Forest of Shadows (40 page)
The wind snapped the open tent flap. Walking on her knees, she zipped the tent shut.
“Now it’s just me and you and Mister Owl.”
Jessica sat listening to the hiss of static. It comforted her.
The nearest living person must have been forty miles away. Her boyfriend told her she should at least bring a shotgun to protect herself from wild animals.
“I never brought a gun before,” she had retorted.
“That doesn’t mean you’ll never need one,” he’d said.
He didn’t know. If there was any place in the entire world she was safe, it was here.
All traces of the house were gone. Her aunt Eve had seen to that. In its place was a perfect field of grass, grown wild over the short spring and summer. It took her almost an hour to hack enough space for her to set up her tent.
It was hard work and it felt good to flex her muscles. After college, she’d decided to devote herself to the family business, so to speak. Eve had been dead set against it, and though it hurt to go against her wishes, she knew it was the right decision. Working in an office seemed far more terrifying than picking up where her father left off.
Jessica slipped into her sleeping bag and turned the powerful halogen lantern off. She drifted into sleep, the hissing radio providing her lullaby.
Dawn came and Jessica was quick to unzip her sleeping bag. Yawning, she turned the radio off and tapped some commands in the computer while unplugging the microphone cable from the back.
“Good morning,” she said aloud.
A host of birds filled the morning air with song. She went outside to pee while the computer went through its preprogrammed routine, bars of light rising and falling on the small screen.
After a pot of terrible coffee made over an open fire and a breakfast of bacon on wheat bread, she went back into the tent. Numbers flashed on the computer.
03:15:25 — 03:15:38
Thirteen seconds.
Jessica counted her blessings in seconds every year. Some years she was more blessed than others.
Thirteen seconds.
Sighing, she plugged headphones into the laptop and sat cross-legged on the cold floor.
She took a few breaths. Cleared her mind.
She clicked play.
At first there was just static.
Then it came. His voice, distant, but here with her all the same.
“
I love you mucho much.”
A slight pause.
“
Squeak-pip.”
Thirteen seconds to confirm eternity.
Jessica smiled, wiped away her tears, and set about decamping.
About the Author
Hunter Shea is the author of too many short stories to count. His work has appeared in
Morpheus Tales
,
Tabard Inn
,
The Harrow
, and
Ethereal Tales
, just to name a few. Check out his website at:
www.huntershea.com
.
Look for these titles by Hunter Shea
Coming Soon:
Evil Eternal
Only one priest can battle the ultimate evil!
Evil Eternal
© 2012 Kevin Sheehan
An evil as ancient as time itself has arisen and taken root in New York City. Father Michael, the mysterious undead defender of the Church, answers the call to action from the Vatican, while Cain, a malevolent wraith that feeds on fear and blood, has taken the life and form of the city's mayor and readies a demonic army to ignite the apocalypse.
With an unlikely ally, Father Michael will prepare for the grim confrontation as he grapples with his sworn duty to God and the shreds of humanity left beating in his immortal heart. The time is ripe for Cain and the fulfillment of dark prophecies. Father Michael must battle Cain and his horde of demons in a final showdown that could very well herald the end of mankind.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Evil Eternal:
Cardinal Gianncarlo walked briskly to Pope Pius XIII’s office, his black robe billowing behind him. The sound of his quick and heavy footsteps echoed across the vast, marbled hallway. The day was bright and filled with promise, in stark contrast to the roiling cloud that had descended upon his fluttering heart.
The Cardinal was normally a stern man, authoritarian to those beneath him, unflappable in his sense of duty to the Lord. His parents, Italian citizens who had made the mistake of openly sympathizing with the Jewish plight during Word War II, had been murdered before his very eyes. At the age of seven, he had been placed in a Nazi death camp, managing to survive two years in brutal captivity until the Allied forces freed them all. He vowed to live the rest of his life in service to God and had done so with unequaled integrity and passion, earning the confidence of the leader of his blessed church.
The email from the lone priest of a small Vermont parish had turned his skin the color of spoiled milk when he had been urged by his secretary to open it just minutes ago. With a knot of dread cramping his stomach, he sped off to the Pontiff’s study. Time was of the essence. Time and—
He reached the library that doubled as the Pontiff’s main office and study, and with unsteady hands rapped loudly on the massive oak door. Like the architectural design of the entire Vatican Palace, the door was a study in elegant simplicity. The wizened voice of Pope Pius XIII beckoned him to enter.
“Sorry to disturb you, but something urgent just came in that I think you should see,” Cardinal Gianncarlo said with a slight stammer.
The Pope looked at the Cardinal and knew. The exact details of the message were still a mystery to him, but the outcome, of that he was sure. The Cardinal thought he detected a slight flickering of the light, the fire that had made him one of the most dynamic popes in centuries, behind his old friend’s eyes.
Pope Pius XIII unfolded the printout with trembling, liver-spotted fingers and read the extensive message. When he was finished, he looked up at his old friend. Deep lines of great sadness etched across his brow.
“So, the inevitable has come back to hound us,” the Pope said.
“As much as it pains me to say, yes.”
With a heavy sigh, the Pope slumped back in his chair.
“How long has it been since the last appearance? Twenty, thirty years?”
“Nothing since Jonestown. Well over two decades of praying the evil was finally gone forever,” the Cardinal answered.
“What has no life can never die, my friend. I had hoped to have passed on to our Father’s arms before this office was faced with such a situation, but we both well know life is never quite what we plan it to be. I’m an old man now. Do I have the strength to go through this again?”
The Pope shrugged, the weight of time and responsibility bearing down on his brittle, sagging shoulders. He had served the office of pope for over thirty years, no small feat. He recalled his days as a young man, fresh from the seminary in his first parish in Bergamo, Italy. That young man would never have even dreamed to be what he would one day become. And no one could have guessed the true secrets that lay in store for his discovery when he ascended to the papacy.
“Would you like me to get Father Michael?”
Cardinal Gianncarlo had to resist the urge to pull him close, offering comfort for a man who had dedicated his life to bringing peace and comfort to millions. They were different men the last time, when the beast within Jim Jones was sent to hell, but not before so much had been lost; terrible choices forced to be made, too many lives lost. It had changed them, added years and unbearable pain to their souls.
The old Pope shook his head.
“That is my duty. At my age, it will surely be my final call. Let the burden of the nightmares rest with me. I only ask that you sit and pray.”
The Cardinal settled into a plush leather chair and the Pope offered his hand across the large, neatly arranged desk. In silence, the two men prayed while life outside his windows carried on, ignorant to the dark shadows gathering at the earth’s edge.
Forest of Shadows
Hunter Shea
The dead still hate!
John Backman specializes in inexplicable phenomena. The weirder the better. So when he gets a letter from a terrified man describing an old log home with odd whisperings, shadows that come alive, and rooms that disappear, he can’t resist the call. But the violence only escalates as soon as John arrives in the remote Alaskan village of Shida. Something dreadful happened there. Something monstrous. The shadows are closing in…and they’re out for blood.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Forest of Shadows
Copyright © 2011 by Hunter Shea
ISBN: 978-1-60928-650-7
Edited by Don D’Auria
Cover by Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: October 2011