by Mark Tufo
THE UNSAINTLY
THE UNBORN
THE ANTI-GOD
They're coming soon
This book is dedicated to:
my beautiful family, my amazing friends, and my soulmate
to my father, step-father, and grandmother who aren’t here in the flesh to share this moment but are here. I feel you.
Without Depeche Mode, the hypnotic voices of David Gahan, Martin Gore, and the talent of composer Christopher Young, there would not have been a book at all. Their music inspired me, entranced me and kept my fingers possessed from the first page to the last.
Without Alan Daniels and his incredible imagery, this idea would’ve remained dormant within the dungeon of my mind. Thank you for being so gracious in allowing me to share your work, with the world when the second book makes its debut. I hope that it arouses all the emotions that it did for me.
Last but not least, for everyone that stood by me from day one, waiting for this book to be completed, who never gave up on me, and who laughed along with me even when the first edition came out hacked and mangled. You guys are true friends, fans, loved ones.
My special dedication shout outs:
My Bad Thing 2 – Mr. Paul McVay, the Lovely Heather McVay, Brandy Short, Brenda Campbell, Maureen Lanza, Justin Vasquez, Gypsy Jones, Kat Moore, Jason Barnard, Jesus Blancas, and Nina Haydon
Thank you for not only contributing emotionally but in other ways as well.
There are no words.
You can find out more about Lisa and her upcoming books by joining her at:
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Twitter is @unsaintly
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Author page is www.facebook.com/unsaintlyhalo
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GENERATION
EVIL
BY
ERIC A. SHELMAN
Generation Evil is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2011 Eric A. Shelman
ISBN 978-0-9849255-1-3
No part of this book may be reproduced in any format without the express written permission of Dolphin Moon Publishing and Eric A. Shelman
Cover Art By Jeffrey Kosh
PROLOGUE
Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, accused witches were being burned at the stake, pressed with weights, hanged, stretched, and otherwise tortured and murdered. While citizens looked on, both men, women, and in some cases, children, were brutally murdered in the name of ridding the world of witches and paganism.
Few of those executed were guilty of any crime; most were probably innocent and Christian. Some were Satanists, others were just senile. Many were grotesque in appearance or simply too beautiful for their own good, and others were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Those who truly possessed power were rarely apprehended by the witchfinders. Most “witches” raised families and held jobs, using their powers for the good, rather than to hurt or kill others. There were a choice few, however, who abused their power, just as many in high positions have done since the beginning of time.
This is the story of a witch such as that, and of the kind-hearted souls who followed him through time with only a slight hope of ever truly stopping him.
* * * * *
CHAPTER ONE
Andover, New England
April 1693
With a deep uneasiness in his heart, Galen studied each of the three as they waited for him to begin. They pulled their wraps and coats tighter around them but shivered nonetheless. It was bitter cold, Galen felt it too, but he would not light a fire to warm them.
The paths each of them had taken through the forest to get to the isolated cabin, tucked in the dense woods a mile west of Andover, were winding and unclear. Galen knew that even with that fact on their side, they could be intercepted as they departed. Smoke from a fire would be a beacon. If the discussion went as planned, they would not be there long.
“You know why we are here,” Galen said. “It has been delayed to the point that it has become dangerous.” He stood from the bench where he sat beside Katherine and paced, his worn leather boots covering over four feet with each footfall, the top of his head just inches from the seven foot ceiling. “Vickar’s activities draw Hornsby and his agents closer to us each day.”
“I’ve been questioned by the pockfaced bastard,” Elliot said. Pine needles and bits of brush poked from his jet-black hair from his trek through the heavy foliage. His dark brown eyes looked tired, but as sharp and focused as always.
“So has Katherine,” Galen said. “Margaret?”
“He wanted to know about Vickar,” Margaret said, her face worried. “He even spoke to my Jenny,” she said, her eyes narrowing to slits. “He’ll burst into flame before he puts my child through his tests—”
“Margaret,” Galen said. “We won’t allow that to happen.” He looked into her eyes, praying she saw his conviction.
Wisps of dark brown hair, streaked with premature silver, jutted from beneath her hooded cape. “Mr. Hornsby has seen Vickar speaking to me. I’ve told him never to approach me in public, but he defies me.”
Galen shook his head and pushed his dark brown hair away from his face. “Very little time remains before we are accused. Now all of you know I am an emissary of peace.” He looked at each of them as he spoke. “I abominate violence in any form, but what I have to say tonight may change your opinion of me—”
“Spit it out, Galen,” Elliot said. “We’re all thinking the same thing.”
“We ask him once to cease his activities, then we kill him if he refuses.”
Katherine stood, pulling her wrap tighter around her petite frame. “You and I have discussed this in confidence, Galen.” She rested against the wall of the secluded woodshed. “If there is only one thing to do to protect ourselves and our families, then no decision need be made.”
“Only the decision of when,” Elliot said. He looked to Margaret, Galen, and Katherine, his arms folded across his chest. “That is all.”
“Very well,” Galen said. “It must be done immediately. We must take action against Vickar tonight.”
Elliot looked directly at Galen. “Then we agree.”
“Tonight?” Margaret stood from her stool. “I scarcely got free of my husband and children for this hour. If I am to be present, I should not be able to do it tonight!” Her frantic green eyes darted back and forth between them.
Galen, Elliot, and Katherine looked at her and smiled, each of them. So petite of form, their Margaret, yet so powerful a witch when necessary. She could well have put her husband and children to sleep with a wave of her hand, yet she made excuses to leave them. It was typical of their sweet Margaret, sworn to the life of a mortal unless sickness required her magic. She was most purely a healer, but on the other side, she could cause death if a situation so called for it. Her threat to cause the witchfinder to burst into flame was not an idle one.
Galen approached Margaret, taking her hands in his larger ones, swallowing them as he towered over her. “Margaret, it must be done, and you know it well. For the sake of all our families, Vickar must be stopped and of course you will be there with us.”
“We must be one,” Katherine said. “You know it in your heart.”
Elliot dropped onto a bench in the tiny cabin and a smile touched his mouth as he spoke. “We shall attempt to persuade him to stop flaunting his powers as though his is the only life he risks. Then we can live our lives without fear, Margaret.”
“Even if Vickar does listen to us—and I don’t think he will—what of our ambitious witchfinder?” Margaret said. “Who shall prevent him from killing us in his own good time?”
Elliot chuckled. “I’m hoping Vickar laughs in our faces, Margaret. I long to put him in his grave.”
Galen turned toward Elliot and sighed. Elliot Stansfield Corey was a powerful witch. Not typically powerful, as with the use of spells or the ability to manipulate human actions; Elliot's power was over plants. He could make things grow at a highly accelerated rate, such as vines or grass or trees. His powers could protect and nurture, and that's how he used them. Corn or any other crop could grow tall in one evening, maturing into food for his family, but not if under the watchful eye of the witch finder or a nosy neighbor. This sort of activity would have him accused and convicted all at once, if noticed. And it would be noticed. Because of that, Elliot was careful. But Elliot, when angry, could also be foolish.
This was something Galen knew too well. He glared at Elliot and knelt down before Margaret and smiled, still squeezing her hands in his. The warmth made him not want to let go. “Now, Margaret. Hornsby is occupied with executing innocents, addressing accusations toward politicians and their wives. Most of them are examined and dismissed because the accused is in a position of power higher than his own. He’s not found a witch yet that I know of.”
“I say we forget the soft approach and just do away with him,” Elliot said.
Galen let go of Margaret’s hands and stood, looking down at Elliot. “You seem to think this is going to be easy, Elliot! Do you forget his power? That one or all of us could die this night? I suggest you give his abilities the consideration they deserve before it is made clear by Vickar himself!”
Katherine did not rise from her seat, nor did she move at all, but Galen turned toward her. They shared a spiritual bond making words unnecessary between them. As soon as their eyes met, she spoke. “We will kill Vickar tonight,” she said, brushing her light blonde hair back from her face, her pure blue eyes clear and focused. “He is evil and he will laugh in our faces, and we will kill him. As we must.”
“Elliot, show me your weapon,” Galen said. “Surely we have the knowledge to judge what would and would not kill a witch.”
* * * * *
The stately home was dark, but beyond the gloom of the window, a deeper shadow moved. It was Vickar. Darkness was his friend and he often spent hours alone, his mood growing as black as the magic he practiced.
Murdock Vickar sought power and wealth. He sought the deaths of his enemies. He achieved everything he sought through his sorcery.
Most feared Vickar, if only for his dark, piercing eyes and sullen, shadowed face. The power he had was not spoken of, yet all who encountered him recognized it. The only one who did not fear him was Hornsby, the witchfinder.
Galen was sure, watching the deeper shade of black pass back and forth beyond the window, that Hornsby would capture Vickar soon anyway, and though Vickar could, if he chose, end his own torture whenever he pleased, he would reveal Galen and the others for the pure joy it would give him. He knew they despised him.
“Give me the weapon,” Galen said. “As we agreed, I will do it.”
Elliot shook his head. “You’re a big man, Galen. If he struggles, you may need to hold him while I do it.”
Galen stared at him, then looked back at the window. “Very well. But await my word.”
Single file, they walked from the cover of the low bushes toward the finely built home on Kensington Street. The brickwork was exquisite, Vickar hiring only the best masons to build the fortress. Galen imagined hidden passageways, dungeons within. Such a befitting place for a man of Vickar’s impenitence. Galen stepped up to the huge wooden door and lifted the knocker. It dropped with a hollow thud, like the first clods of dirt on a newly lowered casket.
A moment later it opened and Vickar’s face appeared, the bloody whites of his eyes staring out of a gaunt face. “Ah, you’ve come. I expected you.”
“Then you know why we’ve come, Vickar.” Galen spoke. The others stood behind him.
“You’ll pardon me if I do not light a lamp,” Vickar said, stepping aside as he pulled the door open. “I enjoy the night, and see no reason to violate its purity.”
Galen stepped inside, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness. They would not be able to do what needed to be done in this pitch. “We need to have a discussion, Vickar. I would prefer some light if you wouldn’t mind.”
Murdock Vickar remained silent for a moment, staring at them.
He sees us perfectly in this darkness, thought Galen. He hoped the weapon beneath Elliot’s cape was not visible.
“Very well,” Vickar finally said. He walked off in the distance until he was invisible. Galen grew nervous until he saw the flame of a torch approaching. Vickar walked past them and touched the torch to readied wood stacked in the enormous fireplace around which the cold room was centered. As the flames grew, the room flickered into view.
The cavernous sitting room was devoid of chairs. The cobblestone floor, uneven and cold, reigned dominance. Vickar appeared perfectly content to stand and did not offer a seat to anyone.
“Thank you,” Galen said. “Now, the reason we’ve come.”
“To get me to stop, of course. You want me to stop being what I am.”
Vickar paced toward the fire, then turned back toward them, walking briskly. He wore a dark cape that buttoned around his neck. His hair was parted in the middle, pressed against his head with some kind of oil that Galen imagined he could smell. It made his stomach turn, but it might have been something entirely different that caused it.
“Unlike us, Margaret has a family, Mr. Vickar,” Elliot said. “Hornsby has spoken with her and her daughter, and they are rightfully frightened.”
“What does she have to fear from him,” laughed Vickar. “She could turn his head around a dozen times if she wished, then let it spin back.”
Margaret stepped forward. “I would never do that, Mr. Vickar! God gave me the healing powers I possess. To abuse them would be to serve Satan!”
“Ah, but some say you serve Satan merely by having them,” Vickar said.
“To the point, Vickar. Why don’t you fear Hornsby?”
“I own Gillett Hornsby!” Vickar said. “He thinks I’m an imbecile, that I don’t know he’s inquiring about me. Not only do I know, I encourage it. If he and his fools try to capture me, try to examine me—”
Katherine stepped forward, her face inches from Vickar’s. Galen watched the fire flicker in her intense green eyes, admiring her bravery and fearing for her at the same time. God how he loved her. They would be married in the spring. He took a step closer as she opened her mouth to speak.
“You will die, Murdock Vickar,” she said. “As surely as I stand here, you shall die at the hands of Gillett Hornsby. You know I See, and that is what I See.” She turned away from him and his mouth hung open in a half-smile. Suddenly, she stopped and turned to meet his gaze again. “I will watch and cheer if I am there when you are hung, Vickar. Hundreds of innocents dead at the hands of the witchfinder, but your one dark soul would justify them all.”
“Katherine!” shouted Galen. “Do not speak with such a tongue!” Katherine’s words frightened Galen, but not because she spoke them to Vickar. Because she did see, she was rarely wrong. She probably did not even realize the implications of her warning to him, but Galen did.
It meant they would fail tonight. Vickar would not fall by their hands. Galen longed to learn what else she saw, but there was no way to back out now.
Margaret stared, shocked.
“No, let her speak. I’ll let her know when I’ve had enough,” Vickar said, amusement on his face.
Galen wondered if Katherine really envisioned what she described. If so, it would come to pass. If only trying to get Vickar’s attention, she had succeeded.
“Hornsby himself will hold the torch or be under that hood,” Katherine said. “He’ll touch the flames to your pyre, or drop the floor from under you, and you should look for me then. I’ll be the one smiling in front.”
Vickar had stepped away from Katherine. He stood near the fire and picked up a poker. He stabbed at the sparking, popping wood, pushing the logs until
new flames reached toward the flue, as though stretching to escape Hell for the kingdom of Heaven. He turned his back on Katherine and put the poker back down, resting it against the stone hearth.
Galen breathed a sigh of relief.
But somehow when Vickar turned, the poker was still in his hand. Galen looked again at the hearth, but it was not there. What happened next was all too fast.
“Suffer you for your idle chatter of the future,” Vickar said, “when you should have no future beyond this night!” He lunged forward, jamming the poker through Katherine’s chest with a loud grunt of pleasure. The curved hook tore the wound wider as it pushed through, and Katherine’s precious blood spilled out onto her shawl in dark red ribbons.
Galen heard his own manic voice screaming, “No, you bastard! No!” He leapt at Vickar, whose face held a wicked smile even as Galen gripped his neck with all his strength and dragged him across the floor away from Katherine’s struggling body.
Margaret dropped to the floor and lay her hands over Katherine, but Galen focused on Vickar. With his evil power, he could overcome one man, even a fellow sorcerer, with little effort.