Read Online In the House of the Wicked by Thomas E. Sniegoski - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas E. Sniegoski
Tags: Remy Chandler
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its maw.
The Deacon estate, consumed by darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
The vessel had to be filled before he could return to his creator.
Zeroing in on the collective pulse of multiple life energies, the vessel strolled down the quiet city street until he came upon the nightclub. He moved toward the door, drawn to the hum of vitality within, but he was blocked by a large, bearded man whose own body vibrated with excess vim and vigor.
“Fifty-dollar cover,” the man announced.
The vessel stepped back to assess the situation. He appeared human, although was far from it, and had the strength to easily snap this man’s neck and simply walk into the bar brimming with life. But his creator had also given him far less destructive means of getting what he required. He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and removed a wallet filled with several types of currency.
“Fifty-dollar cover,” the vessel repeated as he held out a fifty-dollar bill.
The bouncer’s hand closed around the cash, snatching it from the vessel’s grasp. Their fingers touched briefly as the exchange was made, and the vessel sampled some of the large man’s energy. It was relatively healthy, clean of any terminal disease. The selection was accepted, and now the vessel was that much closer to being full.
The big man swayed ever so slightly, then seemed to shake it off as he pulled open the door for the club’s newest guest.
“Enjoy yourself,” he said, as the vessel passed by him on his way inside.
The vibrancy of life emanating from within nearly pulled the vessel down a red-lit corridor, electronic music growing louder, beating like a strong, healthy heart. The hallway ended at the top of a metal staircase and the vessel stopped for a moment to watch the activity on the dance floor below him—bodies overflowing with an abundance of vivacity, their exuberant gyrations beckoning him, calling him to walk among them.
To sample the vitality they radiated.
The vessel descended to the dance floor. With hands outstretched, he waded into the sea of bodies, and everyone he passed, everyone he casually brushed up against, filled him with their life.
The Shadow Lands
Sixty-seven Years Ago
It was dark in the Shadow Lands, but then again, when wasn’t it? That was probably one of the things Squire liked most about the place: It didn’t pretend to be anything other than what it was.
The hobgoblin pulled his tattered cloak about his squat, muscular body as a freezing wind from another time and place found its way into the repository of shadows to caress him.
It was a realm of perpetual darkness, a place connected to all the shadows that ever existed—then, now, and even into the future. Traveling the Shadow Paths could take him just about anywhere, but for right now, the hobgoblin was content where he was.
Squire sat, reveling in the quiet. He couldn’t recall how long he had been here this time but knew that this was where he needed to be…where he belonged.
The long hairs on the back of his thick neck suddenly came to attention, and the hobgoblin was in motion, pulling the concealed machete from inside his cloak to meet the attack from one of the myriad life-forms that called this black realm its home. Shades of darkness writhed about him, and he narrowed his vision to see the beastie that used the shifting colors of black and gray for cover.
It was insectoid in its basic design, and he had run into one or two before. Squire also recalled that its meat was quite tasty, if one enjoyed the flavor of rotting meat soaked in Listerine, which he did.
The creature attacked high, and Squire went low, slicing the blade that he had sharpened that very morning across the exoskeletoned belly of the large bug. Its innards spilled out onto the ground, its life ended before it could even complete its leap.
Squire was used to such things, always waiting, always ready for that next attack. For as long as he could remember, somebody or something was trying
The Deacon estate, consumed by darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
The vessel had to be filled before he could return to his creator.
Zeroing in on the collective pulse of multiple life energies, the vessel strolled down the quiet city street until he came upon the nightclub. He moved toward the door, drawn to the hum of vitality within, but he was blocked by a large, bearded man whose own body vibrated with excess vim and vigor.
“Fifty-dollar cover,” the man announced.
The vessel stepped back to assess the situation. He appeared human, although was far from it, and had the strength to easily snap this man’s neck and simply walk into the bar brimming with life. But his creator had also given him far less destructive means of getting what he required. He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and removed a wallet filled with several types of currency.
“Fifty-dollar cover,” the vessel repeated as he held out a fifty-dollar bill.
The bouncer’s hand closed around the cash, snatching it from the vessel’s grasp. Their fingers touched briefly as the exchange was made, and the vessel sampled some of the large man’s energy. It was relatively healthy, clean of any terminal disease. The selection was accepted, and now the vessel was that much closer to being full.
The big man swayed ever so slightly, then seemed to shake it off as he pulled open the door for the club’s newest guest.
“Enjoy yourself,” he said, as the vessel passed by him on his way inside.
The vibrancy of life emanating from within nearly pulled the vessel down a red-lit corridor, electronic music growing louder, beating like a strong, healthy heart. The hallway ended at the top of a metal staircase and the vessel stopped for a moment to watch the activity on the dance floor below him—bodies overflowing with an abundance of vivacity, their exuberant gyrations beckoning him, calling him to walk among them.
To sample the vitality they radiated.
The vessel descended to the dance floor. With hands outstretched, he waded into the sea of bodies, and everyone he passed, everyone he casually brushed up against, filled him with their life.
The Shadow Lands
Sixty-seven Years Ago
It was dark in the Shadow Lands, but then again, when wasn’t it? That was probably one of the things Squire liked most about the place: It didn’t pretend to be anything other than what it was.
The hobgoblin pulled his tattered cloak about his squat, muscular body as a freezing wind from another time and place found its way into the repository of shadows to caress him.
It was a realm of perpetual darkness, a place connected to all the shadows that ever existed—then, now, and even into the future. Traveling the Shadow Paths could take him just about anywhere, but for right now, the hobgoblin was content where he was.
Squire sat, reveling in the quiet. He couldn’t recall how long he had been here this time but knew that this was where he needed to be…where he belonged.
The long hairs on the back of his thick neck suddenly came to attention, and the hobgoblin was in motion, pulling the concealed machete from inside his cloak to meet the attack from one of the myriad life-forms that called this black realm its home. Shades of darkness writhed about him, and he narrowed his vision to see the beastie that used the shifting colors of black and gray for cover.
It was insectoid in its basic design, and he had run into one or two before. Squire also recalled that its meat was quite tasty, if one enjoyed the flavor of rotting meat soaked in Listerine, which he did.
The creature attacked high, and Squire went low, slicing the blade that he had sharpened that very morning across the exoskeletoned belly of the large bug. Its innards spilled out onto the ground, its life ended before it could even complete its leap.
Squire was used to such things, always waiting, always ready for that next attack. For as long as he could remember, somebody or something was trying
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