The Curse - Book 1 (Completed)

Present Time: The Habit

It always happens, inevitable like the force of gravity. Certain calls are too powerful to resist, and it is when one succumbs to fervid temptations that he commits paramount mistakes.

Along with possessing countless strong traits, Luther has a weakness. Thirst for blood. It is ironic that no matter how many of the former one has, it is always the latter, no matter how small, that controls a human being. Not that Luther could be called one, but it appears that he doesn't make an exception to this rule.

He treads the fallen branches of the woods surrounding Oregon's Crater Lake, hearing but not listening to the melody of geese and swans coming from the usually deep blue, but now velvet colored lake.

It has been a long while since Luther took a walk in the sunset. Not that he enjoys it. Far from it. Lurking from the shadows for centuries transformed him into a nocturnal creature. Nonetheless, Crater Lake is a three-hour-drive away from his new residence in Salem, where he needs to arrive before midnight, so he has no choice but to hunt at daylight.

There are many stories surrounding the lake. Some say a volcano eruption 7,700 years ago collapsed the top of the mountain, and centuries of snowfall and rain created a lake inside the caldera. Others believe it is the result of a fight between two gods – Llao, the god of the underworld, and the god of the sky, Skell.

A myth says Llao would come out from the underworld through Mount Mazama and his head was able to reach the clouds of Skell. Back then there was no lake, only a hole serving as a secret passage to the above world. Llao fell in love with a daughter of the chief of Indian tribe Klamath, and due to her rejection, he swore to punish her people with fire.

The tribe turned to Skell for help, who then descended from the sky to a neighboring Mount Shasta and started a war with hot rocks. Skell defeated Llao, sending him deep inside the crater and trapping him by collapsing the top of the Mount Mazama. He then filled it with deep blue water so as not to remind people of the darkness it hides.

Luther does not know whether the legend is true, but he prefers to believe something less boring than a volcano eruption created the beauty before his eyes. Once it had been his favorite site for finding innocent flesh. Once he resided on its grounds. But that was more than a millennium ago. When he left he swore to himself that he would never set foot nowhere near that damned land again. Now he is breaking that promise for the second time. He wouldn't have, though, hadn't it been a matter of life and death.

He is convinced many witches still hide behind the Lake's woods, regardless of this being only the second time he returns there. Although slightly inconvenient for a quiet secretive life they are forced to lead, few places are as inspiring and beautiful, and those are two epithets witches treasure the most.
Vibration of his cell phone draws his attention away from the magnificent view. He takes it out of his thick black coat pocket.

It's his daughter, Sophia.

*May I inquire about your premises, sir?*

He snorts with derision and tucks his phone back in. Seventeen years of living with Sophia has not made him used to giving explanations. He had not given any to anyone for over a thousand years, and does not plan to change that now.

As he sets foot on the top of the mountain, he pauses at awe. Even after half a millennium, he finds it astounding. Two small islands reside in the lake, Wizard Island and Phantom Ship.

The Park closed for visitors at 5 p.m., but Luther has always had a gift for sneaking into forbidden grounds. Especially into this park, where he snuck in more times than he can remember. 

Standing on top of Mount Mazama, he hates the memories that overflow. He considers the establishment of the National Park a theft of his property, but he knows the grounds will be kept in a better condition protected federally, than otherwise. The problem is he cannot decide whether he wants it maintained or to see it ruined.

"I knew you couldn't stay away from home forever."

Luther doesn't recognize the voice, but hasty movements are not his style.
Home, he thinks mockingly. "I cannot imagine a place on earth further away from it," he says without turning.

Soft laughter follows.

Luther dislikes the smugness in it. He turns to find a short chubby woman with razor thin lips and a big mole above her eyebrow. Even in the dark, he can see the hairs sticking out of it. A brown shawl cloaks her hair and she holds its two endings between her fingers. Two strands of dark thin hair peek out of it and sway in the soft wind.

"Who is it that you are looking for this time?"

"Oh, I just came for a piece of history lesson," he says in a voice perfectly suitable for a gentleman.

"And what lesson would that be?"

Luther gazes at her with calmness. "That witches always die."

The corner of her lips curls. "Everyone dies eventually, Luther."

He knows very well that she hoped calling him by his name would scare him. It does quite the opposite - it makes him laugh, only he has forgotten how, so he smirks instead. "I am puzzled as to how you know my name, but I assume asking nicely will not serve me any purpose."

His tranquility tells her she should fear.

A sudden outburst of gusty wind confirms her thoughts. Another proof of the crater's strong spirituality.

Just as she is about to run, Luther grabs her elbow and pulls her into his claws. He clenches her upper arms with his devilishly strong fists and the witch's fear turns into panic as she notices a sudden transfomation of his face.

His eyes are not eyes anymore. They are balls of blackened glass with thick blood veins enveloping them just as vine plants wrap around strings.

Stories of Luther's countless massacres instantly come to her mind. The elderly passed them on throughout generations, making him a living legend. Every young witch at Crater Lake was told that an immediate escape is the only chance one can have in survival if encountered with Luther on this territory ever again. She never believed them.

It is now that she realizes the entire gravity of her mistake. One look into Luther's terrifying grimace is enough to make her understand he came back to Crater Lake for a single reason. He wants to make sure his legend does not sink into oblivion.

He pulls her closer, twisting her body so that her back is against his chest, with seemingly no effort. He then removes a side of her shawl to whisper into her ear. "One would think your sort learnt their lesson. But here you are..." he runs a finger down her wrinkled neck. "Testing your luck. As per usual."

"I'm not testing anything. You cannot kill us here. It's sacred ground," she says smugly. "Gods would punish you."

He cannot suppress a snicker. "I think I can handle them," he murmurs just before he breaks her neck.

She falls stiffly onto gravel beneath their feet and Luther throws a look to the back to check if anyone was watching. He is disappointed to see no one. Only one thing gives him greater pleasure than getting rid of eyewitnesses. Getting rid of enemies.

He lifts her up from the ground, then throws down into the crater. As she rolls down, rock's spikes wound her body, and blood sprays the grey cold stones. He watches her head split into two, then three, before all of her pieces touch the water and are sucked down to the bottom of the lake, leaving no traces of the murder that has just taken place.

Another body washed away by the damned crater.
People say it's centuries of rainfall that filled the steaming caldera. But Luther knows better.

It is blood.