The Madness Below: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles Book 20)

by R. L. King

  “Well…” Blodgett hesitated. “I do hate to bother you, but…there’s a situation back here that needs…well, looking into.”

  Oh, brilliant. So of course you call me. “Er—all right. I take it that it’s not something you can look into yourself?”

  “I don’t think that would be wise.” He sounded apologetic. “I’m afraid I’m not very…adventurous these days.”

  That was a fair point. Stone didn’t know Blodgett all that well, but he did know the man was far more of a researcher than a practical mage. He wasn’t a young man, for one thing. When he wasn’t attending to his church duties or serving as the portal’s caretaker, he spent most of his time studying the areas where faith and magic intersected.

  Stone paused, his curiosity about the reverend’s “situation” fighting with his desire to kick the whole matter, whatever it was, over the wall to someone else and get home to several days of rest and relaxation.

  As always, curiosity prevailed. “Can you give me any details about this ‘situation’?”

  “Is there any chance you can come here to the church? I’d prefer to discuss it with you in person.”

  Stone sighed, glancing at the portal again. It was calibrated for Surrey, but it would take only a few seconds to change that to the Lowell church. “Listen,” he said, feeling his resolve crumbling but trying to salvage one last shred of his soon-to-be-postponed vacation. “You’ve got to tell me a bit more about it. Honestly, I was literally about to step though the portal to England for a few days’ holiday. Is it something that can wait?”

  Blodgett’s soft breathing came through the speaker. “I…don’t think it can, Dr. Stone. I think something very dangerous is going on, and I fear it might get out of hand if it’s not stopped. Did the recent story of several high school students who committed a series of grisly murders make it to you out there in California?”

  “Er—oh. Yes. I think I saw something about it a few days ago.” He’d been so busy he hadn’t paid much attention to it, but he recalled seeing the headline while scanning the morning news on his work computer. It hadn’t been a top story in California, but it had gotten a lot of attention nonetheless due to it shock value. “Several teenagers murdered various people in some small town back there, wasn’t it? They thought it must have been drugs, or some kind of mass insanity?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. But I don’t think it was either of those things.”

  A tingle crawled up Stone’s back. “And…what do you think it was?”

  “I think there’s something supernatural involved, Dr. Stone. Something very bad.”

  That wasn’t a surprise; Blodgett wouldn’t have called him otherwise. “What makes you think so?” What connection would an old clergyman possibly have to a multiple murder case that, if Stone recalled the details correctly, had taken place on the other side of the state?

  “Because one of the police officers involved with the case is the daughter of one of my parishioners. She’s…told me some highly disturbing things about the case that aren’t known to the general public.”

  Stone didn’t answer. He could already feel his heartbeat picking up, though whether it was from anticipation or frustration, he couldn’t tell yet. He gripped the phone tighter and for a few seconds made his last, futile effort to hang on to his holiday. “All right, Reverend. All right. I’ll come. Give me a few minutes to make some calls. I’ll come through the portal to you, and you can give me the details.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Stone. I appreciate it. I wouldn’t have disturbed you with this if I wasn’t very concerned about what this young woman told me.”

  2

  Aubrey wasn’t happy when Stone called to say he wouldn’t be coming home after all, but he hid it well. “Should I contact Ian and let him know, sir?”

  “No—I’ll send him a text. And don’t despair yet. Maybe this will turn out to be nothing, or else I can mop it up quickly and still salvage the last part of the week. I’m sorry, Aubrey, but I’ve got to check this out.”

  “I understand, sir. Please be careful.”

  Stone didn’t bother telling him he was always careful. They both knew how much of a joke that was.

  He sent two quick texts, one to Ian postponing the visit and one to Verity asking her to pop by and check on Raider when she and Kyla got back, and then gripped his bag and recalibrated the portal for Lowell. Less than five minutes later, he stepped through into the dusty, wooden-beamed attic of Edwin Blodgett’s two-hundred-year-old church.

  Blodgett was waiting for him in his small cottage on the church’s property. A tall, stooped man with iron-gray hair, a severe but kindly face, and pale blue eyes, he wore tweed trousers, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves turned up, and a knit sweater vest. “Thank you so much for coming, Dr. Stone.”

  “Well, you’ve piqued my curiosity—not that that’s difficult to do, with this sort of thing.”

  “Come on to the kitchen. I’ve made tea. I think you’ll need it when you hear this story.”

  Stone wasn’t proud to admit it, but by the time he reached Blodgett’s cozy kitchen and sat down at the small table, he’d already put his holiday out of his mind. Even though he hadn’t interacted personally with the reverend often, he knew the man’s reputation enough to know he wouldn’t have requested help unless he was sure it was necessary.

  “All right, Reverend,” he said as Blodgett set a cup of steaming tea in front of him. “Tell me your story.”

  Blodgett settled into a chair opposite him, his expression serious and contemplative as he sipped his tea. “I suppose the first thing I should ask you is, how much do you know about the case?”

  “Not much. As I said, I haven’t had much time to pay attention to the news over the last couple of weeks. Suppose you assume I don’t know anything about it and go from there?”

  “All right, then.” The reverend gazed into his cup for several seconds, then put it down. “The students in question all come from a village called Treadley. It’s in the western part of the state, about two hours’ drive from here. It’s a small town, with nothing remarkable about it as far as anyone can tell.”

  Stone didn’t bother commenting that was no longer true. He remained silent, letting Blodgett tell the tale in his own way.

  “The high school there is very small, as you might guess—the entire student body is less than two hundred. A little over a week ago, the school sponsored a weekend camping trip for the juniors and seniors. It was a voluntary thing that interested students could sign up for. Seven students signed up, and two teachers acted as chaperones. The idea was to go to a remote campground about an hour’s drive from Treadley and allow the students to spend some time in a natural setting, away from their school stresses and electronic devices.”

  “All right…” Stone said. “Doesn’t sound bad so far.” In truth, it did: he hated camping, so the idea of spending a weekend out in the middle of nowhere didn’t appeal to him, but he could see how a group of high-school kids might enjoy it. “What went wrong?”

  “The bus carrying the students and the two teachers returned on schedule late Sunday afternoon. According to the teachers, the students were a bit subdued on the return trip, but they wrote that off to general tiredness. They did some hiking and other activities at the campground, and you know how modern young people can be.”

  Stone chuckled. “Can’t pry their arses away from the telly and the computer. Oh—excuse my language, Reverend.”

  “That’s quite all right. In any case, the group broke up, the students’ parents or friends picked them up, and everyone left for home.” Blodgett’s hand shook as he picked up his teacup again, and he didn’t meet Stone’s gaze.

  “Later on that night was when everything happened.” He retrieved a legal pad from a stack next him and consulted it. “Every one of the seven young people committed at least one grisly murder that Sunday night. Some committed as many as three. Let’s see, here: Joseph Buchanan, seventeen, killed his father a
nd chopped his body up with an axe. Alexandra Gaines, sixteen, killed her parents by slipping sleeping pills into their food, then slitting their throats in their bed and spreading the blood around their living room. Clayton Horton, sixteen, killed his fourteen-year-old brother and both of his parents, using a decorative sword he had hanging in his room. Steven Hull, seventeen, killed his parents and his fifteen-year-old sister by sneaking through the house and stabbing each of them repeatedly with a kitchen knife. Jazmin Wynn, seventeen, killed her mother by overpowering her and cutting her throat, and then she left the house and killed her twenty-two-year-old boyfriend, Tony Bernardo, by stabbing him during sex at his apartment. Andre Duran, sixteen, killed his mother by slamming her head repeatedly into the tile kitchen floor, and then killed his sleeping father by strangling him with a lamp cord. And finally, Brittany Lyons, sixteen, killed her mother by bashing her head in with a hammer.” Blodgett’s breath came out in a shudder. “All of this occurred within an hour’s time of each other, at approximately two to three a.m. Monday morning.”

  “Bloody hell,” Stone murmured. Few of those details had appeared in the brief story he’d scanned in his morning news. All that had said was that the teenagers had killed people “violently” and that police were withholding details pending investigation.

  “Yes. It was, by all accounts, quite horrific. Up until last week, Treadley was a quiet little town, with very little crime beyond the typical petty burglary, teenage misdemeanors, and similar things.”

  “What about the teachers? Stone asked, “Did they kill anyone?”

  “No. They were as shocked as everyone else when this came to light.”

  “And none of the kids came after them?”

  “Not that they’re aware of.” Blodgett tilted his head. “Would you have expected anyone to?”

  Stone shrugged. “Who knows? They were authority figures and they were along on the camping trip, so if something happened there, they might have been involved.”

  “That’s what the police think too, but they’ve interviewed the teachers—Mr. Neil Warby and Mrs. Muriel Burford—extensively, and as far as I know, they’re not suspects.”

  Stone finished his tea, which had grown lukewarm as he focused on Blodgett’s story. “Well…I agree with you that this is all horrific, Reverend…but so far, I don’t see any supernatural connection. From what you’ve told me so far, it sounds as if these kids got together during their camping trip and set up some kind of murder pact. It’s shocking, yes, but it’s not completely unheard of. You probably know better than I do what kinds of dark hearts can beat beneath the surface of seemingly idyllic little towns.”

  “Yes…I’m well aware of that, Dr. Stone. But…I haven’t given you the whole story yet.”

  Something in Blodgett’s tone caught Stone’s attention. He leaned forward and waited.

  Blodgett swallowed, got up and got both himself and Stone a glass of water, and resumed his seat at the table. “As I mentioned to you when I phoned, one of my parishioners is the mother of one of the police officers who came upon the scene.”

  “Wait,” Stone interrupted. “The scene? Which one? You said there were several.”

  “Exactly.” He didn’t speak right away, looking as if he was considering something deeply. “I’m about to do something I’ve never done before: reveal something I was told in confidence as a clergyman. I don’t do this lightly, but I think you’ll understand why I’m doing it when you hear what I have to say.”

  “I promise, I won’t reveal to anyone else that you told me.”

  Blodgett nodded once, as if he already knew that. “My parishioner’s daughter was quite disturbed by what occurred. She doesn’t attend church, but her mother suggested talking with me might help her, so she agreed. She told me something about the case that’s being kept in strict confidence by the Treadley police.” He drew a deep breath and looked at Stone. “The police didn’t initially find the murder scenes, Dr. Stone. They found the students.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “My parishioner’s daughter—her name is Desiree Griffith—and her partner were patrolling the town late Sunday night when they noticed a light on in one of the rooms at the high school. This was around three-thirty a.m.”

  “So after the murders were committed,” Stone said.

  “Yes. Officer Griffith and her partner investigated, thinking someone might have broken into the room to steal something. But what they found was much more disturbing.” He drew a deep breath and flipped a page on his legal pad. “They were all there. All seven of the students from the camping trip. They were standing in a circle, holding hands, all of them soaked with blood from the murders they’d committed.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Yes. That’s an apt description, from what she described. The blood was still wet on their clothes, their hands, their faces. And…they were chanting.”

  “Chanting.”

  “Yes. They didn’t even react to the police officers when they opened the door, which wasn’t locked. They just kept on chanting until the officers pulled them away from each other and broke their circle. It was only afterward that they and the backup they called checked the students’ houses and found the murder victims.”

  Stone remained silent for several seconds, his gaze focused on Blodgett. “Reverend…” he finally said, softly, “Ms. Griffith didn’t happen to transcribe any of this chanting, did she?”

  “She did better than that. She recorded a video of it with her phone.”

  He held up his hand as Stone started to reply. “I don’t have the video, before you ask. I couldn’t get hold of that. But I do have a copy of the transcript. I’m not supposed to have it, but I asked her for it so I could research it. Her mother has a very minor magical gift, and she knows I study obscure languages and rituals.” He pulled a folder from the stack next to him, withdrew a paper, and slid it across the table toward Stone. “This doesn’t look familiar to me, but perhaps it might to you.”

  The paper was a police-report form, with a few lines of neatly typed text near the top and a diagram sketched in the middle showing the position of each of the seven students in the circle. The text at the top read,

  All seven suspects were chanting as we arrived, and continued to chant when we entered the room without reacting in any way to our presence. We observed that all seven suspects appeared to be drugged or otherwise unaware of their surroundings.

  Officer D. Griffith recorded video of the students chanting with her cell phone (see exhibit C). The words of the chant were in no language either officer is familiar with, and seemed to be gibberish. Following is best attempt to transcribe the words of the chant, which were repeated over and over:

  Falaa arglish panandar thron harithra broov zinboth ahn

  Stone continued to examine the paper, studying the strange words without commenting.

  “Do you recognize them?” Blodgett asked. “Are you familiar with the language?”

  “I don’t know,” Stone said, distracted. “This transcription is probably buggered up. It would be much easier if I could hear the actual chant. But…”

  “But—?”

  He tossed the paper back on the table. “But…I think you’re right. I think there is something supernatural going on here. I can’t read the language, but even this botched transcription seems familiar, somehow—like I’ve seen something similar to it before. May I take this?”

  “I took the liberty of making you a copy of the transcription and the diagram. I’d prefer you didn’t take the actual police report part, unless you need it.”

  “No, I don’t need that.” He snapped his head up. “What I need is to talk to Ms. Griffith. Do you think she’d talk to me, if I drove over to this—Treadley, was it?”

  “I think she might,” Blodgett said. He looked relieved. “From what her mother tells me, Desiree observed her using her talent when she was a child, so she’s at least somewhat aware of the magical world—enough that
you shouldn’t have much trouble convincing her that you can help. Thank you, Dr. Stone. I’ll call her mother, and ask her to let Desiree know you’re coming. How should I present you? Should I tell her you’re a mage?”

  Stone shrugged. “Yes, but don’t give her details. Let me do that when I get there. For now, tell her I’m a professor from Stanford who studies this sort of thing, and you thought I might prove useful in sorting out what happened. It sounds like she’s ready to talk to anyone who can help her make sense of what she saw.”

  “I believe you’re right.” Blodgett stood, picking up his empty teacup and water glass. “Thank you again. I’m terribly sorry to take you away from your holiday, but do you see now why I chose to impose?”

  “I do indeed. I suppose I should see to getting a rental car and getting on my way. I’d like to get to Treadley before dark.”

  3

  Stone did a lot of thinking during his two-hour drive to Treadley. By the time he rolled into town late that afternoon, he had two working hypotheses about what might be going on with the students. One of them, he was inclined to discount; the other and more likely possibility chilled him because if it was true, he’d have little chance of doing much about it.

  At first, the case seemed to have all the hallmarks of the Evil, the extradimensional entities he, Verity, and Jason had fought several years ago. The events did seem to fit their usual modus operandi—possess people and force them to commit horrific acts to provide the negative emotional energy they craved as their sustenance. But as far as Stone knew, shutting down the portals the Evil used to reach this dimension had cut off their means of sending more of their low-level “soldiers” here, and the massive ritual at Burning Man had killed all of their more versatile and dangerous upper-level leadership. Since low-level Evil couldn’t survive in this dimension for longer than a few seconds without a host body, all of those remaining here had long ago settled into hosts and were probably going about their lives, trying to keep their heads down while pursuing activities that allowed them to be near pain or suffering. Stone shuddered sometimes to think of how many leftover Evil were probably working in hospitals, prisons, and similar occupations, but that was better than having them running around murdering innocent people.