Midnight: Seance'

Holding hands at the round table as Iris Keller responded to the voice of  her dead lover made Steven Crane feel incredibly stupid.  He was an Atheist and believed that any claim on the supernatural had just as much value as a bucket of warm piss. He had agreed to sit in on the seance' just to humor his childhood friend, Esther West, a preacher's daughter whom he felt had been dooped right along with thousands of other ghost-believing idiots. Not that he thought that of Esther, he loved her too much.

Outside, the lightning flashed and the thunder growled, like a ferocious bear in combat.  The September wind shooked the house, like it wanted in, as the rain beat hard against the windows. Large barks snapped like twigs and disappeared in the distants.

Inside, the room grew dark and eerie. A special candle was placed in  the middle of the table to formed a hedge of protection around them. The flame appeared to dance above the wicker. Madame Reece's black irises rolled to the back of her head and remained there. Blood trickled down from one ear as she foamed at the mouth, like a rabid dog.

Creaking noises rose throughout the house, and thumping sounds moved along the walls. The other five guests gripped each other's hand as a mist crept over the table, and a ghostly face of a man formed out of the air.  Steven felt Esther's hand when it trembled. She squeezed his until the blood slipped to his finger tips and made his tips thump with every beat of his heart.  A muffled sound of a crying child loomed above the mist. A guest swore it was the voice of her little girl who'd drowned years ago. Another guest acknowledged a seventh person seated with them at the table; they all gasped when she fanished as quickly as she had appeared.

Steven’s eyes scanned for hidden mikes, strings on flying objects, or black clothed figures lurking in the background. But technology had become too sophisticated for an amateur psychic buster like him, he reasoned.

Esther seemed frightened but eager for the experience. Her request was next. Her deceased granny had moved up in the spirit line, or so she was told.  Steven's eyes ping pong back and forth between  her and the psychic. Esther no sooner took a hard swallow, when Reece screamed in multiple voices and collapsed. He wanted to stand and applaud the performance, but knew he'd be slaughtered by disapproving eyes. The lights flashed on, nearly blinding the guests.  An assistant begged everyone's forgiveness. She announced that the session had ended, as another assistant escorted a weak Madame Reece from the room.       

The Séance left Steven quite amused; he wanted to hang back and ask them how she had done the multiple voices, the facial aging and especially the blood coming from her ear. He couldn't believe this happened right in front of him. There seemed nothing but blank walls in the room and no table cloth on the wooden table; nothing seemed hidden. She was good; there was no doubt about that, he thought. Now what to do about Esther? The glow on her face told him everything; he definitely had his work cut out for him. On the parking lot, she turned to him.
 
"So, what did you think?"

He said, "It's fake. You knew I'd say it."

"Yes--I knew, "but you can't prove it."

"It was over too soon. We had stuff worked out."

"You mean  all  those lies you wanted me to feed her--to trip her up."

"Hell yeah, I wanted to trip her phony ass up. That was the plan.  But I'll get my chance at the next session," he said.

"There'll be no next session for you," she said. "I've had it with your damn skepticism. Just stay away from me."

"Oh now you're being childish."

"Childish?" Well, maybe I am.  Children are more likely to be open-minded to the unknown, aren't they? And aren't we encourage to be as little children when we read the scriptures?"

"And what about what the scriptures say about psychics? You can't just pick and choose what you want to believe."

"Like you don't?"

"What?"

"If my father knew you questioned most of what he teaches, you wouldn't be allowed to step foot in our home and you know it."

"I've never questioned his integrity. I just think he's bamboozled like the rest of religious society."

"My father? Bamboozled?"

"I can't help it if I don't buy your father's philosophy on hell fire and demons."

"Can't you just once support me without an opinion?"

"No. I won't stand by and watch you give hundreds of dollars to some crook who claims to conjure up your dead grandma. I'm sorry--but that's just plain stupid."

"Now, I'm stupid?"

"I...I didn't say..."

"Fine!"

She whirled around on her three inch heels and headed for her car. He reached for her.

"Don't be like that. We've known each other forever: kindergarten, children's church. Damn it, Esther!"

Esther eluded his grasp. She slammed the door in his face and drove off. Steven was visibly shaken. He hated that this mess had come between them.  But how, he thought, could he prove that this Madame Reece was a phony? He got into his car, fastened his seat belt and started the engine.  He knew if he were to put even a dent into this psychic scam, he had to do some digging into Reece's past, and maybe some snooping around her place too.  As he left the parking lot, he seemed rather pleased with himself for what he'd planned.  He drove off with his mouth drawn in a devilish smile.

**************

3:00 AM: the next Morning

Madame Reece Weatherbee, or Reecie as she was called by those closest to her, lifted her head from her pillow and felt a slight pulling at her scalp.  She examined the pillow and saw her dark strands pasted in dried blood. She touched her neck and felt the roughness of the tiny red crumbs that sprinkled down onto her shoulder. Madame performed as a psychic most of her thirty-nine years.  She never married, had no children and lived on her own since age seventeen.

Reece walked to the bathroom to get a better look at herself. Her eyes looked like the "Before" Clear Eyes eye drop commercial. Her hair was matted. And her left ear still oozed blood. A sharp pain rippled through her right arm when she reached for the shower knob. She flopped down on the toilet seat and tried to gather herself.  A rap on the bedroom door startled her.

"Yes," she called out in a weak voice.

A plump woman, in her forties, walked into the bathroom where Reece sat. She gently scolded Reece for not calling for help. The staff, which consisted of: housekeepers, cook, chauffer, nurse, and personal assistances, loved Reece and catered to her every whelm. They seldom let her do anything for herself.

The woman took cotton balls and Q-tips--dipped them in a solution and cleaned away the dried blood. She massaged her right arm. Afterwards, she washed her hair and drew a bath.

Madame sat drying her hair with a towel, while the woman changed the bedding.  Reece was exhausted; " the spirits had been extremely demanding and unpredictable," she told a staff member after being carried off. Her bleeding ear, a preexisting condition made worst when using her gift,  proved too painful to continue the session. Groggy from the pain medication, Reece slipped between the fresh covers and fell asleep, as the plump woman sat a far off in a large arm chair, monitoring her every breath.

**************

Private Study

Dr. Connelly, or Doc, as he was endearingly called, squeezed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb for the seventh time after pulling off his glasses. He rubbed his tired blue eyes, yawned and took a sip of his sixth cup of black coffee. His wife was used to this by now. His three kids, Palmer, JT, and Brittany had gotten used to it years ago just before going off to college, then finding their own place in the world.

Joyce, his wife of thirty-eight years, always kept a snack by his nightstand. She kept a light on in the hall so he wouldn't have to stumble up to bed groggy from work as he most times did. On his desk were a wave of notes and papers, and a spread of books: Communication with the Other Side by Sir George Lyttelton, Beware the Lies of Satan by Dr. Frederick K. Price, The Study of Demonology, by various authors, Why the Ouija Board is not a Kid's Game, by none other than Dr. Richard D. Connelly, himself and piles of other references.

Dr. Connelly earned a PhD in Theology with a passion for research on world religion. He was an academic expert, author of nine books and a valuable contributor of information about religious topics, including the occult; before retiring, he had been in great demand lecturing at top universities all over the world. But when he got stuck just wanting to lecture on the occult, he received scrutiny from his colleagues and admirers. They accused him of being too self-absorbed with this satanic thing; and he was soon removed from their list of lecturers. His phone stop ringing and his touring dried up.

Fortunately, he had come from a financially secure family; and he had invested his own money well. This allowed him the finance and the freedom to continue to research and write books on his new subject. But it wasn't his fascination with the occult that influenced him and set him on this course; it was an earlier encounter that rocked his intellectual genius and changed his life's purpose forever.

It was 1993, in a small town in Ohio, a place barely on the map. He was lecturing at a small Bible College. In the middle of his lecture, he noticed a young female, not seated with the others, but standing afar off in a dark corner of the tiny auditorium. Her disheveled appearance, dark scrawny face, and deep disturbing eyes, set her apart from the rest of the crowd. Her wool scarf was wrapped several times, which seemed much too tightly, around her tiny neck. She looked about seventeen. She wore a dark wool cap pulled down over long, stringy,  dirty, blonde hair; the long sleeve pink sweater she wore was pulled over her hands–covering her finger-tips.

With her arms folded across her chest, she held each shoulder with the opposite sweater-covered hand as she rocked back and forth. She kept her head bowed, but looked up at him. Her eyes were chilling, with hardly any white showing. He tried not to notice her, but it was as if something wanted him to; something seemed to be pulling his glare towards her; and no matter where he looked out over the crowd, his eyes seemed to find hers. Suddenly their glares locked, and a cold wind swept over the stage and chilled him until he nearly gasped. He lost focus on his lecturing for a short moment but then resumed.

Fortunately, he thought to himself, nobody noticed. But when he looked at her again, she had a sinister smile on her face. What she did next sent every nerve in his body a sharp jolt...first he saw her, then the wall through her, then just the wall. He played it off by reaching for a drink of water and clearing his throat; and without looking at the reaction of the audience, he continued to lecture.

After the lecture, Dr. Connelly, still shaken, was acting noticeably strange. His colleague and friend, who had invited him to lecture, confronted him, asked him what was wrong. And when Connelly told him, he was surprised that his colleague's facial expression never changed. And what he told Dr Connelly in response nearly turned his Irish pale face green.

"This had been a very quiet ordinary town for the past sixty years," he began his story, "until five years ago when a group of Spiritualists descended on our town. Right away, the town's people began spotting this girl, that wasn’t a girl, but a demon who occupied the dead girl’s body. And nobody knew who the girl was, because she wasn't from around here. The demon killed the psychics who had summoned it here. It seems, they realized their mistake and tried to send it back against its will, and it killed them one-by-one. The bodies were so torn apart, we couldn't tell who was who, or what part of what body parts went where; we just shoveled the remains in one big meat and bone pile, placed it in a casket and gave them a proper burial. Don't know who their families were."

Doc's heart, which was thudding, left his mouth.

"How do you deal with it?"

"We tried for years to get mediums to come here and get rid of this thing," he said, "but if they came, they either wound up scared out of their wits, run off or worst. And then some we contacted who knew what they'd be dealing with just wouldn't come. They all said the same thing...that this was a really dangerous and powerful demon. One top Spiritualist, who felt sorry for us, did send us some instructions, but… nobody will touch em".

"So you just live with it?"

"Well," he said with a sigh, "those of us who live here just know how to keep out of its way. We leave it, alone and it leaves us, alone. The only problem is from people who come here from out of town. We warn them and they ignore us; or they laugh at us. So we lock our doors and wait for the screams to go away, then go about our business. What can I say?" he ended with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Well this is the 'damnedest' thing I've ever encountered," Dr. Connelly told him. But he did promise his friend and colleague that he wouldn't rest until he researched and studied everything that he could about this phenomenon. And when he had, he'd be back.

That was over twelve years ago. And Dr. Connelly still struggled to make good on that promise. He was busy preparing to meet with mediums to educate them on the dangers of what they were doing. He wasn't interested in shutting down psychic businesses that were scamming people out of their money; No. He left that to law enforcement. He was only interested in the mediums who actually contacted the demonic world.

He had been studying this evil for years now. He had become expert at understanding their strength and weakness. The psychics were tapping into an unknown that was about to turn the world to chaos of apocalyptic proportions. He had to warn them that one of them could just be one séance away from unleashing this unholy terror.

He had sent out letters to various psychics, explaining that he wasn't their enemy and that they should get a better understanding of each other's position; but many feared it was just a trick to put them in the hot seat, and so he got nearly no response; only a few were gracious enough to respond. Doc had one such letter before him; it read:

Dear Dr. Richard D. Connelly: As Doc read on, he was very pleased. It ended:

Sincerely,

Madame Reece Weatherbee .......

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mid-day three weeks after séance-Living Room

Steven shifted himself a few times in the large beige chair, but never got comfortable. He finally leaned forward, sitting wide legged and placing an elbow on each knee, folded his hands in front of him. The thick blue carpet half swallowed his feet as his eyes darted back and forth taking in the well kept beauty of Reece Weatherbee's childhood home.

Katherine Weatherbee-Dawson, Reece's mom, who was widowed for the second time, tried to make small talk loud enough for him to hear her from the kitchen, which was only a few feet away, separated by a narrow hallway. It wasn't hard to hear her over the constant clinking of the dishware, as she prepared the two cups of spice tea. Mrs. Dawson had been reluctant to talk with a stranger about her daughter. But something in the way she wasn't too eager to stop the conversation either, prompted him to push for a face-to-face meeting.

Katherine kept in close contact with her daughter. They were relatively close as long as they didn't discuss the forbidden; they referred to it as, "the gift." Reece had been a normal child. Being the only child, she was a bit spoiled, but a very charitable and loving kid. She and her father were very close until he died of a heart attack when Reece was twelve. She took it hard, but managed it as well as a kid her age could. Then at fifteen, Reece became rebellious.

As a high school teacher and having to deal with thirty kids at one time, Katherine was quite prepared for a headstrong daughter. But nothing prepared her for the summer of 88. Katherine had allowed Reece to spend a weekend with this strange looking new kid who seemed to have a fascination with the color black, and whose parents seemed always out of town. Some kid brought a Ouija Board to the party and Katherine believes that's when she lost her daughter. Reece was convinced that she had always had this gift. She said the night of the party had nothing to do with it. Katherine disagreed.

A few weeks after the party, strange happenings occurred in this tight-knit Cleveland community: animals were found mutilated; family members disappeared without a trace; and a young girl was murdered. She was found nude, nailed to a tree up-side-down; she had been split down the middle, and her throat had been cut. During these happenings, Reece became distant and began acting strange. The fights between her and Katherine escalated. Finally, Reece ran away from home. They didn't speak for years until Katherine, wanting to make peace with her only child, called her and promised never to mention the matter again.

After his second cup of tea, and listening to the stories, Steven pretended to care about the time; he quickly looked at his watch, thanked Mrs. Dawson for her time and asked if they could talk again. Katherine agreed and walked him to the door. Of course he didn't believe one word of the story and had no intentions of contacting her again since nothing she had said helped to prove her daughter a phony. But he didn't believe she was, in any way, covering for her daughter. She really believed those things happened. He figured she was just one more person caught up in this phony world of the supernatural. So he set his sights towards plan "B" and left......





 















 

Author Notes

Unlike "Third-person limited" which the narrator only conveys the thoughts of the protagonist, this Novelette is written in the "Third-person subjective" which means the narrator (me) conveys the thoughts of one or more characters. I would like to thank Khristysdesigns for Lady of the Crystal Ball," it truly enhances the title of my work.

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.

(Chapter Two)

Late Evening-Parked car 50 feet from Dr. Connelly's mansion

From his car window, Steven continued to spy on Madame Reece. She and her chubby little assistant, Debbie, stepped from a late model black Cadillac STS onto the narrow strip leading to Dr. Connelly's light brick mansion. The walkway divided a large sea of mowed grass, and it stretched from an iron gate to designer front steps. They stood before a carved mansion door with old world glass, and solid wrought iron grills. An African American woman opened the door and smiled, then motioned the women to come in.

Steven looked on curiously. He had been faithfully following Madame Reece's every movement.  For over two months, he had tried to get her routine down. Steven needed to get into her house and snoop around. He learned that Madame Reece was a creature of habit; and just when he thought he was ready to make his move, she did something different today. And here it was. And who was this new person she was visiting? Steven had to find out. He tore the wrapper off his fourth Snickers bar, turned on some Jazz and kept his eyes on the front door.

Inside, Reece and Debbie sat quietly, their eyes taking in all the treasures of the room: Encased on the wall was an early 1950s Jackson Pollock original abstract painting; under the painting, were two antique, dark cherry, Accent chairs. Next to it...a table that held a nineteenth century Chinese porcelain lamp. And right in front of Reece, on a carved wood table, sat an odd looking porcelain object that looked half dog, half lion. Reece leaned over to get a better look at the thing.

"Chinese famille Verte Porcelain," Dr. Connelly called from the doorway. "It's called a Foo Dog or Temple Lion."

Reece looked up at Dr. Connelly walking towards her smiling with both hands extended to her and Debbie.

"Oh, how interesting," Reece said, and shook his hand. Debbie nodded, shook his hand and quietly went to the far side of the room so Reece and Doc could talk privately.

"It was created around the early nineteenth century," Dr. Connelly continued. "It's also known as a Buddhistic Lion. The Chinese believed it would guard against bad spirits and bring good luck. Nearly every household had one."

"Well, this whole room seems one big history lesson. I hope you didn't mind my being so inquisitive."

"Oh, not at all, Ms. Weatherbee."

"Please, call me Reece."

"Very well, Reece. Can I have Roberta get you and your assistant anything, um... tea, coffee something a little stronger...maybe?"

"No. Thank you. We're fine."

"As you can see I love to collect things. Did a lot of collecting things when I was lecturing in Asia."

Doc took a seat next to Reece on the sofa as he continued.

"Actually it's my wife who is the real art collector; I just pick up the tab." He laughed.

Reece laughed too as Dr. Connelly made her feel more at ease.

"I'm really impressed with you."

"Why is that?"

"Of all the letters I sent out, you were the only Spiritualist who accepted my invitation to discuss this most pressing matter."

"Don't be so impressed with me. They asked me to come and represent them."

"You mean, you guys know each other?" Reece chuckled at Doc's surprise.

"Only the ones affiliated with UPC, our organization."

"And that stands for?"

"Universal Psychic Conference, it's world-wide. It was started in the late 1960s by Madame Katherine Moals and sixteen other psychics. We now have over five hundred chapters."

"You mean there are that many Psychics in the world?"

"When you consider that there are five billion people on the planet," she said smiling.

"I guess that isn't such a big number at that. So they didn't refuse me, they just sent you. Well, I'm thrilled that you came."

"That may change," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"They sent me to stop you."

"Stop me from what?"

"They're afraid you might be causing a panic with all this talk of demons and devils; people have grown to trust our gifts."

"And that's exactly what I'm afraid of," said Doc, "people trusting you."

"Why!?"

"My dear woman, you and your colleagues are about to open a door that only God Himself can shut."

"There's nothing behind that door, but your own foolish religious ignorance"

"My own ignorance, you say?"

"Can't you see that you are causing a panic? If people start believing what you're lecturing, it could shut us down."

"But that is precisely what I want to do."

"But we bring good to the world."

"Good to the world?" Doc couldn't believe his ears.

"Listen," she continued, "do you know how many cases, I alone, have helped Law Enforcement to solve? By contacting the dead and having them tell me who killed them...."

Doc laughed four loud "ha's" and shook his head in disbelief.  Debbie looked from across the room disapprovingly, like she wanted to grab Doc up by his collar.

Reece quickly stood up from the sofa and grabbed her purse.

"Well I guess that's that," she said and started for the door.

Doc chuckled and then sighed.

Disappointed with himself, he reached out for her arm and gently held on.

"I'm sorry. Please don't leave. I was wrong to laugh. I believe you're a good person; you believe you're doing a good thing. Please...let's start over."

Doc still holding on, motioned her to sit back down, which she did. Doc slid closer to her. Debbie, concerned, gazed from across the room. The two resumed their talk, this time more civilly. Each struggled to understand one another's point of view; they talked respectfully to one another for over an hour.

Outside, Steven ripped off the wrapper of his sixth Snickers bar and took a huge bite. He froze before taking another bite when the front door opened. He watched as the tall, distinguished and slightly balding man stood in the doorway and ushered the women off with a wave. The women got into the car and drove off. Steven snapped a picture of Doc, and memorized the address. He followed the black Cadillac as it veered off the quiet street onto the hectic highway.




 
 
 
 

Author Notes

I would like to thank Khristysdesigns for Lady of the Crystal Ball"

Chapter 3
A Meeting of the Minds

By amahra

 


(Chapter Three)


Late Afternoon-Dr. Connelly's mansion-waiting room

Steven stood admiring the luxury items display. He recognized the famous 1952 Pollock painting, "Blue Poles." It was his favorite. As he looked about, his eyes settled on the odd piece that had so fascinated Madame Reece.

"Chinese Famille Verte Porcelain," Dr. Connelly called from the door way. "It's called . . ."

"Buddhistic Lion," Steven interrupted, "nineteenth century. Chinese believed it would ward off evil spirits and bring them good luck."

"Well, well, young man. I see there's an equal meeting of the minds here. History major?"

"Physics, Sir."

Doc held out his hand, and Steven shook it. Steven was delighted that he had impressed Dr. Connelly. With his sharing enough of Connelly's interest, he'd hoped to put the old man at ease; then he’d worm his way into finding out what went on between him and Madame Reece.

The two men sat and talked about their interest in Chinese art and Jackson Pollock paintings. Finally, Steven felt confident enough to pop the question.

"It seems you and I may have something else in common."

"Oh?"

"What do you know about a Madame Reece...this psychic guru?"

"You know Madame Reece?"

"Not really.  I went to one of her séances. I don't believe in that nonsense, but I attended to convince my friend that she was nothing more than a phony. But I failed."

Steven went on to say that his friend was lining Reece’s pockets with thousands of dollars, thinking she was putting her in contact with her dead relatives.  He told of how she had turned her back on her religion and her family.

"It's like an addiction," he said.  "I feel like my friend is drowning, and I don't have a rope to throw her."

"Um... I detect your friend is more than just a friend?"

Steven, uneasy, looked away.

"What do you know about this woman, Doc?"

"What do you know about the supernatural?"

"I don't believe in that mess."

"Then, I can't help you."

"What do you mean, you can't help me?"

"Son, Madame Reece is not a phony. If you want to help this friend of yours, that's the one thing you're going to have to come to terms with."

"How can you sit here, an intelligent man, and believe this woman talks to dead people?"

"Son. I wish that's all she was talking to."

"What do you mean?"

Doc stood up.

"Mr. Crane, are you a drinking man?"

"Yes. Why?"

Doc walked over to a mirrored wall. He touched something, and a bar rolled into view.

"Name your poison."

"A Captain Morgan."

"Two Captain Morgans coming up."

Doc filled two glasses with ice and poured a shot of golden Puerto Rican rum in each one; he then filled both glasses with Coca-Cola and added a dash of lime.

The two men sat and talked for over two hours. Doc made a second trip to his mirrors. They disagreed and argued theology back and forth, with both men winning over one another on certain points. Then Doc spoke of Madame Reece and their meeting. He talked about the UPC and the dangers it posed. Steven told Doc of the meeting he'd had with Reece's mother and about a dead girl. Doc told him who the dead girl was and what he had experience while lecturing at the small Bible College. Doc told Steven he was trying to save the world; Steven told Doc he was only interested in saving Esther. Both men parted with a better respect for one another.

"You take care," Doc warned.

"I will."

Steven got into his car and drove off.


 

Author Notes

I would like to thank Khristysdesigns for the beautiful Lady of the Crystal Ball."

Chapter 4
Steven and the Forces of Darkness

By amahra

(Chapter Four)

Midnight--Madame Reece's suburban Home


Steven pulled up to Madame Reece's home. It was an early 1920s red brick colonial house with white trimmed windows that sat afar off the main street. A thick wooded area served as part of its oversized backyard. To its far left, a small brook, glittered under a full moon. He shut the door of his Ford hybrid. The sound hovered over the silence as he stood checking out the areas that surrounded the house. Madame Reece had traveled with her entourage to Cleveland to visit her mom. Her closest neighbors were off to their summer homes. He had done his homework.

A cold wind whistled through the trees that towered over the house. Its long reaching branches seemed almost territorial, as it slapped the top of the house and beat senseless the red brick chimney. Steven walked the narrow path up the hill; a cold chill gripped him. He pulled on the zipper of his short leather jacket that was half zipped, and pulled the zipper up to his neck. The closer he came to the house, the colder he became.

 Walking slowly up the hill, he noticed a foul odor; perhaps a dead animal in the woods, he thought; suddenly his car keys felt like an ice cube in the palm of his hand. Halfway there, he was chilled to his bones. By the time he reached the house, his teeth were chattering and water vapor was coming from his nose and mouth. None of this deterred Steven as his flashlight peered around for the opening. He had cased the house when Reece had left for a couple of hours--and knew there was a boarded up window in the basement. He'd decided then, when he came back, this would be his entrance.

Once inside, he fumbled for his camera, determined to be the Sherlock Holmes that took this bitch down. Stumbling through pitch blackness of the basement, the flashlight suddenly went out.

"Damn!"

Steven fumbled with the light, then banged it against his palm. But it seemed dead.

"Son of a bitch!"

He kept banging; but the thing wouldn't budge.

"Jesus Christ!"

After another bang, and it flashed on.

He moved around pointing the flashlight and snapping the camera on whatever looked interesting: Pointing it in a corner and saw a pile of books; shining it on a wall observing a strange looking calendar; then turned slowly, and pointed it in a deep corner where a pair of eyes stared back at him. Steven broke, and dropped the light. He stood there silently, listening to his own heartbeat, but noticed nothing moved on him. He swallowed hard, found the light and picked it up, then moved slowly towards the eyes, his hands were trembling.  Steven blew out his breath when he saw it was just a stuffed animal.

He walked around freely, after that, pointing and snapping. He pointed it up at the ceiling, then down to the concrete floor. On the concrete he saw a most unusual pattern. He couldn't quite make it out, but thought it looked like a huge Ouija board. He stepped back a few steps and pulled the focus back on his camera and snapped. A crash, like a large stack of loose papers falling, he whirled around, and shined the light, but there was nothing there.

CRASH!
 
The sound was closer. Steven whirled around in the opposite direction–both hands on the flashlight, like he was pointing a gun, his camera dangled from his wrist on a strap. But there was nothing there.   A foul odor permeated the air; Steven sensed a presence coming up on him.
 
CRASH!
 
 He turned and scrambled for the boarded up window but in his panic, he couldn't find it.
 
"Who's there?
 
CRASH!
 
 He's pointed his flashlight like a crazy man, but couldn't find the window.

CRASH!
 
"I…I have a gun," he lied.

A freezing cold swept over him. He shivered and put a finger between his chattering teeth.  He wanted to vomit, but knew he had to stay focused. With his hand trembling, he pointed the flashlight in the direction of the crash. There was nothing there, but the foul odor. And what he saw next caused his knees to weaken. There...on the other side of the basement, was the boarded up window. In his panic, he had scrambled in the wrong direction.  The sound was coming closer and closer.

He shut off his flashlight and braced himself. He knew he had to go for the window. He made a mad dash pass the stinky thing. He knew he had passed it when he heard the crash behind him. He swerved, stumbling blindly into everything in his path, slipping, sliding, and thrashing about like some wild animal caught in a net. 

The sound was all around him. And funk swallowed up the air. He fumbled blindly for the boarded window.  His hands stung from scrapping it along the wall; he ignored the pain, and felt even harder for the boards; he knew the sticky wetness on his hands was his own blood; but he continued to feel about--it seemed like forever. "Where is this damn thing?!" he cried out; the force of this darkness had come closer.  Every bloody finger cursed this window. And a decaying breath blew just above his head. The sound of it was deafening; the smell of it--sickening, until Steven thought he'd pass out.

Then he felt wood and the outside cold on one hand. "Yes!” he yelled out in a whispered voice. With the other hand he pulled himself up, his body halfway free. The butt free. The right leg free. The left leg, grabbed and he was violently snatched back. Something had him on his back and was crushing the life out of him. He thrashed his arms and kicked his legs violently, but was only slicing the air. He thought he knew how it felt to be crushed by a two ton elephant. He heard his bones crack as he tried desperately to breathe. He tried to turn to the left, turn to the right, to lift himself off the cement, but couldn't escape what was holding him down. He continued to thrash and kick, until he felt his eyes pop forward. Gasping for what seemed his last breath, he spoke the name of his love, though she would never know it.

"Esther."

Lights burst inside his skull, and everything went black to nothing.

Steven suddenly found himself on a dark road. He was running from the crashing sound with the foul odor. He stopped running, turned and asked it.

"What do you want?"

"A body," it said.

Steven pointed to a raven that was flying over and said, "Take him."

The raven was snatched out of the air; and the crashing thing put it on like a coat.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked it. And it spoke in Madame Reece's voice.

"No... Mr. Crane. Mr. Crane. Mr. Crane."

Steven opened his eyes and Madame Reece was leaning over him calling his name. He was in a large bed. His head and chest were bandaged. Debbie gave him a sip of Brandy; another assistant, he didn't recognize, was busy about the room.

"You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Crane," Reece said smiling.

"How did you know my name?"

"What were you doing in my basement?"


 

Author Notes

I would like to thank jgrace again for the artwork, "God's Crystal Ball."

Chapter 5
Steven's Belief Is Shaken

By amahra

 




(Chapter Five)

 
 “What the hell attacked me?”

“Nothing attacked you,” she said.
 
“Oh, I suppose I cracked my own skull and crushed my own ribs?”
 
“You have a slight concussion and bruised chest. No bones are broken,” Reece assured him.
 
“And you know this how?"  Steven said sarcastically. “What did you do…conjure up some dead doctor from the other side to come and examine me?”
 
“We found you with a gash on your head and a very heavy file cabinet on your chest.”
 
“Oh…so it was a file cabinet that attacked me?” he said with a smirk.
 
He tried to lift himself, but felt dizzy and plopped back down on the bed.
 
“Now don’t exert yourself,” Debbie warned. She tried to give him another sip of Brandy. But he waved it away.
 
“You still haven’t said what you were doing in the basement," Reece said.
 
“Alright,” Steven said boldly, seeing that he was caught.  He strained to sit up again; his chest and head thumped when he stirred.
 
“I don’t like you,” he managed to say.
 
Reece raised an eyebrow as he continued.
 
“You’re a phony and a crook.”
 
“Now wait one damn minute,” Debbie snapped. “Why... you ungrateful son of a…”
 
“It’s ok Debbie,” Reece interrupted, calmly.
 
Steven went on to tell Reece how he felt about her getting her hooks into people with her phony psychic contacts. He mentioned, particularly, his friend (not calling her by name) and the money she was spending on this farce of her talking to the dead. He said this obsession his friend had was ruining her life and her relationships.
 
“And this person you’re trying to help…doesn’t believe you?”
 
“No, no they don’t.”
 
“So what exactly did you hope to find digging around in my basement?”
 
“I don’t know–something…anything that would have helped me prove you were a scam artist."
 
“Well, that’s an improvement,” Reece grinned, “I’ve gone from a phony and a crook, to an 'Artist,'” Reece joked, emphasizing the word.
 
Debbie and the other assistant chuckled.
 
“I don’t think you’re funny,” Steven snapped.
 
“Look you bastard,” Debbie said angrily, “you need to thank Madame Reece for not letting you bleed to death on the basement floor. I wanted to call the cops…haul your scrawny little ass off to jail, but she stopped me. And another thing….”
 
“Debbie,” Reece interrupted, “you and Linda go in and help Marcie with getting supper started. I want to talk to Mr. Crane alone.”
 
When the women had left the room, Reece sat on the side of the bed and gave Steven a sympathetic look.
 
“May I call you Steven?” Reece asked.
 
“Why not?”
 
"I don’t know what you expected to find down there in the basement, but had you come to me, I would have answered any questions you had. What do you want to know?”
 
“I want to know how you do it. I was right there and couldn’t see a thing.”
 
“You mean the Séance…no strings on flying objects or contraptions hidden under the table. Stuff like that?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Did it ever occur to you that I might be legit?”
 
“No. Hell no.”
 
“Let me hold your hand.” Reece held out her hands to him.
 
“What for?”  he asked with a suspicious frown.
 
“Just give me your hand.”
 
Reluctantly, he laid his hand in her hand; with her other hand, she cupped it.
 
Her body moved slowly from side to side. He smirked at her nonsense, but didn’t remove his hand. She spoke in another language and moaned as her head slowly circled in motion. She moaned louder and he watched her rock to the rhythm of her moan.

He continued to smirk until a light fog entered the room and something flashed inside of him; then a mysterious cold gripped him, like it had while walking to the house and again in the basement. He smelled the same odor, but this time…it didn’t matter. He welcomed it.  Reece kept speaking the strange language and he found himself moving with her.

His eyelids grew heavy;  he felt light, as if he were on a flying carpet suspended in mid-air. He kept his eyes closed and moved with the flow, while inhaling the odor. Each gulp of it, took him deeper and deeper inside of himself.  Their bodies were as two cobras dancing in a wicker basket.
 
“Who do you want to speak to Steven?” Reece whispered loudly in another voice that was deep and husky.
 
“Speak?” he said like a drunken man.
 
“Yes, tell me, who is it that you long to speak to from the other side?”
 
“Speak to?” Steven’s voice trailed off.
 
“Yes.”
 
In this stupor, he remembered an old childhood friend who was struck and killed by a car when he was twelve. The two were playing in the street. He had seen the whole thing. It had always bothered him.
 
“Tell me,” the mysterious voice commanded.”
 
“Mackey,” Steven answered. “Where–where’s Mackey?”
 
“Mackey, come forth!” Demanded the deep mysterious voice.
 
“Stevie,”  he heard the twelve year old voice say.
 
“I’m here. I’m here, Mackey," Steven said excitingly.
 
Mackey giggled.
 
Steven struggled to open his eyes but couldn’t.
 
Mackey told him about the time they both agreed to steal money from their parents and go on a shopping spree. He told him where they had buried the merchandise they bought, so they could dig them up and play with them at any time. They called it, their buried treasure. It was a secret Steven never revealed and Mackey  took to his grave. Steven shouted to him.
 
“Where are you…I want to see you.” He struggled again to open his eyes. A more masculine voice told him it was too dangerous. But Steven wanted to see his friend; and he opened his eyes to Mackey’s voice coming out of Madame Reece.  Her face had aged twenty years; her eyes were a milky white color, and drops of blood streamed from one ear.
 
He snatched his hand from her and shouted.
 
“Get away from me! Get away! Get out!" He kicked wildly at her; the covers flew in all directions.  Madame Reece collapsed as she often did.
 
The women, hearing the commotion, came storming into the room.  Steven was hysterical. After a few moments, they decided to hold him down, and inject him with a sedative. After he was calmed, they collected Reece and took her from the room.
 
He floated through a fog, then found himself on the dark road, he, the raven and Mackey. Only the raven wasn’t a bird anymore. They were arm in arm, skipping along and humming Madame Reece’s moaning tune.  He opened his eyes and found himself alone in the room. He struggled to get up, but still felt groggy. He pulled himself together; he put on some clothes, grabbed his flashlight and camera, and headed for the hallway.

Unlike the basement, which was pitch black, a dim light lit the hallway. Steven roamed around trying to find something interesting to snap, when he felt something behind him; he put his flashlight in a defensive position and whirled around. Debbie stood with her hands on her fat hips.
 
“Damn! You scared me," he told her.
 
“I’m not even going to ask,"  Debbie said. “Get back to bed. Reecie don’t like people roaming around the house at this hour.”
 
“But I’m not sleepy," Steven said playfully, "why can’t I just stretch my legs if I want to?  Afraid I’ll find something?”
 
“Suit yourself,” Debbie said while heading back to her own room, "but I’d watch out for that file cabinet if I were you.” She smirked as she closed the door.
 
Steven didn’t think that was funny. Looking over his shoulders then up the dim hallway and back, he scrambled back into his room, and locked the door.
 
The next morning, he politely excused himself from joining Reece at breakfast and prepared to leave. His chest and head stopped hurting, and everyone acted as if the basement and séance never happened. Steven really didn’t want to focus on it anyway. He had a millions questions and no answers. He hadn’t finished with Madame, but realized he was no match for her either. He needed a more sophisticated approach, like the one he and Doc Connelly had talked about. He wasn’t quite ready to believe all that stuff Doc had told him about demons and gates of hell openings and the like; but he was convinced that Madame Reece was no phony. And more than ever, he had to keep Esther away from her.

As he bid Reece and her staff good bye, he never dreamed he’d be leaving her house by the front door. As he was fastening his seat belt, he looked over at the house; up on the second floor was a young girl peering through the window. She looked about sixteen or seventeen years old. She was dressed in a dingy pink oversized sweater and a wool scarf wrapped much too tightly around her neck. She never moved or waved. Steven drove off. 
 
When he got back to his house, he called Doc and told him everything that happened at Madame Reece’s home.
 
“You damn fool, you could have been killed,” Doc scolded.
 
“Ok, you got that off your chest.”
 
“This is serious. You get over here right now, we need to talk”
 
“Can’t. Meeting Esther for dinner.”
 
“Don’t mention anything about this to her.”
 
“I won’t," he promised.
 
“Oh and by the way, that thing that attacked you in the basement and the young girl you saw in the upstairs window is one and the same. Have a good day. Bye.”
 
“Son of a bitch,” Steven said, as he dropped his hand still gripping the phone.
 


 

Author Notes

The artwork is by jgrace; it's called "God's Crystal Ball." Thank you jgrace.

Chapter 6
The Meeting of the Hearts

By amahra

(Chapter Six)


While staring into his bathroom mirror, Steven made a face like a blowfish and gently pulled the razor across his cheek. He repeated the routine several times before patting his face with a towel and splashing on Blue Seduction. In his bedroom, he whistled while strutting around in his briefs and pulled a suit from his wardrobe. He danced over to the bed with his suit in his arms like a partner and placed it there. He matched up a shirt and tie, a pair of socks, and examined the shoes for a perfect shine. After dressing, he studied himself in the mirror, grabbed his car keys and headed down to the garage. At the restaurant, he waited for Esther.   
 
He had known Esther since he was seven and she was five. They had played together at school and in the churchyard. Since each was the only child, they often considered one another the brother and sister they never had. But by high school…between his raging hormones and her developing buxom body, those feelings had changed. At least for him.

Since eighth grade, he had loved Esther and felt very protective of her. Just a scrawny little kid at first, but by age 15, he had won several amateur Judo championships and defended her honor on more than one occasion. While other girls saw him as a brainy nerd, Esther found him fascinating and fun. She was the only one who could hold a candle to him intellectually.  In their senior year, both worked in their respected fields as interns with assured possibilities of being hired after graduation: Steven, as a nuclear engineer–worked chiefly in design engineering at a private research and development laboratory. While Esther, a CPA major, worked for a Forensic Accounting and Consulting Firm.
 
Steven looked at his watch; it wasn’t like Esther to be late for anything. He had waited half an hour. He tried calling her and found that his phone was off.
 
Esther ran her fingers through her glossy, long, auburn hair. Standing in front of the mirror, she flashed her hazel eyes of approval at the outfit she had chosen for the night, then dabbed White Diamond on her neck and throat.  She tried Steven’s home and cell phone one more time, before heading out the door.
 
“God! Pick up, will you,” she said.
 
 He clicked on his phone and saw that she had called.
 
Message one: "Hey Steve, tried to catch you home.  Sorry, I have to ask for a rain check. Something’s come up.  Give me a call ASAP. Ok Stevie? Bye."
 
Message two:  “Steve, give me call.”
 
Message three:  “Pick up the damn phone!”
 
Message four:  “By now you know I’m not coming…so–talk to you later."
 
“Shit!”
 
 He spoke so loudly people seemed almost frozen as they stared at him.  Walking towards his car, he calls Esther. She answers.
 
“Where’ve you been?” she asked.
 
He said, “What the hell was so important that you couldn’t make dinner? I had reservations, you know.”
 
“Sorry.”
 
“Sorry?” Steven snapped.  He felt disappointed with her nonchalant attitude about an evening that meant so much to him.
 
“I can’t talk to you right now. I’m pulling up,” she said.
 
“Pulling up where?  Where are you?” 
 
“Steven, I swear I’ll make it up to you. I told you something came up.”
 
“What came up Esther? "Why the mystery?  Is it a guy?”
 

“No, it’s not a guy,” she sighed. "I’d tell you, but I know we’ll argue.” 

He dreaded her saying that. He knew there was but one argument that they’d had recently and that was her obsession with Madame Reece.
 
“Tell me you’re not at Madame Reece's.”  Esther didn’t respond.
 
“Oh God. You are, aren’t you?”
 
“I’ll call you as soon as I’m home. I promise.”

“WHAT-EVER!" he snapped.
 
He clicked off, then dialed Doc and left a message.
 
“Doc, Steven. Esther stood me up tonight and she’s with that damned Madame Reece. I don’t know what to do. Please call me before I do something stupid.”
 
Heading over to Reece’s house, he barely stopped at stop signs; he raced through caution lights, and crossed in and out of lanes. He pulled up in front of the house and found the house dark and gloomy just as it had been the first night he came.  He thought it odd that there were no cars in the parking spaces. Before he could make any sense of it, his phone rang.
 
“Doc,” he said feeling relieved.
 
“I got your message,” Doc said.
 
“She’s not here.”
 
“Are you at that house?”
 
“I’m just parked here, relax. She lied to me. She’s not here at Madame Reece’s. Why did she have to lie?”
 
“Maybe she just didn’t want you to follow her.  She knows how you feel about her involvement with Reece.” 
 
“I guess you’re right.” Steven felt a slight headache. He dropped his head and massaged the bridge of his nose.  “Doc, I’m worried.”
 
“Well–there’s nothing you can do over there, “why don’t you swing by here?”
 
“Alright.”
 
When Steven arrived, Doc had mixed some drinks and had two glasses on chill. He tried  to keep Steven’s mind occupied with the intellectual stuff they both shared; however, Steven kept calling Esther periodically and leaving messages. Doc took him into his library to explained his recent demonic research. Although Steven’s experience in Madame’s basement had poked holes in his agnostic philosophy, his puzzling mind still craved a more scientific explanation. While they debated different points of view, Esther called.
 
“Esther, thank God, where are you?”
 
“I’m home.”
 
“You alright?”
 
“Yes.  I’m sorry about tonight. We can go out tomorrow night if you want.”
 
She sounded so sincere and so sweet.  He never could stay angry with her for very long. He paused, then answered.
 
“Meet you at six?”
 
“Ok.”
 
“Goodnight,” he said.
 
He clicked off and sighed, then looked at Doc and smiled. With Esther tucked safely at home, he was stress-free to continue his discussions with Doc. They parted around midnight.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
Steven shifted his body beneath the covers. Esther let out a passionate moan as his hands caressed her soft breasts.  He placed a sweet kiss just below her belly button, then drove his tongue deep inside her and out again–darting and teasing her flesh. Her body moved like the rhythm of the waves as the raven hovered above them. Its giant wings covered them, like a six foot shadow.

“Make him go away,” Esther pleaded.

Steven hit at the raven but missed–his hand smashed against the corner of the night stand. The pain jolted Steven awake. He sprang up in bed, grabbed his hand that was throbbing and looked over at the clock. It was 4:00 in the morning–nearly 14 hours to go before his special evening with Esther. After massaging the pain out of his hand, he settled himself and fell back to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After work, he rushed home to shower and dress.  Kofi's was Esther's favorite restaurant and Steven waited eagerly for her to arrive. He took a table by the window looking out over the city harbor. He watched as her car pulled up and stopped.  She gracefully stepped out as the valet attendant held the door and took her keys.  She wore a little black dress that hugged her curvy hips and round buttocks. The low-cut front was tasteful with just a peek-a-boo look at her full breasts. Her silky brown hair flowed in soft curls that adorn her brown face. She captivated Steven’s attention as she seemed to float towards the table he’d reserved for them. Her bright smile lit up his world. 

He rose and greeted her with a hug, then pulled out the chair for her and took his seat. They chitchatted for a while then ordered. Neither seemed to want to spoil the evening by speaking about the disagreement they had the night before. After dinner, they took a walk around the harbor. He struggled to get up enough nerve to tell her how he felt. They took a ride in the water taxi.  During the short ride, he turned to her.
 
“I apologize for the way I reacted last night,” he said.
 
“I shouldn’t have stood you up.”
 
Steven took her hands, held them and looked deep into her eyes. Esther looked away and gave a deep sigh as if she knew what was coming.
 
“You know how I feel about you?” he said.
 
Esther didn’t answer but looked up at him. He pulled her close to him and passionately kissed her, but she was as ice in his arms.  Steven felt awkward and stepped back. She looked into his eyes and saw love and hurt staring back at her. She let out a deep sigh as she struggled to choose her words carefully.
 
“Steve…you know I’m very fond of you. I’ve always thought of you as a dear friend, but, “I’m not ready to have the kind of relationship that you want.”
 
 “You mean, not with me.”

Esther struggled to say something when he turned away.
 
“I’m sorry,” she said.
 
“It's ... um... ok.”
 
Esther hated hurting him that way. She held on to his arm as he looked at the ocean waves. He wanted the waves to scoop him up. He wanted the ocean to part like it had for Moses–to swallow him up like it had the Egyptian army. They hardly said anything to one another during the end of the ride.  Later, while silently walking back to their cars, he assured Esther that he was fine with her wanting just friendship. They embraced and promised always to be there for one another.  Their cars passed going in opposite directions; Esther glanced over at him, but he looked straight ahead and drove out of her sight
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
 Steven’s Study Room: Evening
 
Steven stared at his computer; he had been at it all day–researching the information Doc had given him.  He tried to keep his mind off of Esther. Every once and a while, the hurt would resurface and he became depressed. He knew he had to get past her not loving him the way he loved her. But nothing would deter him from protecting her from the dangers posed by Madame Reece. He researched the UPC and found that though this organization was a threat, it was not as world-wide as Reece had claimed. There were only three chapters in the world; each chapter could only boast of several hundred members. One chapter, here in the US; one in Haiti and a third in a small village on the coast of West Africa.
 
Steven also researched the death of the young girl Doc and Katherine Dawson had told him about. According to police reports, the young girl was a run-away and had been reported missing for several months before being found murdered. The report was exactly as Mrs. Dawson had said…she was hung up-side-down, split down the middle and her throat cut.  The report also stated that the girl appeared to have been a human sacrifice. The police suspected a dangerous cult had committed the crime. The report further stated that after the closed casket funeral, to her parent’s horror, her body had been dug up and stolen.  Her parents made a heart wrenching plea for their daughter’s return.  But her body was never found. 

Weeks after her parent’s desperate plea, sightings of the girl was reported in the small town where she lived and died. Police, as well as the girl’s parents, dismissed claims that these sightings were anything but bogus. On a blog that was following the sightings of the girl, it was reported that everywhere the girl was sighted, gruesome murders, dead animals and the disappearance of several people followed. The police refused to believe that those crimes had any connections to the dead girl.
 
Steven called Doc with his findings.  He told Doc he was going to the small town where the girl was murdered to see what he could further find out.
 
“You’ll go over my dead body,” he said.
 
“We’ve got to get to the source of this thing.”
 
“Son, you don’t know what you’re up against.”
 
“I can handle myself.”
 
“Right, like you did in Madame’s basement.”
 
“I won’t make the same mistakes."
 
“No. You’ll make dumber ones.”
 
“Then, what would you suggest I do? They’re getting together in that same town for some powwow in a couple of days.”
 
“What kind of powwow? Speak English–will you.”
 
“Don’t know; some kind of convention or something. I forgot to tell you that while I was recuperating from my injuries, I hacked into Reece’s computer and copied some interesting stuff.”
 
“What did you find?”
 
“Oh–names of UPC members, their phone numbers, addresses, emails, upcoming activities and some stuff she’s got in codes.” 

Doc was ecstatic with this information.
 
“Son, I could kiss you. Can you break the codes?”
 
“That’s what I’m working on now.”
 
“Call me when you’re done,” he insisted.
 
“I will.”
 
“And whatever you find, don’t do anything, or go anywhere without checking with me first,” Doc warned sternly.
 
“I got it! I got it!”  

After hanging up with Doc, he checked online for flights to Cleveland.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

Author Notes

I can't thank you enough jgrace for this beautiful artwork, "God's Crystal Ball."

Chapter 7
The Challenge of Good and Evil

By amahra

(Chapter Seven)


Distant voices woke her, but made her fear for her life; the voices sounded muffled at a greater distance, and then trailed off into silence. Esther whimpered. When she tried to raise herself, she discovered she was bound; her wrists were tied behind her back; her knees were bent with a rope around her ankles that connected to the one on her wrists. The rope cut into her flesh when she strained against it.
 
She forced her eye lids open as her mind battled to recover from the drug they’d given her. Her eyes were irritated by the darkness that settled all around her, like a heavy sheet.  Her head ached, and she could taste her own blood. No one bothered to gag her; that frightened her even more.  It could only mean, she thought, that she was being held so far from help, that if she let out an ear piercing scream, no one would come. No one would even hear her. Esther was terrified.
 
There–in the blackness of her prison, she pulled from the very depths of her soul every scripture she could remember; she settled on three which gave her courage and repeated them aloud: “I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.” “God is [my] refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” “He gives power to the weak. He increases the strength of [her] who has no might.”   She pulled at the rope with her fingers, it gave a little, but it cut into her flesh again. The wall of her prison was just a few inches from her knees. She decided to role around, to get an idea of the size of her confinement. When she finished rolling in every direction, she settled on it being the size of a medium walk-in closet. She lay there in a fetal position–staring into the blackness, as the scriptures rolled over and over in her mind.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
 Steven settled into his hotel room, but felt too exhausted to unpack.  He called Esther again and left a message, hoping she would get back to him. He hadn’t heard from her in a couple of days. The flight to Cleveland had been marred by the heavy rain and fog which caused major inconveniences among travelers, leaving many stranded in its wake.  Several main roads leading to the hotel where Steven was staying were blocked by floods or landslides, and some bridges were damaged and impassable.  His taxi ride along a back graveled road was long and bumpy.
 
Doc called several times and left messages, but Steven knew by now, Doc realized he had not kept his promise. Steven thought the last thing he needed was a fatherly lecture.  He figured that once he was able to break this psychic ring wide open, Doc would be so happy, he’d forget about being angry with him. 
 
He called room service and ordered dinner. Then he got on his lap top to get more information on the UPC convention that was being held there in a couple of days. He had cracked some of the codes. Most of the codes dealt with a bunch of spells and ancient rituals which Steven thought were pretty silly; it was something he thought Doc would have had a field day with. One particular ancient passage stood out; it was originally spoken in Saho–a language no longer widely spoken in Africa. Only a tribe of 200,000 kept the language from becoming extinct. Steven had to contact quite a few of his professors to get this interpretation.  Only one, Professor Olugbala, had refused to help. He questioned Steven thoroughly and sounded almost like Doc, warning him against further investigation of this ancient passage:  He read the English interpretation aloud.
 
Three is the number to come into view
One is a dog; the other–a young girl
A raven’s blood by a nearby creek
The third is a woman the name in a book.
 
The passage didn’t really make too much sense to Steven, but he recorded it anyway.
He thought it would be something nice to give Doc to play with and add to his demonic collection. The thought made him chuckle.
 
Then came a knock at the door.  He set aside his lap top–stood and fumbled in his pocket for a tip while walking to the door, then opened it.  Doc Connelly stood in the doorway with a big smile on his face and his arms full of notes and books. The two men stared at one another momentarily.
 
“So I lied,” Steven said with a shrug of his shoulders. "And how did you know I was here?"

"When was the last time you did anything I said?"
 
Steven smirked and walked away from the door, leaving Doc with only a foot to close it.  Before the two could get into an argument, the phone rang. Steven answered.
 
“Hello,” he said.
 
Connelly walked in looking for a place to unload the small pile of books and notes when he noticed a troublesome look slowly growing on Steven’s face. He set the pile on the table and slid down in a chair next to where Steven was standing.  He strained to understand the call from the one-way conversation. Mid-way through it, Doc felt emotionally sick to his stomach; it was Esther’s father, and she was missing.  The Reverend and Mrs. West were frantic over their daughter’s disappearance. The FBI became involved when Esther’s phone signals were tracked across state lines. 

After the call, Steven, like a zombie, placed the phone on the table; he put both palms to his head and plopped down on the sofa. Doc poured a glass of water and handed it to him, which he ignored. Steven sat glassy eyed and stared at nothing.  After a long moment, he broke the silence.

“I’ve got to find her,” he said through clenched teeth.
 
“I have a feeling if we find the UPC, we’ll find Esther,” Doc said.
 
“Will you stop with the UPC, we’ve got to find her,” he snapped.
 
“When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that this is not just about Esther?”
 
“Oh yeah…um…this is about Hell Gate doors opening and …and demons flying through to eat up our children and….I don’t give a rat’s ass! You got that!  I’ve got to go back and find Esther.
 
 “You can’t bail out on me now; I need you to finish breaking those codes,” Doc said frantically. “Something’s big is going down here in a few days, and I need you to concentrate on more than just Esther.”
 
“I’m on the next flight out of here; if you want to stay and fight demons, “stay!”
 
 “Now you listen to me,” Doc said angrily, “I’ve researched and tracked these people for over a decade. And I’m this close,”( Doc made a symbol of an inch with his thumb and forefinger,) “ to finding and stopping the deadliest group of people on this planet, and I’m not going to let your love-sick ass, over some woman who doesn’t even want you, screw things up!”
 
Doc saw the life drain right out of his face. Steven turned, walked over to the window, shoved both hands in his pockets and stared out. Connelly knew he had crossed the line; he felt badly about it. The kid had confided in him about a subject so delicate, and he’d just thrown it back in his face. 

“Son, I didn’t mean to go there.”
 
“Just leave.”
 
“Steve. …”
 
“Leave!”
 
Connelly gathered up the things he had brought and walked to the door. He opened it and looked over his shoulder at Steven. Doc had never seen him look so fragile. He dropped his head and slowly closed the door behind him. Steven stood there, and stared at the storm.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
.
It was beginning to get light when Esther noticed a window above her. A six foot ladder was needed to reach it. The light streamed through. It bounced off the solid walls of her confinement and fell over her hand bag that had been tossed in with her. The confines had spilled out. She could see her compact, wallet, keys and most important, her cell phone.  Why had these people left so many important items with her, she thought, unless they knew she couldn’t loose herself or escape?  She settled on their being stupid and tried desperately to wiggle out of the ropes.   She hoped the phone wasn't dead.
 
 
She rolled over to her hand bag and tried to maneuver her fingers to grab the compact. Esther moaned and whimpered a bit because the rope cut deep and burned her wrists.  She wiggled and squirmed and stretched as her fingers inched towards the compact. Her hands were bound so closely to her body that she couldn’t get a good reach. .

She rested for a while then strained against the ropes again. It seemed hours before she reached
it–but with a price; her entire hand dripped with blood.  When she did grasped the compact, it slipped from her fingers. It continued to slip until Esther was exhausted. She decided to lay there and let the blood dry. She stretched and then, if nothing could have gotten worst, her fingers began to cramp on the hand that she had won so many inches by her stretching. Her hand became a painful ball. Esther moaned and tried to straighten her hand but couldn’t. She gasped at the horrible pain.  
 
She wiggled her body around and reached for the compact with her other hand and grabbed it and held on tightly. She opened it and began to strike it against the floor until the mirror broke. She held a piece of the broken glass as it gnawed away at the rope until her hands were free. After cutting the rest of her body free, Esther grabbed the phone and prayed it worked.  She thought hard: In case I only have a few minutes, who can I speak to and get the most out of the minutes. She couldn’t call the police, because she didn’t know where she was. She wanted desperately to call her parents, but it would only worry them more since she had no idea of how to get out of this. She dialed Steven, but it seemed a bad connection. Slowly she slid down the wall with the phone held tightly and sobbed.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
Steven continued to eat while his phone rang; when he saw it was doc, he reached over and clicked it off.  He wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon. He was stuck there while city workers struggled to clear main roads and bridges. The thunder roared, and the lightning cracked the sky as heavy rain caused the cancellation of all flights leaving Cleveland. After eating, he settled back on the sofa and dozed off.
 
Doc busied himself with tracking the UPC. He learned they had rented an old mansion on Kingston Hill–about three miles inside the city limits. The mansion, build around the early 1800s, belonged to a wealthy old miser. One night in one of his worst jealous rages, he strangled his beautiful young wife to death, drowned their two daughters and hanged himself. No one could get their dog to leave the house. Weeks later, the dog was spotted in the front yard; it had starved to death.
 
The room was beginning to get dark when the room phone rang.  Steven rose and clicked on the lamp next to the sofa where he lay.
 
“Hello.”
 
“Steve,” Doc said, “now don’t hang up. I just want to know if you’d heard anything about Esther.”
 
“No.” Steven hung up the phone.
 
He stretched and looked at his watch. He had been asleep for a couple of hours. He checked his phone and saw that it was off and he clicked it on. Then he checked for any messages.  When he saw Esther’s phone number, he jumped straight up and dialed back. But all he got was a not in service message. He banged himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand for being stupid. He sat staring at his phone for nearly and hour, commanding it to ring. And it did. He jumped and clicked green so hard, the phone nearly popped out of his hand.
 
“Hello!” Steven shouted.
 
“Steve,” Esther whispered excitedly.
 
“Baby. Oh God…baby.” Steven noticed that she whispered. “Where are you? Are you in danger?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Who’s got you? Just tell me where you are?”
 
“I don’t know.”
 
“What!?”
 
“I mean, I’m not sure. I think I’m still in Cleveland. But I don’t know where.”
 
“Cleveland!?” Steven blurted.  What the hell are you doing in Cleveland? That’s where I am. I’m staying at this little Mom and Pop hotel right down from St Paul’s Bible College. I followed Madame Reece here to a convention.”
 
“What…you’re in Cleveland?  Oh Steve…I’m so scared. That’s who I followed here. But she told me that I was to be some guest of honor or something. People seemed so friendly at first, and the next thing I know, I woke up all tied up in the basement of this huge place, like a spooky castle.”

"Honey, did they hurt you."

"Well, after eating some blueberry pie, I complained of feeling dizzy, you know, but they just looked at me, smiling...Madame Reece too. When I realized what was happening to me, I ran; but they ran after me and tried to restrain me. I managed to break away, then someone hit me from behind.  I don't remember anything after that, except waking up in a dark room. But I managed to get loose." 

"That Bitch! Baby, where are you now?"

"I'm using a phone in this huge library on the first level at the far end of the house. It's only a matter of time before they realize I've escaped; then they'll come looking for me, and for the life of me, I can't find an exit anywhere."

"Look, you stay put; don't go roaming around there, you hear me?"

"Yes."

"I'm coming to get you."

"Oh Steve, be careful. I don't know why they did this to me.  I...I don't know what they want with me."
 
"You keep saying 'they.'  Who else besides Madame Reece is in the house?"

"Hush! Did you hear that?"

"What?"  Steven said. 

"Again. You hear it? A click...like someone's listening."

"Get off the phone!  Get off the phone!" Steven shouted.

The phone went dead.

"Oh God, please," he mumbled to himself, "don't let them hurt her."
 
A knock came on the door. Steven opened it and Doc pushed by him all excited. Before Doc could tell Steven his good news, Steven blurted out that he’d heard from Esther. He told Doc what Esther had told him and Doc surprised him by telling him that he was sure she was being held at the Kingston Hills mansion. Doc had downloaded a map to the mansion and the original Blue Prints, including house floor plans. The mansion was a very valuable show place in this small town, so it wasn’t hard for Doc to download pictures of the exterior and interior designs. 
 
“That’s great,” Steven said as he picked up the phone.
 
“What are you doing?” Doc asked.
 
“I’m calling the police; what do you think?”
 
“Put the phone down, Steve.”
 
“What do mean?  You said you were sure of where she was being held.”
 
“Cops are no match for these people.”
 
“Every minute she is in that house puts her in danger of loosing her life,” Steven said frantically. They probably know by now that she’s escaped from where they had her. They could be tearing the place up looking for her right now. Or maybe they’ve found her."
 
“I understand your fears, and I share them,” Doc said, “but sending the police will only alert them that we’re on to them and that we know where they are; they might run off and take Esther with them.  And you'd never see her again. And besides, what do cops know about fighting demons?”

"And you do?" Steven asked.

"What do you think I've been researching all these years?  Were you listening to anything I'd said?"
 
“So what the hell do we do?”

"That depends. Have you broken the codes?"

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Hey Doc, remember Esther; she's being held captive by that witch and God knows who else."

"Son, I know; but we can't go storming in there unequipped."

"What the hell do we need; we grab Esther and beat the hell out of there."

"No Steve. We need a plan."

"No!  You need a plan. I'm going after her now!"  Steven started for the door. Then he turned and realized he didn't know how to get there without Doc.

"I wondered how long it would take you to figure that out," said Doc.

"Are you coming or not?"

"Alright," Doc said,” get the codes; it's an hour drive. We'll have to take the back road all the way there because of the storm.  I'll study them on the way.

"What if we don't make it there in time? Steven said frantically.

Esther is a smart girl; she escaped once.  I believe she'll keep out of their way until we get there."

"No cab driver in his right mind is going to travel out there in this storm," Steven said.

"We won't need a cab. I've rented a car. You drive."

"You sure you know what you're doing?"

"If you want that woman of yours in one piece, you better follow me, he said." 

Doc, with a 'kick ass' look on his face, grabbed the notes from Steven and headed for the door. Steven, impressed with Doc's attitude, smiled and followed him.

"Hey, old man, wait for me."



 

Author Notes

Also, I would like to thank jgrace for the artwork, "God's Crystal Ball."

Chapter 8
Hell Breaks Loose on Kingston Hill

By amahra

 




 

(Chapter Eight)

           
Steven drove the Hummer like a madman through the suicide back road passage.
 
“Slow down, you fool, you’ll get us both killed,” Doc raised his voice.
 
 “You just get those codes straight, old man; I got this.”
 
Moonlight paled in comparison to the lightning flashes that surrounded the vehicle every minute like new suns bursting into flames. While the sinister intentions of 24 inch deep mud puddles swallowed up the path, Steven battled to compete with the high speed winds and treacherous rainfall. The car swayed against the bone-chilling winds as he pushed the engine towards the Kingston Hill mansion. The one hour drive that should have ended minutes before was still an hour away–thanks to the menacing storm. The windshield wipers failed to smack away the rain as it fell too quickly against the glass. After forty minutes, Steven still struggled to see the road. Then as the headlights beamed, the dark mansion suddenly appeared, like a black Hell made of stone–sitting high beneath a thousand tiny streams of pouring rain and a cracked sky of lightning bolts.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
Kingston Hill Mansion
 
 After Esther’s recapture, she tried desperately to hold on to new hope. Her nude body twitched from the cold. The inhabitants of the house went about their ceremonious routines for the sacrifice, deaf to her moaning until an attendant came to offer her comfort and to tell how fortunate she was to be used for the Coming.  She helped Esther with a small cup of strong tea, one sip at a time.  The hot liquid revived her and she began to beg for her life. The attendant looked no older than Esther and wore a black cloak with a hood that half covered her strawberry blonde hair. She stroked Esther’s dark locks with her hand. Her eyes showed a strange mixture of sympathy and sinister mischief as she stared down at Esther; she smiled and appeared to float from the room–her long cloak trailing behind her.
           
Esther shivered inside the chilled room that held her captive. The struggle and drugs left her weak and somewhat disoriented, but she still had her wits about her, and she fought to stay focused. She turned her face to the wall and sighed.
 
“Don’t be afraid.” She heard Steven say in her mind. “You be brave and stay strong.” 
 
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered to herself. “Be brave,” she slurred. Her voice trailed off as she drifted into a drug-induced sleep. Her young attendant peeked into the room and grinned.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
The thunder bellowed outside the mansion as the heavy rain splashed against its morbid stone.
           
“Doc, I found a way in,” Steven shouted as he smashed a large rock against the basement window.
 
 “You know, you’re starting to get good at this?” Doc joked.
 
Steven smiled as he led the way in.  They walked in a bit,  then stood and looked around the eerie quietness of the place.  It looked like a huge warehouse and had a very high ceiling.  It appeared to be ancient markings of gothic themes on the ceiling, walls and floors. There in that hellhole, it was impossible for Steven to deny his mission any longer. This was more than just about Esther, he thought to himself. Doc’s eyes widened, and Steven reverted to that night of terror when he nearly lost his life.
 
“Doc, this looks identical to Madame Reece’s basement., except it's larger.  Everything is set up the same way–the floor, the walls; even that stuff animal there in the corner.”
 
Doc felt in his guts what Steven must have experienced that night. He knew from his research and Steven’s code breakings exactly what they were seeing.  He noticed some of the supplies that were stacked neatly on the shelves. There were chalices, Tarot deck cards, teas, daggers, swords, beeswax, candles, pendulums, oils, incense, herbal smokes, Native American smoke pipes and much more. Doc wanted to explore more of the shelves, but the huge Ouija Board design that covered a large area of the center of the floor captured his eyes.  He examined the heart-shaped hunk of wood, known as the planchette–used to communicate with spirits. Doc’s face turned ash white as he encountered chilling vibes from the board.   
 
“You alright?” Steven asked with a frown.
 
“We’ve got to get out of here and find another entrance,” Doc said, backing up.
 
Steven never asked Doc why, but quickly followed him out of the window and back into the arms of the terrible storm. They scrambled through the rain until they found a stone staircase leading into another level of the house. Steven forced his way into, what seemed to be, a very large library. He cased the room, checking behind each door. One door led to a long hallway, and he cautiously cracked the door and peeked out. Then he signaled to Doc that all was clear. Doc breathed a sigh of relief.
 
“What happened to you down there?” Steven asked.
 
“Wherever there’s an active Ouija board, there’s a port opening.”
 
“You mean where spirits can get through?”
 
“Precisely,” Doc answered.
 
“You see,” Doc said, “demons are very territorial. Once they’re permitted to get through, they assign themselves to the very object that was used to bring them into our world. In this case, the Ouija Board.  But the boards are not possessed. Spirits can only possess living flesh unless that flesh was a sacrifice for their entrance.
 
“Hey, the dead girl;” Stevens said with a snap of his fingers. 
 
“Exactly,” Doc said.
 
“The only way to be rid of them,” Doc continued, “is to sever their connection to this world. This can only be done by destroying the object that they are bound to. Break this connection, and they are expelled back to their realm. Because they fear this, they will launch a deadly attack on any stranger who comes near the board.  And will kill even the ones who brought them here, if they sense betrayal.”
 
“So, that’s why it attacked ‘me.’ It thought I was there to destroy the board,” Steven said with enlightenment.”
 
Doc nodded in agreement.
 
“Doc, knowing this… is all the more reason for us to find Esther and beat the hell out of here, don’t you think?”
 
“Yes. But ‘you’ find Esther. I’ve got to go back down.”
 
“Way–way–wait; what are you talking about? You’re not going back down there?”
 
Doc didn’t answer, but pulled out the blueprints and floor plans of the mansion. He got down on his knees and spread the large sheets out over the floor–smoothing out the wrinkles with his hand.
 
“Now here is the main entrance of the mansion,” he began, “there are only four empty rooms; one of them has to be where Esther is being held. She’s not in danger yet, because these people are very meticulous about preparations and rituals and such. And of course, it’s not midnight yet either. You have only three hours to find her and get out.”
 
“And you’re staying here to do what?” Steven asked sarcastically.
 
“Son, you know what I must do. What I’ve always said I would do. These people have to be stopped.”
 
“You think I’m going to let you go down there alone?”
 
“I’ve studied and trained years for this. You’ve done all that I’ve asked you to do. Only I can do the rest.”
 
For the first time, Steven realized his deep feelings for the man. He felt both sad and proud at Doc’s willingness to put his life on the line.
 
“Doc, let me help you. Please.”
 
“No. It’s too dangerous.”
 
“But we both can find Esther and head back here and take care of whatever it is we have to take care of. Right?”
 
“Son, I know how much you love her, that’s why I kept this from you until now.  She’s a sacrifice, Steve. They’re going to kill her. There has to be a blood sacrifice for the spirits to enter.”
 
Steven rocked back on his heels. A part of him suspected that, but he just never brought himself to accept it. Now Doc’s words made it his reality. He tried to restrain himself, but his eyes filled up.
 
“But why Esther?” He asked.
 
“There isn’t time to explain, Steve. You’ve got to get going.”
 
He looked up at the ceiling and then down at the floor. He took a few steps forward and snatched up the sheets off the floor and headed for the door. He looked back at Doc very affectionately and spoke to him, he thought, for the last time.
 
“God be with you, Doc.” 

Doc pressed his lips together and nodded. Steven cracked the door and peeked through, then eased out of the room.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
           
 
 
           
           

Author Notes

I would like to thank jgrace for the beautiful artwork, "God's Crystal Ball."

Chapter 9
Lord of Witchcraft

By amahra

 (Chapter Nine)

 
His watch showed two hours to midnight. Steven searched for his beloved with longing in his heart that mingled with the vengefulness he felt for her kidnappers. The floor plans Doc had given him seemed a godsend as he walked within a few feet of the last empty room. As Steven turned the corner, he quietly gasped; a guard placed in front of the room door meant only one thing–Esther. The guard’s black hooded cloak didn't hide his tall, muscular frame. His stern facial expression shined of duty and honor like a Marine inclined to lay down his life for his country. Steven knew getting past him wouldn’t be easy.
 
Then like a flash of light, he broke towards the guard, crashing into his side and knocking him to the floor.  He adjusted his body to execute a head scissor lock, but was surprised how quickly the big man scrambled to his feet. Both eased in close and assumed a defensive stance; they moved in a circular motion as wrestlers would in a ring. The man threw a punch that connected to Steven’s brow, causing him to bounce off the hall wall. He quickly followed that with a left hook that caught Steven on the tip of his chin, reeling him to the floor. He stumbled to his feet and shook his eyes clear. Steven resumed his position and saw a right-cross coming that swished passed his right ear. He struck back with a crippling kick to the knee that bent the man down to his eye level, enabling Steven to do a leaping head butt. While the man wobbled in a daze, Steven locked him in a stranglehold from behind–cutting off his oxygen and leaving him facedown and unconscious.
 
Hoping no one heard the commotion, he looked up and down the hallway before entering the room. Turning the bright gold door knob, he opened and eased through the door. The room was empty except for a cot; it had no windows, and the room bore a heavy chill. Esther, nude and hiding under the cot, not knowing what was happening outside the door, looked up at Steven with glassy doe eyes and a faint smile.
 
“Steve,” she said with a hoarse voice.
 
“Steve’s here, baby,” he said tenderly.
 
He signaled her to stay put while he went back to the door to peek out; when it seemed clear, he carefully, as not to revive the big guy, eased off his opened cloak. He walked back and kept his eyes away from her nakedness, holding the cloak in front of her as she rose from the floor. He wrapped it around her. She shivered under the cloak as he held her.
 
Esther noticed a raised bruise above his right eye; she gently turned his cut chin towards her to get a better look.
 
“Oh God…you’re hurt.”
 
“Don’t worry, honey, the other guy don’t look too good either.”
 
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.
 
“Doc is here too, but he won’t let me help him destroy the Ouija Board. He wants me to get you out of here. I know you don’t know what’s going on, and it’s no time to explain.”
 
“No. I do know. That girl who comes and makes me drink this nasty spiked tea, told me who Madame really is and why they want me. They also know you and Doc are here and what Doc is up to. Madame laughed, and said you’d come for me. She said Doc is a fool, he’ll never defeat Lima. That’s what she called it.”
 
“Lima,” Steven repeated curiously. “Honey, we got to go.”
 
Just as they rose from the cot, the door flew opened. There stood Madame Reece, dressed ceremoniously, with six of her cloaked goons behind her, including the big guy who was still nursing his torn knee and sore neck. He looked at Steven with murderous eyes.
 
“Oh–shit,” Steven said under his breath. 
 
Two goons rushed in–grabbed a handful of Steven’s coat in the back of his neck and jerked him out of the room and down the hall. Esther, Madame and the others closely followed, with the big guy limping behind.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
It was ninety minutes to midnight. The room bore all the signs of an interrogation chamber–empty but for two chairs that sat in the middle of the floor. Several tall, muscular men stood against one wall with their arms folded across their chest like seven foot genies waiting for their master’s command.
 
Madame Reece sashayed back and forth; her full length hooded robe trailed behind her like the black train of a gothic queen. Her robe was the blackest of velvet: on the front, displayed seven red rose Chinese frog closures and button knots;  the back of it bore the image of Tiamat...the Dragon Goddess of Primal Chaos. She clapped her hands once very loud;  two of her goons brought Steven in disheveled and bruised; they threw him at her feet and stepped back. Esther, with saddened eyes, who was bound to one of the chairs, could only look on.
 
“Well, well, Mr. Crane,” Madame spoke sarcastically, “it seems we’re always meeting under the most fortuitous occasions.”
 
Steven looked up; his black stare fixed on her pale, cold face as she spoke.
 
“Maybe not so fortuitous though,” she continued with a smirk, “since we all knew you’d come and try to save your precious little cunt here.”
 
She threw Esther a chilled stare. Esther raised her chin in defiance and stared back at her.
 
“What are you going to do with us?” Steven blurted.
 
Straight away, a black boot blindsided him on the left side of his face.
 
“Quiet, you bastard! Speak only when you’re told!” said the goon who kicked him.
 
Steven cringed, doubled over and moaned.
 
“You leave him alone! I’m the one you want!” Esther belted out.
 
“Shut your mouth cunt!” yelled another henchman. 
 
“No. Let Mr. Crane speak. Perhaps it is time he and his darling little Esther know exactly what we’re doing here,” Reece said menacingly.
 
The men all smirked and glanced approvingly at each other. Steven didn’t like the sound of that.
 
“But if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me?” he asked rhetorically,
 
“Obviously, but not right away,” Madame joked.
 
The men chuckled.
 
“Then I’d rather not know.” Steven sighed.
 
“But Mr. Crane, you’ve come so far–breaking into my basement, not once but twice. Wouldn’t you like to know what all your hard work was for? It’s the least I can do before your untimely demise. Don’t you think?”
 
“Alright. I deserve it. But not Esther. Let her go. Please!”
 
“Let her go?  Let her go?  You idiot. You really don’t know what you’ve stumbled into–do you?”
 
“I know alright. You’re going to sacrifice her for some stupid demon,” Steve said bitterly.
 
“No. Not just any demon, you fool. But to our Lord...Azi Dahaka."

A hush came over the room at the mere mentioning of his name.

"Is he the one who tried to kill me?" 

"No. She was weak, incompetent;  allowed you to escape.  My spell banished her for a hundred years," Reece said proudly.

"Then who is this demon?"

"He is the Lord of Witchcraft and High demon of unimaginable magic. We worship him as the great spirit of vengeance and deceit. Only a high ranking witch like me is even allowed to summon him here. Soon, he will come and endow me with magic so superior, I’ll be the most powerful witch in the universe. Under my rule, the earth shall be my footstool and all flesh shall tremble at my feet.”
 
As Madame spoke, a chill crept over Steven’s body at the sight of her. Her face showed ash white; her green eyes bore the glitter of a serpent. And in the corner of her mouth ran small amounts of bloody foam. Steven glanced over at Esther. They both knew whatever Doc was planning, he’d better do it–and fast.
 

Author Notes

I would like to thank jgrace for the artwork "God's Crystal Ball."

Chapter 10
Eye of the Witch

By amahra

(Chapter Ten)

The Trio Battles to Stay Alive


  It had grown dark in the room. Only the thinly scattered waves of light from Doc’s enchanted candle burned; his incantation produced a soft, crystal-like substance that reflected off the ceiling and formed an invisible shield around him–a ten foot diameter globe that moved when he moved. This supernatural armor, tough like dragon scales, would prove crucial in warding off explosive attacks from a long distance. To prevent invisible assaults, Doc would conjure Darkness Walls that could absorb energies of ghostly entities and turn their energies into optical light–making them tangible targets.
 
Lima, an awesome demon, would prove a most deadly opponent; summoned here from Tartarus, an abyss of torture, he roamed as a lesser demon from a minor legion that patrolled the River Styx. His powerful breath weapon projected electricity that could destroy flesh and bone in seconds. In close combat, he possessed poison abilities, including two inch fangs and retractable claws. His venomous spit could consume the hardest metals. No magic could destroy him. To defeat Lima, Connelly needed only to stay alive, permanently spell banishing him from the realm, and seal the portal behind him. 
 
Doc collected his enchanted weapons, including two powerful Talismans: a Tomb Ring and an Eye of the Cock crystal–a symbol of Christ’s resurrection; it was said that ancient soldiers carried the Eye into battle and fought with overpowering strength because they believed they could not die.  Doc slid the Tomb Ring on his pointing finger, placed the weapons in a leather bag and fastened it to the green robe cord around his waist.
 
If he were killed, Azi Dahaka would appear as a nine foot, dark-skinned man with two fang cobras springing from his shoulders and, with a halo of eyes surrounding his scaly head. A Lord from his own realm, he would come with an entourage of spirits to attend his supernatural needs. His earthly appetite for blood would be insatiable: eating the equivalent of five live cows a day and requiring numerous human sacrifices. No mortal could control him.  No magic could banish him. Once he entered a realm, he stayed and ruled.

Doc concluded his meditation of faith; he kissed the wooden cross that lay against his pounding chest and began the short journey. He slowly, methodically descended the stairway, his long golden robe with red trim–softly clearing each stone step behind him.  Connelly faced the large wooded door at the end of the short hallway and opened it.  He stood majestically, unblinking–unwavering and starred into the darkness.

There–in the eerie silence, Lima, unseen by the human eye, guarded the sacred portal.  Doc moved slowly to the center of the underground level; he stopped a few yards short and just outside of the large Ouija Board ornament on the floor. The Eye of the Cock rested snugly in his left palm. The dark held a deathly chill, and he became aware of the demon’s presence. Standing in front of the gothic design, Connelly felt alone and his hands trembled, but he quickly dismissed his weakness by pointing his Talisman finger and incanting loudly.
 
“Sararta Morsmorde!”
 
Straight away, a thunderous noise grew overhead as dark smoky squares tumbled one-by-one and hung suspended in mid-air, like individual chalk boards. The conjured black squares descended and swelled against the original walls–replacing them.
 
Then, a misty–like giant of a creature blinked in and out as his struggle against being cast into view was futile. Eight feet high, bulky and extremely muscular, stood fully visible, a serpent covered in scaly blue skin–crawling with vermin.  He possessed the upper body of a man and a face of a cobra.  At the end of two appendages, extended claw-like hands.  His eye slits held black oval balls with irises of yellow that were as twin flames of a lit candle. The red forked tongue darted in and out of fang jaws, and when he hissed, it sounded as hot boiling steam from a locomotive.
 
Lima reared his head, shot it forward and blasted his breath. A stream of electricity bolted towards Doc in a blur.  It hit the shield and skid him across the surface, but didn’t penetrate the armor.  The second blast hoisted  the shield high in the air and hurled it against the ceiling. After returning to ground, Doc quickly cast the grounding spell that would bound the shield to a mystical surface. The demon reared back and blew a blast that thundered against the armor; the massive hit roared above it, but the shield held firm. Doc countered with a spell that returned the demon’s own fire.  The returning blast knocked Lima backwards on his massive tail that acted as the curved legs on a giant rocker. It dazed him, but did little else.
 
The creature cut loose another blast;  Doc, pointing his Tomb Ring finger, countered with the same return fire incantation, but the demon raised his tail and hammered the bolt away–sending it flaming into mid air. The creature fired on him at will; the bolts were coming too numerous and too forceful for the shield to hold. Connelly could feel the heat. The protective shield began to feel like an inferno.  Lima seemed to sense the damage, and stopped–leaned forward and spit. The venom covered the shield. Doc incanted and the shield rose; he crawled out from under it just in time, as the venom completely dissolved it in what seemed like seconds.
 
Connelly felt naked without the shield.  The demon slithered in for the kill. Doc waited for the drooling mouth to widen and flung a vial of mystified water and watched it splash inside the massive jaws.  He backed away as Lima tried in vain to use its breath and spit weapon. Enraged, he bared his fangs the more and shot out six inch claws.  Doc held the Eye of the Cock tightly in one hand and his dagger in the other. He stood firm as Lima wriggled forward.
 
The nine inch blade turned a fiery red, like a hot poker and glowed. It extended itself far beyond its mere nine inches.  The enchanted sword swished through the air vertically and slashed off a deadly claw.  Lima let out a loud hiss that was nearly deafening. Reaching a boiling point over the lost of a claw, his yellow flaming eyes danced rigorously within the oval balls as he whipped his mighty claws horizontally through the air. Doc leaped to the side, but not before getting raked across his left shoulder.
 
“Aaarrh!”  he yelled out in pain.
 
The sleeve hung shredded; blood trickled down his arm and dripped from the tips of his fingers. Satisfied with the strike, the demon struck again like lightning and sank his fangs deep into Doc–lifting him off the ground. It jarred the Eye and it slipped from his palm. High in the air, he gazed into the yellow flames of his adversary. His dilemma seemed precarious. Doc could feel the effects of the poison, like he was being cooked  from the inside out.  Without the power of the resurrection Eye, he would surely die. 
 
Slowly, with barely enough strength, Doc gripped the last weapon from his bag.  He tossed  the fangs in the air; they hit the ground as sparks–then rose as three giant Mongoose.  They towered over Lima. Out fang and out clawed, it dropped Doc from his massive jaws. The three ferocious snake fighters took turns ripping and biting the demon. They tore into him viciously, depleting him of precious energy for which he needed to remain in the earth’s realm. 
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Steven watched helplessly as Esther struggled against the hands that held her firm to the altar. Madame Reece stood over her with a ceremonial blade. She gripped it tightly with both hands and held it over Esther’s heart. The black cloaked and robed crowd looked on, anticipating breathlessly.
 
“Azi Dahaka Accio!” Madame commanded.
 
Suddenly, a distant deep hum permeated the air, like a thousand drum rolls, and the floor shook ever so gently. Madame lost her concencration as the hum got louder and louder and the floor shook more vigorously. Many in the crowd looked up and saw the hanging lamps swinging to and fro.  Then small chunks punched out of the walls and powdery concrete spilled through the openings, like water leaking through cracks in a dam. 
 
“What’s happening?” a voice rose from the crowd.
 
The hum deepened into a loud rumble and the floor vibrated like a mini earth quake. Small pieces of ceiling fell like a light rain.
 
“The house is coming apart!” another shouted.
 
One of the sorcerers closed her eyes and folded her hands over her chest as if she could sense something.
 
“The portal; it is closing,” the sorcerer said.  
 
“Madame!  Is that true?” asked a young follower.
 
“Impossible,” Madame said bewildered. “That mere idiot couldn’t have possibly defeated Lima.”  
 
“Then it’s true?” shouted another from the crowd.
 
“Go, Doc, Go!” Steven shouted at the top of his voice as he snatched away from two goons.  He shouted it several times until his voice cracked.
 
The rumble grew to a near deafening sound, like the engine roar of a jet plane flying too low to the ground. Everyone had to shout to hear each other.  The floor shook violently and people fell over like duck pins. Screams rose above the roar as large blocks of stone crushed bodies. The massive stones blocked stairwells. Many were trampled to death when hundreds dashed for the few stairwells that remained. Madame Reece was abandoned; it was every man for himself.  She rocked from side to side, unable to keep her balance. Esther wobbled to her feet–reached for the dagger and pulled it from Reece’s hand.
 
“You Bitch!” Esther shouted.
 
She cocked back then slammed her fist against Madame’s nose, sending her thudding to the floor.  She lay there dazed. The floor cracked beneath her–opened up and swallowed her. Madame’s high pitched scream got little reaction from Esther, as it trailed off and was heard no more.
 
She ran over to Steven and saw that he was out cold. A portion of the ceiling had popped him on the head.
 
“Steve! Steve, get up!” she said, slapping him across the face several times.
 
He lifted his head and shook his eyes clear.
 
“Steve, come on. We’ve got to get out of here!”
 
After helping him lift himself, she grabbed his hand and the two made a mad dash for the stairwell.  But he stopped.
 
“What the hell are you doing?” 
 
“Doc, we’ve got to find Doc!”
 
“No, Steve, we’ve got to get out of here.”

She grabbed Steven’s hand again and reluctantly he ran with her. The walls were falling in around them. They struggled to stay on their feet while stepping in blood–over dead bodies, away from live wiring and main water breaks. They choked on fumes from gas leaks–all the while ducking chunks of falling concrete. They tried desperately to maneuver around the cracks in the floor that were opening and gulping all in its path followed by screams as whole groups fell through.  At  the only remaining stairwell, Steven had to fight several followers before he and Esther could get through. They narrowly escaped being trampled under foot.  The harsh push of the stampede broke his grip on Esther and she quickly disappear in the large crowd of confusion.
 
He fought his way back up the stairwell; it was as running uphill into an avalanch.  He could hear Esther frantically calling his name. When he finally reached her, she pointed to an opening in the wall. They could see through it to the outside.  He held on to her tightly as they forced their way through the mob that was going in the opposite direction.  They reached the opening and Steven climbed out first, holding on to Esther. They managed to grab on to a large thick tree branch and made their way down to the ground. As they looked around, there was no one else in sight.  They  ran as far as they could from the house.
 
Falling exhausted on the grass, they held one another and watched in horror as the once tall mansion caved inward and crumbled into a large mass of cracked stones and sharp edge steel.
 
“Doc,” Steven said faintly as his face cracked into a cry.
 
Esther held his face and pressed it to her own moist cheek.  As she held him, she noticed that the rain had stopped almost as suddenly as the house had crumbled. It was as though the two events meant something, she thought.
 
“Look!” Esther said, pointing to a rainbow.  “I think God is telling us something,” she said half smiling.
 
Steven looked up, his eyes still blurry from tears.
 
“Yeah,” he said.

They sat for several minutes, bruised and battered. Esther nursed a small open gash on Steven’s head. They held one another and felt grateful for being alive.  Steven reflected on the old man–wishing he could share his own moment of victory.

“What took you two lovebirds so long?”
 
They whipped around–their eyes as wide as doll’s eyes and watched an exhausted Connelly limp in from the shadows.  His gold robe looked half shredded and streaked with blood; his bare left arm was stained scarlet. In his right hand, he gripped the Eye of the Cock.  Doc looked to have aged ten years. But to them, he was beautiful.
 
“Doc! You’re alive!” Steven said running toward him–almost knocking him down. Esther joined him and made it a group hug.
 
“Doc, you did it. You did it,” Steven said grinning.
 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 
The three returned home, and like most people after a near-death experience, saw the world differently–like God, family and friends being the most important factors in one’s life.  Doc kept in touch with them; they all vowed to be life-long friends. Doc decided to write a book on the experience and start his own lecturing circuit, but not before taking his wife, adult kids, their spouses and grandkids on an extended cruise to Europe and explore their Irish roots.
 
Esther returned to her faith as did Steven. Her parents were grateful to Steven and Doc for bringing their little girl home. The police never knew or were even interested in the real Madame Reece and UPC. They closed the book on Esther’s kidnapping and dismissed the UPC as a dangerous cult and Reece as a nut case–blaming the destruction of the mansion on a gas leak.  Steven who was always close to his mom now bonded with his dad.
 
 After spending a short time apart, Esther and Steven met for dinner at Kofi’s and then took a walk along the harbor. They hailed a water taxi and sailed along looking up at the stars.
 
“Esther, what where you and my mom talking about in the kitchen the other day?”
 
“Oh–girl talk,” she said smiling.
 
“Come on, I’m serious.  Mom had that look. Anything I should know?”
 
“I just asked her the same question I’d asked my mom and got the same answer.”
 
“What?” Steven asked frowning.
 
“I asked her how she and your dad managed to stay married for so many years, while most of my friends' parents were divorced.”
 
“And she said?” Steven asked playfully.
 
“She said, for many years, she and your dad were best friends first.
 
“Ok,” Steven said like the answer was no big deal.
 
Esther turned to him, placed a hand on each of his shoulders and looked up at him.
 
“Steve, that’s.. us.”
 
Steven looked into her eyes, and for the first time, saw love staring back at him. He parted his lips and took her lips into his mouth as she did his; the wet warmth of his mouth made the world disappear. She pressed in–melted into his arms and moaned.
 
 
 
THE END       
 
 

Author Notes

I would like to thank jgrace for the beautiful artwork, "God's Crystal Ball" The artwork truely compliments the title.

One of thousands of stories, poems and books available online at FanStory.com You've read it - now go back to FanStory.com to comment on each chapter and show your thanks to the author!

© Copyright 2015 amahra All rights reserved. amahra has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

© 2015 FanStory.com, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Statement