The Devil’s Hour

(Everyone in this story is over 18.)

“A Good man, a man of character and dignity. A true pillar of our community...”

You listened to the priest go on with his eulogy, trying your best to support your mother, who stood next to you, clutching your arm and trying to stifle her tears as she watched your grandfather’s coffin lower into the ground.

Your hometown of Silent Oaks was small, counting barely two thousand people, and you figured most of them were gathered together in and around the church. But your Grandfather was a beloved individual, the town doctor who had served the community for decades and people had looked up to him.

“It’s been rough,” one of the guests lamented, “this old town has had some rotten luck in the last month. Your Grandpa did a lot of good for this place, and to lose him right now when we we had all of these missing girls...just horrible.”

The kidnappings, how could you forget? Four teenage girls snatched away within the darkness of night. The first disappearance was written off as a runaway, but very quickly a pattern emerged and people started paying attention. Police were out and investigating, you had seen their increased presence for yourself, but it had been a month and there didn’t appear to be much progress. Patrol cars rolled around the streets, rumours were spread. Things effectively went quiet once night fell. For a town as small as Silent Oaks, it was devestating and people were all quietly terrified about who would be next.

It had hung a dark cloud over your Grandfather’s last days as well. He was always a distant man, but something changed when he heard about the girls. He grew obsessed with every piece of news, would lock himself away and read constantly and in his obsession hastened his illness.

“Mr Maywood?”

The clipped, lightly accented voice cut through your musings. A tall, elderly gentleman wearing a dark suit approached you. “Mr Michael Maywood?”

You nodded in recognition of your name and shook the man’s offered hand. “That’s me, yes.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, your grandfather was good man. We did some work together in these last few months,” he said in a low voice. “He asked me to find you on the event of his and,” he produced a small wooden box from within pocket, “...give you this.”

“Uh, thanks?” You took it from him after a second’s hesitation, fitting the little cube into your hand and flicking it open. A silver ring greeted you, with a tiny embedded ruby glistening like a drop of blood. There was a tiny engraving, something in Latin you couldn’t make sense of.

“The Heart of Lilith” the man said into your thoughts. “Your grandfather said that the ring was an heirloom that belonged in the hands of his male descendant.” He watched you for a moment, his eyes utterly cold, “He hoped you would find it...illuminating.”

You frowned at the ring. It looked nice, but you weren’t sure you were a ring kind of guy. “I’ll um...”you searched for the words, “cherish it, thank you.”

The man bowed his head once and then returned to the crowd of gloomy faces.

You looked at the ring again. There was a pulsing in your ears and an aching in your chest. You felt an innate pull to the tiny object, a magnetism that you couldn’t escape and when you slipped it over your finger you felt warmth flood through your whole body.

“Sweetheart?” Your mother called from the other side of the crowded room, “come here for a moment won’t you? Some of your cousins want to talk.”

The ring was forgotten and soon you were stuck trudging through the neverending stream of annoying relatives. The day was long and exhausting and you never once noticed the ring glowing a bloody crimson..