“How old are you again?” Michael huffed and moved to go after Dewey, but he was stopped in his tracks by the growing pulsation of a red mist over The Alphabet King’s fallen form.
The metaphysical energy of the demon continued to emerge from the hole in his head, rapidly taking form. Its face could be seen jerking frantically back and forth as if searching for its next victim. Teeth bared, mouth oozing. Then its gaze settled on Elena, who stood her ground. With a hungry look in its eyes, the sharpening form of the pishtaco moved forward to seize her. Michael fired off two rounds, which passed through the mist. The creature turned to him and shrieked silently with a flash of red light. Michael stumbled back, arm up in self-defense.
At first, Elena stood firm during this exchange, then stepped forward unafraid, putting the demon off for a split second—long enough for her eyes to pulse orange light. The air in the tunnel seemed to pulse along with it as if a bass drum had just been struck.
“I say again, you are nothing but a low-level demon,” she stated it almost dismissively, shrugging a shoulder with confidence a little girl should not have gained at such a young age. She lifted a hand and pointed toward the entrance of the tunnel. “Go! Or you will be destroyed,” she yelled with the fierceness of a mature woman.
Sensing her power, Michael crouched back out of the way and watched in amazement.
She stood relaxed but poised before the manifestation of the demon. “NOW!” Her eyes pulsed orange again, this time illuminating the room enough to make Michael shield his vision.
The blurry eyes of the demon mist widened, the orange of Elena’s eyes washing out the red in his. Not wanting to be dissipated by the purity of a gifted child, it shrieked silently again before turning to flee the confines of the tunnel. Michael could only stare after it in disbelief, following its red glow as it fled toward the entrance. He turned slowly to Elena, who stood in place, head hanging, hair fallen around her darkened face. He walked cautiously to her, “I’m going to pick you up now, take you to your momma.”
Her head turned up—the child-like demeanor had returned. She gave him an imploring look and put her arms up. He grabbed her and trotted back to the ladder, back to the world.
𓂓
Sean had remained by the windows, exhausted, looking through the busted-out glass, transfixed by the deep sounds coming from the distant sky. Martha had done her best to comfort the two women who had emerged from the back room and stepped into the bloody aftermath of the fight in the hallway. After checking on Carmen, they stood in her doorway locked in a sobbing embrace.
Jackie was upright on her knees, with one hand resting on Clay’s chest. Sean thought he saw her hand moving rhythmically up and down, just slightly, almost imperceptible. She seemed distant, looking around in confusion. Her eyes had a faraway look. Perpetually stunned, her bloodied limbs and shoulders spasmed at uneven intervals.
Sean turned his attention back to the thunder coming from the sky. It sounded more like a repeated thumping than anything. A gunshot rang out from the direction of the room with the hatch. Sean jumped back in surprise. Jackie’s eyes came into focus and she instinctively lowered herself. Sean grabbed his rifle and sprinted for the room leading into the tunnel. In the back of his mind, he thought he heard Jackie yelling for him to stop.
He arrived at the door and turned his stance to aim the rifle inside. Nothing. He looked back down the hall to see Jackie leaning on the wall, head hanging, trying to will herself to move. Martha made her way up the hall toward him. Sean returned his attention to the hatch and took small steps into the room. Two more shots startled him, but they sounded distant as if they had come from deep in the tunnels.
Sean moved forward. He reached the line of sight down into the opening and made a small arc, searching for movement. He saw none. Unsure what to do, he moved closer to the hole, keeping the gun aimed. He reached the edge and knelt down, trying to get a look into the tunnel along the sight of his rifle. He saw movement, what looked like a mass of red mist. He fell back as a rush of stale air whooshed from the hatch and the mist rushed by him.
Martha had made her way back up the hall and waited near the doorway of the room containing the trap door. She watched the mass of red mist move past him, knocking him back as it did. His gun went off into the ceiling, but it did not distract Martha. Her eyes glowed orange as she reached out, setting the hooks of her intention deep into the pulsating red mass that undulated before her.
Its words filled her mind as the mist gathered itself to charge her. “You are next, witch.”
Martha steeled herself against its onslaught. Earlier, on her way in through the courtyard with Sean, she had sensed the Ouija on the other side of the building. In her mind’s eye, she had seen a pulsing orb of red energy trapped in the symbology of the board. She sensed—knew—it was the portal that had been used to summon this demon. She reached out with her intuition to free and then direct the energy of the board. The courtyard filled with red as a tear in the fabric of the Earthly Realm formed behind her.
The pishtaco moved toward Martha. “What do you know of my portal, witch?”
Martha responded by uttering the words she had found in the demonology books. Her voice rose in volume with a force her natural body did not possess. The orange of her eyes grew in intensity as the metaphysical energies surged around them. Each word struck the demon like a well-placed punch.
In a rage, the demon gathered its mist and charged at Martha. But she was prepared. “NO!” the demon shrieked as it was deflected by the strength of her intention and then drawn into the tear.
𓂓
Evan stood on the shores of the Ocean of Tar, staring down at the gash, willing the glassy surface to hold. As he did so, the hum of a low chant filled his consciousness from all around—a universal lyric chant from long ago intended to focus energy.
Evan turned, looked up, then back to the mountains. A group of humanlike entities, eyes glowing white, descended toward him. Each yielded a long sword, the blade glowing white. Each dressed in the military gear of a different era. Some he recognized, some he did not. But he knew, these were die Wächtergeiste.
One that stood out had gear that could have been from World War II. Evan’s eyes connected with this entity immediately, and it nodded to him. Evan knew now this had been the one Wächtergeist whose energy had been fueling him and Clay in the world of the living.
Evan heard a noise behind him and turned to see a tear in the fabric of the In Between. It was growing just above the gash in the Ocean of Tar. Through it, he could see an older woman from behind, black-gray hair tied up, shaking with effort, speaking words he did not understand as she used her intention to direct a fleeing demon into the tear. Free from its trappings, the demon was charging her. Evan knew it wanted to invade her psyche, twist its tendrils into her mind, and pull her down into its world of despair. Destroy her. With effort, she deflected the charge and, by drawing on the energy of the nearby Ouija, she had opened the portal and sent the demon tumbling by her and through the tear. It came through and fell to the glassy surface with a thud, like an octopus landing on the deck of a fishing boat. As the tear closed, Evan caught a glimpse of Martha looking in, brilliant orange eyes wide in wonder at the scene she must have witnessed.
Die Wächtergeiste moved to form a circle around Evan and the demon—the lyric chant growing in intensity. They raised their swords to point the tips at the fallen demon. Stunned, beaten... It could only shriek and squirm. The WW2 Wächtergeist turned to Evan. In his mind, he understood the voice. You may have the honor, great warrior.
And with that Evan moved over the Ocean of Tar and seized the demon by the throat. Tightening his grip, he slid the thrashing mass on the glassy surface toward the gash. The surface undulated in protest as if all who resided underneath fought against him from below. Evan fought along the glassy surface of the Ocean of Tar, straining to gain inch by inch as the pishtaco squirmed below him, ragged hands of the condemned boogeyman clawing at him. Evan felt nothing as a surge of white light flowed from the eyes of die Wächtergeiste who sought to infuse him with metaphysical strength and resilience. They closed in tighter as they directed their energies to flow through Evan so he might complete the task.
The chanting increased in intensity. It seemed to instill his energy with the determination to finish the task.
Evan’s gaze glowed with radiant intensity. Each eye erupting with the ferocity of a newly formed star deep within the dusty bowels of the Orion Nebula. He opened his mouth to scream with effort, but no sound came. With growing desperation, the pishtaco looked to his side as the gash approached. Evan wrenched his hands to turn the demon’s head toward the gash so he could see it. With a surge of effort, the beams of light intensifying from die Wächtergeiste, Evan shoved the demon’s head into contact with the gash.
Once its head touched the wound on the surface of the Ocean of Tar, the demon’s shrieks intensified. It was connected there now, bonded to the wound now consuming him headfirst, drawing him in like the contorted mouth of a serpent devouring its prey. Evan rose and watched it descend. Once through, the gash sealed itself and disappeared. The chanting stopped, and die Wächtergeiste, one by one, nodded to him, then motioned upward.
Evan sensed he could move on if he was ready. But he was not done—not yet.
They understood.
𓂓
Sean gathered himself and got back into a crouched stance, aiming the rifle into the tunnel. He heard footsteps approaching. A soft deep voice. As the sounds grew nearer, he could make out a man talking. “It’s okay, Elena, we are going to your momma now.”
Sean flicked the safety on and set the rifle down as Michael approached the opening, Elena in his arms. “Help her,” Michael said as he lifted the small child up, Sean reached down and pulled her up, planting her feet on the floor. Elena had a shocked look on her face and stood in front of Sean, unsure what to do. He nodded, then turned his attention to Michael, helping him up the ladder and out of the hatch.
Sean turned to see Elena had moved and stood in the hallway beside an exhausted Martha. He heard the wooden hatch doors shutter closed behind him. Then the touch of his brother’s hand on his shoulder as they walked out of the room to stand beside them.
Martha turned to see Michael giving her a hard look. “Was that a Bible Verse I heard?”
Martha nodded.
“I thought you weren’t a religious woman,” he said.
“Scripture is still a most effective way to rid the world of a demon,” she replied.
