THE RAVENSGATE CHRONICLES: UNHOLY AWAKENING
Sounds of gunfire came from all directions as plumes of dark gray smoke rose into the night sky from scattered fires. I drove my Jeep down Main Street, avoiding colliding into swaying cars and scrambling people. Bodies lay motionless across the once quaint downtown area as flames escaped smashed storefront windows.
Destruction consumed the town of Ravensgate as screams blared from all around us. Friend attacked friend and family member murdered family member in the streets. Citizens fought for their lives as gunshots, stabbings, and beatings left blood all over the concrete. There was nothing but chaos.
From a side street on my right, a red Ford Fusion sped out in front of me. I hit the brakes, preventing a collision into its driver door. Instead, the Fusion slammed into a teenage girl who fled for her life amongst the mayhem. She hit the pavement headfirst and barely moved. There was no time for us to get out and help her. Luckily for her the driver did.
A gunshot shattered the back window of my Jeep, spraying glass throughout the vehicle. “Stay down!” I shouted at my companions, as I fired through the broken window at the zombie-like mob. I floored the gas and headed for that Godforsaken house, and we were running out of time.
A loud pop got our attention. One of my tires had been shot.
I had not anticipated any of this madness when I left home in search of my missing friend. The circumstances of her vanishing were strange, but I could never guess how bizarre or dark they were.
My name is Cole Mendoza. I own and run a private security company based in Detroit. We provide clients with executive protection services and advanced operation solutions. Although my story is difficult to believe, I am writing to make known facts involving my investigation of the disappearance of Sandra Breyer. I am documenting events from how I have experienced them and speak for no one else involved in the incidents that took place.
****
Early May
“It’s a Victorian!” Sandy said over the phone. “I’ve moved to Ravensgate.”
“Ravensgate? Never heard of it. Where is it?” I asked.
“About a six-hour drive north of Detroit and sits along a river.”
“I didn’t know you were looking to move. When did you do it?”
“Back in April. There are too many bad memories in that house in Southwest Detroit; all the things Pete did. I needed to move on, Cole. A new house and a new life. I went back to using my maiden name. The house is old, but I got a good land contract deal. In some way, I need to be here. I can feel it.”
It was one of the rare times I saw Sandy happy since her ex-husband, Pete, got locked up for assault and battery. I remember walking into the hospital room after a beating he put on her. She lay in the bed, her light brown hair hanging down, covering her swollen and bruised face.
“This has to stop, Sandy,” I said. “It’s time to press charges. Or I’ll take care of things for you. All you have to do is say the word.”
“No, I can’t do that. No more violence,” she said frailly. Sandy sighed before she spoke again. “You’re right, Cole. I’m fed up with the bruises. I’ll press charges and file for divorce. I can’t go on feeling ‘un’ anymore.”
“Un” was how Sandy described feeling sad, alone, or depressed.
After getting settled in Ravensgate, Sandy invited me over for a tour of her new house. I was eager to check it out and took the six-hour drive north in my black Jeep Rubicon. Driving through the small downtown area on Main Street, I observed the bustle of locals among old-fashioned shops amidst a somber atmosphere. Then town felt odd, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Outside of town on the way to her house, large fields, barns and roadkill were abundant along the winding roads. I spider-webbed through the rural area until I encountered the large red Victorian, trimmed in white, situated back from a dirt road called Arkham. Sandy’s yellow Volkswagen Beetle sat in the driveway which led along the right side of the house into the backyard all the way up to the garage.
The house was surrounded by woods, the nearest neighbor blocks away. A tall green spruce stood on the front lawn, casting a pleasant shade on the grass. Oddly, just off the road, small, jagged rocks jutted out of the ground at the lawn’s front edge.
The high porch led to a dark oak front door. The old banister needed to be replaced and paint peeled off from the exterior walls. The house needed work. Sandy opened the door with a smile, waiting eagerly as I pulled into the driveway behind her car. With her soft features aglow and blonde hair touching her shoulders, she greeted me as I walked up the porch steps.
“Cole! Good to see you! It’s been so long!” Sandy said with a hug.
“Thanks for the invite. Blonde, huh? I like it.”
“You know, making changes and all,” she said smiling.
“Working on a tan too I see. Catching rays out here?”
“I am. Lots of yard work out in the sun. Soon enough, I’ll have an olive complexion just like you.”
“How’s the private security business?” Sandy asked.
“It’s good. Black Wolf Security is growing. We just moved headquarters downtown.”
“I’ve always worried about you doing that kind of work. Be careful, Cole.” Sandy said as she led me into the large main hall. Bulky gold frames surrounded paintings that hung on light beige walls.
“Don’t you just love it?” Sandy asked.
“Yeah, it’s great,” I replied. Surprisingly, I wasn’t lying. Somehow the old style was appealing.
In the main hall against the left wall was a long dark wooden staircase with a landing at the top. Steps continued up to the right leading to the second floor. To the immediate right of the hall, I was escorted into a large living room. Two French doors on each side of the wide entrance swung inward, resting against primrose-colored walls. More paintings adorned the living room.
A large mahogany fireplace lay against the wall directly ahead with two gold candle holders on the mantel, each containing a long, unburned white candle. The room was long, stretching almost to the back of the house. Old Victorian-style furniture matched the living room.
“This isn’t your old furniture,” I said, touching the dark blue couch.
“I sold mine,” she replied with a smile. “All of the furniture came with the house, even the paintings.”
On the coffee table sat a game of chess.
“Remember when I was a kid, I used to come to your house next door, and we’d play for hours? I knew you’d let me win.”
“Well, you were nine at the time. I enjoyed the company.”
“You were a second mom to us neighborhood kids. And my parents loved having you over for the holidays throughout the years.”
“They knew I was always alone. Then I married Pete, and he wouldn’t let me out of the house.”
“Well, we don’t have to worry about that anymore,” I said.
I stepped up to the oil on canvas that hung above the fireplace. It was a painting of the same red Victorian in which we stood, situated in front of a gray sky and large pale moon.
“That looks like your Victorian. Is it the same house?”
“It is. The previous owners must have had it commissioned.”
The mood of the piece was ominous, not unlike Ravensgate.
Stepping back into the main hall, we made a sharp right, and walked down the hall passing more paintings. We entered a room painted light blue at the very back of the house decorated with large green plants. Like a small jungle, foliage sprouted around three walls of the room. In the center was a white wicker chair, a small table next to it, and a footrest in front. An enormous grandfather clock stood against the one wall absent of flora.
“This is my sanctuary,” Sandy said. “A place to unwind and have tea. I’m going to buy an aquarium and put it there.” She pointed to a bare table, next to the grandfather clock.
“A good place to de-stress,” I added, then gazed out the large back window of her sanctuary into the backyard. The red brick garage sat at the back of the yard in front of the wood’s edge.
We exited the sanctuary back into the hall, making another right turn. The bathroom was next to the sanctuary, containing a clawed feet tub and an old pedestal sink.
Next to the bathroom, we entered the large kitchen. White cabinets with glass doors lined sunshine-yellow walls all the way up to the ceiling. The countertop looked like an expensive marble, and the back door led to an enclosed porch.
We walked through a door on the left, ending up in the dining room, painted a mint green. A glass dining table was placed in the center with a crystal chandelier hanging above it. Again, more paintings adorned the walls.
A final left took us back into the main hall in front of the staircase which separated the living and dining room where we started. We traveled in the shape of a square.
“Let’s have a look upstairs,” Sandy suggested.
Expectedly, the steps creaked as she led me up to the landing then made a sharp right up the smaller flight of stairs. The main hall on the second floor was in the shape of a hook, the empty space of the stairwell in the center.
Sandy revealed the master bedroom, which contained a king-sized bed with a dark oak frame. The guest bedroom had a twin bed, and a large bathroom had another four-legged bathtub. There was also a cozy study. The walls were lined with shelves full of books, and an oak desk sat near the far wall, accompanied by a black leather chair.
“What’s behind the last door on the end?” I asked.
“That leads to the attic. It needs to be cleaned. There’s lots of old junk and clutter up there,” Sandy said. “You’re tall, Cole. Six feet, right?
“Yeah, six feet even.”
“Maybe you can change the light bulb up there for me later. It keeps going out. I think maybe it’s the socket.”
Heading back downstairs, I set foot on the first step, and a strong creak came from the ceiling above. We simultaneously paused, looking up toward the sound. Seconds later came another, heavier creak, then one more. Footsteps. Someone was walking in the attic.
Ravensblood Chronicles: Unholy Awakening 