Dark Magic

Today's Vamplit Friday Flash theme is Visions of Hell. The Monthly theme is Medieval Torture.  Sue Mydliak did the artwork. Be sure to check her out. She is an amazing artist and author. Her book, Bithright, is a unique story and one I enjoyed reading.

Dark Magic

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

Tearing through the forest as fast as he could, Ulric's heart raced, the rushing blood in his ears keeping time with his feet. The terrified apprentice barely felt the sting of branches whipping across his face, nor did he notice the blood that trailed down his forehead and into his eyes. When the crimson drops blurred his vision, Ulric wiped the liquid from his eye, unaware he had even performed the action.

Around him, Rowan's laughter filled the Devil's Fortress, echoing off the cursed trees and meeting Uric at every turn. Rowan seemed to be taunting him; testing the boy's resolve to escape his fate.

There was no other sound in the forest, save the Sorcerer's laughter. Even the sound of Ulric's feet snapping branches in his attempt to escape, faded into the background. Nothing but fear existed.

"Ulric, why are you running from me?"

The pain that shot through his head sent Ulric tumbling to his knees.

“Have I not cared for you these past few years? Am I not your master?”

Instinctively Ulric covered his ears, attempting to block the voice, even though the words had only been projected inside of his head.

"Get up Ulric and look at me."

Ulric continued staring at the ground. He knew his mind would shatter if he had to stare into Rowan's face once more. As long as he refused to look, he could still convince himself that this was just a dream; a nightmarish vision of hell that would disappear when he woke.

"Look at me."

Rowan felt cold hands on his shoulder. Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed. He repeated the prayers the monks had taught him when he first entered the monastery, prayers that had replaced the ones his mother had sung to him as a child.

Fingers wrapped around Ulric's hair, twisting the locks and pulling upwards, forcing him to his feet. Rough, cold hands on his shoulder spun him around, so that he was facing his master. Owen kept his eyes shut, refusing to give in to his master’s command.

"Open them, or I will burn your eyes from your head and force your whore of a mother to eat them."

Ulric trembled, his resolve beginning to fade. Crossing himself, he prayed for strength. The heat that seared his cheek, close to his eyes chased the last of his will away. Opening them, Ulric stared into Rowan's face and screamed. The last thing he thought before he passed out was how wrong the monks had been. There was no salvation, only death and damnation.

***

Ulric's arms ached. His mother's voice called to him, urging him to wake up. Ulric tried to ignore her, but she was insistent, prodding and poking at him.

'Damn that woman to hell,' he thought.

She poked him again, her voice seeming urgent. It was always urgent with her though.

"Ulric, wake up."

There was something wrong with her voice. It didn't sound the way he remembered. And why was he home anyway? He had left their cottage three years ago, to apprentice himself to God’s work. He should be in the monastery. And why did his arms hurt so much?

"Ulric, open your eyes."

"Rowan," Ulric's mind screamed. Opening his eyes, he looked around, terrified. Rowan stood there, prodding at him with a sharp object, his colorless lips stretched into an evil grin.

"You're dead," Ulric whispered.

"So I am. But not quite completely dead."

And it was true. Rowan had died several months past, put to death by the Queen's Bishop. Rowan, the Royal Priest, had been accused of sorcery and of putting a spell on the Queen, leaving her barren and unable to produce an heir. Ulric had refused to believe it, defending his master, even as Rowan was tied to the pyre and set aflame.

And then, this morning, he had woken to find Rowan standing over his bed. He wore robes and his head was covered by a hood, but Ulric knew it was him. Then Rowan removed the hood, revealing his face. It was a skull. His flesh had been burned away by the fire.

Horrified, Ulric was pulled from his bed and carried to the Devil’s Fortress, to what ends he knew not, but he feared it was un-holy. His former master, the priest he had admired and wished to emulate, was a liche, come back to life through magical means. He was a demon, having forged his alliance with Satan and Ulric would have naught to do with it. He had escaped. Now though, his flight proved pointless, as he was at Rowan’s mercy once again. Rowan was speaking, though Ulric could scarce hear his words through his anger building inside.

Cedric became aware that he was naked and that his arms were strung up over his head, the source of his pain. They were tied to one of the trees and pulled tight. His legs were similarly bound, tied to a large root that protruded from the ground.

"What do you intend to do to me?"

"The greatest honor," Rowan said, bowing to Ulric and mocking him. "You shall be sacrificed so that I shall live whole. It will not do for me to be seen like this." Rowan indicated his face, devoid of muscle and skin. Then he opened his robe, to reveal the rest of his body, similarly impaired. "Soon I will be whole again.”

"I don't understand," Ulric said, but then he saw the small knife in Rowan's hand and he did. His screams echoed through the forest, but there was no one around to hear him. He begged for Rowan to kill him, but the Sorcerer said that wasn't possible.

"It is your fear and pain that makes the spell work."

Rowan started at the top of Ulric's head, carefully inserting the knife. Flaying skin was a delicate art and he needed his new skin in one piece.

Word Count: 990

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCOurt Hollar.  All rights reserved

Under The Big Top

This week’s vamplit flash fiction prompt is ghosts. You will find mine under the big top.

Under The Big Top

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

"See, I told you!" Tyler Jenson was pointing to the circus tent that was standing in the middle of the field. Paolo Guigini had scoffed when his best friend had told him the circus had finally come to Benson's Ridge.

"A circus? What the hell would a circus be doing out here? What you been doin', smokin' some of that wacky weed your daddy been growin'?"

"Piss off Paolo. Come on, I'll show ya."

Now Paolo was rubbing his eyes to be sure he wasn't seeing things. The circus tent, as well as the rides that always accompanied these attractions, shimmered brightly through the dusk.

"Wazzit doin’ here?" Paolo's mouth watered as the scent of popcorn reached his nose.

"I dunno. You wanna get a closer look?"

Sticking to the shadows, the two friends made their way across the field. The sound of a concertina reached their ears and Tyler chuckled, pointing to a monkey that was sitting on a platform between the Ferris wheel and the carousel.

"Would you like to have him play anything in particular?"

The boys jumped at the sound of the voice. Turning, they found themselves looking into the wrinkled face of the circus ringmaster. He had long, dark hair and deep blue eyes that were overshadowed by a pair of bushy eyebrows. His handlebar mustache reminded Tyler of the villains in silent movies.

"I'm sorry," Tyler said, fearing they were in trouble. "We just wanted to get a closer look."

"Of course you were," the man said, tipping his tall black hat. "You're boys. What boy doesn't want a closer look at a circus?"

"What are you doing here," Paolo asked. "The circus never comes to Benson's Ridge."

"Never? Well then you two are in for a treat. Tonight, we are here to entertain you! Where should we begin?"

Clapping his hands together, the circus master was joined by performers who seemed to appear out of nowhere. There were women in sequined costumes, a strong man in a leopard print leotard, a woman with a very impressive beard and clowns with brightly painted faces. There were several human oddities and some of whom didn't appear to be of human decent.

They all started calling to the boys, wanting to be the one chosen to perform. Before long the two of them were sitting in the big top. The ringmaster called out for the boys to turn their attention on the ropes overhead. A spotlight lit up and hovered over a woman sitting on a swing. Slowly she began gliding back and forth. Tilting backwards, she lifted her legs, positioning her body upside down. She hooked one leg on the bar, leaving the other to hang free. She swung back and forth and then leaped through the air and caught herself on another bar. Paolo applauded the daring move, spilling his popcorn on the ground. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun and wondered if he might not be a little high. The tent, and even the performers at time, appeared to shimmer, as though they weren't completely solid.

Tyler was equally enthralled, although he wasn't watching the trapeze act. On the other side of the tent some clowns were putting on an act. Two of the clowns had begun to fight, hitting each other with oversized boxing gloves. Then one produced an anvil out of thin air and dropped it on another. Tyler laughed as the clown appeared to fold like an accordion beneath the weight. Another clown joined the fight, pulling a gun out of a pocket. Tyler was impressed by the number of colored rags that were tied to the end, and then whooped with joy when the trigger was pulled and a sign that read BANG shot out. At the same time the other clowns head exploded and confetti flew into the air. Amazed by the special effects, Tyler wondered how they had worked the trick.

Another clown entered the ring at that point. He was dressed as the Grim Reaper and pulled behind him a guillotine. The clowns then surrounded Tyler, urging him to join them. Enjoying this new turn of events, Tyler willingly knelt and put his head into the stock.

Paolo didn't notice the show his friend was now participating in. He was fixated on the trapeze artist. She was now riding a unicycle across a rope while holding a torch. She stopped in the middle of the tight wire and balanced herself in place. Looking towards the boy, she smiled brightly as one of the clowns ran across the ring, lifted a bucket and splashed Paolo, soaking him.

The clowns and the ringmaster laughed at Paolo's startled reaction. The boy frowned. The liquid smelled like gasoline. Horrified Paolo turned to run. From the tightrope, the acrobat dropped her torch, the flames sparking to life around Paolo's body.

Tyler frowned. Why did he smell something burning? He didn't have much time to wonder. The guillotines blade slammed into his neck, separating his head from his body.

When the sun rose the next morning, the sheriff was summoned. Two bodies were in the middle of the otherwise empty meadow. The burnt body was unrecognizable, but there was no doubt it was Paolo, considering the headless body of Tyler Jenson next to him.

"Same as it was the last time." The sheriff was puzzled. This was a strange serial killer. He didn’t strike every year, sometimes going as long as ten years between attacks and always dumping the bodies in Benson's field. The same field that Sam Benson had condemned a circus troupe to death after catching his wife screwing the ringmaster. Driven insane, Benson had snuck into the circus grounds the night before they were to leave and set fire to the ringmaster’s tent. The fire had spread quickly. Some had speculated when the killings first began, that the ringmaster had survived. That was over a hundred years ago. If it was anyone from the circus, they’d have to be ghosts.

If you liked this story, you might like The Carnival, available on Kindle and Smashwords.

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.