the dark hours 2.5

Here’s the second half of last week’s snippet. Currently the story is a little over 7k. At this rate (writing a new part in time for every holiday), I’ll probably snap and try to finish the thing around Christmas.

* * *

The fog twined around Jason, tracing cool fingertips over him. It was an ephemeral thief, stealing his warmth, the daylight, and that police officer who’d been following him a moment before.

Wet steps crunched nearby.

Jason turned. The fog hid his backyard and house, but the steps were moving closer. The ethereal air hid the world from him, but it did not hide him from the world.

The steps drew closer. Louder.

Jason reached into his satchel and withdrew his sword. Let it be the officer. He wanted it to be the officer. The man wasn’t exactly nice but–

A dark shape shifted in the mist, its eyes burning a deep red. The wet steps grew heavy, and the figure raised a long arm. Talons curved and glinted.

Jason lashed forward, burying the blade in beneath the figure’s left arm.

Cool air swept passed his neck, and pain briefly bit his right shoulder.

Then, the dark shape faded, disappearing into a blue-silver dust that shimmered in the air.

Jason stepped back and squeezed his arm. The pain would go away in a moment, and then it would be like the vampires and other monsters that had converged on this town; something that no one would ever believe in.

The air behind him grew cooler. Jason turned.

Another figure was there, just out of range.

It shifted, moving a little to the left, and then right, as if it was a part of the fog. Its eyes burned.

Jason drew back. The fog hid whatever might be behind him, but he trusted the unknown more than the thing before him.

The figure chuckled. The sound bled into the fog, surrounding Jason.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Jason,” Thayer said. “Do you think I’ll let you go now that you’ve come?”

Jason jerked awake in his car. He had to get out of there before Thayer . . .

Thayer wasn’t there.

Jason blinked. He was slouched across the front seat of his car. Outside, the sky was a somber blue. Tall red woods surrounded the narrow two-lane road beside the car, making the area look dark. The sky was not quite night, not quite morning, but enough light bled through to allow him to see the no parking after sunset sign in front of the car. Something small chattered nearby, waking another chattering creature.

He brushed his hair away from his eyes. Flying Spaghetti Monster, that dream . . .

Wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.

Jason pushed himself up. He couldn’t quite remember when he’d learned Thayer’s name. At some point during that macabre summer, he’d learned the man’s name and voice.

Oddly, Jason had never seen him. He’d caught glimpses of Thayer in fog or shadows, but had never succeeded in getting closer. Something about the mist . . .

Nothing else came to mind.

Damn.

He slumped against his seat. While the memory about the fog kept a teasing distance, he remembered the officer’s name. Seth’s former partner had been Bryan. He’d followed Jason into the backyard. The police never found more than his hand.

Old pain unfurled inside of Jason. At one time, he hadn’t been able to sleep at night, wondering what had happened to the officer. After a few months of therapy? Jason hated to admit it, but he forgot the officer’s name.

Fuck. He was a bastard.

Jason started the car. The engine woke, grumbling. As it smoothed into an even rumble, his frustration followed. He’d been young. Everyone–his parents, his therapist, the police–had been so certain he’d imagined everything. The murders happened so close to home. He was just a kid. He didn’t understand.

Unpleasant though well meaning thoughts. He liked to think he was pretty stubborn, but at twelve, who could withstand that kind of pressure?

Not him, certainly. He gave them what they wanted to hear. Worse, he grew to believe it. He was imaginative. Everything was fine. Vampires did not live next door.

Except . . . something in him had to have remembered. He’d had that dream. Last night, he’d killed that vampire. If he went through his books, would he discover that something had crept from his Grandfather’s books, into his subconscious, and onto the page? Nothing came to mind right now, but he wanted to think so.

The thought–the hope pushed the lingering unease from his nightmare back. He turned on the headlights, bring a hint of civilization to this corner of Highway Nine.

Jason glanced at the gas gauge and put the car into drive. He had over half a tank. More than enough to reach Half Moon Bay. Later, after he’d gotten the books, he’d fill up and head . . .

Somewhere. Somewhere where Thayer wouldn’t find him. Somewhere where he would get a friend killed.

He frowned and drove.

The woods hovered silently at the edge of his sight. He’d read somewhere that there was a ghost town somewhere in the Santa Cruz Mountains, but he’d never figured out where. Not all dead things went out of their way to find him.

Jason arrived at the house an hour later, when the sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains. Its movement was slow. Sleepy. He stood by his car, letting its heat bleed into him, and stared at the house.

He didn’t want to go in there. Thayer was waiting. He said he would, and though Jason had forgotten, Thayer hadn’t. He–

Fuck.

Jason grabbed his satchel from the passenger seat and forced himself toward the house. It was day. Whenever he encountered Thayer before, it had always been dark. The house might be creepy, in a pretty, Tudor-inspired way, but it was safe right now. Besides, the last time he’d been there, Thayer had been inside. If Thayer lingered and found the books–

He quickened his steps.

A moment later, he was at the door. The key slid in, clicked.

And he was going inside.

The stale air he remembered from his last visit was gone. In its wake was a cool morning scent.

Somewhere, he realized, there was a window or two open.

Old worries crept through him. He needed to lock things behind him. If he left something open–

It wouldn’t matter. Thayer had gotten in last time. Right now, Jason had to focus on getting the books and then getting out of there.

Jason hurried upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, a field of untouched dust coated the hall. He headed toward the last room.

As he moved, dust stirred. He suspected his steps were imprinting on the dust, creating a fragile proof of his existence. It would tell Thayer he’d been there.

The hall ended in a window seat. Its window was open, letting cool air snake in from the backyard. Beside it was the entrance to his old room.

Jason’s steps slowed. If Thayer was still there–

No. He couldn’t. The room was in the corner of the house, with many large windows that faced the rising sun. The corner also curved, making it so that there wasn’t a shadowy place to hide during the day. At twelve, Jason had thought of the room as his private tower.

He stepped into the room.

And then stopped.

Despite the bareness of the rest of the house, the room was furnished. A large bed lay before the corner windows, looking out over the back of the house, the stone fence, and Thayer’s manor. In the opposite end of the room was a desk and chair. The closet door was half open, offering him a hint of dark clothes.

Jason stared. What the hell? The bastard intended to dress him? Why–

The curtains along the windows trembled, and then a cool breeze traced over Jason. He scowled at the windows, their curtained phantoms, and the house behind his. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to care. As long as he got out of there, he could continue to not care.

Not quite believing himself, Jason looked up.

The paneled ceiling was unmarred.

Relief swept through him. It was a sweet, heavy feeling, briefly making him light headed. Thayer may have furnished the room, but he hadn’t found the secret entrance to the attic. There was a Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Jason turned and headed for the desk. Moving quickly, he pushed it toward the center of the room.

When it was in place, he went back for the chair. It was a nice heavy wood thing, with no swivel bottom, and a nice tapestry seat. He put it on top of the desk, and then climbed up beside it.

Then, careful to not let himself shoot another glower at Thayer’s manor, Jason reached up and pushed at the paneling above him.
The wood was cold beneath his skin. It made a shhh sound, and then shifted beneath his fingers.

Jason smiled. He discovered this entrance to the attic the first night he slept in the room, when he noticed that the panel wasn’t set right. Then, as now, he’d pushed the desk and chair to the center of the room and investigated. What he found . . .

His smile faded. He nudged the panel to one side, slowly opening it. His parents had been quiet insistent there wasn’t enough space up there for an attic. It was a crawlspace, likely filled with spiders. He was being imaginative again.

Now, looking up into the opening . . . it did look small.

Jason looked out the window. In the daylight, the manor looked fairy tale perfect. It was real. Thayer was real. If the books weren’t, Jason needed to find out now, and get out of there before he was discovered.

He pushed the panel the rest of the way, creating a two foot by two and a half opening. The space above was dimly lit. If his memories were right, there were windows up there. Small, octagon shaped, similar to the room itself.

Room. Not crawlspace.

He hoped.

Jason drew the chair close and climbed up.

He thought of spiders and bats. Small things with sharp teeth and hungers. They hadn’t been in the space before but that didn’t mean they hadn’t moved in during the intervening years.

Nothing bit him as he slipped through the opening. He crawled out beneath a beam, pulled away from the hole.

And then stood.

Flying Spaghetti Monster. The attic was real.

Jason laughed softly. Small dusty windows allowed light the color of dirty water to seep into the octagon-shaped room. Herbs dried to the point of mummification hung from wooden beams along the ceiling. They reminded him of a trip to England, when he’d gone to the only surviving operating theater. Then, like now, he had been surrounded by herbs. Shelves of dried roots and flowers. Sticks of myrrh, pine cones, jars of spices.

These things had been there before, but he hadn’t paid them much attention. He’d briefly been interested in the stairs set in the corner, but from a previous experiment, he knew that though the stairs technically led down to the hallway, sometime between when his mother moved out and when his grandmother died, someone put a wall over the door and turned that end of the hall into the window seat.

After the stairs, he’d become interested in the skeleton in the opposite corner. The smiling thing was trapped in what looked like a person-sized bird cage. Looking at it now, Jason recognized it as a gibbet. People used to put the bodies of executed criminals in them for public display.

Fuck. He used to lie reading at that thing’s feet. He’d named it Fred.

Books.

Jason moved past the skeleton. He needed to focus on the books. Maybe one of them explained what the hell a gibbet was doing up there.

A few feet past the skeleton, set into a tower of its own, was a tall bookcase filled with elegant leather clad tomes, a pretty wooden desk, and chair.

He stepped up to the bookshelf and began slipping the tomes into his satchel. He hoped to drop them in his car and then return for more. With luck, he’d be able to get all of the books into the back seat and be gone before nightfall.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know if he’d have much time to study the rest of the room. He regretted that. Something there might also have helped him.

When the satchel was full, Jason stepped up to the closest window and wiped the dust away. The sun was off to the side of the house, partially hidden from him, but in another hour, it’d be peeking in. He could use it to time himself. When it disappeared over the top of Thayer’s manor in a few hours–

Something moved outside.

Jason stepped closer to the window.

Outside, a low level mist crept over the broken section in the stone fence separating his yard from Thayer’s and snaked toward the house.

Jason stared. The fog was moving like a living thing. That was impossible. It was day. Thayer wasn’t supposed to be able to function–

He was. Fuck.

Jason ran for the opening in the ground. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He slipped through the opening, carefully making his way down. Once his feet touched the desk, he shut the panel. He needed to run.

He also needed to protect the books. Thayer hadn’t found them before but if Jason didn’t move the desk he would. He’d take them, burn them, and then Jason would never know.

Shit.

Jason leapt off the desk. He pulled the chair off the desk, shoved the two a couple feet, and then ran. He should have pushed the desk further back. He doesn’t have time.

Flying Spaghetti Monster, where was that knife he’d used last night? Would it hurt Thayer?

Would Thayer let him get a good shot at him through the fog?

Jason was halfway down the stairs when the mist came into the living room. As it moved through the room, the curtains fluttered shut, darkening the area.

Holy fuck, forget the knife. Jason wanted out.

Heart thumping in his throat, he raced across the landing and headed for the door. He yanked it open.

Outside, he saw Detective I-think-you-were-sexually-abused-as-a-kid writing down Jason’s license plate number. Jason moved toward him–

And then something was shoving him back. The door was pulled out of his hand and slammed shut.

Jason stumbled back. The fog tumbled over the door.

A dark figure stood inside the mist. The ethereal air crept down, revealing dark hair, gold eyes and . . .

Flying Spaghetti Monster. Thayer was handsome.

He had a high forehead. His hair was pulled back and was so black it had blue and violet highlights. Crows feet crouched at the corners of his eyes. He was thin, with narrow shoulders, an aristocratic nose, and long fingers that ended in claws.

Thayer smiled. Mist curled around him. Past his waist, his body faded into the fog.

“I’d just made new arrangements to have you picked up,” Thayer said.

Jason moved back. Mist curled around his legs, slowing his steps.

“The detective is right outside,” he said. He reached into his satchel, searching for the blade. He could hurt this man. He had to think that.

“And?”

“He’s seen my car.” The books were heavy, slowing his search. “He’s going to investigate–”

“He won’t find you. No one has ever found any of the people I’ve taken.”

“They found Officer Bryan’s hand.”

Thayer chuckled. “Considering what I gave him in return, I don’t think he needed it any longer.”

Flying Spaghetti Monster. He hadn’t killed the officer, had he? Whatever he’d done was worse.

Jason dug in deeper. He touched something cold and dull–

And then mist curled around his wrists, yanking them out to either side.

Jason jerked. No. He’d been so close to everything. The knife. The books. Getting out of there.

A thread of fog snaked up his arm and slipped around and around the strap of his satchel. It pulled the book bag away, dropping it on the floor.

Thayer walked around Jason. He made a soft tsking sound. “Your movements are awkward. You have the speed but no grace.”

“Fuck you.”

Thayer chuckled.

He was close. So close. His breath tumbled over Jason’s neck, teasing him.

“Soon,” Thayer whispered.

No.

There was a knock on the door.

Horror and relief clashed inside Jason. Thayer would kill Seth. Seth might also help him. “Detec–”

Luke-warm fingers slapped over Jason’s mouth.

“Shhh,” Thayer whispered. “No need to kill that one just yet.”

No. No need to kill anyone at all.

Jason hoped.

Jason bit.

Cold blood lapped at his lips and tongue. The taste was bittersweet and rich, a mix of iron and cloves.

Thayer shifted behind him. Jason dug in deeper. He wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let the bastard hurt–

Thayer’s arm relaxed around him, and then he pushed his fingers deeper into Jason’s mouth.

Jason choked. What–why–

He jerked his head to one side, breaking free of the fingers.

Thayer laughed softly. “You’re not what we expected before,” he whispered. “We expected someone older. The last hunter we had wasn’t called until his early twenties. You though?” Thayer’s fingers traced Jason’s lips. “You saw the dark young. Now, you will become it.”

No.

There was another knock, and then the door slammed open.

The detective, Seth, stepped in, gun out. Sunlight bled in around him, and where it touched the mist, the fog evaporated.

Thayer drew him back into the shadows of the room, clamping his hand over Jason’s mouth. The mist followed, swirling thickly around them.

“Jason?” Seth called out. He looked around, frowning.

Jason struggled. The detective was looking at, and then past, them. The man frowned and stepped closer.

And then past them.

Fuck. Seth couldn’t see them in the mist, could he?

The idea horrified Jason. They were standing so close to one another, but Seth didn’t know that. This had been what he’d been trying to remember before, wasn’t it? Thayer could control the mist, and Jason–and others–would only be able to see what the vampire wanted them to see.

Thayer pulled him further toward the wall. He made soft sounds into Jason’s ear, sending an unpleasant shiver through him.

Seth turned slowly, studying the room.

Jason jerked, catching his elbow on the end of a nearby curtain.

The fabric fluttered, allowing sunlight to knife the fog. Thayer winced and moved back.

Jason’s eyes widened. Sunlight stung him. He could move about it in but it still stung him. Good.

He kicked out. Thayer struggled, drawing him close. Jason’s leg jerked out, knocking the curtain open.

Light spilled over them. Thayer hissed, and the mist around Jason thinned. His hands broke free of the fog.

Seth turned, looking past–

And then at him.

Jason grabbed at the curtains and yanked them down. Light spilled over him. Thayer’s grip spasmed.

And then Jason was free. He stumbled forward, falling.

Seth caught him.

His hands were warm. Alive. Jason was glad–

Sharp footsteps tumbled nearby. Jason turned and saw a thin trail of mist darting out the front door. A dying trail of fog hovered in its wake.

“Are you all right?” Seth asked.

Yes. No. He could still taste Thayer’s blood.

Then again, he was out of the vampire’s hands. He was still wearing his own clothes. His Grandfather’s books were right there. He was fine.

“Yeah,” Jason said.

Seth released him. “Someone had been in here.”

“Yes.” Jason turned toward him. The detective’s eyes–one blue, one green–watched the fog.

“What–where did he go?”

“His house, probably.” Daylight apparently didn’t stop Thayer, but it did weaken him.

“Did he . . .” Seth frowned.

Jason suspected the detective was trying to understand what he’d just seen. Jason didn’t know if he’d actually want to know.

Right now, that was okay. They were safe and Jason had the books. He wanted to take what he’d gotten and get the hell out of there before Thayer got a chance to recuperate.

“I think it was a thief,” Jason said. The lie felt odd to him, so he told himself it was a story. The detective needed something real to believe in. Jason owed him that.

“A thief,” Seth said.

“He broke in.”

“And tore your shirt. And bled on you.”

The blood, Jason knew about. The shirt was news.

“I was upstairs when thought I heard something,” he said. “When I came downstairs, he attacked me.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“It was dark.”

“It’s not that dark.” Seth glanced at the door. “There was mist.”

That, Jason didn’t know how to normalize.

He grabbed his satchel. “Look, thanks for coming in. I’d be happy to fill out a report or–”

Cold slipped around his wrist, clicking shut. Jason looked down.

And found a handcuff around his hand.

“I want to know what it was I saw,” Seth said. “And I want to know what it was I didn’t.”

Written by Luisa Prieto

Dark fantasy writer by day, dark fantasy writer by night. I'm charmingly dull that way ;)
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