Shadow Walkers

by R L Delaney

  "What?" Justin said, but when he saw Mom's fear-stricken face, he knew she wasn't able to talk. He pushed his chair aside and got up to take a look for himself.

  When he came to the front door he swallowed hard. There, on the door, pinned to the wood with a dagger was a note. With trembling fingers, Justin pulled out the dagger and brought both note and dagger inside.

  "W-What is it?" Mom stammered.

  "It's… eh… a message," Justin said. What else could he say? When his eyes scanned the words he felt his blood curdle. It was in Latin.

  At that instant Dad stepped in. He was still in the process of arranging his tie, but when he saw the tangible fear in his wife's eyes and the shocked expression on Justin's face, he knew something was wrong.

  "What's going on," he said. "Did Mom burn the toast again?"

  Mother shook her head, and burst out crying. Justin handed him the note. "This was nailed to our front door just now," he said in a whisper.

  Father frowned, not understanding what Justin meant, but he took the note and read it. Then he looked up, surprise etched on his face. "You found this on our door?"

  Justin nodded.

  "It's Latin," he continued.

  "I know."

  Father peered into Justin's face and then asked, "Do you know what it says?"

  Justin shook his head. "I don't speak Latin."

  "But I do," Dad answered.

  Justin looked up. "You speak Latin? Since when?”

  “Before I met your mother I went to seminary for several years. My Dad wanted me to become a priest. I hated it, but Latin was just about the only thing that interested me. “

  “I-I never knew,” Justin stammered.

  “Guess not,” Dad replied. “There was never any reason to tell you.”

  Justin licked his lips. "So… you know what this note says then?"

  "I do," Dad replied, "although it doesn't make much sense to me. It's just a stupid joke."

  "Well?" Justin looked up. "Tell me?"

  Dad cleared his throat. "It says, 'He’s coming. The one whose shoes I am not worthy to bear shall baptize you all with sulphur and brimstone."

  After Dad had read it he threw the note on the table. "Probably just some drunk wrote it."

  Mother did not agree. She looked up as if a snake had just appeared, and spouted out her fear. "A drunk that writes Latin, Dick, and pins an evil message to our door in the early morning? I don't think so."

  Dad shrugged his shoulders. "Listen, Tina… all I am saying is, we shouldn’t worry about it."

  Then his eye fell on the headline of the Dewsbury Clarion. Justin could see the shudder that rolled through his spine. Dad grabbed the paper and studied it. When he was done he turned a pale face to Justin. The seriousness of the situation had sunk in.

  "Justin?

  Justin looked up. “Yes, Dad?”

  "Did you know about this? I mean…" Dad hesitated. “Did Uncle Harry talk to you about these things?"

  "A little bit, Dad."

  Dad was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. Then he licked his lips and said, “You’ve got my permission to see him again." He sank down on a chair and raked his hand through his hair. "I don't know what evil has come over our town, but whatever it is, we need to stop it."

  To be continued…

  Thank you so much for reading, The Shadow Walkers is a four book serial that follows the heightening quest of Justin, Amy and uncle Harry - prepare for the next instalment by turning the page to read chapter one of the next book right now…

  Guardians of the Light Chapter 1

  Nothing can stop it

  No one can stand in its way

  It shines and it heals

  It turns night into day

  Evil will flee

  When the Elixir rolls in

  Darkness will tremble

  Gone is the sin

  From ‘Manuscripts from Heaven’ by Gregorius Theophilus 1212

  Dewsbury

  The night of the shoot-out

  11 pm

  Detective Harrison Ames gritted his teeth as he steered his squad car through the deserted streets of Dewsbury. He was a skilled driver, but he needed his full concentration. It had been raining, the street was wet and slippery, visibility was limited, and time was of the essence. He licked his dry lips as he jerked his steering wheel to the right, and whispered a soft curse. Locust Avenue… He was such in a hurry that he almost missed the turnoff.

  Four police cars were closely following, and although Harrison had given specific orders not to use sirens and flashing blue lights in order to surprise the gangsters, he realized they were making a lot more racket than he wanted. At night, when everything is supposed to be quiet and still, every little sound is greatly intensified, and Harrison was certain the screeching tires of the racing police cars cut through the silence of the night like unexpected thunderclaps on a sunny day.

  But they had no alternative.

  They needed to be quick. This time Alfred Rodeo would not escape again.

  As soon as Justin, Harrison's nephew, had called him earlier that evening, to let him know he had spotted the man, the detective called in all available personnel and they had sprung into action.

  Apparently, Alfred Rodeo had turned off at Bloomfield Avenue and was heading to the old, deserted farmhouse that used to belong to old Brad Denim.

  Bloomfield Boulevard… There it was.

  Harrison had never understood why they called the road that, for the most part wasn't even paved, a boulevard. A boulevard was generally considered to be a wide lane, lined with stately trees and often with a spectacular view of the ocean, or some other wonder of nature. But that was not the case with Bloomfield Boulevard. It didn't lead to anything particularly important, and after a few miles into the foothills of the Wintervale Mountains, it just stopped.

  Besides Richard Wheeler's chicken farm, right at the edge of town, and the aforementioned old and deserted farmhouse of old Brad Denim, there was nothing there.

  Right after the chicken farm the pavement stopped, and Bloomfield Boulevard turned into a dusty path full of potholes that would snake its way to Brad Denim's place.

  Harrison slammed on the brakes as soon as he reached Richard Wheeler's place. This was as far as they should go by car. He turned off the motor and got out while signaling with his hands for the others to do the same.

  Captain Devonshire climbed out of his car too and walked up to Harrison. His left eye twitched nervously and although he tried to appear calm and in control, it was clear from the tortured expression on his weathered face the man wished he was home, next to his wife on the couch, eating potato chips, and watching National Geographic. Harrison couldn't blame the older man. After all, this was the first time anything remotely serious happened in Dewsbury.

  "You don't want to drive up to the Denim's farm?" Devonshire raised his brows.

  "That's right," Harrison answered as he glanced at the farm in the distance. "It's only a few hundred yards, and we'll be as quiet as mice."

  As far as Harrison knew, the place had been empty ever since Brad Denim had died five years ago. Since the man died without a will, and nobody had claimed the farm, the city council had auctioned the place. Thus, an unknown firm, presumably based in Newfoundland, had bought the place for next to nothing, but had never done anything with it.

  Nobody ever came, nobody had ever made any repairs, and although Richard Wheeler claimed he saw light there at times, nobody really cared. But now it was different. Now, a murder suspect had been spotted going there.

  Captain Devonshire turned to the others. "All right, men… Detective Ames is right. We'll go on by foot. Be still, be on guard, and be prepared. We have no idea what we may encounter."

  There were five of them.

  Five inexperienced policemen, sneaking through the dark in their first heroic attempt to keep all of Dewsbury's citizens sleeping safe and sound.

  Within minutes they reached a low, moss cove
red stone wall, broken in several places that curved around the plot. That suited Harrison well. From this vantage point they could keep a good eye on things and they would be well hidden.

  Harrison pressed himself against the wet bricks and let out a sigh. He looked back at the others, hoping Devonshire would take the lead. But as he stared into the man's questioning eyes, he realized the man was clueless. If anything was to happen, Harrison would have to take the lead. Harrison grunted as he didn't like that sense of responsibility at all.

  He turned his gaze back and narrowed his eyes as he peered over the edge of the low wall. The farm was now no more than 30 yards away and was clearly in a state of disrepair.

  Such a shame, as it once had been a good place. Harrison remembered the week after Brad Denim had died. He had been called in to seal the place off. Brad, due to his age, had already stopped the upkeep of the farm, but now, five years later, it seemed nature was doing its utmost to reclaim the land, as shrubs and wild bushes had sprung up in the most unlikely places. Even though it was dark, Harrison could spot a hole in the roof. Many roof tiles blown off by the wind lay scattered and broken throughout the high grass in the garden surrounding the farm.

  But there were signs of life as well.

  Somebody was inside the farm. Light streamed out of one of the windows, and there was a distinct sound of music. Not the kind of music Harrison ever listened too.

  Heavy metal. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as the raspy, raw shrieks of electric guitars, accompanied by the jungle beat of heavy drums entered his ears.

  "Nindeuxuhr," A voice behind him whispered.

  Harrison turned and stared into the youthful face of police officer Brian Ruiz. "Excuse me?"

  "It's Nindeuxuhr," the man repeated. "It's a heavy metal band."

  Harrison shook his head. "You're into that kind of stuff?"

  Ruiz shook his head. "I am a Vivaldi man, but I had to be a guard at one of their concerts a while back in Bakersville. It's pretty bad."

  Harrison nodded. "Hey Ruiz?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You think you have the courage to sneak up to the window and see if you can peek inside so you can see what's going on?"

  "No problem, Detective," Ruiz answered.

  No sooner had the man said it, he crawled through a gap in the broken wall. Harrison kept his eyes glued on Ruiz…

  That's when all hell broke loose.

  Without warning and totally unexpected, the sound of gunfire blasted through the night air. Streaks of light shot like dazzling rays from several places inside the farmhouse, even from those places where there had been no light at all. Whoever was inside that building knew they were coming.

  How did they know?

  Harrison and the other policemen ducked behind the wall and drew their guns, while they could hear the clear impact of bullets on the other side of the stone wall.

  Ruiz screamed.

  "He's hit," Captain Devonshire cried out. "Hold on, Ruiz… we'll get you out of there.

  But that was easier said than done, as whoever was in the house kept on shooting like mad.

  Harrison's mind was a jumble of thoughts. Judging from all the different blasts, coming from everywhere in the farmhouse, they were clearly outnumbered.

  Devonshire stared at him with panic-stricken eyes. "We need to get Ruiz behind the wall, Harrison."

  Harrison nodded and gritted his teeth. "Here's what we are going to do, Devonshire. You three blast that house with bullets, and while you do that, I'll crawl out from behind the wall and pull Ruiz to safety."

  Devonshire's jaws tightened. "Good luck, Harrison." He instructed the other agents and seconds later a loud volley of bullets rained down upon the farmhouse.

  Harrison didn't wait another second and crawled out through the gap in the wall, hoping nobody would see or spot him. The wet grass hit him in the face and his mouth was filled with a mixture of mud and water. And then to think that only an hour ago he was peacefully watching the World Series with his favorite beer.

  "Ruiz? Where are you?"

  Pictures of the new flat screen TV he had just bought forced their way into his mind. He pushed them out. Of all the ridiculous things to think of when he was just about knocking at heaven's gate.

  "Ruiz? Are you there?"

  Right before him a soft moan was heard.

  "Ruiz, it's me, Harrison. I am here to get you."

  Bullets were still flying back and forth overhead, but Harrison knew what he had to do. They were not even 10 feet away from the safety of the wall. This had to work.

  "Come on, Buddy… I got you," Harrison whispered and he began to pull on Ruiz' body. The man let out a painful scream, but Harrison had no time to stop or to be careful and began to yank Ruiz towards the gap in the wall.

  Devonshire reached out his arm from behind the wall. As soon as he could he grabbed Ruiz's shoulder and helped to pull the wounded policeman behind the wall. Harrison was soon to follow and he dropped himself to the ground, while heaving and panting. It had been a close call.

  Devonshire shone his flashlight on his wounded officer. "Ruiz…, are you all right?" The wounded man was as white as a sheet and blood was oozing out of a deep wound in his stomach. It didn't look good.

  "Call an ambulance," Harrison hissed, as he sat up again. "We've got no time to lose." He turned to the other two officers and growled. "Keep shooting, and keep these foul birds busy. I will circle to the back in case they try to sneak out." Devonshire nodded as he pulled out his cell phone. "Be careful, Harrison. One man down is more than enough."

  "Don't worry about me, Captain,” Harrison said as he gave a wry smile. "My Dad used to say I am as mean as a cat. I've got nine lives, and I only lost one just now."

  After he had said it, he turned and crawled away as fast as he could. Once he was certain he could no longer be spotted from the farmhouse he got up and moved to the back of the house.

  The terrain was rough and he stumbled a few times, but at last he found shelter behind a big oak tree that gave him a perfect view of the back door.

  He was just in time.

  No sooner had he found his spot behind the tree, than the back door opened, and a dark, shadowy figure appeared. For a moment the figure was bathed in the light that streamed out of the house, but as soon as the back door closed again, it seemed like darkness swallowed the person up.

  But Harrison had seen enough, and even though a deep sense of dread washed over him and his vision was limited, he knew he had no time to lose and prepared for action.

  He jumped up from behind the oak and yelled as loud as he could, "Hands in the air. Throw down your gun, or I'll shoot."

  A shiver seemed to be going through the shadowy figure. Then it turned and peered into Harrison's direction.

  Harrison froze.

  For a moment he had to fight the urge to run off as fear and panic were both competing for first place in his heart. The man, the creature, whatever it was, stared in his direction, and in spite of the dark, his eyes were clearly visible. They shone like glowing, red coals, filled with a deep, hellish hatred. Harrison wasn't about to give in. "H-Hands up," he shouted again.

  These eyes… they shone just like those weird, horrible eyes he had seen before on the road when that weird teacher had bashed Joe Mills’ tractor. But that was impossible. No human being had eyes like that.

  What in the world was going on in Dewsbury?

  There was no time for contemplation. The figure by the door began to run like the blazes and within seconds disappeared into the woodland behind the farm.

  "Stop! You are under arrest." Harrison still shouted, but he knew it was of no use. If he wanted to catch up with the fellow, he needed to run.

  Harrison did not wait a second longer and stormed into the woods in full pursuit of the strange man with his red, glowing eyes.

  ***

  Harrison's lungs felt like bursting as he was dashing through the woods. Several times, he felt his feet slip on the muddy g
round, while branches of shrubs and trees hit his face and ripped at his clothes. But he could not stop. He had to go on. Occasionally the moon would break through the clouds. Those were blessed moments as it illuminated the dark forest just enough for him to get his bearings, but most of the time he had to grope through the darkness. But it wouldn't be any easier for that strange, dark silhouette that he was chasing, and that was trying to get away from him.

  He could still hear the distinct sound of running footsteps, the braking of branches and the snapping of twigs, but Harrison knew he was losing ground. He was panting so hard by now that it almost drowned out all other sounds.

  Right before him… a big tree. He had to jump to the left.

  Another bush… or was it a boulder? Move to the right.

  His heart was pounding so fast he feared it would burst. But he could not stop, and let that fellow escape. Still, he had no more energy left. He had to stop, if only for a few seconds.

  Right before him was what appeared to be an enormous oak tree, and Harrison let his body fall against it and leaned with his full weight on the wet bark. While his shoulders shook and his breath came in alarmingly fast gasps, he still tried to focus on the sound that the fleeing man was making.

  He was getting away. The sound was further than it had been before, and Harrison figured that whoever it was, the man was much better trained than he was himself. Running like a full-fledged athlete, the dark figure was jumping over rocks, ducking under overhanging branches, and avoiding dangerous gaps in the mossy ground, almost as if he could see where he was going, unlike Harrison.

  "God, help me…" Harrison cried out the words, almost surprising himself as he did not seriously consider calling upon God a valid option. After all, God had never yet answered his prayers, but the words escaped his mouth before he realized what he was saying.

  A distant cry cut through the silence of the night. A raw and shrill cackle, almost like a victorious taunt. Did whoever he was chasing realize Harrison was about to give up and was now mocking him?