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    Dark Triumvirate: 3 Complete Horror Novels
    Dark Triumvirate: 3 Complete Horror Novels
    Dark Triumvirate: 3 Complete Horror Novels
    Ebook892 pages13 hours

    Dark Triumvirate: 3 Complete Horror Novels

    By Ty Johnston

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    About this ebook

    This specially-priced set contains three complete horror novels.

    THE STORM

    A small town in Kentucky is about to learn fear.

    Resting in the foothills of Appalachia, Coal Gap is the kind of place where everybody knows one another and people move to raise their children.

    One of those children is 10-year-old Billy Griffith, who harbors a secret of an unlimited power of the mind.

    Unfortunately for Billy, his special abilities can't remain hidden forever, and a stormy darkness gathers around Coal Gap, a maelstrom zeroing in on the boy.

    Within this storm is a stranger with powers of his own to raise the dead and have them do his bidding. This stranger wants Billy's powers for himself, and he does not come alone.

    THE BASEMENT

    A new house, a new job, the future before them, the Dinsmores thought they had everything. Yet dreams of the good life quickly give way to a reality of darkness as the young couple begins to move into their new home.

    For something looms in the basement of the house, something that brings cold, that brings memories and fear and hatred. Terrible things happened in that house long ago, culminating in the basement itself, and now after the house has sat empty for years, something in the basement has found a direction for its rage.

    The Dinsmores will never be the same. Even if they survive.

    BIBLE CAMP

    When a group of young people are sent by their church to clean up an old bible camp in the mountains, none of them knows the secrets of the tragedy that happened there decades earlier. Meeting with the camp’s caretaker, they soon learn some of the tale, but it’s only when night falls and death strikes that they discover true pain and terror.

    As they are slain one by one, those left struggle to survive, racing through the camp and the woods while searching for safety.

    But when axes fall and hatchets are slung, throats cut and heads removed, can any hope to live through the night?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTy Johnston
    Release dateJul 31, 2018
    ISBN9780463107164
    Dark Triumvirate: 3 Complete Horror Novels
    Author

    Ty Johnston

    Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

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      Book preview

      Dark Triumvirate - Ty Johnston

      The Storm

      Prologue: Miami

      1987

      Rory stood on the dock and stared east, his white uniform looking the color of a dead fish’s belly beneath the darkening sky. He wondered why the Hurricane Center in Coral Gables had not sent out a warning. Possibly the winds weren’t powerful enough for the storm to be labeled a hurricane yet. But that was doubtful. He had seen the reports from his own men, those reports clearly stating the wind speeds were approaching 65 knots out in the Atlantic.

      He shifted and stared further into the waters. Of course it was a hurricane. It had to be. He could sense it. Not only was the sky slowly turning gray, but the air was getting that harsh cold smell to it. The water wasn’t acting up much near the shore as of yet, but still, there was that hurricane smell like a mountain of salt getting ready to pour down on his head. Hurricanes in June could be expected, though; June was the beginning of storm season and Rory pretty much planned on getting wet this year. He planned on getting wet every year, at least until he could get shipped somewhere else, maybe up north.

      He chuckled at himself, a Coast Guard officer who didn’t like to get wet.

      After a few more minutes of watching, he noticed the water was getting a little choppy. Not too rough, just enough to let him know the storm must still be well to the east. It probably wouldn’t hit the coast until after midnight. That was bad, real bad. Rory knew he and his men hadn’t been able to save some lives during last year’s major storms because of the darkness; at night in the water during a hurricane a dozen people could be drowning within feet of you, but you might not be able to do a thing to save them because you couldn’t see them. The thought made Rory shudder. All those lives lost.

      The sound of footsteps made him turn around. Hey, Tom, he said to the lieutenant approaching him. They had been friends long enough to do away with rank and protocol in private.

      Tom nodded a greeting as he came to a stop next to the ensign. I see you’re enjoying the evening’s view. He looked toward the open sea.

      Rory nodded in return. It looks pretty bad. The chief petty officer reported sustained winds at 63 knots and strong wave activity farther out. We’ll get a Category One at least.

      Maybe worse.

      Tom pulled out a pack of Camels and offered it to Rory.

      Once they were lit up, Rory asked, "Have we received any news from Coral Gables yet?

      Not a peep. Tom took a puff and blew it out. But we’re still trying to contact them. It’s not like them to not put out a warning. Even if the storm only showed up today, they at least should have known it was coming.

      Rory nodded again as he smoked. It’s strange of them not to have contacted us.

      Tom finished his cigarette and tossed it over the railing into the tide. He grunted. Guess I’d better get back inside. I just came out to catch a smoke when I saw you here.

      Yeah, Rory said. We’re all busy with this storm dumped on us. Guess I’d better get back to my office, too.

      They were just about to turn and walk back when a patrol boat began to pull up on the docks.

      Tom grabbed Rory by a shoulder and said, They’re back mighty soon.

      Rory grimaced. Want to see why?

      Tom nodded.

      A few minutes later the boat was tied up and five men climbed off onto the dock. Four of them wore the usual Coast Guard apparel for patrolling, but the fifth was wearing a soaked gray suit. The four guardsmen were young, but the other looked to be at least in his fifties though in good shape.

      Tom stepped forward. Petty Officer Ryan, what’s happened here?

      Petty Officer Ryan straightened. We found this civilian at sea, sir. He pointed at the drenched man in gray. We tried to call it in, but the storm must be affecting the radio. This man refuses to give us his name or how he came to be floating in the water.

      The lieutenant glanced at the strange wet man. Sir, why will you not give your name?

      The stranger stepped forward and Rory felt fear wash over him. It was an odd sensation, cold with a certain smell to it, a hurricane smell.

      The stranger stared at Tom. Where am I?

      The lieutenant’s eyes opened wide. Good Lord, the man must be drunk.

      A couple of the seamen laughed, but the officers did not. It was a strange question this newcomer had asked, a question that made no sense. Surely he must know where he was, or at least he must have a guess. Even if one were lost at sea, it would be difficult not to recognize Miami along the coast.

      The stranger continued to stare calmly at Tom. All was silent. The sound of the waves seemed even to him drifted away.

      You’re in Miami, sir, Tom finally said.

      Where is that? the man asked.

      Unease hit the guardsmen. The seamen didn’t laugh this time. Rory felt his stomach tighten. The fear was still there, and it was still unexplainable.

      It’s in Florida, in the U.S., Tom answered with a quizzical look to his features.

      The stranger’s eyes wavered for a moment and he looked out to the sea, then back to Tom. What ocean is that?

      Rory now realized from where the fear was coming. It emanated from this old, wet man. It flowed from him.

      Tom frowned as if he too were feeling the sensation, but he answered the stranger in gray. The Atlantic, sir.

      Ahh. The old man grinned. This I know of. We must be on the west side of the ocean, then?

      Tom blinked, seemingly more confused than ever. Uh, yes, sir.

      We are west from Europe, then?

      Yes, sir.

      Good, the old man said, grinning again. I have a new land to see.

      Time seemed to stand still then. Without words spoken between them, the quiet continued to pour over the group of men, even dimming the surf and the cries of birds and distant planes. The most audible noise was that of each man’s heart beating, which sounded to Rory’s ears like a barrage of drums. No one moved or spoke for the longest time, as if everyone and everything had become frozen. The old man continued to stare into the lieutenant’s eyes, the stranger’s gaze seeming to speak, to say You are mine.

      Rory tensed. He felt as if something spectacular yet disastrous was about to happen. And it wasn’t the coming of the hurricane.

      The long, taut moment passed.

      I have never seen such lights, the old man said as he peered towards the haze of the city.

      Tom opened his mouth. Sir, I think we should get you --

      What a strange new world I have to conquer, the old man interrupted. Later, the ensign and lieutenant would agree they must have misunderstood what the mysterious figure had said.

      We really should get you inside and into some dry clothes, Tom said. I’m sure you can tell us your story then.

      The old man stepped away from the gathering of mariners and continued to gaze upon the city. Without looking back, he said, I have no time for such things. I believe I shall make my way into ... My Ami.

      None of the others said a word in protest.

      The old man walked further away. A fog sprang up from nowhere and appeared to envelop the stranger when he was almost off the dock and onto ground.

      Tom blinked. God. He blinked again as if coming out of a trance. He turned to those from the boat. Get after him. I want to know who he is.

      Two of the seaman took off into the fog which now covered the end of the dock near the regional Coast Guard headquarters.

      Ryan, how did you find him? Tom asked the petty officer.

      Ryan also seemed to be coming out of a daze. His words were stuttered. He was floating at sea, sir. There was no boat, no ship, not even a plane.

      And he told you nothing?

      No, sir. I mean, you are correct, sir.

      The two men who had disappeared came jogging back. Tom turned to them and Ryan seemed relieved that he would not have to answer any more questions immediately.

      Sir, one of the two said, he’s gone. Completely vanished, as if that fog lifted him away.

      Lieutenant Thomas Howell said nothing. For a moment he looked into the fog, then said, I wonder.

      Tom shook his head. Yes, well, we’ll forget about this, all of us. No one is to mention this to anyone outside of us, and it had damn well better not make it into a report. His last words were a command.

      Soon the four seaman returned to their patrol boat and prepared to pull out once more. Tom and Rory watched the craft smooth out into deeper waters.

      Spooky, Tom said.

      Definitely, Rory added. That man gave me the chills.

      Me, too.

      "Do you think we should report this?"

      Not at all.

      Good. It seems like too much trouble. I don’t think any harm could come from not turning this one in.

      Tom pulled out his cigarettes again. The two lit up once more and stared out at the churning sea, the sky growing darker and darker.

      The hurricane did not hit Miami. Instead it died down to a rain storm and turned north where it struck land near Fort Lauderdale.

      Chapter 1: Kentucky

      It was the last day of class for the students of Van Buren County Elementary School. The sky was ablaze with a glinting sun which spread its warming rays across the grass-layered hills surrounding the solitary school building. A few dandelions and daisies could be found here and there along the knolls, each little flower reaching up to drink in the nourishment it craved. The near trees appeared to be swimming when the gentle winds picked up to sway the branches, and a few squirrels darted among the greenery, the little animals frantic as they gathered a seemingly unending supply of nuts.

      But ten-year-old Billy Griffith wasn’t looking out his classroom’s window to thrill at summer’s fantastic sights. No. Instead he was diligently watching the hands move like molasses on the clock above Ms. Watson’s desk. The clock’s hands appeared to be permanently stuck on fifteen minutes to three. Three o’clock, when school was finally over for the year, seemed never to draw nearer.

      Only fifteen minutes, Billy thought. I can’t stand it! I’ll go nuts! First the schools make us stay in class an extra two weeks because of the stupid snow days, and now I bet they’ve turned back all the clocks in town, slowed them down ... something to keep us here!

      The clock’s hands moved ahead one minute. To Billy and the other thirty children in the room, it seemed as if it had taken that slender hand at least an hour to move a tenth of an inch.

      Forget the time. Just do this last multiplication table and the minutes will fly by. He picked up his pencil and went to work multiplying what seemed to him a bunch of useless numbers. Five minutes later he finished the math sheet and looked up at the clock. Nine minutes left! I’ll go crazy!

      Billy dropped the pencil on the desk and glanced outside at the green hills. I’ll never get out there, he thought as Ms. Watson stood behind her desk and gathered the last assignment of the year.

      Billy brought his attention around to the pretty twenty-three-year-old teacher who collected his math paper. Not for the first time, he suddenly wished he was in college, or at least high school, so he would be old enough to ask Ms. Watson out on a date. He knew he wasn’t old enough yet to really take an interest in girls, but Ms. Watson wasn’t a girl; she was a woman, and that definitely made a difference. He watched her curvy shape move in her dress as she passed by his desk. He felt heat rushing to his head and his heart began to flutter. Billy didn’t know why he liked to look at Ms. Watson; he’d never even seen a woman naked before and had no idea what one looked like without clothes, but he did know that whatever Ms. Watson had under that dress would be nice.

      Two more minutes passed. Billy sighed. Along with half his classmates.

      Ms. Watson returned to her seat behind her desk and placed the math sheets in a folder. More than a few of the boys stared at her every move. She looked up and caught a couple of them watching, but her smile was innocent, as it always was.

      Days earlier Billy had decided to take some roses from his mother’s flower garden and bring them to Ms. Watson on the next inservice day when the teachers would be at school calculating grades. He had changed his mind, however, because he was afraid she might think he was in love with her, which he was, along with the rest of the boys in the fifth grade. Billy sighed once more, still wishing he was older or that Ms. Watson was younger. He wondered what she had been like when she was ten.

      Another minute ticked away.

      This is stupid, Billy thought, me sitting here daydreaming about a grown woman. I wouldn’t know what to do with her if I had her.

      Out of boredom he picked up his pencil and started drawing on a piece of notebook paper. Nothing better to do. Another minute was soon gone and Billy was putting the finishing touches on his artwork of a football player when he thought of something more entertaining to do. It would be tricky with all the other kids around, and it had been a while since he had tried it, but ...

      He placed the pencil on his desk and closed his eyes. Concentrating, his face became strained. I’m not feeling anything. It’s gone!

      He opened his eyes and glared at the pencil. Nothing had happened. Everything was normal. I don’t believe this! Anger swelled within him. Fighting back an outburst, he looked outside for a moment to distract himself, then his eyes returned to the pencil. It’s not been that long since I tried it. Maybe I should just loosen up and not push so hard.

      Billy closed his eyes again. This time he did not squint or tighten up, and this time he felt the power, like gentle waves of electricity, flowing through him.

      Another minute passed and Billy had been sitting motionless.

      Oh! The single word came from Lora Meyers, the girl sitting on Billy’s left.

      His eyes snapped open and for a moment he saw what he had expected, what he had been visualizing in his mind. The pencil was resting in the air, floating six inches above the desktop.

      Other children’s heads turned and Ms. Watson stood at her desk. But they were too late to see and all their attention was on Lora Meyers. The pencil dropped to the desk and rolled until it spilled over onto the floor.

      Billy leaned over, grabbed up his pencil, then gave a sharp glance to Lora. She sat there, her mouth open, staring at him. For a second he thought her tongue was going to come rolling out of her mouth. The thought made him giggle.

      What’s wrong, Lora? Ms. Watson asked as she approached.

      Lora stared a moment longer at Billy, then blinked. With bewildered eyes she looked up at the teacher. Huh?

      Billy thought he would crack up, but recognized he was facing a dangerous moment. Up until now no one had ever seen or known about his special trick to move things, not even his parents. Now Lora Meyers, the most big-mouthed girl in the whole school, had seen, and she would probably blab to everyone. Well, I did push my chances. He wasn’t really all that worried, though; only Lora had seen and Billy wasn’t too sure everyone believed Lora because she was such a tattle tale.

      What’s wrong, Lora? Ms. Watson asked again, kneeling beside the girl’s desk.

      Lora blinked again. She hadn’t believed what she had seen and it put her in shock for a moment. Then she snapped out of it. Oh! Uh ... nothing! she blurted, casting a nervous glance toward Billy.

      Ms. Watson looked around at the boy. Did you do something to Lora, Billy?

      No, Ms. Watson, Billy said, nearly grinning but managing to keep his lips under control. The thrill of getting caught was almost too much for him, but frightening big-mouth Lora Meyers would almost be worth it. He was glad school was about over because on the walk home he could laugh himself silly.

      Lora? Ms. Watson asked the girl. What made you cry out?

      Lora had had enough time to think of an answer. There was a big bird at the window. It ... it scared me for a second.

      Billy thought his gut would burst from holding in the laughter. He couldn’t actually believe that for once Lora Meyers was keeping her trap shut. And the weak excuse she had used made him want to fall to the ground rolling around in hilarity. It was too much. If he could last just a few more seconds until the bell rang.

      Well, Ms. Watson began, I didn’t see any --

      The bell rang, interrupting her.

      Then came the happy shouts and hollers of the students. Children grabbed their belongings and dashed for the door.

      Have a good summer! Ms. Watson managed to yell over the din of ecstatic children. She was almost shoved aside by several of the larger boys who zipped past her on their way to the door.

      Billy was already outside and rushing downhill toward the tree line and home. He could have waited for the bus, but he enjoyed the two-mile trek to his house, and any way, Lora Meyers rode his bus. She would probably bug him to death with a million questions, or at least stare at him hatefully like she usually did when she had a secret.

      He was almost to the woods when someone behind him yelled, Hold up!

      Billy came to a halt and looked back.

      His best friend was coming at him, running crazily down the hill, lugging an almost empty backpack. Tripp’s long red hair bounced back and forth behind him and seemed to glow in the bright sunshine as he slowed but didn’t stop. Tripp kept right on walking into the trees and Billy followed.

      So, man, Tripp said, what’d you do to big-mouth Lora?

      Billy had laughed all the way down the hill and was surprised to find he still had a few giggles left in him. Nothing, really. I just made some funny faces. Small lies couldn’t hurt, right?

      She sure acted scared. Those must have been some pretty mean faces you threw at her.

      They made their way along a path built up by years of school boys’ shoes. Coming to a narrow stream, they crossed on boards they had placed there the summer before. The raw scent of decaying leaves reached their noses and made Billy sniffle; he liked the smell sometimes, like in autumn, but in the summer it got to be overpowering beneath the heat of the day. A soft breeze didn’t seem strong enough to take the smell away, but soon the boys were beyond the woods and in an open field. Here the tangy perfume of dry grass floated upon the air, a scent Billy liked much better.

      As they walked they spoke of usual boy things: baseball, fishing, crabby girls and more. They hadn’t spoken again about the incident with Lora Meyers and Billy was glad of that. Seeing Lora’s surprised face had been funny, but Billy was still somewhat frightened of what would happen if others found out about his special abilities. He was scared people might make fun of him or even try to hurt him. If you were different, especially that kind of different, most people probably wouldn’t like you very much. Billy knew this was the main reason he kept his secret a secret.

      Eventually reaching Billy’s house on a small rise overlooking the county’s main road, Tripp waved at his friend. Catch you later. He was headed toward his house another mile down the road.

      Don’t forget to meet me in town, Billy called as Tripp reached the highway. They had planned on getting together and going to the movies that night. It was Friday and a new Schwarzenegger flick was supposed to be showing.

      Seeing Tripp wave again, Billy turned toward his house and pushed open the front door. Mom! I’m home!

      Okay! Her call came from the kitchen in the back.

      Billy smelled boiled cabbage and decided it would be a good idea to leave early for the movies so he could eat at the local diner.

      Is Tripp with you? his mom asked from the other room.

      No! Billy yelled back, charging down the hall to his room.

      When he entered he saw his mother had once again straightened and cleaned his room. I’ll never be able to find anything now. He flung the notebook he had been carrying onto the bed and yanked open his closet door. Peering inside for a moment, he then went back and locked the door to his room before closing his window shades.

      Billy sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander. Now let’s see what I can do when I’m not being disturbed.

      A minute later he opened his eyes and saw his baseball bat from the closet now bobbing up and down in the air as if some ghost were about to swing.

      Billy grinned to himself. I just hope Lora doesn’t change her mind and blab.

      Chapter 2

      A group of children ran by the front of Sam Langston’s gas station while Lewis blankly stared out the front window. School’s out, he said. Kids are heading home.

      Yep, Sam said from behind the counter as he rang up Lewis’ order. I guess Monday I’ll be busier than ever.

      Pulling out his wallet from the back pocket of his faded jeans, Lewis thumbed past a picture of his wife and pulled out a few bills. As he handed the money to Sam, he said, I don’t suppose you’ll have my next order in by then?

      By when?

      Monday.

      Sam took the money and glanced at a calendar hanging next to the cash register. Not likely, Lewis. Your oil probably won’t get here ’til Wednesday, Tuesday at best.

      Lifting two of the four bags of top soil from the counter, Lewis turned toward the exit. That’s all right. I was going to be in town Monday. Thought I’d pick everything up at once.

      Let me help you with that, Sam said as he rounded the counter.

      Lewis stopped cold and stared at the other man. No, I’ll get it.

      Sam backed off.

      I’ll be back in a minute for the others, Lewis said, then made his way out the door and headed for his pick-up.

      Inside the store, Audrey Mullins made an appearance from the back, a small load of groceries filling a basket hanging around one arm. He sure is different.

      Yep. Sam stared through the dusty window at Lewis. I hate to see a good man go hard like that.

      He never smiles, Bill Johnson said as he came up behind Audrey, and he’s awful quiet compared to how he used to be. Remember when he’d tell jokes all the time?

      Lewis slung the two bags into the back of his truck and stood there for a moment catching his breath beneath the sun. He was tall and strong, which made sense because he had worked on a farm since he was a boy. His father and grandfather had been tobacco farmers, so Lewis had started early and stayed with the profession, even now when all the big companies were putting the small farmers out of business. Lewis got by, though; he had to do a few side jobs every now and then, but he and April kept up with the bills.

      He had always been an independent man, even before his heart attack, but he had also always been quick with a smile, friendly and ready with a joke. But since his trip to Lexington in the back of an ambulance, his demeanor had altered. Now Lewis hardly spoke to anyone. He never smiled. Most noticeable was that sometimes he was downright cold. April had seen this and pestered him to try to be more friendly, but he could not bring himself to do it. He had tried, but it didn’t take. His world had become a dark place, one in which he could perish at any moment.

      Lewis didn’t hate the people around him, nor did he mean to unfriendly. He had always been a trustworthy fellow to everyone. That trust had been built on years and years of hard work and paying his bills on time. People had relied on him and still did, but Lewis wasn’t so sure he could depend upon himself. He had let everyone down, including April, when the heart attack had struck, even though he knew it was not his fault. April told him time and time again there was nothing he could have done, that the attack had just happened. He had tried to believe this, and consciously he did, but in the back of his mind ... he was scared that others would no longer hold that old trust in him. To make up for this, he had gone against his doctor’s orders, going back to working full force on the farm.

      There were other reasons he was cold to people, all related to his heart. He was still relatively young, not quite fifty, and felt his body had betrayed him. If it let him down, that surely meant others would feel they had been let down. Also, Lewis didn’t smoke or drink, though he did enjoy a plug of Red Man every now and then, and thought God had somehow broken the rules through the heart attack. To Lewis’ way of thinking, if you were physically in good shape and didn’t smoke or drink, then you never had to worry about things like strokes or cancer or heart attacks. Lewis felt his body and God had revolted against him, and now everyone else would no longer treat him the same.

      All these thoughts were foolish, or so April and the doctors told him, but Lewis couldn’t believe. He just couldn’t shake the feelings.

      The townsfolk in the store were still talking about him and his changing ways, that much he knew without having to turn and look. It had only been a mild heart attack, nothing to disable a man, but it had nearly killed him. And that was what had truly caused him to go hard, to tune out his emotions so no one else saw.

      Rested for the moment, Lewis finally turned back to Sam’s store. When he entered he tried to be polite by saying hello to Audrey and Bill, but it came out awkward. He would never be able to be his old self as long as he felt undependable.

      Before he could shoulder the last two bags, Bill stepped up to him. I ain’t seen you or April around town much lately, Lewis.

      We’ve been busy at the farm, Lewis said with a soft voice but rigid eyes. You know how it is.

      He picked up the bags and was about to leave when Sam asked, Are you sure you don’t want some help carrying those, Lewis?

      Lewis had turned away. Now he stopped with his back to the others. He stood there for a moment fuming, ready to explode. Shaking his head, he muttered, No.

      Everyone was quiet.

      Then Bill said, Just trying to help, old buddy.

      Lewis’ head lowered between his shoulders as if he was tired. It’s all right. His words were little more than a whisper as he exited.

      Damn shame, Sam said, watching the farmer go to his truck.

      Outside, Lewis berated himself inside his head. You fool, why did you have to be so distant and mean with them? They were only trying to be friendly. Though Sam shouldn’t have asked twice. That nearly riled me.

      He was in an ugly mood now, and felt he probably would be for the rest of the day.

      He slung one of the bags into the back of the truck. His breathing was coming harder than usual, but he had been exerting himself somewhat. Maybe I should have taken Sam up on his offer? He placed the last bag with the others and slammed the tailgate closed. I’ve got to stop pushing myself. The doctor said so.

      Lewis went around to the driver’s side of the truck and suddenly thought to wave bye to Sam, Bill and Audrey. He turned and waved with a crooked grin at the edges of his lips. They waved back from the other side of the store’s large front window.

      Probably think I don’t like them much nowadays, Lewis thought, pulling a ring of keys out of a pocket. Guess I couldn’t blame them.

      He checked the bed of the truck to make sure none of the top soil bags would move around too much, then opened the driver’s door.

      I’ll have to be more friendly when I come into town Monday. Must try to smile at least a few times, or maybe even laugh some. April did say I needed to --

      PROTECT THE BOY.

      Those three words had not come from Lewis. They were from some outside source, from somewhere and something outside his own mind, and they hit like a bullet slamming into him. Lewis reeled and dropped back away from the truck. He stood balanced on the balls of his feet for a moment, then felt himself falling. He twisted to one side so as not to land on his back, instead dropping to his knees.

      My Lord! Sam yelled from behind his counter in the store. A second later he and Bill busted out the squeaking front door of the place and raced for the downed farmer.

      Lewis remained on his knees with both hands over his face. Oh, Jesus, no. No, no, no, no! He believed he was having another heart attack. Those three strange words that had boomed into his mind had been sharp enough to bring pain; it was a quick, electric jolt that had shot through his body and had felt very much like the heart attack he had suffered before. Please, God, don’t let it be happening again.

      Sam and Bill squatted, placing their hands on Lewis’ shoulders, ready to lift him or help him lay down, whichever the situation would need.

      No! Lewis shook off the other men and jerked away.

      The two men stood, looking at each other before turning puzzled stares upon Lewis who was now himself standing with hate in his eyes.

      The pain was gone as quickly as it had come. Lewis knew then he had not had another heart attack. If it had been he would more than likely be unconscious or dead. The immediate fear swiftly passed out of his thoughts as he wondered what had caused that tense voice with the three words and the pain that had come with them. He would ask himself such questions later. Now he only wanted to get away from everyone, from those who felt sorry for him.

      Lewis? Bill said, obviously confused.

      The look of hate dropped from Lewis’ eyes, but there was still a smoldering of anger and terror. Please leave me alone. His voice was soft.

      You need help, Sam said, turning toward the store. I’ll call an ambulance.

      No!

      Sam stopped.

      Lewis ... Bill began, but his words trailed off as if he did not know what to say.

      Lewis backed away. No! Just leave me be!

      Bill reached out, but Lewis was already inside his truck, slamming the door closed.

      I don’t need anyone’s help! Lewis yelled. And I don’t need their pity!

      The old Ford fired up and Bill staggered back to avoid the exhaust and the gravel thrown into the air by spinning tires. A second later the truck was roaring down the road away from town.

      Bill looked to Sam. Maybe you should call April.

      ***

      Damn it! Lewis shouted in his mind as he did better than sixty along a curving gravel Kentucky road. I’m not some cripple to be pitied!

      Deep down he knew his friends hadn’t truly treated him that way. But damn if he wasn’t angry! Actually, he was more than angry at himself for being so cruel to them and for the attack or seizure or whatever it was that had happened to him. His friends had seen him in a moment of weakness and Lewis cursed himself more than them. But what in the devil had happened to me back there? He knew for sure it had not been a heart attack. At first it had seemed like one, but the pain had passed quickly and he felt no permanent damage, though it might be too soon to tell. What had it been, then? And what about that weird voice?

      Protect the boy, the voice had shouted into his soul. What boy? Lewis knew plenty of boys throughout the county. Was it one of them? And where had the voice come? From what source? Apparently Bill and Sam hadn’t heard it. Lewis wasn’t so sure he had heard it, either. It had seemed to be inside his head, not from any outside source. But that was crazy, wasn’t it? A person couldn’t hear voices inside his head unless he was insane or in one of those late-night horror shows on the TV.

      His mood smoothed out some and he lowered the pick-up’s speed as he wound down a steep hill. For the last few minutes Lewis had been out of Coal Gap’s city limits and driving along a mountainous region known to Van Buren countians simply as The Hill.

      Lewis knew he wasn’t in a horror show, but could he be crazy? No, he quickly put that out of his mind. Only city folks with all their waiting on street lights and crowding into big, fancy shopping malls went crazy. It never occurred to him otherwise.

      But something must have caused that voice in his head. For a moment he thought it possible the fillings in his mouth might have acted like an antenna and picked up some radio station; he thought he had heard such stories before, though he had never quite believed them. It was possible, he guessed, but not likely.

      He turned right onto a gravel road.

      What had caused that voice, then? It had to be something. He silently laughed at his next thought. Maybe everybody has voices in their heads, but just never got around to telling me.

      As he pulled up in front of his house at the end of the road, he concluded that today’s events would have to be dwelt upon more in the future. Something strange had happened, but he still hadn’t decided upon what. Best if I don’t mention any of this to April, he thought as he put the truck in park and climbed out.

      April pushed through the front screen door and stepped out onto the porch. A mixed looked of worry and anger was on her face. I just got a phone call from Sam Langston.

      Chapter 3

      About the time Lewis Hadley was carrying the first load of top soil out to his truck, Jordy Smith was pulling weeds out of his mother’s flower garden. Jordy was forty-two years old and was considered dimwitted, or just a little slow, as his momma had always put it. His intelligence was on the level of an eight-year-old child, but sometimes, especially when those around him least expected it, he could do or say something that made him seem far more intelligent than what he usually appeared.

      It was not Jordy’s fault he had been born the way he was, but then it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Unless one counted God, and Jordy would never blame God for his lot in life because Jordy was a churchgoing man. Every Sunday morning and Wednesday night he walked all the way to town to Coal Gap’s Baptist Church and listened to preacher Martin Lowell speak the Word of the Lord. Sunday, and a few holidays like Christmas and Memorial Day, was the only time Jordy ever wore the one suit of dress-up clothes he had; the dark blue suit made him feel proud because he knew it was the suit that the Lord saw him in at the church services.

      The only other time Jordy felt really proud about himself was when he finished a job that his momma had set for him to do, like pulling weeds out of the flowerbed. Or chopping wood for the stove, or even milking the cow he and momma had in the barn back behind the house. No, hard work had never been a problem for Jordy. What he lacked in his mind he made up for in strength, being over six-and-a-half feet tall and weighing somewhere around two hundred and twenty pounds of mostly muscle. His size and strength came in handy on a farm, especially a small one such as he and his mother lived upon.

      He pulled up a dandelion, sniffed it, then carelessly tossed it into a plastic bag by his knees. A school bus went by on the gravel road near the house and Jordy waved to the children who always waved back. That was another thing about Jordy, loving children. He loved them because they were so pure and innocent, in many ways much like himself, though he usually didn’t think of it that way.

      The sun beat down harder and Jordy watched at the lengthening shadow on the grass caused by his large body. He would be glad when the shadows started to grow. The work didn’t bother him, but the heat did, and sometimes he preferred the cool of night during the summers.

      He yanked up a couple more weeds, smelled at each, then placed them in the bag. He did this over and over, sniffing at each weed before dropping it in the bag.

      Suddenly he stopped and looked south toward the road. Something seemed to be coming in his direction, but he saw and heard nothing. It was more of a feeling than anything. He checked the sky, thinking maybe he had mistaken the noise of an airplane or the soft swish of a bird’s songs for something else. But nothing was overhead. After a moment of debating on what it was he had sensed, he simply went back to work knowing he had probably been daydreaming.

      The flowerbed on the right side of the house was soon finished, so he gathered his half-full bag of weeds and the spade he had hardly used. He was walking around the front of the house, pointedly staying off the wooden porch so his work boots wouldn’t track mud, when he got that weird feeling again. He put down the bag and the spade and stared off south toward the road. He searched along the various hills and valleys that separated his mother’s place from their various neighbors, but nothing out of the ordinary was there. The only sound he caught was a tractor a mile or so down the road.

      Got to be something, Jordy thought, or maybe I’m just distracting myself when I should be working.

      He stood there thinking his thoughts and staring down the road for more than five minutes. When he was determined to figure something out, he usually stuck with it. This time, though, Jordy knew he had to get back to his chores, so he bent over to pick up his supplies.

      PROTECT THE BOY.

      There was no sensation of pain as Lewis had experienced, but the voice was so loud it frightened Jordy to his core, bringing him to his knees.

      He sat there bowed over with his arms above his head as if warding off a blow. He did not move for some while. When he finally did look up, there was a grin on his lips and a glint of joy in his eyes. The fear had not lasted long because with his short thoughts, Jordy had already decided the source of the voice.

      Momma! he yelled out. Momma!

      A commotion inside the house followed, but no one came to the front door.

      Momma!

      Hold your horses, Jordy! the voice of an elderly woman called out from inside.

      I heard it, momma!

      Abigail Smith rolled up to the screen door. Looking through the screen, she saw her son on his knees in the yard. Jordy, what are you bawlin’ on about? There was some little irritation in her voice because the pain in her leg joints had been acting up when she had climbed into the wheelchair.

      I heard it, momma!

      What are you going on about, Jordy?

      I heard it!

      "Heard what?"

      It was the word of God, momma! He spoke to me!

      ***

      It was ten minutes later when Abigail sat across from her son at their rickety kitchen table in the back of the house. Her usual admirable outlook on life had changed drastically in the last few minutes since she had calmed Jordy and got him to tell her exactly what had happened outside. Her dour mood showed itself with thickening lines on her face. She was shaking as she reached for the cup of coffee in front of her and sipped at it. For the first time in six years, since her husband had died and Jordy had gone on his rampage, Abigail Smith was truly afraid.

      But why, momma? Jordy was asking, pleading.

      She hesitated, giving herself time to think while she returned the mug to the table. In a soft but scared voice, she said, You just can’t. That’s all there is to it.

      He looked at her with disbelief. He had told his momma the most important thing to ever happen to him, or to anyone he knew, and she had nearly scolded him and told him not to tell anyone. Jordy didn’t see it that way. The Lord God in Heaven had given him a message and as far as Jordy was concerned, more than a message, a command. He thought everyone should know about it. First he wanted to call up Preacher Lowell and get him to come to their house. After that, once the preacher had been told, surely everyone would want to come and see Jordy. It was all so simple. God had given him a command and wanted to make sure the whole world knew about it, and what the message meant. Jordy had already figured out the meaning of the strange words, Protect the boy. It was obvious. The boy clearly stood for the baby Jesus. Jordy’s command, then, had been for him to protect the baby Jesus. So it only made sense that the Holy Child must already have been born. In other words, Jordy believed the second coming of Christ was at hand and that he was to be God’s messenger and protector.

      But momma, I’ve got to tell the preacher, he whined.

      No! his mother snapped, and it frightened him. Abby secretly chided herself, seeing the fear in his eyes. She was usually considerate of her son and his ways, but he had clearly scared her himself with his talk of God sending him a message.

      Tell me why, momma, he barely managed to say between sobs as tears formed in his eyes.

      Abby breathed in the stale odor of the kitchen, that along with the spicy tang of hot sausages she had been preparing for their supper. She glanced around the small room at the few shelves and cabinets along the wall, looking for something that could help her answer her son. Telling Jordy the answer to his question frightened her more than the story he had made up or imagined. She feared he might be set off to raving like he had when those men had come six years earlier.

      Momma?

      Silence permeated the room as Abby wondered what to say. She could admit to herself she would have to tell him if only to stop him from calling the reverend. She just wasn’t sure of how to tell him. How do you tell a grown man with a child’s mind that people will think he’s crazy?

      It was not the first time that thinking of her son had caused her anguish. Every day for more than four decades of her life she had looked upon him and thought, God, why did my child have to be born this way? It wasn’t that she did not love him, no. She loved him now more than any other person she had ever known, including her husband. But what she felt for Jordy was pity. Pity because he had been denied the chance for a normal life. When she had been younger and Jordy was only a boy, she had often blamed herself for his situation; as she had grown older, though, she realized it hadn’t been her fault and no person was to blame. Things just happened. Children were sometimes born retarded and that was the way of things.

      Momma?

      Abby jerked slightly. She noticed her mind had been wondering. A sign old age is hitting me.

      Why can’t I tell folks, momma?

      Well, Jordy, she began, trying to remain calm, people don’t tend to believe others who say they’ve spoken to the Lord.

      Jordy’s eyes blinked and Abby thought she already saw a hint of anger. Not a rip-roaring, fire-burning anger, but anger just the same.

      The reason for this is because in the past a lot of people said they were speaking to God, but they turned out to be liars. She caught her breath, almost afraid to go on. Also, there have been some ... feeble minded folks who thought they had seen or spoken to God when they hadn’t. Now, if you go off and run your mouth, people may tend to believe you’re not tellin’ the truth.

      I don’t lie, Jordy said slightly louder than his usual voice, and people know that.

      I know, Abby said, but because you are ... special ... people might not trust your judgment. If you go around sayin’ you spoke to the Lord, some people would maybe think you’re ... sick or something.

      Hmph! Jordy sounded. He was a little angry, but so far he had taken her news fairly well.

      Also, Abby went on, those men from town might come back.

      Jordy’s eyes flashed to his mother for less than a second, and she thought she caught a glimpse of hostility. That dark look vanished, however, and Jordy settled back on his stool.

      You wouldn’t want that, now would you? Abby daringly asked. She wasn’t quite so afraid once he had sat back.

      No, he said, his eyes on the tile floor.

      Good. She reached a loving hand out and grasped one of his. So you don’t need to tell anyone about what happened today, understand?

      Yes, ma’am.

      Good, Abby repeated, rolling back from the table with the bare hint of a smile of victory upon her lips. You go wash your hands and get ready for supper. You can finish with the flowers tomorrow.

      Yes, ma’am. And with that Jordy stood and exited to the bathroom.

      Abby brought herself around and turned off the gas stove. The Lord never promised raisin’ a child would be easy, she muttered in a low voice to herself. Then she thought, Thank goodness for once my son is slow. Otherwise it may have taken forever to talk him out of his foolishness.

      In the bathroom, Jordy ran his large, calloused hands beneath the cold water and had secret thoughts of his own.

      Chapter 4

      Lewis had had a lot less trouble with his wife than Jordy had had with his mother. Lewis had simply lied. I fell and scared myself into thinking I was having another heart attack, he had said. And that pretty much had been the end of it. He didn’t mean to lie to her; it had just happened, his mouth spewing the words before he had thought about them. Better off if she doesn’t know, he thought later that evening at the supper table. It would only worry her something fierce if she knew the truth.

      It was late for a farmer, just past ten thirty, when Lewis stretched out in a rocking chair on the front porch of his house, a glass of iced tea resting in his left hand. The porch’s green paint was flaking away in several places, especially around the base of the support columns holding up the part of the roof covering the porch, and Lewis decided he’d have to sand all that down again and paint it before the autumn rolled around. A few concrete pots here and there along the veranda with a half dozen mixed flowers sticking out of them were also green, matching the porch. The largest of the pots was empty and used to prop open the dented, paint-chipped screen door. From one of the porch’s columns hung a thermometer which was part of a plastic sign advertising Ale-8-One, a Kentucky soft drink made out of spring water. The temperature set at a pleasant seventy-two degrees, but with a slight breeze in the air the night felt a little cool.

      The hillside the house rested on was shaded by several trees in the front yard, so the porch was darker than it would have been because the moon’s milky glow could not reach it. Outside of the front yard there weren’t any more trees for a good fifty yards, the forest having been pushed back from the house decades earlier when Lewis’ father and a small gang of men had spent weeks chopping down maples, walnuts and the odd old oak tree. Behind the house there were several open acres where April usually grew vegetables, though this year for some reason she had not gone to the trouble; Lewis kept that open land in good condition nonetheless because he planned on using it next season for some extra tobacco, at least if his wife still didn’t make use of it. The main tobacco fields weren’t near the house and covered various parts of the four hundred acres Lewis had inherited from his father; this time of the year the fields were full since the seedlings had only been transplanted a couple of weeks earlier by some of the men who from time to time worked for Lewis.

      Also behind and facing the house stood three barns on the other side of April’s unused field. The closest barn to the house also happened to be the largest and newest, painted bright red with clean white trim that made it the envy of many another farmer in the county. Inside the barn were the usual tools and equipment, including Lewis’ pride and joy, the three-year-old Massey-Ferguson tractor he had purchased when it was new and, most importantly, on sale. Even better was the fact he had also been able to afford a new plow and three-point hitch; the fields had produced better than ever that year. The other two barns were not so new, both being older than Lewis himself by at least twenty years; there was little paint on either of the older barns and they leaned so bad it looked as if they would fall over at any time. Inside the furthest barn was a pair of well-fed hogs to be slaughtered in the winter, a cow for milk, and a dozen or so chickens for eggs. The middle barn was empty and would stay that way until the Burley was ready to be air cured.

      Lewis wasn’t thinking about his barns, though, nor about the year’s tobacco crop which so far appeared to be pretty decent. No. His mind was drifting, wondering about the strange events of the day at Sam Langston’s gas station and store. Lewis was asking himself if he had gone crazy, at least temporarily. "Temporary insanity, judge, that’s what it was! I swear I didn’t mean to kill all twenty of them people!" He cackled to himself remembering those words from some detective show he had caught last week on the television. Temporary insanity? Lewis didn’t believe in that hogwash no matter how many killers and nuts got off on such pleas. No, he figured if a person went crazy then they had always been crazy, though maybe they hadn’t shown it until it was too late. It was absurd to think any normal, decent person could one day just wander over to his neighbor’s house, hack his neighbor into little pieces, then go about the rest of his life normally. Temporary insanity, my ass! With such thoughts Lewis drained the last of his tea, stood, and walked out into the shadowy front yard.

      Temporary insanity wasn’t the answer, he was sure. Then what is? He had ruled out craziness and that it was maybe a radio station somehow hooked into the fillings of his teeth, which was a crazy idea in and of itself though he had heard of such on television. "Protect the boy!" had been the loud, painful words which no one had heard except for Lewis. A radio station would never say such a thing.

      Something then. Something had caused those three booming words to enter his head.

      Another thing Lewis pondered on was the possibility he had actually had another heart attack, possibly a minor one. He had never heard of anyone suffering from heart problems to hear voices or see visions, but he didn’t really understand much about heart attacks despite having had one. Maybe I should ask Dr. Bundy about that, but then he decided against the idea. There’s no way I could ask without raising suspicion.

      But what had caused those three words? Where had they come from? And what did they mean?

      That last question stopped Lewis’ mental churnings. What did the words mean? He asked himself this over and over again as he sucked on an ice cube. Protect the boy! What boy? When? Where? How? Protect him from what? From whom? Until that very second, Lewis had not really thought the voice might mean anything. He had sort of believed there had been some sort of ... accident ... he had no other word for it ... that had made him hear those three words. Now he was wondering if the voice really did mean something and had possibly been sent to him for a purpose. Sent to him? Telepathy? Lewis didn’t know if he wanted to stretch things that far. He didn’t actually disbelieve in such things like telepathy and UFOs and ghosts and the like, but he wasn’t ready to grab a hold of such notions, either. He thought there had to be some other logical explanation for the voice that had invaded his mind, but he couldn’t come up with anything.

      A dozen questions ate away at his thoughts, but no answers were forthcoming.

      Lewis poured out the few ice cubes left in his glass, swallowed the remains of the one cube he had been sucking on, and turned back to the house.

      April stood in the doorway, wearing her pink nightgown. Her tanned face was lined with wrinkles caused for all her work over the years beneath the sun. Right then those wrinkles were stronger, more evident. Her face was tight with worry.

      What is it, honey? Lewis asked, though he feared he already knew the answer.

      Lewis, she began in that voice he had fallen in love with what felt like centuries ago, you’ve got me scared. I’ve never known you to stay up this late when you’ve got to be up early the next day.

      He glanced down at his nearly forgotten watch for the first time in hours. He had not realized just how late it had become. The watch’s hands were both right at eleven. Sorry. I’d forgotten the time.

      That’s not all that’s got me scared, she said.

      Uh oh.

      You’ve been acting awful quiet since you came back from town today, she said. I know sometimes you’re not real talkative when you’re around others, but you’ve never been that way with me, at least not until this evening.

      Lewis hadn’t really paid attention to his attitude until that moment, but he knew she was right. He had been quiet. My mind’s been busy.

      It all began after I got that call from Sam, April said, taking a step out onto the porch, since he told me about you having another attack.

      Lewis sighed. He knew what was coming next.

      Maybe you should let Dr. Bundy take a look at you again, April said, though it was obvious she was aware how much Lewis would detest such a suggestion.

      To both their surprise, he said, Maybe you’re right.

      What? She acted as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

      Lewis walked across the little bit of grass separating him from her, then he stepped onto the porch. I think maybe I should do just that, he said. He didn’t want to see the town doctor anymore than he wanted a rump full of buckshot, but he also saw April was truly concerned. There was a deep line running between her eyes. The only time he ever saw that line was when his wife was making love to him, or when she was worried about something serious. On other evenings he had noticed the relation between those two acts, the love making and the worrying, and had nearly busted a gut thinking about it.

      April’s face became less strained after hearing his last words. There was hope after all that he could break out of the shell that seemed to have come over him since his heart attack. She almost smiled, but knew that might set him to change his mind. Instead, she simply said, Good.

      He surprised her again when he smiled.

      Lewis Hadley, she said, and this time she couldn’t help but grin, I do believe I see a smile on your face.

      Yep.

      I thought I’d never see one there again.

      Lewis would have laughed, but he wasn’t that far out of his shell yet. In time he might be able to smile in front of other people the way he now did in front of his wife. In time. But first he would have to overcome his feelings that everyone thought he was weak and undependable.

      He reached up and put an arm around April.

      Yes, she was worried about him, so he decided not to argue for the moment. What was worse was that he was concerned about himself for the first time in his

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