Claws of Doom

by Peebles, Chrissy

  The moonlight illuminated first one, then two, and finally a total of three humongous choppers fighting for landing space amid the grounds of the Van Helsing and the bordering forests of Vulgaria.

  One copter moved toward the monastery. The noise and the driven wind from the propellers were followed by screams and stampeding as the panicked Louts headed downhill and toward the village. I imagined they mistook the choppers for the Lugosi Comet returning to eat them all.

  Two choppers resembling giant black wasps landed in the parking lot of the Van Helsing vibrating the ground like an earthquake. The tunnels! The land beneath Loutish was a honeycomb of underground passages. I grabbed Roger as he clung to me throwing his body between the fierce wind and me.

  “The monks are in the tunnels,” I said. “I think Renfield is a real vampire. You need to save the monks before he converts them into permanent vampires.”

  Mina appeared above our heads. “The real entrance to the tunnels is in the confessional booth, the exit is miles from here at the very south end of the village. Hurry!”

  The Jolley brothers, Kit, Squirl and I commandeered the hillbilly truck and headed toward the chapel at five miles an hour. Mina flew ahead zipping through the night, invisible. The crowd of lumbering Louts racing toward the village made for slow progress. It was like cutting through herds of oncoming sheep.

  Mina greeted us at the chapel door. “I thought I couldn’t come into the church but here I am.” She looked bewildered.

  I hugged her. “It’s okay. I think that part of the legend is bogus.”

  Roger and Bram stood adjusting their eyes to the darkness.

  “That way!” I pointed to the confessional booth. “It’s a portal to the tunnels. I’m sure Renfield has the monks down there. Be careful! Edward might be with him.” I yanked a cross from the wall and handed it to Roger. Bram pulled his from under his collar.

  The Jolley’s ran into the confessional as the ground beneath the chapel shuddered. I dashed after them as the booth caved in burying Roger and Bram in a pile of debris.

  “Roger!” I screamed.

  No answer.

  Kit, Mina, Squirl, and I tore at the fallen timbers and crumbled stone. I called Roger’s name over and over. Tears blurred my vision. I was operating blind, fueled by my adrenalin.

  The ground quaked. The end of the nearest pew fell into a yawning sinkhole. I grabbed for Kit’s arm. He helped me to my feet as the floor angled up on one end. “This is no place for you. Think of the baby!”

  Crack! Something overhead split. More beams fell into the aisle as the door of the confessional booth fell in on itself.

  “Wendy! Back away. Bram and I are unhurt. Get out of the chapel!” It was Roger’s voice … muffled, but alive.

  “I can’t leave you!”

  “Get the hell out now!”

  Crash!

  The altar fell forward missing me by inches. Kit dragged me away from the booth. I tripped over something not stone and not wood. I looked down. The Book of Names!

  I grabbed the Book, clutched it to my chest and followed the girls outside. The building was coming down.

  The Vatican SWAT teams covered the ground like a hill of black ants in search of sugar. They were mixing it up with the remaining Louts who were trying to salvage their potato salad and reclaim their empty labeled casserole dishes. I’d never seen potato salad move so quickly.

  It was like a nightmare where you can’t be heard. The Vatican SWATS needed to know Roger and Bram were trapped. I pushed my way through the stampede and approached a VVI wearing a black hood, ninja priest clothes, and carrying a crossbow.

  I fought for breath, the words stuck in my throat. “In the chapel, in the confessional, priests and civilians are buried. Tunnels run from there throughout Loutish. The earth is caving. Please shut down your rotors. The ground beneath is an eggshell of passageways. It can’t stand up to the vibrations.”

  The single SWAT motioned for help and sent another ninja priest to walk us from the chaos. The entire area was lit up like a midnight concert in the park. The lights from the Vaticopter cast a wide glaring arch.

  We were back at the wedding pavilion. I dropped to the ground and hugged my knees. Roger was buried with his brother. I said an out-loud prayer and willed him to live.

  The Whap! Whap! of the rotors ceased.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sitting on the pavilion, I opened the Book of Names. Rudolph Renfield’s name was the first in the book with a birth date of January 1093. He was the Abbot-in-Charge when the Lugosi Comet first appeared over nine-hundred years ago. If I read the entries correctly, Renfield had been controlling the comet for centuries. He was the vampire behind the comet’s bloody sweeps.

  Each page carried separate notations of monks who had been sent to the comet for conversion into vampires. These were the monks who had ostensibly left the order or vanished. No record of where they were sent after their graduation from Renfield’s Lugosi Comet School.

  I dropped the Book in my lap, as a flash of fire caught my attention. Flames spewed from the residence side of the monastery. Oh no! If the fire spread to the chapel the smoke would travel into the tunnels and suffocate anyone trapped below ground.

  I stood as if to run and help, but what could I do? Flippin’ helpless.

  Mina huddled in a ball on the ground, her dark eyes reflecting the flames. Kit had his arm around me. Squirl stood at my side anger radiating from her sweet face.

  Despite the crime-scene lights from the Vaticopter, an ominous shadow fell over us. I shivered as Squirl dropped to the ground to hide. It was too late. Edward swooped in and seized her in his claw-like hands. She screamed.

  Mina beat on his head. She was no match for his pent up sexual frustration. He flipped her off and she fell with a thud. He was headed out over the cliff taking poor Squirl with him. Kit launched himself at the monk’s ankles where he dangled like a giant blue fairy. He would drop to his death in the Black Sea if Edward carried him over the cliff.

  I had no weapon. No cross. No garlic. Just my waxed dental floss. Super-strength. I fumbled in my bride’s bag and pulled out the floss. I unraveled it and stood in the light exposing my neck to Edward. I do have a nice neck. It was more than any vampire could resist.

  The vampire plunged toward me like a hawk targeting a rabbit. He held Squirl to his chest, his hand wrapped around her ponytail. The terror in her eyes told me she was not under his spell. She was scared silly.

  Edward dove in for the kill. I dodged his mouth and wrapped the dental floss around his neck in one clean swipe. He lifted off, struggling to hold Squirl and free himself.

  My brilliant last minute plan to cut off his head with my super strength floss might just work. I held on as the floss sliced my right hand. I wrapped my gown around my other hand and took hold of the sharp string as Edward mounted into the sky.

  Mina scratched at his eyes.

  Edward dipped for an instant. Just long enough for me to free one hand and yank Squirl loose.

  Mina caught Squirl and threw her toward the willow tree where she lodged in a hollow of the trunk.

  Edward snarled looking around unable to tell where she was. Good enough.

  Now he really had a hard-on for me. I was less his captor and more his captive as my hand was tangled in the end of the floss. I tried to behead him with a string slice using my weight to cut through his neck like a piece of cheese.

  He was dragging me over the cliff.

  Kit leaped up and grabbed my body in a useless attempt to pull me to earth.

  I was inches off the ground when Little Roger kicked. Oh my god.

  I closed my eyes and prayed for a miracle.

  “Let go!” A voice commanded.

  I opened my eyes. It was Croc.

  “I owe you this.” He wrestled the floss from my hand and wrapped it around his own. “Name the baby after me,” he said as he swung into the sky and then threw himself over the cliff plunging into the sea. His w
eight was enough to slice the vampire’s neck.

  Edward’s head scissored off and fell into the Black Sea.

  I took the few shaky steps to the cliff and looked down. Nothing but dark rolling waves looked back at me. Croc, Edward, and his head were gone.

  ***

  We huddled on the pavilion—Kit, Mina, Squirl and I—watching the Vatican Vampire Investigator SWAT team extinguish the ruins of the monastery. Carfax Abbey was no more.

  The morning sun fought through the smoke. Mina and I held hands hoping and praying the Jolley brothers had survived. My battered bouquet lay just off the pavilion. Mina picked it up and handed it to me. I smelled the flowers. They stunk of smoke but I held them to my face fighting back the tears.

  We’d been forbidden to approach the buildings as the Vatican cops had it all under control. Yes, but where was Roger?

  The early morning breeze lifted the smoke. I squinted, hoping it wasn’t my imagination. Two silhouettes walked slowly through the fog. It was Roger and Bram!

  Mina and I ran to them. She beat me. Actually in the moment it took for me to blink away my tears, the little vampire was in Bram’s arms while I was still making my way to my husband.

  Roger hoisted me into the air and spun me around, and then he fell coughing to the ground. Bram buried Mina’s face in his shoulder away from the Vatican Vampire Investigators.

  Mina, Bram, Squirl, Kit, Roger and I gathered on the wedding pavilion and watched the first chopper leave with a load of monks, the whirring rotors blowing away the remaining haze. Words were unnecessary. We’d sort it out tomorrow.

  A Vatican SWAT dude strode to our little group. Mina hid her face. “You folks okay?”

  We nodded.

  “Father Bram, we’ll need you to return to the Vatican with us.”

  “I won’t be returning to Rome for a while. You can debrief me before you leave. There are folks here that need my care,” Bram said.

  The VVI SWAT dude nodded then turned to Roger and me. “You folks really know how to throw a wedding.”

  I would have smiled but I still had that gap in my teeth.

  “The fires are all out but Carfax Abbey is gone. The Vatican will deal with the villagers.”

  A small figure appeared from the rubble of the chapel. It tottered toward us like a half-squashed roach. Renfield. He was deliberately walking into the rising sun. He waved at us and blew a kiss to Mina.

  Mina stood with her hand outstretched as if to reach for Renfield, but he was gone in a poof before her fingers could uncurl. “Renfield was a vampire?”

  I patted her shoulder. There was no need to tell her that the abbot was her father or that she was conceived in a night of wild sex between a gypsy girl and a priest. It was enough for her to know her mentor sucked.

  ***

  Roger, Kit, and I were on the weekly flight back to Miami without luggage. Most of our possessions were lost in the monastery fire. They were just things. We had each other and Little Roger was on the way. I smiled at the guys and lay my head back for a long snooze.

  Mina and Bram were engaged. The wedding was to occur as soon as he could muster out of his religious vows. They were planning to hold a quiet ceremony in a dark quiet corner of the world.

  We promised Squirl we’d return to the Van Helsing for our anniversary. We just didn’t tell her which one.

  I still wondered about Mrs. MacGuffin’s predictions. “You will find your home though it will not be where you left it.” The riddle continued to puzzle me as Roger and I set up housekeeping in my condo and waited for the birth of our son.

  ***

  Roger hugged me, a smudge of blue nursery paint on his nose. I placed the blue baby booties from Mrs. MacGuffin in the suitcase as we headed to the hospital birthing wing. Little Roger Jolley, Jr. would wear them home in honor of his psychic fairy godmother. We would be a happily-ever-after family of three.

  Epilogue

  I gazed from our cottage window, the green rolled on until it touched a bend in the road along the Thames just below the horizon. At that bend, I could make out Roger’s Range Rover on his way home.

  It was exactly two years and six months since we became parents. I heard a clomp, clomp, clomp coming down the hall.

  “Wendy Darlin-Jolley, bring mommy’s shoes back and put your cat mummies away before your daddy gets home.”

  About the Author

  Barbara Silkstone is the best-selling author of the Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider series of screwball comedy adventures that include: Wendy and the Lost Boys, London Broil, Cairo Caper, Miami Mummies, Vulgarian Vamp, Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider Boxed Set. Her Romantic Suspense Fairy Tales series includes: The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters; Wendy and the Lost Boys; Zo White and the Seven Morphs. For a squirt of paranormal comedy try: Cold Case Morphs. True fiction fan? Try: The Adventures of a Love Investigator.

  Latest release: Mister Darcy’s Dogs, a Pride and Prejudice variation novella.

  Most books are available on Audible.com

  Blog:

  http://barbswire-ebooksandmore.blogspot.com

  Website:

  http://secondactcafe.com

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Barbara-Silkstone-Author/156097004489447

  https://www.facebook.com/barbara.silkstone

  Twitter:

  http://www.twitter.com/barbsilkstone

  Phantom Bigfoot Strikes Again

  By

  Simon Okill

  Copyright © 2013 Simon Okill

  This book is a work of fiction, names characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or stored in a database in any form, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  This book shall not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent.

  Published by Simon Okill 2013

  All Rights Reserved

  Without my lovely wife, Shirlee Anne, this novel would not have been written. She has been the driving force that has pushed me to new limits.

  Chapter 1

  Duane Dexter, Guardian of the Forest

  THE DESIGNATED GUARDIAN of the ancient forest sat on his father’s rocking chair cross-eyed, chatting with a hummingbird hovering inches from his nose. The iridescent bird danced to and fro, reflected in Duane Dexter’s bright blue eyes. The staccato messages took a moment to translate. And Duane agreed it was a fine evening heavy with the scent of honeysuckle from which the hummingbird had just moments before tapped the sweet nectar through its curved beak.

  To sip his coffee Duane had to gently blow at the hummingbird, forcing it to swerve away so it wouldn’t be scalded by the hot vapor rising from the mug. He was lost in his connection to the beautiful creature, enthralled by its simple thoughts and lulled by the humming of its wings.

  He was jolted back to reality when one side of the rocking chair sank through the rotting floorboards on the storm porch of the old family log cabin.

  The loud crack of wood sent the hummingbird darting off. Duane lurched to one side, spilling most of his coffee and almost falling from the chair. He laughed and waved to the tiny bird, watching it flit back into the forest.

  “Bye, little HumV.”

  Having not yet matured into adulthood, due to his rampant teenage hormones and being somewhat of a notorious prankster had kept the little boy in him wildly out of control.

  Duane shifted position and rocked some more on the storm porch — now sorely in need of a fix-up, watching the pale moon slowly rise above the tree tops. Completing his scruffy appearance were his usual scuffed jeans and stained “I’m a Bigfoot” t-shirt and his feet were covered in Bigfoot slippers. Sipping the remnants of his coffee, he sighed, content out here so close to the wilderness and his many friends.

  He scra
tched his stubbly chin that was way too thick for his age and thought of his father. It had been a full year now since his old man had run off to do what nature had intended. No one, except his best friend, MB, knew Duane was all alone out here.

  If Sheriff Lou Harper found out, she would become his worst nightmare and keep dropping by to see how he was doin’ — making sure he was eating plenty of wholesome food, giving the homestead a dust over, doing his laundry, making him take regular baths and so on. Well, having the sheriff, or more exactly acting town sheriff dropping in wasn’t for Duane. So he had hatched a devious plan to keep Lou’s attention elsewhere.

  Duane’s thoughts wandered. For one entire year, three hundred and sixty five days since his reawakening or thereabout, he had kept the forest safe from those who had a natural proclivity to harming its residents. This humungous duty weighed heavy on his young shoulders, so much so he had barely graduated high-school, much to the consternation of his friend, MB, and those that might care enough to give a crap — namely Sheriff Lou.

  Duane had not confided in MB the reason for his mediocre grades, for if truth be told, not even MB would believe Duane. Suffice to say he was The Guardian and that was that!

  He glanced down at the discarded newspaper, The Busy Beaverite that had almost torn his young heart to ribbons and scowled at the headlines — “One Million Dollar Prize for Proof of Bigfoot”. This now made his life all the more complicated. It really sucked big time. He took a deep breath and almost cried.

  Duane was about to ponder upon all things nature-wise when familiar animal calls echoed through the primeval forest that was a part of the great Shasta Cascade in North California.