Son of Lazarus

Prologue: A City's History

October 30th, 2020
11:51 p.m.

   "This city has a legend, one that claims every twenty years, during the moon's prime power peak, a portal will appear in the old abandoned amusement park that rests outside city limits. It is said that this portal links our world to that of Lazarus, a place where the monsters from your nightmares are born.
   "There have even been sightings of a mysterious woman cloaked in black that appears around the same time that the portal does. The woman's name is Zathora and it is rumored that she is the Queen of Nightmares."
   "Is she real, Mister Cummings?" The voice of the small child made him turn his head, his black hair falling into deep blue eyes. A small smile grew across his face as he took in the blond-haired boy that had spoke.
   As he answered the boy's question, his voice lowered and a mysterious tone took its place. "Oh yes," he said, a hand reaching for one of the drawers resting by his left shin while his eyes never left the group of children sitting in front of his desk.
   "She's quite real." With a quick motion, he pulled a stack of pictures from the drawer he had opened and rested them on the surface of his desk, his hand spreading them apart so that they fell into a specific order.

   "But there's a catch to this," he continued, his eyes dropping to the pictures for only a moment before they flickered back onto the group of children. "Every single photo was taken by a man." With soft gasps coming from their lips, the children huddled closer to the desk.
   The eldest of the group—a sixteen-year-old boy—pointed to one that looked new, dated in the year 2000. "Why does this one look so new?" He asked.
   Mark drew his gaze down the line of pictures, each one dated from the year 1820 onward until his eyes reached the one the teenager had singled out. The picture detailed a tall woman wrapped in a thick cloak the color of the night sky.
   It was hugging her curves and its hood was drawn up to cover her features, except for her eyes. They burned with fire with a gentle burst of ice spiraling from the center outward. The eyes were glowing in the thick fog that surrounded her, giving the photo a more dangerous feel.
   "Because," said Mark, his voice calm as he turned his eyes back to the children, who were staring at him with wide, anticipating eyes. "That is the last known sighting of Zathora." He paused for a moment, watching as the children's eyes grew as round as the moon.
   "This photo," he continued, "was taken by my father. No one has seen her since then."

   "Will we see her this year?" The question had been asked by a little girl no older than six, her dazzling amber eyes stretched as wide as the rest of the children's. Mark shrugged his shoulders, a sly smile spreading across his face at the same time his eyes gained a mischievous twinkle.
   "Who knows," he said, reaching out a hand to rest against the girl's thick black hair before he gave it a ruffle. "We could see her this year. After all, tomorrow night is when the moon's power will be at its peak."
   He dropped his hand and allowed his eyes to travel the room, studying each child as his gaze passed them. "The portal could open again and Zathora could very well step through to walk amongst us once again."
   Mark raised his eyes to the door as footsteps approached and watched as a large, broad-chested man leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Carefully, Mark began to gather the pictures into a neat pile.
   "That's enough stories for tonight, children," he said, a chorus of disapproving, protesting cries rose. He shushed them with a single raise of his hand, his head dipping down slightly while his eyes closed. "You all have a big day tomorrow. It's Halloween and I don't want to be the reason your parents grow sick with worry."
   He threw a hand toward the door, his fingers curling until only the index was left straightened.
   "Off with you now." He watched as each child gathered their belongings before they headed out of the door, saying their goodnights to the man that had arrived.

   Puffing out a sigh, Mark finished stacking the pictures and began to file them back into the drawer he had pulled them from, listening as the footsteps from earlier approached his desk. The voice that spoke was deep and weathered with age.
   "Why do you insist on telling that story every year?"
   Mark shrugged as he finished putting the pictures away, his hand resting lightly on the drawer before he gave it a gentle push, sending it back into its place. "It's part of the city's history," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, turning his gaze upon the man. He was older with thick black hair that was turning silver around the ears.
   His face was chiseled and angular at the jaw, wrinkles dappling his face around his eyes and mouth, giving him a well-weathered look. He wore a white shirt that was loosely tucked into a pair of faded denim jeans.
   Mark looked down at the desk's surface, drumming his fingers against it before he asked, "Do you think she'll come back this year, dad?"
   The man offered him a smile, a knowing twinkle echoing in his eyes. "I know she will, Mark."
   Mark grabbed his bag and slung it across his shoulder before he rose from the desk's chair and made his way around it. Together with his father, Mark left the comfort of his small classroom behind in favor of the quiet, empty hallways of the school.

   They walked in silence down the halls, listening as their shoes clacked lightly against the polished, tile flooring, the plain, eggshell-colored walls passing them by as they went. It didn't take them long to reach the tall, double doors that marked the school's entrance.
   Mark pushed them open and took a deep breath of the cool, night air as it struck his face. With a quiet sigh escaping his nostrils, Mark made his way down the steps. A pair of cars sat alongside the curb underneath the streetlamp, its harsh yellow light washing over each vehicle.
   Underneath this light is where Mark and his father stopped. "You told me once that she was looking for something," he found himself saying, twisting his head to stare at his father as the man unlocked one of the cars with a soft beeping noise rising into the air.
   "What do you suppose it is?"
   The man paused for a moment before he stepped off the curb to walk around to the car's driver's side. "I'm not certain," he said in response, turning his head to stare at his son while the sound of a door sliding open rose. A harsh white light filled the car's interior, revealing black leather seats.
   The light not only illuminated the seats but also washed over the old man's features. "But I have a suspicion that she's looking for a mate: someone to give her a child."
   Silence spanned the space between them for a time. Mark had made his way to his car's driver's door and touched the panel resting in the door. It slid open, hard yellow light pooling against the street and illuminating vanilla-colored seats.

   After a moment, Mark looked up at his dad and asked, "Do you think she'll find him?" The old man offered a small smile that nearly extended from ear to ear. He had a foot in the door of his car when he turned to Mark.
   "I know she will," he said before he slipped into the seat behind the wheel. Mark heard the car's engine roar to life. "Good night, son."
   Mark smiled as the door to his father's car shut. "Good night, old man." He said as the car pulled away from the curb. He stayed where he was until his father was out of sight before he climbed into his car.
   He turned the engine over, listening as the car roared to life beneath him. Once it was on, Mark closed his door and began the long drive home.