Shadows on the Wall Chapter 77

Shadows on the Wall

Chapter 77:  Bad Moon A-Rising

by NancyBe

Voiceover (Kathryn Leigh Scott):  "Although spring has finally come to the Great

Estate of Collinwood, those who live there will find that the new birth it

brings is far from welcome."

 

 

Candle wax, tobacco, and spice.  She snuggled closer to him and inhaled his

scent, Quentin’s scent.  The scent of her world.  For her world was Quentin,

and Quentin was her world. 

It was intoxicating lying here next to him, her body humming with satisfaction

right down to her very toes.  But how odd that she should feel cold and that

the air should feel so heavy around her.  She opened her eyes; the room, her

world, had grown so dark that she could no longer make Quentin out.  And then

she was standing, and the floor was slippery, almost sandy, and she had

difficulty keeping her footing. 

She didn’t understand. 

And then she saw the light.  From far off, she saw the light approaching, and

instead of hope, she felt dread.  Dread that slid down her throat and expanded

in her belly like a gangrenous sponge.  The sickly green light grew closer and

closer, and under its illumination, Vicki finally understood why she labored to

breathe, why her feet slid on a sandy bottom, why her lips tasted of salt. 

She was on the bottom of the sea. 

It made no sense, none of it, but she had no time to think about it because

something was coming, coming through the water – to her, for her.  She could

hear its approach, a slithery, whispering sound as it swam, one with the light,

toward her.  The sound was of something huge, something ancient and mythical.

And somehow, of something very familiar. 

Vicki’s heart pounded in her chest as the thing came nearer to her.  There was

nowhere to run or hide.  In moments, she was bathed in the light’s loathsome

glow, and she could see what it brought with it. 

A beast. 

A beast stories high.  So large that she had to crane her neck to see its face

…or rather its faces.  It had three.  Two smaller snakelike heads on thin

stalks of neck on either side that swiveled constantly but never lost sight of

her with their scarlet eyes.  Their gaze made her shiver and wrap her arms

tightly around herself for a sense of security as well as warmth.  But it was

the third face, the center and main face, that made her bite down on her lip

in fear until it bled.  For this face was nearly human in appearance with

bright blue eyes.  They fixed her in their stare until she felt like she had

been shot through with an arsenal of Julia Hoffman’s infamous tranquilizers.

Her eyes drifted lower and found something even more repulsive.  The face had

lips, pink human-shaped lips – and they were smiling at her. 

Vicki took a step back and dropped her gaze.  Anything not to have to see that

part-snake, part-human face smiling at her as if in greeting.  But the rest of

its body was not much better.  Serpentine in shape with two large humps, its

iridescent scales were accented with shades of reds and greens making it look

like a gargantuan, perverted Christmas decoration.  The scales swayed with the

motion of the water revealing sets of eyes beneath them.  Slitted emerald

eyes that watched her with a slyness that made her skin crawl.  And around the

beast, a nest of smaller serpents twined in a constant dance, their long,

forked tongues darting in and out, in and out. 

Victoria was sure she had finally died and gone to hell. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out – the sight of its many

eyes, its fish-gut stink that filled her throat and nostrils, the nauseating

gurgling sound of its breathing – when she realized she was hearing something

else.  The beast was talking to her.  Talking to her through its grinning

human lips, thanking her for something- and looking at her with love. 

With love. 

She shook her head and took another step backward, slipping, sliding.  And she

heard it call her by a name, oh God, no, not that name.  It couldn’t be!  And

in the back of its throat she could see something round and ruby red, a ring,

as round and red as the blood red moon, oh god, the ring…. 

“No, no, don’t call me that!” she screamed before coming fully awake in bed.

In bed, next to a sleeping Quentin who still smelled of candle wax, tobacco,

and spice.  She stilled herself, not wanting to wake him and sighed when she

realized it had all been just a dream.  She was soaked with sweat, but it had

all been just a dream.  Turning her head, she gazed out the window and watched

as the moon sailed from behind a wisp of cloud.  It was fat and round – and

red, just like the round, red ring of her dream. 

 

“It was only the moon,” she whispered to herself.  “I dreamt of the moon.”

She closed her eyes again, determined to get some sleep this night when she

felt an odd sensation in her stomach.  It was like the flutter of butterfly

wings.  Something I ate?  she wondered.  Or didn’t eat?  She couldn’t remember

the last time she had eaten.  Food hadn’t seemed important for a very long

time.  Well, if it meant she could sleep, perhaps it was time for a midnight

snack. 

Vicki sat up and started to swing her legs out of the bed before an intense

pressure in her belly halted her.  The butterfly effect was long gone, replaced

by the feeling of something larger and heavier inside of her.  She tossed aside

the covers in near panic wondering what could be wrong with her.  And as she

stared at her bare stomach, she saw something ripple across her abdomen.

Ripple like a sea serpent might as it glided through the murky waters of Loch

Ness. 

*~*~*

 

Eliot Stokes watched as an auburn-haired Maggie Evans paced his cottage like a

caged tiger.  He was gratified to see that their earlier “tête-à-tête”, as it

were, seemed to have brought her closer to the girl he had once known.  He

could still sense the black energy beneath the surface, and he could sense the

indecision inside of her.  But she had come to him wearing normal clothing and

with her hair restored to its original color, and that was something. 

Still…he reached into his jacket pocket and caressed the amulet that rested in

the folds of cloth.  One could never be too careful, and Eliot Stokes was

nothing if not a cautious man. 

“Professor, it’s coming, and it’s coming soon.  I don’t know that we…that

anyone can do anything about it, but it’s coming.  I can feel it right down

to the marrow of my bones.  I can feel that it wants me, and I’m not sure

that I can resist it.”

“Are you talking about the Leviathans, Maggie?” His eyes were trained on her

hands which she had wrung so tight that they looked bleached and bloodless. 

“Yes!  The Leviathans!  Or their leader.  Or something.  All I know is that

what is coming is ancient, but more powerful than anything you can imagine.”

“And how do you know this?”

“I told you, I can feel it!  But there’s more to it than that.  Haven’t you

seen the moon?  It looks like it’s been dipped in blood!  And what about what

the fleets have been bringing in, and what’s been washing up on shore?  Surely

you’ve at least heard tell – if not caught a whiff of – what’s out there?”

“Yes,” he admitted, sinking heavily into a chair.  “I have seen the moon.  And

I’ve heard that the nets have been full of an unusual amount of diseased and

rotten fish.” His voice was weary. 

“An unusual amount?” She walked over to his chair, stopping abruptly when she

saw the fear of her that flashed across his face before he could mask it.  “The

harbor is full of it!  The fishermen can’t stop talking about some of the

things they’ve seen.  They say the fish look like mutants or something, some

with two heads, others with three eyes.  They say they’re disgusting.”

“I hoped we had more time,” he sighed.  He was tired, and he was old.  And he

was still fighting the voices that buzzed excitedly inside of his head, and

they did not like this conversation at all.  Not at all. 

 

“No,” Maggie said, as she shook her head vigorously.  “There is no more time.

It, they, whatever, have been dormant in Collinsport for a very long time.  And

their time is now.”

Stokes looked up into her eyes, and noticed that her pupils had started to

expand.  He clutched the bronze amulet which now felt warmer to the touch, and

a song he had recently heard on the radio popped into his head before he could

stop it:  I see a bad moon a-rising.  I see trouble on the way.  I see

earthquakes and lightning.  I see bad times –

*~*~*

-today.  Don't go 'round tonight.  It’s bound to take your life, there's a bad

moon on the rise.

The words to the popular tune came unbidden to Angelique as she stood staring

out at the morning fog from the window of their bedroom at the Old House.  A

bad moon, yes.  Both she and Sky had been drawn to it in the middle of the

night.  They had held each other tightly in the pre-dawn chilliness of the old

mansion, both knowing that the reason they trembled had nothing to do with the

lack of heat. 

She heard him step up behind her and turned to greet him with a smile.  A smile

that quickly turned to a gasp.  Sky’s eyes had turned completely black.  They

held no humanity and no spark of life.  They were just dead pools of dark and

stagnant water. 

 

“Sky!” she screamed, backing up only to feel the cold glass against her back.

“What’s happened to you?” Fear for him, for her, for them welled icily in her

chest

“Angelique.” His voice sounded like it came from down a long, long tunnel.

“Please, help me,” he pleaded.  “I can’t stop it.  I haven’t done anything…it

just happened.  It’s coming, and I can’t stop…”

He reached out to her, and she longed to go to him, help him, comfort him.  But

she was afraid.  And then his hands stretched out, and his fingers looked

impossibly long, and smoke began to curl around his fingertips.  She could

smell the electrical charge in the air, and her blonde hair began to swirl

around her head.  He was doing it.  He didn’t mean to, but he was sending forth

energy.  Energy he couldn’t control.  And the window against her back grew

colder and colder still as she pressed against it trying to escape before…

before he could hurt her. 

And crazily, all she could think was, There's a bad moon on the rise.

*~*~*

Quentin Collins woke up slowly, deliciously, humming a song.  I hear

hurricanes a-blowing, I know the end is coming soon. Catchy tune, he thought,

but the words are a real downer. 

He rolled over with a grin for his lover and ended up smiling stupidly at an

empty pillow.  “Vicki?” he called, his voice coming out as a growl.  Nothing,

nada.  Not even a trace of her perfume left in the room.  Where the hell was

she, especially after the night they had just shared? 

 

He growled again, thinking of how they had spent the evening.  They’d been up

half the night, and he was ready to start all over again.  Where was she?  He

sat up impatiently, scanning for signs of her whereabouts, and as he did so, he

felt metal swing about his neck.  Frowning, he looked down and found a strange

necklace fastened around him.  A heavy amulet hung from the chain, and he held

it in his hand to look at it.  It was horrible.  Twin snakes with crimson eyes

twisted around each other and seemed to capture him in their malevolent gaze.

The worst part was the feeling that he had seen this symbol before, and as he

thought this, it began to glow and the chain grew warm, warmer, hot against

his neck. 

“Get away from me!” he screamed in horror and in pain as he closed his fist

around the amulet and yanked at it, hard.  Nothing happened.  It was too

tightly about him to go over his head; he’d have to break it.  He tightened

his grip and pulled on the necklace with all of his considerable strength, but

the chain refused to yield.  The charm was burning him now; he could almost

feel the snakes writhing against his hand, but he refused to relinquish his

hold on them.  He tore and tore at the piece of jewelry until the skin at the

back of his neck was ragged, and tiny droplets of blood fell silently against

the snowy sheets. 

I fear rivers over flowing.  I hear the voice of rage and ruin.

*~*~*

“So Eliot feels that the rise of the Leviathans is imminent?”

“Yes, he was extremely concerned after his conversation with Maggie this

afternoon.  The apocalyptic signs are appearing at an alarming rate.  And you

and I both noticed the moon last night.”

Barnabas Collins and Julia Hoffman faced each other in the drawing room of his

home.  How many times had they done this, she wondered.  How many times had

they stood before this fireplace - he fiddling with his ring, she slapping her

hands against her sides – trying to save civilization as they knew it?  It was

getting tiresome. 

 

“’The moon will turn blood red’, isn’t that what Stokes said?”

“Yes, that’s what he said.  And it has come to pass.  Oh God, I sound like

something out of “Revelations”, don’t I?”

“In my former life, I was quite well-versed in the Bible, Julia, and I must

admit that all of these signs do sound remarkably like the warnings of which

John the Apostle wrote.”

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel any better, Barnabas,” she sighed.  “And the

question is, if the Leviathans are on our doorstep, what are we going to do

about it?  What can we do about it?”

“Well, you said that their leader, Jebez, was it?” He continued at the nod of

her head.  “That Jebez was destroyed once.  Which means that he can be

destroyed again.  This time, by us.”

“And I also told you that the scroll did not tell how he was destroyed.  We

don’t even know-”

Her words were cut off by her scream as she collapsed into a heap on the floor.

“Julia!” Barnabas cried as he fell to his knees in front of her.  “What is it?

Is it them?”

She nodded mutely as she pressed her fingertips into her forehead.  “I don’t

think…they like…our conversation, Barnabas,” she managed to gasp. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Julia,” he whispered as he pulled her to him, rocking her,

cradling her. 

His voice was a lullaby for her soul, and the worst of the biting, sizzling,

and squirming in her brain abruptly faded to a dull roar.  She looked up into

his beloved face; it was so close to hers.  His eyes were so gentle and seemed

to shine with deep emotion.  For her?  And his mouth, so soft, just inches

away…

“Julia…”

They both jumped at the sound of the front door slamming, and their fragile

moment shattered like delicate crystal. 

Dammit, what now?  Julia swore under her breath. 

There was no way that Julia Hoffman could have anticipated what she would see

next.  Victoria Winters, her mostly white mane flowing behind her, burst into

the room as if running from the devil himself, and taking one look at her,

Barnabas leapt to his feet. 

“Vicki!  What happened to you?” he bellowed. 

Julia sucked in her breath.  As she looked up at Vicki from her position on the

floor, what she saw was just a rounded, very pregnant belly – rounded like the

fattened and pregnant moon – stretching the young woman’s red dress to its very

limit. 

“Vicki-”

“I had …a dream,” she sputtered.  “A terrible, terrible beast, sea monster…It

was smiling at me, thanking me, and it…Oh God, it called me-”

Julia was on her feet now with one arm around the hysterical girl.  “What,

Vicki?  Try to tell us.”

“Oh God, Julia, it called me…MOTHER!”

 

 Hope you got your things together. 

Hope you are quite prepared to die.

Look's like we're in for nasty weather. 

One eye is taken for an eye. 

Don't go 'round tonight

it's bound to take your life,

there's a bad moon on the rise.

 *Lyrics in this chapter are from “Bad Moon Rising” by John Fogerty. 

 TO BE CONTINUED ...