Prison Of The Abyss by Nicholas Woods

Prison Of The Abyss by Nicholas Woods

Home. I just have to make it home.

            His pilot was late. He quietly urged himself to be calm, not let his anxious heart worry as he scanned around the empty tarmac. Quiet breaths, quiet beats. Didn’t want the heart to pace too loudly. No. It could hear it, that which lay in the locked case gripped in his hand. It could tell when he was nervous, almost to delight in it. When his heart raced too much, it was like he could hear the artifact whispering, either to him or to its master, that it was close. It was breaking him down, fear seeping into him like a poison.

            And if that happened, they would win.

            Thomas Crestline turned at the sound of an engine. Deep in the airfield’s darkness, he saw a quiet shape, dark wings shadowed like those of some unholy beast, moving out of the blackness toward him. The man Thomas had placed all his trust in had finally arrived.

            The pilot had come recommended by a government contact of his who said this man was the best when one needed someone for a task that required the utmost discretion. And this job was the very pinnacle of discretion, of secrecy, and of dire consequence if not handled with the utmost delicacy.

            The small cold-war era plane came to a lurching stop just before Thomas, a bit too close for his liking, the wind from the propellers uncomfortably near before they turned to reveal the vessel’s door. It burst open, and a man leaned out in greeting. He was an Englishman; this Thomas already knew, though his south-London accent would have immediately given him away. He was a tall man, broad of shoulder, his short-sleeve shirt stretching at the seams.

            “You Thomas?”

            “That’s me,” he said, making his way toward the pilot.

            “Traveling light.” The pilot’s eyes snapped to the black case in Thomas’ hand, almost like a magnet, like some unnatural force drew it. Thomas didn’t doubt that it did.

            “This is all I have with me, yes.” A small staircase unfolded, and Thomas made his way up. The pilot reached either to take Thomas’ palm or for Thomas to hand over his case. He did neither, making his way carefully, using his free hand to pull himself inside.

            From the outside, the plane appeared little more than a puddle-jumper. But once he was within Thomas figured, on any other venture that didn’t have the weight of the world in the balance, it would be a comfortable vessel for many to travel in. Families and friends seated together, a drink cart perhaps wetting excited palates. Not this voyage.

            Thomas’ eyes drifted around the hull and the dozens of painted symbols and runes that decorated the interior. There were long streaks at the ends of each rune where dark paint drops must have rolled, telling Thomas that whoever did this moved swiftly. But, to Thomas’ imminent inspection, it looked thorough. It would keep the evil at bay.

            At least, so he prayed.

            The pilot removed his fatigue cap, dragging fingers through thick dirty-blond hair. “I did it just like you asked. Had my daughter help me, damn many symbols.”

            “It looks good,” Thomas said quickly. “Let’s get going.”

            The pilot spoke as he moved around the cabin, locking the doors and securing latches. “My daughter thought I was crazy. But then I told her how much you offered. Christ, her eyes lit up like it was Christmas. She said, ‘Da, you’re ruining the plane, it will look like some witch’s coven in here’, and I told her, ‘Daughter, I don’t care if it looks like the underside of an outhouse, do you know how much this American is offering.’ And like I said, her eyes. Girl can appreciate a good bargain. You can take any seat you’d like.”

            Thomas motioned to the front. “I’d prefer to sit up in the cockpit with you.”

            The man’s eyes grew speculative for a moment, but thankfully he just shrugged and beckoned Thomas forward.

            Too long. We need to get going. My family can’t hold out much longer.

            Thomas sat in the cockpit, the black case at his feet. It took far too long to get the plane turned around and up in the air. It took too damn long to even get to England. His time in Cyprus, which Thomas did not want to dwell on much, was filled with death and terror. The men he had hired to help him reclaim that which sat at his feet, the ones who helped him find the thieves that had taken the Lock and raced across the Earth to do God only knows with it, were all dead. Claimed by the darkness. Even the thieves were dead. There was only one reason Thomas himself wasn’t in the ground with them. He looked at his wrist and the tattoo of the rune on his skin, the protection his father had needled into him at a young age, as his father before him had.

            If only Thomas could have given the same protection to the others, but this was not common ink in his skin. No, the only protection he could offer those around him was for them to listen to his explicit instructions. The contacts in Cyprus who now feed the scorpions in the sand perhaps wish they had listened a little closer.

            Looking around, the runes that were painted even there in the cockpit appeared sound. This pilot would be safe if he listened to Thomas.

            “Alright, all seems to be in working order. Let’s get going.” And off into the dark skies they went.

            But it didn’t take long into their journey for the evil at his feet to awaken. Thomas believed they were just over Greenland when a voice so ripe with malice rippled through the air.

            Fisssske.

            At first, he didn’t know what he had heard, but the terrible tremor that rattled his soul told him the source. Thomas tried not to panic, first from the sound itself, because any time the Lock spoke, it was an awful thing, a presence so terrible it made a man’s bones go cold. But another part of him feared the pilot’s reaction. The man didn’t know what Thomas possessed, thousands of miles above a dark ocean, through a dark sky, carrying darkness itself.

            The pilot’s eyes went wide, his upper lip trembling. “What was that?”

            Thomas didn’t answer. What could he say? The demonic artifact at his heels was going to get into their heads, break their spirits with fear. Force them to destroy what contains it. No, there was too much. If Thomas hadn’t trained since the moment he was born to carry this burden, then the sheer essence of the subject would be enough to break him. It would break anyone to know what evil truly lives out there in the universe.

            The pilot looked at him. “Did you hear that?”

            Fiiiiske.

            Thomas stifled a gag, holding his gorge tight. He just had to get there. Place the Lock back in the Seal and all would be right. He just had to get home.

            “What was that?” The pilot was looking right at Thomas, eyes shifting between terror and panic. “Tell me now, Sir, for I fear something evil is aboard this vessel.” His gaze moved around the cabin, to the symbols and runes painted in his own hand. This pilot was not a stupid man, and to Thomas’ lament, he was putting the pieces together. “What creature speaks my name?”

            “Your name?” Thomas asked, trying to keep a tenor of ignorance in his voice.

            “Fiske. William Fiske. Do you not hear it?” His voice remained low, his demeanor calm, for now. But Thomas could see the fear rising in him. That was not good. The demon would use that, like purchase upon a slippery path. Fear was its foothold to controlling a person’s mind.

            “I…” but before Thomas could stumble for a useless lie, the sound swam through the air, like a serpent upon a river stream.

            Swathed in quilts knit by my own hand, I shall protect you.

            The pilot Fiske’s eyes went so tight Thomas thought they, or the vein in the man’s temple, were moments from bursting.

            “Those were my mother’s words when I was a boy. How…”

            “We’re okay; we’re safe. We just…” Need to get there, were the words Thomas left out.

            Sweat matted the pilot’s brow, his hands grasping the yoke so tight his knuckles grew pale and bloodless. He spoke carefully, each word deliberate, eyes flicking from the box at Thomas’ feet to his face.

            “You tell me, right now, what’s going on. Who are you? What’s in that black case down there? Or I’m turning this plane around.”

            “No!” The word blurted from Thomas’ lips. Terror had coiled within him for too long, the weight of his mission, the terrible darkness that now seeped toward the pilot he had been dealing with for months. It had taken its toll, almost taken him, his mind, his soul. But he’d stayed strong. Not for himself, but for his family that waited for him. Waited for him to make things right.

            “Tell me now.” The pilot gave a slight twitch of the controls, the plane veering to the right in warning.

            Thomas took a breath. There was no helping it now. However, if this pilot learned the truth, well… reality was often more damning than a suspicion yet to be unearthed.

            “I am sorry, William Fiske,” Thomas said, turning so he could look the man directly in the face. “I’m sorry to have brought such terrible evil onto your plane. Into your life. But listen to me now. I will tell you what this is in full, but you cannot turn the plane around. What lay in this case must make it back to my home. If it does not, something terrible will release upon the world. A shadow that will swim through the cracks of every human soul it finds, starting with my family.”

            The pilot’s mouth twitched, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke. Then his brow furrowed, his eyes once more on the case. “You sound like a bloody goddamn priest, tryin’ to scare a man into parting with a couple pounds for the collection plate.”

            “I’m no priest. I’m not anything. Just a son.” A warden. A jailer. A guard. Those titles were perhaps as accurate, except Thomas felt no pride in any of it. It was his curse. A curse passed down to him by his father, and one day he will pass it onto his son. The idea made him want to vomit, want to scream, want to slit his own throat and let the world deal with whatever may come. Just leave his family out of it. But, when a man is given such a duty, pride and responsibility entwine like two mating serpents. It is a poison, and one with no remedy.

            The pilot’s voice grew adamant. “You didn’t answer my question. What is in that case?”

            Something stirred at Thomas’ feet. Not any actual movement, but he could feel an ethereal stirring, like some beast that was waking. He was running out of time.

            “Alright, I will tell you all and I’ll tell you it now. But you must believe the words I speak to you, because they are true. The voice you heard is gathering its power, what little remains to it, locked in this case. And it’s going to try and convince you to kill me. Kill me and destroy what lay inside. But listen to me now, William Fiske. You have to remain strong. You have to fight it, in your heart and in your head.”

            The man snorted a derisive sound as if these were the most inane words to ever be uttered in his presence. “This is getting far too….” Then the man’s eyes went wide, his mouth slightly slack. He looked around, but in the end, his gaze ended on the case.

            It was happening now. Thomas could see, the demon was speaking to the pilot directly. Thomas could not hear the words, but whatever foul utterances came from such a deity, the message would be the same. Kill Thomas, destroy the Lock. Only then did Thomas see the belt knife on the pilot’s hip. It wasn’t long, but then again, veins weren’t terribly thick.

            Thomas looked at the pilot and spoke with great urgency. “Listen to me, William. Ignore the voice. Ignore it.”

            It seemed to take the pilot great effort to pull his attention away from whatever rattled in his mind, in his soul, and look at him. “Good, good,” Thomas soothed. “Now, listen to me. You have to know what you battle against. What we now battle against.” The pilot nodded, and Thomas continued. “A long long time ago, a great darkness plagued the world. From hell they came, and to hell men fought to banish them once more. The great darkness, the devil, has many soldiers at his command. Dukes, and even Kings, that reign over terrible dominions. Yet all bow to Him. For a long time, people fought these successors, these demons, wherever they could. My ancestors spent their lives fighting one of the worst. This creature killed hundreds and thousands of men, poisoning their minds, bleeding their souls with the worst of their impulses. But my ancestors. They fought him, and they won. In the end, they imprisoned him. This prison, not physical to this world, does have a physical door. And like any cell with a door, it has a Lock.”

            The pilot nodded along, eyes out to the black skies beyond the cockpit glass, but his attention was on Thomas. He listened, and his focus kept the darkness from his thoughts. His eyes seemed clearer, so Thomas kept speaking. “That is what lay in this case. The Lock to the Seal. The Lock to the prison.”

            Thomas left out many details, of course. There was only so much a man’s mind could take of such dark supernatural history. History mostly shrugged off as spiritual nonsense. Thomas wouldn’t bog him down with such recounting—the terrible reign of King Solomon, his conjuring and subsequent releasing of these demons upon the physical world. The many factions who worked together to track and Seal these creatures away.

            “Someone,” the words croaked out. Fiske cleared his throat. “Someone stole this from you? You said you were in Cyprus.”

            Thomas nodded. “Yes. Fanatics. Well, thieves, who wanted to sell the Lock to fanatics. There are people out there, idiots, who think they can control these spirits. Bind them to their will, force these demons to grant them wealth, or power, or God knows what. It always ends the same. In blood and darkness.”

            “Let me get this straight, because,” the man wiped at his brow, now slick with sweat. “Because this all sounds bloody fucking crazy, yet… Yet I grew up a spiritual man. I believe in things, and I… heard something. It’s quiet now, but I heard something speak to me. Speak something no man alive would know.” He didn’t say more than that, so Thomas just nodded. These forces somehow knew things about men, could read their souls, somehow see into family’s past and secrets. It was how they broke down men’s minds, crumbling them like fortresses assaulted by trebuchets flinging massive stones. And once the castle of the mind is nothing but rubble, they can stroll right in to take control of everything.

            “I know,” Thomas said in a voice he hoped was comforting. “It’s a lot. But think about it this way, William. You are helping me fight this evil and imprison it once more.” Thomas was grateful the man didn’t ask too many more questions. Like why the Seal was now in North Carolina, and not in Albania where it was first forged. He didn’t ask about the status of the other factions that fought these forces, or if they were still alive and doing the work that Thomas was presently mired in.

            All he asked was, “The voice. What is it?”

            “It’s the darkness. The demon, imprisoned. It has its own soul, or something akin to it. And a piece of that is imparted on this Lock. It leaks its influence, its dark words, corrupting people to do its bidding. I need to get it home, place this Lock into the Seal. It’s been gone already, too long, and after a time… it wakes. If I don’t get this Lock home soon, then it doesn’t matter. It will break free.”

            “This prison is at your house?” Fiske asked.  

            “The Seal, it’s more a massive obsidian stone that my family built our house around. My family and I guard it. They are there now. I fear for them. Darkness wells not only from the Lock but from the Seal as well. Corrupted minds, people tainted by the demon, will be trying to harm them. But that is their battle. And this is mine.”

            Get the Lock home. That’s all he needed to do. All he needed to….

            Something tremored through the air, so painfully piercing Thomas thought blood would leak from his ears.

            I. See. You.

            “Fight it!” Thomas yelled. Vibration emanated from the case so terrible Thomas could feel his heart shaking in his rib cage. It was like falling from a great height, but instead of butterflies in his stomach he felt like there were bats with wings made of razors, fluttering in his belly, scratching him, gutting him.

            “Fight it!” he yelled again, as much to himself as to the pilot. The plane bounced in the wind for the pilot let go of the yoke, grasping his ears as if that could keep the voice away.

            I. Feel. You.

            The razors turned to fire, and now it was the blood in his veins that was ablaze. None of it was real, but in the mind, reality is infinite.

            And so was their pain.

            “Do something!” The pilot screamed out in horror. “Do something! It’s tearing me apart!”

            Thomas unbuckled his seatbelt. He grabbed the case at his feet, his arms feeling as if they had iron weights on them. His insides bubbled, his mind felt like it was moments from shattering, but if he got the Lock away from the pilot perhaps the influence would lessen. It was his only chance, he…

            Something struck him in the back of the head, and Thomas felt his knees buckle beneath him. The case flung out of his hands. The clasps, so sure, so strong, made of the purest silver, somehow unlatched. Carefully, like a prince entering a great hall, the circular lock rolled out, slowly, defiantly. The black metal that twisted to form the circle looked almost like barbed wire, a symbol of the demon’s true name beveled at the center. The craftsmanship was beautiful, terrible, and fascinating to behold, all at once.

            Thomas flailed, spinning around. The pilot was shaking in his seat, crying out, fighting a battle from within. The man clawed at his own face, deep trails of red following where his nails dug. Something had gone wrong. The runes on the plane should have protected them, unless… Thomas had taken too long, been gone from his home too long, let the thieves escape him too long. The evil had stirred and gained power even in its prison. He had underestimated the creature’s strength, and that underestimation would be his death. And the death of so many others, including his family, once it was free.

            Thomas crawled for the Lock, hoping to at least shut it back into the case, fearing that out in the open it spewed its evil more freely.

            Only then did he realize the pilot had gone quiet. Eerily quiet. Thomas sat up, looking toward the cockpit seats. The plane soared steadily but seemed to bounce here and there. That’s when he saw that Fiske was not holding the steering. His arms were slack, and the man stared, still as a statue, out the dark windshield.

            The man’s jaw opened, almost unnaturally far, as a sound like some butchered pig squealed forth. Then, the man’s mouth shut closed like a bear trap. He turned his head, slowly, the muscles in his neck looking like they were about to burst like rope pulled too tight. That’s when Thomas saw the man’s eyes.

            Dark pits were all that was there. Veins in the man’s face bulged, dark and blue, like he was rotting from within. It was too late. The walls had crumbled. Something else sat on the throne of his mind. Something else controlled William Fiske.

            Then, it lunged at him. A flash of silver in the dim cockpit light was enough to make Thomas’ hands react and he caught at the pilot’s wrist. A knife was mere inches from his heart, and Thomas pushed with all his might.

            A dark mouth hissed and an even darker tongue waggled at him, the demonic eyes of William Fiske showing nothing but death and destruction. Thomas pushed, and the knife came down onto his own ribs, the razor’s edge slicing off his bones, which was preferable to through them.

            Thomas struck out, a fist into the pilot’s face, which the man barely seemed to feel, but a swift kick sent the man backward, the knife falling from his hands.

            The pilot fell back onto the steering, and suddenly the plane began to nosedive, wind whistling through infinitesimal gaps in the metal. When Fiske clawed his way back, ready to lunge at Thomas once more, Thomas was ready. Blue veins popping from the pilot’s hands reached for Thomas’ throat, and he allowed it. Fingers squeezed at him, the air gone from his lungs within seconds, but it was fine. He allowed himself to be strangled, allowed Fiske to squeeze the life from him.

            Then, Thomas shoved the knife into the pilot’s neck. Once. Twice. Then, the grip on his throat slackened, and William Fiske fell to the floor, dead.

            Thomas shoved the Lock back into the case, latching the silver clasps, then jumped for the plane’s steering. He pulled up, but the vessel was in a pure nose-dive now, screaming toward the earth below. That wouldn’t do. If the plane was destroyed, the lock would be too. Then, the darkness would be free. The evil within the case seemed to know this, for it was quiet. Waiting.      And in its prison, he was sure, smiling.

            Thomas pulled on the yoke with all his might. Even in the darkness he could see the shadows shift, showing him the ground was racing up to meet him. He pulled and pulled, praying to God, praying for strength. He fought, banishing the thoughts that told him to end it, end his curse, end the long fight that he’s struggled for all his life. It was time to let go.

            But no. He could keep fighting. A little longer, if God just gave him one more drop of fortitude, he could go on.

            And like wind sent from the heavens, the wings found purchase in the air, leveling out, gliding back up into the skies. His heart raced, but it was the thrum of righteous purpose, not the tremor of terror that previously held him. Thomas was no experienced pilot, but he knew the basics. He could land the vessel, though it may be a rocky descent. But he would get there. His eyes flicked behind him, to the dark case that now lay in a pool of the pilot’s blood. He would get there. He would Seal evil away once more. His eyes went out to the sky, the sun’s faint light casting a blue upon the blackness. A sliver of hope came with the dawn. Thomas nodded, taking the sign for what it was.

            Home. I just have to make it home.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Nicholas Woods 2026

Image Courtesy: Dey from Fictom.com