"It's My Life"

“It’s My Life” - A Kannon Falls Tale

“That day changed everyone, everything. And I hate to say it, but for the better.” - Robert McAlister, Local Priest.


The Midnight Society climbed their way through the thick over grown grass that had sprung up around the farmhouse. Aunt Jess made her way through the best she could, this was so much easier twenty years ago when her body was lighter and her frame wasn’t wracked by morning arthritis. Of course if it were twenty years earlier she’d be in upstate New York attending the worlds most awesome live music concert with her future husband… but that wasn’t important at this time.  “Mota, McAlister… put some effort in it, ya‘ hear? I‘m the same damn age as both of you put together and I‘m blazing the trail. Now ‘git!” She barked over her shoulder as her right hand pushed a bushel of grass the same height as her aside as her eyes scanned outward into the night bathed landscape. They wouldn’t light up the old oil lantern till they got closer to the main building, out this far they were still close enough to the new highway for passersby to see the light, and that would bring unwanted attention to what they wanted to do.

Jessica Keen was as common as they come. A women from a lower income farming background, but unlike even the most trained scholar her mind had a natural knack for understanding thaumaturgy and mystical principle like few before her, just by instinct she could understand principles of the art that took so called master magi years and years of working to do. She was the first to cross over the property line to the Jackson Farmstead in the outer part of Prichard, and the second her foot pressed into the soil she could feel it, the dark mystical energies.

Eyes locked straight head, she pushed her heavy hand into the leather carrying bag and brought out the zip lock baggie of ground crystal and herbs that even in the low light was a neon purple color. Her eyes never removing themselves from the path in front of them she felt Mota and McAlister stop at her sides as she undid the clasp of the bag and whipped the contents around them in a circle in the air. The dust carrying out on the movements self created wind spread out and lightly coated everything. Linda closed her eyes so the crystal dust wouldn’t sting them but the other two kept their eyes open having gotten used to this sometime ago.

“Say some words holy man..” Aunt Jess whispered as the floating dust started to sparkle under the moon and star light, growing slowly brighter.

The young priest  nodded. “Psalm 23, ‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death… I fear no evil…” The priest continued the prayer of comfort from memory and Linda kissed the shiny silver cross she wore around her neck as a comfort reflex. Aunt Jess envied them as she just stood there knee deep in fresh grass, their belief in a higher power. If god did exist she figured, that it would be more a shamanistic force of nature - not good or evil, but a part of both. Not indifferent but not able to act in someone’s life without a conduit. It was a belief that had come to her after a hard road life.

Once the prayer was done it was Linda Mota that spoke first, “H-h-how many a-a-are there?” Her whisper stuttered barely above the natural sound of the night, her fingers still tight around the silver cross. Tonight she forsook the normal blue and white checkered habit she wore for a sleek navy sweater and navy sweat pants. Pure black would stand out against the cool veil of the night and wouldn‘t let them blend to the background. It was similar in color to the dark farm hand style clothing that the other two wore.

“Our source says a brood of at least three. Maybe four if they’ve spawned.” It was McAlister who spoke this time, “Why are we hunting them?” He turned to ask Aunt Jess. “This is… isn’t why I joined. We’re supposed to watch them.  We’re supposed to watch the Witch-Breeds and…”

“And do what?” Aunt Jess barked at McAlister. “Let them murder? Fill their gut on the innocent and good, feed and feed and feed till their brood explodes out across the landscape? Did you forget about that little incident in Ashton? Did you Robert? I can tell you boy that a hell of a lot of families there won‘… I know as sure as Hell exists I won‘.” She didn’t even break stride or her gaze from the landscape as she pushed forward knowing she had silenced him for now. There would be questions afterward. There always was. But she didn’t have time for that now. If they did have someone with them, either as a hostage, potential recruit or whatever she hoped to save them. Aunt Jess couldn’t let… something that horrible happen again.

“W-w-we need t-t-to remember they’re just as much victims as monsters.. Jessica… Robert. D-d-do you hear me?” Again Linda Mota’s voice was gentle and soft against the night, almost crushed out by the sounds of feet pushing through grass. “We n-n-need to forgive but also stop them.” McAlister nodded and understood and on a level inside Aunt Jess did too, but loving and forgiving them would have to come later. Right now they were animals to be put down.

“Knives out.” Was the last words to pass Aunt Jess’s lips till they came to the abandon farmhouse. As The Midnight Society grew closer they could hear music from the local radio station through a broken out portion of a window, the glass sharp and jagged like teeth. Someone near by was strumming along in an attempt to follow the song on an acoustic guitar and inside there were dozens of flash lights stacked on their end giving off light into the pitch black room. Human forms laughing and dancing to the music.  People laughing, people loving.

Aunt Jess felt sick about it, but it had to be done. And if it was affecting her like this she knows that the other two must be horrified and beside themselves. Looking around she found the right target.

Drawing in her inner focus, she could feel it, the sudden spark and warmth spring forth from nothing. Snapping her fingers and a small gout of flame consuming dry old paper. In most ordinary circumstances this would be counted and used as a parlor trick at best but if applied right even the most trivial thing can be devastating she learned early on. The small pin point roared into a large flame in seconds, paper and warm room air fueling it.

Then came the screaming as the guitar stopped and the radio continued on with the song, a world away seemingly and unawares of what was going on here. Now that there was more light cast by the flames she could see them. Four of them in total, all four going mad from the quickly growing fire. Whatever change happened what ever made them creatures and stopped them from being children of man, it also took with them the understanding and mastery of fire. It made them as afraid of it as any animal was.

Fellowship which the brood had quickly was dropped in a mass of screaming and snarling. Aunt Jess guided the flames to flank them and force them toward the door. The harsh march and drawing on mystical powers was exhausting but Aunt Jess pushed forward becoming keenly aware of the almost painful beating of her heart. Magic was costly and painful.

McAlister and Linda Mota were ready by the front door. The first of the brood broke through screaming and hissing like a serpent, it appeared to be a young man, barely younger then the priest. Twenty at the most. Aunt Jess knew that the holy man was pushing aside his fear and to a small degree his vows and was proud of him for that. This needed to be done.

There was a simple movement of air as the blade struck  quickly and without mercy against the monster. The sharp traveled through neck muscle and bone, honed beyond sharp to do so. It wasn’t like in popular fiction where blood would explode everywhere, or the body would turn to dust in the wind. The blade took the head from the body and every joint went out of it tumbling without grace into a pile on the ground and the fatal wound produced a smell of rot and rancid bile into the air. It was starting rot already but not instantly.

The second to charge out the door had seen what had happened to the first and stopped. Wild fire and other screaming brood-mates behind it, and a hunter dedicated to removing its head before it.  “Why? Why are you doing this?” This one screamed. It had the look of a young woman in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties dressed like a hippie from twenty years earlier. She crossed her arms as McAlister slashed again but she was read, the blade caught into her flesh but stopped. Blood poured from the wounds for a brief second before but stopped as they began to heal.

Aunt Jess refocused herself dropping the rolling fire in her mind. She no longer had the strength to pick up the horror and toss it into the flames but that wasn’t what was needed. A push, a hard enough push to the face. She gripped her hand driving her nails into her palm and then pushed outward, across the yard, through the grass the force struck the monster and sent her backward into the fire. The member of the brood collapsed into it and started to scream as within one-tenth of a heartbeat’s time the flames bit into her flesh and started to consume it, as if she were made out of dried drift wood and not flesh and bone. There was no smell of flesh burning or cooking, but something akin to that of thick pulped paper.

Dull, slow, thudding pain increased in her chest and vision swam as the world felt odd for a second. Looking down at her hand she could see black lines pushing out from where her nails had dug into her hand veins collapsed under stress, black lines of dying artery damage traveling down her arm to her elbow. The strength now gone from her as she was forced to lay down in the thick grass. With new limited perspective on the world her gaze saw McAlister take the battle of the monsters, kicking past the door and the now burning pile of ash.

Screams rung out through the night, Linda Mota’s voice pitched the highest over the din. Closing her eyes and feeling drool run down the side of her chin and neck, she was forced into rest.

Time moves forward as it does and slowly reality of the waking world returned to her. ‘A stroke. I had a stroke.’ her mind muttered to itself. Above her was the slight yellowed white paint of her bedroom’s ceiling, warm colored daylight passed through the window blinds and particles of dust danced. ‘Please Christ, don’t tell me I’ve had a stroke and there are people in my dirty house.’

Linda Mota was by her bedside for days tending to her the best way the nun knew how and McAlister made the rounds to friends and family. The story was that during a visit to the church she’d went weak and fallen down. Simple, easy and elegant enough not to be questioned. Aunt Jess was old enough to have this happen, and had neglected her health long enough so it seemed plausible.

She was no longer Aunt Jess now, no right now from this point forward she was just Mrs. Keen. She had given everything she had to fight back the darkness.. To learn its secrets, her family, her wishes, her hopes and now finally her health. No. Right now there was only Mrs. Keen.