I Kill in Peace (10 page)

I couldn't reconcile the God I had prayed to as a child offering salvation for my soul through the act of murder. My legs walked to the car against my will. The concrete sizzled with each step.

Sitting in the car, I looked at myself in the rearview mirror.

My heart froze.

Chapter Twenty-One

I no longer looked human. My skin was as red as a ripe tomato. The whites of my eyes were crimson, the pupils a glowing gold. I watched in horror as the hair from my head burned off, black ash peppering my shoulders.

The scimitar was on the seat next to me, shining as if it had been recently polished. The back seat was crammed with cases and crates. All of them, I suspected, contained weapons, the tools to ignite mass murder.

Sitting in the Mustang, looking like the devil incarnate, I could no longer rationalize AO and what had been happening to me away. The less I struggled internally, the more the burning desire to carry out his word took control, easing my mind.

“I…I want to say goodbye to my family,” I said, putting the car in drive.

I am your family.

“Candy and Katie are the family I made here, on Earth!” I shouted, pounding the wheel, feeling insane, raw power surge through me. If an army had been sent to stop me from going to my house, I was pretty sure I could lay waste to them, even without the scimitar. “You teach love. I love my wife and my child. It can't be wrong to love them so much that I want to see them one last time.”

I pinned the accelerator. Route 302 was empty. It looked like there were several fires in the town. Smoke corkscrewed up from the tree line in every direction. There were no bleating fire engines rushing to the rescue.

The horns. They signaled the end. What little horror that had been held back must have exploded at the first blast. Everything had gone to total shit in an instant.

AO…no, God…didn't say another word as I sped to my house. When I pulled into the driveway, I saw my neighbor, Benny, lying dead on his front lawn. Blood pooled around his head. I didn't have time to find out what had happened to him.

Stepping out of the car, my point of view shifted. I was seeing the world from a different perspective. When I got to my front door, I realized I was taller than before. I would have to duck to get into the house. My frame nearly filled the doorway.

What was I doing? If Candy and Katie saw me like this, I might scare the life out of them.

Is this what God wanted, why he didn't stop me?

It was too late for second thoughts. The door swung open, the knob melting from my brief contact.

“Candy? Katie?”

Even my voice was deeper.

There was no answer. Had something happened? Had they run from the house? Maybe Benny had been trying to protect them from someone, or something. Or had they fled out the back door when they spotted me walking up the drive? I wouldn't blame them if they had.

Maybe it was for the best.

I turned for the front door, consigned to leaving my life and loves behind. Who was I to think I even deserved to see them again? Something wicked had to have lived in me all my life for God to choose me to be his messenger of war and hate. How could Candy have not seen it in me all these years?

The dying part of my soul wept.

My gaze caught something on the couch.

It was them. Both sound asleep in an unnatural slumber. They looked so peaceful, contented. I stood over them, Katie sleeping in the crook of Candy's arm. I exhaled with a big sigh when I saw their chests move. For a moment, I'd thought they were gone.

A heavy explosion rumbled through the house. Outside, a chorus of pained cries split the humid air.

Madness had taken complete control.

“Peter.”

“Yes.”

“You must leave them.”

I reached out to touch them, saw the pulsating crimson in my hands, and pulled away.

“But first you must take their lives.”

I recoiled, staggering away from the couch.

“You can't ask me to do that!”

Another blast made framed pictures fall from the walls. It felt as if something underground had erupted.

“If they live, they will suffer. The world will no longer be a place for them.”

“Couldn't you just take them up? They're innocent. Please don't ask me to do this. I can't murder my wife and child.”

“You must trust in me.”

“Why would you make me do this? Haven't you done enough to torture me? I won't! Why me? Answer me that. Why me?”

To my surprise, I wasn't struck by pain, made to drop to my knees in agony until I acquiesced. Candy and Katie slept, oblivious to the chaos outside and the beast that was their protector inside.

“They will feel nothing. Better that than the pain that is to come. Better from the hands of the one who loves them than a stranger.”

My tears hissed like droplets of water steaming on a hot plate.

“This was always your burden to bear, Peter. I made you for this, an ordinary man in my image.”

My stomach lurched when I looked down and saw the scimitar in my right hand. I knew I had left it in the car.

“Please, spare them. Spare me. I'll do anything else you ask of me. Just don't ask me to do this.”

Katie mumbled in her sleep, shifting so her face was nuzzled in Candy's breast. Candy pressed her cheek atop her head, a smile creeping onto her face.

“You have much to do, but not until you place your absolute faith in me.”

“I do. I do have faith in you!”

“Then believe in me when I say this has to be done.”

There was a series of gunshots just outside the house. A woman screamed and there were more shots. That could have been Candy. My chest ached.

If I left, whoever was out there could come into my home and do the same to my beautiful girls.

My beautiful, perfect girls.

“Please, forgive me,” I said, sniffing back tears as I lifted the scimitar.

“You need not ask me for forgiveness.”

“I'm not asking it of you!”

The scimitar sliced through the air as I screamed, a peal of lament that shattered windows, rending a path in the heavens for their souls to ascend.

World Without End

Chapter Twenty-Two

The roads to D.C. were littered with smashed cars, people dead or dying of disease or wounds. The Mustang cleaved through them all as if they were nothing but phantoms.

I stopped at the gates to the White House. The black fence stood strong, its barrier secure as ever.

Three other Mustangs screeched to a halt beside me. One was black, the horseman known as famine. The scales of justice were emblazoned on its hood as if it had been detailed by one of those shops you saw on cable TV. Next to it was a white Mustang, the conquering horseman, the bringer of disease and pestilence. Even the windows were tinted white, a dense impenetrable fog. On the other side of my car was another Mustang, painted an unnatural pale that trailed a black, vaporous mist behind from its rumbling tailpipe. The pale horseman had frightened me as a child, because it was death, the most fearsome and final of us all. It scared me now, just idling beside it.

I couldn't see the drivers in any of the cars because of the tinting, but I knew they were men, just like me. Had AO asked them to make the same final sacrifice?

It made me feel better to think he had. To know I wasn't alone in my sorrow, or my duty.

We had converged on this spot for just a moment, a respite from our work, a break from so much destruction. This would be our last stop here. I wasn't sure where we'd go next—Canada? Europe? The Middle East? Even great oceanic divides wouldn't stop us.

The white and black Mustangs peeled away, barreling in opposite directions, headed for their destinies.

I revved the engine, looking over at the pale Mustang. The black cloud undulated. If I stared hard, I could see inhuman shapes shifting within the venomous fog.

The pale horseman and I had work to do.

The sooner we got it done, the sooner I could once again be with my family. I screamed their names and revved the engine.

Together, the pale rider and I mowed the fence down, tearing up the Great Lawn for our meeting with the leader of the free, and damned, world.

Acknowledgements

Well, that was fun, wasn't it? Odd that this is the story that demanded to be written during the Christmas holiday.

There are so many people I'd like to thank not only for this book, but for everything I've been able to do, spinning yarns, for the past five years.

First, thank you to my first readers and editors—my sister, Carolyn Wolstencroft, who has been the eagle-eye first line editor for all my books; Jason Brant, a terrific writer, for giving me his thoughts and insight; and my wife, Amy, who never looks at me funny, no matter how demented the story.

I am so thankful to everyone at Samhain, from super editor Don D'Auria to Jacob Hammer, Tera Cuskaden, Amanda Hicks, Christina Brashear, Tanya Cowman, and Kaitlyn Osborn. You all rock hard.

Mega gracias to my agent, Louise Fury, and Monster Brother, Jack Campisi.

Thank you to all the priests, nuns, and brothers who did their best to raise me right. You made writing stories like this one easy, because I don't need to spend weeks doing research. You taught me well and made sure everything stuck!

And to all of you who read this tale. Thank you for reading the voices in my head.

About the Author

Hunter Shea is the product of a childhood weaned on
The Night Stalker
,
The Twilight Zone
, and
In Search Of
. He doesn't just write about the paranormal—he actively seeks out the things that scare the hell out of people and experiences them for himself.

Publishers Weekly
named
The Montauk Monster
one of the best reads of the summer in 2014, and his follow up novel,
Hell Hole
, was named best horror novel of the year on several prestigious horror sites.
Cemetery Dance
had this to say about his apocalyptic thriller,
Tortures of the Damned
: “A terrifying read that left me wanting more. I absolutely devoured this book!”

Hunter is an amateur cryptozoologist, having written wild, fictional tales about Bigfoot, the Montauk Monster, the Dover Demon, and many new creatures to come. Copies of his books,
The Montauk Monster
and
The Dover Demon
, are currently on display in the International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, ME.

He's proud to be one half of the Monster Men video podcast, along with his partner in crime, Jack Campisi. It is one of the most-watched horror video podcasts in the world. Monster Men is a light-hearted approach to dark subjects. Hunter and Jack explore real life hauntings, monsters, movies, books, and everything under the horror sun. They often interview authors, crytid and ghost hunters, directors, and anyone else living in the horror lane.

Living with his wonderful family and two cats, he's happy to be close enough to New York City to get Gray's Papaya hotdogs when the craving hits. His daughters have also gotten the horror bug, assisting him with research, story ideas, and illustrations.

You can follow his travails at
www.huntershea.com
. Sign up for his Dark Hunter Newsletter while you're there!

Look for these titles by Hunter Shea

Now Available:

The Dover Demon

Island of the Forbidden

Hell Hole

The Waiting

Sinister Entity

Swamp Monster Massacre

Evil Eternal

Forest of Shadows

Don't miss these other titles by Hunter Shea

The Dover Demon is real…and it has returned.

In 1977, Sam Brogna and his friends came upon a terrifying, alien creature on a deserted country road. What they witnessed was so bizarre, so chilling, they swore their silence. But their lives were changed forever.

Decades later, the town of Dover has been hit by a massive blizzard. Sam's son, Nicky, is drawn to search for the infamous cryptid, only to disappear into the bowels of a secret underground lair. The Dover Demon is far deadlier than anyone could have believed. And there are many of them. Can Sam and his reunited friends rescue Nicky and battle a race of creatures so powerful, so sinister, that history itself has been shaped by their secretive presence?

Sometimes, the dead are best left in peace.

Jessica Backman has been called to help a strange family living on a haunted island in Charleston Harbor. Ormsby Island was the site of a brutal massacre two decades ago, and now the mysterious Harper family needs someone to exorcise the ghosts that still call it home. The phantoms of over one hundred children cannot rest.

But something far more insidious is living on the island. When the living and the dead guard their true intentions, how can Jessica discover just what sort of evil lurks on Ormsby Island? And why is Jessica the only one who can plumb its dark depths?