There's that famous line, in a famous movie, about feeling a disturbance like a million voices crying out in terror.
Problem is, these ones don't go silent.
And it's not so much terror as some awful, exalted joy that scratches right up along his spine like an old phonograph needle and sends his teeth rattling.
He's the first guy in the 24-hour diner to peer through the window and see the moon get blotted out. Could be nothing but clouds; that's what everybody's going to think come morning, he already knows. He also knows damn well (hah) it's not, and some tiny radar pinging deep in his gut makes him look down at his waffles like they've suddenly turned to ash.
Maybe this is it, he thinks. The start. The Big Kahuna.
He presses down the side of his fork into the stack and watches the syrup ooze out.
"Gettin' dark all of a sudden," remarks the lone waitress as she leans up against the window, head tipped back to the sky. "Must be a storm rolling in."
You've got no idea, he thinks, and lifts his head with an easy grin
( ... )
The very depths of the pit roil and shudder as hundreds of demons and no few damned souls snarl and fight to shove their way through the open gate. For her part, the one known once as 'Meg Masters' can't help but laugh. Everything's going according to the plan after all, it seems.
Until an unearthly shot rings out, that is, the bark of the Colt unmistakable as it echoes an impossible death knell into the abyss and beyond.
In the end, her shrieks of pain and fury at her Father's murder are louder even than the sound of the gates slamming shut once more.
Bela is going through the motions. She does that a lot these days. Talking to spirits is comforting. She'll take what she can get, and she'll keep herself busy with mundane jobs. This amulet, that cursed ring... it's habit, and it's keeping her sane.
The planchette starts spinning out of control, spelling out something Bela can't even comprehend. After a few minutes, she pulls her fingers away and goes online. The more tech savvy hunters and spiritualists are posting on the locked bulletin boards she infiltrated a long time ago.
Everything's going to hell. It might happen before her time's up, even.
Comments 4
Problem is, these ones don't go silent.
And it's not so much terror as some awful, exalted joy that scratches right up along his spine like an old phonograph needle and sends his teeth rattling.
He's the first guy in the 24-hour diner to peer through the window and see the moon get blotted out. Could be nothing but clouds; that's what everybody's going to think come morning, he already knows. He also knows damn well (hah) it's not, and some tiny radar pinging deep in his gut makes him look down at his waffles like they've suddenly turned to ash.
Maybe this is it, he thinks. The start. The Big Kahuna.
He presses down the side of his fork into the stack and watches the syrup ooze out.
"Gettin' dark all of a sudden," remarks the lone waitress as she leans up against the window, head tipped back to the sky. "Must be a storm rolling in."
You've got no idea, he thinks, and lifts his head with an easy grin ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Until an unearthly shot rings out, that is, the bark of the Colt unmistakable as it echoes an impossible death knell into the abyss and beyond.
In the end, her shrieks of pain and fury at her Father's murder are louder even than the sound of the gates slamming shut once more.
Reply
The planchette starts spinning out of control, spelling out something Bela can't even comprehend. After a few minutes, she pulls her fingers away and goes online. The more tech savvy hunters and spiritualists are posting on the locked bulletin boards she infiltrated a long time ago.
Everything's going to hell. It might happen before her time's up, even.
That's not much comfort.
Reply
Leave a comment