Fic: Resort Bréagadóir chapter 8B/10
Fic: Resort Bréagadóir
Season: 2
Category: General, Action, Humour
Rating: T for language
Warnings: Set immediately before Season 2 finale and contains clowns, rats, tunnels, wet Sam, frypan-wielding cooks, puking, teddy bears, naked Dean, tasers, runaway trains, and lots of other weird stuff - oh, and something really gross...and did I mention naked Dean?
Total Word Count: 54,348 words
Chapter 8 word count: 5234 words
Chapters: 10
Tagline: The boys win a holiday at a luxury resort - but is it really the holiday of a lifetime, or the stuff of nightmares?
Banner by Chasidern:
{C}{C}
* * * * *
Chapter 8 part 2
Letting out a wild yell that was three parts pure terror, Sam lowered his head and charged forward, his shoulder hitting the McDonalds clown in the belly. The breath whooshed from Ronald’s lungs and he doubled over, collapsing over Sam’s back as his feet left the ground. The panic-stricken hunter spun around, hefting his nemesis over his shoulder as he sprinted back toward the bottomless shaft.
Ronald screeched and tried to grab onto Sam’s shirt as he saw the direction he was being carried in. Sam’s shaking hands grabbed him, and the young hunter tipped his body forward, sliding the clown off his shoulder and tossing him feet-first down into the pitch-black abyss. He staggered back a few steps and watched, chest heaving, as the brightly coloured figure disappeared down the shaft, his high-pitched scream echoing off the walls as he vanished into the dark.
“Stick that between two all beef patties on a sesame seed bun, asshole!” Sam ran his trembling hands through his hair and picked up the dropped lighter. His pounding heart gradually slowed back to its normal steady rhythm, and he closed his eyes briefly as he drew in great gulps of air. “Oh, God - I never - ever - want to do that again…” Stumbling slightly, he continued on his way, the tiny amber flame dancing in the gloom.
The ground grew rougher as he walked further away from the shaft. Small rocks jutted from the hard packed dirt surface, causing him to stumble occasionally, the flickering light making it hard for him to see the obstacles. Sam felt as though he had been walking for miles, even though he knew it had only been just over an hour. He cast an uneasy glance at the cigarette lighter, biting his lip as he saw that the flame was noticeably smaller than the last time he checked. The lighter was rapidly running out of fluid. He peered into the gloom ahead, and cocked his head to the side.
Is it my imagination, or is that a light up ahead? Sam flicked the lighter off, and closed his eyes. After a few moments he opened his eyes again, and put a hand up in front of his face. He could see the faint outline of his fingers. Looking ahead, he could just make out the tiny glow further down the tunnel. “Thank God.” Shoving the nearly spent lighter into his jeans pocket, he continued walking toward the glow, hoping it would lead to a way out.
The rocky, broken ground he’d been traversing gradually gave way to a rough path made from old wood planks, and his pace picked up to a fast walk as he found the going firmer underfoot. The faint glow gradually grew bigger, and he broke into a jog, chuckling to himself. “Hell, there really is light at the end of the tunnel.”
Sam’s surroundings came into sharper focus with the increase of illumination, and he could now make out the contours of the rough-hewn walls. Glancing at the floor, he saw that he was now jogging along between the rusted iron rails of an old train line. The glow up ahead increased steadily, and he could hear a dull rushing noise in the distance, like air through a blowhole. Must be nearing a break in the tunnel…Sam slowed to a fast walk, and the glow grew steadily brighter, now accompanied by a whooshing sound, not unlike steam escaping. Under it all came the faint, dull throb of an engine.
The tall hunter slowed to an uncertain halt as the hair on the back of his neck rose. Steam? What the hell would a steam engine be doing down here? Peering down the length of the tunnel, Sam frowned as he saw the light flare into blinding brilliance, and he took a cautious step backwards, shielding his eyes with his forearm. A faint, intermittent chuff-chuff came to his ears, slowly becoming louder and more frequent. The sudden blast of a steam whistle nearly had him jumping out of his skin, and his jaw dropped in horror as his brain finally connected the dots on all the sounds issuing from further down the tunnel. “Oh, holy crap - there’s a light at the end of the tunnel all right - but it’s the friggin’ train coming!”
Another blast of the steam whistle had the psychic spinning on his heel and sprinting at top speed back down the way he came, as the steam train roared after him at breakneck speed.
* * * * *
Maggie stood at the entrance to the resort foyer and watched her staff carry the unconscious hunter out across the grounds. Wendy stood beside the Trickster, her hand held above her eyes to shade them from the reflected glare of the afternoon sun bouncing off the wall of the sauna. She glanced up at her creator.
“When?”
“Tonight, just after sunset.”
“And the other one?”
Maggie smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, my pet - you won’t get another chance to play. His time has come.”
* * * * *
Sam ran for his life, scanning frantically for a side tunnel, or even a gap in the wall big enough to wedge his body into. The train bore down on him, every blast of the steam whistle sending his heart racing faster, until he though it would burst right through his chest wall.
Spotting a deeper shadow on the wall to his right, the young hunter threw himself frantically across the tracks, slamming into an old wooden door just as the train roared past in a cloud of steam. The door splintered, caving in under the impact, and Sam felt himself falling through into the darkness beyond. He hit the ground flat on his belly, and dust rose in a choking cloud all around him. Coughing, he rolled to his knees, fingers searching for his trusty cigarette lighter.
The tiny flame flickered into existence, and Sam found himself in another tunnel, this one much smaller than the main one. Cobwebs festooned the tiny space, hanging down from the ceiling like a gauzy curtain. Dust coated every surface, and drifted sluggishly through the slightly stale air. Sam coughed a few more times, and wiped the dust from his eyes as he got to his feet. Stretching up, he found that he could touch the ceiling with his fingertips. Sam cleared his throat, and pushed the clinging cobwebs from his face as he began to search the tiny tunnel.
Pushing more of the cobwebs aside, Sam frowned in the dull light as he made out tangles of fine fibres poking through the ceiling. He held the cigarette lighter up closer, and a smile broke out on his grimy face as he touched the bundles, identifying them as the roots of trees.
The psychic swept the lighter around in a slow circle, grinning widely as he saw bits and pieces of broken equipment littering the rubble-strewn floor. “I think I just struck gold - I must be down in the woods, and by the look of some of those roots, I can’t be that far underground. Finally something’s gone right today!” Setting the lighter carefully on a projection of rock jutting from the left hand wall, Sam quickly set about gathering a pile of flat rocks and broken timbers, making a platform of sorts. He tested the stability of his improvised step stool by standing on it and jumping up and down a few times. The pile shifted slightly, and then settled, and Sam found he could reach the ceiling easily.
Sam stepped off the pile and searched the ground again, finding the broken blade of a long-discarded shovel. He returned to his step stool and dug the piece of jagged metal into the ceiling, sighing with relief as the soil broke away easily. He settled his feet more firmly on his makeshift stool, and began to dig.
* * * * *
Dean groaned his way back to consciousness. His head pounded, and nausea cramped his stomach as he opened his eyes and stared up at the late afternoon sky. It took his chloroform-and-taser dulled mind a few seconds to work out why he was staring up at the sky. He gingerly turned his head, swallowing rapidly to keep his stomach contents inside his stomach, and found he was lying flat on his back on some kind of raised wooden structure. The groggy hunter tried to raise a hand to his spinning head, and made a much more unpleasant discovery - he couldn’t move his arms. “What the…” Dean frowned, squinting at the thick rope that bound his wrists. “Oh, Jeez - I am in deep crap…” He tried to move his legs, and found that the same thick, rough rope also bound his ankles. “Yep, I’m definitely in deep crap…” The hunter pulled experimentally at the ropes, and sighed gustily as the bindings held him fast.
Raising his head, he tried to look around him, and was stunned to find that he was in a small clearing at the edge of the woods. To his right was the rolling green lawn of the resort golf course, with the main building gleaming brightly in the late afternoon sun. A gentle breeze drifted through the sparse trees, and caressed his skin, and Dean jerked in shock as he directed his gaze down toward his chest. “Oh, Jeez - I’m freakin’ naked? Ah, that’s just great…”
A rustling noise snapped his gaze to the left, and he pulled frantically on the ropes as a robed figure stepped from the trees, a load of sticks and small branches in the crook of its arm. The shadowed opening of the hood turned briefly toward him, and then the figure stooped, laying the kindling in a neat pile on the ground a few yards from the bound hunter.
The hooded figure straightened up, and approached the struggling man, reaching out to test the bindings. Dean glared up into the opening of the hood, recognising Betty’s motherly features. “Hey! What the hell are you doing? What the hell’s going on?”
Betty glanced down at him, her face expressionless, and turned without a word, making her way back into the trees. A few minutes later, she returned with another armload of kindling, and stacked it carefully on top of the first pile. Dean’s mouth dropped open. “A freakin’ bonfire? You’re building a freakin’ bonfire? What the hell’s going on here?”
The middle aged woman smiled enigmatically, and Dean felt a shiver trail its icy fingers down his spine. She faded off into the trees again and again, bringing back an armload of firewood each time. Dean watched with growing apprehension as Sam’s frisky sauna woman slowly built up the bonfire stack until it was about six feet high, and three feet in diameter. She then proceeded to build an identical stack on the other side of the structure where he was tied.
“Hey - what the hell is going on? Answer me, dammit!” Clamping down on his rising fear, Dean channelled it into anger, and jerked at his bindings with renewed vigour. “Answer me, bitch!”
Betty straightened from her task, and wagged a finger in the agitated hunter’s direction. “Temper, temper, sugar. Just be patient - you’ll see.” She sauntered over to the side of the platform, and her predatory gaze roamed over Dean’s muscular body. “Mmm, what a pretty boy, you are, sugar. You’ll do just perfectly.”
“I will?” Dean swallowed nervously. “Hey, look, lady - if it’s kinky sex you want, all you had to do was ask…”
Betty ran a hand down his chest, and he twitched. “Oh, sugar - it’s not sex we want you for. It’s something starting with S, though.” She patted Dean’s shoulder as his eyes blew wide. “Won’t be long now, sugar. Sunset’s not far off.”
The woman walked away, and Dean thumped his head against the wooden platform. “Something starting with S? Oh, Jeez - I am in deep crap…” Sacrifice - this isn’t a platform - it’s a freakin’ altar, and they’re gonna sacrifice me…where the hell is Sammy? A cold sweat broke out over his naked body as the sun dipped behind the main building, leaving the woods in shadow. He rolled his head to the side and eyed the bonfire stacks. “Sam, where the hell are you?”
* * * * *
The setting sun painted the sky with a brilliant display of pink and orange brush-strokes, but Dean had no eye for the beauty of the evening. His eyes were on the procession of four robed figures making their way slowly across the deserted golf course, carrying flaming torches. “Ah, Jeez…” He pulled futilely at the ropes, feeling the sting as his wrists and ankles were scraped raw by the coarse hemp. The hunter bit his lip, and watched warily as the new arrivals surrounded the altar, staring down at him. He squirmed uncomfortably under their scrutiny, acutely aware that he was naked and helpless. Sammy, now would be a good time for the cavalry to come charging over the hill, dude…
The woman at the head of the altar raised her arm. “Light the Beltane fires!”
Two of the robed women nodded, raising their torches. They walked to the piles of kindling, lowered the torches, and touched the flames to the base of the bonfire stacks. Soon the clearing was lit by a flickering yellow glow, and the women returned to their place by the altar.
“Hey - what’s going on? What the hell are…” Dean broke off as the leader bent toward him.
“It won’t be long now, my sweet.”
Dean’s eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat, as the woman reached under her robe, and withdrew a wicked, long bladed knife from her belt. She held it up, turning the blade slowly in the glow from the Beltane fires, the flickering flames reflecting back into her eyes.
“Soon, my sweet - very soon.”
“What - why are you doing this?”
Maisie from the sauna pushed back her hood, settling it on her shoulders as she gazed down at the helpless young man. “It’s Oidhche Bhealtaine - the Eve of Bealtane, a time of renewal, of fertility - the Rite of Summer.”
“Beal - Bealtane?”
“The First of May. It is a time of purification and transition, a time to ensure a good harvest.” Maisie ran her hand across Dean’s ribs and down over his belly, and the hunter tried to jerk away from the invasive touch. The woman laughed delightedly. “You will ensure a good harvest, my sweet. You are the perfect sacrifice.” Her hand trailed down across his muscular thighs.
Dean’s heart hammered in his chest. “But - but it’s not the first of May.”
Maisie raised the hand holding the knife, and brought the blade down slowly, lying it on its side and letting the cold steel glide across Dean’s chest. His muscles twitched. “You will ensure our harvest.” The knife slowly slid across his sweat-slicked body.
“It’s not the first of May!” Dean yelled desperately.
Maisie turned away, and the other women pushed back their hoods. Dean’s eyes bugged as he recognised Grace standing near the foot of the altar. She smiled, and the firelight danced in her eyes, creating an eerie yellow glow in their dark depths. Maisie gestured with the knife. “Lou-Ann, Betty - bring the juniper boughs.”
The two older women nodded solemnly, and faded off into the trees, returning moments later with an armload of dark green branches. They walked to the bonfires, and carefully laid the branches across the top of the flames. Immediately, thick fragrant smoke wafted up from the flames, and Maisie stepped away from the sacrificial altar, raising her arms above her head. The other two women joined Grace, standing before their leader, and clasped their hands together.
“Let the purification ritual begin!”
* * * * *
Dun-dun-dunnnnnnn
Previous Next
Season: 2
Category: General, Action, Humour
Rating: T for language
Warnings: Set immediately before Season 2 finale and contains clowns, rats, tunnels, wet Sam, frypan-wielding cooks, puking, teddy bears, naked Dean, tasers, runaway trains, and lots of other weird stuff - oh, and something really gross...and did I mention naked Dean?
Total Word Count: 54,348 words
Chapter 8 word count: 5234 words
Chapters: 10
Tagline: The boys win a holiday at a luxury resort - but is it really the holiday of a lifetime, or the stuff of nightmares?
Banner by Chasidern:
{C}{C}
* * * * *
Chapter 8 part 2
Letting out a wild yell that was three parts pure terror, Sam lowered his head and charged forward, his shoulder hitting the McDonalds clown in the belly. The breath whooshed from Ronald’s lungs and he doubled over, collapsing over Sam’s back as his feet left the ground. The panic-stricken hunter spun around, hefting his nemesis over his shoulder as he sprinted back toward the bottomless shaft.
Ronald screeched and tried to grab onto Sam’s shirt as he saw the direction he was being carried in. Sam’s shaking hands grabbed him, and the young hunter tipped his body forward, sliding the clown off his shoulder and tossing him feet-first down into the pitch-black abyss. He staggered back a few steps and watched, chest heaving, as the brightly coloured figure disappeared down the shaft, his high-pitched scream echoing off the walls as he vanished into the dark.
“Stick that between two all beef patties on a sesame seed bun, asshole!” Sam ran his trembling hands through his hair and picked up the dropped lighter. His pounding heart gradually slowed back to its normal steady rhythm, and he closed his eyes briefly as he drew in great gulps of air. “Oh, God - I never - ever - want to do that again…” Stumbling slightly, he continued on his way, the tiny amber flame dancing in the gloom.
The ground grew rougher as he walked further away from the shaft. Small rocks jutted from the hard packed dirt surface, causing him to stumble occasionally, the flickering light making it hard for him to see the obstacles. Sam felt as though he had been walking for miles, even though he knew it had only been just over an hour. He cast an uneasy glance at the cigarette lighter, biting his lip as he saw that the flame was noticeably smaller than the last time he checked. The lighter was rapidly running out of fluid. He peered into the gloom ahead, and cocked his head to the side.
Is it my imagination, or is that a light up ahead? Sam flicked the lighter off, and closed his eyes. After a few moments he opened his eyes again, and put a hand up in front of his face. He could see the faint outline of his fingers. Looking ahead, he could just make out the tiny glow further down the tunnel. “Thank God.” Shoving the nearly spent lighter into his jeans pocket, he continued walking toward the glow, hoping it would lead to a way out.
The rocky, broken ground he’d been traversing gradually gave way to a rough path made from old wood planks, and his pace picked up to a fast walk as he found the going firmer underfoot. The faint glow gradually grew bigger, and he broke into a jog, chuckling to himself. “Hell, there really is light at the end of the tunnel.”
Sam’s surroundings came into sharper focus with the increase of illumination, and he could now make out the contours of the rough-hewn walls. Glancing at the floor, he saw that he was now jogging along between the rusted iron rails of an old train line. The glow up ahead increased steadily, and he could hear a dull rushing noise in the distance, like air through a blowhole. Must be nearing a break in the tunnel…Sam slowed to a fast walk, and the glow grew steadily brighter, now accompanied by a whooshing sound, not unlike steam escaping. Under it all came the faint, dull throb of an engine.
The tall hunter slowed to an uncertain halt as the hair on the back of his neck rose. Steam? What the hell would a steam engine be doing down here? Peering down the length of the tunnel, Sam frowned as he saw the light flare into blinding brilliance, and he took a cautious step backwards, shielding his eyes with his forearm. A faint, intermittent chuff-chuff came to his ears, slowly becoming louder and more frequent. The sudden blast of a steam whistle nearly had him jumping out of his skin, and his jaw dropped in horror as his brain finally connected the dots on all the sounds issuing from further down the tunnel. “Oh, holy crap - there’s a light at the end of the tunnel all right - but it’s the friggin’ train coming!”
Another blast of the steam whistle had the psychic spinning on his heel and sprinting at top speed back down the way he came, as the steam train roared after him at breakneck speed.
* * * * *
Maggie stood at the entrance to the resort foyer and watched her staff carry the unconscious hunter out across the grounds. Wendy stood beside the Trickster, her hand held above her eyes to shade them from the reflected glare of the afternoon sun bouncing off the wall of the sauna. She glanced up at her creator.
“When?”
“Tonight, just after sunset.”
“And the other one?”
Maggie smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, my pet - you won’t get another chance to play. His time has come.”
* * * * *
Sam ran for his life, scanning frantically for a side tunnel, or even a gap in the wall big enough to wedge his body into. The train bore down on him, every blast of the steam whistle sending his heart racing faster, until he though it would burst right through his chest wall.
Spotting a deeper shadow on the wall to his right, the young hunter threw himself frantically across the tracks, slamming into an old wooden door just as the train roared past in a cloud of steam. The door splintered, caving in under the impact, and Sam felt himself falling through into the darkness beyond. He hit the ground flat on his belly, and dust rose in a choking cloud all around him. Coughing, he rolled to his knees, fingers searching for his trusty cigarette lighter.
The tiny flame flickered into existence, and Sam found himself in another tunnel, this one much smaller than the main one. Cobwebs festooned the tiny space, hanging down from the ceiling like a gauzy curtain. Dust coated every surface, and drifted sluggishly through the slightly stale air. Sam coughed a few more times, and wiped the dust from his eyes as he got to his feet. Stretching up, he found that he could touch the ceiling with his fingertips. Sam cleared his throat, and pushed the clinging cobwebs from his face as he began to search the tiny tunnel.
Pushing more of the cobwebs aside, Sam frowned in the dull light as he made out tangles of fine fibres poking through the ceiling. He held the cigarette lighter up closer, and a smile broke out on his grimy face as he touched the bundles, identifying them as the roots of trees.
The psychic swept the lighter around in a slow circle, grinning widely as he saw bits and pieces of broken equipment littering the rubble-strewn floor. “I think I just struck gold - I must be down in the woods, and by the look of some of those roots, I can’t be that far underground. Finally something’s gone right today!” Setting the lighter carefully on a projection of rock jutting from the left hand wall, Sam quickly set about gathering a pile of flat rocks and broken timbers, making a platform of sorts. He tested the stability of his improvised step stool by standing on it and jumping up and down a few times. The pile shifted slightly, and then settled, and Sam found he could reach the ceiling easily.
Sam stepped off the pile and searched the ground again, finding the broken blade of a long-discarded shovel. He returned to his step stool and dug the piece of jagged metal into the ceiling, sighing with relief as the soil broke away easily. He settled his feet more firmly on his makeshift stool, and began to dig.
* * * * *
Dean groaned his way back to consciousness. His head pounded, and nausea cramped his stomach as he opened his eyes and stared up at the late afternoon sky. It took his chloroform-and-taser dulled mind a few seconds to work out why he was staring up at the sky. He gingerly turned his head, swallowing rapidly to keep his stomach contents inside his stomach, and found he was lying flat on his back on some kind of raised wooden structure. The groggy hunter tried to raise a hand to his spinning head, and made a much more unpleasant discovery - he couldn’t move his arms. “What the…” Dean frowned, squinting at the thick rope that bound his wrists. “Oh, Jeez - I am in deep crap…” He tried to move his legs, and found that the same thick, rough rope also bound his ankles. “Yep, I’m definitely in deep crap…” The hunter pulled experimentally at the ropes, and sighed gustily as the bindings held him fast.
Raising his head, he tried to look around him, and was stunned to find that he was in a small clearing at the edge of the woods. To his right was the rolling green lawn of the resort golf course, with the main building gleaming brightly in the late afternoon sun. A gentle breeze drifted through the sparse trees, and caressed his skin, and Dean jerked in shock as he directed his gaze down toward his chest. “Oh, Jeez - I’m freakin’ naked? Ah, that’s just great…”
A rustling noise snapped his gaze to the left, and he pulled frantically on the ropes as a robed figure stepped from the trees, a load of sticks and small branches in the crook of its arm. The shadowed opening of the hood turned briefly toward him, and then the figure stooped, laying the kindling in a neat pile on the ground a few yards from the bound hunter.
The hooded figure straightened up, and approached the struggling man, reaching out to test the bindings. Dean glared up into the opening of the hood, recognising Betty’s motherly features. “Hey! What the hell are you doing? What the hell’s going on?”
Betty glanced down at him, her face expressionless, and turned without a word, making her way back into the trees. A few minutes later, she returned with another armload of kindling, and stacked it carefully on top of the first pile. Dean’s mouth dropped open. “A freakin’ bonfire? You’re building a freakin’ bonfire? What the hell’s going on here?”
The middle aged woman smiled enigmatically, and Dean felt a shiver trail its icy fingers down his spine. She faded off into the trees again and again, bringing back an armload of firewood each time. Dean watched with growing apprehension as Sam’s frisky sauna woman slowly built up the bonfire stack until it was about six feet high, and three feet in diameter. She then proceeded to build an identical stack on the other side of the structure where he was tied.
“Hey - what the hell is going on? Answer me, dammit!” Clamping down on his rising fear, Dean channelled it into anger, and jerked at his bindings with renewed vigour. “Answer me, bitch!”
Betty straightened from her task, and wagged a finger in the agitated hunter’s direction. “Temper, temper, sugar. Just be patient - you’ll see.” She sauntered over to the side of the platform, and her predatory gaze roamed over Dean’s muscular body. “Mmm, what a pretty boy, you are, sugar. You’ll do just perfectly.”
“I will?” Dean swallowed nervously. “Hey, look, lady - if it’s kinky sex you want, all you had to do was ask…”
Betty ran a hand down his chest, and he twitched. “Oh, sugar - it’s not sex we want you for. It’s something starting with S, though.” She patted Dean’s shoulder as his eyes blew wide. “Won’t be long now, sugar. Sunset’s not far off.”
The woman walked away, and Dean thumped his head against the wooden platform. “Something starting with S? Oh, Jeez - I am in deep crap…” Sacrifice - this isn’t a platform - it’s a freakin’ altar, and they’re gonna sacrifice me…where the hell is Sammy? A cold sweat broke out over his naked body as the sun dipped behind the main building, leaving the woods in shadow. He rolled his head to the side and eyed the bonfire stacks. “Sam, where the hell are you?”
* * * * *
The setting sun painted the sky with a brilliant display of pink and orange brush-strokes, but Dean had no eye for the beauty of the evening. His eyes were on the procession of four robed figures making their way slowly across the deserted golf course, carrying flaming torches. “Ah, Jeez…” He pulled futilely at the ropes, feeling the sting as his wrists and ankles were scraped raw by the coarse hemp. The hunter bit his lip, and watched warily as the new arrivals surrounded the altar, staring down at him. He squirmed uncomfortably under their scrutiny, acutely aware that he was naked and helpless. Sammy, now would be a good time for the cavalry to come charging over the hill, dude…
The woman at the head of the altar raised her arm. “Light the Beltane fires!”
Two of the robed women nodded, raising their torches. They walked to the piles of kindling, lowered the torches, and touched the flames to the base of the bonfire stacks. Soon the clearing was lit by a flickering yellow glow, and the women returned to their place by the altar.
“Hey - what’s going on? What the hell are…” Dean broke off as the leader bent toward him.
“It won’t be long now, my sweet.”
Dean’s eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat, as the woman reached under her robe, and withdrew a wicked, long bladed knife from her belt. She held it up, turning the blade slowly in the glow from the Beltane fires, the flickering flames reflecting back into her eyes.
“Soon, my sweet - very soon.”
“What - why are you doing this?”
Maisie from the sauna pushed back her hood, settling it on her shoulders as she gazed down at the helpless young man. “It’s Oidhche Bhealtaine - the Eve of Bealtane, a time of renewal, of fertility - the Rite of Summer.”
“Beal - Bealtane?”
“The First of May. It is a time of purification and transition, a time to ensure a good harvest.” Maisie ran her hand across Dean’s ribs and down over his belly, and the hunter tried to jerk away from the invasive touch. The woman laughed delightedly. “You will ensure a good harvest, my sweet. You are the perfect sacrifice.” Her hand trailed down across his muscular thighs.
Dean’s heart hammered in his chest. “But - but it’s not the first of May.”
Maisie raised the hand holding the knife, and brought the blade down slowly, lying it on its side and letting the cold steel glide across Dean’s chest. His muscles twitched. “You will ensure our harvest.” The knife slowly slid across his sweat-slicked body.
“It’s not the first of May!” Dean yelled desperately.
Maisie turned away, and the other women pushed back their hoods. Dean’s eyes bugged as he recognised Grace standing near the foot of the altar. She smiled, and the firelight danced in her eyes, creating an eerie yellow glow in their dark depths. Maisie gestured with the knife. “Lou-Ann, Betty - bring the juniper boughs.”
The two older women nodded solemnly, and faded off into the trees, returning moments later with an armload of dark green branches. They walked to the bonfires, and carefully laid the branches across the top of the flames. Immediately, thick fragrant smoke wafted up from the flames, and Maisie stepped away from the sacrificial altar, raising her arms above her head. The other two women joined Grace, standing before their leader, and clasped their hands together.
“Let the purification ritual begin!”
* * * * *
Dun-dun-dunnnnnnn
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