Cristo Redentor

Dean looked out the blood dappled window at the great statue of Jesus, the Cristo Redentor, and wondered if he would live to see dawn.  The kind old lady who offered his family a ride to the airport turned out to be not so kind. Or a lady at all. But the kidnapper was dead now, along with Dean’s fiancée and her parents.
“Can you get it open?” his mother whispered. They were huddled in the a circle of powdered eggshells.  He looked back at his parents and smiled. They were pale with fear.
“Almost,” he said and kept working in the rusted latch. A moan filled the air growing steadily until Dean struggled to detect where it came from.
“It’s coming,” his mother whispered.
Dean ignored her and kept working at the latch.
“Get back in the circle, son!” his father commanded.
“Almost,” Dean hissed and tried to ignore the cool air filling the damp room.
“We can’t lose you, too,” His father’s voice softened, “We won’t survive.”
Dean let out a curse as he scurried back to his parents. Just as he was about to cross the white line, he was flug backwards into the wall.
He righted himself, prepared to fend off the entity that haunted the house, but they were alone.
“What happened?” his father asked.
“I don’t know,” Dean answered and approached he circle again.  This time he felt the barrier before he slammed into it. Like the thing in the house, he could not cross the white powdery line.

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