DRAGONFLY: PART ONE

Genre: Horror/Mystery

DRAGONFLY

By Daniel Skye

 

 

PART ONE: ETERNAL FLAME

 

 

            Monday, November 3^rd, 2008.

            The orange flames danced in the wind, illuminating the preacher’s gaunt, weathered face. The burning wood crackled and hissed as it spat smoldering ambers from the circular pit.

The pit was shallow, about three feet in diameter and less than a foot in depth. An assortment of rocks were positioned around the pit to keep the flames from spreading. Garton took one look at the old man and assessed there was no way he dug the pit, gathered the rocks, and placed them in a circle by himself.

But a shovel rested in the grass nearby, its round head still caked in layers of unearthed soil. And no servants or helping hands stood in sight. They sat alone out there in the encompassing woods of the preacher’s secluded farmhouse.

The preacher was old, sick, close to death. In Garton’s line of work, he knew the death look when he saw it. He’d seen that same look on twenty-nine other faces. Garton fancied himself as a connoisseur of death.

Garton was a professional hit-man, freelance. As good as they came. As for how the preacher came to learn of Garton and his contacts, not even Garton was aware of the answer to that. He wasn’t paid to ask questions. He was paid to do the jobs that others didn’t have the stomach for.

As the wind whistled through the dying leaves of autumn, it ushered in a cacophony of unsettling dins from beyond the trees. Strange, eerie, unearthly sounds that Garton’s ears could not decipher.

“Don’t worry,” the preacher spoke, his voice strained and ravaged by throat cancer. “They can’t hurt us. Besides, it’s not you they’re interested in. When you’re so close to death, both sides scramble with zeal to claim possession of one’s soul.”

“And you’re referring to…” Zack was about to finish his thought, but trailed off and waited for the preacher to fill in the blanks. Instead, he gave Garton another riddle to ponder.

“Fire is eternal,” the preacher came alive with a burst of passion, speaking as if giving a sermon to his congregation. “It has existed since the dawn of man. And it has the potential to exist even after man is extinct. Do you know what fire really is?”

Garton shook his head and sighed, seemingly uninterested in the preacher’s yarns. But the preacher continued, undeterred. “Fire is the devil yearning to be unleashed. He hides like a coward in the smoke. Satan appears in many unassuming forms. He must be contained. He must never, ever be unleashed.”

“Is there a point to all this?” Garton asked, tapping his foot in an impatient manner. “My time is valuable.”

“I’m aware of your value, Mr. Garton. Otherwise you would not have been summoned to my home.” The preacher removed a thick envelope from his overcoat and tossed it to Garton, who caught it with one hand and pocketed it without counting. He was accustomed to the weight of his standard fee and he could tell it was accurate.

“So who’s the target?” Garton inquired.

The preacher reached down and drew back a red velvet cloth that had been draped over the object at his side. He held it up to the fire; a glass jar with something sealed inside.

Garton could see it over the flames, its two pairs of transparent wings fluttering about as it searched for a path of escape.

It was a dragonfly, its iridescent colors intensified by the glow of the fire.

“I should kill you for this,” Garton yelled, his voice echoing through the vast woods. “I don’t care for practical jokes.”

“That’s good because I don’t make jokes. I have only a few good months left on this earth. Maybe a year, if I’m lucky, and if all this chemo and radiation bullshit pays off. But I don’t take chances. I want this done before I’m dead and buried. Maybe I can finally get some peace.”

“You could easily accomplish this task yourself. No need to drag me out to the middle of nowhere.”

“You’d think so, but unfortunately I’m incapable of harming it. It has nothing to do with my faith. It has everything to do with what lies beyond its façade.”

“So…let me get this straight…you’re offering me thirty thousand dollars to whack a bug?”

“I can assure you this is no ordinary insect, Mr. Garton. I would not have reached out to a man of your caliber if I thought otherwise. What rests inside this jar is a wretched abomination. A foul creature from the depths of hell. It must be destroyed. Burn it, incinerate it, blow it to pieces and send it back to whatever profane netherworld that it spawned from. I don’t care how you do it. Just get it done, Garton.”

“It’s your money,” Garton sighed, accepting the jar from the preacher’s thin, claw-like fingers. The dragonfly floated aimlessly as Garton tucked the jar under his arm and tipped his invisible cap to the preacher. “Thy will be done,” he added sardonically.