The Awakening

Awakening with a jerk Martin Brenaugh immediately regretted it. His head swam and his vision blurred as a migraine pulsed in his brain. He hadn't had a hangover this bad since he'd started school last fall at UNH, but now almost a full year later he had proven himself to be a glutton for punishment.

A ruddy orange light crept along the ceiling as the early October sun slowly rose from behind a dilapidated barn that sat alone in the field outside. Martin's eyes painfully adjusted to the encroaching dawn. The abandoned farmhouse that he and five other brothers from his fraternity had partied in the night before was about six miles in the woods headed towards Madbury. "Do you know that some say the Gilson farm is haunted?" Jim Switten asked jokingly as he roughly drew a map for the guys to follow. Sure Martin had heard strange stories about Dr. Gilson and his family, but that's all they were... just stories. In any school the freshmen are notorious with spreading rumors, and at UNH the local area provided ample fodder. There was a rumor that the good doctor had had his license revoked for performing unnecessary surgery. Still there was another that claimed Dr. Gilson had become entangled in the dark web of Voodoo while he had interned at a French colony in Haiti, but that's all they were... just rumors.

The brothers had been sent there on Friday by some of the senior guys in the frat as a pseudo initiation prank. Martin felt that the older guys were just busting on them because that's just what guys did when they were bored. They had left school as the sky was beginning to darken at five fifteen and were out exploring the grounds by six.

A thick fog grew from a slight haze until it covered their feet adding to the unease felt by all. They set up a battery powered stereo and threw back some cold brews while playing poker. After a bit they all started to feel more comfortable and John Conroy had suggested they go out back and check out the barn, after all that's where it was rumored that Gilson had performed his rituals.

The trek out to the barn had been uneventful. The grass was now heavy with dew and their shoes had quickly become so saturated that walking was arduous. The crooked doors to the barn had been rusted shut from decades of contact with the salty seacoast air. It had taken the strength of both John and he to force them open. Inside the dank barn old tools and equipment decorated the walls and hung dangerously from the rafters. Martin was admiring a scythe that swung slightly in the drafty barn when Bill Randell had called their attention to where he was in the back. He had found a locked trunk with strange writing stamped along the rusted steal bindings. "It looks like chicken scratch... Hell I can't even read it!" Bill said and then quickly smashed the lock with a hammer he had grabbed off the wall. A white mist escaped from the trunk as Bill heaved the lid open with a groan. That was the last thing Martin remembered of the prior evening. Everything else was lost in his alcohol addled brain.

"I'm never gonna drink again!" Martin mumbled as he pulled himself out of his sleeping bag. Looking down he noticed that his feet were covered with a rust colored mud. "What the..." He glanced around the room and saw that the same rust colored mud spotted the floor forming what looked like bloody footprints trailing from the door to where he lay. I must have indulged a little more then I remember he thought.

Martin slowly stood and waited for the pounding in his head to clear before following the footsteps to the door. The old wood sighed heavily as it swung open to reveal the shadowed hallway which led to the main stairway. Passing by the few rooms that occupied the second floor he knocked on the doors to see which of his fellow brothers had crashed where. Each attempt was met with silence. Slipping slightly in the cold mud he regained his balance while narrowly averting what would have been a painful fall down the stairs. Man what a mess!

Reaching the bottom of the stairway he looked around and saw Bill asleep on the floor covered with an old stained blanket he had grabbed from the frat house. Barely covering Bill's lanky form the bottom was covered in the same mud that his bare feet were. Must have come from the walk back from the barn... He thought as he continued the search of the main room. The radio squeaked to life as he fumbled with the buttons. Trying to find the news on one of the NPR stations he passed by random snippets of songs he liked. Continuing to try to piece together the events of last night, advertisements droned along in the background when finally his attention was caught by a news alert.

...Five UNH students have been missing now for six days. The students were all members of the Delta Omega Alpha fraternity and were last seen on Friday. Anyone with information has been asked to report to the Durham police department...

"Six days! Damn what's been going on?" The words came out slurred as he was still shacking off the effects of the hangover. Then Martin realized that if six days had passed he shouldn't have any more alcohol in his system, he shouldn't be hung-over at all. His stomach growled painfully when he realized also that he hadn't eaten for six days. He groaned at the thought, "This can't be happening!" Walking over towards Bill he started trying to wake him.

Back at the fraternity the police had come by twice now and both times Jim Switten had ducked out the back door. I'm gonna kill those guys for doing this! He thought as his Altima sped down route four heading towards Madbury. I bet they're doing this to get back at us for the Gilson farm. Jim took a sharp right and turned onto a dirt road that cut right between two large corn fields. Within minutes Jim's car skidded to a halt in front of the old house. Off to its side under an old oak tree, Martin's beat up Chevy Charger sat covered in fallen autumn leaves. Mounting the whitewashed steps Jim could see movement through the cracked front window. I knew it!

Roughly throwing open the front door Jim burst into the living room, "Do you guys know how much trouble you're in?" Jim suddenly halted as his rage melted into shock. Before him lying on the floor was Bill Randell with Martin Brenaugh kneeling over. The floor was slick with bloody footprints and gore. Martin sat there wrist deep in Bill's abdomen digging out any organ which he could grasp, his skin was an ashen grey and he bobbed his head from side to side as if inebriated. Blood trickled from Martin's mouth as he chewed on what looked like a liver. Martin turned towards Jim with a look of confusion mixed with hunger. On the floor Bill's body started to move and his eyes began to open.

Somewhere behind Jim he heard a door shut followed by the sound of shuffling feet. He turned to see what had once been his friend John Conroy blocking the door. John also was covered with blood, it poured from his mouth as he slurred out the word "Brrraaainssss......"

Outside the house within the dark shadows of the barn the trunk slammed shut. Five pairs of sneakers were locked within along with the souls of their owners.

Happy Halloween!!!