Author: A. I. Nasser
Date: 2017-10-16 13:27:32+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Occult & Supernatural
Description: The Witching Hour is upon us...Kyle Ashfeld has escaped to his hometown of Kent, Connecticut, in search for peace. He is battling his demons, fighting memories of his family's tragedy, and drowning in nightmares of flames and destruction. His only sanctuary is the library where he works. But that sanctuary is quickly tainted when Connor Fegan appears and warns of the prophecy of the witching hour. Every century, on the second Friday of September, six demons escape hell and set in motion a cataclysmic sequence of events that lead to disasters on a global scale. And only one man can stop them. F
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Witching Hour

Written by A. I. Nasser

Edited by Emma Salam

Copyright © 2017 by ScareStreet.com

All rights reserved.

Thank You and Bonus Novel!

To really show you my appreciation for downloading this book, I'd love to send you the full length novel: Sherman’s Library Trilogy by Ron Ripley in 3 formats (MOBI, EPUB and PDF) absolutely free! This will surely make chills run down your spine!

Download Sherman’s Library Trilogy in 3 formats, get FREE short stories, and receive future discounts by visiting www.ScareStreet.com/AINasser

Welcome,

A.I. Nasser

Table of Contents

Prologue: 1982

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue: 1982

FREE Bonus Novel!

Prologue: 1982

The worst thing about the half hour before Ashley McLane’s death was the screaming.

And the blood.

But mostly the screaming.

Doctor Charles Kimnot barged into the delivery room – half-asleep and still a little tipsy – and instantly flinched at the shrill sound escaping from the seventeen-year-old in labor. One leg was strapped in a stirrup, but she had somehow found a way to break loose from the other. A nurse hung on her free leg, arms wrapped around Ashley’s thigh and under her knee as she tried to prevent the girl from closing her legs.

"What the hell happened?" Charles shouted at the nurse helping him into his sheet. My God! The blood!

"The epidural isn’t working!" the nurse shouted back, her voice muffled by her mask and barely audible over the constant screaming.

Charles’s eyes fell on the streams of blood staining the inside of Ashley’s thighs and pooling on the floor under the bed. It was a miracle she was still putting up this much of a fight. He watched in horror as her loose leg threatened to break free of the nurse’s grasp, and she threw her head back in another agonizing wail that sent shivers down his spine.

"BP is dropping!" a second nurse shouted over the screams.

Charles rushed to the bed, avoiding the blood and standing to the girl’s right as his mind raced with what to do. "Ashley, it’s Doctor Kimnot."

Ashley didn’t register his presence, thrashing in the bed as her hand reached out and grasped his arm, her nails digging in and clasping tight. A searing pain burst through Charles’s limb, and he fought the urge to pull back, knowing he would rip the nails off her fingers if he made any sudden movements. He winced visibly and gestured to the nurse just as Ashley screamed again.

“Get the anesthetist in here and prep the OR, now!” Charles yelled.

“No!”

Charles flinched at the guttural scream that came from Ashley, and stared into blazing eyes that met his gaze menacingly. Her teeth were clenched tight, and her nails dug deeper into his arm. “No!” she screamed at him again, her voice a hoarse rumble unlike anything he had ever heard before.

The world around him seemed to stop for a brief second, as if he had been drawn into a vacuum of time and space where only he and Ashley remained. He stared into her deep green eyes, the whites slowly turning a bright red as vessels burst inside them. The soft blonde hair he had been accustomed to seeing on her regular visits was now disheveled and in tangles. Sweat beads raced down her narrow brow, matting strands of her hair to the sides of her face. Her lips were drawn back tightly against her gums, and her teeth looked like they would tear the flesh from his neck if he didn’t do exactly what she wanted.

“No anesthesia,” she said, her voice hoarse from the screaming, yet strong. He could see the conviction on her face, the same strength she had always shown since the first day she had walked into his practice, alone, with no support from family or friends. Definitely none from the jock who had knocked her up and had let her fend for herself. He had admired her will, the desire to keep the baby, and had made a promise to himself to make her pregnancy as comfortable as possible.

Yeah, great going. She’s really having a moment of rainbows and purple butterflies right now!

“No anesthesia,” she repeated, and when he nodded, the vacuum that had been enveloping them began to disperse. The muffled sounds of the beeping machines around them became clearer, and somewhere in the distance a nurse was shouting his name over and over again.

Ashley let go of his arm, threw her head back and screamed just as the world became clear again, and he could feel the urgent pull on his free arm.

“The head’s crowning!” the nurse screamed at him.

Charles shook his head, regaining his composure, and rushed to the end of the bed where the blood had begun to flow. He could see the baby’s head clearly, a full mat of hair pushing out from between Ashley’s legs. He quickly took position, looked up at the screaming girl and met her gaze.

“Push,” he croaked, and then the real pandemonium began.

Blood spurted out and splattered across Charles’s face, momentarily blinding him. Ashley’s screams only intensified, and for a moment, he felt her voice ringing inside his head, pushing against his mind and sending jolts of pain coursing across his skull. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his scrubs, a mistake he couldn’t avoid just as Ashley’s foot came slamming into his face. His nose cracked and his head spun out of control as his body slammed down on the cold floor.

Charles gazed up at the fluorescents, blinking his eyes repeatedly as his mind screamed at him to get up. His face throbbed, and the pain from his broken nose was agonizing. He coughed as a set of feet raced past his head, and as he turned onto his side, he could see the nurses wrestling with Ashley’s free leg, trying to hold it back before she crushed the baby’s head.

The baby!

Charles pushed himself onto his knees and struggled back to the table, the baby’s head now halfway out. He tried to tell Ashley to push again, but all he could manage were a few wheezes and spittle of blood, his hands shaking as he held them below the head protruding from her. His eyes watered, and his vision blurred, his head dangerously swaying as he fought to maintain his composure. The fluorescents above his head flickered for a moment, and one burst into shards that rained down over him.

Ashley let out another shriek, and the baby slid out and into Charles’s hands. He swayed on his knees, holding his arms to one side, silently begging for one of the nurses to relieve him from the burden he was holding. He heard the doors behind him open and close, and a strong pair of arms wrapped around him while someone lifted the baby from his hands. Charles felt himself being dragged to his feet and helped away from the bed.

“Get her to the OR, now!” a gruff voiced called out. Charles recognized the voice of his supervising attending, and felt an instant relief. The screaming had stopped, and all that he could hear were the shuffles of feet on the delivery room floor and the beeping of the machines around him. He leaned against the wall he had been propped against and tried to stay on his two feet, the spinning in his head mixing with the excruciating pain radiating from his broken nose.

He tried to keep his eyes open, willing the world around him to swim back into focus, and he looked to his right. A nurse stood stoically beside him, looking down at the station where Ashley’s baby lay.

Why isn’t it crying?

“Doctor?” the nurse mumbled, not looking at Charles, her eyes fixed on the baby.

Charles staggered to where she stood and looked down at the baby boy. A sudden cold took over, and he felt his heart stop in his chest.

“It’s too late,” the attending said from behind them. “Call it.”

Charles turned and stared at Ashley McLane’s motionless body. Her free leg hung limply over the side of the bed, and her eyes stared into space. The once beaming and glowing face was replaced by an ashen mask of pain and suffering, skin taut as if she were decades older than she really was. The sound of her flat line seemed to be coming from far away.

The attending turned to Charles and gestured towards the baby. “Is it alive?” he asked.

Charles nodded, and looked down at the baby. The baby gazed back at him, calm and tranquil, little fingers curling closed and opening again. But it was the eyes that made Charles’s blood freeze. Dark eyes stared at him, completely black, as if covered by a film of thick tar.

Charles doubled over and threw up.

Chapter 1

The world was on fire.

Kyle Ashfeld watched it all from the top of a small cliff. He could feel the heat pushing against him, a heavy presence that seemed to take on a life of its own as it begged to be acknowledged. As if the flames licking at the skies in front of him weren’t proof enough of the fire’s majestic being.

Tendrils of black smoke wound their way around Kyle’s legs and arms, the thick scent of ash finding its way into his nostrils, burning his sinuses and making his eyes water. Beside his feet, he could see small blades of grass with minute flames protruding from them, as if he were standing on top of a birthday cake surrounded by millions of candles. The trees behind him cackled. Their branches broke and fell into heaps, sparks of fire bursting out around them like little fireflies in the wind.

Kyle stood completely still. His feet were planted firmly in place, staring out into the world ablaze before him. From afar, he looked as if he were waiting for the flames to catch up with him, to find their way to the cuff of his pants and begin their singeing ascent to the rest of his body. His hair ruffled in the wind, a strong breeze whisking around him and adding fuel to the surrounding fire.

The wind picked up, pushing Kyle dangerously to the end of the cliff, and before he knew it, he was stepping off. The wind carried him down, slowly, rushing in winding circles around him as he descended the distance from his perch to the blazing flames below. His feet settled on asphalt; the remaining skeleton of a street that once wound through a concrete jungle of high rises. The buildings around him were alight in a bright mix of red and orange, flames reaching out through broken windows and doors as if waving to passersby, cheering and laughing, singing a song of engulfing fire and smoke.

And in the midst of it all, Kyle shivered.

A cold reached down from the nape of his neck and trailed a chilling finger down his spine, goose bumps broke out across his skin as he watched the carnage before him. His fists were clenched tight by his side, in an attempt to stop them from shaking rather than a show of false bravado. His teeth clattered against each other in his mouth, and his eyes flickered right and left as he took in this world of flames and heat.

Kyle closed his eyes, feeling the invisible push of the heat against his lids, knowing what would come next. The screaming started low, distant, almost as like a gentle whisper before increasing in volume until it was all he could hear. The shrill sound pierced his eyes, resembling tiny fingers digging deep into his head and scratching at it from the inside. Almost as if on cue, a second scream joined the first, and then a third, and then a fourth. Kyle pressed his hands against his ears in a futile attempt to drown out the sound, but it was useless. It was almost as if the screams were coming from inside his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaws, his entire body shaking like a leaf despite the heat of the flames surrounding him. He could feel flames licking at his lids, begging him to open them, to look out onto the world of death and fire around him. Kyle fought the urge, but the singeing was soon too much to bear, and his lids flew open just as his mouth opened in a silent scream. He gazed out at the sight before him, his body cringing and his heart pounding against his ribs, trying to break free and escape when he himself could not.

The street before him seemed to widen, stretching to the left and right. Lining the sides were parallel rows of crucifixes where the streetlights should have been. The screams intensified, and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the dozens of men and women strapped to each crucifix, engulfed in flames.

Kyle wanted to shut his eyes, but couldn’t. It felt like invisible hands were holding his lids open and forcing him to watch the horrors before him. With the scent of burning flesh mixed with the thick black smoke coming from the buildings surrounding him, he couldn’t stop himself from breathing it all in. He coughed frantically, trying to clear his throat. The smoke burned his throat and lungs, and made his eyes water. He fell to his knees, clawing at his chest, trying frantically to find some sort of relief from the hell he was in.

From between the crucifixes, a shadow moved. A solitary figure that Kyle had never seen before stepped out into the center of the ashen street. It was hunched over, its long arms extending to the ground between its feet, the skin popping and sizzling. It turned its head towards him, eyes blazing bright, and when it opened its mouth, Kyle felt like he would be sucked into the deep void within. The figure pulled up, standing straight, rising to almost the same height as the burning crucifixes around it. From its open mouth came a mix of manic laughter and guttural screams. With its eyes fixated on Kyle, it pointed at him with one taloned finger.

“The time has come,” it screeched.

The asphalt around Kyle’s knees broke into small crevices and fire burst up, engulfing him completely.

Finally, Kyle found his voice and screamed.

***

Kyle sat up with a start.

Rays of sunlight shot through the narrow openings in the drapes, falling on him in parallel beams, illuminating his small bedroom enough to confirm that he was, actually, no longer in his head. His breathing came in uncontrolled gasps, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and chest. His eyes fought to adjust to the dimness of the room. From the nightstand came the shrill ringing of his alarm.

Kyle blinked several times. He waited for his vision to clear, his eyes watery, as if the smoke had escaped from his nightmare with him and was still punishing him. A residual burning sensation of his sinuses and ringing in his ears made him doubt his reality, and it took a few extra seconds for the feelings to go away and his head to clear. He rested a hand against the beating in his chest and fell back onto his pillow.

The alarm continued to ring.

Kyle looked at it, noted the time, and lazily struck at it. It fell silent, but the digital numbers continued to blink, urging him to get out of bed and start his day. The date read September 8, 2016.

Sighing, he rolled his legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through his damp hair. He closed his eyes, and for a few seconds, flashes of images from his nightmare played across the inside of his lids, forcing him to open them quickly.

A whole week now.

Kyle stood up slowly and made his way to the bathroom, his feet slapping against the cold floor. He half expected to feel blades of grass where he walked, maybe even the singe of a small solitary flame telling him that he had, in fact, not escaped the hell inside his head. But nothing happened, and when he flicked on the lights in the bathroom, he was greeted by white ceramics instead of burning high rises.

He leaned against the sink, unable to bring himself to look at his reflection in the mirror, knowing well who would be staring back at him. A shell of the man he had once been. Nothing more. He knew the deep-set eyes with the black crescents underneath, the disheveled hair that was beginning to thin, the stubble that he had been too lazy to shave. He didn't need to be reminded of that.

Kyle turned on the water, waited for it to warm up, and washed his face.

"What's wrong, honey?"

Kyle flinched, but didn't move. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly, his jaw clenched.

"A bad dream?"

Kyle shivered, and braced himself against the cold hand that eventually rested on his back.

"Go away," Kyle whispered.

"You should really stop watching TV before you go to sleep."

Kyle's breathing quickened, and without another word, he turned on the shower, stripped and stepped under the streams of warm water.

"Honey?"

"Go away!" Kyle screamed, his voice echoing through the bathroom. He didn't turn around, his eyes set on the wall in front of him as he let the water from the shower wash off the night's horrors. When no reply came, he sighed and slid down into a sitting position. He stayed like that for a few minutes, his arms curled around his shoulders, his body shaking uncontrollably. When he could finally bring himself to turn around, the empty bathroom greeted him. He turned off the water, pulled himself to his feet and walked out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of water droplets behind him.

For an instant, his eyes played tricks on him. The sheets that he had kicked aside began to slither, moving in small undulating waves across the bed. They covered the entirety of the mattress, and then began to bulge on the empty side of his bed, forming the figure of someone sleeping there. They began to shift, and Kyle quickly closed his eyes.

Watching any of it would give it life. He had made the mistake before. He quickly turned to his closet, opened it, and took a fresh pair of pants and shirt out. With his back to the bed, he dressed, slowly, hands shaking, head throbbing. From behind him he could still hear the ruffling of the sheets as they moved, and he waited patiently until they stopped. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and then turned around. The sheets were in their original place, piled at the foot of the bed where he had left them.

Kyle walked out of the bedroom, venturing one last look at the unmoving sheets, and made his way into the open kitchen. He turned on the coffee machine, leaned against the marble counter and waited. The apartment he had rented a year before was drenched in sunlight, a welcoming change from the dimness of the bedroom. His nightmares wouldn't follow him here, out where the world still made sense. They would stay in his bedroom, waiting until he came back, when he would close his eyes and they could play their games again.

His eyes glanced at the open doorway to his bedroom. The dark figure of a woman greeted him, casting a shadow across the opposite wall, then disappeared.

Don't acknowledge it. It can't come out here.

Kyle shifted his gaze to the rest of his apartment. The single couch set a few feet away from his flat screen, separated from each other by an old, ash brown coffee table. The shelves flanked one wall, lined by volumes of books. The thin rug that looked like it had seen better days, worn at the edges where strands of thread lay sprawled lazily across the floor. And the desk where his laptop sat idly, unused, forgotten, collecting dust.

His bedroom door slammed shut. Kyle flinched, but kept his eyes averted.

He poured his coffee, picked his cellphone up from the coffee table and stepped out onto the small balcony. Balancing the mug on the balcony railing, he unlocked his phone and reached for his cigarettes, the pack of Lucky Strikes left in their exact same place from the night before. He often wondered why he still smoked out on the balcony when there was nothing stopping him from lighting one up indoors. He could almost hear his wife's firm voice, asking him to take that filth outside where it belonged.

Kyle allowed himself a rare smile as he lit the first cigarette of the day. He inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before exhaling. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face, and his head began to swim.

***

"Oh my God!"

Kyle balanced the birthday cake as best he could and he pushed through the bedroom door, making sure he didn't get tangled up in Michael. The six-year-old raced past him and jumped onto the bed. Jennifer smiled as her son threw himself into her arms, and even with her unkempt hair and drowsy eyes, Kyle could see the happiness glowing on her face.

He had been planning this for weeks, unsure if she'd approve of the fact that he was carrying a chocolate cake into their bedroom with tiny flames dancing atop. He had imagined a hundred different reactions, but the loving look she gave him as she cradled their son in her arms topped them all.

"I'd sing happy birthday," Kyle said, "but we both know how that'll end."

Jennifer laughed. "That's okay, I’d rather not start the day with a headache."

"Mommy, can I sing?" Michael jumped on her lap.

"Yes, you can," Jennifer tickled him, and the boy broke out into a loud and off-tune version of the song that had both Kyle and Jennifer cringing and laughing. "He has his father's ear," Jennifer said.

Kyle sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and held the cake out carefully, making sure nothing fell on the sheets Jennifer kept meticulously clean. "Talent comes in many forms," he said.

"It sure does," Jennifer said, winking at him before her eyes scanned the cake. "You got the number of candles wrong."

"Aren't you twenty-five?"

"I believe you're thinking about your mistress," Jennifer smiled.

"Oh, right," Kyle mused. "Damn, sorry."

Jennifer playfully punched him, and Michael joined in just for the hell of it.

"Okay, both of you, stop," Kyle laughed. "I don't want to drop this."

"What are you going to wish for, mommy?" Michael asked, grabbing Jennifer's face in both hands and turning her head so she was looking at him.

"I don't know," Jennifer said. "What do you think I should wish for?"

"A new bike!"

"That's your wish, monkey," Kyle said.

"It can be mommy's wish, too!"

Kyle looked at his wife and smiled. "It can be your wish, too, mommy."

Jennifer smiled back and leaned in. "One bike, coming up," she said, blowing out the candles.

"You're not supposed to say your wish!" Michael scolded.

Jennifer frowned and pouted at him. "I'm not?"

"You're really bad at this," Kyle chuckled.

Jennifer laughed along, reached out, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to her for a kiss.

"Eww!"

"Happy birthday, honey," Kyle whispered, ignoring Michael's discomfort.

"Thank you." Jennifer kissed him again. "Now get that cake out of here before you make a mess."

"Yes ma'am," Kyle stood up. "Come on, monkey, let's let mommy wake up. Who wants chocolate cake for breakfast?"

"Me!" Michael yelled out as he raced past Kyle.

"Absolutely not!" Jennifer called after them.

"Too late, mommy!" Kyle called back and closed the door.

***

Aley Davis had come to Kent to escape.

It had been a split second decision. There hadn't been any big plans beforehand, no nights wasted pondering whether or not it was the right thing to do. There was just this incessant need to get out of New York, to escape the Big Apple and leave the noise, stress and general malaise behind. Besides, there was nothing left for her back home, nothing to keep her stuck in her Manhattan studio apartment where the rent ate into half her salary and the rest was just enough to help her get by.

It hadn't even been very hard to do. After she burned her pink slip from a dead end editorial job, she had simply pulled out a map of New England, closed her eyes, and pointed at a random location. Packing took less than an hour, her meager possessions fitting into one large backpack. By the next morning, she had slipped her key with the final month's pay under her landlord's door, and boarded a Greyhound.

She had only been in Kent for three weeks, but looking back, it had been the best decision she ever made.

So far, the town had been good to her. She found a place fairly quickly, spotting a 'For Rent' ad right after stepping off the Greyhound; a small one bedroom above Maureen Chandler's garage. Aley had immediately fallen in love with Maureen the minute she had opened the door, the scent of cinnamon wafting out to greet Aley along with the elderly woman's winning smile. And from there, things had only gotten better.

Aley loved the solitude and the general laid back demeanor she hadn't been able to experience back in New York. The fresh air was good for her, and she reveled in the fact that there were still people on this planet that greeted you with a smile and a cheerful 'good morning'. Not to mention Maureen treated her like a long lost daughter, constantly checking in to make sure she was okay, always ready with a cinnamon cake and hot cocoa.

She had even offered Aley a job.

"Some help here."

Aley turned to where Maureen was waving at her, expertly balancing a box of ketchup bottles on one arm as she tried to make her way to the counter. Aley hurried to help, relieving Maureen of the box and placing it down beside the aisle where she would empty it later. It was her first day and she was still trying to learn the ropes. It amazed her how much work went into Maureen's small grocery store.

"You could have asked me to do that," Aley said

Maureen stretched, one hand on the small of her back, and waved. "Been doin' this for twenty years, honey," she said with a smile. "Won't stop now."

She leaned heavily against the counter and eyed the two narrow aisles that needed restocking. "I think it's time to show you where everything goes."

Aley nodded, rolled up her sleeves and used the hairband on her wrist to tie her chestnut hair back into a high ponytail.

Maureen watched her and chuckled. "It's not construction work," she joked, and Aley couldn't help but smile back.

The door chimed, and Aley turned to look at the man walking in, clad in a lumberjack coat and faded jeans, his Timberlands squeaking on the tiled floor. She frowned at the unkempt hair and two-day stubble, feeling like she recognized him. He made his way to the counter, his green eyes fixed on her for a moment before they shifted to Maureen and a smile appeared on his face.

"Morning, Mauri," he said, his voice low and hoarse, as if he had just woken up.

"Kyle," Maureen greeted. She glanced at Aley quickly, smiled, and then moved around the counter and to the cash register. "The usual?"

Kyle Ashfeld nodded. "Two," he said.

Maureen turned to the cigarette display, grabbing two packs of Lucky Strikes before reaching for the morning paper. Aley watched Maureen run her fingers across the register and bag the items, sliding them across the counter to Kyle and taking the bills he had ready for her. Kyle turned, his eyes fixing on Aley again. He gave her a small smile and nod, then thanked Maureen and walked out. Aley watched him go, her mind spinning as she tried to remember where she had seen him before.

"Quite a looker, that one," Maureen cut into her thoughts.

Aley shook her head, realizing just how ridiculous she must have looked to the woman. "Sorry," she said quickly.

"Nah, don't worry about it," Maureen said as she crossed around the counter and patted Aley on the shoulder. "If I were a few years younger, I'd probably have that same look on my face."

"It's not that," Aley said with a smile.

"Oh?" Maureen raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her.

Aley laughed. "Seriously, it isn't," she assured the woman. "The lumberjack look isn't really my type."

"Sweetheart, when it comes to Kyle Ashfeld, you don't need a type," Maureen replied.

The name instantly jolted her, and Aley finally knew where she had seen him before. "That's Kyle Ashfeld?"

Maureen nodded. "You know him?"

"Are you kidding?"

Maureen frowned for a second before her features softened and she nodded in understanding. "I forgot you worked in the publishing business."

Aley looked back at the grocery store door just as Kyle pulled away. She remembered the first time she had met him, at a book signing of his latest bestseller, years before she had decided that she wanted to work in publishing. At the time, he had been the biggest horror author of the decade, easily outselling Stephen King and Dean Koontz, an almost overnight sensation. She remembered critics calling his work 'the concoctions of a very disturbed mind'.

And then he had just disappeared, dropped off the face of the planet after his wife and son died. Kent was the last place Aley would have expected to find him.

"What's he doing in Kent?" Aley asked.

"Hometown," Maureen answered. "His mother was my English teacher back in the day."

"I thought he was from Los Angeles?"

Maureen clicked her tongue and shook her head. "He's all Kent, born and raised," she said. "New England breeds the best horror writers, honey. Now how about helping me stock the shelves?"

Aley nodded and bent down to grab the first few bottles of ketchup.

Chapter 2

"An all-nighter, sugar."

Helen Lint jumped as the files landed on her desk, the stack dislodging from itself to spread out like a carpet in front of her. She eyed the pile and looked up at the smiling face of Jack Tucker, Senior Accountant, womanizer and all-round asshole. He winked at her, a new gesture he had adapted during the past few months, one that never failed to disgust her.

"What is this?" Helen asked, trying to reorganize the files in a way that didn't make them look like they would take forever to go through. Piled one on top of the other, they looked even worse.

"We're going to need these done tonight," Jack said. "Client wants it all in the morning."

Helen's jaw dropped. She had promised her husband she would be home for dinner today. She was already treading on thin ice since her promotion, the one that came with a hefty raise and an even heftier workload. Both had caused a significant rift in her marital relationship. She couldn't even remember the last time she had tucked her son in and read him his usual bedtime story.

"I'm going to be here all night," Helen protested.

"We're going to be here all night, sugar," Jack winked again, and Helen clenched her fists against the urge to slap him across the face. "Just the two of us, alone in the office, well into the AM." Jack sat one leg on her desk and folded his hands on his knee, looking at her in a way that made her cringe. "You better call your husband and let him know you're not coming home tonight."

Helen's lips thinned and she clenched her teeth tight. She knew how Steven was going to react if he knew she was spending time alone with Jack. Her husband hated the smug bastard even more than she did. When she had brought her family to the company's last Christmas party, Jack was quick to share his thoughts on just how impressed he was with Helen's figure, and that Steven was a lucky man. The ride home that night had been silent, but there was no describing the shit storm that hit once they had gotten home.

No. She was definitely not going to tell Steven who she was spending the night with.

"I can't stay tonight," Helen tried, hoping she could find a way out of this. "I have plans."

"Sugar, you can have all the plans you want," Jack smiled. "Work comes first. Always does, always will. Besides, you wanted this job, didn't you? Or should I tell management you're not up to it?"

Helen frowned and bit her lower lip, running various scenarios in her head of what she could say to Steven that wouldn't result in a fight the minute she got home. She flinched when Jack put a hand on her arm and squeezed.

"Don't worry, sugar," he said. "We'll be done before you know it."

He winked at her again, stood up and straightened his suit jacket, then walked out of her office. She watched him leave, a part of her urging her hand to reach for the phone, call HR and file a sexual harassment report against him. She didn't, though. Jack Tucker was the company's biggest asset, not to mention the heir to his “daddy's life's work.” She would probably be kicked out before she even hung up the phone.

Helen looked at the files on her desk again and shook her head in dismay, running a hand through her hair. She took out her cellphone, swiped it open and dialed Steven's number.

***

Jennifer looked stunning.

He had picked the dress out himself, knowing she would look good in it. But only after she had worn it was he able to truly appreciate the beauty she radiated. She did a cute little twirl and struck a pose before giggling and breaking character.

"You look incredible," Kyle said.

"What can I say," Jennifer replied, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. "My husband has good taste."

"Red suits you."

Jennifer kissed him, a long and passionate kiss, before pulling away and adjusting his tie. "Just remember to give some of the other guests a little attention as well. They're there for you after all, and I don't want to steal the spotlight."

Kyle smiled. "Looking like that, you probably will."

Jennifer slapped his arm and moved to the chair by the door where she sat down to put on her heels. Kyle turned to the small mirror beside it, eyeing his reflection as he rolled his shoulders and loosened the tie a bit. He hated suits, detested them really, and a part of him was already counting down the hours until the night was over and he could untie the velvet noose around his neck that Jennifer had specially bought him for this occasion.

"Stop it," she cut into his thoughts. He turned to her and watched her bend down to get her bag, his eyes immediately going to her ass.

"What?" he said, feigning innocence.

"I can hear the protests in your head," she said, grabbing her coat and handing it to him so he could help her into it. "The tie stays."

"I hate suits," Kyle said simply.

"Dozens of people are coming to this dinner to celebrate your new book," Jennifer said. "You're not showing up at the gala wearing jeans and a tee-shirt."

"Who ever said that there was a dress code for these things?"

"The people who are paying you to write and look at least a little presentable," Jennifer replied, turning around and planting another kiss on his cheek. "I can't carry us both forever, you know."

Kyle grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. He lost himself in her clear blues and the scent of his favorite perfume, which she wore for special occasions like these. He was about to tell her how much he loved her when a second, subliminal scent found its way to him. He frowned, unable to tell what it was, until he began to see the smoke coming from behind her.

"Honey?"

The second scent became clearer, quickly drowning out the perfume, and he jerked his hands away as the first flickers of flames singed his skin. He took a few steps back, his eyes wide in horror.

"Kyle, what's wrong?" Jennifer frowned.

Kyle shook his head quickly, unable to speak, his voice caught in his throat as he stared in horror at the flames that were erupting from her back.

"Kyle?"

Kyle closed his eyes, trying to shut out what he was seeing.

"Kyle!"

***

Kyle's eyes flew open, immediately dropping the book in his hands.

"Kyle!"

He turned to where the voice was coming from, no longer Jennifer's, but belonging to a petite blonde who had been interning at the library for the past two months.

"Jesus, where did you go?"

Kyle shook his head, then bent down to pick up the book he had dropped. Dante's Inferno added a little irony to the situation. He placed the book back onto the shelf.

"Sometimes I worry about you, just drifting off like that."

"Sorry, Tracey," Kyle mumbled. "Must have dozed off."

"Couldn't sleep again?"

Kyle smiled weakly at her. "Actually, slept like a baby."

Tracey leaned against the opposite shelf of books and folded her arms. "You know, I never understood that idiom. I mean, don't babies wake up all the time?"

Kyle looked at her for a beat, then went back to returning the books in his cart onto the shelves. "Did you want something?"

"Oh, right, yeah," Tracey said. "Weird guy came in asking for you. Dressed up all in black, looks like some kind of priest. Only he isn't. You know what I mean?"

Kyle frowned. "No, I don't," he said. "He asked for me?"

Tracey nodded. "Yup," she said, pointing to some obscure place behind her. "Took a seat at one of the tables by the windows. I honestly thought he looked real suspicious, so I told him you weren't here, but he said he'd wait."

Kyle's frown deepened. He didn't know any priests, and it was rare for him to get visitors at the library. He was used to bumping into random fans at the bar or during his shopping runs, but they were always people he knew by name. Most had grown up with him and respected his privacy, giving him the space he needed ever since he came back home.

"Can you continue here?" he asked, pushing the cart to Tracey.

"Sure," she replied. "Just yell if you need me to come chase him away."

Kyle nodded and made his way down the aisle of books to the front of the library where massive tables were lined in rows close to the large windows looking out onto North Main Street. The library was usually empty at this time of the day, the sun already beginning to set outside. The last hour before closing time was usually spent restacking the shelves and cleaning up, and Kyle was prone to finding a secluded corner where he could do a little reading before driving to Kingsley's for a drink.

A visitor right now cut into his daily routine, and frustration had begun to set in even before Kyle saw the man sitting alone at the end of one table, hat set in front of his neatly folded hands. He wore a black suit, with a matching black tie and button-down shirt, and his white hair was combed back perfectly, revealing dark gray eyes that seemed to pierce into Kyle's soul as the man watched him approach.

"Mr. Ashfeld," the man greeted, standing up and reaching a hand out to Kyle. Kyle took it, then gestured for the man to sit back down. "Thank you."

Kyle sat opposite him, folding his arms across his chest.

"I must apologize for barging in on your place of employment this way," the man began, "but I assure you, I would not be so bold if it were not of the gravest importance."

Kyle frowned. "I'm sorry," he said, "but who are you?"

"Ah, yes, apologies again," the man smiled. "I am so preoccupied, I've forgotten to introduce myself completely. My name is Connor Fegan."

"And how did you find me, Mr. Fegan?"

Fegan chuckled. "Well, it's not like you are an obscurity in this world, Mr. Ashfeld."

"That's not what I meant," Kyle said, instantly suspicious. He had always been warned about fans turned stalkers, and if Connor Fegan had been able to find him, then nothing good was going to come out of this. Besides, as a horror author, Kyle had a habit of attracting the crazy. He had just hoped that moving back to Kent and out of the spotlight would have eliminated that.

"Let me put your mind at ease," Fegan said. "I'm not here for an autograph."

"Then what are you here for?"

Fegan leaned forward and looked Kyle directly in the eye. "Do you believe in prophecies, Mr. Ashfeld?"

"Are you a priest, Mr. Fegan?"

Fegan smiled. "Of sorts."

"Of sorts?"

"Faith comes in many shapes and forms."

"So do cults."

Fegan hesitated, his smile still plastered on his face, but his eyes showed that he wasn't amused. "I assure you, Mr. Ashfeld, I am here for a very important reason. A matter of life and death. And it involves you."

Kyle sniffed, looked over his shoulder at where Tracey was watching from between the shelves, then mirrored Fegan's posture and leaned in. "Mr. Fegan, if you know anything about me, then you'll know I came to Kent to get away from the strange and weird."

"I thought it was to escape the memory of your wife and son."

Kyle inhaled deeply and leaned back. "I don't know you, Mr. Fegan, so I'm going to strongly suggest you don't bring up my family."

Fegan held a hand up and nodded. "I apologize," he said. "The last thing I'd want to do is aggravate you. But I am not lying when I say that you are crucial to the matter at hand."

Kyle eyed him for a moment, trying to decide whether to humor the man or send him on his way. He knew that a simple gesture to Tracey would have her dialing the Sheriff's office in an instant, but he couldn't deny his curiosity. Fegan might have been a little odd, but whatever he was here to say obviously bothered him, and that spiked Kyle's curiosity.

"Fine," Kyle sighed. "I'll bite."

"Witching hour, Mr. Ashfeld," Fegan began. "Do you know of it?"

Kyle nodded. "Wrote a book about it."

"I know," Fegan replied. "I read it. Quite interesting, despite being a work of fiction."

"Your point, Mr. Fegan?"

"The common misconception is that this unholy hour is a daily occurrence. At the stroke of midnight, all the evil we know and don't know comes out to wreak havoc on our world. It's been attributed to witch hunts, Halloween, ghost sightings, everything that people cannot explain."

Kyle nodded, remembering some of the research he had done for his book, now only scraps of notes at the back of his mind where all his other mundane memories had gone to rest. Fegan seemed to be simply reciting what every mystic blog and website on the internet had to offer.

"The truth, Mr. Ashfeld, is that the witching hour occurs only once every century, on a specific night, and the repercussions are usually disastrous."

Kyle frowned, a small smile escaping him. "The witching hour is a myth, Mr. Fegan. We use it to spook our kids into getting them to sleep early. Sure, it's probably been blown out of proportion every now and then, commercialized to an extreme, but nothing more."

"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Ashfeld," Fegan replied. "Every one hundred years, on the second Friday of September, events are put into motion that lead to catastrophic consequences. Almost every disaster caused by man can be traced back to a butterfly effect starting on that date."

"One night?" Kyle raised his eyebrows in skepticism. "You're trying to convince me that one night every century is the cause for all of man's suffering? You really want me to believe that?"

"It's not a belief," Fegan shook his head, his face twisting in frustration. "It's a truth that you will have to accept, because you, Mr. Ashfeld, have been chosen to stop the next set of events from taking place."

Kyle would have laughed if he hadn't been a little annoyed at how much time he was wasting with this man. It all seemed a little too rehearsed, a sketch Connor Fegan had probably worked on for months before finding his way here from God knows where just to reenact it for Kyle. In retrospect, he shouldn't have been too surprised. He'd had fans come to him before, stringing along fantastical tales that they believed – knew would be – the next bestseller, if only Kyle would write the story. He was just waiting for the punch line when Fegan would sit back, smile, and ask to be credited for his wonderful concoction.

"Mr. Fegan, I've left the horror stories behind a long time ago," Kyle said. "Don't get me wrong, there are days when I believe I can really get myself to do it again, but those days are rare, and the outcomes are nil." Kyle stood up. "I'm sorry for the trouble you've gone through to find me, but unfortunately, you're wasting your time."

Fegan slammed his hand down on the table, and Kyle flinched as the sound echoed throughout the empty library. Tracey stepped out from between the aisles, ready to pounce, and Kyle quickly stopped her with a raise of his hand.

"This is no game, Mr. Ashfeld!" Fegan yelled. "The next witching hour is tonight. Six individuals will be touched by an evil so great, so terrible, it would make your greatest nightmares seem like fairytales. Events will be set in motion that will lead to some of the worst catastrophes history will ever record. And you dare to ignore me!"

Kyle waited for the man to calm down. Fegan's face had turned a bright red. His hand was shaking, and his chest rose and fell in swift, angered breathing. His gray eyes squinted at Kyle menacingly, the anger radiating from him like a heavy cloak of negative energy. Kyle held the man's gaze for a few seconds before he turned to Tracey and nodded. She dashed for the telephone.

"We're going to call the police now, Mr. Fegan," Kyle said. "I suggest you leave before this conversation escalates to a point where you and I are going to have a lot of explaining to do."

Fegan's eyes darted to where Tracey was dialing the sheriff's number, and he looked back at Kyle with eyes that were less angry and more somber. Kyle almost felt sorry for the man.

"Very well," Fegan said, standing up and grabbing his hat, holding it close to his chest. "You are making a grave mistake by not heeding my warning. But then again, you will come face to face with the truth soon enough." He fumbled in his suit pocket, then dropped a box of matches on the table. "I'm staying at the Kent Country Inn. When you realize this is not a joke, you can find me there."

Connor Fegan pulled on his hat, then turned and made for the library door. Kyle picked up the box of matches, stared at it for a second, then called out, "Don't hold your breath."

Fegan stopped but didn't turn around. "Tonight is the witching hour. The first of the six will show you that I am telling you the truth."

"How would I even know who the first one is?"

Fegan looked over his shoulder, and Kyle felt his blood freeze when he saw the smile on the man's face. "Because she's in Kent, Mr. Ashfeld."

***

Helen Lint stared at her phone and felt tears stinging her eyes.

Steven was furious. She had spent the last ten minutes trying to explain why she had to stay late, but hadn't been able to get more than a few words in at a time between his bursts of rage and shouting. And with every word, every accusation he threw at her, she felt like a knife was being wedged deeper and deeper into her heart.

He hadn't even asked when she would come home. Once he was done with what he had to say, he had hung up on her. She doubted they were ever going to come back from this.

Setting her phone down next to the stack of files she had to go through, she looked through the glass divider that separated her office from the empty cubicles beyond. Everyone had left an hour before. Some of her colleagues had waved at her before leaving, wishing her a good night, and she envied each and every one of them.

A few fluorescents had been left on, casting shadows across the empty workplace. Across the rows of cubicles she could see the light coming from Jack's office, and she frowned in anger. Steven's words played over and over again in her head, and she suddenly felt a deep resentment towards it all. The job that was taking her away from her family, her irritating manager with his annoying winks and the way he constantly undressed her with his eyes; her husband for not trying to understand. Helen felt it all on her shoulders like an incredible weight threatening to break her into a thousand pieces, and she would never be able to be put back together again.

She needed it all to go away. She wanted to close her eyes, count to ten, and open them to a life where her problems didn't exist anymore. Miraculously solved just by wishful thinking.

Helen blew her nose, put her glasses on, and pulled out the first file of the night.

She didn't notice the fluorescent lights flickering.

Chapter 3

Kingsley was crowded tonight.

Stepping in, Kyle was instantly struck by the noise and fog of cigarette smoke that escaped through the door like a horde of children racing out of a classroom. The jukebox played an old Rolling Stones tune, and somehow a few people had made enough space for themselves to dance, despite how stacked the bar was. Kyle weaved through the crowd, making his way to the bar where he found an empty seat at the far end close to the bathrooms. The bartender saw him, waved, and gave Kyle a thumbs-up, letting him know that his drink was on its way.

Kyle drummed his fingers on the bar counter and watched the crowd around him. Many of the faces were familiar, childhood friends and acquaintances who would occasionally lift a glass towards him in greeting or simply make due with a friendly smile. Kyle returned each in turn and waited for his own drink, letting his mind wander.

Because she's in Kent, Mr. Ashfeld.

Kyle rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands and blinked several times, trying to push Connor Fegan's words to the furthest corner of his mind. He wouldn't let the man's crazy rant ruin his night, even though there wasn't much to ruin in the first place. A few beers and a short ride home, then he would succumb to another night of nightmares and shadows that moved in his bedroom, begging to be acknowledged.

That smile.

Kyle shivered. If he could rid himself of Fegan's words, he wouldn't be able to forget that smile as easily. It was a knowing smile, one of a man who was confident that time would prove him right, and that he had no problems playing the I-told-you-so card. It was a look that came with a promise that, since he had been ignored once, he would show the same courtesy when Kyle finally came calling. And it was clear that he believed Kyle would. It was that certainty that worried Kyle the most.

Tonight is the witching hour. The first of the six will show you I am telling the truth.

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again and turned his attention to the TV hanging above the bar. There was a replay of a baseball game, and he decided it would suffice to take his mind off of Fegan for the time being. The bartender brought Kyle his beer just as he was lighting a cigarette, and then quickly returned to the other guests. Kyle took a long gulp, rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes again and returned to the game.

"Mr. Ashfeld?"

Kyle didn't hear his name at first, and only turned when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. The brunette standing in front of him looked familiar, clad in denim jeans and a yellow top, both of which accentuated her curves. He frowned as he tried to place her.

Aley Davis smiled. "From Mauri's," she said. "I met you this morning when you came in for cigarettes and the paper."

Kyle nodded in recognition and tried a friendly smile, although it felt awkward. Kingsley was his getaway from the need to socialize. Everyone here usually came with friends and were generally uninterested in the lonely man at the bar cradling a beer and smoking his Lucky's. Besides, one stranger a night, he felt, was where he drew the line, and after his meeting with Fegan, he thought he was good for a few weeks ahead.

"I remember," Kyle said.

Aley pointed at the empty stool beside him. "Do you mind?"

Kyle did, but he shrugged and gave her the go-ahead. He watched her climb onto the stool and gesture to the bartender before turning to face him. He remembered thinking she was attractive back when he first saw her at Mauri's. But in the dim light of the bar, she looked stunning.

Aley smiled. "I wanted to apologize about this morning."

"What for?" Kyle asked, taking another sip from his beer. He offered her a cigarette and she shook her head.

"The way I was staring," she replied. "Well, gawking actually. I'm really sorry, I must have freaked you out."

Kyle waved the apology away and took a long drag from his cigarette. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I was staring, too."

"It's just, I recognized you, but couldn't place you."

"It seems you finally did."

Aley nodded. "Maureen helped," she said, "although I should be slapping myself for not figuring it out myself. Believe it or not, we actually met before."

Kyle raised an eyebrow questioningly and waited while she thanked the bartender and took a long sip from her beer. "Book signing," she said. "You signed my copy of Shelter."

Kyle chuckled, remembering his first book tour and just how long ago it had been. Back then he had still been living in Kent and was only a few months away from moving to California with Jennifer and the six-month-old bump she was carrying. That was almost a decade ago.

"That was an awful book," Kyle said.

"Some would argue against that," Aley frowned. "Not every author has his first novel in the top ten."

Kyle smiled. "It wasn't my first novel. It was the first one that got published."

"I'd still call that a win."

Kyle's smile widened. Flashes of his previous life came rushing to him, nights spent in his old room typing away at one manuscript after the other, collecting rejection slips with Jennifer urging him on as she worked double shifts. Sheets upon sheets of handwritten notes he had filled while working at this very bar; a young man with ambitions and expectations. Shelter had turned his life around. But he wasn't going to forget how much of his life had been spent trying to make it work one day at a time, hoping that nothing too big to handle would come along and knock his carefully balanced existence over.

One word at a time.

That's what Jennifer had always told him when he was close to giving up, when the words just wouldn't come, when life had him by the balls and just wouldn't let go. She had been there through it all, making sure he never lost sight of the end game. She balanced encouragement with tough love, and made it all seem easy. Sometimes she would leave him a note by his PC with little messages like 'I believe in you' or 'Sex sells, try that'. And even when the two lines had appeared on the pregnancy test, she had instantly dispersed his worries by telling him that the baby had better not get his sick mind.

Kyle felt a small stab in his chest and took a long drag from his beer.

"Aley Davis."

"Sorry?" Kyle turned to Aley and frowned in confusion.

"My name," Aley said. "You didn't ask, so I thought I'd just put it out there."

Kyle laughed. "Yeah, sorry, I'm better at writing dialogue than actual conversation."

"That's fine," Aley smiled. "I'm sitting at a bar with Kyle Ashfeld. I'll mark that off my bucket list."

Kyle laughed again. "That was on your bucket list?"

"I'm a fan, guilty as charged," she said. "Besides, you made it easy for me to sift through the endless manuscripts that ended up on my desk. The first page was usually enough to let me know what I was getting into."

"You worked in publishing?"

"Pippen's," Aley nodded.

"Wow?" Kyle raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How did you get that?"

"A lot of free hours interning."

"With Caroline Bennings?"

"You mean The Dragon?" Aley said. Kyle smiled at the devil editor's nickname. "Yeah, I had the honor, if you can call it that."

"That bad, huh?"

"Let's just say, she earned her title."

"You know what she called Shelter when I first sent it to Pippen's?" Kyle asked. Aley shook her head. "A complete waste of paper."

Aley burst into laughter, and Kyle laughed along with her. He watched her take another sip from her beer and decided that he could do with two strangers tonight after all.

***

Helen Lint noted the time on her phone, and sighed when she realized that she was still in the office well after midnight. Steven would be asleep by now, which probably meant that by tomorrow morning, they would pick up right where the telephone call had ended. She could only hope that Brian would be out and on his way to school before the shouting started.

She sighed, fingered through the last three files, and quickly calculated how long it would take her to finish them. She looked out across the empty floor at the light coming from Jack's office. He had come to her twice tonight, both times equally inappropriate. When he had walked out of his office a third time, she braced herself to tell him off, and thanked whatever force in heaven was watching over her when he turned and walked towards the bathroom.

Helen pulled a file out of the remaining pile of three and began to work. She rubbed her hands together, feeling a slight chill race through her, and when that wasn't enough, cupped them together and blew into the space between. It was still early fall, and she couldn't remember the temperature dropping this early in the year before. She thought about turning the heater on, then decided against it.

It's the lack of sleep and exhaustion, that's all.

Only it wasn't, and the more time passed, the colder her office got until she could see her breath forming small clouds of mist with every exhale. She frowned, reaching for her suit jacket and pulling it over her shoulders. She looked over at Jack's office again, wondering if the sick bastard had turned the air conditioning on just to make her uncomfortable. But she couldn't hear any noise coming from the vents above her head.

Helen stood up and crossed to where the thermostat was. The little screen read seventy four degrees. She tapped a finger against it, wondering if maybe it was reading the room wrong. It was definitely much colder.

The fluorescent lights above the cubicles began to flicker.

Helen frowned as she watched them, then looked up at the ones in her own office. She watched them in anticipation, but nothing happened. She waited a few more seconds, and then tapped the thermostat again.

She gasped when the lights went out, the entire office suddenly drenched in darkness.

Helen felt something cold race down her back, and her skin broke out in goose bumps. The lights coming from Jack's office were still inexplicably on, but they seemed confined to his space, as if the darkness were too thick to be penetrated.

Helen rushed to her desk, feeling about with her hands until she found her cellphone. She swiped at the screen, trying to bring a little light into the darkness around her, but all that appeared was a thin red line at the bottom of an outline of a battery. A shiver raced through her. She had just checked the time and could have sworn her phone had been half charged.

She turned around, pondering whether to go to Jack's office or just wait for the power to come back. She was cold, and the darkness scared her, but she was still hesitant about spending more time with him than she needed to. Somehow, she felt safer in the darkness of her own office than in his where he could ogle her and say things that would make her hate herself.

That was when the scratching sound started.

It came as a soft scrape at first, gentle against the glass wall of her office. Helen took a step back, her hip striking against the edge of her desk. The scraping continued, growing in intensity and volume, until it felt like the paws of a dog scratching against a closed door, deafening in the surrounding darkness. Helen felt her heart beat begin to race, and the temperature of the room dropped to the point that her teeth began to rattle against each other.

Then it stopped.

Helen stood completely still, waiting, the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her hands shook uncontrollably, and she clasped them together in an attempt to stop the shaking. The silence was broken by the sudden shrill sound of her cellphone, her ringtone playing as if on fast forward. Helen's eyes were wide as she stared at it, the red line of her empty battery blinking, yet the phone vibrated on top of her desk, the incessant ringing echoing across the walls.

Helen reached for it, and when her hand wrapped around the cold metal, the ringing stopped. She held her breath as she stared at the phone in her shaking hand. She tried to turn it on, but the red line just continued to blink.

"So pretty."

Helen's head snapped up just in time to see twin red eyes gazing at her from the darkness, and a cold hand slammed against her chest.

The wind was blown out of her. For a brief second she felt that her heart had stopped, her breath caught in her lungs as if a hand were holding her windpipe closed. She was lifted off her feet, floating inches above the ground, her arms twisting behind her, her head pulled forcefully back by her hair.

She opened her mouth to scream, and something cold and rotten reached down inside her. It filled her mouth and throat, slithering into her lungs and down her esophagus to her stomach and intestines. She felt it push against the soft tissue of her organs, seeping through and into her blood stream, racing alongside her cells and through to the rest of her body. She felt it seep into her spinal cord, rushing up to her brain in waves of fire that scorched her from the inside. She couldn't remember ever feeling this much pain, and still, she couldn't scream.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and she fell into a heap on the floor. The lights flickered and turned back on, and the cold quickly dispersed. Helen gasped and coughed, her eyes squeezed shut, her nails scratching against her throat as remnants of what had just happened lingered inside her. She could taste the rot against her tongue, and her stomach turned. She coughed more violently, and when she opened her eyes, she saw splatters of blood on the white tiled floor.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she painfully pushed herself to her feet. Slowly, she made her way out of her office, leaning against the frame of her door as another coughing fit wrecked her body. She looked up, tried calling for Jack, but her voice wouldn't come. When she coughed again, blood flew out of her mouth and splattered across the cubicle wall in front of her. She turned right, leaning against the cubicles as she forced herself to walk to the bathroom. The lights in the office flickered again, but remained on. She could feel her eyes burning, and her head throbbed, the world around her swimming in and out of focus.

When she reached the bathroom, she flung herself against the door and stumbled inside, landing hard on the colored tiles and slamming her head against them. She felt a stinging pain in her temple, and was greeted with the sight of blood as she pushed herself to a sitting position. She reached out and grabbed the side of the sink, using it to help her to her feet. The pain intensified, and she fought the wobbling of her knees, which threatened to send her to the floor again.

Helen gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled, and blood was dripping down the side of her head where the skin had broken from her fall. Wrinkles spread across her face, giving her the appearance of having had aged a decade or two in the last five minutes. She lifted a shaking hand to where the blood was coming from, and she winced when her fingers touched the tender flesh.

The lights above her flickered, and she looked up at them with a whimper. When her eyes fell back on her reflection, she stared in horror as the whites began to turn a bright red. Her pupils widened, darkening the irises around them until there was nothing left but a mixing cloud of red and black liquid. The colors swirled around each other, and suddenly the skin below her eyes began to darken. She felt a rattling in her mouth, and when she opened it, several teeth fell out and clattered against the sink. Her gums shifted and darkened, and the skin on her cheeks slowly began to peel and hang in thin, rotting strands.

Helen stared at her reflection as her face changed and shifted, and despite the horrors she was witnessing, her mouth curled up into a wide smile. Her lips cracked and bled, and when they moved, the voice that came from her was not hers at all.

It was darker.

Hoarser.

Scratching, like nails against a blackboard.

"So pretty."

***

Kyle opened the door to his apartment and switched on the lights.

His head was swimming.

He had had one too many drinks, and the smile on his face was unlike him. Despite his wobbling and inability to lock the door after he closed it, despite the lightheadedness and his heavy eyes, he felt great. It was one AM, he was drunk, and he felt absolutely great.

Aley Davis.

The woman had definitely been a wonderful break from his usual routine. They had spent most of the night talking, and Kyle couldn't tell for sure, but there might have been some dancing as well. She had asked a lot of questions, and he had surprisingly answered all of them. He had shared more with her than he had shared with anyone else in Kent since he had come back, and for some obscure reason well beyond his understanding, he didn't care. For the first night since the fire, he truly felt like himself.

Kyle trudged to his bedroom, throwing off his coat in the small hallway and kicking his shoes at the threshold. He unbuckled his belt, ignoring the lights and opting for the darkness instead. He slid off his pants, tried to step out of them and fell onto his bed, laughing.

"Looks like you had fun."

Kyle's laughter came to an abrupt stop. He felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed it with great effort. His head was still swimming, but he was starting to sober up real quick. He closed his eyes, hearing feet shuffling on the opposite side of the bed, and cursed himself for not turning on the lights before walking in.

"Want to tell me about it?"

Kyle didn't answer. He sat up slowly and made his way to the bathroom, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside.

"Honey?"

"Go away," Kyle replied, his mood killed, the reality of what awaited him during the next few hours sinking back in.

"Kyle!"

Kyle stopped. He began to shake.

"Honey, why do you keep avoiding me?"

Kyle felt tears well up in his eyes, and he shook his head slowly, his shoulders rising and falling as he sobbed.

"Look at me."

Kyle sniffed and shook his head harder.

"Look at me, Kyle."

Kyle's breathing quickened, and despite his better judgment, he turned slowly. He swayed, a part of him praying that he would lose his balance and collapse before he had turned around completely. His prayers went unanswered, though, and he stared through tear-filled eyes at the woman sitting on his side of the bed.

Jennifer smiled at him. The flesh on the right side of her face was missing completely, the eye staring at him twitching in its socket. Her hair hung in thin strands from her burnt scalp, and her lips were pulled tight against her gums. The tendons in her neck stuck out and squelched as she cocked her head at him. The red dress she was wearing hung in strands over her burnt, naked body, and when she reached a hand out to him, the melting flesh popped and sizzled as if it were still aflame.

"Now, come here and tell me about your night."

Kyle felt his stomach turn and his head spin. He leaned a hand against his closet and tried to stay on his two feet.

"Daddy?"

Kyle's head snapped around instantly before he could think to stop it. His son stood in the threshold of the bathroom, his eyes gone, his face charred. He was still wearing his Cars pajamas, or what remained of them, and Kyle could see the missing toes on his feet.

"You promised we'd go biking today, daddy."

Kyle's eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the floor, darkness enveloping him.

***

"Sugar!" Jack greeted when Helen knocked on his open door. "Did you finish those reports?"

Helen smiled seductively and walked into the office, slowly, giving him the opportunity to run his eyes up and down her body before she sat down on the couch to one side. She crossed her legs, the hem of her skirt riding high and revealing most of her thigh. Jack's eyes widened in surprise, but his expression quickly gave way to a hungry smile.

"We need to talk, Tucker," Helen said.

Jack leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on her thighs, and locked his fingers over his stomach. He had known this day would come. He had been watching Helen carefully since the day she had been hired, and although she had shot down his initial attempts at charming her into his bed, he knew it would only be a matter of time. He didn't care that she was married, or the fact that she had a son. Jack had slept with married mothers before. Helen was not special in that department.

She was, however, definitely worth the chase.

"What about, sugar?" Jack asked, finally looking up at her eyes. His smile faltered for a second. He remembered her eyes being blue, but now they seemed a dark shade of brown, almost as black as her pupils. Not that it mattered to him. It just seemed rather peculiar. He was good at remembering details like that.

"First of all, about the way you look at me," Helen said. "I find it charming that you've taken such an interest in me, even if it's only because of my body." Helen uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, and Jack could have sworn she wasn't wearing anything under her skirt. "But, Jack, if you're going to be so obvious, you better be willing to do something about it."

Jack sat up straight as Helen stood up and walked to his desk. She bent down, leaning towards him, showing off enough cleavage to make his mouth water, and gestured for him to come to her with one long, seductive finger. Jack leaned forward, and she grabbed him by the tie and forcefully pulled him to her. She locked her lips with his, kissing him hungrily, her tongue snaking into his mouth.

Jack reached out and began to unbutton her blouse when his eyes snapped open.

Helen's tongue seemed to grow in his mouth, reaching deeper until it was pushing down his throat, choking him. He tried to speak, but could only gag against her tongue's assault. He tried to pull back, but she held him tight, and he groaned in protest. When Helen opened her eyes, Jack tried to scream. Her eyes were bright red, and inside them he could see the thousands of ways she was going to make him suffer until there was nothing left of his soul to punish.

Helen let go, and Jack collapsed back in his chair. He was still choking. He could feel her tongue in his throat, although she was standing several feet away from him. He clawed at his throat, trying to beg for mercy, but all that came out were gurgles and gasps.

Helen watched him with a wide smile on her face, then ran her hand across his desk, leaving a trail of tiny flames in her wake. They coalesced, growing in intensity until the entire desk was ablaze. Jack tried to push away from the growing fire, kicking back aimlessly. He fell heavily onto the ground, slowly choking to death while the flames licked at his clothes, caught, and began to spread across his body.

Helen's smile never left her face as she watched Jack Tucker burn. When she was sure the flames had consumed him completely, she turned and walked out of the office, her arms open wide, and hands tracing lines of fire across everything she touched.

Chapter 4

The world was on fire, and Kyle was in the midst of it all.

There was no escape this time. He was not watching from a hilltop somewhere far away as the flames danced in unison to some deathly tune. There was no relief from the singeing heat and the smell of burning flesh. He was here, surrounded by it, standing in the middle of the wide street disappearing into the horizon, the burning crucifixes with their victims nailed to each. The screams mixed with the cackling of the fire, and Kyle could feel his head threaten to explode with the sheer volume of it all.

Almost on cue, the beast emerged. It came from between the flames, on all fours, like a wild animal that took comfort in the heat. Its head swung left and right, taking in its kingdom, its lips drawn back into a wild smile that reflected its glee in the midst of all the pain. Kyle watched the oozing flesh ripple with each agonizing scream, as if it were drawing strength from the torture being inflicted on those around it. It made its way through the crucifixes and into the street, then stopped.

Its head turned.

Slowly.

Kyle's breath caught in his chest. He begged his legs to run. He fought to turn around, throw caution to the wind, and just sprint the hell out of there. But he couldn't. And as the head turned to face him, as those blazing eyes bore into his and the smile widened to reveal nothing more than a promise of eternal darkness, Kyle's knees buckled.

The beast turned to face him and slowly stood up. It seemed larger than the last time he had seen it, and much stronger. Its talons dripped with what he could only assume was blood. The black smoke of burning wood and flesh fogged his eyes and made them watery, and he blinked furiously to clear them. He needed to see the beast, knowing that if he were the first to break the stare, it would lunge at him, screaming, laughing, and ripping him apart with those talons.

Run, dammit, run!

But Kyle couldn't move. His legs were trembling, his hands shaking vigorously, but he couldn't bring himself to run. It felt like his feet were cemented to the asphalt, the fires licking at him from all sides. The beast cocked its head to one side and its shoulders began to shake, and Kyle realized that it was chuckling in amusement at his temporary paralysis.

"The time has come," the beast sighed, and although it stood several yards away from him, Kyle could hear its voice clearly. It came like a whisper against his ear, the soft breath of menace against his skin as the words reverberated inside his head.

"The time has come," the beast repeated, "and it all comes down to you."

Kyle could feel the heat around him intensify with every word, and smoky tendrils wrapped themselves around his legs and arms, snaking across his body and curling around his neck. He could feel the smoke tighten, choking him, and he coughed violently.

"This is what they promised?" the beast began to laugh. "This is what we wait for?"

Kyle fell to his knees. He could feel his insides boiling, and the more violently he coughed, the more he felt he would eventually start heaving his intestines. His stomach curled, his lungs burned. And in the back of his mind, the beast laughed again.

"We will see which of us comes out of this alive," the beast screeched, and Kyle's arms flew to his ears to silence the ringing that erupted there.

Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed him by the jaw and lifted his head up so that he was staring at the street and crucifixes. The beast was holding him from behind, miraculously appearing in the blink of an eye. Kyle could smell the mix of ash and rot that escaped from its mouth.

"Watch." it whispered.

The street before him began to stretch into the distance, and two new crucifixes erupted up from the ground. They rose quickly and steadily, and it took Kyle's eyes a few seconds to adjust on the figures nailed to each one. When he realized who they were, his heart stopped in his chest, and the world around him shattered.

Jennifer and Michael stared down at him from their crucifixes.

"No," Kyle stammered. "No, please, no!"

Kyle could see the tears streaming down his son's face, the boy's lips moving in silent screams, but Kyle could make out the words perfectly. Michael was calling for Kyle to save him, and all Kyle could do was watch. His eyes flickered to Jennifer, her brown hair covering her face, her head falling so that her chin rested against her chest. Whatever will to fight he had expected to see in her was absent, and she looked like a woman who had given in to defeat and was waiting for the end.

"The time has come," the beast repeated, its talons scratching small cuts into the skin under Kyle's jaw. "Everything you know will burn."

The crucifixes burst into flames. Kyle's screams matched those of his wife and son, and he watched helplessly as they burned.

***

Helen Lint pulled into the driveway of the two-story Victorian with a wide smile on her face.

She felt great. Better than great, actually. She had waited patiently in her car while the offices of her former place of employment had burned, and only drove away when the faint sounds of sirens echoed through the night. She had driven home on instinct alone, her mind still racing with beautiful images of Jack's body burning, her ears still ringing with the sounds of fire eating its way through the cubicles. She was saturated with joy, fulfilled for the moment with the fresh smell of burning flesh and the orange glow of fire.

She felt stronger. She felt at peace.

Helen stepped out of the car and almost skipped towards the front door, unlocking it and walking into the abhorrent smell of the home's interior. Her nostrils flared and she cringed as her senses were bombarded by the mix of emotions that hung in the air. Love, care, faith, hope, ambition; the disgusting gamut of domestic sentiment. It immediately made her sick.

The house was dark except for a dim light coming from the living room, and Helen felt a different emotion seep through the air towards her. She smiled, recognizing it immediately, closed her eyes and breathed it in deeply.

Anger.

She loved anger.

"Where the hell have you been?" Steven asked when she made her way into the living room. Helen dropped her purse on the couch opposite where he sat, his arms crossed and his scowl so deep, his eyebrows seemed to meet in the center of his face. The anger coming from him was like a heavy wave of darkness crashing against the very walls of the house, and Helen reveled in it.

"I didn't expect you to be up," Helen replied, still smiling.

Steven scoffed. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" he asked scornfully.

Helen only shrugged, kicked off her heels and walked towards the open kitchen behind him. Steven stood up and followed her, his anger seeping out and filling every crevice of the house.

"I'm talking to you," he hissed.

"And I can hear you just fine," Helen replied, opening a cabinet and pulling out a wine glass.

"Then answer my goddamn question!"

She opened the refrigerator and rummaged through it until she found the bottle of Merlot he had bought for their anniversary a few months ago. Taking it back to her glass, she winked at her husband and uncorked the bottle, then began to pour. She smiled to herself when she felt the anger coming from Steven only intensify at her deliberate attempt to ignore him.

Steven reached out and snatched the bottle from her hands, so overwhelmed with anger that it slipped from his grip and shattered against the kitchen floor. The wine rushed out in large pools and splattered like blood across the kitchen cabinets.

"Now look what you've done," Helen smiled at him.

Steven balled his fists, his face turning a bright shade of red as he tried to restrain himself from lashing out at her. "Where were you?" he pressed.

"Work," Helen replied, leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping what remained of the Merlot. She met his gaze calmly, challengingly even, and she could clearly see it in his eyes that he was contemplating what to do next. Whatever speech he had prepared, whatever shouting fest he had been working himself up to, it had all depended on her throwing in a few punches of her own. Her laid-back demeanor was throwing him off, and it was clear that he hated it.

Which only made him angrier.

And Helen's smile widened.

She raised the glass to her lips, her eyes never leaving his, and he reached out and grabbed her. He pulled her to him forcefully, wine spilling from the glass and onto his shirt.

"You were with him, weren't you?" Steven snapped. "Is that why you were late? Is that why you have that ridiculous smile on your face? What did you do, you whore?"

Helen pouted and gave him her best puppy eyes, shaking her head with a gentle tsk-tsk. "That's not nice, Steven," she said. "Is that a way to speak to your loving wife?"

Steven reacted before he could stop himself, his hand flying out hard and fast. The sound of the slap echoed across the kitchen. Helen's head snapped to one side and she dropped her wine glass, the cup shattering beside the remnants of the Merlot. Heat began to build up in her cheek, the stinging pain diffusing throughout the side of her face.

But when she turned around, she was still smiling.

Steven took a step back. There was something different about his wife's eyes. The color had changed from their regular blue to a dark shade of brown, bordering on obsidian. At first he thought it had been a trick of the light, but now that he was gazing right at them, there was no mistaking the change.

And there was something colder there. He had expected tears, anger even, but what he saw sent chills up and down his spine.

A red tinge began to build up around her irises and slowly spread across the whites of her eyes. She began to chuckle, as if amused by the fact that her husband had laid a hand on her, and that only made Steven's heart race faster. The veins in her face and neck turned a deeper shade of blue, and her lips cracked. Blood trickled from the open wounds down her chin and dripped onto the floor, mixing with the wine pooling around her.

Helen took a step towards him, her bare feet crunching on the broken glass. Steven winced at the pain that she must be feeling, but the smile on her face never faltered, and she took another step forward.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Helen said. Her voice changed, as if more than one person were speaking at the same time.

Steven turned and began to run out of the kitchen when a hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lifted him up off his feet, and hurled him into the kitchen wall. His face slammed against the cold surface, his nose shattering as pain seared through his head and down his neck. He fell into a heap on the ground.

Helen walked a few feet away from him, her feet leaving bloody prints on the tiles, her eyes bloodshot as she glared down at her husband. Steven rolled into a sitting position, his back to the wall, and gazed up at the thing that was supposed to be his wife.

"Now, let's try this again," Helen said. "I say, 'I was at work', and you say?"

Steven shook his head lazily from side to side. He looked like he was drunk, blood oozing down from his broken nose onto his lips and beard.

Helen raised an arm and clasped her hand into a fist. Steven began to choke, clawing at his neck, his eyes wide in surprise. He began to kick out, trying to push away from the wall, but it was like an invisible hand was holding him down. Helen lifted her arm up, and Steven began sliding in the same direction against the wall until his feet dangled and he was hanging three feet above the ground. He shook against the choking force around his neck, but to no avail.

"What do you say, Steven?" Helen asked, cocking her head to one side and scowling at him like a mother scolding her son.

Steven wrestled, his anger quickly replaced by fear, and Helen smiled when she saw the stain around his crotch where his bladder had given up. His face was turning blue, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"You're really testing my patience, honey," Helen said. "One last chance, okay? I was at work. What do you say?"

Steven only croaked.

Helen smiled. "You say, 'Welcome home, baby!'"

She twisted her hand in the air with one quick movement, and Steven's head was brought forcefully to one side, his neck snapping.

He fell to the ground in the same sitting position, eyes wide, and mouth open in an eternal expression of surprise.

Helen took a deep breath, turned around and walked back to the kitchen counter. She grabbed another wine glass from the cabinet.

"Mommy?"

She smiled.

She opened a small drawer to her right, and from inside, pulled out a steak knife.

Helen turned to face her son. Brian was standing at the kitchen threshold in his Toy Story pajamas, staring wide-eyed at his dead father, visibly shaking. He turned to Helen, confused and begging to be comforted.

Helen smiled, hiding the knife behind her back as she made her way towards him.

"Mommy?" Brian's voice shook in fear.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Helen cooed. "Mommy's here."

***

Aley couldn't stop thinking of Kyle.

From the minute she walked into her apartment, to the seconds before she turned off her bedside lamp and rolled under the covers. Even after, with her eyes closed and her body begging for sleep, her mind raced. She was enthralled. Enchanted.

Can I actually call it enchanted?

It didn't matter what she called it. All that mattered was that for the past few hours she had been drinking beer and talking books with one of her favorite authors. Her past self, the one who would have still been locked up in a dead end job back in New York, would have given half an arm and an entire leg just to be in that same position.

Kyle Ashfeld. Horror author extraordinaire. Hiding away in Kent, Connecticut.

If she had still been back in the Big Apple, she probably would have been promoted just for finding him. Let alone talking to him. Maybe even convince him to write again. After all, it had been almost five years since his last book, and there were no signs that another would be finding its way into the hands of his readers any time soon.

Then again, who could blame him? The man was fighting his own demons, and no one who had gone through what he did could be expected to just jump back into the saddle and ride. Aley couldn't imagine the half of it. The sentiments were beyond her. She had no idea what it felt like to be married and have a child, let alone lose both. She could only guess that never loving at all was definitely better than to have loved and lost.

His eyes.

Yes, it was definitely there. The pain of the memories that obviously still haunted him, the way he spaced out between conversations whenever a topic remotely related to family came up. She had never seen pain like that before. She couldn't even sympathize. All she could do was try to understand, and quickly change the subject.

Aley opened her eyes and sat up. The darkness of her room was broken only by the soft beams of moonlight coming in through the window. She rolled out of bed, ignored the chill of the hardwood floor that welcomed her bare feet, and made her way to the small workstation she had set up to one corner. She opened her laptop and waited for the familiar chimes of her Windows starting up, and quickly typed in her password.

Her empty desktop greeted her. Aley shook her head at the memory of a time not so long ago when every inch of it was filled with folders and files, begging for her attention. They had been a constant reminder of the amount of work she had left to do. There had always been a subtle message there, one that assured her that the prison she had built around herself would always remain. Always.

She double clicked on her internet browser, waited for the page to load, then typed Kyle's name into the search bar. His face popped up seconds later, clean, shaven, less disheveled, with a smile that seemed warm and jovial. His eyes stared at her from the screen, full of life, and even with his arms crossed over his chest, he seemed like a man who would welcome the world into his embrace. The fact that he was a horror author only added to the appeal.

She clicked on the third link from the top, and an image of a charred house surrounded by flashing lights popped up. A video to one side began to play, and she quickly muted the sound of the announcer, her eyes only briefly registering the headlines on the news ticker.

'Horror author Kyle Ashfeld loses family in fire'.

She remembered the first time she had seen the story. Her heart had skipped a beat, and she had gone about the rest of her day in a zombie-like haze. It was a shock to everyone. For days, she had been working solely on cruise control, her mind clogged with disbelief. She had only met him once, but she felt as if she had known him forever. She had, after all, collected every book he had ever written, and could have recited extracts from each if prompted. She had read somewhere that an author always instilled a bit of him or herself into each character, and Aley knew Kyle's characters inside out.

Aley leaned back in her chair, linked her hands behind her head, and sighed. It was hard to believe that anyone could bounce back from a tragedy like that. And even if they could, were they ever truly the same? She remembered her grandmother once telling her that something dark always lingered after the death of a loved one, that there were always demons to remind you of your pain.

Aley wondered what kind of demons haunted Kyle.

Chapter 5

Kyle's eyes flew open, and all he could see was fire.

It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer dreaming. He was in his room, on the cold floor, staring up at the ceiling through a sheet of white. He closed his eyes, clenching them shut, wincing against the blinding light. He could feel his retinas burning, and images of flaming crucifixes flashed across his closed lids. He could still feel the beast's claws against his skin, holding his head so that all he could see were the burning bodies of his wife and son.

Kyle rolled to his side, and only then realized that the heat against his skin was coming from the few rays of sunlight finding their way through the closed drapes. He groaned, his head throbbing, and coughed violently as he rested one cheek against the cool floor.

You're safe. You're awake. You can open your eyes.

Kyle kept them closed, fearing that if he were to do otherwise, he would find himself back in his nightmare, surrounded by flames and the screams of burning bodies. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, trying to control his breathing, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the dream's lingering effects, but it was useless. He could still feel the fire lapping at his clothes, burning his skin, the heat and smoke suffocating him.

You're safe, dammit!

Kyle wanted to believe it, but his body was telling him otherwise. He tried to push up onto his knees, but a searing pain shot through his legs and to the rest of his body, forcing him back down in a cry of pure agony. His hand automatically went to his thigh, grabbing at it in an attempt to stop the ache that was coming from there. But touching it only made the pain worse, and he quickly pulled his hand back.

It was almost as if his legs were on fire. His skin still sizzled underneath his jeans, and his senses were saturated with the smell of burning flesh. He rolled onto his back, feeling the burn grow in intensity, and quickly wrestled with his belt buckle. He stared at his legs, half expecting them to spontaneously combust, and the longer it took him to free his buckle, the more his panic grew.

As though his life depended on it, Kyle fought with his belt until it loosened enough for him to unbutton his jeans and quickly pushed them down. The fabric scraped against his legs, and Kyle couldn't help but cry out. It felt like his jeans were fitted with hundreds of tiny thorns on the inside that were tearing at his thighs, ripping the skin off of him as he pushed the clothing off and kicked it aside.

In the dim light, he stared down at his legs in shock. Second-degree burns extended from his thighs to his ankles, the skin red and moist, blisters decorating the burned surface. More pain shot through him from the exposed wounds, and he clenched his teeth against the unbearable torment. It was as if someone were holding a torch to his legs.

"Honey, that looks terrible!"

Kyle closed his eyes, ignoring his dead wife's comment. If he didn't get help soon, he was going to die here, sprawled on the floor of his bedroom in the company of his wife and son's ghosts. His eyes fluttered open, and a few feet away, sitting on the edge of his bed, Jennifer watched him. Her skin was charred, and what was left of her hair stuck to the moist bare skin of her cheeks, but the look of worry in her eyes was unmistakable.

"Take it from me," she said, her voice hoarse, "those don't heal."

Kyle took a few deep breaths, and with as much effort as he could muster, rolled himself onto his stomach. Bracing himself, he began to drag his body towards the bedroom door. He could feel the burnt skin latching onto the floor, peeling off painfully as he edged closer and closer to his destination. The threshold to his room could not be any further, and with every inch he was able to drag himself across, the pain only intensified, bolting up and down his body, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness.

Behind him, the springs of his bed creaked, and soft footsteps made their way to him. Jennifer bent down on her knees beside him, her red dress hanging in shreds over her burned body. She rested a cold hand on the back of one thigh, and Kyle screamed.

"Stop fighting it," Jennifer said, keeping her hand in place. "Just give in. We've missed you so much."

Tears rolled down Kyle's cheeks, and for the briefest of moments, he contemplated doing just that. Part of his mind wrestled with the notion of life, trying to understand just why he was still struggling against the inevitable. His life had become nothing more than a set of routines, carefully measured blocks of instances that had little to no purpose. How many more nightmares would he have to experience before he finally realized that there was no point in fighting anymore?

"Come home," Jennifer whispered, and from the side, he could hear the door to his bathroom creak open.

Michael. You can be with Michael again.

Kyle looked up at Jennifer. She was smiling at him, nodding at him to let go, to close his eyes and slip away. They could be together again, a family forever, and isn't that just what he wanted?

Jennifer's face suddenly shifted, her features cracking for the briefest of instants before returning to their previous state. It was hardly noticeable, but Kyle had seen it clearly. He had seen the beast underneath, the beast from his dreams, wearing Jennifer's face like a mask. Panic overwhelmed him once more, and he instantly began crawling towards the bedroom door again. He ignored the pain in his legs that screamed at him in agony and frustration, his mind now fixated on one thought, and one thought only.

He had to get out.

"Honey?"

Kyle didn't answer, forcing himself to move faster despite the ache searing through him. The threshold to his room seemed to extend further away, and despite his efforts, he couldn't seem to get any closer.

"Honey, listen to me."

Kyle didn't. Instead, he pushed onto his hands and knees, crying out as he rushed forward.

"Kyle!"

Kyle threw himself forward across the remaining distance, landing heavily and painfully outside his bedroom. He could feel talons scratch at his legs in an attempt to stop him, and he rolled across the hallway until he slammed against the opposite wall and came to an abrupt stop. He looked back at his bedroom, Jennifer standing angrily at the threshold she could not cross, her hands now claws latched onto the frames of the door. Her eyes burned bright, and her face peeled back with an angry snarl that revealed rows of razor sharp teeth.

"Come back here!" she screamed at him. Her voice was deeper, more menacing, and there was no love or concern there. Her body burst into a ball of flames and her eyes widened until they were orbs of pure black. Kyle pushed as far back against the wall as he could, staying out of reach of the flames. He couldn't move, pinned down by fear, eyes wide as he gazed at the beast that had somehow found its way out of his nightmares and into the waking world.

"I'll find you, Kyle!" the beast hissed. "I'll find you no matter where you run!"

Kyle pushed away from the wall, crawling towards the living room and away from the screaming monster. He could feel the flames reaching out after him, trying to ensnare him and pull him back into the bedroom, but he was out of its reach. Kyle didn't stop until he was at his apartment door, and only then did he turn around.

The beast was gone.

Kyle's breathing came in short gasps, and his heart pounded in his chest. The throbbing in his temples and neck was incessant, like drums beating in his ears. His eyes were glued to the empty entrance of his bedroom, half expecting the beast to return in a fresh Jennifer-suit. Maybe even Michael. Anything that would mess with Kyle's head.

He waited for a few more seconds, and when nothing happened, his breathing slowed and his heart stopped trying to break through his ribcage. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and sighed heavily when he opened them and still saw nothing.

You're safe.

Kyle scoffed, slowly pushing himself to his feet. The pain in his legs had subsided, and he realized that he was still wearing his jeans. He fought the urge to check whether or not the burns were still there, knowing that if they had been, he wouldn't be able to stand the way he was right now. He ran a hand through his hair and wiped beads of sweat from his brow, throwing a final furtive look towards his bedroom.

His cellphone began to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket, Tracey's name flashing fervently on the screen, and cancelled the call.

He was going to have to come up with an excuse as to why he wouldn't be showing up to work this morning.

***

Sheriff Jeffrey Gadge had always hated fires.

His father had been a fire fighter, and he remembered clearly how every night his mother would spend hours sitting by the window, waiting for his return. There was an unspoken notion that any day his old man left the house could very well be his last, and for eighteen years, his father had proven the fates wrong.

Three weeks before graduation, though, Jeffrey had attended his father's funeral with his distraught mother hanging on his arm. She had been too weak to stand on her own feet, her shades covering bloodshot eyes that had not stopped crying since they had gotten the news. His father died a hero, they had told him. Saved a child from a burning building.

Jeffrey remembered wishing that child had burned instead.

It wasn't a thought he was particularly proud of, but at the time it had seemed quaint enough. He had, after all, given up on his dreams of becoming a lawyer to stay behind and take care of his mother. She was never the same after his father's death, and to her dying day, Jeffrey couldn't remember a moment she had spent away from the seat by the window, staring out at the driveway, waiting for a husband who would never come home.

Now he had three burn victims down in the morgue, one of which was a child, and he could feel his stomach turning. He had always tried to steer clear of arson cases, and luckily for him, Kent wasn't prone to spontaneous fires. People here were usually careful, and two fires in one night were more than anyone could have expected. In his mind, he could still see his mother sitting by the window, and he wondered who had been made into widows by last night's fire.

A knock on his door brought his attention back to the real world, and Deputy Adrian Brimstone strolled into the office, holding a case file up and waving it at Jeffrey.

"Identification's come in," Adrian said. "We got a confirmation on Steven Lint and his son, Brian. The third victim's name was Jack Tucker. He was a senior accountant at the firm and had apparently been working late when the fire broke out."

Jeffrey sighed and nodded. He didn't know the accountant, but he had crossed paths with the Lint family on several occasions.

"Have you found Mrs. Lint?" Jeffrey asked. The memory of the night before was still clear in his head. He had been half-asleep when he got the call that had him racing out his front door to his cruiser. The Victorian was a charred skeleton of its former self by the time the fire had been dealt with, and when Jeffrey had pulled up to the curb, the gurneys were already being pushed to the ambulance. The neighbors had grouped within their own front yards, thankfully with enough common sense to have had left their own homes in case the fire had spread. Adrian had been waiting for him with updates, one of which had to do with the absence of Helen Lint.

"Nothing yet," Adrian replied. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"What is it?" Jeffrey asked.

"The coroner's report came in."

"And?"

"It's …" Adrian started, then stopped, struggling with what he had to say.

"Get to it, Adrian," Jeffrey signaled to the officer impatiently.

"The report says that Steven Lint's neck was broken," Adrian explained. "And the boy's heart and lungs were punctured several times. Coroner says they were clean cuts. Probably a knife."

The churning again, and this time, Jeffrey felt bile shoot up his esophagus and burn his throat. "He thinks they were killed before the fire."

Adrian nodded. "One of the neighbors swore she saw Mrs. Lint's car in the driveway before the fire started, but no one else confirmed it."

Jeffrey leaned back in his chair and scratched his beard, his mind racing. He hadn't considered the possibility of murder, let alone a probable kidnapping as well. Why else would Helen Lint be missing?

"And it gets even weirder," Adrian continued. "The second fire, the one at the accounting firm downtown?" Jeffrey nodded. "Yeah, well, apparently Helen Lint is an employee there. I made a few calls, and Tucker's secretary told me that Helen was supposed to be working late last night."

A small ringing began in Jeffrey's ears, and he felt the onset of a faint throbbing in his temples. Even more scenarios popped up in his head, none of which were good.

"Which of the fires started first?" Jeffrey asked.

"The one downtown," Adrian replied. "At least that's what the 911 transcripts show."

Jeffrey stood up, ran a hand through his hair, and walked to the large window beside his desk. He looked out at the expanse of woodland behind the station, noting the first signs of autumn in the red and orange tint of the leaves. Usually the scenery calmed him down, but not today.

"Get an ID on Helen Lint's car and fax it out to the neighboring towns," he said.

"I already did," Adrian replied. "Do you think she could have done all this?"

Jeffrey didn't turn around, his body stoic as he stared out the window at nothing in particular. "I'm not sure," he finally replied. "But we need to find her."

***

"He's not comin', sweetheart."

Aley blinked and looked over at the cash register where Maureen was watching her with a wide smile on her face. The older woman had been watching her carefully over the past hour as Aley went about her morning ritual of stacking and organizing the shelves. Every few minutes, Aley would look towards the convenience store door, then at the clock, then back to the door before returning to her work. It took Maureen a few minutes to understand what was happening, and it was only after Aley asked about the morning papers did the older woman finally put two and two together.

To say that she was amused would be an understatement.

"What?" Aley asked.

"You've been starin' at that door for the past hour," Maureen said, returning to the receipts from the other day that she had been reviewing. "Just because you're lookin' at it doesn't mean Kyle's gonna miraculously walk in."

Aley felt the heat rapidly rise in her cheeks, and she quickly turned away to hide her embarrassment. She aimlessly reorganized the cereal boxes with shaking hands and jumped back when one of them toppled off the shelf and crashed by her feet. Maureen laughed.

"It's sweet to see how smitten you are," the older woman said between chuckles.

Aley bit her lower lip and shook her head in embarrassment. She bent down, picked up the cereal box and returned it to its place on the shelf, then unconsciously looked at the door again. She caught herself doing it this time, and her eyes quickly shifted to where Maureen was smiling and shaking her head at her.

"Okay, okay, you got me," Aley said with a smile.

"No need to go all red on me," Maureen said, opening the register and counting the money inside. "But let me give you a little advice that you can take to the bank and cash in. That man's hurtin', and badly. Get yourself involved, and that's a heartbreak waitin' t'happen."

Aley sighed and leaned against the shelving. "I bumped into him last night," she said.

"Oh?" Maureen raised an eyebrow but kept her eyes glued to the money she was counting.

"At Kinglsey's," Aley nodded. "It was an interesting couple of hours."

Maureen smiled and nodded, her fingers expertly flipping through the bills in her hands. Aley walked over to the counter and leaned across it, her eyes fixed on the door and the pedestrians outside. A slight wind had picked up, and leaves danced across the pavement before disappearing into the gutters.

"Did I ever tell you that he was the reason I got the editor's job at Pippen's?" Aley said, her voice soft, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," Aley smiled, remembering her first interview and how excited she had been when she got the phone call telling her that she could start on Monday. "I was one of thirty or forty applicants. They asked for an essay on why we wanted to work in editing, and Kyle was the key reason in mine. Back then he was at the top of his game, and every publisher was trying to sign him."

Maureen closed the register and turned to the cigarette stand. Aley's eyes were fixated on the line of Lucky Strikes.

"I ended up working for a woman called Caroline Bennings," she continued. "A shark of a woman. Everyone hated her, but she was excellent at what she did. It was common knowledge that if Caroline Bennings called and offered you a book deal, you were expected to jump through hoops to accommodate her. I've seen authors break contracts when they got her call."

"Sounds like a hard woman," Maureen said.

"She was," Aley replied. "Still is, actually. I always hated that about her, and had little respect for the authors who bent to her will. I said something along those lines during a lunch break once. I was naïve, I guess. I didn't think that having an opinion was frowned upon when it came to Caroline."

Maureen turned to her, folding up an empty carton then tossing it into the recycle bin by the register.

"So one day, Caroline brings me into her office. She calls Kyle and puts the call on speaker," Aley continued. "This was right after his book Tremors made number one on the New York Times bestseller list. It was his fourth number one in a row. I don't know why she did it, but I have a feeling it had something to do with how much I idolized him. It was a power game, her way of showing me that she could get whatever she wanted, that no author was beyond her reach.

Aley chuckled. "I will never forget what happened next. Kyle answers, Caroline lets him know who's calling, and gets right to the point. She offers him a ridiculous deal, something that no author in his right mind would say no to. And all the while, she's looking me right in the eye. And you know what Kyle says?"

Maureen shook her head.

"He says, 'I'm sorry, Miss Bennings, but I've already sold my soul to one devil in this lifetime', and he hangs up."

Maureen broke into laughter, and Aley laughed along with her. She could still see the look on Caroline Bennings' face after Kyle had hung up. The red cheeks, the rage in her eyes, the sound of the dial tone coming from the speaker and echoing across the silent office. Aley had a newfound respect for Kyle that day. She doubted anyone had ever embarrassed Bennings that way before, and to have a witness to it must have driven the woman insane. She had made Aley's life miserable ever since.

Maureen leaned on the counter as her laughter wound down, wiping a tear from her eye. "That sounds like somethin' Kyle would say," she remarked, shaking her head in amusement.

"You've known him for long?"

Maureen shrugged, her eyes squinting as she searched her memory for an answer. "Couldn't say, really. The Ashfelds lived down the street from us back in the day. I only really got to know him when he signed up for the Book Club at school. I ran the club, and I think he was one of a handful of the members who actually knew what he was talkin' about. Always had that look in his eyes, like he knew somethin' the rest of us didn't."

"Didn't know you had one of the greatest authors of our time in your club, huh?"

Maureen chuckled. "Oh, honey, he was a sensation even before the rest of the world stumbled upon him. Writin' those stories for the school magazine and all. His mother used his stories in English class sometimes."

"She must have been proud."

"She sure was," Maureen nodded, a look of peaceful reminiscence on her face. "A real wunderkind, that one. I still remember the first day of school and the surprise we all felt when we saw him, all wrapped up in his cute blue blanket."

"Why surprised?" Aley asked with a smile.

Maureen blinked, pulled back from her brief trip down memory lane, and looked at Aley in confusion. "Sorry?"

"You said you were surprised," Aley repeated. "Why?"

"Oh, well, we never knew she was pregnant," Maureen replied. "No one did."

"Some women don't show until the last few months."

"I know that," Maureen said with a wave. "I guess it was just a little strange for us as kids, you know? I mean, it was almost as if Kyle had just popped up out of the blue."

Chapter 6

The coffee burned his tongue and left a bitter aftertaste.

Kyle set the mug down in front of him and looked about the coffee shop. In another life, during one interview or the other, he had once been asked where he got the inspiration for his characters. Kyle's answer had been simple; coffee shops. There was so much you could learn about a place from the clientele of its busiest cafés. Kyle had argued that if you could find a secluded corner where no one would bother you, and just watched, you would have enough material for hundreds of books.

Of course, the fact that the interview had been taking place in a coffee shop had prompted a small demonstration. Kyle couldn't remember the interviewer's name, but he remembered the sparkle in her eyes when he had shown her what he was talking about.

Luckily, that had been enough to quench her curiosity, and the ring on his finger had made sure that sparkle didn't lead to anything else. But, Kyle had just been happy that he didn't have to share the truth as to where his characters really came from. He doubted anyone would be comfortable if he were to tell them that most of his protagonists and antagonists were voices in his head that would not shut up until he had written their stories down.

The coffee shop story worked just fine.

He took another sip from his mug, winced and reached for the sugar. The Kent Coffee and Chocolate Co. was brimming with a dense afternoon crowd. Most were waiting in line for their coffee and cake to go, while others stood idly by the sandwich display, laughing and chatting. There was only room for four or five tables, and they were all packed. Kyle had been lucky, finding a nice corner table away from the crowd where he could sit and watch and not think about what had happened that morning.

You're safe.

The words kept repeating in his head, and he scoffed at how ridiculous they sounded. He was definitely far from safe. Safe meant being able to go to sleep without having to worry about flaming cities and screaming bodies hanging on crucifixes. Safe meant not having to see his wife and son burn every night while the taloned claw held his head, forcing him to watch. Safe meant waking up without having to hallucinate about ghosts and monsters wearing his dead wife's face. He was definitely not safe.

Kyle watched the crowd. He envied them. A large group of high schoolers sat at the table closest to him, texting, laughing, without a worry in the world. His eyes fell on a couple, the girl sitting on her boyfriend's lap with her cellphone in her hand while he stroked her back. Kyle wondered if they had nightmares. He wondered if anyone in the coffee shop shared his agony of sleepless nights.

He took another sip of coffee.

"Hey, you guys have to see this!"

Kyle looked up at the girl he had been watching as she swiped her finger across her phone, then held it out for her friends to see. Kyle watched as their eyes grew wide. One boy reached out and grabbed the phone, bringing it to him for a closer look as his friends crowded beside him and looked over his shoulder.

"Damn!" Kyle frowned at the look of excitement on the boy's face.

"Was this last night?" another girl asked.

Kyle looked at the first girl in anticipation, already drawn into the conversation although he had no idea what they were talking about.

"The whole place burned down," the girl nodded. "They say two people died in the fire. It's all over YouTube. Kent's finally going viral!"

"Yeah, my father told me something about that this morning," her boyfriend replied. "He said an office building down on South Main Street burned down, too."

"My mom's accounting firm," the boy with the phone confirmed. "She said her boss died in the fire. She wasn't too sad about it, though."

Kyle pulled out one of his Lucky Strikes, lit it and inhaled deeply. He turned to the window, trying not to look like he was paying too much attention to the group, and listened. Two fires and three dead bodies in one night. News like that should have been the talk of the town, and he was surprised that it wasn't the main topic of discussion between other people he had eavesdropped on since his arrival.

"Witching hour, man. Told you strange things happen after midnight."

Kyle's head snapped around.

"Shut up," someone else replied. "You and your damn witchcraft stories."

Kyle's vision became blurry, and the world around him began to suddenly swim in and out of focus. A sharp pain started at the back of his head and slowly crawled its way across the rest of his scalp, stopping just above his eyes where it began to hammer wildly. Small flames began to ignite like a thousand candles across the coffee shop floor, slowly coalescing and lapping at the legs of the chairs and tables. The fire spread, cautiously, slowly, snaking across the coffee shop as if trying to steer clear of its guests while it ate away at the foundations around them. The sandwich display caught aflame, and all of a sudden, the fire burst in intensity all around him.

The guests screamed, instantly engulfed by the flames. The fire swirled, latching onto anything that could burn, spreading through the coffee shop in a violent wave. People started falling over each other, trying to get out but trapped inside by the wall of fire around the door and windows. Smoke rose and filled every breathable space, and Kyle watched in horror as one guest after the other fell to their knees, choking. The air was filled with the stench of burning wood and flesh, and from the midst of the flames, a dark shadow rose.

Kyle watched it slowly manifest itself, growing in size, taking on the familiar shape of the beast from his dreams. From the dark smoke, twin eyes snapped open, blazing a deep shade of red, staring directly at him. Kyle wanted to run, but he was trapped in his corner, the fire around him drawing in closer and closer. He coughed, gagging on the smoke, and suddenly jolted from his chair when the first of the flames scorched his hand.

He rushed back and crashed into the wall behind him, his head slamming against a picture frame and breaking the glass. His vision blurred again and he closed his eyes against the sudden pain. When he opened them again, he was standing over his toppled chair, and everyone in the coffee shop was staring at him.

"Hey, mister, you're bleeding," one of the teenagers said.

Kyle reached up and winced as he gently touched the gash on the back of his head. Blood trickled down the nape of his neck and into his shirt.

"Are you okay?"

Kyle looked to his right where a waitress held out a checkered table towel and was gesturing towards the wound. He thanked her, took the towel and gently pressed it against the back of his head. He glanced at the broken frame that hung awkwardly on one nail, the picture of a clown drinking coffee smiling at him through shards of glass.

"Yeah," Kyle replied, giving the waitress a small smile. "Sorry about that."

The crowd had begun to lose interest, a few briefly giving Kyle a second look before going back to their business.

"Don't worry about it," the waitress smiled. "I hated that picture anyway."

Kyle returned her smile, picked up the chair he had toppled over and sat back down. The waitress raised a questioning eyebrow, and when he nodded at her, smiled and went back to her station. Kyle looked up at the group of teenagers who had fallen silent and were still staring at him.

"I'm okay," Kyle assured them.

They turned away, all except the girl on her boyfriend's lap. Her phone was in her hand, and Kyle wondered if maybe he'd be the next viral YouTube video to come out of Kent. He gave her a weak smile, and only then did she turn away and go back to scrolling on her phone.

Kyle brought the towel back, saw the blood stain there, and returned it to his wound. He used his free hand to take out another cigarette, stick it between his lips and flick the spark wheel of his lighter. Nothing happened, and he flicked it a second and third time before tossing it onto the table in frustration. He felt for his back-up lighter. Reaching into his back pocket, his hands curled around something he had forgotten was there, and he pulled out the matchbox that Fegan had left him the other day.

You will come face to face with the truth soon enough.

Kyle turned the matchbox over and over in his hand, the Kent Country Inn logo printed on both sides in matching silver colors.

Kyle slid the matchbox back into his pocket and asked for the check.

***

Tracey couldn't think of a worse day for Kyle to call in sick.

Usually the library didn't attract too many visitors. It was one of the reasons Tracey had decided to intern here in the first place. She was never keen on a job that required too much work, and with Kyle around and handling most of the heavy lifting, she was left with the simple things. Stacking books, organizing cards, making sure no one slipped out with a book that wasn't entered into the system. Most of the time, though, she just sat behind her desk and texted, occasionally checking her Facebook. With little more ambition than that shown by a rack of coats, Tracey could easily see herself doing this for the rest of her life. Even on the rare occasions Kyle came in late, she never had to do anything more than say good morning and smile.

Not today, though. Today she was in way over her head.

The school trip had been the first disaster. She had completely forgotten about that, most of the library's scheduling left for Kyle to handle. For two hours, she had fifteen third-graders rushing about the library and a teacher that was as useful as a flat tire. At one point, she had even begun to toy with the idea of shooting one of them in the head as a warning to all the others.

Then, of course, was the book club, and without Kyle around to work his charm and manage the complicated logistics involving fifteen very loud elderly women, Tracey was ready to shoot herself in the head. At one point, one of the women asked her if she cared to share her opinion, to which Tracey had dutifully smiled and declined. She had no idea how sour the women would be following that.

By the afternoon, Tracey had already made up her mind to close up shop and just go home. Besides, who would miss her, or the library? Everyone was on their iPhones and Kindles these days, and it was a miracle the library was still open in the first place. She believed that if it weren't for the fact that it was an important monument in the community, it would have probably been turned into a coffee shop or restaurant years ago. Or a parking lot.

She had just logged into her Facebook account and was waiting for a video to load when Helen Lint walked in. Tracey sensed trouble the instant she laid eyes on the woman. She slowly stood up behind her desk as her hand instinctively went for her phone.

Helen looked like she had been to hell and back. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, but strands had broken loose and hung wildly across her face. She was wearing a two piece suit that at some point in the past could have been beige, but was now covered in soot and torn at random places. The white blouse under her suit jacket was stained dark red, looking to Tracey very much like dried blood, and was missing a few buttons, revealing the top of her push-up bra. She wasn't wearing any shoes, and her feet were coated in mud. The skin on her shins was red and covered in blisters, and Tracey couldn't help the shudder that raced through her at the sight of them. She knew what first-degree burns looked like. She knew the agonizing pain that they caused.

Yet the wide smile on Helen Lint's faced made it seem as if she were enjoying a nice stroll through town, soaking in the sun and fresh air, fully content with her appearance. If she were feeling any pain at all, it didn't show, and that worried Tracey even more.

Helen took a few steps into the library and lifted her face towards the ceiling, looking like she was admiring the woodwork. She ran a finger along one of the many tables set up by the door, then turned her attention back to Tracey. All the while, her smile never faltered.

"Can I help you?" Tracey asked, expertly unlocking her phone and searching for Kyle's number while her eyes remained fixated on the visitor.

Helen's smile widened, and she began to slowly make her way towards Tracey's desk. "This is a nice little haven," she said.

Tracey frowned, giving up the search and pocketing her phone. She didn't want to alarm the woman, worried that maybe the few screws that were loose in her head might blow completely if she saw what Tracey was doing. Right now, her best option was to keep Helen calm and find some way to convince her to leave. If that didn't work, she might just have to resort to violence. She sized Helen up and quickly decided that if push came to shove, she could easily take her down.

Great day to decide not to come in, Kyle.

"We try to make it as cozy as possible," Tracey replied, keeping her tone level. "It's a library, after all."

"Quaint," Helen nodded, looking around again. Tracey noticed scratch marks on the side of the woman's neck. "I expected something else completely, but when I think about it now, I guess it makes sense."

"Excuse me?"

Helen turned back to Tracey and winked at her. "Don't mind me," she said. "Actually, you can help me with something. You see, I'm looking for someone, and I have a feeling you might just be able to point me in the right direction."

Tracey frowned. Everything about this woman screamed crazy. "Who are you looking for?"

Helen stopped and squinted her eyes, inhaling deeply through clenched teeth. "See, that's the problem. I don't actually know his name," she said, pursing her lips and looking up as if in deep thought. "All I know for sure is that he keeps popping up where I don't want him to."

"You're going to have to be a little more specific," Tracey said.

"I know, right?" Helen replied, leaning against one of the tables and crossing her arms over the blood stains. She shook her head in embarrassment and shrugged. "That's all I got. And of course, this little place here." She brought one arm out in a wide arc, gesturing at the library. "Every time I see him, I see books. Lots and lots of books. So I thought to myself, where would I find that many books in one place?" Helen snapped her fingers and tapped the side of her head with one finger. "Why, a library, of course."

Tracey took a tentative step back, regretting her decision with the phone. She glanced at the door, quickly calculating the distance between it and her, and decided that running was probably not the best option. She gazed at Helen again. The smile only added to the uneasiness.

You can take her. Come on, you know that already. Don't be a wuss!

Tracey ignored the voice in her head. That option had seemed valid a few seconds ago, before she saw the look in Helen's eyes. There was something dark in them, something sinister, and Tracey had a feeling there was more to Helen than her scrawny limbs and working-mom looks. Something inside her was warning her that the woman might be a lot more dangerous than she looked.

"You look worried," Helen cut through Tracey's thoughts.

Tracey forced a weak smile and shook her head. "Just thinking," she replied. "I don't think I can help you after all. Maybe try the police station?"

Helen chuckled, and Tracey felt something cold grab onto her spine and twist. There was no merriment in that laugh, nothing close to amusement. If it was supposed to lighten the mood, all it did was give her chills.

"Now you're just being silly," Helen said. "I told you, I saw books. And since you're the only library in town, it's safe to assume the man I'm looking for works here."

"The school library has books," Tracey offered.

"No!"

Tracey almost fell back at the sudden roar that erupted from Helen's mouth. It was like a rumbling tidal wave, strong and menacing, crashing against her ears with such force that it made them ring. Helen's face changed, shifting slightly and quickly, and would have gone unnoticed if Tracey hadn't been watching her so closely.

Helen raised a hand up in a gesture of apology and shook her head. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I have a tendency to lose my patience." She smiled again, but it did nothing to ease the cold that was coursing through Tracey's veins. "So, let's try this again. Are you the only employee here?"

"Yes," Tracey replied, her voice weak and far from convincing.

Helen shook a finger at her. "Now, you see what you're doing there? You're lying to me."

"I'm not," Tracey said quickly, shaking her head.

Helen only stared, her head cocked to one side as if trying to make up her mind about that, then smiled again and shook her head. "You know, I actually thought this was going to be a lot easier," she said, standing up straight.

Tracey didn't wait to see what would happen next. Throwing caution to the wind, she bolted for the door. She pushed over a chair, stumbled, then found her balance and raced forward. Just before her hand grabbed the knob, she felt a vice-like grip around her neck, and she was lifted off her legs and flung back. She hit the desk hard, crying out in pain, and rolled onto the floor.

"You see what you just did there?" Helen asked, walking around the desk and looking down at her. "Now I know you're lying to me."

Tracey pushed herself to her hands and knees, a sharp pain radiating across her back and sending aching bolts of agony to the base of her skull. While part of her mind tried to deal with the pain, the other part failed to understand just what had happened. Crazy was one thing. Supernatural, something else completely.

Helen crouched down beside her and pulled Tracey's head back by the hair so that she was looking directly at her. There was a red tinge in Helen's eyes, like a cloud that swirled around her irises until they melted over the whites in a crimson film. Slowly, the veil began to coalesce and cover her pupils as well, until all that remained were twin red eyes that seemed to stare right into Tracey's soul. Tracey felt the blood in her veins freeze as Helen's smile widened menacingly.

"You want to try this again?" Helen asked.

Tracey had no idea what had taken over her. Terror, panic, a sudden survival instinct, or all three together. She lashed out, her hand slamming against the side of Helen's face, throwing the other woman off balance. Tracey jumped to her feet and ran, this time making her way to the rows of shelves and the office at the back. There was a small corridor there that led to the parking space behind the library, and beyond that were the backyards of neighboring houses. She could find help there. She could be safe.

Behind her came manic laughter, and almost as if on cue, the library fell into sudden complete darkness. Tracey kept going, racing forward, trying not to think about how it was still mid-afternoon and there was no logical explanation for the sudden lack of light.

Ahead of her, a bookcase slid from its place and crashed against the wall, books flying out and landing in piles on the floor. Tracey slid to a halt, eyes wide. She stared at the massive oak shelf with the remaining books on it, knowing well that there was no way something that heavy could have been moved like that.

More laughter prompted her to keep going, and she raced to the aisle in an attempt to run around the displaced bookcase. Ahead of her, two of the tables began to shake, and then slid quickly across the floor as if being pushed by invisible hands. They crashed into each other with enough force for them to shatter into large chunks of wood, overflowing in all directions like thousands of miniature stakes. Tracey didn't have enough time to react, and screamed in pain when one of the stakes buried itself into her left shoulder and sent her spinning on her heels. She crashed into the shelves behind her, books raining over her head, and almost fell to her knees if not for the rush of adrenaline that was propelling her forward.

Grabbing her limp arm, she made for the offices, and would have been crushed by another sliding bookcase had she not tripped over her own feet and fallen right into the newly formed wall of books in front of her. Tracey slid down to her knees, defeated, the fight inside her dispelled by the nonsense of what was going on around her. She turned around, and at the mouth of the dead-end aisle stood Helen.

Helen gestured to Tracey with both hands and began to applaud. "Great show, great show!" she said, her eyes fully ablaze, her lips pulled back tightly against her gums making her jaw protrude like a muzzle. "Superb sportsmanship. I have to say, if I knew for sure that you couldn't help me, I would have put you out of your misery a long time ago."

Helen strolled towards Tracey, her hands clasped in front of her chest and her head cocked, like a predator waiting to see what its prey would do next. Tracey felt like a lab rat in this maze of books, and the test was finally over. Helen was done playing.

"So, since you won't tell me what I want to know," Helen said, crouching down in front of Tracey, "I'll just have to find out myself."

Helen grabbed the stake in Tracey's shoulder, pushed it in further and twisted. Tracey's head shot back and she screamed in newfound agony, the pain in her shoulder radiating through her entire body. She felt something hot and sickly extend into her open mouth, forcing her to gag, and silky tendrils extended upwards into the base of her skull. She could feel them racing about inside her head, and suddenly, the darkness overwhelmed her completely.

All she could see were faded images of her memories, people from her life, her mother scolding her for not cleaning her room, her father nervously grasping onto his seatbelt as he taught her how to drive, her boyfriend from junior high to whom she had lost her virginity. They came and went in flashes, barely taking form before disappearing in a shower of sparks and a cloud of smoke.

Then there was Kyle.

He stood at the front desk of the library, tapping away at the computer they kept there. He squinted at the screen, jotted something down, then gave the piece of paper to someone Tracey couldn't see. Kyle smiled as he watched that someone hurry off, visibly happy that he had been of help.

He then looked straight at Tracey, and his eyes burst into flames.

Tracey could feel the tendrils quickly withdraw from her head and out of her mouth, and she gasped for air as her vision blurred and slowly refocused. She was in the library, and crouched in front of her was Helen, smiling.

"Thank you," Helen said.

Tracey watched in horror as the woman's face shifted. It began to break, as if it had been stitched together like pieces of a puzzle, and from in between the pieces, small flames surged out. Helen's mouth opened into a dark abyss of smoke and burning flesh. The eyes maintained their fixed stare, and a hand reached out to grab Tracey by the jaw.

Tracey screamed as her entire body went up in flames.

***

The sirens snapped Kyle out of his trance.

He was pulling out onto North Main Street and turning south towards the Kent Country Inn. His eyes were open, his hands firmly on the wheel, but his mind had wandered. His thoughts ran wild, some trying to make sense of the vision he had experienced at the café, others swirling about in his head in an attempt to work out what he was going to say once he saw Fegan.

The fire engine raced past him, flashing lights almost blinding even in the light of the day, the sirens making his ears ring. It took him completely by surprise, and Kyle almost ran the curb as he swerved out of its way, heart pounding by the sudden eruption of sound and lights racing by him. He stopped the car and stared out through his windshield at the rising smoke a few blocks away, black and ominous, stretching out as if to cover the entire town.

Kyle frowned.

Two fires last night, and another one today. There was no doubt in his mind that there was something to Fegan's warning after all, and the sooner he made it to the Country Inn, the faster he could finally find the answers he sought.

He shifted into drive, ready to pull away from the curb, when he stopped and watched as people raced after the fire engine. A couple of cars came to a stop outside Webster's Bank and the drivers climbed out, leaning against their open doors as they watched the fire from afar.

Kyle did the same, leaving his car door open and walking out into the middle of North Main Street, bumping into people as they raced past him. He felt his heart beat faster, and as he moved with the crowd in a daze, he realized that the fire was a lot closer than he had thought. It was obvious that the fire was eating away with even more intensity at whatever it was that was burning, and the smoke rising into the sky began to thicken.

By the time he had reached the edge of Kent Station, Kyle felt his knees buckle and his heart jump into his throat. The fire engine had set up and was starting to shoot water into the flames. The firefighters had pushed the onlookers back far enough to form a semi-circle extending right into the street. Police sirens joined the wailing sounds that mixed with the crackling of the flames, and officers jumped out of their cruisers to help establish a proper perimeter. Cars were parked at awkward angles on both sides of the crowd of spectators, their occupants watching in shock as flames shot up into the sky like tendrils between the black smoke.

The library was on fire.

Kyle began to run. He didn't know he was doing it until he found himself slamming into the crowd and pushing his way frantically forward. Someone shouted at him, someone else pushed him, but Kyle kept going. He shouldered his way through until he reached the edge of the perimeter and ran straight into the burly arms of a police officer.

"Hey!" the officer shouted, grabbing him and pulling him back. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Kyle didn't hear him, desperately fighting to break free, his ears ringing and his eyes wide. All he could see was the fire. All he could hear was the sound of wood cracking and foundations bending. He was back in Los Angeles, gazing at his home as it burned, his wife and son still inside. Kyle opened his mouth and screamed in a mix of fury and pain, fighting with every bit of strength he had to break free from the officer holding him. He needed to get inside. He needed to save Jennifer and Michael.

"Calm down!" the officer yelled at him, but Kyle wasn't listening. In front of him, the library shifted into his home back in California, and the home shifted back to the library. In the flames, he could still hear screaming, and in his ears the yelling of the firefighters telling him that going anywhere near the house was suicide. It was all coming down.

The library's north wall crumbled, and the entire building shifted towards the missing weight. Firefighters were screaming at everyone to get back, the police frantically pushing back the perimeter even further. More sirens sounded as a second engine tried to make its way through the mesh of people and to the fire.

And all Kyle could do was watch helplessly as he fought against the arms that wouldn't let him go, no matter how much he yelled and kicked and lashed out. A second officer came to assist, and together with the first one, they pinned Kyle to the ground as tears streamed down his cheeks. He begged them to let him go, but they wouldn't listen. To save his wife and son. They only stared at each other in confusion.

The library roof toppled to one side and came down in a crash of fire, bursting out and showering the firefighters in debris.

Kyle watched as the library crumbled and burned. His mind suddenly snapped back to reality, and he was overcome by an even worse sense of panic.

Tracey. Oh God please don't let her still be in there!

Kyle wrestled against his captors again, but still couldn't break free. The second officer bent his head down and yelled into Kyle's ear. "Don't force me to cuff you, Kyle!"

Kyle looked up at him, recognizing the face but not the name, knowing that the only reason he wasn't in cuffs and being locked up in the backseat of the cruiser was because he knew him. Kyle gave up trying to remember and stared in a daze at the library as the fires licked away at what remained.

"Let go of him!" someone yelled, and Kyle felt the pressure on him ease for a moment. "You can't do that!"

"Get back, lady!"

Kyle looked behind him and gazed at Aley Davis as she pushed at the officer. He caught her eye and was surprised to see just how angry she was.

"I'm easing up here, Kyle," the second officer said. "Please don't make me regret that."

Kyle looked back at Aley. "I'm fine," he called out. He looked at the officer and nodded. "I'm fine."

The officer let him go, and Kyle allowed himself to be escorted back to the edge of the perimeter where Aley was waiting.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Kyle nodded and turned back to the officer. "Is anyone inside?" he asked.

The officer shrugged. "No idea," he said. "Doesn't seem like it, but we can't tell for sure."

"Tracey Garfield," Kyle said.

"What about her?"

"She was supposed to be working here today," Kyle replied. "You need to find her."

"One thing at a time," the officer assured him with a small nod. "Let's just put that bad boy out first. You can look around if you want. Maybe she's in the crowd. Just make sure you don't try to break the perimeter again."

Kyle nodded, and turned to Aley when he felt her hand on his arm. "We'll find her," she said.

He wasn't as convinced. The flashing images of his past mixed with the memories of his wife's burning screams all made for one hell of a bad omen. Still, he needed to believe that Tracey was okay. If only he had been there instead of calling in sick.

Kyle searched the crowd from where he stood. He squinted, trying to ignore the sounds of the fire and the yells of the firefighters as he scanned the faces. He couldn't find Tracey. He was about to give up and just wait for the crowd to thin when his eyes fell on a brunette standing on the opposite side of the perimeter to him. She wasn't watching the fire like everyone else, but was staring straight at him. He was too far away to recognize her, but he couldn't miss the dark stains on her blouse or the fact that she was standing barefoot.

Kyle frowned, and just before he turned away, the woman's eyes turned a blazing red, and she smiled at him.

"Ow!"

Kyle's head snapped towards Aley. His hand was gripping her arm tight, and she forcefully pulled it away.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, frowning at him.

Kyle muttered an apology and turned back.

The woman was gone.

Chapter 7

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“You’re in no position to drive right now,” Aley countered, adjusting the driver’s seat of Kyle’s car and checking the rearview mirror.

Kyle opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. She wasn’t wrong.

For the past three hours, he had watched in frustration as the firefighters desperately worked to put out the fire that had consumed the Kent Library. By the time the flames were out and the skies were coated in black smoke, all that remained was a pile of smoldering rubble, a mountain of black timber and pages of burnt books fluttering in the wind like snowflakes. The crowd had dwindled to only a handful of people, and it was clear that Tracey had not been outside with the rest, watching her place of employment burn to the ground.

He had tried calling her every five minutes, each call going to her voice mail after the fourth ring, and only adding to Kyle’s frustration and worry. It had taken the appearance of an ambulance, and the solemn face of the police officer that had come to talk to him, for the truth to finally settle in.

Tracey was dead.

Kyle’s body shook with this realization, a deep sense of guilt building in the pit of his stomach. No matter how much his mind tried to assure him that none of this was his fault, his senses refused to accept it. All he could think about was that he had not shown up for work, and Tracey had died in the process. A thousand excuses popped up in his head, a million scenarios where, if he had been in the library, he probably would have been able to save her.

And let’s not forget the vision, right? That was a slap in the face right there.

Kyle shook his head, the memories of his own smoldering house back in California fresh in his mind as if it had all happened yesterday. He could still see the gurneys as they rolled away the charred bodies of his wife and son, could still feel the comforting hand on his shoulder that had felt like a deadweight, and the words of comfort that were supposed to bring him some sort of inexplicable peace. He felt like he was reliving the past, now in broad daylight, with the entire town a witness to the nightmares he had been running from.

The police had held him back for questioning, and although it had angered him at first, right now it didn’t seem like much of a surprise. His past was no secret, especially in Kent, and he could only imagine what most of the townsfolk would be thinking.

They’re probably blaming you for the fire, eh Kyle? First your home, now the place you work? I mean, think about it. Really suspicious if you ask me.

Kyle clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the voice in his head to the furthest corners of his mind, into the dark recesses where he hoped it would never return to remind him that, once more, he was surrounded by fire and death.

“Hey, you okay?”

Kyle blinked and turned to look at Aley. She was watching him carefully, her worry clearly reflected in her eyes. He hardly knew the woman, yet here she was, sitting in front of his steering wheel, ready to help in whatever way she could. He was surprised she had stuck around through all of it, genuinely trying to reassure him when he had tried to reach Tracey, waiting patiently as the police had asked him question after agonizing question. She had even insisted on walking him back to where he abandoned his car, and when his keys fumbled in his hands, she gently pushed him aside and offered to drive him home.

Kyle nodded. “Not really, but I’ll live.”

Aley held her gaze for a few seconds before taking in a deep breath and placing both hands on the steering wheel. “Okay,” she said with mock resolution. “Let’s get you home.” She turned to him. “I’m new here, so you’re going to have to give me directions.”

“I’m not going home,” Kyle said.

“Oh?”

He shook his head. “The Country Inn.”

Aley sat back and frowned. He had definitely been off ever since learning about Tracey’s death, but Aley began to wonder if maybe he was in shock as well. “The Country Inn?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Listen, Kyle, I’m not a doctor,” she began, “but I’m pretty sure home is the place you should be right now.”

Kyle didn’t look at her and only stared straight ahead. “I told you, you don’t have to come with me.”

“Kyle–”

“And no, you’re not a doctor,” he continued, turning to look at her. “So if you do want to help, then please start the car and take me to the Country Inn.” He turned away again and added, “I’ll give you the directions.”

Aley bit her lip, watching him closely, trying to discern whether she should follow her instincts or do what he wanted. He was in no condition to be moving about on his own, and if she pushed any more, he would probably just kick her out and drive to the inn anyway. She sighed, adjusting herself in her seat, and started the car.

“Why do you want to go to an inn?” she mumbled, not expecting a reply.

It took Kyle a few seconds before he finally said, “I have questions.”

***

Sheriff Jeffrey Gadge stood with his back to the remains of the Kent Library. His eyes scanned the streets, his mind drifting as he watched pedestrians slow down near the site, then quickly hurry away. A blue Ford drove past him, and Jeffrey squinted as he thought he caught sight of a recognizable face sitting in the passenger seat.

“That’s Kyle Ashfeld.”

Jeffrey turned just as Adrian came up beside him. The officer lit a cigarette, and Jeffrey fought the urge to remind him that they were standing at the scene of a recent fire. He only stared at the red tip of the cigarette, thinking that there really wasn’t anything left to catch fire anyway.

Jeffrey turned back and watched the blue Ford recede in the distance. “The author?” he asked.

Adrian mumbled something incomprehensible, and when Jeffrey turned, he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and said, “Yeah, that one. We got a statement from him before he left. He worked here, you know? Didn’t come in today, though.”

Jeffrey clicked his tongue. “Lucky,” he muttered.

“I don’t think Tracey Garfield feels the same way,” Adrian replied.

“Are we sure it’s her?”

Adrian shrugged and shook his head. “Who else could it be? We’ll get confirmation within the hour.”

Jeffrey turned his attention back to the remains of the library, grimacing as he watched the firefighters gather their gear and prepare to leave. Three fires in less than twenty-four hours, and he still had no idea what was going on. The one thing he was sure of was that it couldn’t have been a coincidence, and if he could reach that conclusion, it wouldn’t be long before others did, too. Soon he was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

“Any idea who was with him in the car?”

Adrian coughed. “What?”

“Ashfeld wasn’t driving,” Jeffrey pointed out, raising an eyebrow to Adrian expectantly.

“Oh,” Adrian nodded and scratched his head. “New in town. I think we got her name somewhere, but it didn’t seem like she was that important.”

Jeffrey grunted.

“It’s a little weird, though,” Adrian said. “I mean, the guy loses his wife and son in a fire, comes back to Kent, and now the place where he works burns down.”

“Talk like that is how rumors start,” Jeffrey commented.

“I’m not saying he actually did it,” Adrian defended. “It’s just a little weird, that’s all.”

“Look into it, but quietly,” Jeffrey said. “See if he has any connections to the Lints.”

Adrian shrugged. “It’s only a theory, Sheriff, really. As much as I heard, the guy keeps to himself most of the time.”

Jeffrey turned to where he had last seen Kyle’s car disappear around the corner. “When did he come back?”

“Four years ago? Maybe five.”

Jeffrey thought back, trying to remember if there had been any other fires during the last five years, but nothing came to mind. Nothing as big as what had happened in the last twenty-four hours at least.

He turned back to Adrian. “Look into it anyway,” Jeffrey said. “It’s still a theory, and until we find Helen Lint, it’s the only thing we’ve got.”

Adrian dropped the cigarette and put it out with his foot. “On it,” he said as he walked past the Sheriff.

Jeffrey Gadge gazed at the charred library. This was definitely going to be a long autumn.

***

Kyle was out of the car before Aley had even put it into park.

She struggled with the keys, climbed out and locked the doors, then hurried after him. The Kent Country Inn looked like the typical charming New England home, but Aley had little time to admire it as she followed Kyle inside through the single door in the back patio.

They were instantly welcomed by the lush décor and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting out of the kitchen.

“Welcome to the Kent Country Inn.”

Aley turned just as a smiling blonde walked around a corner, drying her hands on a paper towel. She seemed to be in her early forties, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail, her blue eyes dazzling even in the dim light coming in through closed curtains. She seemed to fit right in.

“I’m Paula,” the woman said cheerfully. “Do you have a reservation?”

Aley turned to Kyle and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I’m actually here to meet someone,” Kyle stepped in, attempting to return Paula’s smile but failing miserably. Aley cringed at the constipated look on his face and the equally uncomfortable one on Paula’s, but was impressed at how well the woman was able to maintain her welcoming smile nonetheless.

“Connor Fegan,” Kyle said. “He said that he was staying here.”

Paula nodded, and Aley could see the woman visibly relax. She could only imagine what kind of impression Kyle left with his bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair and the smell of smoke coming from him.

“Mr. Fegan, of course. I’ll call him right away,” Paula chirped. “You can wait in the living room, if you’d like.”

Aley grabbed Kyle by the arm and pulled him towards the couches in the corner. Kyle slumped down next to her, feeling the couch wrap around him like a warm hug, and felt himself instantly relax. The tension in his shoulders began to ease, and his hands - which would not stop shaking since the fire - were finally lying still in his lap. All of a sudden, he felt like he desperately needed a drink. If he hadn’t been hell-bound on talking to Fegan, he probably would have asked Aley to take him to Kingsely’s instead. She would have probably tried to convince him to let her take him home, but he didn’t feel like he was up to dealing with the monsters under his bed right now.

Definitely not now.

“This is a cute place,” Aley said, admiring the beams above her head. “Very homey.”

Kyle glanced at where she was looking, was reminded of the beams that had once decorated his home back in California, and turned away quickly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

“Mr. Fegan will be down in a bit,” Paula said from behind her desk. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to smoke outside. We have a wonderful outdoor garden courtyard. I can send Mr. Fegan to you there.”

Kyle thanked her, got up, and made for the door. Aley sighed and followed.

The courtyard was a lot humbler than Paula had let on, but seemed to fit right in with the inn. The small fountain in the middle of what could only be described as a backyard, was surrounded by three benches and a picnic table. Without thinking, Kyle led them to the table and sat down, his eyes darting everywhere, almost as if he were looking for someone.

“It’s nice here,” Aley ventured, trying to catch Kyle’s eye and calm him down. He was on edge, and although she had no idea who this Fegan guy was, it seemed like it wouldn’t be in either’s best interest if Kyle didn’t at least try to get a grip on himself.

That’s stupid, you know that.

And she did. The sight of the burning library must have brought back some horrid memories, and Aley didn’t even want to imagine what was going through Kyle’s mind right now. Besides, Tracey being unaccounted for must have made things a lot worse. Deep down, she knew what that meant, and she didn’t need to read minds to know that Kyle understood it, too.

His mind is probably doing summersaults right now.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” Aley asked, sitting opposite to him. “You can always come back later.”

“I’m sure.”

Aley sighed. “You’re in shock, you know that, right?”

“Being a doctor again?”

“Being a friend,” Aley replied.

Kyle turned to her, and the look in his eyes scared her a little. “I don’t need a friend right now,” he said. “I need to talk to Fegan.”

Aley was about to reply when his attention was grabbed by something over her shoulder, and she turned to see Connor Fegan exiting the inn and making his way towards them. The old man was dressed in black, a hat sitting comfortably on his head, a wide smile on his face.

“Mr. Ashfeld,” Fegan greeted. “I had a feeling you’d be visiting me today.”

***

Kyle didn’t waste time with formalities. Almost as soon as Fegan was within arm’s reach, he jumped up, grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt, and threw him down onto the table. Aley jumped up in surprise, shouting something incomprehensible.

“You did this, you bastard!” Kyle yelled in Fegan’s face. “I should be calling the cops right now if I didn’t want the chance to pound you myself!”

Fegan didn’t fight back, his hat strewn to a side and his hair out of place. But the smile remained, and despite Kyle’s threats, the old man was gently tapping his hands.

“Mr. Ashfeld, I suggest you let me go,” Fegan said. “Violence will not give you what you came here to find.”

“I already have what I came here for,” Kyle spat.

“I highly doubt that,” Fegan replied. “However, I do believe you have finally come to see the truth to what I was warning you about. You are not here for vengeance, Mr. Ashfeld, as misplaced as your anger may be. You are here for answers.”

“I’m pretty okay with breaking a few bones,” Kyle hissed.

“Kyle?” Aley tried to soothe him.

“Stay out of this,” Kyle shot at her. His gaze never left Fegan. “Did you do it? Did you burn it down? Did you know there was someone inside there? Tracey’s dead because of you, you sick bastard!”

“That is truly unfortunate,” Fegan said, wincing as Kyle slammed him down on the table again. “However, I assure you, I had nothing to do with the fires.”

Kyle frowned. “Fires?”

“There have been more than one, correct?” Fegan asked. “Surely you know that.”

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back a ringing that was starting in the back of his head. “That’s not why I’m here.”

This time, it was Fegan’s turn to frown. “Mr. Ashfeld, do you honestly believe that both events are unrelated?” he asked. “I told you last night, it’s the witching hour. I warned you about this.”

“Kyle, what’s he talking about?” Aley asked, gently placing a hand on Kyle’s arm.

Kyle turned to her, the ringing now a shrill sound scorching through his head. He felt himself sway, suddenly nauseated, and quickly let go of Fegan. He rushed a few steps away, fell to his knees and heaved. The taste of bile lingered in his mouth, and his throat screamed with residual acidity. He heaved again, this time his stomach clenching tight enough to make him feel like he was about to regurgitate his entire intestinal system. Aley fell to her knees beside him, a gentle hand on his back as she waited for him to catch his breath.

Kyle felt the world around him spin, his vision suddenly overwhelmed with red spots. He tried to blink them away, and it took him a few seconds before his body stopped shaking and he swallowed gulps of air. Aley grabbed his arm and helped him up, gently setting him down at the picnic table.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Kyle wanted to lie and say that he was, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt like crap, his temples throbbing and his head spinning. He looked up at Fegan, the older man now standing up straight, adjusting and dusting off his clothes.

“What did you do to me?” Kyle croaked.

Fegan picked up his hat, inspected it, and then set it back down on the table. “You give me more credit than I deserve, Mr. Ashfeld,” he said. “I can only assume that your body is reacting to the shock you have experienced.

“Bullshit,” Kyle whispered.

“Now, if it suits you, I would rather we discuss what you came here to discuss without further need for violence,” Fegan said. “We are, after all, civilized people, are we not?”

Kyle only glared at him, wishing his body would settle down and give him enough of a chance to really beat the old man. But he was exhausted, suddenly spent, and didn’t feel like he had the energy to do anything more than listen to Fegan’s craziness.

“What the hell is going on?” Aley asked, breaking through Kyle’s thoughts.

Fegan turned to her and smiled. “I am afraid I have yet to introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Connor Fegan, and I came to Kent to deliver a very important message to Mr. Ashfeld.”

“And what message is that?”

“That he has been called upon to stop the demons of the witching hour.”

“The who of the what now?”

Aley’s jaw dropped, and her eyes stared in clear disbelief at Fegan, who only chuckled in reply.

“My dear girl,” Fegan replied, “I would be lying if I told you I was surprised at your reaction. However, I believe Mr. Ashfeld can attest to what I am about to tell you.”

Kyle felt his stomach churn, and he winced. “Right now, I can only attest to how much I would love to shove my fist down your throat.”

Fegan nodded and sat down, stringing his fingers together. “I believe you,” he said. “But wouldn’t it be more beneficial if you listened to what I have to say without the urge to do me harm?”

“What the hell are the demons of the witching hour?” Aley asked, looking from Fegan to Kyle and back again.

“Six of the most terrible beings Hell has ever spawned,” Fegan replied. “The messengers of destruction, the harbingers of all devastation. Once every century, when the doors to Hell are weak enough to let them through, they escape and roam this earth, bringing with them nothing but suffering and catastrophe.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Kyle said, glaring at the old man. “He came to me last night, at the library, spewing his stories and expecting me to believe them.”

“They are not stories, Mr. Ashfeld,” Fegan said, shaking his head slowly. “I believe the events of last night and this afternoon are proof enough of that.”

“All these prove is that a stranger came to Kent,” Kyle said, turning so he was fully facing Fegan. “And since then, two fires have broken out. I think the Sheriff is going to have a ball with that.”

“By the time the Sheriff even begins to look for me, I will be gone,” Fegan said. “My work here is done. I have warned you, and what you choose to do with the information is now up to you. At the end of the day, Mr. Ashfeld, you are the Hand. Only you can stop them, and if you choose to do nothing, all the innocent souls that suffer because of your inaction – well, their blood will be on your hands.”

“The Hand?” Aley asked.

“The one human who can move between worlds,” Fegan replied. “The demons may possess a human host, but their true form hides in a parallel dimension, one that they create for themselves. Only there can the demons be destroyed, and only the Hand can move between this world and theirs.”

Kyle scoffed. “This is ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you even hear what you’re saying? This fantasy you’re expecting us to believe, it’s not going to hide the fact that you’re nuts, and it’s definitely not going to get you out of arson.”

Fegan sighed and shrugged to Aley, almost apologetically. “This is never easy to hear, and it is true, people have often regarded these warnings as fictional tales of a madman. However, they are true. Tell me, Mr. Ashfeld, how are the nightmares?”

Kyle’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“The nightmares,” Fegan repeated. “The burning bodies, the demon that taunts you in your dreams. Will you deny those as well?”

Kyle shuddered, and the feeling of a cold hand gripping his spine and tugging violently shook him to his core. When he had first decided to confront Fegan, all he had wanted to do was beat a confession out of him. He was certain that the old man had had something to do with the fire at the library, and seeing him come out of the inn, all smiles and nonchalance, had confirmed that suspicion in Kyle’s head.

The reference to the nightmares, though, had caught him off guard.

Suddenly, Fegan seemed a lot more sinister than Kyle had assumed him to be.

“Visions, Mr. Ashfeld,” Fegan continued. “That’s what those are. The first of the demons is here, very much responsible for the fires you accuse me of. And it hunts you. It will continue to do so until it destroys you, the one person who can stop it.” Fegan stood up and adjusted his clothes. “You have seen the other world, Mr. Ashfeld, and the demon has seen you. You can continue to run from your fate, or you can embrace it. The choice is ultimately yours.”

“Where are you going?” Kyle asked, standing up quickly. He felt a rush of blood to the head, and began to sway dangerously before Aley grabbed and steadied him. “We’re not done.”

“Actually, we are,” Fegan replied. “I, for one, have completed what I have come here to do. You, on the other hand, have quite some ways before you. I wish you all the luck.”

Fegan began to leave, and Kyle grabbed him by the arm. “This isn’t over,” Kyle hissed. “I’m going to make sure the Sheriff knows where to find you.”

Fegan smiled. “Of course,” he said. “But the Sheriff will be quite disappointed when he does not find me, and no one in this fine establishment even remembers me being here.”

Kyle hesitated, his eyes searching Fegan’s. “What are you?”

“A priest,” Fegan replied, his smile widening. “Of sorts.”

With that, Connor Fegan shrugged out of Kyle’s grasp and disappeared back into the inn.

Chapter 8

“Any time you’re ready.”

Aley sat in the driver’s seat, hands wrapped around the steering wheel as if for dear life, the sweat on her brow itching. She wanted to wipe it away, but for some reason couldn’t detach her grip, and for the past hour or so had kept her gaze set straight ahead, not daring to look at Kyle.

The sun had begun to set, and the orange hues mixed with the purple lines in the distant skies would have been beautiful if not for the fact that Aley felt liked she had just woken up from a really bad dream. A chill had found its way through her, had wrapped itself around her bones and was eating away at her from the inside. Fegan’s words still lingered in the back of her head, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread since their meeting.

And that smile. That goddamn smile!

It was almost as if he were still standing next to her, the wide grin on his face sending shivers up and down her spine. He hadn’t directed his smile to her, but she had felt its effect nonetheless. A cold hand reaching inside her head, tearing at the barriers inside, revealing everything she could possibly hide, laying her naked and bare for all to see. It was as if he had stripped her apart layer by layer, revealing the ugliness that she had not known was there.

And all that while he was concentrating on Kyle. She didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he had directed that gaze onto her.

She had helped Kyle back to the car, his weight crushing her, as if ten people had been leaning on her instead of just one. She had felt her back crack when she had finally helped him into the passenger seat, and for a few seconds, it felt like the whole world had come crashing down around her. Suddenly, she felt extremely claustrophobic.

Still, the silence they had settled into was even worse, and as paralyzed as she felt right now, she wanted nothing more than to press down on the gas pedal and get the hell away from the inn.

“Kyle?”

Kyle’s eyes fluttered open and rolled towards her lazily. She could see him in her peripheral vision, almost curled up in the seat, shaking like a leaf. Whatever Fegan had done to the both of them, its effects had lingered, and she had a feeling that they would continue to do so as long as they stayed where they were.

“You want to fill me in on what the hell is going on?” Aley asked, turning to look at him, her neck straining as if trying to prevent her from moving her head at all.

“I don’t know,” Kyle mumbled.

“That’s not good enough,” Aley said. “I have no idea what kind of beef you have with that guy, but whatever it is, it doesn’t feel right, and I would love to at least be in the loop.”

“You heard what he said.”

“You told me not to believe anything he said.”

Kyle groaned as he shifted in his seat. “I’m not feeling all too well right now.”

As if that were her cue, Aley turned the key in the ignition and shifted into drive. She pulled out of the inn’s parking space, tried her best to control the car as she swiveled it around, and screeched onto Maple Street. Luckily, there was no traffic this time of day, and she fought the urge to race past the speed limit in her attempt to put as much distance between them and the inn.

“Start talking,” she said as she drove, her knuckles white with the tight grasp on the steering wheel as she kept her eyes glued on the road.

“He’s playing us,” Kyle said. “I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s definitely screwing with our heads.”

“That’s a friggin’ understatement,” Aley said. “The guy gave me the chills, and I’m from New York. We don’t scare that easy.”

“He read us somehow,” Kyle said. “It’s a parlor trick. Throw in a few common intuitions and you’re bound to strike a chord.”

“He did more than that,” Aley said. “What was all that about visions and nightmares?”

Kyle didn’t reply, and Aley had to peel her eyes away from the road just to make sure he had heard her. He had stopped shaking and seemed to be a lot more composed, and even she could feel her head clearing. As she turned onto North Main Street, the daunting feeling that had hung over her like a shroud was gone, and she found that she could breathe a lot easier now.

“Visions, Kyle,” Aley said. “Stay with me.”

Kyle hesitated, ran a hand through his hair, and used the handle bar above the passenger seat to adjust himself. “I’ve been having nightmares lately,” he finally said. “About my wife and son.”

“Nightmares?”

“Nothing serious,” he replied, with enough of a stall to assure her that they definitely were serious. “I see my wife and son, memories usually, and the fire.” He looked at her and quickly added, “That’s something anyone could have guessed. If you know anything about me, and Fegan definitely does, it’s not farfetched to assume I’d have nightmares of the past. Like I said, parlor tricks.”

“And the demon?”

“What?”

“The demon,” Aley repeated in frustration. “He said something about a demon taunting you. Hunting you and all the prophecy bullshit.”

“We all have our demons,” Kyle replied, his voice dropping.

“He said demon, singular,” Aley shot back, stealing a quick glance at him. His face was ashen, and he seemed incredibly uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know what any of that meant,” Kyle finally replied.

Aley slammed her fists against the steering wheel, pushed down hard on the brakes and brought the car to a screeching halt by the curb. The car behind her let out a wailing honk as it passed them, the muffled sounds of the driver’s angry shouting lost in the heat of her fury.

“Okay, listen,” she said through gritted teeth. “For the past few hours, I’ve done everything I can to help you out. I almost got arrested, offered to drive you home, and even joined you on this little excursion that’s been nothing less than a quick visit to hell, which by the way, still has me feeling like someone’s tap dancing in my head and screaming in glee at my misery. I’m not going to pretend to know how you feel, or insult you by claiming to understand what you’re going through. I’m going well out of my way to be a friend during this crap of a day, and from what I can see, it’s not like anyone else is lining up to do the same. All I ask is you don’t bullshit me and don’t you dare insult my intelligence. Stick to that rule and we might just be fine until I can make sure you’re not going to die in the gutter somewhere. Okay?”

She took in a deep breath and let it out in one long exhale, her eyes fixated on his as the heat in her cheeks grew. Her hands were shaking, and her heart pounded in her chest like a piston.

Whatever you do, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

Their eyes remained locked for what felt like forever before Kyle finally broke the stare and nodded. “Fine,” he said. “You win.”

“Thank you,” she replied, turning back to face the road and grabbing onto the comfort of the steering wheel. She didn’t feel too great, but at least she had gotten through to him.

“For the record, I didn’t ask you to come with me,” he said.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” she replied.

He’s Kyle Ashfeld. What the hell are you doing?

But right now, he wasn’t her literary hero, the idol she had always looked up to when she thought of the great authors that had influenced her. Gone was the image she had drawn for herself of the suave, has-it-all-together horror writer who not only radiated confidence, but could slay dragons with his words. Now, all that remained of Kyle Ashfeld was the man sitting in the passenger seat, fighting his demons and apparently losing miserably.

“Let’s start with the visions,” she said.

Kyle nodded, took a deep breath, and told her everything.

By the time he was done, she wished she had kept her mouth shut.

***

Kyle paused at the threshold of the apartment door.

The darkness was discomforting, even more so now that he was in a strange place. For the briefest of moments, his eyes caught shifting shadows where he knew none were, and the smell of rotting flesh filled his senses. He looked to Aley for comfort and waited until she had switched on the lights before he allowed himself a sigh of relief, his anxiety quickly fluttering away.

The apartment was small, but felt homey nonetheless. There was a comfortable harmony to it; the way the living room and dining table mixed together with the open kitchen. The corners were decorated with small antique tables and potted indoor plants, the dim lights casting a warm glow over the small space, almost as if welcoming its guests with open arms.

A stark contrast to how his apartment felt these days.

“Don’t worry,” Aley said, closing the door behind them and locking it. “Nothing’s going to bite.”

Kyle gave her a weak smile.

Coming here had been her idea. She had repeatedly offered to take him home, and he had turned each one down, assuring her that he would be fine sleeping in his car outside Kingsley’s where he believed he’d be safe. Aley had been quick to call the idea stupid, and eventually made it clear that he had no choice as to whether or not he would spend the night at her place.

And that suited him just fine. After everything that had happened, going home was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t think he had it in him to face the ghosts of his dead wife and son tonight, and whatever else had taken over his bedroom. He could still see the monster from his nightmares staring at him from beyond the threshold of the room, screeching at him, promising to find him no matter what. It still made him shiver, and right now, the one thing he needed more than sleep was the company.

He couldn’t be sure that he would be safe here, and a part of him was scared that just being in Aley’s apartment would inadvertently bring her into harm’s way. What if he had his nightmares here, where there was no bedroom to confine them? What would happen to him, or to Aley for that matter? The questions rushed through his head and swirled about, forming a mush of confusion that quickly manifested into a throbbing headache he knew would keep him awake for hours.

Better awake than in hell.

Kyle shook his head to clear his mind of the doubt that had taken over him, the small voice that was constantly making him second-guess himself. He ran his hand across his face and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push back sleep for just a little bit more.

“Coffee?” Aley asked, watching him carefully.

She pities you.

He could see it in her eyes. The gentle concern mixed with a hint of fear, all woven together in a mask of bravado that she apparently thought would make her look more composed than he knew she really was. He would have been impressed with how much she was putting up with if not for the fact that he was too exhausted to dish out compliments.

“I could use a mug or two,” Kyle replied.

Aley nodded and made her way into the open kitchen, flicking the switch on the coffee maker while she rummaged through the cupboards for two mugs. He watched her for only a moment before finding his way to the couch, his legs leading him without much help from his brain, and flopped down. The cushions seemed to roll out around him and hug him, a reminder that if he would just close his eyes, if he could bring himself to let go, they would protect him from everything.

Kyle rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing the tiredness back. He needed to stay awake for as long as he could. Maybe falling asleep from the exhaustion would send him straight past the nightmares and into a deep, dreamless slumber.

You’re not that lucky.

“Here, drink this,” Aley said, handing him a mug and curling onto the seat beside him.

Kyle took a whiff of the dark liquid and cringed. “This is strong.”

“It’s the only way I know how to drink it,” she smiled.

Kyle took a sip, felt the bitter taste of the coffee roll down his throat, and shuddered. He hated drinking coffee black, but right now, it felt exactly like what he needed.

“Maureen set you up real nice,” he said, taking another sip and trying not to show his discomfort.

“I was lucky,” Aley nodded. “She’s a real sweetheart. Treats me as if I were her daughter.”

“She has that going for her,” Kyle smiled, feeling the coffee work its magic. “She’s always looked out for us.”

“She told me you were in her book club back in the day.”

Kyle chuckled, remembering how he had sat quietly in the back and had to be constantly pushed to share his stories with everyone else. Even then he had had a taste for the macabre, and trying to keep that hidden was his way of fitting in. Most of the time, reading one of his works out loud resulted in confused and horrified stares from everyone else. It always made him wonder what Maureen had seen in him, although he did have her to thank for his career, in a way. She had been that initial push that made him believe he could make a living out of what his mind conjured.

“She pushed me hard enough to make me want to do this forever,” Kyle reminisced. He could still see the smile on Maureen’s face whenever he was done reading his stories aloud.

“She said you were a prodigy,” Aley remarked.

“Maureen has a habit of putting me up on a pedestal,” Kyle smiled.

“Not too far from the truth, if you ask me.”

Kyle looked at her, and returned her smile. “A lot of my success has to do with luck.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Kyle Ashfeld.”

“It’s true,” he said, feeling his body relax into the couch and his mind begin to form coherent thoughts for the first time today. “You basically write the best you can, hope that what you’re doing works, and the rest is all luck. You get lucky that the right people read your books at the right time, that a publisher picks up your manuscript because he or she is not swamped with work and decided to toss it aside after reading the first line. A talented agent who knows the right people.” He looked at her for a moment before gazing at the wall in front of him. “All you can really control is the writing. Nothing more. My father liked to say that the best you can do is enough to get you halfway there. The rest is out of your hands.”

“Smart guy,” Aley said. “A little cynical, though.”

“All doctors are, I guess,” Kyle mused, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Must have been hard living up to those expectations.”

Kyle frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Aley shrugged. “Usually fathers want their sons to follow in their footsteps, don’t they? Probably wanted you to take over the practice or something.”

Kyle shook his head. “Nah, he wasn’t like that,” he said. “Besides, I was an only child, and they kind of spoiled me. My parents couldn’t conceive.”

“So you were a medical miracle as well?”

Kyle chuckled and raised an eyebrow at her. “Sure, if you want to call it that,” he said.

“What else would you call it?” she asked, smiling as she cradled her mug close to her chest. “Maureen said that you kind of just appeared one day. That your mother never showed any signs of pregnancy.”

Kyle’s smile widened. “Yeah, I heard that story,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping him before he masked it with another sip of coffee. He put the mug down on the coffee table, stretched and laid back, closing his eyes as he rubbed his temples. He heard Aley shift in her seat, and he opened his eyes just as she took his mug and made for the kitchen.

“You get the couch, Mr. Ashfeld,” she said, her imitation of Fegan so terrible, it made him laugh. “I’ll get you a blanket and spare pillow. You gonna be okay here?”

“I think so,” Kyle said. “Don’t worry about me. I really appreciate this, Aley, thank you.”

She smiled and made for her room when she suddenly stopped and looked at him, frowning. “You said you heard that story.”

Kyle was taking off his shoes, his mind clearer now because of the coffee, but his body begging for a reprieve from the toll the day had taken on him. “Excuse me?”

“When I told you what Maureen had said,” Aley explained. “You said you heard that story.”

Kyle nodded. “Yeah, so?”

“Why story?”

Kyle smiled and nodded. “Right, yeah,” he chuckled. “My parents never told anyone. They kind of just rode the wave.”

“Meaning?”

Kyle looked at her, a little confused as to how she hadn’t put two and two together. “Isn’t it a little obvious?”

Aley shrugged and shook her head.

“I was adopted.”

***

Maureen was getting ready to settle in when the doorbell rang.

At first, she decided to ignore it. She was exhausted, a long day at the shop, and she had gotten a bit used to Aley helping out. That, coupled with the news of the two fires and the death of Tracey Garfield, and she was more than ready to get the day over with and start fresh in the morning.

She had barely kept herself awake long enough to make sure Aley got home safe. The girl had had the good sense to call Maureen when she didn’t show up for work, and filled her in on all the details. Maureen agreed full-heartedly when Aley told her she’d stay with Kyle and make sure he was okay. Seeing Kyle’s car pull up in her driveway, and the two of them make their way to the guest apartment, had given Maureen a great sense of relief, allowing her to finally relax, knowing they were both fine.

A part of her had wanted to invite them in, but the exhaustion had already found its way to her bones, and pushing sleep any further would have meant waking up too tired to open up shop the next day. And she was in no position to do that these days. She was barely making it through as it was.

When the doorbell rang again, Maureen groaned and reluctantly sat up in bed, checking the time. The clock on her nightstand read a few minutes after midnight, and she shook her head in frustration, her muscles aching and her joints cracking as she pushed to her feet. She made her way across the second floor landing, and slowly edged down the stairs, using the banister for support. She stifled a yawn, and cursed under her breath when the bell chimed a third time.

“Alright, alright,” she called out. “I’m coming already.”

Maureen opened the door, and the idea of sleep immediately vanished.

“Helen?”

Helen Lint looked like she had been dragged to hell and back. Her hair was disheveled, her shirt ripped in places and stained with dark brown patches, and her feet looked like she had been trudging through mud, dirty with nails chipped and blood caked to her skin. The sight alone was enough to give Maureen a start, but it was the look in the woman’s eyes that scared her the most.

Helen had obviously been crying, her cheeks painted in dirt streaks and her eyes watery. She looked like she had seen a ghost, or something worse, and she stared at Maureen with the look of a child that was begging to be told that everything would be alright. She had her arms wrapped around her and was shaking like a leaf.

“Oh my God, Helen, what happened to you?” Maureen gasped, grabbing the woman and pulling her into her arms.

Helen broke down in tears, burying her face in Maureen’s chest as her shoulders rose and fell with her sobs. A pungent aroma rose up from her, mixed with a strong smell of smoke. Her hair was matted with what Maureen could only guess was ash. She quickly led Helen inside, closing the door behind them.

Maureen flipped on the lights and rushed Helen into the kitchen, sitting her down at the table and rushing to get a towel she could soak and use to clean the woman up. Helen had begun to really let the waterworks flow, and with every sob, Maureen felt her heart ache a little. She had known Helen ever since she was a child, had babysat her on numerous occasions. She had even been there during her son’s baptism.

Her son.

Maureen froze for a second, then quickly shook off her worries and bent down in front of Helen.

“Move your hands, sweetie, let me fix this.”

Helen dropped her hands, slowly, and Maureen began to gently dab at her face, cleaning up as much of the dirt and what she hoped was not blood on the woman’s face. Helen was trying to compose herself, sniffing as she fought the sobs, but her eyes would water in seconds and tears would stream down her face.

“What happened to you?” Maureen asked. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

“The house,” Helen’s voice shook and cracked. “It … the fire … everything … Steven and–” Helen shook violently and Maureen had to grab onto her to stop her from falling off the chair.

“Oh my God, Brian!” Helen screamed.

Maureen felt tears sting her own eyes as she held Helen to her. She had heard about the fire at the Lint house from Sheriff Gadge. Apparently, everyone was looking for Helen, especially since the office building where she worked had also mysteriously gone up in flames. Call me immediately if you see her, Gadge had told her, and Maureen had promised she would. But right now, Helen didn’t need the police asking her questions. The woman had just lost her husband and son, and there was no way in hell anyone could understand what she was going through.

“I know, honey,” Maureen cradled Helen and rocked her side to side. “I know. Let it all out.”

Helen cried harder, and it took her several minutes before she could finally pull away and gain some composure. Maureen gave her the towel and hurried to the coffee machine, switching it on as she rummaged through the cupboards for a mug.

“How about we make you something to calm you down a bit, and then we can talk,” she said. Helen sniffed loudly, exhaling in a staccato of breaths and only nodding when Maureen looked over her shoulder at her. “Coffee?”

Helen nodded again, and whispered a quick thank you as she used the towel to clean up the rest of her face.

“Clean clothes, that’s what you need,” Maureen continued, setting the mugs down and turning to face Helen. “And a lot of rest.”

“You said they were looking for me?” Helen asked.

Maureen nodded and waved. “Forget about that,” she said. “Just Sheriff Gadge, probably gonna bombard you with a bunch of questions. You just get some sleep, and I’ll drive you down to the station in the morning myself. Don’t you worry about that.”

Helen sniffed again, her eyes darting back and forth. Maureen walked to her and held the woman’s hands in her own, looking into her eyes. “You’ll get through this, I promise,” she said. “And I’m here to help you as long as you need me to. Let’s just take this all one step at a time.”

Helen gave her a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Maureen, I just–”

“You don’t have to apologize about a single thing, sweetie,” Maureen assured her. “I have a spare bedroom for you, and I’ll stay up all night with you if you need me to. Do you want me to call anyone? Your sister maybe?”

Helen shook her head. “It’s too late to wake her up right now, especially since she won’t miraculously teleport here all the way from California,” she said. “I’ll call her in the morning.”

“We’ll do that together,” Maureen said, squeezing Helen’s hands. “If you want, we can ask Sheriff Gadge to come here instead of driving down to the station. No need to move you around that much, especially after what you’ve been through.”

“What I’ve been through?” A distant look took over Helen’s eyes, and for a brief moment, she looked confused.

Maureen sighed. Poor girl’s gonna start losing it. “Sweetheart, do you know where you are?”

Helen nodded.

“And you know what happened last night?”

Helen nodded again, but her eyes had lost their focus for a second there, and Maureen had to snap her fingers to get her attention again.

“And you know who I am?”

“Maureen,” Helen whispered, giving her a weak smile.

Maureen nodded and smiled back. “Good girl,” she said. “Now let’s get you that coffee and put you to bed, eh?”

Maureen turned to get up, but Helen’s hands tightened around her own and kept her in place.

“Whose car is outside?” Helen asked.

Maureen frowned. “Car?”

“There are two cars outside,” Helen continued. “But only one’s yours.”

“Oh, right, that’s Kyle’s,” Maureen smiled. “He’s up in the guest apartment with Aley.”

Helen’s hands tightened and Maureen winced at the sudden grip. She felt a warmth race through her, a burning sensation from the uncomfortable grasp Helen had of her.

“Actually, maybe I could call them down?” Maureen suggested. “I don’t think you’ve met Aley. You’re gonna love her.”

“Kyle,” Helen whispered, her eyes losing focus again and her grip tightening.

“Helen?” Maureen frowned. “Are you okay?”

Helen blinked and looked at Maureen, a wide smile spreading on her face. “I’m great.”

Maureen felt a chill race through her despite the heat coursing through her body from Helen’s touch. The woman’s smile widened even more.

“You’re so nice to help me, Maureen,” Helen said, her voice deepening, “but I think I’ll be fine now. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“I don’t?” Maureen heard herself say, her voice sounding like it was coming from far away.

“No, you don’t,” Helen said. “And I’ll take care of Sheriff Gadge.”

Maureen tried to pull her hands away, but Helen only tightened her grip more. “What are you going to do?” Maureen stammered.

Something behind Helen’s eyes darkened, a sinister look overcame her, something that Maureen had never seen before. All of a sudden, she didn’t feel like she was holding Helen’s hands at all. She felt as if someone, or something, else was sitting in front of her, disguised as the woman she once knew. The tears were gone, almost as if they hadn’t been there to start with, and Maureen could hear a small voice in the back of her head laugh.

She played you. From the minute she walked in.

Helen’s smile widened even more, and when she opened her mouth, Maureen gazed into a dark abyss of nothingness. Helen’s face shifted, the lids under her eyes drooping as if her face were made of wax and was melting. Her eyes blazed a deep red, and her fingers dug into Maureen’s hands like talons, cutting through her skin. Her jaw dropped almost to her chest, and from within her throat erupted a flurry of screeches.

“I’m going to burn it all down!” the voices cried in unison.

Maureen screamed, and all around her, the kitchen burst into flames.

Chapter 9

“Kyle!”

Kyle’s eyes were clenched closed. The heat around him was excruciating, and the smoke found its ways into his nose like tendrils trying to choke him. He could hear the sizzle of the fire around him, the crackle of timbers, the screams of the crucified. And in the midst of it all, Jennifer called for him.

“Kyle, save him!”

Kyle shook his head, unable to bring himself to open his eyes. The heat pressed against him like a second skin, scorching the hairs on his arms. He clenched his teeth, forcing back the scream of pain that begged to be released. He fought the agony that was embodying him, tearing at his insides and ripping him apart.

Keep your eyes shut. Keep your eyes shut.

He kept repeating the mantra over and over again, fighting the urge to look out unto the world around him. He knew what he was going to see. He could tell by the sheer volume of the screams around him that he was surrounded by burning, crucified bodies. He could smell the stench of burning flesh mixed in with the smoke filling his sinuses. He could hear more voices calling out his name, men and women, the sound of them coalescing until they screeched out in Jennifer’s voice.

“Save him!”

Flames licked at his hands, and although he knew he was dreaming, although he was certain that all of this was only in his head, the burn seemed real enough to make him flinch and his eyes to shoot open.

Jennifer’s crucifix was only a few feet away from his, and he was forced to crane his neck so he could look up at her. He felt his heart being ripped from his chest at the sight of his burning wife, her hair sizzling with flames, her face deformed and her mouth open in an endless scream. Crows had found their way onto her flesh and were picking at her, despite the flames that surrounded her body, and blood streamed down her body and the flaming wood of her crucifix.

“Save Michael!” she screamed in between cries of pain. A crow had found its way onto her head and picked at one of her eyes, the liquid bursting and flowing down her cheeks as flames exploded from the open socket. Kyle fell back and kicked away, putting as much distance between him and his burning wife as he possibly could. The crow on her head looked at him, and its eyes burning a bright red. It cawed, and Kyle felt his mind snap as he realized that it was actually smiling at him.

“Michael!” Jennifer screamed, and through her open mouth, another crow snapped at her tongue, pulled back, and flew away with it. Blood poured out of her gaping mouth, gurgling with her dying screams, and the flames engulfed her completely.

Kyle turned and pushed to his feet, tumbling and falling before jumping back up and running. The flames reached for him, like fiery hands longing to grab him in a final embrace. He weaved through the carnage, windows exploding in millions of pieces that cut at his skin, one shard lodging in his leg and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Kyle looked up, crying in pain as the flames surrounded him, and in the distance he could see the demon. It was walking away from him, hunched down and moving slowly, biding its time as it walked through the maze of flames and rubble. In one long hand it held his son, talons locked in Michael’s head as it dragged him along by his hair. Michael was screaming, arms outstretched, begging for help.

Kyle pushed back onto his feet, forcing himself to give chase, the shard in his leg digging deeper into his flesh. He limped across the burning street, avoiding the fire as best he could. The demon disappeared into the open doorway of a building. It didn’t look back, didn’t even register that Kyle was following it. Michael kicked and screamed, trying to break free of the monster’s hold, helplessly imprisoned in its grasp.

Fire exploded around Kyle and forced him to duck, more glass spraying around him, more shards finding their way into his flesh. He felt the stinging pain everywhere, and in the back of his mind, a small voice was telling him to just let go. Just lay down here, amidst the flames, and give up. There would be no salvation for him. This was his hell. He would die here, listening to the screams of his wife and son, while the demon watched him burn.

Something inside his head snapped, and he quickly shook the fear away. He pushed forward, fighting through the pain until he stumbled through the doorway. His foot caught on the threshold, and he fell in a heap onto the floor. His head hit the solid ground with a thump, and the world went dark around him for a few seconds.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the building. He looked around him quickly, trying to register where he was, and only then realized that his leg was fine. He waited for his eyes to adjust before he finally understood where he was, and his heart jumped to his throat. His bedroom never looked more menacing.

Kyle stood up, slowly, his arms stretched out around him as his eyes darted left and right, searching the shadows for anything that might jump for him.

I’m still dreaming. This makes no sense. I never came back home. I’m sleeping on Aley’s couch.

His senses failed to comply, and the bedroom felt far too real for his mind to fully agree with what he was telling himself. His bed was made, and the blinds were drawn, the way he always left them before heading out.

Was it all a dream? Did I even leave the house this morning?

He shook his head quickly. No, he was definitely still dreaming. He had seen the library burn to the ground. He had talked to Fegan at the inn, of that he was sure. There was no possible way that the entire day had just been in his head.

A click sounded to his right, and he snapped his head around just as the bathroom door began to open. It creaked as it swung slowly outwards, the darkness behind it like a block of obsidian. There was nothing there, no outlines, no shadows cast by the dim moonlight seeping through the breaks between the blinds. It was almost as if the light wasn’t allowed in.

“He found you, daddy,” a voice whispered from the darkness.

Kyle felt a cold finger trace lines down his spine, and his throat locked, as if an invisible hand were wrapped around his neck, squeezing. Michael stepped forward, his face half hidden in the darkness.

“He found you,” his son repeated, and as he stepped out of the bathroom completely, Kyle bit down on his fist to stop himself from screaming. The skin on Michael’s face hung from his head like pieces of thread, the flesh beneath it glistening. Half of his jaw showed through where the fire had eaten away at him completely, and what remained of his hair fell with every step the boy took. His pajamas were scorched from the fire, and one of his feet was missing a couple of toes.

Michael raised both hands to his mouth, giggling behind them as his eyes rolled around in their sockets. “He found you,” he said. “He found you. He found you. He found you!”

Kyle cringed at the final screaming threat, and from behind Michael twin red eyes lit up like flames in the dark.

Kyle screamed as the demon lunged for him.

***

Kyle sat up with a start, his screams mirrored by Aley’s as she fell back and away from him.

The stinging in his eyes lingered, and he coughed repeatedly, choking on the overwhelming feeling of smoke filling up his lungs. He gasped for air, found none, and coughed again. Clenching his chest, he rolled off the couch onto the ground just as Aley crawled up next to him.

“Get up!” she was screaming, her voice muffled by the ringing in his ears.

He shook his head violently, trying to shake away the lingering nightmare. He could still smell the smoke, could still hear wood creaking under the strain of flames. He felt his lungs clench, his throat closing up as he fought for breaths that wouldn’t come. Every time he opened his mouth, he took in a lungful of smoke that only made him cough harder.

Aley was tugging at him, trying to bring him to his feet, but his head was spinning and he couldn’t find his balance. He fell over onto the couch, the heat pushing down on him like heavy hands that were trying to keep him down.

He opened his eyes, his vision blurry, and the ringing in his ears only intensifying. Aley grabbed at him again, and he tried to help her in her efforts to steady him.

“We have to get out of here!” she was screaming.

Confusion hit him hard, and for the life of him, he couldn’t comprehend how his nightmares and the real world had found a way to intertwine like this. He wanted to tell Aley to let him go, suddenly afraid that the rules had stopped applying, and that somehow, in some sick and twisted way, he might actually pull her into the world of fire he was trying to escape.

He rolled onto the ground, blinking repeatedly, his eyes registering a flashing red light on the ceiling above him. Aley blocked his vision as she shook him, her mouth moving in words he could not make out. Behind her, dark smoke collected against the walls. Red and orange hues danced across the ceiling, and it took him a few seconds to realize that he was, in fact, awake, and that the nightmares had not followed him after all.

The apartment was on fire.

A sudden panic took over him, and he quickly pushed himself up, his head turning from side to side as he tried to understand what was going on. The ringing continued, and he looked up at the blinking red light of the smoke detector, its shrill sound piercing through the apartment in one long siren of warning.

“What the hell happened?” he managed to say between coughs.

“The house is on fire!” Aley yelled over the continuous beeping from above their heads. “The smoke’s filling up the apartment. We need to get out before the fire makes its way here and traps us inside.”

Kyle grabbed her hand and let her lead him towards the door. He watched as she tentatively tested the knob, then pulled her hand back in pain. “It’s scorching hot!”

“Kick down the door!” Kyle yelled.

“What?”

Not bothering to repeat himself, Kyle took a step back, raised his leg, and slammed his foot against the knob. The door swung open with a crack, and a cold wind rushed in, bringing with it more smoke.

“Down, now!” Aley yelled, pulling him with her.

He raced out of the apartment, his eyes watering and his heart pounding. He took the stairs by two, grabbing onto the banister for dear life as he followed her down and to the car.

Maureen’s house was completely ablaze, the fire climbing out through the broken windows and racing up along its walls. Flames licked at the night sky, illuminating the world around them in an eerie orange glow that raged with its inferno. Kyle raced to the passenger’s side and hurried in, closing the door just as Aley took the keys out of the glove compartment and fumbled with the ignition.

Kyle looked out at the raging flames. They looked like they had a life of their own, swirling in circles and crawling across every inch of the house that was not yet ablaze. The fire seemed to twirl into slender fingers, reaching out for them, threatening to grab them and lock them in their burning grips. He could feel the fire screaming at him, and he covered his ears against the imaginary sounds in his head.

The engine roared into life, and Kyle braced himself as Aley screeched out of the driveway in reverse. She hit something on the way out, the car lurching for a second before falling back onto all four wheels, and Aley fought to control the wheel as the vehicle swerved dangerously into the middle of the street.

“What the hell is the deal with this town and fires?” Aley shouted, cursing as she tried to shift gears, the car refusing to cooperate. She switched on the headlights, and screamed.

Kyle turned his attention away from the flames and looked at the street ahead of them. A dozen yards ahead of them stood a woman, her torso contorted in such a way that she hung to one side while her head remained perfectly still. Her hair covered most of her face, but in the headlights, Kyle immediately recognized the woman from the library.

The woman trudged towards them, her mouth in a wide smile, her fingers snapping and locking as she dragged her feet. Her shirt hung loose from her body, burnt and torn, and her head twitched with every movement. But that wasn’t what scared Kyle. That wasn’t the reason for the sudden chill that took over him, and the silent scream that had lodged in his throat.

What caught his attention were her eyes. Blazing red eyes that locked onto him, and him alone.

The woman approached the car slowly, taking her time, both Aley and Kyle frozen as they watched her come. Kyle could almost see her body hunching over, unfolding in its frame until the demon from his nightmares burst out from beneath the flesh. As if the woman were nothing more than a flesh suit. He could see the skin on her arms fall down in strands, and blood gushed out from wounds that seemed to open on their own all across her body.

“What the hell is that?” Aley screamed.

Kyle couldn’t answer her. Deep down he knew what he was looking at, but his mind was doing summersaults in his head trying to process it all. The cold chill that was coursing through him had found its way around his bones, and he began to shake in his seat, his teeth clattering against each other. Small flames danced across the woman’s arms, and the smile on her face widened until her lips cracked and her cheeks tore open, revealing her jaw as she snapped her mouth at them.

And all the while, the red eyes never left him.

“I found you,” came a hissing sound from somewhere behind him. Kyle swirled around, but the backseat was empty. A burst of manic laughter followed from all around him, coming from every angle, threatening to drive him insane.

“Kyle!” Aley screamed.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Kyle shouted. “Run it over!”

“What?”

Kyle grabbed the gear and shifted the car into drive. “Run the damn thing over!” he screamed at her.

As if sensing what they intended to do, the woman stopped, then began to race towards them, her mouth open in a wild scream. The windshield burst, shocking them out of their stupor, and Kyle’s head snapped back as Aley pressed down hard on the gas and the car lunged forward. The tires screeched against the asphalt as they sped forward.

They met the woman halfway, and with a sickening thud, crashed into her. There was the distinct sound of bones breaking, and Kyle closed his eyes as the woman was hurled onto the hood of the car. For a brief moment, he was struck with the fear of the body flying in through the windshield, of being locked inside the car with the demon. The fear was so strong, that a part of him wanted to reach out through the broken glass and push the body away. But he was frozen in place.

If she’s not dead, if it turns its head and looks at me, I’ll lose my mind.

Aley swerved the car to the right, then swung it sharply to the left and flung the woman off. There was a loud snapping sound as the woman’s head slammed against what remained of the windshield, then disappeared completely over the side.

“Keep going!” Kyle yelled, but Aley didn’t need coaxing. She kept her foot pressed down on the gas pedal, sending the car flying down Elizabeth Street until they turned the corner, the car swerving dangerously out of control.

“Is she following us?” Aley screamed over the screech of tires, struggling to keep control of the vehicle while simultaneously refusing to ease off the gas.

Kyle turned around, half expecting to see the demon racing after them, but the street was empty.

“Is she?” Aley screamed at him.

“No!”

“Dammit, Kyle, what the hell did you drag me into?”

He didn’t know how to answer that, his body still shaking with the shock of what he had just seen. He had no explanation for it, nothing that would make sense anyway, and a part of him wasn’t even ready to believe any of it. Whatever that woman was, he needed to find another explanation other than what he was sure was the truth. Anything else. Because admitting it to himself scared him a whole lot more.

It’s coming for you. It’s found you.

Kyle shuddered.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Kyle didn’t answer, looking left and right as he tried to make out where they were, his mind racing to figure out what their next move should be.

Fegan. Go find Fegan.

“Is this Bridge Street?” he asked.

“Really?” Aley snapped. “What? Do you want a friggin’ tour? Maureen’s house just went up in flames, probably with Maureen in it. We’re being chased by some demented creature from Hell. And you want to know where we are?”

Aley approached the bridge over the Housatonic, racing past another car as she made her way east.

“Turn around,” Kyle said.

“Are you out of your mind?” Aley shot back.

“The inn,” Kyle explained. “We need to get to Fegan. He’s the only one who can tell us what to do.”

“After our last talk, I really doubt he’s going to be very helpful,” Aley hissed. “I’m getting us the hell out of Kent.”

“Aley, turn the damn car around!”

Aley slammed down on the brakes, and the car came to a skidding stop at the side of the road. “No!” she yelled at him, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. “I left New York for peace, not freak fires and twisted walking corpses!”

“Then take me to Fegan,” Kyle said. “The inn’s on the route out of Kent anyway, and you can keep the car. Drop me off and drive away.”

Aley opened her mouth to reply, fell short of words, and cursed instead. “You know what? Fine,” she said, shifting into drive and turning the car around. “Suit yourself. But only the inn and that’s it for me. I’m out.”

“Fair enough,” Kyle replied.

“And if we run into the bitch from Hell again?”

Kyle felt his body stiffen. “Then run her over again.”

Chapter 10

Deputy Adrian Brimstone turned off his computer, sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He had been staring at his computer screen for hours, scouring lead after lead, trying to piece together any connection between Kyle Ashfeld and the Lints. He had made calls, sent out emails, and even called people in the Lints’s circle of friends. The only thing that seemed to connect them together was a library card in Steven Lint’s name, and the fact that Helen Lint was an avid fan of the horror genre and had a few of Ashfeld’s books.

Other than that, Kyle Ashfeld was your typical model citizen. Stayed to himself, visited with Kingsley’s regulars, and smoked like a chimney. That last piece of information struck Adrian as particularly ironic, but there really wasn’t much more to the man. Came back home, sold his family house, and bought a smaller apartment closer to where he worked. All Kyle Ashfeld needed was a dog and a few pro-bono creative writing classes at the school, and he could have had a statue erected in his honor in the middle of town.

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted at the headache forming behind his eyes. He needed a cigarette break, a cup of coffee, and maybe a few minutes listening to The Doors before he got back to work. He was already burning the midnight oil and there were still a few officers lingering in the station well past their shift. Besides, as long as the Sheriff was here, Adrian felt he would probably look like crap if he called it a night with nothing to show for it.

He stood up, stretched, and arched his back far enough until he heard the familiar cracking sounds. Shaking his arms and legs, he quietly made his way to the coffee machine and switched it on.

There has to be something. Anything. None of this makes sense.

He leaned against the wall, eyes on the pot slowly filling with fresh coffee, and let his mind sift through the information he had gathered so far. He made a mental note to call Maureen Chandler in the morning and ask about the new girl in town, hoping that maybe there would be something there. She hadn’t been in Kent for very long, and to be buddying up with Kyle Ashfeld in the midst of all that’s been happening, there had to be something there. It felt like he was grasping for straws, but it was all he could do right now. Until Helen Lint was found, that’s all they really had.

Adrian poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip, and cringed at how it tasted before making his way back to his desk. One of the younger officers caught his eye and nodded at him, and Adrian shot him a reassuring smile; one of his ‘you’re-doing-a-great-job’ gestures he hoped would keep the force motivated. The Sheriff was retiring in a couple of years, and Adrian was already working on the first few steps of his campaign. Making sure he got the support of everyone working with him was a big step in the right direction, and so far, he was making a lot of friends.

He looked over at Sheriff Gadge’s office. The lights were still on, but the blinds had been drawn, and Adrian knew that probably meant Gadge was taking a short nap to recharge. He sat down at his desk, took another sip of coffee, and shook the computer mouse to turn the screen back on. The screen flickered, shifted and discolored, then went out completely.

“What the hell?”

Adrian slapped the side of the screen, then inspected the wires when nothing happened. Everything seemed in place, but he removed and replaced each one just in case. He turned on the screen, waited for a few seconds, then cursed under his breath.

“Hey, Adrian?”

Adrian turned around to the officer he had just acknowledged on his way back from the coffee station, and racked his mind for the young man’s name. Forgetting people’s names is a great first step in losing that campaign, he thought.

“What’s up, Jack?” he asked, praying he had gotten the name right.

“My computer died,” the officer replied. “I turned it on and off, and nothing. Just like that. One minute it’s working fine, the next it’s dead.”

Adrian frowned. “Yeah, mine too.”

“Do you think we’re being hacked?” Jack asked.

“Really?” Adrian smiled. “Us? Why? Because we’re hiding nuclear launch codes on our system?”

“Might be some kid who’s learned a new trick?”

Adrian shrugged. “I doubt it,” he said. “Probably just something with the system …”

His voice trailed off when the fluorescents above him began to flicker. They gave off a light buzzing sound, and a few went out completely, casting parts of the station into darkness. Before he could wrap his head around what was happening, his computer screen lit up, the distorted colors shifting and mixing in what looked like a frenzied area of random brush strokes. One by one, the screens of the computers around him did the same, and the speakers began to emit a low humming sound in unison.

“What the hell?” Jack muttered, pushing back from his desk as if the computer were about to reach out and grab him.

Adrian frowned, clicking down on the desktop’s power switch and immediately pulling back when it sent a shock of electricity through him. Damn it, he thought, shaking his burning hand and cradling it as he watched the rest of the station break into an electrical frenzy. The copy machine switched on, the horizontal beam of light moving quickly back and forth as paper sputtered from the rack. The coffee machine began to heat up until the glass pitcher exploded, spraying coffee everywhere. Somewhere in the back, someone was cursing at the static coming through the station radio, turning the knobs around as he tried to get it to switch off. Jack reached for the desktop cable and pulled it out, but the screens remained the same, and the humming only intensified.

“What’s going on, Adrian?” Jack yelled.

Adrian shook his head, utterly confused by the mayhem happening around him.

The light above him began to grow brighter, and the fluorescent suddenly burst into shards that rained down on him. Adrian ducked, rushing out of the way as one lighting unit after the other exploded. A desk lamp’s bulb lit up on its own, growing brighter until it too joined the frenzy of exploding glass.

Adrian raced to the distribution board by the interrogation room, throwing open the panels in an attempt to turn the power off, but as soon as he touched the polyswitch, the board exploded, pieces of plastic ripping at his cheeks as sparks flew around him. He fell to the ground, crying out as he tried to protect his eyes, blood trickling into his mouth as he rolled away.

And then it was over.

Everything stopped as the power went out, leaving the station in a state of utter darkness. All around him, Adrian could hear the other officers calling out to each other, a few turning on their flashlights, bright white beams crisscrossing in the air above him. He heard someone call out his name, and he slowly pushed himself to his feet, feeling around him until his hand brushed across the surface of a desk. He leaned against it, trying to catch his breath, fighting the pain of his fresh cuts and the smell of burning rubber that filled the station.

“Adrian?”

“Over here,” he called out, wincing when the sharp beam of a flashlight blinded him. “Get that thing out of my face!”

Jack rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”

“Cut and bruised, that’s all,” Adrian replied.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I have no idea,” Adrian grimaced. “Someone check on the Sheriff.”

As if on cue, the glass of the Sheriff’s office exploded, the force throwing them off their feet. Adrian grasped for a hold, jumped to his feet, and grabbed the flashlight beside him, making his way to Gadge’s office.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the Sheriff standing stoically at the door, arms by his side, head rolling on his neck as if he had just been woken up and was still trying to gather his bearings.

“Sheriff?”

Gadge didn’t reply, but his head stopped moving and turned to the sound of Adrian’s voice. Adrian guided his flashlight until the light was just below the Sheriff’s jawline. No need to blind the man, he thought. Although there was something odd about Gadge’s stance. From memory, Adrian knew that there was one thing he could always count on when it came to Jeffrey Gadge; in any emergency, whether asleep or not, the man was always quick on his feet.

“Jeffrey!” Adrian yelled, trying to get his attention.

Gadge’s eyes opened, and Adrian took several steps back when the twin flames where his eyes should have been gazed out at him. The flashlight fell from his hands, and he winced in pain as the edge of a desk dug into his side, stopping his retreat.

“Sheriff?” Jack said from somewhere behind him. Suddenly, the whole station had fallen silent, several flashlights aimed at the Sheriff as his head moved slowly from side to side, taking them all in.

Gadge’s lips widened into a grotesque smile, and tiny flames began to gather up and down his arms. “It’s dark in here,” he said, and Adrian felt a chill race up and down his spine. The voice that came out of Gadge’s mouth was not his; it was darker, deeper, with a hint of insane mockery in it.

The flames on the Sheriff’s arms merged and extended to his shoulders. “Let’s see if we can light it up a bit.”

Adrian had barely turned around when the Kent Police Station exploded into flames.

***

“This is it.”

Kyle looked out at the inn, its lights closed, a far less welcoming sight than when they had passed by this afternoon. The seats that had been placed outside were now gone, and the potted plants that lined the entrance gave a foreboding feel to the place. Most of the curtains had been drawn, except for one that looked out onto the dining area, the furniture inside just dark silhouettes that felt a lot more eerie than comfortable.

There were only two cars in the parking lot, and Kyle wondered which of them belonged to Fegan. He doubted the man had skipped town as promised, but he couldn’t be sure. And even if he were still here, Kyle doubted that the host would be too happy to help after his little afternoon transgression.

This was all a gamble, and he hated it.

“This is it,” Kyle replied, looking at Aley with her hands clasped onto the steering wheel for dear life, her face pale even in the dim glow of the moonlight, her eyes wide with horror. All the way here, he had noticed that she had looked up at the rearview mirror every few seconds, as if half expecting that thing, or whatever it was, to be racing after them. But so far, their drive here had been uneventful.

“You know the way, right?” he asked.

“I’ll figure it out,” Aley replied quickly, her eyes locked straight ahead.

“Just follow the 341 to Warren and leave the car there,” he said. “I’ll come for it later.”

Aley nodded, glanced at him briefly, then returned her attention to whatever imaginary spot she had her eyes locked on.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Aley replied. “And thanks. For the car. Sorry I’m leaving you here on your own.”

Kyle nodded, opened the car door and stepped out. The night air was cooler than he had expected, and he shivered slightly as he made his way around the front of the car and towards the inn. He didn’t look back as he heard the engine roar into life and the gravel shift under the wheels as Aley backed out.

Just as well, he thought. She’s been through enough anyway.

He walked up to the door, pushed it open, and winced as the chimes above the door rang through the dark inn. A small light came on, and from somewhere in the back he heard the distinct shuffle of feet as someone woke up and prepared to come out and greet him.

“You’re back,” the receptionist greeted, stifling a yawn as she looked him over. She wasn’t smiling, apparently drowsy from the slumber he had woken her from, and didn’t look too happy to see him. Kyle could only imagine how much worse he must have looked since the last time she had laid eyes upon him.

“I am,” Kyle attempted to smile, but failed miserably. “Paula, right? I came to see Connor Fegan.” She frowned at him, suspicion plastered all over her face. “He asked me to pass by again,” Kyle added, hoping to get past whatever walls she had suddenly thrown up. “Our last conversation ended a bit too abruptly.”

“Mr. Fegan checked out right after you left,” Paula said. “Was in a bit of a hurry, too. He said you might come back, so he left you a package.”

“Package?”

Paula nodded. “Hold on a sec,” she mumbled, disappearing into the back room.

The chimes on the door sounded again, and Kyle strained his neck around the corner to see who else had decided to visit the inn at this hour. He was more than surprised to see Aley walk in.

“I thought you left,” he said.

“I couldn’t bring myself to leave you alone in all this,” she replied, shrugging.

“You don’t have to be here.”

“Shut up, Kyle,” Aley said, shoving her hands into her pockets as she looked around the inn. It was a lot gloomier in the dark. “Just be thankful I’m here.”

And he was. The day was taking its toll on him. He was exhausted, confused, and way out of his comfort zone. The whole ordeal had been hard to fathom, Fegan’s stories unbelievable until he had seen the truth with his own eyes, and Kyle felt like everything he knew was starting to fall apart around him. The only stable part of it all was Aley, and having her by his side through this mess was enough to make him feel that there was at least one sane thing in the midst of this madness. He barely knew her, but was grateful for her company.

Paula reappeared carrying a small box wrapped in brown paper. She briefly acknowledged Aley before sliding the package towards Kyle. A note was lodged between the thin threads holding the wrapping together, Kyle’s name scribbled on it in perfect cursive letters. Aley turned the box around, scrutinizing it with a frown.

“What the hell is it?” she asked.

“Only one way to find to out,” Kyle replied. He looked up at Paula who seemed not only disinterested but bored, arms crossed over her chest as she impatiently waited. “Would it be okay if we took a few minutes at the table over there?”

Paula shrugged and flipped on the lights over the dining area, illuminating the space with a warm glow that would have been soothing if not for the long shadows creeping up the walls.

“Be my guest,” she said, although Kyle could sense a hint of resentment in her voice. “Just ring the bell if you need me, and don’t take too long. I’ll have to lock up in about an hour.”

“We’ll be quick,” Aley shot her a weak smile that was not returned as Paula disappeared into the back room.

Kyle carried the package to the table. It was surprisingly light for its size, which made him wonder what Fegan could have possibly left behind before vanishing in such a hurry. Aley slid into the seat opposite him, folded her hands under her chin, and squinted at the box as Kyle slowly began to unwrap it.

The wrapping came apart easily as soon as the thread was severed, and Kyle eyed the velvet colored box that had been hiding underneath. It looked a lot heavier than it was, lined with ruby colored stones along the cover and decorated with symbols he had never seen before. Carefully, he lifted the top and put it to a side, frowning as he eyed the contents.

“What is it?” Aley asked.

Kyle shook his head, unsure of what exactly he was looking at. Frustrated, Aley pulled the box towards her, and her jaw dropped at the sight of what lay inside. A gold coated knife was nestled comfortably in between layers of velvet colored cotton and wrapped in a piece of white satin cloth. The satin had fallen away to reveal the hilt, etched with the same symbols that were on the box, with four perfectly set grooves carved for a proper grip. She pulled the knife out of the box and held it up to the light, the warm glow coming from the chandelier above her reflecting off its surface.

Kyle eyed the knife, confused as to why Fegan had left it for him, and reached for the envelope.

“It’s beautiful,” Aley sighed, turning the knife around in the light.

Kyle watched her as he slipped the single sheet of paper out of the envelope and unfolded it. In case you change your mind. Nothing else. Just those six words, written in the same careful cursive that was on the envelope. No explanations. No directions. Just that.

“What does it say?” Aley asked.

He passed her the note, and she cocked her head to one side in confusion as she read the words.

“I don’t get it,” she said, gently placing the knife on the table between them.

“Neither do I,” Kyle admitted. A part of him wasn’t all too surprised, though. Nothing the man had said so far had made any sense to him, so it was only apt that Fegan’s last words to them would be just as enigmatic. Like everything else, they would have to figure this out on their own.

Kyle sighed and reached for the knife, frustrated at not being able to get the answers he had hoped for.

The second his hand wrapped around the golden hilt, a sharp pain burst inside him, and he slammed back in his seat. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. All of a sudden, he felt like he had been robbed of his breath. He closed his eyes against the searing pain, his head threatening to explode, and his heart slamming against his chest. The world around him seemed to morph into a vacuum that pulled at him from every side, threatening to tear him into pieces. A wave of heat slammed against him, and he gasped as he took in the putrid air, coughing violently.

When he opened his eyes, he gazed out at a world of fire, and rows upon rows of burning crucifixes.

***

No!

He was back in his dream, on his knees, staring in horror at the burning scene in front of him. Crucifixes lined the street on both sides, in flames, but devoid of any human sacrifices, as if the demon were still setting up the stage for Kyle’s midnight horror show. The flames crackled, and the heat closed in on him, wrapping him in dark smoke that tickled his nose and tried to crawl into his open mouth.

Kyle pushed himself to his feet, his grip on the knife tightening as he tried to make sense of what was happening. I’m not asleep. I’m not asleep. But no matter how many times he repeated that in his head, the vision before him remained, and he found himself feeling less and less convinced.

He looked down at the knife in his hands, the runes etched into it burning with a bright blue glow. Only the Hand can move between worlds.

Kyle shook his head, forcing Fegan’s voice out. This was absurd. Was this why Fegan had left him the knife? Was it some kind of talisman that would help him shift between the waking world and his nightmares? If that was the case, Kyle didn’t want to have anything to do with it. It was enough that he had to endure these visions in his sleep. He would not live through them voluntarily.

Turning around, he searched the fiery world around him for any way to escape. It had been simple before. All he had had to do was wake up. Now, though, he was not so sure. This was new territory for him, a foreign concept with inexplicable rules. He had no idea how to maneuver here.

He caught a slight movement to his right and turned just as a figure stumbled out of a burning building, swaying from side to side, falling on his knees and quickly pushing himself back up. The fire spewed around him, flames licking at him from every corner as he raced into the middle of the street away from them.

Kyle squinted through the blurry air around him, the heat and smoke playing tricks on his eyes. He couldn’t even be sure if the man was real until he turned and they faced each other. Kyle immediately recognized Jeffrey Gadge, and from the shocked look on the Sheriff’s face, knew at once that the man recognized him as well.

Gadge rushed to him, grabbed Kyle forcefully by the shoulders and shook him violently. “How the hell did you get here?” he shouted. “Quick, before it finds us!”

Kyle didn’t need to ask him who it was.

“Can you hear me?” Gadge asked. “Are you deaf?”

“I can hear you, Sheriff,” Kyle said, pulling out of the man’s vice-like grip. “How did you get here?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Gadge screamed. “That thing, it’s been chasing me through this inferno for hours now! Every time I think I outran it, it just pops up again. We need to get the hell out of here.”

Kyle felt waves of confusion wash over him, unable to come to terms with the fact that Jeffrey Gadge was actually here, in his nightmare, talking to him. It’s a trick.

Either that, or this really was the demon’s dimension, and the two of them were somehow trapped smack in the middle of it.

Screams started somewhere in the distance, and Gadge turned towards them quickly, shaking like a leaf. “It’s found me again.” He turned to Kyle and pushed at him. “Run!”

But before they could take a single step forward, Gadge was suddenly propelled into the air, lifted as if he weighed nothing at all, and slammed into one of the flaming crucifixes. Phantom flames wrapped around his hands and feet, pinning him to place as his clothes caught fire and he began to scream.

Kyle watched in horror as the Sheriff burned, his screams deafening even in the mayhem of the fires around him. Gadge writhed against his bounds, but that only made the flames burn stronger, and he screamed again as skin melted and flesh burned.

Gadge turned to Kyle, eyes wide, embraced in the flames that were consuming him. “Behind you!” he screamed.

Kyle whirled around just as a hand wrapped around his neck and hoisted him off his feet. He stared down into the burning eyes of the demon, grotesquely disfigured, its head covered in a mesh of scales and rotten flesh. It opened its mouth, and from within came a gagging aroma of death and decay. It laughed, holding Kyle up higher, its grip tightening until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

“I have you!” the demon hissed.

Kyle gathered what remained of his strength, the world spinning around him and his vision darkening, and brought the knife up in a wide arc. He cut across the demon’s arm, feeling the monster’s grip loosen immediately and drop him in a pile on the ground. The demon screamed in fury, a sound so shrill that it pierced through Kyle’s ears and tore at his mind. The knife fell from his hands, and in a wash of heat and wind, he was thrust back into the dark vacuum as the world around him shifted into a thick coat of nothing.

***

“Kyle!”

Kyle’s eyes flew open, and he sat up straight, gasping for breath and clawing at his neck. Aley was holding his shoulders, trying to calm him down, and he wrestled out of her grip, toppling over and off his chair. He clawed at the hardwood floor, his eyes still watery, his lungs burning. He took in mouthfuls of air as his mind slowly registered where he was and he began to make sense of his surroundings.

Aley fell to her knees beside him, and from the corner of his eye he could see Paula rush out of the back room towards them.

“Kyle, are you okay?” Aley asked, her tone laced with worry and concern.

“What happened?” Paula asked from behind them.

“Water,” Kyle gasped. “I need … water.”

Paula disappeared from his field of vision, and he heard glasses clink against each other from somewhere in the shadows. Aley grabbed him by the arm and helped him to his feet, sitting him down just as Paula returned with a glass of water. He drank it hungrily, spilling most of it down his chin and soaking his shirt before he asked for more.

Outside, the night sky was alive with lights and the shrill sounds of sirens.

“What the hell just happened?” Aley asked.

Kyle drank the second glass and asked for more. His throat still burned, and he felt like the few minutes he had spent in the other world had burned away every molecule of water inside him. The image of Gadge burning on the cross and the demon’s open mouth of death played before his eyes. His body began to shake uncontrollably, and Aley had to wrap her arms around him to keep him from falling over again.

“Kyle, you’re scaring me,” she said, panic creeping into her voice.

“Gadge,” Kyle replied. “It’s in Gadge.”

“Gadge?” Aley asked.

“Sheriff Gadge?” Paula chimed in.

Kyle only nodded.

“What do you mean it’s in the Sheriff?”

Kyle looked at Aley, shivering in her arms, his teeth clattering against each other. “That thing we saw back at Maureen’s,” he said. “It was a possessed body. When you hit it with your car, the demon found another host. It’s possessing the Sheriff.”

“Demon?”

Kyle ignored the look of shock and confusion on Paula’s face, and slowly tried to push himself onto his feet. He swayed dangerously, gripping the edge of the table to keep his balance, while Aley supported him from the other side. He stared at the knife that now lay helplessly on the floor, then began to reach for it.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Aley said, kicking the knife away. “Whatever that thing is, it almost killed you. You’re not going anywhere near it.”

“I have to,” Kyle said. “Fegan was right. The only way to kill it is on the other side. I only hurt it the last time. I have to go back.”

“Over my dead body,” Aley said sternly.

A shrill siren filled the air as lights flashed outside, then quickly disappeared. The sound receded to join the distant symphony of mayhem. Kyle looked towards the door in confusion.

“The police station’s on fire,” Paula explained.

“What?”

“My cousin’s a fighter in the Kent Fire Department,” she continued. “I called him when the sirens broke out. He said the police station’s on fire, and so are a few houses along Elizabeth Street. They’re racing all over town trying to stop it from spreading.”

“The Sheriff,” Kyle said, looking at Aley with pleading eyes.

“No way,” Aley replied, quickly shaking her head. “The car’s outside. We get in it and get the hell out of here.”

“We can’t leave,” Kyle said.

“This isn’t our fight,” Aley protested.

“Apparently, it is,” he shot back. “Listen, I don’t like this any more than you do, and I’d be damned if I understood half of it. But what I do know is that there’s something demonic out there, and it’s burning Kent down. And the only way to stop it is with that.” He pointed at the knife.

Aley met his gaze for a few seconds, frowning in frustration and anger, and he could see in her eyes as she struggled with what to do.

“Aley, please,” he said. “I need to go back there.”

She opened her mouth to reply, hesitated, then closed it again. She looked at Paula, as if somehow the woman would be able to help her, then turned back to Kyle.

Aley sighed. “Fine,” she said. “But we need to get you somewhere safe. If that thing knows you can hurt it, it’s going to come for you.”

Kyle nodded and turned to Paula. “You got any empty rooms I can hide in while I finish this?”

Paula nodded. “Are any of you going to explain what’s going on here?”

“No time,” Kyle said. “Aley, I need you to find Gadge and distract him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take the car,” he said. “Follow the sirens. Make sure the Sheriff never finds his way here until it’s over.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to fight a possessed Sheriff?” Aley almost screamed at him. “You wouldn’t happen to have holy water lying around somewhere, would you? Or do I distract it with my friggin’ charm?”

Kyle shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said, wrapping the satin cloth around the knife before he picked it up. “Just keep him as far away from the inn as possible until I’ve figured out what to do on the other side.”

“And how do I know you’ve figured it out?” Aley asked. “How can I be sure it didn’t devour you over there?”

Kyle hesitated. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

***

Felix Johnson didn’t particularly like working at Davis’s grocery store. But at the age of twenty-six and still living in his parents’ garage, a job was necessary if he didn’t want to look like a complete fool. His father had lost all respect for him years ago, and his mother still asked him where he was going and when he would be back every time he left the house. He even had to ask them for gas money every now and then, his father once joking about how he’d have to start giving him an allowance soon.

What they didn’t understand was that finding a job wasn’t as easy as they thought. He couldn’t help it that his old man had started a wealthy online venture that made it convenient for him to sit on his ass and click a few keys on the computer every night, making money out of thin air. Felix found it impossible to understand why he was expected to compete with that. He wasn’t even supposed to be in Kent. He had been promised a football career, one that had quickly died with his knee injury, leaving him very little time to make up for grades he had never cared about to begin with. Which meant college was a bust, and so were his future prospects.

And the fact that his classmates were all posting about their achievements online didn’t make him feel any better.

“Hurry up with that.”

Felix winced as his manager walked past him and tapped the brown paper bag he was packing with groceries. There was little respect for him here, especially since he had burned a lot of bridges back when he thought he would make it as a star athlete. Now he was just your average Joe, packing groceries for people who couldn’t care less about who he was or what he was doing with his life. He could almost hear them thinking, There’s Felix Johnson who thought he was better than everyone else. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

It was part of the reason he had chosen to work the night shift. Solitude. A part of him wished he could just wake up one day, hitch a ride out of town and just disappear.

He finished packing the bag in his hand, folded the ends and handed it to the burly man who was waiting impatiently for him to finish.

“There you go,” Felix said with his best fake smile. “All packed and ready.”

“Sure,” the man replied, taking the bags and shaking his head at him.

Felix watched the man leave, a part of him wondering what it would be like to jump on him and strangle him to death. The automatic doors slid open, the man walked out into the night, and Sheriff Jeffrey Gadge walked in.

The Sheriff stood stoically at the entrance of the supermarket, his head ticking ever so slightly as his eyes darted back and forth rapidly. They finally came to rest on Felix, and the Sheriff smiled. A wide smile. A disturbing smile that made Felix shudder.

“Heya, Sheriff,” Felix greeted. “How can I help you?”

Sheriff Gadge’s smile widened even more, and Felix could have sworn that parts of the skin around his lips cracked and split, revealing nothing but rotten flesh underneath.

The Sheriff’s eyes bore into Felix as he chuckled slightly. “Where do you keep your kerosene?”

Chapter 11

Aley followed the sirens.

Her mind raced, voices in the back of her head screaming at her to turn the car around, forget about this whole mess and just get the hell out of dodge. She was still convinced that this wasn’t her fight, and despite the need to help Kyle, this inexplicable desire to be by his side through whatever was going on, the drive to run away seemed to be pulling just at the end of her mind.

This is absurd. I’m nuts. This whole thing is nuts. I’m going to get killed because of this.

Still, she kept her foot on the gas and pushed on, her eyes taking in the various places where the flashing lights and orange flames acted like beacons of disaster. She could almost see the flames curl into fingers, gesturing for her to come closer.

At the intersection with North Main Street, she stopped, trying to decide which way to go. Up ahead she could see the orange glow coming from Maureen’s house, just a few streets away where the fire fighters would have probably found the mangled body of the woman they had run over.

Or maybe they haven’t. Maybe she’s waiting for you around the corner, that same smile on her face, and her arms outstretched and ready for a big, juicy hug.

Aley shuddered and shook her head. No, Kyle had said that the demon was in the Sheriff. The woman they had hit was most definitely dead, and Aley didn’t want to even imagine what her body looked like right now.

The police station. Most recent fire, right?

Aley took a deep breath and turned right onto North Main Street, pressing down on the gas as she sped towards the second fire up ahead. She didn’t ease her foot off the gas pedal, scared that if she slowed down even a bit, she’d lose what little courage was left and would turn around again. For Kyle, she kept thinking. She was doing this for him, buying him time, making sure that whatever was after him would not find him before he finished whatever it was he thought he needed to do.

A little heads up would have been nice.

She was working on nothing more than faith here. Not faith in some higher power, but the small amount of belief she had that Kyle knew what he was doing. She had no idea what happened to him when he had grabbed that knife. All she could attest to was the shock of seeing him spasm like an epileptic patient on overdrive. It was his sheer conviction that made her believe that she could be of use right now. The look in his eyes. The confidence she had seen there that no matter what happened, he had this under control.

You’re kidding, right?

The doubt gnawed at her, and she quickly pushed it back. There was nothing else she could do, really.

That’s not true. You can run.

But she wasn’t going to do that. She had had the chance to do so, but refused to leave him behind. Stupid, but she had done it all the same. There was no turning back now. She was in it to the end.

She drove past the remains of the Kent Memorial Library, the sirens louder now as she neared the burning police station and the blazing flames that reached up to the sky like fingers trying to pull the stars down upon them. She slowed the car down, made sure no one was behind her, and began to turn onto Johnson Road when an explosion thundered through the night and made her scream.

The car swerved as she tried to regain control of the wheel, and she brought it to an abrupt stop near the curb. Aley quickly turned in her seat and stared in shock as a ball of flames rose in the distance, for a few seconds illuminating the night sky in a bright, orange glow.

Third one tonight. They say all good things come in three’s, right?

Aley felt her heart hammer in her chest, and her breathing quickened to the edge of panic. A new fire meant the demon was moving. The police station was not her destination anymore, and the possibility of her being the first to reach the new inferno scared her into a state of complete paralysis.

Sirens screamed as a fire engine raced past her and woke her from her stupor. Without thinking, she shifted the car into drive, pushed down on the gas, and with a screech of tires brought the car around and followed.

***

Kyle inspected the room only briefly before he turned around and thanked Paula. He waited, the blonde watching him carefully, and attempted a smile that he knew was far from convincing.

“I’ll be okay,” he said.

“No offense,” Paula replied, “but that’s not what I’m worried about.”

Kyle frowned in confusion.

“You’re not going to burn the inn down, are you?” she asked.

“No,” Kyle responded. “I don’t actually start the fires.”

Paula nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. Kyle watched her for a few seconds before he asked, “Anything else?”

“No, why?”

Kyle sighed. “Listen, I have no idea what’s going to happen to me on the other side,” he said. “I’d rather you not be in the room for this.”

“I’d like to keep an eye on the place, if you don’t mind,” Paula argued.

“Listen, if all hell breaks loose, do you really want to be here?”

Paula opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it and shook her head.

“Good,” Kyle said. “Wait for me downstairs. If all goes well, it should be over pretty quickly.”

“You don’t sound too convincing.”

“Well, then we’re both going to have to hope for the best.”

Paula eyed him for a few seconds, shook her head in frustration, and gave the room a quick one-over, as if committing everything into memory for inspection later. Kyle thought it was cute, if not a little out of place.

She was about to leave, when she turned to him and pointed an accusing finger in his face. “Just don’t break anything,” she said.

“Least of our worries,” Kyle replied.

Their eyes met for a few seconds before she sighed, walked out the room and closed the door behind her. Kyle reached out instinctively and flipped the bolt in place. He didn’t want to risk her giving into her curiosity and coming back to check on him. He had no idea what might happen once he returned to the world of flames.

He turned the knob making sure the door wouldn’t open, then rushed to the bed, carefully holding the knife by the satin sheath as he kicked off his shoes and climbed in. Resting his head on the pillow, he closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and braced himself.

He removed the satin cloth and wrapped his hands around the hilt.

***

The fire lapped at him almost as soon as he opened his eyes.

Surrounded by the flames, Kyle quickly took in the fiery world around him and tried to get his bearings. He wasn’t in the familiar street he had expected to open his eyes to; graciously spared of the consistent image of burning crucifixes and screaming bodies.

Instead, he was on his knees in what looked like a narrow alley, flanked by towering walls that emitted a suffocating amount of heat. It was almost as if he had woken up in a furnace, and almost immediately, the hairs on his arms began to curl and his skin began to redden.

He pushed to his feet, quickly rushing towards the mouth of the alley, brandishing the knife ahead of him as the heat made his eyes water and the smoke began to gather around his feet. As soon as he was out of the alley, a window to his right erupted, and he instinctively fell to one knee, covering is face with his arm. He could feel shards cut at his skin, and the gentle sting of small open wounds.

He stood up slowly, looking all around for any signs of the demon, wondering why this time he had been brought to a different area in the burning city. Does it know I’m here?

He had to consider the possibility, especially since he had injured it the last time. If the demon had thought it was invincible in this world, their last encounter had definitely proven otherwise, and it would have taken its precautions. Which made an already unpredictable situation even worse.

“Over here!”

Kyle whirled around, raising the knife up and crouching, ready for an attack. A few buildings away, half hidden by the smoke coming from the broken windows and the flames around him, stood Jeffrey Gadge. The Sheriff was waving at him, beckoning for him to come, while constantly looking over his shoulder.

“Come on, in here!” Gadge yelled. “Before it finds us again! We need to reach higher ground!”

Kyle looked over his shoulder, desperately trying to assess the situation, hoping he wouldn’t be drawn out into the open just to be ambushed by the demon. Gadge yelled at him to hurry, and throwing caution to the wind Kyle sprinted towards him. Fire reached for him from all around, fingers of flames desperately trying to catch on as he sped past, the smoke itself pushing against him and attempting to drive him back.

Gadge rushed into the building and Kyle followed, coughing as he cut through the smoke with the knife and desperately tried to wave back the relentless flames.

“Up!” Gadge yelled, looking over his shoulder to make sure Kyle was following him. “That damn thing hates heights!”

Kyle didn’t argue, although in the back of his mind, a tiny voice tried to reason with how ridiculous that sounded. They were in the beast’s world, after all. Why would it create an obstacle for itself? But Kyle was driven by adrenaline, and a part of him believed that Gadge probably knew more about this world than he did. After all, the Sheriff was trapped here. Why wouldn’t he have found a loophole of sorts in the fabric of this world’s reality?

Taking the stairs by two, he made sure he was only a few steps behind Gadge as they raced up one floor after the other. The Sheriff led him all the way up, kicking down a door at the top and leading them both onto the roof. Kyle slowed down to catch his breath, looking out onto the world of fire and smoke before him. From here, the city of flames seemed to reach out forever on all sides. It would take him an eternity to find the demon here.

“Took you long enough to get back here,” Gadge said, hunched over and gasping for air, his words interrupted by fits of coughing.

“Sorry,” Kyle said, breathing in deeply, the air a bit fresher at this height. “Traffic was terrible.”

Gadge chuckled. “So what’s the plan?”

“No idea,” Kyle said, his eyes darting left and right as he tried to make sense of the maze of flaming buildings around him. “This thing wouldn’t happen to have a home, would it?”

Gadge sniffed and gestured to his right, waving his hand about in small circles. “Somewhere in that direction. Always seems to be coming at me from there.”

“Any idea how to get there?” Kyle asked.

“Do I look like a friggin’ tour guide to you?” Gadge shot.

“No, I suppose not,” Kyle replied. “I was hoping this would be easier.”

“Only thing I can help with is the obstacle course I made across the roofs,” Gadge said. “We could use those to get as far as possible without having to go down there.”

Kyle looked to where Gadge was pointing. His eyes fell upon a few loose planks laid across the open space between this roof and the next. The planks were held in place by cylindrical bricks placed expertly on top of each other. Gadge had obviously had a lot of time on his hands.

Time seems all messed up on this side.

Kyle nodded and turned to Gadge. “Let’s get moving then,” he said.

Gadge sighed and stretched. “After you,” he said. “You’re the one with the knife.”

Kyle led the way across the roof, holding the knife up at waist level as he eyed the makeshift bridge Gadge had prepared. He was only a few feet away when a hard blow against the back of his head sent him sprawling to the ground.

***

Aley screeched to a halt next to Union Savings Bank, jumping out of her car in time to join the small crowd of people that were rushing towards the supermarket. The firefighters were already setting up a perimeter, yelling at each other as they scurried to get their hoses to the hydrants and control the flames that were quickly spreading to the woods and houses behind it. She gasped when someone raced past her, bumping into her and sending her toppling over her feet.

She rushed on, pushing through the crowd, trying to get past the people being pushed back and away from the flames. Her eyes scanned the faces, hoping that she would find the Sheriff somewhere in the midst of the onlookers gazing in shock at the inferno before them.

She reached the barricade and was about to jump over it when strong hands grabbed her and pushed her back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’!” a firefighter screamed at her. “Behind the line! Now!”

“The Sheriff’s in there!” Aley yelled at him, unsure if he would call her on her bluff. It was the first thing that came to her mind.

“Sheriff Gadge?” the firefighter asked.

Aley nodded. “I saw his cruiser back there!”

“Lady, you’re seein’ things,” the firefighter said, forcing her further back. “The Sheriff just left. He made sure we were setting up and went to supervise the fire at the station. Now get back!”

Aley felt her heart drop down to her feet. Kyle! It’s going after Kyle!

She forced her way back through the crowd, pushing and shoving as she went, earning herself a few insults along the way. She broke into a run, jumped into her car, and wasted no time swerving it around and back the way she had come.

Kyle’s in danger! Kyle’s in danger!

The thought raced through her head, blinding her judgment as she sped down the narrow street. Without slowing down, she made a sharp left turn onto North Main Street, missing an oncoming fire engine by a hair’s breadth. She fought to control her vehicle, fixated on getting back to the inn as quickly as she could.

She didn’t see the police cruiser speed out from behind a side street to her right and slam into her car.

***

“This is all your fault!”

Kyle was barely on his hands and knees when Gadge’s foot connected with his ribs, the force so strong it knocked the wind out of him and sent him rolling. The pain shot through his body, and when the second kick came, he swore he could hear his ribs cracking with the blow.

“This thing is here because of you!” Gadge screamed from over him, grabbing Kyle by the collar and lifting him up. “I’m here because of you!”

Gadge’s fist came slamming into Kyle’s face, once, twice, three times before the Sheriff let his body fall back onto the ground.

“That’s the problem with you assholes!” Gadge yelled. “You think everyone’s expendable except for you. Look at what you’ve done to me! I’m a friggin’ meat suit, you bastard!”

Kyle rolled onto his side, coughing violently. Gadge grabbed him by the nape of his shirt and began dragging him towards the edge of the roof.

“You see, I was able to do what you couldn’t,” the Sheriff was saying. “I struck a deal. Get rid of you, and this thing leaves me alone. Leaves my town alone. Imagine that! Just one quick hurl over the edge, and this nightmare ends forever!”

“It’s playing you,” Kyle coughed, his voice hoarse from the pain.

Gadge punched him, kicked him a couple of times, then punched him again. “Shut up!”

Kyle felt the world around him spin out of control. His eyes grew heavy, and his body felt like a sack of stones. He couldn’t move, the beating he was taking quickly depriving him of whatever energy he had. Gadge grabbed him again and lifted him up, edging them both closer to the edge of the roof.

“This is it for you,” Gadge said. “A drop like this, I’d be surprised if you survived it. And even if you did, I’ll just leave you lying there for the flames to eat you up.”

Gadge looked over the edge, adjusting Kyle’s limp body for the final hurl. “Tell you what? You say hello to your wife and kid for me, okay? Tell them that this is justice for the fact that you were a friggin’ coward who couldn’t end his own life and save us a load of misery.”

Gadge pushed, and Kyle felt his body lurch. He grabbed onto the Sheriff for dear life, pulling him with him as he felt himself beginning to roll over the edge of the roof. Gadge punched at him, fighting to break free of Kyle’s hold, but Kyle wouldn’t let go. Losing his balance, Gadge screamed in fury as Kyle pulled him over the edge of the roof and sent them both falling to their deaths.

***

Aley opened her eyes slowly. The world around her was a blur, and her ears were ringing so loud she felt like her head would burst from the sound of it. She tried to move pain immediately shooting up and down her neck and back, forcing her to sit completely still. She waited for her vision to clear, her mind desperately trying to make sense of what just happened.

Someone hit me. Am I dying?

She felt with her hands along her seatbelt and clicked the buckle, freeing herself of the suffocating pressure against her chest. She blinked as something dripped into her eyes, burning them, the faint smell of iron letting her know that she was, in fact, bleeding. She lifted her hand to her face, her movements slow, and wiped the blood from her forehead. She brushed against the open wound on her scalp and screamed in pain, her body shaking and sending further jolts of pain in every direction.

Slowly, her vision cleared, and only then could she take in the broken windshield and mangled remains of the dashboard in front of her. Blood stained the steering wheel where her head had connected, and she cursed the absence of an airbag. Concussion. At least that. No telling what else has been broken.

She tried to move again, but the pain stopped her almost immediately, and she slowly laid her head back and closed her eyes. Someone was bound to find her. Help was on its way. All she had to do was wait.

Almost as if on cue, the driver’s door was yanked open, and a hand reached out and grabbed her by the neck. The grip was strong, like a vice, fingers digging into her flesh and choking her. She was dragged out forcefully, her broken limbs screaming with the blinding pain that seared through them, forcing her to scream. She felt her legs briefly connect with the ground before her entire body was lifted up in the air, the hand around her neck holding her up like a lifeless doll.

She opened her eyes, weakly slapping at the grip that threatened to choke the life out of her, and stared into the burning red eyes of Sheriff Jeffrey Gadge. The Sheriff smiled at her, lips so wide it felt like they would reach all the way to his ears. His skin was cracked in several places, the flesh beneath glistening in the dim light of the street lamp, the putrid smell of rotten meat filling her sinuses. Gadge opened his mouth, and in the abyss there, Aley could see the bottomless pits of Hell reach out for her.

“You know where he is,” Gadge said, his voice a mix of dozens of voices speaking in unison, piercing like hot rods into her ears and scratching at the fabrics of her sanity. “You will tell me where he is.”

Aley tried to kick at the demon, but it only laughed at her and squeezed her neck harder. She could almost feel her windpipe break in its grip, and she struggled against the pain and lack of air. Her efforts only made the demon laugh harder.

“Take me to him,” the demon hissed, the sound of it like nails against a blackboard. “Take me to him or die.”

***

“Wake up, Kyle.”

Kyle’s eyes fluttered open. He stared up at flames crawling across the ceiling above him, black smoke curling about and reaching in through his open mouth. He coughed, gagged, and rolled onto his side, his stomach hurling nothing but bile and his eyes watering. His hands brushed against the carpet beneath him, and in the glow of the flames around him, he briefly recognized the charred patterns.

He looked up, fear coursing through him as his eyes darted across the room, recognition flooding through him with every piece of furniture they fell upon. The couch set, the burning painting of horses running through an open pasture, the curled limbs of the cheap chandelier he and Jennifer had found at a garage sale that she absolutely had to have. In a corner was the desk where he had spent most of his afternoons writing, flames now curling around the mahogany wood as it burned.

He was home. Not in Kent, but in his old house. Back in Los Angeles.

Kyle shot up, quickly jumping to his feet, feeling the warm hilt of the knife in his hand and tightening his grip on it. The flames came at him from all corners, the heat pushing at him, blinding him, wrapping him in its embrace like a blanket of pending death. The living room was in flames, and as he turned about swiftly, looking for a way out, he caught sight of a shadow in the corner.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head,” the shadow cooed.

Kyle felt his heart almost stop, and he braced himself as the figure stepped out into the glow of the flames. Jennifer was wearing the red dress he had bought her, only now it was scorched and the fabric curling as little flames danced across it. Her skin was covered in burn blisters that popped as she moved. The skin on her face had peeled off, the dermis below it splitting as yellow fat poured out of her wounds and melted across the sides of her face. The muscles on her face had begun to shrivel, and her eye sockets appeared much larger than they should have been, her lips peeled back to reveal blackened gum and missing teeth. Her hair had all but burned off her head, the remaining strands stuck to the fat on her face in dark tendrils.

She lurched towards him, arms reaching out, fingers curled and deformed. She tried to smile, but that only made it worse, and her lips cracked and oozed.

Kyle took a step back when a hand reached out and grabbed him by the leg. He swirled around and stared into the deformed remains of his son’s face.

“Daddy.” The voice was enough to drive Kyle insane. “Daddy, help us.”

Kyle staggered back, flames licking at him and scorching his skin, but he felt nothing. Only the horror of seeing his wife and son amble towards him, like two corpses that had just crawled out of their graves. One of his son’s ears fell off his face, and a grotesque squishing sound followed as Michael's bare feet stepped on it.

Kyle’s screams lodged in his throat.

“Honey, we’ve been waiting for you,” Jennifer said, the hoarseness in her voice scratching at the inside of his head, like fingers reaching into and behind his eyes, ripping at his nerves. “You’ve been missed, baby.”

Kyle took another step back, and flames wrapped around his legs, burning him as he watched what remained of his family come closer.

“No,” he croaked.

Jennifer smiled as she trudged closer. “You’re weak, you know that?” she mocked. “You couldn’t save us before, and you can barely look at us now. What good are you? What use does this world have for you?” She reached out for him, her fingers barely brushing his face. “Come now. Join us. Give into it and just close your eyes. There’s nothing left for you in this world.”

“No,” Kyle whispered as he moved further into the flames behind him. He could feel the flames eating at his skin, and still he felt nothing. The horrors he was looking at were enough to override any other sensation he might have.

“You cannot save this world,” Jennifer said as Michael’s small hand wrapped around his, the flames engulfing his son as he held him tight. “You cannot save anyone.”

And in her eyes, he saw it. The red flames of the demon. The mocking gaze of its eyes as it wore his wife’s skin and goaded him into surrendering. He could see it clearly; rotten flesh and deformed body, twisting its grotesque form inside her, moving her like a puppet.

“I see you,” Kyle whispered, and the grip on his hand tightened until the bones of his fingers were crushed in his son’s grasp. “I can see you.”

“Will you kill me, Kyle?” Jennifer asked, her tone swiftly changing into the gentle voice he had fallen in love with every day of his life, over and over again.

His heart jumped, and his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. For a split second, she shifted into the perfect image of herself, standing beautifully in her red dress, her eyes locked onto him. For a brief moment, the flames receded, and they were alone in a vacuum of nothingness. She reached for him, her hand brushing his cheek, and he shook with her touch.

“You let me die once, Kyle,” she said soothingly. “How can you bring yourself to kill me again?”

“I’m sorry,” Kyle stuttered, his eyes watering, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby,” Jennifer cooed. “It’s alright. I’m here. We’re finally together.”

She moved until her face was inches from his, and beneath the charm, beneath the loving gaze and the smell of the perfume she wore because he loved its scent, he could smell the distinct aroma of decay.

“I’m so sorry,” Kyle cried, and with one quick motion, swift and steady, he brought the dagger up and into his wife’s stomach.

Jennifer screamed.

It was a horrid screech of pain and anger. Her eyes flew open and burst into flames. Her skin shifted and ripped, flames bursting from her body and engulfing them both in their fury. The demon emerged from within her, its mouth agape in horror, its anger evident in the way its body twisted and turned around the knife protruding from it. It grabbed Kyle, both hands wrapping around his neck and squeezing until he felt like it would snap him right then and there. It lifted him off the ground and slammed him against the wall, screeching in a million angry voices as the flames burst from it in scorching waves.

It pulled him back and slammed him into the wall, again and again, until he felt the world around him spin out of control. He succumbed to the brutal beating he was taking, his vision blurring as the demon wailed and screamed.

Kyle’s hand found the hilt of the knife protruding from the beast, and with what little strength he had left, he turned it and pushed it in deeper. The demon’s screams rose to deafening levels, fire engulfing it as its body ripped and tore around the blade. It let go of him, and he fell to the ground in a heap, watching as bit by bit, the beast’s body tore apart. It clawed at the knife, trying to pull it out, but the blade wouldn’t budge, as if somehow it had locked itself in its place.

With a final scream, the demon exploded into a shower of burning flesh and ash that rained over Kyle. He felt his head swim, and he fought to keep his eyes open. The world darkened around him as the flames quickly receded and the vision of his old house fell apart before him.

And then there was nothing.

***

I’m going to die.

Aley felt her head spin and the onset of suffocation take over, her eyes closing as she gasped for air. The hands around her neck tightened even more, and Gadge’s voice curled into her head as it sought out the information it wanted.

If you’re going to die, at least don’t give it anything.

With what little strength she had left, she fought the prying fingers in her head, pushing them away, struggling to protect Kyle’s whereabouts from the monster that wanted to kill him. The monster that was slowly killing her.

Suddenly, the grip on her neck loosened, and Gadge let out a guttural scream that shattered whatever sanity she had left. She felt that scream cut through her like a knife as she fell into a heap on the ground, her broken body protesting in waves of pain that overwhelmed her completely.

Through half-open eyes, she watched Gadge scratch wildly at his face as he staggered back and slammed against what remained of Kyle’s Ford. He shook wildly, foam pouring out the side of his mouth, eyes staring wildly at the night sky. He continued to shake even after he had fallen to the ground, his back arching and his legs kicking out.

He looks like a fish out of water. She was only half amused by how ridiculous this thought was before her eyes closed and darkness enveloped her.

***

Kyle’s eyes opened to the distant sound of thunder and the flashing of lightning in the skies above him. He was lying on his back in the parking lot of the Kent Country Inn, the knife still held firmly in his hand. The skies opened, and rain fell in showers around him, soaking his burning body, and drenching him in cool comfort.

He tried to get up and quickly realized that he was too exhausted to move. In the distance, there was still the distinct sound of sirens, and the soft cackle of fire quickly being drowned out by the starting storm.

How he had found his way down from a locked room to the inn parking lot, he had no idea. And he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was no longer surrounded by flames and demons.

All that mattered was that he was still alive. And that it was over.

Is it over?

Kyle smiled, gave into the exhaustion, and drifted away.

Chapter 12

Kyle awoke to a loud knocking on the door.

He opened his eyes slowly, every inch of his body groaning in protest as he turned his head to look at the time. For the fourth day in a row, he had slept for over twelve hours, uninterrupted by nightmares, with the curtains drawn open. The sun fell on his face with a soft warmth that he greedily welcomed.

The knocking came again, and he lazily rolled out of bed. He pulled a t-shirt over his head and stretched as he ambled to the door and looked through the pigeonhole. With a tired smile, he opened and let Aley in.

“You look like you’ve been asleep for days,” she said, dropping her bag to a side and closing the door behind her.

Kyle sat down heavily on the bed and watched as she inspected the small motel room he had been staying in for the last four days. She pulled out a chair, took off her jacket and sat down, folding it onto her lap. He waited as she scrutinized him.

“You look good,” he said.

“I would say thank you if I didn’t feel like shit,” she replied.

Kyle nodded. He had a good idea what she had been through over the past two weeks, especially since he had been put through the same tedious routine since their last night in Kent. The National Guard and FBI had found their way to Kent quickly, cleaning up the mess that followed the fires and the complete decimation of the Kent police force. Alost twenty men and women had died that night, all burned to the point where they could only be identified by their dental records. Several of the injured had been raced to nearby hospitals in Sharon and Torrington when the Health Center couldn’t keep up. All in all, it had been a complete mess.

Kyle had gone through several rounds of strenuous interrogation. He had been asked all kinds of questions, starting from the fire that had taken away his family to the night Aley had found him in the ditch by the Country Inn. They wanted to know about his relationship to the Sheriff, his relationship to Aley, and his relationship to every single person in Kent. Which meant he had a lot to tell.

They had kept them lodged in the Country Inn for three days, separated except during dinners when there were at least three agents watching their every move and listening to their every word. It had been tiresome, and after what he had been through, Kyle had just wanted to finally be left alone. And he could see from the look on Aley’s face that she had shared his sentiments exactly.

He had avoided talking about Fegan or the witching hour, had made up a story about family heritage when they had found the knife, and had made sure that any reference to Aley was made only in the context of a friend helping out another friend. Luckily for the both of them, Paula had kept her mouth shut as well. Kyle thought it had more to do with her wanting everyone out of there than anything else. Either way, after the third day, the FBI agent who had been drilling him finally told him that he was free to leave.

Kyle had left Aley a note with Paula about where he would be, got into his car and drove until he reached Warren, booking himself into the motel he was currently in. He had avoided reporters, gotten rid of his cell phone, and had slept for most of the past four days. Sleep had never felt better.

“What did you tell them?” he asked.

Aley shrugged. “What could I tell them? The Sheriff went mad, I tried to stop him, almost died in the process.” She paused. “Either way, Gadge is raving about demons and fire, so I think they’re going to close the case and settle for ‘the crazy Sheriff did it’.”

Kyle frowned. He almost felt bad for Gadge, but the memory of the Sheriff almost killing him on the other side was still too fresh in his mind for that.

“So what now?” Aley asked.

Kyle shrugged. “Sleep, for starters,” he said. “I’ve got years to make up for.”

Aley smiled.

“You?” he asked.

“I’m heading back to New York,” she said. “I can’t stay here. Not anymore.”

Kyle nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m glad you came,” he said. “When you didn’t show up right away, I thought maybe you had just decided to drive past me.”

“I had to take care of Maureen’s store,” Aley explained. “Her brother came in from Maine to oversee the burial procedures, and I had to say my goodbyes. Didn’t feel right to miss the funeral.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, eyes downcast. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t bring myself to drive back once I was out.”

“No one’s judging you,” she replied. “At least I’m not. Besides, the whole world knows that Kyle Ashfeld is alive and well, and the town’s crawling with reporters and agents. You’re big news again.”

“For all the wrong reasons,” Kyle said. He looked up and caught the sad look she was giving him, and quickly shot her a smile. “Hey, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Maybe write a book or two, drive down the east coast?”

Aley smiled. “I’ll be sure to keep my eyes on the bookshelves,” she said. She stood up, pulled on her coat and gave him a shrug. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Mr. Ashfeld.”

“For your own sanity, I really hope not,” he chuckled.

He gave her a quick hug, offered to carry her bag which she refused, and watched her get into her rental and pull out. He waved and waited until her car was out of sight before walking back into the room and closing the door behind him.

So what now?

The question lingered in his mind as he sat back down on the bed and rubbed his temples. He had no idea, and didn’t really feel like he needed to at the moment. It was enough to count his wins and be grateful for the fact that he was still breathing.

He opened the drawer to his bedside table, hesitated, then pulled out the satin-sheathed knife from within. Unfolding the cloth covering it, he carefully wrapped his hands around the hilt and braced himself. When nothing happened, he sighed in relief, wrapped the satin around the blade once more, and returned it to the drawer. He had been repeating this ritual for the past four days, and just like today, the knife’s powers remained dormant. Thankfully.

Kyle Ashfeld lied down in bed, pulled the covers up to his chin, and closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

At least for now, the nightmares were over.

Epilogue: 1982

Dr. Henry Ashfeld sighed as he scribbled his signature on the last page of the immense paperwork stacked in front of him. The woman sitting across from him waited patiently, smile unwavering as he capped his pen and pushed the papers towards her.

“Thank you, Dr. Ashfeld,” she said. “That should be everything. We’ll check in every now and then, routine more than anything.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Henry replied with a tired smile of his own.

He had been called back to Hartford at least twice in the past three weeks, first to attend the morbidity and mortality meeting regarding Ashley McLane’s death, and then to handle the board’s request to review Charles Kimnot’s license to practice in the state of Connecticut. He had tried to handle both situations as best he could, but the truth of the matter remained that a young girl had died in the OR during childbirth, at the hands of a drunk doctor whom he should have been supervising.

Ashley’s family hadn’t even bothered to pick up their daughter’s body, let alone check on the child. It angered him how some people could be so heartless, so incredibly narrow-minded and stupid. Luckily for the hospital, the family didn’t sue, but a part of Henry wished they had. At least then they would have seemed a little more humane.

Thankfully, there was a silver lining to the situation.

Henry walked his guest out of the hospital, shaking her hand and thanking her for her efforts.

“And this is your most recent address?” she asked.

“It is,” he nodded. “The house is easy to find. Just ask anyone in Kent and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“Small communities are always charming,” she smiled.

“Perfect for a family,” he added.

She promised to be in touch, got into her car and drove away.

Henry watched her car disappear around a corner before he stretched, cracked his neck, and ran a tired hand across his face. He trudged back into the hospital and made his way to the elevators in the back. He rode up the fifth floor alone and in silence, with only his thoughts to keep him company.

The elevator doors slid open and he stepped out into a narrow hallway, counting the steps as he approached his office. A quick knock, and he opened the door.

Geraldine Ashfeld was sitting on the leather couch beside his desk, cradling their newly adopted son in her arms.

“You’re going to have to let him go at some point,” Henry chuckled when his wife looked up at him and smiled.

“Never,” Geraldine replied, adjusting the blanket the boy was wrapped in. “He’s precious.”

“Sure is,” Henry replied. “Have you decided on a name yet? They’re stalling the paperwork as a favor for me, but they can’t stall it forever.”

Geraldine nodded and bit her lower lip. “Kyle,” she said. “His name is Kyle.”

*  *  *

FREE Bonus Novel!

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the book. If you did, please take a minute to share your review. I read each and every review and they inspire me to create more horrific worlds!

Don’t forget your FREE bonus novel by Ron Ripley! Sign up for the mailing list below to download Sherman’s Library Trilogy in 3 formats, get FREE short stories, and receive future discounts: www.ScareStreet.com/AINasser

FREE books (30 - 60 pages):

Ron Ripley (Ghost Stories)

1. Ghost Stories (Short Story Collection)

A.I. Nasser
(Supernatural Suspense)

2. Polly’s Haven (Short Story)

3. This is Gonna Hurt (Short Story)

Multi-Author Scare Street Collaboration

4. Horror Stories: A Short Story Collection

And experience the complete novels (150 - 210 pages):

Ron Ripley (Ghost Stories)

1. Sherman’s Library Trilogy (FREE via mailing list signup)

2. The Boylan House Trilogy
3. The Blood Contract Trilogy
4. The Enfield Horror Trilogy

Moving In Series

5. Moving In Series Box Set Books 1 - 3 (22% off)

6. Moving In (Book 1)
7. The Dunewalkers (Book 2)
8. Middlebury Sanitarium (Book 3)

9. Moving In Series Box Set Books 4 - 6
(25% off)

10. The First Church (Book 4)
11. The Paupers' Crypt (Book 5)
12. The Academy (Book 6)

Berkley Street Series

13. Berkley Street (Book 1)
14. The Lighthouse (Book 2)
15. The Town of Griswold (Book 3)
16. Sanford Hospital (Book 4)
17. Kurkow Prison (Book 5)
18. Lake Nutaq (Book 6)
19. Slater Mill (Book 7)
20. Borgin Keep (Book 8)
21. Amherst Burial Ground (Book 9)

Hungry Ghosts Series

22. Hungry Ghosts

Haunted Collection Series

23. Collecting Death (Book 1)

24. Walter’s Rifle (Book 2)

Victor Dark (Supernatural Suspense)

25. Uninvited Guests Trilogy

26. Listen To Me Speak Trilogy

A.I. Nasser (Supernatural Suspense)

Slaughter Series

27. Children To The Slaughter (Book 1)
28. Shadow’s Embrace (Book 2)
29. Copper’s Keeper (Book 3)

The Sin Series

30. Kurtain Motel (Book 1)
31. Refuge (Book 2)
32. Purgatory (Book 3)

The Carnival Series

33. Blood Carousel (Book 1)

Witching Hour Series

34. Witching Hour (Book 1)

David Longhorn (Supernatural Suspense)

The Sentinels Series

35. Sentinels (Book 1)
36. The Haunter (Book 2)
37. The Smog (Book 3)

Dark Isle Series

38. Dark Isle (Book 1)
39. White Tower (Book 2)
40. Red Chapel (Book 3)

Ouroboros Series

41. The Sign of Ouroboros (Book 1)
42. Fortress of Ghosts (Book 2)
43. Day of The Serpent (Book 3)

Curse of Weyrmouth Series

44. Curse of Weyrmouth (Book 1)

45. Blood of Angels (Book 2)

Eric Whittle (Psychological Horror)

Catharsis Series

46. Catharsis (Book 1)
47. Mania (Book 2)
48. Coffer (Book 3)

Sara Clancy (Supernatural Suspense)

Dark Legacy Series

49. Black Bayou (Book 1)
50. Haunted Waterways (Book 2)
51. Demon's Tide (Book 3)

Banshee Series

52. Midnight Screams (Book 1)
53. Whispering Graves (Book 2)
54. Shattered Dreams (Book 3)

Black Eyed Children Series

55. Black Eyed Children (Book 1)
56. Devil’s Rise (Book 2)
57. The Third Knock (Book 3)

Keeping it spooky,

Team Scare Street

Table of Contents

Prologue: 1982

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue: 1982

FREE Bonus Novel!