Dark Realms

by Kristen Middleton

  “If you value them, then set them free!”

  He licked his lips and nodded. “I feel your passion for the children, young man, really I do, but…”

  “Do you think you’re any better? They are suffering!” I said, staring at the coins. “Look, they’re crying!”

  Sure enough, the faces on the coins were covered in tears and if you listened hard enough, you could hear them sob.

  “Wait,” said Shannon, stepping around me. “There is another way.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What say you, daughter?”

  “Father, a riddle. Let’s ask him a riddle and if he gets it right, release all of them. Remember the old days?”

  O’Darby’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I do love a riddle, yes I do. That’s a splendid idea, my darling.”

  “If I answer your riddle,” I said. “You’ll leave them all go?”

  “Well…” mumbled the Leprechaun, rubbing his chin. “I’d hate to lose them but then again, I doubt you’ll ever answer my riddle correctly.”

  “But if I do, will you let them all go?”

  He waved his hand. “Yes, very well.”

  I inhaled. “Okay, lay it on me.”

  “Wait!” yelled Jake, who’d been listening in stunned silence. “Can I help solve the riddle?”

  “No,” said O’Darby. “Only the young man. His heart is pure, unlike yours.”

  “But…” argued Jake.

  “Why don’t you do the honors,” interrupted O’Darby, turning towards Shannon. “Since it was your idea.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Yes. But don’t you dare give him an easy one, or I will take back my offer.”

  “Okay, father.” She turned to me. “Trent, think hard – a mile from end to end, yet as close to you as a friend. A precious commodity, freely given. Seen on the dead and on the living. Found on the rich, poor, short and tall, but shared among children most of all. What am I?”

  I closed my eyes and thought about the words. If I got this wrong, it would be the end of Ben.

  “Trent?” asked Ben.

  I let out a ragged breath and opened my eyes. “Something these coins haven’t felt for a long time. A smile.”

  O’Darby stared at me and then smiled. “Very good, unfortunately, that one was a little too easy, I see.”

  “But, father!” protested Shannon.

  He raised his hand. “Just wait, Shannon.”

  “But!”

  “Silence!” He then turned to me. “I need one more thing from you, boy. You see, if I release these children, they’ll need homes and I’ll need to know that you’ll find loving ones. Give me a good reason why I should trust you with my treasure?”

  I thought back to what Shannon had said to me the other day. It was beautiful and summed up the love that a parent should have for their children. “Because I believe that every child should be kept closest to the heart, and I would never squander what is innocent to gratify that which is wicked.”

  His face darkened and he looked at Shannon. “You shared this with him?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “You know in your heart,” I said, “If you really have one, that I hold these words just as true as you, Leprechaun.”

  He stared at me for a few seconds and then threw his head back and laughed. “Oh,” he said, shaking his finger at me. “You know, I like you, boy. You are quite amusing.”

  “Are you going to let them go?” I asked. “You promised!”

  He sighed and nodded. “Yes, indeed. Sometimes a pot needs to be emptied.”

  “Thank God,” I said, falling to my knees as Ben rushed over to me. I pulled my brother into my arms and held him tight to my chest.

  “But,” said O’Darby, grinning darkly, “mark my words, the pot won’t stay empty. There are many people in this world, too willing to refill it.”

  ***

  O’Darby was true to his word and the children were released from the pot. Some of them had been imprisoned for centuries, some for only a week or two. Most, mercifully, couldn’t remember anything, including their parents, who’d given them up.

  Fortunately, Shannon volunteered to help care for the children, in an old family castle in Ireland, while we searched for loving homes. Again, without her magic, there is no way we could have succeeded without going to the police and sending some of them back to the people who’d given them up like a pair of shoes.

  It took us four years to find homes for three hundred-and-twenty-two children. During that time, Shannon and I fell in love and eventually married. During the ceremony, her father, who I still despised and kept a close eye on, offered us a castle of our own, to live out the rest of our days.

  I refused.

  “You’ll do,” he said, nodding in approval. “You’ll do.”

  ***

  The End

  Zombie Games

  (Origins)

  By Kristen Middleton

  Cover by www.maeidesign.com

  Copyedited by: Carolyn M. Pinard

  www.thesupernaturalbookeditor.com

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright ©2012 by Kristen Middleton

  ISBN 978-1-300-70919-0

  Second Edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without express written permission of the author.

  Chapter One

  “Cassie, take out the garbage.”

  “Why can’t Allie do it?” I asked, closing the refrigerator door, pickle jar in hand.

  “Because it’s your job,” replied my mother, who was sitting at the kitchen counter, leafing through the mail.

  I pulled out the largest dill I could find and crunched down. “Mom,” I said between chews, “come on, she needs more chores. She’s twelve.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  “Sorry.”

  She peered at me over her glasses. “Tell you what…you can do the dishes and I’ll have her take out the garbage.”

  “Fine, I’ll take out the garbage.”

  “I thought so,” she answered with a wry smile.

  I rolled my eyes and swallowed the last of the juicy pickle. Before I could reach for another, she pointed to the trash can. “The pickles will still be here when you return.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re making me do this in the middle of the night,” I pouted, glancing out the window into the darkness.

  “That’s funny, coming from a seventeen-year-old who keeps begging me to extend her curfew.”

  “Yes, but not to go wandering alone in the dark.”

  Her eyes softened. “Honey, there’s nothing to be afraid of. We live on a quiet cul-de-sac in the suburbs.”

  Even though my mother was trying to comfort me, I just couldn’t shake the feeling of dread or quiet the niggling voice inside, whispering of something wicked lurking in the darkness. But then again, it could just be the fact that I’d been watching a horror flick earlier and it’d totally freaked me out. “Ok, well, if I’m not back in two minutes, send dad out.”

  “Right,” she snorted. “Little Ms. Black Belt.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. Last week I’d received my Black Belt after four years of intense discipline and training. It took a lot of patience and commitment, but earning the Belt was worth it.

  As I stepped outside, a warm breeze lifted my brown hair, blowing it across my face. I glanced up at the sky and shrugged off my anxiety; it really was a peaceful evening. The stars glimmered brightly and the moon was full.

  As I rounded the corner of the garage, Charlie, one of the neighbor’s dogs, began to bark; which was a pretty common occurrence. As annoying as it typically was, tonight it was somewhat com
forting to know I wasn’t alone.

  “Hey, it’s just me, Charlie!” I called, my voice echoing across the dark cul-de-sac. A lone streetlight flickered on his side of the circle.

  Charlie’s barking increased and he tossed in some obnoxious growls. As far as I was concerned, this dog had some serious trust issues.

  There was a sudden loud crash from behind the Hendrickson’s rambler and the motion-detector light flickered out. Charlie growled angrily in the darkness for a few seconds and then, without warning, let out an ear-piercing yelp.

  Oh crap, that can’t be good, I thought.

  A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I began to panic. Really, I wanted nothing more than to take out the garbage and hurry back inside. I also knew that if I ignored Charlie, and he was hurt, I’d never forgive myself.

  Dropping the garbage bag, I started walking towards his house when I heard a deep, strangled moan. I froze in my tracks; that wasn't Charlie.

  I shivered. “Hello? Mr. Hendrickson?”

  A tall shadow emerged from the darkness and my breath caught in my throat. I watched, motionless, as the figure shuffled through Charlie’s yard, towards me. It was about a hundred yards away when the figure stopped directly under the streetlamp. I sighed with relief when I recognized Scott, a guy from my karate class, who I’d dated a few times. It certainly was creepy, though, that he was lurking around the neighbor’s yard in the middle of the night.

  “Scott, what are you doing out here?” I called out.

  He just stared at me, swaying slightly.

  “Is everything okay?” I tried again, wondering if he was drunk. He’s my age, seventeen, and I’ve never known him to drink alcohol or use any kind of drugs, so his behavior was odd. I stepped closer and noticed that he held Charlie in his arms. An alarm went off in my head, and I froze. “Um, is Charlie hurt?”

  Scott growled and then dropped his face down towards Charlie, who lay motionless. When he lifted his head back up, there was a dark red stain covering his mouth. He smacked his lips and moaned in some kind of twisted pleasure. I shuddered in horror as my brain finally registered what was happening. Scott was feeding on Charlie!

  “Oh…my…God!” I choked, backing away. Bile rose in the back of my throat as the guy I once kissed assaulted the dog again with that very same mouth.

  I turned to run, stumbling over the garbage bag I’d dropped, my ankle twisting in pain. I cried out and struggled to stand when something grabbed my leg firmly. I looked back and froze in shock; it was Scott, only it wasn’t him. His green eyes were now black as death, cold and lifeless. His skin was gray and riddled with bloody sores. His mouth, which still dripped with Charlie’s blood, twisted into a grimace and he let out an unearthly screech.

  “Scott?!” I screamed as his teeth tore into my skin.

  ~~~

  I opened my eyes and drew my comforter up to my chin. Reminding myself it was just a dream, I released a shaky sigh and forced myself to chill out. Yes, it was definitely time to stop watching horror flicks before bed. Forcing the last of the disturbing images from my mind, I turned over and let out a real bloodcurdling scream.

  “Jed, what are you doing in my room!?” I gasped. It was the third time this week he’d snuck up on me. Apparently, it was now a special game.

  Three-year-old Jed giggled with delight. “Hi, Cassie,” he said, licking a thick layer of green slime from his nose. Even in the dark I could tell the sleeves on his Spiderman shirt were crusty from dried-up snot. “Hey, want to see my new caw?” he said. Jed has a hard time pronouncing his R’s. He removed something from his jeans and lifted it proudly into the air; a small, blue convertible that had seen better days.

  “Nice,” I mumbled, plumping up the pillow. “Now…please, go find Kris. You need a tissue.”

  Instead of leaving, however, he opened his mouth and began coughing, hurling millions of invisible germs towards me.

  I backed away in horror and yelled, “Mom!” Sure, he’s adorable with his big blue eyes and dimpled cheeks, but I’ll be the first to admit; I have a major phobia of germs. My room is off-limits and the daycare kids are forbidden to enter it; especially, the little “germy” ones.

  My mother popped her head into my room and cringed. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I didn’t know he snuck in. Come on, Jed, time to clean you up.”

  I snorted. “Clean him up? What about my blankets? He just infested my whole bed with his nasty cold germs.”

  Jed‘s lower lip began to tremble and his eyes welled up with tears. “Sowy, Cassie,” he whispered.

  My heart melted immediately. I reached over and ruffled his curly blond hair. “Hey, it’s okay, Jed. Just cover your mouth when you cough.”

  His face lit up. “Huggies?” he asked, raising his crusty arms.

  “Um, later, okay?” I replied as I beckoned my mom with my eyes.

  She grabbed him and placed him on her hip. “Come on, Jedster. Let’s go wipe your boogies and get something to eat.”

  “Thanks. Make sure nobody else waltzes in here.”

  She motioned towards my alarm clock. “Hey, Wild One, it is time for you to get up for school. Start going to bed earlier and you won‘t be so grumpy every morning.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I’m not grumpy. And quit calling me that.”

  My last name is “Wild” and my family thinks it’s amusing to call me The Wild One, because I was such a handful as a kid.

  My mother frowned but left my room without another word. As she closed the door, I could hear the chaos taking place in other areas of the house; kids were chasing each other, someone was screaming about a lost toy, and a baby began to howl. We live in Wolf Creek, a small town in Minnesota, and my mom runs a daycare in our house. What was once a calm home, is now hectic zoo. It was only Monday and I already yearned for the weekend.

  I dragged myself out of bed, grabbed my favorite white Henley T-shirt, and a pair of jean shorts, then snuck into the bathroom to take a shower. Unfortunately, I have to share it with the daycare kids, so I have to be stealthy about it. If they realize it’s me in the bathroom, they’ll do things to torture me, like wiggling their fingers under the door, jiggling the knob, or repeating “Wild” over and over, annoying the heck out of me. Today was no exception.

  “Enough,” I warned, combing through my thick, dark hair. I pulled it into a ponytail and looked closely at my reflection in the mirror. Brown eyes, pug nose, and extremely dry lips. I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and found some of my sister’s “plumping” lip gloss. I applied it gingerly to my lips and then frowned. Now they looked swollen, like I‘d been punched. I tried wiping it off, but it didn’t help. My eyes widened in shock as they continued to puff out.

  Seriously, I thought, why would anyone intentionally do this to their lips? It was embarrassing and my lips were starting to sting.

  I threw my hands up in defeat and stomped into the kitchen. To my dismay, I noticed three other kids, sick with colds. They all smiled at me, matching snot dripping from their noses.

  “You have got to be kidding. What is it with everyone dropping off their kids here when they’re sick? Shouldn’t they be home taking care of them?”

  “I know, nothing I can do about it, unless they have fevers,” mom replied wearily as she grabbed several tissues and began wiping noses. “Everyone seems to be getting sick with this horrible cold. Some parents even dropped off their kids just so they could go back home and rest.”

  “Figures,” I mumbled.

  I pulled out my cell phone to check my messages when, Daniel, a five-year-old boy who pretends he’s my shadow, sneezed all over it. I turned to my mom in horror, who winced and quickly handed me an antibacterial wipe.

  “Daniel, why don’t you go and draw Cassie a nice picture?” she said, guiding him away from me.

  Frantic to escape, I grabbed a cereal bar and my truck keys. “I’ll eat this at school. I‘ve got a karate class tonight.”

  My mom nodded and then wrinkled her nose.
“Megan? Do you have a poopy diaper?”

  I turned and fled the kitchen before I could smell the answer. Just then my dad shuffled by in his robe on the way to his “Man Cave” in the lower level of our home. He calls it his sanctuary from “Daycare Hell.” Right now he looked like he’d just stepped out of Hell himself, with the dark circles under his eyes and hair that stuck up in every direction.

  “Hi, dad,” I said. “Let me guess, you were up late again blasting zombies?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Heh. I actually finished the game.”

  My dad is addicted to video games. Before I was born, he once spent thirty-six hours straight, playing Everguild, a very addictive Internet game, surviving only on caffeine and buttery pretzels. When my mom became pregnant, she lost her patience with his harmless addiction and brought a group of his friends together for an “Everguild Intervention.” Now he’s only allowed to play games on his Wii or PlayStation, which he has only a slightly better handle on.

  “Do you have to work today?” I asked him. My dad sells cars for a living, which isn’t particularly his dream job. Unfortunately it’s something he’s really good at, so although he grumbles about it endlessly, he never changes it.

  “Not until this afternoon. You ready to try out my new Beretta?” he asked, his face lighting up. His other addiction has to do with guns. Almost every Saturday since I turned sixteen, has been spent at the gun range with my father and grandfather. Both avid collectors, they own about thirty different guns between the two of them. When I began showing an interest last year, they were both delighted and started teaching me everything they could about guns. Now my aim is almost as good as my dad’s.

  “Sorry, dad, I can’t make it to the gun range for the next couple of weeks. I have to study for final exams,” I answered. “Plus, prom’s coming up. I’m just too busy.”