Unholy Nights: A Twisted Christmas Anthology (38 page)

With trembling fingers I hold the sage. My breath quivers as I blow upon the embers. I outline the window. “By the power of Light I seal this way. Let no dark entities pass within...or without.”

The ice melts as it touches my fingers and the sage, wetting the bundle. I cup my other hand to shield the orange glow. I follow Raven into my craft room.

My former sanctuary is utterly destroyed, my easel reduced to kindling upon the floor, my curtains in shreds, the walls smeared with green, blue and red paint, worse than when Gabe and I saw it.

Raven is already moving to the second window. “Next room,” she orders me. No sooner are the words from her lips than we hear the fast patter of feet upon the floor, followed by a loud crash.

Panic fills me, makes me lightheaded, as I go alone into my bedroom. The dresser is on its side, with drawers open and their contents strewn over the floor. The windows are yet intact but branches beat against them furiously, as if trying to get inside. I swallow hard and bring the bundle of sage up to the first window. Then I trace the second. A loud bang comes from the closed closet.

Oh God, I can’t do this. I look at the closet door as it shakes on its hinges. Give me strength.

I reach out and grasp the doorknob. I yank it open. A blur of blackness speeds past me. Every hanger is empty. All my clothes are on the closet floor. I wade through them to smudge every corner of the closet. Finally, Raven meets me as I outline my bedroom doorway.

“We’re forcing it downstairs,” she explains. She opens the broom closet and thrusts the sage out like a tiny cross. “Hurry.”

I know what she means. Get to the last room. My father’s room. I wrestle with my fear. Just one more room. I go within. I flick the light switch. The light doesn’t work.

Great. Just great.

Bracing myself for what is in that room, I enter. The hallway light falls across my father’s hospice bed, reflects on the metal headboard and side guard rail. Jagged glass shards jut up from the window frame. Swirling snow twists beyond the opening. As I outline the opening in gray smoke, I hear a metallic rattling. My father’s bed begins to shake violently. I repeat the prayer as I have in the other rooms, willing myself not to stop even as the room fills with the sound of whimpering, followed by the grating of metal legs against floorboards.

With a gasp I turn around as the bed lurches up from the floor and flies toward the doorway, closing the door with a loud bang, trapping me within the room.

“Raven!” I scream. I scramble over the bed and try to squeeze between it and the wall. The pale light of a streetlamp reveals a dark shape hovering in my peripheral. Pressing my feet to the wall I growl in frustration, my muscles straining as I shove against the bedframe. From the other side of the door, Raven pounds. The door cracks open enough for me to see Raven putting her shoulder to the door, using all her strength. The crack widens. With a desperate cry I summon all my strength to move the bed. It gives way. More light spills into the room. Raven’s arm reaches through.

The legs of the bed screeches, cutting deep into the wood and I fall between the bed and the wall. I feel a thick blackness passed through me from behind. It smells of soil and decay.

Raven falls backward against the upstairs railing as if shoved. I stagger past the doorway.

“Your lighter,” I pant.

From the floor Raven thrusts the lighter toward me and I take it, relight the sage and pivot around. I say the prayer and outlined the doorway. Then I help Raven to her feet. She points toward the stairs.

A small shadow moves against the wall beside the landing. It paces from right to left like a caged creature. My child. A distorted apparition. Corrupted.

“Down,” Raven thunders, her hand that holds the sage extends. The shadow crawls up the wall instead and clings to the high ceiling where it moves into the living room.

Raven and I take the stairs downward. Molly and Sandy wait already at Gabe’s side. Sandy is holding the bloody tree branches a safe distance from Gabe while Molly wraps his side with bandages. As we reach them, Gabe offers me a wry smile.

“It’s close enough,” Gabe says, his voice strained. “Raven, have you prepared the mirror?”

“Yes. Back at the house.”

“Place it on the floor. Grasp hands but leave one opening.”

“But—”

“This is not a circle of protection, Sandy. We are luring the demon in.”

“Demon?” I repeat. This baby that had once come from me was now so corrupted?

Gabe reads my expression. “It is no longer your baby, Kathryn. Mercy has twisted its essence beyond saving. I’m sorry.”

We gather together in a circle and hold hands, leaving one portion free and unlinked, just as Gabe instructed. Molly drapes a cloth over her arm and stands next to me. Gabe is across from me.

“Repeat what we say,” Molly orders.

She begins to hum. We join in in unison. Then words form out of the humming. “By the north, by the south, by the east and by the west...”

The chanting goes on for several minutes. I catch quick glimpses of the shadow moving about in a frenzy, searching for a place to go.

I monitor my warlock lover. Gabe’s face is dangerously pale, and he is leaning to the side. This is taking too long. I know it and I’m freaking out about it. He and Molly need to place hands on that wound!

A loud bang like a gunshot rings above our heads and each of us jumps.

“The kitchen light,” I explain between chants. Still, I shudder but hold tight to Molly’s hand and repeat everything she says exactly. Gradually I become aware of something watching me. I look toward the direction I sense it coming from and see the small shadow hovering just in front of the hearth. Tentatively, like a child, it approaches us.

Despite my fear, my heart twists with sadness. How could I let this happen?

Immediately, the shadow stands before me, taller, thinner. And choking me.

I gag and reach toward my throat with my free hand.

“Keep chanting!” Molly shouts.

But I can’t. My breath is being squeezed out of me. I claw at my neck as the chanting turns into shouts, loud and percussive.

This corrupt being senses my guilt and sadness. I must free myself of those thoughts. I must push away all negativity, which it feeds on. But this is so much easier said than done.

“Damn you!” Gabe breaks the circle, determination etched upon his face.

I’m pretty sure that I will either pass out or die from a snapped neck.

Suddenly, Gabe reaches out toward me and cups his hand, palm downward, over the dark figure. He speaks in a guttural language and flexes his fingers outward.

A desperate shriek comes from the dark entity, piercing my eardrums. I wince as the shadow whips in a full circle around us before being sucked into the mirror.

“Cover it!” Gabe yells. Molly drops the cloth over the mirror.

He stomps on the mirror with his heel. We hear the muffled crack.

My coven sighs as one.

Overcome, Sandy bursts into tears. Raven comforts her. In fact, we all go to each other and hold onto one another. We huddle together, unwilling to withdraw contact.

But life must go on. It is best to make space between the present and sad events. Gradually, the other women return to their house. The last to leave, Molly makes Gabe swear he will go to her room for healing as soon as possible, and she promises to set out something stronger than wine, as we will most surely need it.

Before going, Molly carefully withdraws the cloth to reveal the mirror and demon cage. It’s cracked into four nearly equal portions. Gabe bends over, winces from his wound, but picks up the mirror. He walks to the wall that divides the living room and dining room and hangs the mirror there.

Silently, Gabe and I look at the girl in the mirror. I must remind myself she is not a girl but a wretched creature now. Just as I say this to myself, her face grows large and bulbous in the reflection; her eyes burn molten red. She bares yellowed fangs at me before her head snaps about in a frenzy of fast, disjointed movements. Then in the next moment, she is a small girl with large frightened eyes and straight black hair, like mine.

She looks exactly like me.

In the reflection, I watch Gabe bend over before I feel him kiss my brow. We stand there for a minute more.

Gabe grabs my duffle bag and my hand. We go to the front door. He squeezes my fingers as we cross the threshold into the wintry chill.

I know that I will never step foot in my prison again.

~

A
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About The Author

I'm a writer who likes fantasy, speculative and paranormal fiction with romantic elements. I also enjoy interviewing multi-talented artists and writers to find out what 'makes them tick.' Sharing experiences is a really great way to learn about the world and ourselves. Plus, I'm a firm believer in rejoicing in other people's successes; it's free and it feels great.

Living in Houston with my darling husband has taught me about the blessings of great neighbors and Texas BBQ. My favorite critics are my two plump cats that purr their pleasure at most everything I write.

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P
ROLOGUE

The sound of the shutters slamming into the stone wall seemed to grow louder with each gust of wind. Elizabeth was tempted to climb out of bed to better secure them, but it sounded as if they might come loose from their hinges at any moment. She shivered and pulled the blankets up over her head instead. 

What had she been thinking to accept the invitation of her late husband’s family on Christmas? It had been one year and four months since he had succumbed to fever. They had only been married for two months at the time leaving her a widow at nineteen. Her family had been very sensitive at first, but as the anniversary of his death passed they began to pressure her to move on with her life and remarry—as if one soul mate could be easily replaced with another.

The parade of suitors had begun quietly when an acquaintance of her brother’s was invited to tea. Then there was her father’s friend who regularly began to dine at the house. He conveniently sat at her side and complimented her form in a very displeasing manner. But when her own cousin, who was fifteen years her senior but looked a good twenty five years older, trapped her in her parents' front parlor and asked for her hand, she’d had enough. 

The letter from John’s aunt had been a godsend. Lady Allen—formally Viscountess Allen—assumed Elizabeth would be occupied for the holidays, but wanted to offer an invitation in any case. The opportunity for escape was too good to pass up. She was sure her father would refuse to let her go, but she surprised even herself with her firmness on the matter. People rarely stood up to the Earl.

The truth was, she was an independent woman who could make her own choices. John had certainly provided for her in that regard. While their home had been entailed away to his brother Edward, a fortune of no trivial amount was left entirely to her. It didn’t hurt her case that the invitation came from a peer.

Those circumstances aside, here she was in an unfamiliar bit of the countryside. She knew nobody beyond her own maid, who was now bundled up somewhere in the attic, not to return until daybreak. She had arrived late and barely made it past introductions when it was time to retire for the evening. The shutter slammed into the wall again and Elizabeth peeked out from under the covers. She didn’t know what she was expecting to see. Her candle had gone out almost as soon as she’d gotten into bed. There were a few smoldering embers still left in the fireplace that cast a dim glow about the room. 

Elizabeth gritted her teeth and slipped out of bed into the frigid air. She pulled on her thick wool shawl and walked over to the windows. They had arrived rather late in the evening and all the windows had been uncovered, presumably to let her take in the view. It was her mistake not to ask for them to be secured. She sighed. If John were here she would be tucked cozily in bed while he took care of shutters. They would, of course, have their separate rooms, but they had never spent a night apart. Not even when he was so very ill.

But he was not here and she would have to do this, like so many things, on her own. The raindrops sounded like pebbles hitting the glass panes and drops stung her face as she reached out and pulled the shutters closed. It took some strength to pull against the wind, but she felt already felt a sense of accomplishment. She opened the second set of windows and reached out but a far off glimmer caught her eye. She tried to focus as the rain streamed into her eyes. Was someone out there? On a night like tonight? She held her hand over her brow and leaned forward.

A loud clap of thunder cured her curiosity. She stepped back and stumbled on the edge of the carpet, barely catching herself. A bright flash of lightning lit up the sky followed by an immediate rumble. The storm must be very close. She drew the curtains closed over the last set of windows and jumped back into bed leaving the shutters banging in the wind as she pulled the covers over her head. Perhaps she was not so brave after all.

CHAPTER 1

“Good Morning Lady Elizabeth,” Lucy’s tone was crisp as she set a hot cup of chocolate on the table next to Elizabeth’s bed. Lucy had not been pleased to discover their holiday plans involved trudging off to some gloomy house in the far ends of Herefordshire and she was not one to hide her feelings. “I hope you slept well.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She felt sure her maid knew she had slept poorly with the storm, but she would not give her the satisfaction of admitting as much. “I slept perfectly well thank you. Isn’t the air in this part of the country so very clear and fresh?”.”