In the Dead of Night (64 page)
Read In the Dead of Night Online
Authors: Aiden James
How do I know the truth about Jesus now as compared to then? You’ll have to read on for the answer—and it comes in bits and pieces, really. No, it won’t be some pompous sermon. What I’ve learned these past two thousand years transcends anything and everything you’ve ever read in
any
book—including what is considered the standards for the Holy Scriptures—like the Bible, Koran, etc. You’d be surprised at the shenanigans I’ve witnessed that later became the accepted “truth from the very mouth of God Almighty.”
So much is rubbish, and yet hidden within it all is the truth. Or, at least a version of the
eternal
truth.
But I digress, again. Just know I am supremely confident of this: Everyone’s burning questions will be answered
by the end of my story…the first installment of what remains of my earthly quest.
So, back to this place called Al-haroun. While there are many places in the world that suffer from a host of calamities, only a few originate from a small epicenter within a few square miles. And not every one of these places contains what I need. However, since at first glance it’s impossible to know for sure, I must research them all.
As a town, Al-haroun is no stranger to the wrath of God, or if you will, the unfortunate reputation as a cursed place. That night, I viewed article after article, along with a continuous stream of film images to support the stories—literally, an endless succession of earthquakes, floods, famines, wars, and plagues. Even a rare tornado struck the town in 1942 that destroyed nine homes and killed three people. Not exactly catastrophic weather, unless you consider the fact this is Iran we’re talking about and not Topeka, Kansas.
But all in all, if one considers the previous millennium’s host of travesties visited upon this small area, I have to consider the likely source: a single coin. Buried somewhere, and likely hidden from the light of day for centuries. Meanwhile, hundreds, if not thousands of lives have been ruined—either killed, made homeless, or both. The last article I looked at talked about a rare blizzard from thirty years ago. That event took place in May, when things begin to heat up near the Alborz Mountains. More than three feet of snow fell upon the town, and the temperatures plummeted deeply enough to destroy livestock and crops.
The people believe they’re cursed, that somehow they’ve offended Allah. If only they knew that something there—likely buried beneath the soil—was indeed offensive to God, they might burn everything to the ground and leave. Forever.
My gut instinct was telling me a single silver shekel was responsible. One that bears Caesar’s notorious beak of a nose on one side and a proud eagle upon the back. Just like twenty-nine others I once accepted as payment for my evil deed. A moment of folly, and to think it could’ve been forty pieces of silver if Caiaphas hadn’t tried to cheat me by offering half-shekels instead.
As I studied the latest stories and pictures on the screen, my left hand began to tremble. This familiar sensation always confirms the truth of what my intuition tells me.
Silver ‘blood coin’ number twenty-two was within reach.
Satisfied, I turned off the viewer. I then returned the older films to the correct cabinets and the newer CDs and flash drives to their file drawers.
It was time to request some vacation days, and make arrangements for a little trip overseas.
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Plague of Coins
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Cades Cove: The Curse of Allie Mae
The Cades Cove Series, Book One
(Please read on for a sample)
“M-m-u-u-r-r-der-r-r-er-r-r!”
David opened his eyes, awakened by the whisper that passed over his face. The room was completely dark, and not even the parking lot lamps’ glow penetrated the murkiness. He noticed the curtains’ unusual thickness when he turned up the heater before retiring, assuming it was the motel’s way of compensating its guests for the sparse insulation. At least one couldn’t be bothered by any car or truck lights coming in late, as most of the motel’s patrons seemed to be in the long-haul transportation business.
The television was blank and silent, and David couldn’t make out its outline. The heater’s comforting hum was also absent. It left the room in a hostile stillness. Suddenly, the sound of a deep sigh filled the air above the space between the two beds. Something floated there.
He raised himself, fully aware of his distinct disadvantage against whoever was here with him. Peering into the darkness where the sigh came from, he reached for the lamp switch next to his bed.
“Don’t do it!”
The feminine voice surreal, the accent and the fact it sounded both near and far was familiar.
“Allie Mae?”
The air around him was already chilled from the lack of heat, but it now grew even colder. The presence was drawing near to him. A brilliant blue eye appeared, aglow in the darkness less than a foot away. The eye was especially beautiful, and it squinted. Perhaps it scrutinized him, or more likely, its owner was seriously pissed.
“What do you want from me?” David tried to remain calm despite his terror, but found it impossible to control the unsteadiness in his voice.
The eye moved closer, and as it did he became aware of a soft gurgling sound. It reminded him of the tiny streams he used to find in the mountain valleys of Colorado. Cold drafts of air brushed against his face, and the eye came within a few inches of his own eyes, as if the head shrouded by darkness positioned itself to kiss him. The smell of raw meat filled his nostrils. He pushed himself back against the bed’s headboard.
“To take back what you’ve stolen,” the voice replied. It was softer and almost normal, erupting from the gurgling noise and sending an icy spray upon him. “And, kill the wicked seed once and for all!”
“I didn’t steal your bag of treasures, and I’ll happily give it back!” He clutched his bedspread tightly, and shrunk away from the eye, the smell, and the gurgling. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right!”
“It’s too late to give it back,” replied the garbled voice, sending forth another spray of chilled droplets onto his face. David cringed in response and closed his eyes. “It’s too late to give back
my
life, Billy Ray-y-y-y!”
A splash of icy liquid against his throat and T-shirt emphasized the fervency of this last statement. Ever fearful, he opened his eyes. Another eye as grotesque as the first eye was lovely had since joined it. Its mutilated cornea and iris glowed as a ruptured mass of fire and blood within the torn edges of the socket.
“I’m
not
Billy Ray! My name’s
David!!”
he shouted.
“Ya are what ya are and always will be, Billy Ray-y-y-y!” the voice hissed in anger. “Y’all and yer seed have killed and taken whatever ya’ve pleased! But, no more!! There ain’t no more hidin’ from yer sins!!!”
“No, you’ve got the wrong guy! I’ve
never
done
anything
to you
—
”
“M-m-m-u-r-r-r-der-r-r-er-r-r!!”
He threw up his hands to protect himself as she shrieked her condemnation over and over, the echo resounding loudly throughout the room before returning to where he lay huddled against the headboard. Iciness gripped the base of his bed and steadily moved up toward him, chilling the bones in his feet, legs, and thighs as it touched him. Out of the darkness the two eyes suddenly looked up at him from his waist, revealing the entity now caressed his body like a famished lover, moving from his feet to his genitals and on up to his face. He whimpered in horror as something cold, wet and slimy crept inside his shirt toward his throat.
Screaming in terror, he slapped at himself, falling out of the bed. He grabbed the nightstand, pulling the top drawer out while groping for the lamp’s pole. A pair of frigid arms embraced him from behind, and even icier hands pinched his nipples. Coldness beyond anything he’d ever known flowed through him from behind, freezing his lungs to where he couldn’t breathe. He began to pass out. Turning on the light switch was the last thing he remembered.
David awoke lying on the floor between the two beds. The nightstand lamp was on, and his head throbbed worse than any migraine he could remember. He groggily stood up and moved over to the clock, which still faced his bed. It read 3:38 a.m.
After replacing the nightstand’s drawer in its slot, and checking to make sure the heater still worked, he set the thermostat and blower on high and went into the bathroom. He intended to splash water in his face and take something for his pounding headache. But, when he looked in the mirror, he could only stare at his reflection.
His face and T-shirt were covered with blood.
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Cades Cove
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~~~~~~~~
About the Author:
Aiden James resides in Tennessee with his lovely wife, Fiona, their two sons, Christopher and Tyler, and a feisty terrier named Gypsy. An avid researcher of all things paranormal, he still spends time visiting haunted locales throughout the Deep South. Please visit his website:
http://www.aidenjamesfiction.com