This weeks short story is a continuation of Haunted Truth that was published on this blog three weeks ago. If you missed Part 1-3, follow the following links to get caught up!
Haunted Truth (Part 4)
“Immie,” Ray pulls on my arm, frantically urging me
back. “Immie, we have to go.”
Macon’s eyes gleam through the darkness of the basement, his
red eyes bright. I can hear Ray
distantly as he continues to pull on my arm, but all that starts to fade as
sweet music fills my head, drawing me toward Macon. I can feel Ray’s grasp tighten on me as I move
forward, pulling against his restraint.
I fight Ray, wanting to get closer to Macon, closer to the blissful music.
Arms circle around me, tightening around my arms and
chest. I feel my body fight against
those arms, not wanting to be pulled away from the peace I feel. Macon’s eyes narrow into slits, his focus
still on me. Words start to mingle with beautiful
hum. Freedom. Fight.
Completeness. Come to me.
I kick my legs back as hard as I can, shoving Ray back. His grasp doesn’t loosen, it only tightens
as we land together on the ground. I
keep kicking, flaunching from side to side, but Ray keeps his hold. In a desperate attempt, Ray rolls me to the
side, covering my body with his.
“Immie, stop! Don’t listen, he’s
trying to take you. Think of Pete,
remember him. This is how he got to
Pete, Immie. You have to be strong,
fight him! Fight him for Pete.” Ray’s voice is strong, overpowering the music
as I focus on him. His voice is
desperate, pleading. “Please Immie,
fight him for me. I need you. I need your help.” My body relaxes, the fight leaving me. His voice softens as he brushes the hair from
my face. “I need you in my life,
Immie. You’re the only person who
understands, who knows what really happened.
You’re the only one that can help me get past the pain, the
nightmares. You’re the only one I have
to talk to.” Ray shudders, rolling off
me, tears breaming in his eyes.
I never once considered what he
might be dealing with after what happened.
All I was focused on was revenge for Pete. But what about Ray? After seeing what I just saw and experienced,
I know there is nothing Ray could have done to save Pete. I was selfish and never once asked Ray if he
was okay. Never considered his pain once
he faced Macon, the person that took our friend and probably haunts his dreams as they do mine.
I reach over, grabbing Ray’s
hand. “I’m sorry.” I know it’s not much to offer, but my mind is
still muddled, my shame high. One thing I
seem to be good at, selfishness. I was
selfish after my father died, then again after Pete’s death. My mother, my sister, all my friends, they
all suffered because of my self-pity.
But what about their pain?
I had vowed to myself in the
quiet street as I walked out my frustrations that I would not be selfish
anymore. That I would be the person I
used to be. I wouldn’t let others
suffer, bringing them more pain, because of me and my refusal to move on. That determination crashed when I met
Macon. Now, here I was, being selfish
and asking Ray to face the demon that almost took his life but that was
successful with his best friend. When I met
with him at his apartment, I should have asked him if he could handle this but
I didn’t. Instead, I asked for his help
and when he agreed, off we went.
I stand, pulling him with me and
look around the yard before turning back to the house. Ray keeps his back to the house, unwilling to
look in the direction of where his nightmares hide. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to help me.”
Ray jerks as if I slapped
him. “I’m not a baby, Immie. I can handle this. I need to know why they did this.” His shoulders slump, his voice low. “I just need to know that I have you after
this is all over. We all need someone,
Immie, and you’re the one I need now.
You have no idea how much it means to me to know that I have someone to
talk to now. I’ve felt alone and stupid
for so long and—”
“This is nice and all, but we
have to go.” I start backing away from
the house, grabbing Ray’s arm as I do.
While I had been listening to Ray express his relief, I had been
watching the house as well. It was easy to
forget the threat that we were still in danger while standing in this beautiful
landscape, surrounded by flowers and the peace of the rural area. But we were still in danger, our feelings of
gratitude needing to stay on the back burner.
When I looked up to the second story windows, there was that immediate
reminder of the danger as Derek looked down at us with dismay and anger. He had flipped the curtain closed, no doubt
coming downstairs to confront us. “Run.”
I yell and turn for the wood line.
But when I do, I stop, stumbling
over my own feet in my shocked haste, and falling to my knees. Derek is standing at the edge of the lawn
where it meets the wood line, a gun in his hand. How did he get there? He was just in the house. Ray is quick to pull me to my feet before
stepping in front of me, shielding my body with his.
“It’s not nice to snoop around
people’s property.” Derek says, walking
slowly toward us.
“What do we do?” I whisper behind Ray.
“I don’t know.” Ray mumbles, his body stiff.
Derek pulls up his gun, pointing
at us. I want to scream, to plead with
him to let us go, but I know better. He’s
hiding something, something he wants no one to know about. So why would he let us go? Oh that’s right, he won’t. From the looks of it, we are fixing to be his
next victim.
“Back in the house.” Derek says, gesturing with his gun.
Ray slowly starts backing up,
unwilling to step out from in front of me or turn his back on Derek. We stumble across the lawn, terrified, until
we reach the steps. Derek keeps
gesturing for us to go, but I’m unwilling.
If he’s just going to kill us, then he needs to get on with it. I don’t want to be Macon’s next victim.
I step out from behind Ray, who
instantly tries to shield me again, but I shove him aside. “What do you want?”
Derek smiles a vicious smiles,
gun still raised. “You’re a brave girl,
just like your mom. Too bad, I was
hoping to get to know your family more, offer you the same opportunity as was
offered me. Looks like my plans have
changed though, no thanks to your prying.” He
steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Get
in the house,” he demands, his voice deep with anger.
I go to protest but Ray pulls me
back, stepping up on the first step. “Just
go with it, Immie.” Just go with
it? How do you just go with someone
wanting to kill you?
I look at Ray in disbelief, but
when he sternly looks at me, I give in, hoping he has a plan.
We walk through the nice, quaint
home Derek has made for himself still stumbling backwards. I keep glancing back to ensure that Macon isn’t
waiting inside for us as Derek pushes us deeper inside. “Down to the basement.”
What? Uh, no.
Again I start to protest but Ray stops me with a squeeze to my
hand. I look at him, narrowing my eyes
with a ‘you better have a good freaking plan buddy’ look before taking that
first shaky step down into the basement.
My backs to Derek now, against my will, unable to walk down the stairs
backwards.
Once at the bottom, I freeze,
contemplating my options. Death by weird
red-eyed dude who can fill my mind with blissful music as he tears me apart, or
a quick gunshot wound? Either way really
sucks. I step to the side, allowing Ray
to step up beside me as Derek descends down the stairs, his eyes never leaving
us.
The damp, dark room is heavy with
the smell of rot and mold. Water drips
from a pipe overhead, a big puddle on the floor. I guess Derek isn’t very handy when it comes
to plumbing.
Macon growls from the corner, his
red eyes bright in the darkened room. I
gasp, taking a step back out of fear.
When is the music going to start?
I would rather hurry up and get this over with.
Derek sits in a chair by Macon,
gun still pointed at us as he makes himself comfortable. “I’m sure your first question will be to ask
what Macon is?”
Ray chuckles, his shoulders
tight. “Actually, I’m more curious to
know why he’s hiding behind a deranged, little pansy like you.”
I smile at Derek’s surprised
face. He obviously didn’t expect mockery
from his hostages. “Excuse me?”
Ray’s muscles are still tight,
but his voice is calm and cool. “Well
look at him versus you. He’s obviously
something else entirely from us humans and probably more than able to tear us
mere mortals apart, yet here he is chained to a wall while you hold a gun. What’s that all about?” Ray directs the question to Macon who snarls
in return.
Derek, who is non to happy,
tightens his free hand into a fist. “You
know nothing about me, boy. I could tear
you apart just as easily as Macon here.”
Macon scoffs, obviously unimpressed by Derek’s show of macho. Derek ignores him, continuing his
banter. “But to answer your question, I
first need to explain who Macon is and what kind of leverage I have over him.”
I look to Ray, worried. What the crap have we gotten ourselves into?
“You see, Derek’s mother is, or
rather was, a succubus. On a rare
occasion, and I mean very rare, a succubus falls in love with a human. His poor mother was one of those poor saps
that fell for the trap of love. An even
rarer treat is a succubus who gives birth and when she does, she usually births
a girl.” Births a girl, who talks like
that? “But Macon’s mother did not, as
you can see. She birthed a boy. This is very unordinary. I think throughout all of history there has
only been four boys born to a succubus.
They are called Shispers.”
Shispers? What kind of name is that? With a creature as rare as Macon, I would think they could come up with something better, something with a nice, threatening ring to it.
“Shispers have the same abilities
as their mothers, but are weaker because of the human blood that taints them.” Derek smiles an awful smile, shifting in his
seat with obvious pleasure. “I was lucky
enough to be the father of this great gift.”
The room falls into a deep
silence, the only sound coming from the water that drips from the pipes. So Derek is Mason’s human father? “How could you do this to your own son?” I ask.
“Let me finish my story, Immie.” Derek says with impatience. “You see, I was once a demon hunter. There are a lot of us out there you know. I had been chasing Mea all over the southern
US, when I finally happened upon her in Louisiana. She was basking in the moon, watching for her
next prey on the streets below when I jumped her on the rooftops of New Orleans. She was shocked at first, as they usually
are, but was quick to try her charms on me.
They didn’t work of course, not with my hunters mark.” Derek pulls up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo
on his shoulder of a crescent moon with seven small stars in a line from its
tip, a sphere runs diagonal through the center with an inscription underneath
that I’m unable to read.
“Mea, knowing she was in trouble,
ran. We had our bit of fun, playing cat
and mouse.” Derek has a fond smile as he
thinks back to the days of his time with Mea.
“I captured her after two days of chasing in New Orleans. There was something more to Mea that appealed
to my soul. Call me a weak man, but I fell
for her beauty. After several years of
hiding, Mea told me she was pregnant and that her pregnancy would kill
her. She made me vow to protect our
child. She didn’t want our child to be a
part of the life her mother had given her.
I promised her I would, but when Macon was born, I didn’t know how to do
that. After years of research, I found
that if he consumed thirteen souls he would become more powerful than
that of a full blooded succubus. With my
help, he consumed the life’s he needed and ascended before my own eyes. His body rising in darkness, his soul
consumed with power.”
Remorse is evident on Derek’s
face as he regards his son. “But I did
not do all the proper research. I had
only found what I wanted and left the rest behind me. But once Macon started craving the need of a
soul every day, I went back to the place I had found my information before, the
hunter’s relics. It’s a place only a
hunter can enter. It’s full of ancient
artifacts of demons, their offspring’s, weapons, and more. There I found the rest of the information I needed. In trying to save Macon, I had inevitably
created the fiercest of demons.”
Macon begins to growl, pulling
against the chains, trying to get free.
Where the chains touch his skin it burns black. “You will not save me father. I am beyond saving. Let me free.”
Macon spits.
Derek just looks at him with a
sad smile. “Must we go through this
every time we talk son. You know I
cannot do so.” He turns his sad eyes
from his son and back to us. “I found
that if I tied myself to my son spiritually under a blood moon, I could have some control over
him. The problem, I would slowly kill
myself in the process unless he consumed a young soul to keep us alive. I did what any father would do and chose to
save my son. Against my training and
beliefs, I bound our souls with the help of a Seer. We have roamed this earth, together, for
nearly eighty years, never aging. You
see my tattoo. It used to be made of
gold, now it is silver. In a few more
years it will be completely black, burned by the demon blood running through my
veins.”
Growing impatient, although I must
say this is an interesting story, I step forward. “What does any of this have to do with us?” I ask.
Derek rises from his seat, his
gun lowered now. “I had no intentions of
ever hurting you, Immie, or your mother for that matter. I simply needed the love of a woman to
consume me again, like it did with my Mea.”
“Why?” I ask with astonishment.
“If love consumed me, it would
consume my son. My love is not
enough. I need the power of love, true
love. I never intended for you or your
family to know of Macon until he was tamed.
Once the feel of love is wrapped around his darkened spirit, I can
weaken him, shatter his power back to its original state. After all, love is the strongest of
emotions. It can consume a person’s life
so much it is hard to breathe at times.
I need that break through with him.”
“That sounds too simple.” Ray says, his disbelief mirroring mine.
“You are smart.” Derek paces in front of us, his steps
calculating. “It is true that this is
not all I must have. I must also have
another thirteen souls. Your friend,
Pete was it? Your mother told me of your
loss. I had no intentions of taking
someone close to your family, Immie. He
was a convenience, I’m afraid. I have
been watching your mother for a few years now.
I’ve seen her loss, love, and kind spirit. The exact beautiful woman that I need to save
my son. The souls that I have taken have
also been pure, which is also what I need to save my son, pure souls. When I release their souls from the
in-between where they are trapped, they will swarm Macon with their love and
goodness. With that and the love I feel
for your mother, I am sure he can be restored to a lesser version of himself.” Derek stops abruptly, facing us directly,
closer than I would like.
“I only need two more souls and
the love of your mother. I will gain her
love and trust as we scour the area, looking for you and your friend here,
Immie. Never did I want to hurt your
mother, but I must do what I have to do to save my son.”
My chest starts to ache with fear
as my heart begins to beat with a terrifying force. “You do not love my mother, you are
obsessed. If you loved her, you would
not do this. Your son will never feel true love from you, not when it's forced.”
Derek smiles, picking up on my fear as I scowl at him. “I’m not going to kill you yet,
Immie. I don’t need your soul now, it is
too soon. I have to wait until your
mother truly loves me. Until then, you
will remain here with Macon.”
Macon lashes out again against the
chains. His voice deep with menace. “He’s lying.
He’s only using me to sustain his life.
As long as I live, he lives. Why
else would he chain me?”
Derek doesn’t glance back at
Macon, but he does chuckle. “You must
not listen. He will say anything to get
free.”
Macon looks at me, his anger gone
as he pleads with me. “Think about it,
Immie. He said it himself, he can
control me. He has tied his will to
mine. When I consume a life, part of
that life goes to him, sustaining his life so he can live forever. That is what so many mortals want is it
not? To live without fear of dying? As long as he has me chained, he does not
have to use his influence on me to control me.
He only lets me free to consume a life to prolong his own.”
Derek laughs again, turning now
to his son. “You make up some of the
greatest of stories. You have talent my
son, true talent, just like your mother.”
Macon ignores his father, keeping
his gaze on me. “If you me, you kill
him. Kill me Immie. Save your mother. He will do nothing but destroy her.”
My breath catches, my chest so
tight I can barely breathe. I look to
Ray in a panic. I’m startled to see him
calm and cool, untouched with fear. I
hear Derek laugh again, but I ignore him and focus on Ray. There is a steadiness to him that is
comforting, although confusing.
In a quick move I don’t expect,
Ray pulls me behind him. In his other
hand he holds a gun. I have just enough
time to think, where did he get a gun,
before a shot is fired. I cover my ears,
closing my eyes. Even with my
ears covered, I hear Derek yell out. I
jerk up in time to see him fall to his knees, dropping his gun. I look to Macon to see a bullet hole in his
chest, right where a heart should be.
I stumble back in shock, my
breathing fast, my vision swarming.
Ray catches a hold of me to keep me from stumbling further away from the
stairs that lead to freedom. Just as I’m
about to bolt, Derek gasps. “You…fool.” Blood seeps out of his mouth as he tries
spitting out more words. His body goes
slump on the floor, blood pouring from his chest.
I look to Ray, wide-eyed. “Which one did you shoot?”
“Macon,” he says with disbelief
as he looks down at Derek.
He grabs my hand, ready to bolt
it up the stairs. But before we even
make it to the first step, the basement door at the top slams, the door lock slamming
home. A shiver runs through me as
laughter fills the now pitch black room.
“Ready to play?” Macon’s taunting voice fills the dark space,
his laughter growing louder. I reach out
grabbing Ray’s hand as the sound of chains breaking echoes through the
room.
Stay tuned...next Monday, Haunted Truth (Finale).
If you know of someone that writes poetry or short stories and they are not published but post to a blog, send them my way. I'll be happy to throw in some special guests here and there.
*Please note that all short stories posted have not been professional edited.
Clarissa Johal has worked as a veterinary assistant, zoo-keeper aide and vegetarian chef. Writing has always been her passion. When she’s not listening to the ghosts in her head, she’s dancing or taking photographs of gargoyles. 
