Colt Henderson
Bio
I usually write horror.
Stories (69/0)
The Unknown Forest
The sun was setting and Samantha was lost. She had entered the forest to harvest some edible mushrooms, but she had not marked her way like her mother had told her. Her mother had warned her about being in the woods after dark, and the setting sun started to worry the young girl. A cool breeze floated through the trees and Samantha heard something move behind her. Turning quickly she dropped the basket of mushrooms and backed away from the noise. To her surprise a small rabbit hopped through the foliage.
By Colt Henderson20 days ago in Fiction
Cold Innocence
Footsteps fell precariously in the frozen precipitation as the traveler followed a frequented path. Snow on either side of the adventurer piled higher than his shoulders and caused the fear of claustrophobia to set in. Stairs appeared ahead, and footfalls could be heard behind. He started walking towards the stairs and quickly ascended the few steps to the salted platform. The surface of the landing was covered in a puddle of salt water that seeped down the stairs, where it froze when it hit the ground. The crunch of footsteps hit the traveler’s ears, and he ran up the next flight of stairs. On either side, the shoulder high snow started to decrease in height, the fear that once hit was now gone. With a clearer head, the bundled up journeyer could hear the steps behind him growing in tempo and getting closer. He decided to pick up his pace and quickly cleared the next staircase with ease. The third platform, lined with dead plants half hidden in the snow, extended out further than the previous ones. Benches sat on either side of the large concrete slab with planters in the corners, filled with more dead plants and snow. At the other end of the landing sat the looming presence of a sturdy structure. With a sudden rush of cold wind, the adventurer clutched his jacket tighter, and a shiver slid down his spine. The door on the house opened, and Grandma welcomed the small boy into her loving arms.
By Colt Henderson2 months ago in Fiction
Sacrificial Summit
A thick flurry of snow attempted to block the silent man as he walked towards the top of the mountain. He pushed through, finally reaching the summit and knelt down. The violent wind, causing his brown robe to aggressively flap against him, was sharp on the monk's face. Tears began to fall from his vibrant green eyes as he stared out into the blue void that encapsulated him.
By Colt Henderson2 months ago in Fiction
Dark Whispers
The day had been long, but finally, the gift was done. Sweat poured out of a man standing in the middle of his forge, located in Central Mexico, as he examined his newest creation. A knife, less than a foot long, with an almost unnatural sharpness. It had started out as scrap from his different jobs, but with the help of a little heat and pressure, he made them into a beautifully crafted piece. A blade two inches at the base and tapered off to a point. The hilt was thick and sleek with a smattering of gold and turquoise covering the entire handle. The reason for the birth of such a knife was as a gift to the blade master's son, Carlos, for his tenth birthday. He absolutely loved his present. Carlos took it everywhere with him and used it to do everything from digging into the ground and trees to cutting his food when he ate. He even showed everyone he knew how beautiful and sharp it was, without being prompted. One day, during a game of tag with neighborhood children, another boy tackled Carlos as he dug in a hollow tree with his blade. He immediately forgot about his knife in the hollow part of the tree and rolled to his feet, and started chasing another kid. When the game eventually ended, Carlos realized he had lost where the tree and his favorite knife had been. He searched till dusk but had to rush home, or he would get in even more trouble for being out past dark. He would be back tomorrow to keep looking. A few days later, Jovil, a voodoo priest, noticed something reflecting his torchlight through the darkness of the moonless night. Intrigued by the odd phenomenon, he investigated the hollow tree. He pulled it from the chest height hole in the tree and examined it with one hand. A few swipes in the air, and Jovil stuck it in one of his bags and continued his journey. He was a well-known bokor, voodoo priest, and had taken his ministry on the road, as they say. He started by chartering a boat from his native Haiti to the nearby port of Riohacha in northern Columbia. Jovil continued his practices all the way through Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, and the rest of the remaining countries until he found himself passing that small village in Mexico. By the time he reached the United States, he had performed well over one hundred rituals. Jovil had no idea the power that flowed through the knife each time he killed an animal for his death rituals. That dark magic started to warp the knife and eventually turned it into a rippled effect with no straight edge. Jovil, blind to the literal corruption of his found knife, was slowly becoming infected Jovil had no idea the power that flowed through the knife each time he killed an animal for his death rituals. That dark magic started to warp the knife and eventually turned it into a rippled effect with no straight edge. Jovil, blind to the literal corruption of his found knife, was slowly becoming infected. The knife started whispering to Jovil. First, it was simple things; cut here, slice there, and was easily satisfied. Then, after a few more years of death rituals, the knife started speaking louder and asking to be fed more often. Jovil obliged the knife and started torturing animals outside of his rituals, but soon, that too wasn't enough. The blade demanded something better, something more precious. Jovil tried to increase the number of rituals he did, but that only seemed to fuel the blade's hunger. As a bokor he knew taking a human life in place of the goat or chicken would increase the potency of the spell and take something from you in trade, but the blade was a dull roar at this point. Jovil just wanted it to stop, but he lost the fight. He decided to take a vitality spell, but instead of burning fresh flesh fileted from an animal's hide, he would make a pyre and burn an unlucky traveler. He laid in wait for someone to come down the road through the forest. Jovil let the first few people pass as they were either in groups or looked like they could overpower him, but after hours of waiting, an older gentleman appeared on the road. He waited in the shadows for the single man to pass by and jumped on him as soon as he was behind him. He strangled the man until his body went limp but still breathing and dragged him to the pyre. After tying the older man to the makeshift wooden platform, he revealed his knife. The unconscious man couldn't care less until the bokor made his first stab to his calves. The man screamed awake as the waving blade carved an imperfect line, ending with a chunk of his muscle sliding off as he finished through the meat. Then he copied the wound on his other calf, despite the man begging him not to. Jovil hesitated when it came to piercing the older man's left bicep and couldn't go through with stabbing the right. Instead, he put the knife in his bag and took out a matchbox. He struck one match on the strip, and a flame popped into life, which he then threw at the base of the pyre. The man's screams and begging increased with the size of the fire. Jovil stood there, a few feet from the blazing and raising fire, with his hand in his bag gripping the knife with all his might. He felt life run into him and watched as his withered hands filled in till they were back to looking like his hands when he was in his 20's. The power of the knife scared Jovil, and he dropped it in the bag just before dropping the bag to the ground. He hurriedly picked it back up but made sure not to touch it. With this stolen life energy, Jovil vowed in that moment to lead a better life. He would never use the knife again. Instead, Jovil settled in New Orleans and changed his teachings to represent the positive side of his faith. He did his best to do as much good as possible. He even recruited others to his faith by living by example, but the knife, kept close for fear of it getting out, always beckoned him. The decades passed, and he succeeded in growing his faith. It wasn't until he was old once again that the knife caused more disorder. Unbeknownst to the bokor, the knife had found a malleable mind within his flock to warp. It wasn't long before the acolyte, Faustin, had risen to the top spot and forged a bond with the bokor. They even traveled and fought off the evil spirits when they found them. The acolyte planned out the next trip, which was just a ploy to get the older man alone in the woods of the neighboring state of Mississippi. A hot breeze rustled the fallen leaves as the pair stood in front of a large river. With no one around, Faustin started to sweat, and Jovil said “It's lying to you.” This fell on deaf ears as the acolyte struck the older man in the face, who surprisingly took the hit with no problem. The following wide swing from the enraged student was easily dodged and countered with a blast of pure energy that knocked the younger man back a few feet. Surprised by the attack, Faustin immediately jumped back at Jovil as soon as possible. He launched himself forward and threw a hard right, which was blocked expertly and countered with another blast of pure energy. The pure white ball jettisoned itself against the acolyte and pushed him back a few more feet. “You can only do that so many times, old man!” Faustin yelled as he jumped at his mentor again. This time, the acolyte got in close enough to pull on the hidden blade, but the bokor was still more experienced and easily countered the quick grab with a punch to Faustin's face. He then checked to make sure the knife he kept hidden for the sake of the world was still on his person. “Stop this now, Faustin!” Jovil yelled as he conjured another, more powerful bolt of energy that not only knocked the young man farther back, but it also singed the exposed skin and caught the clothing on fire. Not panicked by the pain or the fire that started on his clothes, Faustin patted the fire out and lunged at his mentor again. He was able to get inside the reach of the slightly taller man and started grabbing for the knife that was choreographing the acolytes movement. Jovil was dodging, but he was slowly getting tired. Faustin kept getting closer to the knife the more he grabbed for it and he noticed his victim getting slower and breathing harder. He would have that knife. He would replace the old man as the bokor and become even more powerful than Jovil. His hand quickly inched around the knife and pulled it from its hiding place. Jovil knew he had lost, but he made one last effort to stop his student by grabbing his wrist. The two men caught the others' eyes, and Jovil could see the corruption in Faustin, while Faustin would assert he saw weakness in the old man. “You don't have to do this!” Jovil pleaded with his friend. “I want to do this!” Faustin yelled as he took a solid step forward at the last word, forcing the knife into his mentor's stomach. “It will never be satisfied.” Jovil whispered in Faustin's ears as they embraced one last time. “Neither will I.” Faustin replied as he stepped back, letting Jovil fall to his knees, eyes stuck on the blood on the rippled blade. He smiled wide before kicking the crumpled man in the stomach. He then grabbed him by the leg, kicked him in the stomach again, and started dragging him towards a large tree. Once there, the acolyte pulled out a long rope and started to tie up his mentor. He then collected loose wood and leaned them against the base of the tree. The fire wasn't far behind as Faustin silently lit a match and threw it on the thin limbs, which quickly caught. He then admired the knife he had just used to murder before looking back up at the older man and puncturing his calves one at a time. A smile spread over his face as he used the sharp knife to cut away his clothes. He started to make shallow and quick slices all over the tied man's wrinkled flesh. After playing for a few minutes, which resulted in streams of blood to travel down to his feet where it was lost in the growing flames, Faustin stepped back and let the fire take him. Jovil's breathing became quick and labored as he tried not to scream, but that want changed when the flames started licking his naked flesh. It first blistered and bubbled before turning black. The student, knowing the same vitality spell, made the necessary steps and waited for the teacher to succumb to the fire or knife wound for the magic to work. Jovil, however, was still slightly empowered by the spell he did all those years ago and wasn't dying as quickly as he should. The peeling and blackening of his feet quickly grew to his pierced calves, then his thighs and genitals. Jovil's face was stuck in an agonizing scream, but his voice had gone out. He struggled against the binds that held him to the tree that was slowly being consumed by the fire, but his strength was starting to plummet. He pleaded one last time with his emotional eyes, tears filling them, but Faustin started laughing as he saw the light leaving the old man's eyes. It wasn't much longer before Jovil's body went limp and the fire had free range. Having youthful hands already, the vitality removed all scars and left Faustin with a healthy glow. Upon his return, the congregation did not trust him and disbanded. Not discouraged from the exodus, Faustin decided to try and sell his new knowledge for profit, much like Jovil. He started small to get to know the new rituals and sacrificed several goats to the Loa, or god, of Murder, named Baron Criminel. Faustin pledged to be his disciple, and the corruption was complete. The twisted blade quickly grew dissatisfied and demanded something more precious. Not one to disobey his new master, Faustin decided to plan a trip to Lafayette. On his way there, he found a secluded area, blocked on three sides by tree covered hills, and set up his platform. He then went back to the trail and waited. He didn't have to wait long before a man in his forties appeared, all alone. Unsure of how to approach the lone figure in the noon day sun, Faustin waited for him to pass him as he crouched behind a thick bush. After he passed him, Faustin grabbed a small but hefty rock and snuck up behind the man. The rock made a dull thud when it slammed into the clueless man's right temple. He crumpled to the ground and remained motionless. Faustin snatched up the man's feet and started pulling him into the trees. It was exhausting, but Faustin finally made his way back to his platform. It took a few hard minutes for him to strap the man to the pole he had made. Faustin started collecting firewood from the surrounding area until there was a large base lining the perimeter of the platform. As he was putting the finishing touches on the pyre, quick lighting materials between the wall of wood and the pole, the man stirred awake. Faustin ignored the man's pleas until he heard, “You don't have to do this.” “What is with you people thinking I have to do this? I want to do this! Now,” Faustin grabbed a large amount of collected moss and shoved it into the man's mouth, “Shut up!” The man squirmed and screamed into the moss as Faustin unknowingly made the first few shallow cuts like Jovil, but when it came to stabbing the man, he followed through. After slicing off the calves of the tied victim, he impaled the biceps, forearms, and finally, the stomach. The sadistic bokor carved the stomach from one side to the other, which caused the innards to spill out on the wooden platform. The match was quick to light and silently flew through the air and landed on the dry brush and moss. The fire ignited, and it roared to life a second later. Behind Faustin came some rustling, and he turned just in time to watch a line of American soldiers, brought by the firelight, brandishing Model 1803 rifles aimed at him. “Halt!” The line of men wearing identical uniforms yelled. Faustin swore and ran for the river behind the bonfire he had just started. The soldiers fired freely, and a few rounds hit the fleeing bokor. He grabbed onto the hilt of the knife and repeated the words to connect to the magic that was now flowing into him. He felt a round embed itself in his shoulder, then one through his elbow, and one clipping his side and breaking his rib. As he ran and the magic seeped into him, the bullet in his shoulder was slowly pushed out as he ran. His elbow slowly fixed itself, the rib popped back into place, and the scrap healed. Faustin believed he was invincible, but when he hit the water, slowing his momentum, the first reloaded gun fired. It was quickly accompanied by a string of gunshots pointed at his back. Several shots hit him in the upper back, and a few hit his lower, but several more clipped his right hand, forcing him to drop the powered knife. The multiple wounds that were in the middle of healing stopped, and Faustin's momentum took him to the shore. He landed on his hands and knees. He swore again as he heard the clanging and banging of the troops that were clearly on his tail. Faustin looked around the shallow part of the water near him for the knife but found nothing. His attention turned from his weapon, then the sound of over a dozen rifles cocked. He sat down in the water and looked up at the soldiers. He expected no mercy, and when someone yelled “Fire!” he knew he would receive none. The bullets ripped through him as he smiled, thinking he would be welcomed with open arms, but the last thing his riddled brain heard, besides the multitude of gunshots, was a hiss of disappointment and a voice that whispered “Only 2 lives?”. As time went on, that little tributary dried up, and one fateful day, a boy, looking for an adventure, came across a gold and turquoise handle with the rest buried under a rock. When the kid grabbed the hilt, a sharp cold bit him, causing him to recoil from the object. He stared at it with curiosity building and reached out for it again. The handle was still bitingly cold, but the innocent child didn't know to leave it be. Instead he wrapped his small fingers around the cold exposed metal and pulled. Nothing happened. He would have to dig it out. More than an hour passed before the kid could see what he assumed to be the blade. “It's a knife!” He exclaimed as he started to feel the blade. “Ouch!” He whispered as he cut his finger as he caressed the apparent sharp edge. He suddenly had the urge to grasp the handle, and when he did, he heard a small voice barely audible say, “Hello.”
By Colt Henderson2 months ago in Fiction
Introducing
“Hello everyone. Let me welcome Colt Henderson to the table. He is a member of vocal.media, has stories in three anthologies, and is apparently working on his first novel.” The host of the show said into the microphone in front of him. “This is where you talk, Colt.” “Oh, right. I, um, I'm 35, from north Texas. I have a dog named Sir Cottonwood III and a parakeet, Buddy Boy. I live …” “Let me stop you there. This isn't a dating site.” The host interjected. “This is about the coming year and your plans for your writing.” “Well, one thing I need to work on is my dialog.” The handsome man smirked. “But what else would you like to know?” “You usually write horror, correct?” “Yes.” “What are some other genres you would like to try out? Branch out from the horror scene.” “I am going to try and branch out on Vocal. They have so many options it's hard to narrow down, so I am going to try a few different genres.” “That's a bit dry, but it's an answer.” “What do you mean dry?” “It's just informative. What's your character? Who are you?” The host asked through his aviator sunglasses. “OK … what's your next question? I will try a bit harder.” Colt sat back in the comfortable chair and waited. “What else do you think you should work on?” “That's an easy one! I need to show more and tell less. I am still guilty of it now, unfortunately.” “How often do you write now? Can you write more?” “I currently write a little bit everyday, but I can and will write more this year.” “You brought up Vocal. What is it for people unaware?” “It is a platform for writers of every type. There are poets, novelists, short story writers, tech writers, and so many other things it is easier to visit the site at vocal.media. Click on Communities and there is a long list.” “Are there any other benefits to being a part of Vocal?” The host asked as he leaned back in his chair and took a sip of whatever was in his plain black mug. “There are several benefits to being a member. One would be the ability to read other members' pieces. I always comment after I read something. The second would be the ability to collaborate with fellow Vocal members. I have done it once and loved it. I just haven't been around much to be in another. Third is the challenges for members. I have been writing for the challenges for a few years now. I have Vocal to thank for getting me started to write again.” “Is there anyone on Vocal you would like to collaborate with?” The man asked, getting closer to the microphone. “The last collaboration I was a part of was about climate change, and the one before that was mental health awareness. I don't know many people on Vocal and the few I do are constantly pushing themselves. I wouldn't want to possibly mess up their flow.” “What kind of impact are you going to have if you are afraid to interact with other creators?” The host asked as he picked up the mic and rolled his chair closer to Colt. “I wouldn't say afraid. I would s …” “You're a shy and sensitive guy.” The eccentric interviewer said low and slow with the microphone pressed to his lips. “No, I would say I am trying to respect their space.” Colt asserted with confidence. “And then you get to stay in your bubble.” The flamboyantly dressed man stated. “I guess so.” “So what do you want your impact on Vocal to be?” “I want to be known for good horror, but I think being good at building solid stories overall would be nice.” “Tell us more about those Vocal challenges you mentioned.” “Sure! They have different writing challenges all the time. They have short story challenges and poetry ones. 1st prize is always different, but it is usually money. They also have sponsored challenges sometimes. I have been entering for a few years now. “How has that shaped your writing?” “Like I said, I have Vocal to thank for me writing again. I have always had stories running through my mind, but Vocal got me to write them down. I even enter random online writing contests now. It just depends on the prompt and if I find it interesting. It has allowed me to work through some stress.” “Well, that is a good thing. Stress can kill.” The red three piece suit wearing man feigned interest until he asked his next question into a nonexistent camera. “What are you working on now?” “I am working on my first novel.” “Awesome! What's it about? What's it called? Tell us everything!” “Well, it doesn't have a name yet, but it is about a woman turning into a wendigo. This isn't a mythological creature feature either. It's more of a psychological look into someone's mind. A study of one person's fall into madness.” “That sounds like a great concept!” The host said. “Yeah, it's a difficult subject. I just hope I am able to do it justice.” The guest replied. “I can see the passion in your eyes. Where was that earlier?” The red man asked. “I don't know.” “You're a little scared. It's okay.” “I am not scared.” The guest said louder than before. “It's 2024, it is fine to be scared. I am scared of spiders and trampolines!” The host said as he leaned back in his chair, microphone in his hand. “I am not scared!” Colt bellowed. “Stop saying that.” “Okay, okay.” The man cracked a flashy smile. “I am just trying to help you work on you.” The chair rolled into the wall as Colt stood up abruptly. “Hey! Where you going?” Colt flung the headphones off and slapped the microphone in front of him. “That wasn't necessary.” He then kicked the chair, causing several holes in the wall. “You're gonna be billed for that.” Colt swung the door open, flipped the host the bird, and walked out of the room. “Well, that could have gone better. Next at the table is a dog lover looking for her long lost family. We are scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
By Colt Henderson2 months ago in Interview
Once Bitten
April 20, 1880 I was allowed to go on a supply run today. We crept our way towards the town, watching for the dead. There were 3 or 4 on our way to town, but they came at us one at a time, which made it easy. Our first view of main street was horrific. Bodies laid in piles of blood and scattered organs. Mom tried to cover my eyes, but Joseph told her I had already seen worse. I was there when the first wave attacked our small outpost. The dead came from every direction. My dad tried his best, but one dead turned into five, and he was eaten right before my eyes. We were divided into groups of 3 and given a building to check. Me and mom got Joseph and the general store. It was completely untouched. We stuffed our bags and went back outside. The bodies were gone. I noticed first, but before I could say anything, a loud scream rang out from inside the saloon. We ran to help, but the threat was dealt with, and everyone was safe. Unfortunately, the scream caught the attention of the rest of the dead that had disappeared. There were over a dozen. We were outnumbered, but thankfully, we weren't the only ones to hear the scream. The rest of the groups came just in time. After we finished dealing with the dead, we came back to the fort. Another successful trip outside the wall. We found a lot of food, and no one was hurt.
By Colt Henderson3 months ago in Horror
- Top Story - December 2023
BloodlineTop Story - December 2023
“I can't believe you have never been to Goatman's Bridge, Brittney.” Derrick and his twin brother, Darren, said in unison. “What's so special about it?” Brittney asked as they pulled into a parking spot and got out of the car. “Nothing, really.” Derrick replied. “We have been here a bunch of times, and nothing has ever happened,” Darren told the group. “What is supposed to happen?” Brittney asked. “Well, that is where the intrigue begins.” Derrick said. “It could be one of three options. One is a lynching victim that comes back for revenge, two is the wife of the lynched man, looking for her murdered children, and three is Satanists summoned a portal to Hell.” Everyone was silent as they climbed the small incline to the abandoned road. Soon, they were mere feet from the start of the iron truss bridge with a wooden deck. The four of them stood there for a few seconds before Brittney broke the silence. “What do we do now?” “We need to knock three times at midnight and cross the bridge.” Emily finally spoke up as everyone remained silent and looked at each other. “I don't remember that,” Darren said. “Yeah, you have to knock three times on the bridge at midnight.” Emily took a few steps to the metal supports and knocked. She slowly walked onto the wooden deck. Derrick and Darren were the next two to knock and walk, and then Brittney followed suit. “You know what? I like the idea of the portal to Hell the most. The other two are terrible.” Brittney shivered. “And kind of the same story, right?” Darren looked around, but when no one spoke up, he continued, “It's the wife of the goat herder that got lynched looking for whoever murdered her children. All of them were killed that night by some klansmen.” “I think the goat herder's name was Oscar Kendall, actually.” Emily looked at them, becoming more animated. “It was1899 when a group of …” “We don't need to go down that road tonight, do we, Emily?” Derrick said. Emily glared at him and fell silent. “Hey, I want to know.” Brittney said, giving Derrick a frustrated push. Emily looked smug. “Oscar Kendall was a successful black goat farmer down the way from this bridge. He put a sign that said ‘This way to the Goatman’ on the end of the bridge, and a group of angry white people decided that was worth his life. They pulled him out of his house in the middle of the night and dragged him to the bridge where they had a noose waiting. The mob put Oscar's head through the noose and threw him over the edge of the bridge, but something went wrong, and Oscar's head snapped off his body. They searched for the body up and down Hickory Creek, but it never showed up.” “Where do the three knocks come from?” Brittney asked. “That I don't know,” Emily replied. “Ha … I do.” Darren laughed before replying, “It is the rule of three.” After everyone just kind of shrugged, he explained. “Whatever you put out into the world, whether negative or positive, comes back to you at least threefold.” “So what are we putting out?” Brittney interjected. “Positive or negative?” When he only responded with a shrug, the group fell into general chatter, talking and walking from one side of the bridge to the other without moving further down the deck. A few more minutes dragged by before Derrick and Darren turned to walk down the bridge. Three “nos” instantly came from the young women. “Come on, ladies.” Derrick sighed. “Nothing is going to happen.” Darren assured them. “Fine!” Brittney huffed before she and Emily followed behind the boys, huddling together as they walked. A loud clap of thunder rumbled, but no flash of lightning accompanied it. The girls squealed as they ran to catch up to the boys. Another, even louder crack of thunder, echoed all around them, causing the girls to huddle together as they walked. There was still no flash, and only seconds passed before a third peal of thunder rang out, seemingly from the center of the bridge. A gust of wind sprang forth from nowher, almost pushing the teens to the ground. “What is happening?” Brittney cried. “We don't know,” Derrick shouted. He took a step back as a red circle carved itself out of the fabric of reality. It took less than a second for the circle to become whole, but watching the red line get longer and surviving the ear-splitting tone with which the process assaulted their human ears made it feel like the longest second of their lives. The crimson line became a red circle before the inside of the circle started to trickle down like droplets of blood, completely disappearing at the bottom, revealing a black hole wrapped in crimson liquid. There was a flash of light from inside the hole, and something slowly rolled out of it. The five teens watched as shadowy figures threw something else at the opening. The second item landed right on top of the first and shot it out of the portal to Hell. The group looked down, frozen in fear, to see the head of a goat lying at their feet. The teens all let out a series of cries as they took a few steps back. Darren reached for his phone to catch the experience on video and got recording just in time to get the shadowy figure throwing another object. This odd item had more heat on it and hit Derrick in the chest with a disgusting squish before falling to the ground. It was a human head this time, male, blond haired, with milky blue eyes that stared at them reproachfully. Derrick stumbled over his own feet to turn around and run. Emily fainted when a naked figure stepped to the threshold, haloed in crimson light. An overwhelming smell of decaying flesh invaded the teens' senses before the thing emerged fully. It was a large, muscular man with the legs and head of a goat. In its hands were severed human heads. The literal Goatman stood between seven and nine feet tall with glowing red eyes. Aside from its hind legs and genitals, the beast was hairless and covered in scars. It threw both of the heads it held at Brittney. The giant goat growled as the limber teen dodged the heads and turned to run. Derrick was back down the incline and still running. Emily was mere feet from the monster, but it paid her no mind. Its red eyes were fixated on Brittney. It growled again before lunging at the girl. She was able to roll out of the way and quickly got to her feet to run off the bridge. The demonic satyr jumped in front of her planned route, revealed a thick knife in each hand, and plunged them into the girl's chest. Then, with a swift movement, the Goatman decapitated the screaming girl with the same blades. Her head spun in the air, mouth still open, eyes wide, reflecting the red glow of the unholy portal. The beast let the body drop to the wooden deck but snatched her head out of the air. Without missing a stride, it entered the crimson gateway, the heads of his former victims following on a blast of hot wind. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the portal vanished. In the far distance, thunder rumbled like a contented beast after a meal. As soon as the hole disappeared, Emily dragged herself, shaking to her feet from where she had fallen when the wind knocked her off her feet. She was lucky to have fallen at the right angle to keep from slamming her head into the wooden deck. She finally noticed Darren standing there, recording her. “Are you going to help me or just keep recording?” Emily screamed as she put her hands out towards him. “I can do both,” Darren replied as he stepped over and helped her to her feet, his phone in her face. “What happened?” she asked, still in a daze. Then she noticed Brittney’s body. She screamed. “Brittney!” “The thing chased her down,” Darren said, swallowing hard. “I don't want to know, Darren.” Emily could barely keep the tears at bay. “I want to go home. Now!” “The car is back this way …” “Let’s go.” Her words were high pitched, but Emily stopped, took in a breath, then finished in a regular tone. Tears tracked down the smudges of dirt on her face. “Around. I will walk around,” Emily said as she took a few steps away from the support of Darren. “That's a dead end now,” Darren replied as he continued to record her. Emily stopped walking and slumped her shoulders before turning around. When she noticed Darren was recording her, she let out an angry “Stop!” and tried to walk to him. He laughed as he pranced in front of her, mocking each stumbling step before stopping and letting her catch up. When she did, he turned his camera off. “Are you sure you don't want to see what you missed?” Darren asked, teasing her with his phone. Emily walked to the other side of the bridge, keeping her eyes focused on the metal supports as she hurried along. Darren followed her, but seconds after leaving the bridge, the phone was back in her face. “How are you so calm?” Emily asked as they walked down the incline. “I kind of shit my pants.” Darren looked back at her with raised eyebrows before shrugging and almost whispering, “And I froze.” Emily could barely hold back a laugh for a moment before asking, “What was with the phone?” “He just looked through me, and I knew he didn't want me.” Darren stared at her, “And then I figured I should record it because no one would believe us.” “I can't believe the story was true,” Emily said as they stood where the car should have been. “Right, who knew the Satanists actually summoned a demon?” Darren responded as he started to fidget with his phone again. “Where is it?” “Derrick left us?” Emily leaned on the incline, “And if that was a demon, it would have killed anyone, right? I think the story about being judged off your bloodline is true.” “What?” Darren snapped. “I think Brittney had klansmen in her heritage.” Emily said matter of factly “What the hell, Emily?” Darren yelled as he shakily pointed to the bridge. Standing at the edge of the bridge was a beautiful ebony skinned woman, wrapped in an eerie white light, with her arms stretched out towards the teens. She whispered something that was then carried on the wind. “Thank you.” “You're welcome, Mama.” Emily whispered uncomfortably to herself.
By Colt Henderson4 months ago in Horror
Sandstorm
Where should I start? Some would say at the beginning, but my time is limited, and there is much to tell. Perhaps the most important detail, the one from which all others stem, is that I’m a telepath. The hard part was not reading people. It was shutting them out. I quickly leaped in grades and was learning advanced practices when I was eleven. People didn't trust me not to pry in their mind's when I got close, so despite them being witches and wizards, they avoided me. It was a good thing I would only be there for two years and get my masters in time, illusions, and healing. People often called me stupid for not focusing on my natural power, but they didn't know I could fully hypnotize adults at age seven. Telepathy was easy for me, and I didn't need to know the technical names for things I had mastered. After school, I immediately got a job at a research laboratory on manipulating time. It was fulfilling until I realized that every breakthrough was given to large corporations to bastardize and sell it for a profit. I quit after I found out eight years later. A position at a startup business that made potions was available. I could speed up the cooking time on everything and was paid handsomely. Over the next 20 years, the company grew to the second largest in the world. I was ready to retire when a kingdom requested my services. They offered 3 times as much as the company, so I had to see what it entailed. I now regret taking the job. The King started me off small by having me speed up their potion making, but by the end, where I am now, I may as well have been a necromancer. I didn't bring anyone back, mind you, I just violated the law of autonomy. I sped up the lives of hundreds of babies to turn them into soldiers for the king. But I was in the King's good graces, which made me untouchable. I am not so sure where the children came from, actually, but I never questioned them. 15 long years of loyalty to the crown, and I get this for a punishment! To wander this endless desert for the rest of my life. I did everything ever asked of me. I broke the law for every member of the royal family, and they gave me the traitors death. My wrists were branded, which blocked my magic, and I have been forced to find the long lost Temple of Time to retrieve the sun disk in the center. No one has ever returned. There are 2 ways to find the temple. One is obviously with magic, but without it, you had to fast until you hallucinated the temple. Only then could you find the Temple of Time. Next, you entered a maze full of malevolent creatures meant for defense of the sun disk. If you are able to retrieve the disk and place it in the Temple of Illusions, the Temple of Time will become tangible. It could then be mapped out and eventually plundered. I was given 3 days' worth of rations and water, but I thankfully made them last for a week. I constantly walked, only taking breaks when the sun went down, and ended up nowhere. Just more sand and a bright sun beating down. I was primed to hallucinate after a few more days with no hydration, and as I topped the dune, my knees gave out, and I fell into the scorching sand and rolled down the other side of the dune. When I stopped rolling, I was on my back, and there was nothing above me but clear blue sky. The hot sand was only so deep, then it was cool, and I was now partially submerged in it with my head poking out. It took me some effort to climb out of the sand, but I managed in my weakened state. Then I just laid there, on top of the sand. The sun would be setting soon so I decided to stay there for the night. Despite being dehydrated and starving, I wasn't hallucinating. If I could just reach the temple, I would find food and water, but it seemed I would never find it. There really wasn't a temple, was there? At least, that's what I started to believe. When I tried to continue walking my legs started to cramp and I fell again. This was when my depression hit, and I was convinced I wasn't going to live for much longer. A few hours turned into a day, and I was still alive. Still starving and even more dehydrated, but alive, so I decided to get back up. I stood as tall as I could and marched on towards nothing but more sand. I was in intense pain from head to toe as my legs propelled me further into the heat of the day. I didn't know where I was going, and my body seemed to be on autopilot. I swear I passed out, and when I woke up, I was still marching in the sand. That's when I realized this was my fate. My life before was the illusion. I was never there. I have always been here, in this endless desert, marching towards nothing, forever. Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.
By Colt Henderson4 months ago in Fiction
Accident
Hands moving quickly, My finger pokes my right eye. Now I feel stupid. This is a true story, unfortunately. I don't quite remember what grade it was 7th or 8th. I was presenting a project about Greek mythology and in my nervous stammer I made the mistake. I poked it hard, too. It wasn't a light poke, oh no! My eye not only watered for several minutes but it was sore for 2 whole days. Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this haiku, please check out my profile for more. If you like horror then I got you there, too. Any interactions are appreciated.
By Colt Henderson5 months ago in Poets
Mistaken Master's Legion
"Fallen Father, hear our cries, Prepare our bodies for the prize. Bless our eyes to see you rise." The thirteen voices rose with the fire as it danced towards the sky, enveloping the sacrificial lamb. Matilda Madison, the last original member of the Coven of Our Father, led the spell. A spell she and many others had been working on for over four decades. Most of the coven, current, and past members went into bankruptcy trying to fulfill the requirements for this summon, but tonight was the night. As the orangish red flames became light blue, the thirteen women that surrounded the fire knew their decades of preparation had paid off. They were moments away from giving themselves to the King of Hell. Every member that wanted to be impregnated by the Dark Lord had to make an artifact out of rat bones and snake skin, then have that blessed with strength by seven separate priests. Along with the self-made artifact, the fire had to be placed in the center of a giant golden pentagram. The bankruptcies came from trying to purchase enough gold to make the pentagram, several miles all together, and buying enough land to bury it. The next required object was a crystal that had been blessed under a blood moon by the whole coven, four separate times. The very last requirement was for the spell to be performed under a super flower blood moon, which happens when a supermoon occurs during a total lunar eclipse. The fire started to grow, almost abolishing all shadows of the near perfect circular grove of trees. The blue dancing flames started to emit black smoke, which obfuscated whatever just appeared in the center of the fire. A low unearthly growl now accompanied the popping and sizzling at the center of the blaze. The growl continued in volume as the flame froze, dissipating slowly to unveil thick dark hooves. As the flames continued to fade black fur covered legs became discernible. The fur continued up as the frozen flames disappeared inch by inch. The creature's goat legs led to its exposed genitals and then up to abs, chest, and neck all covered in thick black fur. Instead of the head of a goat, a fierce, snarling, jaw chomping wolf's head appeared. The teeth were sharp, white, and all canines. The eyes were pure black, and behind its large ears, horns formed into deadly points. "Hello, disciples," the creature reached out telepathically to all surrounding him, "You have freed me for a time. What offerings have you brought me, for I crave sustenance." The hulking beast's voice was calm, but authoritative and high ending in almost an echo. "Yes fa, fa, … father," Matilda's voice faltered for a moment. "Welcome, Father. we did not know to have food ready for you." "No matter, children. I sense that you all wear the artifact. Is this true?" The echoing voice asked. "Yes, Father, we all wish to receive the prize." Matilda replied, then added, "Did we do something wrong, Father?" "Not at all, child," the calm voice reassured her. "I have never enjoyed so many before." "How is this going to work, by the way?" One of the coven asked. "Sybil!" Matilda tried to interject, but Sybil continued with, "Is it one on one, or a group thing?" "What is it that you speak of, child?" The hauntingly high-pitched echo asked. "The offering, Father." Sybil answered. "We shall see what feels right in the moment." The beast replied. The creature walked down from the embers, its hooves clatter reverberated through the small grove, and he approached Matilda. He was at least eight feet tall and smelled of burnt and rotting flesh. He placed his giant claw of a hand gently on Matilda's shoulder and asked, "What is your name, child?" "Matilda, Father." The proud answer came. "Do you lead this coven, Matilda?" "Yes, Father." "For one, I am not the Father. Lucifer is the Fallen one, not me." The beast started to walk around the perimeter of the embers and eyed the individual women. "Where did you find the book?" "A woman named Nora found the book in a dry well about sixty years ago." Matilda immediately answered. "And what havoc have you brought upon the land?" The beast asked hungrily. "We have cursed a few people with madness." Matilda answered again. "You have only caused madness in sixty years?" The beast had stopped in front of Sybil but turned to address Matilda. "Was it as widespread as the tower of Babel incident?" "No, we, uh …," "Disappointing." the beast said as he took another glance at Sybil before continuing his walk around the once tall and powerful flames turned dead embers. "I have plans to …" Matilda tried to explain but was quickly interrupted by a mental laugh that sounded almost giddy before it turned rather harsh when it said, "You plan, child! How delightful." "I apologize if I said something wrong, um," Matilda knelt and bowed down before the creature, then popped up quickly to ask, "What should we call you if not Father?" "You may address me as anything you wish, child." The echoing got shrill as the beast spoke, and all thirteen women shook their heads and massaged their ears to the internal dialog of the beast. "I have had many names over the centuries." "What would one of those names be, master?" "Vârcolac, Malphas, Marchosias, Wepwawet, Fenrir, and Cerebus among many others." The voice was crisp and on the side of irritated. "But you can refer to me as Master. It has a nice ring, child." "Of course, Master." Matilda replied. "Master!" The rest of the coven said in unison as they knelt and bowed. "Tell me, Matilda," the hulking figure, covered in black fur, kept walking around the perfect circular bed of coals, "Who translated the book?" "Nora, Master." Matilda raised her head slightly to answer and then bowed deeper than before, forehead touching the cool grass. "So, Nora, was the leader before you?" The high-pitched echoing voice asked. "No, Master. I became High Priestess over a year ago when Agatha passed away." Matilda didn't think this answer would please her Master. "Disappointing." the beast said again as he continued to eye up his new disciples and lick his lips. "Did you at least have a hand in this Agatha's demise?" "No, Master. Cancer is what took her from us." Matilda lifted her head momentarily. "Disappointing." The beast was now back in front of the bowing Matilda. "But I guess having you all murder each other for the position is so last century. Who translated my book, child?" "Um, Nora, Agatha, and a few others. It took them several years, Master." Matilda recalled. "They did a poor job. If it had been done correctly, you would not have thought I was the Fallen One. I was created by the Fallen One. I am one of his lieutenants." the beast said proudly as he stood straight and brought his right hand to his chest. "And I am sure the reason you have only spread madness is because of the poor translation. It is one of the only offensive magics that worked for you, am I right?" "Yes, Master." The thirteen witches responded in unison. "What did your poor translation say about the spell that summoned me?" The proud tone now gone from the high-pitched voice. "That you were Lucifer." Sybil answered first. "Yes, insolent child, I know that much!" The voice got deep and almost threatening. "The spell stated that we would be summoning Lucifer to impregnate everyone with this artifact," Matilda said as she lifted the hanging object in question, "and we would usher in the apocalypse at his side." "Hilarious," the high-pitched voice returned as the beast started to laugh. "How did you come up with that? I mean, summoning the Fallen One, and all thirteen of you having his child, what kind of fantasy is that?" The beast chuckled at the end as he wiped away a tear from his eye. "We will gladly have your children and add to the Fallen One's army, Master!" Sybil jumped in before Matilda could answer. "Your subordinate is quite … disobedient, Matilda." The beast quipped as he was still in front of the High Priestess. "Yes, Master, she does have a problem with authority." "Just your authority, sister," Sybil snarked from a knelt position, "You don't know what you are doing!" "How dare you," Matilda rose up, "You little bi…" "Silence!" The beast screamed in everyone's mind. "You forget where you are and who stands before you." "Apologies, Master." Matilda said as she bowed down again. "I apologize, Master." Sybil replied before bowing back down. "I am surprised you were able to make this spell work at all with how badly the translation is." The beast opened his lips to show off all of his canines in a wide disturbing smile. "It's a testament to the mortal spirit. I envy that at times." The voice in their heads trailed off for a moment before remembering where he was going. "I am delightfully surprised that all of you made the artifacts. They are a lot of work, and your offerings will be rewarded when you reach Hell. You all can proudly stand now. I am about to receive your offerings. Once you are consumed, you will be immediately promoted to Captain in Olivier's, Prince of Cruelties, army. And you will lead a company of 200 trained demons into battle against the false god. How does that sound as an award?" "It sounds …" The first two words were excited until Matilda realized what had been said, "Did you say consumed, Master?" "Of course, that is what you are offering to me, your life essence." The smile returned once the beast walked to the women to the right of Matilda and with a wave of his hand drained her of her life. Sand seemed to flow through the air from the woman's face and into the sharp claws of the beast. With each grain that left her, she aged. Starting at 32 years old, she was quickly aged to 40, then 50. At this point, the woman's face became scarred with age lines, and then the flesh cracked and broke, revealing the skull of the once young woman. When the beast finally put his hand down, the remains fell to the ground in a puff of dust and the matching robes everyone was wearing. Several of the coven screamed in terror as they tried to flee, but with a snap of the beast's fingers, fire rose in between the women and the trees. "Yes, stupid children, fear me for I am your reckoning!" The shrill voice turned into laughter as it jumped at the next in line and grabbed her before she could run. She tried to scream, but her life essence was quickly pulled from her, and her body crumbled into dust. The beast then launched itself towards the opposite side of the circle. The dancing fire illuminated the huddled women hiding by it. As he flew through the air towards them, the witches scattered, but with his superior speed, he easily caught one in each massive claw. "Please spare me, Master!" One begged while the other tried to fight. The fighter beat on the beast's black fur covered arm and chest before the beast's mouth opened and stretched, allowing for the woman, who was now screaming at the top of her lungs, to fit inside. The jaws closed with a grotesque squishing noise that was accompanied by a loud popping and bone breaking sound. The woman's cries, muffled by the closed lips around her naked chest, stopped abruptly when the beast bit down for a second time. The sounds of ingesting their sister witch caused several others to lose their lunch. Matilda, still in her spot, grew courageous and threw the only other offensive spell she knew; a basic fireball. It hit the beast square in the back, searing off the fur and the first layer of skin. It barely even fazed the beast, which was now swallowing the second half of the witch. It turned its body to look at where the attack came from and locked eyes with the High Priestess. He just smiled as his mouth opened wide to accommodate the second witch in his grasp. He turned to face the brave but stupid woman as he finished swallowing his second morsel. "Sisters," Matilda screamed as she pulled back her hand to finish the spell for the fireball, "We have to stick together! Join me!" The laughing continued, but this time, it was escaping from the open maw of the demon lieutenant, who was now walking towards the High Priestess. She was able to fire off four balls of hellfire before the eight foot tall monster reached her mid conjuring and wrapped the little woman in his claws, which cut her skin with ease. Matilda stared up into the black eyes of the massive demon and awaited her eventual horrific death in the mouth of the beast, but after several seconds the mental bridge connected again and the giggling invaded everyone's mind. "Is that it?" The giggling erupted into full laughter before subsiding as he brought her closer to his face and mentally asked, "Where is the fight, child? Did you really expect to hurt me with hellfire? You have the greatest power in this coven, even though it is still miniscule, and you squandered it. You could have been strong. You had the potential." "Th, the, uh … spare me, and I will feed you hapless girls." Matilda turned from defiant to pleading in a second. A few long seconds dragged by before the beast's mouth closed, and then he said one word, "Elaborate." "I, I … I could get young girls to join the coven and feed you one or two every few years. I could train them to be strong witches and get them to make the artifact." Matilda explained. "That is delicious!" The echoing voice returned as did the shuddersome smile. "You would continue my tradition?" "Yes, Master!" Matilda pleaded. "Interesting." The beast then brought her back up close to his face, and the wolf's nose twitched a few times while he inhaled deeply. "You have only a few years left, child. And to become strong, you need youth." "What about me?" Sybil yelled, still standing in her spot, scared for her life. "I am young, Master!" "It's the insolent one, isn't it?" The demon asked Matilda in a sing-songy echoing tone without turning to look. "Yes, Master." Matilda confirmed his suspicion. Now the beast turned around, and the huddled group of women skirted the edge of the dancing fire wall to try and get out of the demon's line of sight. The monster gave them no attention as he carried Matilda over towards Sybil. The sinister smile returned as he now loomed over the youngest while holding the oldest in his claws. He entered her mind and asked her, "Why would I want a disobedient little witch like you?" "I have never, and will never disobey you, Master." Sybil stood proudly and answered out loud. "I disobey her because she doesn't want to use the, uh, your book, Master." "Is that true?" The hybrid animal asked with the first genuine seriousness of the encounter. "No, Master. I told her I wanted to get the book out of storage so we could reexamine a few pages and try to translate it ourselves." Matilda offered an explanation. "You never said that!" Sybil interrupted the conversation. "And you think interrupting me will gain you favor for the new position of High Priestess?" The beast asked with a displeased look on the giant wolf head. "One of you is lying. I never understand you humans. I am in your mind, your thoughts, your brain, but you think you can lie to me? I am a DEMON." He then looked down at the older of the two with an accusing stare before saying, "Disappointing." And opening his giant maw that then expanded further than before and it ended with just darkness he threw Matilda in whole. The mouth closed around her, miraculously, and the jaw muscles started to walk her down the throat like a snake eating large prey. After the long process of swallowing the former High Priestess the beast turned towards Sybil. They made eye contact for a few seconds before a look of realization popped on her face, and she quickly hit the floor. The beast then looked around for the others before turning back towards the bowing Sybil. "You will do this regularly? Bring me young women to feed on?" "Yes, Master." Sybil answered without raising her head. "And what do you want in return, besides your life?" The beast asked through the mental connection. "Just give me power, Master!" Sybil cried. "I could help you learn Hell-speak so you can read my enchiridion." The beast mused in her head. "Yes, Master, I can spread your influence far and wide." "I foresee a very productive partnership." The demon said, 'And if you don't follow through with your side, you will eventually be seeing me again. I will take my revenge slowly, child." "I swear I am your devoted disciple, Master!" Sybil said, still bowing. "Stand, High Priestess Sybil." The beast echoed a congratulating tone, and when she finally stood, he put his hand on her shoulder, and she felt a weird sensation engulf her. "Now go, you can walk through my hellfire. I need you to start immediately. I will contact you through a familiar." With that said, the young woman turned and ran straight towards the flames. The other seven witches watched as she disappeared through a hole that opened once she was close to it. The beast then slowly turned around and faced the huddled group of women on the other side of the inflamed grove of trees. The beast slowly took his first two steps, watching the fear fill the faces of his prey with superior eyesight, and then he dashed over the massive bed of embers within a breath and appeared out of nowhere in front of the group. "I just love the taste of fear!" The monster screamed in their mind's before plucking two out of the crowd and opening his mouth all the way, several feet of nothing but sharp canines lined both sides of the horror hole. After the lines of teeth, there was a black void that seemed to peer back the longer you stared. One woman stared for too long and became mesmerized by the nothingness. She was the third to be thrown in and consumed. The next two were turned to sand from a wave of his clawed hands, and the last two, he just used his power to bring them to him. He threw both in his huge mouth and chewed them into sludge and swallowed. "With seconds to spare," the demon mentally screamed as the body could only howl at the dwindling super flower blood moon. With a puff of smoke, the demon disappeared while the fire around the inside perimeter of the grove dissipated. The grove became silent as an eerie breeze started to spread the ashes of the consumed.
By Colt Henderson5 months ago in Fiction
Helen's Night
"Great mother, hear our cry. Blanket us in the shadows of your protection. Hide us away from the wolves' detection." The group of huddled women whispered as they picked up leaves and placed a small rock into the center and then wrapped that in burnt cloth. The women, hidden among the brush of the forest, held their breath as a group of townsfolk wielding pitchforks and torches passed by them. They stayed perfectly still and watched as the armed people looked for them. The large group went from brush to brush, thrusting their pitchforks into them in the hopes of finding their victims. One man neared the hiding women and shoved his makeshift weapon into the bush. It came precariously close to piercing the eye of one of the hiding women. "Anything over there, Jeremiah?" A yell came from a few meters away. "No, Pa, nothing here!" Jeremiah yelled back. With that, the townsfolk reformed their group and walked in the opposite direction of the hidden women. The women stayed still until the light of the torches completely disappeared. When a few silent minutes passed, the huddled group stood up slowly and walked in unison towards the clearing. Once there, the youngest woman, Mary Ann, burst into tears. "We are never going to make it." The teenager cried out. "Shhh, sister." The oldest and most experienced witch, Helen, started. "We can't afford them coming back. Stay your tongue, child." Mary Ann covered her mouth with both of her hands, but the tears just flowed over them. Helen looked around again before pulling the younger girl into her arms. "We will be out of Salem soon." The cool air of the night brought the different smells of the forest to engulf the five women. The smell of pine needles and dirt mixed into a hypnotic cascade of goosebumps over the women as they started their journey north. It would be dawn by the time they reached the edge of the Massachusetts settlement, and it would be near dusk by the time they reached New France. The night was long, and the journey was arduous, but the women kept a quick pace. The first stop for a rest was a widow's barn. The hay pile smelled stale, and the dirt was moist in the dilapidated structure. The widow always left a loaf of bread, and whatever vegetables came out of her garden. The stop was brief, and soon, the women were back on the move. Helen, having done this twice before, knew exactly where to go, which trails she needed to follow, and how to slip past the last outpost for the Massachusetts settlement. The five women following their sister witch were scared, tired, and bleeding from having to jump into the thorn covered bushes at every slight noise that rang through the trees. Helen knew the people from the town wouldn't be this far out, but the people that got paid for every witch they brought to justice were roaming these parts. They rode horses and were accompanied by dogs, but instead of eating the food left by the widow, Helen had learned to use it as a diversion. The next stop was a hedge witch that hid in the woods. This was where they would actually rest and eat the vegetables and whatever the hedge could offer. Helen was leading the others down a small trail before she stopped abruptly. "Great mother, hear our cry. Blanket us in the shadows of your protection. Hide us away from the wolves' detection." The women followed Helen's lead and repeated the words, picking up leaves, placing their pebbles inside, and wrapping them in the burnt cloth. The spell immediately took effect as the women disappeared into the brush. "Helen, it's me." A tree spoke before losing the illusion, and a tall athletic woman appeared. "Abigail," Helen stood and broke her own illusion. "You're getting really good at that." "Practice," the younger of the two said before embracing her friend in a hug. "Practice is important, Helen." "Are we this far already, sister?" One of the other women, Alice, asked. "No, you are not, and the rest of you stay hidden." Abigail hissed, "the woods are rampant with those hunters. They know you're gone, and I came this way to help." "We won't make it!" Mary Ann cried out and accidentally broke her illusion. "Mary Ann, redo your protection, now!" Helen exclaimed through a whisper. When the youngest member of the group finally became covered again, the hurried whispers began. "They have three man teams patrolling the rest of the forest from here to French territory. We might have to engage to get there." Abigail said with a serious look on her face. "I have novice witches with me, and none of them know offensive magic." Helen replied, worried for those in her care. "We won't be able to sneak by them all." Abigail explained as she motioned for them to follow her. "Now let's get going. We are in for a long night." Abigail conjured shadows from the surrounding area and blanketed it over the group. Now, they could move freely, as long as they stayed close together, which Abigail led the way. Less than an hour later, they had to hunker down and apply the individual camouflage spell as they saw lights from torches held by hunters in the distance. The group of hunters stayed long enough for leadership to discuss going around, but during the discussion, the armed men just walked away. Abigail took the lead again, and they walked as quietly as possible through the dense thorn covered brush. Their pace was slow and steady, but they were behind schedule, and the sun would be up soon. The sun would render their hiding spells almost useless. Only Abigail and Helen knew this. The rest were new enough to the lifestyle that they were barely able to cast the spell to begin with, and they definitely didn't know the power they were calling on was the moon. They just did as Helen had taught them in their houses earlier in the night. The rays of the sun streamed up into the sky before the ball of fusion appeared. It was still dark, but a peek of advancing light was slowly changing that. The front of the line, Abigail, broke through the last bit of brush and found a trail that would take them towards the New France border. They were still a few hours away from that border, but it was easier terrain. No one complained about the dangerous thorns, but everyone had enough of it and wanted a break. "Stick to the sides," Abigail warned as she pulled the slowly disappearing shadows together and over the group. The group, relieved from the hard and sharp needle like foliage, stretched out and fell back in line. A few minutes dragged by before Abigail whispered, "Get down and hide, now!" The almost quiet murmurs of the new witches gathered then disappeared as the spells took effect. As the group of women vanished, a cat appeared next to Abigail and meowed loudly. "Sebastián, what are you doing here?" Abigail asked as she picked up her familiar. "Meow." The cat replied as he pawed her mouth. "Everyone, stay where you are," the leader whispered. The cat's head swiveled around towards a noise only he could hear at the moment. He head butted his owner's chin and then jumped from her arms and ran in the direction he had looked. Seconds passed before everyone heard what was coming. There was a loud hiss and meow from Sebastián and then a booming bark followed right behind it. The women could now hear a chase being played out by the cat and dog, but the cat was leading the dogs away. A torch seemed to light like magic only a few meters away before a deep voice asked, "Why are you lighting that?" "Yeah, the sun is coming up." Another disembodied voice spoke up. "Why aren't we following the dogs?" The torch lighter asked. "What are the odds we are going to come across a cat in the woods?" The deep voice questioned the two men, then stated. "It's their familiar. Now, spread out a little bit." Abigail had turned into a tree, and Helen and her group had invoked the weak shadows of the pre-dawn light. The three men were now advancing towards them when a cry erupted behind the witches that startled everyone into breaking their illusion. Mary Ann, young and scared, had cried out and then ran back the way they had come. The hunters saw her first, but as they got closer to where the dark clothed woman had been, they discovered the rest of the group. Abigail, still a tree, started to shake her limbs, which caused the fake leaves to fall, and started growling at the men. Helen started to repeat, "Bind their legs, bind their arms. Snare their mind through this charm." And at the same time, picked up some twigs and some vine off of the nearby bush. She started to wrap the twigs in the small vine as she continued to whisper the words, "Bind their legs bind, their arms. Snare their mind through this charm." The first hunter, aiming his musket at the moving tree, was quickly grabbed by a series of vines and thrown to the ground. The vines then sprouted out all along the man's sides and wrapped him from head to toe. The dark to light green vines varied in size, but all started constricting around the first hunter. His body started to crack and pop as the pressure continued to increase. His lungs were squeezed beyond survival, and the muffled screams came to an end. The bones kept breaking until every major bone was in at least two pieces. After a few more seconds of squeezing the hunter to a pulp, the vines returned to the ground and disappeared. The other two hunters just stared at the unrecognizable lump of red goo that was once their friend. The one holding the still lit torch, even though the sun was mere moments from breaking the horizon, cried out, "What just happened!" He and the other armed man turned and ran in the opposite direction, dropping the torch and their weapons. The women then turned and looked at Abigail for their next move. "We should go get her." Helen said, to which no one said anything, just followed. Abigail took the lead back after the young witch, but her reluctance was felt throughout the group. The trail was quick to follow as the fleeing girl stomped as she ran away from their position. The leader stopped again when the sound of more men caught her ear. They were talking loudly, and the group stopped to listen. "What should we do with her, boys?" A calm voice wafted in on the cool breeze. Then a familiar voice followed on the breeze and begged, "Please, don't hurt me, I am not a witch!" "Then why are you running in the forest?" The calm voice asked. "I, uh, I was … I was with witches, real witches. They could disappear and turn into trees. I can't do anything. I am not a witch!" Mary Ann pleaded. Abigail and Helen slowly approached through the brush, being as silent as possible. They could now see Mary Ann knelt in the dirt in front of three armed men. The calm voice came out of the man holding Mary Ann's hair, "You sure are a pretty witch." He then started undoing his belt while saying, "You play nice, and you won't get hurt." Helen, with a pissed look on her face, whispered, "Hell no." And started her spell by repeating."Bind their legs, bind their arms. Snare their mind through this charm." And wrapping more twigs with new vines. The leader's legs were quickly engulfed in vines, which threw him to the ground. This time, the two men didn't run but instead turned their guns towards Mary Ann. It was Abigail's turn to intervene, and she went with a wind spell that made the men tumble away from the young woman. In their rolling, both were able to pull the triggers of their muskets. One missed everything and dug itself in the soil, but the other hit Mary Ann in the shoulder, and she collapsed. Abigail and Helen rushed through the brush to the injured woman, but Abigail said, "I got them," and walked towards the men trying to load their muskets. A few quick words and her body started to emit chains of lightning harmlessly into the trees, but when she grabbed both men at the same time, the lines of plasma traveled into the bodies of the men. This ambush of electricity even traveled down into the metal muskets, turning them red hot. The blackened bodies from being fried by lightning crumbled to the ground, and Abigail turned her attention to Helen and Mary Ann. "Come Helen, let's leave this betrayer here for another group of hunters to find." Abigail turned her nose up at the injured woman. "We can't do that. She still needs protection and a safe path to freedom." Helen replied as she knelt down next to Mary Ann. "This will hurt you more than me, just stay quiet, okay?" "Okay, I'll try." "No, you will stay quiet, or I will make you stay quiet." Abigail hissed again, "There are still groups of hunters out here, and they probably heard those shots, so keep it shut." "Yes, sister." "Oh, don't you dare call me that!" Abigail almost screamed, "We heard you betray us. You can't do magic, remember? I should squash you like a bug." Helen, who was kneeling next to Mary Ann, stood up at that sentence. "You will not squash her like a bug. Now shut up. I need to concentrate on this." Helen resumed her knelt position beside the shot girl. She dug her hand into the cool and moist soil for a handful and brought it in front of her mouth. She whispered softly. "Earth mother, hear my plea, send your healing right through me. Take this soil as my soul, and heal this person whole." The dark soil began to change into the color of the alabaster skin that Mary Ann possessed. Soon, the hole was completely gone, and Helen was aged a year for her sacrifice to the betrayer. She helped Mary Ann up then whispered just to her. "Stay in the back and stay quiet. We will not save you a second time." Helen warned. "I can't believe you would do that for her!" Abigail said, "It wasn't a life-threatening wound." "The way she cries about everything, it would threaten our lives." Helen rebuffed. Abigail nodded and walked back to the coven as the finishing touches spread out over the area of Mary Ann's shoulder. Helen got to her feet, then helped the teenager to hers, and they followed Abigail through the brush. When they got to the trail, Abigail caught their eye from the left peripheral. She was standing stoically while raising her hands from the waist to over her head while speaking another language. Mushrooms started sprouting from the ground, even appearing on the trees. They grew in a large circle around Abigail, who finally jumped over the thick foot grouping of mushrooms on the back side while the front continued to grow down the trail. "What are those mushrooms?" Helen asked as they rounded up the coven and headed the opposite direction. "It's a trap for the hunters." Abigail calmly stated. "What kind of trap?" Asked Helen. "One that will maim or kill." "I really wish you wouldn't have done …" "Why not?" Abigail interrupted, "They are shooting to kill us!" "We are acting out of fear for our lives." Helen started, "They think what we are doing now is us all of the time, which is something to fear. But we don't act like this all of the time, do we?" "..." "No, we don't." Helen didn't really wait for a response, "We are peaceful people. We just want to be left alone like everyone else." After a few seconds of stillness in the air, Abigail replied, "We need to go." Without another word, the two older women gathered the small coven and headed down the trail. Their schedule had been destroyed as dawn had broken, and they were still a couple of hours away from the next stop. With the sun up, both of the hiding spells were almost useless. The tree spell didn't rely on the moon, but with more light, the color of the tree stood out. While most trees in the area were either coniferous or had few leaves and were grayish in color, the tree spell imitated both and became green instead of gray and had a lot more leaves. The next hour was long as every way they turned, there were ditches. They would just walk around them, but it seemed the barriers were leading them to a specific spot. Instead of continuing straight, they decided to go left of all the ditches they could see. It worked for some time, but the women kept feeling someone watching them. They couldn't see anything through the trees, but the feeling never went away. They finally reached the next stop and were met by no one. A certain someone started to freak out when Abigail volunteered to stay and find the next person. That's when the plan changed to venture off the trail a ways and check on the woman that should have met them. The coven was reluctant but followed anyway. After almost thirty minutes, Abigail spoke up, "We are here. Now, wait for me to give the signal." She then disappeared through the last line of trees and into the open. "See guys, I told you they would come to us." A worn voice calmly called out. "Where are the rest of your kind, sweetheart?" "I don't know what you mean." Abigail tried a French accent. "We aren't going to play games." The older gentleman raised his right arm as a signal for two of the men to pull out some kind of metal like contraption. "I have played my fair share of witch games. Yes, I have met your kind before, witch!" With that last word yelled, the man threw his hand down, signaling his two men to fire. Both fired at the woman with what turned into nets, but she cartwheeled to the left and out of the way. Next, she said something in another foreign language and threw her arms out at the older gentleman. What followed was a build-up of red energy, and then that energy rushed forth, looking like fire and dancing towards the man. Unfortunately, both of the odd gun wielding men jumped in the way and were instantly dissolved. The energy then dispersed harmlessly into the air. "I have met your kind before, too, hypocrite." Abigail yelled as she threw another wave of energy at the man. "You use magic to hunt us!" While Abigail taunted the leader of a group with at least nine people left, Helen to try and teach the coven a new spell, an offensive spell. She had them all, Mary Ann included, grab a few sticks and some vine from the ground and in the bushes around them. She then had them recite the spell a few times before interjecting with, "You have to mean it. And it helps to have eye contact with what you wish it to grab. Now, each of you pick a different person out there and do the spell. On 3. 1, 2, 3 go." Now the seven person coven plus Helen were concentrating on boots as Abigail continued to taunt the old man. "I am far from a hypocrite, you disgusting creature!" The man screamed as he cocked and shot his pistol at Abigail, who sidestepped it, "I am a purist, witch. I only use man-made objects!" "Oh, I am sorry the hypocrite doesn't like being called a hypocrite!" Abigail yelled before charging up her red energy again. This time, she overshot it, and the man was able to pull another loaded pistol from his side and shoot at her. It missed, by a mile. That is when the rest of the men tried to rush Abigail with their numbers, but only three could move freely. When the stationary men started to slam to the ground, the three still up right ran away. The only one left was the older gentleman. "I will never surrender to you, witch!" The man said as he pulled two more loaded pistols from under his jacket. "I don't want you to!" Abigail replied loudly before sticking her hand as far apart from each other as she could. Her eyes were closed, and she started to emit pure white plasma from her fists. She then brought them down together, which was quickly followed with a thick beam of plasma going through the old man, frying him in an instant. His guns fell to the ground unharmed from the lightning. In the second after the lightning hit, the thunder boomed above them. The novice witches, including Mary Ann, were awestruck at the power Abigail just held. As the victors rounded the house that was the home of another stop along their trail to freedom, they saw what happened to the woman that had lived there. Her lithe body swung in the wind from a tree she had probably played in as a child. Her face was blank, and her eyes were frozen in place as she swung. As they passed the tree, Abigail cut her friend down and used her cloak to cover her face. Abigail and Helen wept for their fallen friend, and then they walked down the trail that wended its way into the first of many small French villages. They were safe now. They could start over. Helen hugged each of the coven members, but when asked why she wasn't coming with them, she just replied, "I have more sisters to help."
By Colt Henderson5 months ago in Horror
Travis Walker
The rough gloved hand barely missed the brown haired drunk it was thrown at. He reciprocated with a blow that landed on the opposing man's left cheek. A few feet away, the burly barback hoisted a man into the air, off of the female bartender, and threw the man like a rag doll towards the door. Next to the door, undisturbed by the flying individual, were twin blond men beating on an even larger fella, who seemed annoyed with the feeble assault. The giant of a man grabbed both twins by the heads, with hands almost bigger than their heads, and slammed them into one another. The duo, knocked out, fell onto the giant man, and he just shrugged them off of him. The owner, George, was washing a dish and watching over his spirits in case someone tried to take them during the fight. Another couple of fighters tumbled into a chair, which contained a man losing his money in a game of poker. This interruption caused the table to move, and the four seated players got up yelling at each other and the pair fighting. The card players soon joined the fray after collecting their money and fighting over what was in the pot. Soon, the majority of the room was engaged in some form of fighting, including the female bartender that now had a club made out of redwood. A few customers were still mid conversation, with one in the corner. George was finishing the collected dishes in the sink. The noise must have wafted over to the Sheriff's office as he walked in with his six shooters in hand. He tried hollering for them to settle down, but they kept fighting. BANG BANG The room stuttered before all turned to look at the man holding one of his revolvers in the air, pointed at the ceiling. When there was complete silence, the Sheriff spoke up. "Settle down, or I am throwing all you in a cell or a coffin. Whichever is easiest." Everyone looked around at the room, but when the giant blond in the back apologized and sat down, everyone followed the action. The Sheriff holstered his guns and walked towards the bar. George immediately grabbed a shot glass and poured the Sheriff a whiskey. As he looked around, he noticed a familiar hat in the corner. The Sheriff took his shot, asked for another, shot that, and then walked to the middle of the room. "Is that you, Travis?" "Unfortunately, Sheriff." "What are you doing back?" the Sheriff asked as he walked towards the corner. "More business." the shadowy figure replied. "Business here?" the Sheriff asked, voice breaking slightly. "Yes, Sheriff, here." The middle-aged man quickly made the rest of the distance and whispered, "What is it this time? Is there another dire wolf?" "No more wolves, Sheriff." The man dressed in all black finally looked over at the one with the badge. "Well, what is it?" The cowboy hat came off his combed over white hair as he almost shuddered at the thought of another attack. "I don't know yet." The dry reply seemed to slap the other man in the face. "What the hell does that mean?" the Sheriff, taken aback, finally got out. "Whatever is to happen, hasn't yet." Travis replied as he took a drink from the mug in front of him. "How do you know it's going to happen here?" The Sheriff, now calming down, asked. "I have my ways," Travis said, "And it happens," he pulled a gold timepiece out of his black vest pocket, "around 2 hours from now." "What happens in 2 hours?" the Sheriff asked again. "No idea, Bernard," the man dressed in all black offered, "Now, let me drink my beverage." "Can't you give me a hint?" the Sheriff asked, "I can't just sit by and wait for my citizens to get hurt." "All I know is a large surge of energy is going to originate in this town," Travis told the older man. "In 2 hours." "OK, I will leave you be, for now, but in 2 hours, I expect to be seeing you. I need to know what we are fighting this time," Bernard said as he stood up, brushing a speck of dust off of his Sheriff's badge, "You ain't pulling that lone wolf crap with me again." "I promise," Travis said with probably the first true grin of his life as he continued, "If you can fight it, all the better." "That's better." Bernard turned his body before his head as he left with a reminder, "See you in 2 hours." Travis returned to the worn book he had been reading under his black jacket and waited for the hours to pass. He kept an eye out for the patrons of the bar, too. They were just in a whole room brawl, after all. The hours flew by as Travis read his book. Travis pulled the golden pocket watch out again and checked the time. It was a few minutes before whatever was going to happen, so he stood up. His long strides took him outside quickly after he paid his tab to George. He looked around for the Sheriff, who was leaning against his office wall, and was looking straight at him. They both stepped into the dirt and met mid street. Travis, the taller of the two, stood silent until Bernard thrust out his right hand and said, "Well met, good sir. It is good to see you again despite this …" Interrupting his rehearsed salutations was a bright green light that erupted in the night sky. The light grabbed everyone's attention on the street as it lingered for a few long seconds. Coming from Travis' right and Bernard's left the men looked at each other, one with a look of surprise and the other with a look of another Tuesday, and before either moved the Sheriff said, "The mine!" in almost a whisper. The duo turned west and started running. "What was that?" Bernard asked loudly a few feet behind Travis. "The surge I told you about.," Travis replied as he kept up his pace. "Where is mine?" "Just down this trail," Bernard said, exhaustion already in his voice, "There is a sign a ways down." "See you there," Travis said as he picked up his pace and left the Sheriff in his dust. It took Travis only 10 minutes to run to the mine entrance, 25 for the Sheriff. When Bernard finally caught up, the younger man was holding some sort of contraption with multiple colored pieces of glass that he was shuffling through. A loud footfall and heavy breathing alerted Travis to the arrival of the Sheriff, but he kept looking through the pieces of glass. "What's that thing?" The Sheriff asked as he got closer. "It helps me identify different magics," Travis answered, "And it looks like an old magic, maybe natural." "What is natural magic?" "Magic pertaining to nature," Travis said as he flipped through the pieces again, "Growing trees, making water, or in this case, expanding the earth to create hills or mountains. "What does that mean?" "Bernard," Travis turned towards the man, "I can't answer all your questions. I need to concentrate." "Sorry …" Before Bernard could continue with his apology, a guttural sound seeped out of the mine entrance. The men looked at each other again when another gurgling noise echoed out of the dark hole. The sounds were getting closer, and the little light the half moon provided on the clear night illuminated the hole perfectly. Travis then asked an important question, "How many people were down there?" "Around 45. Why?" "If I am correct, we are dealing with evil spirits. The light was the seal being broken, and now they have bodies to possess," Travis explained as he started to back away from the hole, "Did you only bring your six shooters?" "Yeah, why?" "Because we need something more than bullets." They both continued to retreat slowly as the noise grew to a roar just seconds before the first possessed body exited the entrance to the mine. Its eyes were glowing a dull green, and Travis could now see the glowing of a mass of eyes coming towards the moonlight. He and Bernard picked up the pace of walking backward as the first of the horde emerged. Bernard was quick to pull his guns, but Travis lowered one of his arms. "We need to get some supplies for a more permanent solution," Travis stated. After seeing the horde sticking close to the entrance, he motioned for Bernard to follow him. They, almost in unison, walked backward as silently as possible before then turning around. The Sheriff kept looking back at the group of glowing eyes of the miners, scared they could hear his steps. Travis kept his smooth stride and headed forward as he started to speak. "Those possessed can be saved, but it's going to take more power than I have alone. To be safe, we need a group of people to help reinforce my power. Better yet, is there a healer or shaman in town? Is there anyone with magical aptitude?" Travis asked. "No, well, maybe." Bernard said as he removed his hat and scratched his balding head before elaborating, "Some woman moved into that creepy old Simpson house on the other side of town. The townsfolk seem to think she might be a witch." "We need more than might," Travis replied as he pulled a book out of a different vest pocket and started to flip through the pages as he walked. This book was much smaller and emitted a white glow as it was opened. It didn't require flipping of pages, apparently, as Travis would swipe his hand, vertically, over the open book, and the glow would stutter. Bernard was dumbfounded as he watched his acquaintance, but he kept his mouth shut and continued to walk. After a few minutes walking, Travis folded the pageless book and returned it to his pocket. He then added, "I need some ingredients, and you need to round up 10 people." With a snap of his fingers, the man in black disappeared into thin air. Bernard had questions, but he was left without answers the last time he saw Travis 9 years ago. Now alone, the thought of that horde of possessed miners made goosebumps form all over Bernard's body. So he took off at a jog towards town. It took 30 minutes to get back but he got lucky, there was a crowd outside. "What in heaven do we have here?" the Sheriff asked no one as he approached the crowd. On their faces, in the mud, lay the two blond men that were fighting the giant blond man earlier. The huge man seemed to take no pleasure in the win as he tried to stop everyone else from applauding. When he realized he wasn't going to win that fight, he walked through the crowd towards the bar. Bernard took a quick head count and yelled in amazement at there being 10 people left outside, not including the 2 laid out. He straightened up and, with his most authoritative voice, got the group's attention, "Ladies and gentlemen, if any of you were outside earlier, there was a bright green light …" "We know, Sheriff." "Um, right … well, I need you 10 people to help me deal with something related to the light. It, um, it seems it was the release of some powerful spirits that have possessed the miners," Bernard saw the look on people's faces as he explained the situation, "I have a friend that is very competent when it comes to these things. He is collecting whatever he needs to deal with the spirits. He just needs some help." "What do we have to do?" "I am not sure." came the Sheriff's response. "What kind of spirits?" "Yeah, are they good spirits? "He already said evil spirits, dummy!" "No, he said powerful spirits!" "Powerful spirits that possessed people! "Focus, please," Bernard begged the small drunk crowd, "I can't stress enough how much we need your help. I know that my friend will be back soon. Please, stay here while I go and see about another person helping. Okay?" The crowd mumbled in agreement and watched as Bernard walked through them and headed towards the Simpson house. It was a longer walk than to the mine, so he picked up his pace. The hour it took him to jog and run his way there crept by with his beating heart in his throat. When he finally reached the fenced-in home, there was Travis, now carrying a black bag. "How long have you been here?" the Sheriff still had his authoritative voice booming. "A few minutes," was all the response Travis gave him as he closed the book he was reading and put it back in his vest pocket. "Have you seen any movement inside?" Bernard asked as he opened the gate on the 4 foot fence. "She has the curtains drawn, but there is a slight bit of light coming from one of the large windows on the side," Travis answered as he walked behind the Sheriff. "Guess we will see in a moment," Bernard said as he reached the wrap-around porch. The gentlemen stood on either side of the door, and the Sheriff knocked. Then, in his Sheriff's voice, he yelled out, "It's the Sheriff. I need to speak to you immediately!" Bernard knocked louder. Before Bernard could utter a word, the metal clinking sound of locks disengaging found their ears. A sliver of light became a flood as the person inside opened it all of the way. "How can I help you … Travis Walker? Is that you?" The soothing voice of a woman which was now framed in the doorway wafted in the air as the men's eyes adjusted. "Winifred?" Travis looked surprised. "Great, you know each other!" "You know it's Winny, Walker." The auburn haired woman in her early 30s said. "Fair enough, Winny," Travis corrected himself. "So what brings you to my humble abode, Travis?" Winny asked as she eyed her callers up and down. "We have a situation …" the Sheriff started but was interrupted by Travis. "Evil spirits headed for town," Travis said, "Got any scales of a dragonfish?" "You mean to trap them in a cursed crystal?" Winny asked as she motioned for the men to follow her inside. "Yes." The woman began to dig through a drawer she opened. She quickly found a white bag that was knotted at the top. After handing it to Travis, she added, "Consider us even for that thing in Paris." "No, you owe me more than some scales," Travis replied as he opened the bag to inspect the contents. "Then, how about I help you with these spirits?" Winny smiled as Travis looked up from the white bag. "You think this small job will cover your mistakes in Paris?" Travis stoically asked. "It could be a start." the woman replied. "What happened in Paris?" Bernard interjected. "It would be a start." "Excellent," the woman exclaimed, "Let me grab my bag, and we can go." "What happened in Paris?" Bernard asked again. The two men stood on the old worn-out porch as they waited for Winifred to return with her bag. She reappeared, and after closing the door the 3 of them walked off the porch, Bernard taking the lead and Travis at the back. Once out of the open gate, they turned toward the city and kept walking. "How many people were turned?" Winifred asked as they neared the halfway point. "I am thinking up to 45 miners," Travis replied, "But who knows now." "Did you lock them up somewhere?" Winifred asked, hope in her tone. "No, we didn't." "Hey, don't blame me. I barely know what's happening," Bernard retorted. "I should have sealed the mine." Travis admitted. They continued to talk as they walked. Travis going over the plan and the other 2 asking questions. The plan was finally nailed down by the time they could see the lights of the town, but they could soon hear screams. They all picked up their pace, each grabbing their weapon of choice. Bernard had his six shooters at the ready, Winifred's hands were glowing a bright white, and Travis had produced a long staff out of thin air. They didn't have to get to the center of town before they realized the horror taking place. As they came down the main street, they could see bodies scattered everywhere, a few being crowded over by ravenous groups of blood covered people. A woman came running up to them, blood quickly pouring out of the side of her face. There was a hole in her left cheek, and as she grew white from the blood loss, her eyes started to glow a sickly green color. Within an instant, the hole sealed itself, and her plea for help turned into a nightmarish gurgling sound erupting from her throat. Bernard immediately popped off 3 shots into the woman's face, but those holes healed themselves as well. He shot 3 more from his second gun, but again, the holes healed themselves. That was when Winifred stepped forward and pushed the woman back with her magic. Travis then did the same, which caused the possessed woman to tumble backward. They walked a few feet forward, Travis still pushing the woman in the dirt before they got the attention of a few other possessed people. "What am I supposed to do? Bullets don't work, remember!" Bernard yelled as one of the possessed ran at him, and he emptied his left gun into the oncoming man's chest, which promptly healed. "Here," Travis replied as he threw a coin that magically turned into a plain staff of about 6 and a half feet long, "Try pushing them!" "Thanks," Bernard said as he started smacking the healed threat in the face, causing it to stumble. "Come on, Bernard," Travis exclaimed, "We don't want them to come back with fractured skulls." "But they instantly heal," Bernard yelled back as he put the staff against the chest of his enemy and pushed with all his might, which resulted in the thing falling backwards and getting caught up in the magic user's unified magical push. "They only heal so much," this time Winifred interjected, "The spirits are not infinite. Beat them up too badly, and they won't instantly heal. You can only destroy the vessel, which would make the spirits go dormant for a few years or decades. The longer it takes them to come back, the stronger they will be, and I am not staying to wait for them." "Neither am I," Travis added to Bernard's dismay, "Let's get them all this time." The trio advanced down the street, pushing 5 possessed bodies in their magical push. Bernard would gently point the new interested possessed towards the magic with the staff, but it only worked until they came upon the first corpse. The guts were strewn around the body. Everything had bites taken out of it. The man could be identified by his blond hair, with everything else having been chewed off, leaving his face bare to the bone. The pushing stopped advancing as they looked at the carnage at their feet. Seconds passed, and the eyes began to glow. Bernard, free for the moment, turned and waited for the blond man to rebuild himself. When the once eaten body got to its feet, Bernard used the staff to pull and then push it hard towards the magic. "Why are the dead becoming possessed and healing?" Bernard asked as he pushed the possessed man one last time. "That's their nature," Travis replied, "Don't get bit." The turn seemed to take some time as they walked up to 2 more bodies completely torn apart. Their arms were laying next to them, and their ripped open stomachs. These victims still had their faces, but little else. One was the second blond, and the other was George. This pissed off Bernard as he knelt down next to his friend and shed a quick tear before getting ready for the few possessed that were now advancing towards them. Travis recognized the miner uniforms and stopped pushing with his left hand. His hand then went brighter white, and a pure energy tentacle started inching out of his palm. He then whipped the long protrusion towards the 3 miners and wrapped it around them. The energy soon began to drag them into the collection of possessed people being constantly pushed backward. His hand then dulled to a wispy white, and the push wall widened by 3 feet. "You could do that all this time?" Bernard asked incredulously as he watched the remains of his friend start to reanimate. Travis ignored the Sheriff's question but asked, "Are we putting them in your office?" "Hell no," Bernard answered, "My place is too small. Let's put them in the bar." "Which one is that?" Winifred asked "The next building on the right," Bernard said as he engaged with his friend George and the second blond man, both possessed. They were lucky enough that the bar had a regular door instead of the well-known saloon door, and it was currently open. The 3 of them then used their magical push and the staff to corral the possessed into the building. Travis then whispered into his fingers as they did a weird dance before waving his extended fingers over the frame of the door, thus magically sealing it in a blue lingering light. "We can now push them through the door, and they can not get out," Travis said as his hands turned bright white and tentacles escaped them once again. A few possessed had crept up from around the corner, and Travis threw his hands out, which caused the beams of energy to fly towards them and wrap them up. They were then picked up and hastily pushed through the blue enchanted door. "How many do we have left?" Bernard asked with an exhausted sigh. "You tell us, Sheriff," Travis replied as he scanned the open streets, "You know the people better than us." "We only have 14 in the bar," Bernard said, "How are we going to get all of them?" "Well, I have a spell that might lure the evil spirits here," Winifred finally spoke up, "But I am going to need some nightshade, I have the rest in my bag." "I needed nightshade too," Travis explained, "And I grabbed a bit more than I needed," he then handed Winifred a few of the purplish flowers. "That's perfect," Winifred said as she hurried to the middle of the intersection while removing a bowl from her bag, "Watch my back for about 5 minutes." Fortunately for them, the streets were bare. The men stood and watched as Winifred knelt in the dirt and removed things from her bag. She would pull something out, crush it, and drop it into the bowl to be mixed and set on fire. Out of the bizarre blaze came a small red light that started to increase incrementally when Winifred began lightly chanting, which also increased over time. "What is she doing?" "She is summoning a higher demon," Travis replied, "The spirits will be drawn to it because it is top tier for their kind." "What if the demon shows up? This is worse than …" "He won't show up," Travis stated confidently. "And how could you possibly know that?" Bernard asked. "Because I killed him." Bernard just stared at the taller man for a few seconds and then asked, "What?" "I killed Mot." Bernard stared at Travis again before asking, "What do you mean you killed a higher demon?" "Story for a different time, Sheriff," Travis answered and motioned to the end of the street, "It's starting to work," then he yelled at Winifred, "Get up, Winny, they are coming." Winifred retreated to the porch, and the red light faded. Pulling and pushing the zombie like creatures through the magical door was rather easy and didn't take much time. Soon, the bar was full, and the street was empty. After trapping the last one, now numbering at 67, Travis took his ingredients and threw them into his own bowl and lit them on fire. The mixture turned an odd orange color before Travis dipped the 6-inch crystal into the glowing substance up to the leather handle. He held it in the bowl as it seemed to suck in the contents. When the crystal was removed, it was shining a brilliant orange. He held it up and approached the sealed door. His other hand swirled in place, and the dull blue lit frame vanished, and the door busted open. The trio took a few steps back, and Travis lowered the weapon at the green glowing eyed people and whispered a few obscure words under his breath. There was a piercing orange light, the sound of something falling, the light started to flicker, and when it died, the horde was laying on top of each other unconscious. 2 of the trio jumped into the air and celebrated, but the one in all black just turned around and looked down the street. "Looks like y'all celebrated too soon," Travis said with a sigh, "And the crystal is full," he showed the crystal, which was completely black. The trio stared down the street and watched as a sea of green eyes slowly walked towards them. These people, including nude to almost nude men and women, trampled everything that was in their way. When they came upon a covered walkway, they would stumble, bump, and crash into the posts, which caused the roof to collapse down onto them. The spirits inside would then fix the exterior, and the body had to climb out of the broken debris. "What do we do now?" Bernard asked.
By Colt Henderson7 months ago in Fiction