Page 2 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

And, finally…The Witch.

The Witch knew that no one but she could release her people from bondage—to free them from Bloody Bones’ reign of terror. Barely more than a child, the witch and Bloody Bones met on the field of battle. It was brutal, and it was not quick. The Guardian and The Oracle watched—as guardians and oracles often do—as Bloody Bones was sealed in the ground. Right here. Beneath us. Right where we sit at this moment.

It was obvious, as the witch collapsed to the ground, that the child might recover. However, instead of living to fight another day, the witch gave her life, the last of her power, to seal Bloody Bones away for good. As her blood spilled upon the Earth, she cast a wide net of magic with her final breath. As long as the magic of her family was in this land undisturbed, Bloody Bones would never return. It would stay sealed beneath us…forever.

Watching.

Waiting.

Plotting.

The Oracle and The Guardian watched as the land swallowed The Witch’s body. A peculiar artifact sprouting from where she had laid.

They knew that with her spell, the witch had balanced the fate of these lands upon a razor’s edge.

The magic would hold Bloody Bones.

But there are those who would seek magic.

To claim it as their own.

To use it.

Even the witch’s own family.

History becomes stories, and stories become legends, and legends become myth…and myths become nothing more than lies. Future generations of the witch’s family would not believe that the magic truly held Bloody Bones within the Earth. They would attempt to use the magic as it suited them, to bring them their hearts’ desires. Eventually, the magic that held Bloody Bones would be gone, squandered and perverted by the very people the witch had given her life to protect.

With a blood oath, The Oracle and The Guardian swore to watch over these lands, to ensure that if Bloody Bones were ever to return, they would be ready. They would find the most powerful witch in the family’s bloodline, and—regardless the cost—get that witch to imprison Bloody Bones again.

With each witch’s death over the eons—oh, yes, humans are weak and seek out the use of magic, and evil never rests—Bloody Bones grew stronger and stronger. The Oracle and The Guardian knew that…eventually…Bloody Bones would soon be too powerful for the same magics to keep it at bay. One day, it would rise from these lands a final time, no matter who stood against it, and Hell would come to Earth.

But…then, another witch was born.

And The Guardian and The Oracle recognized an opportunity to be rid of Bloody Bones forever…

“That’s not true!” The boy doubled over with laughter, his arms slung across his tummy.

“True as we’re sitting here!” The man’s brow furrowed as he turned to glare at the boy who had distracted him from his storytelling.

“What a bunch of crap.” Another kid, freshly in her teens, rolled her eyes as she jumped up from the ground. “You’re crazy.”

The man shrugged his shoulders as the children rose from the ground around the campfire. Chilly autumn air blew through their circle, making the firelight dance. Winter would come to Point Worth soon.

“You’ll think crazy when Bloody Bones visits you tonight.” The man cautioned her, pointing his finger brusquely at each of the kids in turn.

Mumbling about the “crazy man” and laughing amongst themselves, the children began to disperse, heading back up to the Old House, where their parents were waiting to drive them home. Every year, on the same day, the children of Point Worth came to these lands to hear the tale of Bloody Bones. At first, this was a sacred event, regarded with great solemnity by the children who were dropped off by their parents. Over the years, it became nothing more than one of the “crazy men” in town trying to scare the children with an ancient myth about their hometown, and, before that, the lands that belonged to the indigenous peoples.

The man sighed to himself as he closed the book and placed his hands on his knees, preparing to rise from the tree stump, when a child caught his eye. One of the younger boys had stayed seated by the campfire, watching the man. This boy lived on these lands with his family. Curious that he would be the only child not to heckle the man or his story. The man settled back on the tree stump, his eyes turning to the young boy, sitting there by the fire, captivated and terrified, his wide eyes affixed to the man.

“It’s just a story.” The man said.

It had been for the sake of the boy’s comfort. No truth laced those words.

“Where did you hear that story?” The boy asked.

“Same as you.” The man winked. “From an old man around a campfire. The last man to own this book.”

“Is…is it tuh-true?”