Hand Of Death
Hand Of Death
“You’re angry,” Orishirishi purred, her voice layered with centuries of malice and amusement. It echoed strangely through the grove, as if multiple voices spoke at once.
“I can smell it on you. That delicious, burning rage. Just like Elena Carey all those years ago. If only there was a mirror here so you could take a look at your pathetic self.”
Vera’s jaw tightened, but she kept her stance firm, boots planted solidly in the damp grass. “Shut up. Shut up that stinking mouth of yours, you freaking abomination.”
The demoness laughed softly, the sound like breaking glass dragged across stone. “Oh, but why should I? You have so much in common, you and her. Both of you lost your unborn children to the hands of violent men. Both of you carry that hollow ache deep inside where no one else can see. Both of you sought after revenge and you both tasted it.”
Vera’s breath caught. The words hit like a physical blow, stirring up memories she had buried long ago—the pain, the blood, the silence in the hospital room afterward. She forced her voice steady. “You know nothing about me.”
Orishirishi’s black eyes gleamed with dark delight. She leaned forward as far as the barrier allowed, her smile sharp and cruel. “I know everything, Sheriff. Your dead baby is currently in Hell, you know. Suffering. Waiting. Just like Elena’s child. Don’t you see the symmetry? The poetry? Violent men took what you both loved most… and now here you are, in this cursed town, suffering for your sins just as she did.”
Vera’s hands trembled slightly around the wrapped dagger. “You’re talking nonsense. I have no sins to answer for.”
Orishirishi threw her head back and laughed—a horrible, layered sound that echoed through the trees and sent birds scattering into the night.
“No sins? Are you for real right now? After everything you’ve done? Oh, Vera. How delightfully blind you are. Your appointment to Greenly Bay was no coincidence. It was orchestrated. Every step of your life led you here so you could suffer. Just like Elena. The pain. The loss. The guilt. It was all planned.”
Vera stepped forward without thinking, anger and raw emotion boiling over. “You’re lying!”
The moment her foot crossed the glowing line of the Hell’s Circle, Orishirishi moved like lightning. Her hand shot out and grabbed Vera’s wrist with crushing strength. The barrier shattered with a sound like breaking glass. The demoness yanked her fully inside, black eyes blazing with triumph.
“Got you,” Orishirishi hissed.
She snatched the red-wrapped dagger from Vera’s grasp with her other hand. Then, with casual brutality, she tossed Vera aggressively across the grove. Vera slammed hard into the trunk of the old tree, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Pain exploded through her back and ribs as she slid down to the damp ground, gasping.
Orishirishi unwrapped the dagger slowly, admiring the silver-blue blade as it gleamed in the headlights. “Finally…”
She turned to the sheriff. “Sandra Bullock was never taken by Moriah’s curse. It was all a trick. I took her. I planned it all out, everything just to get my dagger back.”
She smiled down at Vera, who was struggling to push herself up, bruised and teary-eyed. “And your friends… they probably won’t make it back alive from the library. Such a shame.”
Orishirishi reached down and crushed Vera’s radio in her hand with effortless strength, the plastic and wires crunching like dry leaves. She laughed—cold, victorious, and full of dark promise—before turning and disappearing into the night, vanishing into the thick fog like a nightmare fading at dawn.
Vera lay against the tree, bruised, teary-eyed, and terrified for her colleagues. Only a turn of God’s will could help them now.
.
.
.
The Hawthorne Library loomed ahead—a squat brick building hunched at the edge of the old mill district, its windows dark and ivy creeping up the walls like veins. The three of them stepped out quickly, flashlights cutting through the fog. The air smelled of mildew, old paper, and the faint, briny tang of the nearby river.
They moved inside fast, boots echoing on the checkered tile floor. Dust swirled in their flashlight beams. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant drip of water somewhere deeper in the building.
Then they heard it—the faint, unmistakable sound of a little girl’s voice calling from below.
“Help… please…”
Kane’s blood ran cold. “Sandra?”
They followed the voice down the stairs to the basement, hearts pounding. The sound grew louder, more desperate. They reached the bottom and moved deeper into the darkness, flashlights sweeping across empty shelves and old crates.
The voice led them to a corner. There, on the floor, sat an old, dusty toy—a small music box shaped like a doll. It was playing a warped, childlike recording of a little girl’s voice.
“Help… please…”
Kane’s eyes widened in horror. “It’s a trap!”
They spun around. The basement was rigged with gunpowder and explosives—barrels, wires, and fuses snaking across the floor. In the center, a single candle burned low, its flame flickering dangerously close to the end of a long fuse.
Kane yelled, “Run! Everyone, get out now.”
They sprinted for the stairs. Kane cleared the door first. Kivior followed right behind him. But as Lina reached the top step, the door slammed shut with supernatural force, locking with a deafening click.
“Lina!” Kivior screamed, pounding on the door.
From the other side, Lina’s voice came through, calm but breaking. “Kivior! It’s locked. I can’t get out.
“Hold on, my love. I’ll get you out,” Kivior raged, slamming the side of his body viciously against the door.
Lina looked down at the candle and knew that there was no hope for her. This was the end of the line, so she cried out to her husband, “Just go, Kivior! Get out of here now! Live for our children. I love you.”
Kivior was livid, slamming his shoulder against the door again and again, trying desperately to break it down. Kane grabbed him, dragging him away just as the candle burned out. They managed to get out just before it happened.
The explosion rocked the night. A massive ball of red flames erupted from the library, lighting up the foggy sky as the building collapsed in on itself.