The Haunts

No adult had ever punched Levy before. He never got the law’s attention when he got caught doing something (like smoking while he was still underage). If he had, he’d miraculously become as polite as possible and quite accommodating (like extinguishing it until the authorities left). But with Sheryl, she’d finger the officers. Telling them to piss off, as she sucked away on a Slims cigar. But since the officers, who knew her well enough as her father’s child (their superior), sent on their merry way. When Levy asked her how she could get away with it, she’d turn to him and smile. “They can’t give me a citation; my father is their senior officer. He’ll rip up the ticket, anyway. Besides, I’m his precious daughter. I can do whatever I like.”

Back then, that helped Levy out when he was hanging with her in public. But now? Weeks ago, Sheryl’s father found her at the bottom of the stairs. Left in a pool of her own blood with a snapped neck. Autopsy reports showed that someone had thrown her around before her tragic death. Tossed around her bedroom by someone incredibly strong. Reporters learned of the crime and gave it a grisly description; Levy, who was missing and so a prime suspect, was nowhere to be located.

Levy struggled as he fought to free himself from his handcuffs in the police car’s trunk. Lieutenant Fellman jammed on the brakes, hurried out of his squad car, unlocked the trunk, to grab Levy by the hair. The young man retaliated in whichever way he could. Levy tried to head butt his assailant. He even tried to bite. Levy’s kidnapper, however, calmly struck him full in the face. Smiling, as the teen slumped over.

Now you’ll shut it, Fellman sneered.

Levy glanced up from his chair. Alone together in an emptied living room. It took a moment to observe Sheryl’s father. Noticing he still wore his officer’s uniform, complete with a badge that had the words “to serve and protect” engraved on it. Levy noticed right away that the man was experiencing a mental collapse. Her father was both physically imposing and quite intimidating. Levy imagined a gorilla about to maul a helpless kitten. A chilling prospect for Levy. He squinted his eyes, attempting to remember the man’s first name. Sheryl had told him many times, but Levy couldn’t recall it. Although it may not have been significant, the most concerning aspect was the insertion of a disagreeable-tasting cloth into his mouth, which was then secured with a strip of duct tape.

“You stole my daughter from me, you filth!” Fellman stood back to admire his poor rope job that kept Levy confided in a wooden chair. The living room was empty. Aside from the plastic sheets that covered the room’s floor and walls. Noticing this worrisome tidbit made Levy close his eyes and wish he had stayed in the shop.

I’m in too deep now; he sobbed, and I didn’t even do a goddamn thing to his daughter.

Mister Fellman crouched down and positioned himself at a close distance, creating an intimate atmosphere. A strong odour of alcohol and perspiration emanated from him. He gazed at Levy with bloodshot eyes, waiting for a reaction. “I understand you may not have intended any harm, my little friend, but you’ve taken my daughter away from me, and as a result, there are consequences you must face.” Fellman cuffed Levy across the face. Although not extremely difficult, the task was challenging enough for Levy to imagine that it might have caused a bruise, as it left his ears ringing. The wedding ring of his late wife was the most painful thing.

Levy blinked away his tears and looked at the insane man. He even tried to say, you’re fucking crazy! It came out muffled and lost in translation. The dirty rag tasted awful and made him gag.

After enduring several rounds of being the man’s punching bag, Levy’s face and body appeared significantly worse for wear. He attempted to communicate a mental message to the man. However, nothing could make an impact. He grew weary of simply gazing at the man, hoping that some moral compass would ignite his consciousness. However, it was only after Mister Fellman had given a boy, who weighed a quarter of his own weight, a thorough beating that he felt guilty. Despite his strong desire for revenge, he ultimately realized that he could rise above such behaviour.

Or perhaps this creep was sobering up Levy eyed the man.

“Prison is too good for you, murderer!”

Levy tried to focus through the pain. Wishing that he could reason with this sick bastard. Only Fellman continued to shake his head. Pacing back and forth while punching his other hand.

“I did what you asked of me,” Fellman backed up. Gesturing just beyond his prisoner’s line of sight. Levy sensed someone else in the room. Someone pulling the madman’s strings. Levy knew who the real culprit was.

The shadows behind Mister Fellman crept out like smoky, thorn-covered vines as an old woman’s arms slid over Mister Fellman’s shoulders and lingered playfully on the front of his broad chest.

“No,” Cailleach Bhéarach said, coming around and into view, still in the disguise of Sheryl’s deceased Mother. She appeared spoiled in some areas. Like taking the form was hard to maintain for long periods. Each time she took on the form, she risked revealing herself. When she opened her mouth, Mr. Fellman trembled and had to shut his eyes; then he would sweat. The man appeared terrified but still obedient enough to do the Hag’s bidding.

“No,” she said, dragging the word out like steam. “You must make him pay for losing our only child.” The hag looked to Levy and gave him a stretched-out-of proportion rotten-toothed grin, saying, “Your only child—” she blithered out.

Levy squinted, noticing that Cailleach Bhéarach seemed different from the last time he had seen her. Arising in a shadowy form. As if she were nothing but a hollow shell. She couldn’t force the man to do her bidding; she had to convince him to comply—of his own free will.

“Maybe this ain’t the way, honeybee.” He started to blink and stutter. “W-we should just let him rot in jail.”

“Here,” she brought out a filthy bottle from behind, “drink this, my beloved. Drink this in memory of us and to our beloved daughter. But do not sip now; drink it all up.”

Cailleach Bhéarach cackled and clapped as the nasty medicine passed down the naïve fool’s throat. Levy felt that was the basis of Mister Fellman’s lack of moral compass, and as a result, he was more willing to obey her orders. Fellman whispered something as she pressed her enormous hand against the old bottle. She soothed his head and spoke in his ear after he drained its contents. Intimate things his wife and he had done in the past. Things she’d do after they disposed of Levy. On the floor to wallow in passion. A dark red liquid flowed from Fellman’s lips and over the plastic-covered floor as he swallowed the foul mixture. Levy stood there disgusted, imagining what it could be. However, after witnessing the bottle glass shatter in the man’s grasp, Levy grew more concerned about his own fate.

All the men have deep, insidious evil within them. However, there remain a few things that a person’s morals won’t allow. Specifically ones educated enough to decide for themselves that will reconsider the potential outcomes of their actions before making a final decision on what they will say and do. But if you add a mind damaged by deception—one you can’t reject or reason with—one that acts on its own will and defies imposed by a moral compass, you get something terrible. So it was that Sheryl’s father was under complete control of Cailleach Bhéarach’s will and coerced to do her bidding. Enticed to commit a tremendous evil, even beyond his moral stance.

As Fellman came towards Levy with the full intent of tearing him a new hole, Levy noticed the storm outside had ceased. Daybreak was almost upon them, and there came the sound of distant birds, one in particular, a crow. Levy mumbled something to get the man to remove his mouthpiece to plead his defence. Hopping up and down to his kidnapper’s attention.

“Stop!”

The wooden chair splintered under the lad just as Fellman came forwards to slap Levy. The chair collapsed to the floor. Levy discovered he could move his legs. With his wrists bound behind his back, Levy realized he could still move his body on his backside. Thus, he kicked out with his feet. Enough to keep Fellman at bay.

Levy then used his shoulder to rub at the tape, which had kept the dirty rag in his mouth. Within seconds, the tape slipped off, and as the lad spit out the awful cloth, he reasoned with Sheryl’s dad. “I didn’t do it! She did it!” He nodded to the one person lurking in the shadows.

“Come here, you lying little fucker.” His kidnapper tried to get a good grab at Levy’s head of hair. Levy saw Fellman’s back was to the living room window. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Levy kicked out, connected with Fellman’s left knee, and heard it crunch. Fellman howled out in pain and bent down to grab his shattered kneecap. Levy then kicked out again. Smacking Fellman right in the left eye, sending the man flailing back, howling.

Good! Levy grimaced.

Fellman tried to grab the side of levy’s face but lost his balance. Levy slid up on his back to get another kick in, this time at the man’s groin. Gotcha, you crazy bugger.

Sheryl’s father swayed backwards and broke through the vast living room window. He plummeted two stories down, landed on top of his police car, shattered the windshield, and after the sound of broken glass, all grew silent.

Levy regained his composure as smoke filled the open living room, causing the walls to tremble and shake. He kept his legs tight to his chest and subsequently brought his bound arms forward. Levy’s hand emitted a glowing light as the smokey tentacles reached out to Levy. The room dimmed. With a grimace, he carefully removed the remaining tape and then stretched out his hand, which was emitting a soft glow.

“Get out of here, Cailleach Bhéarach!” Leave me alone, you awful soul! Leave, you dreadful storm goddess! You’ve brought this house down. You dirty cur, leave this area! I command you, child and animal eater! Get bent, you vile temptress!”

The shaking of the surrounding walls ceased as suddenly as it had started. The smoke gradually diminished for a minute before completely dispersing into thin air. Levy noticed his breath in the chilly air and narrowed his eyes at the shadowy spot in the room’s corner. He still felt her lingering presence, almost as if taunting him. Challenging his efforts to exorcize her foulness from the estate.

Surprised as streams of blood trickled down Levy’s nose, eyes, and lips. He struggled to stand, feeling the effects of the blows endured being Fellman’s prisoner. He gently touched the tender areas on his chest, contemplating whether Sheryl’s dad had possibly fractured one or more of his ribs. Fortunately, the man was not completely insane, otherwise the madman would’ve disfigured him, or worse. His bound hands instinctively moved towards his midsection, the only area where his torturer hadn’t abused.

The sound of a crow caw from the open living room window had Levy turning. Corvus, who was in his crow form, flew in through the broken window, changed into his human guise, and took his place beside Levy.

“Boy, did he ever beat the tar out of you.”

“What took you?” Levy eyed his friend. “Sheryl’s father just tried to kill me.”

“What matters is that you aren’t dead. So that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, suppose.” Levy grunted, looking back at Corvus. “Was it because of the storm? Please, tell me because of the weather.”

“You went back home,” Corvus shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d get kidnapped, did I?”

“You bird brain,” Levy grimaced as he wiggled his hands free of the plastic cable ties that bound his wrists to what remained of the wooden chair. His sweat and blood had made a perfect lubricant.

“What’s all this?” Corvus glanced around at the room. “Why are there sheets of plastic on the floor and walls?”

“Blame Cailleach Bhéarach for that; she’s still in here and had quite the influence on Sheryl’s dad. I think she drove him mad with revenge.”

Corvus sniffed the air.

Levy squinted, “she still here or not?”

“Nah. All I can smell is your blood. There is, though, a dash of lingering dread, and someone in need of a shower.” He gave Levy a modest smirk. “You look terrible.”

“I think you’re right. I may even have a broken rib or two.” Levy grimaced as he tried to stand upwards. “Yeah, something definably broken alright.”

“Well, your face will not win any beauty contests, either.”

Levy eyed something and grew quiet.

“What is it?” Corvus ruffled his feathered robe and said, “What’s up?”

“Your dagger,” Levy pointed out, “where was it?”

“What are you talking about? It’s been on me all this time.”

“Can I at least see it?” He motioned for Corvus to pass it over.

“No,” Corvus took immediate offence, “no, you may not have it.”

Levy reached for it. “I just need it for a second.” His hand glowed.

Corvus’ hands shot down and stopped Levy from reaching it. “I said no.”

“I need it—give it to me.” Levy persisted.

“Is this how a man acts when a lady says no? You just barge in and take what you want?”

Levy appeared perplexed as he attempted to free himself from Corvus’ grasp. As his feathered friend transformed into the Hag God.

Cailleach Bhéarach stood before Levy. Her hand locked on his throat. Unable to finish his sentence, he glanced back, noticing that she was suffering from argyria. Her skin was bluish and practically purple. She was no longer being Corvus as her disguise (including his face, voice, and height), but she kept his clothes and dagger. Her face ballooned and twisted into a shriek of unfathomable fury. Revealing her resentment and distrainment of Levy’s entire being. She resorted to striking out and become the herald of doom. She was the unbridled, destructive aspect of the Hindu goddess Kali, and she intended for Levy to endure excruciating pain before his brutal death.

“How was your stay in the Haunts?” She pushed his hand away as he tried to reach Corvus’ dagger. “By the look of your age, I’d say that you’re not a boy anymore. Just a filthy and sad little man.” She spat on the ground.

He grimaced, “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“When Christianity arrived on the island, my tribe send them back on their boats in shame. Within a year, a missionary named Palladius returned with knights, and they slew all my male worshippers, and they sullied the women by implanting their vile seed in them. The women prayed night and day for me to save them! They even sacrificed their livestock to get my attention. So I gave them a sign: they had to give their bastard children to me as a sacrifice. I found it had made me so much stronger from their offerings.” Cailleach Bhéarach’s tongue slid out of her mouth like a tentacle and wagged at Levy. “Their flesh and souls sustained me.”

Levy squinted. “It sounds to me you’ve got an addiction. It has perverted your judgment of right and wrong.” He grunted out and kept pushing against her spongy form to grab hold of the magical dagger; his fingers lightly brushed against its handle. Just a little closer, he grimaced.

“Fool!” She backhanded him. Levy’s body lifted into the air and left his impression on a nearby wall. Levy groaned as he tried to stand, but his legs gave out.

She stood over him.

“I am Cailleach Bhéarach! I used to be revered as a deity until they relentlessly pursued me in the wilderness in search of my physical manifestation. After they apprehended me, they marked me as an ungodly heretic and subsequently exiled from my homeland.”

“So you took it out on your followers?” Levy looked up at her. “You felt betrayed.”

“They were weak!” Cailleach Bhéarach opened her arms, and the house walls trembled again. “Those that survived fled. So over the generations, I’ve been hunting them down to take back what was mine.”

“The gift,” Levy said, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Yes.” She hissed at Levy. Standing so close that he could detect a foul odour emanating from her wretchedness. Although her body appeared ancient, it surpassed human capabilities. It was not worth saving or redeeming. Levy was aware of his responsibilities and knew what actions he needed to take.

Levy drove forward before she could act. He grabbed Corvus’ dagger, slashed an opening to slip through, and passed into the Haunts.