Page 3 of Devious Nightmare

Present Day

As the sun sets over the far off trees, I duck into the shadows of a storefront entrance as I watch her. This is crazy. I feel like some kind of secret spy, except less cool and ill prepared.

Samantha is walking around downtown Wraith Valley like she owns the place right now. I fucking hate it. I hate her. I hate that she’s like this. It’s part of the reason she is the perfect person for what I need.

As she stops to talk to Brad, the coffee shop owner, I rummage through the pouch secured around my thigh under my sheer dress, looking for the paper I found at the abandoned hunting cabin in the woods.

I don’t often hang around in the woods at the same location where satanic rituals were performed, but I am a huge fan ofBlaze and His Demons, a popular rock band from my teenage years. When the band broke up after the police killed the lead singer, I became a little obsessed with the story behind the rockstar turned serial killer.

Blaze DuBois was twenty-seven years old when the Senior Deputy of the Wraith Valley Sheriff’s office killed him on Old Wolf Bridge.

To this day, no one knows what happened on that bridge between Blaze and Donavan, but Blaze never walked away from that interaction. The story that the local paper ran about the death of the rock legend didn’t include a reason as to why the deputy pulled his gun on the assumed unarmed singer.

Yes, Blaze had been accused of murdering upwards of twenty-four women across the country, but that doesn’t give Donavan the right to play judge, jury, and executioner. That’s not how the judicial system works. I should know. I was going to law school before I decided I’d rather get another degree in theology and folklore, so I could study demonology.

What kind of job can you get when your expertise is in demons? You can do research for a local folklore podcast. That’s how I found all the information I know about Blaze and his alleged crimes.

No one cares what you are researching when you ask to look through the library's archives for folklore in a town like Wraith Valley. When you tell a staff member that you are researching myths about the town, they likely think you are an insane person.

That’s how I found the paper in my hand. I learned that Blaze supposedly used a cabin in the woods for ritual sacrifices. Police were never able to locate the exact cabin. There are a lot of cabins — both abandoned and still in use — scattered throughout the woods surrounding the town.

Honestly, I think they did find the right cabin, but they didn’t know what they were looking for. Or, they couldn’t find anything in all of the hidden compartments I found around the tiny hunting shack.

During our few encounters, Blaze never came off as careless. He always seemed calculated and very self aware. There’s no reason for me to believe that he would have been anything less than incredibly thought driven with hiding something as important as what’s written on the item I’m holding.

It’s a way to bring him back.

It took weeks to collect everything I needed for tonight. The only thing left is the blood from a feminine connection to the spirit. Considering Samantha couldn’t get off of Blaze’s dick long enough to take a breath, she’s the perfect choice for my remaining ingredient.

The sun dips lower, painting parts of the town in a golden glow. The other areas are drenched in darkness and shadows. Perfect coverage.

I wait for Samantha to stop puffing out her tits to Brad. When she finally does, she heads in this direction, just as I knew she would. This is it. This is my only chance.

With my back pressed to the brick wall behind me, I hide in the shadows until she’s about to pass me. That’s when I grab her. One hand over her mouth, the other in her product filled hair as I drag her into the darkness with me.

Samantha thrashes against me, desperate to break free from my hold, but I won’t let her. Instead, I remove my hair from her hair, taking hold of the blade secured to my inner thigh. She gasps as she sees the glint of my knife.

Before she can make another sound, I drag my favorite weapon across her neck, and we are both bathed in the blood of this sacrifice.

For the fifth time, I check the instructions laid out for me on the paper in my hand. I’ve added all the herbs indicated on the list and mixed them in with Samantha’s fresh blood. My candles are lit and spread out correctly. The skull of the deer is at the center of my makeshift altar.

Everything is ready. I am ready.

Reaching out, I dip my hand into the iron goblet holding the blood and herb concoction. I don’t waste a single drop of the main ingredient in my ritual.

Using the crimson liquid, I draw a star on my head, neck, and over my heart. I repeat the motion again and again until only a small amount of the blood in the cup remains.

I pause and stare at the objects in front of me. The question of whether or not I should be doing this blares in my mind. I’ve never worked with magic as dark and dangerous as resurrection. I’m a green witch. My magic is in my plants and remedies, not bringing back a ghost from a decade ago.

I should stop. I should rethink this, but I don’t.

It’s now or never. With shaky hands, I lift the worn piece of paper and recite the words needed to bring him back.

a dark heart

and a wicked soul

of blood and bone

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