone. And he could see from the look on Aley’s face that she had shared his sentiments exactly.

  He had avoided talking about Fegan or the witching hour, had made up a story about family heritage when they had found the knife, and had made sure that any reference to Aley was made only in the context of a friend helping out another friend. Luckily for the both of them, Paula had kept her mouth shut as well. Kyle thought it had more to do with her wanting everyone out of there than anything else. Either way, after the third day, the FBI agent who had been drilling him finally told him that he was free to leave.

  Kyle had left Aley a note with Paula about where he would be, got into his car and drove until he reached Warren, booking himself into the motel he was currently in. He had avoided reporters, gotten rid of his cell phone, and had slept for most of the past four days. Sleep had never felt better.

  “What did you tell them?” he asked.

  Aley shrugged. “What could I tell them? The Sheriff went mad, I tried to stop him, almost died in the process.” She paused. “Either way, Gadge is raving about demons and fire, so I think they’re going to close the case and settle for ‘the crazy Sheriff did it’.”

  Kyle frowned. He almost felt bad for Gadge, but the memory of the Sheriff almost killing him on the other side was still too fresh in his mind for that.

  “So what now?” Aley asked.

  Kyle shrugged. “Sleep, for starters,” he said. “I’ve got years to make up for.”

  Aley smiled.

  “You?” he asked.

  “I’m heading back to New York,” she said. “I can’t stay here. Not anymore.”

  Kyle nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m glad you came,” he said. “When you didn’t show up right away, I thought maybe you had just decided to drive past me.”

  “I had to take care of Maureen’s store,” Aley explained. “Her brother came in from Maine to oversee the burial procedures, and I had to say my goodbyes. Didn’t feel right to miss the funeral.”

  “Yeah,” Kyle said, eyes downcast. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t bring myself to drive back once I was out.”

  “No one’s judging you,” she replied. “At least I’m not. Besides, the whole world knows that Kyle Ashfeld is alive and well, and the town’s crawling with reporters and agents. You’re big news again.”

  “For all the wrong reasons,” Kyle said. He looked up and caught the sad look she was giving him, and quickly shot her a smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Maybe write a book or two, drive down the east coast?”

  Aley smiled. “I’ll be sure to keep my eyes on the bookshelves,” she said. She stood up, pulled on her coat and gave him a shrug. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Mr. Ashfeld.”

  “For your own sanity, I really hope not,” he chuckled.

  He gave her a quick hug, offered to carry her bag which she refused, and watched her get into her rental and pull out. He waved and waited until her car was out of sight before walking back into the room and closing the door behind him.

  So what now?

  The question lingered in his mind as he sat back down on the bed and rubbed his temples. He had no idea, and didn’t really feel like he needed to at the moment. It was enough to count his wins and be grateful for the fact that he was still breathing.

  He opened the drawer to his bedside table, hesitated, then pulled out the satin-sheathed knife from within. Unfolding the cloth covering it, he carefully wrapped his hands around the hilt and braced himself. When nothing happened, he sighed in relief, wrapped the satin around the blade once more, and returned it to the drawer. He had been repeating this ritual for the past four days, and just like today, the knife’s powers remained dormant. Thankfully.

  Kyle Ashfeld lied down in bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, and
closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

  At least for now, the nightmares were over.

  Epilogue: 1982

  Dr. Henry Ashfeld sighed as he scribbled his signature on the last page of the immense paperwork stacked in front of him. The woman sitting across from him waited patiently, smile unwavering as he capped his pen and pushed the papers towards her.

  “Thank you, Dr. Ashfeld,” she said. “That should be everything. We’ll check in every now and then, routine more than anything.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” Henry replied with a tired smile of his own.

  He had been called back to Hartford at least twice in the past three weeks, first to attend the morbidity and mortality meeting regarding Ashley McLane’s death, and then to handle the board’s request to review Charles Kimnot’s license to practice in the state of Connecticut. He had tried to handle both situations as best he could, but the truth of the matter remained that a young girl had died in the OR during childbirth, at the hands of a drunk doctor whom he should have been supervising.

  Ashley’s family hadn’t even bothered to pick up their daughter’s body, let alone check on the child. It angered him how some people could be so heartless, so incredibly narrow-minded and stupid. Luckily for the hospital, the family didn’t sue, but a part of Henry wished they had. At least then they would have seemed a little more humane.

  Thankfully, there was a silver lining to the situation.

  Henry walked his guest out of the hospital, shaking her hand and thanking her for her efforts.

  “And this is your most recent address?” she asked.

  “It is,” he nodded. “The house is easy to find. Just ask anyone in Kent and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

  “Small communities are always charming,” she smiled.

  “Perfect for a family,” he added.

  She promised to be in touch, got into her car and drove away.