The Shattered Seam (Seam Stalkers Book 1)

by Kathleen Groger

  So much for reading it myself. I set the mug down on the table and raced after him.

  * * *

  The team assembled in the command center. Eric had changed into his standard black outfit and added a black knit beanie with a skull emblem. Daniel and Randall were wide awake, but unshaven and unshowered. Marisol looked like she’d just stepped off a runway. Not a hair out of place and not a dark circle to be found. Brett, on the other hand, seemed barely alive. His red, puffy face made him look like he’d lost a fight with a baseball bat.

  Eric held out the book. “Sam, since you found it, I think you should be the first to read an entry to everyone.”

  I hated reading aloud, and there was no way I was going to do it on camera. “No, go ahead. You do it.”

  I took a seat in a throne-like maroon chair trimmed with gold. Chauncey wiggled in next to me.

  Randall shouldered his camera and gave the thumbs-up sign. Eric cleared his throat, then read:

  “‘March 5, 1899

  Today I heard from the wretched woman who controls Houska Castle. She has refused my request to purchase an additional ten percent of stone over our original agreement. She dared to say that changes in design did not concern her and even dismissed the fact I offered to pay triple her original asking price. Who does this woman think she is dealing with? If I cannot acquire the additional stone, I will be nearly 300 tons short of material to finish the castle’s foundation and lower walls. If I am unable to persuade her to see the error in her decision, I will need to find an alternative source in the same “spirit” as the Houska Castle stones already in place on the island.

  This new development is extremely maddening. I believe I will invite Ms. Murphy over this evening to settle my soul.’”

  Marisol stared at the ceiling. “Houska Castle. The name sounds familiar.”

  Eric snapped his fingers. “That’s the castle in the Czech Republic.”

  Daniel jumped from his chair. “The one that was built over the gateway to hell?”

  I sat straighter. Chauncey gave me a disgusted look and hopped off. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Houska Castle is a stone castle sort of close to Prague. It was constructed in the late thirteenth century near limestone cliffs. The story goes it was built to cover the pit the locals claimed was bottomless. It’s been a scene of paranormal activity forever.” Eric’s eyes held a spark of excitement, and he bounced on the balls of his feet.

  Daniel walked over and stood by my chair. “I read they made deals with prisoners back in the day. They offered to let the guys go free if they allowed themselves to be lowered into the pit on a rope and could describe what was down there. Well, the first guy screamed, and when they pulled him back up, they said his hair had turned white and he couldn’t talk. He went mad and died two days later.”

  A chill went down my spine.

  Randall nodded. “Yeah, man. And supposedly the Nazis conducted experiments on different dimensions there too. Do do doooo do.”

  “Is that true?” My voice came across weak.

  “It’s seething with the paranormal. Other stories say people have seen a chain of humans.” Eric paced the room.

  “Don’t forget the winged demons and black dogs,” Daniel added.

  Marisol kept twisting her right hand over her left index finger. Brett looked half amused, half freaked out.

  “That’s a soup of scary shit. Can I see the journal?” Daniel stretched out his hand, and Eric passed it to him.

  The excitement level built between them. I didn’t get it and didn’t feel anything close to excitement. More like nausea.

  “Why are you guys pumped? What difference does Houska Castle make?” I stood and rubbed my arms.

  “Because—” Eric waved his hands while he spoke. “Entities might have attached themselves to the stones and traveled here from there. Dark entities. It might explain what drove Stephen Novak to become a serial killer.”

  “I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.”

  “Okay.” Eric bounced again, failing to control his enthusiasm. “There’s a theory that spirits can attach themselves to objects. And from what I know about the stones used in Houska Castle, they were limestone.”

  “So what?”

  “Limestone is an excellent conductor for the paranormal. And if the entities attached to the stones, they could travel here. And if the entities from Houska Castle are demonic in nature—”

  “Then the demonic entities could have relocated here,” Marisol finished.

  My stomach dropped. “When I found the book, I opened it to a random page. Novak said he got other stones from an insane asylum.”

  Eric rubbed his palms together. “We need to investigate what the bastard’s hiding in the dungeon.”

  12

  The guys loaded themselves down with equipment while Marisol and I armed ourselves with flashlights. As a group, we descended the stone staircase on the side of the castle opposite the pool. It seemed a whole level deeper. Step by step, the air turned cooler. The earthy smell grew stronger the closer we got to Novak’s dungeon. Chauncey’s nose went on overdrive.

  Daniel pulled on the handle of the blackened, scarred door. “Should we smash the lock?”

  Claw marks gouged the wood. Thoughts of torture and pits leading to hell tangled in my brain.

  “Look at these scratches.” Eric traced them with his index finger. “Why are they on the outside? Wouldn’t people be trying to get out, not in? Think they’re demonic?”

  “No.” I closed my eyes and tried to calm the storm ravaging my mind. “They were probably made by some dog.”

  “Break it. You can pay to have it fixed,” Brett said.

  “Yeah, let’s bust it open.” Eric kicked at the lock on the door again and again, but the door didn’t budge.

  It took Daniel ten minutes and the small crowbar from their tool kit to snap the ancient lock.

  “The door was brought here from somewhere else. Somewhere there was much death,” Marisol said.

  Eric pushed it open and crossed the threshold. “It fits with Novak’s personality.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you know his personality.” She gave a dry cough, and a look of fright flashed across her face, then she returned to her usual thinking-of-something-else expression.

  The medium could lose her cool in one second and be calm the next. I so didn’t want to become like her. I just wanted to be normal. I didn’t want to act like her bat-shit looney-toonness.

  “What?” Daniel’s voice hitched. “Can you see him?”

  Randall turned his camera on Marisol while Daniel and Brett continued to film Eric.

  “Novak?” Her eyes grew wide again. “No. I can’t see him.”

  “Okay then.” Eric went into TV mode. “We are entering the dungeon where the police caught Stephen Novak dismembering Emily Andrews in the 1920s. When they surprised him, he threw a knife at them. One officer fired a shot and killed Novak instantly. I’m going to film the room with the infrared camera first.”

  Eric swept the camera around, but with everyone standing in front of me, I couldn’t see if he caught any images or not.

  “Doesn’t look like anything.”

  “Should we turn on the lights?” Daniel asked.

  “There’s no light switch. Only wall torches, torches as dead as those we seek.” Marisol said it so dramatically, I had to turn around to keep from snorting on camera.

  The guys entered the dungeon and formed a semi-circle around Marisol while I stayed in the doorway out of the camera’s range. Chauncey sat outside the door and refused to cross the threshold, even when I tapped my thigh, calling him.

  The crisscrossing beams of everyone’s flashlights highlighted a room straight out of a horror movie. Brett pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the torches.

  I quickly sketched the chains hanging from the ceiling and walls. Racks of what looked like canes and sticks sat to my right. Bottles filled with different colored liquids line
d the top of a cabinet. A person-sized wooden X stood in the corner of the room. I had no idea what that was used for, and was pretty sure I didn’t want to know the answer. The center of the room held a rectangular table similar to, but way freakier than, an operating table. Metal bars jutted up toward the ceiling at the four corners. Handcuff-style restraints hung from the bars. It was a damned dungeon all right. My chest tightened, and a sense of unease bordering on pain overwhelmed my senses. I shut my sketchbook.

  “Here we see some of the instruments of torture Novak used, some still covered in his victim’s blood.” Eric shined his light at the wall, where saws, clamps, hammers, and a ton of other common tools hung. A few were stained dark. I prayed it was rust.

  “Here’s the throne Novak must have sat on while his poor victims suffered on the table.” Eric stood behind a massive gilded chair that was even more regal looking than the one in the command center. Eric sat, shifting his butt back and forth.

  “I’m turning on the EVP recorder.” He pulled the device from his pocket. “Stephen Novak, are you mad I’m sitting in your chair? Here in front of the fireplace in your secret room?”

  Marisol made a gagging noise, and Brett focused his camera on her. “Are you okay, Marisol?”

  She rubbed her neck. “Yes. There’s a woman here who keeps talking to me. She’s very upset.”

  I didn’t see a woman, and the belt of pressure around my chest loosened a notch.

  Eric crossed an ankle over one knee, making himself at home on the serial killer’s throne. “Why’s she upset? What’s her name?”

  “She won’t tell me her name. She’s upset because you’re all in here and—” Marisol dropped her voice to a whisper. “She’s naked and covered in blood. I don’t think she knows she’s dead.”

  If the dead lady could talk to Marisol, and Marisol could talk to her, why couldn’t the lady understand Marisol when she spoke aloud? Maybe she could. More creepyassness I hoped never to adopt.

  “Was she killed in this room?” Daniel asked.

  Marisol bit her bottom lip and tilted her head. Her forehead wrinkled, and her nose twitched. “I don’t know. Oh.” Marisol narrowed her eyes. “She left.”

  “Why did she leave?” Brett panned to Eric, then back to Marisol.

  “She was too ashamed. Ashamed about being naked in front of all of us.”

  “Are there any other spirits here?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  I looked again. Still no visions. I almost smiled. Maybe Marisol was wrong about me.

  “Let’s look around and see if there’s anything hidden in here.” Eric stood and made a slashing motion across his throat. The cameras were turned off.

  The men opened every drawer and cabinet, only to find more tools and a collection of wicked-looking knives. Marisol rubbed her temples, then slumped on the throne with her knees spread like a guy, looking anything but supermodelish.

  “Dudes, Novak was one sick mofo. Look at this.” Randall held up a knife with a curved blade. It looked like a miniature version of the scythe carried by the Grim Reaper.

  “My back is burning.” Brett lifted his gray T-shirt.

  Eric ran to Brett. “Holy—grab a camera.”

  “What? What is it?” Brett twisted, trying to see his back.

  “Who scratched Brett?” Eric yelled.

  Randall clicked on his camera. “Hold still. Let me get the shot.”

  “It’s three scratches. Three. Like the mark of the beast.”

  Brett touched his skin. “It burns like a sonofabitch.”

  Eric turned on his EVP recorder. “I’m speaking to the entity who attacked Brett. Why did you scratch him?”

  “How bad is it?” Brett twisted again.

  “It’s red and deep. I’m surprised you’re not bleeding.” Daniel filmed while Randall changed his camera focus to Eric.

  Brett looked over his shoulder. “Take a picture with your phone. Show me.”

  Daniel glanced at Marisol, then me. “Sam, can you take a picture?”

  “Sure.” I moved behind him and held up my phone. When I spotted the marks, my breath caught in my lungs. The scratches looked just like the ones on my chest. I considered telling Eric about mine, but didn’t want that filmed.

  “Sam, are you okay?” Eric took a step closer to me.

  “Yeah. Just trying to get the phone to focus.” I took the pic and handed Brett my phone.

  “Look at that. What the hell?” Brett let go of his shirt and gave me back the phone.

  “You have our attention. What do you want to tell us?” Eric’s voice filled with anger. “Can you scratch me?”

  I turned to Marisol. The medium was still in the throne chair, hunched as if she was in a trance. “Marisol, what’s wrong?”

  She stared at the empty fireplace. I reached out to touch her. Heat radiated from her skin. I pulled back.

  “Marisol?” Brett hurried to the chair.

  I backed away. What was wrong with her? I bumped into something, and a loud thud filled the room. Spinning around, I reached out but failed to stop the canes and sticks from toppling off their display stand.

  “Sorry.”

  “What’s going on?” Marisol sat up and looked like herself instead of a mind-dead zombie.

  “You were either in a trance, or you were sleeping with your eyes open.” Brett rubbed the top of her hand.

  I fixed the display and was about to put the last stick away when the wooden shaft grew hot.

  “Ouch.” I dropped the stick and opened my hand. My left palm flared an angry red with a white welt in the center. It was like I’d stuck my hand in a campfire. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit down on my lip.

  Eric ran to my side and grabbed my wrist. “What is that?”

  “The stick burned me.”

  “Whoever is harming my friends, stop. Harm me. Hurt me. Not them. Come on, what are you waiting for?” Eric yelled.

  “We need to get that burn under cold water or something.” Daniel handed his camera to Eric. “Sam, let’s get you and Brett upstairs. Marisol, come with us.”

  We climbed the stairs. My hand hurt worse and worse, as if the burn was sinking down through the skin, layer by layer. I tried not to cry, but the pain kept reaching new levels of intensity.

  We reached the kitchen, and Daniel shoved my hand under cold water. “Keep it there.”

  Chauncey whined and stuck to my side.

  Stabbing pain added to the searing burn in my palm. I wanted to yank my hand out of the water. “This really hurts.”

  “I know. But you have to keep it under the water to stop the burn from going deeper.” Daniel turned to Brett. “Let me see your scratches.”

  “I’m fine. They sting.” Brett shook his head. “They’re nothing compared to what happened to Sam.”

  “It’s the doing of a demon.” Marisol pulled out the necklace from under her shirt and rubbed the dark stone. She turned to me. “This stone is jet. It’s used for protection, specifically against demons. With your gifts, you should get one too. Jet tends to become part of its wearer.”

  She hoisted herself onto the counter, swinging her booted feet back and forth like a kid. “It will help protect and calm you.”

  I shot a sideways glance at Brett. He raised his eyebrows and made a face that said he thought Marisol was full of crap.

  “What do you mean, a demon?”

  “Lift your shirt, Brett.” After he’d done so, she said, “Look at the three scratches. In perfect alignment with each other. Done by a claw.” Her legs swung faster.

  “Let me clean the scratches so you don’t get an infection.” Daniel put some cream from the first-aid kit on Brett’s back, and Brett smooshed his face. Daniel probably had something equally unpleasant in mind to put on my palm, but I wasn’t about to mention my scratches.

  Marisol kicked faster. “And Sam’s burn. The demon obviously wanted to mark her as his property.”

  13

  “What?” I yanked
my hand out of the water and stared at her. “What do you mean, the demon wants me?”

  Daniel guided my hand back into the water. “Perhaps we should discuss this later.” I didn’t have to see his face to know he was glaring at Marisol.

  While I appreciated what Daniel was trying to do, I wanted answers. “What does that mean, Marisol? Tell me, please.”

  “It’s nothing to worry about. It just means the demon finds you attractive. If it was an incubus, you’d be in trouble. But this demon seems more interested in pain than sex.”

  Marisol calmly sat there and told me a demon wanted to cause me pain like it was no big deal. Hello. It was a huge deal, at least to me.

  “That makes me feel so much better.” No, it didn’t.

  “Oh, Sam. Don’t worry. There’s no honest to goodness proof demons exist. You’ll be fine. We won’t let anything happen to you. Scout’s honor.” Brett held up two fingers.

  While Brett’s vow of protection seemed well meaning, my beliefs about what was real and unreal blurred into a tangled web of horror.

  Eric and Randall came into the kitchen. Daniel finished wrapping gauze around my left palm.

  “Are you guys okay?” Eric nodded to my bandage.

  Brett rolled his eyes at Marisol. “Yeah, we’re—”

  Marisol swung her boots harder and came inches from nailing Randall in the nuts.

  Randall backed away. “Watch it, woman.”

  She ignored him. “They’re refusing to accept it’s the work of demons.”

  “Demons?” Eric set his camera on the table.

  Daniel quickly brought them up to date.

  “I don’t like it. We signed up for this. It’s our job. But Sam’s different. I’m supposed to be taking care of her this week.” Eric balled his hands into fists and turned to me. “You’re moving into my room. I’ll sleep on the floor. And you are to always be by my side. No exceptions. Understood?”