“Out of the way,” he said, trembling, “I said out of the way! I have chosen life, to never be abandoned by your God again!”
The blue white light dulled and the angel shot to the sky like a rising star in the night.
“Good, Sweeney,” the light pulsed into his mind, “excellent. Now, go through the doorway to your new kingdom and the power that waits!”
Sweeney looked toward the arch of trees that made the doorway to the flat bottom of the ravine. His hands sweated, heart raced. He hesitated.
“Go through, now!”
“No turnin,’” Sweeney declared and pulled himself up to his full height before walking through the archway.
The darkness absorbed all light. Sweeney felt something in front of him. Sulfur and decay penetrated his nostrils. The presence growled, and then laughed.
“Who's t-t-there?”
“I always answer a dying request,” It snarled, “my name is Iconoclast, and I am your destiny.” He heard the moist sounds of lips being licked.
Sweeney turned and ran, but his night vision was gone. Black engulfed him. Somehow he made it to the doorway, clawing at the hag trees that surrounded it. He screamed for help but his shrieks were silent in the evil one's lair. He continued to yell as he felt the first bite sear through the scar that now pulsed an iridescent purple. His silenced screams continued for hours.
When the beast was finished eating Sweeney's soul, flesh, and mind, it burped in satisfaction. The arrowhead lay on the ground where it had dropped. The evil one's fingers curled around it.
“Good, good Pet,” Iconoclast smiled as the stone throbbed black to black and purred. Gambogian joined them. Together they laughed as Iconoclast threw the shell of Sweeney Till-mooth to the top of the ravine. He fell with a sick thud, a bag of fluid muscle.
Sweeney's shipmates found him there and they ran. They ran as if pursued by the hounds of hell. If you had asked any of these crewmembers, none of them heard the growls and laughter that echoed around them as they galloped to the boats along the shore. And if you'd asked any of the crew, they never found Sweeney that night. He had just vanished. But none who saw him struck the image from their minds of the once man, now seeping jaundiced yellow from his pores, his eyes seeping gooey black and purple liquid, a skeleton's smile on his face, and missing his prized, sharpened tooth. None would speak of it again.
Sweeney's final resting place was never the same, either. It never grew a living thing where his body had lain. The earth lay tarred as a testimony and warning for all who came near Ravens Ravine.
Chapter 1
A Corpse on Corpse Mound
October, 1998
Kat gripped a large soup cup of coffee, warming her hands as she watched the late-October sunrise from her porch. The day came up cold and blue, the crystalline sky announcing the dawn. Little by little, she turned to the west, the morning clouds of peach tinged in grey leaving her sight. A view of the Cook Inlet replaced the eastern scene.
“Good morning, Tikahtnu,” she breathed. Tikahtnu or Big Water River was Kat's favorite term for the Inlet. It had sustained the Denali Indians and later the white settlers that joined them here. A mist rose over Tikahtnu, cold meeting the heat of a new morning sun. The mountains across the water were purple from the mist but today the volcano stood in its full glory—high, clothed in wisps of light pink clouds.
A gust of cold wind shattered the morning warmth. Kat shivered and tightened her grip on the coffee cup. She inhaled the saltwater-laced air, invigorated by the scent. With one last look at the volcano, she turned, opened the heavy wood front door of her cabin and walked through.
A black blur rose up from behind the red footstool at the end of her couch and pounced.
“Ouch, for heaven's sake, BC, knock it off.” Kat jumped back, annoyed, the tranquility of her morning broken by her mischievous, self-absorbed feline.
“I should have left you for dead.”
Tail in air, signaling that his mission had been a success, BC sauntered to the small bedroom off the living room and combined kitchen area that made up Kat's home.
Focus, Kat, focus. She turned to her old blond desk. She ran a finger along one of its many scratches and nicks, avoiding the stress for a moment longer.
“You need to decide what to do with your life, girl. Enough of living in this small town, writing poems, doing some art, making trinkets for the tourists, and hoping to have enough to live on until the beginning of the next funnel-head invasion.”
Resolving to the task, she thumped her coffee cup down on the desk, splashing a small amount onto a poem in progress. Facing the monitor, she clicked the Internet link and began perusing the many advertisements for online colleges.
A loud rap at the front door brought her out of the fog that had saturated her brain as it fought against her want to delay those decisions she'd promised herself to make.
Another knock, more impatient this time, followed by a familiar voice, shouting, “Open up, KittyKat. I know you're in there. Come out, come out wherever you are!”
Kat pushed back from her desk, almost dumping her coffee as she bumped the desk with her knee while jumping up from her chair.
Kat opened the door to Wendy Hareling, her lifelong friend.
At times like this, she was her annoying lifelong friend.
Wendy breezed past Kat into the cabin.
“Do come in, Wendy.” Kat glared at her while bowing and extending her arm for entrance.
“Don't mind if I do, Ms. KittyKat.” Wendy responded with a bow of mock courtesy.
“There's been a murder, Kat—a murder in Ravens Cove!”
Wendy could not contain her excitement and started pulling at Kat's arm.
“Come on, let's go see!”
Kat resisted, planting both feet on the worn wood-plank flooring.
“Who is it?” Dread replaced the irritation she had felt moments before.
“Don't know; no one knows him.”
Kat relaxed, guilt niggling her gut because she felt relief instead of concern for this stranger.
“Sheriff Andersen is in a real dither. The sleepy old town is jumping for once. Let's go.”
Concern for others was not one of Wendy's strong suits, and that lack of concern was never more evident than when a drama was in the making.
“You should have moved to Hollywood, Winsome.” The familiar nickname mocked Wendy as it had for years.
Wendy stuck her tongue out at Kat, crossed her arms and plopped on the couch.
“See what I mean? Your drama is wasted in Ravens Cove.”
Wendy rose. “I will forget you said that.”
BC, who had been in the act of settling into a warm Wendy lap, tumbled to the floor, feet first of course. He sat, tail swishing from side to side, considering his plan of attack.
Seeing this, Kat said, “yes, I believe we should go before you can't walk.”
Wendy looked at BC and swung her leg to the left as he pounced.
“Missed, you mean, black thing! Why do you keep this cat, Kat?” Wendy smiled at the double meaning, proud of herself.
“He's my protector. Can't you see that?” As she spoke, BC walked over to Kat and twined through her legs, rubbing black hair all over her clean beige pants. She bent and made several swipes at the hairs, imbedding them farther with each attempt.
Wendy sniggered. “Well, maybe if you had named him, he'd be a happier animal. BC for black cat. How original is that anyway?”
“Let's go, Winsome. Enough criticism of my name choices and your theories of how names affect animal behavior. Sheesh!” Kat grabbed her coat and headed for the door.
The day was a clearer blue than earlier. The clouds had scattered and left a late-October sun burning overhead. The door latch gave a satisfying click. They began the short hike to town.
The gravel of the driveway crunched under their shoes as they strode toward the dirt road that led to Kat's home. Ravens, jet-black against the blue sky, played in the wind,
swooping toward earth then reversing the maneuver and streaking upward to meet a friend and dive together in a spontaneous air show.
Main Street was abuzz. Wendy hadn't been wrong about the gossip. Then again, Kat couldn't remember when Wendy had ever been wrong about gossip. She made it her mission to know almost everything that went on in this small Southcentral Alaskan town.
Jonathan and Joseph Tillwater, the 20-something delinquents of Ravens Cove, stood by Jo's Bakery, heads together, in an animated conversation.
Wendy motioned their way, “afraid they'll get blamed!”
“Well, don't know what's going on, but they should worry after all the trouble they've caused.”
“They said he had no skin! They said his eyes were dribbling black and purple stuff!”
“Who's ‘they’ Ms. Conner?” Kat asked the town's other most dramatic person. It was obvious that this librarian shouldn't have access to the horror section.
Anita Conner lifted her head, speaking down to Kat. “Those that saw the corpse!” She sniffed, huffed was more like it, and turned from Kat.
“All righty then,” Kat rolled her eyes to Wendy's in a mock question.
“I told you so.”
Sheriff Bart Andersen was deep in conversation with Mayor Orthell. He lifted his head at the sound of Kat's voice. He excused himself from the mayor and made a beeline for Kat.
“Glad you're here. We need to get to the office, pronto. Phones are going to be ringing off the hook.”
Kat was secretary for the good sheriff of Ravens Cove when the need arose. She looked up at Bart. Deep lines creased his rugged, youthful face. Uneasiness rose up from her gut to her heart.
The sheriff hooked Kat's elbow in his hand and guided her into the three-room storefront on Main Street that constituted the town's police station. If you counted the small jail cell in the back, it was a four-room office.
Turning to face her, he took her shoulders in a gentle but firm grip, “I want you to start locking your door at night. Whoever committed this murder is a real psycho.”
Kat stared with alarm into Bart's sincere brown eyes. He responded to her silent question.
“A John Doe was found at the top of Ravens Ravine this morning. The way he met his demise, well, I've never seen anything like it, not even in the classes I've attended on crime scene investigation. But I've seen enough to know this one is going to take some major police work just to find the murder weapon, or weapons. We're going to have to send the body to Anchorage to find out what killed him.” Bart didn't like involving any outsiders, and Anchorage was a town of outsiders. All those busybodies in the Troopers and the FBI would find out for sure and “muddle up the investigation,” as he had said before.
“Here are my first notes for the report.” He shoved them into Kat's hand. “Read them and see what you think. I know you like to do research on that ole computer of yours. Maybe if you get the time, you could take a look. You might come across something helpful in your technology travels.”
As she eased into the desk chair, Kat began reading, “Amos Thralling said he was taking his usual route to the inlet when he saw what he thought was a garbage drop. ‘All muddled.’ As he came closer, he became aware of a stink that he attributed to said garbage. The smell of burnt and decaying flesh made him throw up. He had gotten close enough to see it was not garbage but the remains of a man. Upon this discovery, Mr. Thralling ‘ran like a bat out of hell,’ his words, directly to the sheriff's office. Mr. Thralling accompanied me to said location of the body.
Upon arrival, I observed decayed flesh, yellow in color, oozing to the ground. The eyes of the corpse were black, rotted, and a blood-consistency liquid of purple/black was draining from both eye sockets. The corpse was face up, missing all its teeth. The mouth stood open and I observed that the tongue was also missing. I was able to ascertain the gender of the victim. Distinguishing characteristics were still present. My conclusion is that the victim was killed elsewhere and Ravens Cove was used as a dumping ground.”
Kat looked up at Bart. “Purple and Black? Yellow ooze?”
“Yep. Advanced decomp. Though I don't remember such a decayed state on a corpse where the body is still held together by muscle and tissue. And, you know what's odd?”
Kat gave Bart a questioning look.
“He was lying on Corpse Mound, at the opening to the ravine. I mean laid out just like the outline on the mound. Some sicko!” Bart shook his head in disgust.
“So, lock your doors and windows, young lady! That's an order.” Kat's indignant eyes fired invisible darts into Bart's.
“I pray this dirtbag has crawled back into whatever hole he came out of. If not …” Bart's voice trailed off in thought. If something happened to Kat he'd never forgive himself.
Kat had stopped listening at, “that's an order.” She knew this lecture by heart.
She also knew that what she was about to say would bring up old, unresolved tensions.
She took a deep breath. “The legend of Corpse Mound has an eerie similarity to this.”
“I can't see how a legend begun in the 1700s is at all relevant here. I need information that is a smidge more pertinent. This is no time for tales of goblins, witches, and dark things.”
“You know there's more to it than goblins and witches,” Kat locked eyes with him, daring him to defy her.
Bart snorted. “Right—and pigs fly!”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Her eyes flew to his.
“If you're questioning this death as supernatural, then for sure this is going to stir up that old tale about the ravine.”
“What if it isn't just an old tale?”
“Stop. You are one of the most logical people I know, until it comes to this subject. Stop!”
“I'm just saying that our ancestors’ stories say these types of murders have happened again and again over the centuries and…”
“Stop! Those are legends, not fact. There is no black evil in the ravine! Those are scary stories parents use to keep their kids from going to dangerous places. That's it! Now let's look for a flesh and blood suspect, shall we?” Chastised and embarrassed, she turned and began typing.
The tarnished brass bell above the glass entry door clanged. A disheveled, white-haired stranger stepped in.
“Can I help you?”
“Hope so. I'm new in town, and need directions to the church.”
“Well, there are two here. The oldest and most popular is the Congregational Alliance run by the Right Reverend Martin Plotno at the corner of Main and Willow.”
The man grimaced but was so quick to replace it with a warm smile that Kat dismissed the pained look as her imagination.
“No, ma'am, not that one. Is there another?”
“There is a newer one. It's not as popular—a more fundamental church. Lots of fire and brimstone, and teaching from the Bible in that one. The pastor, Paul Lucas, is a nice enough sort. By the way, what's your name?” Maybe he was looking for a church in hopes of guilt-relief and forgiveness for leaving a decaying, stinky corpse in Ravens Cove before he went on the run.
“Josiah Williams.” He gave a quick, short bow. He clutched a black-brimmed hat in his hands and held it at his waist.
“Well, Mr. Williams …”
“Josiah, please. He bowed again, raised his head, and looked into her eyes, “I can feel we are going to be friends.”
Alarm rose in Kat's gut. The last time she felt this way, the stray cat, dubbed BC, had just bitten her. She chose to ignore his odd statement.
“Well, Mr. Williams, if you are interested in that new church, it sits on the corner of Main and Birch. Take Main south until you get to Birch. Turn right. Birch takes you out of town. It's a long, uphill walk. Just keep going and you'll run into the church before you reach the wetlands.”
“Thank you, Katrina Agnes Tovslosky that would be the church I seek.”
“Wait! How did you know my name?” The clang of the bell was the lone witness
to his ever having been there.
“Rethinking locking my doors and windows.” Kat murmured. What a day it was becoming. The clock read eleven or Zero eleven hundred, as Bart, the twenty-four-hour-clock-is-the-only-correct-time advocate would say.
Kat poised both hands over the keyboard and began typing.
“Hey KittyKat, thought I'd find you here.” Wendy shouted in her ear.
Kat jumped, banging her knee hard against the desktop.
“Ouch, dang it Wendy!”
Wendy floated in front of Kat, placing her elbows on top of the computer monitor, ignoring Kat's obvious irritation.
“How's about lunch, girlfriend?”
“Busy here.” Kat's eyes never left the report as she continued to type.
Wendy bent her head, so she was looking at the computer screen upside down, long, copper curls cascading onto Kat's fingers and keyboard.
Kat grabbed a handful of the red-brown locks and pulled.
“Owwww.” Wendy jumped back, jerking her head upright. She again put her elbows on top of the monitor.
“Come on; you know Jo's will be buzzing with the latest gossip!”
“No.” She turned her gaze back to the report.
Kat raised her head and smiled up at Wendy, “but, if you're going to Jo's, I could use a big cup of coffee.”
“Me, too,” Bart yelled from his office.
Wendy and Kat broke into simultaneous laughs. “Fine, Bart-ster,” Wendy yelled back, “but I expect to be reimbursed!”
“Right after you reimburse me for last week's lunch.”
Wendy's lower lip came out in a false pout. She turned and sailed out the door. Kat wasn't sure if she'd ever see that cup of coffee.
Josiah Williams walked into the sun's warmth and made his way through the crowd still gathered in twos, threes, and fours.
“They say the body was a rag doll!”
“It was drained of blood, flat as a pancake!”
Josiah slowed his pace, listening more closely as he walked.
“Purple and black oozing from the eyes.”
The familiar pain of grief shot from his stomach to his heart. Tears spilled from Josiah's eyes, down leathery cheeks. “O God, no, not again!” he cried.
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