Page 68 of Salem's Fall
I thought I’d have more time. But as Hargrove’s eyesgleam with terrifying satisfaction, I know there’s no escaping my death.
The room closes in around me, the walls pressing tighter, the air growing heavier. My mind scrambles with panicked thoughts: I’ll never see my family or friends again, never have a life beyond this room, beyond this moment. All the things I fought for, all my hard work… and for what?
For this?
Suddenly, Hargrove lunges forward, the dagger glinting as it catches the dim light. I throw my hands up, and pain explodes down my arm as the blade grazes my skin. I scream as a sharp, burning sting rips through my body. My muscles shake, every nerve and fiber tensing, bracing for the final death blow. I want to fight, but there’s nowhere to go, no one to help me.
But then—a strange red light fills the room. Hargrove pauses, his eyes widening in horror as the symbols on the altar floor begin to glow. His hand wavers, the knife trembling as if held by an unseen force.
“No!” he whispers, backing away. “What’s happening? Why isn’t it working?”
The knife seems to move of its own accord, turning slowly until the blade points toward the center of Hargrove’s chest. He fights against it, his hand shaking with terror as he tries to force the blade away, but the knife inches closer, unstoppable, as if guided by a power he can’t control.
“Help me!” he screams, his voice high-pitched with desperation. His face twists in terror toward me. “James! Please!”
I’m paralyzed as the horror unfolds before me, and the blade plunges into his chest with a sickening crunch—again and again, vicious and relentless. Each strike lands harder than the last, the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone filling the tiny room.
Blood oozes from his body, splattering, pooling beneath him, dark and sticky, thickening in the dim light. He seizes as he collapses to the floor, flopping around like a fish on a hook, gasping for its last few breaths of air. Then he goes limp. His lifeless eyes fix on the ceiling, his mouth frozen in a scream.
My chest heaves as I fight for air, my mind caught in a spinning web of shock and horror. I can’t stop seeing the terrified look in his eyes. The knife savagely plunging into his chest over and over.
No! This isn’t real!
My gaze drifts back to Hargrove’s face again, twisted into something monstrous in death.
I don’t understand. It looked like the knife turned on him by some unseen force, but inanimate objects don’t just turn on people. They don’t move on their own, right?
A strangled sound—a whimper, soft but desperate—echoes in the room and I remember the woman.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” I say, forcing myself to turn away from the professor’s bloody corpse to help her. My hands tremble as I fumble with the knotted cloth covering her mouth.
“Thank you,” she rasps, taking in greedy gulps of air.
I focus next on the binds around her wrists, my hands sticky and clumsy with blood. Eventually, the knot loosens and she’s free. She lunges for the key on Hargrove’s lifeless body, fumbling only for a second before unlocking the deadbolt. The door flies open, and she tears through it, disappearing without so much as a backward glance.
A chill seeps through my bones, holding me in place. My entire body feels numb as my mind attempts to catch up to what just happened. It seems like ages pass before my legs finally move again on their own, carrying me toward the exit, through the darkened shop and then outside into the street.
Somehow, hours have passed since I stepped inside theoccult shop. The sun is gone, night all around me. As I pull out my phone, I notice my hands are still covered in blood. It smears everywhere as I attempt to call the police, only to realize my phone battery is dead. I let out a hollow, empty laugh. That’s just great. Of all the days to forget to charge my phone.
My mind scrambles, and I remember the police station isn’t too far. I can walk there. The police… they’ll know what to do.
It’s eerily quiet as I head down the street, silence pressing down on me, amplifying the hollow echo of my footsteps. I can’t shake the sensation of eyes watching, of something sinister lurking just beyond sight. I scan the empty streets with growing unease and quicken my pace.
A sudden flicker of movement catches my attention. At first, I think I’m imagining things—just my frayed nerves playing tricks—but then I see him. A figure, half-shrouded in shadows, lurking. Dread pools in my stomach as I take in the now-familiar Veil Ritual Mask. The silver-plated face gleaming beneath the streetlights. The contoured, expressionless metal.
My attacker has returned.
I try to run, but he moves impossibly fast, quickly cutting off my escape. He lunges, grabbing my arm with a force that sends shockwaves through my body, and slams me onto the cobblestones.
I struggle—twisting, kicking—but he’s too strong, his grip unyielding. His fist connects with the side of my face and pain sears through me, stars exploding behind my eyes. My vision fades. The last thing I see is the masked man, looming over me, and then…
Darkness.
October 24 (One Week Until Halloween)
Iwake slowly, my mind pulling through layers of thick fog. My head throbs in rhythm with my heartbeat, the pain dull but persistent, settling like a weight on my temples. For a disorienting moment, I can’t remember anything. But then memory floods back.
Hargrove’s death.
