The Witching Hour

Prologue

Rick Riker had lived in Corona, Texas his entire life. It was a small town and nothing particularly eventful ever happened there. It was the sort of town filled with southern hospitality, where everybody knew everybody and children were safe to roam the streets alone during the day. He couldn't have asked for a  more carefree and happy childhood. One day, however, he and his friends stumbled upon  something that would change the fate of Corona.

 The day started off like any other, Rick and his friends were on summer vacation, mucking about together, looking for something to do. The group of eleven and twelve-year-old boys decided to follow a rocky drainage ditch towards the end of town, checking under rocks and inside holes, hoping to find snakes and scorpions to bother. They followed the ditch for a short time and then wandered off into the sparse desert brush hoping to have more luck in their hunt. They walked about a mile farther, their small town slowly disappearing behind them, when suddenly they saw what looked like a shed in the distance. Once closer to it, they realized it wasn't a shed at all, but a shabby little house.

The walls were made of a clay-like substance, like the huts they'd seen across the border in Mexico. There were windows, but they were just holes without glass. The door was made of thick sticks tied together with string, like a raft standing up, and secured to the stone with crude looking iron loops. It was quite impressive for being made by hand; it even had a tall chimney made of stone and a sturdy branch-and-mud roof. The boys were excited, but also cautious.

They could all feel something eerie as they approached the threshold. Rick wasn't brave enough to open the door or be the first one to go inside. No, the only one brave enough to do that was Brian, his closest friend. He was the oldest of all the boys and therefore, always felt that he had to prove himself. He acted like it was no big deal as he swung the door open.

It hit the stone wall with a loud smack! The sound seemed to get swallowed up in the darkness inside the house. He stuck his head inside and looked all around before entering, then the rest followed suit.

Rick felt an overwhelming sickness brewing in his stomach as they snooped around. The house consisted of one open space with a fireplace centered at the far end. Along the walls, there were shelves made from raw wood, cut flat across the top and fastened into the walls with thick pegs. There was one small table, a wobbly chair, and a pile of filthy blankets in the corner. The uneven plank floor was covered in broken glass jars, broken plates, dingy silverware, a rusty cast iron pot and a pan, whole-stem herbs and spices, worn brown-paged books, and broken candles. Apparently, the boys were not the first ones to discover the little hidden cabin. There was rat poop all over the floor as well, and bird nests in the corners of the celling, causing a rancid odor to fill the small, stuffy room.

One by one, sickness began to overtake each boy. It started as a headache, but as they explored longer and touched the items, it morphed to nausea. Rick was the one most affected by this, and consequently, he decided to separate from the others and step outside. The fresh air didn't offer much reprieve, but he was glad to be away from the awful stench of the house.

While waiting for the others, he made his way around the cabin. He didn't find anything particularly interesting about the small property except for a well in the distance at the backside of the house. He stooped down to pick up stones to throw in the well, but as he was bent over a loud THUD startled him.

He gasped and spun around. He could still see and hear his friends inside, talking and rummaging around. He let out a shaky breath, assuming it was one of them who'd made the noise, but as he turned towards the well again, he heard a sound that nearly stopped his heart.

"Rick..." A gritty voice groaned from close beside him.

He stood frozen in place for a beat, then slowly turned around again.

"That's not funny guys." He said shakily, barely above a whisper.

He expected to see one of his friends with their head sticking out the window, teasing him, but they were all inside, occupied. His heart began to beat harder in his chest.

Suddenly, the loud thud happened again, but this time, when it happened, he saw two cellar doors bulge up from the ground close beside him, and fall back, stopped by chains looped around the handles. He was so frightened by this that he fell backwards, smashing his tailbone on a rock. Rick felt the sharp pain radiate through his body, but he couldn't take his eyes off the cellar. His breathing became rapid and labored, and his mouth dried up instantly. He was too afraid to call his friends.

He waited for a few agonizing moments. Nothing happened, but the stillness was eerie and his friends' voices seemed far away. Once the adrenaline settled down some, he was able to stand and cautiously approach the cellar.

It was made of thick slabs of raw wood, nailed together with thick iron nails and secured with more crude looking hinges. Curiously enough, it was chained together and padlocked shut, but the metal on the chains and padlock looked only barely rusty and relatively new. This didn't fit with the rest of the house. He knelt, still a few feet away, his palms sweating and his heart racing faster and faster, trying to catch a glimpse through the slats. He saw nothing but blackness. As he leaned closer, the familiar, rancid smell from inside the house wafted through his nostrils and infiltrated his sinuses. He recoiled, gagging, and then deciding he'd had enough, ran around to the front of the house and yelled to his friends inside, telling them it was time to go. Thankfully, Brian, feeling quite queasy himself, agreed, and lead the pack back home.