McCallister the Mystic20:34 Jul 25 2021
Times Read: 284
McCallister the Mystic
McCallister looked into the fithy mirror, in his hovel of a motel room. He ran his right hand through his tufted blonde hair and stared into his own bloodshoot blue-eyes.
He knew he needed to cast, soon; but his energies were low and the alcohol consumed did not help.
The gloom was entering the room and, if he did not move soon, it would take him. He knew that.
Smirking, the Lancashire Lad flipped his Zippo, to light another smoke, noting shadows shift on the far far: “Fuck off.” Kevin McCallister told the fiends, in words far more arcane and, not meant to be repeated. And, certainly not in a tome like this.
They had not done as asked, so inhaling the fire from his lighter, he exhaled it into the figures he had noted haunting his presence.
He drew upon his cigarette smiling, watching the shadowlings fade away as he wanted.
“Pesky varmints,” he muttered, thinking of a Warner Bros. cartoon character, as he slowly exhaled the acrid blue-grey smoke, pleased to be alive, still.
“Find her,” the woman had entreated , dropping an envelope on his old desk; an envelope that had contained enough to pay for the office four at least ten years. And, he'd taken the job.
It had been a search that had led through many backalley's and several contacts of a mystic nature. It had been a search that had taken a week, to lead him to where he was now, with his powers waning.
He recalled failng back then at York Minster, as he had stood in the doorway feeling fatigued and impotent, as a darkling with thorns drew a young one downward and forever downward, while his blue tie fluttered in the wild winds, as he heard the young one scream for him, by name.
Now as he crouched low, waititng to be assailed again, by The Dark Ones. It was expected, as they held the young one he sought to aid.
He placed his right hand to the ground and murmered, “Listen, listen to me... I ask this, in the name of a noviciate of The Arts.”
And it was slow, inexorably slow; yet McCallister felt the Earth Mother provide him with the little he needed to turn the tide in his favour.
Slowly he rose to his knees, then to his feet, his coat rising around him as he did so. Then, he raised his arms, directing his palms outward.
“I raise the veil surrounding that which took Josephine Grainger. I NEED to know who I challenge. I seek their Name!” At the last word spoken, he closed his eyes; concentrating his self on the Ankh, that he wore round his neck, drawing energy from the earth below his feet.
“Niameh.” He heard in answer and snarled.
McAllister knew her, she was one of the Old Ones, perhaps coming before the Green Man and Gaia herself. He was unsure of that.
'So Why take this one, this child...?' he mused as he straightened his clothes and looked around him, straining to see where others could not, the darkness where the otherthings dwelt.
It was a strain and took almost a whole pack of lucky's and a whole bottle of JD to help him see, but McAllister had found the path and, he followed it.
Rain fell onto the upper levels where his search took him. On the walls there were flaming torches illuminating his way. Then he had gone deeper, into the lower levels, where the sightless lived. It was then that he climbed the many ladders downward, ever downward, to where he knew his adversary waited.
And, except for the sound of dripping water all was quiet, except for the clatter of feet on metal and, the begining of energy rising around him, as he continued apace.
'I'm sure my presence has been felt my now,' he mused.
It was then that he heard screaming, so he continued onward, walking faster.
Finally he walked through an arched stone doorway, that opened into a large dark cavern, with a flickering light at the far end.
McCallister stopped, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom.
It was then he noticed the alter on which a young girl lay, wearing a white nightdress, staring upward sightlessly.
Abruptly a red robed figure, stepped toward the alter, with long dark hair and dark flashing eyes, a long dagger in her right hand.
In a dark and beautiful voice, full of malevolence, she called out, “I do this in the name of the Old One's.
He watched with disgust, as she took the knife in both hands and raised them above her head: “Niamh,” he called, “I call thee by name.”
The blade abruptly ceased its descent mid-arc and Niamh looked to him, a look of surprise on her face.
“Gaia help me,” he muttered, taking the kneee, placing his right hand to the earth, his coat flowing around him; “I need your aid at this moment, to save an innocent.”
McCallister felt the energy he needed flowing through him, as he needed.
Then he stood defiantly, facing his adversary and raised his arms, his hands directed toward the figure in robes.
Purple energy flowed from his figure tips and abruptly Niamh screamed her anger, as the engergy-bolt connected with the dagger and it flew from her hands.
Niamh raised both her own arms in response and an arc of scarlet energy flew from her own finger-tips.
Soon their fight began, as energy connected, a battle that seemed to last hours, while in reality lasted only minutes.
Eventually there had been an ending, as Niamh collapsed and McMallister fell to his knees, both hands spread on the earth.
He was spent. Exhausted and near death himself.
Yet he rose, on unsteady feet, walking slowly toward the alter, whereon lay the supine form of Josephine Grainger.
McCallister picked up the girl in both arms, then turned and began his journey back to the surface and safety.
COMMENTS
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CuRsEdToDaRkNeSs
22:34 Jul 25 2021
Your stories are always a nice read!