(IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE FIRST SNEAK PEEK, CLICK HERE!)
“Jesus, Doc,” he muttered. “Am I going to be alright?”
“You are under the best care in Chicago, and I’ll be making weekly visits to the rehab to ensure your recovery is going as planned. The surgeries sound scarier than they really are, I promise. The brain damage you suffered can be handled. The movement in your arm and hand will resume by the end of the year. You are young. Your body can work miracles, you will see.”
Mitch shifted under the sheets. His back ached from the prolonged time in one position. “How long do you think I’ll need to stay in the hospital – I mean, the rehab facility?”
“Normally, for one skull fracture surgery, you can expect a twelve-week recovery period. However, since you suffered the dual cracks and adding in the time, you’ll need manual movement therapy, it may take you through July or August. That is, of course, provided you don’t have any infections or setbacks from the surgeries.”
Mitch felt his shoulders slump as a huge weight settled upon them. The news hit him hard.
His normal dark thoughts had descended into anger and misery. His life as he knew it was snubbed short and may be permanently altered. He was a prisoner to his body and what it demanded now to rebuild and recoup.
Don’t worry. You’re free now… We have a lot to plan for in the future. New pleasures like you have never had before. That wispy voice spoke in his mind, as if somehow spoken behind him. It had an unusual feeling with it. Like an itch you couldn’t reach, yet not necessarily uncomfortable.
Once you called me vile… I like that. You may address me as Vile. I’m here now.
You are free. And we are unleashed…
****
“That was pretty good. You got to the sixth.” Jo Anne replied. “It’s only been a few days since you arrived. It may be a long road ahead, so you must try to have patience—”
A blue flashing light suddenly came to life overhead near the entrance of their therapy room. “CODE GRAY ROOM 207! REPEAT CODE GRAY ROOM 207!” A female voice declared.
Jo Anne leaped from her metal chair. “I have to assist. Stay here, Mitch, and keep practicing. In ten minutes, you can switch and do those planking exercises I showed you yesterday, okay?” She rambled with distraction and bolted down the hall without waiting for his response.
The other two therapists in the room also left to answer the medical emergency.
Mitch pushed the wooden square away from him in disgust, and then looked about the room. Only four other patients remained, absorbed in their exercises.
He scooted his chair back and stood.
Yes. That’s good. Take it, take this opportunity. He will be alone… Vile’s voice, whispering from within the dark confines of his mind, urged him on.
The image of an elderly black man popped up. Mr. Coranell. Dwight Edwards Coranell. Room 403. Two rooms north of his own.
Two nights ago, Monday, January 28th, Coranell was brought in. The man had been injured in a fall in his grandson’s home. Along with the broken hip, the man suffered from long-term dementia.
At 9:33 PM, every night since his admission, Coranell began an unending tirade of cursing and indecipherable screaming. The medical staff had eventually been forced to sedate him. Quickly, Mitch learned that after three or more hours, the drugs would wear off and the litany of gibberish would play out again.
At 5:47 AM, Mitch demanded earplugs from the staff. He became so irate that he was also threatened with sedation. He stifled his true thoughts as he hated the fuzziness and mind fog that the drugs would bring. Being medicated would only delay his rehabilitation.
Now, as he crept along the hallway toward the stairwell, he grew excited and anxious. His hands became sweaty, and his heart raced with excitement.
Can you do it? Are you hungry enough for this, Mitch?
I am. I am! The old bastard deserves it, he’s got it coming!
Carefully, he poked his head inside the stairwell, scanning the steps leading up to the other floors. They were empty. He snuck through and ascended as fast as he could. His window would be short. Jo Anne and the others would surely be returning, or the nurse on their floor would be at her post.
Yes, it has to be now, Vile continued. You know you won’t have this chance again. Are you going for the blood? You could rub it on your face, maybe even taste it?
NO! I’ll be caught. I can’t. I… I will have to be happy with just the act of silencing him.
But… Vile objected. Its tone was petulant.
If they find me covered in his blood, I’ll never be allowed another opportunity.
The voice went quiet.
He poked his head in through the door to his floor, following his same scouting process.
The room was dark, cold, and had that antiseptic clinic smell choking the air. A pair of monitors loomed over the bed. Wires and sensors were connected to Dwight’s prone form. The man’s heavy breathing rasped in and out, churning like an over-taxed engine. He was sedated and sleeping – oblivious to the world around him.
Mitch stood only a few feet away. His body was rigid. Sweat trickled from his brow and temples. He repeatedly clenched and unclenched his large fists.
Vile tried once more. What do you want to do, Mitch? He’s all yours for the taking.
He did not respond. He remained frozen from the wicked combination of dark needs versus anxious fear. A wrong move or an overlooked detail could result in an investigation leading directly to him.
Mitch was incredibly intelligent and always thorough. In all of his imagined scenarios, he scanned them from every possible angle, every point of view. In his mind, he had all the time in the world to execute his precise plans.
But here, in the murky gloom of the man’s room, he didn’t have time as a luxury. The pressure choked his primal drive. His conflict paralyzed him.
Maybe I can get the pillow, he mused.
You are fucking kidding, right? You want to puss out with a lame smothering? NO! Make an example of him — make his mutation an affront! Throw it in their face! Vile was seething.
“Wh—what?” Mitch gasped.
Show them all this is what you’ll do when they stand in your way! They can’t expect you to accept this bawling lunatic! Rip his face off, put it on the chair by the door. Squeeze his throat till his eyes pop and then open—
ENOUGH! Mitch screamed inside his mind. His hands clamped to the sides of his head. I AM IN CONTROL HERE! I decide when and how. You want blood, but I want more than that… I want more than one old, tattered man who isn’t even awake to scream for me. Vile, you answer to me!
So… hooked yet? Don’t worry! You and Vile can satisfy your bloodlust in October when I officially release ECLIPSE PART I! Then the whole story series will be released in March or April, 2026.
It’s been a while since I’ve teased you with some new content…
I have an awesome new short story that I am submitting for a possible July edition to the magazine Wordpeddler’s Society.
This isn’t the full story, so don’t be upset. This is just a teaser:
FAST BY THE FADING LIGHT
“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”
The words echoed in his head. They haunted him and floated behind his closed eyes. His head throbbed with an ache at the back of his skull. Waves of nausea followed closely behind the painful pulses. The rest of his body felt non-existent and insubstantial. His limbs bobbed in icy water at his side and were numb.
With an unbelievable amount of effort and will, he opened his eyes. Wind-swept tree canopies whipped about in all directions above him. They blocked out the evening’s dark skies. Patches of flickering orange flames were growing among the leaves. They jumped randomly from branch to branch. Curled, torched leaves fell among ashes in the air, slowly drifting toward him.
His eyes were focusing in and out upon the danger, but his mind could not connect the dots. Where was he? …Who was he?
He lifted his head a couple of inches to survey the area. A flowing channel, no, a rapid river stream, ran past his little rest stop. Somehow, his unconscious body had been carried into a shallow, branch-clustered inlet. His tall frame was snagged on several branches.
Trees on both sides of the stream were brimming with fire. The sound of crackling and popping wood grew louder than the river’s babble.
“You have till dawn, buddy-yo. Else…”
Those words weighed down on him again. What did they mean? Who made that threat? Why? He fought the panic and tried to calm the brewing storm inside his head.
“It’s gotta come back to me. I’m sure it will,” he said aloud. His voice was raspy and barely an audible whisper.
Water splashed and filled his mouth. He sputtered, coughed uncontrollably, and tried to sit up. The water was too deep and too crowded with branches for that. His left arm felt heavy and trapped under the surface.
Yanking it free, he discovered it was handcuffed. The other end was locked about the wrist of a severed hand!
OH GOD! WHAT HAVE I GOT MYSELF INTO? He screamed inside, his arms pinwheeling in the water as he tried by reflex to get away from the bloody remains. It did no good, and the appendage now floated among the waves inches from his face.
The stump severed inches down the wrist was cut clean and precisely. Most likely with a sharp knife or tool. It was a deliberate act with no signs of hesitation marks. The nails were well-maintained and polished with a peach cream color. The fingers were slender and unblemished. It was a woman’s.
Whose? I should know! Who was I handcuffed to? He shook his head slowly. His world was a blended mess of questions and surreal surroundings.
The area around the inlet flashed as a series of gusts stoked the flames, and more trees caught fire. Smoke rolled in with the wind and choked the air. He pulled himself free of the mire of the mystery. A larger piece of a rotted tree trunk bumped into his legs.
Yes, time to go, he answered the log as he kicked the piece free of the other branches. Then he curled his arms around a knot at the top of it. This would keep his head above the waves. He continued to kick with his legs to propel himself out of the bay of branches and head further downstream. Unfortunately, this carried him deeper into the heart of the forest fire.
Moments later, his own heart seized up as he spotted a tattered white blouse with gold lace trim. It partially dipped into the edge of the stream. Blood-spray and obvious patches of red blood soaked a good portion of the right side of it.
A stretch of sandbar on his side of the riverbed peaked up among the waves. It was only a few yards from the blouse. A green-sequined skirt lay in the watery mud ahead. Next to it, a crumpled, faux-leather boot lay abandoned.
I know that dress somehow…
Using all his remaining strength, he scooped water with one arm, guiding the log to beach itself upon the sandbar. So far, the forest fire had spared most of the area.
In the shallow few inches of water that flowed over the sandbar, he fought to get back to his feet, but it was a short victory. His vision suddenly blurred as the world seemingly spun out of control. A minute or two passed. The world slid back into place, and he rose even slower out of the water.
His head pulsed once again like rolling thunder. He pulled his right arm from the water and rubbed the back of his head. This only caused another sudden spike of pain. Snatching his hand back, he discovered his fingers were dripping with fresh red blood. More pain accompanied the effort. Gingerly, his fingers explored the back of his head and found a nasty gash that crossed the back of his skull under the nest of dark brown hair.
That might explain why I can’t remember anything, he thought. Then he patted his legs and discovered a black leather wallet jammed into a pair of dark blue slacks.
Inside on a laminated card, Nicholas Allen Troy stared up at him from a small picture. Age 32, brown hair, blue eyes. Lives at 287 S Fernwood Ct, Apt E5, Baton Rouge, LA 70806. Faint familiarity came to him as he studied the driver’s license.
He went by Nick, never Nicolas. Not even his family called him by his full name.
On his wrist was a broken watch. The silver frame was dented, and its crystal face was frozen at 11:43 PM.
A sudden recalled memory hit him like a fist to the mouth.
Hope you enjoyed this! When the rest of the story is published and ready for sale, I will announce it in my newsletter!
For those who could not find the Vella series I started before Amazon closed its program, I thought I should post the first few rough draft pages for you to consume!
I am hoping to have this published by the end of summer.
Eclipse will have ties to both Elude and Evade series and will be strictly a non-supernatural true crime thriller!
A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?
Chapter 1
Mitchell stared at the paper, focused, and felt himself sinking into the growing spot of red ink his grading pen had left. His mind slipped deeper, spiraled then dove into the heart of it. His eyes blurred, his head grew heavy, and his thoughts revolved around the blood…
No, not blood… ink! Red pen ink, his inner voice scolded him.
No, it is blood! Or it could be, another voice insisted. The words were low and whispery. Hot, thick, gooey, smooth. You could make this happen. You know where you could get all this blood.
Mitchell imagined the liquid flowing through his hands. A pool of it, sloshing and washing up over his torso, flowing over his chest and up to his neck. In his thoughts and in reality, he stuck out his tongue trying to get a taste of the hot liquid. With—
“Whoa! Are you… Mr. Michaels, are you alright?” a student asked, standing at the corner of his desk.
Mitchell shook his head, slamming back into the real world. His fourth-period English class at Bogan High School materialized in front of him. “I’m sorry. What?”
The student stared at him. It was seventeen-year-old, Corey James.
Punk! Always a smartass, Mitchell’s inner voice snarled.
Mitchell murmured instead, “Mr. James, did you need anything?”
Corey sneered, “Do I need something? Man, you looked like you were about to make out with that homework paper.”
“That is enough. If you are finished with your work, please place it on the pile and return to your seat. Thank you.” Mitchell grinned pleasantly at him. Mitchell’s mask as the always-earnest and generous Mitchell Michaels slipped back into place. Corey scoffed, tossed the paper down, and shuffled over to his cluttered desk in the back of the room.
No one else had paid any attention to their interaction. The time remaining for their pop quiz was nearly over.
Known among the school staff and his friends as “Gentle Giant Mike”, Mitchell stood 6’4”, weighed 260 lbs., had a thick head of dirty blond hair, and a beard kept short and trim. He towered over his students and most of the faculty, but his giving nature always won them over. Mentoring and volunteering his time had made him a standout among his peers. Most of his students thought the world of him.
Mitchell returned to his work on the assignment he had been grading. His eyes glanced a brief moment at the splotch of red his pen had caused. The ink had gotten on his finger and thumb as well. He picked up the broken pen and dropped it in the basket at his desk. He shot a glance at the digital clock hung on the wall behind the class. 12:14 PM. School was almost over for the day.
That was good. The mild hangover from some after-school drinks the night before had eroded his energy and his patience for the day. Brad Keller always convinced him and several of the other teachers that it would be a quick drink. The twenty-nine-year-old bachelor always had a charm and a looming presence about him that made it hard to say no to.
“Oh, come on, fellas. Live a little,” he would taunt them. Just like that and with a snap of his fingers, he snared them all. They would hit O’Mallory’s Tavern on the way home. Drinks that would lead to an inevitable fast round of poker.
“Not tonight, my friend,” he whispered to himself.
Mitchell liked and hated Brad Keller if that was even possible. The smooth salesman in the History Teacher was relentless. Mitchell envied the skill as he speculated that Keller also had a wild sex life.
Wind kicked up outside and a splatter of wet ice and snow flurries hit the windows along the south wall. An afternoon snowstorm had swept in off Lake Michigan. Premature for this time of year, but most people in Chicago learned to be ready for anything. Notorious for being fickle in the Midwest, the weather could not be predicted especially near the Great Lakes.
He would have to take everything home versus staying the extra hours at the school to grade yesterday’s homework and the pop quiz. Gina, his fiancée, expected him over tonight for dinner as well.
Mitchell wheeled his chair back from his desk and crossed to one of the windows. Snow had already fallen and gathered on the football field and near the parking lot. The skies were cobalt and overcast. A chill draft leaked in. He rolled his shoulders, stepped back from the frosty glass, and went to a beige wall phone. Mitchell dialed an extension.
“Mr. Michaels, here. Yes, Stan, I think you should consider an early release. The weather outside looks nasty. I imagine in a half hour the roads are going to be treacherous—”
His last words were drowned out by the uproar from the excited students. Mitchell waved at them and tried to minimize the noise in the room.
“Alright. Very good. Yes, you have a wonderful night too.” He ended the call.
A moment later a sharp bing sound came over the intercom. “Students. We will be closing early today due to the inclement weather. Please begin to make your way to the buses. Thank you.”
“Hell yeah! Thanks, Mr. Michaels!” one student, a small lanky kid exclaimed.
One of the school cheerleaders, Danni Codren who sat near the middle of the room spoke up. “May I use my cell phone to get my dad to come get me early?”
Others quickly repeated her question asking to also use their phones. Mitchell nodded. This was against school policy to use phones during school hours, but he saw no harm in allowing it now. School had been dismissed.
A PA system bell rang out and made it official.
The students filed out, laughing and overall giddy. They were high school students, but inside they were all still kids.
As the last of the line proceeded out, Corey came up to his desk with another paper in hand. “Hey Mr. M! Here you go in case you get lonely tonight. Enjoy!”
He flipped the paper onto his desk, cackling with laughter as he slipped through the door. The paper had on it a crudely drawn naked woman, her legs splayed open obscenely. The words LICK HERE with a black arrow pointing the way was written above her. Mitchell swept it up in his hands and crumbled it, his temper beginning to growl.
The storm outside also grew in strength and fury as if feeding off Mitchell’s mood. Now, blinding flurries of fresh snow pelted the windows incessantly. Mitchell took a long sip of his coffee, settled back in his chair, and worked to calm his nerves. Corey was a typical jock with the usual obnoxious behavior. Yet something about the mouthy teen got under his skin. He was expected to do well in a college football program somewhere as a running back. For that reason, he barely made any effort with his assignments and tests.
The plain digital clock on his wall displayed 12:45. He had to heed his own advice and started to gather his papers and texts into his work duffel bag. A few minutes later, he jogged with his hands up over his head to shield himself from the snow as he opened his gold Toyota Camry. He flung his bag in the backseat and waited behind the steering wheel.
A few minutes later, he cruised down the I-83, keeping it slow and steady on the slick roadway. He dug out his cell phone. He knew it would be better to call now versus when he reached the woody outskirts of Chicago. Cell towers were not as prevalent, his reception grew spotty. Despite the long everyday drive to and from Bogan, he loved the time of isolation and freedom it gave him. He would often listen to classical music or even lose himself in an audiobook.
Sometimes when the mood took him, he would allow himself a fantasy. A homicide fantasy would bloom in his mind, like a black and thorny rose. He would spin the encounter in his mind in every gruesome detail and direction he could. Mitchell liked to work out the opportunities, challenges, and the obstacles. He conjured every conceivable angle to how he would fulfill his darkest craving to kill a person in the scenario. He buried the needy feelings deep, as deep as his victims in his scenarios.
He called his fiancée. The phone rang twice and as expected, she picked up precisely on the third ring. Gina was a stickler for routine. Currently, she was a stay-at-home marketing exec for a large law firm downtown. Her hours were long, but at least she didn’t have the hassles of commuting.
“Hey, honey,” she greeted him. “How is your day going? Are you still in class?”
“No, Stan called school off early.”
“Wow, really? Why?”
Mitchell shook his head. She had a kind heart, but she would never be regarded as an intellectual. “You haven’t noticed the weather?”
The squeaking wheels of her computer chair could be heard as she scooted away from her desk. “Oh… yeah, okay,” she murmured, obviously looking out the window of her small, third-floor apartment.
“The weather station on the radio reported we will see a record four inches of snow coming in tonight. You okay if I stay tonight after dinner?”
She giggled, “Only you would use the weather as a way to parley a reason to spend the night in my bed!”
He cruised past a beat-up sign that announced it was 33 miles to Romeoville. He’d grab his overnight bag first from his condo and then head to Gina’s place in Lockport. He guided the Camry to the connecting ramp to merge onto I-171. Immediately, Mitchell found the road caked with at least a half inch of snow and not packed down much from other vehicles. He felt the back wheels fishtail a bit. He eased back on the gas and let it coast down to 30 mph.
“I don’t accept that as a rejection of my inquiry, Miss Dawson. I think you are the one who wants…” his words faded as the road took his focus.
Ahead the tarmac angled up as it crested a small hill. He gave it some speed to help clear the top. However, on the other side of the hill, the road appeared to be clear. It was spared the weather since it wasn’t facing the coming wind and storm. He kept the speed going at 45 mph when a patch of orange color darted across at the bottom. A large golden retriever had skidded to a stop and stood in the center of the road. It had dropped something from its mouth and was investigating with its snout.
“Stupid—” Mitchell shouted in surprise. His wheels found no purchase. A hidden, thin sheen of ice covered the freeway. He slid into the other lane and then back to the original. The car’s momentum carried him around and twisted it violently backward. He panicked trying to regain control, yanking the steering wheel on reflex in the spinout’s direction did not help.
Soon gravel ground underneath his tires and the car jerked downward as he launched from the shoulder. The Camry bounced and careened. Screams and pleas for Mitchell to answer Gina came from his phone that had been projected and lay neglected in the back seat.
Mitchell’s hands were torn free from the steering wheel as he rocketed over the center counsel. He crashed hard into the passenger window. His ear lobe burst open, and blood sprayed the interior with tiny droplets. He screamed in terror as he saw the massive tree trunk looming ahead, getting closer, closer!
Before his world shut off like a television set unplugged, Mitchell was launched forward and cracked the windshield with his head. He bounced back and crumpled into the wheel well. The front right fender took the majority of the incredible impact, but the rest of the car wrapped itself around the base of the tree.
There were several lacerations along his cheek, temple, and the top of his skull.
Blood oozed out… Hot, thick, gooey, smooth… A small pool gathered along his neck and shoulders.
Hey there, Trick-or-Treaters! I have a little taste sample of my latest short story, which will be published in an anthology in November. I will provide more details later as the publication date approaches.
For now, enjoy…
SUICIDE IS FOR SUCKERS By Derek Barton
[DAY ZERO]
The street lamps swirled ominously like frenzied lightning bugs all about him. Four walls of night surrounded and obscured the top of the parking garage. Everything before Chad’s eyes blurred and skewed in the whirlwind. The concrete beneath his feet bucked and rippled. It was like a giant’s hand grabbed reality and spun the wheel.
Vomit threatened to surge up his throat. Every sound was dull and muted. Even his heavy panting was barely audible. His back prickled with goosebumps as a sudden wind blew over his sweat-soaked dress shirt. The amber bottle of bourbon slipped from his grasp and shattered at his feet. He clutched at his car door with both hands, stood as still as possible, and waited for the world to slow down and stop.
Several long, drawn-out minutes passed. He eased into his driver’s seat, let his head rest against the seat cushion, and closed his eyes. His breathing began to subside.
The coke… what was in that coke? His mind reeled in the wake of the drug effects. I… I have had coke and bourbon together before and never felt like this. I’m gonna kill Maxie! She gave me a tainted score! That stupid bitch!
He opened his eyes. The streetlights were back at their posts. They dotted the city landscape before him like sunlit dew drops on grass. His tongue stuck to the top of his mouth, his throat was a dried-out husk. A deep-seated craving came over him for that bottle of whiskey.
Chad twisted his head around as he scanned the interior of the Malibu for a stray, abandoned bottle of water. Nothing. Only scattered napkins, straw wrappers, fast-food wrappers, and paper bags cluttered the passenger side.
He gave up the search when he spotted a crumpled pack of cigarettes. After bouncing one out, he found his lighter in the loose change tray of the car counsel.
It took only a few deep drags to feel a calm descend over him. The cocaine still ran frantically through his veins along with whatever else was in it. But now sitting in the car, Chad had a semblance of peace and control.
The view of the city below as it sprawled along the mountains and rushed to the shorelines of the Gulf of Mexico was still breathtaking. He wondered how he managed to destroy the beauty of his life in the face of such amazing natural grandeur.
The coke. Every time. The coke, his brain quickly spoke up in case he had somehow not realized that.
I am not stupid. Top grades in high school. Star in Track and Field. I graduated with a business degree from ACU. I worked and managed a bank branch for four years.
He was not an idiot, but still not smart enough to avoid being an addict for two and a half years.
Today at BNO Financial Bank ended abruptly at 12:25 PM. Vice President Douglas Bramton walked in on him doing three lines in the janitor’s closet. First mistake. Escorted out of the branch building by security around 1:17 PM.
Call to fiancée, Tess Fields. Second mistake. By 3:11 PM, Chad was a single man again.
After finding Maxie and scoring a fresh stash, he drove over to the Total Wines & Whiskeys on Lehman Avenue. 4:02 PM. Third mistake.
Chad glanced at the Malibu’s dashboard clock. 2:11 AM. He shook his head in disgust. The last five hours were an opaque void. An abyss that could not be revealed or his actions.
The car sat idle and parked at a bad angle on an empty rooftop. Did I just get here? Or have I been here all night?
He sat up and scanned the hood. Doesn’t look damaged, so I doubt I hit anything.
Scoffing and shrugging his shoulders, he settled back. The heaviness settled on him, pressing him like a barbell into his cushioned seat.
Tess was not the love of his life, but she had been very good to him. She was a red-haired beauty with an actual head on her shoulders. In the beginning, they spent hours debating philosophy or conspiracy theories, then would spend the next hours having frantic, wild sex. They celebrated their first anniversary two months ago. He proposed to her a month later.
He couldn’t fight her logic and recalled her words of damnation. How do you expect me to trust you? I never saw you take drugs. Now you are telling me you just lost your job for coke? I don’t know you. After what happened to my brother… Her words had choked off in a sob. I don’t know you. Never call here again, asshole! Click.
Three missteps. No, that was three strikes. You’re out, man. Game over.
Over and out?
He stumbled out of the car. His legs were pretty shaky. The wind picked up and as he approached the ledge, he felt the light spattering of raindrops.
First, Chad looked up at the fast-moving clouds in the overcast sky. A surging storm was sweeping in from the bay. He leaned over the waist-high stone barrier and scanned the street below. He was in a seven-floor parking garage. A busy street below even at this hour. Cars lined up going both directions and cars parked on both sides. There were no bystanders. No one walking the sidewalks or loitering in front of the few shops that called Descarte Roadway home.
Three strikes. You are out, Chad. Go home…
He took a deep breath and climbed on top of the barrier.
“That is a fine watch you have there, Mr. Beauvais,” a masculine voice called out. Smooth with a slight southern twang. The words hinted at notes of refinement and intelligence.
Chad snapped a look over his shoulder. A slender man, not gaunt or athletic, but trim, leaned against his silver Malibu.
“Wh-what?”
“I said you have a fine watch. A limited-edition silver and gold ’23 Bulova Octava. Yes, it would be a shame to damage it in your fall, don’t you think?” The man flashed a perfect smile with bright teeth, an earnest expression, and a wry grin.
Besides the carefree attitude, he wore a dark brown suit, vest, and a matching derby with a black band. His face was thin with a short beak nose over a reddish-brown goatee.
“I… it’s not for sale, man. Fuck off!”
“Posh, my good man, everything is for sale. Everything and every person has a price.”
The wind gusted and Chad teetered on the edge. His arms shot out to either side, helping him regain some of his balance. But the wind fought back. Pinwheeling, he felt himself start to slip.
The man strutted forward and snagged Chad’s belt, stopping the forward momentum. “If I could offer you one solution, one answer to everything… Would you give me your last seconds to hear me out?”
“Look! I—”
“Or I could let go?” he said, stepping forward a few inches. Those few inches gave Chad an intimate, birds-eye view of the cement sidewalk. Below were the hard metal cars reflecting streetlamps. He heard and felt the rumble of speeding tractor-trailers making long-haul journeys across the state.
“NO! HEY, STOP! ARE YOU CRAZY?”
“Then let me formally introduce myself so we can have a civilized adult conversation. You may call me, Mr. Holmes.”
“Uh… I’m Chad—”
“Beauvais. Yes. Do you want to hear my offer now?”
Chad nodded, knowing there was little option. As quick as he had been ready to throw it all away, the act of climbing onto the ledge ended his drug stupor. Hanging precariously seventy feet or more in the air by his belt completely sobered him up. He never felt more alive. All five senses thrummed with a vibrancy nearly overriding his sanity. “What do you want, mister?”
“It is Mr. Holmes, I won’t say it again,” his grin had vanished. “It is not what I want, but what I can offer.”
Chad sighed with relief as the stranger helped him back into the garage, plopped down to rest with his back against the barrier, and said, “All right. I’m listening.”
“What would you say is your biggest obstacle in life? What has always got the better of you? Or who perhaps?”
“You tell me. You seemed to know.”
A black wooden cane with a curved handle resembling a snake appeared in his hand. He whipped it up and punched Chad hard in the chest. Mr. Holmes then brought it to a spare two inches from his left eye. “Time is of the essence, and I don’t take to fools. They say that every seventeen seconds a man takes his life. I do not need you; you need me. Are you going to drop your attitude, or do I throw you off the garage myself?” The steely look in Mr. Holmes’ eyes spoke the truth. He was ready to end Chad’s life.
“Sorry,” he gulped. His hand rubbed absently at the spot where the cane had struck. “Go on.”
“I will resolve that root of evil in your life. I can make whatever you name as your challenge, disappear forever. Imagine it. It’s not an offer of instant success, but true power to succeed on your own merits. You’ve always wanted to prove yourself. Make everyone eat their doubts!”
Chad couldn’t help himself, he giggled and then cackled. The words tumbled out. “Oh, man! You had me there. You got me good. Quite the sales pitch! What, are you some psychologist or maybe one of those police negotiators? That was clever, man! Distract me long enough to pull me down from the ledge. Uh, am I under arrest now?” He glanced about expecting police officers to leap from the shadows.
The cane wavered in the air as Mr. Holmes decided if he was being mocked or not. It dropped. He crouched beside him. His hand shot out and caught Chad’s neck in his empty palm.
“Five minutes ago, see what you almost did,” the ominous stranger whispered.
In his mind, a crowd gathered around a parked green sedan. A body flattened and molded into the top of the sedan. It was his body! One of his green eyes stared ahead lifeless. The other eye dangled on his cheek facing the ground. Blood ran in several, thick streams down the front windshield. One broken arm jutted in two different directions and sported the Bulova Octava with a shattered crystal facing.
“Suicide is for suckers, Mr. Beauvais. What is the root of your evil? Tell me.”
“I’m… I’m a drug addict. I can’t stop. I don’t even want to stop.”
“Easy. See, that wasn’t so hard to answer,” Mr. Holmes rose, straightened, and rolled his shoulders. The cane was gone again.
“Do you know where you are tonight? Do you know this address?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then in sixty days, you must come back to me. Stand before me and prove my gift has not been wasted.”
Chad struggled to his feet. “What do you get? What’s the price?”
A flash of his blazing white teeth split the stranger’s face as he smiled and winked. “You are a shrewd banker. Every soul is tainted. It is only natural. The world is filled with temptations and tests. So, every soul has a penance to pay in one form or another. I pay mine by saving good men, keeping the good from their foolish decisions. Suicide is for suckers, remember?”
He swiped at the creases in his suit slacks and smoothed out the wrinkles in his sleeves. “Do we have a deal?”
“Wait. You’ll wipe out my drug addiction. Just like that. And the only thing I need to do is to come back here? Or… or else what?”
“You pay my penance by your good karma and deeds in the world.” Mr. Holmes stopped. His eyes filled with blood. A growl began deep in his chest. “You fail me, then you’ll pay me in another way. For eternity!”
Chad watched as his hand with a will of its own extended and shook Mr. Holmes’ hand.
[DAY ONE – FIRST CUT]
Chad snapped awake, eyes wide and darting. He sat up and found himself in his apartment. Everything felt the same. Dirty sheets, scratchy blanket, and even his stained and wrinkled, white dress shirt. His pants crumpled up and lying on a chair next to a small window.
Three posters hung on the wall. One in a glass frame of a blazing blue Camaro, lights reflecting off the metal as it sat parked in a puddle, reflecting its dark image. The second poster was a movie poster. A copy of the Caddyshack movie. The last poster had a wine stain on one corner. It was a poor rendition of a runaway train merging into the silhouette of a three-masted sailing ship that streaked into the horizon, chasing the setting moon.
A short, black work desk sat opposite the bed. It had his car keys, wallet, cell phone, and a cigarette pack. Piles of napkins and a couple of pizza boxes were stacked on the corner. He did the majority of his work in the office.
All signs indicated home, his place on 77th Avenue.
He yawned, stretched, and pulled his legs free of the covers. Wow. I… I feel good, not even hungover!
Chad got up in his amazement and shambled down the hall into the bathroom. In the mirror, he looked like shit despite what his body indicated. His face thick with stubble, crusties rimmed his eyes, and there was dried drool and bourbon on his chin. His thoughts were slightly foggy as per the normal morning haze. But the newly unemployed had found he couldn’t remember how he got home.
Plucking open one of the sink drawers in the bathroom vanity, his fingers rummaged for his pipe and lighter. As his hand was wrapped around the glass tube, he froze. I’m good. I don’t want it.
The pipe dropped back into the drawer, and the drawer was shut without hesitation.
He smiled at his reflection. I am good. Holy shit, I really do not need a hit!
Above his collar, he noted a spot of red. Christ! Another new stain.
His fingers pulled back the collar to reveal a long scratch, razor-thin. It had bled in his sleep. The whitish tee-shirt had a half-circle of blood almost pie-plate size.
He ran water on a hand towel and blotted the cut. It helped.
Where did that come from? Chad mused.
The flash of an obscured face popped from memory. A dark brown suit, a stylish derby, a black cane. A murmur of conversation. What is the root of your evil? Tell me…
He splashed water onto his face, ignoring his thoughts.
“Ah, it doesn’t matter! It’s a brand-new day. Going to make something of it. Time to refresh the resume,” he said aloud, cheering himself on.
He glanced once more at the bleeding scratch. A cloud of concern passed briefly over his face.
I do hope you enjoyed the preview — I promise more details on the anthology will be coming soon.
Are you missing out? Never too late to join in! ECLIPSE is my latest horror-suspense story I am sharing on Amazon Vella. It’s another crime-inspired story, connected with my prior stories, Elude and Evade!
A sadistic new serial killer has the city of Chicago in his grip. A bold, rookie detective haunts his every step. Which will slip up first?
One criticism I want to address: a common trait in my stories is the supernatural or occult aspects. Some readers want a hard-core, true-to-life crime thriller. ECLIPSE is just for YOU! This time I bring you pure horror with nothing but the evil of man… Are you sure you are ready for this?
And to add a little spice to the hook: the rookie detective is Bowden Korrey… nephew to none other than Detective Lindsey Korrey from Evade…
Here’s a sample of the first episode:
The storm outside also grew in strength and fury as if feeding off Mitchell’s mood. Now, blinding flurries of fresh snow pelted the windows incessantly. Mitchell took a long sip of his coffee, settled back in his chair, and worked to calm his nerves. Corey was a typical kid. It was nothing abnormal. Yet there was something about the mouthy teen that got under his skin. He was expected to do well in a college football program somewhere as a running back. For that reason, he barely made any effort with his assignments and tests.
The plain digital clock on his wall displayed 12:45. He had to heed his own advice and started to gather his papers and texts into his work duffel bag. A few minutes later, he jogged with his hands up over his head to shield himself from the snow as he opened his gold Toyota Camry. He flung his bag in the backseat and waited behind the steering wheel.
A few minutes later, he cruised down the I-83, keeping it slow and steady on the slick roadway. He dug out his cell phone. He knew it would be better to call now versus when he reached the woody outskirts of Chicago. Cell towers were not as prevalent and his reception grew spotty. Despite the long everyday drive to and from Bogan, he loved the time of isolation and freedom it gave him. He would often listen to classical music or even lose himself in an audiobook.
Sometimes when the mood took him, he would allow himself a fantasy. A homicide fantasy would bloom in his mind, like a black and thorny rose. He would spin the encounter in his mind in every gruesome detail and direction he could. Mitchell liked to work out the opportunities, challenges, and the obstacles. He conjured every conceivable angle to how he would kill a person in the scenario. It was his darkest craving. He buried the needy feelings deep inside… buried deep like his victims in his scenarios.
CLICK HERE to read the new story and get the latest episodes!
Hello again! I know, I know… Still waiting. But rest assured, it is getting closer. I have completed the first major milestone: the first rough draft is complete. 64,000 words so far with 30+ Chapters and 228 pages. After editing and rewrites, it will be probably closer to 68k.
Here is another excerpt to wet your appetite. Enjoy!
PEHSHE SEAS, ABOARD THE CORRTA DA’EALE
A throbbing sensation pulsed in his side, but Rivyen ignored it as he held Lyndasia’s right hand in both of his. A few hours ago, the Menders had been forced to induce her into a coma. And though, she slept soundly, it was not restful. Unconsciously, she pressed her left hand to her hip. The inflamed wound beneath continued to cause her great pain even in this deep state.
A soft rap at the door came from behind him.
“Yes. Come in,” he answered.
Master Tal Crowan stepped in. Rivyen gave him a quick glance over his shoulder. The monk was clean-shaven, forgoing his usual long silver goatee. His hair was slicked back and cut short. In his hands, he carried several parcels of parchment. His face was set in a frown, and he was biting at his bottom lip.
“I have not seen that expression often on your face. When I have, it accompanies bad or very concerning news. Which one is it tonight?” Rivyen asked sounding exhausted. His shoulders were slumped and his face was drawn from stress and exertion.
“Unfortunately, your observations are correct. I do have upsetting news. A few days ago, I sent some inquiries to the Tower of Toma Tova. I received word back an hour ago and I am troubled. Very troubled indeed. Has Lyndasia’s condition improved or has the wound accepted the mending treatments at all?”
Rivyen shook his head no as he placed a damp wet cloth over her forehead.
“Her symptoms are not isolated, Rivyen. Reports and findings all over the globe are describing many wounded soldiers who are experiencing the same. Their wounds will not heal and resist all efforts. The only common factor is that they all suffered wounds caused by the Cult’s weapons. The Beleardea have crafted something, a poison perhaps that can be used to taint their blades.”
“By the Gods,” Rivyen whispered. His injuries had not fully healed yet, but that was due to the extent and amount of them he received while dragged by horseback up the mountain on Risa. The very fact that he was surpassing her in his recovery was horrifying. He met Tal’s eyes.
“Do not fret too much yet. The Tower stated that there are a lot of different clergy and Mending specialists looking into the matter. So, I am sure something will be discovered soon which can counter this.”
Both men stopped and studied the pale, feverish woman before them.
“Last night, I slipped a dose of Llanthe Flower into her cup of Brulla. I had to. Not only has she had bouts of cramping and pain during the day, but she screams often with night terrors. How can her body recover from all this?”
Tal placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “The Ebon Queen has made significant progress into Alevada and has found a foothold on the Keliada coastline. The winter appears to be the only obstacle at this point from her capturing more or taking some of the Alliance neighboring countries. If the Ebon Queen’s armies can debilitate the wounded and keep them from recovering, it could mean a landslide victory for her in the spring.”
“What you are saying is that we are not the only ones getting desperate and running out of time.”
“The library sent me some of the latest findings on Veseo—“
“Veseo?” Rivyen interrupted, somewhat still distracted by watching his love descending deeper.
“That is the alternate plane where the prophecy says we can find Shei Goldenaar. It is where I need you to go and track her down. We will need her to fulfill her part in stopping the God of Rot,” Tal said. “I am sending young Rhenden to assist you.”
“I assume Magemaster Beross will help us get there?”
“Indeed. The problem you face the most is that land is sparse, it is mostly an ocean planet. And of course, the inhabitants will likely be protective of their resources so you’ll have to rely on that charm of yours,” he joked.
Rivyen shook his head. “I cannot leave her now, Master Tal. She is so weak and getting worse. How can you expect me to? You know what I have already lost! I will not lose her too.”
“I have no choice. Besides if the God of Rot wins this, what will it matter? Her life and everyone’s life will already be forfeit. You cannot afford to sit this battle out.”
Rivyen grew quiet and did not respond for several moments. “I am not a good swimmer, and I do not have a boat…”
“Ama’yen has graced us with a resolution: her eagle, Jomma.”
That surprised Rivyen who did finally turn away from Lyndasia this time to look back at Master Tal. “You serious?”
“She will give you some riding lessons before she herself returns to Aberrisc. I am having her return and retrieve Khedarr and his daughter Vii.”
“Do you think Khedarr will have some ideas on how to get Queen Letandra back?”
“I truly hope so,” Tal replied. “I will be going too to Brealtosh to find Ayreth Ryenoc. From what I have learned, Brealtosh has the opposite problem. They have little water. A lot of harsh wide open deserts.”
“What is the game plan then? Retrieve the descendants of these ancient paladins. Their lineage. Then what?”
“From the words of Taliah’s prophecy, if we obtain the Etohlosii artifacts we can use them to defeat and absorb the God of Rot—“
“Wait! That would mean first we have to defeat the current Etohlosii then allow the God of Rot to be released and reborn!”
“These are treacherous times. I do not relish the thought of the God of Rot walking our lands again. Hopefully, LLasher can find the Sage’s Notes and get us some ideas on how to stop the Etohlosii. If we have control of the cursed artifacts, he will never be unified.”
“Last night, I could not sleep. A question came to mind. There were five names connected to the Lineage. Taliah said five. Yet there are only four Etohlosii.”
Tal frowned and shrugged, but remained silent.
Rivyen sighed and then said, “Taliah’s words have yet to let us down. I have been quite the fool in all this. I did not trust her. Hells! I called her a traitor to her face. Yet through it all she has saved us many times over. I need to make things right with her.”
Tal nodded. “That may be very true, but it will have to be when you return.”
“I think it is time for you to reach out to King Jehah and the Keliada Alliance. We will need help!”
Suddenly Lyndasia gripped his arm, her fingernails digging into his skin. Her body bucked and spasmed. Tal shouted for the Menders, but they had already heard the commotion and were breaking into the room. One bumped Rivyen hard off his stool.
Tal helped him to his feet as he ushered him back into the doorway. “We need to give them space to do their work.”
The woman’s skin glistened from fever sweat. She writhed and moaned in agony as her healers tried to cast spells and apply cold compresses to her forehead and neck.
Her body abruptly went rigid. Lyndasia’s eyes popped wide open and glazed over, staring at the ceiling above her. She shrieked, “Our time is short! Stop wasting time! You must do more. Fight for your future. Fight for all the innocents of this world and the countless other worlds!” The words poured from her mouth but were not said in her voice. Neither man recognized the speaker.
Then as quick as it began, the shaking stopped, and her body relaxed. Lyndasia closed her eyes and dropped back into a calm slumber. The Menders continued to give her care, but it was obvious the crisis was over for the moment.
“I will stay tonight with her, but I will start those riding lessons with Ama’yen in the morning.” Rivyen was pale as he looked wearily at Master Tal. “We are running out of time.”
****
After the last mender left the room and closed the door, a patch of shadow in the southern corner of the room slid down the wall. It separated and stood over Lyndasia’s prone body. Red eyes blinked open inside the mass.
The Deity Staff slowly studied the ill woman. It was not here to do harm as sorely it was tempted to. Instead, it was here following orders to observe, gather information, and see how their enemies’ numbers fared.
From all it heard, the Khestal Ezan Order was teetering on the brink. The so-called executive officers were all going in opposite directions or were recovering from injuries like this one.
The Deity Staff’s interests were piqued when it heard the words Plane of Brealtosh. It had been there before and it left a heavy mark on the people there but that was generations ago.
It decided it would report to Amaxiulus about the trips for these “lineage” individuals. However, the entity would personally travel to Brealtosh after Master Tal. It wanted to see the main world there again and it wanted revenge upon this insolent man. The entity would prevent them from finding Ayreth and kill the leader once and for all.
Kris woke with a start. Bright lights above him stung his eyes. His mouth was sand dry and his throat felt swollen. As his vision adapted, he looked about him. He was behind the steering wheel in his dark blue Thunderbird. It was smoothly running idle.
He checked the rearview mirror. His short-cropped platinum blonde hair was still well-groomed and nothing seemed out of place. However, his slate-gray eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. He looked down at his light blue suit. It was relatively fresh and he didn’t note any wrinkles. He decided he hadn’t been asleep long.
Outside the car, he could see a long empty stretch of road.
Oh, it’s the tunnel! The I-21, Kris realized. It was what the locals in Clear Lake, Texas, called The Long Stretch. The tunnel was on his normal drive to work. He had recently been promoted to Operations Manager of a Healthcare Plan Center. The commute normally took about thirty-five minutes, most of it in this tunnel.
God! I fell asleep. How the hell did I manage to do that? he wondered.
He also found it odd that he couldn’t recall the night before. Was he drinking? He hadn’t had a black-out session in sometime but it wasn’t off the table. His love of Bourbon was infamous. Sherry, his wife despised his “only vice” and gave him a shit storm routinely over it.
He shrugged and put the car in Drive. There was no other traffic in front or behind him in the tunnel. His watch was missing, but he guessed it was near 5:00 AM. He found himself quite hungry and thirsty. The BP Gas Station near the office would likely have some hot coffee and maybe a few donuts.
Kris patted his suit pants pockets, but they were empty. Shitty time to lose his wallet and cell phone. He sighed getting disgusted with himself. It must’ve been a real party for him to walk out without his items.
Did I party? Or did Sherry and I fight again and I drank away my anger? Why the hell was this drive taking so long? Where’s the exit? His thoughts began to focus on the tunnel.
While he had driven inside it nearly twenty times this month alone, there were no details he could really recall. It was constructed with a plain, black tar road, three wide lanes, yellow painted stripes to mark the sides, a bike lane, and high gray concrete walls with white hanging LED lamps every thirty feet.
The tunnel went on and on.
Something’s wrong. The tunnel portion of the drive is only twenty minutes or so tops. I’ve been over a half hour already I think.
He looked at the odometer. Christ! It was way more than he remembered. 56312. Maybe a good four or five hundred more miles than he would have guessed.
Was it a road trip and an end-all be-all drinkfest? What the fuck? Sherry is going to tear me a new one when I get home tonight. He shook his head. Then he realized he wasn’t hung over either. He didn’t even have a headache. His thoughts though were a bit foggy.
After driving for an hour, he pulled to the side and parked in the bike lane. He punched the Hazard lights on.
He then opened the glove compartment looking for his phone. In it, stuffed in the left side was a silver flip phone, maybe one of the old Motorola ones. It was not his IPhone 13. There was nothing else in the compartment. His registration paperwork and insurance papers were all missing.
He retrieved the phone and examined it. It was fully charged, had the current time of 3:52 AM on it as well as the date 9/18/2029, but nothing else on the display. There were no contacts listed. He checked the history and only one listed number that had been called. It wasn’t familiar,but he dialed it anyway.
It rang three times before am automated robotic voice answered. “Kristopher Anthony Todd. Pending. 23 days.”
It disconnected without even prompting him to leave a voicemail message.
Pending what? And what did it mean by 23 days?
Starting to feel anxious and his temper beginning to boil, he again put the car in Drive. It was time to find the freaking exit!
Another hour passed in The Long Stretch. Kris swore the ceiling was lowering and the lanes were getting narrower. His world was crushing in on him. When the odometer hit 56412 — another hundred miles since he first checked, he hit the brakes and screamed in helplessness. He pounded his fists on the dash so hard a crack suddenly formed and split the smooth rubbery surface.
“Goddamn it! Where am —“
A flash of memory cut his thoughts off. Sherry was next to the dresser in their master bedroom. She was standing in a pink and purple pajama top and panties. He was coming out of the bathroom, shouting and stumbling. He was very drunk. His shirt was unbuttoned and had fresh drink stains. She was screaming, “I am sick of your lies!”
He had screamed, “Shut that bitch mouth!” right before he swung wildly and punched her. She flew back sprawled across the bed.
Guilt and shame washed over his features. So they did fight. He did get drunk and that’s why he could not remember.
Yet something nagged at him. The memory seemed distant. Wasn’t that months ago, he questioned himself.
Kris pressed hard on the gas pedal. No one was around so he got close to 110 on the speedometer. He was going to get to the damn exit and he was going to get there now!
An hour and a half passed. Nothing of the tunnel had changed. No other cars appeared. He was starting to question whether he even woke that morning. Started to question his sanity.
Eventually, the Thunderbird sputtered then stalled as it ran out of battery power. He opened the door and walked in front of the car with his hands on his hips as he tried to figure what to do next.
The dent is gone! His inner voice shouted at him. This wasn’t his car after all! Just the same make and model. He looked at the key fob and popped the trunk. Inside was an interesting trove of items. There was a package of bottled water next to a rolled up sleeping bag. A camouflaged backpack had food stuffs and a copy of The Green Mile by Stephen King which happened to be one of his favorite novels.
“Well we have everything we need, Dorothy. Let’s follow that yellow brick road after all!”
Kris took the items and as many of the water bottles he could cram in the sleeping bag and backpack.
Another instant vision exploded inside his mind. Sherry was in the backyard running. The side of her face and neck were bleeding profusely from deep slashes. He was also running, covered in blood.
The blood was not his.
He stood there shaking. The nightmare memory hitting him hard at his core. “What did I do, babe? Oh God…”
He started walking again trying to clear his thoughts of the vision.
Kris struck his palm against his temple. He could call for help with the flip phone!
He dialed their house, praying she was alright and could answer the phone. Another robotic voice answered instead.
“The phone number you have dialed is invalid. Please check—“
Kris hung up, cursing and muttering under his breath. He dialed his work.
“The phone number you have dialed—“
Dialed his mother.
“The—“
How about this? He punched in 9 1 1.
“The phone number you have dialed is invalid. Please check your number and try again.”
Sighing loudly, he called the only number that seemed to work. The robotic message came back on again.
“Kristopher Anthony Todd. Pending. 39 days.”
Kris scoffed. He had no idea what it all meant. He continued his hike.
At one point, he stopped and camped in the bike lane. He slept five hours on the cold tarmac, but the sleep was filled with chaotic, frantic dreams.
The infinite road went on and on. His feet blistered from the dress shoes. He ditched his suit jacket and his blue tie.
Seven hours later he made another stop to sleep. The cell phone told him ““Kristopher Anthony Todd. Pending. 47 days.”
At 4:12 PM the next day, he spotted something new! It was at first only a dark and square object. When he walked closer he realized it was the same car he abandoned. The trunk was still wide open.
Kris sank to his knees, broken and exhausted. How was this happening? Why was this happening? What do—
A tall slender man opened the driver’s door and climbed out. He wore a blue jumpsuit with a black leather belt. Under a police officer’s hat, the light-skinned man had on large reflecting sunglasses. His face had almost no clear shapes or details. He was blocky, similar to one of those people his nephew would make in his Minecraft video games. However, in the man’s right hand, he carried a black pistol.
Kris lunged and bolted back down the roadway. He pulled out the cell again.
He dialed by reflex 9 1 1.
An actual human answered this time. A serious but pleasant female voice said, “State the nature of your emergency please.”
“Please! Please help me,” he shouted, panting from his exertion.
“State the nature of your emergency please.”
“I’m being chased. He has a gun! I don’t know why or where I am!”
“Prisoner 56312, Kristopher Anthony Todd. Sentenced into CRIOSYS 65 days ago. Final appeal DENIED. Your execution date has been approved and moved to today 9/18/2029. Please remain still.”
“FUCK YOU, LADY!” He screamed back and threw the phone hard to the ground.
The past year of arrest, court, press conferences, prison, images of Sherry’s corpse — all rushed back to him. He had been charged and sentenced to die for killing his wife, Sherry Diane Todd almost a year ago. On Death Row, he had been forced into a new experimental AI-generated prison called CRIOSYS.
Kris didn’t care about anything at that moment. He only ran. He knew he had to. His body may be lying in some cold storage, but his mind and soul were here in The Long Stretch! In order to live again, he couldn’t stop running. He wouldn’t!
The eruption of the gun, two blasts, the shock of the sounds, and the agonizing bloody holes opening in his chest struck him all at once.
I wanted to share with you a little more of my upcoming novel, Beyond The Barrier of Storms (Wyvernshield #5). This is the finale of that epic tale and I have challenged myself to complete at least 500 words a day to see this novel completed and brought to you this year. I am a quarter through the book already, but it is highly likely to reach 70,000 words or more before it’s finished.
It is a labor of love to finish this as this series was my first and many of the characters have been in my head since 2015. They want their stories to be told and have been pushing hard for me to get it all written.
I do hope you enjoy the climatic end to this thrilling series. Here’s another sneak peek snippet… Enjoy!
“We were able to move that E’llux object back here in the cargo hold. It is surprisingly heavy,” Scars said as he led the young couple deeper into the ship.
“I do not know what we will do if it grows any larger,” Rhenden remarked.
“I would say that it must be important if that being, The Deity Staff, wanted it so bad. We can better hide and protect it down here.” the veteran Flohki said.
They stopped abruptly as they saw a strange light coming from further down the hall. A glowing tallow light, similar to a candle radiated out around a door at the end of the hall. The light moved, then flowed, pulled back then wavered as if it had a mind of its own. All three of them stopped in awe. The sight transfixed them. Vibrations thrummed through their leather boots from the wooden floorboards.
“What is it doing?” Kaedaa whispered.
“It was not doing anything when we left it,” Scars assured them. He hesitated before he pulled open the door. “It never did anything like this before?”
They shook their heads. He twisted the knob and let the door swing inward. As they predicted, the E’llux was the source of the light after all. The entire room was brilliant and stung their eyes.
The artifact had grown again and filled the majority of the corner where they had placed a nest of blankets. Now the unique stone art piece stood eight feet high and approximately eighteen feet wide. Within the layers of colors at the center of the magical stone, they could hear and see two spots emitting a rhythmic flutter. A dueling pair of heartbeats.
The outer layer of the stony surface had grown completely transparent and glassy. A set of incandescent orange and russet-brown eyes peered out at them from behind the ribbons of color. The eyes tracked their movements and were self-aware.
“Unbelievable,” Rhenden murmured. He glanced at Kaedaa who was quietly weeping, her eyes filled with joy.
“I knew! I knew it was right to protect it. I knew!” she exclaimed, trembling with her emotions.
On the right side of it, the Balshazra lizard, Akuem, lay there, his eyes closed, and one paw placed upon the surface.
Thin, faint lines were cut into the glass-like exterior layer, running slowly down the sides toward the bottom. Contrasting orange-amber light pulsed out from the striations. Suddenly as one, the glass layers peeled away like a blossoming flower. The glass pedals pulled back to reveal a large animal body huddled inside. Wet, coarse, black-and-white fur covered its canine-like back end. A bushy tail curled up by one leg, ended with long purplish barbs. The torso covered in a combination of white feathers and brown patches of fur had three avian legs and feet with very long and sharp silver claws. The incandescent orange eyes now stared back at them from above a large wolfen snout. Twin long, tufted ears stood out from the head and twitched at any sounds.
“By the gods, I have never…” Scars murmured.
Massive black wings unfurled and flapped, encompassing the rest of the cargo hold. Dust blew up in choking clouds. The wings were marvels of color and shimmering flashes. The E’llux pulled them back and gathered the wings upon its back.
It made no noise or any further movement. It studied them as they investigated it.
Akuem approached them and extended its arm for them to all take.
This is O Majestic E’llux. She is not a threat to you. She is a natural… phenomenon. A supernatural being called forth only in dire times such as what we face. In-Between is her home and defends against any threats to it.
The E’llux had turned her stare and regarded the Duradramyn girl directly. A loving warmth filled her large eyes. Akuem stopped and looked first at Rhenden then Kaedaa.
She wishes to extend her thanks to each of you for protecting her during her manifestation, her most vulnerable time, Akeum relayed to them.
Kaedaa dropped Akuem’s arm and cautiously approached the canine-avian beast. She raised her hands and with a ginger touch, stroked the drying fur on its head. In response, the E’llux purred which was in the form of vibrating auras.
The three males watched in silence and remained awestruck at the majestic guardian that had been born before them.
So here is more of my origin short story for the Weatherly Lane Anthology. Thank you to those who gave me their feedback on the first part. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
I am posting this next section which is a build up to the story’s climax and conclusion. THIS DOESN’T CONCLUDE ON HERE (…the anthology is set to print in the coming months! Don’t miss out! It’s an exciting ending!! And the beginning to a great collection of short stories from upcoming indie authors!!)
Pastor Matthew Albright hesitated before he knocked on the door of Mayor Little’s large white ranch house. In his late thirties, he was a tall man with a slender build, pale complexion and thick salt-and-pepper hair. He wore casual clothes but sported the small white collar at his neck as custom to his position.
It was late and well past supper time. Yet he couldn’t hold off talking with her.
His knock prompted several dogs to bark upon the property and more lanterns were lit inside. A tall black man, Jeffrey, unlocked and answered the door. He was even taller than Matthew and dressed in a black uniform jacket and cotton pants.
“Yes? What do you need, Pastor?” Jeffrey asked. He knew Matthew as he had been coming to hear sermons for a few weeks now.
“I need to speak with Madam Little. Is she available? It is important or I wouldn’t be bothering her.”
Jeffrey frowned but nodded. “It…it’s not the best time for a visit.”
“I know but it’s urgent and cannot wait for morning. Please?”
He sighed, stepped aside, and allowed the pastor step in.
“One moment.” He walked down a hallway on the right and then ascended some steps to the next floor.
Moments later, Matthew was led to a parlor office. It was elaborate and decorated befitting her role. Last summer, she had actually gained her position after her husband Mayor Shannon Little had been struck down by a heart attack. The morning after a terrible tornado had destroyed several buildings along the main streets of Kingston.
Her resilience and her ingenuity amid the tragedy proved her leadership. She simply took on the responsibility and duties of her late husband and no one refuted it. Two weeks ago, she ran officially and obtained the title unopposed.
Candace Little was short and broad. She sat behind a wide oak desk littered with books and papers. She had a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. Her thinning red hair was gathered in a ponytail. Her sharp brown eyes above her red cheeks studied the pastor as he entered and stood before her desk.
“Good evening, Pastor Albright.” It wasn’t the warmest of welcomes.
“Candace, thank you for seeing me.” He sat down in one of two straight-back chairs before the desk.
She took a sip of her coffee but didn’t comment or offer him any of the drink. A thick journal sat open on her desk next to an open crystal decanter filled with dark whiskey. The smell of alcohol and coffee filled the room.
“I wanted to come and see if you had heard the news about what they found in the mine today. Do you have any contacts at Farbrynn in Minneapolis? Have they given you any indication of what they intend to do with the remains?”
She took a moment to gather her thoughts, sat back in her own dark burgundy, leather chair, and took another sip of the hot coffee. “I appreciate your interest, but I’m not sure why this is a church matter.” She was straightforward and always tactful, but Matthew got the distinct impression she did not like him or the church.
“It isn’t. I am here more on a task of personal interest, I guess. You see, I was told there are Indian artifacts and probably Chippewa remains found. I have studied the Chippewa culture through the Church. I could certainly lend my expertise to any negotiations you will have with the local tribe representatives.”
“I see,” she said. Candace abruptly stood and offered her hand out for him to shake. “I’m afraid you have wasted your time, pastor. The decisions of the mine leadership is beyond my purview and yours. And it has not been proven there are any injun items there—“
“But…”
“Again, I’m sorry but this is the mine’s business, not yours or the church’s. Keep in mind that the success of the mining operation benefits all of us greatly. I and the town support them completely. Now, Jeffrey will guide you back to the door. Good night, pastor.” She had thoroughly dismissed him and had reopened the large journal on her desk and took up her pencil.
“I am not trying to interfere or overstep you. I am just trying to prevent any hostilities arising should those burial remains get moved or damaged. The preservation of their ancestors are very important in the Indian religions. Any mistake could greatly effect this town as well.”
“All right, Pastor Albright. Your opinions have been clearly stated. Should any actual savage remains surface and be reported to me by Farbrynn, I may call upon your expertise. As of—“
“Candace. Why do you have such disdain for me?” Matthew asked in frustration.
In response, she slapped shut the journal. She was suddenly seething. Her face grew even more red. “Sir! You will address me as my role requires as Madam Mayor or Madam Little. You dare to march over here at this time of night and then assume I will give you full access to any private town business I have.” She stood in her fury and set her cup down hard, splashing its contents on the pages of the work journal. “First off, you are new here! An outsider still needing to prove your worth to this town. Second, I hang no trust in the church, it’s servants and this all mighty absent deity you bow down to so easily!”
Matthew gasped at her blasphemy and crossed himself with the holy sign.
“When this town needed God, he took my husband and abandoned us to the piles of buildings he left behind in his wake! I don’t need him, you or anyone!” Tears of rage and obvious pent up grief streamed down her cheeks.
Mathew bowed and gave her a brief nod. “I am sorry, Madam Mayor to disturb you with my presumptions. I’ll pray on your behalf.”
“Screw your prayers!” She screamed at his back.
He cut off the rest of her drunken rage by closing the parlor door.
****
Sheriff Johnathan Benson twisted at one end of his golden brown mustache in his fingers as he knelt over the corpse. A peculiar smell, sour and fetid like rotting vegetables wafted from the dead man. He brought up a red handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose. “And no one has seen the head?” he asked.
A younger man, nineteen and only a couple years older than Joshua Brown and Richie Albright, stood behind him. He held a small vanilla notepad with pencil in hand and had taken down a few facts about the scene along with a rudimentary sketch. Deputy Cory Owens answered, “No, sir. Both of us searched the entire chamber after he was reported to us.”
“Where is Deputy Redmond anyway?”
“He rushed over to Dana’s. He didn’t think it was proper she hear of her brother’s murder through town gossip.”
The sheriff looked up at Cory. He nodded. It was likely best. This was new ground for him. He never had to investigate a murder or as they like to say in those fancy detective tales, a homicide. Nor did he have any training. In fact, he could only recall maybe two deaths from bar brawls in Kingston’s entire history. He was over his head and out of his element.
He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand…Look at the condition of the body. His skin is dried and crusted terribly. It’s almost curled up on itself as if sucked inward! What does that? Can’t be just because his body was here in the mine all night.” He stood up and walked around to the other side of the body. “Almost all of his blood has left and pooled around him, hardly any looks like it remained inside.”
Cory nodded, his face pale and gray. The deputy was becoming very nauseous. He extended his hand and pointed at the shoulders and bloody neck stump. “What do you think did that? A bear? A wolf?”
“I haven’t heard of any sightings. Maybe though.” He stopped then took the notes from the young man’s hands. “Go get some fresh air. Then track down Tommy. You two will have to guard the mine entrance tonight. See if the Miller brothers will help or get volunteers and deputize them. I need to secure the crime scene and preserve any evidence. Tell Doc Overton to have Walters’ remains guarded at his place too. It’s important we do this right. We don’t want his killer to get away with this because we were sloppy. Can I count on you, Deputy Owens?”
Cory nodded. He was barely holding his breakfast back. He spun and bolted down the mine tunnel.
Ten minutes later, Deputy Cory and Deputy Tommy ran back together into the cave, sweaty and breathless.
“Sheriff! Sh-Sheriff Benson, you bet-better come q-quick!” stuttered Cory.
“Yeah, you got to come see this!” Tommy insisted. He was heavier than Cory and had a patchy beard that matched his black, curly hair.
The two younger men led the sheriff along the tunnels till they arrived at the mine entrance. Cory pointed at the horizon. Sitting tall in his saddle upon a roan mare, was a dark figure, silhouetted against the sunset. It was a male Chippewa Indian.
“Damnations,” cursed the lawman. “Stay here! Oh, and do not let anyone else approach him or the mines.” Several miners and townsfolk had already gathered and were watching the lone native upon the hill as well.
Sheriff Benson then walked slowly up the hill surrounding the mine entrance. The two talked for a brief, few minutes. When he returned, he refused to answer their questions or to discuss the matter further. “I need you two to go to town and gather as many of the resident families as possible. We will have a Townhall Meeting at 6 this evening at Albright’s Church. I will advise everyone of the situation in the mine and this afternoon’s injun visitation. We need to take immediate control of this before it gets out of hand.”
****
The night was humid and very musky. It was as if the night air had reacted and fed off the volatile townhall meeting. A thunderhead grew and spread along the horizon. Flashes of lightning flared and angry thunderclaps rolled over the fields.
Nothing at all was resolved nor made clear in the meeting. Mayor Little verified a bit of news and rumors as Sheriff Benson stood silently behind her. The mine had stopped for an undetermined time. Also, the mine had possibly discovered a new vein of gold. There had been some kind of accident and Foreman Chauncey Walters was found dead. She would not confirm or even discuss the possibility of injun presence in the mine or live representatives outside the mine.
Before she could dismiss the meeting, Pastor Albright stood up and insisted on making a statement. “With the obvious witness accounts of the Chippewa Indians seen this afternoon, I think it is irresponsible to not have your involvement in the handling of the remains found in the mine. If you leave it up to them, you are only inviting a conflict with the Indian tribes. I have an extensive amount of education on their culture. Their fundamental beliefs are imperative that they protect the dead and—”
“Sit down and be quiet, Pastor!” shouted Geof Brown. He stood among a large group of miners. His face was red and sweaty. In his hand was a mug, slopping over with beer. “You stick to the good lord and preach his word. None else concerns you. No one cares what these savages think and what they want. Only thing that matters is how this town will benefit from that gold!”
Cheers went all around him. The mayor shot Matthew a knowing and wry smile.
“As we already have talked over last night, the mine is owned and ruled over by Aaron Farbrynn. It is in his hands, not god’s or our’s,” she called out over the noise of the crowd.
The pastor sat down once again defeated.
“This meeting is over. Sheriff Benson asks that everyone head home tonight. There is a storm coming and it would be best you are not caught in it,” the mayor said.
As the crowd began to disperse, the group of miners with Geof stood up but did not drift toward the door. The cloud of alcohol wafted in the air around them.
They moved and surrounded the pastor’s seat.
“No, boys! Come on, let’s go home,” Sheriff Benson called out as he tried to cross the room and get through the crowd of townsfolk.
“What gives you this right to talk down to us, Pastor?” said Carter Thompson. He was a squat man, bearded and scruffy. His balding head was shiny and grimy with mine dust. He wavered on his feet and his eyes were bloodshot.
“Yeah! You some kind of injun lover?” another miner chimed in.
The pastor shook his head. “No. I was just offering to help so we don’t have any kind of violence or retaliation from the—”
“You aren’t from here so you just mind your church and shut the hell—”
Sheriff Benson had finally navigated over to Matthew’s side. “Boys. You need to go home and sleep it off. The pastor didn’t mean any harm.”
“I can’t believe you are sticking up for him and those savages!” Geoff roared.
“He isn’t.” the sheriff put his hand on his holster but didn’t draw the pistol. “The meeting is over. You need to think of your actions here, fellas. Attacking a man of the cloth in his own church is certainly a ticket to eternal damnation, don’t you think?”
Like a divine sign, the storm broke and thunder erupted over their heads.
That set several of the drunk miners back on their heels. Grunts and murmured curses followed the men as they had had enough and walked toward the main church entrance. Several still showed their anger by throwing wooden chairs out of their way.
Sheriff Bensen leaned down and spoke in the pastor’s ear. “Next time, Father, read the room. I understand your points, but you stirring the pot, only made my job that much harder. You and your son stay in tonight. Lock your doors and windows this evening. Everything will blow over in a few days. Until then, let me worry about the mine and the injun burial site.”
****
The flash lightning storm raged all night, however, only the grain mill suffered some damage and a small fire.
Sheriff Benson sent his two deputies to escort Pastor Albright to the mine.
Word of this spread like wildfire in the town.
The pastor kept his eyes ahead and did not meet anyone eyes along the walk to the mine. He could feel their stares and the heat from high emotions. He had made himself a temporary target for their anxiety. The town had faced a long winter ahead. The crops had not produced well and many were relying on the mine to secure their homes. Now with the possibility of newfound wealth, the townsfolk were not letting up this hope. It remained in their hands as tight as a vice grip.
“Thank you, Pastor Albright for coming out this morning,” the sheriff greeted him with a genuine smile.
“Of course.”
“Listen, last night was a bad combination of alcohol and greed. Don’t take it to heart and don’t let it spoil your view of these people.”
The pastor nodded but remained quiet.
‘Anyway, I figured it was important for you to look at the site and give me your guess on what we are dealing with. No one is here to interrupt you or condemn you. I need to understand what is here that’s all.”
He led Matthew into the dark chamber. The thick cloud of dust and smoke remained clinging to the cavern ceiling. Both men stooped to keep out of it.
Matthew was awestruck at the boulder and the bleached skulls. He ran his fingertips along the carved symbols and letters that circled each of the nooks.
“I have never seen anything like this. Sheriff, this is remarkable! The Church maintains a large collection in its holdings in New York. They gather everything and preserve every bit they can. The common motto is ‘it is better to know your enemy than to hide in ignorance and underestimate them’. I understand that the miners don’t understand my position and see it as interfering, but if I could get them to see that—”
“Pastor Albright,” he said and held his hand up before him. “Stop. I am a religious man and try to be a fair man. However, I lost my father and an older sister in a savages attack when I was three years old. I have no love them but I do not hold grudges or remain fixated on the past. Let’s stick to what you see and explain anything you can, but let’s leave out any sermons on how all men are equal to God, alright?”
Matthew’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned then walked a circle around the boulder. He knelt down and studied the four clay monoliths. “Was this broken before or after the miners found the chamber?”
“I was told that it was accidentally dropped. What are they and do you know what the symbols and words mean?”
“My guess is that they represent the four key elements of nature: water, fire, earth and air. Air is on the broken one. But I have not seen these in a burial site or in any documents of the texts. Most tombs or burial mounds are complete. I am not sure that this really was a burial site.”
The sheriff clapped his hands together. “That’s excellent news!”
Now it was Matthew’s time to raise a hand. “The fact that it is not a burial doesn’t mean that the tribe won’t be upset at the mishandling of the artifacts.”
“I get that. I do. However, right now my only concern can be on who killed old Chauncey.”
Both men paused unsure how to proceed with their arguments.
Finally, Matthew said, “Did the visitors yesterday give you an indication where they are camped? I might be able to get better information straight from the source. If they’ll talk to me that is.”
“Head due south, they’re camped at the base of the cliffs,” he replied. “Said they’re waiting there till morning for us to change our minds…”
****
“I don’t feel right about this, Joshua,” Richie said, kneeling in the shadows between two large broken-down mining carts.
They were hunched down together, outside the mine entrance. Ahead of them were two miners, sitting on stools with a gas lantern hooked on a pole above their heads. The miners were bored, restless, and drinking from a tall bottle of whiskey they shared.
“Look. I get it, but you and you dad don’t understand how bad this town needs the mine right now. That twister last summer storm took out any surplus harvest we had. Hell, we might not have enough to sustain us through this winter. So we go in—”
“You’re doing this for you! Not the town. Stop trying to bullshit me.”
Joshua grimaced at the accusation but looked down at his shoes. “Yes. Some of it works out well for me. My dad is hot about this gold. If I can ensure that the mine will resume uninterrupted and they start on that gold, it will really be something. Something that will impress him, you know?”
The boys grew quiet. The awkward silence was very palpable.
Joshua looked up. “And, if you get those artifacts for your father, then he can preserve them like he wants. It will mean a lot to him. We both win out. If we don’t do this, you know the mine or the miners will destroy them before they give in to the injun demands.”
“Alright. I guess.” Richie did not look convinced. He had been more outreasoned than converted to the idea. “Do you have them?”
The young miner held out the pair of small firework sticks in his hand.
Moments later, the pair ran full speed down the mine shaft. Joshua led the way more by memory than by sight. Most of the lanterns were put out since the operations were still on hold.
Finally, at the mouth of the Indian chamber, they stopped and caught their breaths.
Richie yanked the leather backpack off and sat with his back to the tunnel wall. “I don’t think they saw us. Do you hear anyone?”
The other boy only shook his head, still too winded to speak.
“We take it all. The miners will think the injuns took it all. My Pop told me that the sheriff tell them to not even think of making one step near the town or the mine. The injuns will never know what happened. Your father can either send the items to his church or drop them off secretly to the injuns. Everything safe and secure, you know.”
“All right. Give me a minute before we go in.”
****
Matthew brought the horse to a slow trot. A campfire was burning ahead. Several Indians were sitting around it, enjoying a late meal. Three small teepees were erected behind them.
He eased off the saddle and tied the horse to a nearby tree. He didn’t want to surprise or alarm them by riding up unannounced. He swallowed hard. The entire trip there he debated on what to say or what to ask. Now that he was right in front of them, he was shaking and completely tongue-tied. He wondered if he should have asked the sheriff to escort him. Being all alone now seemed foolish.
Yet if I don’t speak with them, the situation within the mines will undoubtedly get worse. I have to learn more to help everyone out of this mess, he thought.
Shrugging his shoulders and craning his head to the left and right, he tried to work out some of the stiffness. The moon beamed high over head. The night was getting late.
Sighing with anxiety, he began to walk toward the camp.
“Hello? Hello there. I am not—” A thin, young warrior stepped out of the shadows on his right, an arrow already knocked in his bow.
“Stop!” the warrior ordered with a very thick accent. Then he cried out several words over his shoulder. Quickly others ran to them.
The pastor was grabbed by both arms and swiftly taken within the light of the campfire.
Matthew immediately recognized the Indian, the only one to remain sitting at the fire. It was the lone warrior who had appeared at the mines.
“It is late for you to come out. Did something happen in the mines or did the sheriff send you?” the older man asked. He was heavier than the others, with some gray at his temples. One of his ears was missing and a long scar ran through it and down to his neckline. His accent was not as bad as the other’s had been.
“I am not here for the sheriff directly. I am Pastor Matthew Albright. I wanted to speak with you right away. I’m sorry to disturb you.”
The Indian nodded, then gestured for the pastor to sit across from him. “I am Harva Giiwedin, a voice for our people, the Chippewa.”
A lone wolf howled then several others joined. They were distant but his horse and the tribe’s horses all whinnied and pranced about. The night grew still again.
“I know you spoke earlier with the sheriff and I’m sure you are aware that the miners stumbled across one of your burial sites. I wanted to ask you about it. In my time at the Church, I learned a lot about the Chippewa and other tribe cultures. And in the books and pictures, I never seen a burial site quite like this.”
“You were not meant to see it. No man, white or red, was meant to. You must understand that this is not a burial site.”
“What do you mean? I saw remains. Skulls. Is it an altar or for another religious purpose?”
Halva shook his head. He stopped, lifted up a small cup and drank from it. This was the moment, Matthew spotted the fact that the man was trembling and sweating. He was terrified.
“It is not for prayer. It is a prison!”
“A prison?”
“Yes, but not for our world. It is a prison to hold the evil spirit within. I asked the sheriff if the miners had disturbed the grounds. Was he honest with me? He said that they had not entered the area only looked in.”
It was the pastor’s turn to be anxious. “I will not lie to you. They did not mean any disrespect or mean to cause any offence but the miners did go in—”
“Did you see the area? Were there four long…statutes?”
“Yes, the clay monoliths? They were marked with the elements Air, Earth, Fire and Water, Except…” he paused then looked down at his hands and he finished with trepidation. “The Air one was damaged at the base. I’m not sure how or when.”
Halva moaned. “This is very bad. I was afraid of this. Oh curse you white men! Hasthra has been released!”
He motioned for one of his companions then gave some heated instructions. The other raced off and began rummaging inside of their teepees.
“Again, I do apologize for the miners. They were not trying to cause any issues. Who is Hasthra?”
Halva had regained some composure. He ignored the pastor’s question and asked his own. “Has anyone been hurt or gone missing?”
“Yes. A foreman was killed. The sheriff is looking into it.”
The other younger warrior returned carrying a deer hide bag. He gave it to Halva.
“You are a religious man you said. A Christian pastor? Then I trust I can give you this to protect yourselves and your people.” He handed over the bag.
Matthew opened it and saw a slender engraved wooden rod with a large rock mallet tied to the end. It was a war club, he had seen a few in drawings. This one, however, had a highly polished and engraved quartz stone in the center. Painted symbols decorated the face of the stone. Laying next to the wooden club was a rolled-up parchment.
“This is the iŋyaŋ iŋjátʾe, a powerful weapon to ward off the evil spirit. It will attract the spirit but then if beaten with the iŋyaŋ iŋjátʾe it can be contained till you restore the prison.”
“Wait. What evil spirit? You are going too fast. Tell me what is this all about?”
Sighing out loud, Halva spoke slowly but sternly. “Your people have broken one of the four guardians to a spiritual prison. Hasthra is a dangerous entity that came alive through a powerful curse of murder and vengeance. It will not ever stop devouring souls. I do not know all the words to explain or to convince you of this. I can only give you a weapon—”
“Why me? Why aren’t you going in there since you know how to stop it? You know what this thing is.”
“The sheriff made it clear that we could not enter the mines under any circumstance. He said the miners would attack to protect the property. It would be the same if the townsfolk, spotted us in the borders of town. He said the only way to preserve peace is if we let him handle it. We thought it would be safe since he swore no one entered the prison ground. We were heading back to report to the elders. I was a fool to accept his word!”
“I see. But will this thing,” Matthew pointed to the bag. “Will it restore the prison or can the spirit be destroyed?”
“No, the iŋyaŋ iŋjátʾe will keep Hasthra at bay for a while, but a new prison must be made along with the skulls of any of its victims. The papers there will show you the symbols you must surround Hasthra and its victims. The symbols will hold it inside the quartz. Most important step: you must keep anyone from disturbing the ground ever again.”
Shaking his head, Matthew said, “How? The mine company, the town, they will never accept that. They own that land and want to mine it!”
“Only death can be found there now.” His words were whispered low.
“I am not a warrior though, Halva… I am a man of God. I am not sure I am right for this.”
“You have to be. If I or my men go there, then you will have more bodies and bloodshed. The Chippewa do not wish to curse the white man with Hasthra, but we will not lose lives and souls for them either. Your people trespassed on sacred grounds. And lied to us as well as spurned our efforts to aid. Now they will have to resolve this themselves.”
I would love to hear from you again on this. Are you excited to find out what happens to the wild west town of Kingston? You’ll never believe the ending and the horrific curse that befalls the land of 1417 Weatherly Lane, Kingston, MN 80954…
Here is a sneak peek at my upcoming submission for an anthology scheduled to come out this year. It’s a partnership of a great group of up-and-coming new stars in the horror field. I am honored to participate!
The main theme of the anthology is an antique Ouija Board which finds its way handed down generation by generation and all the mayhem it causes!
My contribution will be the origin story to the evil that taints the land of 1417 Weatherly Lane, Kingston, MN where all the stories will take place.
Here is the beginning of the evil legacy…
Kingston, MN 7/5/1911
Geof Brown wiped the oily dark grease from his forehead as a wide grin bared his yellowing teeth. He removed a small rock hammer from his leather belt and chipped at a section of the tunnel wall in front of him.
As the chips fell, small patches of sparkling metal were revealed. “You’re seeing this, ain’t ya?”
Another man, clad in matching, dark burlap overalls and a yellow hard hat with a small lantern gave him an incredulous look. “By God. You don’t suppose it is…”
“I do indeed! Back in the late nineties, maybe 1896 this whole region was once mined for gold. Hell, I bet Farbrynn Foundation was first a gold mine, not an iron mine like it is today!”
Both quieted down to stare in reverence at the vein of gold weaving a crooked path across the wall.
The pair of miners had been detonating and expanding the dig site all week. They now stood at the end of it and had begun clearing the piles of debris when Geoff called out for the other miner to join him.
“We going to report this?” Memphis asked.
“You think it would go unnoticed?” he chuckled. “Us working away at the middle of this tunnel versus us extending the wing to the east as our orders show. We’d be locked up before dusk in Sheriff Benson’s hold for theft!”
“Wait,” Memphis mumbled and laid his palm flat on the stone then his ear. “Did you hear something?”
Before Geoff could reply, he tapped his knuckles along the surface. An empty thud answered his rappings. “I think it’s hollow behind this wall.”
Geoff drew closer and also knocked on the wall making his own hollow thuds. “You’re right. About here, it gets solid again.” He had walked back and forth about eight feet of the tunnel.
“Let’s put one charge there and open it up. Maybe the vein is bigger in there.” Greed flooded his anxious eyes.
Geoff nodded and went back to their tool cart for his chisel and hammer.
“Get only a half of a stick. We don’t want to knock the roof down, just punch a hole here.” He indicated a spot with his fingers. “About here should do.”
Fifteen minutes later, they crouched under a thick cloud of dust and smoke that hovered near the ceiling. The thump and ring from the explosion still rang in their ears. Slowly Geoff and Memphis approached the new entry. After a detonation, one never knew exactly how well the chamber walls would hold. It was best never to rush right in. Besides the normal precautions, they both felt the sudden tension or unease in the air. It was an odd sensation like the electricity you felt before a powerful thunderstorm broke. Stale, musty air wafted out toward them.
“Look at that!” exclaimed Memphis as his lantern highlighted the hollow chamber. It was about thirty feet across and the ceiling arched from seven to a dozen feet high. It appeared to be cut out of the rock by hand. No normal tool marks were visible.
Otherwise, empty, its walls had the normal striations of iron ore. Fortunately, the new thin line of gold continued as they had hoped for along the eastern section.
In the center of the room stood a massive boulder. It was easily a ton in weight and over five feet long. Carved by hand were deep pockets in the rock’s surface. Inside these nooks were six, sun-bleached white skulls. Surrounding the skulls were strings of letters and symbols. On top, a large egg-shaped glass globe sat. It was dark purple, smooth and opaque.
From the ceiling were long lines of colored beads and polished stones. Clay vases with flower remnants and old feathers, crusty and dried, decorated the ground at the base of the boulder.
Forming a square about the boulder were four thin clay monoliths. These too were intricately engraved with symbols.
“Ain’t this sumthin’! God knows it’s Injun! You think this is a burial site?” He pulled one of the monoliths from the ground and held it in his arms to get a closer look at the engravings upon it.
Geoff frowned and snapped, “Best hope not. You know how angry they get when their stuff is messed with.”
Memphis blanched at the statement and fumbled with the piece. It dropped and landed hard on one corner. It shattered upon impact. Immediately a gust of brownish powder blew out and an odd echo of water dripping filled the room. It faded fast.
“What the hell, man! Be careful!” Geoff scolded.
“I’m sorry, it just jumped—” Memphis was cut off as a gale of icy wind swept over them. The cavern darkened unnaturally and a low hum and vibration could be felt through their boots. They both sprinted in terror out of the chamber and ran back to the tool cart.
“We got to get the foreman anyway. Come on!” Geoff grabbed the older miner by the forearm and directed him back down the tunnel where they had arrived. Both men kept glancing back, sure they were being followed. Only the mine’s eternal darkness filled the tunnels behind them.
****
Chauncey Walters stood at the entrance to the chamber as Geoff and Memphis had created an hour ago. His hands were in tight fists buried into his hips. He stared intently at the items within the room but hadn’t stepped foot inside. The rest of the B Wing crew were gathered in a group behind him. No one dared a whisper. Finally coughing into his hand, he turned and focused on the original pair. Geoff took a short drink of water from a canteen while Memphis studied his work boots.
“So, you two thought it wise to blast this wall here, huh? Weaken the tunnel capacity. Jeopardize the entire region here… because of this hollow pocket, am I understanding this situation, right?”
“Well, it was more—” Geoff began.
Chauncey lunged forward and stood in his face. “When did you start getting paid to think down here? Didn’t I write down exactly what your orders were for this week?”
Both miners remained silent.
“Now because you took it upon yourselves to act, I have this mess,” he spun and gestured wildly at the piles of debris and the native artifacts. He rotated back to them. “I am in charge here, Mister Brown! Me! You do get that? I’m the one who has to explain this. Or do you want to go ahead and jump in here too?”
Geoff and Memphis shook their heads no and kept their silence.
“You wasted resources, company time, damaged whatever that injun garbage is, and put the wing at risk! The only way I can justify keeping you two idiots is you stumbled across this possible gold vein. Hopefully we can recoup the costs and maybe even save this quarter for Farbrynn. So, all of you, hear this now and be sure you fully understand what I am saying. Until I say otherwise no one utters a word of this outside this mine. It’ll be in Leadership’s hands on how we go forward with this dig. Am I clear?”
Grunts and nodding heads quickly answered. They turned all together and as one marched away into the darkness.
“Do not think I won’t fire anyone right on the spot for breaking the silence,” he shouted. “Keep this in confidence. This gold may be the windfall Kingston has been hoping for. We just have to plan this out perfectly. Until then we don’t want any mistakes or…” He paused and looked over at the boulder with the native remains. “We can’t have any delays due to conflicts and ‘improper handling of sacred remains’ if you get my intention. Today we will close the mine operations early while I send for direction by Leadership. Not a word fellas! Now go.” He stopped to spit cave dust into one corner.
****
“Hey, man, come have a drink with me at Baron’s,” Joshua Brown called out. He was standing in the open doorway to the only town saloon and waving at a group of other young men who were emerging from the Tanner’s Inn stables. Joshua was shorter than most for his age, but he had powerful arms from his years of work in the mines with his father. His long, brown hair stuck out from under his wool cap. His green eyes were bright with excitement.
Among the men he had waved over was his newest friend, Richie Albright. He was the son of the new pastor. Months before, they had moved into the farm lot on the edge of town and converted their small house into a Methodist Church. Richie’s face was freckled and pale under his wispy blonde hair. He also wore thin wire glasses and was a little taller than most of the other men.
When he and Joshua walked together their differences were quite striking. However, they had bonded fast over their love of automobiles. Neither of them had actually owned one, but Richie had seen an actual first-model Ford T back in Chicago. He also had a growing collection of books on the subject. Most of their afternoons had been dedicated to discussing everything related to cars.
“You seem pretty happy. The mines are down early today?” Richie asked as he and the other men caught up with Joshua at the steps.
“Yep! Got some news, but…” he paused and did a quick look around. The other men went ahead and walked into the Baron Vance Saloon. “We’ll talk inside.”
Inside the small saloon, it was dark and smelled of stale beers. A few lanterns were turned on near the bar, but the overhead lights were not yet lit. In the large room were six drinking tables, three larger game tables along the right, and a bar piano in the back corner. In the opposite corner in the back was a stairwell leading up to the sleeping rooms. A few townsfolk sat at the bar, but the drinking tables were filling up fast with the miners. The room grew loud with laughter and talk of the gold vein.
Before they wound their way to their own table, always near the back and the piano, Richie spun around and exclaimed, “They found gold in the mine?”
Joshua laughed, “Yep! We’re supposed to keep quiet about it, but that’s not happening!”
“Where?” he asked as they sat down.
“My father and old Memphis were expanding the tunnels in the east wing when they found this small line. Oh! And get this, there is an injun burial ground right in the middle of the gold deposit!”
“Really? It has to be the Chippewa,” Richie said. He and his father had studied the history of Minnesota before they had trekked out to make a new start. Both had discovered in the process that they were avid Indian history buffs. However, they did not broadcast this to the local residents.
Joshua scrunched up his face in disgust and confusion. “How would I know? Injuns is injuns is all I know. And they were too dumb to mine out the gold!”
He then turned to wave down a saloon serving girl as she passed and asked for two mugs of ale.
“Wait! Did you say it’s a burial site?”
Joshua took a long gulp from his beer, then said, “Yep! Well, at least, there were several skulls in it.”
Richie pushed his spectacles further up his nose. He was fascinated. The automobile chats had gone a bit dry for him. This was new and exciting. His father would be ecstatic too.
“What did you see at the site?”
“Well… it’s a small chamber about thirty feet or so and just a few feet taller than a man. Inside was this big boulder where they carved out holes to put the heads in. There were feathers hanging from the ceiling and clay pottery stuff all around too. You could see the gold twinkling in the walls! Thad Williams thinks this is going to put Kingston on the map. Going to make us all rich!”
“So why did they stop the mining operations?”
“They have to get some direction on what to do with the gold and what to do with the burial site. Foreman Walters was all up in arms and shouting for everyone to be hush-hush on this. Threatened to fire anyone who talked.” He looked all around him with a big wry grin. “Sure looks like we are all scared of that!”
“My father has some education on Indian Cultures. The Church wanted him to have it so he could help with any crisis negotiations. Anyway, do you think they’ll let him look at it?”
Joshua shrugged. He was paying more attention to the brunette serving girl working the left side of the room.
****
A thick cloud of dust and smoke clung to the ceiling inside the chamber. Light from his lantern barely illuminated the gloom of the chamber. Chauncey moved in closer to the wall and pulled out his small knife. “Let’s see just what we are dealing with, shall we?”
He scraped at the rock and dirty grime that obscured the vein of gold. It flaked into his open palm. Holding it inches from his eyes he could see the twinkling metal. A broad grin crossed his face.
A subtle shift in the gravel sounded behind him. He snapped a glance behind him. No one else remained from the crew. Squinting, he peered into the dark entrance of the chamber. “Hello?”
Nothing.
He shrugged and turned his attention back to the wall.
Chauncey stood still trying to calculate how long he could delay his dispatch to the management at Aaron Farbrynn Mining Foundation. He planned to mine a patch or two that night when the mine was empty. He would skip town in a couple of weeks.
How long before anyone grew suspicious of the delays? Maybe four days at best he decided. With the new telegraph stations, communication was spotty. Then it would take some time for them to plan–
Another sound of shifting sand inside the mine. It was more distinctive this time and it was followed up with falling pebbles.
“Alright. Who’s there? Come out!” he bellowed before spinning around. Someone had defied his orders and stayed behind. Someone was going to be his example and get fired!
Nothing again.
He marched over to the entrance of the hollow chamber and leaned in. “Just come on out and let’s get this over with. You can’t hide in there for long and it will just go worse on you if I am forced to find you. I’m not playing hide-and-seek today!”
“Nish..tiggg…waan”
The words floated out from the gloom of the chamber. Chauncey could not find their source. They were drawn out and said with a deep, rolling rumble.
“Who is that?” he demanded and took several steps inside. Keeping his head low out of the dust and smoke cloud, he crept closer to the center of the room where the boulder sat. If anyone was hiding in there, that would be the most logical spot.
“You not only disobeyed a direct order to leave, but you are messing with this…injun stuff which is going to cause me even more grief. Come out now! Let’s get out of here.”
“Niiii toon,” the words were whispered, the faint wind of them brushed his left ear as an ebony mist descended from the cloud and settled over his head. Immediately an intense pressure swelled Chauncey’s skull.
His hands flew up and his finger nails dug into his temples. A gurgled scream stuck in his throat. He coughed hard and choked on the stale air of the cavern as he spun about his legs kicking madly. The foreman’s body acted reflexively versus any thought or direction from him.
Blood bubbled from his ears and out his nose. Somehow he had gnashed upon his tongue and more blood drooled out from his lips.
“Niiitoooon!” the voice shrieked inside Chauncey’s head. It was still a deep bass sound, but it was filled with an intense emotion of rage.
He was barely aware of the voice as he felt rather than heard the popping and sharp crack at the base of his shoulders. Bones snapped as his neck twisted abruptly to the left then yanked back hard to the right. A building scream of sheer raw agony started then was cut off brutally as his scalp split and peeled away to the sides. Chauncey’s eyes blazed to life with an unholy ivory-white light.
More skin tore away, and tendons snapped free from the shoulders as the foreman’s head ripped from the mooring of his body. The severed spine dangled obscenely from the neck. A thick fountain of gore and scarlet blood showered the boulder as his spasming body dropped hard to the dirt.
The skull continued to hover in the air. A flowing black body of bristling hair wavered behind the skull. The creature now appeared part Chauncey Walters and part writhing specter. It swam through the air and coasted beneath the bank of smoke. It descended and dropped down to the boulder. It hovered before each of the skulls in their respective nooks.
“Aashayaan,” The voice came out between the bloody jaws of Chauncey’s mouth. The tongue hung limply to the side and protruded between the lips.
The specter cascaded down to the prone body. A light gray steam rose from the man’s back and bathed the creature. It shook and trembled in delight as it had been eons since it had fed.
It was hungry for more.
I hope you enjoyed my story so far. We even have plans already for a sequel edition scheduled later in the year. Would love to hear your thoughts on the story… Leave me a comment. Till then, happy reading!
The Official Website of Author Derek Barton 