Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre (16 page)

n the Ironbound section of Newark, an aged hand sifts through
burned wood and metal. The sun begins to retreat into the
horizon as darkness waits to cast its shadow onto the clear sky.
Wearing a long black overcoat with matching shirt, pants, and

shoes, the only noticeable color of his clothing is the snow white
of his priest’s collar. This man of God diligently searches for
something of great importance. Allowing his faith to guide him,
he ignores the protruding nails and sharp-edged metal. His hands,
black with soot, never lose strength as they burrow through
mounds of charred debris. Suddenly, there is a sparkle, a small

glimmer among the dark surroundings. I’ve found you, he thinks
to himself, lifting the chain-held pendant into the air. As the mellifluous sunset reflects off the golden pendant, the priest allows one
tear to flow from under his glasses, onto his cheek. The sunset and
its magical halo reflecting from his spectacles mask his eyes, but
he continues to view the pendant. Another tear finds its way along
the same path as the other, as he stands there motionless; his face
fills with a sense of urgency. Clenching his fist tightly around the
chain, he turns and steps through of the piles of debris. With his
arms weary from his intense search, he halts for a brief moment
to peer once more at the golden pendant lying in the palm of his
hand.

“Got it all. Lettuce, bread, and rice,” Morgan says, smiling.
“This nasty lady came by asking a bunch of questions. I just
told her I’d tell you she came by. She wanted to know about your
grandparents and the number where they could be contacted,”
Melissa says, reaching to help.
“Mrs. LaSalle?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s always coming by when my
grandparents leave without calling. I’ll go down to the YMCA and
talk to her.” Morgan smiles. “Let’s go inside and eat.”
“All right.”

ater that evening, Melissa tosses and turns, enslaved by the
madness of a sudden nightmare. A steamy sweat forms on
her face, wetting her bedding covers. Gritting in agony, she

flexes her neck backwards, stretching it to the limit. An evil spirit
is filling her dream world. It breathes upon her sweaty face, cool-
ing it. Her hair sways slightly in the quiet, devilish exhale.

Within her dream, two armies fight fiercely. Their faces are
blurry, their bodies unclear. One side carries long bloody spears,
the other golden swords tainted with smooth red fluid. Death for
many is eminent. All battle, as if this will be their last, and the victor will now and forever rule. Many release unimaginable screams
when their lifelines are severed by quick actions of swords or
spears. Bodies are scattered everywhere; it’s a landscape of death
and dismemberment.

Melissa runs to take cover within a blackened cave. She huddles
behind a huge stone as warriors continue their quest for dominance.

Where am I? What is this place? I can’t see my way out.
A sudden burst of wind rushes behind Melissa, blowing her
hair forward. Following this sudden current, a flock of beautiful
white doves exits from the cave onto the battlefield. Melissa stares,
watching the doves in awe. They soar off and circle the battle
zone, surveying the damage. Then, without warning, they swoop
downward.
Melissa wants to cry out, to warn them. Suddenly each seemingly harmless dove changes quickly into a full-winged being carrying a golden sword. Their faces are still unclear to Melissa, who
sits squinting intensely. Each entity enters the battle without fear.
Some are sliced to ribbons before taking full form. Others leap
into the battle, screaming out war cries that make Melissa’s blood
chill with their savagery. Members of this unknown clan fight to
the death and die for each other. Their blood bathes the battlefield
and seeps into the ground.
As Melissa watches the battle intensely, one of the demon warriors suddenly steps from the shadows and greets her. Standing
about seven feet, its massive body is red with blood. Its eyes glow
a deep menacing green. Its teeth are the fangs of a medieval vampire. Standing there, breathing heavily, it stares down at Melissa.
After releasing a fiendish grin, it dashes back into battle, carrying
its blood-dripping spear.
Terrified, Melissa hides behind the immense boulder, when
suddenly it begins to release a dark liquid. First, droplets appear
racing down the sides. Melissa backs away, still in her crouched
position, falling onto her backside. The droplets multiply, creating
small rivers pouring down the sides of the rock. Melissa attempts
to stand. When she uses the stone wall to maintain her balance,
she slips and falls. Her hands feel wet as if covered with water,
but when she looks, her hands are totally red with blood as if
they have been submerged in a basin filled with it. She opens her
mouth wide to scream.
Frantically she awakens, her body wet with perspiration. Sit-
ting up in bed, she wipes her forehead and face. The room is still
and undisturbed. Her hair pressed against her face is soaked with
moisture. Baffled, she looks left to right. The room begins to spin.
Around and around, it whirls at a dizzying pace. Melissa feels her
stomach become nauseated. Vomit fills her throat. Before she can
release the mixture of food and liquid, the room stops. She grabs
her head just before spitting the thick white spew onto the sheets.
A sharp pain then races through her abdomen, slamming her back
down onto the bed. She grabs her belly with both hands. She recognizes the pain. She felt the same pain in the car weeks ago. Melissa
lifts up her gown, suddenly feeling a peculiar sensation. Exposing
her stomach, she sees movement; her stomach gyrates as if snakes
are just beneath her skin squirming over each other. They swarm
as if engrossed in an ultimate feeding frenzy. Melissa’s eyes grow
wide. She releases an earsplitting scream. The windows begin to
pulsate and slowly crack without shattering. The dresser vibrates,
shifting the tiny figurines until they fall to the carpet.
Melissa frantically awakens again, a dream within a dream, her
skin a clammy, pale white. Sitting straight up, she gazes around
the room to find that it’s quiet and undisturbed. The animal figu-
rines sit proudly on top of the wooden dresser, peering in different directions. The windows, undisturbed, remain closed and
without cracks. The night sky looms just beyond these transpar-
ent shields, and the shifting wind brushes against them. Melissa’s
eyes are glazed. She feels the threat of tears. Wiping her face and
mouth with a slow swipe, she maintains her expression of terror. The quick moving blades of the ceiling fan startle her. The
swinging blades seem to dive toward her throat. Melissa lifts
her gown, exposing her stomach and remembering the reptilian
movements from her dream. Rubbing her belly fiercely, she cre-
ates small streaks of sweat while taking a few shallow breaths.
Melissa lies back slowly and begins breathing steadily. Closing her
eyes, she slows the rapid rhythm of her heart before entering a
restful sleep.
The next morning, Melissa rises cautiously from her sheets. She
can’t remember the details of her nightmares, but she still feels the
fright they instilled within her. Stepping out of the bed, she hears
a very strange shuffling noise emanating from the attic just above
her room. Walking toward the door, she hears the eerie shuffling
once more. She steps closer, extending her hand to turn the white
knob. Suddenly the noise takes on a different overtone. Melissa
jerks backwards. For a moment, she stares at the ceiling, trying to
follow the noise as her nerves settle. After a soothing exhale, she
walks toward the door. Grasping the knob firmly, she gently turns,
enters the hall, and walks to the attic door. The hall is quiet and
well lit by the morning sun. Bright green leaves with their thick
brown branches stroke the windows. The noise in the attic quiets as she reaches the door. Extending her hand once again, she
reaches for the brass latch.
What is that noise? Melissa’s body trembles.
Unlatching the door, Morgan, without warning, opens it, allowing just enough space to pull his body through. Breathing heavily
with a slight sweat, he blocks the door. Standing, wearing a T-shirt
and boxing shorts, he stares at Melissa.
“Where are you headed?” His eyes look directly into Melissa’s
eyes.
“The noise, it woke me up. What were you doin’ up there?”
“Nothin’, just doing some cleaning,” he says. With a soft smile
he continues, “It can get awful dirty up there.”
“You’re sweating.” Melissa, concerned, strokes his face.
“Can get awful hot too,” he responds to the gentle stroke.
“Do you need any help?”
“No, that’s okay. I’m finished. Let’s go downstairs and...and
watch some TV.” Morgan guides the way downstairs. “How was
your sleep?” he asks.
“Scary.”
“Scary?”
“Yeah, I had some nightmares,” Melissa answers as they step
down the stairs.
“What kind?” Morgan asks, while wiping some of the perspira-
tion off his face.
“I can’t remember. They just scared the hell out of me. I didn’t
get much sleep.”
“Make sure you keep the baby in mind. You gotta get some...
you hungry? I’ll cook something for you. All right?” Morgan con-
tinues to perspire and seems anxious to get Melissa away from the
attic.
“Sure, that’s fine, but funny.” Wearing a wide grin, Melissa
taunts Morgan as they enter the kitchen.
“What’s so funny?”
“You! Not too long ago, you hated cooking. All you talked
about were Wheaties.”
Morgan opens a few cabinets and begins gathering his cooking
utensils.
“Well, we all have to change sometimes.”
Melissa begins rubbing her stomach with a worried expression.
Morgan continues gathering the pot and pans.
“Do you think I need to go to the hospital, to check the baby?”
Melissa asks casually. Morgan stops abruptly. With his back to her,
he places his hands quietly upon the countertop. He turns slowly.
“Why would you need to go to the hospital? The baby is perfect.”
“But I’ve been feeling strange lately.”
“Look, I see pregnant women all the time. I have extensive
training in emergency medicine.”
“You don’t think I need a doctor?” she asks, placing her full
trust in Morgan’s professed expertise.
“Trust me. I’ve been doing this since college. Look, if it will
make you feel better, I’ll call one of my doctor friends over to take
a look at you.”
The phone rings. Morgan pauses, hesitant to answer.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” asks Melissa.
“Naw, let the voicemail get it.” Morgan turns and continues
preparing breakfast.
Melissa, now sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, shoots a puzzled stare toward Morgan.
“Didn’t you teach after college?” she asks. Morgan turns quickly.
“Yeah, I taught first, that’s what I meant.”
Melissa looks downward and rubs her stomach again, feeling a
slight natural movement.

he guard escorts the priest through the quiet corridor. The
mildly lit hall is long, its spotlessly polished floor gleams
under the florescent lights. Father Johns grips his Bible

tightly, holding it close to his heart. The guard walks with authority, wearing his white uniform and gold badge; his nightstick and
his .45 revolver sit comfortably on his hip.

“No one ever mentioned your arrival, Father,” states the armed
guard.
“I will only be a few minutes. With the serious nature of her
crime, you can understand she needs all the help she can get.”
“Well, that’s certainly true, Father. Here it is.” The guard pulls
his mass of jingling keys from his belt. Taking a few serious
breaths, he looks down at the priest. “Are you sure you want to go
in there alone?”
“I’ll be fine.”
The guard finds the correct key, then glares into the room
through the tiny window. He unlocks the door. It squeals open.
Father Johns glares into the bright, white padded cell. Stepping
in, he sees a brown complexioned woman bound in a straight
jacket with white pants. Father Johns approaches cautiously,
attempting to look into her face. Her eyes drift to the side; they
quiver in a dreamy stare. Her lips are cracked, and her teeth are
covered with a thin, yellowing film. Undisturbed by the opening
of the door or the priest, she lies motionless. Like a statue, she
never blinks. Her black braided hair extends from her broken
hairline as it and her brown skin contrast the white background.
The priest stops just beyond her bare feet as he kneels down to
her level.
“Miss Charles? Miss Deborah Charles?”
The woman doesn’t budge, still staring to one side. Father Johns
pauses for a few moments, awaiting a response.
“I know you can hear me, please.” Father Johns squats, still
holding his Bible close to his heart. “Do you remember that night
at the hospital?”
Her seemingly unbreakable trance is shattered, her thoughts
brushed with a forgotten memory. Her eyes shift slowly in the
direction of the priest. Her dry lips strain to open. She speaks
as if for the first time in a while. With a very soft tone, her voice
breaks the still air.
“You’ve seen her?”
“No, but I’ve heard a lot about her. I was hoping you could
help me.”
“No one believed us,” Nurse Charles remembers. “Tracey went
crazy trying to convince them of what we saw. She felt it would be
easier just to jump out of a window.”
Within her mind, Nurse Charles pictures Nurse Tracey falling
to the earth from the hospital window. She sees Nurse Tracey’s
head explode from the forceful impact, her blood quickly leaking
out onto the sweltering pavement. Shutting her eyes tightly, ridding herself of that eerie recollection, she continues.
“All the hospital papers just disappeared. All the records just
vanished. It was like she wasn’t even there.” Deborah becomes
deathly quiet.
“I need to know what you saw. How did you escape?” Father
Johns asks in a low tone.
Deborah turns once more, still maintaining her low, scratchy
voice.
“I heard the devil, he spoke through that girl. Voice of the
Beast...or the Beast himself was in that room.” Deborah feels a
nervous tremble sweep her body. “The room changed, and in a
blink of an eye, the room was transformed, into an unforgettable
place. I saw the ice of hell and blood everywhere. Those doctors
were butchered. Fire came from the ceiling, after us. I saw the
wall open up like...like a doorway to another universe.” Deborah
looks directly into the priest’s eyes, touching his soul. “You want
to know what else I saw, Father?”
“Yes,” he replies nervously.
“I saw the end of life...as we know it, Father. The ultimate evil
stands at the gate, prepared to enter our world. I saw the gateway...
Father, that’s what I saw.” Her voice quiets. Her eyes flutter, then
become still.
“How did you and the other nurse escape? Did you find a weak-
ness?” His low tone is tinged with a demanding inflection. “How
did you escape?”
With a slow blink and the fall of a solemn tear, Deborah speaks,
looking away from the priest.
“How did I survive...is that what you mean, Father? Faith. Once
I expressed my unconditional love for my Savior, I was embraced.
The Beast’s attempt to steal my life was not possible, I was protected. I still am...don’t you see him, Father?” Deborah’s eyes wan-
der to an empty corner of the room, and an angel with his wings
spread suddenly appears. With a faint nod, he reassures her that
she is indeed safe. Father Johns turns only to see an empty room,
then looks back as Deborah speaks. “Escape...Father?” Her eyes
fix on him. “I didn’t escape...their voices are in my head, I haven’t
slept in months. They know where I am, and they will try to get
me...but as I said, I am...protected.” Her voice fades.
“What about the other nurse, how did she...survive?”
“I embraced her. My armor of faith protected her.”
“My faith is without question,” says Father Johns as he squeezes
his Bible tightly.
“I hope so, Father, for all our sakes.” Deborah closes her eyes
gently, turning back into herself, humming.
Father Johns stands up from his squatting position and steps
backwards, toward the polished steel door. Turning around, he
raises his fist and knocks on the metal door to alert the guard.
Suddenly, Deborah speaks once more.
“Father!”
Father Johns turns quickly.
“Yes, Miss Charles?”
“Beware, Father. There is something else occupying her soul,
and it’s getting stronger every day. I can feel it, I hear their voices.
Souls require strength and will rip what they need from Man’s
essence,” she says, her voice weakening. Father Johns looks at her,
wanting to thank her, but silently turns back toward the door.
The key unlatching the door echoes throughout the padded
cell. The door squeals open, and Father Johns exits.
Deborah continues to sit in the corner, motionless, glaring off
to the side.
“Well, Father, were you able to save her soul?” the guard asks
jokingly, shutting the heavy door.
Father Johns peers back through the rectangular window and
answers the guard without looking in his direction.
“Actually, it isn’t her soul that needs salvation.”
“Then why did you visit her?” he asks, fingering his gun.
With a long deep breath, Father Johns answers.
“To try and save a few billion other souls.” Father Johns turns
from the door and quietly walks down the hall. His hard-bottomed
shoes clank like old wooden clogs. The sound ricochets off the
walls with a deafening echo.
The guard stops behind his desk with a puzzled stare and locks
his keys back onto his black patent leather belt.