In Which the Cabal Brothers Encounter a Sought-After Unpleasantry
Suns don't set whenever they feel like it. They have a strict schedule, just like all the other planetary bodies. As Horst Cabal (a paranormal investigator of some little infamy and eldest Cabal brother) gazed at the orb in the sky, he thought to himself, 'No, of course the sun doesn't seem lower than normal for this hour'. He was just seeing things, as he so often did. Everything was entirely dandy. He followed Johannes Cabal (a paranormal investigator of some little infamy and youngest Cabal brother) to the tomb at the edge of the graveyard, twiddling a shiny lock in his fingers. What the lock was for, Horst didn't dare think. His brother had insisted on bringing it on the past few paranormal journeys, stating that it was only practical to invest in quality. Horst agreed that it was a fine lock, fine indeed. It was the Titanic of locks. He only hoped that whoever held it wasn't doomed to go down with it.
"This is a nice one." Horst attempted to make small talk with a man who didn't know what that meant anymore.
"It's only for emergencies. But, like I've said, it p-"
"Pays to invest in quality. Right."
Fog hung low around the landscape. It wasn't the eeriest thing the Cabal brothers had encountered, but Johannes couldn't be bothered with fear. He was here for the mystery and suspense surrounding the tomb, knowing the trail of missing children in the local town was too much for him to pass up. Horst posed as the protective older brother, knowing Johannes wasn't one to have his wits about him, given the recent circumstances. Death twists up and spits out people without a care for how different they are when he's through with them. They could reemerge with a moustache or blue eyes or a cold, nearly rational madness. Horst had been the messenger of the death that haunted Johannes Cabal, so, as most messengers are bound to do, he felt he had to share the guilt with his stoic brother.
An echoing clang slipped down the tomb's passageway and Horst's spine. He followed his brother deep into the ground, taking a backwards glance over his shoulder at the steadily disappearing sun.
"Johannes, what time is it?"
"Horst, if you keep panicking like this, I'll have no use of your help. You're being foolish. Darkness does not always mean trouble," there was a testy inhale, momentary silence, and then the click of a pocket watch, "It's four o' clock. We have an hour 'til sundown."
Their steps continued and reached impenetrable darkness.
"Thanks for that."
"Just find out what's amiss down here."
There was the hiss of a match, and then a torch was lit. Horst could swear he heard the hiss somewhere else in the room, followed by a menacing chuckle. But he was more likely hearing something. It's always simpler to discount your feelings than believe in what's lurking in the dark. His sweaty palms slipped, and the lock crashed to the floor.
"Mein Gott, Horst! Here! Take the lantern, find the lock, and calm-" Johannes had turned to face his fearful brother, finding no one there. "Horst?"
An odd sound was traveling through the chamber, one that Cabal hadn't heard in years, since he didn't spend much time around small children. His analytical mind classified it as a whimper.
"Johannes..."
The lamplight hit Horst's shaking form. There were fingers laced across his neck. Two bleeding puncture wounds resided next the unknown hand. Cabal took a step towards his brother, but the hand around Horst's throat disappeared in a flash. In the next instance, the lantern was out. Cruel hissing bounced off the walls, everything in the tomb etched in pitch.
Survival instincts are funny little things. Johannes Cabal had highly advanced ones residing inside him, along with matured reflexes. Before he inhaled, the useless lantern was on the stone ground, the dropped lock in his fingers, and the gate of the tomb locked. One Cabal on the outside, one Cabal on the inside.
The sun was down, the gate was locked, and Johannes Cabal tripped over his feet and graves and holes in the fog. He found grass beneath his palms, far away from the tomb, but close enough to hear crashes and wails.
"Johannes, help me! Johannes, please!"
Cabal exhaled, having lost the moment when he chose to inhale. He heard fists and legs slamming into the tomb gate. He knew it would not budge. He had invested in quality, after all. Quality enough to keep out a vampire. Even two vampires.
The dawn broke the next morning on Johannes Cabal in a silent graveyard, the key to the lock discarded in the grass, his face in his hands, dirty clothes spotted with saline.
I wrote this for a creative writing author mimic assignment. I will always be so found of these boys.
I really do wish there was a section for Cabal in 'Books' on here. Ah well, 'Miscellaneous' it is!
~Autumn