Anika Rising (Gretel Book Four): A Horror Novel

by Christopher Coleman

  “It’s Gil,” Petr said, not sure exactly what that meant in terms of next steps. Could he trust Gil? He knew he could trust him with the typical confessions of friends, but this was different. According to Anika, herself, she was a fugitive, on the run from The System for murder. Multiple murders, if Petr was reading between the lines correctly. And if that was true, news of such crimes would reach the Urbanlands soon. Even if Petr didn’t tell Gil outright about why Anika was alive and standing in his home, he may have already heard about the corpses between here and the Back Country and could figure out the rest for himself.

  “Is that the roommate?” Anika asked from the shadows of the mudroom.

  “Yes.”

  Neither Petr nor Anika moved from their positions, both tacitly allowing the scene to play out as it would.

  “Pete!” Gil called the instant he stepped through the door. He didn’t look up and thus didn’t see Petr sitting alone on the couch. He turned his back to Petr as he wiped his feet on the mat. “How did the thing go?” Gil called to the sky. He remained at the door, which was still open, and poked his head out for a moment, surveying the porch.

  “Gil.”

  Gil whipped his head around. His body was still facing the opposite way and Petr thought he looked a bit like an owl. “Hey buddy.” He chuckled. “What are you doing?” He turned fully towards Petr. “Or do I want to know?”

  Petr frowned and then said immediately, “I need to know I can trust you.”

  Petr realized his words were a bit dramatic, but Anika was standing in the shade of the house just off the living room, and if Petr was going to bring Gil into the fold, he needed to get some promises on the record. Gil took the giving of his own word very seriously, and Petr intended to use that integrity to his advantage.

  “Know that you can trust me? Of course. I’m actually a little offended by the question.”

  “I also need to ask for a favor. A big favor.”

  Gil left the door open and started toward the couch, peeking back over his shoulder once before sitting next to Petr. “What’s going on, Pete?”

  Petr didn’t really know where to start, and he certainly couldn’t go all the way back to the beginning of Anika’s story. That was too much to put on his friend. He decided to start from where Gil got involved. “Remember the call other night, the one I got from The System.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Remember how they gave the subtle threat that they would be coming here?”

  Gil nodded.

  “Well that’s almost a fact now. They’re going to be coming here. And they’re probably going to ask some questions about certain things that have happened lately.”

  Gil chuckled again. “Well that’s pretty specific.”

  “I’m purposely not being specific. The details will only be trouble for you.”

  Gil didn’t challenge this.

  “If they come...when they come, just tell them that this conversation, the one we’re having now, was the last time you saw me.”

  “What?”

  “Tell them you came home, like you just did, and that when you talked to me I seemed down. Tell them I mentioned my project or something. Just make sure it’s based on things that The System can verify. Don’t tell them I had a falling out with the Chess Club or the Campus Birdwatchers, because they’ll find out quickly I was never in those clubs and then you’ll be in trouble.”

  “Okay. And then what?”

  “And then tell them I told you I was thinking about taking a break from school. And I seemed serious. And don’t underestimate them, Gil. I know them. I know The System well. They’re probably working on a warrant now. They’re going to come, so have the story straight.”

  “What are you talking about, Petr? Is that true? The part about taking a break?”

  “It’s true enough. By tomorrow, I’ll probably be gone for a while. Maybe a long while.”

  “What is going on, Petr?” The first sounds of distress laced Gil’s voice.

  “Who is she?”

  The three words squashed the last part of Gil’s question, dominating it into submission. The voice was young and feminine, and came from the opening at the front door.

  Petr looked up to see Jana, Gil’s prize girl from the other night; apparently, they were evolving into an item. She was looking past Gil and Petr on the couch and was focused on the back room.

  And Anika.

  Petr turned, praying Anika had ducked back further into the house, perhaps silently sneaking out to the backyard, repositioning herself amongst the woodpile or behind the hedges.

  But she had done the opposite, and was now standing in the light of the room.

  “Goddamn, Petr? Who is that?” Gil asked.

  “My name is Anika. Anika Morgan.”

  Petr started to intervene. “Anika—”

  “I’m here, Petr. There’s nothing to be done now. I’ve been seen. There’s no point being cryptic anymore.” Anika’s voice was cold, controlling; it was the cadence of someone who had diagnosed the problem and was now ready to remedy it.

  “I thought you were dead,” Jana said, nearly matching the iciness of Anika’s words.

  “I thought you were asleep,” Gil retorted. He looked at Petr. “I didn’t talk about what you told me the other night, Pete. I swear.”

  “It’s okay. It wasn’t really a secret or I would have said so. And I wouldn’t have talked so openly about it in front of her.” Petr looked at Jana now. “I thought she was dead too, Jana. And so did she.”

  “So did she? What the hell does that mean?” Jana kept her eyes locked on Anika. “Though I have to say, looking at your face, you do look like death may have paid you a visit.”

  “Jana!” Gil shouted, standing up and walking toward the girl, his gait aggressive and daring. She held firm, never glancing Gil’s way as he approached.

  “It’s okay,” Anika said, “she’s right. But so is Petr. I did think I was dead. I should be. But I’m not. So here we are.”

  “That story sounds familiar,” Jana said. “But that’s not so unusual with the people in your family, is it? That witch was related to you, right? And she came back.”

  “This isn’t quite the same thing.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Jana scoffed and shook her head, now looking at Petr. “I knew she shouldn’t have come here. Neither of you should have come, but definitely not her. Not to this school. I knew your little girlfriend would bring trouble eventually, I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”

  “Jana!” It was Gil again, and he looked poised to strike the girl.

  “I know the whole story. I know all about the creepy magic she practices. Orphism.”

  Petr saw Anika’s neck twitch at the word.

  “The university was poisoned the second she stepped on campus. Back Country trash is one thing, but Back Country witch trash is—”

  Anika’s body was across the room before Petr’s mind could register what was happening. When his brain finally caught up, Jana was pinned against the interior molding of the door jamb, and the color in her face was fading. Her smug look was unchanged, despite having a one-eyed woman’s fist wrapped tightly around her throat.

  “Anika, no!” Petr’s exclamation was breathy and crackling, one of disbelief. “Please. Stop.”

  Anika released the girl, and Petr could almost see the fire in her eyes smolder and then die. She took two deep breaths and then stared toward the ground, not looking at Jana again as she walked back in the direction of the back room. She continued walking through the mudroom and out the screen door to the backyard.

  Petr was defeated. Any doubts he had about not going with Anika to the Eastern Lands were now erased. He would be leaving with her tomorrow. “Are you okay, Jana?”

  “Fuck you,” Jana whispered, rubbing her throat, trying not to cough.

  Petr turned to Gil. “There are no more ships leaving tonight. She—Anika—wi
ll just need to stay tonight. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  “Ships?” Gil asked. “Petr, where are you going? What are you leaving to do?”

  Petr was exhausted. The lack of sleep combined with the emotional stops during the week—now culminating with the arrival of some undead version of Anika—had broken him. “It’s too much, Gil. It’s too much to tell. I need to go to sleep for a couple of hours. And you should probably stay somewhere else tonight. It’s probably not safe as long as she’s here. Maybe stay at Jana’s?” Petr didn’t really care, he was just giving fair warning. “But it’s your house too, so I can’t make you go.”

  Petr didn’t wait for a reply, and he didn’t go check on Anika in the backyard, but he knew she hadn’t left the property. She had come all this way—killed along the way—to reach him. She was obviously committed to her final destination in the Eastern Lands. He would be joining her there. He would kill alongside her if necessary. He was tied up in the Morgan story for life. He’d always suspected it was so, but now he knew it for sure.

  Petr went into his room and crawled into his bed, and, within seconds, he was asleep.

  He didn’t wake again until five hours later when The System broke down his door.

  Chapter 16

  TANJA WAS NEVER MUCH for torture.

  It wasn’t the inhumanity of pain-infliction that was off-putting to her, it was the impracticality of it. Torture was best used for extracting information; as a punishment, it simply left the body of the tortured beaten and bloody. And since, for the sake of her concoction, she needed her sources to be healthy, she had rarely used physical torture for penal purposes.

  But there were exceptions.

  Tanja opened the lid of a large wooden chest that sat at the foot of her bed and removed the top layer of blankets. She pushed her hands down through the strata of knickknacks and random garments until, at the bottom of the chest, she felt the coarse texture of a large burlap sack, one that had been tied at the top by a single piece of string. She removed the sack and untied the bag, and then sifted through it until she found the two devices she sought.

  She removed the instruments carefully, and, with one in each hand, she slid the door to the chamber open with her hip and shoulder. She entered the room without looking up, letting out a loud, animalistic wail as she walked past the source to the countertop at the back of the room. She had no interest in studying the nuances of an awakening source today. There were more pressing matters.

  Tanja now stood next to the bed and waited until the girl’s eyes were fully open and focused.

  “A problem has developed,” she said, “one which was preventable and unnecessary and which you played a part in fomenting. And due to this newly developed problem, some adjustments to our routine must be made.”

  The girl swallowed hard and looked at the device in Tanja’s left hand. “What is that?” she asked, the drowsiness of the morning’s soup mixture still rendering her groggy.

  Tanja looked at her hand inquisitively. “This?” She held up the metal instrument as if seeing it for the first time.

  The girl blinked and nodded.

  The device was about a foot long and designed like a teardrop. At the top of the teardrop was a handle in the shape of a shepherd’s crook, and that handle was attached to a long screw that ran through the middle of the teardrop. The teardrop itself was made up of four separate leaves that, when the device was closed, folded in around the screw.

  “It’s called the Pear of Anguish,” Tanja said, and as she began to describe it, she placed the other device, the one in her right hand, down on the shelf behind her. With her right hand now free, she grabbed the handle and began to turn the screw slowly. “As you can see, when I turn this half-ring at the top, these lovely metal leaves begin to open like the bud of a flower. It takes only the smallest of turns to start the budding.”

  “What...what is it for?”

  “I think you know what it’s for!”

  Tanja hopped once and then landed in a stoop like a wild cat, her face pressed into the source’s so that their noses were now touching at the tips. Her eyes were wild and taunting, her teeth bared, glistening from the saliva brewing beneath her tongue.

  “You can imagine, right?!”

  Tanja stood straight again and then began to turn the screw again, this time maniacally, giggling with each rotation until the four leaves were stretched out around the screw in the middle. The tear-shaped device was now open wide like the talons of a falcon.

  “If and when this becomes necessary, I will allow your input as to which orifice you would prefer. It’s a bit gauche, I know, but it is quite effective in its utility.”

  The source was crying hysterically now, and Tanja continued to screw the Pear of Anguish open and closed for a full minute, laughing the whole while before finally closing the leaves fully and placing the device on the shelf next to the other, careful to leave it in full view of the source.

  Petting the other device she asked, “Would you like to know what this one is for?”

  The source closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Tanja picked up the second instrument with both hands, rattling the metal chains that hung from it the way one would to taunt a baby or a dog. The device was a skeleton of iron and was structured in the shape of an open-framed helmet. The thin frames seemed to run in every direction and resembled the bridle of a horse.

  Tanja held the device over her head for a moment before lowering it down over her face. She was now looking at the source through the openings in the metal structure. In front of her mouth, on the inside of the frame, was a hinged piece of metal which, when lowered, folded down in front of her mouth. It was currently in its upright position.

  “It’s called a Branks. Painless for the most part, though it could certainly get uncomfortable within a few days, and anything past a week could drive a person to madness. This,” Tanja tapped the hinged metal piece, “is definitely the worst feature.”

  She folded the flat piece of metal down and wrapped her mouth around it, the iron bit stifling an impromptu giggle. She made a few muffled sounds in a variety of pitches to demonstrate the speaking difficulties the feature provided, and then took her mouth off the metal and said, “Once the bit is lowered on the tongue and the bridle is tightened, it’s virtually impossible to talk. Muffled groans is about the extent of the possible sounds. The truth is, however, I haven’t had much use for this device in eons, so I can’t really remember how effective it is. I suppose we shall see.”

  “Why?” the source cried. “Why are you...I haven’t done anything.”

  Tanja lifted the Branks from her head and placed it back on the shelf. “Haven’t you?” she asked, her voice absent of all mischief or levity. Her words were deep and thundering now, as if formed in hell

  “No!” the girl cried, “I haven’t! What did I do?”

  Tanja paused a beat and then said softly, “Tell me more about your father, Prisha.”

  Tanja used the girl’s name purposefully, tossing it casually as a threatening puzzle, one the girl would need to solve quickly before she spoke her next sentence.

  It was also a tip off, of course, a forewarning that Tanja’s knowledge of the girl was more than she realized. It wasn’t a trick—with the hope the girl would string together a tale of lies so as to justify Tanja damaging her—it was a threat, a method of intimidating the girl so Tanja could get what she really needed: a connection in the markets.

  “I seem to recall you mentioning that your father’s position in the markets was quite elevated. ‘Respected’ and ‘persuasive’ were the words I believe you used.”

  The girl closed her eyes and sighed, and Tanja knew it was a sign of resignation. She was accepting that her only play now was the truth.

  The source opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. “He was. He worked there his whole life. His station was everything to him. He took a lot of pride in his wares. He treated his customers in a way that n
o one else did during that time. He was fair and calm with them, and never tried to swindle or berate them. It is common practice now to treat the customers the way my father did, but not back then. I wasn’t there, of course, but I have heard these stories of my father for my whole life.”

  Tanja wasn’t very interested in this girl’s admiration of her father, but she stayed quiet.

  “He made a lot of money because of his practices, and before I was even born, he had claimed one of the most coveted areas in the Central Markets.”

  “Before you were born? Just you?”

  The girl closed her eyes again and a tear dripped down the side of her face. “Me and my sister. My twin sister, Jiya.”

  “Go on,” Tanja encouraged.

  “A few years ago he began to forget the names of some of his customers. That may not sound like a treacherous thing, but for him it was. It was devastating. His memory, particularly with names, was one of the traits that had brought him so much local fame and respect. He never had to work at it or use tricks to remember, it was just a natural ability. But then it began to slip. After that, the rest went quickly.”

  “So what happened? Did he lose his station?”

  The girl scrunched her face as if the question were ridiculous. “No, certainly not. I have a large family. My uncle took over at first and now my brother has assumed full management. Jiya and I help too. At least I used to.”

  “Give me the plot number of your family’s station.”

  The look of terror in the girl’s eyes exceeded even the one she flashed when the Pear of Anguish was displayed. “No! No.”

  Tanja smiled. “Young Prisha, I have no interest in harming your family. In fact, I have no interest in harming you. If I knew you could be trusted never to speak of your ordeal, I would try my best to keep you alive after the extractions.”

  “I can! You can trust me! I swear I’ll never speak of it!”

  Tanja laughed and shook her head. “I’ve heard this promise from more girls than you’ve met in your lifetime, Prisha. But this is just survival, dear girl, nothing else.” Tanja cocked her head and gave a long blink. “But you should always hang on to hope. Now, about that plot number.”