Shadowed (An Erotic Horror Novel)

By Dominic O'Reilly

Karin is a lucky woman. She’s found the chance to start her life afresh in a perfect home with a perfect job, and all by pure coincidence. Or so she thinks.

Away from the stifling drama of her old city life, she can relax in the eighteenth century mansion’s office, which overlooks both loch and mountain, through the luxuriant forest that surrounds her small village in the Scottish Highlands, while the friendly locals do all they can to make her feel at home.

But as the nights get longer, she soon discovers that the forest contains more than she’d ever wanted to imagine, and why the villagers keeps their doors locked and curtains drawn against the strange creatures that come out at night; prowling, hunting, killing.

As events become ever more sinister, Karin finds herself caught up in a web of secrets, betrayal and dark temptation. In order to save her very body and soul, she must choose her loyalties with caution, and solve a mystery spanning the centuries before it’s too late.

And hope that her luck doesn’t run out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dominic O'Reilly
• Release date: Feb 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301537495

Dominic O'Reilly

Born to the mean streets of Stoke on Trent, Dominic is now an economic immigrant in the Manchester area; living in a box in Stockport and jumping around various temp jobs which range in excitement from typing address information for the Royal Mail, through typing Census forms, all the way up to typing railway station surveys. When he can clear his mind of postcode information and defective platform copers, he writes stories in genres including horror, humour and erotica- typically depending on what mood he's in, and his total career earnings prior to the release of his debut novel amounted to 33 US Dollars, for which he was very grateful. Dominic also writes about himself in the third person for no apparent reason.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Stuart paced around outside his large empty hut, scanning the horizons through bleary eyes. Dawn was always a breathtaking sight, more so for Stuart now, as he wondered whether he'd see it again. Beyond the small town, mile upon mile of pine woodland was being awakened by the pale blues and oranges of the fledgling sun. It was on top of the nearby hill, however, that Stuart's gaze was drawn, as it had been repeatedly during a sleepless night. The mansion was so familiar that he rarely even noticed it, but now he was paying close attention, as if it was a well known stray dog that had begun to froth at the mouth. The building had been lit up all night, and Stuart knew that this was a bad sign. Still, this time had been coming and, while he could only imagine whatever secret deals and orders were taking place under the glow of flaming torches, he was fairly sure what the outcome would be.

In his right hand, Stuart held a sickle. It was old and rusty, but still razor sharp and the most valuable possession he had left. With an idle flick of the wrist, the tool spun in the air; arcing round twice before its handle surely returned into the man's grip. Stuart's concentration was being tested, and his vision glazed from lack of sleep but it was the appearance of a partially silhouetted figure from the mansion that caused him to sharpen up. This figure was followed by another. And another. Stuart tightened his grip on the sickle and became aware that his breathing was becoming more rapid. With a slight twinge of guilt, he turned back towards the rest of the town- if it could still be termed as such. Many of the huts had long been abandoned, and he was alone on the main path. He'd wanted to warn people. He'd told Amy of this but she'd simply shrugged and dismissed this idea. Of course, she was right. Nobody currently asleep in their huts would have taken him seriously, some might even have betrayed him even though, beyond the town, the fields lay fallow, the cattle were all gone, and the farm on which Stuart used to sow, and gather oats, was becoming overrun with bracken and tree saplings. To hell with them then, thought Stuart, as his eyes started to well up. Get a grip, man. He shook his head and returned his focus to the hill top. There were more men now; about a dozen, which was probably far more than they'd need. Stuart's vision was excellent and, despite the sun now being directly behind the figures, he was able to pick out details such as the dark shapes of axes and swords. The men stayed in their positions until a final dark figure emerged from the mansion. This one appeared to be unarmed and the others turned at his approach. He also seemed to be the only one wearing a robe, rather than a kilt. This figure went back into the mansion and the men turned back to face the town. One of the men shouted in a voice loud enough to be heard from Stuart's position. The others responded with an even greater fury; an ear-splitting mesh of piercing cries and shouts which made the hairs on Stuart's body stand on end, and recalled the oldest terror of all, that between the hunter and the hunted. As the war cry assaulted the pleasant bird songs of the dawn, the men charged down the hill as one.

It wasn't much, but Stuart wanted to give the towns folk a fighting chance. He walked to the back of his hut, where he'd set up a small mound of kindling and proceeded to make a fire the old fashioned way, using small pieces of flint. He could hear the cries of the armed men getting louder but judged that he had enough time. Once the fire had got going, and caught the circular wall of his hut, he shouted Fire! at the top of his voice, and the hurried off. The townsfolk might refuse to believe that their dear Chieftain could ever do them wrong, even at this stage of endgame. They might be untrusting, or even try to betray Stuart. Fortunately, he knew two people who wouldn't. Stuart turned back for a final look, and then disappeared into the forest.

Chapter 2

The train drifted off into the night and Karin was left alone on the empty platform, wondering what to do next. As if it would give her some kind of answer, she watched the train until it was entirely out of view and the only sound left was the dull tapping of her boots on the concrete floor. The scenery in this part of Scotland was meant to be beautiful but, in the moonless dark, all she could see was a hazy silhouette of mountains. Several nearby lamp posts only served to cast an alien glow over the ugliest features the station had to offer; a small car park, razor-topped wire fencing and ancient pop cans and bags of crisps which were lying strewn over the track.

Karin looked around for somewhere to go but the place was dead. She'd have to wait here then. With no little relief she took off the rucksack which was far too heavy for her slight frame, placed it on the floor, and carefully sat down on it. Her bag contained pretty much her whole life, her whole new life certainly, whatever that might involve. For Karin, this should be about a new start. She had a new job, and a new village to live in. She knew all that, but she also considered how hard it was to count your blessings when you're sat alone in the middle of nowhere. She supposed she was running away more than anything else, which didn't sound like something a twenty three year old woman should be doing but, well, things happen, she mused. She knew what would happen if she was left alone with nothing to do, her thoughts would go back to the bad times, replaying the same things over and over, with ever increasing hopelessness. The stiff breeze, which ghosted through Karin's light jacket wasn't helping her mood either. She took out her mobile, knowing full well that there wouldn't be a signal. Astonishingly, there wasn't a signal, and she put the damn thing back in her jacket.

Her phone had told her that it was eleven o'clock, meaning that he'd be coming for her anytime between now and midnight. Hopefully. She'd already had to wait for three hours at Inverness railway station, and her options for passing the time had been pretty much exhausted there- ranging, as they did, from pretending to be interested in the lives of celebrities, as narrated by trashy magazines, to making a glass of wine last an hour whilst fending off half hearted advances from the odd drunk who seemed to be keeping one eye open for something with bigger tits. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark, Karin found the view from this station- one so remote that she'd had to specially request the stop to the train conductor- slightly more welcoming. The mountains now seemed to have a mysterious charm to them and they were sharply outlined by a clear autumn sky, sequinned with far more stars than she'd ever seen in her native Edinburgh. Immediately beyond the track, the battered wire fence gave way to overgrown wasteland. For a moment, she thought she registered some movement from the tall grass and weeds, too great to be dismissed as the work of the wind. Great, she thought, we can now add 'jumpy' to 'cold', 'lonely' and 'uncertain' in the essential list of things wrong with Karin. As she realised she'd spoken those words aloud, she wondered whether 'mad' was likely to make an appearance anytime soon.

Then came the noise, a sound that must have been too quiet or low pitched for Karin to register at first but, as it increased, she definitely heard a growl. Not an immediate sign of danger but something with an aggressive edge. A similar change happened to the scenery. What had been a shadow against the grass slowly turned into a creature. A dog. The more Karin focused, the more worried she became. Even in this light, she could tell that it was black, and it glared at her malevolently, while continuing the incessant growl. It was as if she was staring at some hellish magic eye puzzle. The hound sauntered to the edge of the tracks and Karin began to panic. She hoped that the thing wouldn't cross over. Maybe it would get electrocuted or wouldn't be able to jump up to her platform. Karin quickly dismissed these thoughts. The damn thing could probably leap over from there if it chose. In a state of increasing panic, Karin looked around for anything useful. There was no way she could fight the thing, or outrun it but she'd always been a sporty woman and if there was anything she could climb onto, she'd take it. The growl was getting unbearably intense and, as the thing dropped down to the tracks, she felt like she could scream.

The dog jumped onto her platform almost as soon as it had left its own. It was now that Karin could appreciate its size and power. The beast had stopped growling and was baring its teeth in a snarl. Its tale stood on edge and it was moving in for the kill. Karin was in a crouched position and knew her only hope was to dodge its inevitable lunge and run. Where to could sort itself out later. With her nerves on edge, and her fear replaced by adrenaline, she waited for the thing to make any kind of movement and- a light shone onto the creature and Karin turned to see a car pull up into the station. Cursing her stupidity for letting her guard down, she quickly turned back round but the dog had vanished. After a few seconds of hesitation, Karin looked to see if it hiding below the platform but it nowhere to be seen. Impossible, surely? With the danger seemingly over, Karin's investigation stopped there. She started to shake, and took down oxygen in heavy gulps. As she collapsed back onto her bag, she heard the car's door open.

Chapter 3

Minus any kind of furniture, Amy sat on a mound of hay, holding a tin tankard with a small amount of whisky inside. She'd resisted the temptation to get completely bladdered, even though the den contained more than enough drink for this purpose, and she was almost certain that it would all go to waste. Unfortunately the boy whose head lay on her lap had slightly less self-control than she did, and she stroked Duncan's jet black hair as he dozed; the warmth of his cheek reassuring against the girl's thigh. She'd heard the distant war cry of the mercenaries but felt safe here. Her tavern, which was little more than a hole in the ground covered by wood and thatch, was older than anyone could remember, and had been dug half a mile away from the town proper for a purpose that only she knew about.

Amy didn't turn around as she heard movement on the stone steps that led up to the surrounding forests.

Morning Stuart, she said.

What the hell are you two doing? Amy turned to see the tall, strong frame of her friend with a sickle in his hand. He was out of breath and his eyes flicked between her tankard of whisky and the sleeping head of Duncan.

Relax, Stu. A bit of Dutch courage, that's all. Want any?

No, I don't want any... Okay, maybe a little. Amy grinned as Stuart came over and took a gulp from her tankard. Look, we need to go. It's started.

So I heard. Impressive war cry, wasn't it? Amy paused, Stu? Me and Duncan actually came up with another plan if you're interested?

What? Stop messing about and let's go before they find us.

Amy sighed, They won't find us. You know no-one knows about this place. All my customers buggered off long ago.

"Don't be stupid. They'll still come after us. We need to get a good start on-"

How far do you think we'll get?

What?

See this? Amy pointed at the sickle. You have some kind of gardening implement. I have whisky and an old harp. Duncan merely has his clothes and a big stick he used to hit cows with. How long do you think we'll last in the wilderness with those?

So what's your suggest-

Me and Duncan were thinking of maybe… liberating one or two valuable items. Things we can trade with.

You know there's nothing valuable in this town. Stuart laughed, The only place you'd find anything worth taking would be... Oh, you have got to be kidding.

You know, back when I played for the old Chieftain, I heard rumours about the Howling Wolf.

What? Amy sensed that the conversation was running away from Stuart somewhat. Good, she thought, the more uncertain he was, the more likely she'd be to put her plan into action. She was sure he'd thank her in the end so it wasn't like she was being manipulative. Well, maybe a little, she conceded.

The wolf pendant, she elaborated, you must have heard of it.

Yes, of course I- it doesn't really exist, surely...? The curiosity on Stuart's face spoke volumes to Amy. Ah, so this is how it'll go. You won't admit it, but you want to come along. You just want me to persuade you. She considered her strategy.

"When you play the harp to the court, you're little more than furniture. People talk freely. Then the new Chieftain arrives. Decides he doesn't need you, or a lot of other people. A lot of folk become very bitter. After a whisky or two, they're ready to tell you anything about the new leader. You learn things. The English made him an Earl, I believe. Amy spat 'Earl' out in a manner more common to words such as 'rat' or 'tax collector'. Stuart didn't reply leaving Amy to guess that more was called for. The mansion won't be well guarded. Not until the thugs get back."

The mansion's on a hill. They'll see us from miles off, and what about the Baron?

"Bugger the Baron! He doesn't really have magical powers, you know. One swing of that curvy thing and you can see him off no problem."

And have half of Scotland after me?

I wouldn't worry about getting in either. There's always another way.

Stuart opened his mouth and shut it again. He took another draft from the tankard. Amy considered the man. With his cropped brown hair and an almost permanent expression of anger above his muscular shoulders, Stuart had the look of someone who you wouldn't want to run into on a dark night. The girl, however, knew him to be honest, reliable and fiercely loyal. When he had promised that he would rush to the den as soon as he saw the soldiers, for instance, Amy didn't consider for a second that he wouldn't. One crucial difference between the two was that Amy had spent her life dealing with people; she'd listened to many diplomatic negotiations while automatically strumming the harp, she'd listened to the regulars at her pub and had quickly learned how to obtain information and avoid paying rent. It was just a case of knowing where to apply pressure. She remembered an emissary to the Chieftain quoting Archimedes, Give me a lever long enough, and I shall move the world. Stuart, on the other hand, and for all his admirable qualities, had precisely the amount of cunning and imagination necessary to outwit oat crops. Amy moved in for the kill.

Amy focused her attention on the boy sleeping in her lap. She wrapped her arms around his slender body and, with her own powerful arms, was easily able to move Duncan so that his head rested on her ample breast. She swept back her hair so that her long, red locks rested over the boy's cheekbones. Amy reached under the boy's tunic to stroke his lean, naked stomach. Planting a kiss on his forehead, she turned to Stuart, calculating her most pleading and meek expression.

Come on Stu, Duncan and I are really set on this. Stuart looked down at the boy's head or, more likely, Amy's cleavage. She was wearing a loose, white blouse and leant forward, shamelessly allowing Stuart a better view. After a few seconds of her best puppy dog look, there was only ever going to be one outcome.

Okay, said Stuart, let's go.

Amy smiled. It had all been just a dance, really. She knew that Stuart wouldn't leave without her, and vice versa. It was just a case of who wanted it more. She squeezed Duncan's small nose and he awoke, falling off Amy's body with a confused grunt. The girl walked over to a hay covered area of the floor, indistinguishable from any other hay covered area of the floor, swept it aside and, with all of her strength, pulled open a trapdoor.

Were you ever planning to tell me about that? enquired Stuart.

Thought you'd have guessed, said Amy, all secret passages seem to lead to pubs. From what I've heard, this saw quite a lot of action back in the days when we at war with everyone. I'm willing to bet this will still get us where we need.

Betting with our lives, are you?

Wait a minute, said a slightly more awake Duncan, we're going to the mansion? No-one told me about this.

Stuart fixed Amy a hard stare. The girl merely shrugged, and descended into the earth.

Chapter 4

Duncan was still groggy as he followed Amy down the dank tunnel. He had to do this in a crouched position, as the damn thing was only about five foot high. Not being able to see anything, he wondered how the taller Stuart, behind him, was faring.

So, you didn't feel the need to bring a candle? said Duncan.

Shut up, countered Amy.

And all this water's enjoyable. Thank God it hasn't rained in a while.

Shut up. Ow!

Duncan felt the weight of Amy against him as the girl suddenly stopped. In response to his friend, Duncan laughed and was rewarded by Amy turning round and punching him in the arm.

Mind your head. he said, cheerfully, ducking under the obstruction that she hadn't spotted. Amy's manner had rapidly changed from playful teasing to barely controlled anger and Duncan was happy with that. It was fun to wind her up. Necessary too, for that matter. The more awake Duncan became, the greater the stone mansion loomed in his mind, and any diversion from thoughts of sword wielding guards, and the cold, ferocious Baron that awaited were to be welcomed. Duncan was not a brave man, he'd be the first to admit, but he felt safer here with his companions than in the wilderness by himself and, after all, if they both agreed that this was the best option, then he wasn't going to argue. Duncan was usually happy to just go with the flow which is why that, in five minutes, he had gone from happily sleeping on his friend in a warm tavern, to trundling through ankle deep water underground, with a stick to guide him.

The half mile advance was steady and, as they came into contact with a dead end, Duncan was lacking the spirit to even laugh as Amy walked into the wall.

What now? asked Stuart. Amy didn't answer but, instead, snatched Duncan's stick and began prodding the walls. She swore.

Has it caved in? asked Duncan.

I don't know. I've never been here before.

Thought you said- began Stuart.

I said it exists! I didn't say it's one of my world favourite haunts. Amy was hitting the walls with increasing rage and Duncan thought he'd try a different approach before she broke the thing. He reached upwards, only slightly higher than his crouched head, and his hand came into contact with rough wooden grain. He tapped on it and it was hollow.

Amy must have heard it too as she rammed the stick back into his hands and practically barged him out of the way.

It won't open, she said, banging on the trapdoor.

Stuart gently eased past Duncan and Amy so he was directly beneath the trapdoor. Despite squinting, Duncan could only really make out the sounds. He heard a low groan from his friend and this was followed by the door slowly rising with a drawn-out creak of complaint.

The passage didn't exactly become flooded with light, but Duncan's already dark-adjusted eyes could now see more clearly, and it seemed to him that Stuart hadn't so much pushed the door as simply stood upright, and forced the trap into an irresistible choice. One by one, they clambered out of the tunnel, and into a marginally less dingy wine cellar. At the end of the long, cobweb decorated basement was an open door; the single faint light source, which the three wordlessly advanced towards. A slight glint off the wall revealed a bracket holding an unlit torch amidst the hundreds of wine bottles. That would have been useful earlier, thought Duncan, bitterly.

Cautiously, the three advanced with Stuart leading, his sickle gripped firmly at waist height, and Duncan bringing up the rear. The cellar gave way to a winding stone staircase above which was a large, empty kitchen where their footsteps echoed on the stone floor. After that was a