Posts tagged ‘horror’
UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER V
UNHOLY GROUND
John Taylor’s son, Simon, age eight, heard his father tell his mother of the mysterious disappearance of the Young family. “They are simply gone. They left behind everything. All their tools, clothes – everything is still in the barn.”
Simon had spent some time in the Young’s barn playing with Jake. He remembered a ball that Jake had. I wonder if that ball is still there, Simon thought. His excitement over finding the ball overshadowed any bad feelings he had for the disappearance of his friend. He decided that that night he would sneak out of his room and visit the barn.
It was two in the morning when Simon climbed through his window and headed for the Young homestead. The full moon made finding his way easy. As he came within sight of the barn Simon realized that his father had been mistaken. There, before the barn, stood Zeke Young. Zeke studied his property, and then suddenly focused on the spot where Simon stood. Simon noticed that Zeke appeared to glow, brighter than the moonlit countryside. Then Zeke jumped into the air and began to fly directly to Simon. The boy screamed and ran for all he was worth, stumbling over bramble and bushes, daring not to look back. After running a good distance, he finally found the courage to look in the direction of the barn. There, hovering above the building was the glowing specter. Simon never set foot on that property again.
Chris Walters
Zeke Young’s barn stood as a sentinel in the dense forest for two hundred years, pristine, untouched by time or the elements. Over the years there had been disappearances of those who thought the haunted barn a legend and chose to investigate. It had been one hundred years since the demons occupying the unholy ground claimed their last victim. The stories of the property became myths, part of the legend of the area, one that none of the locals dared to test.
Development had yet to march through these rolling hills of Pennsylvania, leaving the countryside spotted with farms and stands of virgin forest. The surrounding communities shared the legend of the barn from generation to generation. There was talk of mysterious light and phantoms flying through the sky. Each generation produced boys seeking to test the legend and dare each other to visit the barn. Those that made the pilgrimage experienced a strange presence as they approached the structure. And no matter how brave and daring they felt before they reached the site, no one would walk up to the barn, and they never ventured there after dark. The barn was left alone for years, that is, until Chris Walters moved into a neighboring farm community with his family.
UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER IV
UNHOLY GROUND
That night Jake heard the voices again, but they had now grown louder. Unable to sleep, he waited for them to begin moaning and calling him.
“Come join us,” shouted the haunting voices.
There was a new horror this night. The outline of the door of the root cellar took on a blood-red glow, as if the entrance of hell had opened up beneath the barn.
Jake screamed, “Thomas, Thomas, wake up!”
Thomas stirred from a sound sleep. “Quiet, Jake!” What is wrong with you?” he shouted. But his eyes and ears quickly determined the source of Jake’s fear. He heard malevolent voices and saw the glow coming from the cellar door.
Before the boys’ unbelieving eyes, the seam along the double doors brightened as they were lifted from below. The slow creak of the doors intensified as the barn began to fill with the eerie light ushering up from the root cellar. Long, sinewy arms slowly parted the double doors. A ghastly face of gray-green flesh came into view. The two boys screamed for all they were worth. Zeke and Martha came running toward the rear of the barn seeing the glow and fearing that the barn was on fire. They stopped dead in their tracks and confronted the horrible visage of the monster rising from the root cellar.
“Boys, come to me!” shouted Martha.
The family huddled together near the stalls, unable to take their eyes off the demon rising from the cellar. The horror now stood in the barn. It smiled, revealed pointed teeth, and spoke. “You have violated the ground of the Ancients. For this you shall spend eternity guarding the entrance to our domain.”
Suddenly, a host of ethereal figures emerged from the cellar. They flew to the heights of the rafters and descended upon the family. One by one the spirits penetrated each member. As the spirit emerged, the victim fell; their bodies grew indistinct and then disappeared as the phantom they now were shown with intense light. Zeke was the last to fall victim to the spirits. His last earthly thoughts were the warnings and signs he refused to heed.
The Young family flew among the rafters, then into the cellar to begin their eternal vigil.
* * *
John Taylor woke during the night to make his water. His eyes were drawn in the direction of Zeke’s place. A small hill stood between the two properties and beyond the hill a red glow filled the sky. John was sure that Zeke’s barn was ablaze. But as he watched, the glow diminished and then disappeared. No need to go to the Young place tonight, he thought. Tomorrow he would visit Zeke to ask him about the light and make sure there was no problem.
* * *
The sentries posted by the Indians living in the area observed the red glow in the distance and woke the elder of the tribe. He came out of his lodge and looked to where the sentries pointed. His weary eyes saw the distant glow. Shaking his head, he said, “The Ancients are awake and walk the Earth. They have claimed new victims to protect their sacred ground. We must hold council and speak of this matter.”
* * *
The following morning John Taylor paid a call to Zeke Young’s place. As he approached the barn, he was relieved to see that it stood undamaged. He was sure he would find some member of the family within and knocked on the closed door.
There was no reply.
John slowly opened the door, hoping to find no sign of tragedy. The barn was empty save for a heavy sulfurous odor. John left the barn and called out Zeke’s name, still no response. He walked Zeke’s fields and was unable to find him or any member of his family. The four had vanished without a trace. The roan, still tied to a tree, was dead with her eyes wide open, a mask of fear and agony.
* * *
Two sentries from the tribe were sent to observe the white man’s barn built on unholy ground. The usually brave warriors were terrified. They knew this was land possessed by demons. On the second night of their vigil, they saw four images, glowing with an unholy light, emerging from the structure. Then, before the sentries’ startled eyes, the two adult figures took flight and came towards the cowering Indians who fled for their lives.
No further braves were dispatched to this blasphemous ground.
UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER III
UNHOLY GROUND, CHAPTER III
Jake approached his mother one afternoon as she was preparing dinner. He wanted to talk to her before his father came home, sure that his father would call him a baby for the fears that were on his mind. “Mom, can’t I sleep toward the front of the barn with you and dad?”
Martha looked at her youngest. She knew how little Zeke would enjoy company in their bed. He wanted more sons to work the land and Jake’s presence wouldn’t help in that matter. “What is wrong with the back of the barn, Jake?”
Jake struggled with what he wanted to say. Finally, in a quiet voice he said, “I’m afraid when I’m back there at night.”
Martha knew Jake had a vivid imagination. “There’s nothing to be frightened about, Jake. You have your brother for company. Nothing will harm you.”
Jake struggled again to explain his fear. “There are people in the root cellar.”
Now Martha was sure the problem was Jake’s imagination. “You saw people in the root cellar?”
“I didn’t see them, Mom. I heard them. They said they were coming and that I was on their land.”
She could see that Jake was trembling and wanted to comfort him. She hugged him, but at the same time knew that Zeke would not tolerate talking like this. “It’s just your imagination, Jake. You’ll have to sleep in the back of the barn with Thomas. We’ll talk tomorrow if you are still worried.”
That night, before going to bed, Martha said, “Zeke, Jake is afraid to sleep in the barn. Maybe we could let him sleep in the tent?”
Zeke suddenly became angry, “Damn it, woman. There’s nothing wrong with this barn. I’ll make no allowances for Jake.”
Zeke seemed so on edge lately. Martha decided to drop the subject – for now.
UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER II
UNHOLY GROUND, CHAPTER II
Zeke, his wife Martha, and two sons – Jake age eight and Thomas age twelve – cleared the land. Martha, five years younger than Zeke, had a rugged beauty. Her sons were the image of their father. As they worked the homestead they did, in fact, hear strange sounds. In the depths of the woods there were sounds of unknown origin magnified by the quiet. Sounds that would set the hair on the back of your neck standing, but of course the noise had to be natural, and the source someday discovered.
But Zeke had also seen strange apparitions in the woods. He chose not to tell his family of the ghostly figures he caught glimpses of at night amongst the trees. Once, just before retiring, he left the tent the Youngs were now calling home and set out [DJR3] to ensure that all was secured for the night. In the distance he saw one of the ghostly figures wandering among the trees. Suddenly, the figure jumped into the air and ascended toward the canopy of the forest. As he made his way back to the tent, Zeke found he was bathed in a cold sweat. John Taylor’s warning echoed in his brain.
While constructing his barn, another ominous sign brought to the surface Zeke’s realization that all was not right with this land.
Zeke marked out the placement of the barn. Before the barn was built, he would dig the root cellar. Most mornings found Zeke digging, but one day he changed his routine. It was after supper when he told his wife, “Martha, the root cellar is almost done. I’m going to finish it tonight and then tomorrow I’ll start getting help to build the barn.”
The forest was strangely quiet as Zeke approached the area where the barn would stand. He climbed into the hole that was to be the root cellar and began to dig. As the shadows of the trees lengthened and the sun dipped below the hills, Zeke became unusually anxious. With darkness came a heavy fog shrouding the forest with a ghostly haze. His fears grew until he could no longer work. He gathered up his tools and began walking back to the tent when he happened to glance back to the root cellar pit. An eerie red glow filtered through the trees from the hole and something moved within the misty crimson light.
Men from the area helped Zeke raise his barn. The Young family now lived in it while a house was constructed. With the barn in place the family could now work to establish a farm in this hostile environment. Food would be grown and their future more secure. The barn was a two-story structure with a loft to store hay and three stalls on each side of the main level. The root cellar was under the rear of the barn. It provided storage and a hiding place in case of an Indian attack. But John Taylor was right; Indians steered clear of Zeke’s land. Jake and Thomas made their bed in the rear of the barn while Zeke and Martha slept near the stalls up front.
It was mid-summer when Zeke made a major purchase in establishing his farm. He called out as he approached his property, “Martha, boys, come see the new member of our family. Zeke led a roan mare toward the barn. The boys were excited at the prospect of a horse to ride, until Zeke said, “This mare will make the farm more productive and release the boys to do more chores. Hopefully, she will also fill some of these empty stalls with her foals.”
As Zeke approached the entrance to the barn the horse reared, a wild look in her eyes replaced the calm demeanor she had exhibited up until then. He tried for all his worth but could not get the horse to enter the structure. In frustration he tied the frightened animal to a tree and let her graze.
That night Martha told Zeke, “At times I feel a strange presence in the barn, like I’m being watched.”
“Nonsense,” said Zeke, “now get to sleep.” The confidence in his voice belied the growing fear in his heart.
* * *
Months later, John Taylor saw Zeke working in his fields preparing for fall planting. He decided to stop and see how his neighbor was doing. “How’s it going, Zeke?”
The sight of Taylor caused Zeke to recall the man’s warning which he had to admit was constantly on his mind. Zeke did not want to reveal the strange occurrences on his land. He pulled his horse to a stop and laid down his plow. “Going well enough, John. The only problem is this damn horse. She won’t go into the barn. I’ve tried everything but she stays outside, even in the rain. I figure when the weather turns cold, she’ll smarten up.”
Taylor asked, “Notice anything strange on your property?”
“Can’t say I have,” answered Zeke, already thinking that he had said too much. “Sure, there’s the occasional strange sound but when you’re deep in the woods and all’s quiet, lots of normal sounds seem strange.” Zeke kept his sinister observations to himself. He feared the ridicule and scorn his fears might provoke.
Taylor nodded in agreement. “You’re right there, Zeke. Spent some time camping in the deep woods myself. Heard some weird things.
“That sure is a fine-looking barn you got, Zeke. Going to start the house soon?”
“The farm’s keeping me pretty busy right now. Reckon I’ll start the house after fall harvest.”
The two men said their good-byes.
John Taylor never saw Zeke Young again.
UNHOLY GROUND, A HORROR SHORT STORY, CHAPTER I
This story was accepted for publication by Books To Go Now in 2011
UNHOLY GROUND
Zeke Young
Shaking his head, John Taylor said to newcomer Zeke Young, “I wouldn’t build on this land if I was you.”
Zeke was a lean man, his face weathered from years of working someone else’s property. Now he would have a farm of his own. The year was 1754, early spring, and the men were standing deep in the western Pennsylvania woods. Zeke was not a man to be easily dissuaded. He fixed John Taylor with a hard stare, and asked, “Why would you say that?”
“Heard tell of strange things happening here on this land at night. People have seen a kind of glow in the trees, a moving glow. Them that seen the glow heard ungodly sounds too. Like a kind of moaning. People say this place is damned.
“Even the savages that live in these parts avoid this ground. They say it’s cursed, always has been. They speak of the Ancients, a tribe of demons that live here underground. These devils come to the surface to take those that violate their land. The Indians avoid this area like the plague. I would steer clear of it too if I was you.”
Zeke Young responded, “Sounds like just the place I’m looking for. Snooping neighbors and Indian raiding parties will pass me by. I recon, in the wilderness, a man needs help to survive, but I like my privacy. I’ll offer help when asked, but I’ll not pass the time of day in idle talk. Indians, I can do without.”
John Taylor warned again, “Don’t take it so lightly, Zeke. I tell you the Indians say there are devils living in this here ground. They say that sometimes if you put your ear to the ground, you can hear the devil’s moan. I wouldn’t settle my family in this place.”
“You might not,” Zeke said, “but I sure as hell will.”
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER V
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER V
There was a recent nursing graduate, Debbie, who was assigned to Nijo’s wing in the asylum. Being new, she had not yet developed the thick skin necessary to deal with some of the patients. She had been told to never talk to this particular patient; told she was too dangerous. One night she approached the cell with dinner, and instead of just leaving it, said, “Here’s dinner,” out of force of habit.
Nijo ran to the door. No one ever spoke to her. “Thank you,” Nijo replied.
Debbie said, “I was told not to talk to you. I’m sorry,” then turned to leave.
“I’m not insane,” answered Nijo, “just confused. I’ve been confused for a long time.”
“Why are you here?” asked Debbie.
“I’m not sure, but you are the first nurse that has talked to me. I have a special healing power and am no longer allowed to use it.”
“What sort of power?”
“There is a chant I know that can cure anything you wish to cure. It may cause you to blackout, but it would be a waste to have it die with me. Could I tell you about it?”
Debbie listened to Nijo’s story about the old Chinese woman and the chant she learned. She then asked, “Could you teach me how to use this power? I want to help the sick, that’s why I’m a nurse.”
Nijo leaned close to the small opening in the door of her cell and revealed to Debbie the chant. Debbie immediately felt a tingling over her entire body. She knew something had happened, and then said, “Thank you, Nijo. I know I can do well with what I feel.”
But Nijo never heard Debbie’s thanks. Her body separated into countless particles yet remained united in their intelligence. Her body became a dark boiling cloud which soon concentrated on an indigo point and disappeared. This was the dark, the evil consumed by the power of the owner to heal. This was the balance. Nijo felt herself drifting, leaving the Earth behind, searching for the next level as she was being dissipated in space.
THE END
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER IV
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER IV
After arriving home, Nijo called Robbie. The excitement in Nijo’s voice was obvious; a flash of fear crossed Robbie’s mind. Nijo said, “I saw her, the Mejocuthru master. She told me her secrets and then…”
“And then what?” asked Robbie.
In all honesty, Nijo had no idea what she had witnessed. The woman had disappeared. Was this part of the associated curse? Nijo quickly steered the conversation away from the old woman. “I can feel the tingle of this new power in my body,” said Nijo. “I feel I must use it soon.”
The opportunity soon presented itself. Nijo was assigned a patient, Mary Littlecroft, age twenty-six, suffering from bone cancer. Chemotherapy did not provide a cure and her right leg was to be amputated. Mary was heartbroken when told the news. When Nijo came to visit, Mary cried, “I can’t bear the thought of losing my leg. I’ve always been athletic – a runner. I know I’ll survive without my leg, so many people with cancer have no hope at all. I know I’m being selfish, but if I lose my leg…”
Nijo tried to console Mary. After a few visits, Nijo noticed something. Every time she came near the young woman, she felt a tingle she knew was the force of Mejocuthru inside of her waiting to be released. Nijo finally decided to use her healing power on Mary.
After lowering the lights, Nijo approached Mary’s bed and quietly said, “I want to try something I learned. I have never used it before. There should be no pain. It might not work, but I’d like to try.”
Mary said, “I have nothing to lose but my leg. Try anything you want.”
Nijo placed her hands on Mary’s leg. Blue-white sparks danced from her fingertips. Mary groaned, but it was not one of pain but of pleasure. Mary said, “I feel something in my leg that is overcoming the dull pain I feel constantly.” As tears welled in her eyes, she continued, “My leg has not felt like this for a long time.” She pushed away the covers and stood; then walked. That was when the flow of tears became a flood. Mary cried, “I don’t know what you did, Nijo, but something wonderful has happened to my leg. What did you do?”
With an amazed voice, Nijo said, “I learned a new healing discipline. You are the first person I have tried it on.”
To that Mary said, “You have a gift, a healing gift. Thank you so much.”
Nijo was unsure what to say. She had no idea her experience with Mejocuthru would be so positive so quickly. Could this power reverse the cancer or just provide momentary comfort? Nijo said good-bye to her patient and then walked to her car. She felt a strange emptiness and decided to take a walk along the darkened streets before she returned home. It was something she needed to do. She put her nursing bag in her car and then began walking. After a few steps she blacked out and did not come to again until she was sitting in her car. Not knowing what had happened, she felt uncomfortable about the blackout. Nothing like this had ever happened before. She went home, kissed her husband, and played with the girls after dinner. It was still early when she told Jim, “I’m drained. I think I’ll go to bed early.”
“No problem,” answered Jim. “I’ll put the girls to bed soon and then maybe read for a while.”
The next morning Jim leafed through the local paper. The rag was a joke in the community. The stories they published were often confusing, and occasionally, made no sense at all. As he read the paper, Jim was known to often shout, “Doesn’t anyone proof-read this stuff? It’s a joke.”
As he sat at the breakfast table, a small article caught his attention. As Nijo entered the kitchen, he said, “Listen to this. Last night someone leapt out of some bushes and struck a young woman in the leg, breaking it. It was near where you saw a patient yesterday. You better be careful in that neighborhood.”
“That’s strange,” said Nijo. “It’s such a quiet community.” She began to cook breakfast and quickly forgot about the article.
Over the next few weeks, Nijo used her Mejocuthru powers on patients whose lives were so full yet were racked by pain and the specter of death. Every time she practiced this ancient right she blacked out. Blacking out was the side effect she associated with her healing.
Then the event occurred that would change her life forever. She had a patient, a young woman of thirty, pregnant with twins and found to have colon cancer. She needed chemotherapy, and without it, would surely die. But the therapy would destroy the twins. Nijo was assigned the case. Her patient, Julie, refused the chemo.
“I could not go on with my life if it would cost the lives of my babies,” she told Nijo.
Nijo could feel the stress Julie and her husband, Jonathan, were under. She kept her powers in check, hoping for some miracle, until she realized she was their only hope. The tingling had also begun, more intense than ever before.
Then one day she went to visit Julie and could tell the end was near, probably in a matter of hours. Nijo felt a compassion she could not overcome. She needed to do something to save this young family. She needed to use her powers. Sitting next to Julie, she put one hand on the woman’s head and one on her belly, while she recited the Mejocuthru chant. Feeling a power she had never experienced, she continued to chant with a voice that soon filled the house.
Jonathan became concerned and entered the bedroom. He found Julie sitting up in bed, resting against the pillows and smiling as she clutched her belly. He next gazed at Nijo. She had a vacant stare, walked past him and left the house.
Nijo had used the full force of her powers. She remained in a trance for months after healing. Little did she realize that the consequence of using so much power would destroy her life and that of her family.
When Nijo returned home after the healing, neighbors reported hearing ungodly screams coming from the home and called the police. They arrived, but it was too late. Nijo sat amid the carnage that was once her family. Veteran officers were sickened by what they saw. After a short trial, Nijo was committed to an insane asylum. This was where she returned from her blackout.
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER III
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER III
It was weeks before Nijo had time to search out the Mejocuthru master. The workload was unusually heavy, and her kids were sick so when she wasn’t caring for her patients she was nursing her children.
One sunny cold Saturday afternoon she asked Jim to watch the girls. “I’ve got some errands to run. Would you mind staying home with the kids?”
Jim looked up from the college football game he was watching and said, “No problem. On your way home, why don’t you pick up a pizza for dinner?” He returned to the game as his wife closed the front door.
She made her way to the address Robbie supplied. It was in the Chinese section of town. She consulted a city map and had no trouble locating the home of the Mejocuthru master. She pulled up in front of the building and was momentarily confused, “This can’t be the right address,” she said to herself. The building housed a Chinese restaurant. In the window of the grimy building was a row of cured ducks hung by their necks, suspended over oriental fruit and vegetables. Above were apartments, but the doorway leading upstairs displayed a different number.
Nijo went into the restaurant and was immediately approached by a waiter who asked in a heavy accent, “Can I seat you?” The room smelled of exotic sauces and spices. Clouds had darkened the afternoon sky, and the room appeared not to absorb what little light that filtered through the dirty front window. The few customers present were seated in the darkness muttering in Asian dialects.
Nijo said, “I was given this address by a friend. I’ve come to see the Mejocuthru master.”
The waiter’s expression changed from neutral to one of malice. “That is not possible,” he said. “Who sent you here?”
She gave him Robbie’s name. A brief look of recognition passed over his face.
“Sit here,” he growled, pointing to the area reserved for take-out customers and disappeared through a beaded curtain leading to the kitchen. Sometime later he reemerged, perspiring heavily. He had the same countenance of anger, but now he also bore a hint of uncertainty.
In a gruff voice, he said, “Follow me.”
The waiter led Nijo through the beaded curtain and into the kitchen where a host of Chinese cooks shouted to one another in their sing-song language. Here the exotic smell of the food was overpowering. Hurriedly, Nijo was shown to the rear of the room to a flight of stairs leading to the basement. The steps leading into the darkness were wooden and well-worn. In the faint light from an occasional bare bulb, Nijo found herself walking through a maze of tiny storerooms containing shelves of cans displaying Asian characters and jar upon jar of spices. One room was reserved for nothing but tea; another for huge bags of rice. He led Nijo to the darkest recesses of the cellar and a rust-stained metal door. He unlocked a heavy bolt and motioned Nijo inside. Immediately after she entered, the door was locked behind her. Her nostrils were attacked by the heavy smell of incense. Behind a single wavering candle flame appeared to be a pile of rags. Then the rags began to move, becoming a solitary figure surrounded by cushions. Even after her eyes had adjusted, Nijo could only make out a shadowy figure.
In perfect English, without the hint of an accent, the specter motioned to the pile of cushions and said, “Come here, child, and sit.”
The voice was that of a woman and was gentle but with an undertone of despair. Now seated, Nijo could begin to discern the woman’s features. Her face was a mass of wrinkles with deep-set slanted eyes, a flat nose and small mouth.
“My name is Maggie Wu,” said the woman. “I have been a prisoner in this room for many years. It is a painful, lonely existence, one I wish I could end, but I am powerless to do so.”
Nijo asked, “Why are you held prisoner? Are these people holding you hostage?”
The old woman answered, “I do not know why I am here. They say I did terrible things, but I don’t recall. I have had visitors, but they were either curious or vengeful. This has been my existence for more years than I can remember. “What brings you here, my child?”
Nijo answered, “A friend of mine and I have been practicing Reiki to help our patients. We are hospice nurses and have had some success in relieving some of their pain, but nothing consistent. I asked my friend, Robbie, if there was some stronger discipline we could use with more power and more certainty. Reluctantly, she told me about Mejocuthru and how to find you. She said there were risks but I would risk anything to help my patients.”
“Would you, my dear? I recall your friend. You must have been very persuasive, for not only did I deter her from using Mejocuthru but made her swear not to tell anyone of my existence.”
Nijo said, “I was rather relentless in my questioning. Do not be mad at Robbie. Please agree to teach me.”
The old woman reached out her gnarled hands to Nijo. “Give me your hands,” she ordered.
Nijo extended her hands and felt a strange tingle when they were held by the woman.
The woman said, “You have a deep desire to heal. I have never experienced this power in another. Perhaps you could control the power of Mejocuthru. I will tell you my history; then we will see.
“I was a healer taught by healers from the old country. They said I had many natural abilities and revealed to me powers and cures unknown in this country. I did much good for the Chinese community, but I felt I wasn’t doing enough, that there was a further step I could take.”
“I have the same feelings,” said Nijo, “that there is something beyond the Reiki I use.”
The old woman shook her head in disgust. “Reiki is for amateurs, a weak discipline practiced by weak people. Mejocuthru is where the real power lies. With Mejocuthru you can perform miracles. The old masters warned me of dangers, of doing well but of also doing evil. But I accepted the power. I raised the dead. It was only then I realized the power I possessed.
“The old masters said I would perform unspeakable acts if I used this knowledge. After I began to cure using Mejocuthru, the only problem I encountered was the loss of memory after healing. Soon after I raised a young woman from death I was imprisoned and have been here ever since. I long to be free. No one will explain why I am here, but I know I did some good and that is what is important. Those thoughts are what keep me alive.”
Nijo said, “I do not understand how such a great healing tool can do evil. I want to learn. I want to possess this power.”
The old woman smiled and said, “I will teach you. There is a chant you must learn. One that will release the powers of Mejocuthru into the people you touch to heal the disease that sickens them.
“Come, child. Lean forward and I will whisper the chant so that you may heal the sick.”
Nijo leaned close to the ancient healer. The old woman spoke the chant into Nijo’s ear. When the lesson was finished, the old woman told Nijo, “You are now a Mejocuthru healer. Go and help the sick; the power is yours.”
As soon as she said these words, the old woman’s images appeared to waive; then slowly fade. Before Nijo’s disbelieving eyes, there appeared a boiling black cloud where the woman had been. Rather than dissipating, the cloud began to fall into itself. It became constantly smaller until all that remained was a solitary black dot hovering above the candle. Then it was gone.
Nijo shuddered and rose from the cushions. She had no idea what she had just witnessed, however, she felt a new sense of power that was pleasurable, that needed to be shared. She pounded on the door to be released. The door was opened by the waiter who had led her to the room. Nijo said, “I am finished here,” and walked past the man. After a minute or so, his eyes began to adjust to the darkened room. The chamber was empty. He searched the small room in disbelief and horror.
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER II
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER II
Nijo had been content with her life. Her husband, Jim, was a hard-working engineer and provided a good life for her and their two daughters, Kim, age two, and Heather, age four. She was a nurse, and didn’t need to work, but she loved her profession and could not imagine life without nursing. When caring for the sick, she felt complete. To serve the patients most in need of her skills, she chose hospice nursing, and with that decision she would do a great deal of good but also seal her fate.
The patients she encountered had the most urgent care requirements. They required comfort along the road toward their death. And Nijo provided help along that road with care and compassion. But, deep inside she felt she was not doing enough to ease the suffering of the dying.
It was shortly after this feeling of inadequacy began that she met Robbie. Robbie, Roberta, was a hospice nurse working at the same agency. She was older than Nijo, blond, tall and had a striking presence of authority whenever she entered the room of a patient. Extremely competent in her discipline, she used all the skills at her command to ease the fears and pain of the dying. It was Robbie’s knowledge of a little recognized discipline that would determine Nijo’s future.
Robbie and Nijo became close friends. One day Nijo asked, “There are times I feel I could do more for my patients. Robbie, your patients seem to possess an inner peace different from those I work with. What do you do for them that I don’t?”
Robbie replied, “I’ve learned to use a healing method called Reiki. When you use this discipline, power comes through your hands as you work with the patient to help heal and provide a feeling of peace. For some patients it works, for some it doesn’t, but in our profession, you do what you must to ease pain and suffering.”
Nijo took some Reiki classes with Robbie and began to see the benefits of this mystical approach to helping the dying. However, the success rate was less than she had hoped for, that’s when she asked Robbie, “Is there anything more I can do? Is there another step beyond Reiki?”
Robbie hesitated, and then answered, “There is a force beyond Reiki, but it is dangerous. There are consequences to the practitioner if it is used. You might say, when you use this power, there are debts to be paid. I’ve never had the nerve to pursue it.”
Nijo responded, “If we can comfort the dying, no debt is too much. Will you tell me what this method is called?”
“It is called Mejocuthru. No one knows its origin. Even its most practiced masters seldom use this power. They fear it.”
Nijo asked Robbie, “Who are these masters? How can I meet them?”
Robbie paused, and then said, “I once asked the same questions and was led to a master. But what she told me stopped me from asking more.”
“What did this master tell you?”
“She said that with every use of Mejocuthru you must do the equivalent amount of harm to match the good you accomplished.”
Now it was Nijo’s turn to hesitate. She thought for a while, and then said, “If there is something out there that will help me with my patients, I would like to at least look into it. How can I meet this master?”
Robbie replied, “I shouldn’t have told you about Mejocuthru. It’s dangerous.”
“Look, Robbie, you know the type of patients we deal with. For the most part, their lives are full of pain and suffering, not to mention the emotional strain on their families. I would do anything to help these people. To be honest, I’m surprised you have not used this discipline.”
Robbie thought for a moment and considered how persuasive the master had been against her learning Mejocuthru. She thought the master would also be able to discourage Nijo, so reluctantly, she gave Nijo the master’s address.
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER I
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER I
Balance was published by Necrology Shorts in 2010.
There is no free ride in life.
Balance
Nijo London pounded on the door of her small cell – her world now for over a year – until her fists bled. “Let me out!” she screamed although she knew her plea would go unanswered. She stepped back and studied the door covered with dark brown outlines of her fists from past attempts to summon help. She was not sure why she was being held captive, but there were times she was not sure she wanted to know.
Nijo was thirty-five of medium height and slender, with close-cropped black hair and startling blue eyes. She was slender now because of her imprisonment, but she once drifted up and down in her weight. After each of her two pregnancies, the pounds tended to remain more than being shed.
It had been a year since she last saw the sun. No one would speak to her, let alone answer her questions. But she heard occasional conversations through her door. There was hushed talk of brutal murders. One time she thought she heard the mention of cannibalism, but she couldn’t be sure.
Surely these conversations could not be connected to Nijo; she was a nurse and devoted her life to caring for the sick. But she had vague memories that she didn’t understand; flashes of perception that were more than disturbing. They were horrifying. There was also some connection with these horrors to ancient rituals of healing she had tried to incorporate into her practice. Nijo also recalled the most unsettling consequence of using these ancient rights: the complete loss of memory after she used the power.
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