BENEATH THE SURFACE

Early the next morning Jake drove his Jeep into Sam’s driveway and sounded two quick taps of the horn, then dug into the bag he’d placed on the floor behind the passenger seat, pulling out a cup of coffee and a donut.

Sam came down the steps dressed in jeans and a Benton University sweatshirt, a pair of thick hiking boots on his feet. Around his neck were slung two cameras and an assortment of lenses. A fanny pack strapped around his waist bulged with additional gear.

“What is all that?” Jake asked, as Sam climbed inside the vehicle.

“Necessities, Jake. You don’t expect me to go on possibly one of the most interesting finds this town has seen in two hundred years, and not bring along some means of recording the event, do you? I just wish my damn video camera wasn’t in the shop, or I’d have brought that along, too.”

Jake chuckled as he handed the coffee and donut to Sam and dug another donut out of the bag for himself. He couldn’t blame Sam for his enthusiasm, he too was anxious to see just what it was that had been worth burying beneath a living river. In the short time it took to cross town and arrive at the mansion, Jake felt his excitement grow.

At the end of Stonemoor’s drive Jake turned left into the construction area proper and parked in front of his trailer, where something caught his eye.

The door to the tool shed  was wide open, hanging in its frame by only one hinge.

Jake grunted in surprise, and walked over with Sam at his heels. Jake had experienced robberies at other sites, had even bought a pistol he kept in his desk drawer in the trailer so that he’d feel some protection while working alone at night, but he had never expected to have one here. For a moment he was more surprised than angry. There wasn’t anything of great value in the tool shed. What would somebody want with some old shovels and a pickaxe or two? he found himself wondering.

“Why would anybody want to…” Jake began, and then stopped, his eyes widening in sudden realization. “The tunnel!” he exclaimed.

Without a word Sam turned to go, suddenly anxious that someone else had beaten him to what he considered the story of his lifetime, but Jake grabbed his arm.

“Hang on. You’ve got to help me with this stuff.” He let go and turned to the shed, pushing the door aside and disappearing within. He returned a moment later with a couple of shovels, a crowbar and a pickaxe cradled in his arms. He gave a shovel to Sam, and kept the other for himself. Then he moved over to the trailer and, unlocking the door, went inside. This time he had a large ring of keys and two battery-powered lanterns in his hands when he emerged. His pistol was stuck in the waistband of his jeans.

“We’re going need these to see down there,” he said, indicating the lamps. “We haven’t had a chance to string any lights yet.”

They crossed the yard, headed for the front door. As they walked, Jake felt his concern growing. Very few people knew of what they’d uncovered yesterday. Unless some of the crew had shot their mouths off to friends, then it had to be one of his men that had caused the damage they’d seen. After all, they’d be the ones most likely to know just where the tools were kept and what they might need down in the cellar.

His suspicions that someone had been after whatever was hidden in the tunnel were confirmed when he and Sam mounted the steps, only to discover the front door standing half open like an invitation.

That pissed him off. Blake was going to have a fit when he told him about the break-in, and Jake fervently hoped nothing had been stolen from inside. That would make matters even worse. God help me when I find out who did this, he thought grimly.

Behind him, Sam was taking pictures. The click of the camera sent Jake over the edge.

“Will you knock that off, for Christ’s sake?” he snapped angrily.

Sam wisely lowered the camera without a word.

The same gouge marks were in the frame of this door, and on closer inspection Jake recognized them as having come from the notched end of a crowbar. Just to be sure, he hefted the one he had in his hand and laid it against one of the marks. It was a near perfect match.

Looking at the state of the aged oak that made up the doorframe, Jake ruefully shook his head. Add another item to the list of things that need to be replaced, he thought to himself.

He reached out to the door, intending on going inside, when Sam’s voice stopped him.

“Ah, Jake?”

Jake turned, a questioning look on his face.

“Don’t you think we’d better call the police?” Sam asked, nodding his head in the direction of the trailer and the phone he knew to be inside.

Jake thought about it for a minute, and then shook his head. “Not just yet. I want to have a look around first, try and get an idea of what kind of damage has been done. See if there’s anything missing.” And I want to have a look at that tunnel, he added silently.

The open door beckoned to him.

He opened it the rest of the way with a gentle nudge of his foot, Sam’s request reminding him that he didn’t want to unnecessarily disturb any evidence, and stepped inside, Sam close at his heels.

The morning sun had yet to rise high enough to crest the trees surrounding the property, making the interior of the house dim and gloomy. Jake was forced to turn on one of the lanterns to see clearly.

The entryway looked undisturbed.

“Wait here a sec,” he said to Sam, and stuck his nose into the rooms on either side of the foyer. Everything looked to be in its place there.

Jake didn’t bother going up the stairs directly ahead of him. They led to the second floor and there was nothing of value up there anyway. Besides, for some strange reason he was certain the intruder hadn’t gone up.

He’d gone down instead.

To the basement.

To the tunnel.

“Come on,” Jake said, and crossed the foyer into the dining room and out through the kitchen to the door which opened onto the cellar steps.

Holding the light high before him, he descended.

Once down below he discovered that his suspicions were correct. The tarp covering the stairs leading deeper into the earth had been pulled aside. A crowbar lay discarded next to it.

Jake moved over to the steps with Sam right behind him. A hand gesture told Sam to extinguish his light, which he did, and the two of them stood there in the darkness.

No lights shone up the stairs from below.

No sound reached their ears.

Jake drew his gun and leaned close to his friend. “Looks like we’re alone but let’s not take any chances. Keep your voice down and follow me. If we come upon an intruder, I’ll hold him at bay while you go back to the trailer and call for help.”

Sam gripped the shovel in his hands a bit tighter and nodded his agreement.

Turning on their lights and moving carefully so as to make as little noise as possible, the two started down the steps in pursuit of the intruder.

They moved down the length of the tunnel and turned the corner to find a large hole excavated in the center of the wall that had previously blocked the way further. Jake stopped before the hole, his light shining inside, gazing through it at the scene on the other side.

Sam stepped up to his side and added his light to his friend’s.

After a moment, he lowered the flashlight and raised his camera.

Several shots later he turned to Jake and asked, “Now can we call the police?”

Jake nodded without saying a word.

On the other side of the wall, the corpse of Kyle Halloran gazed back at them with wide, staring eyes.

GAME NIGHT

Sam made a covert roll of his eight-sided die. Noting the result, he made an announcement to the players in front of him. “Five of the eight warriors you just killed sit suddenly back up and start rising to their feet.”

“I think we’re in trouble,” Jake said to Katelynn, who nodded her agreement. Turning to Sam, Jake said, “Chelmar steps back and prepares to cast a sleep spell.”

“Okay. And what about Alganea?”

“She stands a few feet in front of him, out of his line of sight but close enough to defend him if the things attack again.”

More dice tumble, and another grave pronouncement is made: “The first ghoul reaches his feet and turns his head in your direction. His eyes seem to glow when they see you, and he slowly begins lumbering toward you, the sword in his right hand raised overhead threateningly.”

“Hurry up, Jake!” Katelynn said excitedly.

“Okay, okay. Chelmar steps up next to Alganea and casts the spell, making sure before he does so that she is behind him and therefore out of the area of the spell’s effect.” Jake smiled at Katelynn winningly, as if to say that he had everything under control.

“Chelmar, you realize that you cast the spell properly, but it doesn’t seem to have any affect on the ghouls, who are in fact undead, and therefore are not affected by mortal requirements like sleep. The first ghoul is almost close enough to strike, and looking past his shoulder both of you can see that now the other four have also climbed to their feet and are starting to move in your direction.”

Both of the players knew that their characters were in real trouble now. If they didn’t think of something soon, they would probably die here in the dark caverns beneath Zolthane Mountain.

It was just after 10:00 pm and the three friends were deep in the midst of a session of Swords and Sorcerers, testing Sam’s latest creation for playability. They were seated around the table in the kitchen of Jake’s apartment, with Sam on one side and Jake and Katelynn on the other, their books, papers, and charts spread out before them. The lights in the room were off, the only illumination coming from half a dozen candles that cast a reddish glow across their faces, adding to the atmosphere of the game.

Loki, Jake’s Akita, slept contentedly at his feet, head resting lightly in his paws, lost in his own fantasy world of dreams.

The game went on. “I reach out and yank Chelmar out of the range of the ghoul’s sword,” Katelynn said quickly in response to Sam as soon as she heard the magic had failed to work as they’d planned.

Another roll of the dice. “You manage to pull him back just in time, Alganea. But the ghouls close in.”

The game continued in that vein for another hour or so, with Katelynn and Jake managing to have their characters escape from the clutches of the ghouls, only to find themselves lost in the labyrinthine maze of passages that led them deeper beneath the earth, setting the stage for next week’s adventure.

Jake had seem distracted for most of the evening and as they were cleaning up, Sam decided to broach the subject. Jake was staring off into space, absently stroking his dog’s head, when Sam said, “What’s up, Jake?  You usually enjoy poking holes in all my hard work. Sometimes I feel that the only reason you play anymore is to make certain I don’t pull a fast one on the unsuspecting public. You’re letting Katelynn do all the work tonight.”

Jake laughed. “Sorry, Sam. Just distracted I guess. We had an incident at the site today and I guess it’s been on my mind all night.”
He had both Sam and Katelynn’s attention now. “Somebody get hurt?” Katelynn asked, her face showing concern, the adventure module in her hand forgotten now.

“Nah, nothing like that.” Remembering his first reaction to Rick’s appearance in his trailer, Jake almost smiled. “My men have been working in the cellar all week, pumping out the river so we can lay the wood floor, you know?”

Sam and Katelynn nodded. Spending as much time together as they did, they’d become almost as familiar with Blake’s renovation plans as Jake.

“Once Rick’s team pumped out the water, they found this shallow trench bisecting the entire basement. And there, at the bottom of the trench, is a set of stairs leading down into the earth.”  Jake looked up from where he was staring at the floor, to see if his friends were following his explanation.

They were, so he told them the rest.

About his gut reaction to the stone. About the tunnel he and Rick uncovered, and of the journey the two of them made into the darkness beneath. He told them of a phone call he had earlier that afternoon from Blake, and of the man’s request that he and his crew break through the barrier that blocked off the end of the tunnel in order to discover what lay beyond.

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked.

“Just what I was told to do. Break down that wall in the morning to see what’s on the other side.”

“Want some company?” Sam asked.

“Sure. Just come ready to work. Taking down a brick wall in open air in the light of day is one thing. Having to do the same while underground in a dimly lit and ventilated tunnel is another. It isn’t going to be easy.”

Throughout the conversation, Katelynn sat quietly, doing her best to cope with the flood of feelings at Jake’s revelation. A strange sense of unease uncoiled like a snake in her belly, all cold and hungry, telling her to leave things well enough alone, not to disturb whatever it was that had lain to rest in the dark depths of that tunnel for so long. She was suddenly certain that it would do them no good to intrude.

At last she spoke up. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to go down there, Jake?” she asked tentatively, not trusting her own feelings to protest any harder.

“We checked it out pretty thoroughly this afternoon. That tunnel is hewn from solid rock. There’s no danger of it collapsing on us,” he replied, misunderstanding her reason for caution.

Katelynn couldn’t find a way to voice her concern without looking silly and superstitious, so she let the matter drop. Mentally, she sought some rational explanation for the fear that was rapidly spreading through her, but found that none existed. Something was going to happen when they went down there, something awful. She knew it; could feel it in her bones.

While Katelynn struggled to identify her feelings, Jake and Sam quickly agreed to meet the next morning just before seven. After that, the gathering broke up quickly.

The ride home with Sam passed in silence. When they pulled into her drive and he walked her to her door, she tried once more. “You guys really ought to just leave things alone and let Blake hire some professionals to investigate that tunnel. What if it’s unsafe and the two of you get trapped down there?”

Sam sighed. “We’re not going to get trapped, Katelynn. You heard Jake. That tunnel has been standing for a long time. One more day isn’t going to make a difference; it’s not going to suddenly come tumbling down around our ears. You’re just jealous that you can’t go with us because you have class in the morning.” He chuckled, not recognizing the depths of her fear. “Go on, get inside,” he said. “We’ll tell you all about it at lunch tomorrow. We’ll be fine. You’ll see.” With a wave he turned away down the steps.

Katelynn was still standing there, watching, as the taillights of his car disappeared around the curve at the end of her street.

In the darkness, she shivered.

BLAKE

As Jake drove his Jeep along the winding road that led from the tall iron gates marking the entrance of the Riverwatch estate to the mansion itself, he glanced out over the lake to his left. The beauty of the setting sun as it reflected off the still waters had not lost its appeal in the years since he’d first seen it.

He had arrived in Harrington Falls five years ago, after spending almost a decade in New York City. The romance of the metropolis had long since worn away by the time he’d made the decision to leave. He’d grown tired of the crowds; tired of the press of humanity on all sides, tired of the hectic pace. He needed a cleansing of the spirit that just wasn’t possible to find in the city and one afternoon he decided he had enough. He sold almost everything he owned, packed his Jeep, and headed northeast. Eventually, he wandered into Harrington Falls and decided to stay.

He accomplished a lot since then. With the help of a local bank, he started a construction company, finally putting the engineering degree he’d earned at NYU to good use. He started small, concentrating on additions to existing structures, home improvements, that sort of thing. After a time he discovered that he had a true talent, and interest, for restoring the older homes in the community, bringing them back to the vitality of their youth. He changed the focus of his business and now had a strong following in the surrounding communities. It was his success that brought him to the attention of his current client, Hudson Blake.

Blake was a direct descendant of the family that had started Harrington Falls in the late sixteen hundreds, a fact that he never let anyone forget. Jake had agreed to renovate one of the family mansions, a place known as Stonemoor. He knew the job would provide steady work for the rest of the fall and on into the winter, a period when the available work became scarce.

Jake was beginning to regret that decision.

He hated these meetings with Blake. Held once a week, they were ostensibly to check the progress the crew was making on the renovations. Blake’s nature had always made Jake feel inferior. The man was a pompous, condescending ass who wanted everything done yesterday, and got verbally vicious when it wasn’t.

No, this was not going to be a fun meeting.

Jake pulled into the cul-de-sac at the end of the drive, and parked beside a sleek, silver Rolls Royce, circa 1937. A wide brick walkway curved across the lawn to the main door of the mansion.

He picked up the door’s knocker, a heavy piece of brass molded into the shape of a lion’s head, and rapped it sharply three times.

A moment passed before the butler, Charles, opened the door. He glanced at Jake’s attire with clear disapproval. Jake was still wearing the jeans and work-shirt he’d had on at the site. Coming across the threshold, Jake returned his best Up Yours stare, with a certain sense of satisfaction.

It was bad enough that he had to take such flack from Blake. Taking it from the man’s servant was just too much.

Without a word, Charles turned and led the way through the first floor until they reached a set of broad oak doors near the back of the house. Having been there before, Jake knew it was the library.

“Wait here a moment,” Charles said, in that toneless servant voice he had cultivated and turned away without waiting for an acknowledgment. He knocked softly on the door in front of him before noiselessly sliding into the room. When he returned, he indicated Jake was to be admitted.

Jake stepped inside and heard the doors close firmly behind him.

Blake was seated at a desk formed from a massive piece of black stone that squatted in the middle of the room’s hardwood floor like an altar erected to some particularly vile god. He didn’t look up or acknowledge Jake’s presence in any way. He merely continued to read through the papers held up before him.

Instead of standing there and growing uncomfortable, which Jake knew was the purpose of this little ‘exercise’, he used the time to study his employer.

As always, whenever a few days had passed without seeing Blake, Jake was repulsed anew by the sight of his client. It wasn’t that he was physically disgusting; he didn’t have grotesquely scarred features, no loathsome birth defects that made looking at him a trial in itself. Nothing one could point to and say, “There’s the problem.” Nothing like that. Instead, it was an odd sense of discomfort that crept into his bones, an unsettling feeling that slowly came over him. A feeling that said the heart at the center of this fruit was shrunken and black with rot. Add to that Blake’s long bony frame and small evil looking eyes set in a ferret-sharp face, and Jake figured it was pretty understandable that he felt the way that he did.

Blake continued the charade for several long moments, letting the silence stretch.

Finally, “You’re late,” he said, in a tone that showed his own disgust, never once looking up at his visitor.

“I know,” Jake replied calmly.

Blake suddenly threw the papers onto the surface of the desk and Jake found himself staring into the man’s beady little eyes. “I suppose you have some kind of excuse?”

Jake still hadn’t been offered a seat. He knew he wouldn’t be. He chose to ignore the verbal jibe as well. “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he answered instead. “I was forced to stop work in the cellar this afternoon because of something my workmen uncovered.”

The look changed in the man’s eyes as his words registered, and for just a moment Jake thought he saw a gleam of excitement there before his employer’s expression went carefully neutral.

“What do you mean?” Blake asked, his tone now as flat as his expression.

“We finished pumping out the river when we uncovered the entrance to a set of stairs leading deeper underground. I went down with my foreman and followed the tunnel to a point some two hundred yards later, where it has been bricked shut. I thought it was best if we waited to see what you wanted us to do before going any further.”

“I see….” Blake replied, and then swung his chair around so he was facing the window, his back to Jake, so that the younger man wouldn’t see wide smile of surprise that spread slowly across his face. “And what did you do then?”

“Nothing. I sent the boys home, locked up, and came on over here.”

“I see,” Blake responded again.

The silence stretched for an unusually long time, with Blake staring out the window lost in thought, and Jake reluctant to disturb him and break the man’s good mood, but finally, Jake felt that if he didn’t interrupt, they’d be here until Tuesday.

“Mr. Blake? What do you want me to do about it?”

“Hhmm? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

The chair swung back around. Jake was unable to read anything behind the man’s carefully blank expression. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to think about this for awhile before I come to any decisions. Why don’t you and your men take the next few days off?”

Then came the clincher.

“With pay, of course,” Blake said.

Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Days off? With pay? Had somebody turned the world upside-down and not told him? But Jake was nobody’s fool. Whether he believed that Blake was really being a nice guy or if he had ulterior motives, Jake knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He quickly agreed with the idea, left off the paperwork he’d been requested to bring, and made plans to get back in contact with the man before the end of the week. Then he got the hell out of there before Blake could change his mind.

A few days off?

Hell, yes. Sounded good to him.

Climbing into his Jeep, Jake finally allowed himself to grin at his good fortune.

* * *

Once the fool had gone, Blake let a triumphant smile emerge as he pondered the implications of the news. His ancestor’s journal had long hinted at a secret vault upon one of the family estates, but after spending thousands of dollars and months of effort searching for it, he’d finally dismissed it several years ago as foolish nonsense.

Today’s news changed everything.

There was no sense putting himself at risk to be certain, however. He’d pretend to give the situation some thought and then call that young fool back later tonight. He’d tell him he’d changed his mind and give him permission to investigate further.

His smile grew wider as he realized what he had hunted for for so long might now be close to his grasp.

Which wasn’t really all that surprising, by any means.

He was, after all, a Blake.

LEGENDS

Fingers flying across the keyboard, Samuel Travers watched the words appear in neat lines of glowing green script on the screen in front of him with a deep sense of satisfaction.

He’d been writing since nine o’clock that morning, a steady five hours of work. At first it had been difficult, every sentence leaving him unsatisfied. Nothing seemed to fit, nothing had sounded quite right. The first half hour had been completely wasted, with nothing to show for it but half a pack of cigarette butts in the ashtray beside him. In desperation he’d tried an old writing exercise, copying names out of a phone book to stimulate creativity, and suddenly the words he’d been trying to summon together with such difficulty moments before had flashed into his mind as clearly as if they’d been etched in stone. He’d given a whoop of delight, swept the phone book onto the floor with a swing of one arm, and plunged into his tale with reckless abandon.

For the last four hours, his mind racing, his fingers trying desperately to keep pace with his thoughts, he’d been too absorbed in the crystal storyline that was flowing out of his head to pay attention to anything else.

The creative stream was starting to finally wind down. The flood had become a weak trickle and he knew it wouldn’t be much longer before even that went dry.

It was just about time to call it quits for the day.

What he had written today was good. Damn good, he thought. Now if I can only keep it up until it’s finished. Taking a long drag off his cigarette, he cast a silent prayer to the Nine Muses to let him do just that.

Tipping the scales somewhere around 170, Sam stood just under six feet, with short curly hair that was slowly receding across his brow and eyes and hair the color of used motor oil. Sam had taken the less traveled road after college, going to work as a writer for a company that produced fantasy role-playing games. Having been in love with the strange and fantastic for as long as he could remember, the job allowed him to stay in a world where demons, ghosts, and things that go bump in the night were a reality, at least on paper. While enjoyable, the hob didn’t pay that well, so Sam was forced to supplement his income with a second job at a nursing home in Glendale.

As he sat staring at the pages of the fantasy tale he was in the midst of writing, his thoughts turned to the latest session of Swords and Sorcerers that he had scheduled for Jake and Katelynn later that night. It had been a week since his friends had ventured into that underground maze beneath Zolthane Mountain that Sam, the adventure’s writer, had created and named the Crystal Caverns. Katelynn and Jake often acted as an unofficial test group, working through his latest creations for their strengths and weaknesses before Sam sent them off to his editor for production. As usual, Sam was anxious to return to that fantasy world of imagination. Last week had seen Chelmar the Wizard and Alganea the Warrior-Maiden trapped in a dead-end cavern by a pack of flesh-hungry ghouls. Despite the week they’d had to ponder the problem, Sam still couldn’t see how Jake and Katelynn were going to get their characters out of their deadly predicament.

Looks like you might’ve made this one just a hair too difficult, he thought to himself. If they can’t find their way out of the maze, you’re going to have a lot of rewriting to do.

A quick glance at his watch told him it was just after two. He had agreed to take a day shift in order to free up one of his evenings later in the week. Doing so also allowed the perfect opportunity to take Katelynn to work with him that afternoon so that she could interview Gabriel Armadorian, one of the nursing homes’ patients and Sam’s friend, for her thesis. Knowing he had to be there by three-thirty, Sam decided he had just enough time to grab a quick shower and a bite to eat before going to pick up Katelynn. He saved the fresh text he’d written on his computer, and then wandered into the kitchen, trying to hunt up the fixings for a sandwich or two, his thoughts wandering through the details of that night’s adventure.

He didn’t know it then, but before the night was through, Sam would find himself wrapped up a situation beyond his control, one that would make those he faced in the twilight realm of his imagination seem positively dull in comparison.

* * *

Across town, Katelynn Riley was anxiously awaiting her friend’s arrival. As was her habit when nervous, she checked through her book bag once more, assuring herself that she had everything she needed.

Notebook? Check.

Pencils and pens? Check.

Tape recorder? Check.

Tapes and extra batteries, just in case? Check.

That’s everything, she thought with satisfaction, and relaxed back into the chair by the front window where she sat watching for Sam’s car. He had promised to take her to St. Boniface’s today when he went in for his shift, to introduce her to Gabriel Armadorian, the nursing home’s oldest patient. He had assured her that the old man was still lucid and in complete possession of his mental faculties.

From the comments that Sam had made, Katelynn was fairly certain that Gabriel was privy to a good deal of information that she was unable to find elsewhere on Sebastian Blake, the man who was the subject of her thesis. She was eager to sit down with Gabriel to discuss the issue at length. What a coup it would be for her to uncover and support information that not even Dr. Hemington, her mentor, had previously seen.

A horn sounded from outside, snatching her from her musings. Seeing Sam’s car in the drive, she quickly slipped into her coat, snatched up her pack and hustled out the door.

“All set?” Sam asked as she settled into the passenger seat.

“Sure am. Thanks a lot for this, Sam.” She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

He smiled at her in return. The two had known each other for several years, having enrolled at Benton University at the same time. A chance introduction had blossomed into a deep friendship that had lasted well past college. At times Sam found himself wondering just why it was that they’d never been more than just friends. Wasn’t friendship one of the most important pillars in the foundation of a relationship? It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive; he certainly did. She kept herself in shape with daily workouts of swimming and aerobics, toning her body without losing its soft feminine curves. Her hair was the color of chestnuts and curled at the shoulders. Katelynn had a wonderful laugh, a beautiful smile, and a pert little nose that reminded him of an elf. Sam knew from past experience that she was kind, caring, and generous. So why hadn’t they fallen in love? Sam figured it was just one of the great mysteries in life and left it at that. Sometimes it didn’t pay to look too closely at such things. They were friends, and that was what was important. At least that was what he told himself.

Suddenly, Katelynn interrupted his thoughts. “Tell me about Gabriel, Sam.”

He thought about it for a moment, and then said with a laugh, “I’m not sure I can.”

Despite all the time they’d spent together, Gabriel was still pretty much an enigma to him. He had the feeling that the old man would remain that way no matter how well they got to know each other.

Sam remembered the day they had admitted Gabriel to the nursing home. The stretcher attendants were wheeling him in, his stroke too recent for him to be mobile, and as they’d passed the nursing desk were Sam was stationed for the night, the old man had opened his eyes, looked at him, and said, “Come pay me a visit sometime, Sammy. I think we’ve got a lot to talk about.” It had taken Sam a minute or two to get over his shock, and by then the group had passed through the double doors and down the hall to the guest rooms. He’d wondered how the old man had known his name, and then decided he’d simply read it off his nametag. But when he’d been changing in the locker room after his shift, he’d discovered he’d forgotten to put his tag on that night. There it was, sitting right where he’d left it the night before, on the top shelf of his locker, the white letters of his name staring him in the face. Once the shivers had gone away, he’d convinced himself that one of the attendants must have been playing a joke on him. Knowing his interest in the supernatural, they’d convinced the patient to go along and try to give Sam a scare. He’d had to admit it had worked beautifully, and he’d left it at that. But the incident hadn’t left his mind all weekend, and when he’d gone back to work the following week he’d done just what the man had asked, went and paid him a visit.

From that night on, the two of them had been friends.

Knowing Katelynn was patiently waiting for some kind of answer, he struggled to describe how he felt whenever he was in Gabriel’s presence.

“You ever notice how they portray grandfathers on television? Nice old guys who always have the right answer, who can always give the kid who’s the star of the show the right piece of advice?”

Katelynn nodded. She knew exactly what Sam was talking about; her own grandfather had been just like that. He’d always known when something was bothering her and had always managed to cheer her up with just a few words. When he died a few years ago, she thought she’d never be able to stop crying.

“Well, that’s Gabriel. He makes me feel like a kid all over again, awed and amazed at everything he says. He can take an everyday object and turn it into something miraculous, just by having you look at it in a different way.” He grinned sheepishly. “Sounds pretty corny, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all. Keep going.”

“He seems ancient to me. Totally at one with nature and the world around him, peaceful, serene, as if nothing could ever faze him. And he’s an incredible storyteller. Sometimes, when I’m working the late shift and he can’t sleep, I’ll sit in his room and he’ll tell me old legends, tales filled with wonder and magic, good and evil, tragedy and happiness.”

They left the town limits and headed west on Route 3, heading down the side of a mountain to where Glendale lay at the base, fifteen minutes away. They crossed the covered bridge that spanned the Quinnepeg River, and a few moments later drove into the town of Glendale. It was bigger and more industrial than Harrington Falls, less quaint and more seedy. St. Boniface’s, the nursing home where Sam was employed, was on the far side of town and it took them another fifteen minutes of fighting the afternoon traffic before they arrived.

Once inside, Sam had Katelynn wait in the lobby while he ran downstairs to the locker room, changed into his uniform, and clocked in his time card. When he returned he led her upstairs to the third floor. Mr. Armadorian was in room 310, at the end of a long L-shaped corridor.

Outside the door Sam said, “I told him you were coming, but just in case he’s asleep why don’t you wait here a sec and let me go in alone.”

Katelynn nodded and stepped back to comply, but a voice called out to them from inside the room. “Are you two going to stand out there all day, or are you coming in to keep an old man company?”

Sam grinned, shrugged his shoulders, and led Katelynn inside.

The first thing Katelynn noticed were his eyes. A clear robin’s egg shade of blue, they seemed to gaze out at her with the open wonder of a child. They were eyes she’d often read about but never actually encountered; mesmerizing eyes, eyes that seemed to see right through a person. If it wasn’t for the obvious kindness that poured out of them in waves, their impact would have been quite frightening. As they were, they made her feel warm and welcome.

Once she could tear her gaze away from Gabriel’s, she noticed his skin was a burnished shade of copper, his face so lined with cracks and creases that it reminded her of a well-worn piece of leather. His hair was long and white, flowing over his shoulders in a long snowy mane, receding only a little despite his obvious age. He smiled at her scrutiny. “Sammy,” he said, reaching out and clasping his friend’s hand in greeting with both of his own. “I’ve been waiting for you, just like we agreed.” Gabriel let go and turned to face Katelynn. “And this must be the young lady my friend has been telling me about lately.”

“Katelynn Riley,” she told him, turning to shake hands. His hand was thin and seemed fragile, but his skin was rough with years of hard work and his grip was still surprisingly strong. She noticed that he was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a blue chambray shirt that hung loosely on his thin frame. His feet, propped up on the end of the bed, were clad in a pair of soft suede moccasins.

“Please, sit with me, here by the window,” he said, indicating several chairs that had been set up by the large window that formed most of the wall in front of the bed. “I was just enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun.”

Having been there countless times, Sam had already taken a seat, but Katelynn paused a moment to look around, taking in the austerity of the man’s living space. She had glanced into several other rooms on the way up, and she knew that this was not the normal decor. The only furniture in the room besides the bed and chairs was a nightstand that appeared to have been hewed by hand from one solid piece of wood. It was rough and unfinished, but its very simplicity seemed to give it a wholesomeness that a perfectly stained piece would never have possessed. The walls were plain white plaster, unpainted, unadorned except for an intricate macramé design that looked to her like some kind of bird rising out of a fire.

When she turned away from the wall hanging, Katelynn found Gabriel watching her. She smiled shyly, and he gestured with one hand, indicating with a smile of his own that she should join Sam and him at the window. The three of them sat together in silence for a time, letting the heat of the sun warm the chill from their bones. Eventually Gabriel turned to her and said, “Sammy thinks that I may be of some help to you?”

“Yes,” she replied eagerly, leaning forward in her chair, anxious now to get down to business. “I’m employed as a teaching assistant while I work toward my doctorate in sociology at Benton University. I’ve been doing a thesis on the dynamics of communities that arise from one central, familial influence. The impact of the Blake’s family fortune on the rise of Harrington Falls has been a perfect model. Sam tells me that your family had some association with the Blakes in the past and I thought you might have some information that might add some local color to my work.”

He nodded, a curious expression on his face. “I’d be delighted to help if I can, but most of what I know would be second or third hand information.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ve been focusing lately on the figure of Sebastian Blake, including the circumstances that surrounded his final disappearance from this area. Anything you can tell me about him would be a great help, since I’ve managed to uncover next to nothing.” As she spoke, Katelynn delved into her bag for her notebook and pen, while at the same time surreptitiously turning on her tape recorder. She left the recorder  inside the bag so as not to make Gabriel uncomfortable. When she straightened, she found the atmosphere in the room had changed, the air suddenly charged with tension. The old man was staring at her intently, a strange look on his face. This time she could feel that his expression was one of fear.

“Why would a pretty young woman like you want to know about a man like him?” Gabriel asked in a soft, quiet voice that somehow carried far more force than his earlier exuberance.

A sudden thrill went through Katelynn, the one that told her she was on to something. Easy girl, she told herself, not wanting to ruin things by being hasty. Mindful of the old man’s reaction, she answered carefully, “Well, the Blake family has had a tremendous affect on the development of this region. Since so much has been done on the other, more notable members of the family, particularly Elijah and Nathaniel, I wanted to stay away from them and choose a lesser-known figure. My early research uncovered very little information on Sebastian, Elijah’s younger brother, and so I decided to find out why. The more I looked, the less I found and the more curious I became.”

“And now, like a child with a lost treasure map, you just can’t seem to put it down,” Gabriel said gently, almost remorsefully, in reply.

She nodded in agreement.

He turned away, staring off into space, as if considering whether or not he was going to help her. His hands, idle until now, were suddenly in motion as he began wringing them together in an outward expression of some internal conflict. This went on for several long moments as Katelynn and Sam each sat holding their breath wondering what had so upset the man. Finally, he seemed to return to himself and looked over at them. Turning to Sam he said, “Shut the door, Sammy.”

Katelynn watched as Sam complied, and on his face she could see an expression of bewilderment that probably matched her own. Her feeling of excitement was growing. The old man was acting as if he was about to impart national security secrets, and that could only mean that he knew something good.

Gabriel waited until Sam had resumed his seat and then addressed Katelynn. “There is no way I can turn you from this course and suggest you choose another?”

Katelynn shook her head. I’ve done too much work now as it is, spent too many hours combing dusty works in the back shelves of the library, all to no avail. Now, when I finally stumble onto something, he wants me to give it up? Not a chance!

He nodded again, as if her answer was what he had expected. “Tell me what you know,” he said.

Katelynn took a deep breath to hide her excitement and began. “Besides the general facts like his parentage and where he was educated, not much. I do know that he was a loner, almost the exact opposite of his brother Elijah, and he got into trouble with the authorities on more than one occasion while he was growing up. He left Harrington Falls to attend school in Boston and then spent many years overseas.”

“Sounds fairly normal to me,” Sam said.

“To an extent,” Katelynn agreed. “He returned some years later a changed man, however. The wild attitude of his childhood had been replaced by an intense studiousness that seemed to please everyone. He’s mentioned several times in historical documents of various types after his return, attending a town meeting here, appearing at a dinner engagement there, just as you would expect from a wealthy member of one of the town’s founding families. But soon after that, the world seems to have lost track of him. Right up until the spring of 1760 he’s a fairly prominent figure, but then there’s nothing. After 1760, there isn’t a single mention of him anywhere I looked.” She sighed in exasperation.

“The various family histories seem to ignore the question of what happened to him as well. I couldn’t even find a record of his death.

Unconsciously, she shivered. “It’s as if he fell off the face of the earth and no one noticed that he was gone.”

Next to them, Sam listened to her litany, fascinated. It was all news to him. He’d heard the man’s name mentioned once or twice in the past and seemed to remember something about there once having been a statue of him in the town square that had been torn down for some reason. He was beginning to feel the same sense of mystery that had infected Katelynn.

It was obvious that Gabriel was troubled by what she was saying. Sam had known the man too long not to recognize the subtle clues; the changed look down in the depths of his eyes, the nervous tick of his little finger. He was upset, and for a moment Sam was certain he wouldn’t tell them anything. Then Gabriel turned and looked out the window, gathering his thoughts. Sam had seen the same expression whenever the old man was getting ready to tell one of his tales of the mystical past.

“Sebastian Blake,” Gabriel said softly, as if tasting the words on the tip of his tongue and finding them bitter. “I haven’t thought of him in many years. And with good reason; he was not the type of man one allows into his thoughts lightly.” He turned to face them, and they both saw that a sadness had descended over him, a blanket of weighted sorrow that for the first time made him seem old in spirit as well as body.

He went on, “The natives of this country believe that when the Great Spirit made this world, he populated it with many strange and wondrous creatures, some good, some bad. One of these was Coyote.”

Katelynn glanced over at Sam, and by the look on her face he could tell she was wondering what on earth this had to do with Sebastian Blake. Gabriel had his own way of telling a tale, and Sam had learned long before that it was no use trying to hurry him along. He’d tell it his way, in his own good time, and that was that. Besides, Sam reflected, he always said things for a specific reason, and what at first seemed trivial was often important later in the tale. He calmed her with a subtle motion of his hands.

Gabriel was still speaking, and Sam refocused his attention. “Coyote is one of the great spirits of the Indians. According to legend, he taught man many things; the use of clay to make pots, the way to make mats from the reeds that grew by the river’s edge. The arts and crafts of the People that have been preserved from the beginnings have all been taught to them by Coyote, according to their beliefs. Yet, Coyote had two faces, and it wasn’t long before the People realized this. At heart he was a bullying, greedy trickster. He would roam among the People in a form none could see, and he would wreak havoc whenever he found the opportunity.”

Gabriel looked directly into Katelynn’s eyes, and for a moment she was frightened of the old man, so forceful was the strength of his gaze. “The man you speak of was much the same way, but it took those who lived beside him much longer to recognize him for what he truly was.”

It took her a moment, but she at last found her voice. “So he wasn’t the Mr. Nice Guy that he appeared to be when he returned from Europe?”

“Outwardly, he was. But it’s not what a man is on the outside that divines his essential nature, but what he is in here,” one long thin finger touched the center of his chest, “that makes him who he is. In the heart of Sebastian Blake, there was nothing but darkness.”

The sun went behind a cloud then, as if echoing Gabriel’s words. Sam was struck by the uncomfortable feeling that it was hiding, not wanting its precious light to be sullied by what they were saying. The old man must have felt it, too, for he looked toward the sky, and then nodded, as if the sun’s behavior was entirely appropriate to the moment.

“My great grandfather used to speak of him when I was a boy, passing on tales he had learned from his father before him. A wise man was my great grandfather, wiser than I can ever hope to be, I suspect. From him I learned many things about the true nature of the world. But of everything he ever taught me, the most important was this: evil walks in the world, under many faces and many forms, in sunlight or in darkness.” His gaze lost its focus, as if he had turned it inward, down a road neither of them could see. “I don’t think I ever really understood what he meant, until I met Sebastian Blake.”

The last was said in a near whisper, and it took a moment for Katelynn to realize just what it was that he had said. When she did, she spoke without thinking. “Oh, come on! Met him? That would mean you’d have to be over two hundred years old!”

The tone of her voice brought Gabriel out of his reminiscing with a start. He appeared confused for a moment, and then smiled gently. “A figure of speech, of course. Knowing about him was as close as I would ever want to come to meeting him, I assure you.” His grin widened, and he winked at her. “Then again, maybe I am over two hundred years old. But I bet I don’t look a day over seventy-five, right?”

Katelynn grinned back to acknowledge the joke, and relaxed. For a minute she’d thought the old man wasn’t nearly as lucid as he seemed.

“Blake was a man who searched for forbidden learnings, for knowledge that was best left far from the eyes and ears of man. Instead of embracing the philosophies and teachings that had brought Man out of the Dark Ages and into the modern world, he sought after ancient beliefs and legends, delving into areas of darkness, seeking the company of the Dark Ones.”

“You mean the Devil?” Sam asked excitedly.

Katelynn cast him a sour look. She was here to do some serious research for her thesis, and she didn’t want to waste time indulging Sam’s love of the fantastic. If he wanted to think that devils and demons and things with a thousand legs haunted the dark and forgotten places of the world, that was fine, but she didn’t want it interfering with what she’d come here to accomplish.

He didn’t seem to notice her look, and neither did Gabriel, for he turned to reply to the question.

“Not exactly, Sam. At least not in the way that you mean. You’ve got to remember that this was in the early days of this settlement. The people who had come here had fled the Old Country out of a desire to escape religious persecution. For them, belief in God and the Devil was not just something to indulge in when they felt like it, as so many of today’s religions have become. For them, it was a question of eternal salvation or damnation. But Blake wasn’t interested in that limited view of the universe. He looked beyond that, to an older and darker view of the universe, and sought to recapture the power that the ancients supposedly had through their rituals and ceremonies.”

Katelynn interrupted him before he could go any further in his explanation. “Wait a minute!” she said sharply, her mild irritation at Sam’s question having rapidly grown into annoyance with Gabriel’s response to it. “Are you trying to tell us that Sebastian Blake practiced witchcraft?”

“Dark Magic might be a more appropriate term for it, but yes, that is what I am telling you,” he answered simply, the congenial expression never leaving his face.

“Cool!” Sam exclaimed happily. When he’d agreed to bring Katelynn in to see Gabriel, he’d expected to sit through a long conversation about a guy who’d long since turned to dust and who’d led a life so boring that no one even remembered him. Now all of a sudden they were talking about something that was right up his alley; a real, live warlock, right here in his own town!

Katelynn, however, was far from thrilled at the news. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe that,” she said.

“Why not?” Gabriel asked, a playful smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye.

His expression just served to aggravate Katelynn further. He was a nice old man, and probably pretty lonely most of the time. This was why he liked making up stories to tell Sam while Sam worked the late shift, only the two of them awake so late at night. He’d probably misunderstood how serious she was, and having no real information that could help, had decided to invent some story along the lines of the ones he told Sam, thinking that this was what she wanted to hear. She’d come here looking for solid leads to help her, and talk of rituals and black magic was just going to put her in a foul mood. How gullible did he think she was?

“Why don’t I believe it?” she answered him, the smile on her face as false as a three-dollar bill. “I’ll tell you why I don’t believe it. Because there is no such thing as black magic.”

“Are you so sure of that, Katelynn? Has someone actually proven that such a thing does not exist?”

“Of course not. No reputable scientist would bother with such an experiment. The idea of magic completely defies what we know of modern physics. It just can’t happen.”

“Ahh, but remember what we are talking about here. We’re not discussing modern ideas of reality, but the views of those people who created this town in the late seventeen hundreds. Belief in witchcraft was a way of life back then, and in just about every small town you could find some man or woman who was considered a witch or warlock. Having these individuals run out of town or put to death by angry mobs in the middle of the night was not uncommon, especially here in the back woods of New England. Just look at Salem. Do you really think these people didn’t believe in magic?”

Grudgingly, Katelynn had to admit that he was right. When delving into the past, one had to remember that modern beliefs and attitudes just didn’t belong. You had to adopt the beliefs of that particular era, or you would arrive at incorrect conclusions, just as she was doing now. But what did all this have to do with Blake?

Gabriel was more than happy to let her know. “Blake believed that he could gain power through the use of black magic, and much of his public demeanor was just an act, designed to deceive the townspeople into accepting him back into the fold while his research went on behind their backs. He scoured every reference he could find, tome after tome after tome, searching for just the right ritual that would put him in touch with the dark entities that he believed existed amongst us, hoping to make use of their power to elevate himself into a position of dominance in the community.”

“Then, in the early months of 1762, the killings began. The townspeople at first thought they were accidents, for they had been cleverly disguised as such. A wagon accident here, a sudden fall from a horse there, a child lost in the woods and found frozen to death the next day. But as the year passed, the killings became more frequent. And more violent. Random accidents could no longer account for what was happening, and the ravaged conditions of the corpses made the people begin to suspect that something out of the ordinary was going on. Then, late in 1763, the killer was discovered.”

Katelynn was listening with a skeptical look on her face, but Sam was completely engrossed in Gabriel’s tale, his belief in every word etched clearly on his face.

“An anonymous tip sent the local authorities to a small shack on the woods of the Blake family estate, and there they discovered Sebastian in the midst of one of his foul rituals. A small child was laid out on an altar before him as some kind of sacrifice to the powers with whom he had fallen in league. Before their very eyes, he plunged a knife into the young one’s chest and cut out his living heart.”

The old man shuddered, and Katelynn found herself involuntarily replying in kind. One thing she had to give him credit for; Gabriel was a great storyteller. Whether what he had to say had any basis in fact was another issue altogether.

“The townsfolk saw no need to wait for a formal trial. They formed a lynch mob and hanged him on the spot.”

“So how come there is no record of any of this?” Katelynn asked, trying to trip the man up.

He had an answer ready for that as well. “Not wanting to beseech the Blake family name, or to create a reputation for their newly prospering town, the village elders agreed to wipe any reference of the event from the records, and forbade the papers from printing anything concerning the story, which wasn’t difficult, because they were owned by the Blakes.”

“So how am I going to prove that this actually occurred?” she asked him.

Gabriel sat back and spread his hands, palms up. “I don’t know. You’re going to have to figure that one out for yourself. I’ve told you all that I know.”

Throughout the story Sam had been quiet, but he spoke now. “They couldn’t have gotten to everyone, Katelynn. There’s bound to be someone who recorded the events. A merchant, or a traveling minister, maybe even one of the families of the victims. At the very least you should be able to document the number of deaths that occurred at that time, right?”

Katelynn thought about it for a moment, and then agreed. The town records should show the death certificates for those years, if they were still around. If she could substantiate that, she might be able to find another lead to help her prove the rest. She smiled to herself, surprised that she was seriously considering the story she’d just heard. The idea that Blake was consorting with the devil was absurd, but proving the man had been some kind of a serial killer was not beyond her ability.

She focused her attention back on Gabriel. “Could you tell me any more about the people who were murdered?” she asked hopefully.

The well of information that Gabriel seemed to possess had apparently run dry. He didn’t know the names of any of the victims, or the dates on which they had been killed. Nothing except for the fact that it had started in early 1762 and ended in late 1763. “I’m sorry I can’t help you more,” he said.

“Oh, that’s okay. You’ve given me a beginning, anyway. I’m not saying I believe it, but maybe it’s worth looking into.”

He smiled at her, and she gave him one of her own, the skepticism she’d felt earlier in the conversation having dissipated.

They chatted for a few minutes more, and then said their good-byes. Sam had to start his shift, and Katelynn had to prepare a lesson for the class she was teaching in the morning. They told Gabriel they’d be back to see him soon, and stepped out into the hallway.

“What do you think, Katelynn?” Sam asked, as they headed for the nursing station at the other end of the hall where he was assigned for the duration of his shift. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

“I don’t know, Sam. It could be that this guy actually was running around, sacrificing people in the mistaken belief that it could give him supernatural powers. This was the seventeenth century, after all. Then again, Gabriel could’ve just been making it all up in an effort to please you. It’s obvious that he likes you, and if he felt that was the type of story you were looking for, he might just do it. He’s certainly intelligent enough to pull it off.”

“I don’t know, Katelynn. Gabriel’s never lied to me before and he certainly understood how important this is to you.”

“Only time will tell. Maybe I’ll turn something up with a little more research. In the meantime, I’d better get going.”

Sam handed over the car keys. “Pick me up at nine and we’ll drive to Jake’s together, okay?”

“Sure thing. See you then,” she replied, and headed off down the hall, throwing one last smile in Sam’s direction to show that she didn’t think the whole afternoon had been wasted.

Sam grinned in return and turned back to begin the day’s work, but his mind was on that long forgotten evening in 1763.

* * *

At the other end of the hall, the one calling himself Gabriel sat staring into the distance, his eyes unfocused and dreamy. The voice of the beast was in the back of his mind, as it had been throughout the interview, whispering to him all the awful ends it had devised for him in its long years of confinement. It had been easier to ignore it when he had his two young friends in the room to talk to, taking his mind off what the beast was saying, but now with them gone, it was harder to shut it out. He listened closely for a moment, trying to gauge if it had grown any stronger, but being unable to do so, he tuned it out. He didn’t want to listen to that vile voice any longer.

He was worried. He was no longer the man he’d once been. His power was waning quickly, his body at last had grown old and tired. He’d assumed the Nightshade’s prison would hold him indefinitely, but in that he’d been wrong. He should never have had that much pride in his own abilities. The beast was awake, and before long he knew it would be free as well.

Then it would come for him.

He had no doubts as to what would happen when it did.

He had one last hope, however. The seeds of his plan had already been planted. Sam was a good listener, and mixed within the stories he had been telling were grains of truth. He trusted that the boy would be smart enough to tell one from the other when the time was right.

The girl was a different story. He could tell she was skeptical of the tale he had told, and it would be questionable whether she would be able to overcome that skepticism in time to help Sam with what needed to be done. But overcome it she must, for Sam could not face this alone.

Gabriel decided to nudge her along the right path.

Rising from his bed, he crossed to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Beneath several old sweaters was a locked strongbox. He removed the box and placed it on top of the dresser.

Inside were the odds and ends that he had accumulated over the years; mementos of special moments and personal interests. One of these was a necklace of gold from which hung a crimson stone, wrapped in a piece of soft cloth. It had been fashioned years before by his enemy’s ally and Gabriel had taken possession of it following his victory over them. It was a communication device of sorts, for the right kind of individual, and Gabriel had little doubt that Katelynn fit the mold.

Gabriel reached for the phone. His first call went to directory assistance where he obtained Katelynn’s address. His second call was to a courier service, with whom he made arrangements to have the necklace picked up and delivered.

If he was right, it wouldn’t be long before Katelynn was involved in his plan whether she wanted to be or not.

It was unfair, but necessary.

With each passing day the beast was growing stronger, coming that much closer to escaping.

Gabriel knew it would not be long.

His task finished, he began to pray.

**************************************************************

Tomorrow – Chapter Three!

If you prefer not to wait, you can find the entire novel for sale in the Amazon Kindle store.

While you are there, why not check out some of the other work I have available, including my Templar Chronicles series (The Heretic, A Scream of Angels, and A Tear in the Sky) and a short fiction collection featuring my published work from the last several years, Shades of Reality.

I’ve decided to put up my Bram Stoker and International Horror Guild Award nominated novel, Riverwatch, as a free online serial for your reading enjoyment.  Starting today, and continuing for the next 42 days, a new chapter will be uploaded on a daily basis.  Links to each chapter will also be available in the sidebar, so if you’re just discovering the story for the first time you can start at the beginning.

Riverwatch was first published by Pocket Books in 2003.  It is available in various ebook formats, particularly for the Kindle.  If you don’t want to wait for the free chapter each day, you can find the entire work at the Amazon Kindle Store.

Here’s the back cover copy from the paperback edition, in case you are wondering what the book is about:

IT HAS WAITED….IT HAS HUNGERED….

When Jake Caruso and his construction team find a hidden tunnel in the cellar of the old Blake mansion in the sleepy hamlet of Harrington Falls, Jake can’t wait to explore its depths. There, he finds an even greater mystery: a stone chamber that’s been covered up for hundreds of years — sealed shut by some long-forgotten warden.

IT HAS BEEN UNLEASHED.

When the ancient seal is broken, a reign of terror and death consumes the town’s residents. Something is stalking them — something that strikes in the darkness without warning or mercy, leaving a trail of innocent blood in its wake — and Jake comes to realize the nightmarish truth of what he has set free. It is an evil born of ages past. A creature of eternal bloodlust. And it has risen to continue its endless slaughter….

So let’s get to the story!

CHAPTER ONE

AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY

It’s a tombstone.

The notion came out of nowhere; seeping into his consciousness the way fog sweeps off the sea on a cool summer evening, insidiously sliding into the center of his thoughts. Once there, it stuck hard and fast. The stone did, indeed, resemble a gravestone. The outer edges had been beveled at a slight angle, giving it a simple yet unmistakable sense of dignity. It had also been sealed to the dirt floor with mortar.

If it was a tombstone, then whose was it?

Why put it here, hidden beneath a river?

It just didn’t make sense. Staring at it, Jake decided it had been a difficult afternoon. This latest addition to his troubles had started fifteen minutes ago, with Rick’s arrival in his trailer.

* * *

“We need you in the cellar, boss.”

“What the hell for, Rick?” Jake Caruso replied without turning. “You know Blake wants these estimates finished before two o’clock. I don’t have time to look at every little thing that goes wrong. That’s why I appointed you foreman, remember?” Jake was tired; the work had been going well, but Blake was on his back about even the tiniest details. It was starting to get to him. Why can’t the man just back off and let me do my job? Jake wondered, not for the first time.

Rick’s reply surprised him. “I know boss, but I think you’d better come on down. It’s important.”

His solemn tone was what caught Jake’s attention. Turning away from the work before him, Jake looked at Rick and started in surprise. His friend’s lips were pressed tightly together. The tension in his jaw was easy to see despite the man’s effort to hide it. His usually ruddy face had gone the sickly gray of anchovies and the cheerful light in his eyes had dulled to a lusterless sheen.

Jake’s aggravation with the interruption vanished. Rick was the perpetual optimist. For him to look this bad could only mean that something major had gone wrong. Images of bloodied flesh raced through Jake’s mind with visions of men crushed by powerful tools.

“What happened? Somebody hurt? Should I call an ambulance?” Jake asked, reaching for the phone.

Rick held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No need for that. Nobody’s been hurt. The crew in the basement found something I think you should look at, that’s all.”

That was it. When pressed for more details, Rick refused to say anything more.

Tossing his pen aside and running a hand through his already disheveled hair, Jake agreed to go look.

The two men left the trailer and crossed the lawn to the wide veranda that encircled the house. Climbing the steps, they entered through the front door. Moving along the foyer, they passed through the dining room, the butler’s pantry, and then down the flight of servants’ stairs that led into the basement where Jake’s crew had been working for several days.

The home’s original owner had made use of the land’s natural features, routing a nearby stream directly through the cellar. The stream’s steady flow turned a large waterwheel, which in turn generated electricity for the estate. Ultimately, the owner’s eccentricity had caused more harm than good, for over the years the stream had back up and pooled in the building’s basement. Now it was nothing more than a deep stagnant pool.

Blake, the present owner, had decided that the cellar was to become a wine storing area. Jake’s men had dammed what was left of the stream out on the east side of the property earlier in the week and had spent the last two days pumping the last of the water out of the cellar. The streambed would be filled with concrete and a foundation laid for the hardwood floors, as Blake had requested.

As they descended the flight of rickety old steps, the smell of mildew and rot wafted up toward them. It reminded Jake of childhood days spent hunting crayfish in swampy creek beds. The stench in here was the same. At the base of the stairs he paused and surveyed the job his men had done. Bright lights had been erected to illuminate the area and in their harsh glare Jake judged the height the water had risen over the years by the dark stain left on the wall. Beneath this mark, layers of green slime and algae still hung, shimmering in the light. The air was heavy with dampness, making Jake feel as if he were walking through a vertical curtain of dew. He could see the wide trench that extended from one side of the house to the other, neatly bisecting it before disappearing out the opposite side. Rick led him over to the edge and pointed down.

* * *

Now, staring at the stone, Jake realized that Rick was speaking.

“…the last few inches of water about an hour ago, and I sent a few of the men into the trench to start widening it out. I was hoping we’d be able to start laying the pipe for the drainage system this afternoon, then we uncovered this thing.”

Jake’s gaze had not left the stone. He guessed it to be about six feet long and three feet wide. One corner had been chipped away, exposing an open space beneath and revealing that the stone was at least several inches thick.

“I had one of my men break it open just to make sure it wasn’t an old storeroom or well shaft. When I saw what it really was, I didn’t want to touch anything else until you’d had a chance to take a look,” Rick said, handing a flashlight to Jake.

Jake took the flashlight and jumped down into the trench, moving closer to the stone. The muck at the bottom of the trench sucked at the soles of his shoes and coated them with a foul-smelling mud. He didn’t care; his interest was on the slab of stone before him. Bending down beside it, he ran his hand along the surface where the men had cleaned off the layers of mud that had collected over the years. He was surprised to find it extremely smooth.

“Don’t bother,” Rick said from his position above. “There isn’t any writing on it. I already checked. But take a peek into the hole beneath it.”

Jake flipped on the flashlight and shone its beam down into the darkness beneath the slab. The light pierced the gloom that was lurking there, giving him a clear view of what lay beyond.

He realized what it was that had upset his foreman.

Stone stairs lay just beneath the stone.

Leading down.

Deeper into the earth.

“What the…?” Jake mumbled to himself. He reached into the opening with one hand and ran a finger lightly over the top step. It was coated with a thick layer of dust that stirred slightly with the movement. There was no sign that any of the water that had lain overhead so long had seeped through. On a hunch Jake reached sideways and felt the inner surface of the nearby wall.

That, too, was bone dry.

It also was solid stone.

Jake sat back on his haunches and looked up at Rick. “We can’t do any more work until we check this out. Send a couple of men out to my truck. There should be some crowbars in the back.”

Ten minutes later Jake and Rick were heaving at the edges of the slab with the help of several others. It was hard work. The stone had laid there long and was heavy. They wedged several of the bars between the slab and the stone walls, using the first step as leverage. In that manner they managed to get enough torque to snap the stone from its seal. They slid the stone far enough to the side to leave an opening wide enough to admit a man. The stairs below were clearly revealed. They could see the steps descended about twenty feet and then stopped at the opening of another tunnel.

Jake was preparing to go down to investigate when Rick caught his arm. “Should we be going down there?” he asked.

“Sure. How the hell else are we going to find out what it is?” Jake’s eyes gleamed. Visions of dark caverns and secret chambers danced in the back of his mind.

That frightened look was back on Rick’s face. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Jake. We don’t know how safe the tunnel is or what it might have been constructed for. For all you know it might be the gravesite of one of Blake’s ancestors. I don’t think the old man would appreciate you poking around in the family crypt.”

Jake remembered his initial reaction to the stone and a chill raced through him. What if it was a crypt? Did that make any difference? If he was going to finish the job, he’d have to discover what lay below and relay that information to Blake. He couldn’t very well go to him and say they’d stopped working in the cellar because they’d found a hole in the floor. Blake would be furious. He’d at least need a valid reason for the delay. He explained as much to Rick, who shrugged and reluctantly agreed, but the troubled look never left his foreman’s face. Jake knew Rick was just going along because Jake was the boss. Well, so be it then, he thought. That’s the way it is. Jake turned back toward the steps before him and forgot what Rick was feeling, caught up as he was in the excitement of exploring the unknown. Jake gingerly rested one foot on the top step, checking that it would support his weight. He then stepped down with trepidation, worried about booby traps and the entire structure’s stability. When nothing happened he repeated the process, moving down onto the next step and then the next. Behind him, Rick picked up one of the crowbars and followed. After the first few steps Jake grew more confident and quickly descended to the bottom, where he waited for Rick to join him.

Together they shone their lights into the darkness of the tunnel ahead.

The passage extended directly ahead, father than the beams of their flashlights would reach. Jake felt his excitement rise as he stared down the tunnel.

The air was dry but cold, and Jake was thankful for the sweatshirt he’d donned before he’d headed out the door. He set off down the tunnel, with Rick close behind. The tunnel continued for several hundred yards. About halfway down its length, it began to rise gradually toward the surface.

Eventually, their lights revealed a ninety-degree turn. When they reached it, Jake hesitated a moment, wondering what he might find around that corner. A strange feeling of unease suddenly crept over him and the walls seemed to be closing in. He was struck by the urge to turn around and get out of the tunnel as fast as he could. He was about to tell Rick they were turning back when his good sense reasserted itself. Go back now? a voice whispered in his mind derisively. Just because of a little claustrophobia? I’ve come this far. I might as well see what’s on the other side.

No sooner had Jake convinced himself to keep going than Rick spoke up in a slightly quavering voice, “Jake? Don’t you think we should wait until…”

Jake wasn’t listening.

Intent on what lay ahead, he stepped around the corner.

The tunnel ended some three feet ahead in a perfectly laid wall of brick.

“What the hell?” Jake stepped forward and slapped the wall with his hand. A flat sound reached his ears in response.

When Rick caught up, Jake said, “Give me that crowbar, will you?”

Rick handed Jake the crowbar and watched as Jake took a step back and swung the bar at the wall. It rebounded off the surface and nearly struck Jake in the face, but he seemed not to notice. He stepped up and put his ear against the wall, listening.

A frown crossed his face.

He stepped back and swung again.

“Hear that?” he asked.

Rick shook his head.

“There’s an echo,” Jake told him. He struck the wall again, harder. This time, Rick heard the echo, too.

“I think there’s another room on the other side of this wall.”

By now Rick was getting caught up in the excitement of discovery as well. “Want me to have the jackhammer brought down?” he asked.

Jake absently handed the crowbar back to Rick as he considered his next move. More than anything, he wanted to do what his foreman had suggested. He knew that he shouldn’t, however. There could be a good reason the area had been sealed off. He didn’t want to put anyone in danger.

He decided it would be best if he checked with Blake first.

Jake let Rick know of his decision and the two men returned the way they had come.

Leaving Rick to dismiss the men for the day, Jake headed back to his trailer. Excitement or not, he still had a desk full of paperwork that needed to be finished before he could call it a day himself.

Much to his dismay, he found he couldn’t concentrate on the work before him. His thoughts kept returning to the stone, and the tunnel it had concealed. Again and again, he found himself asking the same question.

What is behind that wall?

* * *

In the darkness, he stirred.

At first, there was just a vague feeling of confusion. Confusion a child might feel when waking in a strange room in the middle of the night; yet what was waking here was anything but a child. Against the disorientation, he fought to hold onto his dreams. Though dreams were but a poor substitute for reality, they were all he had. His only companions. To anyone else, they would have been nightmares; dark visions of death, gloriously colored with the rich crimson flash of freshly spilled blood. They were his link to life, his last toehold on the edge of sanity. Without dreams he would long ago have succumbed to the fate that his enemy had planned. But then, like now, his desire for life had been too strong. Long ago, when he’d first felt the crushing bonds of his prison, when he’d first recognized the true nature of his imprisonment, he’d retreated into the cold embrace of the darkness that surrounded him. He surrendered himself to his dreams, finding in them the sanctuary he needed to survive. Over time, he’d forgotten what was real and what was not, the line between illusion and reality blurring. He’d come to see his dreams not as a mere reflection of reality but the very image itself.

Then, as the first faint tugs of reality prodded his consciousness, he fought against them, not yet ready to relinquish that which had kept him safe from the hateful silence and despair that had surrounded him for so long.

Then, like the slow trickle of a muddy stream, he began to remember.

Sights and sounds and images from days that had long since fallen into dust came to him, fragments of a time forever frozen in the depths of his mind.

Memory returned.

He awoke.

He moved to leave his prison, only to find that his sentence had not ended, but had merely been exchanged for another.

He screamed then, a long howling cry that would have been awful to hear had there been a throat from which it could have issued forth; a cry filled with such rage and frustration that it would have turned the listener’s blood to ice and bones to stone, had it been possible to hear.

In the midst of that cry, another memory surfaced.

The image of a face formed in the darkness of his mind. The face of one he had known long ago, the face of the one who had imprisoned him in the darkness of eternity, the one who had brought him such misery and pain.

The face of his enemy.

Cold, reptilian reason took over then, strangling his silent cry, shoving aside his emotions. A calculated cunning immediately set to pondering his current situation.

Summoning his strength from somewhere deep inside, he sent out his newly regained senses and discovered something more.

Men were near.

He could sense them, could hear the clank of their tools and the sounds of their voices. He could feel the minute vibrations that descended through the earth each time they moved above him.

For the first time in countless ages, he began to hope that he might soon be free. Once he was, nothing would stop him from having revenge on the one who had imprisoned him.

Exerting himself, he cast his consciousness out further, out past the walls of his prison, across the fields just beyond, among the living. Searching, seeking, briefly touching the minds of all he encountered before moving on, jumping from one to the next…until at last, strength deserting him, his consciousness rushed back like the snap of an over-stretched rubber band.

But in that last instant, he’d found him.

His enemy was old now, old and frail, no longer the awesome force that had once defeated him in battle. His foe’s powers had waned, the man’s body had grown feeble with age.

Having expended what little strength he’d had, the beast slipped back into the restless edge of sleep.

Yet this time, he remained aware.

And in the depths of his inhuman mind, a plan began to form.

**************************************************************

Tomorrow – Chapter Two!

If you prefer not to wait, you can find the entire novel for sale in the Amazon Kindle store.

While you are there, why not check out some of the other work I have available, including my Templar Chronicles series (The Heretic, A Scream of Angels, and A Tear in the Sky) and a short fiction collection featuring my published work from the last several years, Shades of Reality.

As I’ve said on this blog before, I have an easier time writing an entire 100,000 word novel than I do a 5000 word short story.  Short fiction is difficult for me and I don’t do it all that often.  Which is why news like that which I received this morning tends to put a smile on my face.

Editor and anthologist extraordinaire Ellen Datlow apparently felt highly enough about my story “Becoming Michael” to give it an honorable mention in her Best Horror of the Year 2 anthology recently published by Night Shade Books.  Originally appearing in the fourth volume of Inhuman Magazine, it was the one short story I wrote (and submitted) in 2005.

It’s always nice to be recognized, isn’t it?

Thanks Ellen!

That’s the official verdict of Doug Knipe over at SciFiGuy.ca with regard to the first three episodes of HELLstalkers. Doug interviewed me for a piece on his blog today and we discuss everything from HELLstalkers to my work on the Rogue Angel series to my new urban fantasy trilogy coming next year from Tor.  Doug runs a terrific blog so I invite you all to stop on over and check out what else he has to offer.

PS – Doug is also the first reader to check out Eyes To See in English and here’s what he had to say…”I’ve had a sneak peek at Eyes to See from The Hunt Chronicles and ooh boy , it’s going to be good.”

It’s been a busy week but that’s a good thing, as I’ve got a few updates to share on several different projects.

First, we finally have a launch date for HELLstalkers!  The first episode will be available free of charge for the Kindle, Sony Reader, and other ebook devices by the middle of next week.  Mobile phone versions will follow shortly thereafter, most likely the week of Feb 22nd in both the US and the UK.

The HELLstalkers.com website has been revamped and updated as of this weekend and we’ve added the ability for fans to join the HELLstalkers to help promote the series and win some really cool HELLstalkers swag.  (Baseball caps, T-shirts, the chance to be a character in the books and more!)

Moving on, book two in the Jeremiah Hunt series, HANDS TO HEAL, has been turned in to my German editor.  Once he’s done with it, I’ll make a few changes and shoot it over to my US editor at TOR as well.  Book one, Der Schattenseher, has been receiving great reviews in Germany and I hope book two is received with even more enthusiasm.  (Sorry, US fans, you’ll have to wait until next year for the English language version from Tor Books!)

New projects were a focus this week as well, as I’ve just finished up a new proposal for a zombie steampunk novel set in an alternate World War I.  My agent loves it and we’ve already got an editor in mind.  Zombies, biplanes, and weird science – what could be more fun?

Speaking of new projects, a new update was posted to the Mirror’s Road project this morning, explaining the hook I’m going to center the story around.  The only way this one is going to get off the ground, however, is if I get enough backers before the deadline so drop by the project homepage – The Mirror’s Road – at Kickstarter.com and check it out.

Finally, work on my third Rogue Angel book, The Black Torc, is nearing completion and I hope to have it off to my editor at Gold Eagle fairly soon.

So that’s what’s been happening over the last week.

I’m very sorry to report that Full Moon Press, the publisher that was supposed to bring out limited and lettered editions of the three books in the Templar Chronicles trilogy, has announced it is going out of business immediately.  This, of course, means that the trilogy has been cancelled.

I’m very sorry to see this happen -I know many of you have been waiting a long time to read the second and third volumes in the series and to own a completed set of all three, as have I.  I’ll be looking for a new publisher, but that is always a slow process and even if I found one today it would mean another wait to see the actual books produced.

If you pre-ordered these books (particularly if you put up cash to secure a copy) then I urge you to contact the publisher, Paul Little, as soon as possible to get a refund.  His email address is info@thefullmoonpress.com.

My good friend and writing partner Jon F. Merz launches The Madagascar Matter today, a year long serial adventure that delivers a chapter a week for the rest of 2010 and features Lawson from The Fixer.  Here’s a quick summary:

A nefarious plan for genocide.

An enemy every bit his equal.

An outcome he could never imagine.

In the dense jungles and high savannahs of the island nation of Madagascar, Lawson and his former mentor Zero must track down a rogue Fixer intent on unleashing a plot that will forever upset the Balance itself between humans and vampires. Amid the sweltering heat and humidity, Lawson and Zero must contend with lethal predators, betrayal, and a sinister evil thought dead for over three decades. Journey back to the early 1980s with Lawson, on a mission that helped establish his reputation as the ultimate Fixer operative. The adventure starts in January 2010 – one chapter each week throughout the year – one amazing event. Exclusively from Jon F. Merz, delivered direct to your email, Kindle, or smart phone.

The serial is only available via subscription, so if you want in on the action you have to sign up. You can do so by dropping over to Jon’s site. Here’s Jon himself talking about the project:

For those of you who haven’t met Lawson yet, here’s a short excerpt from The Madagascar Matter itself:

CHAPTER ONE

I flew into Antananarivo at 9pm on Tuesday night after having bounced my way across half the world from where I’d been previously in Edmonton, Alberta.  When I left, the cold weather of the Canadian winter saw me off in temperatures of twenty below.  Landing, the pilot informed us that the current temperature in the capital city of Madagascar was a balmy eighty-five and humid.

I traveled light.  It was a habit drilled into us back in the Academy.  Less baggage means you can move quicker, skirt customs lines, and get out of the airport as fast as possible.  My instructors always harped on the fact that airports were too confining.  If shit went down, the last thing you wanted was a gun battle between you and your target amid a hundred security types all looking for an excuse to finally fire their issue sidearm.

My passport was French and the official who glanced at it and broke into a toothy grin.  “Bon soir, M’sieur.”

I smiled back.  “Bon soir.”

He glanced through the passport, but I didn’t worry.  The Council wouldn’t dream of supplying their active Fixers with anything but a legitimate passport.  Mine came right from the central passport office in Paris, crafted with care by a French vampire who then forwarded it on to the Council, knowing very little of who would be using it and why, only that for all intents and purposes of this assignment, my home residence was in St. Germain-des-Pres, which worked out well since the place was filled with jazz clubs and I was on a major Dexter Gordon kick anyway.

The customs official stamped my passport and handed it back to me.  I smiled.  “Merci.”

“De rien.”

I walked out of the airport and into the thick soup of humid night air.  I took a breath and glanced around.  Zero had mentioned there would be a contact by the taxi stand.  I made my way over and watched a line of beat up Datsuns undulate like an inchworm as each segment scooped up a passenger and then disengaged from the rest of the line.

“You’re late.”

I knew the voice and couldn’t help the smile that broke out over my face.  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t I tell you there’d be a contact?”

I nodded.  Zero looked relaxed, his bald head gleamed in the glow of the yellow light bulbs overhead.  “Yeah, but I thought you were in London.”

“I was.  Now I’m here.”  He led me away from the taxi line by my arm and we walked toward the parking lot.  “We’ve got plenty to discuss.”

“Like why there are two of us on this op.”

Zero nodded.  “This one goes back, my friend.  Back a lot longer than anything in recent memory.”

“How far?”

Zero pointed up ahead at a Range Rover.  Whenever you had to drive in a third world country, there was nothing better.  “We can talk inside.  Too many ears in these parts.”

I glanced around but couldn’t make out anything despite my excellent night vision.  But I trusted Zero with my life and if he said there were listeners out there, that meant we stayed mum until it was safe to do otherwise.

Zero approached the Range Rover and reached up into the wheel well.  His hand came out a moment later with the magnetic case.  He took the key out, unlocked the door and slid inside, reaching over to unlock my door.  The interior of the car was humid and hot.  “How’d you wrangle this?”

He shrugged.  “Council set it up.  Had someone swing by earlier and park it here.”

“I’m already impressed with the level of involvement here.  What the hell’s going on?”

Zero started the engine and turned on the radio.  A nightly news program in Malagassy, one of the official languages in Madagascar, poured out of the speakers.  “We ride into town tonight and first thing in the morning, we have our first meeting.”

“With who?”

Zero placed his hands on the steering wheel.  “Guy who knows how to find the man we’re looking for.”

The way Zero’s forehead creased concerned me.  I’d been on my own now for almost ten years.  Zero’s sudden reappearance on a mission had me wondering what was going on.

He glanced over and grinned.  “You haven’t screwed up, if that’s what you’re thinking, Lawson.”

“I’m not sure what to think.”

“Been a while since we last worked together, hasn’t it?”

“I thought I was through with the apprentice thing.”

He nodded.  “You are.  This has nothing to do with your proficiency at completing assignments.  It has everything to do with the rather unorthodox nature of this assignment.”