Return Of The Hook

Return Of The Hook
It was pouring outside the cave as if the gates of hell had been opened to unleash their fury on the earth. Rain was beating mercilessly against the stony entrance of the cave while thunder boomed overheard as if some giant had cracked his whip against it. Inside the cave, the atmosphere was stuffy and dense. It was replete with the smell of dampness in the air, of blood, and sulfur.

Flickering flames of torches mounted in iron brackets were casting dancing shadows which twisted grotesquely on the stony walls of the cave. It felt like there was more than one entity alive within that cave, although that was yet to be the case. Drops of water were dripping regularly from the stalactites hanging from the ceiling as if counting down time.

Moriah stood at the center of the chamber. Her midnight black skin glinted in the glow of fire and her crimson eyes shone with sinister purpose. She was wearing a long-flowing robe made of deepest red color that seemed to be created from shadows and blood and the material seemed to rustle as it whispered about the purpose of Moriah's movement.

Before her stood an improvised altar made of piles of stones, thousands of them. Each of these stones was inscribed with unholy marks. It was raised as high as two-feet up and it looked sturdy and strong. Upon the altar, there was a corpse of a young man who was shirtless with his pale and waxen face. His eyes were closed, his chest was still while his body was lying in the ritual pose. His arms were crossed over his heart.

Moriah raised her hands in the air. She spoke in strange, guttural tones which seemed to twist the very air. It was a foreign language, ancient, older than human tongue with powers that caused the torches to dance wildly and trembled slightly the ground below her feet.

The cave responded to her words. The darkness in it deepened, and the dripping of water slowed down. There was a presence other than hers dancing along the walls of the cave, alive to her call, held by her words.

She took out a sharp, curved knife from the folds of her robe. The blade was shining menacingly in the glow of torches. She cut her palm in one quick, decisive movement. Blood started to ooze immediately out of it. It was dark, almost black, thick and viscous. She put her hand near the dead man's mouth and allowed the blood to drip inside it, hissing in the cold air as the liquid spilled into his mouth.

Seconds passed. And then the corpse started to heave. Its chest rose and fell irregularly, its legs twitched convulsively. It was prepared to receive new life. Moriah smiled and her eyes glowed brighter. She took a book which was a copy of her own spellbook—the book she had taken from Orishirishi when she defeated the little girl at demon chess.

Pages of the book made a noise as she opened it. Ancient texts in it were glowing faintly in the dim light of torches. She started to read incantations aloud, and her voice was growing in power and authority—each word of her was echoing from the walls of the cave as if it was a death knell. What she was doing was extremely serious and she was paying all attention.

And then a spirit appeared out of nowhere—a dark vortex that screamed and writhed in the air over the altar. Moriah directed this spirit with her clawed hand, forced it into the dead man's body. The corpse twitched violently. Its mouth opened silently. Then his eyes snapped open.

Martin Carey sat up slowly on the altar. His new body was pale and flawless. He looked around the cave, confusion flitted across his face before it was replaced with recognition. He turned his head toward Moriah, greeted her respectfully and with a cruel smile.

"Mistress," he addressed her. "I thought I had been killed. Cast away by the preacher's words and that cursed light."

Moriah stepped forward and her eyes glowed with satisfaction.

"The curse was delayed, not broken. The casters needed to be appeased with the peace of the Lord. That hasn't happened yet. So it is time to resume what we’ve been doing since the bell rang to begin your family’s vengeance..."

Martin's lips curled into the same wicked smile that he had shown people of Greenly Bay for such a long time. More than anything, he was more than happy to resume his onslaught on the town’s growing youth.

"Good. I am ready to continue from the place I have left off. Drowning children, breaking their necks, watching the life fading from their eyes as they are sinking in the river. The hook will sing again. This town will not rest because of what they did to my family."

Moriah's smile became even wider. "Then go, my faithful servant. The town is ripe again. Make them remember the fear, make them remember their evil deed against your blood. Make them remember your hook."

Martin stood up from the altar. His new body moved with unnatural grace. "As you command, Mistress."

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Next morning Vera Kingsley woke up to the ringing of her telephone. She groaned, tangled in the sheets with Kane Baker sleeping beside her. They were both still naked after a passionate, desperate release from the pressure of past days. 

Kane stirred, his arm was draped possessively across her waist and his skin was touching her warmly. She had to get to the phone, so she rolled him off her and went over to answer the ringing device.

Vera picked up the telephone which was placed on the night stand and answered. "Kingsley."

Kivior's voice was urgent and calm. "Sheriff. Eleanor is awake. She is saying something you won't believe. You need to come now."

Vera sat up quickly, her heart was beating strongly. "Make sure to keep her stable. We are coming."

She hung up, turning to Kane. "Eleanor's awake."

Kane nodded and started to get dressed up quickly. "That means we have to go now."

“My thoughts exactly,” Vera added and they quickly began getting themselves ready.