Demonica (3 page)

“Um. I don’t believe in God with a capital G. Hell, I don’t even believe in Something with a capital S. I believe in like….science and Darwin and Big Bangs and shit.

“Alright. So you’re an atheist who likes helping old people cross the street and stuff. Jesus would still be proud.”

“I play games with old people at an assisted living center. It’s fun.”

Zoey opened her mouth, probably with some smart-ass response, but cut herself short. An outside voice from across the street shouted, “I’m going out.” The voice was obvious to both of us. It was Casey.

The sound of my front door slammed. Zoey pranced over to the window. Rolling off the bed, I hobbled behind her with foam still stuck between my toes.

Casey cut across the lawn to the driveway, towing a hefty duffle bag over his shoulder. Throwing the bag in the back of his mud-encrusted black Jeep, he hopped inside but did not start the vehicle right away. He simply sat there with his head down.

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s he doing?”

Leaning forward so her nose was practically pressed against the window pane, Zoey tilted her head. “I think he’s looking at something.”

Sure enough, the object of his focus was lifted, and then tucked into the mirror flap of his sun visor—a photograph. Even though the photo was well out of discernible view, I knew exactly what it was. The way he had carried it, the way he now stared at it…

It was a picture of Cate.

What came next, however, caused me to jump and Zoey to yelp. He screamed lashed a humongous hunting knife out of his belt, stabbing it into the passenger seat headrest. Then, without bothering to remove it, his hand flew to the keys in the ignition. With a swift turn, the Jeep roared to life. Not bothering with his seatbelt, he floored the vehicle in reverse. He skidded out of the driveway and onto the road. Loose gravel spewed behind the tires. He then floored it in first gear. The Jeep roared around the corner and then disappeared behind the trees.

“No…” I said. At least I tried to, but my voice was caught in my throat. I knew what was happening. I knew
exactly
what was happening, but even still, the idea was too frightening to put into words.

“What was that all about?” said Zoey. She cast a sideways glance at me, noting the alarm in my face. “Monica? You okay?”

“Cate…” I said, breathless. “Casey is going after the thing that killed Cate.”

3

Into the Mist

My body reacted faster than any sort of common sense could kick in. I raced around the bed and attempted to stuff my feet in my shoes. It was a moment before I caught on to the obvious problem.

Damn foam.

Pulling the foamy shit out from between my toes, I slid my shoes on successfully, and flew—fucking FLEW!—out of Zoey’s room.

“Monica!” Zoey shouted. Her footsteps clapped desperately behind me. “What the hell are you doing?”

What the hell
was
I doing? I had no clue. My brain had taken a backseat to my overriding instinct at the moment. Should I tell Mom and Dad?

No. There was no time. If I did, we’d stand no chance of catching up to Casey. There was only one option, and I was dead set on it before I even realized what it was.

“I’m going after him!” I said. I flew past Cookie Monster and bolted out the door. The bulldog cocked his head, half-interested, and then laid back down.

“Wait!” said Zoey. “The police don’t even know for sure what killed Cate!”

Her voice was already fading. The girl may have had enough spunk for ten people, but I was the one with the legs and lungs for running. Two years of track and field saw to that.

“That why I have to catch my brother!” I yelled. “I have to talk some sense into him! Go get my parents, Zoe! Tell them what’s happening!”

I didn’t even know if she heard me, but at this point, it didn’t matter. Crossing the road, I reached the old silver Camry I had received for my sixteenth birthday. Thankfully, I still had my keys on me from Leonardo’s. Jerking the keys in the ignition, the vehicle revved to life. Mimicking Casey’s reckless reverse move, I squealed out of the driveway and roared across the gravel.

Trees rushed past me in a green and brown blur. The road peaked after a brief incline. Then it dipped down, exposing the curves ahead. Casey’s black Jeep was nowhere to be seen.

This was insane. What the hell was I doing? From my vantage point, the road ahead forked in opposite directions at several points. Most of these were quickly lost in thick forest and swampland.

Then I saw it—a metallic flash in the distance. Black separated from black as the Jeep veered right onto Saints Street. I knew exactly where he was heading. A mixture of relief and HOLY FUCK wrenched my insides. The relief came from the fact that Saints Street was not intersected by any other roads. It was a straight shot to its final destination, fifteen miles from here.

However, the greater part of me—the part which was now having difficulty breathing—knew that Saints Street ended at the Saint Salazar Cemetery.

I had been there only once. Me, Zoey, and a couple other friends went on a dare, and rest assured, it was as creepy as advertised. Unfortunately, I was way too familiar with the folklore. Nobody tends to it anymore, so naturally, the place is in shambles. I don’t blame them for abandoning it either. Names are scratched off of headstones. Graves are dug up with caskets left open. Corpses have been tampered with. There were even tales of gravediggers from the 1800s found dead in their half-dug graves, impaled by their own shovels. Just really swell stuff, lemme tell ya.

Why Casey was taking his vengeful hunting trip there was beyond me. Cate sure as hell wasn’t buried there. No one had been in over a century.

I shot an uncomfortable glance up, dreading the setting sun. Streaking orange hues spilled across the horizon. Readjusting my grip on the steering wheel, my leg went rigid on the gas. Cruising downhill, Casey’s Jeep was no longer in sight, but I didn’t let this bother me. I hugged every tight turn with adrenaline-heightened reflexes.

As trees grew thicker around me, I was drowned in their shadows. Minute by minute, the sky receded into darkness. I normally found driving at nighttime relaxing. At the moment, I couldn’t be more on-edge. My hand instinctively reached for the radio, searching out the peppiest pop station I could find.
Typically
,
I’m one of those annoying chicks who sings along to every song I know the words to, mumbling past the words I don’t know because, like, why the hell not?

Today was definitely not a sing-along day.

It was not long before the sun finally slipped beyond the horizon. Darkness prevailed like a motherfucker. Then, to accentuate the brink of night, a flurry of white headstones emerged from the shadows like ghosts lined up in military fashion. Most of these were drowning in the thick undergrowth but were nevertheless illuminated by the gentle flow of moonlight. This same moonlight gleamed against the glossy exterior of Casey’s parked Jeep—at least the portion that wasn’t caked in mud. Swerving parallel to it, I skidded to a halt on loose gravel. As I suspected, the Jeep was empty.

Great. Absolutely fucktastic. Now what? I’d followed him all the way out into the middle of nowhere, only to be left with a graveyard and three hundred and sixty degrees of open forest that he could have wandered through in any direction. Top that off with the fact that I didn’t have a flashlight, and one might suspect that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

My first instinct had me whipping out my cell phone. At least I could tell everyone where we were at. The more people I could get to distract hungry bears from my vengeful brother, the better. The moment I attempted to enter my contact list, however, I was greeted my two disheartening words:

Service unavailable.

Plan B came almost instantaneously. Pocketing my phone, I hopped out of the Camry, cupped my hands over my mouth, and screamed, “Casey!”

I waited. Silence. How long had he been here? My brother was a notorious speeder, but he couldn’t have arrived much earlier than me. Could he?

I was about to call his name again. Then a new sound in the distance cut me short. Practically inaudible—an echo in the wind. The voice, however, was familiar with the one word it carried: “Monica?”

He sounded far away—further away than I was comfortable with. Still, it was better than nothing. It sounded like his voice was coming from the opposite end of the cemetery, maybe a quarter of a mile into the woods.

“Casey!”

I bolted in that direction. Thick foliage clawed at my bare legs. However, my current frightened adrenaline rush would not allow me to acknowledge pain. Pain? Fuck you, pain. Pain could suck my metaphorical cock. Fear and urgency were the only things that made sense. A steady blanket of moonlight illuminated my immediate path. My wide-eyed gaze shifted momentarily upward. I was greeted by a larger-than-usual full moon—yellow and lucid. Its pale glow demanded attention, but I forced my gaze to the path ahead. The last thing I needed was to trip and fall into a grave-robbed hole in the ground.

Most of the tombstones shared the same generic tablet shape. A select few others, however, were sculpted to artistic perfection. The one that immediately grabbed my attention was supposed to be an angel with outstretched arms and shielding wings. However, the few centuries that it had spent in Saint Salazar’s had left it darkened in a layer of moss. In this new guise, veiled in the shadows of night, it resembled a demon more than anything sent from heaven.

Lowering my head, I broke free of the graveyard, plunging into a thick wall of forestation. The brushwood immediately encircling the perimeter was thickest. My hair tangled in the branches. But for only a brief moment.

FUCK YOU, PAIN!

I jerked my head and—whether it was the branch or my ginger-ass hair—something sure as shit broke free. Amidst the trees ahead, the landscape swayed and jutted with beautiful but eerie rock formations. Eeriest of all, however, was the layer of fog swishing across the ground ahead. White mist twisted and swirled with living energy. The sight was ripped straight out of a campy horror flick. My legs locked and hesitated.

I screamed once more, praying to Charles fucking Darwin for a closer response. “Casey!”

A sound did follow. But not in response to my call. It was a cracking gunshot.

It was followed by a vicious snarling roar.

Casey cried out. He sounded even more frightened than me.

“CASEY!”

The fog was no longer an issue. Breaking into a full-on sprint, I launched myself forward, slicing through it like The Penis of James Bond through every hoe he ever smiled his British smile at.

The mist was all but blinding. For a short moment, I felt like I was airborne, soaring through the clouds.

Or stoned, at least.

There was that one party that one time where I smoked that one stuff and I was like, Whoa, Tyrannosaurus Rex, who the hell said you could use the kitchen? And suddenly we’re hang gliding in outer space like, Why has nobody ever done this before? And T-Rex is all like like, It’s pretty rad, right?

Yeah. Never again.

Goddammit. PULL IT TOGETHER, MONICA! FOCUS!

The feeling was short lived as the path unleashed its obstacle course. Elongated silhouettes became tree trunks which I was quick to dodge. Dead branches slashed out with hungry claws. Glancing down at my feet was a rather pointless safety precaution considering that everything below my mid-calves was lost in a faded sea of misty white.

I had never seen fog like this. There was something just a little Stephen King
ish
about it. Then again, nothing about this evening really seemed to scream “normal.” The sooner I could have my boring, normal, homework-doing, Netflix-watching everyday life back, the better. Hell, even dating wasn’t as bad as this.

I hadn’t noticed how cold it was until now. My breath puffed out visibly in front of me. My lungs were blocks of ice in my chest. Each gasping breath I took scathed my insides. The effort was a knife, stabbing through my ribcage.

Whether I was capable of running further or not, the sight that crept before me stole what little breath I had left.

It was a final silhouette to diminish all others. It started out as a giant dark mass but then grew to a colossal size. The size intensified when I realized just how far away it still was. The billowing fog was finally beginning to disperse, swirling hypnotically around the clearing. It was as if the mists were a controlled entity, emanating from this very spot.

Out of the haze emerged magnificent archways twisting and dancing around a structure, solidifying a sturdy rampart. Gargoyles were lined across parapets like foreboding guardians. Nearly a dozen spires pierced up into the atmosphere, slicing through a the deep gray clouds. All around it, the structure was encompassed by a gaping chasm. It was connected only by a narrow bridge of earth at the front gate. Sharp rocks jutted from the seemingly endless depths below.

The elaborate gothic edifice was unlike anything I had ever witnessed in my entire life. Well, except when I was a little girl watching
Beauty and the Beast
, of course.
Naturally. Why not?

This was no fucking mansion. I was staring at a castle.

4

The Monster

I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming. No, wait. The chef! The chef at Leonardo’s was some psycho-ass sexual predator who spiked girls’ pasta with LSD so he could follow them home and take advantage of them while they were wandering around Narnia tripping on castles and shit. Yeah. Yeah, that was it. It made a helluva lot more sense than some castle sitting in the middle of god-forsaken backwoods Louisiana.

Yet no matter how many times I blinked, the castle was still there. Encompassed by a sheer drop on nearly all sides and silhouetted in a veil of curling mist. Was I wiggity-wacked? It sure seemed like it. First, the ghost stalker I had seen
twice
, then some creature I had just heard attack Casey (which sounded more like the T-Rex in the kitchen at that one party that one time when I was tripping on shit balls—WAY more like that—than a black bear )…and now this?

Casey!

The urgency of the situation punched me in the face. Whatever was
really
going on around here, I knew only one thing for sure: My brother was in danger. I heard him scream.

And it came from the direction of
that
castle.

My panic was well beyond reasoning. I dashed to the narrow pass of rock and earth bridging the chasm. My fear of heights got the better of me as I took my first steps onto a ridge only five feet wide. My lungs seized for only a second, and I slowed my run to a cautious walk. I couldn’t help but notice the tips of sharp rocks glistening hundreds of feet below me on either side.

Once I was nearly across, I broke into a jog again. Racing up the stairs, my gaze was left to gawk up the extent of a lofty arched doorway. And when I say “lofty”, I mean this shit was twenty feet tall. It had hefty bronze knockers the size of Pamela Anderson’s. My hand went to the door handle, pushing the entryway open. Or trying to, at least. Sweet mother of shit! I had to put all my weight into just one door. I might as well have been pushing a goddamn Prius. The hinges finally relented. The door groaned like some great big dying hippopotamus or narwhal or something. Well fuck. Hope I didn’t wake the neighbors. With a nervous gasping breath (like seriously, I could hardly breathe), I slipped through the opening.

There was not even a hint of electricity in the entry chamber. Not so much as a blown out light bulb. However, every long flowing curtain was pulled back, allowing moonlight to paint colorless marble floor.

My house could easily fit in the front entryway.

I slowly delved deeper into the manor. The quiet patter of my footsteps echoed off of distant walls. The ceiling was arched, making the chamber appear that much taller. At the far end, two stairways wrapped along the walls, curving up to a sweeping balcony. Between the stairs and beneath the balcony, the castle extended into a seemingly never ending hallway, lost in shadow.

Distracted by my surroundings, it caught me quite by surprise when my left foot slipped.

FUCK LIKE FUCKING FUCK WHAT THE FUCK!

(It wasn’t a question; it was an exclamation—as sincere as they get.)

I still had traction under the tread of my right shoe, which immediately flew out, along with my hands, for balance. These reflexes were just enough to save me from an embarrassing fall. Not that my spread-eagle jumping jack formation was any less embarrassing, but I was still just a
little
bit more concerned for my brother.

This concern hit me full on when I glanced down. Trailing across the marble floor from my left shoe was a streak of dark liquid. Though it appeared nearly black in the dim-lit chamber, a stray finger of moonlight from the nearest window reached out and touched a hint of maroon.

Blood. Fresh blood.

My lungs seized. Tilting my head up slightly, I noticed more blood trailing forward. Not much. Just occasional droplets dotting the marble. Together, they formed a path.

This was
not
Casey’s blood. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t it couldn’t it just couldn’t! I found it difficult to put one foot in front of the other. The trail of blood led
somewhere
, but I was strangled by the fear of what I might find. All I could see was Casey, crumpled in some obscure corner of the castle, possibly bleeding to death. Maybe he was already—

No! Like…fucking, just fucking no. I shook that thought, refusing to accept the possibility. Wiping the bloody sole of my shoe against the marble, I stole across the blood-tainted path with renewed urgency. The blood droplets were nearly invisible unless I tilted my head at an angle, catching their crimson gleam in the moonlight. It led up the left flight of stairs. Skipping every other step, I raced to the top.

I nearly tripped on the top step. My eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, were no longer focused on blood droplets. They were instead focused on a pool of red ten yards away.

Casey was lying in the middle of it.

“No…”

My lungs stopped working. It didn’t matter. I rushed to my brother’s side, fighting my own breathlessness.

Casey stirred.

Sweet, merciful Darwin in Science-Heaven! My heart jumped and filled with relief. He was alive. But there was no telling how long that would last considering the amount of blood he had lost. My brother needed a hospital. No matter what, I would get him there. Even if I had to drag him.

Casey rolled, and his head tilted towards me. Once again, my breath fell short. His face was lacerated in claw marks. The skin was flayed.

“Monica…” he said—a ragged whisper. His eyes were weary, fighting against the weight of his eyelids.

And then his eyes flew wide open. He was no longer looking at me. My stomach twisted.

“Monica…behind…!”

A harsh growl solidified my dread.

With my muscles frozen, I could only manage to turn slowly. Something enormous was stirring in the shadows. A pair of big yellow eyes caught the reflection of the candle light.