LUCIFER'S HELL

Chapter Four - Anabelle Encounter's

The first rays of dawn pierced the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the fields. It was Richard’s father's first morning back home, and the air was filled with the promise of a fresh start. As he awoke, a sense of peace settled over him, different from the restless nights he had endured before. He stretched, feeling the warmth of the sun beginning to penetrate the coolness of the night that still lingered in the house.

Deciding to start the day with a task, he quietly made his way downstairs to the woodshed. The smell of earth and wood filled his senses as he approached the cupboard where the farm tools were stored. He pulled out the well-worn axe, its wooden handle smooth from years of use. The task ahead was simple—chopping firewood for the hearth—but it was more than just a chore. It was a return to routine, to the familiar rhythms of life he had missed.

He stepped outside, the morning air crisp against his skin, and began to work. The axe swung through the air with a satisfying thud as it met the wood, splitting it into neat logs. Each strike felt purposeful, grounding him further in the present moment. As he worked, he became lost in the rhythm, the physical exertion bringing a sense of clarity and calm.

Unbeknownst to him, his wife Anabelle had also risen early. She had quietly moved about the house, gathering laundry into a basket. When she heard the steady sound of the axe, she paused at the doorway, watching her husband with a soft smile. His focus, the way he moved with familiarity and strength, brought her comfort. After a moment, she stepped outside, descending the small wooden stairs, her hand lightly grazing the railing as she walked.

"Beautiful morning, my love," she called out, her voice breaking the morning silence. Her husband paused, turning to greet her with a weary smile. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling the pleasant ache in his muscles from the morning’s labor.

"Morning, darling," he replied, his voice warm despite his exhaustion. "How's your morning so far?"

"Bright and blissful," she answered, her eyes twinkling with affection. They shared a brief kiss before Anabelle moved to the clothesline, starting to hang the laundry to dry. As she worked, Richard, their son, stirred from his sleep.

Richard, still groggy, had been roused by the sound of the axe hitting the wood outside. Curious, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the door. When he opened it, he saw his father working in the yard, splitting logs with precise, powerful swings.

"Morning, Dad!" Richard called out, his voice full of youthful energy.

His father stopped mid-swing and turned to face him, a smile spreading across his face. "Morning, Richard," he replied, wiping sweat from his brow. Anabelle, now hanging the last of the laundry, also looked up and greeted her son.

"Good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Yes, Mom, I did. It’s so good to see you both again," Richard replied, his voice tinged with relief. He walked over to help his mother with the laundry, eager to be of assistance.

An hour later, the family was seated around the dining table, enjoying a simple breakfast of fresh bread, soup, and sautéed cabbage. The warmth of the meal and the comfort of each other’s company made the small kitchen feel like a haven.

"I’m going to the market after breakfast," Anabelle announced as she sipped her tea. "Richard, would you like to come with me?"

Richard looked up from his plate, torn between spending time with his mother and the desire to stay with his father. "I’d love to, Mom, but I really want to stay with Dad today. Please?" he pleaded, his eyes wide with hope.

Anabelle chuckled, shaking her head. "No, no, no, honey. It’s alright. He is your father, after all. I can’t say no to you, my sweet boy."

Richard turned to his father with a hopeful expression. "Dad, is it okay if I stay with you today?"

"Of course, my dear," his father replied, reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair. "You’re always welcome to stay with me. We’re your family, and we love you."

Richard beamed, happiness radiating from him as they continued their meal. Once breakfast was over, Anabelle began preparing to leave for the market. Her husband helped her load the goods onto the horse, securing the bundles tightly.

"Honey," he said as he adjusted the last strap, "please try to come back as soon as you’re done selling."

Anabelle paused, her brow furrowing slightly. "Why? Is something wrong? Shouldn’t I get some food supplies after selling?"

"No, nothing’s wrong," he reassured her, though there was a hint of concern in his voice. "I just want you to promise me you’ll come back as soon as you’re done."

Anabelle’s expression softened, and she smiled. "I promise, my love. I’ll come back right after I’m done. I miss you both already," she said, giving him a quick kiss before mounting her horse.

She waved goodbye to her husband and son as she rode off towards the market, her heart light despite the long day ahead. Richard and his father stood side by side, watching her until she disappeared from view.

As she vanished into the distance, Richard’s father found his thoughts drifting to darker memories. The images from the night he had returned haunted him—the visions of demons dancing and rejoicing, the eerie sight of Mariton city below, teeming with creatures disguised as humans. The memory gnawed at him, and a sudden dread filled his heart. What if one of those demons encountered Anabelle at the market?

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Richard calling out to him. The boy’s voice seemed distant, drowned out by the noise inside his head. It wasn’t until Richard began tugging at his arm that he snapped out of his reverie.

"Dad, what’s wrong?" Richard asked, his voice tinged with concern. "I’ve been calling you for a while. Mom’s already gone, and you’re still staring off into the distance. Are you okay? Let’s go inside and play."

His father blinked, trying to shake off the lingering unease. "What? Oh, yes… I was just… missing her," he said, rubbing his temples as if trying to erase the troubling thoughts. "She and you, you’re everything I have."

Richard’s eyes softened. "Dad, Mom’s going to be fine. I miss her too. Come on, let’s go inside. Grab my hand."

With a smile, Richard’s father took his son’s hand, but before heading inside, he playfully scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it at Richard, hitting him squarely on the chest.

"Seriously, Dad?" Richard exclaimed in mock indignation.

"Yes, seriously!" his father laughed, his mood lightening as he sprinted towards the house. Richard quickly gathered some snow, rolled it into a ball, and chased after him, both of them laughing and playing as they disappeared into the warmth of their home.

Meanwhile, Anabelle had reached the market, her heart light with the memory of her family. The market was bustling, full of people and activity. She guided her horse through the throng, heading towards her usual spot where she sold her goods. As she approached, she noticed something unusual—a woman she didn’t recognize was already set up in her spot, selling the exact same items she had brought to market.

Confused and a bit irritated, Anabelle dismounted her horse and walked over to the woman. "Excuse me, what are you doing here?" she asked, trying to keep her tone polite despite her frustration. "These goods… they’re exactly like mine. Did you plan this?"

The woman, who had been busy arranging her goods, looked up with a strange smile. "It seems you don’t know who you’re dealing with," she said in a voice that sent a chill down Anabelle’s spine. "You must be a tasty piece of meat."

The words were ominous, and as the woman stood and approached her, Anabelle felt an unease she couldn’t quite explain. The woman reached out as if to touch her, but just as her hand made contact with the cross necklace Anabelle wore, she recoiled in pain. A shriek tore from her lips as she clutched her hand, which now bore a terrible burn.

Without another word, the woman turned and fled, leaving behind her goods and a trail of shocked onlookers. Anabelle stood there, stunned, as the market crowd whispered and stared. She glanced down at her necklace, the cross glinting innocently in the morning light, and realized that something far more sinister had just occurred.

Shaken but determined, Anabelle moved to another spot, setting up her stall and continuing her day as best she could. But the memory of the woman’s scream and the burn on her hand lingered, a reminder that the world she lived in was not as simple or as safe as it seemed.