Dead Light

By Mike Pace

...a matter of light and death...

In the sleepy college town of Cumberton, MD, an old cemetery must be moved to make room for a new dormitory, and an ungodly Light, buried for centuries, escapes. A rash of gruesome student suicides rocks the town. Sheriff Estin Booker teams up with former Baltimore homicide detective Anna Tucci to investigate the deaths. What neither expects is to have all roads point to a 2000-year-old legend which, if true, could lead to the destruction of mankind.

The most frightening account of the power of evil breeching our world since The Exorcist, DEAD LIGHT will teach you the most improbable lesson you will ever learn:

FEAR THE LIGHT!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sapphire Star Publishing
• Release date: Feb 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781938404405

Mike Pace

Born in Pittsburgh, Mike received a B.F.A. degree in painting from the University of Illinois and a law degree from Georgetown University where he served on the editorial board of the prestigious Georgetown Law Journal. He taught art in a Washington D. C. inner-city public school before being appointed Assistant U.S. Attorney for Washington. After a stint as a commercial litigator, he served as General Counsel to an environmental services company before resigning to practice law part-time, thereby allowing him to focus on his first love, creative writing.Suspense Magazine said of his stand-alone supernatural thriller, One to Go: “A completely unique suspense novel; you hold your breath waiting for the next shoe to drop. The book also received positive reviews from such acclaimed authors as Steve Berry, Doug Preston, Gayle Lynds, and Jon Land—“blisteringly good,” “pulse pounding,” “explosive.” Kirkus Reviews said of his supernatural thriller, Dead Light”: “Compelling characters ... thrilling plot.” Writer’s Digest called Mike’s women’s fiction book, The Chocolate Shop (writing as J.J. Spring) “Exceptional,” and selected it as the magazine’s 2019 first place award winner for contemporary fiction (sp-ebook.)Mike lives in Florida with his wife and parti-poodle, Handsome Jack.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Aboard the London Rose, 1667

THE STENCH OVERPOWERED Eli Creed. He hurried through the ankle-deep slosh, past over 500 men, women, and children packed flat on double-deck shelves lining each side of the dark, narrow passageway. Head down, willing his stomach to retain custody of its contents, he held the Bible in front of his face as he moved, mumbling into the grimy woolen scarf tied around his nose and mouth.

Praise the Lord almighty.

He’d give anything for a dram of gin, though the drinkin’ was what landed him in his current predicament. Almost a year earlier he’d been caught drunk one too many times and, as penance, the church had dispatched him to the Gambia to spread God’s word to the heathen. The heat had been inescapable and the mosquitoes got fat on his blood.

When a ship had arrived to transport Fula slaves to the New World, Eli begged to join the voyage. He could escape the Gambia, avoid returning to an uncertain future in London, and make a new life for himself among fellow Englishmen in a land where it wasn’t so bloody hot. He’d only been able to gain passage by persuading the captain that his status as a man of God made him uniquely qualified to keep the heathen calm during the long, arduous trip.

Baaba Eli…Deema, Deema…

He jumped back as manacled arms reached out, grabbing at him through the bars like uncoiling black snakes.

The cries for help echoing from inside the dark cells had no effect on him; he’d been hearing their pathetic pleas for over a month now. When the ship had first embarked, he’d taken more time with the heathens, reading Bible verses and offering prayers. But soon, the stench from the piss and flop and vomit and death, baked more pungent by the August heat, was so suffocating he quickly decided to abbreviate his spiritual ministrations.

Baaba Eli, Baaba Eli, praise Jesus, Baaba Eli.

I good Christian, Baaba Eli.

He pocketed the Bible, abandoning all pretense, and moved faster. At the end of the passageway he saw Stigg, the slave driver, unlocking the door to one of the cells. He knew why; the smell of death was the most powerful of all.

Stigg nodded to him. Gimme a hand.

Eli held his breath as he helped Stigg pull out the bodies of two young females in their late teens. A long thin chain ran through the manacled arms of the two dead girls, then back into the dark cell. Stigg yanked hard. They heard a scream, and a live girl tumbled out onto the deck.

Eli’s eyes widened; he recognized her. He’d engaged in sexual union with many of the young girls from the tribes, explaining the experience as a Christian ceremony necessary to achieve forgiveness for one’s sins. Abi had been his favorite, her devotion to his every sexual need offering small respite to his ordeal.

She was ill; her arms were covered with sores, and one eye was swollen closed with infection. The last links of the rusty chain were locked to the manacle on her arms. Stigg attempted to unlock the chain, but the lock wouldn’t release; he quickly abandoned the effort.

She recognized him. Baba Eli… Her mouth twitched as she attempted a smile.

Stigg scowled. You know her?

No.

Let’s get ‘em up on deck.

Eli and Stigg dragged the dead girls up the ladder, Abi stumbling behind.

As soon as his head appeared above deck, Eli paused to suck in a huge breath of the clean, salty breeze which made the oppressive heat bearable.

Move it, said Stigg.

Eli quickly crawled onto the main deck, then turned and pulled the two bodies and the live straggler up behind him.

Stigg shouted up to the captain who was studying his charts on the quarter-deck.

Two more, sir.

The captain appeared agitated by the interruption and had to yell to be heard above the sound of the waves crashing against the ship’s flanks. Toss ‘em.

Stigg pointed toward the live girl at the end of the chain. What about this one?

Almost dead. Toss ‘em all.

Stigg nodded to the first mate. They lifted the two bodies to the ship’s rail, pushed hard and the dead girls slid out of sight. As the chain ran over the side of the ship, Abi stumbled to her feet, summoning a last burst of strength. She tried to pull back against the chain, but wouldn’t have had the power to counter the weight even had she been healthy. The chain jerked her toward the rail where Stigg waited to flip her over the side.

A link caught on a bent spike protruding from under the rail. The chain pulled taut. Stigg attempted to free the chain from the spike, but the tension on each end was too strong.

Thinking only of ingratiating himself with the captain, Eli grabbed an ax leaning against the mast and approached the spike. He intended to use the head of the ax to pound the spike into the ship’s frame, freeing the chain and sending all three souls into the sea. Stigg and the first mate stepped aside. Eli took a mighty swing and brought the ax down hard. His aim was off slightly, and the ax crashed against the chain itself. The chain broke, releasing the two dead girls into the gray Atlantic, freeing Abi.

Startled, then fearful the captain might not approve, Eli looked up to the quarter-deck. The captain shrugged, then turned his attention back to his chart.

Stigg gestured toward the sick girl. Get her below.

When Eli walked through the stowage that night, he sensed a different tone in the heathen mewling. Javara, the Mandinka cabin boy, followed him. The boy had picked up English quickly and, when required, acted as interpreter.

They think you God’s man, Baaba Eli. You save Abi. Abi’s fathuh want talk to you. The boy gestured to a cell on the lower shelf to his right.

Eli shrugged and crouched down. In the shadows all he could make out through the rusted bars were a pair of eyes.

"Abaraka, Baaba Eli, abaraka."

He thanks you for saving his daughter. He wants give you gift. The slavers allowed each male to bring with him one small bundle. Most brought a few heathen religious totems. An emaciated arm extended through the bars holding a small object wrapped in a filthy cloth. The cloth fell away, revealing a red box with a hinged lid secured by a heavy lock.

He’d seen similar trinkets in the Gambian villages, barter from traders moving southwest from eastern Sahara. The villagers placed great value in these trinkets. Some had been offered to him as gifts for the church with the assurance they had come from Jesus Land in the east.

The boy’s voice lowered. "Jinoo fanoo keesoo. He say box hold devil’s light."

Gibberish.

Must listen. Man swear light of Jinoo inside box.

Where’d he get it? Eli asked the boy.

"Took box from dying shaman during battle with Kikuyu. Shaman tell him box many powerful, but must never open. If Light escape, it eat niyo…soul."

There was a good chance the box contained nothing but stale air, but he reached down and plucked it from the slave’s open palm.

When his fingers curled around the soft wood, for an instant he thought he felt something—a tingling? Then it disappeared. Must’ve been his imagination. Eli glared at the boy. What about the key? he whispered.

Javara, his body shaking, turned back to the father. "Caaboo?"

The slave paused, then withdrew his hand into the darkness. A few moments later he reached back through the bars and passed a rusty key to the boy. After a brief conversation with the slave, Javara looked up at Eli. Shaman tell him box never open. Take power from box, but fight, uh, marisaroo—

What are you trying to say? Eli’s voice had deepened, strengthened. Was that possible?

"Marisaroo— Javara struggled with the translation. Uh…tumtasun…tum-tay-sun."

Temptation?

The boy nodded. Fight tum-tay-sun. Not open. If open, everyone die.

1

Day 1, Wednesday—11:00 p.m.

SHERIFF ESTIN BOOKER slowed as he cruised past the cemetery, carefully maneuvering around the flatbed truck parked in front of the entrance. A remnant of red ribbon hung limp from each of the old stone posts guarding the entrance gate. Thirteen hours earlier, the mayor and Reverend Starr had used oversized scissors to cut the ribbon as part of the groundbreaking ceremony. Jimmy Starr would get his new dormitory. In Cumberton, Jimmy Starr got pretty much whatever he wanted, even if it meant relocating a 350-year-old cemetery. Now yellow police tape spanned the entrance, warning the public to stay out.

From the top of the cemetery hill, O’Hara watched the police cruiser slow. He knew Booker couldn’t see him resting against the huge, leafless oak, its gnarled limbs as lifeless as the bones resting beneath it for over three centuries. He wrapped himself in the threadbare blanket and took another swig, careful not to drink too much as the bottle had to last him through the night. Until the grave excavation had been filled.

Then the police car stopped.

Estin thought he saw movement near the left post and pulled over. Nothing. Must’ve been the shadows. Or Barney. Lem Wilkie’s chocolate lab was known to wander around town at night.

He looked to the top of the hill. No moon or stars, but near the dead oak he could still make out the black silhouette of the Komatsu. The huge front-end loader posed like a conquering beast, resting after a full day of gouging its teeth into the hallowed soil protecting the remains of men, women, and children, some of whom had settled southern Maryland barely a decade after Bradford founded his Plymouth colony.

Estin had been on site most of the afternoon, making sure the remains were handled respectfully. When the work had closed down for the day, a few of the grave excavations remained open. Hopefully, the yellow police tape would keep out curiosity-seekers. He shouldn’t really worry about the students. Starr College was a fundamentalist Christian institution which imposed very strict rules, including obeying the law. Still, kids were kids.

He couldn’t explain his feeling of melancholy. Probably just being overly sentimental. He’d lived all of his life in Cumberton, and the old cemetery had been part of his earliest memories. He was turning into a 35-year-old fuddy-duddy, resisting progress. Besides, the souls of those who died probably couldn’t care less whether their bones were buried here or on Clive Washington’s farm.

He saw movement again. Definitely too big for a dog. He got out of the car and spotted a teenage couple hiding behind the old stone wall. Couldn’t tell who they were, but he had a pretty good idea what they were up to. He smiled to himself as an image flashed into his mind of a balmy summer night 20 years ago when he and Louise Crowder both lost their virginity up among those headstones.

Probably should roust them, but then he’d have to file a report. If the kids were from the college they could face expulsion. Jimmy Starr wouldn’t tolerate premarital sex between two of his students.

He decided to leave the kids alone and got back in the car to resume his patrol. Maybe later he’d stop by the Hollywood. He was having popcorn withdrawal.

Tony Olivetti watched the cruiser disappear down Skipjack. Estin was a good guy, the older brother of Tony’s roommate, Ben, and probably wouldn’t have turned them in if he’d spotted them hiding behind the stone wall.

Sure he didn’t see us? asked Jill.

Positive.

Tony knew Jill was nervous. He took her hand and led her up the hill, taking care not to trip over equipment, dirt piles, and dislodged headstones.

He’d been waiting a long time for this night. They’d been dating over six months, but had yet to have sex. It had been so long, he felt his balls would burst. Hell, he’d gotten more ass as a high school freshman back in Pittsburgh than he had in three years of college.

His dad had insisted he attend Starr. Since the accident he’d been an embarrassment; drinking, whoring around, and struggling to get passing grades. He’d blamed the loss of his mother every time he’d been called into the principal’s office—and twice to the police precinct. The excuse had worked for a long time, but eventually sympathy faded. He’d continued to act like a jerk until he arrived at Starr.

The people at Starr College were different, a good different. With Jimmy Starr setting the example, people really cared about each other. Tony had been born again.

At least he thought he had. He accepted Jesus Christ as his lord and savior and abided by all the rules except jacking off. He figured if he couldn’t have sex, Jesus wouldn’t want all that fluid buildup in his balls. He would want Tony to drain out from time to time as a kind of medical procedure. And with free porn so accessible online, Tony had found a need for that medical procedure quite often.

O’Hara tracked the couple the best he could with his 70-year-old eyesight. Hopefully, they would stay away from this section of the cemetery. Even if they came his way, the chances of him having to intervene were remote. Still, for the first time since he’d been chosen, he was worried. But worried about what? Legends and trinkets passed down through generations? That was it. Over all these years he could’ve been consumed with nothing more than stories made up by ignorant men centuries earlier, crazy stories of death and… Maybe he should just go back to bed.

His hand automatically rubbed the talisman hanging from his neck, a nervous habit begun over 40 years earlier.

No, he would wait.

2

Day 1, Wednesday—11:21 p.m.

ESTIN DROVE THROUGH the dark, familiar streets. Except for the movie theater, the pizza joint, a convenience store, bar and restaurant, everything had been closed for hours.

When he passed the college, he could see almost every window lit in the underclassmen dorm. Students had arrived a week earlier for the fall semester and were hard at work. Made him think about the couple in the cemetery. Maybe he should’ve rousted them. Grave excavations would be hard to spot at night. After stopping at the theater, he’d circle back and check. He’d just forget about the report.

Didn’t want them falling into a grave and breaking a leg.

Tony spotted a clean grassy patch near the old oak on the crest of the hill and gently guided Jill toward it. She hesitated.

It’s okay. He offered a reassuring smile.

If anyone finds out, under the honor code, they’ll have to report us and we’ll get kicked out of Starr and my mom will kill me.

We could run around naked, screaming like banshees, and no one would see us.

She smiled. God, she was gorgeous. Her first day in Bible class she’d been asked to recite the beatitudes by memory. She’d stood in front of the bank of windows, the morning sun backlighting her. With her long red hair and milky skin, she looked like one of those Renaissance angels he’d seen in his art history book. He knew he’d require a procedure that night and would have no need for the Internet, thank you very much.

After class he’d asked her out for a cup of coffee, and their romance had blossomed.

They reached the grassy spot.

I don’t know, Tony, this doesn’t feel right.

It’ll be fine, baby. Trust me.

He carried two cans of Bud Light in a brown paper bag just to warm up any last minute cold feet. Drinking also was a capital offense, but what was the old saying? In for a dime, in for a dollar. He also carried a flashlight. Last thing they needed was for one of them to fall into an open grave and not be able to climb out.

Jill clutched a blanket close to her chest. She’d insisted on the blanket, fearful she might stain her clothes. Stains, she’d explained, would be a sign as obvious as Hester Prinn’s scarlet letter. Tony gently pried the blanket from her grip and laid it on the grassy patch, then sat down and patted the spot next to him. She stood there for what seemed like forever before sitting on the edge of the blanket, careful not to touch him.

It became instantly clear to Tony he was going to have to resort to the cold feet warmer. He fished a can of Bud out of the bag, popped the top, and handed it to her. He’d offered her a beer before, but Jill had felt so guilty she’d turned away after three or four sips. When her eyes fell on the beer, Tony saw her body stiffen.

It’ll help you relax.

She didn’t move. The wheels were almost visibly turning inside her head. After what seemed like an eternity, she hesitantly reached for the beer can. She stared at it for a moment, then took a tiny sip. Tony popped his own brew and took a deep swig. He had to be careful here. Any wrong move and he could spook her.

He bent over and barely brushed her lips with his, then pulled away. His restraint worked. She took another drink, then leaned back on her hands and smiled at him. He scooched over and kissed her again, this time longer, deeper and he could feel her respond. She was wearing a plaid, oversized man’s shirt and jeans. He reached under the shirt. No bra. She smiled, pleased at her little surprise.

Thought I’d save time.

Tony felt tightening in his jeans. He turned on his side, reached around her waist, and pulled her down close, her hips tight against his. He knew she could feel his hardness. He unbuttoned her shirt and bent over to kiss her breasts. Her body went rigid. What’s wrong? he asked.

Thought I heard something.

Just the wind, or maybe some critter.

No, over there.

She pointed to a large, barely visible headstone.

Don’t see anything. Then he froze. The sound was unmistakable.

Did you hear that?

Yeah. Sounded like—

A cough?

3

Day 1, Wednesday—11:32 p.m.

JILL SPOKE IN a harsh whisper as she quickly buttoned her shirt. Oh, God, we’re going to get expelled. She bolted to her feet.

Too dark for anyone to see anything. Besides, they’re probably more scared of us than—

We’ve got to get out of here. Now.

Tony knew the spell had ended. Not happening tonight so might as well get some points for leading the retreat to fight another day. He took her hand and was gratified to feel her squeeze. He picked up the flashlight.

No, no light.

She pointed to the left. That way’s faster.

They’d only walked a few yards when his left foot hit a shovel handle and he went flying. As he hit the open grave floor, he instantly felt pain in his ankle.

You okay?

Twisted my ankle.

He tried to stand, but the second he put weight on the ankle, it gave way and he fell face-forward in the muck. Luckily, his head just missed hitting a large rock. He saw the flashlight beam dancing around the excavation walls.

Here.

The beam slid down the walls of the grave to the floor, illuminating the rock—only it wasn’t a rock. He found himself staring into the empty sockets of a human skull. He yelped and crawled to his feet, his fear temporarily anesthetizing the pain in his ankle. The light beam caught another bone—an arm? A leg?—partially poking out from the damp black soil.

He was seriously claustrophobic and immediately felt the walls of the grave closing in on him. His breathing shortened; his chest tightened. His fear evaporated any thought of whispering. Get me out of here.

Jill set the flashlight on the edge of the excavation, then knelt in the freshly turned soil and extended her hand down to him.

He clawed at the grave walls but couldn’t quite reach her and fell back. He braced his body against the wall to take some of the pressure off his ankle, then frantically scraped out a toe-hold in the compacted soil. He inserted his right toe and pushed up. His fingers were about to touch hers, then—

Wait.

She grabbed the flashlight, and he fell back.

What’re you doing?

She pointed the light back down to the grave floor. Look, there. The beam pointed to a small box protruding from the soil. Maybe it’s some kind of jewel box, you know, that got buried with this guy.

I don’t give a shit. Get me out of here.

Could be worth a lot of money. Grab it. Only take a second.

Tony noticed the thought of buried treasure had diverted her concern of detection. Maybe there was a side to Jill Bryant he hadn’t seen.

He hobbled toward the box. It was hard to see in the muck.

Where is it? Stop moving the flashlight.

I'm not moving it.

There, protruding from the grave floor, about where the dead guy’s right hand would be. It was easy to scoop away the soil and free the box.

What’s in it? asked Jill from above.

He tried to lift the lid. It’s locked.

With Jill’s help, and using his previous foothold, it didn’t take long for him to crawl out of the grave. He took a couple of deep breaths and tested his ankle. Still hurt, but not as bad. Definitely just a sprain.

She pointed the light beam at the box. Looked about five inches square and maybe three or four inches high. At one time it probably had been painted red, but now was more the shade of rust. Curious. It was made of wood, yet unlike the casket, had remained intact. He shook the box. Nothing.

Jill took the box and shook it. Empty.

Why would they bury a locked empty box? he asked.

She aimed the light on the headstone, which lay on its side nearby. The letters were barely legible.

Father William Cumber

1645-1713

The guy they named the town after? she asked.

Maybe it’s some religious relic. When we get back, I’ll get a screwdriver and pry it open.

What if there’s something valuable inside? Again Tony noticed the prospect of found treasure had supplanted Jill’s concern about the mysterious coughing.

She let him wrap his arm around her shoulder for support. Using the flashlight, they made their way toward the entrance.

If it’s something valuable, we should tithe it to the church, she replied.

The tone of Jill’s voice didn’t sound convincing. How much of a tithe? Tony’s mind jumped through all the things he could buy, one after the other.

I don’t know. Twenty percent? What do you think? She turned. Momentarily, the flashlight beam moved away from the path. In that instant, Tony tripped again.

Shit.

They both fell, sending the flashlight flying out of Jill’s hand.

Pain from his ankle shot up Tony’s leg. Find the flashlight, he said through clenched teeth. He rolled over onto his stomach and tried his best to get to his knees.

Jill crawled in a short radius, groped around for the light while still holding tight to the box.

Got it. She turned on the flashlight, pointing the beam upwards as she slowly rose to her feet.

Tony thought he felt something brush against his skin; probably a moth. And a sweet odor. Familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Must be from opening all the graves after hundreds of years.

From behind them, a deep, gravelly whisper. Give me the box.

Jill’s shriek reverberated throughout the entire cemetery. She turned, and the edge of the light beam caught the face of a wild-haired, crazy-eyed old man. She screamed again and dropped the flashlight; the light went out. Though he was as scared as she was, Tony hobbled back to insert himself between Jill and the old man. The man grabbed for the box. Tony flailed out with his right arm, the box flew out of the old man’s hand, smacking into a headstone. The soft wood cracked, splitting the box open along its seams. Instantly, a searing light from inside the box flashed, then disappeared.

Tony thought, how could that be possible? He must've been seeing stars from hitting his head. Frantic, he looked around but the old man had disappeared. Jill knelt in the soil, her face buried in her arms. She must’ve tripped, too. He helped her to her feet.

You okay? she asked, then brushed her arm.

Moths, he said. They’re all over the place.

Tony, think I saw a flash of light coming from the box.

Tony glanced down at the broken box. Of course there was no light inside. From hitting your head when you fell, that’s all.

But I didn’t—

The cough interrupted her. They both froze. He was still there.

Tony grabbed Jill’s hand, and they hobbled away as fast as they could. He took a chance and glanced back over his shoulder.

The old man stood as still as a headstone, watching them escape.

4

Day 2, Thursday—12:33 a.m.

ESTIN STRODE ACROSS the threadbare lobby carpet to the refreshment stand. A gawky teenage boy greeted him.

Hi, Sheriff. Two bags?

Gimme the tub, Sammy. Double butter.

Out of butter. More packets upstairs but Mr. Dean won’t let me leave my post.

No problem. I know where he keeps them. Marley up there?

Sammy nodded, and Estin climbed the stairs at the end of the lobby to a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He knocked on the door bearing a hand-painted sign—Projection Room.

Hey, Marley, it’s Estin Booker.

The familiar reedy voice come through from the other side of the door. Just a minute.

Estin heard rapid footsteps and what sounded like furniture being dragged across the floor. The door opened. Sorry to bother you, said Estin. Sammy said you’re out of butter downstairs.

Sure, no problem. Come on in.

Estin entered. He’d been in the room before, mostly when he wanted a break from a quiet patrol, which included almost all of his patrols. He’d shoot the shit with Marley over popcorn and coke for 15 minutes or so while the 35 mm film projector turned beside them. Estin felt sorry for the man. Marley had few friends—actually Estin couldn’t think of one—and when he wasn’t at home spent virtually all of his time at the theater. In his late 60s with a gray prison pallor, Marley was built like a bowling ball. A few wiry gray hairs shot out randomly from his over-sized bald head. The man had been a fixture in town for as long as Estin could remember.

See you finally got a TV. He gestured to an old television resting on a wooden chair. The tiny set was not much wider than the cable box teetering on top of it.

Yeah, helps with the boredom.

Through the snowy picture Estin saw one of the late night hosts finishing up his monologue. Hope you didn’t pay much.

Irma Birch gave it to me. Got herself a flat screen. So, everything quiet out there?

This is Cumberton.

Marley offered a tight smile. He crossed the room to a cardboard box pushed up against the wall under a torn poster of Godfather II, and retrieved five bags of popcorn machine butter. Here you go. And tell Sammy not to charge you.

Thanks, but don’t want to wear out my welcome.

As soon as Estin stepped into the hallway, Marley locked the door

Reviews for Dead Light

[croknot1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Exceptional. It never got boring, and I could hardly put it down. Very scary. I loved the ending.

[toades_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. The ending something I hadn't expected. I thoroughly enjoyed the characters, especially Detective Tucci from Baltimore. I could actually see her in my mind. I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys mystery with a touch of the "Twilihgt Zone".

[grayeyeddame-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book was absolutely amazing... enthralling. Once I started reading it I couldn't put it down! LOVE the ending! so worth the reading, I can see reading this once again and again

[draak_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An ancient evil is being unleased on a small quiet college town of Cumberton, MD all because an old cemetery needs to be moved to build a new dormitory. When 2 students venture to the cemetery for something more than studying, one falls into an open grave. There they discover an old box and decide to open it thinking maybe treasure, but when they open it they see a flash of light and then nothing. What they have done is unleashed Lucifer's light and later that evening the suicide's begin because it's hungry for souls. Anna Tucci is a Baltimore Homicide detective who is ordered to Cumberton for some R & R and a need to get her anger under control. While on a fishing boat they reel in the first victim and Tucci partners up with Sheriff Estin Booker to investigate. This is not a book that you can put down. It grabs you from the first page and keeps you til the last with plenty of twist and turns. I have to admit that towards the end I was yelling at the characters and sitting on the edge of my seat. That is the mark of a really good book. I received this book from the author through LibraryThing for an honest review and I honestly loved this book. I highly recommend it and hope to read more by Mike Pace.