It’s not like I’m just making shit up. This shit happened.
Cover Art by the same guy
Copyright 2013 Jeremy Bennett
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Girls and Nick
Chapter 2: The Attack
Chapter 3: The Sex Shop
Chapter 4: Fuck Buddy Fay
Chapter 5: It’s All Going to Hell
Chapter 6: The Eye of Sickness
Chapter 7: Full Bladders
Chapter 8: The Eater of Wings
Chapter 9: The Storm Inside
Chapter 10: Hegel’s Assault
Chapter 11: Damned Decisions
Chapter 12: Casting Out Devils with Devils
About the Author
Jeremy Bennett once watched five days worth of horror movies in a row without the aid of drugs. He graduated collage, barely, with a BA in anthropology. He has been charged by a bear on more than one occasion, and has fallen off more than one roof while working construction. He doesn’t like to admit it but he likes the New Wave artist Blondie. No word on whether this has anything to do with falling off the roofs. Jeremy Bennett worked hard on this book so please give it a review if you liked it. He also likes Tom and Jerry more than a grown man should, but he can’t stand pickles. They’re gross and taint everything. He also wants you to buy this book. Jeremy Bennett has nothing left to say about himself.
Prologue
Mr. Donavan rummaged through the stack of worm-eaten old romance books with tawdry covers that lay haphazardly on the card table. Brawny pirates clutching nubile girls and knights on horseback getting sultry looks from fair maidens were a persistent motif. Mr. Donavan had never been a fan of book burning, but if this pile went up, the world of literature would probably be better off.
It seemed that the ninety-year-old lady who owned this estate was quite a randy one. It’s probably what kept her alive so long. He didn’t mind rummaging through trash if he found a treasure, and it was that possibility that kept him searching every estate sale he could find.
Today he would find such treasure in the old southern mansion just outside of Jasper, but little did he know it would cost him his business. He owned a small New Age shop at the edge of town called the Black Crystal, and part of the reason he came to these sales was to look for anything that he could pass off as mystical. Mr. Donavan didn’t believe in powers beyond this world, unless the patrons of the Black Crystal asked, and then they got a resounding yes.
“Yes, I’ve seen ghosts, aliens, and the beyond. I am your local authority on all things bullshit,” he would tell his wife.
As his chubby paws swished through the books, something flopped off the table and hit the floor with a thud. Looking down, he saw it: The Book of Eddiss—a tome sought by every high-end book collector that was worth his weight in velum. He snatched the book from the floor and feverishly thumbed through it. On page thirty-two he found the printing error, and on the back cover, he found the vollolly mark. It was real, and even in its deteriorated condition, it was worth a small fortune, water stains and all. If it wasn’t for the piercing sense of dread that came over him when he touched the book, he would swear that fate had finally decided to stop being a jerk to him.
However, it wasn’t fate that had placed the book in his hands. It was something far more nefarious, and it was out for blood, gore, and carnage on an unimaginable level.
Chapter 1: The Girls and Nick
She chewed and chewed thirty-two times. It was always best to play it safe, as selling your soul to the devil for phenomenal powers would still not prevent you from choking to death. Besides children these days had a surprising amount of gristle that was just waiting to get stuck in your throat.
Beth Hegel had long forgotten how old she was. She had forgotten many things in her terrible life, but this was only because she had lived for so long. She watched the world change tremendously. For example, at one time women didn’t shave anything. Not their legs, not their armpits, and certainly not their bushes.
Holding this tradition was one of the many ways that Beth kept it old school. She was adamant about things like that, but one of the things that she was most adamant about was refusing to call Wiccans “witches.” That was made-up bullshit that sent her into an instant rage. One could say a lot about Hegel, but she would have no accusations of being religiously tolerant leveled at her. That is, unless it suited her needs at the moment. After all, she was a satanic witch and thus not above telling anyone anything that helped her achieve her ends.
“Little bitches!” she would scream whenever she passed the magic shop in town. She spat out a few splinters of femur from her midafternoon snack as she fantasized about what she would do if she ever got into a fight with one of those little girl posers. She didn’t know exactly what would happen, but she knew it would end with their eyes being chewed from their sockets. However, that’s how almost all of her fights ended, as she always found the rich pocket of fat behind eyeballs to be the most delicious part of the human body.
Old Nick, the light bearer, Mr. Scratch, or the devil—whatever names you call him—was out tonight. Her old bones could feel him, and the feeling sent small electrical charges up and down her muscles. She was still hungry, but food would have to wait as there was too much to be done. Being an agent of the devil had many perks, but being called out in the middle of the night was not one of them.
It was a Black Sabbath, and she couldn’t be late. Why, all the witches from the greater tri-county area would be there, and it would be unseemly to be late. She pushed her long silver hair into a bun, tossed on her old wool coat, and headed out the door of her Victorian-style house.
It was her job to find the sacrifices for the evening festivities. She had had the Jenkins family picked out from down the street. That snooty little bitch May was always flaunting her new Cadillac like she was something special, and they had two wonderful fat kids that, quite frankly, the world would be better off without. However, yesterday they had decided to take a trip Savanna. That had left her in kind of a bind. She had already delivered five or so homeless people, but drunks were never more than filler at these events. She needed more, much more. She needed young believers and virgins, and she needed them fast. Witches could be an unruly lot when hungry.
* * *
Ann hopped down the sidewalk, nearly skipping and occasionally tripping over her own oversized feet. Being eighteen, she was far too old for such behavior, but she knew that it bothered Beverly, so she insisted that it was the only way to travel.
Ann believed that it was a moral imperative that she be in a good mood. When someone gets depressed, the bad mood makes others depressed, and thus the world becomes a more depressed place. This isn’t to say that she would force herself to be happy, as if following some kind of compulsion, but when she had a shot to look on the bright side, she took it.
Her face was soft and youthful, and it gave the perfect impression of a doe-eyed innocent, an impression not altogether wrong. Ann swished her shoulder-length blond hair out of her eyes as she gave Beverly the goofiest look she could, while flailing her slender arms for the best effect.
“Stop that,” Beverly said with a sneer. She craned her neck to glare at Ann, causing her black hair with natural brown highlights to flow off her shoulders like a gentle waterfall. She wished it was more raven, but nature was not always kind. She was always trying to give it that perfect bounce that she saw on shampoo commercials, but it never seemed to work out. Her face had the same innocent, doe-eyed look that Ann's had. The only difference was that Beverly hated it and strived to make herself look o lder than she was. Half the time she thought this meant smoking a cigarette.
“Why? Because it embarrasses yoooou?” Ann said with a full-lipped smile as she began to skip circles around Beverly.
“Yes. Now please stop being such a dork and just walk normally, would you?”
Ann’s feet slapped the pavement as she came to an abrupt halt. “You’re no fun; you know that?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” Beverly said with a smirk. “Please don’t be like this when we see Nick.”
“So that’s his name, is it? Also, be like what?”
“All weird and Jesus-freaky.” Ann was rather religious in her leanings, and for some reason it bothered Beverly. She didn’t seem to mind people banging their heads and acting like fools at a concert, but when the act wasn’t a frivolous show of teen devotion to a pop star, it made her skin crawl. Aside from that Ann could also be annoying when it came to having fun. Her idea of a good time was still a sleepover and too much ice cream, but Beverly had moved past that stage a long time ago. If there wasn’t beer and weed involved, she wasn't interested. Ann seemed to Beverly to still be about twelve years old in an eighteen-year-old’s body. She loved Ann, but she would still rather Ann not be around in some situations, and going to see the boy she had a crush on was one of them. However, Beverly could find no polite way to tell Ann to get lost when she had come over to Beverly's house that afternoon, and so Ann hopped along beside her.
“I can be anything I want. Also, my name is Beverly, and I’m sooo full of angst. I read Nietzsche this one time, and now I’m so much smarter than everyone. I’m in love with a boy who has more than one piercing and wears skinny jeans, so he must know how the world works. Bah, you sicken me,” Ann said with a smirk and mocking tone.
It was clear to Beverly she was far deeper than Ann on almost every level, and for her this meant being skeptical and cynical. She had no reason to be either of those. She had a loving, lower-middle-class family that went out of its way to help her, and she had a small but tight group of friends who did the same. However, being jaded seemed more adult to her, and so that’s what she was.
“Just because we’ve been friends since kindergarten, don’t think for a second that I won’t kill you,” Beverly growled.
“Kill me? I’m like twice your size.” Ann did tower over Beverly, measuring nearly six and a half feet tall, and as thin as she was she was quite the sight as she plodded down the street. Beverly’s red shoes made barely a sound as she stepped, but Ann moved like a giraffe with cinderblocks tied to her feet.
“So you’re ten foot four and two hundred forty pounds?”
“Shut up,” Ann said. “So how old is he?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three! You’re eighteen. What is he, a pedophile?”
Beverly didn’t respond for a moment. “No, he’s smart, cute, and not a pedophile at all, so just drop it.”
The few lights that lined the road were just starting to come to life as they rounded the last corner before they hit the thickly wooded street that led to the New Age shop called the Black Crystal. The change from the city-maintained pavement to the unkempt private drive was abrupt. Tufts of brown grass burst from the road like ingrown hairs finally ripping free from skin, and black worm-like streaks of tar squirmed up and down its length. It seemed as if the hastily made patches were all that was holding the aging street together.
The girls walked the two hundred or so yards down the street, passing through black pine trees that lined the road. They were thin, sickly things that were packed so close together that a rabbit would have trouble hopping through them. This being the deep fall, the scent of the pines was ever present on the crisp air.
When Ann and Beverly rounded the last stretch of woods, they could see the old porn shop that stood in front and to the right of the Black Crystal by about fifty yards. Its windows had been blacked out, and a few of them had even been busted and carelessly duct-taped back together. It was a light gray building whose paint had been so baked by the sun that it was starting to peel off in big sheets that littered the weed-covered ground around the building. It stood like a drunken, leering old man and like sin in all forms.
If the outside of the place looked unwholesome, the inside was even worse. At least that’s what Beverly’s older brother Mike said. He knew because he worked there, and Beverly thought it was creepy, but she adored learning about her supposedly upright neighbor’s perversions, like Mr. Hume, the principal of their high school. He had a strange lust for both teen girls and S&M, and every time she saw his balding melon, all she could think about was him in black leather, trying to entice her classmates into a van. It was an unpleasant thought, but that’s the image she always got.
If porn wasn’t involved, the place would have been just too out of the way to drive for people whose idea of excitement was playing Ping-Pong in the family rec room. Other than the porn shop, it was just the Black Crystal that stood it’s silent vigil in the name of the odd.
A few of the old pervs hurried out of the sex shop with nondescript brown paper bags clutched tightly in their clammy fists. They weren’t ready to see two young girls pointing and smiling at them as they rushed to their cars.
“We know what you’re up to, sickos,” Ann yelled at one. The old man blushed as he rushed to resecure his anonymity by ducking into his car.
“You’re going to get us killed, dork,” Beverly nagged as she fiddled with the zipper on her red hoodie, trying to hold back her smile.
“Am not.”
“Yes, you are, and then as creepy as those people are, they’ll probably do stuff to us…butt stuff,” Beverly said with a devilish smile. Ann couldn’t hold back and started laughing uncontrollably as they hit the final stretch.
The girls could see the Black Crystal as they plodded down the road, still trying to lose their smiles before they entered. The building had a cabin-like feel to its architecture and a small wooden porch that constantly seeped pine sap. Stepping up onto the rickety porch, Ann grabbed the heavy wrought iron handle of the front door as she slapped the horseshoe that hung over the doorjamb. Beverly could see Ann’s fingertips slide off the cold iron of the horseshoe as she entered. Beverly followed Ann into the store. Greeting her was a blast of at least three of the one trillion kinds of incense that the establishment carried. Cinnamon, frankincense, and sandalwood were the only ones that Beverly could pick out, but there were so many it nearly cut her breath off. It shocked her every time she set foot in the place.
Beverly walked through the open center of the store, half glancing at the maze of overflowing bookshelves to her right and left. Toward the back wall the checkout counter was located so that it could be seen from the entrance through the middle of the store. On either side of the counter were glass display cases filled with the most expensive, or the most dangerous, items. Behind one of those counters sat her crush.
Nick was thin. Some said too thin. He was pale. Some said too pale. Last but not least, he was effeminate. Even his mother would say that he was too effeminate. She mostly blamed it on his vegan diet. Not eating meat substantially lowers a man's testosterone level. Testosterone is far too complex a chemical to be made on a strictly vegetable diet and requires all kinds of amino acids that can be found only in properly balanced meals. Nick's mother knew this kind of thing because she was a nutritionist, and let’s just say it was always a point of contention between them. However, Nick just couldn’t see the point of killing something if he had no cause, and it was a point on which he would not bend.
Nick pushed up his short, dyed-black hair and fiddled with his red shirt, which had printed on it whatever pop culture reference he thought was most relevant that day. He was hunched over the counter, peering into the pages of a musty old book that the owner had just purchased. His eyes darted from line to line as if he was a child looking at a Playboy he had stolen. It was a strange work, hand-copied from before the Civil War; however, even at that age it was still just a poor Engl ish translation of a much older work. It was often whispered about by some of the people who entered the store as if it were the Necronomicon, and it had a strange air of the forbidden to it.
The text was about the size of a phone book and twice as thick. The backing on the black leather book could barely shut, due to the density of the velum pages. It looked as if the pages themselves were trying to break the binding so that they could force themselves out into the world. One glance at the thing told you that it was old and most likely a mischievous work. It smelled of mold and rot, and it felt as if it was not necessarily the binding or the pages that produced the smell. It likely could be coming from the work itself.
The text was the ranting of a deranged German monk who was commissioned by the church to study the occult, but his mind was too weak not to be sucked into its darkest side. He claimed to have had numerous experiences with demons and otherworldly creatures, and he admitted to giving his soul to them for knowledge. Deep in the ragged mountains of Spain, he was informed of one of the seven Black Schools where demons gave lessons on forbidden things. It was these lessons that were said to be contained within the work. The hierarchy of hell and the demons’ enumerated powers were listed in excruciating detail. If the owner of the store knew Nick was even touching the book, much less reading it, Nick would probably be fired. The book was far too valuable and perhaps even dangerous.
A sinking feeling washed over Beverly as she watched him carefully turning the book’s brittle pages. It felt as if something was watching him with hateful eyes. When he went to lay the book down, she hoped the feeling would go away, but it didn’t. It was still there, hovering around him like death. She had never been unnerved by Nick or the store itself. She knew it was the book, or something the book brought with it.
Beverly saw Ann vanish down the aisles of the store trying to find something that she could entertain herself with. Beverly slowly made her way to the counter.“Hey,” she said as she came up and rested her elbows on the counter, trying to show just a bit of her meager cleavage. If she were just a little older, she would be coming off as desperate. But being as young as she was, she had been flirting with only teenage boys, and they were never known for their ability to understand subtlety.
“What's up?” Nick said, trying to pretend that he was disinterested. Beverly was smart enough to know what he was doing, but it still drove her crazy.
“How’s the book?” she said with a smile.
Still not lifting his eyes, he said, “Creepy.”
“Cool. What is it?”
“It’s about demons.”
“That is creepy. You believe in demons?”
“I don’t know. You?”
“Can’t say I do. I feel like they're just something people blame so they don’t have to think.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I have no problem with the idea of disembodied minds. There’s no logical contradiction inherent in the idea.”
“Well, they’re not made of matter. That’s a contradiction.”
“That’s not a contradiction. A contradiction is when you affirm ‘A’ and ‘not A’ at the same time and in the same way. A lot of people use the term wrong. For example, I could love and hate someone, but I can’t love and not love someone at the same time and in the same way. That’s a contradiction. Also, a lot of stuff is not made of matter—numbers, sets, the laws of physics, and the laws of nature. If platonic forms exist, then they’re not made of matter. Truths in general aren’t made of matter, yet they’re real.”
Beverly rolled her emerald eyes as Nick finished his monologue. “Wow, you’re boring. Seen my brother?”
“Yep, he went to go snag some grub for me and Chuck. We’ve been slow over here, so Chuck nobly offered to give him a hand over at the porn shop, so we could get some food. You know Chuck; he’ll come up with any reason to go hang out with a bunch of porn.”
“Gross.”
“If you want something to eat, too, I could probably get ahold of Mike.”
“Ah, I don’t have any money, and Mike holds on to a debt like crazy.”
“I'll cover you and your friend, if you need,” he said, locking eyes with her.
“Groovy. Where did he go?”
“Happy Burger, I think,” he said, picking up the musty book and placing it under the counter. He locked it back in its case.
“Right on. I’ll take a chicken burger, if that’s cool.” Beverly turned, trying to locate Ann, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Ann!” she yelled.
“What?” Ann yelled back as she peeked around a large stack of books. On her head was a makeshift turban that she had concocted from a replica of a thirteenth-century Mandela used for meditation. She tried her best to not acknowledge that anything was different, but as she crept closer, a smile began to roll over her lips.
Beverly rolled her eyes yet again. “Nice.”
“So what do y’all need?” Ann giggled as she sauntered up to the counter.
“Cool threads. Now all you need is a ’stache to go with it,” Nick said with a grin.
“I know, right?”
“You want anything from Happy Burger?” Beverly asked.
Ann scrunched her face until she looked like a pug as she thought about what she wanted. “I don’t have the cash,” she muttered.
“It’s cool. Nick said he would take care of it.” Ann smiled as Beverly finished her sentence.
“Well, aren’t you just my knight in shining armor? In that case, I think I’ll have a double-bacon cheeseburger, some nuggets, and an order of onion rings. Ohhhh and some fried cheese with marinara.” Nick looked at Ann’s slender frame with astonishment.
“I’ve got to carbo-load for track,” Ann quipped.
“You don’t do track,” Beverly said.
“No, but I was thinking about it. So what have y’all been talking about?”
“Nothing,” Nick replied.
“Sounds engaging, maybe even life-affirming.” Ann hopped on the counter as she finished her thought. Her feet swung as if she was splashing water at the edge of a pool. “So, you know Beverly’s only sixteen, right? If you bang her, you go to jail.”
“Shut up!” Beverly barked, slamming a fist into Ann’s thigh.
“Oh, you punch like a girl,” Ann snickered. Nick just gave a half grin and started to walk off.
“First off, I’m not sixteen.”
“You guys want anything to drink?” Nick asked, clearly trying to distance himself from the situation.
“I’m sorry, but we are still teenagers, and giving alcohol to teenagers can result in a fifteen-year prison term. When you add that on top of the statutory rape charge that you would be getting, if I left y’all alone for more than five minutes, you might never see the light of day again,” Ann said in as stern a voice as she could playfully muster.
Another one of Beverly’s fists came down on Ann’s thigh, making a deep thud.
“Ahhh, you hit the bone!” Ann shouted.
“I was talking about a Coke or something,” Nick said.
“Ah, so no screwdrivers then. Why not?”
Jumping on the counter next to Ann, Beverly said “Since when do you drink?”
“Since he don’t got any.”
“Well, right on,” Nick said as he turned his back and walked into the stockroom.
Chapter 2: The Attack
Thirty or so minutes passed, and the small group chatted until Beverly’s brother Mike arrived with the food. He burst through the door with several grease-stained paper bags. He was looking as clueless as ever as he plopped the sacks onto the counter.
“What's up?” Beverly said as she grabbed one of the bags and started rummaging for her burger.
Mike snatched one, saying, “Not much. Just spent half my life trying to find out what kinds of oils were in the salad dressing at a fast-food joint, so Nick could still say he’s a vegan.” He glared at Nick. “You’re a fag. You know that, right?” He tossed Nick’s plastic-sealed salad over to him.
“You got the right order?” Nick said.
“Yep, fag.”
“Thanks,” Nick said as he popped the top on the salad and inspected the contents as if he were panning for gold.
“No problem. Just don’t ever ask me to do it again.” He finally located his burger and took a bite that was several times too big. Mike was about five nine and just on the portly side. However, he was in deceptively good shape for how he looked. He had been on the high school wrestling team and the football team, and since both his job and his love life were sad, he had taken to weight lifting to cure his frustrations. This endeavor could work only so well with a job at a porno shop, but he tried.
“Good Lord, these fries are salty,” he said as he continued to shovel more into his mouth. He had always dealt with his food with the passion of two long-lost lovers finally being reunited; however, the result of these encounters was less than attractive.
Chuckling Ann said, “Yeh, they need to teach the fry guy some restraint.”
“Did you give Chuck his food yet?” Nick said between bites.
Mike set his burger down. “Not yet, but I’ll get on it here in a sec. Hey, you got the money for the grub, man?” He looked at Nick.
“Yes, sir, I do,” he said as the cash register chimed open. Nick fanned out some money and slid it over to Mike.
“Your boss buys you dinner?”
“Yeh, he just doesn’t know it.”
“That’s kind of low,” Mike said with a smile.
Ann nervously reached into her front pocket and pulled out around five dollars. “Take it,” she said, handing the money to Nick. “I’ll pay for the rest soon.” Beverly could see Ann was unnerved by the idea of participating in theft.
Ann and Beverly hung around for a bit after they had eaten, but Ann’s curfew was gaining ground with every moment that Mike talked about why he believed that human b eings were a feeder race for extraterrestrials. So with little fanfare, they excused themselves and began the walk home. It was almost a mile to Ann’s house, and in the dark everything always seemed so much more sinister. However, with Beverly at her side, Ann knew she was going to be fine. Ann’s feet shuffled on the loose gravel that was scattered on the road, even as the two of them managed to stay in lockstep. The night felt oppressive, and the scraggly pines all seemed to pull to a far-off place in the woods.
Ann blurted out, “Stay over tonight.”
“Why?”
“'Cause it would beee fuuun.” She reached out and grabbed Beverly’s petite hand and brought it in close.
“I might, but first you have to apologize.”
“Golly, whatever do you mean?” Ann said knowingly. “OK, I’m sorry Nick’s a pedophile. I know, it was a shock to me, too, but facts is facts, and he likes the young'uns.”
Beverly yanked on her shoulder while simultaneously digging her thumbnail into Ann’s finger.
“Ahhh, OK. Jebuss! OK, I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of Nick. I will do it slightly less often from now on.”
“Well, that’s probably as good as I’m going to get, so I might consider it.”
“Yeh, we can tell ghost stories,” Ann said.
“Does your mom still keep the liquor cabinet unlocked?”
“Yeeeeep, but you can have only a little, ’cause I’m not cleaning up your throw-up this time.”
“That remains to be seen,” Beverly said with a smile. As much as Ann’s childishness bothered Beverly, she was still always won over by it. She couldn’t help it. It was hard to find a person in this life who didn’t have a drop of malice in their heart, and she knew that Ann would always be there. It just pained her that Ann forced her to watch the Wizard of Oz every time Beverly spent the night at her house, but after a few shots of stolen rum and a little vodka from Ann’s parents' liquor cabinet, she could stand hearing that wretched cowardly lion’s voice one more time.
The snap of a twig echoed through the night. Both girls stopped and warily surveyed their surroundings, but about all that could be seen was the soft moonlight reflecting off the yellow lines of the road. Ann’s free hand slid into her jacket, and she grasped a small pocketknife that her grandfather had given her. Beverly’s arm went rigid, and her grip on Ann’s hand tightened.
Beverly whispered. “Did you hear that?”
“Shhh,” Ann said as she peered into the darkness. There was another small crackling. It sounded softer than before, but it was distinctly closer than the last.
“Slowly turn around,” Ann whispered, and with that, both girls made a creeping turn and started to walk back the way they had come. The crackling underbrush seemed to follow them, and a strange malevolence seemed to bruise the air. So far, it stayed in the woods, but it wasn’t guaranteed that this would remain the case. Fantastic things began to flow through the girls' minds, and they were calling up terrible thoughts.
“Do you think it’s a mountain lion, or a bear, or something?” Beverly said. “I heard they will stalk you like this.”
“Don’t think about it; just go.” The sound crashed out of the woods.
“No—it’s more than that,” Ann said as their pace began to quicken. The sound came with them, increasing its speed. It was behind them on the road now, clacking on the pavement like someone quickly tapping long fingernails on a table. Nether dared to look behind as an even more frightful form crept in front of them. Ann clicked her small pocketknife open. Her hands shook as the shadow boldly took its spot in the center of the street. It seemed to be a person, but it still had a hateful aura about it. The girls halted, not knowing which way to turn. Should they face the shadowy form in front of them or the unknown sound behind them?
“Do you have your nail file?” Ann said softly.
“Yes.”
“Then get it,” Ann ordered. Beverly reached into her purse and pulled out the file. The black figure put its fingers to its mouth and whistled. Soft padded steps could be heard behind them, and as they spun around to confront the horror, they saw it. A perfectly white bunny rabbit hopped in between them. Its big floppy feet slapped the pavement as it hustled to reach its destination. There was no way that was what was following them, Ann thought.
“Heavenly, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” the dark figure said in a female voice. Halfway to the figure, the fluffy bunny paused and gave a solemn look back at the girls before proceeding. It seemed like a calculated thing to do, and with heavy thought behind its eyes, it turned back to the figure and kept hopping. The beast didn’t stop until it reached the shadow’s feet, where it waited patiently. The form bent down and picked up the furry critter and cradled it as if it was a child.
“Nice night for a walk, isn’t it, girls?” the figure said in a soft, feminine voice. The form started to walk in their direction before they could reply. The sound of a female voice was oddly reassuring to the girls. They could most likely cross rape off the list of the things that might happen, but assumptions are sometimes mistaken.
“Uhhh, yes,” Beverly said as the figure finally came close enough to see. It was a tall, aging woman in a thick black wool coat. She moved with confidence as she continued to approach. Her face was thin, and her long gray hair was pulled haphazardly into a bun.
“Hello, my name is Beth Hegel.”
Tentatively Beverly said, “Hey.”
“So, what finds you two out on a night like this?” Hegel said, coming within a few feet of them before stopping. Everything about her seemed old, from her square-toed black leather shoes, her frilly, cream-colored blouse, and most certainly her harsh, expressionless face that looked like weather-beaten leather. Neither of the girls said a word.
“You have others about?” Hegel’s speech had a distinctly European accent. However, the exact country could not be placed. It sounded like a strange mix from so many places that it might drive even a linguist mad. A guttural German mixed with Spanish and French; however, that only seemed to be the tip of it.
“Why?” Ann said, still clenching Beverly’s hand.
As the old woman looked down at Beverly’s fist, she saw her still gripping the nail file. “You aren’t going to rob me, are you?” Hegel’s eyes locked on the shining knife-like object.
Beverly looked down at the file, and realizing how it appeared, she said, “No, it’s just a nail file…You…You scared us.”
“Well, I never meant to. Say, can you tell me how to get to Black Shear from here?”
“I don’t think I know that place,” Ann said as the lady came closer.
Hearing a slight wind, Hegel looked into the tangled woods. “See the trees. Tonight’s a special night. Things can happen on this night that can’t happen at any other time. All your wishes can come true. You want a boy, don’t you?” she said, locking eyes with Beverly. Beverly’s eyes widened, and a sense of guilt washed over her.
“I can see to it that he loves you, and only you, forever.” Fear rushed into the hearts of the girls.
“I think we need to be going,” Ann said as she tugged on Beverly’s arm. The two of them started to walk around Hegel, who stood curiously straight and still. When they passed her, they began to march, almost run, back to the Black Crystal. The time for politeness had ended, and they looked only to distance themselves from the penetrating gaze of the strange woman.
“Tell the others that I have found dinner,” they heard the old hag say. With that, the stark sound of leathery wings could be heard rising into the air. Ann swung her head around to see the vile woman glaring at them with hateful eyes. The rabbit was gone.
“Go!” screamed Ann as she pulled Beverly into a flat-out run. But before they could get too far, a set of bony fingers pierced Ann’s shoulders and dragged her to the ground. She hit hard, scraping along the pavement; Beverly screamed as she spun. Ann was now being straddled by Hegel, who was raining down blows. Still clenching the nail file, Beverly lunged. The old hag’s reflexes were sharp, and with little effort, she snatched Beverly’s arm as she swung. In one quick motion, Hegel ripped the nail file from Beverly’s grip and plunged it deeply into Beverly’s forearm. She screamed as Hegel ripped it out and went for another stab, but before the blow could land, Ann flung her fist, smacking the old hag in the eye with her pocketknife. The witch screamed in an unknown language and released her grasp on Beverly. Ann yanked her inch-long pocketknife out of the diabolical woman’s eye. Beverly, with all the force she could muster, shoved the screaming attacker off her friend, leaving the witch writhing on the pavement. Unholy wails like the sounds of many voices burst from the gaping maw of the injured witch. Beverly reached down and pulled Ann to her feet.
Chapter 3: The Sex Shop
“Run!” Ann screamed. Their feet hit the pavement hard as they sprinted. The sound of the hag’s screams began to twist on themselves until it couldn’t be recognized if they were of pain or joy. The old woman wouldn’t be down for long, Ann realized, as her heart began to thump in her chest. They hadn’t yet run fifty feet when she looked back. Behind her she saw the old hag standing in the middle of the road with one hand clasping her injured eye.
“A pox on your homes and death to your loved ones. For you, I still have something very special planned,” unholy voices screeched from Hegel’s throat.
Ann faced forward and just kept running. They had passed the bend in the road and came to the streetlight in the parking lot of the porno store. Above them, the sound of flapping wings grew closer and closer. They ran as fast as they could, hit the wood planks of the store’s decks hard, and crashed through the door screaming.
“Help!” Ann shouted to the stunned people in the shop. In a flash, Mike jumped over the counter and a stack of DVDs that featured young Asian girls doing borderline illegal acts.
“What the fuck? Are you OK?” he said as he cradled Beverly in his arms. His sister broke down. She began sobbing as she pulled up her shirt sleeve, showing Mike her wound. Mike had always been her protector, even when they were both in school. It had been hard for Beverly now that she had to fend for herself in that harsh social environment, and she knew real life was going to be even harder. Mike had always been there to beat up the boys that picked on her. If a girl gave her problems, then Mike would simply beat up that girl's boyfriend. However, she rarely had to sic Mike on anyone. The threat was usually sufficient. It was not the most moral system, but it kept everyone in check and got her invited to all the parties. However, these last two years of school had been harsh without Mike. She was fair game now, and Ann was little help with her turn-the-other-cheek bullshit. Now with Mike there, she felt safe.