The Depths of the Hollow (Mercy Falls Mythos Book 2) Read online

  This had gone easier than he’d thought. He picked him up, lugged him over his shoulder, and strode out the door, flying off into the night.

  

  Arianna Genovese had been stunning most of her life, but now with her vampiric powers she could use her sex appeal to full effect, such so that men would not be able to resist her at all. This was the case with her new victim, a twenty-two year old single male- bachelor of sorts- healthy, virile, and a possible womanizer; the perfect prey and, eventually the perfect predator.

  She didn’t even have to speak when she knocked on the door. Arianna put on her sexiest, poutiest, hands-on-her hips come hither look, and simply waited for the guy to look through the peephole. He opened the door.

  “Well, heeelllooo,” he said, “And who might you be?”

  “That depends on who’s asking,” Arianna said, winking at him. “May I come in?”

  “Well sure,” he said, “but...”

  “Thanks sailor,” she said, pushing past him.

  “Who the fuck is this?!” a female voice shouted

  from the other end of the room.

  Oh great, he’s got a date over. Arianna had to admit, she was pretty hot. The man had good taste, even if she was just a tad skanky.

  “Well,” the man said, holding his hands up, “I was just about to ask...”

  “You let a total fucking stranger into your place, and you don’t even know who she is?” the girl shouted.

  “Well, it is my fucking place, so chill!”

  “What the fuck did you just say?!”

  Arianna looked at her coolly, raising one smoky eyebrow and motioning delicately with long, elegant fingers, “I think he just told you to chill... bitch.” Even as both their mouths dropped open Arianna slapped the girl across the face so hard she went soaring halfway across the room, skidding sideways on the carpet.

  “Hey now, that’s...” the guy started. “Wait a minute, how did you...?”

  “Less talk, more action,” Arianna said, wrapping her hands around his throat and lifting him off the floor. She threw him against the wall, and he collapsed, dazed and half conscious. Arianna ran up to the girl, who was lifting her head up in amazement, the rug burn on her side already smarting, and the sharp sting from the slap burning like hot coals, and literally kicked her face in, all her features becoming a bloody inverted pulp, her eyes crossing inward and meeting in the center, her nose non-existent.

  “Oh God!” the man screamed hysterically, awake now, “What the fuck did you do?! Oh Jesus!”

  “I did you a favor bubba.” Arianna walked to him, crouching down to where he still sat against the wall. “Now give momma a kiss.” She grabbed his hair and yanked his head sideways, forcefully, burying her teeth in his neck. He cried out, resisting, but not much. She tore her shirt open,

  baring her naked breasts, forcing one into his mouth.

  “Bite!” she said. He sucked on it, delirious.

  She smacked him. “That feels good, but I said bite it!” He did.

  “Harder!”

  When she was sure he wasn’t going to bite hard enough, she seized his jaw and the top of his head and forced his mouth to lock onto her breast tighter. His teeth finally broke skin, the blood trickling out.

  “That’s better! Drink!”

  She was suckling him, blood coating his mouth and tongue, staining his teeth. He recoiled, falling back, away from her.

  “What the fuck?” he said. “This is sick. What did you do to me?”

  Arianna smiled. “Nothing you won’t thank me for.”

  He gazed at her wonderingly, his head swimming, and passed out.

  

  Rusty Spangler liked his assignment. He got to turn the sweet little tart with the ten year old boy. A blonde beauty with a cheerleader body. At least she didn’t let herself go after having a kid, like so many other mothers. She was a bonafide MILF.

  Getting to the boy was easier than he thought. Damned if he wasn’t just stepping out the door, carrying a big old trash sack as Rusty approached the house. The mother was yelling something at him.

  “All right! All right!” the boy was shouting back, “I’m taking it out already!” Rusty ducked down behind the hedges in front of the house.

  “Hey,” Rusty whispered.

  The boy looked around.

  “Hey! Over here!” Rusty called.

  The boy approached the hedge cautiously. Halfway

  there, he shook his head, frightened, about to run back in. Rusty couldn’t let that happen. He quickly leapt over the bushes, bridging the gap between them, tackling the boy to the ground. Rusty covered his mouth before he could scream, pulled out his rusty switchblade, and held it to his throat.

  “I only want one thing from you boy. Invite me in and I won’t slit your throat from ear to ear.”

  The boy’s eyes opened wide, and he shook his head. He could tell the boy was thinking of his mother now, not of himself. Rusty liked that. Rusty liked that a lot.

  “Do it!” Rusty said. He let the knife trace a fine line across the boy’s neck. “If you scream, I’ll kill you right here.”

  The boy opened his mouth to speak, and Rusty saw the boy knew he meant it.

  “Are you a vampire?” the boy said with a fearful fascination.

  Rusty smiled, and then laughed. “Yes, aren’t you the clever one.”

  “Bobby, what’s taking so long?” his mother called from inside the house.

  “Do it, do it now,” Rusty said.

  “Just don’t hurt her. Turn me if you have to, but not her.”

  “Fine,” Rusty lied.

  “Okay,” Bobby said, “I invite you in.”

  “Thank you,” Rusty grinned. He was about to slit the boys throat when the mom stepped out into the light at the doorway.

  She called for him again, and then she saw.

  “Mom, run!” Bobby screamed. “Call the police! He’s a vampire!”

  Oh crap! He so wanted to do this quietly. Rusty picked the boy up by his collar, running with him through

  the doorway, knocking over the mother, and slamming the

  door behind them.

  “Stupid bitch!” Rusty said, showing his fangs, “You had to go and ruin everything!” Rusty threw the boy to the floor beside his mother.

  “Oh God,” the woman said, “Who are you? What are you?”

  “Didn’t you hear you stupid cunt?” Rusty screeched, “I’m a fucking vampire!” he cackled hysterically. He had his knife in one hand, and now he pulled a gun out with the other. “Now either of you makes another peep you’re going to get a bullet in the head. Or I can kill you slow, if you prefer.”

  “He’s lying!” the boy said. “He wants to turn us, don’t you?”

  Rusty shot the boy in the kneecap, shattering it to pieces. “Shut up you little fucker!”

  “You bastard!” his mother screamed, “What did you do to my boy?” She was crying. The boy sat on the floor, cradling his leg, sobbing and moaning, his face red.

  “Well, for one, he’ll never be able to walk on that leg again,” Rusty said. “You should teach your boy some manners. For another, you should shut up, because I’ve got bigger plans for you sugar tits.”

  “Someone will hear,” she said. “Someone heard the gunshot.”

  Rusty looked around, mocking her, “Yeah, who? You’ve got a nice secluded little bungalow here. I’d say there isn’t another house, for what... at least another mile?”

  He saw in her face it was true. “Oh girl, do I have plans for you. Take your shirt off honey.”

  “What?” she said.

  “You heard me bitch. Take the shirt off and tend to your boy’s wounds. I don’t want him bleeding to death. There’s so much more to see.”

  “Leave him alone!”

  “Oh, it’s too late for that. Now take the shirt off, use

  it to wrap his wound tight, and take the bra off too.”

  She shook her head in disbelief, complying. “You
’re a sadistic son of a bitch.”

  Rusty laughed, cocked his head up and to the side, and spat. He looked at her intently. “Oh, you don’t know the half.”

  

  It was two days later that Blake caught wind of the events of that night- Three incidents of home invasion, all in separate parts of town, taking place within hours of each other. The dead girl, shot through the window, the mother’s neck broken, and the father vanished. The other man who vanished, his girlfriend found dead. They left the gruesome details out of the papers, but he was able to obtain copies of classified police reports. Just when Blake thought it couldn’t get worse, he read about the boy who had been shot, beaten, and bludgeoned to death, but not before he was forced to watch his mother brutally raped in front of him. They only knew that because he was just barely clinging on to life when they found him, and told them as much as he could, before he went into a comatose state and died in the hospital. The mother had also vanished.

  Fulton Blake was not just revolted by their actions, he was angry, insanely so. He believed it was time to act now and so he made the call.

  “Carl, this is Blake. It’s going down, tonight.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  RETURN OF THE BULL

  The front door slapped open with a bang.

  “Jason!” Drakos shouted. He propped Berenice up with one arm while holding the child in the other.

  Jason and Sophia came running. They saw the bullet wound in Berenice’s left shoulder.

  “What happened?!” Jason exclaimed.

  “We ran into some trouble,” Drakos said, “but as you can see it wasn’t for nothing.” He passed the baby to Sophia. “Can you heal her?”

  “Of course,” Jason said. He grinned. “When I’m done, I have something to show you as well.”

  “Really?” Drakos said, interested, “I can hardly wait.”

  Removing the bullet and healing Berenice, he led them down into the dungeon.

  Chelsea Greene opened her eyes, confused by her surroundings. There were dirt brown and yellow rusted steel walls everywhere she looked. She found her hands and feet encircled by manacles.

  Jason led the other members of The Coven down into the dungeon.

  Drakos looked at the manacled pregnant girl, and laughed, “Oh splendid! The two of you have outdone yourself!” He looked suddenly dismayed. “You weren’t followed? No one saw you?”

  “No Lord, we made sure of it,” Jason said. Chelsea watched, amazed. They were talking about her as if she wasn’t even there. “There was a car crash. We had to leave the scene. We left her boyfriend in the car.”

  “Steven?” Chelsea said, hopeful. “He’s alive?”

  “Most likely,” Sophia said, “But he won’t be finding you, I’m sure.”

  “Who are you people?” she asked. “What do you want with me?”

  “All in good time,” Drakos assured her, “All in good time.”

  k

  “Hello! Hello! 9-1-1. Is there anyone there?” the phone on the floor of the car beneath the feet of Steven Jenkins bellowed. “I’ve got your location sir. I’m dispatching help. Officers should be on their way shortly.”

  Sheriff Jack Turnbull, on his way back into town received the call on his police radio, and drove to the scene. He came upon the disabled vehicle, billowing white smoke rising from the hood, probably due to a blown head gasket and an overheating engine. He didn’t think there was risk of a fire. The car was wrapped around a telephone pole, denting the bumper, and causing the hood to rise up in the middle in a sharp V. There was a teenage boy inside, unconscious. The sheriff opened the door, and attempted to rouse him. The boy groaned and shifted. Other than a welt on his forehead with partially dried blood he appeared to be generally uninjured, so the officer risked pulling the boy from the car, just in case, lifting him out from under his arms. He noticed the phone on the car floor. A female operator was squawking into it, so the sheriff sat the teen down on the ground, propping him against the side of the car, and picked it up.

  “Ma’am,” Sheriff Turnbull said, “I’m on the scene, please get me an ambulance and another officer.”

  “Yes sir Sheriff.” He didn’t even have to say who it was. That gruff, raspy voice was recognizable throughout the town. He was fairly recognizable in person as well, a tower of a man at six-two and all muscle, with a bald head and a concave brow, under which loomed a pair of black unmerciful eyes. At first glance he was threatening, but anyone who knew him personally knew he was kind, and a good friend to have. Those who knew him more personally knew he could turn into your worst enemy at the drop of a hat. This, along with his name, and his appearance earned him the nickname “the bull.” You didn’t want to cross his path when he was charging.

  The sheriff shook the boy gently trying to get him away from the car. Eventually he woke, looking up at the officer, puzzled. “What? Where? Chelsea!” he called, trying to get up.

  “Easy there pal! Is Chelsea your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah,” Steven said, wobbling to his feet.

  “Good. What’s your name kid?”

  “Steven. Steven Jenkins.”

  “Okay. What happened here?”

  “We were being chased. This guy and this woman, pretending they were cops... Where’s Chelsea? Where’s my girlfriend?”

  The sheriff said, “I don’t know, she’s not here. I need you to tell me exactly how it happened, maybe we can figure out where they took her.”

  That’s when Detective David Faraday arrived on the scene. The ambulance was two minutes behind him, its sirens sounding in the distance.

  “Bull, you’re back!” Faraday exclaimed.

  “Yeah, just got back.”

  Faraday assessed the scene. “Where’s the other car?”

  “Sped off I assume. Took off with the girlfriend.”

  “You’ve got to find her,” Steve implored. “She’s eight and a half month’s pregnant with our baby.”

  Faraday’s eyes opened. “I think I know who did this.” He pulled out his cell phone.

  “I want this car dusted for prints,” Bull said.

  “Already on it,” Faraday replied, calling for a team. The police radio in his car crackled to life. They were reporting an incident in the Supra-mart’s parking lot. The body of a girl was found.

  Faraday looked back toward his car. “Shit!”

  An officer replied, “On route, heading that way. I’ll take it.”

  The ambulance arrived. “Where’s the injured?” one of the EMTs asked.

  Sheriff Turnbull pointed, “Right there.”

  “Get the stretcher,” he told another. “Why is he standing?”

  “Because he stood,” the Sheriff said.

  “Let’s get him in here, right away.”

  “I’m questioning him,” the Sheriff said, “It’s crucial.”

  “You can question him later,” the EMT said. “We need to check him for internal injuries.”

  He watched as they loaded him onto the stretcher and into the waiting ambulance.

  Several minutes later the police radio squawked again. “Incident near Mills Park, multiple injuries, shots fired, two possible homicides.”

  “What in the hell is going on?” Faraday cursed.

  No one responded. Faraday was itching to take the call, but if the bull needed him here he’d stay.

  “You go,” Sheriff Turnbull said. “I’m going to follow the kid to the hospital, soon as the CSI arrive.”

  “All right,” Faraday nodded. “I’m glad you’re back,” he added.

  Jack Turnbull shrugged. “Not so sure I am.”

  k

  Despite where she was, all that Chelsea Greene could think about was her baby- if it could survive the stress, if they would hurt it. The four strangers were gone, for now, but she didn’t see a way out of her situation. They hadn’t hurt her and they’d come to feed her twice. She couldn’t be sure what they wanted, but it seemed more and more likely that they wanted her ba
by. And when they got it they would kill her. Her despair grew the more she felt time pass, the closer she got to the delivery. She was falling asleep on her feet, and tiring from placing all her weight on them, when the one they called Drakos, or Lord, came in and placed the hefty wooden chair, normally reserved for torture, under her. She was thankful for this small gesture, although she knew it was not for her benefit, but theirs. He said nothing to her, barely looked at her. She entertained the thought of head butting him when he leaned close, but that was crazy. She’d probably hurt herself more than him, and she’d still be manacled to this wall. They would kill her for certain if she tried anything. That was the kind of people they were. She knew this instinctively when she looked in their eyes.

  It’s not over, she thought. Someone will find me. She held on to that hope. It was all she had.

  k

  Fingerprints on the passenger’s side door handle and window revealed at least one possible attacker. Those prints were found to belong to a teen named Jason Korba, who had already established a history of petty theft, and was once known as a healer at a church in a small town in Greece. Turnbull didn’t care if he’d been Mother Theresa in a previous life. He was just some sicko kid now, who got his jollies kidnapping pregnant women for God knew what. Once Faraday filled him in on details, getting him up to speed on what had been going on in town, he was further disgusted. Like the previous suspect there were no records to show where he currently lived. There had to be a

  place where their witches’ coven stayed, and until they

  found the owner they wouldn’t know where that was.

  Besides looking for the missing girl and Korba the Teenage Witch, Jack Turnbull was going to make sure he went through public records to find out everyone who had emigrated from Greece over the last ten years to Mercy Falls and neighboring towns. They already knew the Zabat woman had spent some time in Salem. Then he had to sort through which ones had purchased homes, presumably something large to house a number of like minded people, but secluded enough to not draw too much attention.