Short Story: Lamentations for the Living Dead

WARNING:  This story contains liberal amounts of blood and gore.

    This city was once called Vancouver:  a bustling hub of commerce and culture during the heyday of human civilization.  Then, as the Necrobonic Plague swept through the continent, the city fell into gradual ruin.  As I write this, most of the great monuments and skyscrapers collapsed into the streets as jagged hulks of metal, glass, and concrete.  Trash and debris littered the sidewalks and thousands of abandoned cars occupied the streets.  The only sound in the city was the soft howl of a gentle breeze.
    Despite the silence and loneliness of the dead metropolis, it was not unoccupied.  Following the outbreak of the Plague, the city was now home to millions of corpses.  As the Plague infested their cells and reanimated them, the corpses found enough life and energy to stand, walk, and prey on every other living thing around them.  The undead citizens roamed the streets restlessly and endlessly; they never spoke, never worked, never slept, never dreamed, and never felt anything beyond hunger.  They’d occasionally gorge on any animals that lingered in the city:  the occasional pigeon, crow, or an escaped zoo animal.  But with living flesh becoming rarer and rarer in the city, the living dead often resorted to attacking and eating each other.
    If they ever caught my scent, they likely would have devoured my flesh long ago.  But ever since the outbreak started, I learned to adapt.  Using Kevlar body armor from a police station, and a rain poncho, I covered myself in the flesh and blood of the dead.  The sheer stench it gave off masked my own scent, while the gore on my suit made me look like one of them.  For the past ten weeks, this allowed me to walk among the zombie hoards without being attacked.
    I went out this way every day to scavenge food, clothes, tools, medicine, and other supplies.  The city had everything one would ever need.  In the beginning weeks of the outbreak, looters and rioters ravaged entire districts, fighting violently to take everything they could carry.  It wasn’t long before the undead hoards overwhelmed them.  Only the shrewdest of looters survived; most either escaped, or like me, adapted and survived in the city.  With only a handful of living people left in the city, entire districts of shopping centers and department stores were left open for me.
    Thirteen weeks since the Plague came to Vancouver, I left my secured hiding place and went into the city one more time.  I hoarded enough food and supplies to last for years, but on this excursion, I needed one more important thing.  With my bloodied suit donned, and its deathly stench emanating all around me, I strode beside the walking corpses.
    They shambled around the streets and through every building without any apparent forethought to their destination or purpose.  I moved through them, careful not to bump into them too roughly, and careful not to appear too fast or too slow.  If I moved uncharacteristically, they would take notice and turn on me.  I’ve had one occasion where I tried to speed-walk down the length of the road in my suit; the zombies weren’t fooled, and a pack of them chased me for several blocks.  I narrowly escaped them by running into a metro station and jumping over the one-way exit turnstiles.
    As time wore on, the undead grew more and more lethargic.  Whatever energy it was that made them frenzied beasts had waned.  After consuming most of the living in the city, they could no longer find sustenance, and were starving.  There were several spots in the streets where, in an almost ritualistic fashion, the zombies selected one of their own to sacrifice.  I averted my gaze from the gruesome sights as packs of the undead knelt over their dead brethren, scooped up handfuls of semi-rotten organs, and gorged themselves.  Blood dribbled from their mouths as they tore and ground the raw meat with their teeth.  No matter how many times I saw such gruesome spectacles, I could never stomach it; sickness and dread settled in the pit of my stomach when I considered that, someday, they might disembowel me with the same savagery.
    Walking slowly, I passed the monsters without drawing their attention.  Beyond was the hospital; it was once a clean building that promoted life, but now it was a ruin that housed more of the dead.  Its windows and doors had been smashed open long ago, either pillaged by looters or ravaged by the zombies.
    Moving toward the building, I walked past the broken doors and proceeded down the corridor.  Every room and hall in this hospital was dilapidated, with debris, old papers, and dried bloodstains ordaining the walls and floors.  Red skeletons littered the reception area, where hoards of zombies attacked the living and picked their bones clean.  After thirteen weeks of decomposition, these bones and the leftover gore around them gave off a putrid stench.
    Past the reception and waiting areas, the hallway looked clear.  I kept alert, listening for any giveaway noises that resident zombies would make.  They were quiet for the most part; the only sound that gave their presence away was their labored breathing, their shuffling feet, or the grotesque sounds of their feasting.
    The hospital was quiet, and I felt free to move in a natural fashion.  I strode down the hall, passing by dozens of empty wards before coming to the doctor’s offices and surgery rooms.  These areas were just as wrecked as the rest of the hospital.  I felt slightly dismayed when I considered that the medicine I was looking for would be long gone.
    What doubt I harbored fuelled my urge to seek out the medicine.  I was rushing down the halls toward the medical storage rooms; my heart was racing in anticipation of finding what I needed.
    When I reached the rooms, I found them locked, but thankfully they weren’t plundered.  Beneath my poncho, I had a hammer strapped to my leg.  Brandishing it, I dug the claw end of it into the door, and pried on it hard.  It took some effort and a lot of patience, but I managed to crack the wooden door around the lock.  Severely weakened, the door swung wide open.
    Inside was a wealth of controlled medicines and substances.  What I needed was one of those simple, important substances that were always available when one needed it, but became a dire necessity when it became unavailable.  I was elated when I saw the antibiotics on the glass shelves.  I grabbed as many of them as I could, and shoved them into a bag.
    Hastily exiting the hospital, I made my way back to my home.  Once I approached the zombie hoard in the middle of the street, I slowed my pace and walked calmly among them.  Having spent the past few hours in my disguise, its effect was wearing thinner and thinner, with all the blood and its stench gradually wearing off.  For a while, the zombies were still oblivious to my presence.  Then, I saw them starting to look at me.  There was no mistaking the sensation of being watched by so many walking corpses; their glazed, unseeing eyes sent chills down my spine.
    One of them lunged at me, his teeth hungrily closing in on my flesh.  I wasted no time; in an instant, I had the hammer in my hands, and I whacked the creature in the face.  The hammerhead crushed his jaw with a loud crack, forming a bloody circle on his flesh.  The impact sent the zombie flailing to the ground, at the feet of other zombies.
    More of them came at me with arms outstretched and mouths agape.  Their throats gave off an eerie chorus of dry groans and gurgles.  Running laterally from them, I cut through a line of zombies and stepped on the sidewalk.  As six zombies stumbled after me, I darted into a narrow alley.
    The small space provided the perfect bottleneck; the multitude of zombies huddled around the alley’s entrance, all struggling against each other to fit through the tight opening.  One pushed past the crowd and closed in on me; I slammed the claw end of the hammer into his face and gouged out his eyeball.  The claw not only left a bloody hole in his head, but also dug into his brain.  With an uncontrollably spasm, the zombie collapsed to the ground.
    What few other zombies came down the alley soon huddled around the fallen corpse and started feasting on it.  They greedily snapped off limbs and dug for the soft tissues beneath the flesh, before taking greedy bites into the skin and muscles.  I left behind the grisly scene, and continued toward my apartment.
    The alley brought me one block closer to my home, but there was still a large pack of the undead between me and the tall building.  As soon as I came out to the street, one ghastly zombie staggered toward me; as one of the older zombies, his flesh was rotting and discolored, with pieces of it peeling away.  When I struck him in the head, his neck was ripped clean off, and the head fell to the concrete.  Blood oozed out of the open neck wound, before the body collapsed in front of me.
    I immediately moved away from the body, before the other zombies grouped around it and devoured it.  One of the creatures was lapping up the blood that came out of the open neck, as if it was a water spout.  While the undead were occupied, I crossed the street and continued down the block.
    Resistance closer to the apartment was substantially abated, thanks to the landmines I had planted all around the block.  I saw that a few of them had gone off since I last laid them; limbs and pieces of bloodied flesh littered the streets, from the last few hapless zombies who stepped on the mines.  I crossed the pavement carefully, being careful not to step on the mines, before approaching the apartment.
    I erected a crude barricade by the apartment door, comprised mostly of a wrecked car and planks of wood; I expertly climbed over the barricade and entered the building.  It was dark and quiet inside, but I felt the safest here.  As I went up the stairs to the penthouse suite, I discarded my rank poncho.
    At the top floor, I used my key and entered the penthouse.  Having spent the past eleven weeks in this place, it was as familiar and comfortable of a home as I ever had.  The rooms were large, spacious, and clean, with polished white and pastel-colored walls and white carpets.  I had weapons and equipment strewn on the kitchen table, but my wife was very meticulous in keeping the floors, the kitchen, and bathrooms clean and tidy.  What few other possessions we had –clothes, food, supplies, books and games to pass the time – were neatly stacked in closets and on shelves.
    Taking off my Kevlar vest, I moved to the bedroom with my bag of supplies.  The bedroom was usually a bright place, with its white and blue walls and its conservative décor.  Now, with the curtains drawn, it was dark and it felt musty.
    On the bed, I beheld my wife.  Her blonde hair was messily sprawled on the sweat-soaked pillow; her face was red and wet, and her cheeks were puffy; her body looked thinner and frailer than when I last saw her.  Whatever sickness she had contracted, she was growing worse by the minute; it was all the more reason why I needed to administer the antibiotics as soon as possible.
    As I read the drugs’ directions and took out the pills, there were flashes of doubt in my mind.  The biggest worry was that antibiotics may not be effective, if this disease was not bacterial in nature.  All the symptoms indicated that it was, but what if I was wrong? Above all, I feared that this may be a variant of the Necrobonic Plague.  What if it mutated, and was no longer a passive disease, but something that actively killed its hosts before bringing it back to life?
    I chose not to waste any more time with doubt or worry.  I counted out the pills, poured some bottled water into a glass, and brought it to my wife.  She weakly lifted her head up, and I slipped the medicine through her dry lips.  Slowly, I brought the water to her mouth and tipped it.  When she swallowed and had enough to drink, I placed the glass on the night table.
    Looking up at me with her blue eyes, my wife spoke with a raspy voice, “It’s almost time.”
    “Oh no it isn’t,” I argued.
    “Yes, I can feel it in me.  I have seen angels in my dreams.  They tell me that my time is coming.  I will die by tonight.”
    I wanted to dismiss all of it was mere delusions and fear, but I could tell from her expression that she believed everything she was saying.  I told her, “Don’t say that.  The antibiotics will help, and you’ll be all better!”
    She lifted up her arm; it shivered weakly in the air.  I held it, while she said, “I wish it could have been different.”
    We both knew that, under different circumstances, our love would have endured.  We would have had children, but since the Plague, we knew that bringing children into this world would have been pure folly.  We wanted to have a family and a happy domestic life, but how could we when the entire world was populated by the undead?
    At this point, we both knew that the Plague was something beyond our control, and we had to adapt.  We also both knew the consequences of death.  If one of us died, the body would be re-animated and turn into one of them.  Through an unspoken pact, we knew that the surviving person would have to permanently lay that person to rest.  Thus, if she died in front of me, I would have to decapitate her; not only would it protect me, but I also knew that she wouldn’t want to become one of them. Even if the roles were reversed, the predicament would have been the same; if I became a zombie, I would expect her to take my head off.
    I suddenly felt frozen, and my muscles seemed to seize up.  Thinking about mutilating my wife’s corpse was an act too unbearable to consider.  I never gave it any credence, because I wanted to believe that we would remain as living survivors for the rest of our lives.  I planned for so many contingencies, but I never prepared myself for this one.
    I desperately didn’t want to go through with this.  My hand tightened around hers, as I told her, “Don’t leave me.  Please, don’t leave me.”
    My wife’s final words escaped her lips, “I’m sorry.  I love you.”
    In the next few moments, she slipped away.  There wasn’t even enough time for the antibiotics to work, assuming they were effective in the first place.  Her last breath escaped her lips, and her body remained rigid and still.  Her eyes stared up unseeing and lifeless.  There was no mistake that she was no longer living.
    The grief came on suddenly and relentlessly.  It made my body quiver and convulse, as a deep sickness welled up in me.  Tears erupted in a series of uncontrollable sobbing spasms.  The sound coming from my mouth was something between a cry and a scream.
    I remained in this state for at least ten minutes, with tears coating my face and sorrow coating my soul.  A myriad of memories washed over my mind, seeming to snuff out the present and bathe me in the past.  There were a few bitter memories, but it was the sweet ones that surfaced and made the pain that much more intense.  I remembered when we first met; an unassuming encounter at a bookstore, followed by a lively chat at a coffee shop.  I remember the many times we talked and laughed, growing closer to the inevitable kisses.  I remember the wedding, and how overcome I was with such a deep adoration and joy.  Even in the days of the Plague, when we planned for our survival and fretted about how we would cope with the living dead, my love for her never abated.
    It was only in my memories of the Plague that I brought myself back to the present.  I was so lost in my happy memories that I didn’t even realize that I was still clenching her hand.  When I let go, it fell limply to the bed with a soft thump.
    What sorrow lingered in my heart was soon pushed out and replaced by a gut-wrenching dread.  It wouldn’t be long before the Plague causes her body to rise up and attack me.  Looking at her soft and pristine face and eyes, I didn’t want to believe that such a beauty could turn unto a ravenous creature.  But my mind prevailed against my heart, and I knew exactly what I had to do.   I had to remind myself that she would never want this fate for either of us; I had to desecrate her remains, so that she would find peace and I could continue living.
    Rising from the bed, I went back into the living room.  We had a set of samurai swords sitting on the floor in the living room; it was a replica that we had plundered from a store just a few weeks ago.  The blades were not intended for real combat, but I had sharpened and reshaped them with my various tools, and they proved to be fairly effective.  Grabbing the top-most katana, I unsheathed it and brandished it in my hand.
    Moving back to the bedroom, I saw that the Plague had already started to make my wife stir.  Her body was upright, breathing softly, with a sickening gasping sound coming from her mouth.  Her head slowly turned; her blue eyes regarded me, but still appeared unseeing and lifeless.
    As she slowly swung her feet off the bed and stood up, I held out my sword and tried to picture myself committing the final deed.  All it would take is one quick and clean swing across her neck, and her head would fly off of the body.  There would be a fountain of blood, before the headless body collapsed.
    Despite that mental image, I still couldn’t picture myself being the one to deliver the final cut.  My hands were quivering, and I couldn’t will them into do anything else.
    My undead wife stepped closer, her mouth agape and drooling.  Another sick sound of gasping air and unintelligible vocal moaning escaped from her mouth.  Her sweaty blonde hair clung to her cheeks, masking half her face.  With each passing second, her eyes seemed to become more glazed and lifeless than they were before.
    She came closer, and I could smell her sweat and her breath, still heavy with medicine.  In just a few more paces, she would be upon me, to gnash at my neck with her teeth and rip out my intestines.  I still couldn’t believe that she would attack me like one of them, but the more I watched her, the more I was certain that it was inevitable.
    With another step, she raised her arms and seemed to lunge at me, her mouth open and ready to bite into my flesh.  In a panic, I fled the bedroom.  As I side-stepped her, she shambled forward and ran herself into the wall.  With her sprawled on the floor, I slammed the door shut.  Taking a key out of my pocket, I frantically locked the door, and locked her in the room alone.
    Moments passed before she stood up again and followed my scent toward the door.  Running into the door, she started banging hard on it with her fists.  Each wooden thud pounded into my heart, as a constant reminder of the task that I had failed to finish, and still needed to fulfill.  All I was doing now was stalling for time.  I needed to open the door back up and finish her off!
    My mind was still filled with doubt.  It would have been far easier for me to leave the penthouse and leave her in that room once and for all, to eventually starve, collapse, and rot.  I was stopped only by how cruel it sounded, and knowing that she wouldn’t want that kind of fate.  She needed to rest in peace, and I couldn’t abandon her.
    And yet, I couldn’t ever bring myself to open the door back up.  As the seconds, minutes, and hours passed, the banging on the door became slower and slower.  She likely would continue pounding at the door until she spent all her energy.
    Eventually, the pounding became too much for me, and I left the penthouse.  In the halls of the apartment complex, it was quiet, and my mind felt freer.  At first, I resolved to accomplish my task and kill her.  I still couldn’t picture myself delivering the blow.
    I wandered to the apartment building’s courtyard, just behind the barricade.  As soon as I felt the cool air on my skin, my scent drifted to the nearby city blocks, and the zombies in the street started to gather around the barricade.  I could hear their anguished moans and gargles amidst the pounding and slapping of their hands against the barrier.
    Those noises, and the sight of so many ghastly corpses flinging their bodies against the barricade, should have reminded me of what my wife really was then.  I should have known that she would become no different than one of them, and needed to be slain.
    Instead, I had a new idea in mind.  It was a horrible idea that manifested as a bittersweet ray of hope in my mind.  I think I knew then that I was merely stalling for more time, but I was desperate for an alternate solution.  I wanted anything except to kill my own wife.
    So, I reached over the barricade and stabbed one of the zombies in the chest.  With his heart punctured, the creature shuddered and eventually became limp.  With the dead body in their midst, the surrounding zombies started to claw and grasp it with their hands.  I grabbed the dead zombie’s hands and pulled his body over the barrier.  With all the other zombies holding onto the legs, I had to struggle against them.  As they bit into the flesh and tore away the creature’s muscles, the entire top torso became free, and I staggered backwards with it.  A mess of entrails and blood splattered at my feet, as I still held on to the zombie’s upper body.
    Carrying the rank torso up to the penthouse, I brought it back to the bedroom for my wife.  When I opened the door, she came out at me with ravenous teeth and vicious hands reaching for me.  I flung the torso between us, nearly knocking her over with it.  As the zombie’s blood splashed on her nightgown, she caught the scent of the rotting corpse, and accepted my offering.  Kneeling down at the body, she dug her face into its open stomach, smearing it with blood.  She had the corpse’s raw kidneys in her mouth, and she bit into them as if they were nothing more than cakes.
    It was a disgusting sight to watch my wife devour the torso, but at the same time, I had a morbid fascination with it.  It was incredible to see the transformation:  just days ago, she was beautiful, full of life and energy, and loving.  It was an odd and disconcerting experience to see that same gorgeous woman gorging herself in flesh and blood, reduced to a mere cannibalistic monstrosity.
    It took her all night to finish off the zombie’s torso; she ate the creature down to the bone.  I locked myself in the bedroom while she peeled off the corpse’s head and finished off the last of the brains.  When she was done, she started pounding at the door, directing her hunger at me.  The pounding continued through the night; it was difficult, but I managed to fall asleep on the bed.
    The next morning, the pounding still continued, albeit slowly and irregularly.  Opening the door, I beheld my wife, now twelve hours dead.  Her hands were bloodied and raw from bashing them against the door for so long.  Her face and skin was all pale, with splotches of gray dark spots and sores all over.  Blood from her last meal still covered her face and gown.  It wouldn’t be long before she looked like every other zombie in the street.
    She lunged at me with a raspy roar escaping her lips.  Side-stepping her, I let her stumble into the opposite wall, before slipping out the door and locking her in.  While she pounded at the door, I left and sought out another body for her to consume.  It was easy enough for me to grab one, or at least half, of a body from the hoard of zombies that congregated in the street.  Dragging the corpse to the penthouse was a chore, but once there, I would leave it out for her.  When I opened the bedroom door, she would come out and immediately burrow her face into the corpse’s flesh and organs.
    While she devoured the corpse, I would take the time to tend to other matters.  I donned my vest, gear, and poncho, to venture into the city and scavenge for more supplies and food.  She would still be picking at the corpse when I returned, leaving me free to cook for myself and plan my next course of action.
    Things continued like this for seven days.  Each day, I staved off the inevitable by feeding her.  Each day, I awoke to hear her pounding at the door, as if demanding to be fed.  Each pounding was a dire reminder of the task I had failed to do, and the never-ending torment I wound up subjecting myself to.
    My wife’s appearance became worse and worse, with even more sores and discolorations spotting her body.  Her nightgown was once white, but was now painted all in red, from all the blood from all the corpses she had consumed.  Her lips were chapped and covered in sores.  Her hair was dirty, bloodied, and tangled.  The only thing that remained the same was her eyes; they still maintained their brilliant blue color, but remained unseeing.
    With each passing day, I knew that my wife’s true spirit was floating around, likely looking down on me with contempt.  I knew that I had failed her, and I needed to end this living death quickly, if her soul is to ever find rest.
    I eventually grew to question myself.  What the Hell was I doing? By staving off the inevitable, I had turned myself into the slave of a zombie wife.  She wasn’t even my real wife.  All I was doing was clinging to a skin-deep shell of a wife, not wanting to let go of her memories.  I didn’t realize until it was too late that she was long gone, and the shell needed to be gone too.  I needed to make the killing blow and move on, rather than linger with the mere shadow of my beloved.
    After spending a day on the apartment rooftops, thinking things over, I went back to the penthouse to confront my wife once and for all.  I found her with a photo of me in her hands.  Not realizing that it was just a picture, she had stuffed it into her mouth.  Pieces of the picture’s wood frame and glass had cracked in her mouth, impaling her cheeks and tongue.  Blood dribbled from her lips, but she seemed oblivious to the fragments in her jaws.
    Turning to face me, she walked slowly.  Holding up the samurai sword, I waited until she was closer.  I took in deep breaths, preparing my nerves to take the swing.  My hands were calmer and steadier than they were before.  My heart was empty of any grief or sorrow, not like the day when she turned.  I felt I was ready to finally do this.
    When she staggered toward me, I swung hard and fast, with the speed and ferocity of a bee’s sting.  As I always pictured it, the blade cut through her neck cleanly, and her head parted from the body.  As it bounced on the floor, blood gushed out of the neck and coated her body.  The headless corpse collapsed, splashing a streak of red against the light-colored wallpaper.
    Later, I carried my wife’s body and head to the courtyard, and tossed them to the street beyond.  Turning away, I could hear the dry, raspy voices of the zombies as they converged and devoured the corpse.  Perhaps it was not the most respectable funeral I could give, but the zombies never wasted anything.  They picked her bones clean, leaving nothing behind.  She was gone forever.
    After thorough cleaning and sterilizing, I made the penthouse livable again.  Without my wife, it was never the same, and I always found myself stung by the happy memories and the bitterness of how poorly I handed her death.  Even though I’ll always love her, I finally accepted that she was gone, and she had found peace.  It was time for me to move on without her.
    Packing all my gear and food, I set out to find a new place to hole up and continue living.

Copyright 2012, all rights reserved

Run, Red Shirt, Run!

Happy Halloween! I really haven't been all that festive in the past few years (eh, carved some pumpkins one year, gorged on candy the next, but it's mostly about staying in and having horror movie marathons for me).  This year, however, I decided to try something that just sounded simultaneously fun and scary.  The local community was hosting a type of "zombie chase" fun run.  For 3 kilometers, I had to run across the neighborhood, dodging the undead and sprinting for my life!

Of course, it's all for fun; these zombies were just school kids in make-up, acting like zombies (and they were pretty effective zombie actors).  We all had flag football belts on, so the zombies had to try and grab them from us as we went by.  We were told that we needed to come back with the flags to win a prize (although that turned out to be untrue, thankfully, everybody was a winner; I was gratified to leave with a cool new tee-shirt and a bag of treats).

Upon signing up, I was under the impression that we would all have to dress up as zombies or something (and a few people did).  I was informed that we could dress up as anything we wanted.  Having lost some weight recently, I found that I could fit into my Star Trek red shirt without looking too morbidly obese or anything, so I decided to don that with some black pants and go as a hapless Starfleet security officer.  For those who are unfamiliar with Star Trek lore, it is a known fact that any character wearing a red uniform will be the first characters to die.  So, to run through a zombie-infested neighborhood with a red shirt was inviting certain doom.  Some of my friends even warned me that I will die, because of the shirt.

So, after working the full day and going to the gym to warm up, I took off with the rest of the group and we went around the short, brisk 3K loop.  It was pretty dark outside, and it was raining.  With the slight wind, it was pretty bitterly cold; fortunately, the cold became less and less of a problem as I continued pumping my legs and generating warmth in my muscles.

Then, I could certainly see the zombies on the street, as dark silhouettes on the dark wet pavement.  I could see them stagger, lunge, flail, and scream at the other runners as they passed by.  For the first third of a mile, I kept my distance from the undead, and remained relatively safe.

When I reached the track and looped around it, I ran into serious trouble.  There must have been four of the zombies on either side of the path, moving toward the runners as they passed.  I couldn't keep my distance for long; there was a zombie directly in front of me in the middle of the track.  I wasn't sure which direction to go; if I moved to the right, she seemed to move to the right.  Then I moved to the left, flinging my arms up defensively as I tried to swerve myself further away from the monster.  Unfortunately, she got me.  The curse of the Star Trek red shirt prevailed.

For the rest of the run, I had a fair share of other zombies running up to me, but without the flag football belt, I just told them "I'm dead Jim!"  Other times, just to maintain the role, I said things like "beam me up, Scotty!" and "the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few!" There was one part where we ran through some fog, so I uttered, "My God, Jim, where are we?"

With the zombies, the fog, running in the woods, the dark overcast evening sky, and the rain, it was definitely a moody and atmospheric event.  Even though this run only took about 15 minutes or so, it was a pleasantly thrilling experience.

I got to admit that, if the zombie-pocalypse ever becomes a reality, I would be totally unprepared for it.  Heck, I don't think anything in this world could really prepare a person for such a thing.  But after seeing these kids acting the part, I got to admit that in a real-life scenario, I couldn't possibly hope to outrun or outsmart a zombie, and in packs they'd be utterly terrifying.  I never used to consider zombie fiction "scary" per se, but after having this slight taste of a simulated zombie attack, I think it might freak me out a little more when I stop to consider just how frighting it would be to have an entire pack of the living dead closing in relentlessly.

And one more lesson learned here is that one should never wear a red shirt during a zombie-pocalypse.  It's just asking for trouble.

Film Review: The Omen (1976)

"From the eternal sea he rises, creating armies on either shore, turning man against his brother, 'til man exists no more." - Patrick Troughton / Gregory Peck

Of all the films ever made, this is easily one of the most notorious. If for no other reason than all the freak accidents that occurred during the film's production; cast and crew members fell in danger, and a few passed away, from plane crashes and car accidents throughout the production period. It makes one wonder whether there was a curse of some kind surrounding the film.

Regardless, it was a success in its day, and continues to resonate. It is most memorable for the freaky deaths it shows on screen (something of a progenitor to the Final Destination films; there are a few scenes in The Omen where some small or freakish thing causes another thing to maim, impale, or decapitate the hapless characters). In between these scenes, the film takes on a slow pace, and uses all its breathing room to let the story and narrative flow.

Despite its pace, the film manages to maintain interest (and maintain tension) through its story. It does a phenomenal job at taking the core theological concept and weaving a tale out of it: a tale that feels plausible and realistic. In spite of that, it really instills the fear in the viewer; the on-screen deaths and the off-screen implications help build the tension and dread in the audience on a psychological level, and that makes it very effective as a horror story. It helps that the story and characters are thoughtfully developed.

This film looks really classy, with decent photography and editing. Acting is great; Gregory Peck is impeccable, and everybody fulfills their roles well.  Writing is strong. This production has adequate and real-looking sets, props, costumes, and locales. Music is epic!

4.5/5 (Entertainment: Pretty Good | Story: Perfect | Film: Very Good)

Film Review: The Devil's Advocate

"You sharpen the human appetite to the point where it can split atoms with its desire; you build egos the size of cathedrals; fiber-optically connect the world to every eager impulse; grease even the dullest dreams with these dollar-green, gold-plated fantasies, until every human becomes an aspiring emperor, becomes his own God... and where can you go from there?" - Al Pacino

I was initially dismissive of this film; it was only the ending I truly enjoyed, thanks to Al Pacino's epic speech, Keanu Reeve's epic solution, and all the epic special effects that came out of the woodwork (or stonework as the case may be). While those few things jumped out at me, I regarded the rest of the film as a rather dry and boring procedure, bogged down by all kinds of dialogue and drama.

Upon repeat viewings, I learned to appreciate the film more. It does break up the monotony with the occasional fright scene, the occasional bit of sex and violence, and some interesting stylistic flourishes.

Above all, the story is very damn interesting. It does a terrific job of tying together courtroom drama with theology, drawing parallels with universal morality and cosmic justice. Thanks to the film's fantastic conclusion, it pulls it all off sublimely, and leaves enough room for thought and interpretation. The plot is well-developed, characters are decent, and the occasional subplot helps reinforce the overall story and drama.

The film has solid photography and editing, even if it does seem a little plain at times. Acting is fantastic: Al Pacino easily steals the show as the title character, while Keanu Reeves does his best to be earnest, and Charlize Theron flexes some impressive acting muscle. Writing is quite smart. This production has fine-looking sets, props, costumes, and special effects. Music is not bad.

4/5 (Entertainment: Pretty Good | Story: Very Good | Film: Good)

Short Story: House of the Waxing Moon Part II

Previously...

8:  Convergence 

    On the following day, Dr. Jennifer O’Rye came back with much information of the house.  She said, “I couldn’t find any architectural designs or government documents.  All they had on this house were the documents the realtors had, and they were too unreliable for me.  So I looked through some old maps and newspaper articles.  I do believe that there is something more supernatural here than simple benign ghosts.  First off, I guess I should tell you about the ley lines.”
    “Ley lines? What are those?” Sean asked.
    “Well, all over the Earth, there are lines of cosmic energy, which are amplified by manmade structures or landmarks.  This is usually seen with a line of churches, or a line of monuments.  Well, I’ve found that this town has an old church, perhaps a hundred years old, that lies in a perfect line with this house and several other great monuments of the world.  In fact, this house lies on five different lines; we may be standing on a supernatural convergence.”
    “So what do these lines have to do with the hauntings?”
    “The lines supposedly amplify the internal energies of the Earth, and ghosts are said to be a byproduct of these amplifications.  But there is something else worth noting:  that this house happens to lie in a perfect accordance to the moon.  I hypothesize that every time the moon rises, the house gains more energy than usual, and the ghosts become more powerful in their appearances.  That may explain the violence of the visions we all encountered.  That stream in the basement must be an infrared effect of the excessive energy, and the whispering could be an electromagnetic effect on our ears.”
    “But what of the newspaper with the morphing ink? And what about the opening of the basement wall and the lava that flowed from it?”
    “As hard as it may be to believe, I can only conclude that all the energy in this house causes these occurrences to surface as hallucinations.  The electromagnetic disturbances affect the mind in all branches of sensory, rather than just the sight or sound.”
    “I’ll be damned if it was all imaginary,” Sean muttered.
    “I’m sorry,” Jennifer said, “But it’s the most scientifically sound explanation I can give.”
    “I don’t care about science anymore! How do we get rid of it all?”
    Jennifer continued, “What I find odd is that this house, and this land, doesn’t have any special history.  This house is hardly a monument worthy of bringing out the energies of the Earth.  Mostly, it’s the churches, large structures, landmarks, and graveyards that hold that particular power of extraction.  I therefore think that there’s something about this house that was never documented, perhaps a burial ground, or a prehistoric relic, that this house can tap into.”
    “I thought you said it was all just hallucinations,” Patrick pointed out.
    “Well, I’m not sure I believe that myself,” Jennifer admitted, “But the hallucination theory is the only theory I have that’s scientifically sound.  Regardless, I do believe that there are real spirits here, and that they are not illusionary.  The ley lines must make them agitated or something.  They probably just want you to leave so they can wander around and bathe in the ley line’s energy in peace.
    “Listen, even though I couldn’t find much official documentation, I learned that this house has had a few residents in the past.  None of them have bought this house before.”
    “What?” Sean asked, “How’s that?”
    “I called the realtors, and they said that the residents thirty years ago never bought the house.  I can only assume that they built the house themselves.”
    “But what about insurance? Or what about getting an official house number, or something? Surely they must have registered this house with the state or the government or something.  How can there be no other documentation?”
    “They might not have been able to register,” Jennifer speculated, “After only a week since they moved in, they mysteriously disappeared.  The only body the authorities ever found was of the wife, who fell off the cliff in the back yard, and she landed hard on her back on a pile of rocks.  People speculate that the family had a quarrel and the wife committed suicide, and the other family members drove off, perhaps to another state, or maybe another country.  Have any of you met the neighbor, Ron McCellan?”
    “I have,” Anya confessed.
    “Has he told you about the street kids who broke in and resided here for a night or two?”
    “Yeah,” Anya answered. “He said that they left in quite a hurry.”
    “Yes, he told me that too.  These kids might have encountered the same hauntings we are experiencing right now.  They saw the power of this house and they fled.  But the singularly fantastic thing was that they left nothing behind.  There was no garbage, no drugs, or graffiti.  It was left the house the way they entered it.  That’s unusual for kids like that.”
    “The ghosts can clean up after us,” Sean mused, “that would be of some use.”   
    “But to what cost?” Jennifer asked. “It would take something really horrifying to scare off a bunch of stoned kids.  Otherwise, they’d mistake the hauntings for their own hallucinations.  I talked with some of the other residents in the area, and one old lady, who was too tired to call the police, said that she saw eight kids break into the house, and only five left.”
    “Do you think that the other three died here in the house?” Anya questioned.
    “I don’t doubt it, but no bodies were found.”
    Sean, Anya, and Patrick all shuddered.  Would they soon disappear just like the previous residents?  Would there be a bloody death in the fangs of the darkness that haunted this house, and then their traces removed forever?
    “Now,” Jennifer continued, “I think that it’s possible to somehow remove or at least find out what’s causing the trouble here.  We just need to find whatever’s projecting the ley lines here.  It’s undoubtedly in the basement, since it’s the coldest area of the house, and the infrared cameras pick up more entities down there than anywhere else.”

9:  The Fanged Creature

    The Ried family, combined with the four paranormal investigators, marched down to the basement with flashlights and the infrared camcorder.  Sean could almost smell the rotten stench of sulfur, making him quiver in disgust.  Searching the basement from top to bottom, the team investigated the whole area; they found nothing.  They couldn’t even find any imperfections in the walls or floor, much less any sign of a doorway.
    In dismay, the seven people ascended the stairs to the kitchen.  There, Jennifer suggested, “Maybe the entity or the ley line projector can only be visible at night, or when it wants to scare us off.  After all, the house gains more power when the moon rises.  I suggest we wait until later tonight.”
    Afterwards, all seven people departed to their separate destinations.  Frank and Henry went to a local bar to drink, Pat retreated to his room to read a book, Sean went to the living room to look at the classified ads in the paper, Anya went to a gardening store to pick up some colorful flowers, and Jennifer went to the laptop to watch the entities as they wandered invisibly through the house.  Hence, Mandy was left alone with nothing to do.  So she left the house and she strolled around the neighborhood.
    Eventually, she found a gate leading out to the beach.  She went through it, down a long dirt road, and she started to walk along the sandy beach.  The cliff face ran parallel to the beach, with several houses looming at the cliff’s edge.  In the midst of those houses was the Ried’s house, which seemed ominous compared to the others.  Across from the cliff wall down the beach was the Pacific Ocean, which splashed wave after wave of cold water along the sandy beech. 
     There was a flock of seagulls standing around where the water came in, and there were speaking their little seagull language, which was projected well in the crisp, windy air of the sea.  They were ‘Conversing,’ as Mandy’s father would have said.
     Oh, good God, don’t you even think about that now!
     But she did.  She thought of her father, the drunken lowlife that dominated her life.  Long ago, her mother died of an illness, but Mandy had the strong feeling that it was her father that killed her mother in some discrete fashion.  She could recall how, months after the death of her mother, the father would just sit there in the couch in front of the TV, watching late night football, drinking beer after beer, eating pretzels, chips, and peanuts.  This man made constant demands, for more food, more drinks, more chores to be done; if these demands were not met, he would beat her and threaten her.  From that time on, she was his slave.  She was held responsible for everything, including the laundry, washing the dishes, cleaning the messy apartment, doing the grocery shopping, feeding her father, and even working for money.  If he was even more demanding, he would have asked for a sponge bath, or worse.  Thank God that never happened, otherwise she would have lost her mind.
     It wasn’t until a year ago when she finally decided to ditch her father and run away.  While she was taking the trash out, she dumped the trash into the can and she took flight down the road.  She kept running and running even after her breath expired and her abdomen ached from cramps.  Continuing across the country, she hitchhiked and journeyed all the way to Oregon.  An orphanage not far from Glowhill accepted her.  After a few weeks, she ran away from the orphanage and joined the team of paranormal investigators.  They were at first doubtful of her abilities, but she eventually proved her worth and intelligence.  Mandy read many books on the subject and she tested herself constantly, and thus she grew an intimate knowledge of paranormal phenomenon.
    Although it’s been a year since her imprisonment by her own father, she was glad to have left him.  She still had scars from her father’s beatings.  In her nightmares, she could still hear his deep intimidating voice calling for her.
    Tears rolled down Mandy’s cheeks as she recalled these painful memories on the beach.  She looked up and took a silent vow to think no more of her malicious father.
    That’s when she heard his voice again, and this time it was all too real.
    “Get ov’r here, you lazy bum!” a deep voice hollered at Mandy.  She whirled around towards the direction of the voice.  She saw her father.  He was fat and dirty just like he was a year ago, only now he was deadly pale with bloodshot eyes.  He looked more dead than alive.
    Fear rose up from deep in her breast, passing through her throat and up to her mouth.  She refrained from screaming.  Instead, she stood still and stated back at her father.
    “Com ‘ere,” the father said, “I need to speak to ya!”
    Her first impulse was to run, but she was frozen in place.  It was as if something was holding her down and freezing her with fear.
    “You were never a good child!” the father screamed, “You were just a piece of crap! You could never face your problems yourself, and that’s why you kept runnin from ‘em all!”
Listening to this fat man speaking, she realized that he was right.  She was a coward to run off, both from the father and from the orphanage.
     “And now, since ya’ve been gone, I’ve died in that house! I tried to make myself dinner, but I tripped and fell on the burning stovetop.  Because of ya’r cowardice, you will now pay!”
     Inexplicably, the father’s mouth opened to a gigantic maw, with huge sharp teeth like the fangs of a saber-toothed tiger.  Mandy finally screamed as her father lunged at her.  Darkness consumed her.

*

     Two hours passed.  Everyone in the house was wondering what happened to Mandy, since they did not see her since she left the house to walk on the beach.  They sent Patrick out to find her.
When he left the house, the sun began to sink past the horizon of the Pacific.  It gave a pink and red glow to the sky and the clouds, as it faded to dark navy blue.  The tides of the ocean were rising, creeping closer to the rocky cliff wall.
     Traveling to the beach, he started to patrol the area.  He walked up and down the length of the beach beside the water a few times, almost imagining himself as a cop looking for a fugitive.  During his searches, he found that the water was creeping much closer to the cliff wall, leaving only about ten feet between the cliff and the water.  At this time, he decided to go back home with a negative report.
     That was when he heard the whispers again.  He looked up at the sky, which was now dark purple as the sun sank into the Pacific Ocean.  He saw a crescent moon rising slowly over the cliff wall, and he knew that what evil that resided in the house was regenerating its powers.
     Finally, he saw Mandy swimming along the surf of the water.  Pat was about to call her name, but she hollered first, “Hey, Pat! Come here, the water’s great!”
     Walking to the water’s edge, he stuck his finger in the water.  It was chilly.  He looked back up and found that Mandy was walking toward him.  She was soaked in cold salt water, and her clothes were clinging to her body, showing outlines of her slim body and her breasts.  He found it quite striking.
     He stammered, “I think we should go back to the house.  Everyone’s worried about you.  Where have you been?”
     “I’ve been swimming,” she said with a smile, “Want to join me? The water’s great.”
     “That water’s cold.  You could freeze to death in there.”
     “So?” she asked.  He felt there was something unnatural and cold about her voice.
     “I think you should come home and take a shower or something before you catch hypothermia or something.”
     “No.  I want to stay here.  You want to join me?”
     “No, I really think you should come back to the house.”
     “Yeah? Well I think you just need to get wet!”
     “What’s with you? You’ve been swimming for two hours and you’re not cold?”
     “No, I’m not cold at all.  In fact, I feel exalted! Come swim with me.”
     “I’m sorry, but I need to get you out of here and back home before everyone thinks you’re missing or something.”
     “We can go home after we swim.”
     “Then we’ll be all wet and cold and they’ll think we’re crazy.”
     She threw her hands up from the water and splashed him with frigid water droplets.  She was laughing, but he gasped as the coldness truck him.
     “Jesus!” Pat exclaimed, “That was cold!”
     “Need some warming up?” Mandy asked.
     Before he could react, Mandy walked away from the water’s oncoming surf and she approached him.  Wrapping her hands around his neck, she kissed him.  He was surprised by the spontaneity of it.  Taking no heed, and he closed his eyes and he kissed her back.  It was an intensely stimulating moment for him.  He could feel Mandy’s body pressed up against his, with her legs rubbing against him and her breasts poking at his chest.  Her whole body was cold and wet with particles of salt, but he didn’t care.  He didn’t even mind that her lips were icy cold.  He even allowed his tongue to enter her mouth, but he withdrew it when he felt the unmistakable presence of fangs.  He opened his eyes, and he found that Mandy’s eyes were open as well.
     They were open and glowing red.
     Blood red.
     Suddenly, he pushed her away.  She gave a short cry as she fell on the sand.  While his heart was pounding in terror, he exclaimed, “Mandy, what the Hell are you?”
     “Hell is right!” Mandy replied in a raspy, unnatural voice.
     Mandy transformed.  Her mouth opened wide to reveal the large saber-toothed fangs, and the maw jumped out of her gums.  Patrick realized with certainty that this was the same demon that he encountered that one night he went to use the restroom.  It was the same fanged creature that tried to devour him! He screamed as the fangs lunged out and came down upon him.  Clamping down on him, he was stabbed with frigid spikes of coldness again.  The apparition disappeared in a brilliant streak of crimson light, but he was still screaming.  Mandy’s body was limp on the sandy beach. 
     That was the one final incident that convinced him more than ever that this strange supernatural force must be destroyed.

*

     After overcoming the shock on the beach, Patrick returned to the house.  Upon entering the house, he was confronted by his mother; she demanded to know why he was dripping wet and cold, and whether or not he found Mandy.  When he told her his story, she was most distraught.  She passed the account to Sean and Jennifer; Sean was upset to hear of the incident, but Jennifer was solemn to hear of Mandy’s untimely passing.
     “So this being can possess living bodies,” she deduced.
     “Actually, she was already dead,” Patrick clarified.  He then made the connection between her premature death and her apparent lack of body heat.
     “Clearly, whatever is in this house wants us to leave.  It’s trying to scare us out."
     Sean muttered, “I’m just about ready to leave this joint.  It’s a sad thing, really, because this was the best house deal in the whole neighborhood, and I was going to apply for that job at the local plant.”
     “No.  If we can locate the source of these haunting, we can stop it.  Hopefully, this place will be free of supernatural phenomenon for a long time.”
     “Do you think you can succeed?”
     “I want to take the time now to investigate the basement further.  From all the readings I’ve received, we have definitely picked up some excessive supernatural activity down there.  Now that the moon’s coming out, we might be able to see something.” 

10:  The Rune Stone 

    Jennifer, Frank, Henry, Anya, Patrick, and Sean passed through the kitchen and proceeded to the basement door.  They brought along a camcorder with an infrared filter, hoping to catch video documentation of the anomalies.  Just as the six of them were about to descent into the basement, there was a faint smell of sulfur and molten rock.  Opening the basement door, they found themselves staring down at a rushing river of magma.  Spewing from a fissure in the wall, it illuminated the chamber in a crimson and orange tinge.
    “I can’t tell if that’s real or fake,” Sean remarked, “Just like that knife that flew into my head.”
    Jennifer speculated, “It sure seems real.  The entity residing here must have the ability to alter all of our senses so we can perceive this.  I’ll bet that if we walk through the lava, we may feel the immense pain, but we won’t be physically hurt.”
    “Yeah, I’ve always wondered how it felt like to get your legs melted off,” Frank mused.  Henry chuckled at that comment.
    “Perhaps we should douse it all with water,” Sean suggested. “It’ll all just cool off and turn to plain rock, right?”
    “Not it it’s unreal.  I’m going to test it.”
    She started down the steps.  Frank asked, “Is this a good idea?”
    “I’m confident that nothing will happen to me,” Jennifer replied, trying to mask the uncertainty in her voice.
    At the end of the stairs, she crouched at the last step and regarded the lava.  The heat was rising up at her face, bringing the volcanic smells into her lungs.  Ignoring the fright that filled up her body, she reached out with her index finger and reluctantly touched the surface of the magma. 
The scalding liquid engulfed her finger, and all at once, the pain shot through her hand.  Screeching in torment, she withdrew her hand.  With the sharp pain she felt, she refused to even look at it.  She imagined it was reduced to a bloody stump.
    Sean came up behind her to see what the problem was.  Jennifer cried, “My finger! It’s been burned off!”
    Sean remarked, “It looks fine to me.”
    Finally looking down at her hand, Jennifer saw that it was indeed intact.  She muttered, “So, it was just an illusion.  We must keep this in mind.  Anything we see emanating from this place could be nothing more than a harmless projection.”
    “Right, mind over matter,” Sean said, “like walking on hot coals.”
    Behind Sean and Jennifer, Frank came down the steps and blurted, “What’s the matter? You screamed like a banshee!”
    “I was utterly surprised,” Jennifer said, “There’s nothing to fear here, the lava’s fake.”
    Afterwards, she turned back to face the lava river, and started towards it.  Without hesitating, she hopped to the basement floor, forcing herself to ignore the illusionary magma.  With her focus and discipline, she felt nothing.  The fluid splashed against her legs and smoke was billowing from it, but there was no pain.
    Seeing this, the other six people came down the stairs and reluctantly stepped on the floor.  Already seeing Jennifer crossing the floor, they knew that the lava was not real, so they were unaffected by it.
    At the other end of the room, Jennifer inspected the fissure in the concrete wall, from which the magma was pouring out of.  It was a few feet wide, and it appeared to lead underground.  As everybody gathered around the opening, the magma faded into wisps of red and orange light, which dissipated in the air.  Within the cleft in the wall, purple light dimly shone through the underground hallway, showing a passage lined with columns and arches.
    Jennifer motioned for the other six to follow.  Together, they all treaded down the macabre stone hallway.  It was completely dark ahead.
    They traveled for quite a distance westwards.  The hallway felt real and provided solid footing, but Jennifer realized that the cliff wall was somewhere ahead.  There was neither a dead end nor an opening.  The hall just kept extending forward, even though it appeared to extend beyond the cliff wall and over the beach.
    After another ten yards, the hall ended with a gothic archway, and there was a large nexus ahead.  The large chamber was illuminated by a hidden crimson glow.  There was a large circular stone platform floating over a massive pit of darkness.  On the stone platform was an engraved star with its points stretching to the edges of the circular dais.  In the center of the star was a large rock, with glowing red rubies embedded on its surface.
    As the seven people entered the chamber, Sean asked aloud, “My God, what is this place?”
    “I don’t know,” Jennifer admitted. “I’m willing to bet that this is where the ley lines intersect.”
    Frank pointed to the star on the platform, “See this star? A star inside a circle; a pentagram.  It’s a symbol of Satan.”
    “I don’t like the looks of that,” Anya muttered.
    Sean mumbled, “Demons and devils, here in our house, of all the places on Earth.  Damn.”
    Anya was already whispering a prayer.
    “Hand me that camcorder,” Jennifer ordered, “I want to get footage of this place.”
    Henry passed the camera to Jennifer, and she promptly took it.  Pointing it all around the chamber, she recorded the scene on tape.  Looking through the viewing window, the infrared filters picked up a spectrum rising from the stone in the center of the chamber.  It was a vortex, rendered orange and blood red from the infrared filters.  Inside the eddy of light were apparitions and faces.  They were swirling around the chamber from the central stone and beyond the walls of the chamber.  It looked as though all these apparitions were spawning from the invisible whirlpool.
    Watching the scene, Jennifer was quite fascinated at first.  Then, a larger entity took shape in the middle of the vortex.  It appeared as a set of fangs, like a saber-toothed tiger, camouflaged in the crimson currents.  The set of sharp teeth seemed to stare down at her, bearing evil into her soul and arousing thoughts of death and destruction.  Despite all the rationality she could muster, she felt frozen in place, with fear taking over her body.
    Suddenly, the fangs lashed out, engulfing the entire camcorder screen with the blood red color.  Startled, Jennifer recoiled.  She looked at the stone in the middle of the chamber with her own eyes, but saw nothing.
    “What is it?” Sean asked.
    “There’s a spiritual vortex here,” Jennifer said gravely. “I fear that you don’t need a paranormal investigator; you need an exorcist.”
    “I don’t believe this,” Sean muttered, as he stepped towards the dominating stone with defiance.  Then, believing that the rock would answer, Sean questioned, “What do you want? Why are you here? Why can’t you leave us alone? Talk to me you damn ghosts!”
    With his words, the vortex became visible to all.  Sean stepped back surprisingly, and the other six gasped in astonishment.  In its purest form, the anomaly appeared multicolored with all sorts of faces and specters inside.  Then the fanged creature appeared, dripping with darkness, and triangular eyes that floated above the entity’s maw.
    The seven people watched as this entity appeared.  All at once, the fear rose from their hearts and into their throats, threatening to emerge as screams.
    The entity spoke in a loud booming voice that could shatter the world, “I AM THE GUARDIAN.  FOR MANY CENTURIES I HAVE KEPT WATCH OVER THIS DOORWAY SO THAT BEINGS OF THIS WORLD MAY NOT DISTURB IT.  ASK ME WHAT YOU WILL, BUT YOU MUST LEAVE AFTERWARDS, AND NEVER RETURN.  IF YOU DO NOT, THEN YOU WILL ALL PERSIH.”
    “Guardian?” Sean asked over his fears, “Of what? What is this place?”
    “THIS IS THE DOORWAY FROM THE UNDERWORLD.  IT IS A TUNNEL DRILLED THROUGH A PRISON WALL SO THAT THESE TORMENTED SOULS MAY ESCAPE.  THIS IS A FINAL HAVEN FOR THOSE HELD AND TORMENTED IN THE REALM OF ETERNAL DARKNESS.”
    Jennifer stepped forward and asked, “The underworld? Do you speak of purgatory?”
    “IN FEEBLE MORTAL’S TERMS, I SPEAK OF HELL.”
    “Is this the source of all ghost hauntings then?”
    “FOR YOU IT IS, BUT NOT FOR THE WHOLE WORLD.  THERE ARE SEVERAL PLACES SUCH AS THIS.  ONLY A FEW HAVE DISCOVERED THEM, AND ONLY A COUPLE HAS SURVIVED, BUT THEIR STORY REMAINS UNTOLD.  ONLY A FEW HAVE SEEN THIS RUNE STONE AND ALL ITS GLORY.  I HAVE TRIED TO WARN YOU, TO REPEL YOU FROM THIS PLACE.  THE ONE YOU CALL MANDY HAS ALREADY PERISHED UNDER MY WRATH, AND MORE WILL FOLLOW.”
    As if echoing the entity’s words, the rubies in the rune stone flashed red for a brief moment.
    “If we promise to keep this place a secret,” Sean offered, “will you leave us be?”
    “NO,” the guardian boomed, “YOU HAVE SEEN THE RUNE STONE.  YOU KNOW THE SECRETS OF THIS HOUSE.  FOR THIS IS THE HOUSE OF THE WAXING MOON, AND HERE THE WORD OF A MORTAL IS NO GOOD TO ME.  YOU MUST LEAVE BY THE NEXT RISING OF THE MOON, OR YOU WILL ALL DIE.”
    Jennifer turned to the group, and she said, “At lease we know that’s causing your problems.  If we can destroy this rune stone . . .”
    The guardian gave a deafening roar that could break ear bones and make lions shiver in fear. “HOW I DESPISE YOU MORTALS! THE RUNE STONE IS NOT OF THIS REALITY, IT A PORTAL FROM A REALM UNLIKE THIS ONE!”
    Suddenly, the stone platform became transparent, and the seven people could look down at the distant beach below, now flooded with the tidal waters.  Anya was whimpering with dread, while the others starred down at the scene in astonishment and horror.  Then the platform became opaque again.
    The guardian continued, “YOU CANNOT DEFEAT THAT WHICH LIES BEYOND REALITY, FOR ALL YOU SEE HERE IS IMMORTAL.  YOU MUST LEAVE.  YOU CANNOT WIN AGAINST ME!”
    Sean stepped forward, even though Anya reached out to him to make him stop.  Approaching the guardian, he shouted boldly, “We will never leave, you oversized set of dentures! People go to Hell for a damn good reason, and you let them off like they’re all innocent! What do you think the Devil thinks of all this?”
    “HE IS OF NO THREAT TO ME,” the guardian boasted loudly.
    “Is that so?” Sean shouted, “If these souls can escape from Hell so easily, then why does Hell exist at all?”
    Anya ran to Sean, and she whispered to him, “Sean, what are you doing? It can kill us all! We should really just move out and find another home.”
    “No,” Sean snapped, “I’ve let people walk all over me too many times before; my old bosses, my old teachers, my own damn parents, and we’ve suffered because of my lack of courage! But not this time! I won’t let this demonic set of teeth tell me what to do! You hear me, guardian! I will not give in to your plans!”
    “THIS ARGUMENT IS IRRELEVANT,” the guardian growled, “I PROVIDE AN ESCAPE FOR THOSE SOULS.  THEY ACCEPT IT GRATEFULLY, SO THEY CAN WALK THE EARTH AGAIN AMONG FELLOW MORTALS, WHIS TIME WITH NO BOUNDARIES OTHER THAN THE SKY.  ONE DAY, YOU WILL DIE AND YOU WILL COME TO ME, REQUESTING ESCAPE.  ESCAPE FROM THE HORRORS OF THE UNDERWORLD!”
    “That’s the damn problem!” Sean stated, “Hell is where men have to pay for their sins, so they are burned off.  Some stay for eternity, but I think, I believe, that most get a second chance.  Yet you deny them that chance!”
    “IT’S A SMALL PRICE TO PAY TO BE ABLE TO WALK WITH FELLOW MORTALS AGAIN, AND TO ESCAPE A FATE MORE HORRID THAN DEATH.  IT’S A FATE THAT YOU MAY NEVER FLEE FROM!”
    Having has lost its patience with Sean, the guardian glided toward him.  It opened its huge saber-toothed mouth.  Realizing his peril, Sean finally succumbed to the fear.  Screaming, he turned to run, but his movements felt sluggish.  His body was paralyzed with fear. 
Then, the large fangs clamped down on him.  At first, all Sean could feel were spikes of cold cutting into his body and making him shiver uncontrollably.  While he stood in the mouth of darkness, the fangs solidified, impaling him with cold, black ivory teeth.  He screamed in excruciating pain; blood poured from his wounds and dribbled on the stone platform.
    Everybody watched in terror and disgust as the guardian consumed Sean.  To them, he appeared to hover in midair as the teeth of evil clenched him over the stone pentagram.  While he was suspended there, he looked in torment at the six people watching.  Seeing Anya among them, he reached out for her, conjuring up happy memories of their marriage and their time together.
    The guardian growled in annoyance, and it clenched its teeth harder.  Protruding from Sean’s back, the fangs broke through the flesh, and more blood came out.  His entrails hung from the body.  At last, Sean’s last drop of blood fell from his body, and he was unclasped from the guardian’s maw.  He was pale white and cold.
    Anya shrieked in grievance, and Patrick starred in horror.  Dr. Jennifer O’Rye and her team were dumbfounded and terrified by the sheer power and threat that the guardian presented. Sean’s body remained still on the blood-soaked platform, a martyr of the house of the waxing moon.
    “REMEMBER, YOU HAVE UNTIL THE RISE OF THE NEXT MOON,” the guardian boomed.  Then the giant apparition disappeared into the multicolored vortex, which eventually receded back to the rune stone.
    Losing her self-control, Anya ran toward her husband’s body, with tears running from her eyes.  Jennifer, Henry, and Frank stood there with their heads bowed in respect for the dead, and Patrick was still paralyzed with terror.  Grasping Sean’s frigid hand, Anya wept for a long time.
    Then there came a growling of the guardian, threatening to return with angry vengeance.  Everybody fled the chamber in fright.  Only Patrick remained still as everybody ran back down the passage they came from; he was still struck with disbelief and grief over his father’s death.
    He saw the guardian’s fangs materializing in the center of the chamber.  With that brief warning, Pat turned and ran.

11:  Night of the New Moon

    Running from the basement, everybody gathered in the kitchen.  While they caught their breath, they assessed the situation.
    “Tomorrow is a new moon, so we have at least tonight and tomorrow night to plan,” Jennifer said.
    “Plan what?” Anya cried, “You don’t mean to tell me that you want to try and destroy that thing! It’s immortal! It’ll destroy us before you even have a chance to lash at it!”
    “But it fluxes in and out of reality.  It came into reality only when it killed Sean.”
    “That’s my husband you scientific bitch! I’d appreciate it if you show some respect! He was brave enough to confront it! You can never have the courage he had!”
    “I’m sorry, I truly am,” Jennifer stated solemnly. “But we must focus our energy to destroy this thing and its rune stone.”
    Don’t you get it? This thing will kill you before you can even tell it to go to Hell!”
    “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Calm down, woman!”
    Unable to come up with a reply, Anya simply stood there with tears welling in her eyes.
    “I think that if we can somehow reach the other side, we can have the forces of the ‘underworld’ take care of this creature.  I’m sure that Sean was right about Hell,” Jennifer remarked.
    “You mean that one of us should go to Hell?” Frank asked.
    “Yes, one of us should go to Hell and tell Satan about our situation.”
    “That’s crazy,” Henry blurted, “Nobody can waltz there and just tattle to the Devil.  He’ll shove you in the burning lakes before you can even say a word.”
    “Yes, he who goes to Hell becomes slaves of the Devil,” Frank said.
    “Perhaps,” Jennifer pondered. “But what if we used the vortex?”
    “That vortex goes only one way; out of Hell,” Frank argued, “We would need to commit suicide in order to get there, and that’s an automatic eternity.  There must be a way to defeat the guardian without going to Hell first.  If it can flux in and out of reality, then we must lure it into a trap.”
    “What on Earth will a trap accomplish?” Anya asked, still shaking from recent events. “No cage can hold that thing!”
    “That’s why I wanted someone to travel to the underworld,” Jennifer clarified.
    “Do you all even realize what you’re saying?” Frank exclaimed. “You want one of us to commit suicide! That’s insane! We don’t know what’s on the other side; it’s a one-way trip! If we even see the Devil, he won’t even give us a chance to explain; he’d just chop off our heads for all eternity! Now that’s a damn smart idea!”
    “I still think it’s worth a shot,” Jennifer said. “The guardian has already taken several lives, and it’ll continue to do so until it can be brought to its appropriate justice.”
    “I want no part of it,” Frank stubbornly refused.
    “Henry, what do you think of all this?”
    “I don’t know,” Henry stuttered. “It’s all too heavy for me.  It’s Hell on Earth in this house, religious stuff, and it freaks me out.  I don’t know.”
    “Maybe we should just retaliate,” Anya suggested.
    “What do you mean?” Jennifer inquired.
    “The guardian is a force of evil,” Anya explained. “It is unreal, as you said, and I think that enough power of goodness will dispel it from our world.  It might work if we work together.”
    “So we’d just clasp our hands and hope it goes away?” Frank argued. “That’s more insane than going to Hell!”
    “It’s an attitude like that that will keep the guardian happy.  As long as we are not working together and arguing like this, the evil and the bad things of the guardian will get to our heads and drive us away.  That’s what’s supposed to happen.  But if we could concentrate on the happier, more righteous moments, we could probably stand a chance against it.  If we continue to think of morbid thoughts and argue, then it’ll torment and kill us all.  It know this, and that’s why it working so hard to scare us off.”
    “Our struggles may also piss it off,” Frank warned.
    “Actually,” Jennifer said, “the emotional aura of such resistance could agitate it enough to surrender, and it may even disrupt the ley line powers.”
    “I remember how the guardian growled when Sean looked at me,” Anya recalled, with tears swelling again in her eyes.
    “I’m surprised that a scientist like you believes in this emotional stuff,” Frank glowered at Jennifer.
    “I believe in ghosts,” Jennifer stated. “And now I believe that I may have a chance to prove their existence.  The recent events have led me to believe that anything’s possible.  Why are you so upset by all this?”
    “Because it’s bull, more bull than the Apollo moon missions,” Frank answered. “I will have no part in it.”
    “Good then, we’ll solve this ourselves,” Jennifer said.
    “Good luck then, I’m going to town,” Frank said, turning to leave.
    “Well, I suppose it’s settled then.”
    Upon leaving, Frank looked back and regarded the house.  It seemed so harmless; appearing like any other modern home on the waterfront.  Thinking about what he had witnessed gave a new, more morbid impression concerning the home.  He could almost see the shadows leaking out of its windows, and crimson streams of energy seeping from its foundations.  Instead of the house number 1066, he thought it read 666.  A feeling of dread settled in the core of his stomach.  Glancing at the ornate design on the front door window, he could make out the image of the guardian hidden in the pattern.  Frank blinked, and it was gone.
    Thinking about everybody else and their ludicrous ideas, he turned away from the house.
    “Hey Frank,” a voice hollered behind Frank.
    Frank whirled around and he saw Jennifer standing there.  He said, “What do you want now? I told you, I want no part in this!”
    “It’s too late for that,” Jennifer said in a rather raspy voice. “You have seen the rune stone, and you cannot be permitted to escape.”
    She grinned, revealing black fangs protruding from her jaws.  Frank tried to react, but his feet seemed stuck in place.  With fear penetrating his body, he was frozen stiff.  He tried to scream, but his own vocal chords choked and failed him. 
     The guardian pounced on him, eating him with its long black fangs.

*

    Hours later, Henry went out of the house on a walk through the town of Glowhill.  It was a small town, and it only took him minutes to walk down its main street.  He ended up stopping at a small establishment, known as JJ’s Rib Shack.  Entering the restaurant, the smell of roasting ribs and alcohol invited him.  He sat at the bar and he ordered a drink and a small order of boneless ribs.  When the order came, he devoured the food wolfishly.  As he completed the meal, he was surprised to see Frank seated at a table near the only window in the restaurant.  Henry got up with the rest of his beer, and he sat down beside Frank.
    “Whadup?” Henry blurted gruffly.
    “Hey, Henry, old friend,” Frank said softly. “What are the odds of meeting you here in JJ’s Rib Shack?”
    “It’s a very small town, you know.  So what’s eating you?”
    “It’s no longer eating me now, but it sure as Hell ate me hours ago.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Frank regarded Henry now with fierce eyes that glowed red.  Gasping in fright, Henry realized that he was really talking to the guardian.  He shivered as he felt his soul being penetrated by the glowing red stare.
    With an unnatural voice, Frank said, “Let it be know, mortal scum, that I will tolerate no resistance.  You must leave by the next moon-rise.  Else, you will be banished to the underworld for an eternity in the deepest and darkest pit, where even my rune stone cannot save you.”
    The glowing embers in Frank’s eyes faded, and he fell limp over the table.  His body was now pale and cold.  Fleeing the restaurant, Henry ran all the way back to the house.
    On the way, he vomited once on the street, feeling disgust and fear lingering in him.  When he got back to the house, he was wheezing and breathless.  There, he told the remaining three people of his encounter with Frank. 
Everybody could feel the gravity of their task.  There were only four of them left to deal with the guardian.  They could all die a gruesome death, and the rune stone would continue to bring unholy ghosts into the world.  This was proof that there was a thin line between a suicide mission and a mission of glory.

12:  Fall of the House of the Waxing Moon

    That night, everybody retired to their beds, and they dreamed of a thousand fierce and violent deaths.  They awakened from their nightmares, very late in the day.  It was ten o’clock, and they were weary and terrified.
    Silently awakening from their dreadful sleep, everybody gathered in the kitchen to eat a meager breakfast.  They all knew that the moon would rise again the next night, and the guardian would deliver its promise of death.  They spent their day judging whether it was wiser to spend their lives running and living through life to its fullest extent, or if they should risk a charge against the guardian and end the nightmares that have been plaguing this house for countless of years.  They had already made an agreement to spend tomorrow trying to defeat the guardian, but second thoughts floated around their heads menacingly, bringing thoughts of gory deaths under the awesome supernatural powers of the guardian.
    Throughout the house, the whispers of the escaping ghosts were floating about.  In the dark corners of the house, the dark shape of the guardian was looming, and grim shadows distended through unoccupied rooms of the house like ink.
    “You know, we might not be able to kill it or anything,” Henry stated. “How do we know if this psychokinetic stuff will work?”
    “We might not have enough emotional power to defeat the guardian,” Jennifer agreed.
    Anya explained, “It can’t be too hard to stand against the guardian.  We just need to cherish all the good moments of life, fighting the darker thoughts away.  We must also understand that the guardian and its rune stone are not real, and it therefore cannot harm us.”
    “Just like the magma in the basement.”
    “We can practice it now,” Anya suggested.
    “So we just sit here and recall the positive experiences, and we push away the bad thoughts?”
    “Basically.”
    “I hope this works.”
    Sitting still in the room, Anya focused hard on the various highlights of her life.  She thought of her marriage with Sean, the birth of Patrick, and all the times of fun and happiness that she experienced with them both.  Any thoughts of death and terror receded into a deep secluded corner of her mind.  Almost instantaneously, all her doubts faded.  The background whispering of the fleeing ghosts vanished, and the shadows that flooded into the house receded into the corners of the rooms.
    “Well, I’ll be,” Jennifer said, “I have no fear now.”
    “The whispering is gone,” Henry noted. “It is effective after all.”
    “I told you it would work,” Anya said with pride. “We have another day before us, and if we are to sacrifice ourselves to destroy the guardian, we should spend the day living life and having fun.”
    “This will give us a load of mental resistance that we can use against the guardian,” Jennifer said, “That’s a great idea.”
    For the next ten hours, the four of them spent the day sightseeing and touring.  They walked through the town of Glowhill, window-shopping and watching a movie at the local cinema.  Walking along the beach, they settled and picnicked on the sands.  Travelling to Tillamook, which was only ten miles away, they toured the cheese factory and wineries, before venturing through even more beaches.  It was a happy, adventurous outing that filled the four people with warm-hearted memories. 
     The dreaded anvil of death and destruction hung heavily over their heads, willing to crush them once and for all in the house.  Despite this threat, the four people enjoyed what was perhaps the last of their lives in happiness and laughter.  It later proved to be their most valuable weapon against evil.

*

    Later that day, everybody returned to the house, feeling content and happy.  Jennifer was in the living room, relaxing.  There was a Bible on the coffee table; she picked it up and started to read it out of curiosity.
    When Anya entered the room, Jennifer looked up and said, “It’s been a long time since I last read this book.  Science can really bring you away from this.”
    “I haven’t been reading it much either,” Anya confessed. “Given the new situations, it might be a good idea to say a prayer or read a passage.”
    Jennifer nodded as she read through the Bible.  She thumbed through the ending pages of the book, searching for a passage in Revelations.
    “There was a passage I once read about when I was a teenager.  It was in my mind since, where is it?” she muttered.  Finding the passage at last, she dictated, “The beast also forced everyone, small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on his right hand or his forehead so that no one can buy or sell unless he had the mark, which is the name of the beast or the number on his name.  Revelations, 13 16.”
    “That’s rather grim,” Anya remarked.
    Jennifer walked across the room to the laptop computer.  There, she opened an image file of an infrared picture taken previously.  There was a streak of light from the basement wall to the other end of the picture.  Faces ordained the light.
    Jennifer ran a filter through the image, isolating a face.  On its forehead was a marking of the guardian:  a pair of long prongs, clearly resembling the guardian’s fangs.
    “Oh my God,” Anya gasped.
    “The mark of the beast,” Jennifer identified gravely. “The beast from the abyss, just before Judgment Day.”
    Anya remained shock, even after Jennifer closed the image file.  At last, she said, “I think we should have a prayer.”
    Henry and Patrick were summoned to the living room, where they all joined hands and bowed their heads in a prayer.

*

    Then it was ten o’clock at night, and the sun had vanished behind a thick veil of clouds.  Then the moon followed, chasing the sun through the skies, rising into the twilight illuminating everything in silvery light.
    Jennifer, Anya, Patrick, and Henry went to the basement, where the crack formed ethereally in the wall and magma was pouring out at a tremendous rate.  This time, there were black obsidian stepping-stones across the river of fire, leading to the arched halls.  Everybody crossed the flowing burning river and walked down the unreal stone passage.
    In the nexus, the four people stepped onto the hovering stone platform reluctantly.  Even though they trembled with fear, they approached the rune stone.  They could feel the dark power vibrating from it and its supernatural coldness passing in waves.  Once again, there was the compressed whispering of a thousand tormented souls, fleeing from the dreaded underworld via the rune stone. 
    From the rubies on the rune stone, the guardian materialized.  It seeped from the stone and appeared in its fullest, most solid form.  It hovered silently in the middle of the chamber.  Watching the black fangs take shape, the four people trembled fearfully.
    The guardian spoke, “HAVE YOU MADE YOUR DECISION? WILL YOU LEAVE ME BE, AND KEEP THE EXISTANCE OF THIS PLACE A SECRET?”
    “We will do no such thing!” Anya shrieked at the guardian, taking the example of Sean’s bravery as a motivation to break her fears and retaliate. “We will remain here, and you’re going to like it!”
    The guardian gave a sinister, booming laugh, “YOU ARE UNWISE, MORTAL SCUM! I WILL HAVE TO DESTROY YOU ALL, STARTING WITH YOU, ANYA RIED! YOU SHALL BE FOREVER DAMNED, AS YOU ARE BANISHED TO THE BURNING LAKES OF SULPHUR!”
    The guardian flew toward Anya with its large black teeth enclosing around her.  Keeping her mental defense strong, she held on to the cherished moments of her life, thinking constantly of the day they spent touring.  She thought again and again of Sean and Patrick, and their joyous moments together.  She thought only of the good and the righteous, repelling the bad and the unholy thoughts.  Her brain became a giant amusement park of bright and blissful thoughts. 
It was enough to halt the guardian in its attack.  It hung in the air above Anya like the jaws of death, but unable to devour her completely.
    The guardian was growling, and it echoed throughout the chamber.  Anya, Patrick, Jennifer, and Henry fought back with thoughts of righteousness.  The combined attack worked, and the guardian moved back to the rune stone.  With her mind still streaming positive reflections, Anya gave a sigh of relief as it backed away.
    “YOU ARE VERY STONG MINDED, AND I HAVE UNDERESTIMATED YOU.  BUT I WILL HAVE IT KNOWN THAT THIS RETALIATION WILL CONTINUE NO FURTHER.  BEHOLD MY ARMY!”
    With these words, the vortex became visible:  a swirling rainbow of faces and spirits.  The spirits parted from the vortex, and they came onto the four people as an army.  The spirits were transparent men and women, each bearing the marks of the guardian on their foreheads, walking slowly but dreamlike towards the four that resisted the guardian.  Gathered into a large mass, their formation resembled a large asymmetrical beast.  As they moved on them, Anya and the others back-stepped to the edge of the platform, where darkness loomed below.
     Henry, who let his mental defenses drop for an instant, screamed out loud as evil swept through his mind.  Overwhelmed, he stumbled and plummeted into the darkness below, with his scream following him until it faded to silence.
     With Henry’s untimely death, the remaining three people had to double their defenses.  Visions of righteousness flashed through their minds at a rapid rate, but the gathering of souls did not yield.  As minions of the guardian with no solid thoughts of their own, they were immune to the psychokinetic reaction.  Advancing forward, they wielded dark swords that mentally sliced into minds of Anya, Patrick, and Jennifer.  Thoughts of death, suffering, and sorrow swept through their brains like a black wave.  If they even survived this encounter, the three of them would be traumatized for the rest of their lives.
     Grinning and laughing sinisterly, the guardian gloated, “AND NOW YOUR MIND AND YOUR SOUL WILL DIE, AND THE MARK OF ME, THE GUARDIAN, SHALL BE ON YOUR HEAD FOR ALL ETERNITY!” It boomed more laughter throughout the chamber.
     The group of souls closed in on Anya, Patrick, and Jennifer.  Their advance was only interrupted by a flash of crimson light.
     When the flash cleared, the souls of the guardian were gone.  The etched pentagram on the stone floor was now ablaze, and a new demon dominated the chamber.  It was riding a chariot of fire and brimstone with horses of lava and bridles of obsidian.  In the chariot was seated a red skinned creature bearing horns and an ominous ivory crown.  In its hand was a pitchfork red hot with immense heat.  Anya and the others lamented when they identified the creature as Satan himself.  For releasing so many souls from his unholy kingdom, the Devil had come to deliver justice to the guardian.
     The guardian gave a bloodcurdling scream as it dissolved under the devil’s powers, eradicated from the ranks of Hell forever.  Laying his pitchfork on the rune stone, the Devil made it explode in a brilliant burst of flames; rock chips and shattered rubies flew out in all directions.  Then, the platform shattered into particles and shards of rock, and the chamber itself disappeared.
     As Anya, Patrick, and Jennifer were observing the events, they saw Sean seated next to Satan in the chariot of fire.  They knew what happened beyond life, that Sean had brought the devil to this place to destroy the demented guardian, and save them all.

*

     The house of 1066 exploded in a large fireball, throwing debris of wood and slate across the neighborhood.  The explosion was silent and it happened very slowly.  A giant crimson shockwave rippled through the whole town, but it didn’t damage any other buildings.  Eventually, the fire and all the debris from the house dissipated to smoke, leaving no trace of the residence’s existence anywhere.  There weren’t even any foundations left.  The house, and the rune stone it hid for years on end, was gone.

*

     Finding themselves on the beach behind the house, Anya, Patrick, and Jennifer witnessed the explosion.  Watching the surreal blast, they knew then that it was all over.
     “I was certain that we wouldn’t make it,” Jennifer remarked.  “We have Sean to thank for catching the attention of the Devil, so he can take revenge on his own rogue demon.”
     “Freaky,” Patrick muttered.
     “Let’s not think of it anymore,” Anya said with exhaustion in her voice. “It’s all over.”
     They noticed four other figures walking further down the beach.  It was Sean, Mandy, Frank, and Henry, apparently liberated from death and resurrected.  They all converged on the beach, and there was an exchange of hugs and kisses and handshakes.
     “I’ll never blame the government for cattle mutilations again,” Frank uttered profoundly.
      “My God we’re all alive now!” Sean exclaimed happily.
      “What should we do now? We’ve got no home, and you’re still unemployed,” Anya asked him.
     “You three can join our team of supernatural investigators,” Jennifer suggested. “The guardian, the beast of the abyss, is gone, but he mentioned the existence of other rune stones.  They must be found and exorcised appropriately.”
     “We can train you,” Mandy offered.
     “I just met the Devil.  I think I can handle anything,” Sean said.
     From that day onward, the seven of them embarked on a career in finding, studying, and destroying the mysterious rune stones scattered around the Earth.  After all they had witnessed in the house of the waxing moon, they understood the stones’ powers and implications.  With all they learned, they tuned their minds and hearts to combat evil in all its forms.
     In Glowhill, when the moon rose into the sky every night, whispers could still be heard.  They were whispers from the underworld, as spirits sought for the rune stone that once dominated the house of 1066.  Rushing through the underworld, they sought an escape from ultimate punishment, but only found a dead end.  Their cries of torment could still be heard amidst the twilight.

Copyright 2001, all rights reserved.