Frank’s head throbbed dully and the back of his mouth tasted like he’d been chewing balloons. One moment he’d been sitting in front of the TV, the next his daughter had been sprawled on the floor, and the next he’d been transported to this… place. He had no idea what was going on, but a six men and women surrounded him, looking every bit like a satanic cult. They wore bloody red robes with some sort of tentacled eye on the chest. He’d be an idiot to not realize they meant trouble.
He staggered to his feet and the leader – an older man with a sharp, black beard scowled.
“We only summoned the eternal bride,” he said. “Are you some demon sent to attend her?”
“Do I look like a fucking demon?” Frank shot back. He probably should have said ‘yes,’ and tried to spook them, but he was a hefty, thirty-six-year-old man standing there with his beer belly and his junk hanging out. You’d have to be blind to think he was a demon.
“I don’t know what you’ve done,” he continued, “but you send us back to our house right now.”
“What’s happening?” asked Clara. His wife leaned over their still unconscious daughter. Frank suspected Lily was the ‘eternal bride,’ which was a title he was not fond of at all.
“I think not!” replied the leader. “You’ll be staying here for a very long ti—”
His words were cut off by Frank slamming a fist in his face. He’d heard enough. These people were dangerous and he wasn’t going to wait around to see what they wanted.
The leader’s lips burst with blood and he staggered back, clutching his face. The other cultists looked back and forth in confusion. Frank assumed it would only last a moment, and so threw himself bodily at the largest man with a yell. His shoulder slammed into the man’s gut and he kept on running.
Though his high school football days were long behind him, 250 pounds and pure adrenaline are a nasty combination. They collided with the wall with a slam. Some of the cultists were drawing wavey daggers from their belts, and Frank looked around for a weapon. He was not going to fight people with knives barehanded.
His eyes fell on a stone altar and some sort of heavy wooden sculpture of Cthulhu and penguins love child. Frank sprang towards it, heart slamming into his ribs as he picked it up by the beaked head with two hands. There was no grace – he just ran towards them wildly swinging while screaming like a madman. Its base was nice and heavy, and there was a satisfy crunch as he swung it into the chest of one of the ladies and sent her flying.
Another fellow charged at him, knife drawn, but Frank had the length advantage. He slammed the wooden statue into the man’s chest, and when he didn’t slow down, bull rushed him like he had the first. They collided so hard they both fell to the ground, but Frank was on his feet first. He raised the statue overhead and then brought it down brutally on the man’s head.
One of the cultists tried to turn tail, but Frank was having none of that. Who knows what sort of backup the man might find? He grabbed him by the back of the robe. The man scrambled to get away and the robe tore in Frank’s grasp.
“Sonofa--!” Frank said, as the man ripped free. He sprinted towards the door. Clara was in his way, and Frank called out in panic that the cultist might harm her. In fact, he slammed right into her and then staggered back. There was a blade in buried in his gut and blood on his wife’s hands. Had she stabbed him?
That didn’t seem like something his Clara would do, but none of this made sense, so he just accepted it and spun to face the others. Only one was left on her feet and she was rapidly backing up, obviously terrified of the insane man and his wife.
Frank grabbed the leader, punched him in the gut, and slammed him against the wall.
“SEND. US. BACK!” Frank roared in the smaller man’s face.
The leader’s sneer was gone. Blood covered his teeth. “I ca..can’t.”
Frank did not want to hear that. He grabbed the asshole by his scrawny neck and dragged him over to the ritual circle.
“What did you do to my daughter?”
“She’s fine, I swear!” the man stammered. “The ritual causes the one summoned to fall into a deep sleep so they’re more tract-ow!” Frank had squeezed hard on the man’s neck without thinking. There were only a handful of reasons to make a young girl ‘tractable’ and he didn’t like any of them.
“But she’ll be fine!” the leader repeated. “It will wear off on its own in under an hour. You’ll see!”
Clara came beside them. She’d found another set of robes. “Ask him where we are,” she said. “What’s going on?”
Frank shot the man a look and he answered immediately. “Culvert, in the dutchy of Gulvania. We discovered a ritual to summon the eternal bride. We thought our god would be pleased with…” he trailed off here as Frank’s gaze hardened. “I don’t know why your daughter was chosen, but the eternal bride is blessed! Our lord and master will shower her with riches unimagi-OW!”
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This time the hardening in his grip was deliberate. Frank’s thick fingers sank into the flesh of the man’s neck, causing it to bulge. This man – this pathetic, insane man, had kidnapped his family, and wanted to hand Lily over to their ‘master?’ Frank saw red. It was the kind of crazy shit he’d always tried to protect his friends and family from.
No, this was worse. This was far, far worse. The more Frank realized just how deep a pile of shit they’d been tossed into, the harder he squeezed. They weren’t even on Earth! They could be trapped here forever!
A hand touched his arm. Clara had slipped on a robe. “If he doesn’t know how to send us home, he might know someone who does. We’re all alone here, and he’s the one in charge.”
Frank looked around. Several of the other cultists had wobbled to their feet and were looking at the scene with interest. The leader’s face was starting to turn a purple cover as Frank choked him. It took effort, but Frank force himself to release his hold. Clara handed him a robe and one of the knives.
The leader fell to his hands, gasping for air. “The church… the church of light,” he said. “The priest there can help you. I’ll take—I’ll take. Please don’t kill me.”
“I’m not going to make any promises,” Frank replied. He’d been in a few scrapes in his life, but never seriously hurt someone. He’s choked the other man due to frustration and anger, but didn’t know if he could bring himself to hurt someone deliberately.
But the man didn’t have to know that.
Clara dressed Lily as Frank kept on eye on the rest of the cultists. The fellow Clara had stabbed was bleeding out. What unnerved him was how little the others seemed to care. The man curled up on the floor, clutching his gut, and none of them even moved to check on him.
His groans made Frank feel bad, and he didn’t even like the man.
Once Clara was finished, Frank hurriedly threw on the red robes. It made him feel better, but not by much.
He kept on waiting for an attack that never came. The cultists shot him murderous looks, yet made no move to intercept him. Frank was grateful for that.
In the end, the Clara retrieved the book – Frank had forgotten that – and got an arm under Lily. His daughter was only half-conscious and sagged in her mother’s arms. With a bit of coaxing and support though, she could stumble forward.
“Show us where this church is, and nothing funny,” Frank said. He kept a firm hold on the leader and pressed a knife to his back. They headed down a narrow, dusty set of stairs into a small abandoned house and out into the street.
Culvert looked like what Frank imagined Dickenson’s London to be. Oil lanterns lined the cobblestone streets, and dozens tall buildings crowded around him, their high, pointed roofs like hungry teeth. An iron-wrought gate barred the way, it whined as Frank kicked it open.
“Grab that lantern and lead us,” Frank ordered.
The leader complied. Frank kept a hand on his shoulder as he walked down the street. The night was cool and moist. Candled flickered behind thick windows. He noticed they were all too small for anyone to crawl through and every door was latched shut. Stone gargoyles leered at them as they passed underneath and Frank’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow. He had no idea what sort of place they’d found themselves in, but his instincts screamed danger.
He prodded the leader with the tip of his knife whenever the man slowed.
Franks bare feet hurt as he walked across the cold, rough stone. What bothered him though was the sense that something huge loomed over them, licking its lips as it watched their progress.
The leader brought them through winding streets. Frank was tightly wound and when a clock tower gave two booming chimes, he stabbed through the man’s robe with a jerk.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the leader whispered, “A man in a foreign land, wanting to protect his wife and daughter. It doesn’t matter what they promise or offer you at the church of light. Culvert belongs to the Red God. The time of his return is near and you - if you truly care for the young girl – would be wise to court his favor. Those chosen will be rewarded. There is no safety to be found in the church. It has failed these lands for over a hundred years.”
“Shut up. We’re going home,” Frank replied. If he allowed himself to think differently, he might panic. And panicking led to doing something stupid. Best to check out this church and let them help.
Frank spotted it as they turned the corner. It was an impressive structure – a large stain glass window with a sun design dominated its upper face. Armed men called out for him to stop.
Stupidly, it took him a few seconds to understand the issue. They were dressed in these red robes and he was holding a man at knifepoint. They looked like part of the cult.
Guards armed with pikes casiously surrounded them.
“I don’t mean any harm,” Frank said. “We’ve been kidnapped and my daughter injured by this man. We came to the church for help. Here, I’m putting the knife down.”
He did so, letting the wavy blade clatter on the cobblestone.
They spread out, surrounding the group with their weapons lowered. One of them approached Clara and Lily.
“The girl looks hexed,” he shouted. Those surrounding frank peered and strained their necks.
The guards let them to the church steps while Frank tried to look as harmless and non-satanic as possible. The interior was bright, and the song of a beautiful voice filling the vestibule. He relaxed slightly. At least here there weren’t any shadows for monsters to spring up from.
“What’s this?” a priest hurried forward in white and blue clerical vestiments. “What’s going on here?” He peered at the group with concern.
“Brother Kirwin, this fellow here – the big one – says he was grabbed and his wife and daughter spelled or somethin’ by the small looking fellow,” explained a guard, as he pushed his helmet back to expose more of his face.
“They said they served a Red God and that Lily was an eternal bride,” Frank added. The priest’s eyes widened, recognizing those terms.
The priest grabbed Lily’s other arm. “This is serious,” he said. “Come, come. We must take her to the lightbearer at once.”
Together they made their way into the heart of the church. The cult leader looked more whipped by the moment. As they approached the grand altar of white marble and gold, the singing grew louder. Frank looked up and realized it came from the throat of a woman who floated above assembly. Brilliant wings of light sprang from her back, and her form gave off a gentle luminesces.
“Lightbringer,” the priest said, “We call upon your aid. This young girl had her vitality drained by a follower of the Crimson Lord, and needs your protection.”
The angel – Frank never doubted that’s what she was – floated downwards. She touched Lily’s forehead and light flowed from her to his daughter. Lily’s eyes opened in confusion.
“It’s going to be fine, dear,” Clara said, brushing her daughter’s hair. “Sit down here and don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”