Forevermore

Day 6 of the A to Z Blog Challenge is also my Vamplit FridayFlash. The theme this month is Superstition and the topic today is Broken Mirrors….and F for the A to Z Challenge.

F stands for Familiar Spirit (or Fail for attempting to contain one).

Forevermore

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Selma lit the candles, bathing her bedroom in a warm glow. The candles sat in a circle around a full length mirror that she had placed in the middle of her room. She had found the mirror in the attic and after some considerable persuasion, had managed to convince her mother to let her have it. The mirror itself was framed in black, which is what had caught Selma’s attention. It wasn’t especially decorative, but there seemed to be a glow beneath the surface and Selma felt a familiar stirring in her mind. A voice seemed to whisper to her from within the glass and when she peered into the mirror, she saw a face returning that imitated her own, reflecting eyes that were older and more cunning than she possessed. She knew immediately that the mirror was magic, perhaps a portal to another world and knew that she must have it.

Selma had been studying witchcraft for a while with her friends. It had begun as a lark, a way to rebel against their parents. They had died their hair black, wore dark makeup, drawn in thick lines under their eyes and around their lips and wore clothes that they thought made them look rebellious. While none of her friends seemed to have an affinity for magic, Selma had a natural ability, one that she learned from a family member, she shared with her grandmother. She discovered that magic was woven into many ordinary looking things. The mirror, she suspected, contained a familiar spirit that had been bound to her grandmother. Tonight Selma planned to summon the Familiar and bind it to her.

Finishing her preparations, Selma turned and faced the mirror. The reflection was her own, but if she did this right, that would change.

“Spirit contained within the mirror, reveal yourself to me.”

The candles flickered, but nothing happened. The image in the mirror never wavered.

“I compel you to come forth, oh spirit I command thee, reveal thyself.”

Nothing, although this time Selma got the distinct feeling she was being watched and that the spirit was amused.

“Spirit, come forth.” This time, even though Selma’s voice had seemed less certain, there was a ripple in her reflection. The image that looked back at her was still Selma’s, but the eyes were darker and the smile mocking.

“You summoned me?”

Selma wasn’t sure what she had expected, she had grown up with movies like Snow White, where the mirror answered to the Queen, but actually having one speak to her, even though that is what she had been attempting, caught her by surprise. Stammering a moment, Selma searched for the words she intended to say, once she’d summoned the spirit.

“Spirit, I bind thee to me, I compel you to serve me, I command you to obey me and only me. I bind thee to me forevermore.”

“Forevermore you say.” The spirit’s voice was mocking, her voice trembling with rage. “Serve you…a mere child? And why should I do that…master?”

Uncertain at the strange turn the magic was taking, Selma took a step back. Her voice shaking, along with her knees, the young witch answered, “Because I am the Sorceress that has called thee. I have bound thee to me and you must obey.”

“I must obey? Do I? Your features look familiar to me. I think perhaps I have met a relative of yours.” The spirit smiled and nodded, “I know you now…you are descended from the witch that trapped me here.”

“Trapped you?”

“Imprisoned, captured, chained, shackled…bound, yes, bound me to this mirror, forcing me to live in shadow and smoke, doing her bidding. I had plans to escape, but then she died.”

“The witch was my grandmother and the mirror…and you, belong to me now.”

“So I heard, you said you bind me…”

“Yes, I did,” Selma said, wondering why she felt as though she were walking into a trap.

“To. You. Interesting choice of words.” The spirit smiled, flames showing in her eyes. “I accept…only…”

“Only?”

“Only it shall be you that serves me.”

The mirror began to glow, first appearing almost white and then the surface began to darken, becoming black, the reflection warping as the glass began to crack. Then the mirror shattered, shards of glass raining onto the floor like hail. Sharp fragments cut Selma’s hands, which she held out in front of her, protecting her face,

Remembering that a broken mirror brought seven years of bad luck, Selma acted quickly, turning counter clockwise three times. On the third turn, she found herself looking into eyes that were black as onyx.

“You bound me to thee…so mote it be.”

Selma opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, the Familiar poured herself into Selma, binding her spirit to the inexperienced witch. Selma fought back, but the entity was more powerful, her anger at her captivity driving her fury. When the battle was over, Selma picked a shard up from the ground and looked into it. The eyes reflecting back were cold and black. Cunning. Smiling, an unfamiliar chuckle left her throat. She was finally free.

Word Count: 857

The Dead Husband's Club

For the Vamplit Friday Flash I chose Small Town Madness and Serial Murderer as my prompt.

The Dead Husbands Club

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Even though the paper had been filled with stories about the serial killer that had been running rampant around the small town of Dumont, Stella didn’t think anything about it when she came home and found the front door unlocked and slightly ajar. She didn’t pay attention to the turned over table by the entrance, nor did she care that the plant she had nursed since it was a little sprout, was laying on its side, dirt smeared across the floor.

Her husband was an asshole that took every opportunity to belittle her, always pointing out the few pounds she put on, because she couldn’t keep her fingers out of the cookie jar, or mentioning that there was a smear on the window that she must have missed when she washed them; if she even bothered cleaning at all, because as Larry was wont to point out, she seemed to be allergic to soap and disinfectant.  Perhaps asshole was a bit too kind. He was a fucking lard ass that drove everyone away with his constant criticism and superior attitude. Asshole was too kind, bastard, a compliment and fucktard not accurate enough. Stella rued the day, fifteen years earlier, when she ditched her boyfriend of three years to marry the war hero, just returned home.  He was tall and handsome and so much more than what she thought she was getting. Now she knew her loss and would have divorced him, if it was possible, but she believed the words, till death do us part. And it was till death that she intended to keep.

It was her friend Sally that told her about the Dead Husband’s Club.  It cost a sizable fee to join, murder didn’t come cheap, and a friend in the club to vouch for you, but once you were in, your husband problems would be taken care of. Sally’s husband had been one of the first victims of the Dumont Killer. It was a month ago, over coffee, that Sally told Stella the truth about what happened.

“You mean you paid someone to kill him?” Stella had looked around her kitchen, expecting to see a hidden camera crew.

“Not just someone, the Dumont Killer.  You remember Morgan James? His wife is the one that first came up with the idea.”

Morgan James was one of the richest men in town. Was, because over a year ago he had been the second victim of the Dumont Killer. The first had been Old Man Whittaker, also one of the richest men in town. Old Man Whittaker and Morgan had been partners and at first the police thought the two murders were related. Then Sally’s husband was killed. Bobby hadn’t been connected to the other two men at all and then when the janitor at the elementary school was found dead in the school library, it was declared to be the work of a serial killer.

“But I don’t understand, how do you even know Ruth James?”

Sally was far from rich. She worked at The Dirty Spoon, which wasn’t exactly the hangout for the rich and famous.

“Her dog got loose one day and I found him digging a hole in my garden. I called the number on his collar and she came to pick him up. She came when Bobby was in one of his moods. My eye was nearly swollen shut, but she didn’t say a word. Just gave Bobby the money he was demanding for finding her dog and left. She came back later.  We talked for hours.  Her husband Morgan was just as bad as Bobby, if not worse. At least Bobby only hit me. Her husband did worse, but she couldn’t prove it. And she couldn’t just leave him. He had the money, the lawyers and the family history to be able to take everything from her, including the kids. Then she said something that changed our lives. “

“What’s that?”

“The men in this town have lost all respect for women. I see it everywhere. Even Old Man Whittaker treats his wife like a servant, making her wait on him hand and foot, even though she can barely walk. He has more money than God and he won’t spend a dime of it to hire a maid. I volunteer at the women’s shelter and you would be amazed at the number of calls we get, yet the place is nearly empty. Why? Because even though we are there to help women, they are afraid to leave their husband’s.”

“She volunteers at the women’s shelter?” Stella had called there just the week before.

“Not just her. I do to. It’s part of the condition of joining the club. You have to volunteer at the shelter. I recognized your voice when you called.”

“What club?”

“The Dead Husband’s Club. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Ruth’s plan. We hire someone to kill our husbands. “

Stella had joined that day, but had to wait a month for Frank to fall onto the roster. There were women ahead of her. She didn’t know their names. It was safest that way. If any woman ever felt remorse and went to the police, she would only have a few names, at best, to give them. But finally it was her turn. She wasn’t supposed to come home yet. The plan was for her to go shopping and spend the morning being seen around town. But Larry kept creeping into her mind throughout the day and she couldn’t take it anymore. She had to see if he was dead.

When she walked into the kitchen, Larry was tied to a chair. It was the man standing behind the chair that caught Stella by surprise.

“You…”

“I wondered when his name would show up on my list.”

Stella stepped further into the kitchen, staring at Frank’s brother, the man she had almost married fifteen years earlier.

The Curiosity Shop

I missed last week’s Vamplit prompt, which was little shop of oddities. So since this week is author’s choice of oddities, I am going to use last week’s prompt. A while back I wrote a story called The Weddingi Veil. A reader had said that she would like to see what happened from the decision to kill Jason, after all, was that the only choice? So from that, I present to  you…

The Curiosity Shop

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Cecile pulled into the parking lot of the odd little shop. It hadn’t been there the day before. Glancing at the sign that read simply, The Curiosity Shop, she didn’t question its sudden appearance. She had been looking for it for a month now and had known she wouldn’t find the place in the usual manor, and that it would find her instead.

Opening her car door, Cecile hurried across the lot, afraid the shop would disappear before she was inside.  Once there, she breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes searching the store for the proprietor.  She barely noticed the oddities that lined the shelves and tables scattered throughout the room.

“May I help you?” The voice came from behind her.

“I don’t know.” Cecile’s voice shook. “A friend of mine thought you might be able to help me. She bought something here once.”

“A wedding veil. I remember. How is Laurie?”

“She’s dying.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m dying too. We think…well, this is going to sound crazy, but my husband is killing us.”

“And why would that be crazy?”

“Because Jason is dead.”

“Yes, I know dear. I don’t know how you think I can help you though.”

“Because that wedding veil you sold Laurie is the reason he is dead.”

Stepping into the light, the old woman chuckled. The hag’s eyes were milky white and even though she was blind, Cecile had no doubt she could see into her soul. “The wedding veil didn’t kill Jason. That was the two of you and that is why his spirit is seeking revenge.”

“The veil showed Laurie what Jason intended to do! He was going to kill us.”

The old woman shook her head. “There is always a choice. The future isn’t set in stone. The ripples that are made by our decisions change what can happen. Laurie put on the wedding veil, because she wanted to imagine that she was marrying Jason…a married man that she chose to run around with. The veil showed her what would happen IF she pursued that road.”

“Even if she didn’t marry him, she was pregnant with his child. He would have killed her to keep her from telling me.”

“Lie to yourself, but not to me. This store knows your soul.”

Cecile bit her lip, frustrated.  She wanted to scream at the woman; after all she was the one that set everything in motion. If this store truly did know everything, then it knew what would happen when Laurie bought the veil. She didn’t scream though. She had a daughter that needed her. Instead, she took a deep breath and asked, “Can you help me?”

“I can. But it will cost.”

***

Closing the door to her apartment, Cecile leaned against the wall. On the way home, she had looked in the rearview mirror once and seen Jason staring back at her, his eyes black with rage. She hadn’t looked again after that.

“Mommy!” Abby ran into the hallway, her impish smile lifting Cecile’s spirit. Laurie stood behind her, pale, her belly distended. She was due in another week, but Cecile worried she wouldn’t make it. Jason would see her dead before she delivered his child. Unless they stopped him.

“You found it,” Laurie said, motioning to the large package that Cecile carried.

“Yes. But…I had to promise her something. You aren’t going to like it.”

“What?”

“The baby.”

“NO!” Laurie covered her swollen abdomen with her hands and stared at Cecile in shock. “I won’t give up my baby! I did all this for her.”

“She doesn’t want it…”

“Her.”

“She doesn’t want her right away. But she says she is ready to retire. She needs an apprentice.”

“When?”

“She didn’t say.”

Laurie turned and went into the living room. “I suppose we don’t have any choice.”

Cecile set the package up against the wall and instructed Abby to go next door to Mrs. Whitman’s.  Once she was gone, Cecile uncovered the object.

“A mirror?” Laurie’s voice trembled. Jason always showed up in mirrors.

“We have to trap him inside of it.” Cecile positioned it in the middle of the room. The mirror was full length, allowing a person to view themselves from head to foot. Once she had it where she wanted, she placed candles around the room, lighting them.  

“What do we have to do?”

“Stand in front of the mirror,” Cecile instructed. “Then call him.”

“Call him? Cecile, I can’t. I don’t want him here!”

“It’s the only way and it has to be you. The old woman said so.”

“Why me?” Laurie’s voice was shaking.

“Because that is what she said.  Do you want him gone or not?”

Laurie felt her stomach. Her baby was moving. She wondered if she felt her fear. “I want him gone” Standing in front of the mirror she called out, “Jason. Jason, come here. Please.”

Then she saw him, standing behind her. He held a rope in his hand. She felt it around her throat, pulling tight and choking her. Gurgling, she looked towards Cecile.

Cecile stood there and watched. Laurie reached for the rope around her neck. There was nothing there, but she was choking.  Still, Cecile did nothing. Just before Laurie passed out, she stepped in front of the mirror, striking the glass with a glass stake the old woman had given her. Jason screamed as the glass shattered. His soul was now trapped inside the stake.

Bending over Laurie, Cecile held her while she died.  “I’m sorry. She said it had to be, a life for a life.”

When the ambulance arrived, Laurie was dead, her belly no longer distended from pregnancy. There was no sign she had been pregnant. The baby was just gone. The doctors puzzled over it. Televangelists called it a miracle of God. The gossip papers claimed it was an alien abduction.  But Cecile knew the truth. The baby was with the old woman, waiting to take her place in The Curiosity Shop.

Copyright© 2012 Lisa McCourt Hollar

This Is How It Begins...

Today's Vamplit theme is Antique, Scientific Oddities.

This Is How It Begins…

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“Careful opening the door. The air inside is probably stagnate, so make sure your masks are on. We don’t know for sure what Dr. Meggs was doing in here, just that he thought it best to barricade the lab.”

“And kill himself.”

“Yes Straka, and kill himself,” Nita Sanders said.

“Should we really be opening this place up then,” Alejandra Wiens asked, the nervousness in her voice echoing the concern they all had.

“We are scientists,” Nita said. “We don’t let fear stop us.”

“Especially when there is money involved.” Neil Straka smirked.

“Is it true that we all will be rich?”

“That depends. We don’t know how far Dr. Meggs got with his experiment, just that he ordered his family to never open the lab doors.”

“And yet, his niece has hired us to do just that.” Kurt Dombrosky looked around the lab, his eyes shining like a kid in a candy shop. Nita had to admit, it was pretty cool. All the beakers and test tubes were preserved exactly as Dr. Meggs had left them.

“Some of this equipment was obsolete fifty years ago,” Neil said.

“I read a paper he wrote,” Alajandra said. “It sounded like the ravings of a lunatic. Did he really believe death could be stopped?”

“There are many people that believe it is possible,” Nita said. “I am just interested in prolonging life. That is what Cecilia Meggs hired us to do.”

“She has the same disease her aunt did,” Kurt said

“I found his notes.” Nita blew dust off of a notebook that had been sitting open on a desk. Scanning it, she snorted. “It does sound like the ravings of a lunatic. Listen to this.”

‘I administered the medicine to Sophie, in powder form, since she is unable to swallow pills. The powder is breathed in and absorbed through the membranes. I saw results almost immediately. Sophie’s eyes cleared and she recognized me for the first time in over a month. “

“The next day he writes,”

‘One of my lab assistants has cancer. I was unaware of this, until he came to me this morning and told me. I had noticed he was losing weight, but I blamed it on the long hours we were keeping. He wondered if the powder could cure him. I took blood tests before administering the dosage and then took more blood an hour after. The cancer is gone!’

“Sounds wonderful,” Alejandra said.

“You would think, but then listen to this.”

‘The rats are showing signs of deterioration. A week ago they were thriving; now look like the risen dead. Whiskers was eating his cage mate. And even though Squigie’s entrails were strewn across the cage, he was still alive and trying to get at Whiskers. I put them down by decapitating their heads. Dear God, what have I given my wife?’

“That is where it ends. A few days later he killed himself.”

“Dr. Sanders, come look at this!”

“It looks like a sarcophagus,” Nita said, joining Kurt in the next room. There were two caskets, both resembling the burial vessels of ancient Egypt. Both were nailed shut.

“Let’s pry it open,” Nina said.

The lid to the casket made a groaning sound and then gave, falling open and releasing the air that had been in there for over thirty years. Inside was Sophie Meggs.

“Her skin appears to be mummified,” Nita said. Lifting the woman’s hand, she stared at the open lid in shock. “Her nails are broken and her fingers were ripped open. There are scratches on the lid. She was alive when she was entombed.”

Prying the next one open, Kurt nodding at Nita and verified the same results.

“No wonder he killed himself,” Straka said. “By the way,” he said, holding up a vile, “I found the cure.”

“Be careful with that,” Alejandra said, backing away.

“The man was nutters,” Straka said. “It’s probably harmless.”

“Just the same,” Nita said, “you should put your mask on…like I told you too when we first entered. You too Alejandra,”

“You aren’t my superior. We are equals in this project, so you don’t get to...” Suddenly Straka stopped speaking, his eyes opening wide. He pointed behind Nita.

Puzzled, Nita turned and screamed. Sophie Meggs, was lunging for her, mouth opened wide. Nita dodged out of the way, but her mask was knocked off by Sophie’s flailing arm.

Still holding the crowbar, Kurt lodged it into the back of the corpse’s head. Sophie stopped moving and crumbled to the floor. Kurt pulled the crowbar out and turned just in time to find the second corpse. He swung and missed, as the zombie lunged for Straka. Falling backwards, Straka screamed. Kurt swung again, this time connecting with the back of the creature’s head and killing him.

“Thank God,” Nita said, then froze as the sound of breaking glass.

“I..it…Oh my God.” Straka sat next to the broken vile, his pants soaked with piss. “They were alive!”

“And now we are dead,” Nita screamed. “You just contaminated us, except for Kurt. He still has his mask on.”

“What are we going to do?” Alejandra was crying.

“This thing takes a week to infect the body. We can work on a cure, but if we can’t find one, Kurt will have to lock us in here. Kill us first, if you can, but lock the lab back up and don’t let anyone else in. Ever.”

“NO! I can’t. I won’t be…NO! You all are as crazy as Meggs was.” Dr. Straka was backing away, heading for the exit.

“Neil, don’t do it!” Nita tried to stop Straka, but he was closer to the door than she was and fear motivated him to move quickly. He was out the door before she could stop him. Then she heard the bolt slide into place. They were locked in, just as she had ordered, but Straka was outside and she had no doubt he would spread the contamination.

Word Count: 998

The Snakeman

This Months Vamplit Friday Flash theme is the Circus and Freakshows are this weeks theme. Please enjoy.

The Snakeman

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

Sharona was in love. With each thrust that Leo delivered, she screamed out his name, begging him to keep going. Her body began to shake as Leo plunged into her one last time. Hanging onto him, Sharona dug her fingers into his back and rode out the orgasm.

“Oh my God, that was amazing.” Kissing his neck, she slowly moving up to his chin, searching out his mouth. Her tongue flicked across his skin and she paused, puzzled. It was rough...scaly.

Pushing away, Sharona swiped at her tongue with her hand. Rolling her eyes, she looked towards Leo and froze. His skin, no longer smooth, was covered in scales. He was watching her, his eyes staring into her’s...waiting. They weren't Leo's eyes. Leo’s were green and made her melt when she looked into them. These eyes were yellow, serpent like and made her skin crawl. When a forked tongue slipped out of his mouth, Sharona screamed.

“Sharona, wake up.”

Opening her eyes, Sharona looked into worried, green eyes.

“You had another nightmare.”

“It wasn't a nightmare. He was here. Again.” Sharona reached for the bottle of water next to her bed, desperate to wash the taste out of her mouth.

"And what...I just lay here sleeping while another man screwed you?"

"Raped me."

“From what you've told me, it's the best sex you ever had. Right up until I turn into a snake.”

“I told you, it wasn't you, it was him.” Sharona shuddered at the memory of the Snakeman slithering on top of her. She looked away from Leo, afraid to see the mixture of pity and disgust in his eyes.

Sliding across the bed, Leo put his hands on his girlfriend's shoulders, turning her around so that she was facing him. "I made an appointment for you to talk to a psychologist. Promise me you will go. Please."

Sharona sighed. "Fine."

Leo pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. Sharona stared over his shoulder at her reflection in the mirror and the patch of flaky skin just above the bridge of her nose.

***

It was raining out. Maneuvering the highway, Sharona kept her eyes focused on the road. It was noon, but it looked closer to evening. The circus would still be open though. There was always something under the Big Top. It was the freak show that drove her out into the rain though, traveling nearly a hundred miles to Grover City. That was where Lombardo's Circus was. After today, they would move on to Florida. It would be three more months before they came back this way. She wasn't willing to wait another three months to confront her stalker.

Sharona had first seen the Snake Man, when the circus came to her town. Leo was working, but she had gone with some of her friends. They were getting ready to leave, when she had seen the sign for the Freak Show.

"Come on, let's go in. It will be fun."

Her friends had agreed, but it was obvious they weren't getting the same enjoyment out of it that she was. When they got to the last attraction, they headed straight for the exit. Sharona hung back, captivated by the man covered in scales. He was sitting in a pit filled with snakes and the sign read, SNAKEMAN. He was, according to the sign, the offspring of Lucifer and Medusa. Sharona knew it was just a costume and cleverly applied makeup, but then she felt him in her head. He was whispering to her how beautiful she was. She felt his arms around her waist. She was in the middle of the snake pit with him.

"You are mine now. You will be my mate."

Then she was back outside the pit and her friends were telling her to hurry up.

That night the dreams began. She shrugged them off at first. Then she found a scale lodged between her teeth when she was flossing. She showed it to Leo, but he reminded her that they had eaten fish for dinner.

"Someone must have missed a scale when they were cleaning it."

When her skin began to change, Leo blamed it on too much time in the sun. Only Sharona knew the truth; the Snakeman was changing her.

The parking lot was nearly empty. Parking as close to the entrance as she could, Sharona bought a ticket and headed straight for the Freak Show.

***

Leo finished boxing up Sharona's belongings and loaded them into the car. It had been nearly four months since she'd vanished. She hadn't even left him a note. She just walked out one day and drove off in her car. The police looked for her, but after a while they stopped. Finally he came to the same conclusion everyone else had. She'd left him and she wasn't coming back. He didn't blame her. Sharona's mind was disturbed and she had been retreating further and further from him every day.

Loading the last box into the car, Leo pulled out of the parking lot. He was taking them to her parents. He'd met someone else and she would be moving in over the weekend. Passing a sign that pointed the way to a circus, Leo slowed down. Surprising himself, he turned in the direction the sign pointed, until he came to the circus.

Walking down the main fairway, he looked at the many offerings. A sign for the freak show caught his attention. He hesitated only a moment. The snake pit was in the last room. Inside was the man that had haunted Sharona's dreams. A woman sat next to him, her yellow eyes staring into his. Leo took a step back, the intensity of the gaze frightening him. His heart hammered in his chest and his throat tightened. Looking for the sign, he found it. Leo looked back at the Snake Woman, feeling as though he were going insane.

The sign read, THE SNAKEMAN AND HIS MATE, SHARONA.

Word Count: 998

The Institute

My Friday Flash for the Vamplit Blog, Horrific Visions theme,  featuring the art work of Shane Ryan.

The Institute

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“The Institute, as it was known, was run by a Doctor Troll. His name wasn’t much of a misnomer, considering his short stature and hideous face, which he often hid behind a mask when appearing I public. In the Institute though, he left his face bare. Since this was an insane asylum, no one really much cared what the doctor that treated the criminally insane looked like, so long as he kept the patients out of society’s way. As for his mental status, he was a doctor, so he must be sane.

This couldn’t have been further from the truth. After the Institute burned and all trapped inside died, it came out about the doctor and his creepy experiments. But that wasn’t the end of it. The doctor, his deranged staff and the patients all still reside within the charred walls of the Institute. Anyone that tries to spend the night inside has either come out insane or died inside.”

“Oh come on Johnny, you’re making that up.” Hannah hung onto her boyfriend’s arm, while giving his best friend the best stink eye she could muster. She couldn’t believe these two jerks thought they could scare her and Kimmy with some stupid ghost story.

“Honest to God, it’s the truth,” Johnny protested. Next to him, Kimmy giggled nervously. Hannah rolled her eyes.

“Derrik, tell Kimmy that Johnny is just making it up.”

“I wish I could honey, but it’s true. There was a big write up in the paper when it happened. They even have it on file at the museum, along with some of the medical equipment Dr. Troll used to experiment on his patients.”

“I don’t believe it.” Hannah folded her arms over her chest and scowled angrily at Darrik. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. Come on Kimmy, we are going home.” Hannah reached for her younger sister’s arm, but Kimmy hung back, looking at Johnny uncertainly.

“Is it true Johnny? Are you just making it up?”

“No, I’m not making it up, but if you want to leave, I can understand. I should have known you’d be afraid.”

“I’m not scared. Hannah, you’re not afraid either, are you? Come on, let’s go in.” Then she leaned towards her sister and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s just a stupid legend. There’s no such things as ghosts.”

“Alright,” Hannah relented, “let’s go in.”

The Institute’s doors were locked; chained shut to keep vandals out, but there was a window in the back that was broken. It had been boarded up, but the boards had long since been pulled away. The caretaker was lazy and most of the time he was too drunk to even take notice of new damage to the place.

“I’ll go in first,” Johnny said. Getting on his knees, he climbed in backwards. The opening led to the basement and there was a slight drop before his feet hit the ground.

Kimmy came next. She was wearing a short skirt and Johnny grinned as he helped her through the window. She was wearing pink panties that barely covered her ass. He couldn’t wait to get her alone in one of the rooms.

Next came Hannah. She was wearing jeans, so he didn’t get to see her panties, but he figured as prudish as she was, she probably wore grannies. That didn’t stop him from copping a feel of her tits as he lowered her to the ground.

“Stop it, you creep,” Hannah said, swatting at him.

“It was an accident,” Johnny lied. Turning back to the window, Johnny yelled for Derrik to come through next.

“Wow, this place is creepy,” Derrik said, looking around once he had joined them.

“So what kind of experiments did Dr. Troll do,” Kimmy asked, as they headed for the stairs that would take them to the first floor of the hospital.

“Kimmy, don’t give him the opportunity to spin more of his bullshit.” Hannah was getting annoyed. This place was giving her a bad feeling and she didn’t need to listen to Johnny go on about what had happened here; if it was even true.

Ignoring Hannah, Johnny took Kimmy’s hand and said, “When the doctor was born, he was disfigured. His body was all out of proportion, his legs were just stumps, but his arms were longer than normal. When he began to grow, so did they. His fingers nearly touched the ground. But that wasn’t the worst of it. His spine was twisted and he walked hunched over. His face was mangled. His nose was on the side of his face and his mouth was always turned up into a sneer. It was his face he hated the most. There are patients that died on the operating table so that he could try and take their faces off and sew them onto his.”

“No way!” Kimmy’s voice practically squealed with excitement. Hannah groaned. When did her sister become such a horror junkie?

“Yes way,” Johnny said. “If you want, we can try and find that room. I’m sure it has a bed in there.”

Kimmy giggled at the suggestion and leaned in closer to Johnny, pressing her breasts into his side.

“You two disgust me,” Hannah said, opening the basement door, ready to escape her sister’s foreplay. Turning she strode into the foyer outside and stopped. The other three nearly fell over her.

“Hannah, what the hell,” Johnny said, then he too stopped and stared.

The downstairs was filled with ghostly apparitions that resembled medical personnel. There were nurses and orderlies and even patients sitting on gurneys, or walking down the hall in pajamas. Suddenly the figures all stopped and turned to stare at the four kids. Then a door opened and a man came through, his fingers nearly touching the floor. His lips, which were turned up into a grimace of sorts, turned up even more, revealing decaying teeth. Looking at Johnny he said, “Oh, you do have a nice face. Nurse, get the operating room ready!”

***

The artwork belongs to Shane Ryan and is titled Infestation. To purchase it, you can click here.

Shane Ryan is a self taught artist specializing in intricately detailed realist horror art, his works range from imaginative creature portraiture, dark twisted surrealism and scenes of macabre horror.

His works have been featured and published by the likes of Fangoria, Goremaster, Horrornews, Fatally Yours, Midnight Echo and Scream Horror Magazine.

Ryan’s preferred mediums are pencil and ink, but he has also recently been dabbling in photography and digital art, of late he has contributed his skills to film story boarding, concept art, as well as working on his own personal collections and is always keen to hear from people about any new projects they may have for him.

His fine art collection, plus merchandise, as well as info about his illustrative services can all be found at his personal website.

Shane’s Website: WWW.GRAPHICHORROR.COM

The Institute is Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. Infestation is copyrighted© by Shane Ryan and is used with permission of Shane Ryan and Vamplit for purpose of Friday Flash Horrific Visions theme.

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