by Amy Cross
Copyright 2016 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
Dark Season Books
First published: November 2016
This book's front cover incorporates elements licensed from the Bigstock photo site.
“Leave the forest alone. Whatever's out there, just let it be. Don't make it angry.”
When a horrific discovery is made at the edge of town, Sheriff James Kopperud realizes the answers he seeks might be waiting beyond in the vast forest. But everybody in the town of Deal knows that there's something out there in the forest, something that should never be disturbed. A deal was made long ago, a deal that was supposed to keep the town safe. And if he insists on investigating the murder of a local girl, James is going to have to break that deal and head out into the wilderness.
Meanwhile, James has no idea that his estranged daughter Ramsey has returned to town. Ramsey is running from something, and she thinks she can find safety in the vast tunnel system that runs beneath the forest. Before long, however, Ramsey finds herself coming face to face with creatures that hide in the shadows. One of these creatures is known as the devil, and another is known as the witch. They're both waiting for the whore to arrive, but for very different reasons. And soon Ramsey is offered a terrible deal, one that could save or destroy the entire town, and maybe even the world.
The Devil, the Witch and the Whore is the first book in a trilogy about a town and its demons, and about the consequences of making a deal with the devil. Contains scenes of horror and violence.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Part One
Homecoming
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Part Two
Save Me
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Three
Underworld
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Part Four
The Death of Molly Abernathy
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Part Five
The Massacre at Dodderidge Farm
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Part Six
Esther
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Part Seven
Glitter in Their Eyes
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Part Eight
The Devil, the Witch and the Whore
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Epilogue
The Devil, the Witch and the Whore
(The Deal book 1)
Prologue
There are scratches all around the coin-slot, reflecting the flashing reds and yellows of the distant highway.
“Help me!” I gasp as I grab the handset and frantically dial 911.
As I wait for the call to connect, I glance over my shoulder and watch for any sign that he's caught up with me. All I see so far is the dark tree-line, picked out against the lights of the road, but there's no sign of him. Still, I know he won't be far behind. He chased me this far. He's not going to just give up now.
“Hello?” I stammer, turning back to the phone. There should be a tone, somebody should have picked up by now, but so far I'm not hearing anything.
I hit the switch on the cradle several times, trying to force a connection. “Hello, is anyone there? I need help!”
I thought it was free to call 911, but finally I reach into my pockets and start searching for coins. It takes a moment, but I manage to dredge up a dime from the very bottom of my back pocket, and I drop it into the coin-slot before dialing 911 yet again.
Nothing.
“Come on,” I whimper, with tears streaming down my face.
I hit the cradle again and the coin drops out. I slot it back in at the top and try dialing, but I'm starting to think that maybe this phone is out of order. Sure enough, I wait a few seconds but there's still no dial tone, so I press the switch on the cradle and the coin drops out again. Before making another try, I close my eyes for a moment and try to get my head together. I need a miracle.
“Please work,” I whisper. “Please God, I'll do anything, but please help me.”
I wait a few seconds longer, and then with a trembling hand I drop the coin into the slot for a third time.
Nothing.
This phone is dead.
Suddenly I hear the sound of an approaching vehicle. Even before I turn, I know I'll see the lights of his truck heading this way along the gravel road that runs up from the forest. Sure enough, the huge, hulking truck is already at the edge of the parking lot, and for a fraction of a second I see his silhouette in the cab. He's come for me.
He won't get me, though.
No way.
I am not going to die tonight.
Things like this don't happen to people like me. Bad things, really really really bad things like this, do not happen to ordinary people like me.
But the truck is getting closer and closer.
Panicking, I turn to run, before realizing that he'll just chase me down again. Figuring that there might be another phone inside the diner, I run along the side of the building and up the steps, but of course all the lights are off and the door is locked. I pull frantically on the handle before hammering against the window, even though I know it's after midnight and everyone will have gone home. On the other side of the glass, a 'Closed' sign is dangling from a plastic sucker.
Suddenly the truck's lights fill the dust-smeared window, and then they blink off as the truck grinds to a halt behind me.
“No way,” I whisper, quickly coming up with another idea and taking off my shirt. It's too late to run, and I wouldn't get
far anyway with my damaged foot, so I have to do this another way. Wrapping the shirt around my right arm, I smash the window next to the door and then I reach through, fumbling for some way to get inside. I catch a bare patch of skin on some broken glass, ripping the flesh just below my elbow, but I barely even notice the pain as I finally manage to turn the latch that unlocks the door.
Behind me, the truck's door creaks open and feet set down on the gravel parking lot.
“Come on!” I hiss, pushing against the door but finding that it still won't open. A moment later I realize I need to pull instead, and sure enough the door swings toward me.
I stumble inside and pull the door shut, and then I turn the latch so that it's locked.
Stepping back across shards of broken glass, I look out through the shattered window and see the man walking calmly around to the rear of his truck. He's not panicking at all. It's as if he thinks he's finally cornered me, and I can just about make out a long-handled ax swinging from his left hand. I know I should run, but for a moment I can only stare in horror as he hauls the rear panel of the truck down, props his ax against the vehicle's side, and reaches into the back. I watch as he pushes some tarpaulin aside, and then finally he turns and steps toward the front of the diner.
He reaches down and sets what looks like a metal bucket on the ground, then he places another next to it, and another, and I watch until he has seven buckets in a row.
They're empty.
Like they're waiting to be filled.
He adjusts the buckets for a moment, as if he's making sure they're lined up all neat, and then he stops and stares at me for a moment. I can't make out his face, since he's silhouetted against the line of traffic that runs along the highway a couple of miles away, but I know he's looking right at me.
“No, please,” I stammer, taking a step back, unable to stop looking at the buckets. “What are those for? What are you going to do with them?”
No reply.
He's just watching me.
“What are you going to do?” I shout, before looking toward the lights of the highway. “Help me!” I scream, even though I know they're too far away for anyone to hear me. “Somebody help me!”
I wait, but the only sound now is the faint, distant hum of traffic. There are hundreds of people out there, but the highway is so bright and the diner is shrouded in darkness.
“Help!” I scream again, my voice breaking now as I taste blood in the back of my throat. “Please -”
Suddenly the man heads back over to his truck and grabs the ax, before turning and stepping past the buckets, making his way toward the diner's front door. Each footstep on the gravel sounds a little louder and closer than the one before, and his silhouette is getting bigger.
“No!” I yell, hurrying around the counter. Pushing open the first door I come to, I find myself in the diner's dark kitchen. I look around for a moment, hoping against hope to spot a phone on the wall, but instead all I see are a series of counter-tops.
I'm not an idiot.
I can defend myself.
I rush to the nearest counter, looking for a knife, but again there's nothing. Trying not to panic, I race to the far side of the kitchen and push open another door, and finally I come to a small hallway at the rear of the building. I look over my shoulder, but now there's no sign of the man at all, although I assume he won't have had much difficulty reaching through the broken front door and turning the latch. He's probably inside by now, waiting to come at me again with that ax. I got away from him last time, but that was just a fluke. If he comes at me again, I might not be so lucky.
You're gonna get out of here, I tell myself. You're gonna figure out a way.
Turning to face the back door, I peer out through the glass panel and see the diner's dark, empty rear lot. There's nothing out there, no parked cars or figures or anything, and I can see all the way to the dark forest on the far side. The last thing I want is to go running into the forest again, but I figure maybe I can find a way to lose this asshole. He's been after me for so long, and he's seemed to strike lucky at every turn, but eventually his luck has to run out and mine has to come good.
Please, just one stroke of luck. That's all I need.
I glance over my shoulder again, looking through to the dark kitchen, but there's still no sign of him.
Reaching down, I run a hand across my damaged ankle. I think pure adrenaline must be keeping me from feeling the extent of the pain, because my fingertips quickly run against a thick flap of sliced flesh. The bastard caught me earlier, and the wound has been slowing me down ever since.
But running's my only option.
My heart is pounding, but I tell myself that I can outrun this bastard and make it to the forest, and then I can somehow get the hell away. I don't know much about the guy who's chasing me, but I know he's older than me, and I figure that even with an injury I should have a fair chance. I just need to be smart this time. Smart and lucky. My hands are still trembling, but I can't just wait here in the dark until he comes for me, so I reach up and slide the latch across before peering out and double-checking that there's absolutely no sign of him waiting outside for me.
Finally, I dare to pull the door open a crack, and I immediately feel the cold night air against my face. I can see my breath ahead of me, too, and I wait a moment longer just in case I hear the tell-tale sound of someone coming closer across the gravel.
Nothing.
It's almost as if he's disappeared entirely, but I know that's not possible.
I take a step forward, but then I pause again. I tell myself I can make it to the trees, and that then I'll be able to disappear into the darkness of the forest. I tell myself the same thing over and over, but somehow I can't force my body to start moving. I guess I'm terrified that he'll suddenly come at me from somewhere, that I'll see him raise his ax and swing it at me again. He only missed my neck by inches last time, and I know I've already had several miracles just to get this far.
Blood is running from the wound on my foot.
I look back through toward the kitchen again, but I'm still certain that he hasn't come through the door from the main part of the diner. I'd have heard him. There's a part of me that just wants to stay here and hide, to maybe crawl into one of the cupboards and hope for someone to show up and save me, even though deep down I know that's not going to happen. This diner is old and shuttered, and no-one ever comes here anymore.
I turn back and look toward the trees.
“Please God,” I mouth silently, hoping against hope that somewhere there's someone who can watch over me and get me out of this mess. “Save me.”
I'm not some dumb kid who deserves to get hacked to death by a crazy hillbilly. I don't deserve that one bit. Focusing on that thought, I pull the door open all the way and step out into the cold.
Immediately, I sense movement next to me. I turn and see the man lunging toward me, and I immediately spin around and rush back inside. Before I can make it, however, I feel a firm hand grabbing my left arm, yanking me back out. I scream as I grab the door-frame and I desperately try to pull away. The hand is too tight, however, and I turn just in time to see him raising his ax against the starless, traffic-red night sky.
“No!” I shout, turning away and pulling as hard as I can.
Suddenly I feel the sharpest, most agonizing pain in my left arm, just below the elbow, and I fall against the door before slamming to the floor. The pain is so strong, pulsing through my body and filling my mind, that I can barely even think straight as I turn and throw myself against the door to push it shut. I reach up with my right hand and slide the latch across, but I'm shaking more than ever and a moment later I see the silhouette of the man as he steps back from the door. He's still watching me through the dusty, scratched glass. He has his ax slung over his shoulder, and he's holding something in his right hand.
A severed arm, dribbling blood down onto the step.
Shivering frantically, I look down and see that my left arm
has been severed a short way beneath the elbow. Blood has begun to pour out, soaking my t-shirt and pants, but for a few seconds all I can do is stare in horror at the sight. I tell myself that I'm wrong, that there's no way he just cut my arm off, and I try desperately to move my missing left hand. Finally, as I feel more blood soaking through my t-shirt and onto my skin, I let out a slow, terrified wail and my entire body starts shaking violently with shock.
Outside, the man is calmly walking away from the door.
“Help me!” I scream, somehow managing to shout even louder than before, even though my voice is filled with sobs. I lean back against the wall, still shuddering with shock. “Mom! Dad! Somebody help me! Get me out of here! Help me!”
For a moment, the pain continues to overwhelm every thought in my head. Tears are streaming down my face and I can't even bring myself to look at my damaged arm. It's not true, it's not real, it can't be.
“Help me,” I whimper, barely able to get the words out at all.
And then, as suddenly as it started, the trembling stops.
This isn't how I'm going to die.
I refuse to let anyone do this to me.
Realizing that I need to stem the blood loss, I scramble to my feet and stumble back into the kitchen. My missing arm keeps me slightly off-balance, but I quickly find some kitchen cloths hanging from a set of hooks and I start desperately wrapping them around the severed stump of my arm. Blood quickly starts soaking through the fabric, and I let out a pained gasp as I lean against the counter. I wrap more and more cloths around the stump, hoping that I can squeeze the wound tight. Even as I do so, however, I can feel myself getting weaker and a little dizzy.
And in some weird way, I keep trying to use my left hand, even though it's gone. I can feel it, like it's a ghost attached to me just below the elbow.
“I'm not going to die here,” I whisper, clutching the cloth tighter against my severed arm as I stumble across the dark kitchen. “Phone. Find phone.”
