Nulled Terror

Word Count: 1,115 words in total.

The graveyard was quiet... Too quiet. It was not a sunny day, in fact it was desolate as the skeletal Trrikenspyre awoke and inserted itself into an innocuous object. A radio. Noone would buy it. Just then someone who looked like a man in his mid-forties, picked it up and turned it around briefly, inspecting its quality. Intrigued, the elderly man decided to barter the item into a backyard sale a few metres down the road to the cementary, explaining to the owner to take great care of the artifact, because it certainly had some uniquely antique connotations. The seller snatched up the money and said that she would make sure it would be purchased by a decent collector. Sure enough, a few weeks later, someone took interest. A young person, but impressionable.

Delis was an avid radio programmer, she was so enthused by the direction the knobs took whenever she found a faulty loop and adjusted it. The retro appearance of the dusted radio had an antique look to it as if it came from an early sitcom, dust spread and settled months ago. If it wasn't so trendy, Delis told herself it was a steal, a bargain from a garage sale- just a mere $56. Of course, she stuffed the rest in her pocket. It was situated next to an abandoned grave but Delis had no problem- Finders keepers.

Later on in the evening, as dusk stole its way across the evening skies, Delis toyed with the dials in a leisurely fashion. She tucked a crimson-hued hair behind her slightly pointed ear and listening carefully for an attuned station- 395.0. At the sound of a distant click, the dials slowly whirred. Flickered to life. Almost on schedule, there was an sudden raspy and somewhat haunting voice enamoring from the distant void: 'Shcchr- Is there anyone out there?'

The dying cry was forlorn and tore Delis from her bed. Her heart jolted as it beat, it was... familiar, she couldn't place it from any source. Then she tried to recall where the foreboding voice was locating. Unearthly stealth, unnerving. It unnerved her to no end - Each distinct sordid tone of the words, the accentuated screeches that accompanied such harsh yet raspy exhalation.

It was there, night after night. Repeatedly Delis grasped the radio, only to have the station fade away at the last second. Frustrated, she vented her anger on a nearby object and tossed it away in undue frustration, the iron fork clattering away. It bounced off softly against the gravel furnishing, making a distinct rattling sound. She hoped that the various prongs would pierce the damned radio, to no avail.

The radio was always inexplicably returned where she left it. Remnants of porcelain scattered at her feet as she nudged a closet. Then a lone photo frame fell from the cabinet, dashed to pieces. Delis glanced at it curiously, but her eyes widened: Her mother- a reddish hole spreading where her breastbone was. Her frantic face open in a torn scream of mercy. And a blurry shadow where the photograph victim fell. Her mother's murderer masked in unveiled hatred. Blazing amber eyes and a mist shrouded finger. 'Is there anyone there?' That lone voice again. MOCKING HER. Delis turned around. No-one there, and her nerves felt strained. She had to get out of this place. It was driving her to insanity.

Delis dashed to the library, her feet pounding on the pavement as she carried her radio. It weighed a ton, but could assist her in her deed. Once there, she set the radio down and scanned through some tomes. Western, Wicca, Waxen... Witchcraft? She took the page down and the light fell on a myrrh-scented bookmarked page: How to summon the Trrikenspyre.

'The Trrikenspyre is a poltergeist which claims the mortal essences of those belatedly deceased. It consumes and assimilates the flesh - by partaking in these rituals, it takes on the duplicitous qualities the dead had bequeathed before it had expired. Particular favourites are relatives of the victim, particularly those related to maternal instincts and/or feminine qualities. It is relentless, pursuing of its victims and untiring. Other methods of self destruction are highly debated, but one which truly works: Salted ground.'

'Once stepping onto desalinated ground, the spirit cannot warp to any other place, but is forced to stay within the contained area. Caution is to be taken if the familiar is found within the area. It was summoned by ancients millennial ago, and was bound to the will of the goddess Hecate. Until recently... cannot be abated by sweet talk, chose its unfounded victims with unruly care. Only be vanquished via bestial sacrifices, which consists of various animals, such as veal.'

Lightning flashed as she finished reading, then she heard it again. 'ONLY closer than ever before. Is there anyone there?' Ruby-speckled eyes gleamed in a nonexistent face. The lists of the damned were pressing around her, and she ran like the hell-spawned were after her. She ran home. The first thing she did was lock the doors, nice and secure. Then she barred the entrance.

Delis was sure that she placed sprinklings of salt outside the driveway. Then she heard another cry torn from a ragged mouth. Dashing downstairs, she saw... Death and maternal destruction. Mother was spreadeagled beneath a whirling fan, her life extinguished away from her, just as the picture described. Then she heard the snowy static from a nearby radio. There it was again, taunting her. Breathing sounds, wretched drumming of fingertips against a glass plane. The screech of metal as it prepared to strike its target... Sccrrrchhh... Frantically, Delis felt like the walls were pressing into her, claustrophobic and everything in the room narrowed succinctly in a deliciously macabre way.

A candle lit and her fingers felt sweaty as everything was plunged into a dominant and opressing darkness. All she could hear was the radio. The sounds of nails being driven into the door.

Is-is-is theeearr annyeetoooneee therreeeee?

The radio skipped a while before settling into a tone which was suggestive of motherly notions. She swallowed dryly, feeling the phlegm whelm up in her parched throat. Delis was just a naive lady, what could it want with her? 'I am here,' she answered. A screech echoed around the room. She heard the scrape of knuckles, fastening of teeth hanging against the mantelpiece. It was hurting itself. Inhuman footsteps. Closer. They were heavy and scraped against the floor.

'Is-issshh theaerrrr anyone thssst?' She felt the hooked talons fasten around her neck, leaving long trails of blood streaming from the exposed jugular. She gasped in fright as she realised the obscured face of the offender.

'isthereanyonewhohadansweredtoyourquery?' asked the clicking Trrikenspyre disguised as her mother, the rest of it obscured by a veil. 'yesitis.' Then it lunged. There was a lone high-pitched scream fading into the distance, followed by the radio's loud static. SHCCCCHHHHHsssssssssss...

click-click-clackety-click.... isthereanyonethere?pleaseanswer.itsmedelis.