by Maynard Sims
She spread her arms wide and stared at the trees. “Come, my child, come,” she called.
From the right of them, Harry heard rustling as something moved through the undergrowth and trees. he and Mckinley both turned to look but all they got were impressions. A pair of red eyes looking at them from out of the shadows, glimpses of brown fur, and an undercurrent of sound made up of low growls, snapping branches and constant rustling.
Harry turned to McKinley. “Run, John, run! Back to the car!”
As they ran, the rustling became crashing, and the low growl became a deep-throated roar. McKinley glanced back and cried out as he saw a huge, dark brown bear on all fours, bounding through the bracken, gaining on him.
They found the gap in the barbed-wire fence and barreled on through, reaching the muddy bank and sliding down it to the road. They got to the car at the same time and yanked open the doors, hurling themselves inside and pulling the doors shut behind them. They looked back to the wood, but it looked calm, peaceful. The trees and undergrowth were still. Nothing moved. No bear.
It was raining, and water dripped down from the trees to splash on the woodland floor below.
“Shit!” McKinley said. “A bear. Huge.”
“It’s not a bear,” Harry said, shaking his head.
“It looked like a bear to me,” McKinley said, breathing just as heavily as Harry and sweating profusely.
“You can’t just summon up bears out of thin air,” Harry said.
“So if not a bear, then what?”
“A demon,” Harry said. “A minor demon maybe, taking on the form of a bear, but a demon just the same. That’s how it’s able to move around unseen. She calls it up when she needs it. She can empathize with it, see what it sees. Experiences the kills as if she’s doing them herself. But we’ve dealt with demons in the past, John. We can deal with this one.” He stared back at the trees. “I told you she was powerful,” he said thoughtfully.
“I believed you then; I believe you now. The question is what the hell are we going to do about her?”
“I’m thinking about it,” Harry said.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Ready for round two?” Harry said and pushed open the car door. He stepped out and McKinley came around the car to join him.
“So, what’s the plan?” he said.
“I haven’t got one,” Harry said. “We’re just going to have to play this by ear.”
“I was worried you were going to say that.”
“Just stay vigilant,” Harry said. “Remember, it’s not a bear. We can defeat it.”
Together they made their way back into the wood.
The rain was starting to lash down, the full force of it deflected by the branches overhead, but they were soaked within minutes. They reached the fence and passed through the gate, finding themselves again on the weed-strewn drive.
They stood there on the gravel, staring up at the house, their gazes searching the building, looking for any sign of Alice or Tim. They heard a noise behind them, something crunching over the gravel. Harry turned to see Violet Bulmer, in a wheelchair, emerging from the trees, being pushed towards them by Jason West. They stopped a yard behind them.
“Vi?” Harry said, but she put a finger to her lips to hush him.
“This started with me,” she said, her voice strong, like iron. “It will end with me. Now stand back. All of you.”
She put her hands on the arms of the chair and pushed herself upright. She stood there as the rain poured down, flattening her copper-gray hair to her head.
“Alice! Tim! Show yourselves, this instant.”
The three men held back as gradually the undergrowth behind them began to rustle. All three turned to face the trees.
The bear broke from the undergrowth and started loping towards them, savage teeth bared, a growl rising in volume to a baritone roar. Each of the three men raised their hands in front of them and made passes through the air.
When it was within twelve feet of them, the bear stopped running and reared up on its hind legs, the roar becoming deafening. McKinley made another pass with his hands, air-drawing the sign of a pentagram, and then stabbed his hand forward, index finger pointing. The bear staggered and dropped back to all fours, shaking its huge, shaggy head as if stunned.
As the rain continued to fall, it appeared to be washing the dark brown fur from the creature’s body. The fur slipped from its haunches, dripping to the ground like brown sludge, leaving behind grayish, dirty pink, translucent skin, threaded with blue veins and pulsating red arteries. The head was the last thing to be denuded of fur. The eyes turned from red to dull gray, and the mouth opened once more to roar but could only manage a watery croak.
The head had shrunk to little more than a misshapen skull covered by thin gray skin. The demon lifted a sinewy arm and held it out as if to ward off a blow, as Harry and Jason, following McKinley’s lead, moved the air in front of them and sent another wave of energy at the demon. It stood there for a few more seconds, until the skin along the length of its spine split open and the flesh began to slough off its bones.
Finally, it collapsed, falling to one side, where it lay as the pounding rain slowly dissolved it, turning the body into nothing more than a muddy pool that soaked into the gravel drive.
They looked to the woods but nothing moved, nothing came rushing towards them, and all they could see were the trees.
“It’s over, Alice,” Violet called out. “Show yourself. Come out into the light and finish this now.”
Silence settled over the house and woodland, broken only by the sound of the rain splashing on the drive and lashing the walls of the house.
As they watched, the corrugated iron sheet was still pulled to one side and Alice Logan stepped through the doorway and stood there on the porch, the diaphanous material of her short robe soaking up the rain, becoming transparent. Tim hovered in the doorway behind her, whey-faced, his whole body trembling.
“Let’s end this, Alice,” Violet said steadily.
“Not Alice. I’m Artemis,” the girl said in a strong, commanding voice.
As Alice stood there in the rain, she raised her left arm, her fist aiming at Violet. Violet crossed her arms in front of her chest. Slowly Alice brought her other arm up behind her, arched, taut as if drawing on a bowstring.
Tim seemed to come from nowhere. He dashed from the doorway and stood, putting his body between Alice and Violet. “No. Ally! This has to stop!”
The girl stared as if challenging him, and then her fingers twitched and Tim cried out, staggering backwards as a red hole appeared in his forehead and the back of his skull blew outwards. His legs folded under him and he crumpled to the ground.
Alice stared at his twisted, fallen body dispassionately. “You did this,” she hissed at Violet, and then raised her arm again, cocking her head to the left, taking aim.
She drew her arm back behind her, but as the fingers of her right hand splayed, Violet threw her arms open wide. There was the sound of something whistling through the air, followed by a dull thud.
Alice looked down at the crimson stain blossoming on the front of her dress, and then she looked at Violet with a surprised expression on her face.
Vi stared back at her steadily, but the tears were already falling down her cheeks.
Alice’s mouth opened in a small O and she toppled backwards, hitting the ground, her dead eyes staring at the rain as if looking searchingly up to the heavens.
Violet turned away and started to walk back to the three men.
“Are you okay?” Harry said.
Violet nodded, took another step and then threw her hands to her head and cried out.
“You killed my baby!’
Harry turned in the direction of the voice. Through the rain, he saw Stephanie Logan walking out from the trees. Hair plastered flat to
her head, her eyes wild, she approached Alice’s fallen body. Tears were pouring from her eyes, mingling with the rain spattering her cheeks
Violet was still clutching her head.
Stephanie crouched down beside Alice and gently closed her eyes. “Sleep now,” she said, and then got to her feet, turned to face Violet and raised her hand. Violet cried out and staggered backwards,
“You knew she was here, Stephanie,” Harry said. “You knew all along.”
Stephanie looked at him, contempt on her face. “Of course I knew,” she said.
“But why did you say nothing?”
“My beloved Artemis…I loved her so much. We were happy once…until that bastard…that scum, Strasser, came into her life and took her away from me.”
“You encouraged the fantasy,” Harry said. “You bought the books, made Alice believe she was Artemis.”
“She was Artemis!” Stephanie screamed at him. “She was always special.”
“You used me,” Violet said. “Used me to bring Alice back to you.”
Stephanie spun towards her, venom in her eyes, raised her hand again, and Violet screamed.
“Yes, sister, I used you. I knew you’d find her. Because you’re the one with the power, aren’t you? You’re the one Mother would praise and lavish all her attention on, because you had your gifts, the powers that made you so much like her. But what about me? I was special too, but she never saw me, because your shadow was too long and I could never get out from under it.”
“I had no idea—” Violet started, but Stephanie’s brow creased, and something flashed in her expression Violet reeled backwards as if struck.
“Well, now you know, Violet. I have powers. I’ve always had powers, greater than yours. When Alice was born, I swore then that she would never grow up in anyone’s shadow as I had done. Yes, I helped her realize the greatness she was destined for. I fed her imagination, helped her take control of the gifts that had been passed down to her, because my blood was flowing through her veins.”
“You created a monster,” Harry said.
“No, Mr. Bailey. I created a goddess. I created Artemis!” Stephanie said coldly.
She raised her arm again, but before she could deliver another psychic jolt, both Jason and McKinley stepped forward, hands raised to create a psychic barrier that enveloped Harry and Violet.
Stephanie staggered backwards.
Violet looked up at her sister bleakly. “You must really hate me,” she said.
Stephanie laughed harshly. “I’ve despised you since we were children. Always playing second fiddle, always second best. But I did something you can only dream about. I became a mother… and I gave birth to a goddess.”
“And you’ve lived your sad, pathetic life through your daughter,” Violet said. “And in living your life, you destroyed your precious daughter and, in turn, your son. I feel sorry for you, Stephanie. I really do.”
“And now I will destroy you and the lives of the pathetic people who care about you.” Stephanie stretched her arms wide, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Thunder crashed overhead and the rain came down in torrents, the wind gusting, whipping the rain into a maelstrom that knocked Jason and McKinley off their feet and sent them sprawling into the mud.
Harry grabbed Violet’s hand. “Together!” he yelled at her over the noise of the storm and gripped her hand tightly.
And they were one. One entity, one mind emitting wave after wave of psychic energy.
For an instant Stephanie was lifted from the ground, rising ten feet into the air. From the center of the vortex she screamed, a thin, piercing wail that rose above the noise of the tumult, to be sucked away in the gale. And as abruptly as it had started, the storm died, and she fell to the ground, landing in a crumpled heap at their feet, her head lying at an impossible angle, neck broken.
“Vi, I…” Harry said.
She shook her head. “Not now, Harry. Not now.”
“How’s Vi doing?” Susan said.
Harry shifted in the bed and took his cup of tea from the bedside cabinet. “The last I heard, she’s doing okay. Jason’s moved into her house in Chelsea. She’s given him three rooms upstairs to convert into his own flat. Although she won’t admit it, she needs someone in her life. She lost her family.”
“Has she spoken about what happened that day?”
“Not to me, and I doubt that she ever will. She’s in mourning, and will be for many years to come.” He sipped his tea and changed the subject. “So what are you going to do, now you’ve quit the force?”
“Take a holiday, I suppose. I haven’t had one in ten years.”
“Where do you fancy?”
“Somewhere hot. Not Greece,” she said firmly. “Definitely not Greece. The Algarve perhaps. Maybe I’ll go out there and search for locations where I can open a bar.”
“Sounds good,” Harry said.
“I heard they had problems out there finding bar staff who won’t drink the profits. Got any suggestions?”
Harry put his cup down again and took her in his arms. “I might be able to come up with a name,” he said, and kissed her. “I just might.”
About the Author
Len Maynard & Mick Sims are the authors of several thriller novels, including Nightmare City, Stronghold, and Stillwater, and the Department 18 books The Eighth Witch and A Plague Of Echoes, all from Samhain. Mother Of Demons is Department 18 book 5. Convalescence, an e-novella, is scheduled in 2015.
They are currently working on more thrillers. They have been published in romance under a pseudonym, have had nine story collections published, and are currently completing the tenth. They have had numerous stories published in a variety of anthologies and magazines. They have won awards with their screenplays. They also work as editors, and do ghost writing projects, and have been essayists, reviewers and small press publishers.
www.maynard-sims.com
Look for these titles by Maynard Sims
Now Available
Nightmare City
Stronghold
Stillwater
The Department 18
The Eighth Witch
A Plague Of Echoes
Coming Soon:
Convalescence
A modern ghost story
Stillwater
© 2015 Maynard Sims
Life was good for Beth, once. Now a car crash has left her confined to a wheelchair. To help her recuperate and rebuild her life, she’s leased Stillwater, a house with a lake in the countryside. But her dreams of peace and quiet are thwarted when she realizes she’s not alone. A girl who once lived at Stillwater—until she drowned in the lake—has never left, and she does not seem pleased by Beth’s presence. Beth sets out to solve the mystery of Stillwater. But can she find a strength she doesn’t know she possesses as she fights the fury of the dead girl, and tries to establish herself as the true mistress and keeper of the Stillwater house and lake?
Enjoy the following excerpt for Stillwater:
The dinner, when it finally arrived, was superb. Gwen was a great cook. The meat fell away from the bone as soon as the knife touched it, and the carrots and broccoli were crisp and tasted fresh, unlike vegetables Beth had bought in the past from supermarkets.
“You can thank Arthur for those,” Gwen said, when Beth commented on them. “He’s been blessed with green fingers. Our garden is like an allotment.”
Sitting opposite Arthur Latham Beth watched his face flush with embarrassment, and not a little pride. The pair of them seemed well suited to each other. Beth felt a twinge of envy.
“Tell me,” Beth said. “Have you ever met the owner of my house?”
“Bernard Franklin? No, I’ve never seen him,” Gwen said. “Arthur has though.”
“Only very briefly,” Latham said. “I saw him around town from time to time,
and bumped into him once or twice at the post office. I tried to make conversation with him, but he didn’t want to know. I thought he was a surly devil.”
“Really?” Beth said. “Why was that?”
“Well, this is a fairly friendly community. I wouldn’t say we’re in each other’s pockets, but we all pass the time of day, and if push comes to shove we all look out for each other. Franklin on the other hand wouldn’t have anything to do with us; kept very much to himself. And his daughter wasn’t much better. Jessica, her name was. She’d walk around the village with her nose in the air, and wouldn’t really talk to anyone, not even the people her own age. I don’t think she was deliberately rude. Mr. Samuels who runs the grocer’s told me she was always very pleasant to him. I put it down to the way she’d been brought up. Thought we were too normal, too boring.”
“It was very sad what happened to her,” Gwen said.
“What was that?” Beth asked.
“She died…drowned…a few days after her seventeenth birthday.”
“How did it happen?”
“An accident,” Latham said. “So the inquest found. She’d gone for a swim in the lake, and got entangled in some weeds. At least, that was the theory.”
“You sound skeptical,” Beth said.
“I was then. I am now,” Latham said. “She was a pupil at Greysmeade, the local high school, for the short time she was living here. I was a teacher there before I retired, and I remember that Jessica Franklin was in the school swimming team. She wasn’t a popular member but they tolerated her because she was such a strong swimmer. She helped the school bring home a number of county trophies. It seemed unlikely to me a girl like that would have become victim to some pondweed.”
“Did you give evidence at the inquest?” Beth asked.
“Oh yes, I gave my opinion, but it didn’t count for much. The postmortem also found a high level of alcohol in Jessica’s blood. Given those details the verdict was a foregone conclusion. Poor girl.”
“That’s very sad,” Beth said.
