Just Beyond The Light: A Short Story Collection

The Worm That Walks

Fear Him, for He is the Worm That Walks, He that is one yet many, He who is the swarm. Born of the earth, and forbidden magic, He hungers for power like none other. He will walk on until the end. Fear him, for He is the Worm That Walks, He who towers above all, He who cheated Death. He was a man of sorcery, rival of the gods, and impossible to shackle. He will walk until the end. Fear Him, for he is the Worm That Walks.

On the library's wall, these words were scrawled in the blood and guts of mashed up insects. Below it, sat the corpse of one Karl Summers. It was really quite sad. Karl was a college student with a lot of potential. He was a bright young man to say the least. Why would someone do this to him? At a distance, one might think the kid was just sitting there, enjoying a nap in the library. I sure as hell wouldn't be able to stay awake in this place. But as you draw closer, the dirty details become much more pronounced. The body is mostly unmarred, except for the horror show that was its eyes and mouth. The eye sockets were empty, except for all manner of crawling creature, from worms, to beetles, to ants, and even a couple moths. The mouth was the same, with the addition of maggots burrowing into what remained of the poor kid's flesh. There might be more, but that couldn't be determined until the autopsy was performed. I'm not sure that I even want to be around for that. Last thing I need is to ruin my lunch like that. Just wouldn't be fair to my poor stomach, doing that to it.

"Detective Yarrow, may I speak to you about what happened here?"

Damn it. Reporters. She must have snuck into the crime scene through the back door. How the hell could the other officers miss something like that? Well, I guess I'm paying for their stupidity.

"Miss, I don't have time to answer questions, I'm still in the middle of investigating. So how about you and the other reporters go on your merry way, and we can talk about this in a day or so?" I said.

She frowned at this. Why wouldn't she? Her kind was always disappointed when they couldn't get the first look at the bloodbath. How fucking depraved was the media nowadays to go to such lengths just for a spot on the evening news?

"Detective Yarrow, what gave you the idea that I'm a fucking reporter? Is it that your head is so far up your own ass that you couldn't see who you were addressing?" She growled.

Well I sure did after that. My eyes darted to her chest, where a badge was pinned.

Priscilla Benson

Chief of Police

Well shit. This wasn't good. Priscilla was the police chief around here, and that little fuck up of mine wouldn't go unexcused. Let's just hope that it wasn't anything too drastic.

"I'm very sorry, Miss Benson. I didn't expect you to come out for this, and you know how the press can be." I grumbled.

"I should demote you for this, Yarrow. But I won't. I need the best that I can on this case, and you're one of them. I have a bad feeling about all of this. The message, the corpse, all of it. I want you to scan the crime scene, and then get back to the station. We're going to have a meeting later to address this. I recommend you get a report together quick. Carry on." She stated.

She stormed off before I could say a damn word. Fuck it, I have work to do. I walked over to the corpse and started searching it for anything relevant. We would have done that initially, but the body was identified easily enough, so there was no need. Plus no one was brave enough to touch it with all the bugs squirming about. That included me, but as far as I was concerned, my job could be on the line. I put on a pair of rubber gloves, and got to work. The late Karl Summers had his pockets turned out, his wallet emptied, and his backpack rummaged through. Pockets had a few crumpled pieces of paper and a mint. Wallet had a driver's license, a few bucks, and a picture of who I assumed was his mother. Did she even know what happened? This had all occurred only an hour before, so it was unlikely. I'll be damned If I make that phone call. The backpack was a gold mine in comparison to the rest of him. In it, I found a planner with names, phone numbers, the like, a journal, and a few textbooks. They were all standard fair. Science, History, Math, etc. But one stood out to me, because unlike all the others, it wasn't shiny and new. This one was old-looking, and bound in leather. There was no title, so I began to leaf through the pages. I could barely make out what any of it said, since it was in some kind of old English, the kind of shit you'd read in the Middle Ages, probably. I didn't need to be able to read it to tell what it was, though. It was littered with symbols, and drawings of plants, animals, and other things that I couldn't quite describe. Occasionally a word or two would pop out at me that made some sort of sense. Magik. Arcana. Daemon. Lich. It seems Karl was a fan of the occult. As I read, the writing became less cryptic, and seemed to become easier to decipher. It wasn't that the book became easier to read as it went on, but that I became better at reading it as I went on. It was all quite strange. After a while, I had a basic understanding of what it was I was looking at. It was a tome, or a grimoire. A book of spells. But it wasn't for some guy trying to turn lead into gold, or make a love potion. This, seemed to be the real deal, or whatever the people back then believed to be at the time. It focused almost exclusively on the topic of death, and resurrection through magic. It was all so macabre, with entries revolving around sacrifice and conversing with things beyond the comprehension of mortals. But I had to admit it was fascinating to read. But why was Karl so interested?