The Chardon Chronicles: Season One -- The Harvest Festival

By Kevin Kimmich

The gods walk among men in this supernatural action adventure story.

A small town in Northeast Ohio becomes the backdrop for an epic, violent struggle between ancient beings and the Wells family. Tracy Wells learns her family business is collecting esoteric knowledge and defending humanity against a hidden world. The family library tells a story about Western civilization that’s not in history books, and details a natural world that’s unknown to science.

Tracy Wells is a senior at Chardon High School. She and her friends Morgan and Chloe begin to discover who they really are. It's a journey that brings them into conflict with parents and teachers, and an old corrupt organization that’s led by supernatural entities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Kimmich
• Release date: Mar 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311245632

Kevin Kimmich

I have an abiding interest in the history of ideas. I've always been intrigued by the conversion of the northern European peoples to Christianity, in the Renaissance, and in the Reformation. Over years of research, I discovered that a large piece of the historical puzzle is missing from the orthodox history of these revolutions. During my research, I periodically stumbled over references to the occult and to the Western Esoteric tradition. The strange and wonderful ideas in this tradition were elusive. I came from a very pragmatic background: an education in physics, and years of work as an engineer. Hence, it took several years of study and rumination on mythology for my thinking to shift from a merely analytical approach to a more comprehensive method of investigating the place of mankind in the universe. There's a subtle structure to the Greek myths, the Roman myths, the Norse myths, and Egyptian mythology. These mythological ideas are, from my point of view, like a decoder ring for trying to understand the world in poetical and mystical terms. This type of understanding is a way of escaping the limitations of reason and logic. I am just beginning to explore these ideas through fiction. I'm attempting to write stories that are entertaining and engaging, but still taps into this wellspring of knowledge.

Book preview

Chapter One

Judge Marcus Rice was on the road almost every morning. Rain didn’t bother him. Cold didn’t bother him. He jogged his five mile route as long as the footing wasn’t too bad. The rural roads of his route connected nowhere to nothing, so traffic was rare and drivers that did pass were usually courteous and slowed down as they went by. In spite of that, his wife made him wear a ridiculous, he thought, LED hat and jacket. He got the outfit for Christmas, and tweeted a picture of himself standing next to the tree, Which one’s the tree?! Lots of retweets and favorites on that one.

He lived in the country on a gentleman’s farm with his wife their four kids and a whole menagerie of animals. He made a point of keeping the place going year round as if farming were the family business. They rented horse stalls all year, did maple syrup in the spring, and firewood and hay in the fall. The kids usually enjoyed getting involved and the property was a great place to entertain and engage in the glad handing politics of the County: prosperous people helped other prosperous people be prosperous, but not in an unseemly way.

The miles ticked by under his feet. The dry grass of mid August was yellow and waving in a gentle morning breeze. The leaves of the maples and locust trees along the road were still mostly green. The sky was deep hazeless blue, and the morning sun a bright white disk. Fawns and their mother looked up at him as he went past. He waved, mornin’ fellas.

He had no idea death was bearing down on him. Sarah Cantoe pulled out of her sister’s driveway and went north on the narrow chip and tar two lane. She barreled along and ignored the sounds of the tires slapping over potholes. A bootleg CD from the tween idol du jour kept skipping and chirping and her kids were carrying on and fighting with each other. The light from the world poured through her eyes and into her mind, but the brilliance of the day only made a fuzzy impression on her.

She was under the influence of a cocktail of drugs and booze that would have rendered a typical person unable to walk, but for her it was just normal numbness. She saw Marcus’ vest from a couple of miles away. A small voice inside her pleaded to just pass him and go home, but she ignored it. She gripped the wheel and pointed the car over the double yellow lines. Marcus heard the car approaching from behind, but didn’t see it. His life was so routine and protected he barely imagined the possibility of an accident happening to him. He couldn’t have conceived that a group of predators stalked him for months and coldly decided to erase his presence from this plane of existence.

He didn’t really feel the impact. It was just a jumble of up and down and spinning sensations. A profound injury is a different sort of experience than a minor one. Get a paper cut, and a chorus of nerves shrieks against a background of quiet. The brain focuses all attention on a trifle. With a shattering injury, the attempt to regain equilibrium consumes all the brain’s resources. The world just becomes a fuzzy dream.

Chapter Two

Keith Marte woke up an hour before his alarm was set to sound and he got up to look in on his daughter Chloe. The condo was still stacked with boxes. Only the kitchen was unpacked and there was some sitting space in the living room. The timing of his lease running out in Nashville made the move a big rush, so they had no time to settle in before school started. He felt a little twinge of regret about it, but his daughter was amazingly resilient, or at least she pretended to be.

She was still asleep. Her cell phone screen was casting a faint glow up at the ceiling and shining against the empty boxes stacked near her dresser. He started the coffee and got breakfast going and picked up the paper from the concrete slab porch.

The activity nudged her awake, and a crusted rag slipped off her head onto the bed. Oh… shoot! shoot… shoot! She said. She walked out into the kitchen. What’s up? he asked.

I had a zit on my forehead last night, I was soaking it with peroxide, but I fell asleep. She ducked into the bathroom. Oh great! I’ve got skunk hair." She held the offending strands in her hand and stared at them.

Keith Marte glanced up from the paper. Well, it’s really not that bad. Maybe you’ll start a trend?

She rattled through some boxes in the kitchen. I don’t have any hair coloring! I tossed it before we moved. Grrr….

Wear a hat!

"Do I want to be that one kid who wears a hat? There can only be one per class; what if someone’s already that kid, dad?"

I’ve got some black spray paint in one of these boxes.

Haha. very funny. This trauma’s gonna scar me for life and all you can do is mock? I think I’ll do the hat.

Do you want a lift? I am going to the office and it’s on the way.

I think I’ll walk. Soak in the scenery.

She popped earbuds in her ears and set out toward the school. It was a cool morning and dew was silver on the grass. She had hiking boots on so she left the sidewalk and cut across the lawn of the condos. The town was just starting to stir. The adult faces in the cars were heading off to jobs away from town. The baby faced sixteen and seventeen year olds were heading toward the high school.

The high school is the heart of any small town. It’s one place where at least some patches of actual human life happen. Dreams are protected and even encouraged by adults who project their hopes on their children and at least attempt a vicarious escape from The Matrix.

The High School building was faced from reddish orange bricks and had two rows of dark framed institutional windows. Some were decorated with posterboard letters CHS and Welcome Back! signs. A smokestack towered above the building. Busses were stopped in a long line and the students without cars streamed from them into the building. Kids were hanging around by the doors catching up after the summer break, a few teachers and vice principals tried to keep the mass moving through the metal detectors.

A lanky black haired boy on a BMX bike shot past Chloe’s shoulder. He was wearing a black concert T-Shirt that had the name White Roses in script letters across the front with white silkscreened rose stems wrapped around his skinny torso. Hey! she shouted angrily.

Sorrrryyyyy she heard as he went by. Steeeeeve! he shouted and waved to a friend wearing the same T-shirt.

A convertible drove past on the way to the east student parking lot. It was a cream colored Austin Healey 3000 with red leather interior. The girl driving the car had shoulder length red hair that curled at the ends. She was wearing a bomber jacket and sunglasses like something out of the 1940’s. Heads turned as she passed.

Chloe’s 7:30AM class was Calculus. It was on the second floor of the building in a windowless drab cinder block room. The rear wall had a crack that ran from one side of the room to the other--the result of an earthquake in 1986. The crack had mostly been patched, except for a few places where the dark cinder block material was visible.

The room was already almost full by the time she found it. The two boys in the concert T shirts were sitting at the back chatting to each other and laughing. Tracy Wells the girl in the convertible was in the back row watching the class pile in. Chloe sat in front of her.

The teacher, Mr. Bartlett, walked into the room. He was a big man, with a big smile, and big hands. He wore a well worn dress shirt and some dockers with frayed cuffs and tennis shoes. He grabbed chalk and wrote on the board, sounding out the syllables. Cal-cu-lus. with a flourish underneath. What is it? What does it mean to you…Steve.

One of the concert T-Shirt boys answered with a shrug, To me, it means scary. The rest of the class chuckled. His friend, Morgan, nodded.

How about you, Tracy?

Integrals. Derivatives, I think… her voice was a contralto, a little rusted from smoking for a couple of years and seemed out of place coming from a fresh faced teen.

Yes, good. He wrote INTEGRAL and DERIVATIVE on the board along with their mathematical symbols. Then he stopped. This is the most important thing I’ll tell you all year. The class was very quiet. Calculus was invented--maybe discovered--by two men; Just flesh and blood men, dudes even, only a few hundred years ago. Their names were Isaac Newton and Gottfried Leibniz. It transformed the world... he launched into a lecture on the history of the subject.

When the bell rang, the room exploded into noise and activity. The kids clumped into groups and went out the door into the crowded hall. Morgan and Steve and Tracy went together. Chloe started to follow them. Morgan stopped suddenly when he saw something glinting in the crack in the wall.

She almost ran into him, and complained, Whoa! Again almost hitting me!

Oh, sorry. I thought I saw something in there. He pointed at the crack in the wall.

What, in the wall? She asked.

New Girl, can I call you New Girl? Yeah, there’s something shiny in there, I’ll have to check that out.

My name’s Chloe, Chloe Marte. My dad and I just moved here.

Tracy said, Nice hat.

Thanks.

Chapter Three

At the end of each school day, the high school becomes the nucleus of a cloud of activity that extends for miles. Kids head out onto the front field for marching band practice, others to football or gymnastics, some head into a garage to work on a car. Others go running miles for cross country. Some head home, or into the woods to smoke, drink, or get in trouble.

Chloe just started walking home with no particular plan in mind. At the crosswalk, Tracy pulled up. She was vaping. She blew out a cloud of mist through O’ed lips. Hey, Chloe. Want a ride?

Sure. The car is so cool. What is it?

Oh thanks. It’s an Austin Healey. It was my mom’s. I just took it out of storage. I love it, even though it’s actually pretty unreliable. Hopefully it will run for a few months before the next major repair.

Your mom?

"Well, I’ll fill you in before you hear the sad story from people who want to weep for me... My parents are gone. If you Google it, there was a car accident, a total loss. Dental records… DNA… But I know they’re not dead."

Wow. How long? Chloe checked Tracy’s face for any sign of emotion, but the sunglasses made it difficult to read her expression.

It’s been three years... My Uncle is around sometimes, but otherwise, it’s just me in a big old house.

I’m with my Dad in a condo. Mom’s who knows where doing god knows what.

Family, eh? Want to come over?

Sure, but can we stop at the drugstore first… bit of a hair emergency. She took off the hat.

Dude, you could totally pull that look off.

Maybe, but I want it painted black.

Chapter Four

The wind whipped their hair as Tracy buzzed along Sherman Road toward the tree farm. A big faded sign Wells Hardwoods stood high above the driveway, which was a gravel snake winding through a field toward a boxy white farmhouse with black shutters. In front of the house, hay was waving in fields that rolled off to a distant tree line.

They parked in a pole barn next to a Ford blue tractor. The floor was hard packed dirt that had been polished shiny by decades of feet and the place smelled of oily mustiness and hay. Light shone in through vents near the roof at either end. Chloe followed Tracy along a concrete path to the back door. She fumbled with a big ring of keys and they went in.

The interior of the house was like an all-wood box with windows. The ceilings, floors, and walls were wood. Some trim had been hand carved into leaves and acorns and geometric patterns. Knick-knack shelves and book shelves were tucked into every available space that wasn’t covered with a painting.

If you want to do your hair, be my guest. The bathroom is down the hall on the left. Or if you want to use the kitchen sink, go ahead and we can chat. I’m going to get a beer.

A beer?

Yeah, want one?

OK. I’ve never had one. I’d love one.

If you don’t like it I’ve got some hard cider. Or water or juice or whatever, too.

I’ll try a beer. Chloe opened the hair dye box at the sink. You have a towel? This can get messy, so if you’re a neat freak, don’t uh, freak.

Neat freak? Not me. Tracy grabbed a couple towels from a closet and threw them at Chloe. She popped open two Erie Brew House Red Ales with a bottle opener. Let me know if you’d rather try something else.

Um. Yeah… well, that’s so good. It’s so red. Looks like blood from this angle.

They chatted and drank in the den while her hair dried. The kitchen door opened again. That’s the guys. Hey guys! We’re in here.

Steve and Morgan walked in. They were sweaty from riding bikes. Steve got a glass of water and sat in a big plush chair. Morgan grabbed a beer from the fridge.

Hey! Chloe, was it? Morgan said. He sat on the couch next to Tracy. What’s your story, anyway?

My dad grew up here--that’s why we’re here, now. We were on the west coast when I was a kid. San Francisco--which I don’t really remember, then LA, then Nashville--that’s where we were last where my dad got shot!

Holy shit! For real? Steve said.

Well ‘just’ in the shoulder. He was only in the hospital for a day, then lots of physical therapy. His arm was in a sling for a couple of months. He couldn’t even make it move--and it basically atrophied into a broom stick. At therapy, they would just spin it around for him while he tried not to shout. It’s basically back to normal, now, though.

So back to sleepy Chardon to recover and put the pieces together? Steve said.

That and we have some family in the area--my Grandma on mom’s side.

Do you miss the city life? Tracy asked.

We just moved in last week, so I haven’t had time to miss anything yet. Nashville was cool. It’s a sort of small city/town, but there’s always something happening. LA was the burbs---but the Ocean was close and I was at the beach all the time---I had a group of friends. I haven’t been here long enough to judge, obvs.

Tracy, "Here, you have to make your fun. Every once in a while someone throws a party. But they’re usually just meh, she wobbled her hand back and forth, not worth going, or they’re stupidly crazy blow outs with ambulances and cops and fights."

Steve, And the cliques are basically set in stone at this point. You’re the first new kid in years.

Morgan, I think Tracy is the last one. She went from hanging with the rich kids at Tweedy Pines Academy to hanging with… us.

Mom had me go there for high school. I was only there in ninth grade, and I was pretty miserable. I think I would have ended up back in Chardon no matter what. Anyway, once it was just me and my Uncle there was no argument.

So now you’re back with the poor kids… Steve said.

Morgan nodded. Well, at least one poor kid he pointed at himself.

"At Tweedy, I was a poor kid. There were new money kids, old money rich kids, and old money ‘poor’... I guess that’s me… just draining the accounts, now. Well, trying not to."

Old money poor? Chloe asked.

"Yeah, well, we really don’t count for much in the money category. To me, this house is big and nice and comfortable, but it’d just be the guest house or maybe a barn for some of those families at Tweedy. When I say my family is ‘old’, all I mean is we know our history--every family is the same age, right? But yeah, follow me for the Wells Family History tour. The parts I know anyway."

They walked into the library. It was a two story room with big bay windows and rows of stoutly built walnut bookshelves that formed aisles from the floor to the ceiling. Oil paintings and black and white photos hung from the sides of the bookcases and the walls. A plank walkway circled the second floor aisles.

See that painting? She pointed to a big portrait on the wall. That’s my great-great-something grandparents. They were part of the original Massachusetts Bay settlement. Eventually, my family came here to help set up the Western Reserve deal… which was a total flop my dad says… Then they just stayed here instead of moving back East. Really, we’ve been on this farm since--mothers having babies, grandparents dying in beds.

That’s amazing. Chloe said and looked around the room. A twinge of self consciousness crept into her mind. My family history goes back to… my Dad and my Mom and Grandma.

Well, don’t feel bad, no matter what, it’s better than mine. Morgan said and whistled twice into the beer bottle.

Chapter Five

Keith’s office was in an old industrial park in Newbury, only about 7 miles from the condo. When he called about the place, he got a rose-colored description, for sure. The carpet was threadbare, and the office furniture looked like it had been sitting in a warehouse since Ike was President. At least there was a big picture window and he could see a patch of blue sky above the warehouse next door.

He was setting up the computer on the desk when there was a knock at the door. Hello? a man called out. He was wearing a tan sport jacket and jeans and had thick bifocals. His hair was white, but still thick and wavy. He looked familiar. Keith squinted at him.

You look so familiar… Chardon High?

Yes, that’s right, Keith. I remember you, but really only because I heard you were back in town. I looked you up in the yearbook before I came by.

Let’s see if I can remember… Rrrrrrriiiich, Rich Simons, right?

Yeah, that’s me, I think the white hair really throws people. It’s a genetic thing.

Tell me about the hair! Where did mine go? Keith rubbed his head and sighed. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but man time just marches on faster and faster. I think once I hit thirty, the years started going by in the blink of an eye.

"Tell me about it! My youngest is in college this year. I’m an empty nester!"

Just curious, how’d you find my office? I haven’t even put an ad in the paper yet.

I saw you move in. My office is just across the road. He gestured over his shoulder. I actually could use some help if you’re ready to do some work.

I’d be happy to.

I’m an attorney. A friend of a friend asked me to look into a hit and run...

The Judge? I saw the driver was just sentenced.

Yes that’s it.

I read about it in the paper this morning. Tragic accident.

"Yeah… well…. maybe an accident. I’ve heard gossip about your career here and there… you’ve had, let’s say, an exciting career while I’ve been doing Wills and Divorces."

Yeah, it’s been exciting at times.... he rubbed his shoulder. The muscle was still more like jelly than the solid mass it used to be--he still couldn’t do a push-up.

Well, people will be glad you’re back. Things have changed here… a lot… and not all for the better.

Fill me in over a drink?

Stop over later today and we can crack a bottle.

Chapter Six

Tracy, Chloe and the boys walked through the woods. The leaves were just starting to change, and the tractor trail was dry and hard as concrete. The trail ended at the top of a hill. Hemlock trees shaded a fire ring, beyond it the hill sloped down toward a sheer sandstone wall, which plunged to the valley floor below. The woods was carpeted with centuries of leaves from ancient, tall oaks, smooth barked beeches and immense, gnarled maples. The brilliant bright field was visible in the distance.

The boys set down a cooler and popped open two more bottles. Want any?

Tracy, No, I’m good. Please guys, don’t get drunk. You’re not staying over here again. Your parents hate me enough.

Hate you? Chloe asked.

Steve tapped the bottle with his fingernail. "She ‘undermines parental authority by living alone’… that’s what my mom says."

I have to run into town, too. Tracy said.

More online auctions? Steve asked.

I have to pay the property taxes on this place next month. That’s the downside to independence.

Morgan asked, Why not get the firewood business going again? Or sell some more trees to the Amish guy? Where’s your Uncle anyway...

He’s here one month then gone for six. It’s too early for the firewood. Yeah, I need to scout around here again for some more trees to sell. I always feel bad selling them though. I’d rather just sell the shit we still have in the attic from Mom’s shop.

Some of that stuff is your history… Trees, well, they’re just trees. Can you hear them scream or something? Morgan screamed and mimed toppling over.

I get it about the trees... Chloe said looking around at the canopy. These are old, old trees.

Morgan hit Steve’s shoulder, Should we climb the cliff before we go?

Oh you ‘studz’ with a ‘z’ have to show off? Geez don’t fall again. Remember that?

Scared the shit out of us. Steve said. That must have been twenty feet.

No blood, no foul. Morgan said.

The boys ran down a path to the valley floor. Chloe jogged after them. On the steepest part of the path, the boys descended wildly, arms flailing. Steve kept kicking at Morgan’s heels to try to knock him over. When they got to the bottom, they were both out of breath. Chloe stopped and looked up. Hey, that looks taller from here.

We don’t try to go all the way up the face anymore. If you reach that root there, you can get into that crevasse between the rocks, then the tree roots are like a ladder back up to the top. It’s fun. Watch me. Morgan followed a well tested path up the face to the root. Then he hoisted himself into the crack and wedged himself in so he could look down. See, it’s easy.

Chloe followed up to the root. Morgan held out a hand to help her. Let’s see if I can do this. She grabbed another handhold then scampered up the face to the top.

Holy moly… are you a monkey?! He could just see her face peering over, smiling at him. She flexed her muscles.

Chapter Seven

Keith trotted across Kinsman Road to the Law Offices of Richard Simons III. The office was a converted Cape Cod. There was a reception room and two lawyer’s offices. The place still had a full kitchen. Rich opened the fridge. Let’s see. There’s beer, I think there’s some wine, and there’s definitely some whiskey… the good stuff. I think there’s even a couple of bottles of champagne in here…

Beer sounds perfect. You said things were changing for the worse around here. What’s been going on?

There have always been drugs, right, but it’s gotten a lot more organized lately, and more hard stuff, lots of heroin, believe it or not. It’s got people worried.

Keith nodded. That’s a shame. Could be growing pangs. I guess more people means more bad people.

You’re probably right about that. Rich trailed off. He took a big drink.

Keith decided to push the conversation toward business, What do you know about the accident?

My client--and before you ask, I should say the client will remain anonymous--suspects it wasn’t an accident. A month before Judge Marcus was killed, Sarah Cantoe won the lottery. She redeemed a scratch off ticket worth $100k.

She could just be lucky. Keith smirked.

It’s an ideal way to pay someone for dirty deeds, right?

Keith scratch the stubble on his bald head. Is there anything more to go on than that? That’s some weak stuff, Rich. That’s like putting a carrot in a bucket of water and calling it soup.

"Well, from my perspective her behavior was unusual, really out of character. This perpetually broke, druggie party girl didn’t blow any of the money in a month. For the first time in her life, she was prudent and socked it all away."

Interesting. It’s possible someone managed her… Keith raised an eyebrow. That’s definitely some smoke, at least. I investigated a couple contract killings on insurance cases. They were both done by dumb-ass criminals who left a trail a blind man could follow. An interesting question here is who could get their hands on a winning scratch off ticket like that?

Yeah, I’ve wondered about that.

Any way we can we talk to Sarah Cantoe? That might save us a lot of time.

Hmmm. Rich put his fingers together. I think we can.

Chapter Eight

Steve and Morgan raced Tracy and Chloe down the driveway on their bikes. She stayed parallel to them for a few seconds like it was a contest, then drove away. They shook fists in mock rage.

She and Chloe drove to the PO to drop off the package. The attendant knew her now as a regular. She’d mailed dozens of packages all over the country. Hi Tracy, any insurance on this one?

Not on this one, thanks Emily. She patted the box and she and Chloe went out into the parking lot. The sun was starting to sink on the horizon and the heat of the autumn day was turning chill. The pavement smell wafted through the air.

Cha-ching. Food for the next few weeks! I need a smoke… well a vape anyway. It’s killing me.

I’m glad I never started smoking.

Yeah, it’s a really bad habit. After my parents were gone, I smoked in the house for a while, really mostly just because I could. Then one day I was cleaning the windows in the library and saw how nasty the rag was from the tar. I switched to this, which seems better, she waved the e-cigarette, and I’m tapering off.

I think my dad must be starting to wonder where I am, first day and all. I should head home.

I’ll drop you off.

Chapter Nine

Tracy pulled into a parking spot in front of the Marte’s condo. MARTE was spelled out on the mailbox with some gold and black block letters. The condos were all the same. They were built on a small patch of ground evenly spaced around concrete cul de sacs radiating from a main road. Each one was small, tidy, white, and vinyl sided.

Want to come in? I can’t offer you a beer, but at least there’s some juice in the fridge… I think, or tap water anyway.

I have to warn you most of the time, parents hate me… In fact, let’s put it off for a while. I’m going to go home and veg.

No problema. My dad’s cool. Sometime you should meet him.

The car pulled away and Chloe waved. Tracy beeped the horn.

Her father was breaking down boxes. Look what I did! the rest of their stuff was put away. The condo started to look like a home.

While you were busy with that, I fixed the hair emergency and made some friends… A friend with a cool car.

Nice. I saw it. We will definitely need to look for one for you--probably not an Austin Healey, though. Not too practical in the winter! Here, a car’s basically a necessity.

Vroom. she pretended to drive to a stool at the kitchen counter. "That was Tracy Wells. She’s cool. Very adult. We also met a couple of her friends. The Northeast Ohio version of brahs."

Wells? I wonder if she’s related to Matt Wells. I knew him back in the day… They had a farm over on Sherman Road.

Yeah, maybe. I didn’t pay any attention to the roads. It was a big old white farmhouse, really nice inside, fields, trees, and some cool rock formations in the woods. Her parents are gone.

Yep, that’s it. Matt and his wife--her parents--disappeared. I wonder how she keeps the place going… That’s a lot for one person to take care of.

She mentioned an Uncle. I didn’t meet him though. She seems very independent.

Independence is a nice quality in a young lady.

How was your day?

Well, I got a job, so that’s good. Local lawyer--actually I knew him in high school--wants me to look into a hit and run case. Other than that, I started looking up some old friends. Not many people stayed in town.

They all went off for adventures in the big city, I suppose.

I’m the only one who got shot. Seems to gives me some gravitas.

Chapter Ten

Jerry’s black Mercedes SUV rumbled along a