Shadow Land

by Adam J. Wright

  Shadow Land

  Harbinger P.I. Book 5

  Adam J Wright

  The Harbinger P.I. Series

  Lost Soul

  Buried Memory

  Dark Magic

  Dead Ground

  Shadow Land

  Copyright © 2018 by Adam J Wright

  To contact the author: adamjwright.author@gmail.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  The Harbinger P.I. Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  COMING SOON!

  Useful Links

  1

  I stood in my office, hands in my pockets, forehead resting on the cool glass of the window, looking down at Main Street. It was late morning and the sky was gray, an army of dark clouds marching toward Dearmont from the north. Last night, there had been heavy rain and the streets and buildings still glistened in the pale sunlight. Main Street was awash with rainwater that had formed pools where the storm drains were blocked with trash. Not a great day to re-open Harbinger P.I.

  After my trip to Canada and the events that had led to the death of the Lady of the Forest, I’d taken a week’s vacation, doing nothing more than staying at home, watching TV, eating junk food, and training in the basement to try and burn off the extra calories.

  On a couple of the mornings, I’d told myself I was going to drive into town and open up the office but hadn’t managed to actually do it. I’d driven into town one time but had walked past the office and gone straight into Dearmont Donuts, where I’d bought a dozen cream-filled, chocolate-covered pieces of heaven. Then, I’d driven back home and watched old movies with the open donut box on the sofa next to me, its contents disappearing bite by bite.

  I’d also spent hours inspecting the sword that hung in a cupboard in my basement.

  Excalibur was an exquisitely-crafted weapon, which made sense since it was a legendary sword that had supposedly been wielded by King Arthur. The blade’s smooth metal had an unearthly, steely glimmer no matter how poor the surrounding light. The cross-guard was made of gray steel and inscribed with Celtic knot-work that was so fine it could only be seen close-up. The delicate knots formed an infinite pattern of loops, whirls, and curves on the steel.

  The pommel was also of gray steel, set with a large ruby that captured the surrounding light in its crimson depths and reflected it in blood-colored flashes.

  Red and gold thread covered the grip, giving the sword a regal look. This was a weapon built for a king, a sword sung about by the bards of old, a symbol of righteousness since the Middle Ages, when kings led their armies into battle and knights rode on valiant quests.

  And now it was hanging in my basement.

  The Lady of the Lake had given me Excalibur so I could avenge the death of her sister, the Lady of the Forest. But all I’d done so far was sit on the sofa, eat chips, and watch TV. There was an evil organization out there somewhere, plotting to destroy society, and I was sitting on my ass watching Mr. Robot.

  That thought had finally brought me here to the office, despite the miserable weather and the fact that the place felt empty without Felicity. I’d told her to stay in England for as long as she wanted, but I had to admit—if only to myself—that the office felt lifeless without her presence.

  Turning my back to the window, I gazed out at the hallway where the door marked ASSISTANT remained closed.

  I caught myself sighing wistfully and immediately stopped myself. “Get a grip, Harbinger, she’ll be back soon.”

  It was time to get busy, find a case, do something to occupy my mind. Otherwise, I’d spiral into depression and find myself on the sofa again. I couldn’t let myself fall into that trap. There were too many things I needed to look into: the Midnight Cabal, my missing father, and any other cases that might come my way. Cases that would pay the rent.

  I realized I hadn’t checked the answering machine in Felicity’s office. There could be a dozen potential clients waiting for me to call them back about their preternatural problems.

  Yeah, right. There’d be maybe one or two potential clients, if I was lucky.

  I strode into Felicity’s office with a sense of renewed purpose and checked the digital readout on the machine.

  Zero.

  No messages. No cases. Nada.

  I sighed again but this time in frustration. Was there any point in me even being here?

  When the phone suddenly rang, the sound cut through the silence like an alarm. I jumped back reflexively and my hip connected with Felicity’s desk lamp, knocking it over. It fell off the desk and the bulb smashed, sending a thousand specks of glass skittering across the floor in every direction.

  “Shit,” I muttered as I picked up the phone.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice asked. “Is this Harbinger P.I?”

  “Yes, it is,” I said, trying to sound light and breezy. “How can I help you?”

  “I need you to find my missing child.” She sounded upset, her voice almost breaking when she said the last two words.

  “You need to call the police,” I said. “I’m not that sort of P.I.”

  “No, I know exactly what sort of P.I. you are, Mr. Harbinger. I’m calling you because my son has been taken. You probably saw it on the TV news. His name is Sammy Martin. He’s ten years old.”

  The news was something I’d avoided the last couple of weeks so I had no idea there was a child missing in Dearmont. But no matter how much I wanted to help, it was a job for the police, not a preternatural investigator.

  “I’d like to help, Mrs. Martin, but unless there’s some kind of paranormal element to your son’s disappearance, I really can’t get involved.”

  “He was taken by a monster,” she said matter-of-factly. “Is that paranormal enough for you? Nobody believes me but I saw it with my own eyes. It took Sammy and nobody will believe me. Please, Mr. Harbinger, I need your help.”

  “Call me Alec,” I said. “Give me your address and I’ll come over. You can explain everything when I get there.” I pulled Felicity’s message pad closer and grabbed a pen from the holder where she kept them. Everything was neat and tidy, like Felicity herself.

  “It’s 34 Smith Street. But before you come over, I was calling to find out about your rate. To be honest, I’m not sure I can afford you.”

  I wrote the address on the pad, along with the name Sammy Martin. I knew Smith Street. It was in a part of Dearmont where the houses were tired and run-down and the tenants were mostly surviving on welfare. “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I hung up the phone and crunched over the shattered glass as I left Felicity’s office.

  I could clean it up later. Right now, I had a client to see.

  2

  When I got to 34 Smith Street, the first thing I noticed was a line of four news trucks
parked on the road outside the house. I couldn’t see any reporters around at the moment but it looked like the disappearance of Sammy Martin was making headlines farther afield than our sleepy little town. As well as Maine license plates, I saw a “Live Free or Die” New Hampshire plate and one from Vermont, “Green Mountain State.”

  I parked the Land Rover behind the trucks and walked along the sidewalk to a gate that led to the Martin residence.

  The house was like most of the others in this part of town. Clapboard curled away from the walls, probably letting damp inside every time it rained. The paint job had seen better days and was flaking onto the lawn, attempting to escape the decrepit house it had once covered proudly.

  Despite the years of decay, though, it looked like the house was being cared for by its current occupants. The lawn was neatly cut and colorful flowers grew in regimented lines along its edge.

  Before I could knock on the front door, a woman’s voice called out from the other side. “Who is it?”

  “Alec Harbinger,” I said. “You called me about your son.”

  The door opened a crack and a dark-haired woman in her forties glanced at me and then at the trucks. She opened the door fully and ushered me inside. “Quickly,” she said, “before those vultures get back from their coffee break.”

  I stepped inside and she closed the door. The interior of the house was as neat as the yard but it was much gloomier in here because the drapes were drawn tightly across the windows.

  The lights were on but they threw out a pale, weak glow. There was a strong smell of coffee coming from the kitchen and a weaker, underlying smell of damp coming from the walls. The wallpaper, which looked like it had once been bright yellow, was peeling where it met the baseboard.

  I wondered if the dampness that seemed to be creeping through the house was affecting the wiring and making the lights burn more dimly than they would otherwise.

  Mrs. Martin noticed me looking at a bulb burning weakly overhead and said, “Those reporters out there all think I’m crazy. Hell, they’re probably right. I don’t know what I was thinking when I called you. I mean, Sammy can’t have been taken by a monster, can he? It isn’t possible. It isn’t…” Her words faded into quiet sobs. Her legs buckled slightly and she leaned against the wall.

  I put a hand gently on her shoulder. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I should do that.” She walked unsteadily into the living room, where two weak lamps and a flickering TV barely illuminated a couch and an easy chair. The TV was tuned to a news station, but the volume was turned low.

  Dropping heavily onto the couch, Mrs. Martin let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harbinger, I just feel so helpless. I called you because you’re my last resort.”

  “I usually am,” I said. “And it’s Alec. Why don’t I get you some coffee and then you can tell me what happened to Sammy?” I went into the kitchen where the window blinds were pulled down and the only light came from a desk lamp on top of the fridge. Was Mrs. Martin blocking the windows to stop the reporters peeking in or was something else going on here?

  The coffee maker was gurgling, dripping the last of the coffee into the pot. I opened the kitchen cupboards and found some mugs, including a Star Wars mug that I assumed belonged to Sammy. I took out a plain blue mug and poured a drink for Mrs. Martin before returning to the living room.

  She took it from me with a nod of thanks and sat with the steaming mug clutched in both hands, her eyes locked on it.

  I took the easy chair and asked, “Is there a reason the drapes are closed?”

  She looked up from the mug and stared at the curtains as if noticing them for the first time. “I have to keep them closed for Sammy. He has a photosensitive skin condition, he can’t stand the light. Daylight gives him hives and a sunburn, even on a cloudy day. He’s homeschooled so that means he can’t go to school with the other kids. He can only go out at night. He plays in the yard while I watch him from the porch.”

  Her eyes held a look of sorrow as she turned to face me. “I couldn’t even keep my son safe in our own yard. What kind of mother does that make me?”

  “Maybe you should tell me exactly what happened on the night your son disappeared,” I said.

  She swallowed and visibly steeled herself, taking a deep breath before she spoke. “Last night, Sammy wanted to go outside. He hates being stuck in the house all day so as soon as it gets dark, he wants to go outside. I told him to go ahead and play in the back yard where I could see him through the kitchen window while I waited for the coffee pot to fill up. I was going to take a cup outside with me.”

  Her gaze drifted down to the steaming mug in her hands. “I opened the blinds on the kitchen window and didn’t let him out of my sight. There’s a little jungle gym out there and he was playing on it in the dark. My sister bought it for him because he doesn’t get much exercise. Anyway, I was pouring my coffee and Sammy was swinging on the bars and climbing up and down the jungle gym when he got to the top and suddenly froze, staring into the bushes at the end of the yard. Like he’d heard something there, you know?”

  I nodded but didn’t say anything, letting her tell the story in her own way, at her own pace.

  “I thought maybe there was a wild animal in the bushes,” she continued. “There’s a stretch of waste ground just beyond the yard, and woods, so it could have been a coyote, or even a bear.” She paused for a moment and then said, “But it wasn’t either of those. It made a noise, a clicking, snuffling noise.”

  Again, I said nothing, giving her the space she needed to gather her thoughts.

  “It was a monster. It leaped out of the bushes and plucked Sammy from the top of the jungle gym. And as it moved, I could hear that clicking sound, like chattering teeth. I dropped my coffee and ran out the back door, screaming. But by the time I got out there, it had gone. It had taken my boy.”

  She bit her lip and held back her tears.

  “What did you do then?” I asked.

  “I chased it through the bushes and onto the waste ground back there. But it was moving too fast. By the time I fought my way through the bushes, it was already in the woods, with Sammy thrown over its shoulder. And he was screaming. My boy was screaming for me to save him. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t help him.”

  “What did this monster look like?”

  The tears she’d been holding back began to spill from her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. “You’ll probably think I’m crazy. The sheriff didn’t believe me and neither did the deputy he brought here. Those people out there from the TV, they don’t believe me. Why should you be different?”

  “In my line of business, I see a lot of things,” I told her. “If I told you about all of them, you’d probably think I was crazy.”

  She laughed lightly and then shrugged. “Oh, what the hell. What do I have to lose? If it gets my boy back, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “I just want to know the truth.”

  “The truth is, Mr. Harbinger, the thing that took Sammy wasn’t human. It had gray skin but skin isn’t really the right word. It was covered with scales.”

  “Like a snake?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “More like a fish. And it had a fin that ran down its back, also like a fish, I guess. And its face…its face was horrible.”

  I searched my memory for fish-like creatures from folklore. Mermen, merrows, mermaids, sea nymphs, and selkies came to mind. But none of those creatures could have abducted Sammy Martin because they were bound to the sea, if they even existed at all.

  The closest body of water to here was Dearmont Lake and that was freshwater. I tried to recall the lake creatures I’d heard about. Kelpies and naiads were the only ones I could remember. If Felicity were here, she’d probably be able to list off every lake creature ever documented.

  I’d never actually encountered any of these creatures nor did I know of any other P.I. who had because the aquatic races were notoriousl
y elusive. They usually shunned contact with humans.

  So why had one of them come inland to steal Sammy Martin from his back yard?

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Mrs. Martin asked.

  “I do,” I said. “I was just trying to figure out what type of creature it could be. You said it ran into the woods. Is there a body of water there? A stream or a pond? Maybe something that leads to the lake?”

  “I don’t know, I never go back there. The police have searched the area. If there was…anything to find…they’d have found it by now.”

  She’d thought I’d meant Sammy’s body might be there. I decided to take a look for myself before I upset Mrs. Martin further. I got out of the easy chair and said, “Can I take a look at the back yard?”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll take you out there.” She put her coffee down and got to her feet. She led me to the kitchen and opened the door that led out to the yard.

  I followed her outside, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day after being inside the gloomy house. The jungle gym sat in the center of the lawn, a dome constructed of metal bars that stood maybe seven feet high at its apex. Mrs. Martin had said the creature had plucked Sammy from the top, so the thing must have been tall.

  I climbed up and inspected the top of the dome, where Sammy had been sitting, to look for any clues such as a fish scale or a trace of slime but there was nothing there. Last night’s heavy rain had washed the bars and left them dripping wet.