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 Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only |
| >> Static Item >> Short Story >> Horror/Scary >> ID #393213 |   |
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{c}Knife of Shadows
Jason looked at the body. It looked a lot like him. Of course, it's skin was paler, since it was dead and he wasn't. Still, they were both pretty scrawny. A mess of sandy blonde hair was hanging over the corpse's eyes, just like his. He felt his bile trying to claw its way out of his throat. His little brother was dead. The officer asked him, "Is this Patrick Marcus?" Jason's voice felt like sandpaper coming out his throat. "Yeah. It's him. That's Patrick, my brother. Who did this to him?" "We aren't sure son. Why don't you just leave that to us." "How did he die? I can't see a mark on him." The second he said that, he knew it was dumb. The body was still mostly covered. Just its head and upper chest was bare, enough to identify it. He could be swiss cheese under the sheet. "We can't really say much right now. Are you his only next of kin?" "Yes. Our parents both died last year in a plane crash in Asia. He was all the family I had." "Well, as a family member, I can tell you we aren't ruling out foul play yet. He doesn't have a mark on him, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. The autopsy should tell us a lot more. Go home and get some sleep. You'll need to make arrangements for the deceased." Jason was lead out. He just saw Patrick a week ago. He was going to meet some of his friends at a cabin in the woods up north. He knew Patrick and his friends had some weird hobbies, but nothing that could get any of them killed. He would have to get a hold of Greg, Lisa and Kelley and try to figure out what had happened. Before he left the hospital, the police asked him some questions. He figured they were routine, did his brother know anyone who might want him dead, did he do drugs or anything like that, all that sort of thing. He answered them as best he could. No one wanted Patrick dead. It wasn't that everybody loved him, but no one hated him. He was a pretty nondescript student at the college. Probably the only people that were really aware of him at all were his three friends and his brother. It wasn't long before they drove him home. Jason tried to call all three of Patrick's friends to let them know what had happened, that Patrick had been found dead in the street, no marks, nothing missing, no clue what happened. Strange thing was, none of them answered their phones. He couldn't think why. He could barely think at all, he was so tired. Finally, after trying them all four times, he went to bed. And, he saw his brother. He looked sad. No, way beyond sad. "Dude, what's going on? Did you break the cookie jar again?" No answer. Patrick just whispered, "Sorry..." Then the shadows consumed him, and Jason woke in a cold sweat. He'd been asleep for twelve hours, but it felt like he'd barely closed his eyes at all. He was between degrees at school. He had a Bachelor's in Arts, and was planning to go on to grad school. Then his parents died. They were pretty well off, and he was left with a bunch of money and property, but he also had responsible for a philanthropic organization his parents ran. Luckily there were competent managers, but he still liked to give it his personal touch. Now that his brother was dead, he actually owned everything his parents had. That scared him a bit. What if his brother had been poisoned and the police suspected him. The high pitched wail began just as he thought that. He jumped out of the chair. He was definitely going to have to turn the ringer on the phone down. "Hello. Marcus residence. Jason speaking." The voice at the other end sounded like it was thousands of miles away, and speaking through a sheet of ice. The sound scraped across Jason's ears. "Of course. You are the last of the line of the callers. But the witnesses must be first!" There was no click, the phone just dropped to a dial tone as if Jason had just picked up to make a call. He wondered if he was hallucinating. He'd heard that people in shock could do that. He set the phone back on the hook. Just as his hand left it, it called out again. He picked it up and said, "Jason here." This time the voice was lighter and the connection sounded stronger. "Jason Marcus?" "Yes, this is Jason Marcus. Who is this?" "This is the Alice Rutherford of Precinct twenty-six Mr. Marcus. I was just calling to let you know, the autopsy showed no signs of foul play. Do you have a history of severe heart disease in your family?" "Well, my father took some kind of medication for a heart problem, why?" "The cause of Patrick's death seems to be heart failure. You may want to get checked out if you haven't before, since this sort of thing may be congenital. However, there are no signs of homicide. No unusual chemicals in the blood, or trauma anywhere." "Well, I'm glad to hear that. I'll make an appointment to see a doctor, but I've never had any heart problems." "I'm glad to hear that. Even if it's congenital it won't show up in every child. Have a nice day Mr. Marcus." "Thanks. Goodbye." Knowing that Patrick wasn't killed should have made Jason feel better. At least if he had been murdered, there would have been someone to blame. Now there was no one. Jason couldn't concentrate on much, so he logged on to the writers' site he had joined a few months before, and tried to do some work on his poetry. He had a new email when he logged on. It read "Two hide together, scared of their own shadows. And well they should be, for I will find them tonight. Then only one witness will remain. And when she is gone, it will be your turn." The sender was anonymous. After reading that, Jason fired off an email to the owner asking that it be looked into. He got a response about an hour later that it hadn't been sent from a registered user. Probably some one had hacked in, so it was a good thing Jason had notified her. She'd check the security and plug any holes. Patrick had a hard time concentrating on anything over the next three hours. Finally, he logged off and went to his regular email. There he found a strange message from his brother's friend Lisa. "Jason, you know where the cabin we stayed at is, I think, but just in case I'll attach directions. Come out here right away. I think it's already got Greg and Kelley, and it'll come for me soon. Once it has me, you'll be next. Maybe we can save ourselves. They wouldn't listen. Please, hurry!" A file was attached with a fairly well drawn map and some text. Patrick thought it was pretty weird, but he decided to at least meet with Lisa. She was a bit weird on her own, but she had never struck him as dangerous. As he was putting his jacket on, the phone rang. He picked it up and gave the usual opening. "Mr. Marcus, this is Alice Rutherford again. Did your brother know two people by the name of Kelly Richards and Greg Cooper?" "Yes, he did. They were two of his best friends." "They've been found dead just an hour ago. Their parents have identified the bodies. Could you come back to the station tomorrow, say ten thirty and answer a few more questions?" "I guess so. I didn't know them that well, but I'll do what I can." "Thank you Mister Marcus. We appreciate your cooperation. See you tomorrow." The line went dead. This was too weird. He was starting to suspect Lisa wasn't so safe after all. He took his coat off and tore up the map and directions. No way was he going to meet the last of Patrick's four friends after the other three had all died. He went out for supper to a nearby Italian place. He had a fair bit of wine with dinner, and was feeling pretty groggy when he got home. The night was dark, and he hadn't turned on the porch light. He opened the door and stepped inside. As he turned on the hall light and started to take off his jacket, he was thinking that he was sure he locked the front door. Then he saw Lisa. She looked like one of the girls off those reality shows. Well, after a month on the island. Her hair was a mess. There were circles under her eyes so dark that she looked like a raccoon. She smelled of sweat too, like she hadn't showered in a while. All that, however, paled when Jason saw the gun in her hand. The alcohol, and the thought that here stood his brother's killer sent heat through his body. "Lisa. So you made the phone call and sent the email. And now you're going to finish it. Why the gun? That's not how you killed the others, is it?" "What are you...oh, this? It's not for you. I thought if nothing else worked silver bullets might, but I doubt it, and it'll be here soon so we need to do what we need to do and get it done." She lowered the gun as she talked at her usual mile a minute rate. He looked her over and figured that since she only came up to his shoulders, he could probably take her. Still, she did have the gun. Maybe better to keep her talking. "Okay, what do we need to do?" "See this book?" For the first time he noticed she was carrying a pretty big book. Bound in black leather with no writing on the covers. "Patrick found it some where. He never told us where. But this is what we used when we called it up. We didn't mean to. Patrick told us it would let him contact his parents and we believed him. We didn't want this to happen, you have to believe us..." "Slow down and tell me what you're talking about!" "Okay, it's just that both our lives are on the line here! Okay, I'll calm down. Two months ago, your brother came to us with this book. We've been studying occult stuff for years, but since he had a lot of money all of a sudden, he thought he could get something really good. He said a spell from the book could break the barrier to the land of death. He thought he could use it to communicate with the spirits of your parents. It didn't work out that way. We must have said something wrong or something. Something awful came out and we ran. It caught Patrick in the street outside the building we did the conjuration in. It was cold, really really cold. And all black. And it had a knife that was, like made of shadows. It just kind of stepped out of Patrick's shadow and said he was the caller, and we were the witnesses. It would kill him, and then hunt us and when we were all dead, it would claim the last of the caller's line. Then it chopped up your brother, only it didn't. The knife didn't make a mark on him, but he looked like he hurt. It was like it did everything a real knife would do, only it was invisible. Then it vanished. Greg and Kelly took off and wouldn't listen to me that we couldn't hide and had to stop it. You didn't come to meet me, so I had to come to you. We have to stop this thing, and this book's the key. What are you looking at?" Jason was staring at her, or more accurately, at her shadow. It had just risen up on its own. Now it looked like a big black cloak, and in one shadowy clawed hand, it bore a black knife. The room got very cold, like an arctic wind was blowing through. The water in the vase froze in an instant, and the flowers withered and died where the shadow fell. It ran Lisa through the back, and she stiffened, and gurgled like she had actually been cut, though there was no blood or mark on her. The thing let her fall, and seemed to look at Jason. He could feel a freezing hatred from the black hood. He heard the same voice from the phone call. "You are next. You are the last of the caller's line. Tomorrow, when you die, I will be immortal on this plain. Make peace with the end of your life. You have one more day." Then it was gone, as if it had never been there. Jason could feel himself beginning to panic, but he knew he couldn't. He formed a quick, probably poor plan, but he didn't have anything better. He put the book in the trunk of his car, and then called the police. He reported that he had gone out, and when he got back his front door was opened, and Lisa was dead on the floor. They came in about ten minutes and took her body and him back to the station. He was questioned once again, much more intensely. He knew he should have asked for a lawyer, but figured that it would just make him look guilty. His answers seemed to be acceptable to the police and they sent him home, but asked him to stay there until they finished the autopsy on Lisa. Of course, they hadn't searched the house, since they had no warrant. Patrick had banked on that. He found the tome right where he left it. He studied it until he fell asleep. Again he saw Patrick. Again he whispered, "Sorry..." This time, though, he added "Dog...", before the shadows devoured him. Again, Jason woke in a cold sweat, to find that almost 12 hours had passed. He knew he had little time, but what did dog mean. The book was huge, and he knew he couldn't go through the whole thing before the thing showed up to kill him. In frustration he hurled the book against the wall, and it fell to the ground. As it fell, he saw on page folded at a corner. DOGEARED! He nearly screamed the word out loud. At the top of the dogeared page was a short paragraph. Written in pen beneath was some kind of phonetic translation. As he looked at the translation, he felt a sudden chill, as if a cool breeze was blowing across him. Knowing he had left the windows closed, he dove ahead and to the floor, and felt the icy chill sweep just over his head. Over him stood the dark figure. He began reading out of the book as the figure approached him. As he finished the black knife raised to come down within his heart. He knew he had tried but failed. At least he wouldn't have to live with results of his failure. He closed his eyes and awaited death. But death did not come. He opened one eye and saw the dark figure hovering over him, struggling to move. It was held by two figures of the palest white light. They whispered to him, "The next page..." Jason scooped up the book and turned the page. There was another paragraph with another translation. At the top was written, "Freeing the Called". Jason looked again. The two figures looked to be a man and a woman. He thought he heard the woman whisper, "Hurry baby. We can't hold on much longer." Jason read the phonetics at the bottom. As he got to the last line, the black spectral form tore free and charged. As he finished the last sound, it reached it's knife to his heart, and vanished. The two figures of light were gone as well and slowly, the room warmed.
© Copyright 2002 Colin Back on the Ghost Roads (UN: colinneilson at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Colin Back on the Ghost Roads has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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