Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre (20 page)

In only his underwear, he stands and reaches for his clothing
that lays draped on a small table. Laying his clothing across his lap,
he drifts his fingers through his balding scalp and wipes his heav-
ily creased face.

Slowly, Father Johns slips on his black pants, shirt, and shoes.
He stands and softly blows out the white candles, then continues
out the door.

Walking through the dreary corridor, Father Johns hears the
storm raging. The powerful thunder causes the dangling light bulbs
to sway gently. Small sections of already unstable brick crumble to
the ground with each thunderous rumble. Father Johns steps into
his dim office and grabs his long, black overcoat that hangs on an
old wooden coat rack. Placing it over his arm, he grasps a pencil
and scribbles a short note. He slips his arms into his coat as he
reaches for his Bible and his black brimmed hat. Turning slowly,
Father Johns takes another look at the office in which he has spent
so many years, then exits the room, closing the door behind. As
he walks down the hall, just before climbing the set of spiral stairs
that leads to the upper floor, he stops at one of the wooden doors.
He kneels down and gazes through the keyhole. Vincent appears
exhausted as he reviews the scrolls with precision. Father Johns
smiles softly, stands, and continues on his way.

As he exits Saint Paul’s Cathedral, he sees the sky’s useless
attempt to peek through the black heavy clouds. The rain continues to pour heavily; the lightning flashes through the sky.

Walking through the spear-tipped steel gate, Father Johns steps
toward his car. Getting closer to the car, he notices the steaming
hood. He opens the door and unlatches the hood. He then walks
in front of the car, lifting the hood to reveal the engine.

The engine has been melted beyond recognition. Melted steel
parts bubble within a sweltering hot liquid. As Father Johns pulls
down the hood, a black raven greets the roof. As it paces, its razor
talons screech an unbearable high-pitch noise. The raven glares
steadily at the priest.

A huge bolt of lightning startles Father Johns, making him look
at the sky. When he looks back to continue his standoff with the
devilish creature, the raven is gone.

“I see you’re trying to slow me down. Are you afraid of me?
You can’t stop me!” Father Johns screams, gazing up into the dark
skies.

Huge gusts of wind stream from the clouds as the weather
worsens. The streets are barren, as traffic lights sway along their
thick electrical wires. Old papers and debris dance a ghostly ballet in the streets and sidewalks. The accosting winds and rain
add new elements to their repertoire. Without warning, Father
Johns is struck in the face with hail the size of golf balls. He
falls onto the ground, his Bible flipping out of his hand. His
black-brimmed hat dislodges itself and rolls beyond sight. An
evil wind begins to rip through pages of the Bible assiduously.
Father Johns snatches the book away from the bombardment.
Reaching into the sky, he salvages lost pages and shoves them
back into the book.

“You will have to strike me dead! I will not stop! Do you hear
me? I will not stop.”
Father Johns waits, hunkered down on the ground, for the evil
wind to snatch him up and toss him into the sky. He closes his
eyes, his heart pounding. But the wind only batters at him, shrieking in his ears. It’s unable to rip him from the ground. After a
minute, he begins to feel stronger and rises to his knees, opening
his eyes.
The wind whips and screams at him. It slaps at Father Johns’
face. It slams harder and harder.
Standing to his feet, he wipes the small stream of blood flowing
from just above his left brow. The wind continues to thrash him,
but he stays on his feet and takes his first nervous step. Then he
takes another, and another. While the wind picks up speed, and
the rain pelts his head, he proceeds down the street, shoulders
slouched.
Minutes later, as Father Johns continues to fight through the
heavy winds and rain, he takes temporary shelter within a darkened alley. Exhausted, he rests against a brick wall. He gasps
and trembles, while inches away the rain continues to bombard
the street. While taking a few deep breaths, he hears a faint radio
broadcast coming from a slightly opened window. The DJ’s voice
is loud and teeming with energy.
“For all you folks wondering where in the heck all this weather
came from, well, I’m here to tell you, we don’t know either.
According to local and national meteorologists, this weather front
seemed to appear out of nowhere. To make matters worse, they
think this is some sort of chain reaction due to the deterioration
of the ozone. People are calling this the Black Weekend because
of that funny dark-colored rain. I don’t know exactly what to
call it, folks, but I do know we have winds gusting over 50 miles
an hour, and the downpour of rain hasn’t let up since Friday. I
have just been told there are some isolated hailstorms in the area.
Police advise everyone to stay indoors today, until this unexpected
weather passes. One last thing before I begin our Power Hour of
the top ten singles: I would appreciate if all the religious freaks
who think this is some sort of sign that this is the end of the
world would call some other radio station. I have been getting
calls all day from people thinking this is some sort of sign from
God. I seriously doubt it, folks. This is just plain ole bad weather.
Now, let’s kick off the Power Hour.”
“You don’t know how wrong you are,” Father Johns says qui-
etly to himself as he sees a taxi coming in his direction. He lifts
himself from the wall to hail the checkered car.

ithin the house, Melissa lies on the cold wooden floor of
the attic. She opens her eyes slowly, only to be slightly
blinded by a multitude of brightly lit candles that decorate the room. The attic is muggy and filled with a nauseating,
foul stench. It is swarmed with shadows as the candle lights dance
upon the wooden beams and walls.

Her migraine still rages through her skull, yet the pain is not as
intense as before.
The heavy downpour pounds the roof as the bright lightning
bolts streak through the room.
Wiping her face, she rises slowly to a more comfortable position. Gazing around the room, she finds it difficult to see into the
darkened corners.
Melissa becomes agitated as she remembers what occurred earlier that morning.
Morgan! His eyes! I have to find a way out!
Looking around once more, she stands. Melissa walks toward a
darkened corner and sees what she believes to be a doorknob. She
grasps it and turns slowly. Opening the door, a green glow reaches
out, striking her in the eyes. With the glow comes a stench that
forces her to step backward. As her eyes adjust, she spots a spiral-
ing cloud of mist from which the witchy green originates. It spins
like the interior of a tornado. Squinting, Melissa peers into the
bright light, noticing something dangling against the wall: three
nude bodies stored in clear plastic. Their faces are clearly visible,
their expressions wide and terror-stricken. One is an elderly man,
the other an elderly woman, the last a young man. Tears form in
her eyes. Her heart pounds with panic. She quickly recognizes the
young naked man is Morgan. Melissa slams the door quickly and
backs toward the center of the room. Her body weary and head
ravaged with pain, she clenches her fists and screams into the
darkness.
“I know you are here, show yourself! I know you are after my
baby!”
Suddenly a voice responds.
“You are right...princess, I am after the baby.” Behind one of
the dancing shadows, a lone pair of witchy green eyes peers at
Melissa. She continues to fight her agonizing migraine, while step-
ping away from the fiery gaze. “But not just me.” A piercing, white
light flashes through the darkness. A figure stands just above one
of the candles, exposing itself. Breaking its moment of silence, an
old, scratchy voice emerges.
“Don’t forget about me, Miss Shelton.” Mr. Nicholas stands
there, smiling arrogantly. Without warning, the white light emerges
once more, engulfing Mr. Nicholas. A monstrous figure evolves.
“And me,” the deep voice speaks. The beast is massive, its body a
glistening bloody suit of lizard skin. Thin dangerously sharp quills
extend from its head, accenting its vampire fangs. “You don’t
know me, but Sarah and I met right before I ripped her throat
from her neck. She was a pure treat.” Melissa stands gaping at this
spectacle. The blinding light appears once again, molding another
shape. The shadowy figure steps from behind the candle and
exposes itself. It’s Morgan. He stands silent for a moment.
“Yes, it’s been me all the time,” Morgan says, his face melting
like heated wax. His body is engulfed within the blinding white
light. The metamorphosis takes only a few seconds, and a tall, thin
man, eyes radiating that devilish green, stares arrogantly at her.
“Why me, Harry?” Melissa asks.
“I’m sorry, princess, you are vulnerable, weak. Your own anger
toward your God has allowed this to happen.” His voice becomes
cold and powerful. “You should be thanking me. I have given you
eternal life to replace this pathetic existence. I have immortalized
you!”
Melissa falls to her knees, cupping her belly with one hand and
gripping her head with the other. Her voice, weak and feeble,
squeaks from under her breath.
“Why Morgan and his family? Did you have to kill him?”
“Morgan was useless! We saved his life in that fire. We offered
him a new beginning. We offered him greatness once darkness
emerges and envelops the earth. We allowed him to be your guardian until he almost allowed you to kill yourself, the day you realized you were pregnant. I had to wring his human neck and take
over his duties. And his grandparents were old anyway...we just
saved them time.”
“What is this I’m carrying inside me?”
“This child is something that is beyond your comprehension.
You’re carrying a god! It does not belong to either of us. This
baby belongs to the one who conceived with you, it was Satan!
I served as an empty shell so that he was able to possess me and
create his child. We are the guardians of the child. We are the lost
souls of Asylum. We are the mischiefmakers, the unwanted souls
who are destined to live only in your nightmares, to dwell in the

darkness without a kingdom. We will no longer starve for love,
we shall now feed on a feast of ecstasy...of human flesh. We are
forced to hide in the dimensions of the abyss. But that will change.
Feel your belly. I know you can feel its power. Allow the change
to happen, stop resisting. I can take away your pain, Melissa, I can
ease your struggle! Allow the child to take control!”

“No!” Melissa bursts into tears.
“It is not your choice!”
Suddenly Melissa’s eyes glow with an evil intensity, her face

“She continues to resist me.” The demon peers at an open
window. “He has come once again. Once he enters our domain,
he will be powerless. He must die. Bring me his heart!” says the
demon within Melissa.

“Yes, I can smell him.” Harry lifts his nose in the air and sniffs
like a bloodhound. He collapses to the floor as his body melts and
reforms into the black raven. Suddenly the raven multiplies into
many. Soon there are a dozen black ravens scouring the wooden
attic floor. With their massive wings, they whisk into the air, disap-
pearing through open windows.

Melissa’s eyes pulsate frantically, battling the witchy green glow.
“Why do you resist me?!” asks the demon from within.
“You are not my child! You are not real!”
“You killed your child! Do you remember that! You killed her!”

the demon roars.
“Her?” Melissa screams as she is forced into another demented
dream.
Melissa finds herself in an unfamiliar place. This new place is
pitch-black with an arctic wind. Unseen raindrops echo throughout, accompanying the whistling breeze. The ground is cold, and
the air stinks of mildew. Melissa stands motionless, wearing her
thin nightgown. She begins to shiver.
“You owe me, Mother!” A small child’s voice echoes through
the vast darkness. In front of Melissa stands the little girl once
more. The child is wearing a light pink dress as if she is about to
attend Easter Sunday service. Her hair, black and lustrous, is deco-
rated with pleasant pink and white bows. Melissa gazes at the girl,
then speaks.
“What do you want from me?!” Her voice is stressed and
slightly hoarse.
“You must pay for killing me, Mother! You owe me!”
“Who are you?”
The child smiles, then speaks with a sinister grin,
“You don’t recognize me, Mother. Do I not have my father’s
eyes? Do I not have his golden skin? You do remember my father,
don’t you? Maybe I can help refresh your memory.” The child’s
grin widens as she spins slowly, playing a hateful game. “La, La,
La, Da, Da, Da, Damon Lewis, remember that name, Mother?”
The child takes a moment to bathe in the guilt that overwhelms
Melissa. “Oh, that’s right, now what is it that you told Sarah? Rev-
erend Hobbs was the father! We both know that is not true, don’t
we?”
Melissa’s eyes shut as another scene from her past begins to
emerge.
“Hey, we can milk the Rev for a little while, then get him to pay
for the abortion,” says the young man as he and Melissa relax on
an old, dusty couch.
“I don’t know, Damon.”
“What don’t you know? I’m tellin’ you, the shit will work.”
Damon pushes Melissa’s cheek with his finger so that she is now
facing him. “Look, girl, I love you, I’m just not ready for a baby
right now. I promise once I get a good job, we will be together.
Just do this one thing for me, please.”
The scene changes, and Melissa sees her face drenched with
tears, crying out of control. She is standing in front of Damon’s
house, gripping a large suitcase.
“They threw me out,” Melissa says, wiping her tears.
Damon steps down from the porch and attempts to comfort
her. He places his arms around her gently and squeezes softly,
while looking around to make sure no one is watching.
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
After a few whimpers and sniffles, Melissa answers.
“I figured I would stay here with you until things blow over.”
Damon backs up.
“Stay here? No, I don’t think that’ll work. What about my
mom?”
“What are you talking about, you said tha--” Melissa is interrupted by the squeaky front door.
“Damon, is everything okay?” The attractive young woman
sticks her head out from the opening. From the expression on
Damon’s face, it’s obvious: this is no relative.
“No, everything is okay, baby,” Damon answers.
“Baby?” Melissa says indignantly. Without warning, Melissa
punches him, knocking him onto the concrete steps. Melissa glares
up at the young woman, who looks on in disbelief. She then looks
back at Damon and his bloody lip. Melissa grabs the handle of her
suitcase and continues down the street.
Melissa’s eyes open as a brisk wind crawls up her body, sending
violent chills.
The child then begins to circle Melissa slowly and continues
to speak, “You knew you were pregnant a week before the old
reverend propositioned you. I think you wanted me dead before
Damon even mentioned the abortion. Were you afraid to have a
black baby? Were you, Mother?”
“That’s not true!” she insists in a shivering, loud voice. “I loved
your father!”
The child’s evil disposition emerges.
“Instead of having me, you send me to this place?!” The child
opens her arms wide as her eyes change to pitch-black mirrors.
Her skin begins to boil, and her pink dress becomes wet with
blood. Without warning, a baby’s cry erupts from the darkness.
The baby screams with intensity. Suddenly the cry amplifies and
multiplies. Melissa cups her ears as the high-pitched crying and
screaming vibrate. From the blackness, resounds the sound of
millions of babies crying, screaming for help in their own distinctive tones.
“You will set me free!” the child demands as her skin begins to
peel and fall, slapping the unseen floor like mounds of uncooked
meat dropping onto a butcher’s steel counter. “I will join my new
guardian, my new father! You will slay another, you will allow your
heart to grow as black as mine! Take this dagger and slaughter one
of the men who have made your life a living hell!” In front of
Melissa stands the little demon with its ice-cold eyes and deadly
grin, offering her the sleek dagger decorated with black ravens.
Through the blackness, three men appear in front of her, all of
their hands bound to wooden stakes. All three look confused as
they stare nervously into the darkness.