Starkville, A Free Sample

A Novel by Author FRED WIEHE

Dark Supernatural Mystery ISBN: 0-595-17924-X Trade Paperback $15.95

Prologue

Emmet Scarbourgh did not believe in monsters.

The entire morning Emmet focused on that one thought as he cleared rocks and debris away from the entrance to Howling Cave.

When he was a boy, Emmet had heard stories about a monster buried deep within the caverns of Howling Cave over one hundred and thirty years ago. A monster the Chinese believed was a demon that had escaped from the spirit world. Whether demon or monster, legend said it was capable of sucking the soul right out of a man.

This was the monster Emmet tried not to believe in most of all, yet this was the monster that kept haunting Emmet's mind. Although he was not a churchgoing man, Emmet prayed to God the stories were not true.

Emmet now stood just ten feet from the entrance to Howling Cave, his German Shepherd, Scout, at his side. He stared at the black mouth gaping at him in a silent scream. Scout whined softly, stirring Emmet from thoughts of the grotesque, mythical creature. Emmet looked down at his companion. The dog gave him side-long glances full of worry and fear.

"It'll be okay, Scout old boy," Emmet said soothingly.

Scout continued to whine, as if warning his master not to go into the monster's lair.

Emmet ignored the dog. His attention drifted to the canteen, miner's helmet, and the large mattock lying at his feet. He reached into the back pocket of his overalls, pulling a handkerchief out and mopping the sweat from the smooth skin of his bald head.

When Emmet first started working, the mountain air had still been cool from the night before. He had felt comfortable in his flannel shirt, overalls, and heavy work boots even in the boxed canyon where a breeze was hard to come by. Now the hot sun blazed overhead. The surrounding rock and red dirt absorbed the heat, giving Emmet the crazy urge to strip to the buff and pour the water from the canteen over his head.

Instead, he reached down, picked the canteen up and took a long, hard swallow of warm water.

Scout rubbed his nose against Emmet's leg, all the while continuing his cautionary whine.

Emmet stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket and threw the canteen onto the ground. "It'll be okay, Scout," he said again. As he reached down and scratched the dog behind the ear, Emmet gazed toward the pine trees lining the top of the canyon walls. Their branches fluttered in a cool mountain breeze. Emmet wished he were up there, the subtle scent of pine in his nostrils, rather than down in a hell hole of a canyon, covered with red dirt and sweat.

Think of the gold. He told himself.

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MONSTER?

"It'll be okay," he repeated more to himself than to Scout. Even as those words left his lips, Emmet wasn't sure he believed them.

SUCK THE SOUL RIGHT OUT OF A MAN.

Think of the gold.

Emmet bent over, picking the helmet up in one hand and the wooden handle of the mattock in the other. Straightening back up, Emmet placed the helmet on his head and hefted the heavy mattock onto his shoulder. The weight of the iron head threw Emmet off balance. He shuffled backwards in the red dirt before taking two hesitant steps toward the cave.

SUCK THE SOUL RIGHT OUT OF A MAN.

Emmet stopped. Even though he was ashamed of his childish thoughts of monsters and demons, he was not able to stop those words from reverberating through his mind.

Emmet drew in a large breath of the hot, stifling air. He moved slowly toward the cave, thoughts of the monster infesting his mind. He was unaware of Scout alongside him, keeping a steady pace, determined to follow him into the impending danger.

SUCK THE SOUL RIGHT OUT OF A MAN. Emmet's mind kept screaming at him.

Gold. Emmet tried to push all other thoughts out of his mind. Think of gold.

SUCK THE SOUL....

There are no monsters. There's only gold.

...RIGHT OUT OF A MAN.

Gold. Buried since 1857.

ALONG WITH THE MONSTER.

Emmet stopped just outside the mouth of Howling Cave, thoughts of gold and monsters still battling for control of his mind. The hot sun on his back no longer caused him discomfort but, instead, invited him to turn and run from the blackness facing him.

Greed, however, would not let Emmet retreat. He wanted the gold. No, more than that, he needed the gold. Emmet hated to work, had always hated to work. All of his life, almost fifty years now, he'd been looking for the gold at the end of the rainbow. Howling Cave was his chance to find that rainbow. The gold in Howling Cave had to be plentiful, just waiting to be taken from its limestone walls. For so many years no one had dared enter the cave. It wouldn't be played out like all the other caves, mines, and rivers in the Mother Lode.

Scout whined, the dog's wet nose touching Emmet's hand.

Emmet looked down at the German Shepherd and was suddenly aware of how really scared the dog was. Scout's tail was down between his legs, and his fearful eyes glanced back and forth between the mouth of the cave and Emmet's own scared face.

"Stay here, boy," Emmet said, "I won't be long." He prayed to God those words would prove to be true. "I won't be long," he said again, patting Scout on the head.

Gold. Think of the gold.

Emmet switched on the light of his helmet. He took one last deep breath of stifling air before entering the mouth of Howling Cave.

Once inside, the beam of his light stabbed at the surrounding darkness, revealing ominous-looking crystalline formations. Mineral bearing water had formed columns that looked like rows of giant teeth, some broken into stalactites and stalagmites, ready to chew and devour him if he dared to enter further.

Gold. Think of the gold.

A blast of cool air hit Emmet in the face.

THE CAVE'S ALIVE. ALIVE AND BREATHING.

It can't be alive. Think of the gold. The cave is not alive.

BUT THE MONSTER IS.

No monsters. Only gold. So much gold.

Emmet walked cautiously through the rows of teeth. The ground underneath his feet became spongy, like walking on a giant tongue.

Think of the gold.

Emmet stopped at the top of a steep incline. Looking down, he directed the beam of his light onto the surrounding rock walls but found no evidence of gold. As he started down the incline, trying to keep both his balance and his hold on the heavy mattock at the same time, Emmet had the sickening feeling of being swallowed whole. With ten yards to go, he slid down the remaining throat into a large chamber deep within the stomach of the cave. Pink rock formations lined the walls of the chamber. Parts of human skeletons lay scattered around Emmet's feet.

Emmet couldn't move, the sight of the bones freezing him with fear.

Gold. Emmet told himself. Think of gold.

BUT WHAT KILLED THESE PEOPLE? HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN HERE?

Emmet would not look down at the bones.

THE MONSTER KILLED THEM.

Instead, he concentrated on looking for the gold. The beam of light from his helmet scanned the surrounding walls. The pink rock formations were beautiful, but there was no sign of gold anywhere.

"Damn," the sound of his own voice made Emmet jump. "There has to be gold," he whispered.

Emmet avoided the scattered remains, carefully walking to the wall nearest him. He slipped the mattock from his shoulder, slowly raised it over his head, and sent the pick end crashing into the wall. The sound of metal on rock echoed all around him. Emmet imagined the cave screaming in agonizing pain. The pink rock formation broke away easily, but there was no gold underneath.

"There has to be gold," Emmet whispered, "there has to be."

He scanned the room, seeing an opening on the far side of the chamber. It looked like a tunnel leading to another chamber.

LEADING TO THE MONSTER.

Emmet would have to venture deeper into the body of the cave to find his gold.

Emmet hesitated. He did not want to explore the next chamber.

The gold is in there. Isn't it?

Emmet heard a strange whirring sound and felt something brush against his left ear. He dropped the mattock and ducked away, but the sound seemed to circle his head. He swatted wildly at the air around both ears, stumbling backwards and losing the miner's helmet as he crashed to the chamber floor.

Emmet lay in the darkness, breathing hard, skeletal remains all around him, feeling panicky and foolish.

Something landed on Emmet's face. He felt it quickly move from his cheek to his nose, forcing its way into his left nostril. As it moved upward a horrible pressure began to build in Emmet's nose and behind his left eye. A pressure so intense Emmet thought his face was going to burst into a thousand tiny pieces of tissue and bone. Emmet had to get it out. Whatever it was he had to get it out.

SUCK....

Emmet tore at his own face. His fingers dug into his eyes and nose.

...THE SOUL....

Blood streamed down his face, but Emmet did not stop digging.

...RIGHT OUT OF A MAN.

The pressure was maddening.

Emmet's fingers ripped at his face.

SUCK THE SOUL RIGHT OUT OF A MAN.

Emmet screamed.

* * *

Emmet staggered from the mouth of the cave, spat out like a piece of bad meat. His torn and bloodied head jerked with a maddening tic as he slowly stumbled toward his dog.

"Scout," Emmet's voice barely escaped his lips, "come here, boy."

Emmet fell to the ground. He rolled onto his back, gasping for air. As he lay in the red dirt, Emmet felt Scout's hot breath against his cheek.

"Scout," he whispered.

Scout answered with a deep, menacing growl. It was the last thing Emmet heard before he died.

Continued in

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