Hi, I'm C S Jones and the hardest part of writing is the part where you write about yourself. With that said, I'm 37, from Wrexham, North Wales and only just plucked up enough courage to put myself out there. Horror has been a love of mine for a long time, though I was terrified of everything as a child, even insisting my parents record over Ghostbusters 2! Anyway, I hope you enjoy what I wrote & Merry Christmas!
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OUROBOROS
by
CS Jones
“Oh, Christ, not Detective Dalton,” said PC Gregory, shakily stubbing out a cigarette.
“Anyone but him,” said PC Harris. “This crime scene's messy enough as it is.”
Dalton ducked under the police tape, caught it on his long coat and did a pirouette trying to unravel himself.
Harris pinched the bridge of his nose.
Eventually, the detective made his way over. “Happy New Year, gentlemen. Now, Officer Gregory—"
“Harris, sir, he's Gregory.”
“Apologies. Care to fill me in?”
“Right, well, I think bloodbath is the best way to describe it in there.”
“A New Year party gone wrong, I said, sir,” chimed Gregory.
Harris went on, “Eight victims in total, and we believe a baby is missing. There was a cot—"
“You mean a fucking altar.”
Harris cut Gregory a filthy look.
“What? You saw those symbols. You tell me that thing was just a cot.”
“Well, either way, best follow me, sir, and see for yourself.”
They entered the hallway of the dingy house, Dalton bringing up the rear. He noticed a set of bloodied footprints fleeing the scene. As he passed, he knocked a picture off the wall. “Bugger. The neighbours not hear anything?”
“Most of the victims are the neighbours. Still two missing, as well. A Luke and Emily Tate.”
Dalton didn't respond. He was studying a symbol where the picture had been.
“Star of David, isn't it, sir?” said Harris, spotting the six-pointed star.
“Seal of Solomon,” replied Dalton. “Notice the interwoven lines? Almost three dimensional.”
“So?”
“It’s a binding symbol. Believed to wield command over demons.”
Harris guffawed. “They teach you that in detective school?”
“Personal interest.”
“Well, it didn't do these any good. Ready to go in the living room? That's where we found them. Well, what was left, anyway.”
Dalton noticed Gregory looking peaky. “You alright there?”
“Mind if I wait outside, sir?” whispered Gregory. “Once was enough for me.”
“By all means.”
He handed his torch to Dalton, “You'll need this. There's no light in there. They used big, fancy candles. But they've gone out now.” He gave Harris an apologetic look and made his way out.
“Right, I'll warn you now, sir, it’s really not a pretty sight in there. Not exactly keen on heading back in, myself.”
“I've seen crime scenes before. I think I'll manage.”
Dalton spent the next ten minutes throwing up in the hallway. “What the hell could’ve done that?” he wheezed. “They've all been butchered. How do you even know there’s eight in there?”
“We, uh, counted the skulls, sir,” said Harris, swallowing hard. “All the other bones had been shattered, the marrow sucked dry. We found tiny teeth marks all over them. I did warn you, sir.”
Eventually, they cast their torches into the darkness and stepped in, shrill footsteps meeting the sodden carpet.
The floor was a mess of entrails and gore, random pieces of splintered bone strewn throughout. The stench was, somehow, even worse.
In the centre of the room stood the cot, woven from wicker branches, sat atop a stone pedestal. They approached, practically wading through the human sludge.
“See, sir? Symbols all over it, like Gregory said. Recognise any?”
“Far too many, and none of them good. Runes. Ankhs. Pentacles. Even inverted crosses. It's like they threw every ritualistic symbol on here to see what would stick.”
“Sir, what about that one above all the others.”
“The snake eating its own tail? Ouroboros. It signifies the end of life and rebirth; how death can bring about life, an endless cycle.”
Something dripped onto the cot: black, with the consistency of tar.
They shone their torches up.
“A mirror? Why's a mirror strapped to the ceiling?” asked Harris.
It hung above them, shattered, and dripping with that tarry substance.
“Something came through...”
Harris tilted his head.
A chilling scream exploded from above.
Dalton dropped his torch. “I thought your lot searched the premises?” he said, fishing it from the gore.
“We did, sir, every room.”
They made their way upstairs, finding bloody footprints all over. Dalton listened intently for the screamer’s whereabouts.
Eventually, he heard muffled sobbing. “There's an attic. Look, it's hidden by the wardrobe. Did you search up there?”
Harris shook his head.
“Help me move it. Looks like there’s a drop-down ladder. Stay close, I dread to think what we might find. Have your baton ready,” said Dalton.
They eased their way up, edging closer to the eerie sobs.
Harris was the first to spot her. “Jesus. Ma’am, can you hear me? Are you alright?”
The woman was lying face down. She flinched when Harris spoke, and when she looked up, both men recoiled. Her eyes had been scratched out, raw gashes in their places. All over her face were those symbols, ouroboros, on her forehead. They stretched down, covering her chest and disappearing under her blouse. Her stomach bulged and undulated, her pregnant belly in distress.
“The seals, they didn't work,” she cried. She began crawling toward them. “We offered it a sacrifice, but when it entered, it was out of control. It killed everyone. Ate them all before Luke could trap it. He said he was coming back. It was so much stronger than we thought...”
Harris grabbed his radio, “We have a survivor. A young woman. Pregnant. Send the—" his words were cut short.
The woman was laughing, a rusty, diseased cackle. “I'm not pregnant. I'm its prison. Luke bound it to me before he ran.” She wailed and gritted her teeth, “But it's too strong now. I can't—"
Her back erupted, showering the floor with her insides.
Tiny hands clawed their way out, followed by a baby's head, podgy and slick with crimson. It chewed with needle-sharp teeth as it emerged, ripping away strips of flesh. It screeched at the two men.
Dalton stepped back and fell through the open hole, breaking his ankle. Above, he heard Harris's screams. He watched on as the baby emerged in the opening…hungry for life.