by mike Evans
Cavete, Daemones!
By Mike Evans
Dedicated to my wife, children, I love you more than anything. To all my fans and supporters I would not have the energy to go at this pace without you.
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© 2017 Mike Evans, All Rights Reserved
Cover by Lisa Vasquez
Thanks to my beta readers Karen, Leslie, Jon, Denise & Ricky you guys are wonderful!
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Books by Mike Evans
The Orphans Series
The Orphans: Origins Vol I
Surviving the Turned Vol II (The Orphans Series)
Strangers Vol III (The Orphans Series)
White Lie Vol IV (The Orphans Series)
Civil War Vol V (The Orphans Series)
WIP Vol IV (The Orphans Series) coming soon
Zombies and Chainsaws
Zombies and Chainsaws 1
Dark Roads (Zombies and Chainsaws 2)
The Rising Series
Deal with the Devil
Gabriel Series
Gabriel: Only one gets out alive
Pitch Black (Gabriel Book 2)
Body Count (Gabriel Book 3)
The Uninvited Series
The Uninvited Book I
The Stranger Book II of The Uninvited series
The Unwelcomed Book III of The Uninvited series coming soon
Buried: Broken oaths
The dark things in life—much like those that are holy—are not always visible to the naked eye. When the fight to reign takes over, God and the Devil will come out of the shadows.
Chapter 1
Chicago, 1972
Sunday, James Clapper’s home
Stephanie rolled over in bed, nudging her husband Alex in the spine for the third time. “I swear if you don’t get out of bed, I’m never cooking again.”
Alex—who was on his side, with his back to his wife—was smiling, confident he was stirring the pot. “You know well, Stephanie, that I am very skilled in the art of ordering pizza.”
Stephanie sighed. “Fine, I’m using my trump card.”
“I thought food was the way to get a man to do anything.”
“The big card… the almighty card.”
“God?”
“No, you idiot—wait, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean that to come off so mean, sorry. No, if you get James up and off to church, I will be naked when you come back.”
“But will you be awake?”
“I don’t think that has ever stopped you before, has it?”
Alex snorted. “No, no I guess not. Don’t worry, I’ll try to figure out some way to wake you if you aren’t up when I come back. Just don’t go being a welch on me.”
“I could be on my deathbed and you wouldn’t let me change my mind.”
Alex pushed up off the bed rubbing his belly and tapping around the floor with his foot trying to locate his pajama bottoms. He trotted down the hall to the stairs, looking outside, not even seeing the delivery drivers out yet this early on the day of rest. He smiled, thinking of Stephanie in bed, knowing damn well that she would be fully clothed, and most likely back asleep again, snoring, having moved to the middle of the bed, and made herself a blanket cocoon.
Alex dumped the remnants from the previous day's coffee grounds into the trashcan and fumbled in the dark before he realized that he hadn’t turned on the kitchen light. He flicked it on, squinting and almost falling backwards when the darkness was brutally invaded by light. The fireworks shot left and right in front of his eyes until he finally blinked enough times to make them go away. He checked the time once more and headed back up the steps, ready to battle with his son.
Alex twisted the handle, walking in slowly, once again unable to see anything in the room. He walked over to sit on the bed and started gently shaking his son, James, to wake him up.
“Go away, I’m sleeping,” came the muffled reply.
Alex smiled, thinking of himself in the fifties, and his father doing the exact same thing to him. For decades, the boys of the Clapper family had been waking before sunrise on Sundays. “I was sleeping too, James, and if you wake up and get moving, I get to go back to sleep for a little while.”
“I think I’m sick though.”
Alex shook his head. He knew the spiel already. “And what exactly is wrong with you, James?”
“I’m sick, Dad.”
“Uh huh, and what are you sick with, James?”
“I’m sick of getting up for church on Sundays. Is there a reason why we can’t be like normal people?” James asked.
Alex smiled, getting up off the bed. “What is normal son? You’d rather stay in on Sundays and not go repent for our sins? It’s good for you to be an altar boy; we’ve been doing it for so long. You don’t want to be the only Clapper man that hasn’t done it, do you?”
“They say at school to take a lesser known road.”
“Unfortunately for you, the school system is managed by a bunch of idiots and hippies. You’d just have a bunch of people lost in the woods if we didn’t walk down the sidewalk.”
At this, James finally broke and started laughing. “Okay, just give me like three more hours, and I’ll be up.”
“I’ll give you five more seconds, James, and you won’t be able to sit on your bike if you don’t get your skinny butt up. You got any questions about that?”
“Yeah, did you start counting in your head yet, or is it starting like, right now?”
“Look, James, Jesus died for our sins, the least you can do is get your ass out of bed and pray for your own. Now get up. I’ll go get you a bowl of cereal poured. You don’t want to tell Father Michaels that you were late because you overslept now do you? Besides, I’m sure Billy is going to be along real soon. You make sure that he got something to eat, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, feed Billy, church, repent, God will be happy; Clapper tradition.”
Alex shook his head, bending down and gripping James by the rib cage with a tickle death-grip, making the boy spasm as he dug into his side. James started to laugh uncontrollably, as his dad was relentless. “I promise that if you don’t get up, James, I will tickle you happily until you have wet yourself, and then you get to go tell your mother that her big boy peed the bed. I’ll totally let you take the blame for it too; there will be no admittance of any wrong doing by myself.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me... would you?”
“You want me to give you another round just shoot, that glass on your night stand is awfully empty looking though. Probably gotta go pretty bad, don’t you?”
James got up and trudged down the hall stomping the first few steps and then remembered that his mother was still in bed and sleeping happily. He changed his stomp to something much, much more quiet; he knew what happened when Mom wasn’t happy.
Alex flicked on the lights, getting James’ dress clothes out of his closest for him as he did every Sunday, and laid them out neatly on his bed. He headed downstair
s, pouring a cup of coffee for himself and testing it with his lips to see if there’d be any burning if he drank it. James came down a few minutes later, carrying his tie and dressed in his Sunday best, and plopped down in the chair.
Alex walked over, giving his son a kiss on the head, and rubbed his shoulder. “One day you are going to be doing this with your own son. Trust me, I know it’s a pain, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t important.”
“People don’t even go to church anymore, Dad.”
“Then that’s probably why every seat in the church is full every Sunday, right?”
“Details, Dad, just details.”
“Just get eating smart ass. I don’t know if God himself will try to save you from the priests if you aren’t ready in time. It’s all about the finish work.”
James slammed back what was left of his cereal and held out his tie. “I need help with my tie; I accidentally untied it last week when I was taking it off, Dad.”
“You know a better solution could be that maybe, just maybe, you could learn how to tie it, right?”
“That’s one option; another one is you and Mom could just get me a clip on, and all of our problems will be solved.”
Alex sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “You’re just like your mother, you know that right?”
His dad started to adjust the tie and tightened it for him. “You know what is funny? Mom says the same thing about me being just like you right after the veins start to pop in her forehead like yours are. Little tight, Dad, it’s a little tight.”
His dad smiled. “Oh, I know, you make sure to remember to taunt me at six in the morning on my day off when I’m helping you.”
Someone at the door knocked and the dog—Jasper—came around the corner like he was on a mission from God. James shook his head at the small dog, smiling and backing away slowly from his dad as he undid the tie to where he could breathe again, and slid on his coat.
His father was just shaking his head as he saw a much younger version of himself, leaving to do what he’d done for almost two decades. He waited until the door clicked shut and took the steps two at a time screaming, “He’s gone, he’s gone, you’d better not be sleeping again!”
Chapter 2
Sunday, Billy Parker’s home, early morning
Tony lied still in bed, his four-year-old frame looked like he could be lost in the small, single bed. He had been in it for a few years and still randomly fell out of it. His plump cheeks squished into his pillow and a line of drool ran down his thumb. The blanket covering him slowly began to rise. He kicked, grabbing for his comforter, clueless that it was rising above him. His breath began to show as the temperature in the room began to lower. Tony whimpered, “Billy, stop it, give me back my blanket. It’s cold in here, you aren’t funny.”
Billy stirred in his bed and when his baby brother started to cry, looked over, finally waking up. He wiped the crusties from his eyes, pushing up slowly to see what it was that his brother was whimpering about. He couldn’t see anything in the black of night and reached around blindly for the flashlight. When he got his grip on it, he flicked it on aiming it at the wall. The picture of Number 89 Mike Ditka, The Hammer of the Chicago Bears’ 1963 season, looked back at him. It had a tape line running up the middle of the poster. His mom, Joan, had fixed it for Billy after his dad, David, had gone on a bender. The Bears had lost one Sunday and with it he’d lost their mortgage money on what was supposed to be a sure thing, again.
Billy pushed up on an elbow and whispered, “We’re going to kill the Rams at Soldier Field, Mike. I’ll be looking forward to it all day. I just hope that Dad isn’t awake during it. He never does well when anyone loses.”
Billy shone the light around, seeing something move to his side quickly, but when he did, he only saw his brother lying in a ball, curled up with the comforter on the floor, making him look smaller than he usually did. Billy groaned as he got out of bed and covered him back up with the oversized comforter.
“Shut up and go back to bed, Tony, or I’m going to tell Mom. I need to get up and go to church in the morning. I need more sleep. If you don’t get to sleep you aren’t going to be able to skip your nap, and you’re going to miss The Bears’ game. You don’t want to do that, now do you?” Billy checked his brother with the light to see he was indeed asleep and not faking it—or at least, didn’t think that he was.
When he turned around, he saw two shadows on the wall, making his heart leap into his throat. He spun around with the light, going back and forth. His brother stayed still in the bed; the light continued to flicker. He watched Tony for a full minute, trying to ignore it, but the light started to make a noise—almost buzzing—and he trained the light on the lamp. It’d been that way since they got it at a garage sale a year ago, but had never acted up until they’d moved in, and his dad had just said if there is still light, then maybe he ought to just shut up and be happy for having it. When Billy turned back around there was only one shadow he waved to make sure it was his.
Billy ignored the light and went around the room. Seeing that the door was shut and no one else was in there, he figured that his eyes were just playing tricks on him. He turned around yet again, getting back into bed, although this time there was no second shadow to greet him. He killed the flashlight, setting it back on the nightstand, since it was only three twenty in the morning. Billy curled up in his blanket and closed his eyes, wanting nothing but to go back to sleep.
He heard his brother start to moan again. He was ready to flick on the light, but he didn’t need it to see the blanket slowly inching off of him until it was lying in a pile on the floor. Billy did the sign of the cross, jumping across the floor, snatching his brother, and then running back with him to his bed, pulling the comforter up and over their heads.
Billy was shaking from the chain of events that had taken place. Tony, who had been sound asleep and being woken up abruptly by being dropped on the bed, woke up so quickly that he began to whimper. Billy did his best to settle him down, but it wasn’t good enough. His cries became full-on wails echoing into the middle of the night. Their mother, Joan, rushed into the room, hushing Tony. She nuzzled him in her chest, brushing the back of his head.
Billy jumped out of the bed hoping the mystery was gone, hopped over the blanket, and rushed to the door. He shut it as quickly as he could and came back, avoiding Tony’s bed and blanket. Joan was rubbing Tony’s back as quickly as she could. “I need you to settle down, Tony, or you are going to wake up Daddy. Don’t wake up your dad, you know how he is, honey. He’s on the couch these floors are paper thin.”
Tony screamed, “Billy took my covers and then pulled me off my bed, Momma.”
Joan gave a look to her oldest and Billy knew that he was in trouble. He said, “Look, Ma, I didn’t take the covers off him, I promise. He was the one that woke me up because he was cold. He kept whimpering, and I saw that he’d lost his comforter. I got out of bed to cover him back up. A minute later he started moaning all over again, and when I checked him out, he was uncovered again. But I saw the blanket move on its own, ma, and I swear there was a second shadow, and the door was shut, I don’t know who or what it was.”
“You know what your dad will do if you wake him. Is that what you are trying to do? Do you want him to beat your rear end? Tony’s and mine, too, until we can’t sit for a week? It’s dark, I don’t know how you saw anything, that lamp barely puts off enough light to see.”
“Ma, I swear to you, I didn’t do it. I don’t know who it was,” Billy pleaded.
“Well, what was it, William Patrick Parker, a ghost?”
He knew better than to speak back to his mother when she was to the point that she was using his full legal name. There was no question that he had upset her. “Tony, you want to sleep with me, buddy? We can just share my bed, and then we won’t have anyone take your comforter.”
Tony wiped at his face, sniffing and nodding. Joan said, “I’m not going to try to go back to bed after
this. Your father isn’t going to miss me. You boys lay down; we can all share the bed. It will keep us warm at least, your father made a bet that didn’t pan out like his tip had promised him, and that took the heat money with it.”
Billy asked, “Can they actually do that? I mean in winter, can they turn off our heat?”
“It’s Chicago, baby, they can do whatever they want. If they don’t turn it off, they’ll wait for spring and then cut our electric off all at once with no notice.”
Billy rested his head on the pillow feeling the warm breath of his brother on his neck and the comforting arm of his mother for security, and knew that they were safe. He stared into the darkness at the floor for a good while before deciding that the comforter was not going to move, and he went back to sleep. He had every confidence in his mom that she would die to protect him... to protect both of them. But there was little she could do to protect him from the ghosts, he thought.
***
Billy’s alarm went off and he reached a hand out, hitting the snooze. He didn’t dare wake his brother after the night they’d had. Billy slipped from between his sheets, wishing he’d have worn socks to bed when his small bare feet touched the wood floor. He was confident that what little heat was coming out of the ancient furnace in the basement was not making it to their room. He opened the closet, and a whisper from over his shoulder sounded: “Frater noster est.”
Billy reached into his closet, clutching his hand around his Louisville Slugger, and spun around, looking wild-eyed for the intruder. He looked everywhere and saw that the door was still closed. The voice said it again: “Frater noster est.”
He stared at his mother, making sure that yes, she was sleeping. He didn’t dare wake her again, but the creep factor of the room right now was more than he could handle. He looked around the room, not thinking anything of the comforter back on Tony’s bed, neatly made. He went to a small desk writing down what he’d heard, spelling it to the best of his knowledge.
