The Abbey
The building
was old, older than any structure deserved to be in this part of the country. It had weathered hurricanes, blizzards, and
everything else God could throw at it, and yet it stood. Despite its internal strength, the weight of
its bones, its outward façade was peeling and faded. From the outside it looked like nothing more
than a derelict old manse, its many-gabled porch sagging under the weight of
years, and its paint worn to an indistinct shade of milky gray.
Even the
little things spoke of the age of the house.
The rope-pull on the rust pitted doorbell was frayed and held together
by nothing more than the assortment of cob webs that covered it. The double doors were slightly ajar, the
right side hanging by a broken hinge.
All one had to do was apply a little pressure and that ancient door would
open wide enough to let me through. A
slight shove, nothing more, and I would be in and out of the weather. But something makes me hesitate, some age-old
and primeval fear of opening a closed door, of walking in on something one was
never meant to see. What was it about
the unseen that always sent a shiver, a thrill up my spine?
I can make
out the sound of the hound in the tangle of cypress trees and marshy reeds
behind me, tracking me by the smell of my fear.
It was only a matter of time before I will feel its rotten meat tainted
breath on my back. If I don’t find some
sort of cover it would be my ass in the fire.
So, against my better judgment I push open the door as slowly as I can
to prevent any kind of noise. My effort
for stealth fails miserably as the ages-old hinges let out a squeal of protest
at their jostling.
The noise
seems to echo on forever until it is overridden by the sound of the hound
tearing through the swamp after me. If
it didn’t have my scent before it certainly knows where I am now. In a moment I am inside and doing my best to
slam to rickety doors shut behind me.
Just as the doors latch clicks home I feel the doors shudder as the
hound slams its considerable weight against them again and again. My last glimmer of hope fades as licking
tongues of flame appear under the doorjamb.
Those fuckers in the coven sent a hell-hound after me…now how in the
hell am I going to get myself out of this mess?
*
Deep below
the main floor of the house, in a hideaway dug from the floor of the basement
it stirred. The thick moldy smell of wet
soil and ancient wood filled it’s nostrils as it slowly awoke. Sleep flees its dream-ridden mind as the creature
stretches its body from the cramped crouch from which it slept. It thinks back to the last time it was awake,
the last time it moved its ancient muscles and remembers the war over the
slaves. It remembered the power of life
rushing through its veins as it fought against the forces of the great oppressor. The war was fought on so many fronts, brother
versus brother, freedom against bondage, and darkness against the light. For years it had battled to preserve the
souls of the fallen and to protect the sanctity of life only to be forced to
retreat into hiding again when the war ended.
Now, after
so many decades, it once again felt the touch of darkness nearby. It could also feel the man’s fear and his
life force coursing through its fragile veins. The creature had hoped fervently that it would
never again be forced into battle that it could spend its eternity hidden away
from everything, but it was not to be. It
stood and slowly stretched. After ages of
slumber it could again feel the power coursing through its muscles, its mighty
wings spreading wide enough to scratch at the walls of the spacious basement in
which it had slept for so long.
The darkness
would be punished for awakening it…
*
I step back from the decrepit doors as they begin to shimmer with heat. It’s only a matter of time now before the hound is through them and onto me. I can feel the long sigh escape my lips as I check the weapons that I still have on me. Two clips for the .45 and my short sword. It figures that I would lose the AR somewhere in that blasted marsh. I could really use some automatic fire to try to drop the hell-hound but that’s just not to be. This fight is going to be ugly. I can already feel the beasts sweltering breath through the doors and there isn’t much lead bullets are going to do against its scorching hide. Maybe, just maybe, I can slow it down with the .45 enough to use the sword but I’m not holding my breath. Damn things are fast as hell and twice as mean. Even money says I end up as nothing more than a pile of dog-shit on the floor of this old mansion before the day is over.
