A DARK GOTHIC FANTASY

Our Bloodied Hallows

The Cathedral keeps its saints. Ronan collects what’s left of everyone else.

For readers of Jay Kristoff’s Empire of the Vampire, Anne Rice, and anyone who came for Castlevania and stayed for the dark.

“There, just now,” the man whispered, pointing to the dark canvas of trees. “Tell me you heard it?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Let me finish pissing, so we can get back to the others. It’s fucking cold and my balls are nearly in my stomach,” an older man huffed before pulling his pants up and tightening his belt.

Together they stood along a loosely cobbled trail bordered by ragged stumps and man-sized stones. Decayed trees filled the void of darkness beyond the path, standing as relics from a time before.

“Look, I heard something. Not nothing. It was like, like’ah…ah…ah crunching, er swooshing?” the first said.

The older man stroked his beard. “Come on,” he muttered and walked up the path.

“Do you think that thing could get free and follow us?”

“What? No fuckin way. Conrad done that fuck’s face’in real good. And he left that bitch to bring in the dead and finish them,” the older said before stopping to catch his breath. He was talking too much, putting too much stress on his lungs. At nearly sixty-five, an unheard-of age these days, he was lucky. “That Monster’s good as dead.”

“Dead or not, I’m saying there’s something out there,” the younger retorted before turning back to face the blackened forest. He rested a hand over the hilt of his rusted blade. The good iron and silver went to the older brothers of the Cathedral. For him, it was the leftovers. Shadows flickered and bounced around the boulders while the barren trees yawned ghastly in the breeze. The only light was the silver blue of the moon dancing eerily. A shiver rippled down his spine. “I knew I saw something, look.” He pointed, careful not to take his eyes off a shadow-engulfed rock.

“Tom, you’re ah’paranoid little shit. I’m exhausted, I’m hungry and there ain’t nothing more than shit and rocks out there,” the old man huffed. He hoped this would be the last time he would be assigned a job outside of the Cathedral. He wanted to make it back home so he could live his remaining life working in the stables.

Tom stuck his hand out and snapped his fingers. “Listen… listen… Peter.” He gestured to his ears. The older man, Peter, turned and scowled.

A low whistling hummed in their direction. Tom and Peter squinted toward the sound and into the black between the trees.

“A bird or…” Peter said before a long wooden stake burst through Tom’s chest and out his back.

“The descriptions written make you feel like you are in the book with the main character… Highly recommend.”

“Suspense and very descriptive unexpected plot twists and plausible fantasy story line.”

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Skye Penland

Skye Penland is a nurse. He lives in Destin, Florida, with his wife and their four girls.

Our Bloodied Hallows is his first novel.

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