[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

I opened my eyes and blinked under the rays of the hot summer sun. My eyes adjusted and I realized I was on a boat, a familiar Sea Ray Sundancer. My uncle was at the wheel, my father standing next to him. No. No, no, no. Not this. I tried to open my mouth to scream, but I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak.

They were speaking calmly, but I could sense they both were anxious.

“It’s been getting worse, Denny,” my uncle said. His voice was almost unrecognizable to me, far from that of the jovial uncle who was always good for a laugh. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“She gets a kick out of spooking you, that’s all,” my father said, trying to reassure his brother, but not quite convincing himself.

“No, no. This isn’t just the occasional dead cat. I’ve been seeing her. In my house, at work, nowhere near the motel. I…I…think I’m losing it.”

“What about Martina? Has she noticed anything different?”

“You know she doesn’t know about her.”

“Yes, I know. But nothing different around the cottages?”

Hearing my father speak of these things, a voice from my innocent past speaking of terrors that now haunted my life—it was jarring to say the least.

“Nothing different. Denny, her laughter. It’s everywhere. Every time I close my eyes, I hear it. She wants…she wants me…oh god, I can’t even say it.”

“She wants you to end your life.”

Uncle Jim looked at his brother in surprise.

“I’ve heard her too,” my dad whispered.

My body shook in its invisible prison. Dad, no.

“We need to tell Nora.” My uncle said.

“No, Jim.”

“You know it. You know she always finishes what she’s started. When we’re gone…Nora’s next. We have to warn her.”

My father leaned against the side of the boat, his face a mask of anguish.

“You’re right,” he said. “We should have told her years ago.”

The buzz of the boat’s motor increased and the boat began to speed forward, accelerating rapidly. Uncle Jim desperately grabbed at the throttle, trying to shift it, but it wouldn’t budge. The steering wheel spun out of his hands as though it was being controlled by an invisible force. My father tried to wrest it back into his control, but it too could not be moved by the men in the boat.

The boat continued to accelerate, bucking up and down on the water violently before finally swerving, hitting a shoal with great speed. I was utterly helpless as I watched my uncle’s skull shatter in the windshield. My father was launched out of the craft, I heard his neck snap as it made contact with the hull.

Their mangled bodies still seared into my mind, I found myself in a cold, damp room, sobbing on the packed dirt floor, my body once again my own. I sat up, a wave of dizziness passing through me.

I was pretty sure I was underneath Bellevue Castle, in the unfinished wine cellar, familiar from the numerous tours I had taken there as a kid. The cellar was filled with barrels of old building supplies, still in the same spot they were when the lovelorn (or perhaps bankrupt) owner called a stop to construction, over a century ago. In the opposite corner, however, there was something that wasn’t there in the tourist season.

Jake was huddled on the ground, unconscious, silver collar around his neck, his body laced with new, raw-looking scars, as though he had been scourged or cut.

I rushed over to him and began to shake his shoulder. He moaned.

“Here, let me take this off,” I said, fiddling with the silver collar. He winced; his eyes fluttered open.

“Nora?” He said, dazed.

“Don’t try to talk, I’ve almost got it off.”

“No,” he said weakly, grabbing my wrist. “No, no, don’t. Please!”

With a final twist, the collar clanged to the floor. But this only made Jake more agitated.

“Nora, put it back on. Put it back on and get out of her. Please, I’m begging you. Get as far away from me as possible.”

“What are you talking about?” I cried. “I’m not going to torture you.”

He took the collar, but dropped it with a moan as his hand burned at the contact.

“Run!” he shouted. He staggered backwards, and I could see the tell-tale signs of transformation. But this time, his eyes began to glow, his mouth lengthening into the snarl of the wolf twisted almost into a smile. The half-shifted creature before me laughed.

“Too late now, girl,” it growled. I bolted to the stairs, the grunts and howls of the final throes of transformation behind me. I climbed the stairs with speed I didn’t know I possessed, slamming the door behind me. The wolf threw itself against it, buckling the wood with a sickening crack.

I was in the castle’s recreated kitchen. Frantically, I threw down the elegant copper molds that lined the walls, hoping to slow down the creature’s pursuit. The cellar door gave way just as I fled the kitchen in to a grand dining room. My eyes immediately fixed themselves on the elaborately set table, ready for an Edwardian feast and my heart leapt with hope. Such a meal would never be served without the finest of silver.

I scooped up the numerous utensils set before the nearest place setting, stuffing oyster forks, fish knives, butter knives, bouillon spoons, tea spoons and anything else I could fit into my jacket pockets. The door behind me shattered, and the wolf came barreling towards me. I hopped up on the table and flung a giant silver soup tureen at him, hitting him on the chest with a howling hiss.

“Sorry, Jake,” I muttered as I ran into the front hallway. I pulled at the carved wood door leading outside, but it was locked, bolted with a padlock for the winter. Behind me was the grand staircase of gilded oak and marble. My only way forward was up. I knew the wolf would not be far behind me, once he had shaken off his temporary debilitation.

I ran up the stairs, up one flight, now two. The restored Gilded Age luxury of the first floors morphed into a dilapidated, unfinished area of exposed beams and plaster, covered with decades-worth of graffiti. The wolf was in pursuit once more; I could hear the scratching of its claws on the marble of the stairs, making his way upwards. I turned around.

The wolf crouched some feet below me, grinning, far closer than I had thought. I pulled out a few silver forks and threw them at him, sprinkling more on the stairs between us. The wolf howled with dismay. My eye caught a long ladder leading up to the turret. Without further thought, I raced towards it, pulling myself upwards while unsheathing the knife at my belt. The wolf had shaken off the silver and was at the bottom of the ladder. I tossed my last handful of silver spoons at him, hitting him in the snout which bought me enough time to put more space between us.

I could see the opening to the turret above me. But just as I managed to get my upper body through, a claw grasped my boot. With all my strength I kicked at it, to no avail. I lowered my right arm and slashed at it with my knife. The claw released its grip and I dragged the rest of my body through the opening. The wolf snarled at me and he poised himself to jump. I pushed the ladder away and he fell to the ground. Now in the turret room, I saw a large metal filing cabinet against the wall and brought it down over the opening below with a tremendous bang that gave way to silence, revealing the ferocity of my haggard breathing.

I took a step backward into something cold, the parts of my body that had come into contact with it tingling unpleasantly. I turned around.

The witch stood before me, smiling that terrible smile, her eyes like coals. She was draped in thin, almost transparent, black silk, her body a corpselike gray. Her hair hung to her knees, wreathed in the brittle, dead leaves of late winter. I stumbled away from her, my back hitting the walls of the stone turret behind me, a large, arched window with a several stories fall my only escape.

“Girl,” she hissed, her voice a crackling flame. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced.”

“You need no introduction,” I said bitterly.

She laughed, the cadence about as pleasant as scraping paper with a broken pencil.

“Many mortals call me a witch. Is that what you think I am?”

“I think that’s a mere euphemism for what you are.”

“Smart little cow.”

She smiled slyly and perched herself on the ledge of the window, one bare leg draped over the side.

“I was once a girl like you. I danced before Baal at the dawn of men. I was found worthy. I became much, much more than a sentient pile of meat. My name was worshiped by emperors and queens. Generals and high priests prostrated themselves before me and offered me sacrifice. I am triodia, enodia, brimo, indalimos, chthonia. I am Hecate.”

At the utterance of her name, she raised her hand, and my body began cramping in agony. With ease, she moved aside the filing cabinet I had pushed over. The wolf came crawling up the ladder, eyes still a possessed green, no sign of Jake within them. He crept over to Hecate and she patted his head, pleased at my anguished expression.

“Now we are only waiting for our mutual friend,” she said. From below, I heard a splashing in the water. I could see René climbing out of the river and over the fence leading to the castle grounds. He was waterlogged, filthy, and nearly frozen, his jacket gone, his shirt torn and bloodied in several places, indicating he had received and healed from several wounds in his struggle.

Hecate smiled coldly. She stood and, with an almost imperceptible motion, we were thrown out of the window on the back of a great burst of air, only partially cushioning my body from the fall. I hit the ground violently and my shoulder exploded into pain. I vomited. Hecate made some sound of disgust at my side. Her feet were bare on the frozen ground, but even in the barrenness of winter, earthworms burrowed upwards to writhe against her toes.

René made a move to approach me, but Hecate raised her hand for him to halt and a column of fire erupted between us, reaching high into the night sky. He took in a deep breath, ragged with rage.

“If it’s me you want, I cede myself to you once more. Let the girl and the wolf go and this will be my bargain to you.”

Hecate sighed.

“So predictable. So boring. I know this will come as a shock, René, but it’s not about you this time. I reject your little bargain. Go mope around a lumber yard for another few centuries, I could care less.”

“Why?” I said, finding the courage to speak. “Why do this?”

“Because I stayed my hand when I should have destroyed your wretched forebears. For a century, I watched them fumble their way through a simple set of chores. Did you know your uncle dared to complain to me? He begged me to lift my curse, not for his sake, not even for the sake of his poor servant, but for you.”

She dragged me upright by my injured shoulder, digging her nails into my flesh. I tried not giving her the pleasure of hearing me scream, though it felt like my head would burst.

“Precious Nora,” she said with contempt. “I hope you enjoyed watching their last moments. I have made a decision, you see. I will snuff you out, each and every one of you. You Calnons are far too troublesome and extremely replaceable. I had planned on killing Martina too—such a loyal and obstinate thing she was—but then my dear René got to her first. Always good for that sort of thing, isn’t he?”

She took a fist full of my hair and pulled me closer to her face. René took a step forward, fangs bared, but Jake stood between them, snarling threateningly. She whispered into my ear, her words sickening me.

“I planned on killing you too. It would have been simple, quick. But then you had to find him, didn’t you?” She glared at René. “The one who is mine. And then both of you, taking away my favorite pet. You upset me, Nora. You’ve upset me greatly. For you, not only death will do.”

A torch appeared in her hand and with it, she traced a flaming circle around us on the ground which ignited into a sickly green flame. René shouted and leapt at Hecate, but he collided with Jake instead and the two of them fell to the side, locked in a frenzied struggle.

“Now, now, René, no cheating,” she said, snapping her fingers. The silver chain René carried with him flew into her hand and she threw it in to the column of flames where it was consumed with a terrible hiss. She turned her attention to me.

“It is not the next quarter day for quite some time, but I am sure he will not mind. I could not resist the symmetry of it all. You awakened to this reality on the night of the grand tithe and now you will be the last tax the Calnons ever pay.”

Clouds appeared in the night sky, suffocating the stars, churning with ferocity, the green of decay. The air pressed down upon me, pushing the air out of my lungs, causing me to sputter and gasp. Hecate raised her hands, shouting in an ancient tongue. The sky tasted of wet earth and lightning; a frisson of electricity passed through me. A vial of water appeared in Hecate’s hands, and she performed her ablutions.

René pushed Jake aside, but a fissure in the ground opened between us. A terrible roar erupted, the cries of the damned comingling together into a dreadful force. Hecate pressed her palm to my forehand, her eyes glittering with malice, intoning words I could not understand. I reached for the knife at my belt in desperation, but found my sheath to be empty.

“Looking for this?” Hecate said, producing my knife in her left hand. With a cruel laugh, she plunged it into my belly. I heard René scream, but he already sounded far away. I looked down in shock. She pulled out the weapon and blood began to pour out of me. I felt no pain; it was as though I was watching this happen to someone else.

The vortex of voices became enhanced around me, and I was being dragged downwards and downwards. I was slipping into the void.

The world disappeared. There was nothing and I was nothing, or at least, nothing beyond endless misery. This was a place with no hope.

It is impossible to describe such things to those who have not witnessed them. I was in a great Maw, of that I could surmise. A great gaping Maw of flesh, throbbing, burning, constantly consuming. All around me I could hear weeping, sobbing, cries of madness or anger or futility. There were people here, or what was left of them. Tendrils of flesh fused their bodies to the walls of the thing, which slowly digested them, eating them away only for them to regenerate, continuing the torture in perpetuity. They were still conscious, if that word could be used in this place, unaware of each other, but making the most despicable sounds of suffering, some wailing, others grinding their teeth.

Arms of flesh tore at my legs, searing my skin. But just as quickly as they had come, the tendrils receded and the surface beneath me began to rumble. The wailing was overpowered by a growling coming from the Maw itself, as loud as a jet engine and as haunting as the roar of a jaguar. It was enraged.

My body was ejected. I was suspended somewhere, away, and then I hit the ground. My fingers dug into blessed, real dirt. I blinked and the stars were above me once more.

Hecate stood before me; her face twisted in shock. The column of fire was extinguished. Jake fell to the ground, shifting back into human form. René rushed to my side.

“It appears your payment has been rejected,” he said grinning.

Hecate scoffed. She took a step backward, muttering in that same ancient tongue, but nothing happened. I could see panic rising within her. She fell to her knees and raised her hands to the sky, speaking as though she were entreating someone or something. Little sparks danced on her hands, tiny pieces of skin flecked off of her, slowly at first, then hastening, faster and faster. Hecate let out a great cry and her body combusted into green flames, stripping her down to her bones, blazing until she was no more than dust borne away by the swirling winds.

A deafening sigh echoed around us billowing upwards into a swirling funnel cloud. Whisps of tormented souls rose into the spinning air until with a clap of thunder so loud the castle behind us shook, their whimpers were extinguished, released to their final fate. The clouds receded and the sky was clear and calm again.

I tried to sit up, but my abdomen erupted into pain. I was still bleeding. I was bleeding a lot. I tried to steady myself on René’s arm, but my fingertips were numb. René was speaking to me, but I couldn’t understand him. Get up, I willed myself. Get up. I could not obey. I was falling—no, I was flying, flying away from my body.

I was walking through a tunnel. Not a dark tunnel of terrors, but one of soft greenery adorned with flowers in colors beyond comprehension. There was sunlight on the other side. It was warm, so delightfully warm. With every part of me, I wanted to be there. There were people waiting for me, I knew.

I tried to step forward, but I was stuck. Something was dragging me, dragging me back into pain, into the dark. I cried. No, no, please no. Let me rest here. Please.

There was something in my throat, something thick and sweet. I choked, but I swallowed. I was drinking.

I wanted more.

++

It has been several nights since that happened. When I awoke, it was sunset again, as it will be for the rest of my days.

René is quieter now. I wish I could reassure him that he did the right thing, that I am grateful. He doesn’t seem to believe me, but I guess we have a lot of time now to figure it out.

“Time enough for you to grow to hate me,” he said sadly, pushing a lock of hair away from my face. I hope he’s wrong.

The cottages are peaceful now. The entities are gone. There is a sense of ease here that is permeating more every day, heralding the coming of a Spring like no other before. They’re gone too, the spirits of Cottage 14. I tried to go to thank them. After all, it was their blessing that had saved me from the Maw. They had kept their promise to Ellen. Your soul shall not be dragged down to perdition, you will not know the eternal flames. The cottage door was open; there were buds on the trees. I think they have finally found their true home, their eternal rest.

Jake has recovered from his ordeal. He is still a werewolf, but his mind is now his own. With our help, he is mostly healed, though there are scars he will carry with him for the rest of his life.

We haven’t been doing much lately. Things are too raw, too new. We have just begun to breathe again. Sometimes we just sit by the river. A wolf and two vampires, a funny trio.

“I want to find my parents,” Jake said last night. René passed me his thermos, which I took a bit too eagerly.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I stopped by my old house today. Neighbor told me they were taken into assisted living a while ago, though he didn’t know where. Their minds…weren’t quite the same since I…” His voice broke. So many lost years, so many ruined lives.

“I guess I’m just saying I’m leaving.”

“Do what you must, Jake,” René said. “You will go on. You are free now. Find your parents; find your own kind.”

Jake nodded. I caught a tear glistening in his eye.

“What will you two do?” Jake asked.

“Figure out what the hell to tell my mom,” I said chuckling. Even René smiled. “But you know, this place? It has some potential.”

And so, I find myself back where I started: with a giant pile of wallpaper books and a folder of paint swatches. René is pouring over plans for a complete remodeling of the cottages and motel with some structural enhancements. Given our change in circumstances, our business model and targeted clientele will be slightly different, slightly more…nocturnal.

But this is where the veil of secrecy must finally descend between us.

For now.

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