The Ancient Order: A Bud Hutchins Supernatural Thriller (Bud Hutchins Supernatural Thrillers Book 1)

by JB Michaels

  Of course, you will have to get used to the eccentric Bud Hutchins to do that… please enjoy excerpts from the Bud Hutchins Supernatural Thrillers Series!

  The series featuring the Order of St. Michael

  AUTHOR’S NOTE ON “THE ORDER OF ST. MICHAEL” PLUS EXCERPT

  The idea for Bud Hutchins came from a desire to create a contrasting main character in a dramatically different series. Bud is quite different from the honorable and lovable Captain Brendan in my Tannenbaum Tailors series. Captain Brendan is a natural leader with humor and genuine heart and Bud is an eccentric, self-absorbed genius. They are very different in many ways but also similar where it counts.

  Bud speaks in a fake English accent and is a difficult person to be around, yet he is somehow magnetic, and I hope that you learn to root for him. My friend Tony suggested I write something completely different than the Christmas-themed action adventures of the Tailors. I took that suggestion to heart. I wanted to maintain the originality inherent in the Tailors series, so I brainstormed something off-beat that combined science fiction tech, ancient history, and supernatural thrills.

  My love of Universal Studio’s horror films also served as inspiration for the Order of St. Michael. You will find easter eggs and homages to those films with each subsequent book in the series. My grandparents were movie-lovers and introduced me to so many classic films and stories. I remember the day I graduated from kindergarten. My grandparents gave me action figures of the Wolf-Man, Dracula, and Frankenstein’s Monster. Every October we would watch the old films on cassette tapes. I even remember what drawer they stored the movies in!

  The gothic structures, the foggy atmosphere of the sets, and of course, the monsters continue to captivate me!

  I can go on and on, but I won’t.

  Please enjoy three chapters of one of my early works:

  1.MEET BUD

  The bloodied corpse lay a few feet away from the broken trunk of an old oak tree. The ground vibrated, the wind howled, blowing the last leaves off the mangled, tattered branches of the New England forest.

  "So terribly reminiscent of old horror films. And what is with these strange tremors? A minor earthquake, perhaps. I shall check geological data of the area. My work has been laid out for me, literally. Pun intended." Bud Hutchins knelt down, feeling the vibration of the earth steadily pulsing. He examined the victim.

  The corpse was an older male wearing a dark grey robe with a hood. Streaked with blood and torn from the force of the multiple stab wounds and a sliced jugular vein, this person met Death in gruesome fashion.

  "Stab wounds found near or in major arteries. Whoever stabbed this man, knows their way around a knife and human anatomy. Quite ostentatious. Judging from the amount of blood soaked into the robes and the ground, it is possible the murderer collected the blood. There should be a large amount pooled around the victim's neck."

  Leaves rustled behind Bud. He turned quickly and saw a hooded figure weaving in between the dense brush. Bud gave chase. The autumn leaves, blanketing the forest floor, smelled dank. The faster Bud moved, the stronger the scent. The hooded figure weaved in and out between oak and maple trees. With each pounding foot, leaves kicked up into Bud's face. He put his hands up as a shield. His long Burberry trench coat flapping behind him, might actually have slowed him down. He refused to take it off. Not that he was naked underneath. He felt the coat was necessary to fit the part of his new job.

  He gained on the hooded person. Bud took a flying leap and clipped the runaway's foot with his hand. Bud landed with a thud and lay sprawled on the forest floor. The hooded figure fell hard and narrowly missed a craggy fallen branch.

  "Ack!" Bud spit leaves out. There are downsides to having a big mouth. Room for more stuff to enter. Plus, his verbal vomit problems. It worked both ways.

  The hooded figure struggled to stand.

  "Oh no you don't! It is clear that I have successfully impeded your progress. In my keen observation, those who try to run have a legitimate reason to." Bud pinned the hooded figure down with his knee.

  "Let me go! Please! Please don't kill me!" A shrieking female voice burst forth.

  "I believe we have a misunderstanding. I did not murder anyone. Perhaps you did!" Bud said.

  "That was my uncle back there! I just called the cops. Who are you? There is no way the cops could have made it here this fast."

  "Ah yes, so you phoned it in." Bud turned the female over. Her face was pale and her eyes big and hazel. Striking.

  Police sirens approached.

  "Get off of me!"

  "Get off the girl, young man. Let us have her." Squeaky, raspy, voices filled their ears with dread.

  Bud looked up. Surrounding him as if they appeared from somewhere behind the trees were six haggard women, varying in age. Their tongues were hanging out. Their nails were craggy and overlong. One of the smaller figures giggled. The women closed in around Bud and the girl. Salivating and laughing.

  2. BUD TIME

  The girl struggled underneath Bud.

  "I shall return!" Bud yelled. He closed his eyes and pressed the button on his wristband. When Bud opened his eyes, he was back in front of his parents' house. He scrambled in his trench coat for his keys and fumbled them. The keys descended toward the ground. He intercepted them at his knee. He found the right key and opened the door. He ran down the front hall to his bedroom.

  Bud jumped towards his closet door and banged his head on the doorknob.

  "Shit! This is not going well!" Bud recovered, opened the closet door, and secured a blue canister. Bud stood up and pushed his wristband again.

  Bud was back in the forest. The haggard, partially bald, witches watched in amazement as Bud literally appeared in front of their eyes. They had closed in on the girl and Bud again.

  "You left me here with them! You just disappeared!" The girl scolded Bud.

  Bud didn't bother responding. He pulled a pin on the blue canister and threw it. Blue-grey smoke filled the air around them. He grabbed the girl's hand. The witches wretched hands clawed in blind desperation to capture the pair. Bud pushed one of the witches down with his free hand. This cleared the way out of the smoke and away from the horrid predators.

  "Keep running! Trust me! I will find you! There were, at least, two younger witches fit enough to give chase. I will hold them off," Bud said.

  "Okay!" The girl kept running.

  Bud hoped that the smoke canister provided enough cover that the witches would not know where to look.

  "Get your hands up!" A deep, gravelly, male voice sounded from behind Bud.

  "Don't move!" Bud felt the pat of hands from his armpits to his hips and lower. Bud remembered the girl saying she called the police. Bud lowered his head and sighed.

  3. ARRESTED PROCEDURE

  Bud observed the wooden paneled Salem Police Station and smirked at how quaint and peaceful it seemed. It was the size of a roadside diner, and was cramped with desks. His home town, Chicago, had many police stations all of which were much more crowded, not with desks, but with perps and cops busy making phone calls, filling out paperwork, following leads.

  Bud sat in a wooden chair. A beam of sunlight illuminated the dust in the air and created a spotlight on the desk in front of him. On the other side of the desk was Officer Hanks.

  "Maeve, the victim's niece saw you over her uncle's dead body earlier this afternoon. Why were you there?" Officer Hanks asked. His voice was deep perfect for the voiceover in a truck commercial.

  "Have you examined the contents of my wallet? I assure you. This will explain my presence over the corpse."

  "Listen kid, a wallet with a hokey P.I. license in it, doesn't count as an alibi. Why were you there?" Hanks said.

  "Hokey? I think not. My credentials are just as legitimate as the ones issued by your fine operation here in Salem."

  "Oh, so now, you are a city kid comparing us to your big city department. I assure you, you punk kid, that we here in Salem, have just as much
power as the law in Chicago."

  Bud had played his hand wonderfully, preyed upon Hanks's insecurities. Rural vs Urban. Small town vs Big City sometimes worked in these situations. Bud knew he should stop toying with Officer Hanks and answer his question but he would not believe the truthful answer. Misdirection and non-answers seemed the right course of action.

  "I never said anything of the sort, Officer. Have you determined the time the murder occurred? By my estimation, since some of the blood surrounding the body had soaked into the ground, the act of murder had to have occurred at least five to six hours before the niece saw me examining the body."

  Officer Hanks knew who led the conversation. He had allowed his emotions to negate any power he had in the interrogation. Hanks slammed his hands down on the desk, pushed his chair back with his long arms, and left the room. Bud heard a muffled, "Keep that smarmy little shit in there overnight. What is with that fake British accent anyway?"

  Bud got lucky. Hanks was in a bad mood or just didn't feel like dealing with a murder investigation. There had been few murders here in Salem, since the Salem Witch Trials of 1692. Twenty people were killed in a matter of months over a terrible example of greed, theocratic principles, and hysteria. Since then this town had been peaceful.

  The beam of light through the window had dimmed, the sun was going down. The fall evening's crisp wind bit the air and rattled the leaves of the maple tree's outside of the interrogation room. Three hours had passed since Hanks talked with Bud. Bud's behind ached. His boredom intensified. A young man of his intellect needed almost constant stimulation. Bud stayed strong knowing that 'freezing' the suspect was a classic technique. Boring the person into talking, or keeping them awake for long periods of time worked in many cases of those with weak minds. Bud's mind displayed no signs of weakness.

  Three more hours dragged on in the police station. By now, whoever killed the niece's uncle was long gone. The evening set in. Bright fluorescent bulbs buzzed over Bud's head. Still no Hanks. Bud could easily leave at any given moment except his belongings were here. Hanks secured the handcuffs over Bud's wristband. Bud just needed to adjust the cuffs to press the button. Bud looked to see if any officers were coming when he heard the niece Maeve's voice.

  "Please officer, let him go. He is my friend. He was helping me."

  "I understand that but…" Hanks response was cut short by the lights going out. The computer monitors stayed on for a few seconds then sparked off.

  "Everybody stay calm. Just a power outage is all," Hanks said.

  A young beat officer looked through the blinds, "Uh, the street lights are on as well as every other building on Main."

  Bud suspected that witches of Salem were on the hunt. He shook the hand cuffs and his wristband showed. Bud used his chin to press the wristband.

  Hanks stood in the doorway. His head cocked to the side. He looked like a bird had possessed him. He could not believe his eyes. Bud Hutchins had disappeared. Vanished in front of his eyes. How could this be? There had to be an explanation. Whatever the case, he hoped Bud would come back to help to make sense of the situation. Hanks saw what he thought were witches break through the perimeter fence of the department parking lot. As much as Bud was a pain in the ass, his intelligence and wit were apparent.

  A tinny, screeching rake from the roof signaled the witches presence. A cackling coven circled in for the kill.

  Bud Hutchins scoured his closet for a weapon. Anything that might help in the situation. His old baseball bat leaned up against the back wall of his messy, funky-smelling closet. He grabbed it.

  "This should make the jump with me as will this." He grabbed an old hockey stick

  "Bert get me out of these cuffs," Bud said.

  "Yes, sir." A teenager, similar to Bud, used a key to detach the cuffs.

  "Thank you. Goodbye." Bud vanished from the closet.

  Officer Hanks unlocked the gun cabinet in the locker room. He pulled a pump shotgun and loaded four rounds. He would have loaded more but his nerves were too rattled. Hanks stood in the next to the cage where they held the girl for interrogation. He pulled down the pump handle and readied a round in the barrel.

  The tinny raking sound settled into a thumping bass. The witches trampled on the roof for fun to scare and intimidate the buildings occupants before entering. Hanks looked up with the butt of the shotgun pressed to his shoulder. Sweat beaded down his tired face.

  "Make them stop!" Maeve covered her ears.

  "I don't believe we can manage to make them cease, but we can make them shriek even moreso." Bud Hutchins appeared. He held his hockey stick and bat together to from a cross.

  "How the hell did you get back here?" Hanks said, letting the shotgun rest.

  "Never mind that. We had all better make it to an automobile on the double quick." Bud moved towards the front door of the police station, holding his makeshift cross up to eye level.

  "Is your motorcar near the front of the building?" Bud asked.

  "Yes, it is right outside. But how are we gonna make it out there with these crazy people attacking us? You planning on hitting them with your sports equipment?" Hanks asked.

  "Not so savage as to hit but repel."

  "Are they frickin' witch vampires or something?" Hanks asked.

  The sound of glass shattering and smattering across the floor in the interrogation room behind them caused Hanks to flinch and fire two rounds. He shattered the door lock.

  "It would have been wise not to help them." Bud motioned towards Maeve to follow him. Hanks brought up the rear as Maeve and Bud opened the front door. The street lights flickered. The brisk fall evening air caused Bud a slight shiver. He held his makeshift cross high in front of him. The witches were nowhere to be found. The cackling, thumping, scratching that resonated inside the police department now seemed imaginary.

  "I got the keys right here." Hanks tossed them to Maeve. He held the shotgun steady.

  "I just got my permit. I don't feel comfortable doing this!"

  "Hutchins, you drive then. I am the only one who can shoot!" Hanks yelled.

  "I don't drive motorcars. They are extremely inefficient and drain the world's resources."

  "Holy hell! Seriously?"

  A witch busted through the entrance and out onto the sidewalk. Hanks shot a round hitting the witch flush in the chest. She flew back inside the station like a rag doll.

  "Your driving experience Maeve, though limited, might lend itself greatly to our escape," Bud said.

  "Shit. Oh God!" Maeve made her way to the driver door of the squad car. The nearest light post flickered. A squeaking sound as if someone was sliding down it caused Maeve to fumble the keys. In between yellow flashes and mild darkness, Maeve searched for the keys on the street. She found them next to the front wheel. She stood up and glowing green eyes and frizzed hair met her gaze. A long tongue slithered from a mouth from which a foul odor emanated.

  Bud pushed Maeve back towards the trunk of the car. He gripped his bat and stick displaying the cross. The witch cowered. Bud stepped forward. The witch contorted her elbow behind her head. Bud took another step. The witch ran, twitching.

  "Now might be the opportune moment," Bud said.

  Maeve opened the driver door, hopped in, and started the car.

  Hanks took the back seat, unrolled the window, set the shotgun on the passenger window frame. Bud sat in the front.

  "Where we going?" Maeve jerked the car out of park.

  "County," Hanks answered.

  “The Elixir”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE ON “THE ELIXIR”

  The sequel to the Order, is both a love letter to Chicago and archaeology. The actual plot of the Elixir was not supposed to be attached to Bud Hutchins at all. For a year, I worked with a prominent museum in Chicago and pitched the idea for a book set in the museum. The pitch worked but the terms of the deal were not favorable, so it fell through. Alas, the idea for an Elixir of the Ancients remained thus, “The Elixir: A Bud Hutchins Supernat
ural Thriller” was written.

  The adage to write what you know works here. I wanted to set the events of the book in Bud and I’s hometown of Chicago. There are many landmarks, neighborhoods, and icons of the city used within the pages of the book. I then looked at what supernatural and historical legends I could use as well. Some famous legends include, Al Capone-the notorious king of Prohibition, Resurrection Mary-Chicago’s own hitchhiking ghost, and mummies from the world-class museums the city has to offer.

  There are also the threaded connections to “The Order” with Universal and Victorian horror in the book as well. Bud, Bert, and Maeve go through even more intense trials this time around. The new characters of Ivy Zheng and Padre Martinez further deepen the lore and also diversify the characters. The series starts to come into its own with this entry I feel.

  Here is an excerpt of “The Elixir”:

  GHOULISH GALLERY

  “I shall go into the gallery first then I will activate your wristband.”

  Bud pulled back his black leather sleeve to reveal a similar band to the one Bud had just given Ivy. He suddenly disappeared. She was listening to the guards clearing the various offices upstairs when she realized that she was no longer in the lobby but in the gallery. She turned around to see the lights of the lobby through the glass double doors of the interior of the Babylonian gallery. Her nerves were rattled. She was shaking from the sudden shift through space she had experienced. Adrenaline pumped through her veins at a quickening pace and her heart pounded.

  “You are officially the first student of Chicago Met to have teleported. Certainly, there must be no equal to that distinction in the annals of this great institution. Now gather yourself. We must find Ms. Tricia Pazinski’s murderer.”