More Spells To Read
More Spells To Read
Vera Kingsley gripped the steering wheel of her cruiser, the engine humming steadily beneath her as she followed her officers’ vehicle down the winding, muddy road.
The afternoon sun filtered through the trees in broken golden beams, and the shadows of the trees flooded ditches that still lined the sides of the path. The way the light hit the ground added a layer of beauty that was unlike anything Vera had noticed about this town since she came into it.
The air drifting through the cracked window smelled of damp earth, pine resin, and the faint, briny tang of the nearby river. It was a beautiful day—the kind of day Greenly Bay hadn’t seen in weeks. The sheriff could appreciate the beauty, but her mind was far from peaceful.
She kept replaying the officers’ words from the hospital earlier that morning.
“We can’t even explain what we found, Sheriff. It's just too horrific to put into words. You’ll have to see it for yourself.”
Their voices had been tight, uneasy. Vera’s stomach twisted with dread. She hoped against hope that it wasn’t the dismantled corpse of yet another child. Another innocent life taken by this endless curse. Another body to bury.
The two vehicles finally pulled off the road into a small clearing about a mile into the woods before the river. Vera killed the engine and stepped out, the cool air hitting her face, carrying the rich scent of wet leaves and moss. Her boots sank slightly into the soft ground as she approached Ramirez and Benson, who were waiting by their car.
“Alright. The mystery and tension has been tight, but it's time to reveal what this sight is. What is this?” Vera asked, her voice low and urgent. “Show me.”
The officers led her down a narrow, overgrown path deeper into the woods. The trees grew thicker here, their branches interlocking overhead like a natural cathedral, blocking most of the sunlight. The ground was soft and muddy, the air cooler and damper, filled with the earthy smell of decaying vegetation and the distant murmur of the river.
They reached the spot, and it wasn't a chore for Vera to spot what she'd been brought there to witness. It was a gruesome sight, and she could barely believe her eyes when they landed on the brutality that was mounted before her.
“Oh my God,” Vera whispered, moving forward with caution.
A full-grown horse was nailed to a massive oak tree, its body grotesquely spread out, limbs stretched wide. The nails were thick and rusted, driven deep into the bark of the tree and the flesh of the animal.
Blood had pooled heavily at the foot of the tree. The substance was dark and sticky, soaking into the ground in a wide gruesome circle.
The horse’s eyes were wide open, frozen in terror. Its mouth agape in a silent scream that seemed to echo through the quiet. It was horrific. Almost like a demonic ritual had taken place, and the horse had been given as a sacrifice to some ancient pagan god.
But the worst part was the inscription on the other side of the tree—written in the horse’s own blood, the letters still wet and dripping.
Vera stepped closer, her boots squelching in the blood-soaked mud. She read the Latin words aloud, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The earth will be soaked with blood.”
The words hung in the air like a curse. Vera’s stomach churned. This wasn’t random. This was a message. A warning. The same curse that had plagued the town for generations was far from over. But... To have done this! To have left the message in this manner! It was beyond anything she'd ever seen...and it scared her to her bones.
.
.
.
Meanwhile, back at the Carey House, Kivior sat at the old wooden table, his suitcase packed and resting in the corner of the room. The house was quiet, the afternoon light filtering through the dusty windows in pale beams.
Kivior sat by the desk, doing something that usually would be a mundane activity, but for him, it was one of the most difficult things he had to do within his entire life. He had written a letter to his children, his hand steady but his heart heavy.
“My dear ones,” he wrote. “I miss you more than words can say. I will come to you soon. We will be together again. I love you all with all my heart.”
He didn’t mention Lina’s death. Not yet. He couldn’t bring himself to write the words and to tell his kids that their mother wasn't coming back over a written letter. He folded the letter carefully, slipped it into an envelope, and set it aside to take to the post office later.
Then, he turned his attention to the table. Orishirishi’s twin daggers lay there, gleaming faintly in the light. Beside them rested the ancient spellbook. Two items of immense power that had the potential to fix things and restore balance to the lives of those who had been victimized by Moriah and her evil curse.
Kivior stared at them for a moment. He traced his fingers along the worn leather cover of the book. He had the daggers once more. He had the spellbook. He didn't plan for any of it to pan out this way, and yet it had. It was almost like the script was writing itself, and God was trying to send him a message.
Perhaps it wasn’t over yet. Perhaps there was still something he could do to help this cursed town. Perhaps his time in Greenly Bay wasn't meant to come to an end yet. Perhaps Lina's death wouldn't have to be in vain and there was still a chance of redemption for the worn-out preacher. Perhaps God wasn't done with him yet and there was still one last punch to be thrown.
He opened the book slowly, the pages crackling under his fingers. He began scrolling through the ancient text, hoping to find something—anything—that could be of help in turning the tide back to their favor.