The woman shook her head in a sullen motion. “I need potions and powders for this sort of wound, and I have none here.”
“But Mimick can heal. We’ve seen it.”
“Then it will need to heal itself,” she said.
Mimick shook its head and touched each one of the children on the forehead. Its tongue changed from pink to black and rolled back up into its mouth. Then it closed its eyes and its head tilted back to rest against the cavern wall. Its tail, which always had that hypnotic motion, lay still, coiled upon the ground.
“No!” Sari cried.
They all reached over to touch the strange creature, petting its fur. The warmth was seeping from its body.
The cavern began to shake once more and a green aura slipped from the body of Mimick. It spread into the walls and floor.
Madam Patrice pulled the girls up. “I suggest we leave, posthaste.”
“What’s happening?” Maddock asked.
Magus Nimrel took him and Widget by the arm. “It seems that your friend is cleaning the cavern of the evil that lingers in it.”
“How?” asked Master Rickett.
“I do not know, but we must leave.” He handed a fresh piece of strall to each of them. A feeling of energy swept through them as they chewed.
Widget and Sari looked back at the statue of Sinistral, afraid it might come to life, but it did not move. Master Rickett ushered them into one of the tunnels as rocks fell from the ceiling.
They crawled and ran, Widget leading them once more through winding tunnels and old city ruins. They reached the final staircase and wound upwards, climbing to safety.
They spilled out onto the halls of Simian’s Lair and sprinted for the entrance.
The early morning sun shone through the windows. They had survived a full night in the depths of the caverns. Madam Patrice pointed her rod at the doors and they flew open. They spat out the foaming strall and ran out into the city streets.
Mimick’s magic was now inching up the walls and struggled to fight off the dark shadow that refused to release its centuries-old hold over the manor. The magics wrestled, subsiding at points, rising at others. And then, with one last momentous effort, the power that Mimick had summoned with its death forced the darkness into the ground. Then the green aura dissipated into the air and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.
It was short lived.
The white-stoned beginnings of the new building shook and the same darkness that had once enveloped Simian’s Lair now engulfed this one from below. Layer by layer it blackened, rearranging itself, slab upon slab, into a blighted structure that resembled something from the Shadowlands. The ground around it darkened and sank into a bog. Crows alighted around the swampy grounds and three vultures sat atop the tallest tower. It beckoned them like a twisted, stone finger. A dark chuckle emanated from its depths.
“A great victory, but a heavy price,” muttered Magus Nimrel.
The others nodded and waited for something else to happen.
For hours they sat, expecting Sinistral, Marveleous Thingrom, or some other evil to come bursting forth, but the morning remained still, and each was left to their silent thoughts.
In the days that followed, there was much to do around Simian’s Lair. Now that the manor had been cleansed it had a renewed purpose: home to the many orphans throughout the land. The corrupted section was to remain uninhabited. It was to be overseen by a City Magistrate — a woman by the name of Malkim.
Magus Nimrel entered the building but once, to retrieve a few items, and to ensure that it did not pose an immediate threat. Then he never set eyes upon it again.
Two days later they held a service to remember their fallen friend. They owed Mimick much. Although they had barely know it, the creature’s sacrifice was something that each of the four children would never forget.
And as the ceremony ended, and they had spent the last of their tears, the foursome strode to the lamppost where they had first met Mimick. And as they stood around it, the wind seemed to carry upon it a familiar sound. And for a moment, the four friends thought they caught a silhouette bounding about with a tail that swayed behind it in a hypnotic motion, just off in the distance.
They all held their breaths, and then walked towards it, with hope.
About the Author
David H. Burton was born in Windsor, Ontario to parents that instilled in him the love of the written word at a very young age. Throughout his childhood, David read relentlessly, often into the wee hours of the morning.
Fantasy and Science Fiction novels have always been David’s greatest vice and he has indulged in the likes of Terry Brooks, Robert Jordan, Margaret Weis, Mark Anthony, J.R.R. Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Robert J. Sawyer, Isaac Asimov, Melanie Rawn, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Sarah Prineas, and J.K. Rowling.
David graduated from the University of Toronto with a major in Biology and a minor in Classical Civilization. He also dabbled in Computer Science, to which he owes his current occupation in the Telecommunications world at one of the large banks in Canada.
When David isn’t writing he enjoys spending time with his partner and three boys: hiking, swimming, kayaking, biking, and reading. David has a great fondness for Portuguese cuisine, good wine, and all things left of center.
Excerpt from Billy Bones: Beyond the Grave
Hi.
I’m Billy Bones.
And I’m dead.
Not figuratively, like Biff Knucklehead is going to beat me up at school, but literally dead. Dead as a doornail.
I was ten when I died, and from what I can remember, I shoved my finger too far up my nose and stabbed my brain. Dumb way to die, I know, but hey, I was a notorious nose picker.
Actually, I still am.
I don’t remember all of my life, just bits and pieces. My parents were decent people from what I can recall and my sister, although odd, wasn’t really that much of a pain.
I think it was a good life, and that leaves me where I’m at now.
I’m in the Afterlife. Not the kind where there’s angels and puffy clouds, and not that other place with fire and brimstone either. Those don’t exist. There’s just the Afterlife.
From what I can tell it’s like a recycling depot here. We sit in this place waiting for our number to be called. Then we start all over again in the Livingworld as someone new. My number is 1,312,356,421. I think I have a long wait ahead of me.
I look the same as I did in life. I still have black hair and I’m kind of pale. Like my aunt used to say, my eyes are “like the sky”, and with the exception that one nostril can sometimes look a little larger than the other, my nose is just right for my face.
Everyone here looks like they did when they died.
I guess I’m lucky I didn’t die by losing half my head in a chainsaw accident. Not pretty, let me tell you. That was the guy right in front of me when I first came to this place.
I was standing in a line, waiting to be registered. It was dark, and everything was made of old, black stone. There was a glass window with someone behind it at the counter, sort of like a clerk. She was old and trying to get the attention of the three people at the front of the line. They were all carrying fishing rods, and they were bickering.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she said. “You’re dead, you should have worn your lifejackets. Dumb, dumb, dumb, but you can’t change it. Take these papers and get in the Multiple Deaths line.” She pointed towards another window.
The chainsaw guy was next. He had to go to the Accidental Dismemberment line.
“Next!” the woman behind the counter yelled.
I did what any kid my age, who’s a little short of stature, would do. I jumped up when I got to the counter. I got a closer look and noticed that she had no markings on her. It didn’t look like she’d died horribly, she was just really old. She had a name tag that said, Stella. She had tall hair.
“Quit yer bouncin’ around,” Stella said.
I could hear her flipping through s
ome pages.
“Jumpin’ Jehosephat!” she exclaimed. “Another nose picker! That’s ten this week!” She leaned over the counter and pointed towards another window. “You go there.”
The sign above it read Unbelievably Stupid Deaths.
I hung my head and scuffed my feet as I made my way to the next window. There was no one in that line and when I got to the counter, it was Stella again. I thought it rather peculiar that someone of her age could have run to this counter so fast. Then I wondered if maybe there were more than one of her.
“Another nose picker!” she said in the same tone as before. “That’s—“
“Ten this week,” I said, finishing her sentence.
Those thin lips of her pursed together. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t ya?”
With her withered hand she passed me a book and told me to go somewhere called Wayward Place on Liberty Street. She pointed to an old, barely-working Exit sign.
I followed her finger and stepped outside.
The streets were filled with folks wandering about aimlessly, but some were going about their business in a rather fast manner.
A strange fellow on the road, who looked a little flat and had some tire marks on his face, yelled out, “Welcome to Necropolis!”
I tried to ask him for directions, but then he started moaning about the loss of his former life and limped off into the cobbled streets.
I was a little overwhelmed as I tried to cut through the crowds. Horse and carriages carried some, others walked, and some strolled about with parasols even though there was no rain. It seemed to be the middle of the night. There were a few dogs roaming the streets. They would sniff the people and then run off and find another pant leg or dress to smell. There were some cats too.
It was then that something strange occurred to me. I thought I’d had a dog once in my former life, and then one of the larger ones approached me. He took a sniff of my leg and wagged his tail.
He was a rusty brown with a ridge running down his back and somehow having him standing with me seemed right. The only name that came to mind was Goliath when I saw him. I tried it out, just to see what he would do.
“Goliath,” I said. “Sit.”
The dog sat and continued to wag his tail.
I reached out to pet him. He was sopping wet. Then I remembered something.
The dog from my former life had drowned. Maybe this was my dog, after all. He shook the water off, but was still just as wet as before.
At that point, I decided he was coming with me. I could use with someone to talk to.
“Goliath,” I said. “I need to find Liberty Street. Do you know where that is?”
He didn’t bark or make any sound, but I could tell by the twinkle in his eyes, he knew. He started walking, so I followed.
It took a while to find the place. It was a wide old mansion with a black metal fence all around it in an older section of the city. It didn’t look very inviting, but the dangling sign in front of it read: Wayward Place.
I looked at Goliath. He wagged his tail.
I shrugged and we walked up to the front door where I lifted the gargoyle-shaped knocker. I let it drop.
It thundered as it struck the door.
Goliath and I waited.
And waited.
I reached to lift the knocker again, but the gargoyle on came to sudden life and slapped my hand. “Enough already!” it said. “They heard you. Be patient, Jeeves is slow. He’ll get here soon enough.”
I retracted my hand, and awkwardly put it in my pocket. I tried to act normal, but I couldn’t help staring at the gargoyle.
Eventually, the door opened a crack and I caught a glimpse of messy white hair and a large, bloodshot eyeball.
“Whatcha want?” asked a voice that was a little squeaky.
“I’m Billy,” I said. “I was told to come here.”
The door opened a little more. The wild-haired man was dressed like a butler and had a large knife sticking out of his chest. The door caught on it. “Who sentcha?” he squeaked again.
“The woman behind the counter. She gave me this,” I said and held up the book she had given me. I hadn’t really paid attention to the title up to that point. It was called The Necronomicon.
The man opened the door fully and I stepped in. He eyed Goliath, but didn’t seem to mind that the dog was with me, or that he was dripping water all over the marble floor.
“If you’re takin’ up residence here, you’ll need to know the rules,” he said.
I nodded.
“First,” he said, and pointed to the knife in his chest, “if you’re a bleeder, watch the rugs. Gertrude will come after you if you bleed on the rugs.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Second, no screamin’ or wailin’ in the middle of the day. We like our sleep here.” He waited on me to nod my head before continuing. “Third, don’t ask questions that are already answered in The Necronomicon. The Newly Dead constantly ask the same questions. Read the book,” he said, pointing to what I still held in my hand. “And lastly, keep the drapes closed during the day. Daylight gives us all a blasted headache.” He examined me with his bloodshot eyeball as if he thought I was going to be trouble. “Any questions?”
“What’s your name?” I asked. “And what do I do now?”
“Jeeves,” he said. “And since sunrise is coming, you’ll want to be goin’ to sleep. Tomorrow, you need to start your Dead Lessons.” He pointed towards a grand curved staircase. “Take room number fifty-two. Henry the First finally had his number called… thank goodness. If I had another request for cooked lamprey, I thought I’d strangle him. Gertrude should have cleaned the room by now.” From out of his jacket he pulled a large ring of skeleton keys and handed me one of them.
“Thank you,” I said. I then walked up the staircase which had paintings of some people all dying in rather ridiculous ways. Under the painting of a man appearing to be running from a bunch of mice was the name Prince Popiel.
The stairs curved towards a couple of long hallways, both with lamps along the walls and rugs that ran the length of the corridor. I couldn’t see the end in either direction. The corridor just kept on going, with doors and doors and doors. I wasn’t sure which way to go, but Goliath took the hallway to the right. I just followed until he stopped at the door that read fifty-two. I took out the key and turned it in the lock. The door opened and the two of us strode into the room.
It smelled a little fishy, but it had a huge four-poster bed and a large wardrobe. Over the dresser was a cracked mirror. Goliath jumped onto the end of the bed and settled down. I closed the door and climbed up beside him. Then I opened The Necronomicon and began to read.
It started with:
Congratulations! You’re dead!
COMING IN EARLY 2012!! A Choose Your Own Adventure Novel!
Learn more about Billy Bones: Beyond the Grave
Other Works to Consider
THREE LITTLE WONDERS: AN ADOPTION STORY by David H. Burton
Together for ten years, David and his partner made the decision to become dads. Figuring out they wanted to adopt was easy, the waiting and complications along the way were not. Follow their journey as this same-sex couple tried to start their family and prevent three brothers from being separated.
A heart-warming tale of two dads and their Three Little Wonders.
Learn more about Three Little Wonders
SCOURGE by David H. Burton
Two dads, five siblings, and goggles!
Grim Doyle has always known his life was not exactly "normal", and things get even more curious when he discovers a set of stones that sweep him and his family to the fantasy, steampunk world of Verne - a place they had escaped from years ago. Now that they've returned, Grim and his siblings hide from the evil Lord Victor and his minions. And while learning about Jinns, Mystics, and the power of absinth they try to discover who is trying to kill them with the deadly Scourge.
"This book is one part J.K. Rowling
, one part Lemony Snicket, one part H.G Wells/Jules Verne, and all parts awesome!"
- Tiffany's Bookshelf
Learn more about Scourge: A Grim Doyle Adventure
SIMIAN'S LAIR by David H. Burton
This 'Tale From the Land of Verne' is a children's short story that takes place in the world of the Grim Doyle Adventures. Enjoy reading about some of the characters you know from Scourge!
Four orphans from the land of Verne are lured into Simian's Lair - a dark abode whose purpose has been lost to the ravages of time. In it dwells an evil that must be cleansed, and from it, they must retrieve a secret that's been locked away for centuries. Join them, along with Madam Patrice and Master Rickett, on a journey where courage is found in the darkest of places.
Also includes the first chapter of Scourge: A Grim Doyle Adventure
Learn more about Simian's Lair
BILLY BONES by David H. Burton
Meet Billy Bones.
He's dead.
Literally.
Finding himself in the Afterlife, ten year old Billy must wait to be recycled back into the Livingworld. Meanwhile, he's stuck trying to figure out how he's supposed to survive in this backwards world where sunlight burns, the dead are living, and your memories of your past lives are stored in a secret book.
The problem is, Billy's has been stolen, and he's now got to find it and discover why the dreaded Reaper is after him.
Choose for Billy and help him find his way through the Afterlife in this new "Choose-Your-Own-Demise" Novel.
COMING SOON!
Learn more about Billy Bones: Beyond the Grave
Land of Verne Page 21
