He sobbed as his wings twitched, useless. A shadow steppedbetween him and the sun, casting him into darkness. Hands from the shadowgrabbed at the wings and wrenched, tearing them from the man’s flesh with a wetsucking sound. His cries kicked up another storm of dust in every direction.
Wrapping its hands around his neck, the shadow lifted the maninto the air. Radiating from the unknown figure’s fingers, strands of black gooworked their way under the wingless man’s skin, spreading until it reached hisface. Thin lines of black pushed through his veins, pushing them to the surfaceuntil they looked like war paint.
The shadow leaned into the fallen angel’s face, close enough forhim to make out serpent like eyes. As the black liquid robbed the man’s skin ofcolor the shadow hissed, “We are now Murmur.” The bones in the angel’s jawcracked, separating, elongating until it resembled a wild dog.
“Levi cum praesidio!”
Tabitha fell backward, black goo clinging to her hands. A burstof light slammed into the demon, sending it reeling. The beast was like everydemon before it, an infection determined to spread. Another blast of lighterupted in the room, striking the demon in the torso. Unlike the first, thishardly made the demon flinch.
Tabitha turned, motioning the girls to flee. Rena pulled atAbigail’s arm, screaming for her to run. The demon dashed past her, sprintingtoward the Ouija board. Abigail shouted one last time.
“Valerie, terminate--”
The orb above Abigail exploded in a flash of light, forcingTabitha to cover her eyes. As the room returned to its dismal state, Abigailremained standing, blinking at the empty spot on the wall. Rena fished herflashlight from her pocket, smacking it until it projected a steady beam.
“We’re getting out of here right now.”
Abigail. The memories were fuzzy, as if they were just out ofreach. The infant’s eyes staring at her from the hallway leading into theirkitchen. The pink shirt with a unicorn drawn on it always amused her. More timehad passed than she imagined. More than a decade, but she took solace in thestrong young witch her daughter had become.
“My mom said you were going to be trouble,” Rena chided.
Without the board luring them in, ghosts moved away from theauditorium, acting as if the demon had never existed. Tabitha approached herdaughter, wishing she had a chance to say goodbye to her one remaining legacy.
The blue of her arms dimmed, an indication she would need tofind a remnant before the night ended. She placed her hand on the girl’s chest,directly over her heart. The girl’s eyes remained unfocused, staring off intospace as Rena tugged at her arm. The young witch rested her hand on top ofTabitha’s ghostly fingers.
Abigail’s eyes focused on Tabitha. A smile spread across herdaughter’s lips, tears falling from the corners of her eyes. A rush of tinywhispers filled the room until they reached a dull roar. Abigail’s voicedeepened. “We too, are Murmur, momma,” she whispered. Tabitha staggeredbackward, catching a glimpse at her own hands still covered in the goo. Thinblack lines pumped in her veins just beneath the skin.
Pulped
James A. Moore
The firstvictim had been hit so hard in the face his lips were torn off, leaving abloody grin in their place. Three bodies, each of them beaten to death. When Isay beaten, I mean hammered until bones were broken and the faces werecompletely unrecognizable. Me and my partner, Dominick Galliano, were the luckybastards that caught the case.
Fifty yearsago The Benson was a decent little pub that catered to the growing Irishpopulation in the area. It also took care of the working stiffs coming backfrom the factories along Washington Street. These days it was a dive that onlythe worst sort of people frequented. The wood of the walls was rotting in a fewplaces, the floors were just as bad, and stained with enough spilled drinks toguarantee sticky shoes. It had lost a lot of its charm over the decades. Seeinga beating, a rape or a drug bust take place in the vicinity was common enough,but you didn’t have to worry too often about murders. Most of the clientele wastoo wasted on heroin to actually get into fights.
So seeingthe corpses and the condition of the bar was a bit more unsettling than I’dexpected. Dom squatted next to the closest corpse, his face scrunched upin an expression of disgust and horror. Whoever had hit the deceased hadactually shattered his face. It was the wrong shape and parts weredangling free that shouldn’t have been.
“I’m goingwith either brass knuckles or a meat tenderizing hammer.” Dom did nottouch, but he looked carefully and took pictures with his phone.
“Seriously?”I could see the mess, but not all of the details. The bar was too dark and theforensics team wasn’t around just yet.
“There aremarks on the bone, scraped the meat and the bone away in one punch.”
I let out awhistle without really thinking about it. The force involved was heavy, like agolden gloves contender. When you added in the brass, it was a hard beatdown. I was figuring a crime of passion, only it was done to three men and allof them were the sort that specialized in delivering the beatings ratherthan taking them.
There werestill three people in the place that were alive, aside from Dom and me.Two of them were sleeping off their latest high, so wasted they couldn’teven move, though it was possible they were actually awake. The last one wasthe manager of The Benson, a creep named Jeff Lemon, who kept avoiding arrestbecause no one could ever find him with any drugs in the place. Druggies?Absolutely. Narcotics? Only on the people he served and never on the premisesand never on the bartender.
Dom keptlooking at the bodies, careful not to touch. While he was busy with that, Iwalked over to talk to Lemon. The man shook his head and said, “I didn’t seeanything.”
“Yeah,because that’s gonna play out here.”
Dom calledout, “First victim looks to be Dan Chaney.” I looked over and he pointed to themassive ring on the corpse’s middle finger. It was a genuine
