Advance Praise for Warlock
“What an entertaining read, just perfect to read during your free time, especially when you’re alone. Face your fears head on, as I have, reading my first horror novel, and enter the world of darkness vs. the light. In fact I see this being made into a movie. Warning: If you’re not into this kind of evil, rituals, and darkness then this book is not for you.”
- Gina Cianfarani – Publisher & Brand Influencer
“Hannibal Lecter has nothing on Rudolf Schönherr. Vickram’s debut novel, WARLOCK, is a compelling, yet timeless story of good vs. evil, the supernatural vs. the natural that will keep readers up into the wee hours of the night turning pages until they reach the story’s satisfyingly riveting conclusion!”
-Alan Nayes - Bestselling author of the Resurrection Trilogy
“One area where Vickram is fully in his power as a sorcerer is in the ability to tell a story and weave a narrative that is both gripping and entertaining. If that be witchcraft, then in that he can be relied upon to perform his magic.”
- Timothy Watson – Filmmaker & Shakespearian Playwright
“A highly-anticipated debut novel from a fresh voice!”
- Vikram Madan – Seattle-based Painter and Mural Artist
“Warlock is a fascinating supernatural horror novel. Amazingly fast paced and a must read novel in single sitting. It's a definite read.”
- Amit Khan – Filmmaker, Director, Bestselling Author
-Vickram E. Diwan
Warlock (Fiction)
© 2018 Vickram E. Diwan
SPB Book no- 50
First Edition (September 2018)
Cover Design: Shahnawaz Khan
All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author
Printed by:
Replika Press Pvt. Ltd.
Sonipat, Haryana
Published by-
Literati books
(a subsidiary of Sooraj Pocket Books)
Thane, Maharashtra
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental
LIST OF CONTENTS
ADVANCE PRAISE
TITLE
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
QUOTES
PROLOGUE
Volume 1: THE CIRCUS
CHAPTER 1: THE CELEBRITY & THE SERIAL KILLER
CHAPTER 2: THE ACTRESS AND THE SUITOR
CHAPTER 3: THE CAPTIVE GIRL
CHAPTER 4: THE GOLDEN-HEARTED MAN & THE STARRY-EYED GIRL
CHAPTER 5: RAISING A CORPSE
CHAPTER 6: THE MAN WITH TWO FACES
CHAPTER 7: THE SATAN’S COVE & HUMAN SACRIFICE
CHAPTER 8: THE HUNT & ESCAPE
Volume 2: THE NEMESIS
CHAPTER 9: THE INVESTIGATION
CHAPTER 10: THE LUCKY ESCAPE
CHAPTER 11: THE OLD SOLIDER
CHAPTER 12: THE ROOTS OF EVIL & THE ACQUITTAL
CHAPTER 13: THE IMPENDING STORM
Dedicated with great devotion to Srinathji for his blessings.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Dear readers,
There are various people who have contributed to my journey as a writer and who have made it possible for me to share this book with you.
Toronto
Gina Caraffanti is like a Godmother. She gave me first break and published my short stories in her publication’s anthologies. She is also my lucky charm and her constant support and encouragement is one my strengths.
Timothy Watson always encouraged me and advised me to never stop believing.
Orange County, California
Alan Nayes is a bestselling author and a dear friend; his critiquing and comments helped make the book better.
Mumbai
Anadi Subhanand is an Author, publisher and mentor extraordinary. His trust in my abilities as an author helped me publish this book. He is the man who turned my lifelong dream into a reality and I will always be grateful to him for that.
Dr. Runjhun Subhanand is an accomplished Author, qualified Dentist and a guide. Her expert editing helped give the book its final shape.
Amit Khan is a bestselling Author, screenplay writer and Director. His guidance, encouragement and support were the corner stone of my journey to the publication of this book.
Delhi
Aditya Vats is a like a brother; he encouraged me and guided me throughout the publication of this book. A mere ‘Thank you’ will be insufficient to acknowledge his contribution.
Hyderabad
Mithilesh Gupta is an accomplished writer, editor, dancer, actor, mimic and a dear friend. His constant ‘pep-talk’ and insights helped me during the gloomiest of my writing days.
Bareilly
Shahnawaz Khan made superb cover of the book and help capture the soul of the book. It was he who helped shape my thoughts and words and achieve an artistic beauty.
Last but not the least I want to thank my parents for the lessons of struggle and never giving up in life that they taught me. Finally, I would like to acknowledge the constant support and belief of my better half Shweta, who believed in me when no one else did, and who was my only companion in my long & lonely years of struggle and obscurity.
Do not be deceived; God is not mocked,
For whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.
Galatians 6.7
First, Moloch, horrid King, besmeared with blood
Of human sacrifice, and parents’ tears;
Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud,
Their children’s cries unheard that passed through fire
To his grim idol.
Paradise Lost - Milton
VOLUME – 1
THE CIRCUS
PROLOGUE
I am a two-month-old child about to be sacrificed by an evil black magician. I can make some sense of my surroundings only when the memories of my past births come to me; usually in times of danger. I was told that these memories would fade with time and that I can start a new life with a clean slate.
I do not know how I have reached this wilderness. I can sense the bushes and thorns beneath the cloth that has been wrapped around me. Above me is the dark sky of new moon and facing me is the still water of a lake. I am crying... but my mother is not here to take me in her protective embrace or feed me. I feel so hungry, thirsty...and also fearful. I hope some medium, clairvoyant or telepath can hear my thoughts, if not my cries.
I overheard the tall man in the black robe with a hood speak - “Alexa, play ‘The Coven’ by Peter Gundry”. After which a haunting piece of music started to play on the voice-controlled ‘smart-speaker’ kept near the bank of the lake. The man wearing a Golden mask went into the lake. Standing in waist-high water, he chanted a mantra for several minutes. A ball of fire appeared from nowhere and started to dance around his head. Without a warning, he let himself be submerged in the water. Bubbles came up to the surface for a short while before which the water was still again. With a whoosh sound, the mysterious ball of fire went away.
I can sense ghoulish and demonic figures lurking in the vicinit
y from the corner of my tiny eyes. I want to shout and alert my mother so that she will nestle me in her protective bosom. I can no longer hear my crying, I only sense the cold numbness on my nose and the wetness around my genitals.
The music is reaching a feverish tempo and behold, splashing water of the lake, with a whoosh sound the evil man emerges. His eyes are closed in ecstasy and his hands are outstretched. He has risen from the depths of the water and is rising in the sky...higher and higher...can he fly?
I hate Tantriks! They are the worst of all creatures that Nature has created. I would never want to be reborn as a Tantrik. And this evil man will have to pay for his sins. He is carrying a helpless child to a sacrificial altar. No child deserves to be beheaded; to serve an evil Tantrik in his pursuits of black-magic powers. I will not forgive this Tantrik and will come back to haunt him. For now, I can only look out with tearful and helpless eyes as he sharpens the blade of his sacrificial sword on a rough black stone.
I am in a glass pyramid that is open at the top; the cone of the pyramid is missing. The sacrificial fire has been lit and in the flickering light, the demonic idol with the head of a dog or fox over a half animal & half human torso is visible. The smoke of looban, animal flesh, bones and bodily fluids is suffocating. The mantra (magic-spell) that he is chanting is raising demonic and ghoulish powers from their slumber. Soon it will all be over. But I wonder, why I had to be reborn if I had to die so early, and in this gristly manner?
Oh, evil Tantrik; I curse thee! May you rot in hell forever!
Warlock
CHAPTER 1: THE CELEBRITY& THE SERIAL KILLER
The German Embassy in New Delhi was lit up like a Christmas-tree. It was the venue for a star-studded Bollywood night that broke the drabness of the chilly winter night. The biggest attraction of the night was the performance by the reigning Bollywood Diva and her companion, the famous choreographer Rudolf Schönherr – who set the stage on fire with their passionate dance with synchronised moves. Much to the delight of the assembled crème de la crème of diplomats, business tycoons, top politicians, bureaucrats and film stars from both Delhi and Mumbai.
The gala charity-event for the benefit of underprivileged slum-children was the brainchild of Rudolf Schönherr, a German expatriate and his close friend Erick Jöllenbeck, the German cultural attaché. The thunderous applause of the audience to the magnificent performance of the Bollywood heartthrob was followed by the ballroom dance, while the guests were served with the famed German beer Weihenstephan Hefe Weissbieralong with delicacies like Wiener Wuerstchen, Spritzkuchen, Albondigas meatballs and Pepper Cream, Berlin Doner Kebabs and Chorizo & Mushroom Tapas on Whole Grain Bread. Enjoying the German hospitality, the guests mingled with each other in the secluded environs of the embassy.
The man of the moment, Rudolf Schönherr, was a tall, lean man with a broad forehead, a receding hairline, and piercing blue eyes. He had a Roman nose, square jaw, powerful biceps and long fingers. He spoke with a nasal voice and had a charismatic personality. A globetrotter, he kept a busy appointment-book, with performances at global dance competitions, world tours of top singers, and Bollywood shows throughout the year. After his stage performance, he had changed into a black Eidos Napoli suit and was wearing an Aqua Di Gio Profumo – Giorgio Armani (Eau De Parfum). His leather belt was prohibitively expensive as were his crocodile skin shoes, and Tag Heuer wrist-watch. He had the bearing of a Nordic Prince and with his sense of style and mannerism he could have been easily accepted as the European version of James Bond. The only jarring note was an expensive diamond pin in his left earlobe and a half visible tattoo on his collarbone that broke the mould of conventional looks and presentation.
“I have never seen a muscle man dance so gracefully,” said a middle-aged woman with auburn hair, wearing a pink chiffon sari with low cut blouse confronting Rudolf Schönherr. “Most of the dancers and choreographers are outright sissy!”
“Do I know you?” asked Rudolf Schönherr who was talking to Norway’s female Ambassador at that time.
“You will...if you want!” she said looking him in the eye.
“You do enjoy your drinks; don't you?” Turning to the career-diplomat dressed in a gray skirt and purple top he added, “Please excuse me, Madam Ambassador, I will catch up with you later,”
“Wait! Give me your number before you leave! Goddamnit, where are you going! Looks like even you foreigners get the non-performing bug, when you come here,” the woman said disapprovingly. She turned at the Caucasian woman standing near her and added, “What is your experience with men, sister?”
“Ah, Rudolf, my friend; come, I will introduce you to his Excellency, the Ambassador, and his wife,” said Eric as he got hold of the choreographer.
“We do appreciate your charity work, Mr. Schönherr,” said the German ambassador, when Eric formally presented his friend to him.
“This is the least I can do for the children who are less fortunate than us. I must thank you Mr. Ambassador and to Eric for allowing us to use the embassy building for this. If you allow, I would request for the privilege, to have your lovely wife accompany me to a local orphanage next month.”
“What do you have in mind, Herr Schönherr?” asked the Ambassador’s wife, a blonde woman with piercing deep blue eyes.
“We plan to gift artificial limbs, the Jodhpur-foot or artificial limbs to the needy children at the orphanage. We will also present a cheque for the funds collected today, which will help us sponsor the education and lodging of at least 500 kids for a few months.”
“That is very noble of you, Rudolf Schönherr; I will ask my secretary to get in touch with you for the details of the visit. And now if you will please excuse us...enjoy your evening,” she replied.
“I will Frau Hofmeister, he said with a slight bow of his head as the diplomat couple went away to greet other guests.
Rudolf spent the next few hours networking with Bollywood Who's Who and exchanging greetings with his high-society friends and acquaintances. Women were openly swooning over him but Rudolf was always respectful and restrained in his interactions. So much so that some women bitched that he was a racist and preferred the company of his ‘Gaura’ (white) community than Indian femme fatale, or speculated that he was either Gay or impotent. But oblivious to criticisms of women and jealousies of men, Rudolf Schönherr spend the rest of the evening increasing his circle of friends and admirers and extracting promises of active participation in the various charitable events he had planned in the coming months. Alongside, he also finalised his forthcoming appearance on a popular FM show, a Facebook Live event, two newspaper interviews and the production of a small TV news report on the activities of an NGO associated with slum children that he actively supported. After which he called it a night and exchanging greetings with the guests, left the embassy for his bungalow in Vasant Vihar.
While Rudolf Schönherr was cruising in his Toyota Land Cruiser Prado towards his bungalow; a few kilometers away, Inspector Uday Thakur was doing his rostered night-shift with his assistant, A.S.I Bishnoi, in a nondescript room in the Tuglakabad Police Station. Inspector Thakur was a 41-year-old man with a thick moustache, heavyset jaw and the body of a wrestler. His physical features hid an incisive, articulate and analytical mind, which had won him much respect and accolades in his profession. In his 14 years with the Crime Branch of Delhi Police, he had cracked many difficult cases; more with his knack for tiresome, patient investigation of the available facts than with reckless bravado. He was jokingly called in the in-house ‘Sherlock Holmes’ of the Crime Branch, ever since his two-year stint at the Scotland Yard, through a pilot officer-exchange programme.
Ever since his return from England, he had taken a fancy for all things British and had become a devout follower of the English style of working. Brits were the most respectful, fair, efficient, hardworking, and dedicated people – he had become convinced – and when one saw them at work, one realised how they had been able to establish an empire so vast that Sun neve
r set in it. Ever since his stint abroad, Uday had become the blue-eyed boy of the top brass of the city police; the model-inspector, whose example needed to be emulated if the force was to modernize and adapt to the new and rapidly changing environment. With the success rate of over 60%, he had become the first choice for handling all difficult cases, from cyber-crimes to high-profile cases in which rich, famous or influential people were involved.
“Bishnoi, we are we not making any progress in the Sushmitha murder case? Why can’t our informers help us find any leads?”
“Thakur Sa’ab, they are all clueless as it was not a contract killing,” Bishnoi replied.
“But there must be a criminal involved; her autopsy report shows that she was brutally raped before her murder. Only a habitual criminal or a gang can do such an atrocious act.”
“Saabji, these days even college chokras(kids) do all kind of bad things, “Bishnoi opined. We should explore that as well,” he said as he poured whiskey into two glasses. They both clinked their glasses; Inspector Thakur dipped his finger to pick up a non-existent particle from the surface of the yellow liquid, sprinkled away the drop from his finger and drank a small sip and took a mouthful of peanuts from the open packet kept on the table.”
“I have given order for chicken lollipop and fish fry; okay with you Thakur Saab?”
“Yes, Bishnoi. I wonder, how a simple case has become so complicated? Ordinary cases are the toughest to crack.”
While his assistant busied himself refilling his glass, Inspector Thakur loosed his belt, leaned back in this chair and closing his eyes tried to remember or arrange the details of the case yet again in his mind. Two months earlier, the dead body of a young fashion designer was found in a ditch in Mehrauli area. The body was badly mutilated and was bitten at many places by stray dogs and rats. She was wearing a half torn red petticoat without underwear and her chest was naked. The autopsy report revealed that she had been brutally raped and had died at least 5-7 days earlier. The ligatures mark on her neck and the crack in her neck bone revealed that she had died of asphyxia. In all probability, she had been hanged or strangled with a nylon rope, whose traces were extracted from the skin of the neck and could be seen through a microscope. Further investigation revealed that she had been reported missing by her parents 6 days earlier. Her mobile was missing and her abandoned car was also found in Mehrauli area. The last known location of her mobile before it was switched off was the same place, where the car was found. In the previous two months, the case had been shifted from Mehrauli Police station to Crime Branch and there was zero progress and zero clues except for the mobile call records and autopsy report. The interview of dozens of her friends, acquaintances, family members, known criminals of the area and of NCR and the pressure on police informers had revealed nothing.
Warlock Page 1