Chapter One
a thirteen-year-old girl took shape. Striker had called forth Darla Jade.
She wobbled on top of her grave struggling to stand on legs stiff from rigor mortis. Fragments of a faded dress shredded from dry rot stuck to her trembling body. There was a time when this was her best dress. She wore it to her first dance. She wore it to Sunday school. But that was long ago.
The pain was intense as her soul grew into a new body. Darla shed her old body like a lizard peels it's skin. A bug ran out of her tangled brown hair and scurried down the back of her neck. She jumped and squealed. Frantically, she tried to stomp the bugs as they fell off her body and ran across the ground.
The night breeze tingled as it blew across her new skin and through her soul. She shivered as her new body came to life. Darla became aware of her surroundings. She glanced around nervously. Her sparkling blue eyes were the only remainder from a life once lived. Darla struggled to understand. What was happening? Her thoughts ended abruptly as Striker yanked the chain with such force she stumbled and nearly fell. She quickly regained her footing and scrambled after him. Every time she lagged, the chain was yanked. Never once did the Ghoul look back. Never once did he care. Striker continued through the cemetery calling up three more souls.
They stopped in the oldest section of the cemetery. The ground was barren and dry with scattered clumps of stiff brown grass. The wind howled like ghosts riding wisps of dust across long forgotten mounds. Recognizable graves were few and far between. The dead in this place had been forgotten long ago. Darla felt hopeless as she waited on Striker. Those seconds ticked away like an eternity. She was alone and knew it. Tonight, there would be no hero to save her from this terrible nightmare.
Darla looked at the others. A frail blue-haired old lady trembled, while a chubby red-headed boy sobbed silently beside her. A handsome sixteen-year old boy with piercing green eyes stood to the side. He was still and quiet like deep water. She could tell he was on the edge of exploding like a cornered cat. A quick glance from him told her he was scared, but wasn't about to show it. Given a different time and place she might have found him attractive. He was one of those handsome bad boys who would draw a girl's eye. But not tonight, she had more pressing problems.
Darla didn't know what was coming next. Nobody wanted to know. They were scared to the depths of their being. Whatever tonight had in store for them, it wasn't going to be good.
Slowly, Striker turned and faced the souls. He extended his rail-thin arm into the night sky. The wind whipped his ragged sleeve back exposing a long skinny hand. The pale white bones of his fingers jutted through tattered patches of wrinkled dry skin. He rotated his hand palm up, and it began to glow a faint gold, growing brighter and brighter until the night air opened. Floating in the darkness, in a pit of Nothing, was a Golden Key of pure light. His hand shot forward with the speed of a striking cobra and yanked the key out. With a clap of thunder, the Nothing snapped shut, sending a ripple across time and space.
Darla broke down. Had she lost her mind? From what she'd seen so far, tonight was going to end bad. Tears streaked down her dirty cheeks as she cried. Striker turned his attention to Johnny. The dark-haired boy glanced at Darla. She watched his eyes fill with fear. Striker unlocked his shackles with the Golden Key and dropped them. They sank into the Earth and headed back to where they came from. The Ghoul stared into his eyes and within seconds had read the entire story of Johnny's life. Striker spoke a single word. It came from a place that cannot be found. Heard, yet not heard, as it floated across the Dimensions. "Evil!"
The ground shook and the Earth split open. A spinning black vortex shot toward the surface with the force of a Kansas tornado. Swirling in the vortex's howling wind came the tortured voices of the damned. The stench of smoke and brimstone filled the air. Thousands of tiny Demons rode like cowboys chasing a whirlwind on the raising smoke. Like an army of spiders, thousands more Demons scrambled up the inside walls of the vortex. Hell rushed forward eager to accept the new guest.
In a mass of rippling darkness, hoard after hoard of Demons swarmed out of the abyss into the cemetery. The black wave rolled across the ground straight for Johnny. Like an army of giant ants, they scrambled up his legs and took him down. Razor-sharp teeth and jagged claws ripped and tore his flesh. Pain shot through him as the Demons pulled him toward the abyss. Tiny voices laughed with Demonic glee. Johnny screamed! He looked at Darla. His eyes begged for help. She did nothing. She was frozen by the sight of the tiny Demons.
He cried out in terror.
She didn't move. Darla was afraid. All she could do was fear the worst . . . Was she next? Johnny grabbed frantically at the dirt. He couldn't stop the Demons as he was slowly pulled across the dusty ground.
The souls panicked and jumped away from Johnny. Darla stumbled and fell on her back. In the flash of an eye, hundreds of Demons swarmed out of the vortex. Before she could move, they were upon her. Claws dug in her ankles, and pain shot through her legs. They began pulling her toward the abyss. She screamed and kicked. More Demons swarmed her. Darla grabbed the chain between her shackles and swung it into the Demons. The impact sent them flying. She swung left, then right. Again and again, she swung the chain. Darla felt strong. Something gave her strength. What was this new power? There were too many Demons. They kept coming and coming.
Striker looked at Darla. He hesitated a moment. Could she be? Is she the One? He turned and cursed the Demons in the language of Hell. Their tiny voices squealed in pain as they scrambled back into the vortex. The night air thickened under the weight of the cursed language. Darla's ears burned. Her head throbbed and a trickle of blood ran from her nose. Was this Ghoul going to send her to Hell? She scampered to her feet and ran behind Striker with the others. At least for now, the Ghoul had kept the Demons at bay.
Johnny begged, "No! This can't be right. Don't send me there! Nooooo . . ." The night howled as if banshees rode the wind. Johnny screamed as he dropped in the swirling darkness. Hell's gates squeaked as they opened eager to accept him. The laughter of a million Demons drown out his cries for help. Hellfire shot up the vortex and grabbed his ankles. It drained the last drop of hope he had left. Johnny became an empty shell as fire engulfed his soul. Like the snap of a bullwhip, he was sucked down with blinding speed. The abyss snapped shut, and instantly the night was silent. The wind stopped. Except for the rancid stench of smoke and brimstone, no evidence of the horrific event had been left behind.
Striker grabbed the chains and yanked the rest of the souls out from behind him. He unlocked the shackles of the feeble old lady. His gaze paralyzed her as he read her life. "Evil!" Hell gleefully swallowed another soul. Striker turned and faced Darla. Dropping to her knees, she shook with fear. She didn't want to go to Hell. It was too late to repent, and she knew it. There was no question whether Heaven or Hell existed. The answer was crystal clear. Panic swelled within her. Doubt set in. What if she didn't make it? She couldn't spend eternity in Hell. She just couldn't. Darla prayed under her breath. "Please . . . Oh, please, don't let this be—" Her words froze as Striker locked her in his gaze.
Darla floated in the air dangling like a limp rag doll, while Striker scanned her deepest memories. She tried to resist, but couldn't. He saw her darkest secrets. Those seconds became an eternity as she lived the memories of her life. It was like watching herself in a movie. Her sins, her secrets, everything was exposed, baring her faults and dashing her hopes. She felt violated. She was ashamed. There was nothing she could do but watch as they unfolded in her mind. Darla became lost in the dream that was once her life. She knew that after you're dead, there are no secrets. Nothing is hidden! Coming from somewhere far, far, away, she heard a single word "Good!" It echoed inside her head, growing louder and louder until she fell to the ground, released from Striker's stare.
Instantly, her fear was gone. Darla felt renewed as a wave of freshness flooded her soul. Indescribable happiness embraced her heart and joy filled her mind. The sky opened, and tiny splinters of light gently extended toward her. Growing larger and longer, the splinters whirled around and around, until they become a spinning white vortex sparkling like a strobe in the darkness. The sweet fragrance of honey and flowers after a fresh rain filled the air. Darla inhaled deep and smiled as soft Angelic singing floated down from Heaven. She felt light, as light as air. Darla was gently pulled into the vortex, her soul growing brighter and brighter as she ascended toward Heaven.
Angelic singing grew louder as it floated through the cemetery. All living creatures, birds and bugs alike joined in celebration with the Heavenly host. Singing and dancing with joyous rapture, the cemetery came alive with the sound of music. Moonbeams danced and grass swayed. All life moved to the rhythm of Heaven's song. Everything and everyone except Striker. He remained still and solemn, like a stone statue. The vortex snapped shut with a flash of brilliant light. The last thing Darla remembered was the word "Good." The pain was intense. Johnny struggled to understand as he fell deeper and deeper in the darkness. The speed of the fall turned his stomach. Demons tore his flesh. The fire burned. It was hard to think. True, he was into Death Metal and Black Magic. But they said that stuff wasn't real. Besides, he never believed it was real in the first place. He screamed. "Why should I have to pay?"
Being Evil was how he made a statement of his own. Johnny liked the dark side, mainly because it bothered his parents. He showed the world he could do what he wanted. It was his life, good or bad. Nobody had the right to say anything. He never cared what people thought of him anyway. What he wanted, was all that mattered. He was all that mattered. No rules, no laws, Johnny was a rebel to the core.
It was painfully clear those lies were behind him. Like it or not, Hell did exist. He knew he'd soon learn