The Sisters: A Mystery of Good and Evil, Horror and Suspense (Book One of the Dark Forces Series)

The Sisters: A Mystery of Good and Evil, Horror and Suspense (Book One of the Dark Forces Series) by Don Sloan

Book: The Sisters: A Mystery of Good and Evil, Horror and Suspense (Book One of the Dark Forces Series) by Don Sloan Read Free Book Online
Authors: Don Sloan
beginning to sag and lose consciousness.
    “Stella, get some water to clean this pig up,” the woman commands one of the other women standing in the semi-circle. Stella begins climbing a shallow set of steps to a tiny alcove.
    Moira Claymore turns back to Androcci, who is swaying back and forth. “You ended our lives when you ended his life. We had to work―all of us. All we really had was this damned house. The money we thought my father had―there wasn’t any. Turned out, he had pissed it away in a lot of money-making schemes that had never really worked, except for this house. This damned old house,” she repeats tonelessly and wearily.
    Androcci pitches forward suddenly and vomits again―this time on Moira’s robe. She steps back in horror.
    “Filthy pig! You filthy, ignorant Wop! You have lived far too long. It took a long time to find you, but we have finally done it and now you will pay.” Stella kneels and sponges Androcci’s face and cleans away the blood. The sting of the cold water brings him back to full consciousness and he begins to struggle against his bonds. He lurches forward and knocks Moira back against the cellar wall. Now he is in a standing position, but his legs are still tied and his hands are pinioned in front of him. He is a very strong man, and the sedative that had rendered him inactive enough to be trussed up when they had kidnapped him far away in New York is wearing off. His face takes on a grim countenance and he pitches first one way and then the next, like a bull hemmed in by bullfighters. The other women shrink back against the walls as he hops and stumbles around the room, trying to reach the ladder. He somehow knows that if he can make it up the ladder, he can get out the door to freedom. For he knows now what place he is in, and the fear that had gripped him earlier, though very strong, is now ebbing away.
    “Get him! Knock him down! Don’t let him reach the ladder!” Moira shrieks. One of the women picks up a nearby brick and hits Androcci in the head, over and over. He yells, a deafening, enraged sound in the small room, and he head-butts her away. But the other women are on him now, and are dragging him back to the center of the room. His head aches and the blood continues to stream into his eyes. He knows he will soon pass out and then he will have no chance at all.
    “You are giving far too much trouble, you Italian vermin. People like you should not be allowed to breathe the same air as the rest of us. And I am going to sacrifice you to our Dark God in the belief that you will be the first to go to that special hell even worse than the one we grew up in.” Moira pulls a long knife across his throat and he stops struggling.
    “I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear.”
    “It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t mean to do. You did what you did, and we have suffered a long time. You will only suffer a short time, but it will be good to watch.”
    And with that said, she makes a long, deep incision into his windpipe. He is too weak now to struggle much, and he can only utter small, inarticulate sounds, as the blood flows from the incision in his throat as well as the cuts on his head. He falls to his knees and rolls onto his side.  A bright red pool is growing around his head and the women begin a terrible chant, offering up this great sacrifice to their heathen God, the Father of all that is evil on earth.
    “You will pay for what you did,” Moira says, smiling. “You will pay now and my father will finally be avenged.” Saying this, she speaks a short, chanting prayer of malevolence and dark oaths, and draws the knife back and forth against the man’s throat, holding his head by his black hair, and quickens her motions until it seems as though she is sawing a tree, or playing a hideous cello. Back and forth and back and forth, while the man gargles and sputters, and his eyes grow to be as wide as silver dollars. Finally, Androcci’s head comes completely

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