by John Everson
Reaching behind him, the saint withdrew the knife himself. The smile didn't break. "Look here, Nic," he said. Nic glimpsed those unnatural eyes for a moment and started feeling that paralysis again. With a wrench of will, he threw himself down the stairs. Theophrastus was moving towards him.
"You'll have to do better than that."
Three steps away. Nic kept his eyes averted, listening to the saint's footfalls echo on the granite.
"It's time, Nic. Time to pay for your sins."
Nic rolled once more, this time crashing into the glass coffin, throwing it off its cart. A hundred pounds of shrapnel crashed behind him, at the foot of the saint.
One of the metal corner pieces still had a huge ice-blue chunk attached to it. He rolled near it, grasping it with his good hand and keeping it behind him as he rose to one knee. He could feel the saint smiling, two feet away.
"Yes, Nic. Kneel to God. Beg his forgiveness. And don't worry about the box. I won't be needing it anymore. I have much work in the world to do. No time for sleep."
"Think again," Nic murmured as he sprang.
The glass impaled itself in Theophrastus's throat. The saint gurgled as Nic twisted the glass, cutting into his own hands. They fell together, Nic lying atop the creature as it gored his back with those snow-white hands. Nic sawed the blade in and out, trying to sever the head that thrashed from side to side.
Then it was on him, crushing his back into the glass shards as he continued pushing his impromptu blade in and out of the spurting hole in Theophrastus's neck. A million teeth bit at Nic's back as they rolled across the glass. Red slimy blood covered his face, his chest, and his legs.
The monster got a grip on Nic's face. He couldn't avoid looking at the ruined mask gurgling maniacally inches from his own, drooling blood on his own lips. Only the backbone could be holding the thing's head up. Skin flapped loosely all about the its neck. Nic's hands began to freeze, his control leaking like steam through a window. He couldn't look away. It was over.
Until the barrel of a shotgun came swinging through the air. It connected with the side of Theophrastus's head with a wet, squishy thud and crack, almost an explosion.
Silence.
Nic felt sensations returning. His life seemed to be draining out of a thousand cuts and wounds. He turned his head. Lying on the floor next to him were the grey broken bones of a skeleton. A skull was lodged against the altar. The shotgun was in the hands of Russ.
The spell was broken. As if on cue, there was crying and wailing everywhere. Several women screamed.
Russ looked down at Nic and shook his head. "You'd look better with some pants on, man."
April limped over to them, holding a shredded blouse across her chest. Someone had freed her binds.
"You look much better without pants on," Russ assessed.
The parishioners were streaming out of the church - almost running.
With Russ's help, Nic and April pulled on their clothes. The trio limped after the congregation. They found Father Raphael on the steps of the church, lying on his back with his hands on the haft of the cleaver. The rest of the knife was hidden in his stomach.
"I warned you not to take on the devil without help from the devil himself," Russ whispered, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.
"I'll remember that the next time a saint comes to town," Nic replied weakly.
They laughed. A little.
About the Author
John Everson is the Bram Stoker Award-winning author of the erotic supernatural horror novels Covenant, Sacrifice, The 13th and the newly released dark fantasy novel, Siren. His fifth novel, The Pumpkin Man, will be out in 2011.
Over the past 15 years, John's short fiction has appeared in more than 75 magazines and anthologies, and he has contributed to Green Hornet and Kolchak: The Night Stalker anthologies, as well as to the non-fiction On Writing Horror reference book for writers. His stories and novels have also been translated and published in Poland and France. A wide selection of his short fiction has been collected in four previous short story collections - Creeptych (Delirium Books, 2010), Needles & Sins (Necro Books, 2007), Vigilantes of Love (Twilight Tales, 2003) and Cage of Bones and Other Deadly Obsessions (Delirium Books, 2000).
John is the editor of the anthologies Sins of the Sirens (Dark Arts Books, 2008) and In Delirium II (Delirium Books, 2007). In 2006, he co-founded Dark Arts Books (www.darkartsbooks.com) to produce trade paperback collections spotlighting the cutting edge work of some of the best authors working in short dark fantasy fiction today. The press has since released six anthologies featuring some of the top names in horror/dark fantasy fiction.
He is also a digital artist with more than 20 book covers to his credit and musician - some of his dark techno songs have appeared as the background music on CD-ROM horror fiction anthologies.
John shares a deep purple den in Naperville, Illinois with a cockatoo and cockatiel, a disparate collection of fake skulls, twisted skeletal fairies, Alan Clark illustrations and a large stuffed Eeyore. There's also a mounted Chinese fowling spider named Stoker courtesy of Charlee Jacob, an ever-growing shelf of custom mix CDs and an acoustic guitar that he can't really play but that his son Shaun likes to hear him beat on anyway. Sometimes, his wife Geri is surprised to find him shuffling through more public areas of the house, but it's usually only to brew another cup of coffee. In order to avoid the onerous task of writing, he holds down a regular job at a medical association, experiments with the insatiable culinary joys of the jalapeno, loses hours in expanding an array of gardens and chases frequent excursions into the bizarre visual headspace of '70s euro-horror DVDs with a shot of Makers Mark and a tall glass of Newcastle.
For more on his fiction, art and music visit www.johneverson.com.
