The Sisters: A Mystery of Good and Evil, Horror and Suspense (Book One of the Dark Forces Series) (26 page)

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual names or places is a coincidence. I have tried, where possible, to be historically or geographically accurate. But I may have, on occasion, taken liberties with which a reader may take exception. For this I apologize in advance. To the town of Cape May, I visited you physically 30 years ago and have not been back since, except via Google Earth. I found your town enchanting, not evil, and I hope you will take my portrayal of these few houses along your shore in the spirit in which the story is intended: in good, scary fun.

I hope you enjoyed The Sisters. If you did, please take a moment to submit a rating and a review of the book on the last page of this book. Thank you.

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You might also like to read Book 2 in the Dark Forces Series.

Four friends battle vicious monsters that are ravaging the country. Their search leads them out West, then to Los Angeles, to Miami, and, finally, to Washington, D.C., where they must act quickly to avert a disaster with international implications. Fast-paced and exciting, this book examines what can happen when supernatural forces collide with a quartet of determined young people.

To view the Prologue and First Chapter of the Horror Hunters, just turn to the next page. To order the book
click here
.

Don Sloan

West Jefferson, NC

April, 2014

The Shadow ranges up and down the airplane aisle, looking for victims.

It stands almost seven feet tall, with glowing red eyes. Slowly, it morphs into an unspeakable monster, with an oversized alligator head and long, spiny tail. Passengers shriek and either freeze where they sit or flee to the tail section, away from the beast.

It has materialized out of thin air in the cabin of an airliner at 25,000 feet. Turning its grotesque head to one side, it grins at a small, overweight woman seated by the window. Her eyes are huge, and her right hand holds a small, carved wooden figure.

Sonoma Fairbanks has not connected the wooden idol that she picked up the day before in Cape May with the monster now roaming the airplane, nor the fact that she has unwittingly called it forth into being. The beast eyes her hungrily, then turns his attention back to the main cabin...

Within moments, most of the seats are empty and stained red with blood -- including the one where Fairbanks has been sitting.

One hundred sixty-five people have been eaten alive as the jet drops into final approach to Miami. The beast is pleased. It melts through the cockpit door and greedily consumes the pilot and co-pilot.

Now without any control, the plane banks slowly off-course and heads out to sea. Desperate calls to the doomed flight go unanswered as the ghastly apparition fades into a black mist and re-enters the small wooden idol from whence it came.

Afterwards, no one can explain the tragic crash. Neither can they account for the fact that no bodies are ever recovered from the plane, although it sinks in relatively shallow waters.

But later that week, a down-at-the-heels drifter named Cyrus Boedeker is walking along the beach just west of the crash site and sees a small wooden object that has washed ashore. He picks it up, but is unaware that in doing so, his life has just been changed forever.

In Jackson Hole, Wyoming, Bob Neaves was sharpening his hunting knife. He had just finished dressing out the six point buck he'd shot and was looking at the sky. Overhead, dark gray clouds spelled a drenching rain, so he hurried his work. He was loading the deer on the back of his Gator when the first fat drops started hitting him in the head. He turned up the collar of his sheepskin coat and climbed behind the wheel.

He was a new resident of the rugged country surrounding the city, having moved there from the East Coast within the last week. Neaves felt at home out here. His father had taught him how to hunt and trap, and he could be self-sufficient. He now planned to live comfortably off the grid because he liked his isolation. It was a calming environment out here. Better than the small-town politics he had had to put up with as a sheriff's deputy in Cape May, New Jersey.

Police work had made a hard man of Bob Neaves. He didn't scare easily. But the sound that now came on the wind sent a chill down his spine.

"Not a mountain lion," he muttered. "What the hell is it?" He reached for his rifle. There it was again. A low, ululating cry that went right to his heart and froze it.

He took off on foot into the hills.

When a search party found his dismembered body wedged tight into an old stump three weeks later, it was as though he had been cut up like a chicken in a deli and put on display. All that was missing was the shrink wrap.

Authorities were puzzled. Bob had struck the locals as one tough hombre. Whatever —or whoever—had done this was bigger and meaner than Bob had been, that was for sure.

Deputy Eugene Baker scratched his head. "Worst thing I've ever seen," he said, bending over the stump for a better look. "Whatever did this took its time. Even his hat is crammed in there."

His partner John Simmons nodded. "Aliens. That's what I think."

Baker snorted. "That's what you always think. One day you might be right. Hey, look at this." Nearby, a small wooden carved figure lay on the ground. Baker picked it up, then turned around and shivered. "What do we know about this guy. Was he into voodoo, or something?"

Suddenly a low, eerie voice came to them from behind some nearby boulders. Both deputies pulled their weapons at once, adrenaline rushing into their veins. Slowly, they crept to the edge of one of the larger rocks and peered over.

What they saw was beyond description, large and unquestionably predatory. The.creature sprang at them without another sound and bowled them both over. Baker's gun went flying.

"Shoot it, for Christ's sake," he yelled to his partner. Then the beast was on him, slashing and chewing with loud, wet sounds.

Simmons scrambled to his feet and shakily aimed his weapon at the monstrosity that was attacking the other lawman. Terror seized him. Dear God, what was that thing? Then the paralysis broke and he fired four shots. It had no effect.

The beast sat up on its haunches and screamed. Then it jumped on Simmons and ripped his head off.

Baker, now freed but bleeding profusely, searched frantically for his gun. He found it in a nearby dry creekbed and carefully took aim. The huge creature, much larger than a mountain lion, and man-like, standing about six-five, was slavering over the other deputy's headless torso when Baker emptied his magazine into the beast's flank and midsection. It simply looked at Baker and went back to eating.

This was too much for Baker. He turned and fled, hoping his disappearance would go unnoticed. He scrambled over the rough terrain, always with an ear cocked behind in case of pursuit. He made it to the four-wheeler that had brought them to the scene and collapsed behind the wheel. He was in deep shock and was shaking all over. He had to get out of there, he thought groggily. But he couldn't get the vehicle started. Suddenly a shadow loomed over him. He looked behind him and saw the headless deputy, standing there.

"You weren't going to leave without me, were you, pard?"

How strange, Baker thought, as a mangled hand fell on his shoulder. He blacked out and knew no more.