Dark Side Of The Moon

Rain drizzled from the sky as the clouds opened and unleashed on the midwest for the eighth day. The city rested, quieted by the dismal weather and humidity. A sickening smell wafted over the town. It was an odor noticed only by those unfortunate enough to be awake at two o'clock in the morning.

As the rotting odor rolled across the valley community, its pungent aroma irritating even stray animals, some continued their business, not noticing the putrid smell in the air. The smell of sulfur spread through the west side of town and began to garner the attention of local patrol cops. People in their homes didn't sense the change in the air.

Amanda Rosenbaum continued with her tasks, unaware of the shifting winds outside. Amanda was a night owl. After working her shift at the local hospital, she would stay up until daylight working around home. It was a perfect time for her to focus on her studies. Her work at night was how she'd surpassed expectations.

Amanda measured ingredients from different jars resting on shelves lining the room. Putting them all into an engraved bowl, she ground them into a fine powder. There was one more thing the seasoned chemistry student needed before the concoction would be complete. It was her least favorite part of the process.

Placing the bowl in the center of four burning candles, Amanda held her left hand over the bowl as she pulled out a long, antique dagger. Amanda sliced the blade across the palm of her hand, cutting herself. Her facial muscles tighten, and she grits her teeth together. Tightly squeezing her fist together, the blood trickled out of her hand, rapidly dripping into the bowl.

She chanted, " Aperite portas inferni et suscipite sobolem tuam in domum eius," three times before throwing a lit match into the bowl. After the flame landed, igniting the contents of the bowl into a burst of smoke and fire, Amanda chanted in Latin.

"Aperite portas inferni, suscipite sobolem tuam in domum eius, aperite portas, invoco, evoco, et mando tibi, suscipe sobolem tuam ut veniat domum, invoco, evoco, et mando tibi. Aperite portas inferni, suscipite sobolem tuam in domum eius, aperite portas, invoco, evoco, et mando tibi, suscipe sobolem tuam ut veniat domum, invoco, evoco, et mando tibi."

After several minutes of nothing, Amanda stopped chanting and looked at the giant gash on her hand. Looking around the room, smelling the stench of the burnt herbs and spices mixed with her blood and the ground remnants of a goat's penis, she wrapped her hand in cotton. She wondered if it wasn't for the best.

Beneath the awning on the side of Amanda's house, a man crouched in the rain as he watched her attempt the spell she worked on. He'd been watching her for days. Even in the dreary weather, he was there, enjoying the thrill of the stalk. After three days, the man was intent on feeling the sensational rush of her flesh in his hands. He reveled in the idea of laying his hands on Amanda.

Even as cars passed by, he came prepared. He was a nearly invisible specter creeping alongside the home, crouching beyond the sight of the street. In the shadows, with all the black clothing, nobody would notice him at night.

Questions still existed in his mind. Would he enjoy Amanda more in the van or enter the house and take his sweet time? Getting her to his van meant he'd have to knock her out. In the house or the van, he could buy himself plenty of time to enjoy what was coming.

The mysterious interloper watched Amanda disappear from her ritual altar. Her attempt at the spell had failed. She was going to the next level of the house. Walking around the home, finding his way to the backyard, he kneeled in a line of brush and shrubbery. From there, he could watch the downstairs.

Amanda was in her kitchen, her black robe no longer draping her shoulders. He smiled at the ludicrousness of ceremonial garb worn by her kind. The new-age practitioners were nothing like their ancestors. They toiled with the arts more than committing to their craft. It was why they weren't taken seriously in the 21st century.

As she washed her hands, not knowing she was being watched, Amanda contemplated what she was doing wrong. She focused on why things hadn't worked. According to the texts, she had prepared the potion correctly, and the incantation was perfect. It was frustrating to get that close and still not finish.

Bandaging her hand, Amanda finished for the night. She would take things back to the drawing board before retrying the spell. Which, if it wasn't going to work right, wasn't a bad idea in Amanda's mind. Doing a summoning was a risky gambit. She knew the possibility of something going wrong or summoning something unwanted.

Amanda killed the lights in the kitchen and worked her way through the house. She turned down the lights as she went, giving her stalker the clear "Go" sign he so patiently waited for. As she started up the stairs, the last light going dark, she had no idea that her back entrance was about to be violated.

Strolling up the ramshackle steps leading to the back porch, his black work boots making a faint creaking sound with each step, Amanda's stalker took out a stiletto-bladed knife and sliced through the screened storm door. Dragging the knife a short distance, he could reach inside and unlock the first obstacle to getting into the house. Once the door was open, he pulled a small, black case from his pocket.

Picking a lock is a skill like anything else, and it was something Amanda's stalker had practiced repetitively. There weren't any locks he'd found that he couldn't pick. He knelt and went to work on the lock taking only seconds to feel the final lever before he turned the handle slowly. He was in, and Amanda was none the wiser.

Skulking around in her kitchen, the stranger explored Amanda's space. He stopped to look in the refrigerator. Swishing his finger around in a half-done bowl of jello, he put it between his lips and licked it clean. The cherry taste reminded him of childhood and the mother he hadn't visited in twenty years. That made him turn his attention to the ground beef resting on the top shelf.

Amanda's stalker grabbed a handful through the plastic wrap. Peeling the wrapping aside, he took a hefty bite out of his hand and chewed with a smile. The cold, dead, meat in his mouth made him happy. The taste of the animal blood was invigorating.

Once he got his fill from the refrigerator, and after hearing Amanda's footsteps end in her bedroom above the kitchen, Amanda's stalker began moving to the front of the house. He carefully stepped onto the plush carpeting, listening for noises from below or above. At the bottom of the stairs, he took a breath, struggling to contain his excitement.

It wasn't his first time. It was more like his fifteenth time. Yet, the excitement of the situation and the thrill of the hunt still overwhelmed him. His adrenaline surged, and his heart raced.

Amanda lay in her bed, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. She was already so relaxed that she didn't budge when her bedroom door opened. He stood there, shocked at how out of it she was, and smiled to himself. This one was going to be easier than the last one.

Because his crimes were similar, and his targets all had a commonality, he was known as the Valley Slayer in the press, a name some questioned. The authorities up and down the river didn't publically call him a serial killer. There was no admitted task force. Yet, every badge within five hundred miles was unsuccessfully hunting him.

Leaning over Amanda, he stopped to examine his work before waking her. He nudged her. She slept so deeply that he had to nudger her harder. When Amanda finally opened her eyes, she tried to scream out and found her ankles and feet bound in her bed.

Amanda knew she was in danger as she struggled against her bindings. She looked into the darkness surrounding her, staring at the face staring at hers. Only the eyes of her attacker showed Amanda how coldly he felt about her life.

"That's right, Bitch!" the man in the room barked at her when their eyes met.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching as her eyes darkened before him.

"Oh, you go right ahead and try it. I've already thought of that," he told Amanda, bending over her face. "It's not my first rodeo."

Amanda stopped trying to change, unable to focus on the magics required to do what she wanted. Her emotions were in turmoil, experiencing fear, panic, and anger. She wasn't a profoundly experienced practitioner and didn't have near the abilities she dreamt of having one day. She sadly looked at him, her zeal to escape being replaced by the fear and anxiety of a little girl.

"Good girl," he told her. "You can accept what's coming. It'll make things that much easier on you."

Her attacker had things in his bag that he needed. He opened a plastic container and drizzled an oddly scented oil around her. After, he pulled a small book out and began to read aloud.

Vincio vires tuas intra compedes tuas, vincio vocem tuam ad corpus tuum, vincio mentem tuam ad animam tuam.

He looked at Amanda, challenging her. One of the first things he'd done before waking her was to gag the girl. He couldn't risk having a random patrol driving by and her screaming. As he pulled away the gag, Amanda tried to scream, but to no avail. She had a puzzled look on her face. Amanda couldn't project herself.

"It binds your energies, keeps your kind from using spells or magic to prolong the inevitable. Like I said, it's not my first rodeo," he told her.

Amanda was powerless to use any of the abilities she'd worked on the past few years. Nothing from her limited bag of tricks was at her disposal. She'd developed a few gifts, but they were all tied to her hands and voice. She could compel people to do things, sometimes. With a slight touch in a special place, and using "the voice," Amanda could get guys to fight over her, give her money, and their cars, and even walk away from their girlfriends and take her around town.

"You don't have to do this," she struggled to say. "I haven't hurt anyone."

"Oh," he replied, "But you have. You don't pay attention to the papers, but your little tricks put a husband on the streets and another guy, well, he lost someone special because of you and committed suicide. That's on you sister."

"How's that my fault. It's just a little power of suggestion, a little charm that I use to my advantage. That's on them what the do or how they respond," she insisted.

"You see, that's the type of crap that might have worked on me before I bound your power, your pure essence, into your body. All that charm, all that juice and mojo you have been building. None of that works now," he told Amanda. "In fact, you've been spayed, sister."

Amanda realized that what he was saying made sense. She'd heard of counter-magics. This was her first encounter with them since she began practicing the arts five years ago. Now, she knew why Helena warned that there were still those in the world who were against their kind. Amanda began to squirm, trying to pull herself free. She was starting to see where things were going to go, and the ending wasn't good.

"Look, just bind my powers and leave them that way. I wouldn't be able to use them again," she begged.

"You mean until one of your kind finds me and kills me. I'll pass," he replied.

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Amanda.

"Did you know there is more than one way to kill your kind?" he asked Amanda, taking out a large, ceremonial blade.

Tears poured from her eyes as she stared at the blade in his hand. As her stalker read from his book, Amanda relented that she wasn't making it through the night. She thought of her parents, her two siblings, and her friends.

"There you go. Now we are talking," he smiled beneath his mask. "Those tears will fetch a pretty penny."

He took small vials and held them to her face, catching drops of tears in each before climbing off of her.

"It's almost a pitty," he told her.

Rather than ignite the place, Amanda couldn't move, so with her magic in hand now, he could take his sweet time putting an end to her accessing the powers she didn't truly understand. He even told her that had she not gone creeping around things that she couldn't possibly control, he wouldn't have paid her a visit. As much as he liked his job, he chose to use his skills and his proclivities on only the most wretched creatures.

"Now, let's have some fun..."