Prologue

So this is the Prologue for the sequel to Creation.  I'm still playing around with the title but for now here it is.  Enjoy!

Prologue

Jake/John

The Bishop Residence, Lubbock Tx. 

May 30, 1997 4:09am

“Jake, whatever you hear do not come out of this room!”  Jake’s dad’s hands shoved him forcefully into his Grandpa Cort’s safe room/gun vault.  The pounding on the barred front door grew fiercer by the second.  Glass from the windows crashed inwardly and the reinforced ceiling shook violently and cracked as something heavy crashed into it again and again.  Jake knew the rebar and iron bars would only hold them at bay so long, any minute now they would be inside the house.

“Come on you dirty sons of bitches!” his Grandpa Cort screamed from the living room.  “Come get some of this!”  The Cleaner, a ten gauge shotgun handed down from Jake’s great-grandfather, blasted away in the older Bishop’s hands.  “John!  Make it quick son!  They’re almost inside!”

John grabbed a pump action 12 gauge off the wall and a box of shells and tossed them to Jake.  Then he grabbed a razor sharp machete down and laid it on the floor at Jake’s feet.  “Load the gun.  Hold it tight to your shoulder, remember to squeeze, don’t pull the trigger.  If anything gets through this door you keep blasting until it’s not moving then you take its head.  You have to take its head to kill it.  Do you understand?”

“Dad, I can help you!”  Jake pleaded, fumbling to get the shells into the shotgun.

“Not this time kid.”  John ruffled his brown hair.  “It’s nothing personal but you’d just get in the way.  Pop and I have got everything under control.”

“Then . . . come in here with me!  You and Grandpa both, we can all fit!  We’ll just wait until the sun comes up.”

“This is our home, son.”  John said solemnly.  “They’re not taking this from us.  Not again.”

An even louder crash sounded in the living room.  “Johnny!”  Cort yelled.  “Dammit boy!  It’s game time and you’re late for the kickoff!”

John grabbed two more shotguns off the wall, another machete, and two boxes of ammo.  He winked at his son then slammed the heavy steel door closed and locked it behind him.

Jake angrily pounded his fist against it.  “Dad!” he yelled in anger.

The door was at least six inches thick but Jake could still hear the muffled sounds of almost continuous gunfire.  Terror gripped his heart. 

Please God!  Please let them be okay!  He prayed.   Please!  Something heavy slammed into the door hard enough to dent it inwardly.  Jake fell backwards over an ammo box and hit his head on a shelf, firing his shotgun into the steel door.  Buckshot ricocheted around the room missing him by mere inches.   His ears rang as darkness crept around the edges of his vision.  With his left hand he touched the back of his head and felt sticky blood in his hair.  He tried to sit up but the room started spinning violently.  Jake slumped to his side, closed his eyes and dreamed.  Dreams of his mother’s loving, green eyes, of his father crying as he embraced his father for the first time in seven years.  They were replaced by darker dreams of his other grandfather, Richard Riker’s butler whipping his leather belt into Jake’s back again and again as the old man looked on laughing a terrible hacking laugh. 

His Grandpa Cort’s familiar voice finally broke into his nightmares.  “Jake?  Jake?  Come on kid wake up.”  The old man’s weather hand slapped his cheek.  Jake’s eyes popped open and looked right into the eyes of a bloodied Cort Bishop.

“What happened?” he muttered groggily.

“You hit your head.”  His father’s voice said.  Jake turned his head to fast and again the room started spinning.

“Easy now kid,”  John said squeezing his hand.  “Take it slow and try not to move too much.  You might have a concussion.”

“What?  What happened?  How did I get in the safe room?”  Jake muttered looking around at the dozens of  guns hanging on the wall.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”  John asked.

“Uhhh . . .”  Jake had to think very hard for several long seconds.  “I remember someone knocking at the front door.  You got me out of bed, Grandpa yelling something about football . . . after that it’s just a blur.”

“Great,”  John said to Cort.  “He’s definitely got a concussion.  It was vampires, son.  Six of them.”

“What!”  Jake exclaimed trying to sit up.

“Easy, easy.”  John gently pushed him back down.  “Pam Williams is on her way here to check you out.  Just lie still till then, okay?  I don’t want to move you until she says it’s okay.”

“But, but the vampires!”  Jake yelled.

“It’s okay.”  Cort grunted, climbing back to his feet.  His knees giving a very audible pop.  “It took some doing and the house is trashed, but we killed them all.”

“Holy shit.”  Jake muttered slipping back to sleep.

“You’re out of it right now, so I’ll over look that.”  John smiled at Cort.

A tall African American woman with short black hair placed a hand on Cort’s shoulder.  “Hey now fellas?  How are we doing?”

“We’re doing okay, Pam.  A little shook up with a few cuts and bruises, but I think we’re okay.”  John smiled giving her arm a gentle squeeze and a pat.  “I think Jake might have a concussion though.”

  “Is that so?”  Pam said kneeling down and giving Jake a good once over.  “John, Cort, go in the other room and have Holloway take a look at your wounds.  I’ll be in a few minutes once I’ve checked Jake out.”

John nodded noticing for the first time the big gash running across his forearm.  “I’ll be in the next room if you need me, son.” 

John stepped into the living room where three of Mike Holloway’s guys were keeping guard.  Mike, a heavyset cowboy, complete with a big straw hat and pair of cowboy boots stepped back in from outside, where he had been talking to the police.

“So what’s the damage Mike?”  John asked grabbing a towel from the kitchen and wrapping it around his arm.

“I’ve got an old friend in the Sheriff’s Department, used to be a hunter.  He’s covering things with the PD.  Though there were more than a few that wanted to come in and have a look around.  Discharging firearms and such . . . luckily my man convinced them to look the other way.  How’s the boy doing?”

“He’s doing alright.”  John nodded.  “Pam is checking on him now.  It’s a damn good thing you guys were still in town when these bloodsuckers hit.  Thanks again for coming so fast Mike.”

“No problem at all, Hoss”  Mike smiled.  “My pleasure.  It’s just a damn shame you two killed them all before we could get here.”

“Well, what can I say?   When you’re good, you’re goo . . .”  Cort said plopping down in his old worn recliner.  The chair immediately broke apart, dropping Cort flat on his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he cursed trying to pull himself up.  “Well don’t just stand there looking ugly!  Somebody give me a hand!”

John and Holloway both gave each other a half smile before reaching down and pulling Cort to his feet.  “Son of a bitch.” He repeated looking down at his ruined chair.  “I loved that chair.”  He shook his head in anger.  “Son-of-a-bitch!”

John placed a hand on his shoulder, “It’s just a chair, Pop.”

Cort shrugged it off, “Just a chair my ass!  Look at this place.”  He said motioning around the room.  Almost all of the furniture was covered in black vampire blood, the ceiling had collapsed where one of the grunts had managed to punch his way through.  All of the windows were shattered and the front door hung off of its hinges.  Bullet holes riddled just about every wall.  “The house is completely destroyed!”

“It’s just a house,” John said in a tone suggesting it was much more than that.  “Just a house . . .”  He had spent almost his entire childhood in that house.

“How the hell did they find us?”  John said picking a broken picture of his old friend Terry Williams, up off the floor.  You’ve lived here for what Pop?  Forty years?”

“It’s that goddamn Coalition.”  Mike Holloway said heatedly.  “I warned you John, I warned you and Billy that everyone knowing everyone else’s business was a bad idea.  We should just keep everything independent like it’s always been.”

“Mike.  Not now.”  Cort said angrily.

“I’m just saying . . . “

“Mike.  For all that’s holy, man my house just got destroyed!  My grandson is laying in there dying!”

“He’s not dying, Pop.”  John rolled his eyes.

“Shut up boy!  He’s lying in there, severely wounded, so I don’t need this whole oooohh the Coalition is so evil and we’re all so stupid for supporting it, speech right now!”

“Alright, alright.”  Mike said holding his hands up in defeat.  “Excuse the hell out of me.  Man he’s cranky.” He whispered loudly to John.

“Yeah well, you’d be cranky too if a bunch of vampires decided to kick your door in, in the middle of the night.”  Cort said giving his chair a hard kick for good measure.

“I’ll buy you a new damn chair!”  Mike said throwing his arms up in the air.

“I don’t want a new chair!”  Cort roared.  “I want that chair!  I’ve worn my ass imprint into it just right.  Do you have any idea how long that took?”

“I’m guessing forty years.”  Mike said sarcastically.

“Your goddamn right it took forty years!   Forty of the most comfortable sitting years of my life!  I watched Super Bowl number one in that damn chair!”

“I’m going to go check on Jake.”  John said excusing himself.  Man Pop is upset about Jake. He thought to himself.  He knew the older Bishop was just using the chair as an excuse to vent his frustrations.  He had always been like that.  John supposed it was just easier for him to do that than face what was really eating at him.

John stepped into the room to find Pam checking Jake’s pulse.  “How is he doc?”  he asked leaning against the dented door.

“He’s going to be fine.”  She smiled weakly.  “Just a concussion.  Looks like he hit his head pretty good.”

“Yeah I think something hit the door and Jake got spooked and accidentally fired off a round then tripped over some boxes.  Poor kid.”  He said shaking his head.

“Here, lets get him on his feet and get him into his room.”

“Ummm, might not be such a good idea.”  John said sourly.  “His room has a few of our, ‘guests’ in it.  Well, what’s left of them.”

“Ohhh.  Okay then, where can we lay him?  Let’s get him into the backseat of my truck, I’m taking him and the old man to a hotel.  We all need to get a few hours sleep in before we have to come clean up the place.  Mike and his guys will keep an eye on things until we get back.”

“How’s Jake doing?”  Cort said poking his head around the corner.

“He’s okay, Pop.  It’s just a bad concussion.  We’ll need to keep an eye on him for a few days.”

“Damn.”  Cort cursed.  “The boy should have been ready.  He’s more than old enough.”

“He’s only fourteen, Pop.”  John said.

“That’s a year older than you were when you started training.”  Cort ran his hand through his long gray hair.  “Johnny, he could have been killed tonight.”

“I sure could go for some Poptarts.”  Jake said groggily.  “Cherry Poptarts.  They’re the best . . .”

“Shhh, Jake.”  Pam said touching his forehead.  “Just take it easy, Jake.”

“Yes Mom.”  He muttered.  “Mom?  Mom!  Where have you been?  I’ve missed you so much.”

John sighed then lowered his head to his chest.  “You’re right, Pop.  I hate to say it but it’s time.  I’ll call Billy and get him signed up for the training next year.  If he’s going to do it, he might as well get the best available.”

“Not to rain on your macho vampire killer parade, but why don’t you guys just get out of here?  Move to New York City, or Miami or just about anywhere east of the Mississippi.  Didn’t you say that vampires can’t cross the river?”

“I’m not running again, Pam.”  John said coldly.  “I tried that once.  It didn’t work.”

“I know that, John.”  Pam argued.  “But Julia wouldn’t want this for her son.  You know she wouldn’t.”

“Pam.  Enough.  This is our life.  You chose to stay out of it, we didn’t.”

Pam sighed.  “There is no arguing with you people.”  She said angrily.  “You’re just as stubborn as Billy.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.   I’ll tell you what, next time you get hurt, don’t call me.”  She picked up her bag pulled out two bottles of antibiotics and tossed them at John then headed for the door.  “If Jake gets any worse take him to the ER.  You two, get your wounds stitched up and get on those antibiotics before you both get sick and die.  You know how poisonous those scratches are.  What am I saying?  Of course you know!  You’ve both been scratched at least a hundred times by those monsters!” she stormed out still ranting.

“Well . . . that was awkward.”  John said looking down at his son.

“You’re telling me,” Cort nodded.  “What the hell did she mean by you people?”

“Pop . . .” John shook his head laughing.  “Go pack a bag.  We’re going to a hotel.

“Hotel?  I’m not paying to stay at some damn hotel.”

“I’m paying, Pop.”

“Yeah?  Hell then, lets get going,” He said heading down the hallway to his room.

What I will tell my children

I wrote this about a year ago now.  I was thinking about my children being biracial and growing up in two different worlds and what I should explain to them as they grow older.   This is what I came up with:

What I will tell my children.....

One day, hopefully many years from now, my children will be asked the question:  Are you black or white?  Who do you associate yourself with?  A terrible question I wish from the bottom of my heart they will never have to face,  but one that undeniably will be asked of them.  This is what I hope their answer will be:  “What are you?”  Their reply may be, “I’m white.”  or “I’m black.”  to which I hope my children will respond with a kind smile.  “If that is truly what you believe, then that’s all you ever will be.  For I am neither and I am both.  I am a child of two worlds.  My ancestors owned slaves, my ancestors were slaves.  My ancestors came across the Atlantic in a tiny wooden ship hoping to escape religious persecution.  My ancestors were stolen from their land and sold into slavery.  My ancestors built a country out of nothing with their own two hands.  My ancestors broke their chains and set themselves free nearly a hundred years before the slaves in America.  My ancestors fought and died for their country.  My ancestors fought and died for their freedom.  My ancestors were Haitian.  My ancestors were Americans, both Northern and Southern.  I am a child of both worlds.  I am who I choose to be.  I am me . . . what are you?

Snow Black

So Brains magazine is having a contest to see who can write the best "Undead Fairytale"  So anyway, I'm thinking this will be my entry: 

The last thing Snow White remembered was the apple . . . so deliciously crisp and fresh, far fresher than any beggar should have possessed.  After the first bite the world turned to a muted fog then her knees folded, collapsing her to the frigid cobblestone street.  Then there was only the blackness.  Suffocating blackness, wrapped tightly around her like a blanket over her head.  It had no beginning, no end, it simply was.

Snow White floated weightlessly in the dark. There was no ground, no sky, no moon or stars.  Just that tiny point of light, seemingly just out of reach but at the same time millions of miles away.  Her brain couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Her long ebony hair hung loosely over naked pale white shoulders.  Where are my clothes?  She wondered with only mild concern.  What has happened to me?  Am I dead?  Am I dreaming?

“Snow, my love . . . don’t trust . . . he is not what you think . . .” A lovingly gentle voice long forgotten from her childhood called from the light.

“Mother?”  she exclaimed, not even sure how she knew it was her.  She’d died the day Snow was born.

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall,” another familiar voice, one far more sinister, whispered from the deep dark depths beneath her.

She gasped.  It was her stepmother’s voice.  An icy chill cascaded across her skin, sending goose pimples over her naked flesh.  The last time she’d heard that voice was the night of her father’s death.  She’d been roaming the forgotten dungeons of the castle when she’d come across her mother whispering to a mirror.  Mirror, mirror.  Mirror, mirror.  She’d heard repeated in countless nightmares since that fateful night.  The next morning she’d been exiled into the wilderness by one of her father’s most trusted men.  The Huntsman.

“Hello?” Snow cried out into the abyss.

Hello.  Hello.  Hello. Hello . . . her voice echoed into the darkness.

Hello little Dove,  An unfamiliar man’s voice called softly from nowhere and yet seemingly everywhere.

“Where am I?” she whimpered softly.  “What is this place?”

You are in that place between life and death.  A place known only as The Veil.

“The Veil?  I don’t understand.”  Snow asked, her voice trembling.  “Who are you?”

I am no one.  I am the forgotten.

“Are you God?”  Snow asked, suddenly very aware of her nakedness she covered her bare naked breasts with her hands.  “Am I . . . am I dead?”

God is the Alpha, the beginning.  I am the Omega.

Snow White trembled.  “You didn’t answer my question.  Am I dead?”

Yes and at the same time, most certainly no.  It is an anomaly to say the least.  You are the first mortal to be given a choice.

“What happened to me?”  she shivered.  She didn’t know if it was because of the cold or the man’s inhuman, emotionless voice.  

You were poisoned.

Snow thought back to memories that seemed to have taken place a million years before.  Again her thoughts returned to the old woman with the apple.  “The beggar?  She poisoned me?  Why?”

That beggar . . . that creature, was your stepmother.  The same woman that poisoned your mother and father.  A poison that should have killed you at birth.   If not for your father’s loyal friend she would have murdered you with her own two hands.  She is a devious one that one. He said with a touch of pride.    Even now her army assembles to burn the Dwarven villages from existence, to bury them alive in their mines.  She will kill them all without remorse.  The men, women, and children, all will burn.

“That evil old witch!”  Snow cried out in anguish.  “Why?  They have done nothing to her!  I have never done anything to her!”

The Dwarfs sheltered you.  All of these many years you were hidden right under her very nose.  For that they will all suffer

 “But they are no threat to her!  The Dwarfs are a peaceful, kind people!  They have never hurt anyone!”

Only you, little Dove, can stop her.  It is your destiny.  What you were created to do.

“How?”  Snow stuttered.  “I am just . . . just me!  I cannot possibly kill a queen!  She has guards!  Entire armies at her command!  I would not get within ten miles of her!”

You have great power within you Little Dove. Your mother was a powerful witch.  More powerful than any that came before her.  It was her blood, her spell that spared your life from the poison.  It is why you are here now.  She breathed life into you that cannot easily be snuffed out. 

Snow White bit her bottom lip in anger.  “Tell me how.”

With my help you will bring your stepmother to justice and all of those that serve her.  All I ask in return is for my freedom.

“Your freedom?”

Yes.  I like you have become trapped in this place.  By the creature that now calls herself Queen.  It is you, Snow White that must set me free from this cage.  Only with my help can you destroy her.

“How?”  Snow asked.  “Tell me what must I do?”

At this moment you have a choice.  Life or death.  With one you will have peace and happiness but the Dwarfs will all die terrible agonizing deaths.  With the other you will suffer greatly but with my help you will put a stop to her forever.

“Snow . . . Snow . . . “ her mother’s voice called again from the light but was suddenly silenced.

“Okay.”  Snow White nodded slowly.  “I will do what must be done.  Send me back and I will put an end to her.”

I will send you one of my servants, a great prince.  He will bring you back, but you must promise to set me free.

“She killed my father, she killed my mother.  She tried to kill me.”

Little Dove, The voice said with a touch of humor.  She did kill you.

A rage built up in Snow White that she’d never before felt.  “I will not let her kill the Dwarfs!  They protected me, gave me a home.  I will do whatever it takes to protect them!”

Do you promise to set me free?

“I do so promise.  By my life and soul I will set you free if you give me my revenge.”

Then awaken little Dove, for your prince soon calls.  He shall awaken you with a kiss.

Snow White’s body was thrust through darkness and light, through fire and ice, back into the painful existence of flesh.  She crashed into her poisoned body, her eyes open but her arms and legs unable to move.  She started to scream out in terror but it stuck in her throat.  Not even her freezing cold lips would part.

For hours she lay motionless, staring helplessly at the canopy of snow covered trees that stood above her glass coffin. 

More than once one of her beloved dwarf friends would approach and stand watch over her, shedding tears that would rain down upon the coffin and slowly drip down the side.  I’m alive!  She tried to scream.  Friends, I am yet still alive!  Please help me!  However try as she might they could not hear her.  Insanity pulled at her as she struggled to move a finger, a toe, to blink her excruciatingly dry eyes. 

Shortly before the sunrise her prince finally arrived.  His skin hung loosely from his bones, worms and maggots crawled out of his ears and nose.   A tarnished golden crown hung loosely around his bony skull.

No!  No!  This is not what I wanted!

“You promised Little Dove.”  The Demon’s voice erupted from the corpse’s lips.  “By my life and soul I will set you free if you give me my revenge.” He quoted her.

Please God!  Help me!  She prayed.

“God?” he laughed.  “He cares nothing for you now Little Dove.  Now you are mine!”

The Prince’s bony fist smashed through the glass coffin.  Bits of glass fell, cutting Snow White’s pale skin.  The bony digits wrapped around her neck pulling her closer to his open mouth.  His breath reeked of death and decay.  His mouth enclosed on hers, his mucus covered tongue touched her lips and pushed past into her mouth.

Silent tears fell from Snow White’s unmoving eyes.  I chose life!  I chose life!  She cried out.  The Prince’s teeth sunk deep into her lips drawing blood. 

“No, my little Dove.”  The corpse pulled away from her drawing a long string of blood from her lips.  He licked at it with his black tongue.  “You chose death.”  He smiled a broken tooth bloody smile.  “If you had only chosen the light, you would have lived forever.” 

Snow felt the poison recede and another take it’s place.  It gripped at her organs, her blood, penetrating and warping her very soul.  All of it went black as The Veil.   Her gentle eyes closed tightly, bloody tears stained her rosy cheeks.  When they opened next they were as black as her ebony hair.

Snow smiled and extended her hand.  The dead Prince stepped back and accepted it, helping her from the shattered glass coffin.  Bits of glass cut deep into her legs as she climbed out but she felt none of it.

“Thank you my prince.”  She said brushing off her torn dress and pulling pieces of glass from her face and legs.  “Come.  We have work to do.”

“My dear Snow White.”  He bowed.  “Anything for you.”

“Snow White is dead.”  Her eyes blazed.  “I am Snow Black.”

Omega’s essence pulled out of the dead prince, leaving only dull cloudy eyes.  The dead prince pointed a bony finger toward the Dwarven village less than a mile down the road.  Snow Black shook her head no.  “Leave the Dwarfs.  They are not to be harmed.”

He ignored her command and began walking in that direction anyway. 

“I said, leave them.”  She admonished him.  “You are mine now.  You will do as I command.  Besides.  There are many cemeteries on our way to visit my dear stepmother, many of them filled by her own hands.  Though we must make haste for I fear she will be growing impatient for her army’s return.  Let us not keep her waiting.”

The dead prince nodded that he understood and would obey.

The Huntsman’s armor chaffed tightly around his collar.  For at least the hundredth time that day he pulled at it in vain.  It had been many months since he had last been into battle.  During that time he had gained more than a few pounds and his armor no longer fit properly.  He hated being in the field.  He would much rather be back in his nice warm bed next the fire. 

It didn’t bother him in the slightest that she only used him for her violent whims.  What did bother him was the prospect of losing his head if he did not follow orders.  The last Huntsman had made that mistake when he lied about killing the Queen’s stepdaughter.  She’d tortured the poor man for days on end only ending when the last of his blood finally drained from his veins. 

He lifted the visor on his helmet and turned in the saddle gazing at the three hundred cavalry/archers at his back.  He hated horses, always had, but again orders were orders.  Ahead the tiny Dwarven village sat quietly, tiny puffs of smoke streamed from a dozen different chimneys.

“What are your orders, Sire.”  A man blond haired man who’s name the Huntsman hadn’t bothered to learn asked from his right. 

“What do you think they are?” he replied.  “Raze the bloody village!”

“Any special formations, Sire?”

The Huntsman rolled his eyes, “They’re Dwarfs you fool!  What special tactics could we possibly need?  Charge in and kill them all!”

“Shall we spare the women and children?” the Knight asked.

“Ask another question and your women and children will be next!  I want that village burning in the next minute or I will personally behead and torture your wife and children!  Am I understood?” he screamed, causing his visor to suddenly drop startling him.

“Understood . . . Sire.”  The Knight responded coldly.  He turned in his saddle.  “Archers!  Six volleys!  Set it ablaze!  Cavalry!  Wait for my signal, then give full charge!”

In less than thirty minutes time the village was a burning wasteland.  Screams filled of the dying filled the cold morning air. 

The Huntsman pulled his lance free from a Dwarf woman that had been protecting her three small children.  He’d ridden them down after spitting her through the back.

“We’re searching the hills for survivors now my liege!”  A knight adorned in blood red armor said as he stepped out of his saddle next to the Huntsman.

“Pull the men back.”  The Huntsman ordered, wiping the tip of the lance on the woman’s dress.  “Let the cowards spread the word of what they have seen here today.  So that all shall know the penalty for betraying our queen.”

“My Liege.”  The red knight nodded.

The Huntsman, with help from his two young squires, climbed back onto his saddle with a loud grunt then kicked the two young boys away with his armored boot.  “Prepare to move out!  All . . .” his horse began grunting and stomping the earth.  Around him all the other horses began doing the same.

A lone woman, with a jet-black cloak draped over her shoulders walked into the center of the village.  Another figure stood at her side, his face obscured by a similar cloak.

“Be gone from here wench!”  The Huntsman yelled out trying to control his startled horse.  “This is no place for a woman!”

The woman removed the hood covering her ebony hair.  Her eyes blazed the coldest hardest black the Huntsman had ever seen.  Her companion did the same revealing the decayed head of a man with worms crawling across his face.  A tarnished crown sat loosely upon his brow.

“My God . . . “ The Huntsman whispered, crossing himself.  “Be gone demon!” he cried out in horror.

“Silence!”  the woman screamed in a voice that sent every horse in the village screaming away with their riders still on their backs.  The Huntsman tumbled off his horse and landed heavily in a pile of bodies.

“You murdering cowards!”  she roared.  “These were my people!  You slaughtered them like lambs!”

The Huntsman tried rising to his feet but was unable to get off his back.  “Squires!  Squires!  Where are you miserable little bastards!  Help me to my feet!”

“It’s too late for that now Huntsman.  Your squires are on their way to join your men in death.   Now.  You will serve me!”

“Fat chance Wench!”  The Huntsman rolled onto his side.

She began chanting in a dark ominous language.  “Arise my friends!  Arise and take vengeance on those that have murdered you!  Join me in their destruction!”

The Dwarf bodies the Huntsman lay upon began to squirm and move.  People he’d helped murder mere minutes before began to claw and scratch at his armor, tearing loose fingernails. 

Around him his men pulled their swords and prepared for battle.  Dwarfs with missing limbs, holes through their chest, blood pouring from mouths came pouring out of their burning huts.  Some held pickaxes in their dead hands others used only teeth and nail.  The Knights fought valiantly, desperately chopping and stabbing but their efforts could not stop the onslaught of the undead that poured over them.  Their armor was violently ripped from their bodies.  One by one they fell to the undead Dwarfs.  Through it all Snow Black’s high-pitched laughter eclipsed it all.

The Huntsman rose to his feet.  His armor bent and scratched.  His eyes, lips and nose were missing from his face.  “Well done little Dove.”  Omega’s voice came from the man’s torn and broken mouth.  “Well done.”

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall.”  The Queen asked, smiling at her reflection.  “Who is the most powerful of them all.”

A dark misshapen face replaced her image.  “You are powerful.  There is no denying that.”  The demon in the mirror answered.  “But there is one far more powerful than you.”

The Queen ground her teeth.  “Do not play games with me, demon.  You are my slave now and forever.  So do not insult me.”

“I would not dream of it my . . . queen.” He said grudgingly.  “However I do not lie, there is one stronger than you.”

“What is this creature’s name?”

The demon smiled a crooked smile.  “Snow Black.”

“Snow Bl . . . “ she started to exclaim but the castle’s warning bells began ringing.  “My Queen!  My Queen!”  the head of hear guards exclaimed from outside her door.   “We have . . . we have . . . I am not sure what we have!  It is as if . . . “ he whispered.  “as if the dead are at the city gates!”

“What are you talking about, fool?” she exclaimed rushing forward and jerking open the heavy red curtains that covered her windows.  As far as the eye could see stood thousands upon thousands of the undead.  Dwarfs, soldiers, half rotted corpses buried for years shambled across the fields surrounding the city walls. 

In the middle, sitting upon an undead horse sat the woman once known to her as Snow White.  On one side of her sat the broken corpse of the Queen’s Huntsman on the other a decayed Prince that she had not seen in over two hundred years.  Charming . . . the girl raised Charming from the dead.  Gods of the North help me!   With a wave of her hand Snow Black sent the undead into a mad charge toward the gates.

“Close the gates!  Man the walls!”  the Queen screamed at the Captain.

“But Mi Lady!  Most of our men are in the field quelling the Dwarven Rebellion!  We are undefended!”

So this is how it ends . . . “Lock the doors!  Lock the doors!”  she screamed shoving the guard out the door.  “Stop them!  Send everyone against them!  You have to stop them!  Stop them now! Now!  Now!  NOW!” she stomped her feet like an angry, scared child.

“It is too late now my queen.” The mirror laughed.  “Your time has come.  For I am the Omega, the end of all things.  Even you.”

The door cracked and groaned as dozens of undead dwarfs and knights pressed against it.  The queen cowered in the corner, tears stinging her coal black eyes.  “Please . . . “she begged.  The door crashed open with a thunderous crack as the undead poured into the room.

Snow Black with the undead Huntsman and Prince Charming at her side entered the room.  “Poor, poor little witch.”  Snow Black smiled.

“Please.”  The Queen begged.  “I can make you more powerful than you have ever dreamed!  I know things amazing things!  Please I will show you!”

 “My Prince.”  Snow Black nodded to her companion.  “If you please.”

The prince smiled a mouthful of broken teeth, which he slowly sunk into the queen’s neck.  Black blood sprayed out covering his face and hair.  The queen writhed in pain, her body spasming until with one last kick of her leg she slumped lifelessly to the floor.  After a few seconds she rose again and shambled back and forth.

“Leap from the window.”  Snow Black ordered the undead queen.  Without questioning she turned and through herself over the edge.  Snow watched as she crashed into the ground, splattering her brains over the cobblestone streets below.

“Now little Dove.”  The mirror beckoned.  “Set me free.”

Snow Black turned to her Dwarf followers.  “Bury this cursed thing.  Bury it in your deepest mine.  Seal it, make sure no man will ever find it again.”

“You will pay for this betrayal!”  The mirror quaked. 

“It was you that betrayed me demon.”  Snow Black said coldly.  “If you had told me the truth I would never have . . .”

“Never have what?”  the mirror replied.  “You humans are all the same.  Evil, spiteful creatures.  One day you will return to the veil and you will be mine!”

“Until that day then, demon.  Until that day . . . “ she smiled and evil grin.  “the Earth is mine.”

“We shall see about that.”  The mirror smiled.  “You cannot trap me forever.”

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not. “ Snow replied.  “For now the dead and the living alike will serve me, and you my friend.  You will spend your days in a very dark hole.”