Simon Simple & The Dark Tower

By Rob Shelsky

Sorcerers, witches, and "Magick?" For a street kid in Boston to have a strange woman chasing him is bad enough, but when he finds out Cybelle is a witch and a "spotter," as well, Simon Simple's life takes a crazy turn. He tries to escape, but Cybelle finds him. Reluctantly accepting her proposal, he ends up at Sleepy Hollow on a trial basis, among sorcerers and witches, and where High and Low Magick, and not just "magic" are practiced.

There, trying to fit in, he makes friends with Jacob and Cassandra, only to discover he is very "different," has strange powers, such as making lightning balls that are just too big, dangerously so. And to be different in a place where time bends, cats talk, salamanders and bats act as spies, trees are entrances to subways, and some witches can't cast a permanent spell, is no small thing!

And what is it with those bats that keep flying about him? What do they want? Why do sinister forces seem to be gathering against him? Who are his parents and are they still alive? And what of the Nemesis and the Great Fall, not to mention the mythical Omni Sorcerer?

There are so many questions for Simon to answer, including what lies hidden in the Dark Tower. For an exciting read, check out Simon Simple & The Dark Tower, the first of the thrilling Simon Simple series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob Shelsky
• Release date: Jul 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466099357

Rob Shelsky

Rob Shelsky is an avid and eclectic writer, and averages about 4,000 words a day. He has several novels to his credit and two anthologies, with two romances out now, a Regency romance, Verity, along with the sequel, Faith, and soon to come, a time-travel romance.Rob has written science fiction articles for such magazines as The Internet Review of Science Fiction, numerous articles for AlienSkin Magazine, Neometropolis, Midnight Street (UK), Doorways, and other publications. Rob has had short stories published with Jim Baen’s Universe, Aberrant Dreams, AlienSkin, Gateway SF, Fifth Dimension, Continuum SF, Sonar4, Uncial Press, Planetary Stories, Pulp Spirit Magazine, Sex & Murder, and many more. He has a novella coming out in early 2010 with Aberrant Dreams Magazine’s first hardcover edition anthology, The Awakening. Rob’s novella, Avenger Of The People, will appear there alongside the works of such sci-fi greats as Alastair Reynolds, Ian Watson, Jana Oliver, Robert Madle, and just so many others. There is even an introduction by Jack McDevitt.Rob has a short story, Green Waters, now out with Sonar4’s Phase Shift anthology, and a paranormal story, Light On The Moor, coming out with Smashwords and Amazon.com.Now, Rob Shelsky is not only a writer, but a contributing editor for Currate.com travel articles, as well as being a reviewer for Novelspot. He is also a resident science fiction columnist for AlienSkin Magazine.Although widely traveled and continuing to travel, Rob now lives in North Carolina. He enjoys contemplating ideas for new stories while watching the sunsets over the mountains and sipping a glass of red wine, preferably a decent Merlot.Oh and check out this site for my Smashword books:Ebookswelove.com

Book preview

SIMON SIMPLE

&

THE DARK TOWER

By

R.R. Shelsky

PUBLISHED BY:

GKRS Publications

Partial Illustration By Sean McGrath

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

SIMON SIMPLE & THE DARK TOWER

Copyright © 2011 by Rob Shelsky

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Edition License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

* * *

~ DEDICATION ~

There is one person I’d especially like to thank.

I owe him so much.

George Kempland

I wish to acknowledge you for your loyalty, dedication, mountains of help, and always just being there for me.

Again, thanks so very much.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 The Chase

Chapter 2 The Recurring Nightmare

Chapter 3 The Spotter

Chapter 4 A Very Strange Offer

Chapter 5 Invisible Magick?

Chapter 6 Castle Frankenstein?

Chapter 7 Bats In The Belfry

Chapter 8 Cassandra

Chapter 9 Dormitory Daze

Chapter 10 Friends and Enemies

Chapter 11 Salamanders and Slip-Ups

Chapter 12 The Third Eye

Chapter 13 More Revelations

Chapter 14 The Highs And Lows Of Magick

Chapter 15 Something Wicked This Way Comes

Chapter 16 Things To Do, Places To Go, People To Meet

Chapter 17 Things To Consider

Chapter 18 The Thirteen

Chapter 19 A Ride On The Subway

Chapter 20 A Timely Revelation

Chapter 21 Snatched!

Chapter 22 Of Salamanders And Citadels

Chapter 23 Thing of Darkness, Thing of Evil

Chapter 24 The Battle Begins

Chapter 25 Explanations

Chapter 1—The Chase

Without any warning at all, Simon felt a strange prickling sensation creeping up the back of his neck. The short hairs there stood on end, as with a sudden chill. Feeling this, Simon immediately looked up from his work, and quickly glanced about him. Why he did this, he couldn’t have explained, other than the fact he had an abrupt and powerfully strong urge to do so.

Turning to the seeming source of the feeling, Simon saw the woman first. This was odd, because the police officer she walked with was big, a great bear of a man. So logically, he was the one Simon should have focused on (and the more important fact that he was a cop), and not the much shorter woman walking so briskly along beside him. Yet, she drew his attention the most.

Why is that, he wondered. Simon had strange feelings about people…sometimes. Some might even call them premonitions. Was this one of those times?

All this had caught Simon unawares, off guard. Just moments before, the twelve-year-old had been happily minding his own business, gazing at a miniature version of his face, as it reflected in the shiny surface of the man’s black shoe. It distorted how he really looked. At least, he sincerely hoped it did. Simon’s nose appeared to be a gigantic pink blob. His cheeks were long and narrow, and his chin came to a sharp point, giving his face an oddly hollow look. His ears were gigantic and looked like a pair of seagull’s wings. Overall, it made him look very much like a cartoon version of a blond elf.

Simon was no stranger to this distorted resemblance of him. He had seen this reflection many times before, because he had shined many pairs of shoes. As on those other countless occasions, he had once again been lost in his own thoughts, daydreaming, until he spotted the woman.

Despite his sudden and baffling interest in her, the police officer now had to command his full attention. Police always did. In Simon’s short life, they had to. The cop was not only a good deal taller than she was, but a good deal wider, as well. As if his sheer size wasn’t bad enough, his looks weren’t any better, for the man had a beefy red face, piggy eyes, and a great, bulbous nose. His face became progressively redder now, no doubt made so by the effort he was exerting. Even at this distance, Simon could see he was sweating profusely in the hot afternoon sun, for his face gleamed wetly.

Simon instantly disliked him. This wasn’t uncommon. He disliked all police officers. It was nothing personal. It was their job to catch him and to put him in a shelter or foster home (for his own good, as they always said). It was his job to avoid such an outcome at all cost. At least, that’s how Simon saw it—as a job, or at least sort of. To maintain one’s personal freedom took a lot of work.

Odd, Simon thought. The officer was not taking the lead as usual, but instead, was meekly following the woman. The man kept turning his head from left to right, as if searching for something or someone. He didn’t seem to have any idea of where he was going.

She did. The woman moved purposely across the street. She threaded her way through the people who thronged about her. Like an arrow heading for its target, she aimed without hesitation directly for Simon. She fixed her gaze upon him where he kneeled by the man’s feet. Behind her, the officer attempted to keep pace, but his size didn’t seem to be working to his advantage. He kept banging into or bumping shoulders with people who were passing him, intent on going the opposite way. The poor man was the victim of many a nasty look because of these collisions.

By comparison, the woman, almost magically, it seemed, just glided through the crowd, and without brushing against so much as a single person. Unlike the hapless police officer, she didn’t draw any attention to herself whatsoever, good or bad.

Taking all this in, it took a precious moment for Simon to realize she was the real danger here, not the burly officer, as was usually the case. Finally, the truth of this did hit him.

When it did, instantly, he reacted. He thrust the rag he was using along with the shoe polish back into his case, slammed it shut, slung the thing over his shoulder, and took off running down the street, away from the approaching couple.

Hey! exclaimed the dapper, but elderly man whose shoes Simon had been shining, and had only half completed. Simon gave him no notice. He couldn’t afford to, because his precious freedom was now at stake. Leaving the man with his mouth hanging open in astonishment, Simon ran flat-out, as fast as he possibly could. His feet pounded heavily on the pavement. He dodged in an out of the crowd, deftly weaving his way through the throng.

As he ran, he tried frantically to figure out the situation. The woman had to be a social worker, surely. What else could she be? Although he had only a few fleeting glimpses of her, she struck him as the type. At first glance, she appeared to be middle-aged, neat, and proper looking, although, he felt her hat was somewhat weird looking, and she had a very intent, some might even say, singular, expression on her face.

This was the sure sign of another do-gooder! They all had that same look. Simon had trained himself in spotting it. Now, it only took him an instant, because one came to recognize that look after they’d lived on the streets for a while. The single-minded, purposeful air of someone who was determined to do what they thought was best for you, whether you liked it or not.

At least, most of them had that look. Some did not. Some social workers looked just plain bored with you. Those were the easiest to fool, and if caught by them, they were the easiest to get away from when a good opportunity presented itself. Such types didn’t really care about you. To them, catching a runaway was just part of the job. Because of this, one could easily give them the slip…eventually. It was just a matter of waiting until they weren’t paying attention. Of course, they never cared enough to run after a person like this in the first place, so they were rarely a problem. No. It was just the do-gooders. They were the ones a street kid had to avoid, like now.

All these thoughts flashed through Simon’s mind as he raced down the street. He came to an intersection and skidded to a halt, breathing heavily. He brushed blond locks from his sweating forehead. The light was red, which normally wouldn’t have stopped him from making a dash across the road anyway, but the traffic on the street was simply too heavy to dare this. He paused for a split second and gasped for more breath. He risked a quick glance behind him. She was still there, running after him for all she was worth.

Not bad for a woman her age, even if she does run like a girl, he thought, fleetingly, as he watched her knock-kneed running. Still, despite her best efforts, he’d managed to put more distance between them. Of the police officer, there was absolutely no sign at all. Simon guessed the man was too fat, and simply not capable of keeping up with her, let alone him. Well then, that was one down and only one to go. This seemed easy.

Just then, he heard the woman call out to him by name. Simon! she yelled, her voice sounding faint over the roar of traffic noise. Simon, wait! I need to talk to you. Her voice was high and thin. It quavered, too, probably from the effort of her pursuit.

Simon made only a quick mental note of the fact that she knew his name, as he took off again at a dead run, this time down the side street to his left. It was not as wide as the main boulevard. The crowd of people was thicker here, making his going tougher. He had to dodge around many of them. Several times, he almost ran right into someone, only ducking and darting about them at the last second in order to avoid a head-on collision.

Now, it was his turn to get the nasty looks from people he brushed and bumped along the way—not to mention the occasional shouted epithet trailing after him. This was too hard! He wasn’t moving fast enough. He had to find another way. So thinking, upon the first alley he happened to chance upon, he made a sharp left into it.

Now his heart pumped heavily, slamming like a hammer in his chest, and he breathed in ragged, painful gasps, as he struggled to suck in enough air to keep up his pace. Worst of all, he was developing an agonizing stitch in his side, one that stabbed like a dagger with ever breath he took. Simon tried to focus his mind on his desperate need to escape, instead of on the mounting pain he was feeling. The boy shot down the alley, feet pounding on cobblestones. He rounded another corner, this time to his right. He gave another hurried glance over his shoulder as he ran. The woman was nowhere in sight. He had lost her. At least, he devoutly hoped he had!

Simon stopped in mid-dash and slumped against the brown brick wall that hemmed in one side of the ancient alley. Simon’s chest was heaving worse than ever now. The stitch in his side was sheer misery.

He pressed his hand against his diaphragm in an effort to stifle the pain. He gasped for much needed air in shallow breaths to avoid the knife-sharp stabs caused by drawing deeper ones. However, Simon wasn’t just resting. He was thinking as hard as his twelve-year-old mind would allow him, about what he should do next.

He knew he had to find a place to hide. What’s more, he had to find such a refuge quickly. Desperately, he glanced about him. He was in a narrow alleyway. In one direction was the blind corner he’d just come dashing around. Somewhere beyond that was the woman who was hunting him, perhaps coming closer even now, as he stood there hesitating, and mentally debating what to do next.

To the right was a dead end. There was a tall brick wall stopping him from going farther in that direction. Just a little ways before the dead end, there was an old screen door that opened onto the back of what must be a restaurant. At least, it was, if one were judging by the noises and odors issuing from inside. The smell of greasy fried food, and the clash and clatter of a busy kitchen was evidence enough for Simon. He doubted he could make it through there without major problems. Running pell-mell through a crowded kitchen and equally busy dining area did tend to make for a lot of commotion. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to draw more unwanted attention.

Besides, even if he did make it all the way through the restaurant, he would just end up back on the same street again. That’s probably where she was right now, wandering around, trying to spot him, so that definitely wouldn’t do at all. He could just picture himself coming out of the front door of the restaurant and bumping right into her. No, if he had truly lost the woman, he wanted to keep it that way. Some immediate hiding place would have to do.

Just when he thought there was no hope of finding one, he glanced to the side of the alley directly opposite the screen door. There was a large dumpster piled to overflowing with stinking garbage, a decaying heap of produce rotting in the moist heat of the Boston summer. Next to the bin was a stack of old cardboard boxes lying about in disarray. Apparently, there hadn’t been room in the dumpster for them.

Simon approached them. He wrinkled his nose in absolute disgust. Whew! They also smelled very strongly of rotten vegetables, and heaven only knew what else. There were some rather suspicious looking brown stains in their bottoms when he peered into them. Now he glanced again to his left, the way the woman would most likely be coming if she had not really lost him. After all, he didn’t expect her to come through the restaurant and out the back door, any more than he would have gone through the place in the other direction.

Simon’s options appeared to be severely limited. Well then, there was no help for it. He had to do it. With a long, slow sigh of regret, he shifted the boxes, sank to his knees, crawled in, and under them. The reek was incredible, but he ignored the smell, just as he had done so many times before in the past, and burrowed his way in deep amongst them. Simon arranged the mass of boxes artfully over and around himself to hide his body. Then he settled back to wait in the sultry, stinking darkness. The minutes ticked slowly by. The stench was nauseating. It struck him like a solid wall, a physical onslaught of terrible smell.

Too make matters worse; he felt overheated from his running. Combined with the hot and humid summer air, and the close confines of his hiding place, this caused him to sweat profusely. The result was that he felt sticky, smelly, dirty, and utterly miserable. How many times in the last year had he felt this way, breathed in horrible rotten odors like these? Too many times, too many times, he’d had to hide from someone or other.

Living on the streets of Boston was not an easy life at the best of times, especially not for a twelve-year-old boy (even if he was almost thirteen). The weather wasn’t always nice. Far from it, even in the summer time, although hot right now, it could be cold and rainy on occasion, or even overcast and foggy. In such weather, the chill damp air would seem to invade Simon’s very bones, and he would have to seek warmer shelter than the rare covered bus stop, or shop-front awning could provide against such heavy rain.

At such times, and in such bad weather, it meant more often than not, his having to roll up in an old carpet under a freeway overpass, or wrapping himself up in soggy, rotting newspapers. Sometimes, like now, it meant finding old cardboard boxes that lay about in various out of the way places, and crawling underneath them. It was a hard life. It taught hard lessons. One such lesson Simon had learned well over the last year was to have patience. He used that patience now.

Tired and bored, he finally fell asleep. Like so many times before, the strange dream started again…

Chapter 2—The Recurring Nightmare

He was at the base of a very tall tower, one built of roughest stone. It was not wide, but it seemed to rear up forever above him. The spire loomed darkly over Simon, the very top of it lost in the murky clouds, which raced across the wild night sky. There were no stars visible, but there was a deep yellow moon. It was almost full. The orb glowed like an evil baleful eye, undiminished by the wind-shredded clouds, the tatters of which fled past it. The moon seemed to stare down at him now with its unblinking glare. Simon felt very small, terribly exposed, and afraid, as he stood there in the glare of its awful silver light. Yet, it was the only available light to be had in that black, black night.

In front of Simon, and almost lost in the inky shadows cast by the irregular wall of the tower, was a narrow stone staircase. It spiraled upward, around the structure, and looked very old, positively ancient, in fact. There were large chunks of stone missing, as if something huge had been taking bites out of the steps.

To add to the problem, many pieces of gray rock were still lying tumbled about wherever they had chanced to fall. It was as if they were just waiting, as if someone had laid them there deliberately as some dangerous obstacle course. An unwary person could step on them and turn an ankle.

Then, an even more horrible thought struck Simon. Some pieces must have landed deep in the shadows where they lay unseen and could trip a person, causing him to tumble to his death over the edge, for there was no protective railing, nothing at all. The staircase was a minefield of holes and stones! More than this, numerous tiny cracks had formed in the once hard surfaces of the steps. These were most probably caused by water that had trickled down them for countless, numberless years. The stairs looked as if they could crumble under the slightest pressure.

Even to set foot on such a staircase was treacherous, and to climb it was unthinkable! Still, somehow, Simon knew he had to do it. Some unseen force was pushing him onward. Some unknown, but overwhelming sense of urgency drove him forward. He seemed to have no choice.

Gingerly, he set his right foot on the first step and began to ascend the staircase. Immediately, the wind picked up. At first, it was little more than a light, but steady breeze, smelling of decaying leaves, composting vegetation. Simon felt the wind to be a mere annoyance, but not a significant problem. He continued to mount the stairs without hesitation. As he climbed, he slowly circled upwards around the curve of the tower’s lower walls. Round and round, and higher he went.

Carefully, he would set one foot down on a step, and then even more carefully, set the other onto the next. All the while, he kept an eagle eye out for loose stones or particularly large holes, ones that might cause him to stumble or lose his balance.

This wasn’t easy. The deep shadows and strong moonlight combined to trick him. The lunar glow cast everything into a stark black and white landscape, one with no grays in between. Was that dark patch up ahead on the left, really a hole, or just a particularly inky shadow? Should he step to the right of it, and thus come perilously close to the cliff-like edge of the staircase, or just chance stepping there, in the shadowed darkness?

Every single step he mounted required such enormous decisions. Each such decision could prove to have fatal consequences. Tiny pebbles of stone crumbled from the edges of the stairs under the pressure of his weight. These usually fell over the edge into the waiting darkness, or tumbled down onto lower steps. They gave only a faint rattle as they went. Even this sound swiftly died away, swallowed up in the black depths below.

The wind grew stronger as he climbed upwards, circling the tower in a seemingly endless quest for the top. Simon couldn’t ignore the force of the air current now. He pressed a hand against the wall as he moved, using this measure to guide him through the darker areas, and to help steady him against the mounting pressure of the wind. The stone felt cold, damp, and rough beneath his trailing fingers. There was an unpleasant sensation to the wall. It had a seeming slickness that bordered on being slimy, despite the roughness of the surface.

The chill night air moaned and whipsawed around the tower. The wind tugged fitfully at him, now pushing, next pulling, and then unexpectedly stopping altogether. That was the worst part. One minute he would be straining against the wind, and the next moment—nothing! Several times because of this, he almost lost his balance and toppled over the side. However, each time he managed to regain his footing and continue on his way.

Simon’s breathing sounded loud and rasping in his own ears. His legs were shaking with fatigue from his efforts. Nevertheless, there was no relief. Instead of becoming easier as he mounted them, the stairs became more uneven and broken, more of a ruin than a fact. More pieces of the steps, not mere pebbles anymore, but large crumbling blocks of stone, broke away from under his feet, fracturing into smaller pieces as they tumbled and clattered away into the pitch darkness.

Caution was not so easy a matter now. At times, Simon had to leap from one collapsing step to the next, with only a split second to spare between reaching relative safety, or a sudden fall to his death. He had to either do this, or stay where he was. The disintegration of the steps left large gaps in the stairway behind him. He seriously doubted if he could ever make it back down that way. His line of retreat was no more. He could only go upward—upward into the dark unknown.

The wind reached gale-force strength and ripped at him. Simon would open his mouth to take a breath and the wind would seem to snatch the very air from his lungs, leaving him gaping and gasping like a fish out of water. Like the invisible, icy hands of clutching dead spirits, the gale grabbed and shook him. It was as if it was trying to pull him off the tower and bodily throw him, toss him down to his death in the black abyss. Simon could feel the tower actually sway under the force of the storm. It rocked unsteadily from side to side. Where his left hand brushed along the wall, he could feel a strange vibration, as if the wind was playing the tower like some hellish and giant musical instrument. Lightning flashed now, but there was no sound of following thunder.

The same driving force within him kept pushing Simon on. However, he was almost done for now. Extreme exhaustion and the cold lay heavy upon him, like a great invisible weight. His remaining strength ebbed away, bit by bit, with each step he mounted. He dragged himself up the steep staircase now. Simon could see he was nearly up to the level of the clouds.

They raced just a few feet above him,