Chapter 45: Storm Gathering

The wind whirled through Eldridge Falls and was vicious, heavy with the smell of rain and with something much more malevolent. The serene town steeped in secrets had turned into a powder keg just begging to blow its top. The word was out in flying whispers of a new enemy, one stronger, one darker alliance between the secret society and the figure in black. In this small, dimly lit meeting room, the younger generation is gathered, faces strained. Clara stands up front, hands clamped onto the edge of the table, apparently aged these few days since Emma and Nathaniel left. The weight hangs over her head like a storm cloud oncoming, yet there's no time for faltering. "We need to get ready," Clara said finally, and her voice was like splitting the heavy silence. "The society's revamped, and they're in league with. Whatever he is." Thomas sat towards the rear and furrowed his brow. "Even if we do know, whatever it is that we're fighting against cannot fight ghosts." Clara simply shook her head, with a fire burning in her eyes. "We know enough. He is after us-our powers. Unless we stop him, he will rule over everything that is at his discretion. Victor leaned forward, much quieter than the rest, his face contemplative. "It is not a question of stopping him. The town's split, Clara. Half of them here don't even believe in what we are fighting. They'll turn against us before they'll help." The assent murmured around the room. If anything, over the last few days, the schism between the younger generation and the old guard had grown worse. According to some of the older townsfolk, the supernatural was to be feared and suppressed. Others, like Clara's group, knew they were in this fight for themselves, unless they learned how to use their powers, they would stand no chance whatsoever. Clara heaved a deep sigh, pushing a hand through her hair. "I know, but we can ill afford the wasting of time trying to convince them, so we must press onward." It was the creak of the old door that brought in a towering figure; all eyes fell upon him. Black himself, the same man who once was an enemy to them. His features were firm, his eyes flashing like regret as he stood before the gathering. "I came to offer my help," Mr. Black said, the deepness of his voice reverberating off the walls of that small room. Tension in the room rocketed. Clara's jaw was clenched as she stared at him. "Help? After everything you've done?" Mr. Black held her gaze steady to steady. "I know I have done terrible things. I was part of the society once, but I did not realize how deep their plans ran. Now that they are allied with him, they are altogether worse." Thomas stood; his fists were clenched. "How do we know you're not still with them? You could be leading us into a trap.". Mr Black raised his hands slowly in a harmless gesture. "I understand your doubt, but believe me I want to stop them just as much as you do, they're planning on something big, a ritual. If they pull it off, it'll mean the end of Eldridge Falls as we know it. The room fell silent as his words began to sink in. Clara's heart was racing now. She couldn't believe him, but they couldn't precisely turn a blind eye to what he was telling them. If he was remotely right, then they truly did not have any other choice. "What kind of ritual?" Victor finally asked in a strained, hushed tone. Mr. Black stepped forward, his face grim. "They're going to harness the power of the young ones. You and the others with abilities. They want to open a doorway-bring something through. Something ancient." The room fell dead silent. Clara felt a cold thrill run down her spine. A doorway to what? "That's insane," Thomas muttered, shaking his head. "How do we even stop something like that? Clara swallowed, her throat suddenly parched. "We will find a way." Victor rose, much cooler than the rest of them. "What do you suggest, Mr. Black? If indeed you want to help us, this would be a very good time. Mr. Black nodded, and from his eyes, a dark resolution shone out. "We need to find their base. They're holed up somewhere outside the town. We might have a chance if we could stop the ritual before it starts, but we have to get moving.". They exchanged a weighted look; the doubt was a palpable thing between them. It wasn't safe to trust an enemy. Yet time wasn't on their side. Clara turned back to the others, her voice even, while an inner tempest raged. "We're going to stop them." The skies outside began to rain, and Clara, Thomas, and Victor, among others, needed to get ready for tonight. Easy, it was not going to be; every step they made seemed to be like walking into a trap, yet there was simply no choice. There was going to be a head-on battle against darkness. Mr. Black led deeper into the woods, his silent sure steps leading the way. Above them, treetops loomed, threatening, their limbs creaking in the wind to cast macabre shadows upon the trail. Clara could feel eyes upon them, about them, boring into her back, and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't shake the feeling. "How much further?" Thomas asked in a hushed tone. "Not far," Mr. Black replied. "We're close. Clara's heart bucked in her chest. She kept her gaze fixed on the path ahead, every fibre strained. The deeper they went in, the more she could feel its presence, dark, just beyond the trees. The air itself had thickened with something unnatural. Then Mr. Black stopped, his hand rising. "There," he whispered, pointing through the trees. Clara squinted, and there it was an old, crumbling building half-concealed by the thick forest. Dark windows; something in the air around it just didn't stir. "They're inside," Mr. Black said quietly. "We have to be careful." With every step closer to the building, she felt jittery; it was as if each shadow moved, each sound amplified in the quiet of the night. The weight of the impending confrontation weighed strong upon her. They snuck forward, sliding between the trees until they reached the structure. Clara's heart was racing as she reached out to touch the door, shaking. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open. Inside, the air was thick with damp wood and rot. The walls smeared weird symbols in some faint glowing light. And at the centre of the room, a circle of robed figures stood, eyes shut, chanting low and in unison. Clara's breath caught in her throat. The ritual had already begun. "We're too late," Thomas whispered, his face pale. "No," Clara said, the word tight with urgency. "We're not. We can still stop this." Then one of the figures turned, and Clara froze. The man in black, the one who had haunted her dreams, stood at the centre of the circle, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Welcome, children," he said, the voice smooth and chilling. "I've been expecting you." Clara felt her blood run cold. Well, here it was, at last, this final meeting; in one bound they were in his toils.