3

The house sat, silent and still in the setting sun. Snow swirled in
dancing clouds about it, bathing the interior in shadows. A thin coat of dust
blanketed the end tables in the living room.
A voice broke the silence, echoing through the empty house. It was loud,
almost screaming and it spoke in a tongue more ancient than any other. The
language had been lost to most of mankind for centuries, and had been spoken
by beings when mank was a distant thought in the mind of God. David
Rayneir had learned it from his grandfather, whose knowledge came from an
ancient source.
The last syllables of the summoning escaped David's lips, and silence
reigned once more in the house. As the last words echoed and died a truly
observant person might have seen the shadows in the house shudder and move
for just an instant before returning to their accustomed places.
In the attic David Rayneir shivered and dropped a black leather bound
book to the floor. He sat cross-legged within a pentacle enscribed with
ancient sigils. A thin sheen of perspiration glistened on his naked upper
body. A discarded pair of shoes lay in the far corner of the room, where he
had thrown them. David thought distractedly about how cold the bare boards
felt under him. The only light was the dim illumination from the partly
open window and that shed by candles, one burning at each point of the star.
He had to squint to see properly. A chill breeze blew in the window, causing
the shadows in the room to dance crazily with the shuddering of the candle
flames. The icy wind sliced David to the bone, making him shiver violently
as the perspiration dried on his skin.
He grimaced as he rose from the floor, his legs protesting loudly at
being moved after so long in one position. David walked over and closed the
open window, his body trembling from the cold. He started to stoop to
retrieve the book, thought better of it, blew out the candles and headed
down the steps.
His mother wouldn't be home for two more days, the book and the marks on
the floor could stay where they were until morning. He felt chilled to his
marrow. What he needed was something hot to drink. There should still be
coffee in the pot in the kitchen.
He descended two more flights of stairs and went to the kitchen, stopping
on his way to get a shirt. He grabbed a cup of coffee and lit a cigarette.
There was something amusing about a person who had just tried to summon a
demon to kill someone sitting back and enjoying a smoke and a cup of coffee.
The thought made him smile, a smile that quickly faded. It got harder for
him to smile every day. His knowledge was eating him up inside, and another
possible solution had just proved hopeless.
Of course, even if the ritual had worked there was no guarantee that it
would have solved the problem. According to what he had been able to decipher
from the book, the ritual was supposed to summon a creature, a demon as far
as he could tell, which the summoner had to guide and control when it killed.
Even with all that had happened, he still wasn't sure that he could bring
himself to kill another human being.
He closed his eyes and scrubbed his hand across his face. Something
gnawed at the back of his mind, something his grandfather had said about the
ritual he had just attempted. He dismissed it, deciding it was unimportant.
What he had just done, tried to do, was irrational. Then again,
rationality only applied to sane problems, and there was nothing rational
about what had been happening. He had been in the basement looking for his
father's automatic when he had come across the locked trunk that held his
grandfather's books.
The chest was two feet long, a foot and a half wide, and nearly a foot
tall. It was constructed of a black wood which David guessed was ebony, held
together by hand-worked brass fittings. He knew the chest very well. It had
set in the corner of his grandfather's bedroom, now his, under one of his
grandmother's many bizarre paintings. His grandfather had showed him some of
the books it contained, and kept many more locked in the chest, saying that
David could read them as soon as he was prepared. All of the books were bound
in black leather and hand written. His grandfather had told him they had been
handed down from father to son for centuries.
David Rayneir had thought his grandfather was a little touched in the
head, but had listened to him anyway. He was fascinated by his grandfather's
talk of magic and other realms. He had even gone so far as to learn to read,
write, and speak the language in which all the books were written. At the
time he hadn't thought he would ever try any of what he was learning. After
all, he had no belief in magic.
If only he could still be so detached. It was quite amazing how quickly
a man's sanity and objectivity could be blown to hell. A week and a half ago
he had been on top of the world. In a period of four days Dave's life had
come completely unraveled. He hadn't slept since Saturday, and living on
adrenaline, caffeine, and nicotine was taking its toll on him. He didn't know
how long he could keep going, but it had to end before he could let himself
fall apart.
He seated himself in the darkened living room, trying to decide what to
do next. If he could only make himself forget Saturday night. The memory of
the night came to his mind unbidden. With it came a wave of rage and hatred
so strong that it blotted everything else out. He smashed his fists down
into the coffee table, a display of impotent anger.
David closed his eyes and let the night replay itself in his mind.
Christy had been sitting in the basement with him, watching a movie. All
innocent enough. She had drifted off to sleep during the flick, and she had
seemed exhausted. David let her rest.
She began to move in her sleep, curling into a fetal position. She was
mumbling something, and all too soon he realized what it was. The frightened
cry of a little girl, "No Daddy. Daddy stop. No Daddy, please don't."
He had tried to wake her, shaking her, but she simply went on crying out.
He had finally dragged her into a sitting position and she woke abruptly,
falling into his arms crying. David held her, his illusions about the sanity
of the universe shattered. There was no justice, no rational order in the
world.
They had a long talk after she woke, and many things became clear to him.
Like the reason she had avoided sleeping with him. The reminder of the pain
was too close in that act. It also became clear to him that he had walked in
to a hell of a mess. He was the only one that knew besides Christy and her
father. Jesus, what was he going to do?
Even now the question still spun inside his head like a dervish. He was
walking on a tightrope stretched over the bottomless pit of insanity, and
the acrobat act was destroying him. He felt helpless, crushed beneath the
weight of his responsibility, yet he didn't know what the hell to do.
Dave ran his hand over his face, feeling very tired. He needed to lay
down. If he was lucky some kind of solution would resolve itself in his mind.
If not, maybe he had finally passed the point where his exhaustion would
claim him for a few hours of blessed nothingness. Dave went into his room
and laid down on his bed, letting his mind drift. A few moments later he was
quite soundly asleep.
A shadowy form rose from the bed, gliding silently to a dresser across
the room. It opened a drawer and removed a long, thin object. It then turned
its gaze to the figure of its master. The hate was strong in this one. It
wondered in its alien dispassion how these beings could feel such enmity for
one another.
Then the thought dissappeared as it realized it was time to be about its
work. It wanted to complete its task quickly so it could return home to the
realm of velvety blackness.
The shadow turned and slid soundlessly out the crack of the window pane
and into the snowy night.

  ***

It flew through the snow, exalting in the glorious cold, unknown in its
home. It flew on wings of the night to its destination.
The shadow looked around, knowing its prey would soon come. The being
looked at its slaughter ground with distaste, street lamps making it too
bright for action. It flexed its will, and electric bulbs exploded all over
the parking lot, sending it into shadowy darkness. It floated several feet
above the ground, surveying its handywork. Perfect. It was almost as
comfortable for the shadow as its home. No bright light to blind and weaken
it. All that was left to do was wait.
It hovered over the parking lot, casually searching through its
summoner's mind. It peared dispassionately through David's memories, wanting
to find why it had been summoned. It was once again amazed at the hate these
mortals could feel for one another. The shadow couldn't really grasp its
summoner's motives. It had something to do with how these humans mated. It's
prey had broken a taboo, and the shadow's master wanted him punished.
The wraith thought back through the vague impressions that a man would
have called memories. Its current master's reason for summoning the being
were nothing new. The shadow had been called for similar reasons many times
before in its hundreds of years of existence.
Now all was ready. It was time to call its master and allow him to take
control.

  ***

David Rayneir found himself standing in the shadows of a parking lot. It
took him a moment to realize he was in the parking lot of the building where
Christy's  father worked.
He looked around, and realized that something had blown out all of the
street lights. This didn't bother him, he felt strangely at home in the
moon's pale shadows. A bizarre, multi-chromatic radiance had crept into his
vision. David slowly realized that he was seeing in infrared. He saw with
the eyes of the night, the eyes of a wolf as it stalked its prey through the
forest. He viewed the world through the eyes of a predator.
David knew he was dreaming, had to be. No mortal man could behold the
world like this.
He looked up at the sliding glass doors of the main building and smiled
when he saw Christy's father coming out. This was a familiar dream to Dave
and he knew his part in it well. Paybacks are a bitch, he thought, as he
cracked his knuckles and stepped towards the doors.
Yes, paybacks were a bitch and it was time for Mr. Aaron Hanneker to
cash in.

  ***

Aaron Hanneker left his office, planning to go home and do some work. He
hoped Christy would still be awake when he got home, he wanted to relax a
little before he started. Christy was such a good girl.
He looked around the parking lot, wondering what had happened to the
lights. He decided that it must have been a power surge. Aaron turned to go
get the night watchman and have him call someone to clean up the mess.
As he started to reenter the building something caught his attention. He
had caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Yes, there
was definitely something moving in the shadows off to his left. It looked as
though the darkness itself had come to life, a thousand shades of black and
grey dancing together in the vague outline of a man.
"What's wrong Aaron, you look surprised to see me."
Hanneker sqinted, unable to associate the voice with the vaguely human
form before him.
"Come on Aaron, don't you recognize me? God knows we've seen more than
enough of each other."
Suddenly it clicked. It was David Rayneir, the son of a bitch that was
trying to take his little girl away from him. He felt kind of bad for the
stupid little fuck. David just didn't seem to understand who Christy belonged
to.
"Christy told me what you've been doing, and I'm here to end it." David's
tone was calm and level, totally determined. It made the hair on the back of
Hanneker's neck stand up like the quills on a porcupine.
So it had come to this, had it. Fine. It should take him all of five
minutes beat the shit out of the bastard. Hanneker started towards the vague
form. As he moved the shadowy figure melted into the darkness. That was all
right, he had to be there somewhere.
"Come and get it fucker." The voice came from off to Hanneker's left,
and he turned his head toward it. A shadowy fist snapped out of nowhere,
hitting Hanneker's jaw with a sound like the breaking of dry-rotted wood.
Aaron tasted blood in his mouth and smiled. It was time to really hurt this
asshole. Anyone with the balls to try to take what was his deserved to be
crushed like an empty beer can.
Hanneker looked around, trying to see Rayneir's outline in the shadows.
He thought he saw the figure and threw a punch. His fist failed to connect
with anything, causing him to overbalance and fall forward.
He tried to rise, but before he could regain his footing a kick slammed
into his face. A fireball exploded in his left cheek as his head snapped
backwards and he tumbled to the pavement.
Rayneir's voice echoed out of the shadows. " It's been fun, but I think
it's time I end this game."
A dull, skull jaw's click sounded and Hanneker saw a wedge of steel
appear several feet in front of him. The night had sprouted six inches of
steel, and it began to advance towards him. The blade danced through the
darkness, sending silver shards of moonlight flying as it came towards him.
The dance of death continued once it reached Hanneker. The blade whirled
over his body, parting flesh like butter, soaking the pavement in a fine
spray of blood. Hanneker's screams went unanswered, and when the remains
were found they had to be identified by dental records.

  ***

Dave woke sweating, as if from great exertion. The sun was just starting
to rise. He stumbled out of bed and into the shower, ready to face another
day. Before entering the shower he turned the radio on.
He got out and began to dry himself off, half paying attention to the
droning voice of a newscaster in the background. Suddenly the voice said
something that grabbed his full attention. Aaron Hanneker had been found dead
in parking lot of his office, horribly mutilated. The murder weapon was
believed to be a knife. The voice droned on, telling him strangely enough,
that Aaron's daughter Christy Hanneker had been in her room, in a condition
similar to that of her father. It was then, just before he mercifully slipped
from consciousness, that David Rayneir remembered what his grandfather had
told him. The shadow always demanded a price.

To Be Continued Next Month....                 L8R  GRENDEL/RANCiD '95
SAUCE00Hemispheres Chapter 3              Grendel             Eden                19950315Y9
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