by Ingrid Fry
About the Author
INGRID FRY was born and raised in Berkhamstead in the UK, but spent much of her childhood commuting with her family between England and Austria. Emigrating with her parents to Melbourne, Australia many years ago, she has called Australia home ever since.
A business development consultant, writer and minder of a husband and a beagle with superpowers, she lives in a leafy suburb on the outskirts of Melbourne. Lakes Entrance is her second home, and it was from there, much of the Crystal Sphere series was developed.
In her spare time, Ingrid enjoys pistol shooting at the local gun club, dancing her socks off at The Caravan Music Club, and is a passionate karate nerd, well on her way to a black belt in karate. Ingrid models the belief that it is never too late to achieve your dreams, and age is definitely just a number.
You can find out more information about Ingrid via
her website www.ingridfry.com.au
Email: [email protected]
Other Books
by
Ingrid Fry
Crystal Sphere Series
Descent into Darkness
Journey to Hell
Quest for Light
Search for Truth
Battle for Blood (forthcoming)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Content Warning: The Crystal Sphere Series is intended for mature readers and contains sexual situations, violence, and other representations that may cause some readers distress. Please prepare accordingly.
Copyright © 2020 Ingrid Fry
All rights reserved.
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Creator: Fry, Ingrid, author.
Title: Descent into Darkness: Crystal Sphere Book 1
/ Fry, Ingrid.
ISBN: 978-0-6486816-1-8
Tale Publishing
Melbourne, Australia
Acknowledgements
Thank you first and foremost to my parents, whose love and talent for writing inspired me to become a pen monkey too. I’m sad they can’t be here to witness the outcome of their love and encouragement. Well, perhaps that’s not such a bad thing — the content may have shocked them!
Then there’s the Melbourne astrologer who prepared my chart all those years ago. I’ve forgotten her name, but not her prediction. She looked closely at my chart, and said, ‘… it is extremely clear, your destiny is either a nun, or a writer.’ Option two was definitely the path of preference for me (although sometimes as a writer, one can feel as cloistered as a nun).
The Australian Writers Centre online courses provided me with the skills to get started whilst juggling work and ill parents, and Carl Lakeland, Author — who I met through AWC — for his generous advice and encouragement. All the folk at The Monash Writers Group for their support and inspiration, and to Writers Victoria for their resources and assistance.
To my wonderful editor, Kathryn Moore, whose attention to detail and editing skills improved my writing, and Dmetri Kakmi, whose manuscript assessment, generous editing and genuine delight in my book gave me the encouragement to keep going.
Thank you to Robert New from Tale Publishing for believing in me and my books and for giving me the opportunity to be a part of the Tale Publishing journey.
To my muse, Maggie, our beagle cross, who listens patiently and with fascination as I read aloud, and my wonderful, supportive friends, in particular Cate Hutchings, Christine Chandler and my #1 beta reader, Cheryl Hutchinson.
Finally, to Bruce, my biggest fan. Thank you. Always.
For my parents, Margaret and William,
whose own lives were an epic, action adventure,
my husband, Bruce, and our beloved Bindi the Beagle — the inspiration for
The Crystal Sphere Series
Follow Maggie’s music playlist on Spotify!
Type all of the following ridiculously long code
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spotify:user:zs8xyxpxzbt1mjcir59qz1jzw
Click the Follow Button for Crystal Sphere
Chapter 1: The Encounter
‘But evil shall come upon you, which you will not know how to charm away; disaster shall fall upon you, for which you will not be able to atone; and ruin shall come upon you suddenly, of which you know nothing.’ — Isaiah 47:11
I knew things were seriously wrong with the world when a piece of furniture started eating my arm.
I mean, things had never been what you’d call normal in my world—given the state of my brain an’ all—but when that incident occurred I knew the descent into darkness had begun.
The bombardment had always been constant. I’d tried to ignore it, shut it out, meditate, exercise, turn down my chakras, visualise, drink, take drugs. Nothing worked as well as music, computer games, counting things, and sex.
I seemed to have been born like a big antenna. A receiving station for every thought form, spiritual visitation, psychic flotsam and jetsam plus a whole pile of other scary stuff. Blocking it out used a lot of energy, but I’d got better at it over time. Animals helped to keep me sane. And Jason.
Home helped too. It was our safe haven in the ‘burbs. I loved our house. We’d made it beautiful inside and out. Every window had a view of greenery and something artful to lift your spirits. Inside everything felt right. It was simple, stylish, with good feng shui. People liked being in our house; it radiated good energy. Boo, our dog, loved the surrounding parks. We could walk for hours through the bush and often did. Sometimes I could forget we were only thirty minutes from the city.
On the evening everything changed, the lights were low and Jason sat with Boo on a rug in front of the fire. They stared into the flames, a perfect picture of peace and contentment.
I pressed my hands hard against my skull and tried to shut out the world’s psychic energy. ‘Walk?’ I asked Boo.
Boo’s head flicked around so fast it was surprising her neck didn’t snap. The magic word did it every time.
She was half beagle, half cocker spaniel. Perhaps more beagle, with the long soft ears and big brown eyes. Boo jumped to her feet and spun around in excited circles.
‘I need to clear my head, Jason. Won’t be long.’
‘Want me to come?’
He knew the answer already.
‘No, I’ll be fine. Got my phone in case I need you.’
‘See you.’
I loved the dark streets. The energy at night felt more subdued. Dad used to enjoy our ‘crepuscular walks’, as he called them—that special twilight time. He’d vanished Christmas Day twelve months ago after giving me a handmade wooden trunk. He took a walk after lunch and never came back.
He was an astrophysicist. Everyone affectionately called him ‘The Prof’ as he was always writing a paper on one thing or another. I missed his love and eccentric brilliance.
I’d tried reaching out for him with my mind. My psychic abilities were strong, but with Dad, I got nothing. It was as though he’d completely disappeared from earth and the other side. There was only silence, a vacuum where his energy had been. That scared me.
I tried again, reaching into the ether with my senses. Still nothing. A void.
My throat thickened and tears pricked my eyes.
Boo stopped and stared at me. As I shut down my senses, I sensed a lick of darkness in my mind, something strange. I physically shook my head to try and dislodge the feeling. Boo shook her head too.
‘Let’s go,’ I said.
A sense of unease pl
ayed around in my mind. Would I lose it like Mum had? I’d love to be average. I wanted everything to stop. Sixty seconds with no thoughts—how hard could it be? It would be bliss, but it was like asking for the impossible. It was never going to happen. Suck it up, kiddo—I’d be lapping up the world’s thoughts until I died.
‘Come on, Boo. Let’s focus. Count steps. One, two, three, four…’
It was late; the night was still with a cloudless sky and a full moon so bright that inky black shadows accompanied us.
A tawny frogmouth sat atop a street lamp. Its big yellow eyes followed us as we walked by. Boo stared at it and yapped. She never missed a trick.
A fruit bat swooped low over our heads with a loud whoosh and we instinctively ducked. The air was rich with the scent of eucalypts and I breathed in the heady aroma.
We passed a double storey home next to a small park. I’d always liked this house. Lovely old-fashioned table lamps were visible through the downstairs windows. They sent a soft light up the staircase gently illuminating the antique style furniture and stately sitting rooms. There never seemed to be anyone home, but the lights were always on. Perhaps the owners were away and the lights were automatic.
A dark shape moved at speed past the upstairs window. It whooshed like a fruit bat. Someone must be home.
‘There it is again, Boo,’ I said, as the shadow made another pass by of the window.
What would make a shadow like that? It wasn’t a person’s silhouette; however it was kind of person shaped. But it moved so fast—a shadow on roller skates.
My paranoia kicked in when Boo growled low and ominously. Her hackles rose. Not a good sign.
I pretended to check my phone whilst still looking from under my eyelids at the upstairs windows. No more shadows. A low-pitched hum began to reverberate through the air, as if machinery had kicked into action. The sound grew intense. My bones vibrated and my teeth chattered as if I was operating an invisible jackhammer.
A sense of dread descended on me and my head spun. I put my arms out to steady myself. I’d either developed a severe case of vertigo or was on a merry-go-round ramping up to top speed. I struggled to stay upright. My stomach lurched and I felt nauseous. The world spun around me in a blur of colour.
It stopped, violently and suddenly. I pitched into a brick wall and leant against it trying to focus. I didn’t remember this brick garage being by the large house. Boo lay on her side looking at me. I rubbed my eyes. I couldn’t get oriented. Nothing was familiar.
Dazed and confused, my brain pulled the pieces together—this was a totally different street, right around the block.
A molten heat burned in my cheeks as though my atoms were being shaken. Was I being blasted with microwaves? You never knew what was bouncing around the atmosphere these days.
Boo glanced about in a state of extreme alertness. The hackles on her back had risen all the way to the base of her tail. It was the most extreme hackle raise I’d ever seen. She appeared like some reptile dog with a Mohawk.
The back of my neck prickled. Someone was watching me.
Boo flicked her head upwards. The tawny frogmouth sat on the streetlight and observed us before it took off on silent wings and disappeared.
My hands shook, my curious nature not so curious anymore. Boo still had her Mohawk. She stared into my eyes and a voice in my mind said, ‘Leave now!’
Jeepers. No way was I going to hang around and argue with a voice in my head.
‘Let’s get out of here, Boo.’
She was way ahead of me. Our pace home was brisk, almost a run. I sensed darkness—a pressure—behind me. Looking back, I expected to see a hideous demon on our tail. Nothing. A couple of lost spirits floated by and stared at me.
What the hell had happened? My face still burned hot. Maybe it was the extra wine I’d had after dinner. But why was Boo so spooked? Perhaps she’d picked up on my vibes. And the voice in my head had to be my imagination. I’d always perceived messages, never heard them. They’d never sounded like the spoken word. Taking a gasp of night air, I focused on the cracks in the footpath, the weeds poking through, a cigarette butt, a bottle top. Hold on to reality. What was reality anyway?
We arrived at our driveway thirty minutes later, and there, perched on the streetlight, was the tawny frogmouth. The same friggin’ one. I recognised its energy signature. I didn’t stop in case I heard a tawny frogmouth voice in my head. That’s all I needed.
Home seemed even more welcoming than usual. Jason was on the couch, drinking beer and watching his favourite cooking show, Secret Meat Business.
He looked up. ‘What’s wrong with Boo?’
Her Mohawk was still set to extreme.
Jason stood and ran his hand along her back. ‘What happened? I’ve never seen her like this before.’
‘I need a cup of tea, then I’ll tell you all about it,’ I said, feeling like I needed something normal to be able to feel normal.
‘I’ll get one for you.’ He went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. I followed him and sat at the kitchen table, watching him make it. Boo sat beside me, staring into space.
Jason plonked two cups down and pulled up a chair. I told him everything, voice in the head and all.
‘I reckon we revisit the house tomorrow night and check things out,’ he said. ‘You need to face whatever it was you spooked yourself about.’ He nodded sagely. ‘With me there, you’ll be perfectly safe.’
My paranoia gene—the one inherited from Dad— kicked into action. Dad had been like a scout master drilling it into me to ‘always be prepared’.
My mind ticked over various preparedness possibilities. Grandpa’s .45 caliber ‘Grease Gun’ M3 submachine gun sounded good. Or our potato canon. Jason had made it from a PVC pipe and powered it with an aerosol can. It could shoot a potato clear across the lake opposite our holiday shack. Both were highly illegal options.
‘Maggie? Earth to Mars?’
‘Sorry, I was thinking about what weaponry to take.’
Jason rolled his eyes and smiled. ‘That’d be right.’
I decided on my usual kit: a triple strength ball thrower—we used this item for hurling Boo’s balls across the oval. Made of heavy duty plastic, it was about twenty-four inches long. It made a handy ‘whacking stick’. I also decided to include my super-duper, special edition Swiss Army knife. The items would give me a sense of security, if nothing else. We stared at Boo, who stared at us. Her extreme punk dog Mohawk wasn’t going away.
‘We might have to take her to the vet,’ Jason said. ‘It could be a permanent disfigurement.’
Boo hightailed it out of the room. The word vet did it every time.
‘Let’s see how she is tomorrow,’ I said.
Next morning, still sporting a Mohawk, Boo blasted out through the dog flap, nearly knocking it off its hinges. A huge cockatoo bobbed up and down as it drank water from the bowl on our deck. A magnificent sulphur crest crowned its head, and its snow white chest puffed out defiantly as Boo bounded over.
It screeched raucously at her. She barked back with gusto. When she lunged the cockatoo screeched and took off. A lone feather floated to the floor. Boo flung herself on it and rolled back and forth. She leapt to her feet, shook, and the huge hackle melted back into her body, like some terminator dog.
‘Ha!’ Jason said, ‘I reckon old man cockatoo gave Boo the heads up. He didn’t like being “out-crested”.’
‘Thank heavens she’s back to normal.’
Boo cocked her head and locked me in a penetrating stare.
Words echoed around in my cranium.
Say goodbye to normal, Maggie. Say goodbye to normal, Maggie. Say goodbye to normal, Maggie. Goodbye normal.
‘Are you feeling all right?’ Jason asked. ‘You’re paler than normal.’
I rapped my fingers against my head, trying to stop the words. ‘What’s normal?’ I asked.
A gust of wind collected the cockatoo’s feather and carried it aloft. It floated away
, and I sensed the small, slim, precious sense of normality I thought I had fly away with it.
I just knew.
Nothing would be normal again.[1]
Chapter 2: The Dark Force
‘Before I go - and I shall not return - to the land of darkness and deep shadow, the land of gloom like thick darkness, like deep shadow without order, where light is as thick as darkness.’ — Job 10:21-22
The evening arrived in a flash.
‘Come on,’ Jason said, ‘let’s check out this mysterious house.’
Boo was excited and spun around in circles, indicating she was raring to go. I wasn’t so keen.
‘It’s already half eight. We don’t need to go.’ My heart raced at the thought of returning there.
Jason gave me that look, the one not to be argued with, so I kitted up with my bum bag and off we set.
The evening was clear and beautiful, with a slight nip in the air. Maybe summer had had enough of scorching us with endless thirty-seven degree days and was allowing autumn a look in. We loved autumn. The anticipation of mellow balmy days, coloured leaves and open fires always buoyed our spirits.
The walk was lovely but uneventful, and the tawny frogmouth was nowhere to be seen. Boo marched on in front of us, her gaze fixed on something in the distance. The aging, well-to-do neighbourhood was beautiful at night. The darkness hid the fading beauty of the homes and neglected gardens—its folk either too old or too busy to keep things maintained. The area was heavily treed and the aroma of lemon scented gums filled the air. Thirty minutes of pacing it out brought us to the street.