Fury From Hell Read online

  Fury From Hell

  By Rochelle Campbell

  Copyright © 2014 Rochelle Campbell

  All rights reserved.

  Fury From Hell - 1 -

  Halloween, 10:40 P.M.

  Reaching the corner Kyma checked traffic both ways before crossing Atlantic Avenue at the corner of Boerum Place to head up towards the Barclays Center. From the opposite direction, a man bumped into her just as she stepped up onto the sidewalk on the other side.

  “Watch it, Buddy!”

  “No, maybe you should watch it, like I’ve been watching you. Why don’t you come with me over to this nice spot I know?” The big burly man gestured as if he knew Kyma. Then, with a firm grip, he steered her down Boerum Place which was unpleasantly dark.

  “Look, I don’t know you. Let me go!” Kyma said in a loud escalating voice.

  With a harsh laugh the man tightened his grip on her. “How can you forget me? I was your client last week. You gave me that great cut and I want to return the favor.” Kyma felt something blunt and cylindrical jab her in the ribs. Kyma gulped. A cold sweat broke out above her lip.

  “Don’t you remember me?”

  Kyma glanced at his five o’clock shadow. Noticed his split ends, the bad dye job and knew immediately that she had never seen him nor had anyone from her shop ever worked on him before. She nodded energetically as her instincts kicked in. Moving only her eyes, she searched both sides of the street for any other living soul. She saw a couple coming towards them. She was about to call out to them when the man pulled her close. He forced her head up with his paw of a hand and mashed his thin hard lips against hers grinding against her lewdly. Kyma tried to scream to get the couple’s attention.

  “Dude! That’s how you do it! They like it rough!” The guy slapped Kyma’s attacker on the back. That’s when Kyma noticed the Goth attire of the passerby and his girl; the black lipstick, nail polish, the spiked hair and chains.

  “Shit!”

  “That’s right, Sweets. It’s just going to be you and me.”

  He half-dragged her down the block and turned right onto State Street for a couple of blocks before looking around and pushing her through a hole in the fence of a construction site. She fell roughly on her side. She tried to get up and run but he grabbed her too quickly. “Sorry Toots, you don’t get a pass outta here until I say so.”

  He pushed her deeper into the construction site towards the shadows at the back. It was filled with parked bulldozers and jackhammers around the perimeter. Scaffolds were scattered about in various stages of completion. There were roped off areas and plastic tarps that blew gently in the wind giving the place a haunted feel.

  “Thanks for being early today. That’ll give us more…quality time together.” He threw her to the ground. That’s when it clicked what was going to happen next. The horror dawned on her and she started to let loose a bellow that would bring the hounds of hell to her feet. It was cut short by a sharp slap that whipped her head to the left knocking one of her teeth loose.

  “Scream again and see what happens to you, little Lady…go ahead.” He stared deep into her eyes. Kyma memorized the dark grey eyes and the unusually dilated pupils and didn’t rise to his baiting. Maybe if she kept quiet he’d do his business and let her be. She memorized his red-tipped aquiline nose and the pock marks on his slightly sunken cheeks while trying not to breathe in his smoke-and-whiskey infused breath. Turning her face she said, “I already went to the bank and I’ve got no money on me. What do you want?”

  Already dreading his answer, she heard a zipper unfastening and closed her eyes, willing the tears to stop, knowing it was a sign of weakness. In fact, it would probably enhance the beast’s pleasure. Kyma held her breath and tried to black out before the inevitable happened. He grabbed the front of her trenchcoat and pulled until the buttons popped open. The material gave way with a shrieking rent. A cry escaped her throat as she tried to dodge another hit, but she didn’t quite make it. The resounding punch rattled her brain to its stem.

  “I warned you. I wanted to keep you pretty-looking but you asked for it.” He stood up, and with gleeful abandon, he began punching and kicking her. Focused on landing each punch, his .38 slid out of his pocket, unnoticed. On his next volley of kicks, he unwittingly kicked it a few feet away beside a square of drying glasphalt. The gun was obscured by the tarp billowing in the slight wind.

  ***

  Three-quarters of a mile away in Prospect Park, with the trees swaying and whistling high above, thirteen black-robed women raised their arms in unison and began chanting. The two bonfires just a few yards away were licking and eating at the twigs and small branches that were their fuel. The small goat, tied to a nearby tree on the far side of the twin fires, bleated and pulled against the rope to no avail.

  A quarter of an hour later, as the chant died away, the dark coven’s High Priestess looked around without smiling and said, “It is time for the cleansing. We shall walk single-file between the bonfires. Throw your problems, your worries, your fears and guilt into the flames. Allow the heat and the red-hot embers to cleanse you! To make you a clear and open vessel so you can receive the gifts you desire from the Fury! Give yourselves to the Otherworld! Prepare yourselves for the opening of the Veil that shields this world from the other which we seek on this Saimhain night!”

  Warbling sounds came from some of the women as they lined up to procession through the bonfires and walk across the smoldering coals. Cries ripped from a few women’s throats. One woman fell down after her first step into the scorching hot bonfire alley clutching her throat choking and gagging. The High Priestess came over to her chanting and stroking her forehead. The choking stopped. The woman got up woodenly and marched between the fires with her arms stiff at her sides ignoring the smell of her own burning flesh. The other coven members followed slowly as the High Priestess looked on with a gleam in her eyes noting with satisfaction that no one else hesitated.

  ***

  As the beating raged on, Kyma managed to curl into a fetal position trying her best to limit the damage to her vital organs and her face. After what seemed like eons, the raining blows slowed to a stop. She curled tighter dreading what was to come. She felt him press his mouth to her ear. “Did you like that?” he rasped in a gleeful tone. “There’s more fun coming. I’ve got Seymour coming to visit you, soon. You’ll like him; he’s rather nicer than I am…much nicer. He doesn’t yell or beat. He’s gentle and gets right to the point!” The man cackled roughly turning her over and ripping the rest of her clothes off. He totally ignored the copious amount of blood around her head and neck. He couldn’t care less about her swollen eye, either. Trying to cover her torso, her hair flopped over her face as she sobbed and shivered in the crisp late October night air. He smacked her hands away from her breasts and shoved her hair off of her one good eye. He shook her until her teeth clacked.

  “You are going to let me look at you and you’re going to enjoy this as much as I am…or else.”

  The unspoken threat arrested Kyma’s breathing. She stared at him, dumbfounded. Her brain refused to go the next logical conclusion. Kyma’s kickboxing lessons flew from her mind as she froze; immobilized by the images of a thousand news reports she’d seen in her lifetime about rapes gone wrong. Some part of her brain begged her to kick him in the nuts while another part told her to run. She did neither as her limbs refused to respond. He shoved her onto her back.

  Frantically scrabbling around in a wan attempt to get away, Kyma found herself very close to one of the plastic tarps. Something clicked within her. She grabbed at the tarp trying to pull and throw it at him simultaneously. He laughed cruelly and wrenched the sturdy blue plastic out of her hands. Kyma smelled the fresh glasphalt. In a surprisin
g move, Kyma twisted and crab-walked the few inches towards the glasphalt. She grabbed at the ground thinking to gather some up and throw it in his eyes. She only succeeded in ripping her nails and marring the almost hard surface. She only managed to throw a few flecks of glasphalt at him. He laughed and wiped them off.

  “So, you do like it rough?”

  Her eyes grew wide as he grabbed her again and palmed her left breast while forcing her legs open with his knee. “Let’s see if you like it as rough as I do.”

  ***

  The dark coven’s High Priestess was the last to walk between the bonfires on the smoldering ash-coated coals. Once she was back on the park’s cool grass, she walked over to the others ignoring her scorched flesh while refusing to limp. She entered the center of their circle and reached within the folds of her robe. With flourish, she pulled out two objects — a shiny silver curved knife with a dark leather handle and a shallow silver bowl.

  “With this ceremonial knife, I will take a drop of blood from each of you, mix it with my own and we will say the final incantation. Using the blood from the goat we will offer our essences to the Fury for it to bless us with its presence! We must move quickly. It is almost the witching hour of Samhain — our High New Year! Call upon the Fury! Ask it to avenge the wrongs done to us collectively and individually! Ask it to come and work through us to find the perpetrators and wrong-doers in our lives! Call upon the Fury!”

  The keening of the women rose as the Priestess went around the circle taking blood from each woman’s finger. Her smile grew broader as she nicked her own finger and added it to the dark viscous liquid already in the bowl…

  ***

  With his hand around her slight throat her good eye rolled back so only the white showed. He relieved himself, yet again, inside of her. Kyma barely gurgled. The pain was blinding and the lower half of her body was on fire. Her nipples were bloody from his masochistic foreplay. Her stomach was scored beyond recognition from the knife he used to elicit her screams which he smothered with his mouth and teeth as he bit her tongue while driving deep into her.

  With her knees tented and as far back as he could get them, he gave one last thrust which tore her irreparably. His hand loosened from around her neck as he doubled over her panting. Even so, his excitement was still building for the climax that would not be physical for him but would definitely be for her.

  ***

  With all of the blood collected, the High Priestess motioned for the goat to be brought forward. She knelt on the grass. Her feet were numb but throbbed incessantly. She ignored it in her rising elation at the culmination of 5 years of dreaming of this very moment. She began chanting as she nicked another of her fingers with the knife. She watched as the blood dripped to join the rest of the blood in the bowl. With a triumphant grin, the dark High Priestess threw her head back as she chanted and swayed while still on her knees. With her eyes rolling back into her head, she brought the bottom of the bowl to her forehead touching it lightly. All the while chanting in the old language calling the Fury to them in the way it would most understand.

  It was mere moments before midnight and the Priestess could feel the tug from the Otherworld; could feel the Fury struggling against the Veil trying to burst free and come to them.

  “Join me my sisters! The Fury comes! Chant with me the prayers of old!”

  On cue, they all began warbling. Seconds later several of the coven members began spinning like whirling dervishes, robes ballooning with air, as they called to the Fury begging it to come; imploring it to assist them in moving to the next level in their lives and in their wicked development.

  “Louder! Call the Fury to us!”

  The High Priestess screeched her joy as she felt the initial rip in the Veil. The Fury pushed against the small tear forcing it open. It was seconds until midnight…

  ***

  Kyma’s assailant reached up over her head and grabbed the wickedly sharp bloody Swiss Army knife. He straightened up and looked down at her. He smacked her lightly; he wanted her awake for this the important moment of their joining. He wanted to see the life flee from her one good eye; the other was now permanently shut. He wanted to drink it in and experience the raw power of being the one to take her life.

  “Wake up!”

  He slapped her harder and her undamaged blue eye focused on him dull recognition coming into it slowly. The face beneath him looked nothing like the young 29-year-old former cheerleader and beauty queen. This woman looked old. Battered. Used-up. Bruised. Her face so swollen and mottled it was barely recognizable. But, she was his masterpiece; his creation for Halloween. With a deep sigh, he smiled and breathed out the one word that summarized all of his emotions.

  “Purrfection.”

  After only four other Halloween masterpieces, he still couldn’t believe the rush it gave him. He was erect again and wanted her for the final time. He angled himself and raised the knife. This was going to be his first time doing this. He could barely contain himself. He throbbed painfully, and gave Seymour a stroke to calm him down.

  “Lady, you are so good! So strong, resilient and well-toned — not like the others! You deserve to have this special honor of my first double-entry.”

  Fear clouded Kyma’s eye as understanding dawned.

  He used his knees to push her inert legs away from her bloodied and torn core while leaning back so he could aim the knife over her heart with precision. Taking a deep breath he pulled back his arm and his lower body. With an astounding quickness, he thrust forward with both weapons.

  Kyma’s last scream echoed off the inanimate construction equipment. The sound filled the air with the last eighty minutes of her desperate anguish and suffering.

  Her assailant startled by the scream’s intensity looked all around him. Her scream was strangely amplified. It seemed to reverberate against his eardrums a dozen times before dying away. He gazed around wild-eyed trying to pinpoint what was spooking him. He felt a rush of wind gust past him at the same moment as her fingers raked his cheek, gouging him deeply before it fell back, lifeless, onto the hardening glasphalt. Her hand dripped blood from them both.

  ***

  The High Priestess felt when the Veil tore and released the Fury with a loud squawk. She felt it zooming down to Earth at a furious speed but its forward movement slowed. The Priestess felt the Fury veer and fly away just as she sliced the neck of the goat. “No, Fury! We are here! WE have called you! Come back! Come BACK!!” Within seconds, the Fury’s presence could no longer be felt. It was gone. All of the women stopped their gyrations and chanting. Slowly they moved towards their leader and stared as they watched the High Priestess double over the dying, bleating, goat sobbing into its crimson streaked snow-white hide.

  ***

  The Fury inspected Kyma’s attacker and sniffed him good when it swooped past him. Quickly, it turned and possessed Kyma before she lost all of her life essence. The Fury grabbed onto Kyma’s soul and rapidly asked if she would make a deal to avenge her wrongful death.

  With the increasing fog surrounding her, Kyma didn’t know what was going on. All she knew was that the pain had stopped. She felt immeasurably free. She almost felt as if she could fly but this woman-like creature with wings and blood dripping from its crimson eyes wanted to avenge her by killing the beast of a man that attacked her. However, the soft white light was beckoning. The light’s soft music was worming its way into all of Kyma’s cold and broken places making it difficult to focus begging her to follow the light. But, the creature needed an answer — now. Kyma shook her head trying to clear the white brightness away which made the surrounding red haze from the creature easier to feel. Kyma hesitated only a moment longer before deciding.

  “Yes! Kill him. Do whatever you have to do, but kill him!”

  “Can I have your soul as payment?”

  “My…soul? But…”

  The soft white light was beckoning her but Kyma’s anger was rising turning her vision red. It was almost as if blood were
coming out of her own eyes. The light flickered then waned. Kyma made her decision.

  “Take it! But kill him!”

  With a vile smile full of sharp tiny teeth, the Fury ensnared Kyma’s soul and sent it to Hell via a Harpie. With Kyma gone, the Fury was trapped in the bits of Kyma’s essential fluids that were soaking into the almost dry glasphalt half-concealed by the blue tarp. The Fury was familiar with the ways of humans and knew someone would come to see about the dead woman. As the Fury watched Kyma’s killer stumble away only to fall to the ground again, it knew it only had to bide its time. The man would surely pay for his heinous crime.

  Kyma’s killer, scrambled up from where he tripped and felt for his gun to protect himself from whatever was out there threatening him. He pawed and dug in his pants pockets and threw a frightened glance at Kyma’s broken body. He tore his gaze away to look all around him. He wanted his gun but he felt watched. Hunted…by something older and more evil than he could ever be. It was almost as if the hounds of Hell were stalking him. With a gurgled scream, he fled the construction site leaving his perfectly weighted Smith & Wesson Bodyguard 380 pistol there at the construction site. He much preferred to get away from whatever was spooking him this All Hallow’s night.

  The Fury looked around to see what the killer had been searching for and its bloody eyes gleamed when it caught sight of the compact gun.

  ***

  November 1, 2:40 A.M.

  Jennifer Holden sat at the scarred table in the break room scratching a Win for Life lottery ticket. Slamming her hand against the old wooden table she ripped the ticket in half and whipped another scratch-off game out of her blue uniform shirt pocket scraping the side of her hand on her badge. Back to furiously scratching once more, Jennifer didn’t notice when Detective Betty Feinster walked in.

  “You never quit this, do you?”

  Jennifer glanced up and back down, but didn’t stop scratching. She had just uncovered the six play spots and had already scratched the top game — nothing; not even the two bucks she spent for the game. She took a breath and whipped out another scratch-off game card.