A Halloween tale
Decided to try and write something dark and spooky/creepy.
Daniel, pounding one final time on the dashboard of his big-rig, resigned himself to the futility of his situation: The engine was dead, the rain was not going to stop, and in typical horror movie stereotypical fashion, his phone couldn't get a signal.
Pulling up his collar, he ran down the side of the road towards the only house he could see - a rather old looking mansion on the outskirts of town that at least had some lights on inside.
After banging on the door, he eventually heard the voice of the occupant as he hurried to the door.
"Yes?" the grey rat said, pulling the door open to stare at the raptor trucker. "Hey, sir. My ride broke down, just wanted to ask if I could use your phone. Or if you could call my company for me, just let them know I'm stuck out here."
After an uncomfortably long silence, the vacant gaze of the rat flickered slightly - replaced with a pleasant smile. "Oh... please, come in out of the rain. Of course you can use the phone, it's right there. I'll get you some tea. Awful weather we're having" the rat said, before walking away from the open door, leaving the wet raptor standing outside.
Daniel, slightly confused by the abrupt hospitality, decided to step inside and close the door behind him. Spotting the phone on a nearby table, he picked it up and began to dial.
Instead of ringing out as expected, the line became noisy with interference as soon as he finished dialling. Hanging up to try again, the dial tone did not return. Just as he turned to call out for the rat, to explain that the weather may have knocked out his phone line, he was startled by the smaller grey male standing behind him silently. The crowbar that was held above the rat's head came sailing down towards Daniel before a brief flash filled his vision as he slumped unconscious on the tiled floor, his thick tail knocking into the table and sending the phone tumbling to the tiled floor.
At the end of the mansion grounds, behind the immaculate lawn, was a wild landscape of overgrown shrubs and wild trees. Near a natural rock formation that curved around a circular patch of hard packed dirt, Daniel awoke to a throbbing ache in his head. His vision was blurred. The light that was reaching him from the fire burning in the middle of the dirt patch nearby was causing him to squint and attempt to turn away from the glaring warmth. It was then he noticed the ropes tightly binding his wrists and keeping them spread apart between two large trees that marked the start of the forest proper.
He could see a dark form approach, mercifully blocking out the fire light briefly - the grey rat walking towards him with a distant and strange expression on his face.
"Man... the fuck is happening? Lemme down." No
The word was not heard. It came as a deafening roar within Daniel's skull, one that ignored his ears and caused a new agony to strike him cerebrally. The rat standing before him flinched, suddenly looking terrified.
Do it, the phantom presence said. It is his time
The rat moved closer, a knife now visible in his trembling hands. Before Daniel could sound a protest, he stabbed it into the belly of the raptor, the fresh pain causing Daniel to begin screaming, before tearing it upwards through the restrained body. Gore and guts spilled forward, covering the rat's previously clean fur as the raptor thrashed weakly in his bonds.
Daniel could feel the pressure of that disembodied voice growing stronger - the pain overwhelming even the feeling of his chest being sliced open. The evil laughing of that presence pressed on his head and caused his eyes to glaze over. He did not notice the rat throwing his viscera onto the waiting fire. He did not hear the sizzle, or smell the burning organs. He barely noticed the fire suddenly dim as the flames and embers died down, leaving a cirlce of burning sigils that fit perfectly within the stone outcrop.
The rat filled Daniel's vision once again, as he felt a strange pressure at his neck. Looking into the rodent's eyes, he noticed the pain and tears on his killer's face before his last breath and blood spilled out of the gaping hole of his throat. His body slumped, occasionally twitching as the rat cut through the thick spine of the raptor, removing his head entirely as his blood oozed over the ground unnaturally and sank into the circle of sigils.
Good. Clean the head, worm. There is more to be done. Unable to resist the will of the voice, Steven continued to decapitate the raptor - ignoring the blood slowly drying into his grey pelt.
As Gary wandered around his friend's house holding his plastic red cup of coke, he sighed inwardly. These types of parties always fell flat in his opinion. Half the guests didn't bother wearing costume, most cliques remained talking to each other in one room or another without mingling, the host (the only person Gary would truly call a friend) had disappeared soon after Gary arrived, and the food was various forms of things he did not enjoy.
Questioning why he came, he wandered back to the kitchen to see if anything more suitable had been laid out. From the food table, he was able to see the faint image of one of the few decorations around the manor: a scarecrow tied to the trees at the end of the lawn. A blood stained burlap shroud was tossed over the waxy-looking body. The wind whipping the burlap also caused the prop to swing slightly, in a way that appeared to show it was far heavier than expected. The only other decoration Gary could recall was the clichéd "skull with a candle on it" that was burning in the entrance hall. He wondered where Steve got the props, or why the rat had only bothered with two rather large props instead of the usual plastic and paper, balck and orange tat that would be cheaper and more suitable.
He regretted not finding an excuse to avoid coming. But he had agreed to show up, over a month ago when originally asked - even agreeing to spend the night so he could help clean in the morning. Taking another sip of his non-alcoholic drink, he resigned himself to another few hours of tediousness. He wandered to a small group whose names he still remembered, and hoped they were not too drunk for conversation.
Steve was burning. He could feel the flames licking at his skin, searing at his nerved. He could smell the blood and sulphur around him. He could even see his body, spasming in agony as his limbs were pulled beyond their limit. Through it all, he could hear the laughing and taunting of the voice inside his head, could almost see the demonic face, almost feel the claws raking across his body.
The young rat awoke from a nightmare, his head filled with the an unspeakable agony. Blood ran from his nose, already coating the pillow. The demon that had tormented his night was now screaming and clawing through his brain, no longer tormenting him for pleasure, but for its own protection.
He stumbled out of the bed, barely able to stand under the pressure inside his head, and managed to stumble down stairs, following the commands if the screaming demon. There, through the tears welling on his face, he saw Gary holding the skull of the unfortunate truck driver - exposing the sigils underneath, enraging the pressure in his head. Unable to hear his friend's queries of concern, unable to tolerate the noise and pain anymore, Steve leapt from the stairs, his hands finding his friend's neck and gripping with unnatural strength. Gary toppled backwards, the skull creating a dull clonk on the tiled floor as the candle continued to burn - the wax no lower than the night before. He could see the horse struggle, his mouth twisting into words the rat could not hear.
Gary groped at his friend, struggling to wrench the hands away from his neck - the hands that were preventing him breathing. He looking into his friend's face, only to see a terror filled visage and a lack of any recognition. He kicked and scratched at rat, unable to overpower him. Within a few minutes, Gary's own eyes were tearing up, his struggles weakening. As his vision faded, he could hear the mocking laugh of a profane voice begin to encroach from the darkness stealing the edge of his vision.
Only when his friend lay still for several minutes did the shouting in Steve's head subside enough for true thinking to return. He looked down at the now blue face of his friend, looked at the scratch marks on his own arms and the marks of his own claws on Gary's neck - the blood staining the horse's shirt, and the bloody foam dripping from his own nostrils.
Bring him.
Steve, unable to take the visage in front of him, emptied his stomach on the near-by floor. He closed his eyes, hoping to hide from the sight before him.
Bring him!
Flinching from the fresh lance of pain, Steve got to his feet. As he grabbed the corpse by the ankles he openly wept, beginning the slow march out to the sigil circle. He closed his eyes in a futile attempt to ignore the mocking laughter running through his head.
As Steve came back to his senses, he looked down into the hollow cavity of his ex-friend's chest, the viscera laying scattered around the corpse, the torso lying within the circle of profane runes that pulsed and glowed sickeningly in the morning light. He could still hear the laughing of whatever evil had driven him to this. Looking beneath the horse's corpse, he could see the pit that lay beneath the circle and descended into dark fire. He could see and feel the horror clawing its way up towards its latest offering.
Worm. You did well, the image conveyed to his brain, searing pain flashing through the rat's skull.
Out of anguish, he fell crying onto his friend's cold remains. It was as he was cowering from the next wave of evil laughter that he felt the cool edge of the knife he had used. Lifting the blade, he felt his body freeze - even his breath ceasing as all control was lost.
_ FOOL! You will serve. You will serve me. Your soul is mine, your body my plaything. You cannot escape me!_
Gary stared into the pit, and saw the face of the demon approaching. The fear that gripped him was stronger than the force preventing him moving. His eyes opened, unblinking, staring at the visage as it pulled itself up from the flames and clawed towards the ground above.
He could feel the knife in his grip. He could feel the tendrils of the demon's will gripping his mind. He could feel the tears falling from his cheeks.
"Fff...
"Forgive... Gar..."
With a bellowing roar that matched the demon's outcry, Steve managed to bring the knife to his arm and tear along the wrist deep enough to cause a torrent of blood to spurt forth. His head now aflame from the roiling demon's wrath, he clung to what little grip he had on his own body, twisting the knife in his hand and pressing it through his own throat.
As darkness gripped him, he could barely hear the demon - but was able to see the ethereal tunnel collapse as the abomination fell back into the dark fires beneath the rat. As his eyes closed, he finally saw the tether connecting his own heart to the tumbling form. As the bond tore his soul from his dying form, he found himself at peace - knowing that no others would suffer by his own weakness any longer. The dark flames consumed him as the lights from the sigils flickered out.
On the outskirts of town lay a mansion in ruins. Everyone had heard the legend - that behind the house, near the forest that grew wild, was a fetid pond - one that was wet in the middle of summer and refused to freeze even in the dead of winter.
And around that pond, the trees grew crooked and twisted - as if they remembered the awful murders that had taken place there many years ago.
Some said you could still hear the mansion's last owner laughing manically as his ghost looked for fresh meat. Some said that touching the pond would cause the brackish water to cling to you and pull you down to hell. Some even said that the devil himself formed the pond when he pissed or shat on the ground there, and that he cursed the mansion and any who decided to live there.
One thing is certain: no grass, nor weed, nor flower ever grew around that pond. A barren patch of bare earth was always present at its edge, parts of which glistened like dried blood in strange curving lines.