Accidental Demon Slayers: Daughter of Darkness pt. 11

Ashtyn leaned back, stretching.  She had been so lost in her research she hadn’t even realized that three hours had passed.  Her back ached from being hunched over the keyboard for so long, and her eyes were sore from starring at the screen.  Three hours, and she had found nothing on the Scribes.  There wasn’t one word written about them. 

“Any clues?”  She did her best to try and speak inside of her mind, rather than using her mouth.  She had to learn sometime. 

“I just know their names.”  Tabitha sounded just as frustrated as she felt.  “There really is nothing about them?” 

“Their name is pretty generic.”  Ashtyn rubbed her temples.  She needed a break. 

She stood up, and her legs felt wobbly from sitting for so long.  She walked across the office, towards the two large windows that looked out onto downtown Wheaton.  The sun was still up, and it was just starting it’s decent, casting everything in a deep golden glow.  As small of a town as Wheaton was, without any skyscrapers, or EL tracks to block out the view, the place still looked beautiful at sunset. 

She was glad she got to sit this latest mission out.  After the last case, and with everything going on with her brain’s new tenant, she felt like she needed the rest.

The phone rang. 

She rushed over to her desk, picking it up after the third ring. 

“Ashtyn, is that you?”  Bobby’s voice sounded worried. 

“What’s up?”  She sat back down in her chair, nestling the phone receiver between her cheek and her shoulder. 

“Listen, Kurt thinks I’m just overreacting, but… I think someone is watching the office.”  He was speaking softly.  “From over at Lilac Park.   I saw a woman there.  Something about her was familiar, but I couldn’t pin-point what.” 

“Bobby, calm down.”  Ashtyn stood up, walking back to the window.  She had a perfect view of the park from there.  “I’m looking outside right now, and…” 

And there was a woman standing at the top of the steps, looking up at the office.  She had long black hair, and pale skin.  She was wearing a red leather jacket, a black t-shirt, and a pair of blue jeans.  A pair of dark sunglasses hid her eyes, but from the way her head was positioned, Ashtyn could tell that she was looking right at her. 

“She’s still there, isn’t she?”  He almost sounded pleased. 

“Yep.”  Ashtyn agreed, there was something familiar about the woman, but she couldn’t tell exactly what it was. 

The woman smiled, turned, and walked into the park, her back to Ashtyn.  That smile made goose bumps pop up on her skin. 

“She just left.”  Ashtyn slowly backed away from the window. 

“I think you should get out of there.”  Bobby was whispering now.  “Make sure she isn’t following you, and get home, away from that place.” 

Ashtyn shook her head.  They dealt with creeps all the time.  It came with the job.  Why should she believe that some random woman was a threat?  They had people harassing them all the time, just because of their line of work.  She was probably just some religious nut who thought that their company was a front for some Church of Satan. 

“He’s right.”  Tabitha’s voice crept into the conversation.  “You should go.  Something seems off about her.” 

“Fine.”  Ashtyn sighed.  “I’ll get out of here.  Will that make you happy?” 

“Yes.”  Bobby sounded relieved. “Call me when you get home, okay?” 

Ashtyn agreed, and hung up the phone. 

She collected her things, and started towards the door that led out of the office.  She hated that her best friend had turned into such a paranoid mess, but after everything he had been through, she couldn’t really blame him. 

When she opened the front door of the office she froze. 

“Grath is in his holy temple” was written across the hallway wall, directly across from their office door.  The letters were a dark, shimmering red, and whatever had been used to write the words was still wet. 

Ashtyn dropped her purse, panic welling up inside of her. 

She slammed the door, locked it, and did the only thing she could think of. 

She called the police. 

Accidental Demon Slayers: Daughter of Darkness pt. 10

Her vision was hazy, her head was killing her, and her lungs were already starting to burn.  She shook off her disorientation the best she could, and Brittany started to kick, working her way towards the shimmering light of the surface. 

She could see the bottom of the boat not far above her, but that was it.  There was nothing else in the water, nothing that could have hit the boat hard enough to send her flying. 

Something brushed against her leg.  Whatever it was, it felt smooth, almost polished.  She swam quicker.  It brushed past her again, this time tugging at her angle.  Brittany glanced down, not sure of what she would see. 

There, holding onto her ankle, was one of the elf figures.  She couldn’t see it very clearly, but she was pretty sure it was the mother elf, the one that looked like it had been guiding her children down the overgrown path. 

The figure was looking up at her, it’s big, glassy eyes, and rosy cheeks seemed to glow as the light from above bounced off of them. 

It gave Brittany’s ankle another tug, and she tried to kick it off. It responded by opening its mouth, revealing two rows of razor sharp teeth, and biting into the flesh of her calf.

She screamed, and felt the last of her air leave her lungs.  The elf figure dug its teeth in deeper, and Brittany kicked at it, the heel of her shoe connecting with its face.  She felt the weak plaster give under her shoe, and one of the thing’s eyes broke free.  She kicked again, and it released its grip, drifting down into the water. 

Suddenly she felt an arm wrap around her waist.  She tried to fight, but her lack of oxygen made was sapping her strength.  She glanced at whatever had grabbed her, and saw Rico.

Within moments he pulled her to the surface, and then she was on the boat, lying on her back as everyone buzzed around her.  The only face that came in clearly was Rico’s.  He had a friendly, round face, with pretty eyes, olive skin, and long, black hair that feel down over his face as he leaned over her. 

“What the hell did that to her leg?”  It was a female voice, most likely Clare’s. 

“I didn’t see anything down there.”  Rico looked up at whoever had asked the question. 

Brittany tried to sit up, and even though her arms felt wobbly, she was able to prop herself up just enough.  “It was one of those damn elves!” 

The boat went quiet.  She glanced around, her vision finally coming back into focus. 

Everyone was looking at her like she was crazy.  Everyone but Clare.  

Accidental Demon Slayers: Daughter of Darkness pt. 9

After Max’s crew loaded their gear onto the small pontoon boat, they were off and headed down the river.  Brittany sat back, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on her skin as the boat sped down the murky waters.  She did her best to ignore the small scenes that had been set up on the riverbanks.  The small, weather worn huts, and chipped and dirty figures didn’t seem right to her.  It wasn’t their condition.  No, it was something else.  The dead, glassy eyes of the elf figures, or their large, unnatural smiles seemed to hide something. 

She pushed the thoughts from her mind.  She had faced creatures far worse then a couple little elves. 

Jean was sitting next to her, his legs pressed together at the knees, his hands neatly folded in his lap. He looked uncomfortable. 

“What is it with this place?”  She glanced over at him.  “You seem scared, but… you also seem in awe of it.” 

Jean let out a small, squeak of a laugh.  “Fantasy Land has been like a curse and a blessing to me.”  He glanced across the bank at one of the scenes, a mother elf guiding her five children down an overgrown path.  “When I was a kid this place was magical.  I loved being here, and I thought my uncle was the most amazing man in the world for creating it.  But when I got older…” 

He paused, and his face tightened. 

“Well?”  Brittany didn’t have much patience for nostalgia.  She didn’t really see the purpose. 

“When I got older the magic started to fade.”  He looked down at his hands.  “My uncle was an odd man.  Before he opened the park he was an academic, a professor.  It was his studies that brought him out here.  He was obsessed with the tribe that had built that temple, and when he finally was able to get inside that temple everyone had expected him to become famous for his discovery.  Instead, he left the academic world and started this theme park.” 

“He chose money over knowledge.”  Brittany brushed a stray hair out of her face.  “There’s nothing shocking about that.” 

“This… this isn’t Fantasy Lands’ first disappearance.” Jean looked up, but his eyes seemed to be focused on nothing.  “Ever since it opened, maybe once or twice a year, someone would go missing.  Usually it was an employee, a drifter, someone no one would miss.  Once it was a child.  A young boy had wandered off when he and his older sister were in the funhouse.  The park had shut down for three months after that.  Every inch of every amusement was searched, but they never found him.” 

Jean paused. 

Brittany glanced around the boat.  Everyone was looking at them, at Jean specifically.  Rico had his camera up, and pointed over at them.  He had caught every word of Jean’s story. 

“So, there was no trace of him?  None at all?”  Max’s eyes were wide, unblinking. 

“I shouldn’t have said ‘never’.  That wasn’t exactly true.”  Jean flinched.  “He was never seen alive again.” 

Brittany watched as Jean began to wring his hands violently, the skin alternating between red and white because of the pressure he was putting on it.  His fear was creeping back in, and whatever past wonder he had dug up to protect himself was already almost completely faded away. 

“Where did they find his body?” Max leaned in closer, but stayed just outside of the camera’s view. 

“By Ujin’s hut.  It was about… six months after he had gone missing.  The park was open for business.”  Jean looked up, his eyes wet with tears.  “He was next to the fake little woodpile by the front door.  The boy was… well, it appeared that animals had gotten to him.  There was nothing left other then bones and a few rotten hunks of meat.”  Jean took a deep gulp of air.  “I was on the boat, on this ride, the day they found him.”

For the first time Brittany felt sorry for someone.  She had seen plenty of horrors in her day.  Hell, she had even caused a few of them, but she could never imagine the terror of being a small child and seeing something like… well, like what Jean had described. 

“I’m sorry, could we please change the subject.”  Jean shook his head, and stood, walking towards the front of the boat.  “I’ve spent so long burying that memory, and I really don’t want to dig it up again.” 

Everyone’s eyes followed him.  He stepped next to Clare, who was behind the wheel of the pontoon boat, guiding them down the river. 

The whole boat fell quiet for a few minutes.  Everyone was still taking in the story Jean had told them.   Brittany couldn’t deny how horrific it all sounded, and that cool breeze suddenly felt like a dreadful chill as it rippled across her skin. 

She glanced towards Clare, ready to break the silence, when her words caught in her throat. 

The boat passed through the mouth of the river, and into a small, round, lake.  To the left, just as Jean had said it would be, was Ujin’s hut.  The structure was round, with dirty white walls, and dark brown, wood trim windows.  The roof was thatch, and shaped like a large cone.  In front of the door was a fake log pile, most likely made out of fiberglass or plaster, and sticking out of the woodpile was an axe, with a faded red handle. 

“Where’s the figure?”  Brittany glanced at Jean. 

“Just wait.”  Jean glanced back to her, not smiling.  “The boat will pass over a sensor.  When you hear the click, you’ll see him.” 

Just as Jean had said, there was an audible click, and the door to Ujin’s hut opened.  Ujin himself came walking out of his house, a metal pole on a guided track moving him along, as some mechanism in his legs caused them to kick wildly in some weak attempt to make it look like he was walking. 

“Rico, make sure you get that.”  Max was whispering frantically to his cameraman, pushing him towards the side of the boat.  “And you… what’s your name?”  He pointed to a young woman, one of his production assistants, “get some stills.  That thing is creepy!” 

“My name is Rita.”  The girl, who couldn’t have been old enough to drink, pouted. 

“Rita, right.”  Max gave her a half-assed apologetic look, and then motioned towards the scene going on across from the lake. 

Ujin made his way down the guided path, towards the beach.  Once he reached the sand, he stopped, and appeared to sit down.  His left arm lifted, and in it was a fishing pole. Then he just sat there. 

“That whole scene was one of my uncle’s favorite things in the world.”  Jean half smiled.  “Even after all these years it still runs smoothly.” 

The whole boat was still quiet. 

Ujin sat there, stone still, his fishing pole in his hands.  It looked like the show was over.  Then, without warning, the figure’s head snapped towards the boat.  Rita screamed.  Brittany, as much as she hated to admit it, almost did as well.  There was something about that movement, about the way that the Ujin figure was looking at them, that just felt wrong. 

“Was it supposed to do that?”  Brittany stood, walking towards the edge of the boat. 

“No.”  Jean squinted, leaning over the side of the boat to get a better look.  “Some of his springs must be loose.” 

Something smashed into the side of the boat hard enough to pitch Jean forward.  Brittany acted quickly, grabbing Jean’s arm, and pulling him back, just as the boat was hit again.  In her act of heroism, Brittany lost her footing, and fell forward, her hip hitting the low railing of the boat. 

In a violent flip she went end over end, over the railing.  She felt her head smack the boat’s side, and then the freezing cold water engulfed her.  

Accidental Demon Slayers: Daughter of Darkness pt. 8

The path towards the park was covered in chipped blacktop.  Weeds and grass poked through the cracks.  The whole place looked overgrown, like the forest was trying to reclaim the land the park had stolen. 

The closer they got towards the main fairway, the more Clare wanted to tell everyone to just turn around.  Even though the day was beautiful, a gray haze seemed to hang over the entire area, like fog that refused to be burned off by the sun. 

The first few buildings on the fairway became visible.  Small cottages, with white plaster walls and brown trim, lined a cobble stone path.  Placed, almost as if without care, along the path were chipped, plaster casts of smiling fairy tale characters.  A gnome, and elf, an ogre, all with unnatural smiles on their faces in order to make them appear friendly.  They, in reality, only made the creatures that much more menacing.

In it’s heyday Clare figured that the park had actually resembled a fairy tale village.  She could imagine the fairway, brightly painted, and bustling with families.  Slowly, over time, that sense of life, and joy, just faded from this place.  By the time she had visited Fantasy Land, in the late eighties, the joy of the park had almost been completely diminished. 

Through the little alleys between the cottages, Clare could see the various rides.  Most looked like second hand carnival rejects.  A few seemed to be original though.  The fun house, labeled Dungeon of Doom, actually looked well maintained.  Unlike everything else, the wood carved sign seemed freshly painted, and the façade in front, a faux-stone wall with a big metal gate, was still in good shape.  The tunnel of love, an oddity in any modern theme park, still looked near pristine. 

Clare was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of Jean’s voice. 

“The park was opened in 1948, by my uncle, Wes Meyers.  During the late twenties, and through the sixties, the Chicago area had a boom of theme parks.  My uncle wanted to create something for those who couldn’t take the drive down to the city.”  Jean glanced from building to building, a sadness creeping into his voice.  “As you can see, the park has seen better days.  We still maintain a steady business, mostly from the local college.” 

As Jean spoke, Max’s cameraman, who Clare was pretty sure was named Rico, followed along side, doing his best to capture Jean’s entire story.

“As we approach the end of the fairway, we are about to come to Fantasy Land’s most famous ride.”  Jean stopped short of a long, wooden dock.  “The Elf River Cruise.” 

Jean pointed towards a small elf statue that stood next to the line entrance.  He was about three feet tall, with a round face, and white, fluffy beard.  He wore a white shirt under red suspenders, and to top it all off, a red, pointed hat. 

Clare shivered when she met the statue’s eyes.  It seemed like the creepy little thing was watching her. 

“Who…” Max pointed to the statue, “is that exactly?” 

Jean laughed.  “He’s the company mascot, Ujin the Elf.”  He patted the statue on it’s head. “The cruise is a journey through his village.  Along the river we have built small scenes show that various parts of elf life.  Ujin here makes his appearance at the end up the  cruise, at the Elf Temple.”  Jean glanced down at the small statue.  “He guards the temple.  His small hut is just off the beach, on the lake, and he sits outside of it, fishing, and watching the temple to make sure that no one harms it.” 

“The temple,” Clare finally decided to chime in, “it doesn’t really fit the rest of the park design.  Why exactly did your Uncle build it the way he did?” 

Jean looked at Clare, seemingly stunned by the question.  “Oh, my uncle didn’t build the temple.”  He glanced down the river.  “He found it.  It was what inspired him to build Fantasy Land here.” 

“Why would there be an Aztec style temple built in the middle of the lake, in the Midwest?” Max glanced from Jean to his camera. 

“The tribe that built the temple is lost.”  Jean glanced back down at Ujin.  “Little is known about them, or their religion.  So little, in fact, that they don’t even have a proper name.  The temple is one of the last signs that they even existed.”

Clare knew exactly where she needed to be.  That temple was going to be the key to figuring out what had happened to those two missing college students. 

Pushing Boundaries: The Ramblings of a Cautious Writer

As I grow older I find myself being a little more careful, if that's the right word, with what I put in my stories.  I pull back when, back in my college days, I would normally go full force.  It could be that as I grow older I have become more aware of what, exactly, I am putting out for people to read.  I start to question whether people will see the content of my stories as a reflection of me.  When I was younger, especially in my late teens and early twenties, I didn't care what people thought.  I was still finding myself, and everyone else be damned.

Now, though, as I continue writing Daughter of Darkness, I find myself pushing on those boundaries that I have placed for myself.  Sure, my stories have been violent and dark in the past, but I'm now trying to push the more horrific aspects a little further.  There are scenes later in the story that shocked me as I wrote them, and yet I wasn't tempted to delete them.  It felt right.  I realized that if I am going to make Grath and his followers the truly twisted individuals that I envision them as, that means that I cannot play it safe while describing the horrors that they inflict on the heroes. I did use some restraint, but I let myself dabble with the sick and twisted mind of my villain, and what I found was something that, in a weird way, I was comfortable with.  It's not to say that I found the images that my brain concocted enjoyable.  Actually, it's the exact opposite.  I found them horrifying, which is the whole point of writing a horror/fantasy series.  I created scenes that cemented how vile and perverse Grath really is.  I do feel like I had started to get the point across during the end of Experiments in Darkness, but in the one scene that I could have gone all out with, I pulled back at the last minute.  When Grath attacks a powerless Bobby, I started to push forward, to let the character be truly abused and broken, but in the last second I pulled back.  It wasn't so much that the abuse didn't happen, but that I shifted it to the background, uncomfortable with the weight of what that scene meant for the future of my character, and for the characters connected to him. More importantly, I was too scared of what the audience would think. While some would say that, in that instance, pulling back was a good thing, a part of me wonders if I ended up softening the preverbal blow, and removed the strength that could have really driven the characters to a different place, and given the story some more emotional weight.

The same goes for the sexual aspects.  While I have no real interest in writing pornographic sex scenes, I am finding myself wanting to explore how my characters view sex, and part of that is including parts of their sex lives in the stories themselves.  I actually wrote my first love scene (which will be showing up in a later part of the story), and I really enjoyed it.  I didn't focus on the biological, or the mechanics of sex, but instead on the emotions that drew those two characters together in that moment. I actually found the scene to be oddly powerful (and a little cheesy, but that comes with the territory).  I have hinted at sex several times before, but I always found myself stopping short of actually delving into a true sex scene, or even a love scene.  Now, after dipping my toe into that pool, I feel like maybe I can start to explore that aspect of my characters in a more full, and yet not explicit, way.

One area where I find myself pulling back is cursing.  While my characters will curse (and even drop a few f-bombs), I don't feel the need to load my story up with a constant stream of vulgarity.  One of the issues I had with my first game, and one that I really didn't develop until after it had been released, was just how vulgar some of the dialogue is.  It didn't bother me just because it was vulgar, but because it was vulgar for no reason.  Sumthak was the biggest victim of this, with her dialogue falling so flat because of the near constant stream of curse words that seemed to fall from her mouth.  Cursing has a purpose, and can actually be a pretty powerful tool, but in that instant, I abused it, and I feel like it hurt the game a little.

Do I think you, the reader, will react the same way as I did while writing the story?  I hope so.  I hope that whatever talent I do have is able to convey to you the emotional intent behind the scenes.  I am not a great writer, and probably not even a very good one, but I am learning every day, with every new part of the story that I write.  One aspect of writing these stories is allowing myself to learn, and grow, and challenge myself.  Hopefully that growth is reflected in the quality of my writing.