The Warrior's Beckoning
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Authors: Patrick Howard
The Warrior’s Beckoning
Patrick Allen Howard
Copyright 2015 © by Patrick Howard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
ISBN: 1480245941
ISBN 13: 9781480245945
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015909933
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
Part I
Prologue
Preparation
SCREAMS ECHOED ALL
around me as I ran. My team…they were being torn apart behind me. We had set out to investigate the unknown, as ghost hunters, only to fall into a trap. They had summoned us there, to a town lost to the world and buried deep within a bizarre forest, luring us with a dream—my dream4
I had learned the address in the dream. When I awoke, I searched for information, cross-referencing it with a few names in old newspaper stories, and found little. The town had been growing when the nineteenth century ended. So many people…so much potential…all of them lost within a single night. No one knew what had happened, and no one who investigated ever returned. At least, not of whole mind. The police closed the town off from the world, yet my team and I walked right past their warnings. I regretted that now as I ran into the endless night. I began to recall it all…how it had been before the massacre.
• • •
At the edge of the forest rested the line between light and darkness. It was midafternoon, yet within the trees awaited darkness. The
forest seemed barren of all life; even the trees carried the appearance of death, their leaves as gray as their bark, covered with rotted moss. The EMF meter spiked as we approached. Looking at my team in this memory, I felt a pain and sorrow I had not known.
“Take a temperature reading,” Joe said, turning on his audio recorder. Sarah aimed the infrared thermometer toward the forest. We could see the gauge dropping rapidly as she approached it. Joe wore his usual ghost-hunting uniform: baggy T-shirt and shorts, in blue and black. He was skinny and soft-spoken. Sarah always wore blue jeans, often with a dress shirt. Of average size, she was quick to smile and joke. I personally preferred military gear, having long contemplated joining the service…yet always waited. For investigations, I favored black camo BDUs, as I like having the pockets standard on battle dress uniforms. People think of me as dark and distant, at least at first glance. A mystery even to myself.
“Fifty degrees and dropping,” Sarah said, looking around.
Joe played back the minute of audio he had recorded as we approached: silence…then a distant whisper…then a scream.
“GET OUT!” a strong voice yelled in the recording. We glanced at each other before turning back to the forest.
“It would be pointless to say there’s something lurking in there. Let’s skip that and go in deeper,” I said, pulling my duffel bag from the car.
“What do you think we’ll find?” Joe asked. He slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Who knows?” Sarah said. She slipped into her backpack.
I activated the camera I’d attached to my hat. When I switched on my flashlight, the trees seemed to react to our presence, shaking as we passed them. Shadows danced outside the beams of our flashlights, whispers beckoning from the dark. Figures appeared on and off Sarah’s camera, down the path before us. Within minutes, we reached the skeleton of a home, where it all began…
I was advancing slowly, playing the flashlight in wide arcs, when I felt the icy grip on my ankle. I fell forward, dazed. I tried to crawl forward but found that I could not escape. I could only roll onto my back and watch the creature that stood over me. It was as gray as the mist around it. No, the mist was part of its form, gray mist, with two arms, two legs, and no evident eyes. Its voice, a distant whisper in the fog, mocked me.
“You are so pathetic. Did you believe you would step into the unknown and return unscathed? You must pay the price for your curiosity.” It ran its cold fingers along my cheek, smiling.
I could feel its evil. Its touch…so cold. It rose and began to walk away. In its place came a being made of shadow, walking on four legs, resembling a large dog. Within its eyes rested an aura as black as its flesh. It opened its mouth, releasing a fog as it howled. Then it growled, looming over me, poised to rip my throat open. I closed my eyes.
Just as the creature lunged, gunfire ripped through the air, louder and louder as the shooter advanced. More footsteps and orders followed. “Go, go, go!” a man yelled, firing what sounded like an assault rifle. Another man, clad in a white shirt and body armor, ran to me. An EMT appeared at my side, followed by someone in a security guard uniform. The guard fired his 9 mm MP5 submachine gun into the distance, and the EMT pulled me to my feet, wrapping my arm around his shoulders to support me as we moved toward a soldier who was firing an M4 carbine past us. I glanced behind me; the security guard was close behind us, firing into the shadows that approached.
The EMT handed me off to a priest, who helped me hobble forward while the EMT grabbed up my bag of gear. “He’s been tainted!” the priest shouted. “We need to get him inside!”
I could barely move. It was cold…so cold. My mind felt heavy, oppressed by visages filled with horror and despair. One soldier took point, and the guard followed behind us. The others half carried
me. We turned from the main path to a narrow one, moving into the dense trees, and soon we approached what appeared to be a bunker. A police officer stood at the entrance, firing his M16 past us at the shadowy creatures that charged. Another soldier rushed out and supplied suppressing cover.
The priest and the security guard carried me down the stairs and laid me atop a long table. The others filed in behind us, closing the heavy door. The priest hung a cross on the center of the door. The creatures slammed against the door but could not penetrate past the power of Christ. The priest stood by my side and took my hand as I shivered and trembled.
“Do you know who Jesus is?” he asked, staring into my eyes. An unnatural voice that was not my own shrieked at the name of Jesus, and I struggled to reply. “Y-yes…”
“Who is he to you?” the priest asked, placing his other hand on my forehead.
“M-my…savior…” I said. As I spoke, the other voice became violent within me.
“Do you accept him?” the priest asked. I could not speak at first—I could feel a force attempting to block me—but Jesus was stronger.
“YES!” I cried out in defiance to the evil force. A wave of energy dispersed, causing the others to stumble.
Peace and tranquility fell upon me, and I slipped into a dream in which a voice called to me.
“I have sent these warriors to you. Your team is not lost. Forge ahead, standing together on the foundation I have laid before you. You are in Jesus. You are my body in this world.” The voice was so soft, so loving. I became lost within it. “Awaken!” the voice said to me, and I opened my eyes. The priest still stood beside me, smiling as I looked to him.
“Welcome back,” he said. The others approached.
“How did you get here?” I asked, sitting up.
“We each shared a dream, a dream that linked us. The Lord called us here to aid you,” the priest said, motioning to the others. “I am Daniel.”
“The name’s Rick,” said the police officer.
“Jason,” said the EMT.
“I’m Frank,” said the security guard.
The engineer stayed quiet, and the others glanced at him. “What?” he said. “It says it on the patch.” He pointed at his shirt. Joel.
“Call me David,” the soldier said. He handed me a pistol and holster.
“Thank you. All of you,” I said as I slid off the table and onto my feet. I took the holster and attached it to my belt. “All that I was is gone. I am now just a ghost hunter.”
“Thank the Lord,” Daniel said with a smile. “So, what’s the plan?”
We each looked at one another.
“We’ve been gathered here for a reason. I say we go deeper and find out what happened here,” David said.
The EMT gave me a questioning glance. “What were you doing out there?”
“I had a dream about this place, too. My team and I came out here to investigate the paranormal activity. Everything seemed standard until we entered the house. Rather, what was left of the house. Even then, everything was fine until we descended into the lower levels,” I said, shivering. “We found decayed remains inside the basement. Sarah found an entrance to a tunnel, and she and Joe went to investigate. I stayed behind to read this diary I found there.” I pulled an old book from my bag. “I heard screams from the tunnel entrance. When I went to investigate, the bodies—the remains!—rose up to attack.”
My voice became weak. “I…I ran. Sarah and Joe were right behind me when…when the creatures took them…” I trembled, and Daniel placed his hand on my shoulder. “They tore them to pieces! I was helpless. They would have gotten me, too, if you guys hadn’t showed up.”
Daniel took the diary from me gently and began to read it. “What page were you on when this happened?” he asked, flipping through the musty pages.
“The last one. Why?”
Daniel turned to the last page and laughed softly. “We’re about to have some company.” He drew a sword from under his robe.
“Form a circle in the center of the room, backs to each other. Move!” David ordered, moving into position. We obeyed. The room began to shake. Our flashlights flickered, and a cold air entered the room, although there were no openings in the walls. My EMF meter spiked in all directions. Weapons drawn, we readied ourselves.
“Anyone know where they’re coming from…or what’s coming?” Joel asked.
“Well, judging by these EMF readings and the current temperature…I have no idea,” I said.
The room shook more and then stopped briefly. “Okaaaaay?” Joel said, as if anticipating the worst. His anxiety was rewarded as shadows leaped up from the ground in the form of cloaked figures, tall and carrying scythes. “Ah, crap!” He opened fire.
Figures charged toward each of us, swinging their scythes with inhuman speed. The scythes they wielded went straight through us, drawing no blood but draining our energy. Daniel charged one, swinging his sword into the one before him. The figure screeched and hurled a mass of dark energy at him. Daniel blocked it with his sword but fell to the floor.
Still weak from the previous attack, I could barely stand after the first touch of the scythe, but I fired my pistol into the oncoming figure. David slammed the butt of his rifle into one of the figures, knocking it back, then fired several rounds into the hood of its cloak. The figure dissipated. Frank sank to one knee in exhaustion, though he continued to fire repeatedly at the figure attacking him.
David moved to assist Jason, who was wrestling hand to hand with one of the figures. He fought defensively, dodging its attacks, then striking with a kick or a jab. He kicked it square in the chest and knocked it to the floor. Joel ran to put a foot against its chest and fired into its hood. Joel blasted one of the remaining figures, dissipating it.
Those standing turned to the last one, and Rick finished it off. “That was fun,” he said, holstering his pistol.
“Yup.” Frank pulled me to my feet. “You OK?”
“I’m not sure,” I mumbled.
I surveyed the area. We appeared to be in an old bunker stacked with crates of supplies and ammunition and lined with gun racks filled with Browning automatic rifles, M1 Garands, FG 42s, MP40s, and pistols—mostly World War II weaponry. Someone had been prepared for war—more than half a century ago.
Frank smiled and turned to Daniel. “So, any idea what just happened?”
“I’m not positive,” said Daniel, “but the last page of the diary contains an incantation, along with the notation that reading it summons the Spirits of Decay to sap the life-force from everyone they find.”
“An incantation…got it. So, you’re not going to read it again, right?” Rick joked.
“Not unless you guys want another party,” the priest replied with a grin.
“No, no. One was enough, thanks,” Rick said humbly.
“OK, kids,” David said sternly. “Reload your clips with the rounds from the crates. And you”—he pointed to me—“grab one of the long weapons off the rack.” He held his hand out, motioning toward the pistol. I handed it to him, and he slid it into the holster on his vest. I decided on the Browning Automatic Rifle. It was big and had a big kick.