Scary Holiday Tales to Make You Scream (25 page)

Bernard had told him that in the mid-nineteenth century the hotel had attracted celebrities and the rich. Now it had become another mediocre place, lost in the shadows of a high-rise Holiday Inn. Bernard said that ghosts walked the corridors and grounds of The Angele'. Talbot's Bay had its share of strange legends and supernatural tales. Bernard knew how to bring them to life. He had a knack for conjuring devils-often literally.

For the past decade Marcus Sands had dismissed belief in magic and ghosts. He believed in staying alive, eluding the police, his enemies and holding onto the money he'd found in Tom's briefcase. Now once again he felt the lure of Bernard, his secrets and his thirst for ultimate power.

He thought of Daria again, wondered once more if she still lived on the bay and kept in touch with Bernard. At one time he believed he loved her-perhaps he still did.

He took a long drink from his glass, an expensive crystal goblet, cut in odd patterns. Shapes seemed to move within it, a woman's face smiled up at him-Daria. She smiled again, then it floated from the glass and into the garden below.

"Damn meds," he said, setting the glass down. The face looked up at him from a tangle of trees below.

Bernard would be meeting Marcus at seven in the lounge. He looked forward to it. He changed into a clean pair of jeans and a dark short-sleeved knit shirt. He checked his appearance in the mirror, noting that his weight had stayed the same since the last time he'd seen Bernard. However, his hair was shorter and streaked with gray.

Upon entering the hallway, soft music and tinkling laughter drifted towards him. Bernard's voice, thick and rich, boomed above the feminine ones. Red hearts and cupids decorated the walls and plump red roses in silver vases sat on the rich mahogany tables.

Gorgeous women sat in the lobby; smoking, smiling and talking. In the lounge more beauties sat at the bar, drinking beer and wine. Bernard sat in between a lovely brunette and a pretty blonde. He smiled when Marcus approached. Bernard hadn't aged at all. "Liz, let my friend have a seat." The blonde slid off the barstool and smiled wickedly at Marcus.

"Andrea, give my friend a bottle of Jack Daniels." The bartender obliged.

"You old villain, I'm glad you're back on the bay," Bernard said as he lit a cigarette.

"Well, I wish I could be here under more pleasant circumstances." He glanced at the woman by Bernard's side, then leaned closer to his friend. "Thanks for giving me a place to hide out. They'll never trace me here. Nobody back in Jacksonville knows about my past."

"Anything for you." He put his arm around the brunette. "Marcus Sands and I go back a long way."

She seemed to purr as Bernard rubbed her back.

"Listen," Bernard said, moving his hand to the woman's thigh. "I need to settle some things with Linda. May I meet you around midnight in the gardens?"

"Sure," he said glancing around the lounge. "I'm sure I can settle some things of my own for now."

"Good, till later," said Bernard. "Andrea, give him anything else he needs."

Two women, one dark, tanned and petite, another tall, slender and fair, sat on either side of Marcus. He smiled, thinking this would surely turn into a wonderful night. Flashes of what he'd left behind in Jacksonville raced through his mind. He quickly dismissed those thoughts when the women slid closer to him.

It felt good sharing drink and talk with the women.

After the first bottle had emptied, another was set in front of him-then another.

He didn't know how long she had been standing there. Her face glowed and her platinum hair draped across her bare shoulders like a silky cape. A cigarette dangled from pouting lips and shapely legs looked inviting beneath her red mini dress.

"Daria," he said.

She strutted over, eyes blazing. "You look good, Marcus."

Stunned, all he could say was, "Have a drink with me."

She smiled, touched his hand and whispered in his ear. "Let's go up to my room, get away from the rest of them."

He looked into her eyes, saw something feral, a longing. Forgetting the others, he followed her into dark corridors and up winding stairs. She seemed to glide. Phantoms drifted by and miniature beings scurried from cracks in walls.

"A mix of Xanax and booze. I'm seeing weird shit," he said.

She turned, her face a skull, blood trickling from eyes sockets. Her voice was distant, as if it came from another realm and wrapped within layers of dreams. "The Angele' are known for their trickery."

He blinked. Her lovely face stared back at him. There was concern in her eyes.

"What?"

"You need to lie down with me. Love me."

She led him into a room where murals of fairies, dragons and unicorns adorned the walls. She started to undress, moving seductively as strange music filled the room. It seemed as though there were speakers behind the walls. When completely naked she laid beside him and undressed him slowly.

He ran his hands over her breasts and plunged his finger into her wetness. Daria had not changed at all. She wrapped her legs around his back.

The creatures on the wall began to move as she moaned. The painted fairies were engaged in sexual acts, some in groups of three and four. Their faces glowed with rapture. Panic raced through his veins as Daria moved wildly beneath him and screamed as she was satiated. Then she smiled up at him when he climaxed inside her. Multiple sighs and moans escaped from the murals. Then the figures were still and silent.

Daria licked his face like a wild animal. "Next time we'll invite Bernie, have a party like we used to."

Jealousy filled him. He wanted her for himself. She had to be his and only his. She kissed him and snuggled close to his side. Then fairies sang him to sleep.

A knock on the door awoke him. He was back in his own room, no traces of Daria anywhere to be found. Rain pummeled against his window.

Another knock echoed through the room-sinister, unwelcome.

"Who the hell is it?"

"It's Bernie," came the familiar voice.

Marcus opened the door. His friend stood there, clothes wet from the rain, damp hair clinging to his head. "Heard you had quite a night," said Bernard, absently removing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

"Yeah, that Daria is still something else."

"Yes, she is." He tucked the cigarette in his mouth, lit it quickly. "You must have passed out, never kept our meeting in the garden."

Jealousy raced through him. But he tried to remain cool. "Damn, I'm sorry."

"No harm done. Get dressed and we'll go there now."

The rain became heavier as the two men made their way into the gardens. They walked through overgrown bushes, beneath limp tree branches, and brushed by intricate stone sculptures.

"I want to show you something and share some secrets I've uncovered in your absence."

Bernard led Marcus down a winding path. Trees loomed like deformed creatures and their branches swayed like skeletal fingers. Through tangled limbs and twisted vines stood a chapel.

They made their way to the crumbling structure. "Years ago, when organized religion was more popular, the guests liked to come here to pray. Light a candle." Bernard ran his hands over the splintered doors and gazed at stained glass windows, broken by age and weather. "Now the chapel lies hidden here, just as the faith of modern times often does."

Marcus studied faces within the stained glass. The Angele'.

"Now what was once hidden within the bowels of the church has come to the surface." He pushed open the doors. Upon an altar, where black candles flickered, sat three beautiful women-all with coal-black eyes. Their seats were made of thick branches, studded with knife-like thorns, dripping with crimson. Oversized roses towered above them. Tortured faces peered from within their centers.

"The blood of sacrifice...and those who have given their souls to The Angele'." Bernard waved his hand.

Daria's voice sounded behind them, soft, eerie. "They've made a pact with us," she whispered.

"I'm finally allowed access. "Bernard stroked Daria's face. "But there's a price-there's always a price." He pulled Daria close to him. "The Angele' wanted more than homeless bums and those from the underbelly of society. They want prime flesh and blood."

Marcus smiled, slow, wicked. "You son-of-bitch. You've managed to do it-found what we were after all those years ago."

"Yes, and it's no coincidence that you've come back now." He smiled down at Daria. "This is just one of the worlds I've managed to tap into. There are others-all waiting for us. And there's power beyond our wildest dreams."

The Angele' rose and disrobed. An altar ascended from the floor. Upon it laid a young girl. Her hands and wrists were tied. Her eyes were wild with fear.

The Angele' danced around the altar, touching the girl, kissing her tenderly and making love to her-and to each other-with fingers and tongues. When they were satiated they beckoned Bernard to the altar and handed him a knife.

The girl shivered when he slit her wrists. Then he cut her throat. He filled a chalice with her blood and offered it to the Marcus and Daria. They drank as The Angele' moved toward them, smiling and with lust burning in their eyes.

Bernard ran his hand over the dead girl's body and then touched each Angele' on the cheek, leaving a streak of red. "This flesh and blood is for you. Eat and drink this sacrifice and share your power with us."

Daria slid into bed and snuggled close to Marcus. She smelled of musk, of oak and incense. Her kisses were spicy and warm. He drifted to sleep and in dreams Daria led him down winding stairs, deep into the bowels of the church. The Angele' beckoned to them and led them into a crypt where the dead sat on marble stones and sang to them as they passed by. Green serpents emerged from the inky blackness and flapped multicolored wings. And blood rained down upon Talbot's Bay.

"I love you Daria," he whispered the next morning.

"I've missed you," she purred.

"After all these years nothing's changed. The rituals continue and my feelings for you are just as strong. I didn't realize until now-"

Her face glowed. "Marcus, today is special. Our anniversary. Valentine's Day."

"Twenty years, imagine."

"I want to make it work this time. Maybe once we learn the secrets Bernie has to share-maybe we can find a cottage by the ocean, live together." She bit her lip. "I've always believed we were meant to be together."

"Me too. I couldn't stop thinking about you. Couldn't stop lov-"

She put her finger to his lips. "I could stay here all day, my love. But I've got work to do. Can I meet you later?"

"Yeah, what time?"

"Around five," she said grabbing her robe and heading towards the bathroom. "Go back to sleep. I'll meet you in the bar about five thirty. We'll talk more about our future and my special kiss awaits you later."

"You'll always be my Valentine." There was dread in those nostalgic words.

He drifted back to sleep and dreamed of Daria. Blood trickled from her neck and from her chest. She sat cross-legged before a painter who dipped her brush into the wounds and splattered canvas with the deep crimson.

The painter smiled and said softly, "I'm Rebecca Farrell, painter of Bernard's nightmares."

Daria's scream and the blood-so much blood-were his only memories when he awakened at one in the afternoon. The rain hadn't let up. He showered, had coffee in the deli down the street and then spent a few hours wandering through the hotel and gazing at the Farrell paintings.

More of her work adorned the library; shape-shifters on canvas-cougars, tigers and lions-emerging from the golden gates of Talazia and more watercolors of The Angele'. Over the mantel was a huge pastel painting of a black panther. Marcus thought about the times he'd seen Bernard transform into a glorious black wildcat. Once again he wondered if it had really happened-if all of their journeys were simply drug-induced hallucinations. However, his recent experience with The Angele' quickly dismissed those doubts.

The lounge was quiet. A male bartender checked bottles behind the bar and an elderly woman sat in a corner booth, drinking a martini. Marcus ordered a beer and thought about the bodies he'd left back in Florida. He knew the police would try to track him down. He knew people on the other side of the law were searching for him as well. They'd never find him here, not in a small New England beach town where unconventional people such as artists, practitioners of the occult and a writer or two resided. Besides Bernie would protect him. His magic was indeed strong.

"Drinking again, Marcus?" Daria sat beside him. Bernard remained standing. Once again Marcus felt jealousy well inside him. He'd been looking forward to meeting Daria here alone. Why was she with Bernard? What had they been doing together?

"We've got something wonderful planned for you." Daria was breathless. Her eyes sparkled with happiness. "We've been working on it all afternoon."

Bernard smiled slowly at her and then turned his gaze to Marcus. "Tonight we'll give The Angele' the ultimate sacrifice and with that we'll be able to acquire riches, pleasures and magic beyond our wildest dreams."

Daria pecked Marcus on the cheek. "We've got to run. Meet us at the church at midnight."

Bernard took her hand and they walked off together. Marcus wanted to follow. Later he'd wished he had, but instead he sulked and indulged in one too many drinks.

Just before midnight he began his journey to the chapel. He made his way through the tangled vines, pulling up his coat collar as icy rain struck his skin. He heard a soft growling. When he pulled back the branches of a fallen apple tree a black panther stood before him. Its yellow eyes glowed. Its tongue dripped with saliva.

"Bernard?"

The cat shook its magnificent head, turned and then looked back as if to make sure Marcus was following. And he did follow.

The Angele' were circled around a gnarled and withered tree at the entrance to the chapel. They broke the circle when the panther approached.

Marcus screamed.