The 2017 Halloween Story

[Nomik]

The 2017 Halloween Story is ready for your reading pleasure. This terrifying tale is brought to you by the hard work of twelve authors, an editor, and our incredible moderators. This unique project is not your typical collaborative effort; no discussion about the direction of the story took place, therefore every author had the freedom to chose the path for the story. Each author was given a strict deadline of two days, and the resulting story is epic! From this day forth, I will be posting one new chapter each day (excluding weekends), which means that you will be seeing the final chapter on Halloween day. I invite you to enjoy the story as it rolls out, and if you feel inclined, please leave a kind word for the authors in the Kudos for Writers thread.

Chapter 1:
by Tery


It began with the voices. They began after the bathroom remodel, something Tim and Allison Sparks had recently finished. It had been the first big project in their large mid-century Hacienda-style home. Having had to put it off for two years after buying the house, they had been thankful to finish under budget and on time. Their vision of a spa getaway in the Master bath had been accomplished, though they had to settle on some things. Not the garden tub, though. Allison had been adamant about that.


Where they did find a bargain was on the tile. Tim had found a local potter who made traditional terra cotta tiles. He made tile for the walls, the shower and tub and the floor. They had a slight ashy hue to them but they were beautiful, with a bright yellow and blue pattern on the accent tiles. Once in place, they made the bathroom look like a Sedona spa.


Allison was breaking in her luxurious tub the night they'd finished the new bathroom. With a good book and a glass of good syrah, she immersed herself in the hot water with a satisfied sigh. She was so lost in her book that she barely registered the voices at first, assuming that Tim had the TV on too loud. By the time she realized that the voices were in the bathroom (with her), they had grown in both number and volume. She glanced at the stereo set into the wall opposite the tub but it was off. The window was closed so it wasn't coming from outside. The hair on her neck prickled as she realized there was no normal source for the voices.


"Tim? Can you come here for a minute?"

"Whatcha need, Babe -- more wine?" He entered the room carrying the remainder of the bottle. "Time for a refill?"

"That's really thoughtful of you but, no." She hesitated with a nervous giggle, "Can you hear voices or am I loony tunes?"

"Voices?" Tim sat on the edge of the tub. "Like what, the radio?"

"No. The stereo isn't on. Just be quiet and listen."

"I'd rather climb in that tub with you," he teasingly let his hand move downward.

"I'm serious, Tim!"

"So am I, Ally."

"Tim!"

He sighed and took his hand away. "Okay, what am I listening for?"

"Whispers. I can't hear them very clearly, can't figure out what they're saying, if anything. At first it was only a couple, then..." She shrugged. "Just see if you can hear them, too, so I'll know that I'm not crazy."

"Okay, okay." He closed his eyes and listened.


At first, he didn't hear anything but Allison's anxious breathing. Then he heard it -- a soft whisper. He couldn't make out anything specific, just a gentle susurration. Then he began to hear words...

-- fire --

-- oven --

-- ashes --

-- three --

... but nothing made sense. The voices grew louder and more joined in...

-- tiles --

-- wrong --

... and then there was a chorus of voices. And they sounded angry. And they were loud.

-- STOP --


Allison's wine glass shattered suddenly, the pieces flying into her bath-warmed skin. She screamed in terror and pain. Tim hurried for a towel, wrapping her in it and helping her out of the now-bloody bath water. He sat her on the lid of the commode, trying to pick glass shards out of her skin with trembling fingers, soothing her terrified sobs. He found himself barely able to hold his own back.

"Tim," she whimpered, "What was that?"

"I don't know, Babe. I don't know."


Below them, unnoticed, the tiles changed color: terra cotta to gray to red.

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 2:
by Sundrop

Several miles away, Don Roberts, better known as “Dingo" to the locals, was getting ready to call it a day. He had been out in the desert filling several canvas sacks with the dirt he used to make the clay base for his custom tiles and unique pottery. He had also gathered various minerals, grasses, weeds, and berries for use as natural coloring pigments. He prided himself on still making pottery the old way, by hand and only using ingredients provided by the earth.

Daylight was now fading into the purple haze of twilight as Dingo loaded the sacks of dirt and his tools into his old work truck and prepared to head home.
As he closed the tailgate, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. His long gray hair was sunburned and windblown and the dust had made a paste like coating on his skin, giving him an almost rusty yellow coloring. He chuckled at the sight of his disheveled appearance, thinking he must look a little bit like an actual dingo right now. Still laughing to himself, he started the truck and headed home.

It was almost completely dark when he pulled the truck around back of the old crematorium and began to unload. He had inherited the place from a distant uncle, and had been able to modify the crematory furnace and convert it into a custom kiln for firing the tiles and pottery. He had also remodeled the adjoining old chapel, converting into a modest home for himself.

While he had been cleaning and remodeling the old crematory room, Dingo had discovered three long forgotten handmade clay urns. The design was unique, and he had decided to keep them on a shelf in the small room where he mixed the clay.
A bad decision as it turned out, because he had accidentally spilled ashes from one of the urns into the mix for his last run of tiles. He had first thought that he’d have to scrap the whole run, but after it had been fired, he found that the only flaw had been a slight ashy gray haze. He had added accent pieces painted with a bright yellow and blue design, and hoped for the best.

Just a few days ago, the young couple who had bought the old Crawford House a few years back, had been remodeling their bathroom, and came looking for nice tiles on a budget. He had sold them the entire run at a discount, and still made a decent profit for himself.
The couple seemed to like the coloring and quality of the tiles, so he didn't bother to mention about the accident with the ashes.

After unloading the sacks of dirt and pigments, Dingo decided to get started with mixing a fresh batch of clay. It would have to rest overnight and into the next day too before it was workable. As he emptied a sack of dirt into the mixing trough and added water, his eyes went to the shelf above. He impulsively decided to add half the contents of the second urn into the mixture. He figured he wasn’t hurting anybody, and it wasn’t like anyone was going to come looking for the ashes of dear departed aunt Ruby. This would be his own secret special ingredient, and would help him produce a definitely unique product.

With the clay mixed and resting, he went into the small room where he kept the pottery wheel, mixed the stains and pigments, and where he painted designs onto the unfired pottery pieces.
Earlier today, he had found some poke berries to make a wonderful deep purple stain.
As he went about crushing and straining the berries for the stain paste, Dingo remembered that he had enough unfired clay left over from the “ash tiles” to make a large medallion.
He rounded up his tools and a paintbrush, and carefully cut the unfired clay into a beautiful sunburst design. He then coated it heavily with the poke berry stain, and after he was satisfied with the coloring, he applied the glaze and took the medallion into the kiln room to be fired along with several other items he had made.
He added the medallion, closed the kiln door, and turned out the light on his way out of the room.
That’s when he heard the whispering voices.

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 3:
by Shoesalesman

Encased within the far wall of the room, the kiln started its rhythmic cycle. Within minutes, the glass eye in the center of its door awoke, sniffing out each darkened corner until all was exposed in an orange glow. Turning back toward the voices he’d just heard, to the new glow and warmth occupying this space, Dingo allowed the heavy lines of age on his visage to momentarily disappear. But with one foot still in the hallway, the effulgence did little to erase the furrow of worry in his mind, and soon he found himself a few feet in front of the oven before realizing he’d stepped back in the room.

He stilled his thoughts. With the room getting warmer, he brought his attention to the far reaches of the ceiling and waited for the whispers to return.

A few minutes passed. Nothing.

Then he heard them.

Voices—children’s voices—began filling the hollows of Dingo’s ears. At first, he tried to grasp the inflection of language, but the words remained elusive, skating just beyond recognition. The more he tried to understand, the less he was able to discern. So the old man stopped concentrating. He simply closed his eyes and let his mind drift. He slipped into a standing sleep, rocking on the balls of his feet to keep balance. The minutes became like mist, and after a while—a long while that couldn’t be measured by time—words came in from the dark.

Two words to be precise.

-- He’s coming --

“He’s coming,” Dingo repeated, confirming that he was attentive, that he was ready to hear everything they had to say. The heat from the room was stifling now. His left hand started to hurt.

-- HIDE! --

The old man’s eyes snapped open. His forehead was millimeters from the hot kiln door, and he had the oven’s door-handle in his grasp. At the apex of anger, blisters had formed under his splitting fingernails. He yanked at his hand, but it wouldn’t let go. It was fused there, the smell of meat rising from his blackened palm.

Dingo moved his lips to protest, but three new words filled his head, chasing the little voices out of the room. These words were deep, convincing. One voice, that of a man.

Open the door.

Instantly, a massive wave of heat swelled outward from the kiln. Dingo screamed, his eyelids thinning to liquid. His brays of agony filled the room, and soon the sound became bubbled as it geared down to something unrecognizable. His dripping right hand joined his left, fumbling for the latch’s cotter-pin. Movement behind the kiln’s window put a shadow upon what was left of Dingo’s face, and the old man, living the last few seconds of his life, saw two eyes of pure black fire studying him from the other side.

Suddenly, with cotter-pin popped and latch disengaged, Dingo found himself at the far end of the room. The pain was gone. With a cold concrete wall at his back, he blinked, brought his hands to the familiar contours of his face. He was intact. Falling to his knees, Dingo wept uncontrollably.

The cold kiln door was fully ajar, and a medallion unlike anything Dingo recognized sat undisturbed at the opening. Everything else he had placed in there earlier was gone. The man with the black-fire eyes was gone too.

There was no mistaking what Dingo heard next, and the stern words of instruction were meant for him only. The words came from inside his head, but he stared attentively at the medallion. He was brought to the edge of death as a lesson and was somehow spared. He would do anything asked of him.

Anything.

Dingo was to take the medallion—the man with the black-fire eyes—back home, back to the Crawford House. He was to offer it as a gift to Allison Sparks, who was unknowingly with child. Above all else, he was to scatter the rest of the ashes in this room to the wind and destroy the urns. Why? He dared not ask.

And when Allison’s child came, when convicted-murderer Andrew Crawford was ready to enter this world anew, Dingo was to kill her husband, Tim.

In the next room, swirled within fresh clay and long-forgotten by Dingo, dear aunt Ruby waited. The time to confront her killer, and the killer of her children, was finally at hand.

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 4:
by Niro

Dingo had to think for a reason to visit the Sparks. I can't just knock on their door, can I? Dingo then remembered that Tim had invited him to see the newly remodeled bathroom, once completed. Maybe he could call them just to ask how far they were, babble some nonsense about caring about the costumer experience, he thought. He guessed he had to put that of till Monday.
The other thing he had to do was to destroy the urns and scatter the ashes. He was scared but his near death experience was still fresh enough in his mind to assure him of the urgent nature of this task. First he pulled on the lights in his Workshop. It was childish to do so, but he was scared somehow by the darkness around him. He had to do it quickly or he would hesitate to do it at all. He got the urns and a flashlight. He held the flashlight between his teeth. Trembling, he scattered the ashes 100 feet away from his Workshop. He let them fall, but they were very thick so they didn't scatter. He ran back to get a hammer...

Tim and Ally were recovering from the recent events that had turned their bathroom into an invisible battleground, leaving Ally with splinters and both of them with a welling sense of fear brewing deep within the pits of their stomachs. They had to leave the bathroom immediately, so Tim grabbed her and carried her out of it. Still shaken they went into the living room.

Tim said: "Honey, let me take a look again and see if all the splinters are out." Ally just nodded and sat still on the big couch, just wrapped up in her towel. Tim went to get some disinfectant, cotton balls and some sticking plaster because she still bled from two tiny wounds. After Tim took care of the wounds, he went into the laundry room where the dryer was because he didn't dare to go upstairs to get clothes for Ally. He took the still warm pajamas and undies out of the dryer and gave them to Ally so she finally wasn't freezing anymore. Also, he decided that they needed at least one more glass of wine, so he opened another bottle of Cabernet. Ally, now dressed, couldn't stand the silence and turned on the TV. Saturday Night Live had just started and she began to relax at last. Tim was back and sat next to her on the couch.

They exchanged a look which said: Let's not talk about it now! For now, they leaned back, watching the show, and somehow they got sleepy. On a normal evening Ally would have nagged Tim to get up, brush his teeth and go to bed, but he was glad that she didn't say a word. Ally was glad to sleep on the couch as well.

She thought all will be well tomorrow in the light of the day.

Tim was the first of them who opened his eyes. For a brief moment he couldn't remember why they had slept on the couch instead of in their bed. He shivered as he remembered but then Ally woke up too and he pulled himself together.

Ally got up and went straight to their little bathroom in the back of their house. Tim was uneasy waiting in front of the door till he could visit the bathroom himself.

Ally took a deep breath, the coffee was almost ready and Tim sat on the couch. Thankfully, it was Sunday and they didn't have to go to work. After taking a couple of sips, Tim had the courage to start talking about what had happened yesterday.

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 5:
by Nomik

Allison felt an unfamiliar burning in her abdomen, accompanied by an uncontrollable urge to vomit. She felt compelled, as if pushed by an unseen hand, to run to the recently remodeled bathroom from whence the disembodied voices of late originated. She barely reached the commode in time, lifting the lid and spilling the rancid, gut churning remnants of red wine and dinner into the porcelain bowl of her prized commode.

The air in the bathroom felt heavy and thick, almost tangible, as she wiped her hand across her damp brow in an effort to remove the salty sweat.

“Ally!” Tim’s panicked voice screamed from below her.

She heard his heavy footsteps mount the stairs and pound closer to her.

She tried to respond, but she suddenly felt paralyzed. The left over tub water from her earlier bath began to boil inexplicitly in the tub. A few remnants of the earlier accident remained: a few shards of glass, some spilled wine, and towels tossed on the floor.

As the tub water heated on its own, steam rose around her, filling her nose with the unmistakable smell of lavender lily bath salts, a relaxant, and, oddly enough, the pungent odor of wet clay.

Staggering to stand upright as the final wave of nausea passed through her, Ally reached a hand out to the ornate, golden doorknob to try to use it as a brace. She wanted out of that bathroom.

“Ally, are you alright?” called Tim, as his voice neared. He must be almost at the top of the stairs.

Suddenly the golden knob evaded her grasp as the door slammed shut, propelled by some invisible force. The reverberating sound was loud enough to shake the house. She heard Tim’s screams as he groped for purchase on the shaky banister.

The bathroom became her prison, a terrifying combination of odor, humidity, and certainty. The voice chanted:

Take the test if you want to live

Ally reached into the cabinet and pulled out the pregnancy test behind the mirror, squatted over the stick and the bowl, and peed.


Meanwhile Tim, struggling to regain purchase on the staircase, heard a loud pounding on the front door.

Part of him thought it best to ignore the pounding, but the rest of him knew that whoever was on the other side of the door might help them. Tim backtracked to the door and opened it, completely surprised to see the smiling face of that old man, Dingo. He was the guy who sold them the tiles for their newly remodeled bathroom. Dingo had always struck Tim as an odd duck, with that thousand yard stare and a goofy grin.


“Dingo, oh thank God, I need your help! It’s Ally!” Tim urgently ushered the old man inside.

Dingo’s eyes seemed to smile, though the rest of his expression was suitably concerned.

“Where is she?

Dingo’s question was answered silently as Tim leapt up the spiral staircase, taking three steps at a time.

Tim reached the top of the staircase as Ally emerged, holding a white plastic stick in her left hand , clad in only her robe and sobbing.


Dingo lagged back at the top step, the terracotta brick in his right had hidden behind his back, yet unseen.


“Look” Ally screamed, waving the pregnancy test under Tim’s eyes. He could see the unmistakable plus sign in blue.

For a moment, Tim felt elated. He turned back toward Dingo, who stood at the head of the stairs smiling, unseen brick ready to smash against Tim’s soft skull.


Just then, the house aura within the home dimmed to a reddish glow, and the foundation began to rumble, like the bowels of the earth stirring after centuries of silent slumber.


The foundation cracked mightily, causing the staircase to twist and bend, sending individual steps plunging sideways and downward.

Dingo lost his footing, and tumbled backward, falling arse over teakettle downward until he landed at the bottom, skull cracking hollowly against the brick he had brought to murder Tim with, spilling bits of brain matter and blood all over the foyer.


Ally and Tim spent little time arguing about what to do with the body. At this point, they trusted no one. Dingo’s brother was a respected local sheriff. Plus, the voices seemed to have other ideas. Their chanting was unmistakable:

Bury him in Caron Canyon, by the abandoned mill.

They wrapped the body in old blankets, and heaved him into their Dodge Durango.

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 6:
by Mr. Nobody


Tim kept to a sedate pace as he drove, his true mental state betrayed only by the way his hands occasionally clenched on the steering wheel, his knuckles showing white.

‘This doesn’t feel right,’ he said, breaking the tense silence that had grown between them. ‘Maybe we should…I dunno, maybe we should take him back to the workshop, dump him there. Make it look like a break-in.’

‘And risk being seen? We’re bound to pass someone if we go that way. They’ll remember.’

Tim sighed, lapsing back into silence before mumbling, ‘Yeah. But it still doesn’t feel right.’

Other thoughts crowded through his mind, too. What if Dingo had told someone where he was going, or left a note? What if the sheriff turned up asking questions? What if they got suspicious and got an order to run some tests? That stuff – what was it? Luminol? – would show where Dingo had lain, and surely there’d been too much blood for them to convincingly pass it off as Ally’s?

He glanced at her. How could she be so calm?

‘What…’ he began, stopped, licked his lips, and tried again. ‘What do you think he wanted?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing good. I mean, I doubt he dropped by with that brick because he wanted to show us his latest sample.’

Tim shifted position and stared out at the road, saying nothing.

‘We’ll have to find a way of getting rid of those blankets,’ Allison said. ‘Burn them, maybe? Ditch them somewhere else?’

Tim grunted his agreement. ‘And that’s not all,’ he said, before adding his earlier thoughts and misgivings.

‘Yeah. You’re right,’ Allison said, sighing. ‘We should have thought of that before we left.’

‘I don’t know what we can do about it anyway,’ Tim muttered, and shook his head. ‘About the only thing we have going for us right now is that the road’s quiet.’

‘Well, let’s be thankful for that.’

Her answer – or rather, its tone – irritated him.

‘Thankful? Do you have any idea what’ll happen if we get stopped?’

‘You’re driving okay. You’re not speeding. Why would we be stopped?’

Tim’s jaw flapped silently for a moment as his brain searched for words.

‘Well, okay,’ he finally said, ‘but what about when we get to the turn-off? What if there’s traffic there? What if there’s a cop? What reason are we going to give for heading up to the old mill?’

Allison shrugged. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Come on! You don’t know that.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ she repeated.

Tim made an exasperated sound and shook his head again.

‘This is nuts,’ he murmured, then, louder; ‘Nuts. This is nuts, Ally. Why the hell are we doing this, anyway? And in broad daylight!’

‘You know why.’

‘You mean the voices? We’re driving around with a stiff in the trunk – risking serious jail time in the process, may I add – because of the goddamn voices?’

‘D’you think it’d be better to sneak around and bury him in the dark? Would we really look less suspicious if we waited and took a moonlight drive?’

‘You’re trying to change the subject.’

‘What else is there to say, Tim? You want to know if we’re out here because of the voices? Yes, we are. You want to know how I know it’s going to turn out fine? I don’t know. I just feel that the voices mean us no harm. Or me, anyway.’

‘Oh, great. Good for me, right?’

‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just –’ She broke off, grimacing, struggling to find the words. ‘They knew, Tim. They knew I was pregnant.’

‘So that’s it? They knew, so now you’re in thrall to them? They say “Jump” and Ally does it without even bothering to ask “How high?”’

‘You’re over-reacting. Besides, you heard them too!’

‘I didn’t hear them tell you to take any damn pregnancy test.’

‘Because you weren’t in the room! And what about Dingo? What do you think made him fall and crack his head on that brick?’

Tim choked back his immediate retort as he pulled onto the track leading to the mill. It was no use saying Dingo had slipped. He’d been there; he knew better.

Three hours later, Tim and Ally were bathed in sweat and the job was done.

‘It still doesn’t feel right, leaving him out here like this,’ he said.

‘It's not, but what d’you want to do? Leave a marker?’

‘Guess not.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘Let’s get outta here.’

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 7:
by Maddie

The ride home seemed to drag on eternally. The day was passing quickly and it would soon be sundown. As they pulled into their homestead there sat yet another very big problem in the driveway.

“What are we going to do with his truck?!” Allison shrieked!

“I don’t know!”, Tim said, “Just let me think! Too much is happening at once, Ally!”

“Oh my God, what if the keys are in his pocket?” she said.

“I don’t know!!! for now, just shut up and let me think!!!” he scowled.

She got out of the car and slammed the door. Damn him, she thought. She was nearing the porch when she saw something by the step: a strange, purple medallion obviously crafted by their dead visitor. She grabbed it and ran back to the car where Tim still sat with his face in his hands. “Look at this!” she said. “Get in” he said “Get back in the car, we can’t even be here right now!”

She got in as he quickly cranked up the engine, pulling out of the driveway like a madman. They’d been driving a while when she realized she was still clutching the dead man’s charm. “Tim…” she said, opening her hand to him, “We take that thing out to his place and throw it out NOW!.” he said. They proceeded a few more miles to the old crematorium driveway and got out.

Sheriff Dan Roberts was coming around a curve just up the road. Big brother Dingo was AWOL from lunch and it was his duty to check on him. “Hmm, looks like nobody’s home but we do got company?” he mumbled as he turned into the gravel driveway.

He got out of his car, “Howdy folks, find what you’re looking for?”
“Oh Hello Sir, no, we just dropped by to Thank Dingo for the tiles he made for us, but looks like he’s not here.” said Tim.

“You the folks who moved into the old Crawford house?” the sheriff asked.

“Yeah that’s us!”

“Terrible what happened! That Crawford bastard killed that woman and some kids, but there wasn’t any kids to back that up with…. none was ever found.” There’s a kiddie cemetery marked by old toys and a swing set down by the old mill near Caron Canyon somewhere as legend had it but to this day I’ve never found it.”

“A killer lived in our house?” Tim asked. Sheriff Dan didn’t answer.

He continued. “The legend had it she killed him after he killed her. He went slap crazy cause she haunted him to death. Some folks called it Ghost Sickness caused by the natives.”

The sheriff noticed something odd at a distance and began walking towards it, still talking. They followed along. He leaned down to observe a gray powdery mound of ash.

“Uh huh.” he muttered, as he began poking it with a nearby pointy stick.

He swirled the stick through it and took some residue off the tip to rub with his fingers. He took a whiff. That’s when he heard a little girl whisper, “want to playyy.” He dragged the stick through it again slowly and it began to write…. M, a, then k, e, and then a capital A. The stick was pulling his hand and shaking tremendously as the final letters slowly appeared … D-O-L-L!

The young couple watched as he strangely stirred with the stick but they could not see the letters.

He knelt to gather the substance with his hands, filling his hat with it. “What is that?” Tim asked.

“Concrete evidence” he said. “Now I got to check on some things here. You folks can head on.” He heard a little girl giggle into his ear and it tickled!

The door was unlocked and the place was a wreck. There in the workshop was a batch of forgotten clay, ready to play. A couple of dolls worth perhaps? The Sheriff dumped the ashes from the hat into it, pushed up his sleeves and worked both hands into the soft enveloping mixture. It had a strange ruby glow to it.

Tim and Ally were back in their car breathing deep, their tired, worried faces lit only by the dashboard lights. The medallion in Ally’s pocket stirred like a tiny heartbeat. She was craving meatloaf.

“Thank God he didn't think we were suspicious!” she said, as caked mud and blood crumbled from her shoes to the floorboard. Her eyes fell into a cold dark stare out the window.... "Take me home Tim, I need to use my beautiful bathroom."

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 8:
by Leif

Sheriff Roberts molded the ruby clay mixture with the dexterity and delicacy of a surgeon. Facial features were formed perfectly with each manipulation and two proportionally correct dolls were created.

He placed the perfect miniatures in the kiln and closed the heavy asbestos lined door. The two dolls sat together like brother and sister posing for a portrait at Sears. He smiled while peering through the viewing slot as smoldering heat caressed the pair with golden waves of amber, ruby and gold. Immense heat distorted the figures and the shimmering waves made them dance like miniature molten marionettes.

The black eyes that Dingo had witnessed appeared again. The shape crouched in the corner of the inferno. It darted around the perfect little doll figures, an inquisitive snake examining its prey before striking and devouring. Roberts saw the evil. He saw Crawford in those eyes and then the demon gave his orders.

Sheriff Roberts stood up expressionless and wandered outside to the road. Sweat ran from the papery skin on his forehead and trickled down his hollow cheeks micro splashing on the cooking macadam below. He unclipped the holster that secured the Glock .40, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.


Tim and Allison pulled into their driveway. The house appeared to be in fine shape. No damage existed now but Dingo’s truck still sat idle. Allison seemed to be in another world and Tim was more than worried. “Let’s get you in bed.” I think it will do you good.” Allison just stared ahead clutching the medallion in her pocket near her belly.


Tim led Allison up the stairway and to the bedroom. Everything seemed fine now. Allison lay on the bed seemingly calm while still clutching the medallion. “I’ll be back in a minute Ally. I’m gonna see if I can get that truck out of sight. Maybe move it in the garage if I can get it started somehow.”


Tim grabbed the handle of the old Chevy pickup, the door opened with an irritating creak and he slid into the driver’s seat. A chill ran up his spine as he thought of Dingo’s head cracking on the brick he had brought with him. Tim fumbled around under the seat and then opened the glove box. No keys. He reached above his head blindly, fingers grabbing the sun visor as a set of tarnished worn keys fell in his lap. Tim nervously put the key in the ignition, started the truck and drove it around the side of the house to the garage. As the garage door descended, Tim glanced up into the rearview mirror.


What he saw made the blood drain from his head and extremities instantly. Waves of nausea ensued but he kept himself from passing out. Dingo’s image sat behind him. He slumped forward like a drunk Uber customer; cranial fragments mixed with gray matter glistening in matted gray hair as he whispered in Tim’s ear “The family wants to be together in the home and the evil spirit of Crawford wants his revenge. It’s my fault. The tiles…. The tiles…The tiles….” Tim looked up again and he was gone.


Tim jumped out of the truck and ran into the house screaming for Allison. It felt like hours since he had left her in the bedroom but in reality, it had only been minutes. He thought he should have never brought her back to this place. He could have kept driving but where would he go and who would believe him? He blamed Allison for the wanting the “spa.” Had to be a spa! Had to be a spa master bath getaway? Get away from what? Those bargain tiles! Penny wise and pound foolish his mom used to say. “Allison!!”


He swung open the bedroom door. Allison lay on the bed as he left her but she had company. Two tiny angelic children with porcelain like faces sat on either side of her. There was one boy and one girl giggling as they poked and prodded Allison’s belly and pointed to the glowing medallion. The giggling was odd and seemed to echo. One child’s voice was indecipherable from the other. Allison smiled at Tim and said. “Come close Tim” He drew near and when he was close enough the little girl grabbed his finger and sunk needle sharp fangs into his hand, angel eyes turning dark as night as the little boy laughed.

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 9:
by Chris Keenan

Allison smiled wickedly as the pain in Tim’s hand throbbed immensely. He stared at his spouse and realized that the person he married, the one that he loved with all heart and soul, was gone. The look on Ally’s face was more than evil, it was demonic. Tim knew immediately that he had to get out of this bedroom right now. His life depended on it. Summoning an inner strength to survive, Tim flung the little cherub girl’s dagger of a hand, freeing himself. He dashed toward the bedroom door, expecting his wife (or whatever you’d call that thing on the bed now) or the two little demons to give chase. His last glancing view of the room was of Ally with an arm around each of those devilish imps. However awful that image was, it was nothing compared to the laugh he heard from those three as he fled. Pure hatred.

One thought enveloped Tim: get out and get help! Whatever punishment was to come his way, so be it. Nothing could be as bad as whatever evil had now possessed Ally. Leaping down the stairs in three steps he rushed to the front door. As he grabbed the door handle it turned an incandescent orange, scorching and searing his hand, an unbearable pain which crumbled him to the ground. Looking upward to the top of the staircase, floating as if on an invisible surfboard, was Ally, hand in hand with her cherubs, laughing hysterically.

Despite trying with all his might to arise, Tim was powerless to move. Those hellish voices that he first heard in their suite of a bathroom now invaded his head. Worse still, he knew it was Ally that was sending those voices.

“End of the road Timmy boy.”

“Guess who’s next?”

“Vengeance.”


The burning started in his feet. It started spreading upward toward his ankles, to his knees. As if his skin had reached a boiling point, it began to ooze an awful vinegary aroma. As the inferno engulfed him, Tim could only scream, the unimaginable pain growing ever worse as he prayed to die. His final image was of his once-love, baring fangs at him from the balcony above, exulting in his torture with her new found best friends, her Adam and Eve.



The look in their eyes was now the same as the creature from the kiln. Black as midnight, evil as any hell you could envision. Telepathically, Ally signaled her minions. It was time for the family to be together, for them to manifest their destiny and complete their mission. Down the stairs they floated, barely pausing at the liquid remnants of what was once Tim. Out the front door, Ally knew what lay ahead for her. She was guided by an unknown being, but the destination was never in doubt. She clutched the medallion, feeling its power emanating through her, knowing it would guide her.


They climbed into Dingo’s pickup. Humanly devices and actions, such as driving, were no longer necessary to Ally, but she and little Eve and Adam used the car anyway. Blindly, she drove toward Dingo’s. All that mattered now was to get to the ashes to form them, and join them with the medallion. All would be revealed once that was done. The voices were very clear and this gave Ally much pleasure. Smiling all the way to Dingo’s home she reveled in their message. Eve and Adam could hear the voices as well, the three were of one mind now.

“Call them to you.”

“Bring us together forever.”

“Finish the job.”



Ally instinctively knew exactly what the voices meaning and direction was. Parking Dingo’s truck in his old driveway, she led her ‘kids’ toward the old home. She put the medallion in her breast pocket, wanting to feel its warmth and comfort. The anticipation inside her was growing exponentially. Once inside she could see all that was returned to where it once was, and the way it should be, eternally, the ashes. That’s all that mattered now.


“Ma’am!” ‘Miss!’ “I’m Deputy Rocker. Have you or your kids seen Sheriff Roberts? He was coming up here to check on his brother, but we haven’t heard from him in hours… And why are you going in to Dingo’s house? Who are you? I need to talk you right now!”


That evil blackness returned to Ally’s eyes: the insolence. He would pay for delaying her mission, Ally vowed. She turned to face the unknowing deputy.

 

[Nomik]

Chapter 10:
by Kurben

Deputy Rocker was a brave young man, a man who knew his duty and intended to do it. He was a devout Christian and had learnt from a young age that everything in the bible is true. That is why he immediately recognized that what was standing in front of him was not a young woman, but something evil. He saw it in the eyes and he felt it in the air, EVIL. When she raised her hand and pointed at him, he immediately took his bible from his back pocket, holding it up as a shield. She bent her head backwards in an unnatural way, and through her mouth streamed a laughter, both evil and hysterical: definitely not a young woman’s laughter.

”You think a little book can stop us?” she managed. ”Burn” she said.

His Bible started to burn between his hands. He turned and sprinted towards the backdoor. Behind him his Bible was now burning merrily. He reached his car, that laughter still ringing in his mind as he drove away. As he drove, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop that thing, but he did know who might. Instead of heading back to the station, he decided to seek out Father Conrad, who had been his teacher in biblical things during his youth. The two had maintained a friendship. If anybody in this town would know what to do it was Father Conrad. With Evil in that shape he had a feeling time was short. His radio transmitter crackled to life beside him:

”Rocker to base, come in.”
”Hey, Boss, found the Chief yet?” It was Lin, a competent cop.
”No, not yet. Anything special?"
”Well, I’m at the Old Crawford place, you know?”
”Yeah?” Everybody knew the old Crawford place. A young couple had moved in there some years back. ”…and?”
”We had a call about noises and checked on it. We found a kind of hot liquid with bone fragments in it in the hall. It was like someone had been cremated recently. . .Kinda strange.”
”Strange indeed. What were the names of the inhabitants?”
”Tim and Allison Sparks.”
”Hmm, I saw a woman at the old crematory, I wonder if there is a connection..?” he mused. "Find me a photo of Allison Sparks, and send some samples of that liquid to be analyzed.”
”You coming in?”
”Later. I gotta check on something first.”
”OK. See you soon.”
”See you, over.”

When Father Conrad opened his door and found Rodney Rocker outside he was surprised.

”Rodney! Come in for Gods’ sake. Don’t you work today?”
”Yes but I met with something Evil so I wanted to discuss it with you.”
Father Conrad threw a quick glance at him. He knew Rodney well enough to know that he did not use the word evil lightly. If he said Evil, he meant more than a simple human killer. Rodney had used the word "something", not "someone". With Rodney it meant something. ”Tell me.” he said simply. And Rodney Rocker told his tale.

”Can we do anything about it?” he asked the Father.
”It’s gotta be a demon of some kind.” he mused. ”The Girl, do we know her name?
”I think she is, or was, Allison Sparks. I'm expecting a photo any time now. She lives in the Crawford house with her husband.” His cell buzzed. He looked at the screen. ”It is her. Lin just sent me a pic.”
”This is what we must do. She is clearly possessed. We must break that. I will get Holy Water, a gold cross, but I need a sacrifice here. We need blood from a willing righteous man, our modern sacrificial lamb so to speak. Jesus gave his life willingly, and did a very good deed. We need an equally good deed to match this very evil force.”
Rodney bowed his head. ”I’ll do it” he said. "I must make some phone calls first, then I'm yours”. He phoned Lin, Told her what was going on and asked her to assist the father and meet him at the Crawford home and that she was in charge until they found the chief. He ended the call. ”I’m ready.” he said and turned to the Father.
”You’re a truly good man, Rodney.” he said with tears in his eyes.
He collected his blood, the cross and the Holy water. He then called 911, gave his own address, and reported a dying man. That was the only chance he could give his friend. Rodney knew his duty. Father Conrad knew his. He had to fight against a demon.

Lin’s cruiser stood outside the Crawford home when Father Conrad arrived. She was beside the car.


”Why are you helping me?” the Father asked her.
”Rodney is my friend. I don’t turn friends down.”
”Even when they ask you to fight demons?”
”Even then.” she said with a little smile. ”You stand by your friends!”
”We have to trap the demon first, the exorcism proper should take place in the church. That makes the chances of succeeding bigger.” the Father explained.
”OK. How do you trap a demon? What is your bait?”
”This” he said and shoved her a glass vial filled with a reddish fluid.
”Is that blood?” she said. He nodded. ”Rodneys blood?” she asked in a thin voice.
”Yes, you see to trap a demon you must weaken him. This will do that, I hope”
”Hope..?”
”With Demons there are no guarantees.” After a short pause he said: ”Shall we enter?”
”I guess we have to.” Lin said and opened the door to the Crawford home.

At the top of the stair stood what once was Allison Sparks. Evil oozed from her making the air around her grey. ”A priest.” it said. ”I love priests! They smell so good when they melt.” It pointed and it was like a sauna inside suddenly turned on. Father Conrad went up the steps to meet it holding the vial behind his back. He felt blisters appearing over his body as he threw about a third of the vial's content over the demon.
”Ahhh. It hurts. What was that?” the creature said as it sank to its knees.
”The blood of a righteous man, willingly Sacrifaced to thwart evil!”

Below the stairs Lin stood staring. She had been doubtful, she wasn’t anymore.
”Quick! Help me get it to the car while it's weakened. The blood can weaken a demon but it's temporary. We need the right surroundings, the Church.”
Lin and the Father together carried the demon to the trunk and locked it inside.

 

[Moderator]

Chapter 11:
by Mr. Cranky


Father Conrad’s hand trembled as he raised the small silver whiskey flask to his lips. He had brought the demon that was once Allison Sparks back to the rectory with the help of Deputy Lin. They were about to begin the exorcism. They had laid the demon out on the altar of the Church. He went to get the bowl of holy water and his Bible. He was dressed in the purple gown of the Church. The Deputy was bending down to make sure the straps that tied the demon’s wrists and ankles to the legs of the altar-table were secure. That’s when he heard the sound.

The demon--Allison Sparks--had taken hold of Deputy Lin's head and was twisting and pulling: the sound of bone, cartilage and muscle snapping, grinding and popping as the demon ripped poor Lin's head from her body was the stuff of nightmares. The demon then held Deputy Lin's decapitated head up by the hair and spat in her still aware eyes, and then laughed.


The demon swung its dead white legs down to the ground. Its lips were a travesty of corruption: black cracks oozing dark blood from purple lips. The demon’s smile made Father Conrad want to vomit. The demon raised its hand and said, “Now it is just you and us, Priest. First, we’ll get the medallion back then, we’ll have some fun with you.” The demon walked slowly towards Father Conrad as he backed away… but there was nowhere to go; his back was against the pew. “I know you would like to feel my body, Priest.” The demon was so close now that Father Conrad could feel its hot, sickly breath against his cheek. He could feel the black tongue of the demon lick his ear.


Mikey had been walking for four hours now. He hadn't had to use the baseball bat against his violent alcoholic father who had promised Mikey to drive him home after the game. Instead, his father had driven directly from the game to the tavern; leaving Mikey sitting in the car. Mikey had gone inside the tavern, and was abused for his troubles. Told: "To get the hell out, mummy's boy." So Mikey had hit the road.
He was passing the church now and heard the sound of voices coming from inside. Odd, the front door to the church was open. He walked up, poked his head inside and called, "Hello, anyone there? Father Conrad, it is me, Mikey!"


The demon spun around at the sound of the new intruder. A head poked around the corner of the partially open front door of the Church.

“Mikey, run! Get out of here!” Father Conrad screamed.

“No. We will enjoy a little bit more company,” said the demon, who clicked its fingers and Mikey started to walk like a zombie towards the demon.

Mikey was the star baseball pitcher for the church’s baseball team: The Shamrocks. He was dressed in his New York Yankees baseball jersey, had donned a Shamrocks cap on his head. In his right hand he held a baseball, in his left he carried his baseball bat. This was a strange sight at 3 am.

“I feel like some warm, fresh blood, Father Conrad.” said the Demon. “Nothing like the blood of a fresh-faced young man, eh?”

“Damn you to Hell!” shouted Father Conrad, and pushed the Demon who had been engrossed by the sight of the lithe form of the young man. The demon lost its balance, tripping over a silver goblet on the floor. It struck its head against the edge of a wooden chair. “Run, Mikey, run.”

The spell was broken. Mikey knew about evil. He knew about demons and vampires and werewolves. He rushed up to the altar, found the bowl of holy water and started splashing himself, the ball, and his bat with the water. It gave off a delicate violet glow in the soft Church light.

“Let Father Conrad go, Spawn of Satan!”

The demon rushed Mikey. Its black clawed fingernails outstretched, its gaping mouth revealing shark-like teeth. Mikey stood like the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the Courtyard out the front of the Church. His baseball bat left a trail of ethereal blue particles in its wake as the bat hummed and then struck. The bat snapped. The demon bounced and skidded ten feet from the point of impact.

The demon spewed a dark stream of steaming foulness. Mikey threw his baseball and it struck the demon straight between the eyes. It stood there swaying then it toppled backwards. Mikey walked towards the demon still holding the bottom half of his broken baseball bat that was now more like a wooden stake.

 

[Moderator]

Chapter 12:
by GNTLGNT


As he approached the unholy creature, Mikey shifted the remnants of the Louisville Slugger to his right hand. There was no conscious decision, just the resolve to drive the spike of white ash right through the foulness of the fiend's heart. That which was a mockery of Allison Sparks lay twitching at his feet, black ichor dribbling from its maw. He knelt, and with all the strength his young arms could muster, drove the makeshift stake into the chest of the abomination. With a shriek, the beast began to writhe and jitter-decaying away in a fast forward fashion that allowed Mikey only a glimpse of the black eyes fading-to be replaced by Allison's pure blue. Before the putrefying mess melted into the floor of the church, his mind caught a whispered "thank you", also-and much less comforting-he saw an immense shadow figure rise and sail back through the nave and out through the crack of the vestibule doors.

Mikey stood and ran through the pews to check on Father Conrad. The Cleric was slumped in his seat, a pained expression on his face, but no apparent sign of injury from the supernormal fray. The Father rubbed his face with a palsied hand as the adrenalin leaked from his system and said "Mikey, I don't know how or why you happened to be in the right place, at the right time other than through God's grace, but I bless you for it" "I am going to need you a while yet, if you're up to it son". Mikey squared his shoulders and replied, "It's Ok sir, I was drawn here for a reason I don't understand, but let's finish this if we can".

The aging priest had also seen that ebon figure leave the church. "Mikey, go get in my Jeep. I'll join you in a moment. I have a couple of things I need to gather up if we are to have any chance at all of vanquishing this thing" As the heavy oak doors closed behind the young slugger, Conrad continued to sit for a moment-trying to sort out the horrific events that had swept his small Parish. "Death, so much death!" The Sparks were gone, the Crawford family massacred with rumors of a vengeful ghost, half of the Sheriff's department wiped out, his friend Deputy Rocker possibly exsanguinated-unless the squad had made it on time and come to think of it, he hadn't seen the old Potter, Dingo at Terri's Luncheonette for a couple of days. "Lord, I beg of you to help me save the souls of the lost and bring this town peace. In thine name I pray. Amen" As he stood, the Father placed a call on his cell and then gathered some Holy Water from the font and Communion wafers and a sheaf of papers from the Rectory. Armed with these seemingly insufficient "weapons", the father strode out of the church and to his Wrangler, where Mikey and for that matter-Destiny awaited.

As Father Conrad climbed in, Mikey asked "What now Father?". Conrad replied, "There's only one place I can think of that this demon might call "home". The young man looked askance, and Father Conrad said, "We are going to the old chapel and crematorium." Gossip, innuendo and rumor had ricocheted through the Parish like dancing gerbils-the entire time the Father had led his flock. Dingo's cousin, it was said had been involved in devil worship and pedophilia as well as other unspeakable things, including the disappearance of children in the Community and the local urban legend of a small graveyard by the old mill. None of this was ever proven, yet it had been enough to shut the business down and leave it in legal purgatory until it finally passed to Dingo and was turned into a residence/business again.

Gravel pinged against the underside of the 4 x 4 as the two pulled off the road and into the drive of the "Restful Acres Chapel and Crematory". The Father thought to himself "Dingo may have had a talent for throwing clay on a wheel, but he wasn't worth a tinker’s damn when it came to building maintenance". The old structure sat moldering at the end of the lane, and as Mikey and the Father clambered out of the Jeep-both of them felt a powerful darkness trying to drain their spirits. It seemed to be emanating from the old converted crematorium. Tendrils of hate trying to wrap themselves around their hearts. it was a penultimate pause, as both men-young and old, shook the miasma from themselves and started up the walk. At that moment, another set of headlights washed the front of the chapel and a Prius pulled in behind the Father's Jeep. Father Conrad told Mikey, "Thank heaven, they've arrived".

"They" were Ken and Rosemary Crozier, of Pale Rider Paranormal, a well-known and respected husband & wife investigatory team. Ken opened the hatch of the little econo-box and began off-loading equipment as Rosemary joined Father Conrad and Mikey. Rosemary was a waif of a woman-maybe 5 foot tall, but her reputation as a Psychic Medium was unparalleled. "Father, I know there had to be a good reason for a man of the cloth to call us. Care to fill me in?" While Father Conrad began relating the details of what had become a hunting mission, Ken arrived with the gear. He was a bear of man, made even more so when standing next to his diminutive mate. Rosemary listened quietly, and then said "I can save you some time searching. That which you seek is in the brick building and not the other. I could pick-up on pure elemental evil before we even turned the corner a half mile away. This is an adversary like you've never read about in your Christian teachings. But keep your faith Father, and you too young man. Often, evil this powerful is also arrogant of its hold on humankind. Therein lies the basis of its demise"

Ken switched on both his MEL Meter and EMF detector. The LED display and needle on the respective pieces immediately began chiming and they both indicated the "pottery barn" as the source, verifying what Rosemary had already felt. The quartet slowly made their way around Dingo's crumbling bachelor pad and worked their way against what had become a palpable pall of ill intent. Father Conrad asked the other three to get a single file behind him as he brought forth his Rosary as he reached for the door to the crematorium. It was hot to the touch, and as he pulled the door open, what felt like the heat from the fictional furnaces of Mordor struck them full on. They carefully crossed the threshold, and the first thing Mikey noticed was how much the old furnace repository had begun to fall apart. Bricks falling away from the mortar, huge cracks in the foundation and in one corner, what appeared to have been a false wall had collapsed and piles of children's clothing and toys lay strewn about. The mystery of the missing children seemed to have sadly been solved. All four continued their walk into the oven room, and as they entered, sweat dripping from every inch of them-they all noticed the black eyes watching them from within the hell fire of the kiln. Evil laughter burbled forth, as the eyes sized them up-"You are pitiful, weak and ridiculous!! a coarse ugly voice rumbled. "And put that cross away preacher man, you aren't fit to wear it!!" Mikey placed a steadying hand on the Father's shoulder, at the same time Rosemary went stiff as her mind was inundated with images of atrocities committed by this entity. The sexual torture and then killing of innocents by the possessed undertaker who burned their bodies and stored the ashes in three special urns he kept shelved in the furnace room , old man Crawford killing his family and disposing of them in unmarked graves in Caron Canyon before killing himself and on it went-big and little evils perpetrated through the actions of the entity of the oven, up to the present day blood bath.

Ken knew his wife was nearly spent by what she had seen, and knew his ghost hunting gear was of little value now that they had confronted their "quarry". "Father, I'm taking her outside to try to clear her mind and I will also get some volcanic salt that I keep in bags in the car. If I have sage, we will also light bundles of it and begin to smudge the buildings and salt the perimeter, so that the entity is confined. Good luck!" As the Croziers began their work of cleansing, Father Conrad and Mikey turned back to the oven. The eyes of darkness had never wavered. Mikey felt the priest's body tremble and then quiet as the man kissed the cross and pulled out a battered small bible that had been with him since his first days in Seminary. He held it in his left hand as his right reached into the pocket of his cassock for the papers he had fetched before they had left the church. They were copies of the Rites of Exorcism, and as he unfolded them-he could see the black eyes widen a bit. "Tell me your name you foul spawn of Satan!!!!, he shouted. "You do not belong here. Give me your name I say!!" Flames began to lick toward the Father as he stood, resolute in righteousness. "Fu*k you and your God!!!" came the reply, but the Father could sense a hint of fright. He pressed on. "You are not welcome here, this town disavows you and every heart is set against you!!! Tell me your name!!!" he thundered. The words of the Rituale Romanum, were switched to the same hand as the bible as the Father groped for and found the Holy Water "Give me your name, you abomination against God!!" as he began to sprinkle water about the foundation of the oven. The entity within shrieked loudly "I am Yuggoth!!". It was at that moment, that the Father's cross blazed forth in a pure and beautiful white light that began to push back against the flames and across town the possessed medallion exploded where it had been left. "Depart, then, impious one, depart, accursed one, depart with all your deceits, for God has willed that man should be His temple". The black eyes widened even further as a soul killing wail began to emerge from within the kiln. The blackness of the pupils without an iris turned into a gaping stygian depth, and suddenly-they were no more. The ancient ritual, dating from 1614-combined with new Millennia ghost hunting tools, had banished the entity to whatever foul pit it crawled from.

Mikey wrapped a comforting arm around the Priest's waist as Conrad began to place the communal wafers about the oven and remainder of the room. One final touch of banishment, as the body of the Host blessed the former killing ground.

As the two exited the building, they could smell the pungent odor of sage and see the stark white outline of the salts as Ken and Rosemary completed their task. It was at that moment that the former "furnace of hell" building began to collapse, bricks and metal flying everywhere. The foursome stood back at a respectful distance as the dissolution of the entity's den completed its faith-created fall. When only ashes and dust remained, they all felt a cleanness in the air and a lightening of their souls. Father Conrad walked toward the site and invoked the final words. "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return." When the last syllable was spoken, across town in the wreckage of the old Crawford place, the bathroom tiles turned a light shade of pink before falling to ruin and many a child's sigh and relieved giggle was heard before silence fell once again.

End.