Stone Chronicles: Shadow Walker

By Tony Alonzi

Michael Stone, a would-be author sets out to enjoy a quiet morning on the deck of an eclectic coffee shop in a neighborhood strip center in Austin, TX. He meets Samantha Raven, a long legged blond with a secret and Wilson, an elderly neighbor who casts a spell over their lives. Wilson's story uncovers a mystery buried since his childhood in an adjacent cemetery once owned by the Texas State Lunatic Asylum.
The ghost of the Shadow Walker ushers them toward a destiny they could not have imagined even with Samantha's uncanny ability to read minds. Meet the protagonists and find out Wilson's revelation that follows them to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Alonzi
• Release date: May 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781450702089

Tony Alonzi

Writer, author, story teller, embedded content marketing applications and social media content creator.

Book preview

Shadow Walker

Tony Alonzi

This short story is a work of fiction. Characters, places, incidents and names are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, resemblance to actual events or places is coincidental.

Copyright 2015 by Tony Alonzi

All rights reserved. The scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this short story without the permission of the author constitutes unlawful theft of the author’s intellectual property rights. Prior written permission must first be obtained by contacting the author at [e-mail]. Thank you for protecting the author’s rights.

Published by Tony Alonzi at Smashwords.

Prophecy

The black mirror-like surface of the pool began to vibrate in small concentric circles. Hidden faces of hooded spirits dissipated with the wave action. As the pool regained its reflective character the image of an old man seated with his bent legs crossed before him, arms resting on his knees, appeared. His tawny face was deeply creased and weathered like the landscape. A pair of feathers dangled from his headband. Leather thongs were tied around well-muscled arms just above the biceps. A confident wisdom painted the stark face of an aged Chiricahua Apache Indian warrior.

Why have you come to this sacred place?

To find the way. Can you guide me?

Only you can find your truth.

How will I know when I am ready for the truth?

You will not need to ask - you will know.

The surface of the pool vibrated, the image of the warrior was replaced by that of a hooded shadow, its stern face partially visible beneath a draped cowl.

- One -

Epoch Coffee is a departure from the homogenous cookie cutter atmosphere of chain caffeine houses. Its patrons are as diverse as is the strip center it anchors and it characterizes the neighborhood I called home. Epoch is a slice of the Austin experience served up on assorted vintage plates. The glass mug found its customary resting place on my favorite table. It was like reuniting two old friends comfortable with each other’s company. The gusting morning air freshened my imagination like a cool breeze through a hot Texas attic.

The small eclectic Highland Plaza neighborhood strip center on 53rd is one of those places that makes keep Austin weird more than just a slogan. Fifty-Third is for most of the day a quiet neighborhood street that speeds up its pace during peak traffic hours. It was a quiet moment and I was enjoying it with a dark roast.

The shiny Mustang’s low profile tires spun in loose gravel washed onto the turn in the road as it rumbled down 53rd Street. The driver downshifted and mashed on the brakes, steering the pony car onto the patchwork asphalt parking area.

A tall blonde sprang from the car slinging a designer purse the size of a back pack over her shoulder. Her skirt was short, her stride long. Never taking her eyes off the pink clad smart phone, she was texting in time to her gait. If it had not been for the dramatic entrance I might have missed the event. It would have been just another morning on the deck. But I did notice and it would lead to a profound change in both of our lives.

The blonde, oblivious to everything except the glowing screen reflected in her designer glasses, stood out like a diva in a bus station. The door was held open for her by an admiring patron. Without breaking stride she smiled her thank you and resumed the important things at hand.

My eyes wandered past the parking lot. A dark figure was crossing the un-manicured surface of the adjacent landmark graveyard. It was gliding more than walking. The obscure image was incongruent with a sunny morning and