Yorgan HellHound

By Asa Foley

Doctor Isley is a man of science, not myth, magic, witchcraft or the fiction that is the bible. Vicar tries to convince Isley to examine the facts around the legend of Yorgan the Hellhound and Sven the Zombie that is the master of Yorgan.

When Science became the new God, then Satan became the new master.

In 1900 Savannah Georgia Doctor Isley sets out to prove as false the myth of Yorgan the HellHound and his master Sven. On his journey Doctor Isley encounters Demonic Sharks, the Vampire Countess Lorena of Turkestan, Boggs in Ireland where the undead suck down small children and old men, Zombies, Slavery, torture and Demons that feed upon the fear of humans.

On a small spit of sand that juts into the Atlantic Ocean Doctor Isley must face his own crippling fear. His large silver gun is of no use when fear holds fast the man and his logic. When we die we could go to heaven or hell depending on the life we have lived. When a demon takes your life they take your soul to hell for all eternity.

Doctor Isley defeats the demon Marni by using light, she fades back into the darkness from where she came. Her final call "Night will come, in the dark you will be mine again and forever."

Through the love of an Indian Maiden Doctor Isley learns to face his fears, stand his ground, overcome the demon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Asa Foley
• Release date: Jan 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310655067

Asa Foley

A truth of life - Those that do not understand history are doomed to repeat it.My goal in writing is to present actual factual history woven in a story that captures the imagination, makes people think, opens doors of communication.In Selling Flesh the facts of the pornography industry are the human trafficking, destruction of lives for profit, the smut peddlers are not perverts they are now very wealth business men who can trace their roots into organized crime. Women in the industry are often just slaves through actual bondage, drugs, economic circumstances or being illegally in America. These facts are woven in an interesting story of a lawyer wanting to profit from the very profitable business only to find his life in danger.The three current novels are.Arrow - About the transition from Arrows to Guns in a 1,200 kingdom. The novel also explores power, corruption of spirit and flesh, loyalty and in the end love and respect.Selling Flesh - Killing dreams, one girl at a time - About the porn industry, human trafficking, computer viruses, and the billions paid to look at the smiling pictures as harmless fun.La Pinta - After Columbus left the wreckage of the Santa Maria off of Hispaniola, and the Nina returned with Columbus to the New World - La Pinta was lost - Join a group of treasure hunters looking for the lost history. Onboard the Red, a Navy/CIA ship they hunt and fight drug dealers in the Caribbean - Examine the history of the Pinzon brothers that were the real heros of the voyage of discovery.Yorgan HellHound - Being a historian I started looking at the Zombie craze and found that zombies were real in the late 1800s and early 1900s - Also that HellHounds exist in the lore of countries and cultures all over the world. The story of Yorgan becoming a HellHound will be disproved by Dr. Isley in 1900 Savannah. But as Isley finds there are no Hellhounds, Vampires or Zombies. After he finds the root of these myths he also finds that demons are very real and they hunt his dreams to feed on his fear.I have also written ten feature length screenplays and twenty short theater plays.My carrier was for 30 years an investigator, auditor and computer developer with the State of California. Within the bureaucracy there were many amazing people doing great things and it was a great learning ground for my current writing.In Sacramento my lovely wife, three kids, grandma and two huge dogs, we have a great life. I am a very lucky man because to write so much requires the support and understanding of everyone in the house. I am also grateful for my Mom and school system for exposing me to great writers in a way that was enjoyable. My world is richer because of Shakespeare, Hemingway, Douglas Adams and many others.

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Yorgan Hellhound

By Asa Foley

Based on Movie Script

Yorgan Hellhound

Copyright 2013

Smashwords Edition

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YORGAN HELLHOUND

By: Asa Foley

Copyright: January 2013

Chapter 1: HISTORY

HELLHOUNDS

Every culture in the world has lore of Hellhounds. They are just Supernatural large dogs with glowing red or yellow eyes. The huge dogs guard burial grounds or escort the dead into hell.

Hellhounds have been known by the names of Garmr, Annwn, Cerberus, Gwyllgi, Cadejo and Barghest.

In Suffolk England during the storm of 1577 a Barghest entered a church and ripped apart two innocent people who were on their knees praying to God.

In Japan Admiral Akainu called the Dark Dog from the Magma of the earth to vanquish his enemies.

In Anzio Baraga Park in Southern California during 1986 a hellhound was spotted frequently at night and eventually led two teenagers to his den and they were never heard from again.

Logic dictates that if all cultures know such beasts exist, then a man that denies the existence of Hellhounds must not be sane.

When Doctor Isley proves that God does not exist, then Satan will send a Hellhound to fetch Doctor Isley to spend all eternity in hell.

ZOMBIES

Zombies that rise from the dead are part of the lore of the Caribbean Islands and were very real. When Slavery stopped in America the ships kept taking slaves to the Caribbean.

Voodoo Priestess created a powder from Night Shade, Cocaine and Puffer Fish that knocked out people and slowed their heart until it was not detectable. The person would be pronounced dead and buried in a shallow grave.

Later that night the person would rise from the grave, their face white with the powder, clothing dirty and they would be very hungry.

The slave would then be a willing subject to harvest the sugarcane that was used to make rum for export to England.

Doctor Isley must learn how to survive being a Zombie if he is to overcome his own demons.

*****

Chapter 2: SULTRY

Summers in Savannah Georgia were muggy affairs with humidity so thick it had a texture of its own making.

The year Nineteen Hundred had come with all the normal pontification about how our world would change forever. Faced with fear or courage the future could be demoralizing or exciting.

Motorcars ambled slowly down streets shared by horses and bicycles. Automobiles often traveled at the same pace as the pedestrians, which offered the horse still a great advantage in speed and durability.

Slavery in America had ended on January 1, 1863, with the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation by Abraham Lincoln. Of course for true Southern Aristocrats the surrender of the Southern states to the Northern Aggressors in 1865 was the real end of the true Southern way of life.

This sultry day in Savannah was just as oppressive as stink on a skunk. Buggies rambled down cobblestone streets with wooden sidewalks, young black men walked fine horses to livery stables and a porch with a mint tea was the safest place to be.

Men folk were off to work. Women could tend to chores and shopping. Each person was careful to place each step less they fell pray to mud or horse excrement.

A new Winton horseless carriage rambled up the street to stop beside the raised wooden sidewalk.

Doctor Isley stepped slowly from the Winton and took a moment on the wooden planks to straighten his clothing and look up and down the street for any issue that might seek out his attention.

The Doctor had achieved a very handsome reputation as a surgeon of remarkable talent by age thirty. His dapper manner and fine clothing had made him quite a hit in Savannah social circles.

Isley still looked very nervous this morning, but straightened his clothing, stiffened his posture and walked slowly a few steps to the fine English Teahouse.

With each step Isley looked around as if all his other observations had missed the thing ruin his fine morning.

Inside the Teahouse Isley walked briskly through the door, but then stopped to look around intently as if afraid of what might attack him.

Once secure in his suspicions, Isley placed his paper on a table at the rear of the shop and walked to the counter to retrieve a scone and cup of tea.

Once seated at the table with his food and drink Isley finally relaxed. His long deep breath and easier manner all could be distinguished from his earlier nervous fear. Isley opened his paper to read the news of the day.

Not noticed by Isley, the Vicar of Ambrose Church walked into the Teashop quietly and sauntered up to Isley’s table.

Vicar was a portly man of late fifties in all black clothing with huge lamb-chop sideburns that ran from his jaw-line up past his ears and presented itself as a scraggly mat of hair that flew this way and that without challenge from a comb.

Standing directly in front of Isley, Vicar spoke in a loud pontificating voice that echoed about the small shop. Good morning Doctor, what a fine morning we are having.

Isley jumped slightly as he looked up from his newspaper to see Vicar standing right beside him. How? How the hell did you know I would be here, at this exact moment? Now you can destroy my brief interlude of solitude and bliss.

Vicar donned a large smile, laughed, and sat down without invitation. My good man, you do go on and on with your little jokes. How fortunate it is to share breakfast with you on such a fine hot day.

Isley just looked stunned at Vicar for a long time and then shook his head and spoke in a very angry sarcastic tone. Yes, so fortunate, now I can listen to you pontificate about this, that, and anything else that rambles across your mind, instead of a quite moment of reflection while reading actual news of the day.

Vicar laughed quite loudly, placed his large black wide brim hat on the table with his well-worn bible and slid in close. Well, I almost missed you, this is far from your usual haunts and not along my normal morning route.

Isley just shook his head, laid down his paper and took a long sip of tea. Yes, my planning is now squandered.

Vicar picked up the paper and glanced at the headline, then shook his head in disbelief and set the paper down. Well it is a good thing for you I happen along this route. That news they print is so lacking in any real substance.

Vicar pointed at Isley as if to further his point. After all, as a man of science you should be focused on the depth and breath of the human experience, not just a rehash of the humdrum.

Vicar picked up the newspaper again, turned it around in his hand, raised his eyebrows, and tossed Isley’s paper aside as a statement of disdain.

Isley nodded his head, straitened his jacket and smiled. Yes, how fortunate. I am sure a small church Vicar on a Coastal Bank Island has a more in-depth analysis of the human condition than a newspaper would.

Vicar picked up Isley’s fork and rolled it around in his hand slowly, took a bite of Isley’s scone and pointed Isley’s fork at him. Quite right, newspapers are detached. Those stories have been read, edited, read again, edited again and again.

Vicar poked at the paper with Isley’s fork a couple of times Anything of substance in those yarns has been choked out of them long, long, long before ink is placed on paper.

Isley just looked flummoxed beyond reason. Oh good god. Please dear Vicar, regale me with the truth not fit for print while I abscond with another scone.

Isley was still shaking his head when he stood. While you are at it, please feel free to finish my scone that you have started.

Vicar smiled as if he had won a victory, then slid Isley’s scone over to himself. Sorry old man, it is just that over my years of marriage, well, eating from my wife’s plate has become such a habit.

Isley leaned in and spoke quietly to Vicar. Well, that Maggie of yours is a saint. How she can contain herself from going to bed with a butcher knife and performing a larynx removal on you, is a mystery to us all?

For a moment Vicar looked confused, then laughed deeply. Oh, wait, I get it, ha, ha, that was quite funny. Poor dear Maggie loves me so, she is truly a devoted wife.

Isley walked off speaking under his breath. A marriage saved by small doses of candle wax in her ears followed by sleeping salts no doubt.

Vicar spoke loudly so Isley could hear while he picked up another scone and cup of tea. "This rag you were reading has nothing of Yorgan the dog, or Sven, his poor master. These journals would never print the true story of those poor doomed souls.

Isley smiled and laughed, then shook his head and looked as he had to try one more time to salvage this moment. Oh, for God’s sake, not that dead dog story again. Let that fable die with mythology and witchcraft. Please come with the rest of the world to Nineteen-hundred.

Vicar just kept shaking his head and poking at his scone. Shall I leave the truth behind because a calendar has ripped off a page? My bible is now one-thousand-nine-hundred-years old, yet it guides my life perfectly through these turbulent waters the world has given me.

Isley