One stately young lad, his heavenly sweet sister, their pugnacious brother and mischievous twins played amongst the circle of standing stones, beneath a lunar plate of silver. Playing a game of chase, they encircled the stone alter at the circles’ heart laughing and shouting to no one but themselves.

The island stood apart from the Irish mainland, engulfed by fog that settled about the triangular chunk of land like a cotton halo. A skiff bobbed at its shore, oars protruding like a pair of rigid arms into the water.

They were not to be here, told explicitly by a doting father that to come here was to risk a red behind, yet what do you do with five overactive children kept like prisoners to the walls of their home. Their mansion overlooking the ocean could only contain them for so long.

It knew they were there. It always knew they were there and it watched them, sparingly at first during their first secret visits; nearly passing them over in an avalanche of continuous rolling thoughts, yet it took the time to touch each one of their little minds, reading them like book opened before them. Innocent, deprived of anger and hatred from a seething, harsh world and It smiled. It saw a fertile ground, ripe for the cultivating of disease and rot.

But these were only children, not a key to Its release. But what’s this It thought, spying a book upon the cairn. It momentarily forgot the excited children and focused on the leather-bound book.

Its smile grew and as it was about to turn all thought toward the book something very pleasant and unexpected happened. The oldest lad, standing a bit taller than his siblings save for the gangly, wiry brother with dangerous eyes, stopped their dancing and reached for the book, his eyes filled with luster behind the wire-rimmed glasses sitting awkwardly on a small, pointed nose.

Its thoughts seized as the boy sat with legs crossed and cradled the book reverently if not with a more than a bit of nerve. The others crowded about him with the youngest of fair complexion and hair like warm honey sitting the closest.

They all watched with heady anticipation, perhaps the red-topped lass a bit too much; her body hovering over the reader not unlike a vulture waiting for its meal. Only her twin, a thin and despondent looking boy appeared sheepish, not sure if he truly wished to be there. He too was crowned with a mass of red hair, unruly and wispy. Dark circles hung beneath gray, tired eyes. Rare for someone so young. Even mischievous one stepped closer though it appeared to It that he really could care less.

As the others did, It too wished it could get closer, to hear what it hoped the boy would read, for It recognized the book. Oh, yes it had been many, many years, but there was no mistaking the sigil engraved upon its cracked surface; a symbol branching off into three arms inside a circle. The ends of the arms were thick and resembled the end of a sledge hammer, each of the right sides ending in a spiral. That same symbol was carved into the face of the largest standing stone by a long forgotten hand.

There was power in that sigil, the power to bind, but It knew that while the book could imprison, it also held the key to release. A release from this prison those damnable black-robed priests had locked him away in so long ago. It turned its attention briefly to the decaying corpse buried on the island. It was once a Celtic warrior, chosen for a ritual designed to lock away the evil It was.

They had fought and then tricked It and in the end only the warriors muffled screams behind a mask of gold kept It company. It could still hear the strangled cries of first panic and then pain as his mind touched Its mind. Hundreds of years of torture, first the body then the mind, then the spirit and now the ghost of the warrior was nothing but a torn essence, its ethereal voice gibbering through time.

But now Its time may have come again for just then the boy, glancing at each sibling nervously in turn, began reading and the intricate words scribed in Latin were like a song, sweet and pure to Its aged ears. It trembled with the ecstasy of those words, foreign to be sure to their little ears, but feeling like an old friend to It. It felt the bonds begin to fall away and It stretched, reached out with all its being where before it was restrained.

Around the children the wind suddenly began to whip and the moon and stars were wiped from the sky by dark, rolling clouds billowing from nowhere. The water churned and boiled like a caldron, its surface erupting in great boils and bursts. The children held each other close, whimpering with an overwhelming fear that pushed down upon them as It touched again their minds, this time moving in and holding fast.

Within their minds, It left its mark, a dark spot upon their innocence that would grow through Is influence in the years to come. It was forever now linked to them.

The youngest began to cry and hugged the eldest as hard as her little fingers could, burying her face into his tweed jacket. The tall one, once so stubborn, now looked uncertain of those things happening around them. The twins clasped hands and shared their fears with each other.

It tasted their fear and It roared its jubilation into the wind. It was free now and it would wait. Wait for Its time.

Fan fiction, © Deathscythe 2007