Page 79 of Dead End

“I’ll try. My blood should throw him off when the ritual doesn’t work. He needs to place her soul back into the body, but without your blood, all he can do is raise empty shells,” he said, shuddering

“The zombies?” Holy shit… So that whole thing at the theater had been Ichabod all along? The morgue? It was all starting to make sense.

“Yes. My father can raise corpses, but not souls. Only necromancers can control them. It’s why blood magic like this is forbidden. It’s sick and twisted, and he needs to be stopped.” At least we agreed on that part.

“Is he going to raise my mom's body?” My voice trembled, terrified. I didn’t want to see that. I didn’t think any part of me could handle having that image in my brain.

Cal shook his head. “I hope not. I placed a ward around their graves, but I don’t know if it’s strong enough to hold. I may be a warlock, but I’m not as strong as my father. My specialty is mainly potions, but I did what I could to hold him off. If he breaks through it...” It was out of his hands, and we were doomed if that happened.

“Just get me out of here,” I said as I stared at that fresh hole just for me.

“Hold on, okay?” He gripped the bar and stepped back after a second.

“Cal,” I choked out, a single tear racing down my cheek, “don’t let him bring her back. Kill me if you have to, but don’t let him do that to my mom.”

His eyes held mine, and in them, I could tell he was telling me the truth. I could feel the remorse and the guilt rolling off of him in waves. “I’ll try, I promise.”

With that, he turned around with the bloody athame and made his way to his father, who was waiting for him impatiently. By now, the twin moons were eclipsing, and the sky began to change. There were no stars visible overhead, and clouds rolled in much too fast to be natural. I watched as Ichabod dropped to his knees next to my mother’s headstone. He dragged a palm along his bloody chest and then wiped it off on the graveyard dirt. He took that little bag Payton’s mother had handed him earlier and scattered what looked like herbs around the dirt. Taking the athame from Calvin, Ichabod stared at it with a wide smile.

A crack of thunder split the night, making me jump. The once-orange moons were turning the creepiest shade of electric green. Thunder crashed again as Ichabod began chanting. His voice was low and trembling, and I didn’t understand the words, but somehow, my body recognized them. He was reciting a necromancy spell—something ancient, something he shouldn’t be messing with. Dark magic was thick and sticky in the air, making it hard to breathe.

I was banging against the stone walls, screaming and thrashing.

“Let me out of here, you sick fuck!” I pleaded with a shout.

Dread washed over me in waves as green-tinged lightning shot across the sky and clouds swirled overhead like the eye of a hurricane. The ground began to rumble as if something was coming.

There was a commotion that cut through Ichabod’s chanting, but he didn’t stir, his once clear amber eyes now inky black. The clowns standing guard at the cemetery gates burst into action as a werewolf barreled into one, and a massive black shape curled around the throat of the one who loved popping balloon animals. I felt like crying, screaming, and laughing all at once as Freddy grappled with one of the clowns. He dodged the swinging machete heading towards his head, and his howl rent the air as he crouched low and sprung over the clown's head. Then he stopped short when the clown spun around fast and held the machete under Freddy’s chin.

Michael’s dark magic traveled straight from his palms, a black fire burning as he stood there, chanting under his breath. His snake familiar wrapped around the balloon-popping clown’s neck until he fell to his knees from the tight grip.

“Norman!” I shouted, banging on the stone. “Norman, Jason!”

They came through the gates, Norman tearing the clown with sharp knives away from Freddy with a speed that was almost a blur, and then he yelled something unintelligible at his brother. I watched Freddy shake blood from his muzzle and look my way. They couldn’t see me inside this fucking box, so I kept calling their names. Jason was already running toward me. His eyes were bright yellow, channeling Damon, as he vaulted over headstones like something out of the Olympics.

I saw the clown with the blood dripping down his chin step right into Jason’s path with a scary as hell giggle. Jason skidded to a stop, his eyes impossibly wide as he stared down his greatest fear.

“Your fear smells delicious, demon. I can’t wait to tear you open and eat your insides.”

“The only thing tearing up my insides is my girl. She’s already ripped my heart out, so you’ll have to fight her for it. Too bad you're about to die,” Jason taunted in a strong, steady voice, and his body started vibrating until a dark purple smoke rolled off his skin and Damon suddenly shuddered out of his body.

“Ah, now I can smell the fear. Run away, little clown, because this demon’s hungry to suck your soul out, mate.” Damon’s catlike yellow eyes narrowed on the clown, who actually started shaking in his big red clown shoes.

It was like Damon was a ghost. Jason’s mirror image was nearly transparent as he stepped into the clown's body. The clown started shaking like he was having a seizure, his machete dropping to the ground. I watched, holding my breath, and had to close my eyes when blood started pouring out of the clown’s mouth, ears, and eyes. I heard a loud tearing sound with a painfully deep moan of agony, and then nothing. Opening my eyes, I only saw Jason spitting on the ground, which was covered with the insides of the clown. Oh god, he exploded him from the inside out!

The ground rumbled, and the coffin jostled, knocking me around and threatening to send me toppling over. I heard a horrible cracking noise and strained to see through the bars. Ichabod was still chanting, like a fight wasn’t breaking out around him. The moons were fully eclipsed as fingers started to sprout from the surrounding graves.

I watched as Payton and her mom yelped in tandem and scrambled back, leaping atop a stone monument and squatting there while bony hands reached skyward. Grotesque, gnarled bodies followed in their wake, moaning and groaning when their decaying heads crested the surface, rotting flesh hanging off their limbs.

“No, no, no!” I screamed desperately. “Freddy!”

He was close now, and at the sound of my voice, he stopped running, his wolf ears perking up. Our eyes met as he let out a low grumble and headed to my coffin on four legs to gain speed. His claws gripped the bars, and he pulled with his hairy forearms straining, trying to get me out, but the coffin was too heavy and solid. Freddy howled into the air in frustration.

“Freddy, you have to stop the mayor! He’s trying to raise my mother!”

His yellow eyes went wide, and in the face of a werewolf, it was an incredibly odd sight. Jason slammed into Freddy a moment later, peering into the small slit in the stone. “October!” he shouted, relief coloring his voice. “October, is that you?”

“It’s fucking me!” I called out through tears, watching as his face came near the bars I was gripping. All around him was swirling fog, green lightning, and the smell of decayed flesh. Corpses were staggering out of their graves in every direction I looked, and they began to gather slowly towards us with their arms outstretched. Their eyes were empty, soulless, and unnatural.

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