Ash Over the Line (1997)

Note: Starting next chapter, I'll be posting 3 or 4 chapters per week instead of 7 or more. It's been a bit overwhelming, to be honest.

Dusk, Voss Farmhouse.

Elias stands on the porch with his shotgun across his lap, the stake at his hip and and his knife at his side, its blade stained with dried blood.

His steady breath puffs in the cold as he watches the salt lines drawn on the snow, a fragile shield for protection. In his coat pocket, the iron shard pouch feels heavy, echoing the leader's taunt; "It's not over."

Inside, the kitchen glows with lantern light and the hearth crackles as Mara stirs a pot of stew that's grown cold.

Her rifle leans against the table while her bandaged arm moves stiffly; even the fresh scratch on her cheek has scabbed over.

At the table, Daniel spreads his journal wide beside the dull shard, he maintains his oiled and loaded shotgun with iron rounds stacked in neat rows. The air is heavy with the scent of pine from the boarded windows and a faint tang of sulfur that's crept back since noon.

Mara glances out the window, her voice low and edged with steel: "They're coming tonight; I feel it. That thing we burned yesterday just made them angrier." Daniel nods grimly and taps the shard. "This is all that's left. Either they want it or they want us dead."

Elias steps into the room, snow dusting his boots as he sets the shotgun by the door and pulls the pouch from his coat. "They said thirteen years," he states with a steady voice.

"That's when you hit them, right?" Daniel meets his gaze and flips the journal to the '84 sketch; claw marks and a charred circle. "Yeah. West clearing; your mom and I torched it. We thought it was just a job, some ritual mess. But i guess we cut deeper than we knew."

Mara's hand pauses mid-stir. "It said to cut their roots. This shard and those bones; It seems they're power to them and we've got the last piece."

The stew is abandoned as they brace themselves. Salt lines are doubled at the doors, holy water flasks are lined up and a fire pit dug at dawn with ashes still gray under the snow awaits.

Elias helps Daniel drag wood from the shed, stacking it high as his arms burn with the effort with the shard pouch slung over his shoulder.

Mara quickly carves a ward into a plank; a sigil from the journal meant to push back their foes, and nails it by the porch.

As the wind picks up and snow swirls thicker, Elias feels a prickle up his spine; the air turns wrong and the sulfur scent spikes hard enough to taste.

Then the attack comes fast. The creek bell screams; high and frantic before snapping, its wire torn and the yard erupts into chaos.

Shadows burst from the trees: four grunts with black eyes and gleaming nails, and the leader; a taller figure steps slowly behind them as if it owns the ground.

Daniel fires first, salt rounds scattering into the dark; one grunt staggers, black blood flecking the snow. Mara blasts an iron shot that tears through another's chest, its snarl ripping the air as it claws at the frost.

Elias plants his feet, raises his shotgun, and fires salt rounds that pepper a third attacker's side, its hiss sharp as it reels with furious dark eyes.

The leader growls, its voice grinding as it declares, "You stole our anchor, hunters. Thirteen years, and now, we'll be whole again with your blood." It lunges at Daniel, claws slashing and tearing a thick line of red across his chest.

Daniel grunts, rolling back and reloading fast as salt blasts its arm; though the shot barely slows the creature. Mara swings her rifle again, ripping its shoulder and drawing more dark blood, then yells, "Elias; the pit!"

Dropping his shotgun, Elias snatches the shard pouch and his flask before sprinting to the fire pit, the crunch of snow under his boots echoing in the chaos. One of the grunts claws at the porch ward, cracking it as black smoke curls in its wake.

At the pit, Elias pours holy water over the shard as steam hisses, then tosses it into the fire—its iron clinking against wood. Mara stands beside him, chanting in a raw, steady voice, "Ab initio, ab malo, recede," with Elias echoing her rough but firm words.

Daniel staggers up, strikes a match and flings it; the fire roars to life, making the shard glow red before fading to black with a thin mournful wail. The grunts twist, black smoke pouring from their mouths as their bodies slump lifeless in the snow.

The leader roars and lunges at Elias once more, but Mara fires another iron shot, driving it back even as her arm shakes.

Grabbing a shovel, Daniel smashes the shard in the flames; iron cracks and melts into slag as the fire surges hot. The leader staggers, its eyes dimming.

"You… can't bury us…" it snarls before collapsing, burning to ash along with the ruined anchor as the snow hisses softly while settling over the remains.

Soon, silence falls—the sulfur is gone, leaving the yard scarred with claw marks on the barn, blood frozen in the frost and the broken bell wire dangling uselessly.

Elias stands with his chest heaving, his shotgun once again in hand, the stake now unnecessary, his gloves wet with holy water. Mara pulls him close, her grip fierce and her breath ragged against his hair, blood from her cheek smearing his coat.

"It's done," she whispers, her voice breaking as her rifle clatters to the snow. Daniel limps over, his chest bleeding and coat shredded, a faint grin breaking through his pain. "Thirteen years settled at last."

The fire pit smolders, ash swirling into the night as the anchor's power is snuffed out and its roots burned deep.

Inside, dawn creeps in gray. The kitchen grows warm again as Mara bandages Daniel's chest, her hands steady, while the stew is reheated on the stove.

Elias sits by the hearth, his shotgun set aside and the knife on the table—its blade finally clean. The radio crackles low with news "…Colorado, kids gone missing, …"until Daniel snaps it off, muttering, "Not tonight."

Mara rests her hand on Elias's shoulder, warm and firm. "We're whole now," she says, her eyes locked on his. The farm stands quiet and scarred under soft falling snow, and for now, the claws are nothing more than ash; until the next shadow stirs.