Secret of the Loch

by Aiden James

  The ancient walls of this section are a huge draw, and have survived at least two major earthquakes, in 1667 and again in 1979. The walls form the cornerstone for the labyrinth feel of the place, because of the braided streets, squares, bulwarks and towers. No wonder Dracul chose to be close, since this certainly fit his taste.

  “Do you think he would be so obvious as to set whatever trap he has in mind for us in the citadel?” I asked, as we approached the city’s oldest standing structure. It appeared deserted and locked up. “I see it’s a theater now, one that’s apparently closed on Mondays.”

  “Hard to say,” said Roderick, looking around warily. I felt a cold chill traverse along my spine. “He’s watching us.”

  “He feels close.”

  “Yes, he does,” he agreed, turning away from the citadel/theater. He began walking back to where the car was parked. “We’re wasting our time here. I could almost feel him laughing at us.”

  He was right, that’s exactly how it felt.

  “Then where is he? Or, better yet, where does he want us to go?” I said, getting increasingly irritated. Yeah, I know...like I should be in such a hurry to die, right? “Is this part of the game?”

  “What, like foreplay?” Roderick chuckled and picked up his pace. “I just received an image of an immense dark castle, somewhere near water. No, that’s not quite right…the place is surrounded by water, lots of water.”

  “Could be another dead end,” I said. “Especially if he knows you are getting mental images, this might be nothing more than another session of ‘fuck with the druid’.”

  He laughed, shaking his head as he continued to move back to the parking garage where we left our rental.

  “I’m serious!”

  “I know, “ he called over his shoulder. “You might be right, Judas. But one thing is for certain. He isn’t here.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because the images of the castle are getting stronger…as much as I would like to not follow them, I feel it will be worse for us if we don’t hurry to try and find this place. Somewhere on the coast, and if we go now, we’ll still have plenty of daylight.”

  Roderick’s sense of urgency won the battle over my desire to stay longer and have a better look around in ‘Old Town’. Unlike our casual pace from Pedgorica to Budva, and from the hotel to the older section of the city, he drove the Camry we rented with near abandon, and almost ran down a pair of bicyclists on the main road back to the beach. Following his inner voice, he took us further south and let up on the gas as he became calmer. Then, without warning, he pulled the car over and parked in front of one of the many scenic beaches the area is known for. At the moment, it appeared to be crowded with tourists and local sun-worshipers alike.

  “So, are you looking for some cryptic clue beneath a sunbather’s umbrella that will lead us further on this wild goose chase?” I asked, smiling wryly.

  “Shhh! Let me listen for a moment.” He stared out the windshield as if expecting such a clue to suddenly appear among the beach tenants, or the rising tide sending deeper swells toward the shore. Only a handful of surfers braved the bigger waves, and other than a few sailboats in the distance, the sea sat empty. The shoreline, on the other hand, was teeming with swimmers in the shallow depths while couples walked close to the water. “Come on, let’s go have a look.”

  He exited the car, and without waiting for me, hurried toward what looked like an abandoned pier from long ago. The structure was missing most of its planks, and only the rusted steel supports remained. An ancient dingy was tied to the end of the pier, roughly two hundred feet from the shore.

  Roderick jogged through the sand, dodging several volleyball players as he moved past their net. I ran after him, concerned by his careless behavior, as so unlike him. He stopped when he reached the steps leading up to the pier.

  “What in the hell is this about?”

  He ignored my question, removing his glasses and squinting his eyes as he gazed toward the deeper depths far beyond the pier. I followed his eyes but saw nothing, and in fact noted nothing unusual—not even a hint of the creepiness we had experienced in ‘Old Town’. However, a slight mist drifted toward us from the sea, just beyond the pier, and spread out along the shoreline in either direction.

  Hardly detectable at first, only a few people around us seemed to take notice until the mist thickened.

  “It’s here,” he said, finally. “Or, the road to it is here.”

  “What do you mean?” I honestly had no idea what he babbled about. “What’s here?”

  “Dracul’s palace.”

  “In the middle of the sea?”

  “No, it sits on an island.” He turned to study me, and seemed surprised we were surrounded by other people. People, I should say, whose stares were drawn to Roderick’s face. He quickly put his glasses back on. “I’m beginning to think this is much worse than either of us could’ve anticipated. The island is out there right now…and yet, it’s not.”

  “What?! Like we’re dealing with multi-dimensional shit again? Please say I’m wrong.”

  I followed his gaze as it returned to the deeper waters beyond the pier. Roderick shook his head incredulously, while I awaited more details on what his perception picked up.

  “Maybe it’s nothing,” he said, finally. “Maybe this is part of the maze…the illusion in the game that might reach other levels beyond the physical, and beyond normal acuity….”

  His voice trailed off as he looked to the right of us, where the mist had thickened to a fog above the waves that crashed against the shore. A couple with a dog became briefly invisible, and seemed oblivious to the mist, until a dozen adolescents kicking a soccer ball hurried past the startled pair.

  The youths, all boys and apparently local, chased the ball as it careened toward where we stood. Instinctively, I reached out to catch it when one of the boys kicked the ball toward Roderick and me. The kid, a striking blue-eyed blonde with dimples, smiled sheepishly and ran over to where we stood.

  “You should be more careful, “ I said to him, using the Serbian dialect I remembered from long ago, and prepared for him not to understand, since modern Montenegrin is the official tongue taught in Budvan schools.

  He nodded shyly and took the ball from me, bowing before taking a step to rejoin his buddies, who wore similar awkward smiles. I assumed he had merely read my tone and facial expression, but then he stopped and looked back at us, this time knowingly.

  “Dracul looks forward to your attendance tonight at his palace,” he said, in English delivered with a strong Slavic accent, surprising us. “Return here at midnight. His coachmen will be waiting.”

  The lad ran to rejoin his mates.

  “Hey, wait!” Roderick called after him. “What’s your name?”

  He took a step back toward us and stopped, and the knowing smile turned mischievous.

  “Mortis is my name,” he said.

  “And your family name?” Not sure why it mattered to me, but I suddenly thought this youth might be blood related to our nemesis. “Do you live around here?”

  He laughed as if my question inspired hilarity, and his buddies joined in. Roderick and I glanced at each other, warily.

  “Do you have such a name, Judas?” he retorted, and I scarcely recognized the boy who humbly approached us just a minute ago. “At least my name is genuine, and not a name intended to deceive. Same for you, Mr. Cooley.”

  What the fuck?!

  “Just make sure you’re both here at midnight,” he advised, again, when all either Roderick or I could do was stare at him as mutes, dumbfounded. “My master is most cruel when people disappoint him.”

  He turned away and this time the entire group ran back from whence they came. I would certainly understand the expectation of these kids suddenly disappearing into thin air as they moved further down the beach. But we were able to watch their progress until their images grew too faint to track. We missed most of a gorgeous sunset settling in the wes
t as a result. All the while, the foreboding feeling from earlier worsened.

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  The Raven Mocker: Evil Returns to Cades Cove

  The Cades Cove Series, Book Two

  (Please read on for a sample)

  John Running Deer stood on the back porch, shielding his eyes from the bright afternoon sun. The air felt crisp and cool, but still warmer than it had been earlier. A few clouds dotted the sky, and the forecast called for significant snow by nightfall.

  Shawn had almost finished taking care of his business, and would seek to get inside the cabin rather than stick close to his private igloo. Certainly, the temperature was mild enough for Shawn to spend the warmer daylight hours outside. John had his granddaughters to thank for his prized husky’s newfound preference to be inside the cabin. He smiled while considering Hanna and Evelyn’s copious charms, and how easily they disrupted his routine and turned his watchdog into a demure pup. And, they did it in just a few days’ time. He hated the idea of them going back to Knoxville and Johnson City after the Christmas holiday ended.

  It made him ache even more for Susanne and the days when his granddaughters were little girls. It was only a short matter of time before they graduated from college and moved on with their lives. Their careers might take them even farther from Gatlinburg, Tennessee. He’d already begun preparing himself, and it was the very thing he coached them to aspire for since completing high school.

  Shawn finished and wagged his tail, prepared to meet John on the porch. Suddenly he stopped, looking out toward the densely wooded area north of John’s cabin. His tail ceased to move and pointed downward, and he growled protectively, sharp canines bared at an unseen menace.

  John heard something. It sounded as if wooden chimes hung in the branches of the evergreen trees standing like tall sentinels along the border of his property. The objects clanked softly against each other. John stepped down the porch’s worn wooden stairs and into the backyard, never removing his probing gaze from the trees. He deftly avoided slick patches where melted snow turned the ground into a muddy mess. He removed the chain from Shawn’s neck, commanding the dog to stay at his side. Cautiously, John made his way to the area the clatter emanated from.

  The sound of wood on wood grew louder, and Shawn’s growls became more urgent, punctuated by agitated whines.

  “Steady, boy,” John whispered, bending to stroke his neck. “Stay with Daddy.”

  John found what made the noise. His initial reaction was of horror, and he carefully examined the leg and rib bones of a dead wolf hung by strips of blood-streaked rawhide and sinew from a stout cedar tree’s longest branch. Beyond the tree lay a pristine forest stretching for miles toward the deepest wilderness of the Smoky Mountains. Wolves were infrequent visitors to the property, naturally skittish in the presence of mankind.

  “What in God’s name happened here?” he whispered, motioning for Shawn to wait while he took a moment to examine the immediate area.

  The skinned and bloody hide of the animal also hung from the branch, swinging back and forth from a steady breeze. The wolf’s head lay positioned to where its frightened, glassy eyes looked toward the cabin from the base of the cedar. The animal’s four severed paws were arranged in a ring around its gaping jaw, the entrails and other organs nowhere to be found.

  John stepped to the head, noticing trails of dark crimson covered recent snow that escaped the sun’s reach beneath a thick evergreen canopy. Along with the blood trail, there were moccasin impressions in the snow, along with what looked like an unusually large naked human footprint with odd toe marks. He followed the trail around the tree, until the footprints abruptly disappeared roughly thirty feet into the forest.

  He stood motionless, listening to the wind, and then returned to Shawn waiting near the cedar tree. He thought Shawn would venture closer to the remains out of normal canine curiosity, but the dog remained where he’d left him, glancing nervously at the cabin.

  “Everything will be okay, boy,” John said in a soothing tone, although he knew otherwise.

  Gently stroking the husky’s neck, he surveyed the scene once more. It had been many years since he’d witnessed anything like this. The last time was when his grandfather, a great shaman who refused to add an English surname or nickname to his Cherokee name of Tali Awohali Atloyasdi or Two Eagles Cry, took him as a young teenager to a hidden sacred burial area where Cherokee skeletons from long ago lay exposed in the open air on high wooden pallets. Animal bones hung from thatched, wooden pole frames, and weathered deerskin ornamental shields, accompanied some of these remains, along with the weapons most favored by each honored warrior.

  Those bones were ancient in comparison to what had been left next to John’s property. His grandfather told him the sacred mountain gravesite hadn’t been used since the mid-nineteenth century. It was carefully camouflaged from Andrew Jackson’s armies and others who hunted the Smoky Mountains in search of renegade Cherokees that refused the federal mandate to join their brethren heading west on the Trail of Tears. To John’s knowledge, no one practiced the protecting or cursing of an area anymore.

  Knowing the message was intended for him greatly worried John. It was an even worse portent, in his mind, than the terrible visitations he’d endured for the past month. At least those had a predictable pattern and outcome, where at the end of the day he and his family remained safe from harm—at least so far.

  “Grandpa? Are you okay?”

  Evelyn stood on the back porch, shielding her eyes as she looked in his direction. Luckily the wind had died down before she called to him, and the wooden noise of the wolf bones hitting each other was barely audible. His granddaughters being thrown into a panic was the last thing he needed. Especially today, Christmas, where they’d already enjoyed a fabulous morning together, and shared more presents and merriment around a warm fire in the living room.

  “I’m fine—just checking on some deer tracks!” he called to her. “I’ll be there in a minute!”

  John urged Shawn to head to the cabin. The dog glanced one last time at the woods before trotting to the porch, seemingly happy as hell to get away from there. He looked back at John a couple of times. But John lingered long enough to try and sense if anyone else was there, hidden within the forest’s dense foliage. If someone was near, he couldn’t detect it. He stepped onto his property, and as he moved toward the cabin he felt less anxious. His home that had seen the births and growth to womanhood of first his daughter and then his granddaughters would protect them all as it had for more than forty years.

  “Are you sure it was deer tracks?” Evelyn asked as he stepped onto the porch.

  He paused to look again toward the woods. Shawn had already snuck in, and Hanna met him in time to wipe his paws clean.

  “Hanna said she heard some animal crying in pain early this morning, just before sunrise. But, she didn’t see anything when she looked through the back door window. Maybe she and I should take a look later.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” John assured her, forcing a broad smile and praying she couldn’t see or sense the plummeting depth of his worry. “It’s just deer tracks. Maybe Hanna heard a screeching owl. They can sound pretty heartrending sometimes.”

  The misdirection seemed to work. They shared a laugh at how Hanna often overreacted. John opened the back door, motioning for her to go before him. He followed her into the kitchen, where the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg embraced him. The afternoon promised to be as merry as the morning. As he closed the back door, he allowed one last glance toward the woods. There was still no sign of anything, but another breeze moved through the trees, awakening once more the now eerie sound of bones tapping against each other. John shuddered and locked the door. Despite several more hours of daylight, he closed the curtain and set the dead bolt. He wasn’t taking any chances.


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  ~~~~~~~~

  About the Author

  Aiden James has spent time as a real life paranormal investigator in Tennessee. In love with the legends and history of the Deep South, he and his wife, Fiona, share an old antebellum home with several ghosts. Please visit his website at: www.aidenjamesfiction.com. Or look for him on Facebook (Aiden James, Paranormal Author) and on Twitter (@AidenJames3).

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  Other Books Aiden James

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dragon Coin Excerpt

  The Raven Mocker Excerpt

  About the Authors