Devoured

By S.R. Everett

Andy Bellamy is a man who suffers with the memories of a disturbing childhood. The crowning jewel of which was his father’s insanity-fueled rampages. He’s worked hard to forget his painful childhood and build a peaceful life, complete with a loving wife. That life is shattered when his wife suddenly disappears, seemingly without a trace. In a small community like Cold Grove, everyone knows about his past and all eyes turn towards him. Convinced she is dead and desperate for answers, he unearths the town’s darkest secret: a demonic creature with an insatiable hunger for rotting flesh. But is it real or is it just the monster within?

The town in plunged into utter chaos as the body count begins to rise. With time working against him and only a jumble of confusing clues to go on, it’s up to Sheriff John Ingle to piece together the puzzle and put an end to the rampage. But, will he be able to accept the awful truth in time to save the town? Could it really be that the unnameable cruelty in Cold Grove’s distant past is behind recent events or is the answer something far more mundane?

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.R. Everett
• Release date: Jan 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301669264

S.R. Everett

S.R. Everett: Author of the Cold Grove Trilogy S.R. Everett is an author and father of two. He was born and raised in Eastern Tennessee but has spent the last decade living in Northern Sweden. He is the author of Devoured, the first book in the Cold Grove Trilogy, and numerous short stories and poems.

Book preview

Part 1: The Brewing Storm

This storm has been brewing for a long time.

-Sheriff Ingle

1

Cold Grove is a one of those old almost forgotten about towns which more-or-less lies in the middle of nowhere, nowhere important anyway. It’s the sort of town that no one ever moves to and more often than not the children of the residents move away once they come of age. It’s a town with a long history but not one where the town ever actually flourished. From the very first year it was founded, it has been on life support with just barely enough residents to justify its meager existence.

Like in other old towns that have always been just barely hanging on, it has an old and mostly-forgotten about cemetery. This is one of those cemeteries where nightmarish tales of evil are often given birth. Of course, most of those tales are merely exaggerations of the truth or pure fantasy all together, spun up by some wicked minded person who wants to send a chill racing down your spine. A few rare tales of horrific creatures and places forgotten about by God are a bit closer to the truth than sane, daylight dwelling people care to admit.

It’s midnight, or at least close enough to call it midnight. A lone figure shambles sullenly down an aisle of worn and mostly nameless gravestones in the oldest known part of the cemetery. He carries a rugged and weathered leather satchel over his shoulder. Behind him he drags a shovel across the ground. The air is utterly still as the man slices through the dense fog that always seems to hang in the air here. His robe feels damp on his skin underneath and clings to his body making his movements seem labored and somewhat exaggerated.

He makes his way to the far end of the graveyard where a single gravestone stands all alone on the edge of the woods as if it had been singled out by the gravedigger. Obviously he did not want the corpse of this vile creature in his graveyard and, as such, placed it as far away from the others as he possibly could.

The robed man pauses for a moment to take in the gravestone. It is worn and ancient but he can clearly see that much care was taken when it was made. The base is made from one solid piece of stone, cut into a large rectangle where an elaborate pattern of intersecting vines with long sharp looking thorns has been carved out. Atop the stone slab sits a statue of a grotesque looking beast which may have been human at one time, if the legend is to be believed that is. The figure is very worn and damaged. The damage is mostly from the weather but also from the local teenagers who sometimes dare each other to get close enough in order to touch it, or vandalize it.

Despite that, you can still make out much of the detail. The figure is humanoid but extraordinarily slender. All of its features are elongated and spindly looking. Its fingers and toes seem especially long due to the claws on the end. The head has suffered the most damage and very little can be made of it except for two gaping sockets where the eyes should be.

Suddenly the robed man’s mobile phone begins ringing and he shakes his head as if he is trying to break free from some spell cast on him. He gazes down at the display. Sheriff John Ingle, he mutters. He had taken to ignoring the sheriff’s calls for the last two days but this call he had to take. It is, in fact, Cold Groove’s last chance to stop his mad plan. He draws a deep breath and tries to collect his thoughts before answering.

Sheriff, he says flatly.

Andy? Andy, where are you? I just came from your house, the sheriff replies.

Keeping tabs on your prime suspect, are ya? Andy says in a sarcastic tone.

You know it’s not like that. Your friends are concerned about you. They told me you have been acting strangely the last couple of days. They are concerned that you might try something… stupid, the sheriff says sounding utterly sincere.

Acting strange, huh? Just how do they think I should act when my wife is missing? Andy replies with a notable amount of anger in his voice.

They’re just concerned about you is all and I am too.

Growing tired and frustrated at this line of questioning Andy says quite frankly, Do you have any leads in my wife’s disappearance?

Uh well, we are working some new angles. It’s not an easy case, Andy. Sheriff Ingle’s attempt to reassure Andy falls completely flat and he knows it.

Oh, it’s no use! She’s dead, John. I know it. I can feel it. Andy’s head fills with more and more rage as each word rolls off his tongue.

We don’t know that, Andy. As far as we know, she’s just missing. Maybe…

You know as well as I do that I’m the only damn suspect you got and you know me well enough to know that I didn’t do it! I loved her, John. More than you know… more than anyone knows.

Andy, please tell me where you are. Don’t go and do anything stupid. Let’s go get some coffee and talk it out.

"Don’t worry about me, sheriff. I’ll be just fine. Without waiting to hear a reply, Andy hangs up and turns the phone off. That was your last chance Cold Groove. Now, you will see…"

He tosses down his satchel. Its flap flies open as it hits the ground and out spills a book. It is very worn looking and bound together by rotting leather straps. On the cover, written in faded letters that must have been blood red at one time, is the word Voro beneath which is a symbol that looks like a crescent moon with sharp teeth lining the inside of the crescent.

He begins to dig but digging up a grave with a shovel is a long, laborious task and soon his mind begins to drift back to his childhood and the stories his mother would tell him about the beast. Stories his ancestors played a very big part of. He had always believed that his mother included their ancestors in the stories in order to make them more interesting. That was until he had found the book with Voro written on it. Voro, he discovered, meant devour in Latin and that name fit perfectly with the stories he had heard of the beast. It told the story of how the beast had been created by the witch Bellamy, which also happened to be Andy’s last name.

2

John Ingle stares at his phone lost in thought. Finally he mutters a single word, his voice filled with turmoil, Andy…. John has been a friend to Andy Bellamy since they were kids and although they had not been especially close he still feels a great remorse for Andy’s loss. He also feels more than a little bit inept at how his investigation into Sara Bellamy’s disappearance is going. Nowhere; that’s exactly where it is going.

Andy was right when he said that he is the only suspect but John’s gut is telling him that Andy is not the guilty party here, even if old lady Crenshaw had sworn up and down that she saw Andy and Sara driving towards King’s Marsh the night she disappeared.

I need to take a fresh look at the case, he thinks. Maybe try to work some new angle, like he had tried to convince Andy that he was already doing.

The sheriff’s radio makes a squawking sound, breaking his train of thought. He lifts the hand held radio to his ear and says, Sheriff Ingle. John listens intently and then says, Alright, I’m on my way. He wants to go and try to find Andy but now something else has come up. Something in the form of Billy Preston, the woman-beatingest drunkard in six counties, maybe even the whole damn state. John fires up the siren and throws up dirt and gravel as he turns the car around and heads towards Billy’s place.

Within fifteen minutes he arrives at Billy’s house, which is actually a double wide trailer that is run down and sitting on a slight tilt. The whole thing looks like it could collapse at any moment but it has none-the-less weathered the recent storms without falling off its cinderblock foundation. It does however seem to be missing a bedroom window but that’s most likely due to Billy and not some storm.

John grabs the megaphone attached to the dashboard and climbs out of the car. He raises it to his lips and shouts Billy! This is Sheriff Ingle. Get on out here. Then adds, With your hands where I can see them! We’ve gotten another call about you. John is always extra cautious with Billy, who has a long history of threatening people with a shotgun.

True to form Billy throws the trailer’s raggedy looking screen door open, double-barreled shotgun in one hand and an almost empty bottle of cheap whisky in the other. He’s as drunk as a skunk and stumbles out onto the wooden porch. Its piss-poor construction shows as the floor boards bend and creak under Billy’s hefty girth. The whole scene would be almost comical if you had seen it on TV but this is real life and Billy is a real bastard that even his own mother has long since disowned.

What’re ya doin’ out here? His words are slurred and hard to make out. I didn’t call no coppers and neither did Therese! He says the words in a matter-of-fact tone and turns to go back inside, like he figures that his word is as good as gold. In his current mental state, he probably believes they are.

"Billy! Put down that shotgun and get on down here. I need to talk to you. Somebody called us and I’ve been out here enough times for you to know that I need to make sure everything is alright," John shouts without the aid of the megaphone. He knows that it had been Therese who called, the dispatcher said as much, but he’d likely be setting her up for a beating if he tells Billy. Not that Therese was likely to avoid a beating anyway.

Billy stands there for a moment trying to comprehend the words coming out of the sheriff’s mouth. In a sudden moment of realization he looks down at the shotgun in his hand. He actually seems a bit surprised to see it. It’s almost as if he had been carrying it around with him and is just now realizing that it’s actually a gun.

Stupid fucking redneck, John says under his breath. He probably thought it was his dick.

Billy looks back through the screen door presumably at his girlfriend/punching bag, Therese, and contemplates something for a moment. He seems torn between putting the gun down and taking it with him. There doesn’t seem to be anything threatening about him though. He seems genuinely concerned that leaving the gun on the porch where Therese might be able to get to it is a really bad idea. Finally, he unloads the gun with a look on his face like he has just come up with one masterpiece of a brilliant idea. He lays it on the wooden rail of the rickety porch, stuffing the shotgun shells in the front pocket of his dirty and sun-faded blue jeans. He takes another look through the door, adjusts his crotch and heads across the lawn towards the sheriff.

What’ca doin’ here sheriff? The word sheriff rolls out of his mouth like she-riff and there’s a heavy drunken slur on each word.

We got a domestic disturbance call… again, John says while eyeballing the front door of the trailer. Whose blood is that? he says and points to a couple of half-dollar size blood stains on Billy’s dirty white t-shirt. Before Billy can answer he adds, That Therese’s? She in there?

"This ain’t her blood. It’s mine. I cut me-self earlier. She’s in there, passed out on the couch. Sleeping like a fat fucking stupid baby," Billy says with a lot of emphasis on the word stupid.

For someone who lies as much as Billy does, you’d think he would be good at it but he’s not. Well, I guess I better go and check on her then. Make sure everything is alright. You know the procedure.

John takes a step towards the trailer but Billy throws his hands up in the air and says nervously, Now, that ain’t necessary she-riff. John ignores him and takes another step across the lawn. Billy’s behavior is making him nervous but he’s too cautious to take his eyes off Billy for more than a moment. Billy clearly doesn’t want him anywhere near the trailer. John has long suspected that Billy has a meth-lab or some other highly illegal operation going on inside but has never been able to prove it.

John fixes his eyes on the screen door. He can see some movement behind the door. Billy’s nervousness rings through in his voice as he shouts, Therese! Get on out here! Quick like! John turns and gives Billy a long glance. He does not like having his back turned to Billy one bit.

Therese emerges from the screen door and slams it shut behind her. She heads down the porch stairs and over towards John without so much as glancing at the shotgun. She may have terrible taste in men but it has nothing to do with her looks. She’s a redneck queen. She’s loud and vulgar but gifted with a figure that curves in all the right places. Her face hasn’t yet succumbed to the ravages of the hard life she’s been living and her skin is a perfect shade of porcelain, smooth as a baby’s bottom. There’s a warm glow in her eyes that makes you feel right at home just by looking into them. Her beauty will easily fool you. Deep down, she’s a real snake in the grass and the perfect match to a bastard like Billy. She doesn’t say a word, just stares at Billy.

See she-riff, she’s a fine and dandy, Billy chimes in from behind.

John ignores him and asks Therese with sincerity in his voice, You ok?

She twirls a few strands of her long, wavy red hair around her finger and smiles coyly while staring at the ground. She looks up with those deep brown eyes and says, I am now. She giggles softly and checks John out from head to toe. Everything about her says she likes what she sees. Despite all he knows about Therese, he is still caught by her spell.

John knows that she’s playing one of her games but he still enjoys getting looked at like that. He’s not an ugly man but women have never thought of him as particularly attractive either. He has a tall lanky physique and a bit of a pot belly. The kind men often get after they have turned 35, which he just did. His shoulder length brown hair is probably his most notable quality but that’s always kept in a ponytail when he is on the job. John doesn’t feel ugly but he doesn’t feel handsome either. Therese is a master at what she does though and all of those inadequate feelings melt away when she is paying you some attention. John’s thoughts drift back to the numerous women who have spurned him over the years, especially recently. He uses that thought to try and bring himself back down to earth.

Therese is still working hard at her little game. Why, I don’t have any idea who coulda called the po-lice. Everything here has been as quiet as a graveyard, she says and sends Billy a wink.

John takes the opportunity to check out Therese’s well-formed body. For official police purposes, of course. It has been months since he last slept with a woman and, although he honestly is checking her for signs of abuse, he can’t help but feel a twinge in his pants as he does. Behind him Billy takes a big swig from the bottle and looks at its nearly empty contents. Finally John says, Well, you certainly seem to be in fine shape. You sure everything is alright? Although Therese seems fine, John can’t quite shake the feeling that something is going on here. There’s no doubt that a career woman beater like Billy knows how to hurt a woman without making it look obvious. If only I could strip search her, John thinks to himself with a bit of a sly grin.

Billy takes another swig from the bottle and tosses it off into the bushes, stumbling and nearly falling over in the process. He seems to be on the verge of collapsing. Therese leans in close to John and whispers, "Everything is fine, she-riff. He’ll pass out soon but thank you so much for checking in on me. You are my hero." The smell of her perfume and the sweet innocent tone of her voice being whispered into his ear fills his mind and it feels good. Damn good!

John fumbles to find the right words as a pleasant shiver runs down his spine. Well… uh… I …. uh… guess that I’ll… uh… be on my way then, he says the words but feels like he’d rather stay until Billy passes out and then have his way with Therese. He’s a man of the law though and on a call, so of course he doesn’t. Instead, he turns to Billy and says, Billy, you’d better go lay down. Otherwise you’ll wake up out here in the morning with a dog pissing on ya. I don’t wanna get any more calls about you tonight. Therese giggles profusely as Billy sways back and forth trying to keep his balance. The comprehension needed to understand what John had just said seems to be completely missing from Billy’s mind. He just stares at John with a deep empty nothingness in his eyes.

John takes one last look at Therese as she puts her arms around Billy and tries to coax him into the trailer. She glances back at John and mouths the words, Thank you, then gives him a wink so seductive that it’s all but impossible to misunderstand.

Back in the car, he watches as Therese leads him up the stairs and into the trailer. A moment later she comes back out. For a moment John thinks she’s going to come over to the car. Maybe even ask if he can give her a ride out of Billy’s life forever. But instead she grabs the shotgun from the rail and goes back inside without so much as looking towards the police car.

A moment later, John is back on the road and his thoughts return to Andy. He takes out his phone, dials Andy’s number, and is greeted with a busy signal. He must have it turned off. No big surprise after the way Andy had ended our last call but how in the hell am I going to find him?

3

Inside Billy’s trailer, Billy is standing in the living room. He’s not nearly as drunk as he seemed to be in front of Sheriff Ingle.

Stupid fucking bitch! You are going to get us caught pulling stunts like that! His face gets red as he yells and the veins on his neck are popping out. He is on the verge of breaking out into a full blown rage.

Therese absolutely loves it. Oh god! Didn’t you feel that rush? He was right out there on the lawn! I played him like a fucking fiddle!

It’s dangerous goddamnit! If he had heard or seen something…. we’d of had to kill him.

Yeah, we would of…. she says as a deviously maniacal grin spreads across her face, revealing her nicotine stained teeth.

Billy feels a measure of disgust in the pit of his stomach when he catches a glimpse of that wicked smile. What’d you do with her?

I put her back in the cell, o’course. She’s all tied up down there … waiting for her punishment! The tone of her voice echoes with evil pleasure and that beautiful light John had seen in her eyes has turned into a hellfire of insane joy. Joy in the pain inflicted upon someone, anyone, including herself.

Well… Billy pauses, knowing that it’s hopeless to try and convince her that she has done anything wrong. The excitement she feels from skirting on the edge of complete disaster far outways any feeling of rational logic. I guess we made it out ok. I don’t think he suspected nothing. Nothing more than he usually suspects anyway.

Billy looks towards the trailer’s back door. He adjusts his crotch and says, "I’d better go check on her. He lets out a depraved laugh and licks his lips. You comin’?" He turns his back to her without waiting for an answer and heads toward the back door.

Therese feels a sharp twinge of jealousy. She loves watching Billy dominate someone but she needs to feel his touch first. "Did you see the way the sheriff was looking at me? He’d sooner fuck me than put me in jail."

Billy’s march towards the backdoor is halted but he does not turn to look at her. It’s a sick game that Billy is very familiar with. He tries to ignore it. His prize is waiting down there in that cell, waiting to pleasure him in any way he sees fit. She had already promised she would do anything he wanted when they kidnapped her a week ago and so far she had delivered in spades. So much so that Billy wants to keep this one as long as he possibly can, but he knows it won’t last. Eventually she’ll realize that she isn’t ever going to walk out of here alive. She hasn’t reached that point yet. She still hangs on to hope of life. That desperationin her voice when she begs for her life after he has finished one of his sessions excites every muscle in his body. It sends a shivering wave of ecstasy through his perverted mind. He had been preparing to make her live up to her promise once again when the sheriff arrived. Thank God I was able to gag her before the sheriff heard her screams.

Therese knows what he is thinking about. She is going to need one hell of a good line here in order to get him to stay with her. "Maybe I’ll just call him up again and see if he wants to come back out here. I reckon he’s got a bigger cock than you do anyway. Judging by the bulge in his pants, he’s a real porn star. The sort of thing that makes a woman like me quiver…" Therese is planning on letting more comments fly when Billy turns back towards her.

She turns her head away from him and covers her face with her hands as Billy storms across the room. The excitement of what is to come is almost too much to bear but she doesn’t have to wait long. He pulls her hands away from her face and lays a hard slap across her cheek. She collapses to the ground and lets out a whimper. The whimper is fake but the pain is not and her libido rises accordingly. Her cheek is blood red and has already begun to swell. The metallic taste of her own blood fills her mouth.

Billy knows what must be done and frankly that slap did just as much for his libido as it had for hers. He grabs her by those long red locks and pulls her across the floor into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

4

Andy stands before the ancient tombstone, completely lost in thought. He’s trapped in a memory of his beautiful wife. She is giggling at one of his silly jokes. To think that a week ago he was still that carefree joking person. At first he was frantic but now that he had accepted Sara’s death, he is just a hollow shell, hell-bend on hatching this preposterous scheme that only a madman would think might actually work.

But you are a madman, aren’t ya? he thinks. Who else would think they could bring some ancient monster back to life, all in a desperate attempt to find his decaying wife’s body? Who else but a madman? The insanity of his plan has hit home and he is finding it harder and harder to continue digging.

A ghostly and tortured vision of his wife, Sara, appears before him. You have to find me! The spectral vision of her shimmers and begins to fade away again. You must!

Does an insane person know he’s insane? Or is this actually happening? He knows she hadn’t really been there but she had been there all the same. In the end, it doesn’t matter if he is insane or not because this is the only way he can come up with which might actually lead him to his wife and that is all that matters anymore. Insane or not, the only way to get through this is to find her. I have to find her, no matter what!

Andy lifts the shovel and strikes the ground. There will be no turning back now. Six feet beneath him, the faint vibrations cause the beast to shift slightly in its dark slumber.

5

Emily Crenshaw, otherwise known as old lady Crenshaw, sits quietly in her favorite rocking chair. She doesn’t mind being called old lady because there is no malice intended. She’s something of an institution in Cold Grove. For more than 50 years she had been a school teacher to this small community and she knows nearly every single person here because of it. She had been known as a strict but fair teacher and that assessment suits her just fine.

She sits in her chair knitting a scarf that no one is ever going to wear. Knitting is her passion and she knits every day even though she has no one to give her handmade creations to. She could give it to her husband, Herb, but God knows he already has twenty times more scarves than he could possibly ever use. In the past she had given a good many of her knitted creations to various homeless shelters in inner cities but, given her age, trips to the big city are now few and far between.

You seen my spectacles, ma? Herb says as he walks into the living room. Herb is an elderly man but still quite capable of getting around. He has been the town’s mortician for as long as anyone can remember.

They’re in the kitchen. Right where you left them, Emily replies in the kind of tone that only an old woman who has answered the same question about a million times can do. Do you really have to go out this late? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?

Herb continues talking as he wanders off to the kitchen in search of his glasses. I told you they moved the funeral up ‘til tomorrow on account of that big storm that’s a comin’. I got to get her in a presenting kind of state by noon tomorrow. He pauses for a moment. Oh, I found ‘em, he says and reappears in the room with his round-rimmed glasses sticking out of the pocket of his shirt.

I don’t like you going out to that spooky old place this late at night. She is just as nervous about being all alone as she is about Herb making the trip out to the funeral home. With no children of her own and no other family to speak of, what she fears most is that something would happen to Herb. She would be left all alone in the world. She knows what happens to arthritic old ladies with no one to take care of them; the seniors’ home. A place you go to when no one cares about you anymore. Where no one will ever care about you again and all you can do is just wait for the Grim Reaper to come on some dark and dreary night to take