Between the Lines

by Kevin James Hurtack Story and Illustration © 2006

 

Jarrek found the book behind the wood chipper in his mother's storage shed shortly after she'd passed away.

 

“What the heck is this?” he said while bending down to pick it up, “Why'd Mom put a book out here of all places?”

 

A tarnished brass latch held the brown leather bound book shut and though the cover had no title or image, he assumed it had been one of his mother's diaries.

“Might be some good memories in here,” he said while slipping it into his jacket pocket.

      

Jarrek didn't think any more of the book for the rest of the afternoon, instead he spent it using the wood chipper to dispose of the brush he'd cleared from the property.

 

He may not have remembered it all if it hadn't slipped out of his pocket while he lounged on the deck with a few ice-cold beers.

  

“Well, let see what's inside here,” Jarrek said while grabbing the book with one hand and using the other to get another beer from the cooler.

 

He tried to open the book, but the old latch wouldn't budge. Jarrek frowned at it, and snatched the bottle opener from the floor. Carefully, he tried to pry the locked latch off the book, but it refused to break.

 

“This thing must be rusted shut,” Jarrek said before he tossed the book onto the floor.

 

He returned to his drinking, and eventually dozed off with a bottle in hand, but a sudden down pour woke him a few minutes later.

 

“Curse this weather,” he muttered as he brushed his wet hair from his eyes.

 

A flapping sound drew his attention to the wide-open book on the floor. The wind blew the pages like someone in search of a certain passage.

 

“Great, it opened just in time to get ruined by the rain.”

 

In his haste to get up Jarrek lost his balance, and fell to floor. To his dismay the tumble caused the bottle in his hand to shatter. Nausea filled Jarrek as he saw that the glass had cut his left hand deeply. He could feel himself growing faint at the sight of his own blood, and knew he had to stop the bleeding. The sight of blood always made him queasy, and panicky. After calming his nerves Jarrek quickly stood, and without realizing it grabbed the book with his bloodied hand.

 

Quickly stepping into the kitchen he tossed the book onto the counter and then turned to shut the sliding glass door. When he turned around, he saw the book's pages were wet with his own blood.

 

“Damnit, how could I be so careless,” he said while grabbing a first aide kit from a drawer.

After bandaging his wounds Jarrek thumbed through the tome's forty pages of peculiar writings and bizarre illustrations.

 

“God, what is this stuff? I can't believe Mom would have something like this,” he said as a shudder went down his back.

 

As he headed for his bedroom he took the book with him, and set it on the coffee table. The subject matter of the tome struck him as very odd, but in the back of his mind he wondered if it might be worth something. Any extra money would help with enormous bills that his mother had racked up before she had died.

The next afternoon Jarrek's older brother Robert stopped by for their regular Friday lunch. When they were done, Jarrek grabbed the book and tossed it to his brother. “Look at this book I found in the old shed of all places.”

 

“Really?” Robert said while flipping through the pages, “What is this stuff? I can't believe Mom would have something like this.”

 

“Yeah, I know, bro. At first I thought it was a diary or something of hers, but now I don't know what to make of it. Figured you might since you're the ancient history professor and all.”

 

Robert nodded and studied the pages closely, “It looks like some sort of book of rituals or spells, but I'm uncertain as to the culture it comes from. A Wiccan's Book of Shadows perhaps, but it appears to be written in Phoenician which is odd since no one has spoken it for thousands of years. None the less I know a collector downtown that would be interested in this sort of thing.”

 

“Right on, bro. You got any idea how much it might be worth?” Jarrek asked while refilling their glasses with lemonade.

 

“Not sure, it's small only sixty pages, and it looks like a small edition with no publisher listed. Maybe handmade which would add to the worth,” Robert said between sips of his drink.   “Cool, I just hope the blood I got on it doesn't lower the value too much.”   

 

“There's no blood on these pages. What are you talking about?” the older brother said with a perplexed expression on his face.

  Jarrek leaned across the table and saw the pages were unmarred, “No, I swear it was blood. Last night I cut my hand on some broken glass and swear I got some blood on the pages.”

 

“Perhaps you were just seeing things. You know how you get at the sight of blood.”

 

The younger brother shrugged and said, “Yeah, especially my own.”

 

Robert slipped the book into his leather satchel that sat on the floor beside him, and then wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin.

 

“Where do you think Mom got that thing from, Rob?”

 

He shrugged and said, “Who knows. I remember family stories about some of our ancestors being burnt at the stake during the Salem Witch Trials. But it always seemed like nonsense to me more then anything. Maybe it's an old family heirloom, or more then likely a trinket left over from Mom's days as a hippie back in the Sixties.”

 

“Whatever,” Jarrek said as he rolled his eyes, “long as we can make some money of it.”

 

“Agreed, little brother.”

 

“Hey, I almost forgot to ask you - You wanta go downtown to catch the Avalanche game tonight?” Jarrek asked.

 

Robert grinned and nodded, “Sounds great. I should know something about the book's worth when we meet at Darcy's Pub for our pregame ritual of wings and beer.”

 

“Sounds good, bro. I'll see you there.”

 

That evening Robert never showed up at Darcy's Pub before the hockey game. Jarrek tried Rob's cell phone and his home phone both of which went unanswered. When he tried his brother's office number, the secretary claimed Robert had left at three o'clock which should have given him plenty of time to meet with the book dealer before going to Darcy's.

 

He waited at the pub for his brother until the last possible second and then walked two blocks to the arena. Robert wasn't at their seats either, and trying to find his brother in the crowd proved futile. Jarrek left the arena half way through the first period of the hockey game.

 

Instead of going home he swung by his brother's house in the plush suburbs of Highland's Ranch.

 

“Maybe something happened with his family or something,” Jarrek mumbled to himself as he pulled into the crescent-shaped driveway.

 

Robert's wife Gillian answered the door with a perplexed expression on her face. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the game with Rob?”   

 

“He never showed up. I tried calling here and at the office, but couldn't reach anyone. He's not even answering his cell. I thought maybe he had to come home for some type of emergency or something.”

 

A panicked expression appeared on her face. She stumbled backwards, “No, he told me this afternoon he was going to some book dealer and then to Darcy's to meet up with you. That's the last I heard from him. He told me he wouldn't be back until late tonight. Me and the kids just got back from pizza and a movie.”

 

Jarrek frowned as fear flooded his brain. “We gotta call everyone we know, Gillian, including the local hospitals.”

 

It was two o'clock in the morning when he finally headed home. Despite their efforts no one had any information about Robert. The police had taken a report over the phone, but wouldn't declare him missing for another twenty four hours. After he left his brother's home, Jarrek drove the deserted streets in desperate hope he'd find his brother out there. Fatigue and futility finally convinced him to head home. Although his body was tired, his mind raced with anxiety throughout the remaining night.

 

The phone rang at around six o'clock the following morning. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he placed the receiver to his ear.

 

“J-Jarrek? It's Gillian. Th-he police found R-Robert's car this morning downtown parked outside some book shop.”

 

“Really?“ he said as he forced himself not to lose control of his emotions, “Where is Robert? Was he in the car? Did he have an accident?”

 

“N-no,” she said her voice sounding irritated, “They j-just found his c-car. He wasn't in it,” she paused for a moment and then spoke again, “They found some things in the car. A book. You know anything about this book and dealer?”

 

“Yeah, he was gonna take this old book from our Mom's house to some guy he knew downtown. Is that all they found? Just the book?”

 

Gillian sobbed heavily now and her voice warbled, “N-no, they found,” she paused and cried uncontrollably.

 

“What? What else did they find?” Jarrek said.

 

“They found the car keys in the ignition, and there was,” she whimpered, “A p-pool of blood on the passenger seat that the book was sitting in.”

 

Jarrek's entire body went numb with shock and he dropped the receiver to the hardwood floor. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It made no sense. The entire situation seemed like something out of a dream or a movie. It happened to other people not to his brother.

 

A muffled sound came from the receiver, and he quickly picked it back up.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked in a shaky voice.

 

“Yeah,” Jarrek lied, “I'm okay.”   

 

“The police have put out an APB on him. They said the local hospitals would call if they get someone matching his description,” she said in a drained tone.

 

Jarrek grunted into the receiver and hung up the phone when she started crying uncontrollably.

 

The shrill of the door bell shattered the sorrowful mood. “This better not be more bad news,” he muttered as pulled on his bathrobe as he walked to the front door.

 

Jarrek peered through the peep hole to see a plain clothes cop. His badge and bald head gleamed under the intense sun light.

“Hey, can I help you?” he asked while he cracked the door open.

 

The cop gave him a well-practiced smile before speaking in raspy voice, “Afternoon, are you Mister Jarrek A. Linwood?”

 

He grunted in agreement to the cop's question.

 

The cop gave him an odd look, but Jarrek realized it must be because he was still in his robe although it was afternoon.   

 

“I'm Lieutenant Alan Olson from the D District. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about your brother, Robert.”

 

“Sure, of course,” he replied as he opened the door to let the cop inside.

 

Jarrek flopped down on the couch and motioned for the police officer to take a seat. Lieutenant Olson scanned the room in the typical cop fashion, and sat on the edge of a honey brown leather chair.     

 

“So, when is the last time you saw your brother?” the cop said while pulling a notepad and pen from a coat pocket.

“Yesterday afternoon at lunch. We planned to go to the hockey game last night, but he never showed up.”

 

“You never received a call from him?”

 

“No, but I tried to call him at the office, on his cell, and at home several times.”

 

“This wasn't normal for him. Not to show up, or call?” the cop said while scribbling down some notes.

 

“No, not normal at all,” said Jarrek while gazing at a family photograph on the coffee table.

 

The detective reached into a pocket and pulled out the book. He set it on the table carefully and studied it for a moment before he returned his cop eyes onto Jarrek. “What do you know about this book?”

 

“Rob was taking it to someone downtown to sell it,” he replied while trying to suppress a shudder that ran down his spine when he saw the book.

 

“I see, it's a valuable book?” the detective said while tapping the book cover with his ballpoint pen.

 

“Don't know. That's why he was taking it downtown.”

 

“Who else knew about the book?”

 

“No one that I know about other then me and the book dealer I guess.”

 

The cop nodded and scribbled in his notebook, “You can have the book back. At this time we think your brother may have been involved in a botched car jacking. Your brother may have wandered off in shock so we are checking on the local hospitals for men matching his description and name.

 

Your brother's phone records confirm that he called the book dealer yesterday afternoon. We talked to the book dealer already, and he said your brother called, but never showed up. The dealer got tired of waiting around and went home around seven o'clock last night.”

 

Jarrek nodded to the cop, but stared at the book. He didn't know why, but eeriness filled him when he looked at it. Though it seemed impossible, the book looked thicker. Jarrek shook the thought from his head, blaming it on the trauma of recent events.

  “Did your brother have any enemies?”

 

“No, he was just a professor of history at Denver University and a family man. Don't know why anyone would want to hurt him.”

 

Lieutenant Olson nodded and slipped his little notepad into his jacket.

 

“Where did you get the book?” he said while he tapped the cover with his pen tip.

 

“Mom's basement,” said Jarrek with a shrug.

 

The cop nodded, “Odd book. Never saw a language like that before. One hundred and sixty-six pages of weird stuff,” the cop said. “Those illustrations are wild. It's worse then any murder scene I've ever seen.”

 

“One hundred sixty-six pages? It's not that long only forty or sixty pages.”

 

“You sure? I flipped through it and thought I saw the last page as one hundred and sixty-six,” the detective said while heading for the door, “Anyways, I need to get back downtown, Mister Linwood.”   

 

When Jarrek escorted Olson to the front door, it made him nervous to turn his back to the book. The sensation felt like someone creeping up behind him.

 

“We may have more questions for you later, Mister Linwood. I trust you won't be leaving town any time soon?” the cop said while barely hiding the look of suspicion on his face.

 

“I'll be glad to help any way I can, Lieutenant.”

 

“Glad to hear that,” the detective said without looking back as he headed to his unmarked police car.

 

Jarrek shut the door and quickly locked it. When he turned around, he saw the book still sitting on the table which caused another shudder to race down his back. He rubbed his face and tried to forget about it, but the nagging suspicion about the book's length was too much for him.

 

He ran over to the book and hastily flipped to the back page numbered 166. As he slammed it shut, he saw that the covers weren't stained by any blood. Jarrek wondered if his sister-in-law had just been in hysterics when telling him the book had been in a pool of blood, or if he'd just misunderstood. In disgust he tossed the book back down on the table and glared at it.

“This is stupid! It's just a book. I'm not goin' crazy! I know what I saw when I opened that stupid thing. A book can't increase in size. It can't!”   

 

He stumbled over to the bar and grabbed a bottle of Scotch. After downing a glass he went back to the couch and slouched wearily.     

 

“I'm simply stressed out because of Rob's missing. None of us had looked at the book that closely to know for sure. The book's length is irrelevant. Finding Rob is the important thing.”

 

He growled in frustration and headed to the front door. The warm sun and slight breeze seemed to clear his head.

 

“I gotta keep my head together. Else I won't be any help to Gillian or the cops. There's a logical explanation for all this, and we'll find Rob. He's an ex-marine, and he can take care of himself.”

 

Jarrek spent the rest of the afternoon walking the downtown streets. He checked with every business owner within five blocks of the bookshop, but no one had seen Rob. Every alleyway, and vacant building wasn't spared in his futile search. Time lost all meaning as he stood at the spot where his brother's car was found abandoned.

 

“Damn it, why did I have to give him the book? I should have just dumped it in the trash. I should have come down here with him. All of this because of some stupid book!”

 

All of his frustrated emotions spilled out in a guttural howl into the night. With tears still in his eyes Jarrek finally headed home.

It was past eleven o'clock when Jarrek came home that night. Before he headed indoors, he grabbed the mail and then plopped down on the couch. He spent the remainder of the night watching some mindless television and drinking a few beers. He hoped that the combination would lull him into some much needed sleep. Between the commercials Jarrek flipped through his mail. Most of it was junk that he crumpled up, but the personal letters he opened with an antique letter opener.

After a half hour of sports highlights on televison Jarrek fell asleep on the couch, but a searing pain in his side abruptly woke him up. Hastily, he reached down and touched his side to find it slick with fresh blood.

 

“What the hell?” he said while gazing at his own blood.

 

Gingerly he sat up which caused him even more pain. In the pale light of the television he could see his own blood on the cushions. The sight of his blood sent his head spinning. The acidic taste of bile filled his mouth, and he could feel cold sweat on his brow. Jarrek started to stand, but a metallic glint caught his attention, and he saw the tip of the letter opener poking out from between blood stained cushions.

 

“Man, how could I be so stupid. Like these past couple days haven't been bad enough,” he grumbled.

 

When Jarrek tried to stand he immediately felt light headed, and almost fell. Out of instinct he reached out to the coffee table with his blood caked hand to brace himself. After the lightheadedness faded, he realized that his hand was resting on the book.

 

“Damnit, the second time in a week. Not that it matters. I should just toss this thing since I've had nothin' but bad luck since finding it,” Jarrek said before he headed into the bathroom.

 

He carefully bandaged the small puncture wound below his ribs, and then headed to bed. Too exhausted even to change his clothes, Jarrek collapsed onto the bed. Sleep was the solace that he had hoped for, but it didn't last.

 

An ineffable sound coming from somewhere in the house woke him up. His heart beat so hard that it felt like it would burst through his chest at any moment, and cold sweat dripped down his spine. Jarrek listened carefully for the sound, and when he didn't hear it again, he slipped back under the covers.

 

When the sound repeated it was much closer. He flung the sheets aside and sat on the edge of his bed. The living room was visible from his vantage point, and he could see something dark crept along the edges of the book's pages, but he couldn't determine the nature of the shapes.

 

“Man, those better not be rats in here,” he said while putting on his slippers.

 

When Jarrek headed down the hall to the living room, he could see that it was not a rat, but something much more bizarre upon the coffee table. His brain barely knew how to grasp what his eyes saw before him. A shadowy and grotesque hand appeared stuck between the pages of the tome. Distorted fingers with spiny fingernails wriggled while it tried to open the book. Jarrek froze for a moment, and watched the macabre appendage. A few times the book almost opened up, but the hand seemed to lack the strength necessary to complete the job. Each time the pages did part briefly, Jarrek was filled with dread.

While the hand struggled, Jarrek picked up an empty beer bottle, and slowly crept up to the table. Cautiously, he raised it over his head and prepared to bring it down on the hand, when the book finally sprung open. Before Jarrek realized it, the ghastly hand lashed out at his throat. The spectral nails grazed his throat, and then latched onto his shirt collar. Despite his efforts to break free the hand jerked him forward violently causing him to fall face first onto the table. Jarrek didn't even get a scream out before darkness filled his vision.

When Jarrek woke sometime later, his eyes refused to focus, and the taste of blood lingered in his mouth. The last thing he could remember was being in the living room, and getting more blood on the odd book. Once his eyes focused, he found himself in a massive corridor. The off-white walls had strange black markings that looked vaguely familiar, but Jarrek couldn't decipher. A tranquil amber light illuminated the surfaces of the corridor.

 

Jarrek touched a wall, which felt like felt like rough paper. It surprised him so much that Jarrek jumped back a few paces, and had to gather his wits. Running his hand over the strange markings, Jarrek discovered that they were raised above the surface of the walls like relief sculptures. When he stepped backwards to get a better view of the markings, his foot struck something made of glass. He quickly looked back to see an empty beer bottle.

 

“So, it's just the two of us, eh?” Jarrek said while he picked up the bottle.

 

Jarrek doubted that the bottle could help him in anyway, but having the token of reality made him feel a little better.

 

A moment later a blood curdling howl filled the air and rattled the corridor. The sheer physical force of the howl was enough to knock him down to the ground.

 

“What the hell was that?” he exclaimed as he peered around wildly.

 

Jarrek had no idea where the howl came from, and he also had no desire to find out. With the speed induced by adrenaline he sprinted down the corridor hoping to find a hiding place, or an exit from this nightmare.

  

Heavy footfalls came from behind him, and filled him with such dread that he didn't dare look over his shoulder. If Jarrek had looked back, he would have seen that the footsteps belonged to a massive shadow full of alien angles and grotesque shapes. Darkness trailed off it, and everything behind the macabre shadow turned jet black. It moved far behind him like a lioness stalking her prey.

 

Hastily, Jarrek continued down the corridor until he came to a large room that had a massive painting hung on its Western wall. The artist has used rough brush strokes and intricate markings of black paint to create the imagery on the massive canvas. Jarrek studied it for a moment before he realized that it was a horrid image of Robert. The elder brother was tied to a large tree, and a large Y incision in his chest exposed his gleaming innards. A lithe girl with a wolf's head carefully scooped out his internal organs, and fed them to a gluttonous hog.

 

Jarrek collapsed to his knees and vomited in disgust at the artwork. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and started to stand when something rained down on him. When he looked up, he saw the image of his brother had begun to shiver and bleed.

 

The blood began to seep down the wall as the image of Robert opened its mouth and let out an agonizing scream.

 

“Why'd you let this happen to me, little brother?” the drawing said in a hoarse voice, “Why'd you let this happen?”

 

“I didn't let it happen! I've been trying to find you,” Jarrek said, “This can't be real! This has to be a bad dream.”

 

“Oh, it is real, brother. The pain of their feeding will be oh so real.”   

 

He shook his head violently, “No, this can't be happening!”   

 

The primordial howl filled the air again, and shook the walls with it ferocity. Jarrek quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw an ominous shadow approaching the room. Adrenaline and anxiety mingled in his blood which caused his heart to beat hard in his tight chest. Sweat soaked his clothes, and his breath grew shallow.

 

“They're coming for you brother. It is almost done. It is your fault for you opened the book with your blood. You have to stop this. You cannot let the Dark One return to our world.”

 

Jarrek turned to the painting with a frown, “No! This is not reality! I will get out of here when I wake myself up!”   

 

“You have to destroy the book! Destroy it!”

 

Without another glance over his shoulder Jarrek sprinted out of the room. His lungs burned as he continued, and he knew he would cramp up if he had to keep up this pace. The footsteps from behind grew closer and were as deafening as thunderclaps. As he continued the hallway got narrower, and darker. Jarrek soon found his broad shoulders brushing against the walls. Still he kept up his hectic pace, refusing to give up.

 

“I've gotta find a way outta here. This is justa bad dream brought on by Rob's disappearance, and the stupid book,” he said while his legs started to cramp.

 

The hall began to twist and turn sharply forcing Jarrek to squeeze through the tight passageways. The footsteps behind him didn't slow, and heinous howls filled the air every few minutes.

 

Jarrek's head ached as he tried to convince himself to wake up. Part of his mind refused to belief that this was really happening while another part knew that something was horribly amiss.

The thin passageway finally opened up to another chamber, but to his shock there was no other exit. He fell to his knees in exhaustion, and tried to catch his breath. Panic filled him as he looked about the room, finding nothing but walls that were marked with odd black marks.

 

“This can't be the end,” he said as he stared at the walls,

“I have to get outta here. I have to wake up and find my brother.”

 

As he stared at the walls, their secret was revealed to him. The arcane shapes melted like candle wax, and reformed into a recognizable script that he slowly read as it revealed its meaning.     

 

“The blood of the Witches' grandsons shall set the Darkling free and it shall return to the world of the living to enslave humanity once more.”

 

Jarrek laughed manically until tears streamed down his face, and his ribs ached with maddened laughter. “This is ridiculous!”

 

His burst of delirious glee was interrupted by a hoarse roar from behind him, and the stench of burnt hair. Slowly, Jarrek glanced over his should and saw it. Whimpers of utter fear replaced the laughter from his lips. His entire body shook in panic. Jarrek's mind screamed at him to run away, but his body refused to cooperate.

 

It approached him cautiously, and when it was a few feet away from him, it lowered its distorted shadowy head to Jarrek's level. The howl it let out was full of hatred, and malice. The force of it knocked him onto his back, and held him there like someone pinning him down.

 

“You can't do this! You're not real! You can't hurt me!” he screamed at the shadowy demon.

 

The creature of shadows cocked its head slightly before it lashed out with a murky tentacle. With his last remaining strength Jarrek managed to break free, and roll out of the way.

A tentacle struck the ground which caused the ground to tear open. A warm yellow light streamed through the crevice. After he pulled himself to his feet, he saw that his living room lay on the other side of the hole.

 

Without hesitation Jarrek leapt for the opening, but the shade reacted too fast and struck him down at the knees. Out of instinct he swatted at the demonic creature with the beer bottle he still had clenched in hand. The bottle shattered in half, and seemed to have little effect on it. The demon prepared to strike, but this time Jarrek leap frogged the shadowy tentacles. Before the creature could react Jarrek dove into the pit in the floor.

 

The sensation of falling quickly filled Jarrek while the familiar sights of his home greeted him. He instinctively put his arms out before him as the ground rushed up to meet him. As he hit the coffee table, his arms folded under him, breaking from the impact. Unconsciousness quickly swept him into its merciful darkness.   

 

Jarrek awoke sometime later to find himself still laying on the coffee table with his arms folded under his chest. With half-opened eyes he peered around the living room with a faint smile on his face. “See, I told you this was just a dream. That you couldn't hurt me.”

 

He started to pull himself up when the hideous shriek filled the air. Jarrek screamed in utter fear as he saw a pair of shadowy talons open the book, a foul stench billowed out making him gag in disgust. His entire body trembled and his heart felt as if it would burst from his chest at any moment.

 

“No, no please God this can't be happening!” he yelled while pushing himself away from the book.

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Jarrek heard his brother's final words, You must destroy the book! Visions quickly filled his mind of a ruined earth that was cast in eternal night. Humans toiled endlessly in fields of ash and rock while creatures made of shadows tormented them, and fed off their souls.

 

“No, I won't let you do this,” he said while grabbing the book and slamming the cover shut.

 

“You cannot undo what you have done, human. Although your ancestors imprisoned me you lack the willpower to resist me,”

said a rumbling voice that Jarrek realized came from the book.

 

“I won't let you get away with this!,” he said heading for the back door.

 

Despite his attempts to keep it shut, the talons managed to force it back open. Taking a fearful glance at the pages Jarrek could see hideous eyes and jagged claws lurking within the paper. The book lashed out at him with its talons and struck him in the chest causing a spray of blood to splatter onto the it. The pages quickly absorbed the fresh gore and Jarrek could feel the book grow thicker.

“You have failed, human. My legions will feast on your fetid corpse,” said foul voice.   

 

Jarrek ignored the taunting while he leapt off the deck, and sprinted towards the old work shed. He felt a small twinge of hope course through him as he drew closer to the wood chipper.

 

As he got closer the book began to tremble in his hands, and a shadowy head lunged out of the pages and snapped at Jarrek's throat. Somehow he managed to avoid the attack, and reached out desperately for the power switch on the heavy equipment.

The chipper roared to life, and Jarrek raised the book over head to toss it in, but murky tentacles emerged from the pages and entwined his arms.

 

“I cannot be so easily defeated, mortal,” growled the voice.

 

Desperately, Jarrek struggled against the vice like grip of the appendages, but it proved to be uneffective.

 

“Resistance is fruitless,” said the voice, “Give yourself to me and I will give you the mercy of a swift death instead of eternal torment.”     

 

Jarrek could feel his strength waning and he could barely stay on his feet. He knew that it would be easy to give into the demon within the book, and that death probably would be a sweet release. But visions of his brother's fate quickly filled his mind, along with utter rage. Jarrek knew that he couldn't allow such a sadistic creature into the world, nor get away with what it had done to his brother.

 

With a primal roar he drew upon his last amount of strength and attempted to break free from the tentacles, but to no avail.

 

“You will never break my hold. I could crush the life out of you human.”

 

Jarrek could feel the bones in his arms snapping, and spots appeared before his eyes. Desperately, he stared at the wood chipper which purred loudly. While ignoring the pain that ravaged him, Jarrek sprinted toward the machine, “Then hold on tight cause I'm taking you back to Hell personally!”

 

Before the demon in the book could react Jarrek shoved both arms into the wood chipper. The blades tore his arms and the book apart and sent a shower of paper dust and bloody carnage across the sunny yard.

 

As he fell to his knees he could hear the death rattle of the demon mingle with his own scream. After falling to ground beside the machine a small smile spread across Jarrek's face before his life slipped away.   

The End

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