The young woman at my side shuddered. “Eric,” she whispered, burying her face in my shoulder.
My stomach clenched as she gave a name to the hapless soul caught in mid-transformation between man and tree. I suddenly recalled more about the most recent missing campers. They were a couple: Blaire and Eric.
I bit my lip as the full horror sank in. The witch had wanted Blaire to witness her boyfriend’s slow transformation, knowing that once Eric’s suffering was over, she’d be next.
Unbridled hatred welled up inside me. The witch fed off the terror and despair of her victims. I was itching for a rematch now, eager to make her pay for what she’d done.
I would get my chance soon enough.
“Please…kill me,” the voice inside the tree begged. I knew help had come too late for poor Eric. I raised Hellseeker, aimed it at the tree hollow, and pulled the trigger.
One shot was all it took to end the camper’s hellish suffering.
The tree blackened and its branches crumbled to dust. Seconds later, only a pile of ash remained.
Blaire’s body heaved with tears and she feebly struck at me, distraught. I tried in vain to calm her. I’d put her boyfriend out of his misery, and she instinctively hated me for it.
I never said monster-hunting was an easy gig.
A cackle echoed through the forest. The Blackmore Witch, her laughter mocking my efforts.
A ripple passed through the rows of trees, and the other transformed campers jerked into motion. One by one, the tree monsters pivoted toward us, an eerie phalanx of wooden golems coming to life.
I cursed under my breath as Blackmore’s haughty laughter intensified around us. There were seventeen of the monsters. Hellseeker held only fifteen bullets—and I’d already used half of them. Even if every one of them was a kill shot, we’d still be outnumbered five to one. The wooden killers under the witch’s control would easily overrun us. We had to get out of here. Now. I fired at the two closest tree-beasts and they collapsed into piles of dust the way Eric had.
Legs pumping, I ran back to the shelter of the cabin, Blaire at my side. She kept pace with me, moving with an urgency that surprised me. The woman was a survivor. Despite all she had endured, she wanted to live. Thank God for small miracles.
Back inside, I slammed the door shut and pulled a heavy wooden chair in front of it. It wouldn’t stop the tree golems, but it might slow them down long enough to buy us a few precious seconds.
I surged toward the nearest window and fired into the night. Two more of the incoming monsters dropped. Two fewer golems to worry about, but I was also down two more bullets. How long could I hold them back? I feared it was just a matter of time before they tore us to pieces. Unless…
My eyes widened. Pale beams of moonlight lanced the cabin’s broken window, revealing the stone fireplace that dominated one wall. A metal cauldron hung suspended within it.
I took my first step toward the fireplace just as the tree-golems slammed against the front door. Blaire jerked and whimpered. Dread also held me in its tight grip, but I refused to give in to my emotions.
I reached the fireplace and examined the cauldron more carefully. As expected, the cauldron was hot to the touch despite the fact that no fire burned beneath it. A quick survey revealed strange glyphs and markings across the pot’s surface. Inside, a red liquid bubbled, heated by some supernatural source of energy.
The moment I touched the cauldron, images popped into my mind. Another side effect of the mark on my chest. Ever since the demon-inflicted injury, I can pick up psychic impressions from certain objects and even see the spirits of the deceased. In my vision, I saw a group of kids in the cabin, their laughter echoing in my head. It was a psychic glimpse into the past. Soon, I knew, their joy would transform into abject terror, but right now they still believed they’d live forever.
It must have been cold in the cabin. The girl shivered and hugged her shoulders. While the young men goofed around, she knelt by the hearth and tried to start a fire. She heaved the cauldron aside, grimacing. As she flicked a lighter over a meager pile of sticks and moss, she let out a sharp curse. Blood was dripping from a scratch on her palm, where the jagged lip of the cauldron had grazed her skin. The blood sizzled as it struck the flames. I pulled back from the iron kettle as if stung, shaken by the power of my vision. Damn!
I now understood what had happened here. The campers’ efforts to warm the icy cabin had brought forth an ancient evil. This cauldron was Mercy Blackmore’s link to our world, and the girl’s blood had acted as a ritual sacrifice to call her forth. If I could break this connection, maybe the witch’s spirit would return to whatever hell she’d dwelled in for the last few centuries.