They Called Into Darkness

by K. R. Hager

Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

There forms the wispy, grasping shape of a woman. Her face is young, fresh, too beautiful for the grave. But her eyes burn as blue as a gas flame and she reaches towards us with a rapacious hunger. It’s the devil and deep blue sea, and I’m taking my chances with the sea.

Still running, I grab a wooden chair from against the wall and toss it towards the melding, shifting shape of the too-beautiful woman. The local historical society is going to kill me because the chair just smashes out a window behind the woman. I don’t care. If the historical society wants me, they’ll have to form a queue.

Whitacker draws his sword and lunges forward, yelling, “Beauseant! For Christ!”

I charge right through the woman, nearly running into the door. Opening the door into the main room, I stumble inside, Whitacker right behind me.

“Amber? What is your problem? What are you doing?” asks my husband and his family. I am too busy closing the door behind us and shoving furniture across it.

“How about frecking giving me a hand here?” I shout. The gawping looks on their faces would be funny except that all of a sudden, a mighty draft pulls through the room, rustling the tapestries and jittering the chandelier; it’s as though somebody is gasping in all the air, gathering it into his lungs.

Whitacker and I look at each other. Oh. No. I lunge towards my husband. He outweighs me by a hundred pounds but I take him to the ground like Romans taking the Sabines.

“Get down!” I yell with such an uncommon display of command that the others obey.

The door is blasted clean off its hinges. Furniture explodes and splinters across the room. Several thick windows erupt into a jagged rain of glass. The chandelier tears from the ceiling and smashes into the wall, ripping a chunk out of it.

“Ich bin der Hund der Hölle!” roars the voice of Michael-Heinrich as he jerks wildly into the room. “I have come through from the other side!”

“Michael! What the hell is wrong with you?” screams Lily, my husband’s sister. How can she not see that this isn’t Michael? “Should we hold a smudging?” she asks of her mother in the same tone as if she had just asked who wants tea.

“Yes, yes, let’s have a smudging outside. You can smudge whatever you want out there,” my husband says as he joins me in shoving family members towards the door.

“Riley!” my mother-in-law yells at my husband in ragged horror, “What has your non-believing wife done?”

Oh, so now this is my fault? They brought out the Ouija board when they couldn’t find Michael, and I went physically searching for him. I’m the one trapped in the dungeon. And somehow it’s my fault that somebody summoned something so utterly pleasant?

“Remember I told you to leave dead things alone?” I yell back, because now seems as good a time as any to have a family spat.

“Amber!” Whitacker yells at me. I turn to see that Michael-Heinrich has figured out how to command his limbs and is sprinting towards us, his blood-rimmed mouth dangling open and his eyes sparking. Behind him comes the mist-woman. They are coming towards the group that is resisting my husband’s attempts to get them out the door. Seriously, how can so many educated people be so lacking in self-preservation? If Michael-Heinrich reaches them — which he will, as my mother-in-law is protesting that her spirit guide can talk to him — he will get to my husband first.

I am the most cowardly person alive but even a coward can show loyalty. I can think to do only one thing: “Beauseant!” I howl and break into a sprint, coming right at the corpse. If I’m dying because of these people, it’ll be charging and not begging.

Sword drawn, Whitacker is right next to me. I reach Michael-Heinrich and leap towards him. Pain and lights fill my head and several things snap as I get sent flying against the wall. I should have remembered what he had done to that door and the furniture. I pray one of those snaps wasn’t my spine.

My nerves are on fire as I try to stand. Whitacker is here, arm around me dragging me to my feet. I might be an idiot, but at least I have a loyal imaginary friend. A lot of idiots can’t even say they have that. I’m trying to support my weight but now I’m the one with limbs at crazy angles. One of my legs is obviously broken, bone jabbing through the skin and soaking my pant leg with blood. But I see my husband has gotten everyone out the door. So now it’s me and Whitacker against something that’s called Hell down upon itself.

“Come on, partner,” Whitacker says, still supporting my weight. “Let’s go out standing, shall we?” I, the most cowardly person in the world, grin and nod. I try to straighten myself but one of my ribs starts poking at internal organs.

“Ich bin der Hund der — Aaargh!” shrieks Michael-Heinrich as flames erupt across him. Writhing and screaming, he turns from us and continues howling like one of the damned.

I see my husband standing there with a second glowing lantern in his hand and a grim smile on his face. With Whitacker’s help, I stagger towards my husband and we escape away from the flames and the corpse and the haunting, angry whispers that are climbing wildly to wails. He throws the other lantern to the floor and the flames snake out, grasping for the ceiling as the mist-lady tries to swoop down.

We’re outside in the midnight air of a small German town and the world is crackling flames and swirling sparks. The local historical society is not going to stop at killing us now; we’ve burnt down a sixteenth-century estate.

“I just don’t understand,” my mother-in-law says. “We did the protective incantations, we summoned the mother goddess, we—.”

“Are not shamans,” I finish peevishly. “You have no more idea about how this all works than I do about Euclidean geometry.”

In response, she ignores me. Closing her eyes, she sits down and stares up at the heavens. Whitacker taps me on the shoulder. “What is she doing?” he asks. “Whatever she’s doing, make her stop.”

“Rita! Whatever you’re doing, now isn’t the place!” I yell.

“For your information, I’m having my spirit guide contact his spirit guide. I must know what happened.”

What? Frecking what? “That was his spirit guide!” I am shouting now, but it doesn’t matter because even if I’m being civil, they aren’t interested in my take on the spiritual. “His spirit guide came raging through from Hell! Why are you not listening to this?”

“I’m not listening to you because you’re not Gifted. I’m sorry, Amber, but you could never understand the burden that the Gifted carry.”

Bloody freck.

Now it really happens. The infernal phoenix rises from the ashes. Cinders swirl and hiss in the cool air as a shadow stretches forth from the remains of the estate. Jerking towards us comes the corpse. She has called him. Like a hound after a rabbit, he is hunting us down. Each step is a dragging lurch, but he is coming. He must be destroyed. In the near distance there is a rumble, there is light in the trees. Yes, of course. We are near a road that leads into the town.

“Whit,” I whisper. “If this is the last thing I do, please help me. I need to get across the street.” My friend gets a firmer grip on me and nods. As everybody stares at the gruesome animated cadaver coming towards us, I make my way across the road.

“Hey! Ugly dead guy!” I’m putting all my voice behind this yell. “I’m the one who attacked you! I’m the one that never believed in you! I still don’t believe in you! You’re a pathetic fraud!”

“Christ be with us, he’s coming this way,” Whitacker mutters. He makes the sign of the Cross on himself. I pull myself closer against my friend.

The corpse is at the edge of the road. The rumbling is louder, the lights are brighter. Snarling and reeking, the corpse lunges into the street. There is a curve in the road and I cannot see the lights. He’s in the road and he’s laughing. He knows I’m right in front of him. He is staggering, he is... The lorry does not even sound its horn as it smashes into the corpse. Right into the grill and down under the tires he goes. The last of the estate collapses upon itself with a gush of sparks.

I know Whitacker was a Templar and I know he has his vows, but I hug him anyway.

“Well done,” he says. “But can I give some advice?”

“Of course.”

“Make sure your next vacation doesn’t involve Riley’s mother.”