by Unknown
I would not let go of the amulet.
***
I rolled away, trying to buy some time and space, but Torma was unrelenting, amulet or no amulet. I felt a heavy boot connect with my ribs and doubled over in pain as another kick connected with my chest, sending me falling to the ground.
"Give me the amulet!"
I had the amulet in both hands, and the choice was now mine. I could put it on and hope for the powers it conferred on me to give me the edge or I could heed the hint in the Tarot card and pry open the lion's mouth. Another kick that rocked me back, sending one of my teeth flying, made me decide. I had no time to put it on and hope it gave me added powers. I grabbed the amulet with both hands and opened the lion's mouth.
Jerry Torma paused.
"You don't know what you're doing. Stop!"
I had him now. The look of smug arrogance he had for so long had been replaced by concern, even panic.
I felt the metal give as I strained and something fell out of the mouth. A small golden sliver—the florin I had come so far to recover. The Tarot card had indeed held the key. I stood and smiled, still unsteady on my feet as I put the florin in my pocket.
"My mission is done. That was all business. Now I will put on this amulet, and kill you. That will be all pleasure."
I put the amulet on, slipping it around my neck, and felt a jolt, almost like an electric shock, course through my body. I staggered back, trying to blink away the stars I saw. Torma rushed at me, but the amulet seemed to have given me added strength and speed and I pivoted on my feet, landing a blow on the back of his neck that sent him sprawling down in a heap.
I looked at my hands, marveling at the power that coursed through them. With such power, I could fight my way to the top of The Black Fang. Torma was lying on the ground and before I finished him, I took a look at the florin in my hand. Yes, Old Man Phillips had been quite helpful. The florin looked like the sign for infinity, and the tarot card had indeed paved the way for my victory. I heard a growl and looked at Torma.
He was on all fours, his face twisted into a feral grimace that made him look like an animal more than a man. He was chanting in the ancient tongue.
"Zul, the shape-changer, devourer of souls, I beseech you. Zul, my guardian, to whom I have pledged my allegiance, I beg you. Zul, my master, I pray to you."
I stood there, rooted to the spot. He was blabbering, perhaps in panic at having lost the florin and the amulet, but something about his tone made me pause and not go closer to finish him. I could just walk away. I had what I had come for. The helicopters were closer and I could hear cops and Marines screaming nearby as they rescued the survivors. I started to turn away when I felt the chain tighten against my neck. Torma was now moving from side to side, his chanting even louder than before.
"Zul, my master, manifest your power through me. Let me be your vessel."
I choked and sputtered as the chain tightened further and I fell to my knee. Then Torma was on me in one bound his nails biting into my neck, pulling off the amulet, which he then pressed against my forehead. I screamed as it burnet red hot against my head.
"Zul the ancient, Zul the devourer of worlds, manifest yourself, and through me, take command of these covens, and show the world who really owns the powers of Dark. Bring Darkness into the world, let me be your vessel, let me be the shape-changer."
I screamed again and fell down to the ground. My whole body felt like it was on fire, my skin felt like it was melting. I screamed till I was hoarse and closed my eyes, hoping the pain would stop. When I began to open my eyes, someone was leaning over me.
"Now I will go to this meeting of yours, kill all The Black Fang and spread my Master's word."
My eyes were now open, and I saw that I was somehow wearing Torma's uniform, and he had donned my clothes. Then I looked at him and saw staring back at me a face that was very familiar.
My face.
***
I look at the mirror in front of me, and turn away, not able to bring myself to see the face staring back at me. Jerry Torma's face. I end this diary today, three days after I was arrested after the attack on Fort Benning. It was all over the news—a disgruntled Marine called Jerry Torma, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and in cahoots with right wing extremists had caused the death and destruction. Torma had planned it well, leaving mails and documents in his room that made it a watertight case. I had badly underestimated him, and when I tried telling those who had arrested me my story in the chaos that followed the attack, I was diagnosed as suffering from delusions or being insane. This diary is meant to prove otherwise. You humans lead your lives oblivious to the battle being waged in your midst. You do your jobs, grumble about bosses, plot, seduce, gamble, fornicate and then die, without realizing the never ending struggle between the covens for superiority. And now an ancient evil has inserted itself into their midst. The man who had been called Jerry Torma is now on his way to Levi Phillip's base and I have no doubt with his powers, and having assumed my identity, he will get access to the inner sanctums of the coven. What will happen then I do not know—will he succeed in his quest for power? Will Old Man Phillips be able to see through this deception and betrayal?
What do I do know with certainty is that my life comes to an end here. I spent my life trying to be a warlock, trying to gain what I believed had been a destiny denied to my father, trying to wish away the identity I had been given by my mother. I will die as I was born—a man, the child of a human mother. I will slit my wrist and join her, if there is a Heaven and if those like me are even granted entry there. I suppose I will find out soon.
September 19
The bedsores on my ass were open and leaking puss on the bare mattress. Matthew stopped changing the sheets weeks ago. The bed would be soiled and reeking in a matter of hours anyway. I had to remind myself this was not the end. The flesh was dying but I was not, and I had to be careful not to buy into my own performance.
It was almost time. Some of the warlocks of The Black Fang were in transit and others were close to their targets. The warlocks in rival covens, those charged with guarding their piece of Abramelin's gold florin, would die defending it. Matthew's task was a brilliant way of thinning the coven to a number he could manage. I'm not sure I could defeat all nine warlocks in one battle, and Matthew knew this too. He took a chance but it would pay off. The warlocks who succeeded in their quest would arrive on my doorstep with a piece of the florin and that would be one less I'd have to search the globe to find. For now, I had to be patient and play this act out to the final scene.
“It'll be a matter of days now. Some of the men have sent messages. They're on their way.”
I nodded and smiled at Matthew.
“Can you hang on?”
I nodded again.
You're going to get yours you lying, despicable shitstain.
“More shine?”
“Yes,” I said. The words came out of my mouth like dry sand. “It hurts.”
Matthew walked out of my room to fetch more alcohol. The boy didn't know he had only a handful of days left.
The End by J. Thorn
I coughed a wad of phlegm swirled with blood into the handkerchief. The room smelled like warm vomit. My eyes were bloodshot and saliva dribbled from the corner of my mouth. It was easier to manipulate this body because it was so old. Pretending to be on death's door was not such a stretch. I allowed some of the tissue in my legs to die and the diseased flesh gave off a fetid, sickening stench like rotted pork. Matthew was too young and too inexperienced to see through my ruse, which confirmed he was not ready to lead the coven.
“They'll be arriving soon,” Matthew said. He set a rusted metal tray on my nightstand. The teapot wobbled and a tea bag bobbed in a mug of lukewarm water.
“Five, right?” I asked.
“That's right, Levi. I sent letters to them all, summoning them back for your final moments, but only five responded.”
Fucking liar. The letter he sent
was not about my last days. He must have felt the absence of the four warlocks who failed. I saw more with my mind's eye than the fool did with his two real ones.
“When?” I asked.
“In a day, maybe sooner.”
“You should go to the cave. Prepare for the transition ceremony.”
On the outskirts of our property and due east of the Great Serpent Mound sat the cave. I should have had a more regal name for such hallowed ground, but didn't. The cave had been there for eons and drew its spiritual power from the Great Serpent Mound. When founding or moving a coven, it was always important to find a grounding center, a place in the earth to draw the unseen energy. The cave in Adams County was that place for us. While archaeologists and ghost hunters spent their time mesmerized by the Great Serpent Mound, the real power was channeled to the cave. It was where the last challenge to the coven was made and where this false transitional ceremony would take place. It would also become the sealed crypt of five warlocks and one deceitful, bastard apprentice.
“I did. The wooden doors are secured and I checked the padlock and chains. They're a bit rusty but secure. I also changed the batteries in the LED lights and swept the cavern. The altar is clear of bat dung.”
“I may not make the descent into the cavern.”
“I know,” he said. “I have the incantations, should you need me to stand in your place.”
The boy was really putting on quite a performance. He was trying to make me believe he would willingly transfer the coven to one of the other warlocks.
“Yes, yes. That would be good,” I said. “Please leave me. I'm weak and need my rest.”
Matthew smiled and nodded before walking out of the room. I was going to enjoy wiping the smirk from his goddamn face.
As I lay in bed with my eyes closed, I heard the distinct, throaty rumble of the Harley Davidson. The evening was cool and quiet with the scent of autumn's first leaves, until Geno Divoss rode the iron beast down the dirt driveway leading to our cabin. The old Cajun had a flair for the extravagant.
“They're starting to arrive.”
I opened my eyes to look at Matthew. Some time passed and he returned from his rounds. Matthew propped the door open wide enough to stick his head through the gap. Along with that stupid fucking hat.
“Gino,” I said. My voice was failing and, by all outward appearances, I was dying. It was all going perfectly to plan. “He is the first. Others will be arriving. Offer them some shine and then have them proceed to the cavern.”
Matthew nodded and shut the door. A few moments later, the Harley's engine fell silent and I could hear Matthew and Gino talking through the window. Although I could not decipher what was being said, I didn't need to. I was so deep into Matthew's mind, it was though I stood inside of his skin.
“…won't last another day.”
“He's that far gone?” Gino asked.
“Yep,” Matthew said. “He's close. We're gonna have to hope the others show soon. I reckon we'll be done by sunup.”
More idle chatter about horsepower and witches followed, none of which interested me. I heard Gino start the bike as he drove past the cabin and on the path to the cave.
Sean McSorley was the next to arrive. The young, brash Irish-American from Boston had a knack for mind reading, but the same power left him vulnerable to be read by others. I had plenty of experience with his kind. His gritty spirit got him farther than his spellcasting.
A car door opened and again I could hear Matthew talking. He took on the role of greeter, directing the warlocks to the cave where they would talk, drink and wait for the transition ceremony to begin.
The dark-skinned man from Mumbai was next. Or at least that's what the imposter wanted me to believe. I could feel the disgusting filth of The Feathered Serpent Coven all over the man's spiritual imprint. It may have appeared to Matthew to be Mayukh, but I knew it was a man named Jerry Torma. Mayukh, like his father before him, failed. Jerry bested Mayukh and thought he would come to destroy The Black Fang, a rival coven. He would die stupid and unfulfilled, like all the rest.
Each warlock except the crazy Cajun arrived in a car. I listened to the tires spitting gravel and could see the dust mixing with the setting sun. It was almost dark, almost time for me to make my move, but a few more warlocks were coming.
I thought The M12 had better taste in vehicles. I expected him to arrive on supersonic Japanese motorcycle or a BMW i8, but instead he came down the dirt road in a pickup truck. It was peppered with rust and the back bumper hung askew. Unlike the others, he parked the ratty truck, got out and began walking to the cave without speaking to Matthew. Of all the warlocks arriving tonight, The M12 was the most dangerous. I would need to keep an eye on him.
The last warlock to arrive should have been Simon Bolger. The Brit was sent to North Carolina by Matthew's phony letter. I knew he was successful in securing a piece of the gold florin. Yet, like the warlock pretending to be Mayukh, this was not Simon Bolger. I sensed a much more ancient and vile presence in Bolger's body. Unlike the others, I was not able to eavesdrop on the conversation he was having with Matthew, and that alarmed me.
Jean, Arthur, Jeremy and Brad? I already knew those warlocks were dead. I think Matthew knew as well. I waited for him to come back into the cabin. I heard his footsteps approach my room. This time he opened the door fully and came inside.
“They're here. The candidates for leadership of the coven. I've sent them all to the cave to wait for your instructions.”
“Good,” I said.
Matthew walked around to the side of the bed. I gasped for air and used my head to signal Matthew to come closer.
“Yes, master. How can I help you in your time of transition?”
The fucker was so insincere. I wanted to kill him as soon as I could.
“I'm slipping away, Matthew. I need you to run the ceremony.”
“I told the others this could be a possibility. They are expecting me to handle the transitional incantations.”
The sparkle in his eye made me want to vomit, but I knew that smug look wouldn't be there for much longer.
“Good, good.”
I noticed Matthew had his hands behind his back. I could sense the twelve inch hunting knife he was grasping in his right hand. As far as he knew, I was dying. But Matthew couldn't steal my power unless I died by his hand.
“We've been together a long time, Levi.”
“We have,” I said.
“What parting wisdom do you have for your coven, for The Black Fang?”
I recognized the edge of madness that precedes murder. It was in his eyes. I knew it because I experienced it many times myself. I had but mere seconds before Matthew would drive that knife into my chest.
“Come closer. Let me bestow the wisdom of Abramelin on you.”
Matthew leaned over my bed. I reached up with both hands and yanked the straps of his overalls until his face was upon mine. I could smell moonshine and wild mushrooms on his breath. His eyes flittered with excitement and fear.
“You conniving bastard,” I said. “I'm sending you to Hell for your betrayal.”
I didn't give him an opportunity to reply. I opened my mouth as if we were about to kiss. Matthew struggled but I summoned the remainder of the physical power from within my dying body and held his face to mine. I pulled him closer until his breath was on my lips. I unleashed the fury of the ages into Matthew's mouth, all the power of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn into his body, where it penetrated his soul like a laser-guided missile. He stumbled and whimpered but I held him tight as my power infiltrated his body, seeking out and crushing the last remaining essence of that which made him Matthew. At the same time, I felt the power surging out of my old frame, out of what was known as Levi Phillips. A transfer of power was taking place, but not in the way Matthew hoped.
My vantage point flipped and now I was looking back into the face of Levi Phillips as that physical container took its last breaths. I was in complete contr
ol of Matthew's body while Levi Phillips lay dying before me. I thought of the other warlocks and didn't want any of them sensing an abnormality, such as a living body without a soul. As awkward as it felt, I plunged the knife deep into my own chest. I both caused and felt the puncture, the blade piercing my heart like a shot of wicked moonshine. The old man gasped one last time and died. I stepped back from the bed and gazed upon Levi Phillips through Matthew's eyes. I felt the surge of youth in my muscles, the energy of a twenty-five year old man. I, Levi Phillips, was now free from that dying body.
I sighed and walked out the door of the cabin, grabbing the gas can on the driveway we kept for the chainsaw. I walked back into the cabin, ripped off the spout and sloshed the gasoline on the floor. I couldn't bear to pour gasoline on the body I'd inhabited for so long, even though I knew it would burn just the same. I took a Zippo from the side pocket of my overalls, lit it and stepped out of the door as I tossed the lighter to the floor. At first, I heard nothing but a soft thump and saw a barely perceptible blue flame. But in the next second, the fuel erupted and the cabin was burning from the inside out.
I took another three steps back from the front door and watched as the flames crawled from the windows and slithered up the sides of the cabin like fiery serpents. I looked over one shoulder at the cars parked on the drive. It wouldn't be long before the warlocks in the cave sensed something. I could mask Matthew's murder and they would be too deep into the cave to hear the cabin burning, but these were powerful warlocks. They would sense something soon. Now was the time to kill.
***
