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

  “What?” Amelia asked.

  “It’s Dane,” she said.

  “Dane? What about Dane?”

  “He’s in the janitor’s closet. He’s...” She couldn’t finish.

  “No,” Amelia shook her head, “No.”

  “I’m sorry honey.”

  Amelia broke down. Even in his confusion Ben looked up, his heart breaking for her.

  The police were called and the store closed down, roped off with yellow DO NOT CROSS tape, while the officers questioned everyone. Ben, still bundled up in bedding and sitting in the break room with the rest of them, had his clothes tossed into his lap by one of the policemen, a man in his thirties, with a high forehead, slicked back 70s hair, and a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth.

  “I assume these are yours. We found these in the bushes outside,” he said. Ben nodded.

  “I want you to go in the rest room there and put

  them on. Don’t try to scrub the blood off yourself. If I hear any water running, I will break the door down. If I so much as hear the toilet paper roll being moved I will break the door down, are we understood?”

  “Yes,” Ben said.

  “Good. I want a crimes scene unit. I want every place in here, and the bodies, dusted for prints, and all evidence gathered with a fine toothed comb. Get on it.”

  The manager approached him. “Do you think that’s necessary right now? There are a lot of distraught people here Mister...?”

  “That’s Detective Faraday. And you let me decide what’s fuckin’ necessary, all right there Charlie?”

  “Actually, it’s Chuck.”

  “Well, shut the fuck up Chuck.” Not waiting for a reaction, he called to another officer. “Please get me the Polaroid from the van Bill.”

  “Yes sir,” Bill said.

  “Good boy.”

  Ben came out of the restroom and sat next to Amelia, putting his arm around her shoulder. She initially recoiled, still in shock, and eased into Ben’s attempt at comforting.

  He didn’t remember anything, and that’s what he told them. They took big swabs of the blood off of him, and were sending it in to be DNA tested. Ben knew that none of it was his own blood, because he wasn’t injured, and he feared what they might find.

  “I’m sorry,” Ben told Amelia when all the police units and CSI were gone.

  She nodded. “Thank you.” There were tears still glistening in her eyes.

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know, but I feel like I may be responsible.”

  “You?” Amelia said, aghast, “You’re not capable.”

  “I thought that too,” Ben said cryptically. He’d find

  out soon enough. Detective Faraday would give him the results, whether he wanted them or not. His last words to him were, “Don’t leave town. I’m watching you.”

  

  “So, the store’s going to be closed for a few days while they continue searching for clues and until we get a... ahem, clean up crew in here,” Chuck Cohen, the store manager told him, “You’ll be called in when it re-opens.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” Ben granted. He spent a good portion of the rest of his day at the library, researching. He hadn’t stepped foot in a library since high school. He was surprised by all the changes, mainly the amount of computer workstations that were available to the public. This library not only had the option to search for books through the standard index card catalog file drawers he was used to seeing, but also through an online public access catalog. He opted for the physical cards. He found what he was looking for in the occult, supernatural, and horror fiction sections.

  Ben sat at one of the tables in the back with a stack of books with names like Moon Phases and their Meaning, and Lycanthropy: Myth and Reality.

  The moon is only physically a full moon for about a minute. The naked eye could not detect a moon that is 99.9% full without the use of a telescope. So the moon could look full for as many as three days. A waxing moon occurs when the moon is at least 95% illuminated, and waning when it is less than 95% lit. When the moon is on the opposite side of the Earth from the sun it becomes a full moon, reaching its highest point in the sky, and the apex of its illumination at twelve a.m. (midnight) in whatever time zone one happens to be in.

  Ben shook his head. Although interesting, he wasn’t sure how that helped him. Did that mean he could change again the next two nights, so long as the moon appeared full, or that the moon had to physically be fully lit on one

  side? He moved on to one of the books on lycanthropy.

  It was even less helpful, providing nothing but convoluted theories, ranging from moon madness, to people believing they can become wolves, to supposed actual transformations into wolves, or wolf-like creatures. If Ben had become a werewolf, he had known that he was changing last night, and had run out, shedding his clothes, and then possibly run back inside the Supra-Mart after seeing no available victims- or he was avoiding the ones he could see far out in the parking lot grabbing carts, running back inside in the hopes of avoiding people altogether, only to find two people to feed on. Did he still retain any semblance of intelligence in wolf form or was he a mindless beast? Ben was disturbed, accepting that he was something he didn’t completely understand, and couldn’t hope to control, and trembled.

  

  The detective called him in to the police station later that day to tell him what he’d found.

  “The good news is I didn’t find any of your fingerprints on the victims,” Detective Faraday said. Ben waited. “The bad news is the blood we found on your body matches both Dane Short’s and Marvin Meeks’s bodies.”

  Ben buried his head in his hands. The detective glared at him. “There something you want to confess?”

  “No,” Ben said. He changed the topic. “You guys work fast.”

  “Yeah, well there’s too much weird shit going on in my town. I’d like to get to the bottom of it.”

  He spit his chewing tobacco into a small waste-basket by his desk, and continued. “The darndest thing, I just don’t understand it, is we found animal hair on

  the scene, both on and around the bodies.”

  Ben stared. “What kind of animal hair?”

  “I’m not sure yet. They’re still looking into it.”

  “Looking into it?”

  “Meaning I don’t know yet. It’s undetermined.”

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t know yet if you’re a victim or the perp, but I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Since I don’t have anything concrete... yet, you are free to go. But this is a pending investigation, so remember what I told you before.”

  “Um, don’t leave town?”

  “Right you are.” Faraday made a clucking sound with his tongue, forming his hand into a gun and firing at Ben. “See ya soon.”

  

  “Do you think he’ll come back and question us?” Shaneka said.

  “I don’t know, probably,” Dominic replied.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Shaneka said. “White boy’s going to want to talk to the black people some more.”

  “Naw, that ain’t even right. Man’s just doing his job. You think he’s going to question us more because we’re black?”

  “Maybe. But you gotta admit, he was an ass.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you that. But I’ve been dogged by as many nice seeming cops as I have by asshole ones. Just ’cause he’s an ass don’t automatically make him racist.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Mine,” Dominic said. “If he comes to ask more questions, I’ll answer them. As long as he treats us all the same, I ain’t got no beef with him.”

  He pulled into the 7-11 parking lot.

  “I can’t believe two people died at our store,” Dominic said, “That’s some messed up shit. Now we can’t even shop there.”

  “True that. Man, seeing Amelia’s boyfriend all tore up like that has got me seriously freaking out.”

  “
I’m sorry you had to see that baby.”

  His phone rang as they were walking across the lot.

  Dominic answered it.

  “Is this Dominic Finch?” the caller inquired.

  “Yeah.”

  Shaneka looked at him.

  “It’s Detective Faraday,” he told her.

  After he hung up she asked, “Well, what does he want?”

  “He wants to ask us some more questions.”

  “Um-hum,” Shaneka said.

  “Don’t give me that um-hum shit.”

  “Let’s go get our groceries, and then we’ll go see him.”

  

  He knew he had to be proactive if he wanted anything to be resolved. The one thing common to nearly all the myths was that werewolves could be killed with silver. Ben wasn’t sure he even had anything silver in his place. The second, which held true in quite a few of the legends as well (though not as many), was that if you killed the werewolf that created you then you would no longer become one yourself. He thought that only worked with vampires, but what did he know? In some you had to kill the master, the first in the bloodline. He didn’t know which, if either was true, but if he could save himself and others by killing the thing that attacked him it was worth a shot. And if he had to do it, then he had to do it tonight, in the eventuality he changed again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE TAKEN

  Michael and Cassie Williams returned home to a nightmare. The babysitter was dead; her throat slashed and blood soaking into the carpet.

  “Oh my God!” Cassie said.

  Michael looked intently at her. “Alicia!”

  He ran up the stairs to check on the baby. Cassie followed. The crib was empty.

  “She’s gone,” Michael said.

  “Our baby?” Cassie asked. “What have they done with our baby?!”

  “Call the police,” Michael implored.

  k

  The child cooed, innocently and unreservedly, temporarily dismissing the trauma of its dislocation. Alicia was too new to the world to understand or even appreciate evil. She lay wrapped in a blanket, in a makeshift basket of twigs, leaves, and bamboo shoots. Eventually she would cry for her mother and father, not knowing why they were gone. She never spent more than eight hours out of their sight, most of those spent sleeping. But for now she was warm, her tiny belly full, and her diaper clean, and that was all that mattered.

  A cowled figure entered the dimly lit room, and hovered over her. Alicia Williams opened her eyes with rapt interest as the darkened face looked down.

  “Hello little one,” it said. The voice was masculine, soothing. The child could not detect the false note in its purpose.

  The man pulled back his hood. His features looked predominantly Mediterranean. Pale skin and a chiseled jaw line and nose were partially obscured by a thick wiry dark mustache and goatee, capped off with straight black oily hair, offset by delicate feminine lips.

  A woman stepped into the room. She stood behind him. “Is the child ready Drakos?”

  “Yes, alive and well. She will be ready for the night of the full moon. By then she will have forgotten who she came from and will love us. She will be the perfect offering. Fetch me a wet towel will you Berenice? I must sustain the filthy swine’s cleanliness, uncorrupted,” he said, keeping his pleasant tone.

  “Of course my Lord.”

  “Thank you.” Anastasios Drakos was the high priest, but he preferred the title Lord. Berenice Simonides was the high priestess, a woman of stature, hard faced, with an aquiline nose and concave brow, the opposite of her masculine surname meaning flat-nosed and kind. She was second only to Drakos. As far as the others were concerned her word was law. On the eve of July 28th they would both ascend to new heights of power, and the town of Mercy Falls, and one day the world, would all know their names.

  k

  Light sifted through the curtains, casting shafts of light down on the slumbering couple, waking them. It was a miracle they got any sleep at all after last night’s ordeal. They crashed from exhaustion above anything else. Numerous hours spent at the police station going over their newborn’s disappearance, and the babysitter’s death. After that, many more hours spent crying and consoling each other to no avail, waking several times in the dark from nightmares.

  This was something they could not easily forget.

  Their baby was gone. And until she was found, alive or dead, they could never live in peace.

  Cassie skipped breakfast. Michael made some for the both of them. He ended up eating both of their portions and then some, filling himself however he could. Over-eating was easy. He’d done plenty through elementary school and junior high when he was “the fat kid.” The teachers and doctors had labeled him morbidly obese, and the other kids had teased him mercilessly for it. It took years of discipline and increased confidence to get over his self-hatred. He’d grown into a man of average height and build, making better choices, and keeping a healthier lifestyle for himself. His wife said nothing of his overindulgence now. They were both trying to cope in their own way.

  They both sat at the table in silence.

  “I’m going to go to my mother’s this afternoon, Cassie said.

  “All right,” Michael muttered through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. His eyes were welling up again.

  She walked behind him, over to where he sat and put her arms around him, burying her head in the crook of his shoulder. They sobbed quietly together.

  Michael Williams wanted to tell her they would get her back. He wanted to believe it. But the words and the conviction behind them stuck in his throat.

  k

  The town hall massacre was an omen to them, one that portended great things. So much slaughter the dark forces would be pleased, even if it was carried out by the Brotherhood in collusion with The Others.

  The Brotherhood of the Black Hand were vampires trying to appease the prince of darkness in order to attain witchlike powers, but powers such as those were innate. They could either be brought forth by someone who possessed them, or not at all. Russian gypsies, false witches, they were playing a game that none of them understood, hoping to channel the power of their ancestors.

  The Others were ancient vampires, truly demonic creatures in both visage and strength, who simply relished chaos. Their participation was nearly assured despite an ages old conflict with the “lesser” vampires. The Coven and other true witches detested both. Neither vampirism nor witchcraft was their birthright.

  Jason Korba understood power. He and his brethren came from Greece and the Greek Isles, true witches in every sense. They each had their strengths, his being the power to heal. When he joined the Coven of Hecate, led by Drakos and Simonides, he learned the art of black magic- that those who could be healed could also be hurt, and what might be built might also be destroyed, and the call to ruin had proved more enticing.

  Taken under the wing of Sophia Papadaki, former priestess to another coven, he learned his art well, trained to hone his innate skill set. He was a miracle worker in Greece, working for the church, healing the ill. There was gratitude and true devotees, but none of it had brought him the joy of fear and pain in a dying man’s eyes as his body withered beneath his hands. This was his true power, his strength, and his calling.

  k

  No need for virgins anymore when newborn babes were the purest form of sacrifice, and virgins were getting increasingly difficult to acquire. Drakos was fully aware of this, when he could easily bed both Berenice and Sophia; both the ordinary, and the striking, respectively. Berenice, despite her stern demeanor, swore that she was his mate, and harbored true feelings for him.

  Sophia, the wise priestess, knew the truth, and did not care. She was as much a hedonist as he was. Forming lasting bonds with other humans would never be the gateway to true power. She understood that in all things one must be selfish and that pleasure was the ultimate goal. For some pleasure was inflicting pain on others as it was for her young acolyte Jason. Al
though he was neither a prude nor a virgin, she would nevertheless have to turn him on to other pleasures. The youngest of their group, at nineteen (the rest of them were all in their thirties and forties), he would certainly be the most virile. She was looking forward to getting her hands on the initiate.

  Nico Stavros was too hairy, and brutish, and she wasn’t into women, although Helena Zabat was rather enticing, and had a quality of innocence about her Sophia looked forward to corrupting. Their little coven was six strong, and the sacrifice would make them even more powerful; like Gods. Hecate would be pleased with the tribute.

  In the next room Alicia began to cry for her mother.

  k

  “What?” Michael asked, unsure of what he heard.

  “We have a match,” the policeman on the phone informed him, “on the fingerprint found on your daughter’s crib.”

  “Whose is it?”

  “It belongs to a Helena Zabat, 44. She emigrated here from Greece in 1988. No criminal record. Appears to be as clean as a whistle. She was last seen in the states about two years ago in Salem. We can’t find any credit card records, bank accounts, titles, deeds, or anything in her name since then. She seems to have vanished off the grid. But she’s in our town, and I assure you Mr. Williams, we will find her.”

  “Thank you. Do we know anything else about her?”

  “Not as of yet. We’re looking into her associations in Greece and here- schooling, employment, that sort of thing. I, or one of my officers will get back to you should anything develop. Just wanted to touch bases with you.”

  “I appreciate that officer...”

  “Detective,” he said. “Dave Faraday. And please, call me if you think of anything, any reason this woman, or anyone would want to target your child or your family.”

  “I will,” Michael said. “Thanks again.”