Resting Witch Face
breaking the laws of physics medieval style
A great shadow passed over the majority of the town, in the wake of an overcast sky blotting out the dim light of the moon. Distant thunder rolled and rumbled while rain began dripping from the clouds, soon developing into a torrential downpour. Trees groaned and flailed in the increasingly violent wind, weaker roots being ripped clean out of the ground. Before long, a power line found itself taken out by one such weakened oak, sick and rotted from a lifetime of parasites eating away at it's bark. The small town of Remsdale found itself in a blanket of darkness, surrounded on all sides by miserable conditions. Deep in the suburban streets, lights flickered off for the night. Fathers found their shows abruptly cancelled, children left without their devices. People were forced from their rooms and made to socialize with their peers.
One such band of bored teenagers were without video games or internet, and with not much else to do with their wifi and electronics powerless, the trio of dim-witted friends gathered in the candlelight instead. After all, what are three young men to do in such times of dire boredom? Their last resort, a game they had dug out of the house's old collection of dusty board games, marked with the English alphabet and several words of varying degrees. They clawed at it like zombies, practically tearing the box apart and placing the planchette and board upon a small coffee table lined with chairs. One of them, the host of their little get together, had previously expressed a deep reluctance to even touch the cursed artifact, mumbling to himself about local legends and scary movies. They had written it off as him being a scaredy-cat, and pressed on.
The questions started out simple, asking if there were any presences in their room, whether or not they wanted to converse anyway. Many a time the planchette flew across the board, and they would all say they were not moving it. Yet it moved none the less, spelling out word after word. Eventually, the candle burned low, and they grew tired of this game. After all, the "spirit" (if it truly was a deceased human soul), spoke vaguely and in circles, and they could not glean any worthwhile information from conversing and questioning it. After saying their goodbyes, it had more to say. The tone shifted, and tingling electric sensations trickled down the spines of the attendees. They had all removed their hands, and yet it continued to spell, moving to each letter directly and quickly.
R-U-N
M-A-R-C-H-3-1-S-T
D-O-N-T-D-R-E-A-M
D-O-N-T-C-L-O-S-E-Y-O-U-R-E-Y-E-S
M-A-R-C-H-3-1-S-T
T-H-E-Y-W-I-L-L-T-A-K-E-Y-O-U
N-O-T-H-I-N-G-L-E-F-T-B-U-T-A-H-U-S-K
F-O-R-E-V-E-R-A-N-D-E-V-E-R-M-O-R-E
M-A-R-C-H-3-1-S-T
They watched, baffled, unable to comprehend the meaning of it as the host kept reading out the inane nonsense that the planchette spelt. After what seemed like an eternity, it flew off of the board and onto the floor, just as the candle burnt out. The silence was deafening, and everyone present could hardly bring themselves to words. Finally, one spoke up. He laughed heartily, albeit shakily, speaking of how he thought it was the "best joke he had ever been a part of" and that the host was "a comedic genius." Soon the other joined in, relieved that it was all just a prank to scare them into believing his scary movie babble. Just then, the power kicked back in. The repair crew on site had done their job spectacularly, fixing the downed line in record time as well as during a heavy storm. The boys said that it had become much too late, that they had to get home. Their host managed a weak smile and walked them to the door, waving to them as they sprinted home through the rain in a futile attempt to prevent becoming drenched. His smile faded instantly, as he walked back into the living room where it had all happened. Retrieving the planchette from the rug, he felt icy cold dread creeping up his back. He had not planned any practical joke. He was nowhere near that clever. Yet the board moved without any of them touching it. The things it had said, the messages about not dreaming and being taken and turned into a husk of your former self... it chilled him to the core. As he went through the motions of late night routine, he couldn't help but check the calendar. He paled noticeably when it read March 30th, and hoped with all his heart that it was a coincidence.
Hours passed and no matter how hard he closed his eyes or how mightily he slammed his forehead into his pillow, he could not rest. The night had mentally drained him, sure, but the board was still very prevalent in his mind. He couldn't help but heed the words it had given to him. Much to his detriment, his brain practically refused to sleep, though he doubted tomorrow would entail much. Still, he was an early riser, and preferred to get a good night's sleep as well. After many stubborn attempts, he finally fell into a deep slumber.
Though he awoke with a start not long after. He let out a loud groan, still lying in his bed. After checking his clock, he found that it had only been a couple hour's rest at best. He rose from his sheets and threw on a mismatched outfit of pajama pants and a grey hoodie, headed out of his room and downstairs for a drink to sate his thirst. He minded the sound of his footsteps, passing by his parent's room and down a flight of stairs. He barely registered the lack of thundering storm or the patter of raindrops against the windows, thinking the rain had subsided mercifully. He opened the metal door to the fridge, grabbing a plastic bottle and twisting off the lid. As he wiped his lips dry, a loud clatter sounded off nearby, shocking him and putting him on the defensive. He shakily put down his beverage and grabbed a knife from the drawer, having visions of a shadow beast hell bent on taking his soul. Not tonight, he thought, why tonight?
Creeping around the corner, he heard nothing and saw about the same. What had caused the crash? He hoped it wasn't just a pot lid from the kitchen, knocked over due to his clumsiness. Looking back, it confirmed his suspicions. A black kettle had fallen onto the floor, thankfully unbroken. He breathed a sigh of relief, putting down his blade and placing the kettle in it's respective space. He finished his bottled water and began to put the knife away when a second noise split through the night air; an ear-splitting scream.
"EVAN! HELP!"
Evan sprinted through the kitchen and up the stairs. He heard sounds of a struggle in his sister's room, and bounded over to her door before smashing through.
"Alex!" He cried, rushing to her aid. A dark-clad man had descended upon her with a knife while she slept. He tore the man off of her bed and planted a balled-up fist firmly in his face, making an audible crack. The would-be thief landed a frighteningly similar move, connecting a jab straight to his cheek. He stumbled, but would not falter. His family was on the line. Driving himself forwards, he dodged the invader's stab and countered with a shank to his gut. A loud grunt followed by agonized writhing, and finally, silence.
The young man, only seventeen years of age, wept bitter tears as the body of his assailant fell to the ground. He turned away, to simultaneously tend to his sister and avoid looking at the atrocity he had committed. He walked over to her, slowly. The knife slipped out of his grasp as he saw her, and he collapsed to his knees. The tears became a downpour that rivalled the earlier rainstorm, as he clutched his head in his hands. He could smell nothing but the salt of his tears and the metallic odor that permeated the room, finding his hands and most of the floor drenched in red. Evan rose to his feet, looking back to where he had killed the man. There was no body, no trace of him. Not even a scrap of the dark clothing he was wearing. Suddenly the picture painted before him seemed like it would sentence him to death, or worse. He couldn't bear it any longer and ran to his room, stuffing anything and everything he could into his schoolbag before practically jumping down the stairs and out the front door. He was thankful that his parents hadn't awoken, but perhaps he left them a scene much, much worse than that. Headed down the street, he didn't know where he was going. He could barely feel the blood pumping through his body, pushing him onwards, but he knew that he couldn't stop or look back. He had to keep going, he had to find a new life. More tears followed. Before long he found himself at the mouth of a forest trail, pitch black and uninviting.
Nobody would follow him through here.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
"What a god damn horror show..." the officer spoke under his breath, barely able to hold back his lunch from ejecting itself onto the crime scene.
"Take a minute, you've been here two hours Hank." a detective spoke, looking over the blood splattered floors and untouched carcass of the teenage girl.
"I'll take a minute when I want to, somebody's got to keep you from screwing with the crime scene."
"Screwing with the crime scene? What are you implying?" the detective responded, not exactly in the mood.
"Nothing, nothing... maybe I have been here too long." Hank sighed, stepping outside for a smoke and leaving the detective and the quiet chief of police to their business.
"So, anything important?" the chief spoke up, curious about his findings.
"Well" he gestured while speaking. "Alexis Desmond, age 16. Multiple stab wound in the chest and neck, cause of death seems to be blood loss."
"No shit. Any leads?" she crossed her arms.
"Parents don't know a damn thing, said they found her like that in the morning. Her brother's gone missing as well, and judging from the lack of evidence suggesting forced entry..."
"You think he did it?"
"No way to tell until we find him, but it seems pretty suspicious. Problem is, I don't see any motive for doing so. All info we have on him suggests that they were all happy together, a perfect family."
"That's unnerving..."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
There's something dark hiding in the town of Remsdale. Something ancient and imperceptible to the conscious eye.
Make sure you don't fall asleep unless you're ready to face it, or you won't wake up ever again.
