Call to Evil (eBook)

P.A. Russell (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
512 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-5335-0 (ISBN)

Infos

Two teenage boys dabble with a mysterious book of spells and unknowingly release a being who wreaks havoc on their small town.

P.A. Russell is a fiction writer and professional musician. He is a Sci-Fi film and television aficionado and co-author of 'The Amazing Science Fiction and Horror Trivia Game.' Authors Michael Crichton, Clive Cussler, Douglas Preston, and Lincoln Child have had a strong influence on his writing. After attending numerous writer's workshops and courses to hone his story telling skills he is excited to present his debut novel A Call to Evil. He is a graduate of Fairleigh Dickinson University and resides with his wife in Roxbury Township, New Jersey. Russell welcomes your comments. Please send them via email to [e-mail].

---

It's July 1963 and one week into his school's summer vacation fourteen-year-old, Stanley Bolton is already bored. This is not a good thing since Stanley has a penchant for getting into trouble when that happens. After receiving a book of spells, in anticipation of some prankish fun, Stanley persuades his only friend, to participate in conjuring a mythological being who according to the book can make predictions as well as acquire certain items upon his command. When the being, known as a 'harpy', appears unexpectedly in Stanley's room, it confirms the conjuring has worked. Seeking possible advice from the book of spells, Stanley discovers it is missing. Will Stanley Bolton and his friend ever be free of the harpy's spell?What will become of the harpy? Will her lust for power be her downfall?

Textauszug

Chapter 1

One week later

Stanley Bolton leaned against his mother’s faded, black 54 Ford Crestline parked in front of his house. Waiting. Trying to decide if he should cross the street and ring Tim Ryan’s doorbell or not. It felt childish or wimpy. Can Timmy come out to play?

Regardless of the July heat he had an image to maintain. His tough guy look: black tee shirt with rolled up sleeves, dungarees with rolled up cuffs and black high-top sneakers. A lit Camel cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth to complete the look.

Just then Tim Ryan came sauntering down his driveway to retrieve the empty trash cans from the morning pickup. Stan straightened.

“Hey Ryan,” he called. “You doin anythin’?”

Tim Ryan looked up and gave a quick wave.

“I have chores to do before I go deliver my papers,” he said. And I want to get an early start on the route in case it rains.

They both looked skyward at the same time. Heavy gray clouds were moving in. The 90-degree temperature plus high humidity were just right for a summer thunderstorm, Long Island style.

“Forget the chores,” Stan said. “Come over. I got somethin ta show ya”.

Tim started dragging the trash cans back up the driveway.

“Maybe after I finish my deliveries,” Tim said. “I told my mother I’d get them done before I leave.”

Stanley dropped the cigarette on the street and crushed it out.

“Who cares?’’ Stanley called. “Tell her you’ll do them later”.

Then as if on cue it started to drizzle, and the first rumbles of thunder sounded in the distance.

Stanley grinned at Tim. “Well, there ya go. You’re off the hook. Might as well hang out here till it stops rainin’.”

***

Tim Ryan had only been in Stanley Bolton’s house a few times and those visits were short as if Stanley didn’t want to be in the house too long. Maybe he was ashamed of its shabby appearance or the smell of burnt coffee and cigarettes that filled the living area. Now, Stanley seemed more at ease with him being there.

“Follow me,” Stan said as he opened the door that led to the basement.

Tim heard the clanking of pots and pans coming from the kitchen then the voice of Mrs. Bolton.

“Stanley? What are you up to?” she called.

“Nothin,” Stanley said.

“Stanley?” she said again with a distinct sternness.

“Just tradin’ some baseball cards with Tim Ryan.”

“In the basement?”

“It’s cooler down there!” Stan shot back.

“Don’t touch your father’s tools.”

What’s going on? I didn’t bring any cards. Tim thought as he started down the dark stairs. True, collecting baseball cards was one of the hobbies Stan had shared with him but, Tim had a strong feeling this had nothing to do with that. Just then he heard the basement door close. The click of a switch brought the lights below to life.

“Yeah, Stan. What are you up to?” Tim said. The concerns he sometimes had about Stan’s reputation made him wonder if this friendship was worth it. And here he was being all mysterious about something plus lying to his mother on top of it.

“Shsssh! I’ll show ya. Just get down there.”

The basement smelled musty. Two lone light bulbs hanging from the rafters cast a yellowish hue over the white cinder block walls. It felt damp and definitely cooler than the upstairs room. A wooden workbench cluttered with tools occupied a far-left corner. A card table with two chairs sat in the center of the room with a large publication - about the size and thickness of an Encyclopedia volume - resting in the middle.

Tim took a step forward, looking intently at the item laying there. The publication cover was jet black with a swirling gold border. The title - the letters raised and written in Old English type - also blazed in a shiny gold.

“What’s this?” Tim said, as he shot Stan a confused look.

“It’s somethin I ordered that might keep this summer from bein’ borin’,” Stan said.

“I’m not bored!”

Tim glanced at the book again. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Because you’re the only one I know who’s really into this stuff”.

Tim read the title once more.

Lovecraft’s

Spells and Conjuring’s

“You know this stuff isn’t real,” Tim said. “Besides, I’m not into junk like Ouija boards and curses”.

Stanley tapped the book with his finger. “This has nothin ta do with curses. And…how do ya know it ain’t real? Suppose it is. I’ve read stuff that said the Lovecraft stories about the Old Ones are true. Not made up. How cool would that be?”

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan for using this,” Tim said.

Stanley sat at the table and opened the publication to a page he had dog eared earlier.

Thunder boomed outside and heavy rain battered the small, single basement window located at the top of a back wall. The lights flickered and they gave each other a wide-eyed look.

“Accordin’ ta this,” Stanley said as he returned his attention to the page in front of him. “A magical being named Malhela - one of those Lovecraft calls the Old Ones - can predict things. It can also get things for the person who conjured it.”

Tim sat down across from Stanley.

“So? You really think that conjuring up this being is going to tell you the future and get things for you? Get what things?”

“Yeah, if what this book says is true. And… who cares what it gets? Maybe baseball cards, cigarettes, money. Who knows?

“This is dumb,” Tim said.

“Hold on! Just read this,” Stanley said. He slid the open book over to Tim.

The paper upon which the description of Malhela was written appeared to be faded tanned parchment. It felt gritty to the touch as if sprinkled with sand. How old is this thing? Tim wondered. The cover looks new, but these pages feel like they were buried in a sand box or something.

Despite his common sense telling him this was baloney, Tim had seen enough movies and read enough books concerning this subject that his curiosity was getting the better of him.

He read the description.

Malhela: Considered a prophet; seer of future events. Also known to be a harvester or gatherer of what is not fully known. Chameleon by nature.

Malhela is mischievous, clever, unpredictable, impatient, spiteful and at times vicious. Can be fiercely loyal and protective of the one who calls.

Thought to be immortal.

Malhela requires payment for services rendered. The one who calls may not be aware of the compensation taken.

Nota Bene: A counter incantation is required to return Malhela to the realm of Cytizuz if her services cannot be fulfilled. This publication does not contain such prose.

Invocation

Exaudi me, o Sublimis! Egredere, Malhela et fac iussa mea. Exi, Malhela et da vota mea.

In hoc consentio ad emendam electionis tuae, quae in acceptis tuis servitis reddetur.

Laudon nomen tuum! Malhela! Malhela! Malhela!

Tim looked up. “This looks like Latin.”

Stanley gave a quick smile that Tim didn’t like.

“And…now ya know why you’re here.”

“What? I don’t know Latin. I think you’re cracked…Stanley.”

Stanley straightened in his chair and glared across the table. “Come on, Ryan. Ya told me ya were learnin Latin last term in that Catholic school ya go to. So, don’t be a Fink. Just try it. And…hurry up before my mother gets suspicious.”

Tim stared at the page.

This is nuts. Tim thought. What am I doing? I don’t know enough Latin to translate this junk. Maybe I can pick out a few words, translate them and get him off my back with some mumbo jumbo?

Stanley planted an elbow on the table and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. “I’m waitin’.”

“Why don’t you do this by yourself, since you’re so keen on finding out what happens? You know how to read.” Tim said.

“I can’t read this stuff. I could say somethin’ wrong and screw up the conjurin’. Don’t tell me you’re chicken? You are a Fink!”

“Shut up! And…don’t call me a Fink.”

Being careful not to mess up his hair, Tim scratched the back of his head as if thinking of what to say. As he brought his hand back to the page his finger left a small fragrant stain from the Brylcreem he used. He didn’t notice. He started his so-called translation.
“Remember. This may be all wrong, but I think it’s like a prayer to this Malhela being. Asking it to appear and grant something. I’m not sure …wishes or desires? I don’t know. There’s something about a payment but I can’t make out the rest. The last part seems like a chant praising the name Malhela over and over. That’s all I got.” Tim slid the book...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 31.10.2024
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-5335-0 / 9798350953350