Oakwood Island – The Awakening
ISBN: 978-1-951122-03-4 (Paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-951122-04-1 (ebook)
LCCN: 2019948874
Copyright © 2020 by Angella Cormier and Pierre C Arseneault
Cover Design: Angella Cormier
Cover Photos: Angella Cormier (front photo) and Pierre C. Arseneault (back photo)
Printed in the United States of America.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the authors or the publisher.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission of the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Shadow Dragon Press
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Tijeras, New Mexico 87059
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Other titles by
Angella Cormier and Pierre C Arseneault
Oakwood Island
2016 Best Book Awards: Award-Winning Finalist in the Fiction: Horror category
2016 Paranormal Book Awards Semi-Finalist
2016 Foreword INDIES Finalist (Horror: Adult Fiction)
2017 New Mexico/Arizona Book awards Finalist - Fiction (Other)
“If you’re a fan of good old-fashioned death, blood and gore, like Stephen King books and mystery - this is a must read!” Sarah Butland, author of Blood Day.
Dark Tales for Dark Nights
Titles by Pierre C Arseneault
Sleepless Nights
Poplar Falls: The Death of Charlie Baker
Titles by Angella Cormier
A Maiden’s Perception: A Collection of Thoughts, Reflections and Poetry
Written by :
Angella Cormier
and
Pierre C. Arseneault
Shadow Dragon Press
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: An Eerie Discovery
Chapter 2: Fifth Anniversary
Chapter 3: Return to Oakwood Island
Chapter 4: The Birth of a Curse
Chapter 5: Lurking in the Darkness
Chapter 6: I Smell a Rat
Chapter 7: Birds of a Feather
Chapter 8: Conceived from Love, Born in Hate
Chapter 9: Grady
Chapter 10: Old Friends
Chapter 11: Back Yard Feast
Chapter 12: Deadly Fungus
Chapter 13: Hounded
Chapter 14: Generations of Evil
Chapter 15: Better That Way
Chapter 16: Who Died?
Chapter 17: The Gift of Sight
Chapter 18: No Time to Waste
Chapter 19: God Help Me
Chapter 20: What Do We Do Now?
Chapter 21: Guiding Hands
Chapter 22: A Walk in the Woods
Chapter 23: The Return
Chapter 24: A Smoke and a Promise
Chapter 25: Off the Beaten Path
Chapter 26: Jin Was Right
Chapter 27: The Oakwood Chronicler
Chapter 28: Burning Confessions
Chapter 29: The Awakening
We dedicate this book to our families, our friends and our readers. We appreciate your continued support with our stories.
We also want to dedicate this book to all the people who make small towns thrive: To the lighthouse keepers, firefighters, police officers, paramedics, ferry operators, waitresses and waiters, nurses, doctors, store clerks and all the people who make life in small communities the gem that they are. To you, we say thank you. You have been the inspiration for many characters of Oakwood Island that we love to write about and we hope you enjoy reading about too.
A sincere thank you to our publisher and editor, Geoff. Thanks for all your guidance with edits for this book and your dedication to the writing community.
Prologue
Year: 1898
Bessie Chapman was kneeling in the middle of the corn field among the wilting crops. She was patiently listening to the voice speaking to her, staring intently in the direction of the voice even though nobody stood where the voice came from. It sounded as though the wind itself was talking. She had been listening every night for a week. Tonight, she would do the bidding the voice asked of her.
“But how will I know what to carve on this blade?” she asked the voice.
“I will guide your hands. I will carve the symbols with you. But first you must prepare the soil. The earth, fire, wind and water must all be prepared, as does the spirit of the child.”
Bessie looked down at the lone rib bone she had taken from the grave where her grandfather was buried.
“Do you promise to provide as you say you will? How can I know for certain?”
“You must not question my commands!” The voice became loud and angry. “You must put all of your belief and intention; else this will not come to be!”
“I understand. I will! I promise! Just please, spare me and my children.” Bessie pleaded.
“Now, go to the clearing. Place five points upon the ground, and recite the words I will whisper. You must make haste. Time is fading. Soon, the birth will be upon us. You must prepare the soil with the bone. Next we will carve the symbols. I will guide you.”
“How will I know when the child will be born?” Bessie asked.
“Trust my guidance.”
Bessie stood up, taking the rib bone in one hand and a chisel in the other. She ran in the dark towards the clearing, eager to do as she had been guided by the voice.
She never noticed the hundreds of crows sitting in the dying corn field, watching her run.
Chapter 1
An Eerie Discovery
May
“Do you think it was a werewolf, like that kid always said it was?” Tracy asked her husband as she carried an armload of cut wood to their small utility trailer. The other stacks of wood in the trailer rattled as she dropped in the new load. She pulled up the zipper on the spring work coat she wore, the air still holding a chill as the last bit of snow melted away in the forest. Across the clearing, Michael swung his axe down hard on a log, splitting it in half with a loud crack. The clearing was starting to come together. They’d inherited the house from Michael’s uncle, Robert Stuart, and after a lot of work over the past three days the clearing was finally looking less like a wild forest and more like a respectable yard. This project was their latest effort to make a series of connecting trails behind their new home. It was one way to keep Tracy from going completely crazy.
“Trace, I know you want to believe everything you see and read online, but I thought someone like you would perhaps be a bit skeptical about monsters and werewolves. I mean, come on. Don’t you think maybe you’re ob
sessing about this just a bit too much, hun?” He picked up the two pieces of wood from the loamy forest floor before turning towards Tracy. “I mean, I know you want answers. Hell, don’t you think I want some too? Uncle Bob was my favorite uncle. His murder is something I’ll never be able to just forget. But I don’t want to pretend it was some kind of supernatural monster when the obvious answer is that it was some psycho that took him and Aunt Nancy.”
“I know, but there are just too many things that don’t add up, Mike. Whoever, or whatever, killed them escaped by the window. Why would a person do that? And by the way,” she glared at him with her hands on her hips. “Just because you think you know everything, doesn’t mean you actually know everything.”
Mike picked up another piece of wood from the dwindling pile to his right and placed it on the chopping block.
“Good enough, but at least I’m not wasting my time with crazy talk while the case isn’t solved.” He regretted it as soon as he said it. He looked up to see her already walking away. “Hun, come on. You know what I mean.” She was shaking her head no as she walked away from the small clearing.
Tracy hadn’t been sold on the idea of leaving the mainland and her career as a legal assistant at Monroe Law Offices. She was now six months into her year-long sabbatical and still didn’t know if she wanted to stay on Oakwood Island or return to her job in the fall. Luckily for Michael, he was able to work from anywhere as a stock analyst, so he didn’t have to sacrifice his career when they inherited his uncle Robert’s house on the island when his aunt and uncle were murdered five years earlier. It had taken four years of vacationing at the home on the island, just to convince Tracy to at least give living here a try. It was a great spot, away from the hustle and bustle from the mainland, and he had always craved returning to the simple life. Convincing his wife Tracy to live here full time, though, had been difficult. He ran to catch up with her on the trail they had created that led to their new home.
“I’m sorry, Tracy. I know what you mean, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.” He reached out to touch her arm with his left hand. She stopped walking and turned to face him. Tears streamed down her face.
“I know, Mike. I’m just so scared. I wish I could get it out of my head, but I keep thinking about how they were found, their bodies mutilated and ripped apart. We sleep in the same room where this happened! What person could do that? Here, of all places, too!” She took off her oversized work gloves and wiped at her tears. Her emotions were taking over and he knew he had to help her. He had never seen her struggle so much, and he knew he was partially responsible.
“I know, babe. It’s not something we can just ignore. But we need to keep our heads clear and focus on what we know as facts. The police and Detective Burke that handled their case did everything they could to find answers. Even now, five years later, the case is still open. Maybe one day we will get answers. Until then, though, we need to live our lives, hun. I want us to really try our best here, even if it gets hard at times.” He wiped the rest of the moisture away from the dark circles that had grown larger under her eyes since their move here.
“Can we just take a break? Please?” She let out a deep and slow breath as she finished speaking. Michael nodded in agreement and took her hand to lead her into the woods, off the trail.
“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.” He pulled her lean body closer to his side, wrapping his free arm around her waist. “Let’s go see if there is a spot we can build that meditation hut you were talking about.” He smiled at her and she tried to smile back as best she could.
“Fine. But don’t think I don’t believe in monsters, ‘cause I still do. Jerk.” She elbowed him in the ribs, chuckling a bit, trying her best to lighten her mood. They walked in a straight line, mostly, for about twenty steps, before both stopped at the same time.
“Mike, do you see what I see?” her voice came out in a barely audible whisper. He nodded and took a few steps closer to the pile of bones that were stacked as high as their knees. She grabbed Mike’s plaid work jacket by the left sleeve, forcing him to stop moving. “Don’t touch it, Mike. You don’t know what those are, or whose. We shouldn’t touch anything.” Her voice trailed off as he turned to face her, looked in her eyes and took her hand to reassure her. “It’s okay, Trace. I won’t touch it. I just want to take a closer look, is all. Go to the four-wheeler and get my cell phone. We need to call animal control or something. Most of these are small animals, maybe a deer or two. I’m not sure why they’re all piled up like this though.”
“Don’t you get it, Mike? Don’t you see? Whatever killed your aunt and uncle is what did this!” Her tears came back as her voice rose into a panicked cry. “This is why I don’t want to be here anymore!” She cried harder as she turned around and ran towards the main trail they had cleared in the woods.
“Just get the phone, Trace. Everything will be okay.”
He felt horrible. He knew he had pushed her into coming to live on the island. He knew she was unhappy here yet he wanted to live on the island. As she ran to get the phone he turned back to the pile of animal carcasses and focused on the one that had caught his attention, and the reason why he had sent her away from the scene. Moving in closer he knew for sure now what he was looking at. The femur that protruded from the bottom of the pile was clearly human. Knowing he couldn’t let her see this, Mike turned from the stack of bones and ran after Tracy.
Animal control arrived within an hour, and the police shortly after. A lone crow circled the area above the Stuart’s house and its new occupants. The island shuddered in the cool wind as a new wave of darkness cast over the skies above.
Chapter 2
Fifth Anniversary
June
The ranch-style house that sat at the end of Montague Lane on Oakwood Island was as typical a house as one could expect, yet its quaint appearance welcomed its owners and visitors with warmth and a sense of welcome that was not typical for the neighborhood. The wrap around ground-level porch gave a feeling of protection. The pillars that stood every six feet gave the illusion of strong arms holding up the top half of the home. The soft yellow siding and olive tone on the shutters created a mellowing effect that nobody could deny was calming as soon as it was seen. Coupled with the curbside appeal of freshly cut lawn, the well-maintained shrubs and the overflowing flowerbeds gave the property the fresh and clean look that most searched for in a neighborhood.
It was a sharp contrast to the cement and paved yard where Scott Cudmore had grown up. The Open Arms Orphanage had always felt bleak, oppressive and even depressing in its appearance to both the kids and visitors alike. Having grown up in such a disparaging environment, he was proud to be a homeowner now and took the time necessary to maintain the property. His pride was apparent to anyone who visited their street. On this particular Saturday morning, he had taken care of cutting the lawn and cleaning the driveway of debris and dirt. With his outside chores completed, he contemplated his plans for the rest of the day. He knew he would eventually need to take care of entertaining the kids somehow, but for now, he decided he wanted a bit more alone time. It was a rarity that he embraced when he could.
In a nook off the side of the kitchen, Scott sat at his roll-top desk enjoying a rare moment of quiet with a cup of dark roast coffee. Few and far between were the moments he could take in some reading time in this modest house, which had been renovated to have six bedrooms instead of the original four. The usual hustle and bustle of having a family was one thing, but to have eight foster kids between the ages of four and seventeen under one roof was often plain chaos. Saturdays, however, were much easier as the older kids could help out with taking care of the younger kids while he worked on whatever weekend chores he had planned. Though it was still work, he felt relieved to have some reprieve from the round the clock parenting role he had so willingly signed up for years prior. He had always questioned if he had what it took to be a good
dad. He often imagined how different his life might have been if he had chosen to leave Oakwood behind and start over, somewhere new and without foster kids. He felt a tug in his heart, knowing he never could have chosen a different life. He could never have done so while knowing how those kids felt on a daily basis, as he too had felt the loneliness and sadness so often while growing up at the orphanage.
Scott sat back in his faded leather chair, his hand wrapped around his warm mug with #1 DAD written in big bright letters across the front. He continued reading the most recent issue of The Oakwood Chronicler. The biweekly newspaper normally featured the minor on-goings of small town life on the island. Although Scott didn’t normally have time to read the paper, he had wanted to read through this issue as they had published an article about the anniversary of the mysterious deaths that had taken place on Oakwood Island. The anniversary alone would have been reason enough to do a spotlight article, but the recent findings on the Stuart property had created a renewed interest in the topic that had set the small population abuzz with gossip.
The recent discovery had prompted the paper to write a piece as this was reminiscent of the strange events that had plagued the island’s residents, five years prior. Scott brought his mug to his lips, sipped the warm coffee and read the front page article.
OAKWOOD ISLAND MURDERS – FIVE YEARS LATER
By: NICOLE BANFORD
Oakwood Island residents continue to seek answers nearly five years after multiple gruesome murders remain unsolved. Islanders are demanding answers and pressing the issue to the mayor and town council after a report was made about the newly discovered cluster of animal carcasses that was found last month. The animal remains were found on Michael Stuart’s property on Ocean’s Edge Road. Islanders will remember that Michael’s aunt and uncle were found murdered in their home five years ago. Michael and his wife, Tracy Stuart, made the discovery in the woods behind the home. “The snow and ice likely kept them from decomposing completely,” Michael told the Oakwood Chronicler in a phone interview. “We just happened to come across the pile. I don’t know how long it was there for, but it had to be at least close to a year.”
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