Night Terror by John Passarella

Author:John Passarella [Passarella, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan
Published: 2013-05-28T16:46:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

Before the fading of the night commenced, the deeper darkness continued to navigate through the town, coiling and uncoiling in puffs and wisps and streamers, in the familiar path, unaffected by the prevailing winds and the vagaries of the atmosphere. Its cycle repeated throughout the night, dipping to feed before moving on to sample another meal, and it had fed well. Its dark influence was spreading, like drops of ink in clear water.

Even humans not in direct feeding contact had begun to feel its ill effects. Anyone within the periphery of its awareness became a food source, a battery providing energy for its nocturnal presentations. And in feeding on their darkness, their fear and despair, it grew stronger, sensing more of itself and forming more of itself with each stop.

Soon it would be whole, and fear would become all they knew, death their only escape.

* * *

Once again Sam found himself underground.

Not in the root cellar. This time he was tied to a ladderback chair in an unfamiliar, dank basement. Three narrow windows high in the concrete wall to his right provided a view of ground level, judging by the blades of grass visible above the windowsills. The windows supplied the only source of illumination, but no more than the gloom of dusk. Maybe a half-hour from nightfall.

Yet the dim light was sufficient to reveal the man standing ten feet away from him, the top of his head close to exposed pipes between joists in the low ceiling. He stood with arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied smirk on his face. In one clenched fist he held a long butcher knife, its blade pointing up, beside his jaw.

Soulless Sam.

“You again,” Sam said with disgust.

“Long night?” Soulless Sam said. “Or have you been avoiding me.”

“Haven’t given you a second thought.”

“Oh, you should,” Soulless Sam said. “Because I’ve decided to do you a favor.”

“Favor?”

“Help you become a better hunter.”

“Really?” Sam said. “I thought your goal was to replace me.”

“Oh, that will happen soon,” Soulless Sam said. “But first, the favor. I’m taking Dean out of the equation.”

“What?”

Sam’s forehead had become damp.

Condensation began to bead on the concrete walls of the basement. Though Sam could see the darkening sky through the windows, he had the sensation they were descending underwater, in a chamber with faulty seals, as if somewhere nearby the increasing pressure would blow gaskets and water would flood the room. Sam would drown. But somehow Soulless Sam would have an escape route.

“You heard me,” Soulless Sam said. “Addition by subtraction.”

Along the walls, the clear moisture ran like tear tracks down the concrete. Slowly, the running water turned pink and then, trickle by trickle, a deeper red. At some point, Sam decided the walls were bleeding but could not understand why or how.

“You don’t need Dean,” Soulless Sam said. “You were a better hunter without him. Much more efficient and ruthless.”

“Yeah. That worked out well,” Sam said bitterly, the botched handling of the Arachne in the forefront of his mind.

“It’s a marathon, Sam,” Soulless Sam said, waving off the criticism.

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