The nine that live, with one to mourn
Of witch and wingless angel born
Of earth, of sea, of wind, of sun
All would fall to save but one
What's Coming For Us
Jared wasn't entirely certain that he had actually opened his eyes as he awoke from his nap in the darkened bedroom. He could barely see his own hand in front of his face, and there were no signs of electricity anywhere. "Oh no, the power's out." he thought to himself. "Please tell me I didn't do this."Squinting his eyes, Jared noticed a thin slice of silver light prying its way through the miniscule crack of space between the window shade and windowsill. After inching his way towards the window, he gave the shade a firm tug, releasing it upwards, revealing an oddly romantic image of the neighborhood beneath the brave light of the full moon. Unfortunately, the moon was the only light to be seen.
"Way to go, knucklehead." he thought to himself. "Who the hell shuts down an entire neighborhood by taking a nap?"
Jared felt the Manor was unnervingly still. It felt like the walls would absorb any sound a voice could make. "Something's wrong; this house is never quiet." he observed. "And why is it so cold?" He turned away from the window, and made his way toward a candle he saw on the nightstand. "Where one finds witches, one finds candles."
"What the HELL?" Jared jumped as the window shade slammed back down behind him, shrouding the room in blackness. He froze for a second; there was no movement but the trembling of his own body, no sound but the nervous quivering of his own breath. Once he collected himself, he gripped the cold candlestick firmly and fished in the drawer with his free hand for matches or a lighter. Only two matches were left in the box his fingers found.
After two unsuccessful strikes, Jared finally got the first match to light. "Who's there?" Jared yelped, feeling cold breath on the back of his neck. He spun around to check, but the rapid movement caused the match's flame to vanish. He still felt cold breath wafting across his face, though he could no longer see a thing. He felt in front of himself for the face from which the icy breath must have come. Nothing. And then, the breath was gone.
On his second attempt, Jared succeeded in lighting both the match and the candle. Waving it slowly around the room, he saw no one. It took only a moment to summon his courage. Then, he crept out into the hallway. Again, no sign of life.
Jared told himself that he was just imagining things as he noticed his own candle made no reflection on any of the glass in the second floor hallway. Not even the mirror. In the haunting silence, he could actually hear himself thinking aloud. "Am I really just hearing things, or is that actually my voice?"
Guarding the flame of the candle with his hand, Jared pressed on, heading toward the top of the staircase. "I feel like I'm in a remake of 'Sleepy Hollow'." he thought. "Give me a gigantic Adams apple and I might as well be Ichabod Crane."
Jared's bones snapped wildly into frightened stillness, startled by the heavy dongs of the grandfather clock downstairs. As he caught his breath, he counted the number of chimes. "That's odd." he thought, hearing a lengthened silence between the second and third rings. It sounded like someone stopped one of the chimes by hand. "I'm just gonna tell myself the clock needs winding." It ultimately struck nine times.
Rin í santar, dan-helthiol.
Rin í santar, dan-helthiol.
Rin í santar, dan-helthiol.
"Cut the crap!" Jared screamed. His voice echoed much longer than it should have. "You guys!" he called out. "This isn't funny anymore!" There was no response. "Lee, if you're making me hear my own voice I'm gonna fry you with 'Mother Nature's Tanning Bed'." he yelled. "And by that, I mean lightening!" Again, nothing.
As he went, Jared stopped to look in each of the rooms along the hallway; all were empty, their doors already wide open. "Where the hell are you?" he hollered. "This has Steve's name smeared all over it."
The nearer he came to the top of the second floor stairs, the less use Jared had for his candle; the moonlight pressed in through the windows downstairs. Before he descended, he placed the candle on the antique wooden table that stretched along the West end of the second floor hallway. With his feet clothed only in his socks, he crept slowly and silently down the stairs. "Why am I being so quiet?" he wondered. "They're the ones waiting to jump out and terrify my ass." Though he knew in his head that stealth was unnecessary, his instincts locked him in careful silence.
As he reached the final step, the sound of creaking wood slithered into the cold silence from within the Solarium, freezing Jared in terror. "What the hell was that?" His eyes were the only parts of his body that he could willingly move. "Remember what Mom said," he thought, "It's not like you've never fought demons alone before." As the moment of sudden panic dissolved, Jared exhaled and continued to creep towards the grandfather clock.
The clock shown only ten hours, the number ten topping the circle where a twelve should have been. But the spaces between were all symmetrical. "LEE!" Jared screamed, thinking his mind was being tampered with. "This can't be what Mom was planning all day!"
Looking more closely at the clock's face, Jared noticed a vacant space between the iron two and four, where the three should have been. Jared heard his own voice speak aloud once again.
Rin í santar, dan-helthiol.Rin í santar, dan-helthiol.
Rin í santar, dan-helthiol.
"Promise me something?"The voice whispered from behind him.
Gasping, Jared whirled swiftly around to behold the owner of the warm, velvety voice. A ghostly hint of silver haze displayed his silhouette.
"Rory?" Jared asked, scarcely above a whisper. "Rory, is that you?"
Jared exhaled fully as the young man neared. "Thank God!" Jared said, pulling wrapping his arms around his older brother in relief. He stepped back, placing his hands firmly on Rory's shoulders. It was then that Jared realized that Rory's deep brown eyes were fixed steadily on the flawed face of the tall clock. Letting one hand fall to his side, Jared turned his head to see if he could discover what had captivated his brother's attention. The haze of moonlight granted delicate shimmers of light across the bronze hands and numbers of the clock's face. "Rory, what are you looking at?" Jared asked, and then turned his head back around towards his brother.
Rory's eyes met Jared's for the first time, and he smiled with a familiar warmth. "Thank God, it's really him!" Jared thought.
"Promise me something." Rory said again.
"Anything." Jared replied, more than a little confused.
"You won't blame yourself." said Rory, returning his eyes to the clock face.
It seemed to Jared that Rory was staring directly at the missing space between the two and the four.
"Rin í santar, dan-helthiol." uttered Rory, looking sympathetically back at his nervous younger brother. "If it doesn't work," he continued, "promise me."
"Rory, you're scaring me!" snapped Jared.
"I'm sorry," Rory responded sincerely. "It's harder than I thought." He broke Jared's stare and nodded towards the Solarium entrance.
"Rory?" Jared whispered tightly. "What's the matter? You're not acting like yourself."
"I know." Rory said kindly, an apologetic look in his eyes.
The sound of a television switching on echoed from within the Solarium. "Was that what I heard earlier?" Jared wondered. "The sound of the television cabinet opening?"
Jared let his hands fall to his sides as he and Rory turned to face the Solarium opening. Rory gestured towards the door. "After you." he said. Noticing the frightened look on his younger brother's face, he added: "Jared, I promise I won't let him hurt you."
"Rory, enough!" insisted Jared. "Why the hell are you acting like this?"
Rory motioned again to the Solarium and after a moment of suspicious pondering, Jared started towards it. As they approached the door, Jared could hear what sounded like a poor quality recording of Steve's voice. There were spurts of static briefly interrupting the audio feed.
He heard Steve's voice on the recording saying: "By the way. Do me a favor! Look up the word 'help' first, just to see how your definition clearly differs from Mister Webster's.
Arriving at the Solarium door, Jared saw a familiar face. The young man was standing casually, about ten feet away from the television. His arms were folded and his eyes were locked on the screen in fascination. "Wyatt?" he said. "When did you get here?"
Wyatt grinned and pointed at the TV screen. It was an exact replay of the scene from that very morning, though it was of poor quality. "Have you seen this?" Wyatt asked.
Jared watched as the TV displayed Steve, covered only with a blanket at the foot of the stairs, speaking to Jared in what he had intended to be a joking manner. Steve had just slid the dictionary in front of Jared's feet.
Then follow that by looking up hurt, harm, hurl, hurricane, hellacious, horror, havoc… and… Gosh, I just know there's one that I'm forgetting…. Oh yeah… HEART FAILURE!"
Wyatt patted Jared encouragingly on the back. "What's done is done." he said.
The TV screen went curiously blank, but Steve's last words could still be heard:
"They're all in the same section. You shouldn't have any trouble."
Rory stepped next to the other two and gave his full attention to the television. A man's face flashed onto the screen, only a head and a neck, surrounded by a black void. The face was still, unmoving. Only a disembodied head with closed eyes.
"Him again." Wyatt sighed.
Jared noticed a familiarity about the face. The hair was wheat-colored, long, and somewhat curly. A bit oily perhaps. And the facial hair made the frightening looking appear unclean. Though the eyes were closed, the thick, furrowed eyebrows suggested that this man, whoever he was, was cruel. Dangerous even.
"Who is he?" Jared quietly asked, as if trying to not wake the phantomlike face. "I feel like I know him."
"So do I," answered Wyatt somberly. "But just when I feel like I'm about to remember, I lose it again."
Jared wasn't sure if Rory was speaking to both himself and Wyatt, or to himself alone. "You've never met that man." Rory insisted.
Jared stepped cautiously closer to the image. "There doesn't even look like there's a screen there." He said nervously. "Wouldn't it reflect the moonlight?"
The eyes popped open, staring blankly forward, but the face itself remained still.
Jared gasped. Walking to the side of the television, he learned that he was right. This was no screen supporting some image. It was a head floating in a black void. He rushed back and grabbed both of his brothers by the arm. "That's not an image." He said.
Jared could get neither Rory nor Wyatt to move, as if they were both frozen in place.
Rory put his hands on Jared's shoulders and turned him back around to face the screen. "I think I know what's coming for us." he said.
The eyes blinked.
"oh god…" Jared whispered.
The head was still and silent. Jared wondered if he had imagined the blinking eyes.
"Did you see…"
The eyes blinked again.
Jared gripped Rory's shoulders to steady himself and forced his eyes away from the television set.
"I think I know what's coming for us." uttered Rory.
"What do you mean?" Jared asked, too afraid to turn around "What's coming for us?"
Rory gently placed his hands on both sides of Jared's head. He looked sharply into his eyes.
"Rory?" Jared said, his voice beginning to shake. "What's coming for us?"
Rory slowly guided Jared's head around to view the screen. The face's eyes glared menacingly at the terrified young man. Jared swerved his head back around to look at Rory. "What's coming after us?" he panicked. "Dammit, Rory! What's coming for us?"
His face wrought with fright, Rory guided Jared's head firmly in the other direction, until he had a clear look at Wyatt. Wyatt glared menacingly back at Jared, but it wasn't Wyatt as Jared known him. He was now the frightening man from within the television.
"I know what's coming for us." said Rory one last time.
Jared turned to face the TV. The head was gone.
"We are."
note: Rin í santar, dan-helthiol translates "Nine that live with one to mourn." (literally: "Nine that live, mourning one")