Tag: Horror

The Blood of Old Souls

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Part II: Markos

Markos
Courtesy of Mystical Raven

Markos is a 5th Generation Charmer. His father, Gregos, taught him how to win the hearts of women before he could walk. His purpose in life is etched in stone — a fate that he will soon find out is the calling he never would have accepted if the choice was his. Deep in the bowels of their illustrious castle, Markos rejects his fate. Gregos makes him regret the decision.

The cellar is cold and dank. The candles are lit in their holders, shining a treacherous light in the belly of the Torgulos Castle. Gregos stands with a shimmering sword, his hands trembling from the night air. He is armed for battle but there is no war. Markos approaches his father — stumbles into his path, cautious, but ready to denounce the throne. His heart is somewhere else. He begins his plea.

“Father, I am not built for the ways of your world. I want to live a life of my own. For my twentieth birthday, I seek your blessing in granting me this wish.”

Gregos sways on his bony legs, sucks in the crisp air of the cellar, and mumbles loud enough for Markos’ ears only.

“Markos, you are a Charmer. For decades the men in our family have taken the hearts of women for our feast. It is your calling. You will answer it.”

One did not argue with Gregos Torgulos, but Markos was brave.

He knew that his love for a special woman’s heart depended on his loyalty. He would not kill his love and feast on her heart, even if she was willing. He decides that his father’s beliefs can never be his own.

“Father, there is a woman. I have charmed her. She is ready to give me everything. All I need to do is ask. I want her heart, but not to kill her. I want… I want to marry her. I want us to leave this village and build our own happiness away from the gloom of Torgul. I will only ask once more. Your blessing, will you grant it?”

A powerful clap of thunder spreads across the night sky. The sound clangs deep in the walls of the castle. A lightning bolt scatters away from the heavens and lands on the castle’s roof. A wind rushes in briefly and puts out each candle in the cellar. Gregos forms his words, he grips the sword tighter, and repeats his command.

“You will only ask once more?! My child, who do you think you are? You are my son, but I will just as soon feed you to the lions as I would a peasant touching my armor. You will obey our heritage. You will take your woman’s heart and devour it. There is nothing else to discuss.”

In the dark crevices of the cellar, Markos sweeps in under his father, commandeers his sword, and unlatches the breastplate. In a fit of terror, he signals Ana. She appears out of the shadows, unhinges her jaw, smacks her lips, and digs Gregos’ heart out effortlessly with her venomous teeth.

“That’s it, Ana. Consume it. All of it. He will not stop us. He cannot stop us.”

Markos gazes upon his dying father, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and legs shaking vigorously.

He’s dead — not dead.

Markos leans in, puffs up his chest, and whispers to his father, “I hate that you made me do this. All I wanted was your blessing.”

Gregos bites his lower lip, clenches his teeth, and says, “You are my undoing. The ancestors will avenge my death. The blood of old souls lives in me.”

Originally published on January 24, 2018, via Medium.

The Blood Of Old Souls

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Part I: Delphine

delphine
Courtesy of Life Coach Code

She stood back in disgust — stepping further away from the bed. Her hands are shaking, sweat is dripping down her temples. The room is silent except for the faint breaths of her Great-Grandmother, Delphine. Channing threw the pillow to the left of her in a fit of angst and fear.

What did she do?

Delphine had asked her to kill her, to take away the pain, but Channing was too afraid and made the decision to transfer Delphine’s wishes to someone else. But, there was no time and Delphine wanted Channing to end it. She assured Channing that if she did not carry out the task that she would come back to haunt her until she drew her last breath. At the age of eighty-one, Delphine had lived a long, healthy, active, and curious life until she was diagnosed with Stage 4 Multiple Myeloma, a form of cancer that stripped away her youthful spirit. Delphine was given a measly two months to live, however, that was seven months ago.

The pain is becoming unbearable. Every day there is a new ache, something for Delphine to suffer through. Her ribs are sore. Her throat pulsates and aggravates her and it hurts to swallow. Her eyes leak tears that will not stop falling. Channing gives her around-the-clock care. She promised her own dying mother that she would do whatever her Great-Grandmother wanted and she intended to keep that promise until Delphine saddled her with the heavy responsibility of killing her three weeks before today.

Now, here they are, in a room crammed full of ancestors living in the walls — taking up space. Channing, standing at Delphine’s bedside, breathing heavily, trying not to cry. Did she do it right? She sorted the pills just like Delphine advised. She crushed them and mixed them in water. She counted to twenty, then covered her face with the pillow, pressing into her, cutting off her air supply and damaging blood flow to her brain. For three minutes, she held down until she saw Delphine’s limbs droop beside her. But she could still feel her breathing — hear her. She placed her right index finger under Delphine’s nose for two seconds, air met the tip of it. In the gloomy room, Delphine gasps.

Channing grabs the duct tape from the nightstand and applies an ample strip over Delphine’s mouth, then her nose. She takes the pillow to her colorless face and presses as hard as she can again.

One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi. Three —

Delphine laid there. Her eyes, solid like marbles, white as chalk. Channing breaks down to her knees and begins sobbing. She can hear her mother’s voice chanting, “The blood of old souls. The blood of old souls. The blood of old souls.” The walls cry blood — each corner confesses its sins, yelling out to Channing for a second death. Delphine’s body cracks into multiple pieces, sinks into the bed, and disappears. The last words the souls of the ancestors moan are,

“You’re next…”

Originally published on January 14, 2018, via Medium.

Haunted Radio

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Courtesy of Tamim Arafat/Unsplash

Jenna brushed the years of dust from the radio, opened the tape deck, and blew it clean.

“This is gonna be awesome! Nana will love this! She’ll finally be able to play her old cassette tapes from the 80’s. I’ve been looking all over for something like this”!

She slipped a sample tape into the deck and tested each button to see if they worked. The radio hummed slowly. A grunting sound emerged from the speakers. A drone like voice began wailing into her ears. Slowly, she turned up the volume as she sat closer to the radio, examining its design. A furry growth stuck out of the antenna.

“Hey! What’s this?!”

Jenna shouted to the air around her. No one answered. The wailing voice from the cassette tape grew louder and louder. She steadied her legs, pressing her hands on each to keep them from shaking, then she reached for the antenna again.

“This wasn’t here before. I bet that guy at the shop tricked me. This is a worthless piece of junk”!

Jenna leaned in to pull the radio in her grasp to discard it and a creature oozed out of the antenna. He grew tall as the building, overshadowing every outline of the city block. It said only four words.

“Give me your heart”.

Jenna paused. Her mouth flew open, her toes tapped the floor, and her eyes began to water.

“Give me your heart”.

The creature shifted, changing colors as it sputtered demands. It made one last request for what it sought and just before it could utter another word, Jenna ripped open her chest, dug into her body, and pulled out her beating heart. The creature smiled and pressed the stop button on the radio.

Jenna’s body flopped to the ground, convulsed, then expired. Breathing in satisfaction, the creature yanked the heart from Jenna’s hand and bit into it. Savoring the taste of the bloody feast, the creature yearned to answer the only question haunting its mind…

“Now, who’s next?”