Hope's End

By Martin John

At first glance, Hope’s End seems like your typical suburban utopia. However, beneath the surface, a deadly secret lies; it is home to some of the foulest things to ever stalk our Earth. For years they have gathered in the shadows, preying on the unsuspecting populace of the town. Few know of their existence, even fewer are capable of stopping them.

The Switchers Guild is a century-old organization dedicated to bringing the fight to the creatures that lurk in the shadows. But they have long since passed their glory days and now operate with a skeleton staff and dwindling resources. Undermanned, underfunded, and fighting a war they cannot win, The Guild decides to abandon the citizens of Hope’s End to their fate and magically seal off the town so that the evils within cannot escape.

Almost a decade later, The Switchers learn that something is brewing in Hope’s End that could spell disaster not only for the town but potentially for the entire world as well. Out of desperation, a small ragtag team venture to the forgotten town knowing full well that once they enter, they will never be able to leave. Aware that the odds are against them they recruit, Noah Wild; an ex-cop, turned thief to their cause.
After surviving a chance encounter with a demon, Noah is thrust into a world of magic, monsters, mutants, and mayhem. Out of his depth, he quickly learns that the fate of the world may very well rest upon his inept shoulders. But there may still be hope, for the Switchers believe he has a talent, not even he is aware of.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martin John
• Release date: Sep 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005500214

Martin John

Martin John was born in Birmingham, England in 1970...something. At the age of 10, he moved to South Africa. There, he developed a love for campfire tales of ghosts and goblins but absolutely no love of camping.He spent most of his childhood and teens with his head buried in books written by the masters of horror: Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and James Herbert. Although some children would have been mentally scarred by reading these books at such an early age, Martin’s therapist assured him he was messed up long before then.In his twenties, Martin flitted between countries, even doing a small stint in Miami. Although tempted by the idea of being the palest and most unattractive person living in Coconut Grove, he decided to return to England. There, he pursued a career in sales and business development, quickly becoming a slave to the luxuries this lifestyle afforded him... such as food, electricity, and on occasion, warm water.Recently, he walked away from the rat-race to write full-time. Hope’s End is his first novel, which combines his love of horror, action, and quirky sense of humor.Martin lives in the countryside with his family and many animals. When he is not writing, he loves cooking and will shamelessly brag about how amazing his Italian dishes are.

Book preview

Prologue

Noah landed gracefully on the ground, feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. He turned around to look at the large gate he had just scaled. It looked intimidating, but in reality, it was child’s play for a man of his skill. Although he had to admit, carrying a bag of safe cracking tools on his back made the task more difficult than it needed to be.

He maneuvered his way out of the bag’s handles and caught it just before it hit the ground. The metal tools inside clunked against each other, making more noise than Noah was happy with. He looked over to the modest security guard’s house right next to the huge gate. It was empty, just as he was told it would be. In fact, he had been told not a single living soul would be at this property tonight.

He was wise enough not to allow this to make him drop his guard completely. However, he was feeling more comfortable than he usually did in situations like this. Truth be told, Noah was feeling particularly chipper on this cool spring night.

He put the reason for this down to three things. First, this job was already shaping up to be an easy one. His fixer had told him that the owner was out of town, and in an uncharacteristic display of good nature, had given all of his staff the week off.

Second, if what he had been told was true, this would also be the most lucrative job he’d had in a while. He had been instructed to steal the contents of a safe in the owner’s study. The cash (of which he was told there would be a lot) and jewelry (which he was led to believe was expensive) contained within was his to keep. There were apparently a few old artifacts that his fixer’s contact was willing to pay top dollar for.

Third, and this is the point that pleased Noah the most about this job, the owner of the huge and lavish mansion that stood before him, was a complete and utter asshole. And Noah loved nothing more than stealing from assholes.

Wayland Garrett was a steel tycoon who had made his way to the top through coercion, blackmail, and extortion. In recent years, he had used his financial clout and political contacts to keep his crooked ass out of jail for one count of rape and two counts of assault with intent to harm. The first was an eighteen-year-old college student, and the second to be the focus of his ire, a waitress at a fancy restaurant. A little part of Noah was disappointed Garrett would not be there tonight. He would’ve liked to rough him up a bit.

However, this job also had some icing on the cake, as if it even needed it. Apparently, the artifacts in Garrett’s safe were so damning to his reputation, if Noah didn’t steal from anywhere else in the mansion, there was an excellent chance that Garrett would not even report the theft. This gave Noah cause to smile as he strolled confidently across the meticulously maintained lawn up to the marbled steps of the mansion.

As he approached, he found himself humming Reet Petite by Jackie Wilson. The song had plagued him from the instant he had woken up that morning. He had not heard it in years and had no idea how the song had wormed its way into his head. In fact, it had been so long since he had heard the song, it took a maddening two hours of humming the earworm before it finally dawned on him what it was. Now the song had burrowed into his brain like an alien parasite and refused to move. Noah enjoyed the little ditty as he waltzed up to the front door.

He looked at the sturdy oak door and then at the lock and smiled to himself. Typical rich asshole. They always seemed to spend a fortune on a door that looked like it could withstand a direct hit from a bazooka without giving a moment’s thought to the lock. This one was so basic even a novice could pick it.

Noah gently set his bag of tools on the ground, pulled his lock pick set from his pants pocket and set to work on the lock. He had the door open within twenty seconds. As soon as it was open, he picked up his bag and hurried inside, closing the door behind him.

He wasted no time looking around for the keypad alarm on this side of the door. He located it quickly and ran over to punch in the code he had been given to disable the alarm. Something unusual made him stop in his tracks. The keypad was not beeping. No countdown had begun, signaling the imminent arrival of blaring alarms and armed security. Noah looked at it more closely and saw that the electronic panel was inactive.

A broad smile spread across his face. It looked like Garrett had forgotten to activate the alarm before going on vacation. A little odd perhaps, but as Jackie Wilson merrily chimed, "Reet petite, the finest girl you ever want to meet…" in Noah’s mind, any concerns he may have had vanished as he walked away from the dormant alarm.

A double set of richly carpeted stairs complete with ornate banisters curled around both sides of the large open hallway. On the landing at the top of the grand two-way staircase was a set of mahogany double doors.

Had Noah not been humming as he ascended the staircase, he may have heard something large moving behind the double doors. Likewise, had he not been so distracted by thoughts of riches, which were almost within his grasp, he may have noticed the small pool of blood trickling out from under the doors. Had he not been so preoccupied with ensuring the doors closed quietly behind him, he may have noticed the bloody carnage and eight-foot-tall demon in the room beyond before it was too late. He sure as hell noticed it the moment he turned around, which was the exact same time Jackie Wilson vanished for good, leaving Noah to face the music by himself.

Moments earlier…

The demon looked across the barren, desolate wasteland of jagged black rocks and crimson streams, which flowed slowly between them like lethargic arteries. In the distance, echoing across the rocky landscape and blackened sky, it could hear the cries of torment and pain being inflicted on the souls imprisoned in this realm of hell. Untold millennia of suffering and anguish had seeped into every rock and rivulets of blood, becoming part of their very essence. The demon could taste it in the air, feel it with every touch of cold, hard rock or warm, visceral stream, and this made it happy.

It liked these moments when it was miles away from the other denizens of this realm. It enjoyed surveying the lifeless landscape, breathing in deep the suffering in the air, caressing the stone and feeling the sorrow embedded deep within. It took pleasure in running its hands through the channels of blood and feeling it ooze between its fingers, knowing these were made by pain inflicted on others. And again, it felt something it could not quite explain. If it could feel the full range of human emotions, maybe its current state of mind could be equated to happiness. Or maybe what it felt in these moments was simply the absence of anger and hatred.

Satisfied, for now, it stood upright, ready once more to exert its dominance over those weaker than it, and torture the souls trapped here for eternity.

The demon went to take a step forward, but as it did, it felt a pull in the small of its back, like it was tethered to something behind it. It took a moment to register, and the demon attempted once more to walk forward. This time the pull was more like a tug, and instead of taking a step forward, the demon stumbled a step back. What was happening?

The next tug was more violent and forceful, lifting the demon off its feet, yanking it back as if it weighed nothing. Suddenly, the demon realized what was happening. It had experienced this once before, and it roared in fury. It was being summoned.

As powerful and as ancient as the demon was, it was still a creature of magic and as such bound by the laws of magic. Only man was gifted with true free will. Demons could be bound and forced to follow the command of lesser creatures with the right incantations and rituals. The last time this happened to the demon had been almost a thousand years ago, but it still remembered the humiliation of being forced to bow like a lowly dog and serve the demands of man, the lesser being, as if it were yesterday. For thirty-three days it had been in the human’s thrall, powerless to do anything but comply meekly with its demands.

However, the human had not read the small print in the spell. When it was finally time for death to claim it, the human’s soul was condemned to an eternity in the demon’s realm, and this time, he was at its mercy. Every single day from then to now, the demon had ensured special care was taken to guarantee that this soul suffered thirty-three times more than the other souls condemned to its realm. But even this daily retribution did nothing to quell the rage of indignity it had suffered almost a millennium ago. And now someone dared to do the same thing again.

It could feel its blood boil, it roared with such ferocity that it felt its throat tear and bleed. It was lifted further and further off the ground, helpless to stop its ascent.

But as it was pulled higher and higher into the sky, it sensed that something was different this time. Something not quite the same as when it was summoned previously. It searched its mind frantically to find the answer, not so much from learned knowledge, but from an inherent arcane sixth sense deep within it. Suddenly, the answer popped into its mind, and it was as certain of it as it was of its own magnificence, and it smiled. This time its summoners had omitted a part of the ritual. They had completed the incantation to tear the demon from its realm of existence, but they had failed to complete the part of the ritual that would bind it to them. When it arrived on Earth, it would be free to do as it pleased. It would be free to exact immediate revenge, sending those who bitterly offended it by this transgression straight to its plane of hell. There their eternal punishment would continue on its return.

More pertinently, it would be free in the realm of humans for thirty-three days to wreak carnage, death, and destruction as it saw fit. The pathetic mortals would be powerless to stop it. Its time in the realm of man would be a black mark in their history for all time, a cautionary tale about what happens when mortals dare entertain the idea they should have dominion over the immortal demon races. And this thought made it happy once more. With a loud pop it blinked out of existence from its realm and instantly appeared on Earth.

It took a moment to survey its new surroundings. It was in a room with a ceiling only a little taller than it. Windows adorned the walls on either side of the room, letting in the pale moonlight from outside. There were three exits in the rooms, if one excluded the windows, although if any of the humans had the will to retain their minds in its presence it could not exclude the possibility that their terror may cause them to throw themselves through the glass in an effort to flee.

Beside a dead human female, who lay blooded and splayed out on top of an oak altar, were twelve humans in dark hooded cloaks. Four dropped dead within seconds of the demon’s arrival; the terror of what stood before them too much for their hearts to endure. The minds of another five snapped (almost audibly to the demon’s ears), unable to comprehend the magnificence of what they had summoned. The remaining three fell to the floor, screaming, crying, and soiling themselves, realizing only too late what they had done. The demon was not surprised by these events. It has seen similar reactions once before when it was summoned all those centuries ago. Twenty humans had been present then, and only one had the strength of will to endure being in the demon’s presence. Even then the human had fled, leaving the demon on bended knee for almost a full week before finding the courage to return.

This time though the demon had not arrived on Earth bowing meekly; it had come through to this realm proud and full of wrath. No mortal could look upon this terror unscathed. The reaction from the humans in this room had not only been predictable but expected.

Out of the corner of its eye, the demon noticed an ancient tome and bloodied bone-handled dagger on the altar next to the dead woman. The tome contained the spell used to summon it. It was the same one which it had hoped was destroyed after his last tenure on Earth, something it would make certain of this time around. It was the sight of the dagger that made the demon take a brief involuntary step back and hiss. Not only was the dagger a blasphemous creation and permanent reminder of who had slain its unholy lord, it was also the only mortal weapon in this world that could harm it. The demon felt rage consume it once more. How dare these humans summon it in the presence of a weapon that could kill it!

Fury overwhelmed the demon, and it quickly tore through the humans, killing each of them swiftly and brutally. It even shredded the ones who deigned to die before feeling its wrath. Within moments, all lay lifeless in front of it. Its temper only marginally decreasing from boiling point, it gave thought once more to the ancient tome and dagger. The book would be challenging to destroy, but it could be done. The dagger would be a different matter. It dared not touch it for fear of the power within its blade, but destroy it, it must.

As it contemplated its options, it heard the doors behind it open. It turned to see another human standing in the entrance of the double doors. Maybe this one was late to the summoning, but curiously it was not dressed as the others had been. This one smelled different too. It did not have the smell of someone who dabbled in magic or was fueled by a desire for dark power. No, this one smelled almost pure. This human did not belong here. It had stumbled upon the demon’s summoning by accident. It was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It made no difference to the demon. It would die and suffer as the rest had and would.

The human did not seem to notice the demon at first. Instead, it placed a heavy bag on the floor. It then turned and closed the door it had come through. What was that sound coming from its mouth? The sound was one the demon was unfamiliar with, and it found it both painful and nauseating at the same time. All the more reason to make this one suffer. Only when the human turned back around did it notice the carnage before it, and its mouth dropped wide open.

The demon raised itself to full height and glared at the human, waiting to see how fear would take it. Would the man’s mind break, or would its heart explode in its chest? Maybe it would have the strength to do neither and instead fall to the floor, curl up into a protective ball, and wait for the demon to mercifully end its mortal life. The demon waited in eager anticipation.

The human did none of these things. Instead, it tilted its head and looked at the demon with a stupid expression on its face, mouthing three syllables.

The demon’s body shook with rage, insulted that this human lacked the decency to break in the mere presence of such a glorious being. It roared with such force to exude blood and phlegm from the mouth. With a single clawed hand, it lifted the heavy wooden altar and swung it at the defiant human with such might as if to squash it against the floor with a satisfactory squelch. The sturdy wooden altar did in fact hit the floor with such force that anything caught between the two would have been obliterated. But it did not hit the human mark.

In a further display of unbelievable defiance, the human did not stand there and accept its fate. Instead, it dove to the side and rolled across the floor out of the way of the large projectile. The demon momentarily gasped at the human, flabbergasted by its insubordination. How dare it not stand still to be killed. How dare it not look at the demon as if it had any option other than to die.

To add insult to injury, the human man now ran towards another of the exits on the rear wall. Briefly unable to comprehend what it had just witnessed, the demon stood dumbfounded. Anger replaced its disbelief of this insolent human. Oh, how it would make it pay for this insult.

It flung the altar at the double doors and gave chase, all thoughts of the tome used to summon it and of the dagger that could be used to slay it forgotten …

1

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Holy Shit! What was that? What was that? What was that? Noah’s mind screamed as he fled down the dark corridor of the mansion. His adrenaline-fueled feet carrying him faster than he had ever run in his entire life.

He hardly broke stride when he reached the door at the end of the corridor. Grabbing and turning the handle and barging with his shoulder for good measure, he rammed open the door. The momentum carried him over the threshold into the room beyond.

Suddenly, he heard a thunderous crash coming from the room at the opposite end of the corridor—the same room he had just run from mere seconds before. The sound was of wood shattering, something that Noah imagined a great oak tree would sound like if it fell and crashed into a house.

He took a moment’s pause in the doorway of which he stood and stared back down the corridor in terror. Had he really seen the horror that he thought he had just seen? He needed to refocus and clear his brain. There had to be a rational explanation for what was going on. However, his heart was beating so fast, it felt like it would burst out of his chest at any moment and leave the rest of his body to fend for itself. His pulse was racing to where he could hear it beating like a drum inside his brain. Noah shook his head, trying to shake out the noise and distraction. Get it together!

Without warning, the double doors at the far end of the corridor burst open. They splintered like balsa wood, sending pieces hurtling across the floor and bouncing off the walls like shrapnel.

And there it stood.

Its massive frame almost filled the void of the doorframe left by the now absent double doors. It stared at Noah with orange, hatred-filled eyes. Its black leathery skin seemed to crack with every tiny movement it made, and within the cracks came a crimson, liquid glow that flowed and pulsated. It reminded him of a lava lamp.

It lowered its head so it could fit not one, but two pairs of large bison like horns under the top of the doorframe and took a step forward. As it did, more of its skin split open to reveal red, glowing ooze. Noah looked at its feet, half expecting to see cloven hooves. Instead, he was oddly disappointed to see that each foot ended in two long, powerful-looking clawed toes. The claws were black and shiny like onyx. At the rear of each foot was another clawed toe that pointed backward.

Its shoulders were only marginally narrower than the corridor itself. They supported two gorilla-like arms that Noah estimated were about the same diameter as his waist. Its hands also sported dagger-sized black claws much like its feet, which looked like they could slice Noah in two with a simple flick of a wrist.

As if this nightmarish vision wanted to prove to Noah that things could and would get worse, two inky black tentacles uncurled from the creatures back and snaked over its shoulders. They swayed, wriggled, and moved as if independent of its master’s own conscious thought.

For what seemed like minutes but in reality, could only have been a couple of seconds, Noah and the thing stared at each other.

The distance between the doorways in which both he and the creature stood was easily twenty feet. On any normal day, under any normal circumstance, that would have seemed like a long corridor even in a mansion of this size. However, as Noah stared at the horror in front of him, the distance that separated them seemed infinitesimally small and was getting smaller by the second.

Noah shook his head again. This cannot be real. Maybe I’m having a psychotic break. Or perhaps someone slipped me a psychedelic drug and I’m hallucinating. Whatever it is, there is no way that can be real.

The beast roared and swung an arm at an antique coffee table that stood against the wall of the corridor. It shattered on impact, and the pieces of it flew towards Noah.

One of the table’s wooden legs bounced off his head with a resounding THUNK.

Ow, Noah yelled involuntarily. Ok, it’s real.

Both moved at the same time. The creature bounding down the corridor towards Noah, and he darted back into the room, slamming the door behind him. Like that’ll help, his mind yelled at him.

Noah spun around, scanning the room seeking an escape route. The sizeable room was lavishly furnished. Expensive looking portraits hung from the walls. Above an open fireplace was a large oval mirror in a gilded gold frame that looked at a glance to have cherubs carved in relief all around it.

Three elegant and expensive-looking couches were arranged in a semi-circle around the fireplace.

But there was no exit. Noah felt his panic rising. He could hear the thing charging down the corridor in his direction, sounding like it was destroying it in the process.

Without conscious thought, Noah’s feet shuffled on the floor taking multiple half steps in random directions, as feet tend to do when they want to get the hell out of dodge, but the brain cannot decide on which direction to take.

Then Noah saw it: a door. He had expected to see a door on the opposite wall, but this door was on the same side of the room, albeit on the far side, in which he entered and it was the last place his brain bothered to look.

He sprinted to the door, scared his shoes would lose traction and he would end up face down on the polished wooden floor.

He was barely at the far door when the one he entered exploded inwards in a hail of wooden shards, followed by the black and red raging behemoth.

Not daring to spare more than a microsecond glancing at his pursuer, Noah flung open the door and was once more running for his life.

This corridor was almost an exact mirror of the previous one. Lead lined windows were to his right and the corridor was lit by the glow of the moonlight. He quickly dismissed diving through the window to freedom. First, he was two stories up, so even if he did not cut himself to ribbons diving through plate glass, the fall afterward was likely to result in serious injury. If he was super lucky, he would break a leg or ankle, which would make running away impossible and being eaten inevitable. That was if he could even break through the glass. He had a fleeting image of throwing himself at the window and bouncing off it like a rubber ball, followed by him being devoured.

On his left were two doors. However, because of the layout of the house, neither of these rooms would have any other exit. If Noah ran in there, he would be trapped and, once again, the result would be him being eaten.

As Noah ran past the first door, he could not help being hit by a sense of irony. He knew behind that door was the study. He also knew in that study was the safe his contact told him about. The one containing a small fortune in cash and thousands of dollars’ worth of artifacts and jewels—his sole reason for breaking into this mansion. Typical, he thought.

Behind him, the creature had entered the corridor. This time it did not bother lowering its head to get through the doorway. Instead, it charged through, obliterating most of the doorframe in the process. With every step, its clawed feet tore up the floor. Its horns gouged chunks out of the walls, smashed the windows, and ripped paintings off their hooks.

Jewels and riches were now the furthest things from Noah’s mind. If he just got out of there alive, he would consider himself a rich man.

Channeling as much energy as he could to his legs and feet, he charged towards the door at the end of the corridor. He hoped the boost would keep him a little way ahead of his pursuer.

He knew where the door at the end of the corridor would lead him. It would lead him straight back into the scene of carnage he witnessed only a few moments ago. He did not want to see it again but had no choice unless he wanted to stop running and die right here, right now. Choosing to live, he sprinted as fast as he could through the door into the room beyond.

The room was about the same size as the sitting room at the other end of the corridor, except it was devoid of furniture apart from a large mahogany altar that stood in the center of a black and white chessboard patterned floor. Moments earlier, Noah had seen the body of a young woman lying on that altar with a large bone-handled dagger next to her corpse. But that was not the most brutal thing he had witnessed. Scattered around the altar, like rag dolls tossed about the room by a tantrum filled child, were the bodies of twelve people all dressed from head to toe in black hooded robes. Each displayed signs of being clawed, gored and savaged, no doubt by the creature that was bearing down on Noah.

Almost as soon as he entered the room, he saw what had caused the horrific crashing noise he had heard moments earlier. The monster had flung the heavy wooden altar at the double doors on the opposite side of the room with such force that it split and twisted the solid oak doors and embedded into the surrounding wall.

Noah’s heart sank. The room had three exits. The one he had just entered by. There was one on the same wall but on the far side of the room, which led to the corridor he had less than a minute ago ran down. The one which led to the landing, two-way grand staircase, entrance hall and the all-important front door to the mansion. It was this exit that was his best and only chance of escape. The same exit, which was now completely and utterly blocked by an altar that would take at least four men to move.

As Noah listened to his imminent death in the form of a ravaging, horned juggernaut less than a couple of yards from the doorway, he quickly weighed his options.

Option one; he could run for the door leading to the other corridor and continue to run around in circles, Road Runner and Wylie Coyote style, until either he or the monster tired of playing cat and mouse. He doubted the monster would tire before he did.

Option two; he could give up and wait here for the monster to kill him. In which case he doubted he would have to wait longer than a few seconds, which was handy since patience was never his strong suit.

Or option three; he could fight.

Noah’s brain was acting on instinct and adrenaline; his eyes scoured the room for the item he had glimpsed earlier. He has only seen it for a fraction of a second, his attention more fixated on the living incarnation of death that had dominated the room, but for some inexplicable reason, his mind had registered it. As if on some subconscious level it knew it was important.

He spotted it just as the double doors behind him erupted into a hundred splinters as the horned creature burst through them.

It lunged at him, taking a wild swipe with its massive clawed hand. Noah ducked just in time to prevent his head from being taken clean off, but the air vacuum created by the monstrous hand passing so close to his face caused his ears to pop.

Noah dashed across the floor a few steps and then dropped to his knees, allowing his momentum and the slick floor surface to send him skidding along it. He slid towards the item he so desperately needed. Right behind him, the monster was sending its fists into the marble floor trying to crush him, each stone-shattering blow getting closer and closer than the last.

Noah lost speed, and he realized he would not make his destination. He quickly sprung to his feet and tried to run. However, the monster was quick to react. One of its long tentacles whipped forward, catching Noah in the side and sent him pinwheeling through the air.

He hit the far wall with a thud and then fell a good five feet to the ground with a crack. All the air escaped his body, and he felt a searing pain through his chest. The blow from the tentacle, the wall, the floor, or maybe a combination of all three, had cracked at least two of his ribs, sending waves of agony through his body with every breath and movement.

Once more the monster was charging in his direction and much to Noah’s dismay, he was now further away from where he was trying to reach. Oh well, you gave it a good shot, part of his mind said. The more primal part of his mind, the part that wanted to live, screamed at him to get up.

Ignoring the pain that tore through his chest, he scrambled to his feet. The monster was moving so fast and was now so close to Noah that he could see nothing else of the room, only its hulking form. He dove out of the way a split second before the monster crashed into the wall where he had just been. It hit with such force the entire room shook and the candelabra in the ceiling swayed.

Noah dashed around it, each step causing fresh agony, and bolted for the center of the room. Behind him he heard the creature turn, roaring in rage at missing its prey, once more giving chase.

Now, only two or three yards in front of Noah was his prize: the silver, bone-handled dagger he had glimpsed earlier. He was not sure if the dagger would even hurt the monster, but he knew it was the only thing in this room that was going to give him a fighting chance.

He felt hot air on the back of his neck. Damn, it was closer than he thought. He reached desperately for the blade, not daring to slow down. Just as his fingers curled around the handle, the monster’s claws found their mark. The hit sent Noah flying once more through the air. Fortunately, the blow had not fully connected as Noah had bent for the dagger just as the monster swung its clawed hand down at him. However, the hit was still powerful enough to tear into his flesh and probably break the already damaged ribs.

Before Noah landed, while he was still ungracefully cartwheeling through the air, he was sure he glimpsed blue flashing lights outside the window. He did not have a chance to give the lights a second thought before landing with a heavy thud on the body of a black-robed man. The corpse had softened his landing and prevented any further damage being caused to his already broken body. However, he knew that one more hit from the creature would be all that was needed to send him shuffling off this mortal coil.

Noah could feel blood pouring out the wound on his back as he struggled to his feet. The monster stared at him. He could have sworn he saw its lips peel back to reveal a toothy grin. It must have known the end was near.

One last time, the monster bore down on Noah and time seemed to slow down.

So, this is how it ends, being torn to pieces by some black and red horned monstrosity. Although scared, Noah was curious why he did not feel more scared. Judging by the surrounding bodies, he guessed most of them were rooted to the spot by terror, unable to run. Helpless to defend themselves against the beast that he now suspected they had brought forth themselves. Had they known what they were summoning? Who cares? Now, as death came at Noah with claws, horns, tentacles and teeth, he realized he was not scared at all. He was resigned to his fate. The only thought he could muster as the monster reached out a black, clawed hand to his throat was, Whatever.

He looked down, not wanting to see the end, and as he did, his heart skipped and hope once more took control of his brain. The dagger! He was still clutching the ancient-looking dagger in his right hand.

Noah looked up just as the monster’s massive hand took hold of his throat and lifted him off the ground as if he were weightless. He could feel the powerful grip choking the life out of him. Using all the energy he had left, he brought the blade under the arm holding him aloft and stabbed the monster in the armpit.

The monster screamed in agony, instantly releasing Noah, who landed shakily on his feet. It was now or never; he knew he either ended this or the monster was going to end him. Gripping the dagger in both hands, he plunged it into the monster’s chest where he hoped its heart would be.

The monster stumbled back, its eyes wide, looking at Noah in incredulous disbelief. It looked at the dagger plunged to the hilt in its chest. It tried to reach for the blade, but before it could, its skin cracked open, the red ichor beneath glowed brightly and pulsated rapidly. It roared in pain, its black skin crumbled off its body as it did, disintegrating like ash before even reaching the floor. The monster took a few more steps backward, each step revealing more of the red viscosity beneath the surface of its skin until that was all it seemed to made of. It screamed one last time in both fury and agony and then exploded outwards. Instead of the creature showering both Noah and the room in red goo, it paused momentarily in the air. Then, as if a mini black hole had opened in the center of its mass, everything that had been the creature was sucked inward and disappeared in an instant, leaving no evidence of its existence.

Noah collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. He was alive, for now at least. He was not sure how much longer he was going to last with the blood pouring out of the wound on his back. The room went dark as he felt consciousness slipping away from him.

In the blurred haze of his mind, he heard voices shouting in the hallway below. He could not help chuckling to himself as he realized what the blue flashing light had been. The police. As always, your timing is impeccable, he thought.

And then he blacked out.

2

Out of the Frying Pan

Noah stared into the small, reflective stainless-steel mirror attached to the wall of his prison cell. He looked a mess, but at least it was a change from staring at blank, gray walls.

He had not shaved since arriving, so he had a healthy amount of sandy brown stubble on his face. He ran his hand through his hair. He needed a haircut too, but he was thankful for looking a little unkempt. Even though this one was not too bad, as far as prisons go in Upstate New York, it made sense in any prison to try and appear as homely as possible lest you attract unwanted attention.

For a guy who was usually considered to be fairly good looking, Noah did not think he was going to have much trouble passing for homely. The rings under his green eyes had grown so dark that the sockets looked almost sunken. Sleep had not come easy to him since that night in the mansion. His brain seemed to have rewired itself to alert him to every creak, moan, or mouse fart which would cause him to bolt upright in bed the moment complete silence was broken.

Almost three weeks had passed, and even Noah was starting to believe he had imagined the whole thing and instead had suffered from some sort of psychotic break. Only the persistent dull pain from the deep wounds on his back and the constant ache and occasionally sharp pain from two cracked ribs made him doubt this theory.

Had he been in his right mind and had time to think of a plausible story, he may have done so. Instead, when he awoke in the hospital still drowsy from the drugs they pumped him with and his mind still reeling from the events he had witnessed, Noah told the police the absolute truth as he remembered it.

Naturally, the police had not believed a single word, and he could hardly blame them. After all, who in their right mind would believe the frantic ravings of a man who claimed to have fought a monster straight out of a hellish nightmare. One that conveniently vanished after he had killed it. Oh, and did I mention it also killed every other living soul in the mansion apart from me?

The lawyer the court had appointed to his case had been less than useless. He was a thin, weedy man who sweated profusely causing his glasses to mist up way too often. As such, he seemed to spend more time cleaning them than reading the case files and figuring out a way to keep Noah out of jail for the rest of his life.

Noah knew he should be more worried about his inevitable fate, a life behind bars. But for some reason, he just could not find it in himself to care more. A life spent with prison bars separating him from the outside world seemed comforting. It seemed safe. At least in jail, he only had real criminals, murderers, and madmen to deal with. That he could handle. Hell, he spent three years handling those kinds of people and almost two more working with them. They were real, made sense, and were far less scary than what awaited him in the shadows of his imagination.

Your lawyer’s here.

Argh! Noah yelled with fright. He had been so deep in thought, he had not seen the prison guard approach the door of his cell.

The big man turned the key and motioned for him to come out. Noah slowly reached for the prison issue