Monster (47 page)

J
oin Biblical archeologist Dr. Jacob Cooper and his children Jay and Lila on their adventures as they discover the secret behind the two-mile-high Stone, solve the deadly curse of Toco-Rey, research the mystery of the “ghost” of Annie Murphy and fly a plane in the midst of a turbulent storm.

All exciting adventures now available!

Also available from Frank Peretti

The Veritas Series
for teen readers!

n
ate Springfield, his wife Sarah, and their twin children Elijah and Elisha, are part of the Veritas Project team. Follow this group as they travel the country aiding the FBI and other organizations in breaking drug rings and solving mysteries.

These stories could have come straight from the headlines and will lead kids and young adults to an understanding of peer pressure and the pain that comes from being different. A riveting message on the wounded spirit that teens will never forget!

Available at
your local
bookstore

“The king of the Christian Fiction genre is Frank Peretti.”

—Time Magazine

T
he sleepy, eastern Washington wheat town of Antioch has suddenly become a gateway for the supernatural—from sightings of angels and messianic images to a weeping crucifix. Then a self-proclaimed prophet mysteriously appears with an astounding message. The startling secret behind this visitation ultimately pushes one man into a supernatural confrontation that will forever alter the lives of everyone involved.

A
VAILABLE AT
B
OOKSTORES
E
VERYWHERE

10th Anniversary Edition of the Best-Selling Novel

THE
O
ATH

A decade ago, Frank Peretti unleased what many fans consider his most suspenseful, multi-layered novel ever. To celebrate this best-selling novel's 10th anniversary, WestBow Press is releasing a hardcover edition that includes special features and an all-new cover design. This anniversary edition is the perfect way to introduce new fans to this classic as well as offer a keepsake for long-time Peretti fans.

S
omething sinister is at work in Hyde River, an isolated old mining town in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest. Something evil.

Under the cover of darkness, it strikes without warning, taking life in the most chilling and savage fashion. The latest victim, nature photographer Cliff Benson, was brutally killed while camping in the mountains.

As the townsfolk are pressed for information, they close ranks, as if sworn to secrecy. The discovery of old letters and diaries of the town's forefathers begin to peel away the layers of mystery surrounding Hyde River. What is discovered is a predator more terrifying than anything they had imagined and a town in the grip of unspeakable evil.

I
N
S
TORES
E
VERYWHERE
S
EPTEMBER
2005

An excerpt from
The Oath

ONE
The Killing

S
HE RAN, tree limbs and brambles scratching, grabbing, tripping, and slapping her as if they were bony hands, reaching for her out of the darkness. The mountainside dropped steeply, and she ran pell-mell, her feet unsure on pine needles and loose stones. She beat at the limbs with flailing arms, looking for the trail, falling over logs, getting up and darting to the left, then the right. A fallen limb caught her ankle, and she fell again. Where was the trail?

Blood. She reeked of it. It was hot and sticky between her fingers. It had soaked through her shirt and splattered on her khaki pants so her clothes clung to her. In her right hand she held a hunting knife in an iron grip, unaware that the tip of the blade was broken off.

She had to make it out of these hills. She knew which way she and Cliff had come and where they’d parked the camper. All she had to do was backtrack.

She was crying, praying, and babbling, “Let him go, let him go. Oh, Jesus, save us . . . Go away, let him go,” as she groped her way along, stooping under limbs, clambering over more logs, and pushing her way through tangled thickets in the dark.

At last she found the trail, a narrow, hoof-trodden route of dirt and stone descending steeply along the hillside, switch-backing through the tall firs and pines. She followed it carefully, not wanting to get lost again.

“Oh, Jesus,” she said. “Oh, Jesus, help me . . .”

HAROLD
BLY
had no reputation for mercy and no qualms about dragging his whimpering, pleading wife out of the house, through the front yard, and into the street where he tossed her away with as much respect as he would have given a plastic bag filled with garbage. Maggie Bly tumbled to the street with a yelp, bloodying her palms and elbow on the rough asphalt. Hurt and afraid, she righted herself and sat there, a blubbery, blue-jeaned mess, her tousled blonde hair hanging over her eyes. With the back of her hand, she swept her hair aside and saw her enraged husband walking away from her, a silhouette against the porch light that formed a glaring, dancing streak through her tears.

“Harold!” she cried.

Harold Bly, a tall, barrel-chested man, turned, one foot planted on the top porch step, and deigned to look upon his wife one more time. There was no pity in his eyes. In his mid-forties and twenty years her senior, he was and had always been a boss man who did not take kindly to betrayals.

He’d enjoyed throwing her into the middle of the street. In fact, he wished she would get up so he could do it again. “It’s all over, Maggie,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “It’s a done deal.”

Her eyes widened in terror. Gasping and whimpering, she struggled to her feet, then ran to him. “Harold, please
. . .
don’t. I’m sorry, Harold. I’m sorry.”

“You think you can go two-timing on me and then just say you’re sorry?” he shouted, then pushed her down the porch steps with such strength that she fell again, letting out a cry the neighbors could hear.

“Harold, please don’t make me go. Please!”

“Too late, Maggie,” he said with a wave of his hand as if passing sentence on her. “It’s only a matter of time now, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Now you’d better get out of here, and I mean get way out of here.” He turned to go inside, then added, “I don’t want you around me when it happens. Nobody does.”

“But where can I go?” she cried.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that a lot sooner.”

Across the narrow street a lace curtain was pulled ever so slightly open, and the wife of a mining company foreman watched the drama while her children watched cartoons on a satellite channel. Two doors down and opposite the Blys’ large, brick home, a miner and his wife cracked open their front door and listened together.

“Harold,” they could hear Maggie almost screaming, “don’t leave me out here!”

He was just opening the front door, but he turned once more to stab at her with his finger. “You stay away from me, Maggie! You come near here, and I’ll kill you, you hear me?”

The front door slammed, and now Maggie was alone in the dark.

I hope she doesn’t come here,
the foreman’s wife thought and quickly let go of the lace curtain. The miner and his wife looked at each other, then closed their door quietly, hoping Maggie wouldn’t hear the sound.

Maggie wiped away the tears that blurred her vision and looked around the neighborhood for any haven, any sign of welcome. Maybe she could go to the Carlsons
. . .
No. She saw the parlor curtains of their turn-of-the-century home being drawn across the windows. The Brannons, perhaps? No. Across the street, she saw the porch light, then the living room light, of their white house blink out.

It was a clear July night, and Maggie realized that most of the neighborhood must have heard the argument. None of the neighbors would open the door to her; they wouldn’t risk Harold’s wrath.

Despite the warmth of the evening, Maggie felt cold, and she folded her arms close to her body. She looked down the steep hill toward the rest of the little, has-been town and felt no warmth from the tight rows of metal-roofed homes and aging businesses. The rooflines with their chimneys looked like night-blackened sawteeth against the moonlit mountainside beyond. There was hardly a light on anywhere.