by Glenn Porzig
Trinity of Darkness
by
Glenn Porzig
Trinity of Darkness
The Darkness Unbound
Collection
Lady in Black
Terror of Night
Shadow of Death
Trinity of Darkness
The Darkness Unbound
Collection
Glenn Porzig
Copyright © 2017 by Glenn Porzig
Cover design: Glenn Porzig
Cover photography: Dreamstime
Darkness Unbound is a Trademark of Glenn Porzig
DarknessUnbound.com
Published by Graphic Entertainment
GraphicEntertainment.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any other means without the prior written consent of the author, with the exception of brief quotes used for reviews or discussion.
ASIN: B075G1JH8Y
Table of Contents
Darkness Unbound:
Lady in Black
Darkness Unbound:
Terror of Night
Darkness Unbound:
Shadow of Death
A special preview of
Darkness Unbound:
Grave of Ashes
Dedicated to
those who believe
Darkness Unbound:
Lady in Black
The headlights of a passing car cast odd, long shadows. They seemed to take on the appearance of monsters as they crept silently across the wall of the darkened room. The stillness of the night was broken only by the slightest creaking that echoed loudly in the quiet house.
The hardwood floor was cold against little Bobby Wright's bare feet as he crept down the dark hallway towards the kitchen. He wasn't allowed to have soda after eight o'clock, especially on a school night. He had pretended to go to sleep, but had actually lain in bed wearing headphones and playing his hand-held gaming system. But now his parents were finally asleep, and he was thirsty. He wanted to sneak a sip of that forbidden sugary soda before finally going to bed.
As Bobby stepped into the kitchen he felt like he was being watched. He looked around nervously, and listened carefully, but didn't see or hear anything. He was just scared of being caught, he told himself. His confidence restored, he smiled with a sense of accomplishment at reaching his goal undetected.
Bobby tugged the large handle of the refrigerator and it popped open with a gush of chilled air. To his shock, at that exact same moment, the door to every cabinet in the kitchen also swung open as if they were all connected.
All hopes of not being caught awake in the middle of the night were pushed out of his young mind by the sight before him. The contents of the cabinets and drawers all began to hurl themselves violently onto the kitchen floor.
Rob and Karen Wright awoke to a loud crash. They looked at each other, both shocked.
"What was that?" asked Karen.
"I think I heard glass breaking," replied Rob.
They both jumped out of bed. Fearing an intruder, Rob grabbed his Louisville Slugger as Karen pulled on a robe. They cautiously made their way down the dark hall.
Karen gasped as she saw Bobby's door open. His bed was empty. Fearing the worst, she pushed at Rob from behind, spurring him to hurry and find the source of the noise that woke them. Karen silently prayed, hoping to find their child safe.
Rob turned the corner into the kitchen with his baseball bat held high, ready to strike. There, in the middle of the kitchen floor, he saw Bobby. He was lit up by the open refrigerator, on his knees and sobbing uncontrollably. The floor was littered with cracked dishes, and twisted silverware. Broken glass was scattered everywhere.
"What the hell is going on in here?" shouted Rob.
"I didn't do it!" sobbed Bobby.
"It's okay, Bobby, just tell us what happened," said Karen as she knelt and wrapped her arms around her trembling son.
"It wasn't me, it was the shadow man..."
***
The lady in black walked along casually, seemingly oblivious to the attacker that quickly approached her. Suddenly, she was grabbed from behind. She cried out as she reached up, and with a firm grasp on the assailant's arm, she folded over—all in one fluid movement. The well-practiced move had the intended result, using her attacker's own weight and momentum to carry him forward. Her attacker hit the floor—Hard.
A perfect move. Her students clapped as one of them helped up the poor man that had assisted her with the demonstration.
"Everyone please give a hand to Steve for being our mugger this evening," said the instructor.
A red-faced Steve slowly stood up and took a bow. The class was made up of women, many middle-aged, all eager to learn about self-defense.
"That's it for tonight. Be sure to practice, stay safe, and I'll see you all again here next week."
Wrapping a towel around her neck, the twenty six year old instructor headed for the locker room. Her bright green eyes, short red hair and athletic build caught the attention of one of the men exercising as she passed. Joe had recently joined the gym, but he was no stranger to working out.
Standing over six feet tall with washboard abs, he always had luck with the ladies. That's why he joined the gym, better odds than hanging at the bars. He smiled as she passed, but she didn't break her stride. He stared, admiring her tight black yoga pants as he watched her walk away. Joe's friend slapped him on the back, laughing at him.
"Brother, you don't want a piece of that."
"What, you think I can't handle her?" Joe cocked his head, watching her as she disappeared into the women's locker room.
"Oh, I'm not afraid that she'll knock you on your ass," his friend smirked.
"This isn't my first rodeo. You just step back and watch a master at work." Joe ran his fingers through his hair and positioned himself near the door to the locker room.
"Fine. You're a big boy. I'll let you handle this one on your own."
Shortly, the door to the women's locker room opened and out came the redheaded instructor. But this time she was wearing a nun's habit. Joe was too stunned to say anything as she passed him by.
"Told ya," Joe's friend gloated as she walked out of the gym.
Outside, Sister Marian cautiously surveyed the parking lot as she walked to her modest car. Once inside, she locked the car doors then relaxed a bit, but she wouldn't be truly at ease until she got back to the convent. Starting up the car, she rolled down the windows to enjoy the cool night air. The breeze felt good after her workout.
She turned on the radio as she pulled out of the parking lot, some music usually made the short drive a pleasant one.
Driving from the gym, her mind drifted back to nearly a year ago when Greg had asked her to take over his class. She had been shocked that he even suggested it. He was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and taught those classes, as well as the Wednesday night women's self-defense class. She had been in the class the longest but hadn't felt that she was the best choice.
Greg's mother had broken her hip, and he needed more time away from the gym. He had convinced her that it would be a good opportunity for community service and outreach. And he was right, it had been good to be able to directly help her neighbors and spread the good news as well.
Something started to nag at her. She couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that something was very wrong. And then th
e whispers started. Sister Marian couldn't make out what they were saying, but she was sure she heard people whispering. Thinking that maybe the radio was experiencing another channel bleeding over, she changed the station. It didn't help. Still the voices came to her, unintelligible, almost inaudible. She turned up the radio to drown them out and then sped up.
All was quiet when Sister Marian finally arrived at the convent. As usual, the only one still stirring was Sister Mary Francis. At just under five feet tall, she may have been nearly seventy, but she was still young at heart. Like all of the nuns in her order, she had taken the name of the Virgin Mary as part of her name.
At the time, Sister Mary Francis had been nervous because the final decision for her name was decided by the Mother Superior. But she was happy with her name honoring both the mother of Christ and Saint Francis. Times had changed by the time Sister Marian's name was chosen. She had been able to suggest three names for the Mother Superior to choose from.
Sister Mary Francis was a grandmotherly figure to Marian, personally watching over her ever since she first arrived over a decade ago.
"I told you, you don't have to wait up for me."
"You know, I worry about you out there at night all alone," she said as she closed the door behind Sister Marian.
"Well, I'm home now, you get some sleep. Morning will be here before you know it," said Sister Marian as she headed up the stairs to her room.
The room was modest, not too big, nothing fancy. You wouldn't know someone had been living there for a decade now. But it was home, and the place she felt safest. She changed into her sleepwear and turned down the covers, but didn't turn out the light as she retired for the evening. Exhausted from her workout, sleep came easier than usual.
***
The night was quiet. Except for the occasional stray cat, the streets were empty in the upper middle class neighborhood. Naturally, the retirees on the street had turned in early. From another generation, they had grown up with a philosophy of early to bed, early to rise.
Everyone else had turned in early as well, either to get a good night's rest before school or in preparation for work in the morning. Some trusting people had even left their windows open to enjoy the cool night air. That had been a mistake, and for one unlucky family it would prove to be their last.
A dark figure quietly pushed a window open all the way and then slid in. There were no dogs or alarms to alert the homeowners. This was known to be a safe neighborhood, and people had let their guard down. They were lulled into a false sense of security from years without incident. Bad things only happened to other people, right?
The black-clad figure moved silently through the house, becoming bolder with each step. Gloved hands tested each door as the intruder made its way down the hall, observing the vulnerable, sleeping occupants. Finally, the figure found what it was looking for and stopped.
The figure stood at the foot of the bed, motionless in the darkness, listening to the quiet relaxed breathing, savoring the anticipation of the moment. It had waited a long time for this.
Suddenly, a long knife glinted in the moonlight, held high by a gloved hand. The other hand moved to cover the teen-aged boy's mouth. Matt Reid's eyes flew open in time to see the blade rushing toward him. It was the last thing he would ever see.
Once again the first born, the eldest son, was the first victim. The ritual had begun anew.
***
Sister Marian woke up screaming. Sister Mary Francis burst through her door, frantic to check on her friend.
She knelt down next to the bed and cradled the younger woman who had begun to cry.
"Was it the nightmares again? Are they back?"
"I don't know, it was... it was worse somehow." Marian was shaking and struggling to speak between her sobs.
"It's all right, dear. Take a moment. I'm here with you," Sister Mary Francis said as she rocked her friend in an attempt to console her, "you're safe here."
"It was different. I saw something, something... horrible. A family was murdered. I don't know who they were, but it was me doing it," she looked down at her trembling hands, then up at her friend.
The older nun felt pity when she saw the forlorn look in Marian's tired eyes. "It was just a dream, you never left your room. I was right down the hall the whole night. You just take a moment to calm down—it was a nightmare and nothing more."
"I pray you're right." Sister Marian put her head down and rested it in her hands, leaning into the reassuring embrace of her fellow sister.
***
The next morning came too soon. Sister Marian struggled to wake up. Another night without enough sleep. She would never get used to it. Despite being exhausted, she was actually glad to be awake and free from the nightmares. If that's all they were.
Wearily, she reached for the small clock radio on her nightstand and switched it on; she expected to hear about the grisly murders that happened overnight. But there was nothing mentioned, only more dirty politics and a dismal weather forecast.
Thinking maybe it really was only a dream, she got ready for another day of forcing a smile and pretending that everything was all right.
***
Detective Drake was still asleep when the call came in. He had worked late the night before and wasn't expecting to be called in this morning. Overtime shifts were handled in a rotation and it wasn't even close to his turn to be on call. He rolled over and fumbled to pick up the phone, tempted to throw it at the wall to make the ringing stop. He let out an exasperated sigh as he answered.
"Drake here. This better be important."
The call was important, one that he had hoped he would never hear. He struggled to sit up as he listened. His face grew grimmer by the moment.
"The chief says he wants you in here now. There's been a multiple homicide. An entire family killed overnight," said Officer De La Rosa over the phone. "Address is 322 Karr Lane."
"That's in the Hawbaker Heights neighborhood, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," said the officer.
"Nice neighborhood. Listen, I'm off duty. Why is Underwood calling me in?" Drake stiffly swung his legs around to the side of the bed.
"I don't know, he asked for you personally. Chief said he wanted you to take lead, something about how you'd be familiar with the details," answered the officer.
"Shit. Tell them not to touch anything, I'll be there as soon as I can," Drake hung up and sat there on the bed staring blankly, contemplating the implications of what he had just heard.
The detective wasn't happy, the past was best forgotten. But that wouldn't happen now. There was no way to keep this quiet. Already wearing a T-shirt and boxers, he quickly grabbed yesterday's clothes from a pile next to his bed and ran for the door, dressing as he went.
***
Not knowing if it was real or imagined, Sister Marian had decided the best recourse was to pray about her vision. Kneeling at a pew with her Rosary, she began to pray. She found it hard to concentrate. Flashes of the torment she had witnessed the night before flooded her mind's eye.
"Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen."
She had thought praying would help her, it usually did, but this time was different. Everything was so vivid. She saw her nightmare replay every time she closed her eyes.
She stood and walked over to the votive candles. She said a prayer as she lit one for each of the four victims she had seen in her vision.
Having completed her morning duties, she decided to check the news once more. The idea that she may have witnessed the murder of a real family consumed her.
The noon news was just beginning, and the lead story filled her with dread. The news anchor looked up from his papers with a serious expression.
"Our top st
ory at this noon hour—tragedy strikes overnight, leaving a family of four dead. Apparently killed in their sleep by an unknown intruder. We will have more from this breaking news story, with Caroline Phipps, live from the scene, as it develops."
After all of these years, it couldn't be happening again. Could it? She needed to find out more about the murders.
***
It was a mad house. Nearly a dozen police cars parked at odd angles blocked the street. Some neighbors paced up and down the sidewalks, gossiping to each other, trying to see what was happening. Others were being interviewed either by police, or reporters.
An ambulance, the coroner's van, and the CSU truck were all pulled up in front of the house.
The press was out in full force. Television live trucks lined the streets, their white masts reaching up into the blue sky. Reporters and cameramen were gathered, pressed as close to the scene as the yellow police tape would allow them. The news helicopters had been circling overhead like buzzards around a fresh kill for the last two hours.
The reporters were also buzzing around, trying to find an angle, wanting to be the first to break some sordid detail. The police weren't sharing much information, and that was making them speculate.
Inside the house, crime scene evidence technicians were working. Taking hundreds of photos. Bagging dozens of samples. Measuring everything precisely. It was all very tedious, painstaking work.
So far, none of the forensic evidence had shown much promise.
Detective Drake was tired. But that wasn't the only thing that was bothering him. Since becoming a detective in the homicide division, he had seen many deaths. 'Death comes in many ways, and most of them aren't pretty,' he was fond of saying when asked about his work.
What he couldn't believe was the eerie similarity of this murder to another a dozen or so years back. Was this a copycat? That was the obvious answer—the original case had drawn a lot of publicity. That was also the only answer that would let him sleep tonight... or possibly ever again.
