The Satanist's Estate

By Bryan Holm

The Satanist's Estate by Brian Holm. Be sure to check out the debut Eye Tales story from author Bryan Holm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PsychoToxin Press
• Release date: Apr 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224930609

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The Satanist's Estate

The wet snow wormed its way inside Emma’s pink sneakers, a shocking chill after the claustrophobic heat of the library. She had no jacket, no hat or gloves, only a thin yellow dress, drenched in blood, some of it hers, most of it not, already bitter cold and sticking to her skin. She yanked off the last of the ropes that had bound her hands and feet for days. Her wrists were raw, caked with scabs. She scanned the yard. It was a sprawling estate, massive and imposing, a lumbering granite-faced monster towering over her, bathing her in its dark shadows.

Emma had never seen snow in real life before, and under any other circumstances, she would have been overjoyed by the sight of it. Just a few days ago, old Emma would have been excitedly performing cartwheels in the fresh flakes, attempting her first snow angel next to her first snowman. Not today. Emma didn’t know where she was, not the city, not even the state. All she knew was the tree line ahead of her, a wall of thick towering pines, and at that moment, it seemed like her best chance of survival.

Behind her, the door she had just flown through kicked open. A figure emerged, draped in a long, hooded black cloak. He yanked it off, revealing the fissured, pock-marked face of an old man.

There’s nowhere to go, child! The man bellowed, his voice sandpaper in the wind.

He pulled a dagger from beneath his robe, and stumbled after her through the snow, dragging his left leg.Emma closed her eyes tight, and ran like hell.

***

Mia sat in the driver’s seat of her ‘87Ford Bronco. It was her dream truck.Mia had spent the last two years painstakingly restoring it herself. Little by little, one YouTube video and a flurry of swear words at a time, she was bringing the majestic beast back to its former glory.

She eyed the faded maroon fabric of the passenger seat, one rusty spring visible through a tear in the stitching. This was her next project. A set of shrink-wrapped, custom leather seats were waiting in her garage. She hoped to wrap up this case today, spend tomorrow on the road, and spend a long weekend back in Detroit, alone with her truck and a six-pack of beer.

Mia hit the wipers, fanning a layer of melting snow off the windshield. The storm was picking up, and she was worried it would derail her weekend plans. She checked her watch again; it was just past 3:30 in the afternoon. Where were those guys? As if on cue, a large SWAT truck lumbered down the road, moving slowly to keep its engine at a quiet hum.

Mia checked herself in the rearview mirror, adjusting the collar of her shirt. She stepped out of the truck, zipping up her blue coat, FBI stenciled in yellow on the back. The wind