Post by qohart on Oct 7, 2012 12:22:17 GMT -8
The night of the Deadly All Hallows Eve
by Cris Hart
The little girl slowly approached the tall dark haired man. Her footsteps faltered a moment before she continued warily.
“Mister?” she said stopping in front of Artemus Gordon. “Can you help me?” she asked.
Artemus Gordon looked down at the young girl. Her blue eyes were wide and fearful, her blonde curls streaked and wet with some foreign substance. Her pale face was bruised and smeared with the same substance as her hair. Artie noted that whatever it was dripped from the corner of her mouth and the front of her simple shift was soaked with it so much so that the print of the material was obscured in most places. He crouched down to her level to speak with her.
“What do you need help with, little one? Are you lost?” he asked her kindly.
The girl shook her head. “No, sir,” she answered.
“What’s this you’re covered in? It looks like blood. Is this a scary costume for All Hallows Eve?” Artie grinned and lightly touched the wetness at the corner of her mouth. He rubbed his fingers together then smelled the substance. It was blood. Real blood. He looked at the girl with narrowed eyes. “What’s going on here?” he asked authoritatively.
“There’s someone in my house killing my family,” the child managed before collapsing into Artie’s arms.
He stood cradling the girl. Artie looked around but the streets of the small village of Woodbine were empty. The few houses lining main road were dark as was the General Store, the Saloon and even the hotel. Confused but determined to find out what was going on, Artie followed the trail of blood the child had left and came to a small cottage just off the main street. It too was dark and Artie approached the front door cautiously.
He placed the child on the bench on the small front porch, turned toward the door and pulled up short, startled to find someone standing right behind him.
“Jim!” Artie exclaimed, a mixture of surprise and relief in his voice. “Where did you come from?”
“Hello, Artie, what’s going on?” Jim flashed a brilliant smile.
“This little girl asked me to help her. She said someone was in her house killing her family,” Artie explained briefly and indicated the girl on the bench.
Jim leaned over the child and examined her face then touched her throat. “She’s dead,” he stated. He turned toward Artie and continued, “She’s been dead a long time, Artie. When did you say she spoke to you?”
“What do you mean she’s been dead a long time? I just spoke to her a few minutes ago out on the main street,” Artie answered and pushed past Jim to examine the girl more closely himself. He looked up with startled eyes. “I tell you she walked up to me not 10 minutes ago and asked for my help, Jim,” Artie insisted though the evidence showed him his partner was right.
Jim just gazed steadily at Artie. Abruptly Artie stood and knocked on the door of the cottage. When no-one answered he pounded on it with his fist.
“I’d say no one is home,” Jim commented.
“Or dead like her,” Artie replied. He tried the door. “It’s locked.”
“That never stopped you before,” Jim smirked.
Artie narrowed his eyes at his friend then got down on one knee and picked the lock. He opened the door and started to enter.
“You coming?” he asked Jim.
Jim smiled broadly, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Before crossing the threshold, Jim glanced over the child on the bench. He blew her a kiss and chuckled softly as the little corpse crumbled, turned to ash and blew away. Jim entered the house and closed the door behind him.
Artie jumped at the slamming of the door and the sudden plunge into utter blackness.
“Leave the door open until I find a lamp or something, will you Jim?” Artie asked mildly annoyed that his partner had not considered that before slamming the door closed and scaring him.
“Jim?” Artie called when he got no answer. “Jim!” he called more insistently. “This is no time to play games, we have to check out what that little girl told me,” he reasoned aloud.
When he was greeted with continued silence, Artie sighed loudly and moved carefully into the pitch black interior. ‘There should be some light coming in the windows,’ he thought and strained his eyes to try and catch some indication of where the windows were.
Suddenly Artie was falling forward. He had no time to put out his hands to break his fall and landed heavily on the hard wood floor. His chin banged on the floor, his teeth clamped together and drew blood from the tip of his tongue.
“Damn it,” Artie cursed mildly as he pushed himself up onto hands and knees then rose. “Jim, have you found a light source of any kind?” he called into the darkness.
“Sure have,” Jim said standing so close behind his partner that Artie felt his warm breath on the back of his neck. “You’re bleeding.”
Artie whirled at the sound of Jim’s voice. His partner stood inches away from him, a lit candle in his hand. Though he could see the flame on the candle it seemed to give off no light at all. Artie’s brow furrowed.
“I…ah…bit my tongue when I fell,” Artie answered warily, “How…how did you know?”
Artie could not see Jim’s face even though they were inches apart. He heard Jim sniff the air and a shiver ran up his spine. Artie took an involuntary stop back and nearly fell over whatever obstacle was on the floor. Jim’s hand grasped his forearm to steady him.
“Blood smells like copper,” Jim answered, “but more than that, it’s smeared on your mouth.”
“What is with you?” Artie asked extricating his arm from his partner’s icy grip. “I bit the tip of my tongue, it’s not bleeding enough for you to smell the copper scent of blood and how can you see it? That candle isn’t giving off any light at all? Where did you get it?” Artie fired off the questions in quick succession. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth.
“What are you talking about, Artie? I found the candle in the foyer and it gives off plenty of light. A candle that gives off no light,” Jim shook his head and chuckled. “Preposterous!”
Suddenly the candle cast a pool of yellow light between the agents and illuminated a small area around them. “And I think you’re bleeding more than you realized,” Jim continued as he pointed to the bloody handkerchief in Artie’s hand.
Artie glanced at the cloth in his hand soaked with blood. That was impossible! He no longer tasted blood in his mouth so he knew he was no longer bleeding. There was no way he’d bled enough to soak the handkerchief. He folded it over hiding the blood and put it in his inside breast pocket, his eyes never leaving his partner’s face.
“Are you all right, Jim?” Artie asked cautiously.
“I’m fine,” Jim answered, “but I’m afraid the Hightower’s are not,” he finished with a tone of false regret. He shook his head and made a sad moue at the body on the floor behind Artie.