Altars of Blood

“You gotta be out of your damn mind,” Bob said, grabbing a pinch of Copenhagen that seemed far too large for any one person and shoving it into his lower lip.

“Come on, man. Aren’t you at least a bit curious?” Dan asked, wrinkling his nose as the smell of wintergreen smacked him in the face.

“No, I ain’t. And you shouldn’t be neither. Yer talkin’ about messin’ with shit you got no business messin’ with,” Bob shot back. He snapped the lid back on the tin and placed it in his front shirt pocket. He spat, the saliva mixing with the dirt to create a black paste.

“You know that junk’s gonna kill you,” Dan said.

“Ain’t got me yet!” A smile spread across Bob’s face, exposing his yellow-stained teeth flecked with bits of snuff.

“So you’re not coming then?”

“Now I didn’t say that!” Bob exclaimed. “If you insist on goin’, somebody’s gotta keep their wits about ‘em. Lord knows you’d be shittin’ your pants without me there.”

Dan chuckled. The two made such an unlikely pairing it was hard not to laugh at times. Who’d have thought a fifty-something farmhand from the backwoods of Pennsylvania, and a twenty-five-year-old Philly suburbanite would hit it off?

Bob snorted and ran a calloused hand through his patchy gray hair. He spat again, and Dan made a mental note where to avoid stepping.

“That don’t mean I’m happy ‘bout it, mind you. I been runnin’ around these woods longer than you been born. Seen all kinds of weird shit in there. But one thing I ain’t never done is poke the bear, so to speak.”

Bob was tougher than a sonofabitch, but ever since Dan had mentioned exploring the Harlow Woods outside Tilmont, Bob had been agitated.

“None of that crap is real,” Dan said. ‘Six Altars of Blood.’ Ridiculous.”

“Well I don’t know ’bout all the stuff around cults and altars and whatnot. All’s I know is I’ve lived here my whole life, and ain’t a single soul from these parts that goes into them woods at night.”

“All the more reason to explore them,” Dan quipped. “So I’ll see you at 10 tonight?”

“Hmph, yeah I s’pose ya will.”

Dan hopped in his truck and drove off, smiling. He hadn’t said anything to Bob yet, but there was more than one reason he wanted to get some time with the old farmhand. Claire. The woman of his dreams, the woman he was about to ask to marry. Claire and Dan had met two years earlier in a bar outside Philly.They tried to make the long distance thing work with late night phone calls and meeting halfway for dinners on weekends. But when Dan’s parents had died in a car crash a little over a year ago, Claire came out to stay with him. She understood his grief, having lost her mother some years back to cancer, and their shared pain deepened the bond they had already nurtured.

With little left in Philly for him except painful memories, Dan packed up and moved to the small town of Tilmont, PA where Claire lived. Her father had hired him onto the farm to help out, and that’s when he’d met Bob for the first time.Bob Creed had worked for Claire’s father for over thirty years. He’d been there at the hospital when Claire was born, and Claire’s father had made the man her godfather. Bob loved that girl like his own daughter, and though Dan had already asked Claire’s father for her hand, he knew he’d need to talk things out with Bob before he dared to propose.

When Dan pulled up that evening a little after ten, Bob was already there, near the start of the path that was rumored to lead to the Six Altars of Blood. He was leaned up against the side of his old Ford pickup and Dan saw him beating a tin of Cope into the palm of his hand. Dan jumped out, then grabbed a couple flashlights, some extra batteries and a bag filled with water and some snacks from the bed of his own truck.

“All set then?” Bob asked, his lip bulging from the plug of chew.

“Let’s do it.”

Bob led the way, moving carefully along the path as it wound its way into the woods. Dan followed close behind, treading in the same footsteps as his tireless leader. Dan had been interested in ghost hunting since middle school, when his dad had taken him to a local haunted attraction site. To his father’s surprise, Dan didn’t express any fear through the various “cursed” houses, the insane asylum, or the haunted hayride. Instead, Dan felt comforted, at home amongst the macabre sights and terrified screams of thrill seekers. From that night on, Dan made a point to visit any haunt he learned about on the internet. He’d been to dozens of places over the years, from abandoned buildings to old schoolhouses to underground passages. In all that time, he’d never witnessed anything paranormal, but he never left feeling disappointed. He loved the adventure of it, the thrill of finding a new spot to explore.

A few months back, Bob had started accompanying him on his excursions, and Dan supposed that’s when their friendship really started to take shape. During those dark nights, there’d been plenty of time to talk—about work, life, family and the future.

“How’s Betty doing?” Dan asked after hiking in silence for awhile.

“Oh, that woman drives me up a damn wall! She’s got me buildin’ a deck off the back side of house. Somethin’ about wantin’ space for us to entertain company. Love that woman to death, but fuck if she ain’t a pain in my ass.”

“Thought you said you weren’t taking on any more home projects after the kitchen?”

“Now see, son, it’s comments like that that make it clear you ain’t never been married.”

Dan smiled. Betty was a sweetheart, but when she wanted something done, she turned into a five-foot-nothing hellcat.

“Hold up,” Bob had stopped, raising a hand up to signal Dan to do the same.

“What is it?” Dan asked.

Bob pointed a weathered finger off to the right of the path. About fifteen feet in, Dan saw a collection of rocks piled several layers high. They approached the formation. Some of the stones had crumbled or fallen away; moss covered the majority of what remained, along with a few small saplings poking out through the crevices. The first altar.

“Hmph, well it ain’t much to look at, is it?” Bob grunted, stooping to inspect.

“Well what were you expecting? Told you it was all nonsense, just like all the others.”

“’Spose you’re right.” Bob said as he spat. Dan noticed that Bob, usually an indeterminate spitter, seemed to take care not to eject the saliva in the direction of the altar.

“Whaddya make of this?” Bob asked, pointing to an area near the base of the altar. Dan moved in to examine. It was a carving, worn and faded, but Dan could make out what looked to be a bird with a long beak, maybe a stork or pelican. Its head was bowed and something long and slender escaped from its bill. The rest of the engraving was too deteriorated to make out.

“Maybe some kind of crest or insignia?” Dan inquired, straightening back up.

“Maybe,” Bob muttered, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?”

“Nothin’... Well, maybe somethin’. I feel like I’ve seen that thing before.” Bob said, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

“Shall we go on?” Dan asked.

“Yeah, alright, just give me a sec.” Bob pulled the mound of tobacco from his mouth and flung it into the woods, then proceeded to pull out another oversized dip. He tilted the can in Dan’s direction.

“Nah, I’m good,” Dan said, feeling a bit queasy from the mix of wintergreen and tobacco hitting his nostrils. Bob shrugged.

“Suit yerself. I find it helps calm the nerves when we’re out ’n ’bout like this.”

“Your nerves must be shot to hell then, I don’t think I’ve seen you without a dip in for longer than ten minutes at a time.”

“Fuck off,” Bob cracked a smile. They continued on, navigating the briar vines and weaves of underbrush that snared the narrow path.

“So what ’bout you and Claire?” Bob asked. This was it.

“What about us?”

“Well, you were askin’ after my business with the Missus, I figure it’s only fair to ask about my goddaughter.”

“We’re good, Bob. I...” He hesitated, then said it all in a rush, “I think I’m gonna marry that girl.”

Bob halted and turned to face Dan. His face tilted into a smirk as Dan stammered on. “I-I got a ring awhile back. You know, we’ve talked about it a few times and I just…just felt like this was it, you know? This was the right moment. So I went and got a ring, and I was thinking I could ask her at the fair next week. That’s always been a special place for us and—oh, shut up!” Bob had broken out in laughter at Dan’s rambling. He wiped a tear from his eye, and clapped Dan on the shoulder.

“Look, son, I can’t think of no one better for Claire than you. And this is a long time comin’. The old ladies at church was startin’ to wonder what you were waitin’ for, started prayin’ to God Almighty you’d come to yer senses. They’ll be happy to know their prayers were answered!”

Dan’s cheeks flushed at the thought of the those women in the back of the church gossiping about his love life every Sunday.

“Aw hell, relax now! They don’t mean nothin’ by it. And this is somethin’ to celebrate. Here, and I ain’t takin’ no for an answer this time.” Bob drew a flask from his jacket pocket and extended it toward Dan. He undid did the cap and took a tentative sip. The liquid seared as it went down, settling in his stomach like burning coals.

“Jesus, what is that?!”

“Moonshine! Made it myself a few days back.”

Dan took another swig, and the liquor hit the back of his throat. He sputtered, spitting out the moonshine in a fit of coughing. Bob was barely keeping it together, stifling his laughter in his jacket sleeve.

“Okay, alright now, it ain’t that bad. Besides, you did pretty good, all things considered,” Bob said.

“How the hell do you tolerate that stuff?”

“Years of practice, my boy. Now, we better get a move on if we plan on seein’ all six of these damn rock piles tonight.”

They continued again, this time in silence. Despite the continued unease in his belly, Dan broke out in a grin. He’d earned this man’s approval, a man who, through long nights traipsing around in the dark looking for ghosts and goblins, had quietly become his best friend._______________________________________

Dan glanced down at his watch; the bright glow reflected back the time. 11:30. Since finding the first rock pile, they’d been following the path for nearly an hour. He hadn’t realized how long this trail would be, and he felt disappointed. If it carried on at this rate, they’d have to turn back before they even made it halfway through. Just then, Bob halted and stretched out his finger as he’d done before. There it was, just off the path, another rock formation. The altar was newer, the stones intact and moss-free. As they got nearer, Dan noticed a brown smear running down the side of the stones. Blood? It was impossible to say, given the age of the stain, but he couldn’t rule it out. He shuddered. The wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped quite a bit since the start. He zipped up his Carhart, thankful that he’d thought to throw it on.

“There it is, same place as the last one,” Bob said.

Dan followed his gaze to the bottom of the altar where another image was carved in the stone. This one was clearer. The bird, a crane, held a snake in its beak, dangling it above the open mouths of three offspring as they stretched their necks to feed.

“Fuckin’ hell, why can’t I remember?” Bob said, spitting in frustration. He turned to Dan. “I know I’ve seen that symbol before, but for the life of me I can’t place it!”

“Maybe it’ll come to you as we walk. We’ve got to get moving if we want to get to all six altars, it’s already near midnight.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” came Bob’s response.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting freaked out already.”

“There’s somethin’ wrong with that symbol.”

“Forget the damn symbol!” Dan said. “Let’s go.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t get yer panties twisted up. We’ll keep going.” Bob and Dan made their way back to the path and Bob started ahead at a faster pace than before. Dan could hear him up ahead, muttering something to himself, but only caught a few phrases “...lady dread... serpent feeds... children wait...”

“What are you going on about?”

“Nothin’,“ Bob said. “Shh! Listen.”Dan stopped, straining his ears. The temperature had dropped again, and he felt chilled, even through the Carhart. Despite the cold, he noticed that he no longer felt or heard the wind. In fact, he didn’t hear anything at all.

“I don’t hear—”

“Exactly. You don’t hear shit. No wind, no animals, insects. Nothin’.” Bob stood still for a full five minutes. Dan started shifting his feet, itching to keep moving. Bob shook himself, then started forward again, this time at a jog, his flashlight bobbing through the gloom. Dan moved to catch up.

“Here!” Bob called, motioning Dan over to the side of the road. There it was. Altar number three. This one had a large stone slab on top. And this time there was no mistaking it—a dark puddle of blood lay in the center and the overflow ran down the side of the altar, outlining the engraving of the crane in crimson before disappearing into the soil at the base. Dan touched the insignia. The blood was tacky, but not dry, like it was a few hours old.

Bob snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” he cried, whirling toward Dan, his eyes frantic.

“What’s it?”

“The symbol, I remember now. My ma, she was raised Catholic. This was one of those icons they’d have on the walls of the church… ‘cept there wasn’t no snake in the one I saw growin’ up.”

“Sure, that’s great, but why is it on these altars? What’s it mean?”

“It means we’re gettin’ the hell out of this godforsaken place, right now.”

“What are you talking about? Now?!”

“I told you this was somethin’ that shouldn’t be messed with. You can think whatever you want of me, but we’re leavin’.”

Dan rubbed his sticky fingers together. “First you say why, Bob.”

Bob spit and waved a hand, turning back to the path and starting at a run.Dan followed, struggling to catch up.

“We can’t leave yet! This is the first time we’ve ever seen something for real! And what if someone’s hurt? Bob, hey wait–”

Dan almost slammed into Bob’s back as he skidded to a halt.

“What. The. FUCK?!” Bob hissed through clenched teeth. Dan peered around the man’s tall frame and drew in a breath. There, in the middle of the path, stood the fourth altar. The stones, if that’s what they still were, blazed bone white in the flashlight’s glow. And the blood. Dear God, the blood. It flowed off the flat slab, pouring down the sides in a claret stream. It curled around the cursed symbol, causing the image to pulse with a red glow.

For the first time in his life, dread seeped into Dan’s skin. It penetrated muscle and tendon and bone, straight to the marrow. Bob slumped to his knees, his flashlight dropping and making a sharp crack as it hit a rock and went out. Dan ran for the flashlight, fumbling with the switch, banging it against his thigh, desperate to get back the precious beam, but there was nothing.

He heard a soft rustling and turned to Bob who was still on his knees, staring at the blood altar. Bob’s lips moved, a bit of snuff visible in his bottom jaw.

“Bob.” Dan whispered, but there came no response. “Bob!” he yelled. And still the man stared, unaware of anything but the blood-stained fixture. Dan drew close, and he began to make out the words, a song or chant, repeated:

silence bareflesh coldcursed bladewretched stone

crane gatherschildren waitserpent feedsblood drains

lady dreadcalling forthsundered gateEmpty pour

Dan’s flashlight began to flicker, then went out.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Bob!” Dan yelled, scrambling in his pocket for the extra batteries. His fingers grasped them, felt for the positive end, and worked the cap off the light. He dumped the old batteries on the ground and slammed the new ones in. He screwed the cap back on and the flashlight sprang to life. What? He was alone. No Bob. No altar. Nothing but the path in front. “Bob,” he whispered. “Bob!” Nothing. Dan crept forward, sweeping the flashlight beam from one side of the path to the other. Unnerving stillness surrounded him in quiet anticipation. He ventured forward, keeping the light trained ahead. About fifty feet in front, the narrow path made a sharp right behind a large oak.He rounded the tree, and there it stood. The fifth altar, bare. The blank slab on top was a pristine white. But no rocks held the slab in place. The flashlight wavered in Dan’s grip as he drew near. Bones. Hundreds of bones, stacked and layered with precision. His hand touched the smooth stone. It seemed to suck the warmth from his blood, and he shivered. The air had turned frigid, puffs of his breath misting in the dark, illuminated by the flashlight’s pale beam.

At that moment, a smell reached Dan’s nostrils. Something that turned his guts inside out; the stench of death—mixed with the sharp scent of wintergreen tobacco. He swung the beam around.“Bob?” But he knew better. The beam floated up to the man’s face, glinting off his yellowed teeth bared in a ghastly grin. Bob’s jaw shuttered open with a grating sound, and out of that gaping hole emerged the head of a large, black snake. It flicked out its tongue, the tip of the forked appendage brushing against Dan’s nose. He stood frozen, as the snake slid out of Bob’s corpse. Five, ten, fifteen feet. Impossibly long, it slithered down the side of Bob’s stiffened frame. It hit the ground with a thud, and Bob’s body collapsed in a heap of distended skin and sinew. The snake whirled, striking at the mass of flesh. Its mouth widened, the lower jaw detaching to encompass the entirety of Bob’s corpse. Its thick, muscular body undulated as it drew in more of its meal.

When it had finished, Dan could see the swollen portion where his friend’s body lay. There were several sharp cracks as the pressure snapped Bob’s bones, allowing the lump to flatten and return the snake to its proper form. It turned on Dan, its black eyes like soulless pits, tongue flicking toward him, tasting the air. Terror broke the spell that had frozen Dan to the spot. He lunged to the side, sprung up, and sprinted like hell. He crashed through the underbrush, branches smacking his face and arms, briars tearing at his clothes. Claire. His mind flashed. He had to get back to her, had to make it out alive.

And then the ground opened beneath him. He tumbled down the side of a ridge, banging off rocks and fallen logs. When he reached the bottom, he sat up, dazed. No. No, it couldn’t be. Ten yards away stood the final altar, piled bones gleaming in the beam of his flashlight. He stood, wavering as his head spun. He approached the altar, like a moth drawn to this final trap. Upon the flat stone lay a dagger. A twisted, obsidian handle with a blade of cold steel. Something rustled in the brush behind him–, the snake! He grasped the dagger and whirled. The serpent struck, and Dan feinted to his right. He slashed along the creature’s flank, the blade opening a jagged wound in the black flesh. The snake hissed, turned, and struck again, this time connecting with the hand that held the knife. Its jaws clamped down, and Dan heard the bones crunch as his grip released. The snake curled around his legs, winding up his torso and wrapping around his neck. It squeezed, muscles rippling as it cut off Dan’s oxygen. Black spots dotted with bursts of color filled his vision. He dropped the flashlight and pounded his fist against the scaled flesh. The snake tightened, and Dan was gone.

Dan woke to find himself lying on his back against a cold, hard surface, his arms and legs spread wide and restrained. A soft, red glow permeated the space around him. He raised his head and saw his legs gripped by the black body of the serpent, his arms likely the same. He lowered himself back down, and screamed. Above him leered the head of the snake, its tongue flicking toward him, tickling his forehead. He bucked, writhing to escape, but the snake’s grip was like iron clasps. There was no escape. The truth pierced his heart and tears crept down his cheek and landed on the cold stone.A sound reached Dan’s ears. At first, only a low murmur. It grew, louder and more defined. Rhythmic, a chorus of voices chanting words he’d heard once before:

silence bareflesh coldcursed bladewretched stone

Dan tilted his head and saw figures, cloaked in hooded, white robes. Their faces were covered with masks of gray mesh, giving their heads the appearance of static.

crane gatherschildren waitserpent feedsblood drains

The procession split in two, circling the altar. A new figure dressed in a blood-red cloak neared him, bending over, its gray mask only inches from Dan’s face. It seemed to study the length of his body, then the figure removed the mask to reveal a face so weathered and cracked with age that Dan could scarcely believe it was human. The woman, if indeed it was a woman, smiled down at him, exposing her toothless mouth.

“Hello my dear,We’ve been waiting for you.” The chanting gained momentum, rising in pitch as they reached the final verse:

lady dreadcalling forthsundered gateEmpty pour

The woman raised her hands and all fell silent. She took something from the altar, and raising it, Dan saw that it was the dagger. She pressed the steel against his cheek as he whimpered.

“Hush dear,” she said, “don’t be frightened. You serve an immense purpose.” She brought the knife above her head. “A pure and holy sacrifice for our god.” Dan screamed, as she plunged the cursed blade into his chest.

Dan’s blood dripped off the stone, trailing a line of bones until they met the familiar dark symbol. The blood curled around the seal, drenching it in crimson. A sharp hiss escaped the black snake’s mouth. The woman looked up into its eyes, now a barren, milky white.

“You’ve done well, child,” it cried in a shrill voice.

“Thank you, Cassus,” she whispered, lowering her head.

“Yes, a fine offering. Though I expected more than one soul.”

“The boy presented a unique opportunity. But next time, it will be as you wish.”

“That is good, though we must hurry, time is running out. Now, We hunger, let Us feed. This one is mine. Miiiiine.” The snake’s jaw opened, a black cavern of death that enveloped Dan’s body, drawing it inward and swallowing it whole.