When a manipulative man’s obsession with dark magic collides with ancestral protectors’ unyielding justice, a remote farmhouse becomes the site of an unearthly battle between light and shadow.
Copyright © Priya Florence Shah
The rain lashed against the windshield of Detective Inspector Margaret Sinclair’s unmarked car as it crawled along the narrow country road. A dense mist shrouded the landscape, blurring the edges of the world into an eerie gray.
The call had come in less than an hour ago — multiple bodies discovered at an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of Ravenswood, a town better known for its charming fairs than grisly crime scenes.
Detective Inspector Margaret Sinclair adjusted the brim of her hat, the icy drizzle sneaking beneath her collar. Beside her, Constable James Grant wrinkled his nose as they approached the decrepit farmhouse.
As Margaret and her partner, Constable James Grant, stepped out onto the gravel driveway, a chill seeped into their bones that had little to do with the weather. The farmhouse stood as a hulking silhouette against the fog, its broken windows like hollow eyes staring into the abyss.
The flickering beams of the first responders’ flashlights barely pierced the gloom inside. The air was thick, damp, and tainted with the unmistakable scent of copper.
“Smells like something died here weeks ago,” he muttered, his boots squelching in the mud.
“Something did,” Margaret replied grimly, stepping past the yellow crime tape.
The living room was a tableau of chaos. A battered coffee table lay splintered against the wall. Five bodies were splayed across the room in grotesque poses, their mouths frozen in silent screams.
Burn marks streaked the wooden floorboards, and the walls were etched with cryptic symbols that seemed to shift under the flickering flashlight beams. The oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of dripping water and the murmured prayers of the first responders.
Margaret’s sharp eyes caught the faint traces of a struggle — overturned furniture, claw marks on the walls, and a broken chain lying in the center of the room. Whatever had happened here, it was unlike anything she’d seen in her twenty years on the force.
She knelt by a body, her gloved fingers hovering over a set of claw marks gouged into the wooden floorboards. “No weapon, no clear wounds…and yet they look like they died in sheer terror.”
Grant shuddered. “Whatever they saw, it killed them.”
***
***
Three months earlier, Kimberley Moore had been sitting in the corner booth of Cora’s Diner, nervously checking her phone.
She’d matched with Adrian on a dating app — a charismatic and mysterious man who seemed like a much-needed escape from her mundane life as a single mom in Ravenswood. His messages were intoxicating, filled with poetic musings and promises of adventure.
When Adrian walked into the diner, she was struck by his piercing green eyes and confident stride. His leather jacket gleamed with a sheen of rain, and the faint scent of patchouli wafted toward her as he leaned in for a kiss on her cheek. His voice, smooth and low, carried a charm that was impossible to ignore.
“You look even more stunning in person,” Adrian said, sliding into the booth.
Kimberley felt both flattered and uneasy. She blushed, but something in his piercing green eyes made her stomach twist. Adrian’s charm was undeniable, but there was something in his gaze — a hunger that made her stomach knot.
“Thanks. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Their conversation flowed easily at first. Over coffee, he shared tales of his nomadic lifestyle, his deep love for obscure art, and dabblings in “spiritual exploration.”
But his gaze lingered too long, and his smile never quite reached his eyes. When he brushed a hand over hers, it felt less like affection and more like possession.
***
***
Adrian’s apartment smelled faintly of incense and decay, a mix of sandalwood and something sour. Kimberley glanced at the cluttered bookshelves, packed with grimoires and dusty tomes.
A small altar sat in the corner, candles burned to uneven stubs surrounding a figurine carved from bone.
“What’s all this?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
“Tools,” Adrian replied, his back to her as he lit another stick of incense. The flame flared unnaturally bright before settling. “For unlocking the deeper truths of the universe.”
Kimberley swallowed hard. Her unease grew with every passing day. Adrian’s charm had given way to cruel jabs, his disdain for her son barely concealed. One night, she woke to find him murmuring in a language she didn’t recognize, a shadow shifting unnaturally in the dim light.
“Adrian,” she’d said sharply. “What are you doing?”
He turned, his expression unreadable. “Preparing us. For the life we’re meant to share.”
***
Adrian wasn’t who he claimed to be. Beneath his cultured veneer was a man steeped in darkness. He lived off the kindness of others, manipulating his way into their lives with promises he had no intention of keeping.
His fascination with dark magic wasn’t just a hobby; it was an obsession. He believed he could harness the power of ancient spirits to bend the world to his will.
For weeks, Kimberley ignored the warning signs. Adrian’s sudden rages, his disdain for her son, and his bizarre rituals performed in the dead of night.
When she finally ended the relationship, his reaction was explosive. He called her a coward and a traitor, and accused her of betraying their “divine connection.”
But Kimberley’s intuition — a gift from her grandmother, who claimed their family had angelic protectors — told her she had made the right decision.
***
***
Adrian seethed with narcissistic fury. His humiliation curdled into a desire for revenge. He devised a plan to lure Kimberley to a remote farmhouse owned by his childhood friend, Jonas, a man equally enthralled by the occult.
Together, they prepared the house, inscribing sigils and summoning rituals into its very foundations. Adrian’s goal was as twisted as it was chilling: to violently assault Kimberley and end her life or bury her alive in the woods to trap her spirit in the farmhouse, binding it to him forever.
But Adrian didn’t know that Kimberley had reported his escalating behavior to the authorities. Unbeknownst to him, his communications with everyone were being monitored. The police suspected Adrian of involvement in a string of disappearances and were closing in.
Adrian paced the farmhouse’s dim kitchen, his leather boots echoing on the cracked tiles. “This is where it’ll happen,” he said, gesturing to Jonas, his childhood friend and now accomplice. “She’ll never see it coming.”
Jonas, stocky and sullen, scratched at the fresh tattoo on his neck — a protective rune Adrian had insisted upon. “You’re sure about this? These spirits you keep going on about…you really think they’ll do your bidding?”
“They won’t have a choice,” Adrian snapped, slamming a hand on the table. “Kimberley owes me. She betrayed me. This will bind her to me forever.”
The farmhouse groaned as if protesting. Jonas glanced at the darkened corners of the room, where shadows seemed to ripple like oil. “Place gives me the creeps, man.”
“Good,” Adrian said, his lips curling into a smile. “It should.”
***
On the night Adrian and Jonas prepared to enact their plan, the farmhouse came alive with an otherworldly energy. Kimberley was miles away, safely under police protection, but her ancestral protectors — spirits of light and vengeance — were not bound by distance.
The ritual began at midnight, the air crackling with unnatural energy. Adrian stood in the center of the living room, chanting in a guttural tone. The symbols on the floor began to glow, and the temperature plummeted.
Jonas shifted nervously, holding a lit candle that sputtered and threatened to die. “I don’t like this, Adrian. Something’s wrong.”
The symbols on the walls flared bright red, and a shadow detached itself from the corner, stretching into a towering figure with burning eyes. Shadows deepened and twisted, taking on forms that defied comprehension.
The men’s dark incantations had awakened the dormant spirits of the farmhouse. Their fearful cries were cut short as the walls groaned, a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from within the wood itself.
Jonas screamed, dropping the candle, and tried to run. He was the first to fall, his screams piercing the night as unseen forces dragged him into the basement. Adrian’s other accomplices tried to flee, but the house had become a labyrinth of horrors, with doors leading to nowhere and windows sealing shut.
The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. One by one, the shadows came alive, dragging the men into the darkness. Adrian turned, his terror reflected in the gleaming eyes of a spectral woman wreathed in golden light.
“Kimberley’s grandmother,” Adrian whispered hoarsely.
The apparition’s voice boomed like thunder. “You will not harm her.”
Adrian fell to his knees, pleading, but the shadows converged. By dawn, the house was silent.
The police stormed in to find Adrian and his accomplices dead, their bodies bearing no visible wounds but their faces etched with sheer terror.
***
Margaret stood outside the farmhouse, watching the sunrise as the bodies were carried out. “They didn’t stand a chance,” Grant said, his voice low.
“No,” Margaret agreed, her gaze lingering on the broken chain in the living room. “But justice was served.”
Back in Ravenswood, Kimberley hugged her son close, the warmth of his small arms grounding her. She looked to the sky, whispering a quiet prayer. Somewhere, she knew, her protectors were watching.
The farmhouse remained abandoned, its windows dark and its secrets buried. But the people of Ravenswood knew better than to go near it.
They spoke in hushed tones of the spirits that had saved Kimberley and ended Adrian’s reign of terror. And they knew, deep in their hearts, that some places were never meant to be disturbed.
***
