Something Most Evil
This little tale is a sweeping saga of "The Holy One," the High Queen amongst witches, from her evil beginning in 1880's rural Colorado, to the mid 1980's, when She and her coven move into a quiet, cul-de-sac neighborhood in the suburbs of California. Let me introduce my cast of characters-- Meet The Holy One; as sinister a witch as ever there was.
Meet Laura and Derek Malcomb, The Holy One's loyal followers; her henchmen.
Meet the neighbors, living around the cul-de-sac; The Shermans, The Mackeys, The Coopers, The Hacketts--normal families, normal people, just like you or I--until they meet The Holy One!
Lead by The Holy One, the witches' ultimate plan, their intent, to complete The Supreme Unification; the uniting of a mortal with the demon-god, Hobbiodd! If they accomplish this, the outcome would truly be Something Most Evil.
Who can stop them from enslaving the neighborhood and completing The Supreme Unification?
Dave, Jeff and Billy can try! Here is an exerpt from my book. The black Mercedes Benz cruised smoothly up the boulevard, its paint and chrome gleaming with well-cared-for luster as it passed beneath the bright glow of an occasional overhead streetlight. The boulevard was nearly deserted and the city still lay deep in slumber at this hour of early morning, but the Mercedes carefully kept its speed to a minimum, slowing, noticeably, at every intersection as if the people within the car were reading street signs; perhaps, acquainting themselves with the city. The Mercedes glided to a smooth stop at a red light. It remained at a stop for a moment or two after the light had, again, turned green. Then it made an illegal left turn onto an intersecting street; one which led the Mercedes away from the residential area and up toward the barren hills, beyond. Tangled brush and trees bordered both sides of the street, and the houses were fewer and were now spaced much farther apart as the black Mercedes traveled smoothly up and around the grade of the hill.
The Mercedes slowed again as it reached the crest of the hill, then it made a right turn onto an asphalt-paved road. Ahead, the street that the car had been traveling began its descent again, winding back down and into the sprawling, residential community beyond and below. The Mercedes followed the winding asphalt road for a few more miles; past a scattering of private estates---each of them with a panoramic view of the valley, below---spaced, randomly, along the crest of the hill.
The asphalt road ended abruptly as the Mercedes came abreast with the property line of the last home on the right. At this point, a sign, posted at the road's end, proclaimed, 'Property of MALCOMB, INC. No Trespassing!' Beyond the sign, the road became nothing more than a wide dirt trail that curved and dipped along the edge of the hill. Slowing its speed to a crawl, the Mercedes followed this dirt trail across the brush-choked plateau of the hill.
The Mercedes came to a halt were the trail ended abruptly at the edge of a shallow, crater-shaped concavity in the earth. The Mercedes sat for a few moments, its motor idling quietly, its headlights shining bright beams into the crater. Then the engine was cut to silence and the car's headlights went out. The Mercedes sat facing the large crater in silence for a time while those within the car talked, and explicit directions were given.
The car door opened on the driver's side of the Mercedes and a tall man stepped out. Switching on a long flashlight, he made his way to the front of the car and shined the powerful light down into the crater, playing its bright beam along the floor of the shallow basin. The irregular mouth of the crater was of a jagged, oval shape, perhaps thirty by fifty feet in circumference, but its floor dropped only about eight to ten feet. The sandy floor of the depression, thickly overgrown with brush and small trees, tilted slightly, but was nearly flat; as if the ground had once given way, and then settled, lower, at that point. There was a large pool of brush-clogged, stagnant water filling most of the lower side of the flat basin; creating a weed-choked swamp. Along with the usual, scattered refuse usually found in most derelict areas in the midst of civilization, the dirt floor of the depression was strewn with a multitude of fire-blackened wooden boards; some of them terribly cracked and broken, others nothing more than long slivers of charcoal; all of them in various stages of decay.
The tall man smiled with satisfaction at what he saw. He turned from the shallow crater and, shining his light ahead of him along the ground in order to see his way, he walked toward the edge of the hill; toward the skeletal remains of a large oak tree. The ancient tree, twisted and petrified with the passage of time, stood like a lone sentinel on the crest of the hill.
The man slowed his pace as he neared the timeworn tree, an expression of wonderment on his face. He stopped before the tree and shined his light upon its gnarled, weathered trunk. It was there! the man thought with great wonder. Her mark was truly there, exactly as she had told it would be! Stepping closer to the tree, the man reached out a hesitant hand---a hand, the back of which bore a small, spiraling mark; a mark nearly identical to that on the tree---and, with great reverence, gently caressed the round, black scar, cut deep into the rough bark of the trunk. After all the months of searching, they had finally found the sacred place! He had heard all the stories about this place, this sacred tree; stories that, over the years, had become legend within his circle. But now, to actually be here, bearing witness to this wondrous thing; to actually reach out and touch it---!
A single, impatient honk of the Mercedes' horn brought the man back to reality, snapping him out of his reverie. Reluctantly, he withdrew his touch from the surface of the sacred oak tree, suffering a definite sense of loss as he did so. There were still so many important matters that remained to be done, he told himself, resolutely. So many more plans still to be made.
Turning from the sacred oak, the man walked to the brink of the gradually sloping hill, a few yards away. Gentle gusts of crisp, fall air caressed his goateed face and tousled his long, pony-tailed hair as he gazed down upon the sprawling patchwork of sleeping tract homes---like long rows of large building blocks, spreading out below him in an intricate labyrinth of intersecting streets---stretching, it seemed, to the dark horizon. Off to his right, an uneven line of houses and a long block wall bordered an expanse of open field, angling away from his point of vision; the spread of residential community commencing at that point. The line of houses that bordered the bottom of this hill continued below him, then followed its sweeping curve away from him, to the left.
Surveying the houses below the hill, the man could not help but think how ironic it all was. Those people asleep down there probably thought of this barren hilltop, this rough, overgrown land as a total waste; an eyesore, at best. Little could they ever suspect the true significance of this sacred place; the singularly fabulous treasure that lay in wait here; beneath this very earth.
Looking down, he took particular notice of the boulevards and streets which led to those few houses that were situated directly below him, a hundred yards down, at the base of the hill. One house, in particular, caught his eye; a spacious two-story with a large, rectangular backyard which came right up to the base of the hill. That house would be the one to consider, he decided. That house would be perfect for their needs. By its bordering the hill as it did, that house had few backyard neighbors to contend with, and was located at the nearest point to the sacred place on which he now stood.
Satisfied with his decision, and the directions he needed in order to locate that particular house now firmly implanted within his mind, the man turned from the crest of the hill and carefully made his way back across the uneven ground; back to where the Mercedes was parked.
"Well, tell us, Derek! Is this the place?!" the woman who was seated in the passenger seat of the car asked, eagerly, as the tall man climbed in.
"Yes," the man answered, nodding his head affirmatively. He looked with genuine admiration at the wizened, bent figure seated within the shadows, in the back seat. "It is truly there, Holy One," he stated, emphatically, his voice filled with reverence. "Exactly as you told us it would be."
The wizened figure, seating within the shadows in the back seat, simply nodded her head, but said nothing. The Mercedes made a right turn off the deserted boulevard and onto Golden Meadow Avenue, then glided quietly up the dead-ended street. The car made a sweeping left turn most of the way around the cul-de-sac at the end of the block, then came to a smooth stop before a bank of mailboxes, mounted on a central post at the curb in front of a two-story house. This mailbox had the name, 'GOLDMAN,' stenciled on it.
"That is the house, Holy One," the tall man stated, pointing to the two-story. From where they sat, the ridgeline of the hill and the spectral silhouette of the ancient oak tree could be seen in vivid detail against the nighttime sky, just above the rooftop of the house.
The bent figure, sitting in the back seat shadows, pressed the button to lower the tinted side window and studied the two-story for a few moments. She shifted her gaze, regarding the other dark, sleeping houses around the cul-de-sac. She slowly nodded her approval. "Fetch me what is needed, Derek," she instructed in a high, creaking voice.
The tall man exited the Mercedes and went up the two-story's driveway to where a Subaru station wagon was parked. Quietly opening the passenger-side door, he leaned into the car, shining his flashlight around the Subaru's interior, then opened the glove compartment. Shining his light into the glove box, he quickly found what was needed; an old, plastic comb, dirty with hair and flecks of dandruff. Carefully wrapping the comb in a handkerchief, he left the station wagon as he had found it, and returned to his own car.
"Will this suffice, Holy One?" the tall man asked, handing over the stolen prize.
"Yes," the figure in the back seat answered, nodding. "You have done well."
A moment later, the black Mercedes drove quietly away.