Rite of Passage

This story was written for Flash Fiction February by Bradley Ramsey.

If you want to read more of my writings, please read my published books: The Seekers: Soul-Ties, Kirin, and Perrin Peters. And if you don’t want to buy my books but still want to support me, I’m on Patreon. And if you prefer one-time payments, you can Buy Me A Pizza or a Coffee.

“What is this place?” I ask as we walk through a dark corridor of some industrial building.

“Here is where you’ll start your path,” he says, glancing back at me without slowing down.

His face doesn’t look good, and yet even if it’s not full of life and health, it’s as full of resolve as always. His hand feels even worse than it looks, yet it still feels good to hold it and feel a connection between us. A connection that can end at any moment, and so I must treasure it.

We walk in silence for a while, climbing up stairs and traversing corridors. I try to ignore how slow and weak he has become over the years. I try to just focus on this time we’re spending together. At night. In a weird building in the middle of nowhere.

A news report from earlier today pops into my mind. Another brutal killing and a grotesque display of body parts. Yes, this place does invoke such thoughts….

I shake my head and focus on reality. There’s only one door on the opposite side of this dark corridor. Dad leads me there, unlocks the door, and comes in first. I follow, unsure why my heart starts beating so fast.

A single, cold lightbulb lights the room. Low ceiling, half-painted windowless walls, construction materials in one corner, and in the farthest one—

“Oh, fuck!” The words escape from my mind as I recoil.

With ice flowing through my veins, I watch Dad traverse the room, casting a long shadow. He’s careful not to step on the geometrical figures drawn in blood on the floor. Careful not to step on the intestines, internal organs, and body parts arranged in a complex pattern. All this gore converges in the farthest corner, the one Dad calmly approaches. An upper part of a woman’s body is pinned to it with huge nails, and her intestines are hanging free, almost touching the pool of blood on the floor beneath her. Yet, is she really a woman?

I approach, staring at the black skull beneath the face, which is open like a flower’s petals.

“Yes, you see it right, dear.” Dad looks at me, standing next to the woman’s corpse. “Black bones are a mark of Nightbringers. I was hunting and killing them most of my life, as did my mother, and as did her father, which made people call us serial killers. Yet, killing these creatures is not enough to postpone the Endless Night.”

I swallow the knot in my throat. “Nightbringers? Endless Night? What are you talking about?”

The smile of his gray mustache is as heart-melting as always. “Did you think I taught you all these skills just for self-defense? Did you think I made you used to seeing and shedding blood just in case you ever need it? Did you think that all those books I had you memorize were just strange entertainment? Those books call Nightbringers ‘minor demons,’ and they call Endless Night ‘Great Emptiness’.”

Memories overflow me: passages from the books, illustrations, instructions, and warnings.

“Then…” My eyes quickly locate a can with gallium on the table in the middle of the room.

Dad nods. “Yes, Kira, go for it.”

I grab the can, open it carefully, not spilling even a little of its contents, then approach the corpse. My hands shake, and I want to puke, yet I put the free end of the woman’s intestine into the can. The warmth of my hand has melted the metal in the can, and the second it touches the flesh, black smoke begins pouring out.

I recoil, careful not to breathe it in. The smoke quickly dissipates, leaving me to stare at the charred end of the intestine.

“She wasn’t human…” I stare at Dad with a pounding heart.

All this time, these dark creatures were among us. And now, I would need to take Dad’s torch. I would need to stop butchering pigs, puppies, and kittens and start butchering people.

Dad nods. “Yes, but as your books taught you, it’s not enough to just kill Nightbringers.”

I swallow. “Their buddies can assemble the corpses and bring new life into them. That’s why each kill needs to be finished with a ritual. A ritual involving human blood.”

Dad nods again. “Usually, I just use my own blood I’ve collected over the years. Sometimes, I get blood from blood banks. Yet, I didn’t bring any with me today.”

His hand dives into the pocket of his old raincoat, and as it reemerges, cold steel shines in the light.

I recoil again, but this time, just half a step.

“You are ready, dear,” Dad says, offering me the knife. “It won’t be just a ritual of cleansing — it will be a ritual of becoming someone new. A protector of life. A warrior of light.”

With these words, the old and sick man walks to the empty table in the middle of the room and lies on it.

My mind plays all the memories I have of him. I feel all of the warmth and care he gave me. I remember all the knowledge and experience he imparted to me. Dad. I love you so much, Dad.

My knuckles are white from how hard I squeeze the knife. My breath is fast and shallow, yet I still pronounce the words of the spell. White shimmer starts filling the room, and I know that the spell is working. My eyes are veiled by tears, yet I see enough to approach him.

Dad is calm, and the expression on his face is reassuring. As I raise my hands with the knife in them, he smiles and says, “Thank you, dear. I am so proud of you.”

I take the last glance at his sick, old face, and there’s nothing but love in my soul as my tears drop down.

My knife plunges into his heart, the same way his knife pierced the heart of his mother. The same way his mother’s knife pierced the heart of her father.

The white shimmer becomes brighter. As I open Dad’s belly and arrange his organs in the correct pattern on the floor, the shimmer becomes brighter still. And only when I’m finally done, sweating and exhausted, does the shimmer finally dissipate.

The room is covered in a sickening amount of blood and flesh. I look at the corpse of the woman. Her skull is no longer black; gallium or any other method won’t show who she once was, and Nightbringers won’t be able to bring her back to strengthen their army. Endless Night is pushed back a day or so, and as long as I’m alive, I shall continue pushing it. I shall find and teach allies, and if those allies are destined to be my children, if I ever have any, so shall it be. And if the rest thing I do shall be to direct a rite of passage, the same one I just went through, so shall it be!

The End

Anton Anderson, 2026