It was raining that day. The cold droplets felt good against my face as I stared into the night sky. My partner stood beside me as we questioned one of the local residents. Her face was concealed behind the screen door of her house. Her voice shook with an anxiousness one might mistake as fear.
The country property was beautiful, some 100 odd acres of meadow with the line of a forest to the east. It truly was magnificent; one of God’s many masterpieces. As it seemed, however, an unknown entity corrupted these parts. If we are all God’s creations, how could something so evil plague so beautiful a place?
As the rain trickled down my neck the woman who we were inquiring politely excused us from the premises. It was alright, we had gotten the information we needed. My partner bid a farewell to her and started for our vehicle. I turned my attention to the doorway, pulled on my fedora and said, “Thank you ma’am, if you see anything else be sure to give us a call.” By this time I was holding out a white card with nothing more than a phone number on it.
“Won’t do me none good, ain’t got a phone.”
I placed the card back into my pocket, “Alright then, good night to you ma’am.”
She quickly shut the wooden door and retreated back into her house. Walking back to the car I noticed my partner leaning against it surveying the woods. I took one last look to the east and then entered the vehicle. Soon my partner ducked into the driver’s side seat.
I was still not sure what to make of the situation. There have been four murders in the area in the past week. Each victim was reported as having “a sign of internal trauma, with no physical evidence shown on the body.” The cause of death was a complete mystery to the local doctors. Also, there was only one connection between all the victims, each of them was found lying in an old cemetery next to a church somewhere within that eastern forest.
My partner and I had spent the last couple days questioning everyone who was related to one of the victims in some way or another. So far we had found no leads as to what exactly might have killed these people. No one actually witnessed the murders happening, so we were running on superstition and hear-say alone. I hate those types of situations.
“She knows more than she’s letting on,” my partner commented as he started the car. I had received the same notion, so I nodded my head in agreement.
The woman was approximately 40 years of age, although it was hard to tell trying to see through the screen door. Her voice was a bit raspy, could be due to the fact that she smokes, or she may have had a mild sore throat. She lived in that house with her husband and son. Neither of which were home while we were there.
While she spoke to us she kept looking towards the forest, as if she were waiting for something. The anxiousness in her voice was another sign that she was keeping something from us. One would not notice such a thing in most circumstances, but working at what I did for the time I had been doing it, you begin to notice little things like that.
My partner drove to a small diner about thirteen miles up the road from that house. When we arrived it was short of ten o’clock. We had some time before the events of the evening were to take place, and a cup of coffee seemed a perfect means of preparation. Once I had gotten comfortable in my seat, I reached into my pocket.
“You know, you really should stop smoking,” my partner commented knowing exactly what I was doing. As I lit the cigarette, I smiled back at him. “Yes, yes, but there are things out there that are much more hazardous to your health.” We’ve had that conversation before.
When we left the diner it was 11:19, plenty of time to get to the church in the forest.
The path that wound it’s was through the forest was almost mud from the rain that had fallen earlier. At that time the sky had slowed into a slight drizzle, not enough to make an impact on the current situation. If I wasn’t focused solely on the task at hand, I might have stopped to admire the beauty of the trees.
By 11:40 we had arrived at the church. It was a quaint building, no bigger than a tool shed or a green house of sorts. A small rot-iron fence surrounded a small plot of land to the east of the building. Upon the land surrounded with rot-iron were twenty, or so, grave markers. This was certainly the place we were looking for.
My partner pulled the car around to the back of the church. I stared toward the cemetery, not paying attention to anything around me. Finally my partner placed his hand upon my shoulder, startling me out of my contemplations. He pulled his head in the direction of the trunk of the car; I nodded and exited the vehicle. The trunk opened with a sudden pop. My partner soon joined me, as I rummaged through the equipment we kept in there.
This was going to be a routine investigation and possible capture. As far as hardware goes, we didn’t need much. I equipped myself with the usual armaments, wooden stakes, blessed water, and strips of parchment with holy inscriptions written upon them. Lastly Max*; a blest, silver bladed broadsword that, when sheathed, resembles a crucifix. My partner equipped himself in the same fashion as I, except for Sam*, his crossbow.
The air was still, silent when, shortly after midnight, a car pulled up to the church… right on time, I though as I smiled to myself. My partner and I hid behind the old church building on the eastern side, with a perfect view of the cemetery. Two people exited the vehicle and began to walk toward the gate leading into the cemetery.
I could see that one of them was male, around seventeen, or eighteen years old. The other appeared to be a girl of the same age. As it was, they were not what we were waiting for. More than likely just a couple of small town kids looking for a cheap thrill, or some stupid boy trying to impress a girl with a night in a graveyard.
“What do you think?” My partner whispered to me.
“We’ll wait, what we’re looking for may still show up.”
What the woman from earlier had told us is that nearly every night she’s seen lights coming from the forest, in the direction of the church. That was our first lead, and only, in the case. If whatever was killing people likes to spend time at the old church, then so did we.
I almost got lost in my own thinking, trying to piece all the information we had gathered together. Something didn’t make sense. If the woman had been seeing lights from the church at night, and that is where the bodies were found, then why didn’t she alert the police to it? Why weren’t they out here with us? It didn’t make sense.
“No, alright? I agreed to come out here with you, but I just wanted to see the graves,” The girl’s voice echoed among the trees. It appeared as if the boy and girl were having a disagreement on what exactly they were out here to do.
What are they out here to do? I wondered. If I had known that people had been killed in that cemetery, then I wouldn’t want to be there. Something didn’t seem right about the whole situation. The church, the woman, the forest, the murders, these kids… it just didn’t add up.
Then she screamed.
Quickly my partner and I rushed into the cemetery towards the kids. Once we were close enough we began to search the surrounding woods to see what the girl had screamed at. Nothing. She was now lying on the ground, the boy too startled to speak.
“Did you see it?” my partner quickly shouted.
“No, you?” My reply came as we both readied ourselves for whatever was out there.
“I can’t see anything in thi…” his sentence was cut short by a sharp cry of pain.
I quickly turned to see what had happened when I caught a glimpse of the boy staring at my partner, chanting something. It was faint, but I understood it as a curse of black arts. Quickly I reached into the inside pocket of my trench coat and pulled out a small piece of paper. I ran toward the kid, offering up a prayer to God. The boy then turned his attention to me.
The pain I felt inside of me quickly dropped me down to one knee as he continued chanting. It felt as if extreme pressure was crushing my bones one-by-one. The pain had reduced my rush toward him into a slow limp. Yet I kept moving toward him, all the while praying. Once I got within a few feet of him, my prayer was finished, and the pain left me. I stood to face the boy, as a gaze of astonishment adorned his face.
“In the name of the Lord God, Jehovah Nicci, I silence your voice of the black arts,” I proclaimed as I tagged the piece of parchment to his right arm.
He looked at me with amazement, then down at the parchment. The kid pulled and ripped at the small paper, but found it quite impossible to get off. It’s often amusing watching someone try and peel off an inscription of order from their body. He quickly turned his attention back to cast his curse, but as his lips moved, no sound emanated.
“What the hell did you do to me?” he screamed.
“That’s an inscription of order; it will prevent you from using your powers until it is removed.” My answer came quickly.
I could see a swirl of confusion and anger swell up within his boy. The night sky was pierced by his screams as he rushed toward me, fists drawn. As he swung and jabbed at me I quickly dodged or blocked each strike. The focus of a teenager wrought with rage is pitiful.
As I dodged a jab, he flowed past me, and I swiftly brought my elbow down to the back of his head sending him to the ground. He shuffled around as if he were going to get up but quickly stopped once he found Max* drawn to his face.
I looked over to my partner and found him helping the young girl to her feet. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, were both just a little shaken up, you?”
“I’m not staring God in the face yet. This kid’s silenced; he shouldn’t be a problem anymore.” I called back. “You, girl, can you drive?”
She looked as if she was still in pain, but responded positively.
“Good,” I turned my attention back on the boy, “give me your keys.” He did, and I tossed them to her. “Take that car and go home, forget what happened here tonight, and don’t tell anyone about it.”
She picked the keys off the ground and turned toward the car, but stopped midway and spun back around, “Are you guys, like, police or something?”
“Like police, but not exactly,” my partner responded.
“Then who are you, exactly?”
“We’re nobody of concern, just a couple of strangers passing through.” I spoke to her this time.
Had I told her the truth, she probably wouldn’t have believed me.
We are two very important people, but no one knows us.
We help those in need, but receive no recognition.
We’ve traveled this world many times over, but no one remembers our faces.
We are researchers of the paranormal and black arts.
We find and eradicate such threats.
My name is Alexander, my partner is Victor.
We work for the Inquisition.
We are hunters.
*I haven't found a name for these weapons yet, so for now they are Sam and Max