The Elms Chronicles - A Deeper Well (Book One)

By Ken Lehnig

During a visit to her parents, Dr. Kendra Evans encounters the restless ghost of a young girl who has been raped and murdered. Kendra's visions allow Sheriff Tom Wade to discover the grave of the victim, starting him on a dark and perilous journey. But Kendra's visions are just the beginning. The young man who has committed the despicable crime is being transformed into something dark and deadly, and Kendra senses that she is mysteriously and inextricably connected to him. She must find this creature and stop him, and she is joined by her parents, a former boyfriend, a waitress, and a group of strangers, on her march toward confrontation. The final battle will be in two worlds: The Elms, a newly renovated and haunted Mississippi Plantation, and a parallel realm where the Beast resides, an ancient creature seeking a way back into this world.

Strong PG14 some sexual content relevant to the story, violence, language

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Lehnig
• Release date: Feb 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452429663

Ken Lehnig

Ken Lehnig lives in San Diego and is a long-time singer/songwriter, producer musician, poet, author and podcast host for Creatives with Ken Lehnig on Spotify, Breaker, and Goggle Podcasts. Ken's music is on Spotify and most music sites."I have always been interested in the dark at the edge of the light. The reality of the light and dark reality is both in the lit physical world as well as the more dimly lit world of our psyche's. What inhabits that place? What do we do when all that we know is not enough to explain what appears before us?I suppose the relationship between the dark and the light was solidified when I acquired a life-threatening auto-immune disease that introduced me to unbearable pain and put me in a wheelchair for 4 years. Most of the short stories and poems in my books were written during that time. I have looked long and well into the dark, clear that it was to me my destination and have recovered and remain to be a Creative."

Book preview

The Elms Chronicles

Book One

A Deeper well

By

Ken Lehnig

* * * * *

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Deep Dry Dark Publishing

Cover by David Dodds

Illustrations by Ken Lehnig

Copyright © 2011 & 2020 by Ken Lehnig

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Book cover by Ken Lehnig

♦♦♦

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A DEEPER WELL

1. DISCOVERY

2. DIRE VISION

3. MATTERS

4. SYNCHRONISITY

5. MASKS

6. PERCEPTIONS

7. PREDICAMENT

8. CHAMBERS

9. RESPITE

10. MALICE

11. EXPOSURE

12. INTERSECTION

13. ON THE CUSP

14. REVELATION

15. STRANGENESS

16. PREPERATION

About the Author

***

A Deeper Well

Am I smaller than the challenge?

Will there be arrows in midstream?

Or dire thoughts and tales to tell

Of the darkness in my dreams

I may shrink before the tower

Or bravely rise at morn’s first bell

Will I fight what I cannot see

Or fail just as the darkness fell

My life may yet be splendid

I may pass life’s every test

Accepting every award I'm due

But dreading my eternal rest

But I’m a poet and contrary

Writing what others only feel

Shadows and ropy musings

On wounds that never heal

There must be other dreamers

To share this different way

Ones to walk along with me

And sing to each fading day

Or those drone to drag me down

All tongues that wag and bend

Saying heaven doesn’t care

There’s no sin you need defend

Will I bend to raging storms?

Those that howl to bar my way

When I - hard driven down,

Will God hear the words I pray?

I know there is a better world

Though true - no reason can I tell

Feelings may be truer things

The stuff of a far deeper well

Chapter 1 Discovery

Human experience is not measurable. It is a complex mix of connected memories, similarities, conclusions, images, sounds, urges, feelings, and fears, layered, and layered, one upon the other. Just when we think we are clever enough to quantify thought, interfering ghosts haunt us, whispering to our deepest mind imparting their diverse experiences down the ages through the very fabric of our blood.

‘The Intangible World’ Kendra Evans

KENDRA

Kendra Evans was exhausted. Two hours on the tarmac at JFK, stuck overnight in a snowbound Denver airport, taxi ride to three different hotels, all just the topping on the cake of a tiresome and uneventful investigation. The freezing rain in New York and an unexpected snowstorm in Colorado, in the second week of April, had her think that the universe had somehow lined up against her. Her thoughts shifted from being irritated to being philosophical.

It was these times that made we humans know just how attached we are to the artificial order we have created, in a wildly indifferent natural world. She mumbled and took out a note pad to write down what she said.

The taxi driver nodded his agreement in the rear-view mirror. Are you writin’ a book? Are you famous or sumptin’?

She smiled at the dark inquisitive eyes in the mirror. Yes, I write books that no one reads.

Then why write em?

That’s a good question. The driver, apparently satisfied with the answer, shrugged and Kendra looked out the window at the falling snow. She focused on one flake that seemed to be about to rest on the window, but suddenly flew away from the car. Just like my life, I knew where I wanted it to land but … then puff - I am cast adrift in the wind. She whispered after the disappeared snowflake.

Ain’t that the truth? We are here!

The Taxi pulled up in front of a Holiday Inn. The driver got out and pulled her bag out of the trunk. As Kendra paid him the driver turned to her, looked around in a conspiratorial manner, and whispered. The thing about life is that it is often affected by unseen elements. Some might say destiny! Me I call it opportunity. You have to be open to what God creates for you – even if you don’t believe in God, he believes in you. He nodded and turned to get in his cab.

Kendra smiled at the wisdom of it. Maybe you should write a book.

The driver smiled and got in the cab; he scooted across the seat and rolled down the window. No, Dr. Kendra, you write the books …my job is to meet wonderful folks like you.

Kendra, wondering how he knew her name, watched the cab drive away.

***

She got a room, a reasonably good night’s sleep, and a flight home the next morning.

The trip and the investigation went well, as far as that goes, but the investigation was uninteresting, and uneventful. Doing paranormal work was hit and misses, at best; so many variables made the work difficult, frustrating, and the bane of mainstream science. There were no personal experiences in this excursion and she doubted if they captured any other evidence on their equipment. Her expectations were higher, given that it was an extensive remodel and renovations have been known to increase paranormal activity. The old congregational church in upper state New York was not, as far as she could tell, haunted. Kendra thought that it was a testament to good Christian folk to go on to their reward and not be a bother, by sticking around, drawing the attention of the living, and the ghost-hunting Investigators that would surely follow. She smiled thinking of a churchwoman she knew as a child. Mrs. Duncan would be one to stick around; being a busybody, her ghost would not have trusted a soul to the current matters of her church.

As to the church, she and her team had just investigated; the owners had more than likely spread the rumors themselves, with the intention of creating publicity. Now they could open the trendy new nightclub with all the ghostly fanfare they could hope for. It bothered her to take their money. It made her feel grimy and a fraud. Somehow, to something Pilgrim-like in her, it seemed wrong to convert a church into a nightclub. Most of the paranormal work she did was gratis and done to help frightened homeowners. The financial gain was to be in books and films. But this Church/Dinner/Bar investigation was for a Development Group and they insisted that she be paid, with the stipulation that they could use her group for limited publicity purposes. Why she took the assignment, heaven knows. She was used and paid well for her part in the apparent hoax. It was clearly necessary that she should take some time now to look at the ethics and business practices of her newfound profession. Still, it was good to be home.

She stood in the open door of her cozy little Condo, wrapped her fist tightly around the pendant at her neck, and did a quick internal scan of her surroundings, something she did these days without thinking. She noticed a part of her cringed at the superstitious quality of that action. After all, she was a Psychologist and flights of fancy were not to be a part of her arsenal for the good and proper maintenance of balanced and vibrant mental health. To her there had never been monsters under the bed, or creatures in the dark closet. These were just the manifestations of a sick or disturbed mind. Evil was the realm of pathology, not a waking reality. But that had changed. There was evil in the world, a thing tangible and threatening. She shrugged and relaxed her stiff shoulders. Superstitious or not, she felt no nasty bit of ethereal mischief dwelling in her abode.

The once conservative, ambitious, and levelheaded Kendra Evans PhD. at 2:15 am, threw herself down onto her beige suede overstuffed couch, jammed a pillow on her head, and let out a loud, dramatic, and wholly satisfying sigh. The irony of her situation did not escape her.

This is not the life she had planned so hard to build. The premise that a lucid mind equals a sound and balanced life may have fallen off track. Would it have been such a sin to be a waitress, or a musician traveling with a rock and roll band? Maybe she would be married to a carpenter and have three wonderful kids. Maybe she would have been happier.

Seek excellence and clarity and never fly lower than you are able. She said aloud - a favorite saying of her college professor. Her Mentor’s face was always in her mind’s eye, Dr. Moses Jennings, a brilliant, solidly assured man. There was not a single visible chink in his mental armor, as sure of the mechanism that is the human mind as he was of the rising and setting of the sun. Kendra smiled. She could only imagine what would happen to his self-assurance if he had experienced the events that now shape her current life and thinking. But he was lucky; he died before that ever happened. She wondered why some folks get all the breaks. Where she’s flying now is a far different sky than her stalwart, yet conservative, earth-bound, teacher could have let himself imagine.

Looking down at her feet and the wear to her, once new, sensible walking shoes, she kicked them off and in a very unladylike way, hiked up her skirt, threw off her jacket, stretched her arms over her head, until the buttons on her blouse popped open, spread her legs wide apart and slid off the couch on to the floor.

Yawning, she said aloud, You have got to loosen up girl; the world will only get weirder.

She sighed once again and stood up, removing her blouse and stepping out of her skirt, she walked over to the slider and looked out on the night sky and the lights across the verdant canyon that skirted the edge of her condominium complex. She bought this unit because it gave her a sense of space and privacy, a rare commodity in southern California cities. She wondered if there was someone, perhaps a strong and attractive man, over there, with a telescope, who had accidentally, came across her standing shamelessly, in her delicates, by her slider. Delicates is what her mother always called them. Her hand absently touched her breast and she took in a deep breath. She fantasized that he, the man with the telescope was embarrassed, at first, but couldn’t help himself - he had to look. That woman, standing by the slider, was everything he had ever desired. She held out hope that she could still be that for someone.

If you are out there having a good look and I hope I haunt your dreams. She said aloud, letting the fantasy fade away, smiling as she turned around. She playfully gave her butt a little shake, with some satisfaction that it was worth shaking. She was often told she was good-looking, but it was so often said as an observation, not a pass. It was if she were a photograph that men admired but didn’t dare touch. There was no reason that she could determine. She was a fit, unattached, thirty-five-year-old woman, busy in an interesting career – maybe interesting was the wrong word. In truth, there just wasn’t room for someone else. Maybe unconsciously she was making herself two dimensional and unattainable. She put aside the thought.

The future was an uncertain terrain, unexplored and just a little frightening, and one in which she was certainly well onto that un-traveled path. There was no room for what she now knew in the past of her life, and any work she needed to do on herself would have to wait. What she knew did her little good. What she didn’t know was overwhelming. What she didn’t know she didn’t know scared her to death.

A part of her always longed to be a bit irresponsible, to damn the consequences. It was a freer part, a part she pushed back for the sake of appearances. In her college days she allowed a more frivolous view of proper behavior, but not these days.

It was, after all, my job to reinstate the bounds of socialization, when the fetters come lose. How would it look if I let the big dog lose in myself? Muttering to herself, she smiled at the metaphors, and looked back out into the darkness of the canyon. She knew that no one could see her, unless they were down in the canyon, or had a telescope, and lived in a house on the other side. It was that possibility that was titillating and a bit dangerous.

Unhooking her tied back hair, she let the chestnut tresses tumble down to her shoulders.

How long has it been since I have seen a man’s thing standing up for me? If you can see me, you coward, come over and say, hi. She remembered a time when she could be that forward, could ask that her needs be met, but that switch had long been turned off.

She turned, with a sigh, and walked over to her computer, sat down and started it up. While she waited for it to boot, she let her mind wander back a year, to the day, her life had changed.

***

Granbury Texas was her birthplace and it was a place that she spent three weeks a year coming home to, every year since graduate school. Her folks had a small 30-acre hobby ranch out on Farm Road 452. It was where she grew up, where her root values were created, and a place to regroup and decompress. She rented a bright red Ford 150 just because it indulged a part of her, she never allowed, until she came home. Only here could she tend a garden, feed livestock, haul manure. It was here that she could take her soul away from the self-centered, easily deluded intellectual, and go back to a truer humanity, one connected to the earth, connected to the blood that flows in her veins. You can call it a reconnect to the primitive; call it a suspension of ego, or a re-affirmation of the balanced Id. You can call it what you like; Kendra made no apology. It worked for her and once a year she indulged the exercise of re-establishing a more honest foundation for her work.

She sipped on a cup of sweet coffee on the back porch, looking out at the beautiful oaks that graced the back half of her parent’s property; she decided that they needed some goats to clean up the spread. Goats were amazing; if you set a herd lose, they will eat everything down to ground and up the trees as far as they can reach. The effect is a wonderfully manicured look. Perfectly mowed grass and trees crisply trimmed to five feet, rivaling the best-kept City Parks.

Kendra finished her coffee, went around the house and excitedly hopped in her pickup, letting the family terrier, Jocko, climb in and headed off to visit the McGregor’s.

Earl McGregor was a Deacon in the church and a long-time friend of Kendra’s father. She had called him yesterday and made the arrangements. Heaven was driving, taking in the Texas countryside, listening, and singing along with Josh Turner. Something about country singing baritones made Kendra melt.

He should take the time to get a little therapy. Don’t you think? She turned to the family terrier, little Jocko, who seemed to agree. She chuckled at the idea of being inappropriate with a hunky country singer.

Me and a ton of other adoring women, I am sure, Jocko, that he has an inflated sense of self and would require several intense sessions to re-integrate. Jocko barked his assent and stuck his head out the window giving way to canine abandon. Kendra laughed aloud, being happier than she had been in months.

Ac right turn onto Thompson’s lane and she was soon driving along the old Chapman spread. No one had lived in the homestead since Doug Chapman had died five years ago. He was a war hero and well respected in the area. When he had come home from Vietnam, his injuries took four years to heal. Sara, his high school sweetheart, stayed with him through his re-hab and married him when he recovered. The war had a serious affect on the man and he spent his life creating programs to help returning veterans. His wife, Sara, had died last year in a rest home in Arlington. She suffered from Alzheimer’s and didn’t know that her husband of thirty-five years had gone before her. The only surviving heir was a son, Jeffery. Their daughter, Marion, three years older than Jeffery, had sadly committed suicide six years ago. She left no note. It was Jeffery that had found her hanging from a beam in the barn. Kendra knew Jeffery when he was a boy but hadn’t seen him since they were in grade school. She remembered him as being a painfully shy child. She wondered at the current mental state of the young man. Jeffery did not sell the homestead, the house was kept clean and empty, and the ranch was still worked as if it were a shrine. All three deceased members of the family were re-buried on the property in an ornate stone crypt Jeffrey had built. Kendra gave a Methodist Prayer of Intercession for Doug, Sara, Marion, and Jeffery. Kendra considered herself a Christian, even though she only attended Church when she came home. It wasn’t hypocritical; in her thinking she kept her faith quietly tucked away and fully acknowledged, assuaging her need to accept a higher power. In the end when human vagaries fail where else do you turn? It was troubling to her, at times, feeling she had to compartmentalize her spirituality. She hoped God and Jesus would understand that she wanted to stand on her own as much as possible and that she had faith that they would still be there when she failed. The Baptists would call that ‘two-mindedness’. ‘You can’t serve two masters.’ is one of her, often kind, and occasionally tolerant, father’s wisest bits of wisdom. Perhaps a truth she hasn’t been willing to except. Her schooling frowned on Doctoral Candidates espousing any religious philosophy, for the intellectual elite it was inconsistent with the ‘truth’ of humanist reality.

She came up to the north end of the Chapman property, when a wave of nausea and choking hit her like a club. Slamming on the brakes, she grasped her throat and swerved into the shoulder, coming to an abrupt and dusty halt. Just as soon as it hit her, the sensation was gone, as if it had never happened. Calming herself she got out of the truck and walked off the confusion. Jocko hopped out after her, silently moving between her booted feet.

What the hell was that Jocko? Jeez I don’t get it. It’s odd, Buddy - I don’t have any residual sensations. She touched her throat. That was weird. Jocko barked his apparent agreement.

She had no idea what had caused the episode. Leaning against the back of the truck, she stared out over the rolling hills, overlooking the Brazos River. A small herd of cattle grazed quietly by a copse of oak trees. To the north, a large tank, surrounded by low-lying cedars played host to some splashing ducks. All seemed as it should, nothing amiss, nothing out of place, just good-old Texas. Shaking her head, she climbed back up in the truck and whistled for Jocko to jump in, which he did, with a gleeful bark. She started the engine and put in a new CD. It was Sting, another fantasy man of hers. His music was wonderful, but his looks were better. She smiled and wondered what would be wrong with a world where the tantric professing Sting left his wife for a gorgeous, hot-blooded and very limber, Texas born Therapist.

She sang along, Can she excuse my wrong with virtue’s cloak? Shall I call her good when she proves unkind? Are those clear fires, which vanish into smoke? Must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find? She reached over and scratched Jocko's ear. John Dowland, Jocko. Cool huh? Ole Sting would find some picken’ fruit here, I’ll tell you. Yeah, that could be me, Jocko! I would love to discover hour long orgasms. She screamed out the window, in a very undignified manner, to release a little stress and ending in a laughing fit, with Jocko joyously joining in.

The rest of the afternoon went well. She met with the McGregor’s, had a delightful dinner, made arrangements to have the Goats picked up and delivered in the morning, and headed home just as the sun was going down and black churning clouds rapidly filled the sky. It began to rain lightly and lightening flashed out toward Weatherford. A storm was coming in a hurry. She hit the gas and came up on the Chapman place fast. She was struck again, her throat closing in a painful snap. She panicked and slammed on the brakes, sliding, and spinning crazily, the truck ending up a-kilter in a ditch. She threw open the door, retching and vomiting. Her throat suddenly closed completely, allowing no air into her lungs. Reeling and flaying her arms, she lost consciousness, and landed hard face down in the dirt, just as the storm hit, rain drenching her unconscious body. Jocko nosed under her arm, snuggling against her for warmth and whimpered.

She awoke, freezing. The rain had stooped and the fog-dimmed sun was just coming up over the hill. A little girl stood just feet from her, wet and crying. She was wearing a wide skirt and a Winnie the Pooh T-shirt, a red sweater that was half on and hanging at her side. On one foot was a dirty tennis shoe, on the other a dirty sock. Her face was filthy and in spite of the rain, there were tear streaks down her cheek. In her mouth were the little fingers of her right hand. The poor little girl shuddered, as if she was sobbing. Then Kendra’s father’s face filled the cloud filled sky.

Kendra? Are you all right - can you see me?

Is she all right, dear? Kendra’s mother’s voice was heard from somewhere out of her vision. It didn’t seem real to her. The rain had stopped. She craned her neck to find the little girl, but she was gone.

Did you see her? Did you see her? Kendra felt horribly cold and tried to get up, but another set of male hands held her down. She turned her head to see the face of a very handsome man smiling down at her.

Stay still till we look you over. The soothing voice of a Texas baritone rolled warmly over her ears and troubled mind. You have been in an accident. You’ll be fine. Just breathe and try to relax. The EMT worked on her and she allowed herself to calm down and wonder on why no one was taking care of the little girl. She scolded herself; of course, they were looking after the girl.

Where’s Jocko? A little bark and the little terrier was licking her face, as happy as anyone to see her alive and well.

The little guy stayed with you all night. He started to come after me when I arrived. Until, I guess, he figured I was here to help. The handsome man smiled again and gave an appreciative Jocko a little scratch behind the ears. "We are gonna get you to the hospital. You seem fine, but we have to worry about exposure issues, you have been out