Thursday, August 21, 2014

THE DEAD GAME -- DAY 193






Natalie was prepared to reveal to everyone the extent of her powers and her control over the town.


     Todd watched as Natalie puffed up her body,  attempting to appear larger than her mere petite frame allowed her to be. He was disgusted with her for fooling him; but more importantly, he was disgusted with himself for not seeing through her clever ruse of posing as his faithful assistant. He hissed, “It had to be someone who’d been aware of all my plans in advance—to be always one step ahead of me. You were the only one who had prior knowledge of all my meetings and social engagements; the one who constantly pried into my personal life; the one who leaked privileged information about our secret gatherings. You sicken and repulse me.”

     “How did the Father turn you into a saint? Let me understand this: You were one of The Dead and then a spell made you a saint?” Shana asked.

     “I cast a vanquishing spell on her,” Father John said.

     “How?” asked David.

     “With a spell that had been passed down from my ancestors,” the priest said.

     “Why would your ancestors have a vanquishing spell?” Todd asked.

     “I come from a long family line of vampire slayers. I’ve remained in this godforsaken town only to fight the relentless stream of demons. I’ve killed countless numbers of them over the years, but there are always more of them coming to town. I had decided to try the vanquishing spell in my ancestor’s spell book, but regrettably, I messed up and ended up with this deformation of nature.” The Father pointed his finger at Natalie.

     “That’s enough already! I’ve listened to enough of this silly drivel! I will now rid this town of all you do-gooders!” Natalie transformed once again into the robed skeleton. She was holding a huge fire ball in both hands. Shimmering in the heat of the flames, she lifted the ball above her head. She threw the ball of fire at them, cackling in glee as the fire spread through the room.

     In the flames appeared faces of people, young and old, chanting in unison the name of the saint, La Santa Muerte, over and over. The chanting grew louder as the flames intensified and spread further into the room, closer toward the group huddled together at the back wall.

     Bright flashes of lightning lit up the room’s floor to ceiling windows. The lightning bolts that hit close to the building emitted eerie sizzling sounds. Debris flew through the air; trees and pieces of buildings flew by the rain-splattered windows.