In the Valley of Elah

By Dangerous Walker

Phillippe’s Box, a legendary artefact said to contain a demon, has surfaced and private detective Jacob Harker finds himself in a race to find those that seek it and stop a series of brutal murders.
With news of a coup brewing amongst the fallen angels, Harker finds himself in deeper than he thought and, together with a small group of allies, will fight demons and fallen angels to piece together the puzzle; find the Box and stop those that would see the world desolated and Heaven burn in order to take the Throne of God Himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dangerous Walker
• Release date: Dec 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310584428

Dangerous Walker

WELCOME.Welcome to the Library of the Universes.In it you will find many tales; adventures and horrors; love and loss. You will find heroes and heroines of all temperaments and backgrounds. You will fly through space; fight in wars; face beasts and ghosts.And as you read, you will find yourself drawn into this place, this Library of ancient Lore, and discover the truths that lie in the Universes and between them. Tales of ancient Evil that may still rise again and the Good that opposes it.Through the words and the pages will you lift the veil and then, O weary traveler, you might find that which you seeked, though I warn you, you might find more than you wished.But come then, find a seat, make yourself at home. Let me show you some books that might take your fancy and let's go on some adventures, you and I.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The door creaked open in the same way my secretary does her job, stubbornly half-hearted. It couldn’t even be bothered to open all the way and the man who was trying to enter had to give it another push. I wished straightaway that it had been better at keeping closed, or that my secretary was better at telling people I was out to lunch.

Mr. Harker, the man said holding his hat in his hands.

I held a palm out to the chair in front of my desk and he walked over and sat. I scratched my throat with the back of my fingers.

What can I do for you, Houngan?

So you know who I am, the man said simply.

I did, his name was DeSalle, he was a good twenty years older than me (which tells you nothing at this point, though my secretary might tell you that only makes him thirty) and had skin so dark it had a blue tinge in the dusty electric light. His eyes were dark and the sclera, you know the white part, was more a milky yellow, like cigarette stained wallpaper that used to be fancy. He wore a cheap suit with a crumpled pork pie hat that I admired before answering.

You’re a Houngan, a Voodoo priest. It’s DeSalle, isn’t it?

It is. I’m not local so I’m impressed you know me, he nodded to himself in some form of approval.

It’s kinda my job, I shrugged. It was on the door, I mean what’s the point of words if people aren’t going to read them?

It is, and that’s why I’m here.

So you can read.

What?

I like your hat, I said and I did. I like hats.

You like hats.

I said that.

Why are you here? I asked.

He pulled a crumpled newspaper from inside his suit.

I get the paper, I said, but I often didn’t. Have I mentioned my lazy secretary?

Then you will have seen this, he opened the paper and showed me.

Maybe he had already heard about my secretary.

Voodoo sacrifice.

That’s what the papers are saying, he said, but not before a tired sigh.

And you disagree.

I do.

And what’s it got to do with me? I asked.

You’re a private detective specialising in the occult, he said and the sign on the door paid for itself.

So I’m thinking you want me to show it had nothing to do with Voodoo.

Yes, he nodded earnestly.

I shook my head for effect.

Can’t do. This is murder, this is police business.

I don’t want you to trouble them. I just want someone who knows what they are talking about to point out that this is not a Voodoo sacrifice. We don’t do things like that, Mr Harker.

I know that.

So you already know that we are being targeted unfairly, he was getting more upset about it so I looked at the article.

All the hallmarks of a Voodoo sacrifice, I said.

Which you know we don’t do.

Someone in your congregation might have.

Then you don’t know my congregation.

I know you are meddling with Satan, Houngan.

We do good; Voodoo does good, Mr. Harker.

You’re playing with spirits, Houngan, there’s only one type that would go along with another religion, I said in my best stern voice.

I was told you would be like this, he said.

Celebrity, I said.

And I was told to come to you anyway because you wouldn’t let innocents suffer, because you know the truth of these things, he kneaded his hat.

Alright, I said with hands up.

He was right. Practitioners of Voodoo didn’t go around sacrificing people, at least not anymore, and even a quick read through of the article made the whole thing seem suspicious. It was too much like what you thought a Voodoo sacrifice would look like. It was Voodoo in a way that anyone with a little knowledge (probably from a film) would not look any closer at.

You think someone is trying to pin this on your temple, I said.

Yes, he seemed relieved. Who we are and who people think we are is very different.

Yes, it’s much worse, I frowned.

We see things very differently, he said.

Yes, you are wrong, dangerously so, and I am right, I said leaning back in my chair.

So be it, he said looking down.

No, I said forcefully. Not so be it.

I was told you would be like this, he said as if it was a mantra.

I tossed up between angry and resigned and went for the latter, as I so often did.

They won’t let me get in the way of a murder investigation, I said.

Not one of us can stop nor change the media, but we can present the real facts anyway. I worry that we will be persecuted, or someone will be prosecuted just because of how the media sees us, he said.

I felt sorry for him. Voodoo was famous in the media, especially films, and none of it was positive. It was all witchcraft and Voodoo dolls and actually they had quite a positive religion. They thought they were doing good for their god, Bondye, a bastardisation of Bon Dieu. The problem being that they were deceived. Being deceived by evil spirits to keep them away from the one true God.

I looked to the print on my wall, Hopper’s ‘Nighthawks’. I was being asked again to help someone, asked to do His work. Oh, yes, I already knew it was His work, I could feel it. This wasn’t Voodoo, this was something else that they wanted people to attribute to (the movie version of) Voodoo. It was a cover and the question that burned in my gut was, for what?

Alright. I should be able to see the body, should be able to show that this wasn’t Voodoo.

Oh, thank you, he almost deflated in my chair, you know, like someone had put a pin in him. You don’t think it is Voodoo.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. It has all the hallmarks of Voodoo, the problem here is that it doesn’t have any meaning behind it. I don’t want to find that meaning, Houngan.

You won’t, he said standing.

See yourself out, my secretary won’t, I said.

My card, he said putting it on my desk before leaving. He stopped at the door. Thank you, Harker.

Get out, I said staring at the ceiling.

He left and seconds later my secretary entered.

You’re surprisingly eager, I said to the ceiling.

This isn’t the Mash is it?

I don’t think so.

You think we’re on, don’t you?

What makes you say that? I asked looking at her.

The sad resignation on your face.

You say that with scorn, Adelaide, but you haven’t seen the things I have, I said deciding to look at the ceiling again.

She left. I played the game of trying to decide how old she was. At least ten years older than me, but she was in incredible shape and that twisted things. Much better shape than I was in now. Her face was unlined and that made me think younger, but the way she carried herself, talked to people all pointed to older. She could be twenty years older than me. I really didn’t know her that well at all, knew little to nothing of her past.

I stared at the ceiling. My chair had a good recline feature, and thinking of it now, Adelaide chose it for me. Apparently she knows me better than I know her.

This wasn’t the Mash, of course it wasn’t, this was murder. The Mash, if you must know, is what I do most days. Nix that, what I do most days is very little. I like to stare. At things, in things, out of things, it’s not much of a hobby, but a man has to have something.

When I’m not staring at things I’m investigating the paranormal. Well, I say ‘paranormal’ and hell, I say investigating, but as ghosts and the like don’t actually exist I don’t have to do much investigating. You might be surprised though at how little time I have for my hobby; spirituality and a belief in the occult has risen steadily in the last howevermanyyears despite the progress of science and technology. So I charge people to tell them that their ghost is a banging water pipe or tricks of light and/or sound.

You know of infrasound? It’s sound below 20Hz, which is the limit of our hearing. Basically noises below this can cause feelings of fear and dread and some can cause hallucinations. A lot of the time my job is finding out what in the building is causing those sounds.

But then there’s the other work I do, the real work. The whole paranormal stuff is just a front, a way to pay the bills. This was definitely the other stuff if it was anything at all. I really hoped it would be nothing; that I could show that it wasn’t Voodoo so the police wouldn’t bark up the wrong tree and then go home. Maybe stare at something for a while. But I had a feeling in my heart that told me different.

†

I’d managed to get an appointment with the detective leading the case, a Detective Garrett, and she hadn’t sounded too enthused at meeting with me. It’s tough to get taken seriously when you’re a ghost hunter and I can appreciate that. No wonder Adelaide was so grumpy, what would her friends think of her job? Or future boyfriends?

I don’t have time for this, Detective Garret told me.

It is prime staring time, I nodded and she gave me a quizzical glare as we entered a little office.

What?

I sat down without being asked.

I just need to see the body, I said as I had on the phone.

So you said. Not happening.

It’s not Voodoo, I said.

That’s not what I’m told.

It kinda looks like Voodoo, I replied.

I already know that, she frumped.

But it isn’t.

Oh no?

Nope.

She sighed and stared at the corner where the ceiling met the walls.

I have work to do, she said.

As do I.

Do you? she looked at me.

Well, outside of this, no. Not really.

Then I’m the only one here having their time wasted.

I’m here to save you wasted time. That and to help the Voodoo community, I said.

Because this isn’t Voodoo despite our experts saying that it is.

Did they?

I just said they did.

She had a point there.

They said it was definitely Voodoo, did they?

She thought about it briefly.

Not definitely, no.

Here’s my issue, the issue of my client. Why would they do it? Why would you do a Voodoo sacrifice and make it so public? There’s nothing in Voodoo that says a sacrifice should be public; as long as it’s done, it’s done. There are plenty of places to do it and never get caught.

She thought about it and I liked her for it. Thinking is becoming overrated in society and that’s a problem.

Criminals aren’t smart, she said finally.

This isn’t a criminal activity to them, it’s part of their religion.

Why would anyone else do it? Why make it public and try and frame someone else? Like you say, there’re plenty of places to do it secretly.

I’d need to look at the body, the crime scene photos; the crime scene if I could, to answer that question.

She laughed.

You really think I’m going to let you go to the crime scene?

No, I shrugged. I was used to this.

She looked around the room again. There was still nothing to see so I guessed she was weighing it up. In these instances it’s wise to keep your mouth shut. Says a lot about me. I had a quick stare out the window.

I’m not trying to jump in on your investigation, my client just wants something to say to the media when the inevitable happens.

Oh yeah? she turned on me. And what is that?

I stood up, this was a standing moment. I paced for effect and to not look like I was challenging her.

Two things bug me. One is that the media already has this and has so much detail, she grimaced about that. The second thing is a minor detail in the form of a Star of David.

What of it?

It’s got nothing to do with Voodoo. People connect Voodoo with Satanism and so don’t think about it.

So it’s done by amateurs, but it still begs the question why.

I didn’t answer, but thought about it again. It was really the sole reason that this wasn’t the Mash, wasn’t just something linked to the occult. There were plenty of murders that got linked to Satanism and other such things, and no doubt Satan got a kick out of them, but they weren’t for or by him. The idea that Satan wants human sacrifices is a myth, that’s not what he’s interested in, that’s lowbrow for him.

A little off topic, but I remember a case I was asked to advise on where a Christian had been killed in a supposed satanic ritual. I pointed out that the last thing Satan would want is a Christian to be killed and go to Heaven before Satan had a chance to break their faith.

It’s a sign, I said at last. I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want it to be anything more than the Mash.

A sign? she asked with eyebrows raised. For who?

That doesn’t matter to you, it really doesn’t.

If you know something you’ll be obstructing justice by not telling me, she said.

I laughed. I shouldn’t have, I didn’t mean to, but I did. When it came to Justice I often didn’t, couldn’t, work by the Law’s definition.

All I need is to see the body and then I’ve done what I’ve been paid for. I won’t get in your way after that.

She looked at me and I looked at her, our eyes pierced each other until she looked away.

OK. I can’t see the harm, but if you’re holding out… she left the threat hanging.

I plucked it up.

I’m not.

†

There wasn’t much of the body left, but there was more than would have been if it had been a Voodoo sacrifice. You see, in Voodoo the sacrifice means something, every action and the way it is performed, means something. This body was roughly hacked up and anything to point it to Voodoo was at the crime scene rather than on the body.

This wasn’t a Voodoo sacrifice, this was all about the show, there was one reason and only one reason for this sick murder and that was for it to be found, to be seen.

I sighed when we got back outside.

So? she asked in the cold air.

"So it’s not Voodoo, there’s no precision, no meaning to it. In Voodoo every cut means something, is special, part of the ritual. This was a hack job.

And like I said, they don’t do this kind of thing. At least not officially, so they don’t flaunt it like this.

So someone is trying to frame them.

No.

No?

Look, it doesn’t matter. This is what is going to happen; you and your fellow officers are going to follow the Voodoo route and you’re going to find a suspect. Everything is going to fit despite the person strenuously denying it all and then you are going to suddenly find a piece of evidence that ties them in. It’ll be a lucky break that closes the case and it’ll be forgotten.

Except that the church…

Temple, it’s called a Hounfour, I taught.

The Hounfour will deny it is Voodoo thanks to you.

And everyone wins. Except whoever you send to prison for it.

But you have more information.

No, I said looking at her directly for the first time. That’s it. That’s everything.

I turned and walked away. She had done as I had asked and I really didn’t have anything more to tell her. We were done, or so I thought. She wouldn’t, couldn’t believe anything else that I had in my mind; and it had nothing to do with her investigation. It was my investigation now.

I shouldn’t have baited her though, shouldn’t have told her how I thought it would have gone down; that was foolish because I was tired and annoyed at getting pulled in again. I was frustrated that I couldn’t tell her more, frustrated that I couldn’t tell anyone outside those that already knew.

CHAPTER TWO

That Sunday I went to church as I was reading. I read 1 Peter 5 and the Pastor preached particularly on verses 8 and 9:

‘Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walks about, seeking whom he may devour: Whom resist steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same afflictions are accomplished in your brethren that are in the world.’

Afterwards I stayed for tea. I more often don’t, but I wanted to. Wanted to what? I didn’t know then and don’t know now, maybe I was trying to be normal, trying to ignore what I was about to start. I talked to a few people, my friend Andy, mostly, but the pastor caught me as I tried to leave.

I hadn’t told him what I did for a living, but like a good pastor he had found out and had come to my office to talk. He was concerned that I either believed in ghosts and ghoulies or that I was conning people. I assured him that if I believed in such things, or if I was a conman, I wouldn’t be getting up early on a Sunday morning to go to church.

I explained to him that I was very honest with people, working out why they thought their house was haunted, I knew all the tricks, but I also told him that sometimes it was worse. Sometimes people were courting with evil presences through their lifestyles or the things they had in their house. I was upfront with my beliefs and the way I would deal with things, and for the most part they were happy. Some were not, everyone’s terrified you’re going to try and convert them. Most of those called me back a few days later anyway.

Ultimately my pastor was concerned for me and my spiritual safety and we had regular prayer sessions to help keep me safe. When you started playing with demons you needed that full armour of God.

We haven’t met up recently, pastor said.

No, we should do that, I agreed.

Anything out of the ordinary? Anything troubling? he asked.

Nothing much of anything, to be honest, I said.

I wasn’t going to mention the whole Voodoo thing, he didn’t know about that side of my life and that was for the best.

What did you think of my sermon?

I thought it was good, it’s good to be reminded that Satan is here on Earth, not some king of Hell, not some nemesis to God. It worries me that we ascribe too much to Satan, that if we are tempted or whatever it’s because of him, as if he is omnipresent, able to get into our thoughts and lead us astray.

You don’t think he can?

I think he can if he decides to target us, but I think most of our sins come down to us.

Agreed, he nodded. When are you free for a prayer time?

I thought about the murder and what it might mean.

I think now would be good if you can, I don’t know when I’m free this week.

Fine, let’s go to my office.

†

I already had a job booked for that week and went to a family home in a small town only an hour out of the city.

Thank you for coming, the woman said as she led me into the lounge. Would you like a drink?

A coffee would be good, thanks, I replied sitting on a sofa she pointed me to.

The house, from what I had seen, was nicely appointed. There were the obvious signs of children and she obviously spent a lot of time keeping the house neat and tidy despite of them. Family photos on the walls and on varying surfaces showed a happy middle-class family with two children. A girl who looked about fifteen and a son a year or two younger.

My husband would kill me if he knew you were here, she said re-entering the room.

How come?

A good sign, it meant that he didn’t believe anything was wrong. That generally meant that nothing was. Of course when there was, one person not believing could hamper the whole process. People could be really good at convincing themselves everything was OK.

He doesn’t think it’s anything, just the kids being silly, but… she trailed off.

But you agree with your children and you haven’t told him that, I finished.

She handed me my coffee and I put it down on the table next to me as she sat. She looked ashamed.

Yes. It’s silly, isn’t it?

"Not necessarily. Listen, I need to be upfront with you before we do anything. I don’t believe in ghosts and the like, often it is something mundane."

Then why do you do this? she asked as surprised as everyone else.

Because you look tired. Tired and worried and you want peace of mind.

She smiled a little and nodded. She looked like she was going to cry, something else I was familiar with.

I also need to tell you that I am a Christian and I operate within that belief system. If you don’t like that then I can go now.

She shook her head.

Oh no, I don’t have a problem with that. I don’t believe it myself, she said apologetically.

So many were apologetic, as if they should believe in it. Why not? It preached peace and love and, by not believing, were you saying you were against those things?

So tell me what the issue is? What’s been happening?

It all started with that stupid Ouija board. Someone gave it to us as a present and it sat in a cupboard before Ray, that’s our son, dug it out and we played with it one night. My husband and I had had a few glasses of wine and we thought it would be funny. It was a stormy night and all of that.

That’s cool, tell me about what happened.

After that there were bangs in the night; nothing that you wouldn’t put down to the house settling, but the children couldn’t sleep. They felt scared and had nightmares, she shook her head in frustration.

Nothing you couldn’t put down to something else, but what made you think there was something more?

I don’t know, the children weren’t sleeping so I was tired, but I thought things were in different places. I’d go to get them in the morning and they were somewhere else. Nothing crazy, I could have put the car keys in my bag instead of on the hook because I was tired. And then I started to have nightmares. Oh, you think I’m stupid don’t you? Or mad. I think I’ve gone mad, now the tears began to creep out.

No, I don’t think you’re mad, but it isn’t the Ouija board. Let me tell you something, the patent for that is held by Hasbro, bought from Parker Brothers; you know, the guys that do Monopoly.

Really? she asked with surprise and relief.

Yeah. So I’ve got an idea of what your problem is, but I’d like to look around the house first, if I may, I said standing.

It’s a lot harder to say no to a standing person; that would mean they’d have to sit down again and that would just be awkward.

Yes, of course. If you think that will help.

It’s a simple case of clearing up everything it could be, I’d feel bad if I wasn’t thorough, I smiled.

Right, yes, of course, she said and stood.

She was a little flustered, but they always were when someone actually took their complaints seriously. No one, even those that hired me, really believed it was something. Most were happy to pay me money just to tell them that ghosts didn’t exist and they were being silly. Which they mostly were as ghosts don’t exist.

The house was pretty much commonplace, a nice family home with all the wear of family life in it’s walls. But she was right. There was something else, something that didn’t belong in this happy home, an undercurrent of feeling. It’s hard to pinpoint, hard to give a name or description to it; you can feel it most in homes with domestic abuse. A sort of sadness and fear that permeates the rooms as if it has been sweated out and leached into the walls, the furniture. It’s like when you ask someone how they are and they tell you they are fine and they smile, but you can see the sadness in their eyes.

What’s this room? I asked stopping.

Oh, that’s Pete’s office, we can’t go in there.

I need to, I said seriously because I was serious.

He wouldn’t like that, she frowned.

What does he do? Your husband? For a job, I mean.

He’s a police officer. A detective.

I see, I said and turned the handle.

No, she said but it was too late. Oh. It should be locked.

We’ll lock it on our way out, I said.

It was locked, but I have some tricks up my sleeve. Literarily. You get an interesting toolkit in my line of work.

The room was the kind of mess you expect from a room that is worked in. There were two bulging bookcases, a filing cabinet and most of the room was taken up by the desk. I looked upon it. Case files; case files of a grisly looking murder.

Look, I really don’t think… she tried, but I was transfixed.

On the desk were notes and pictures. A girl cut up in a bathtub, but it was the notes that caught my eye. References to the Codex of Solomon and Phillippe’s Box. I quickly noted all that I could on the case including the girl’s name. I’d like to think that it was all just coincidence considering the whole Voodoo thing, but there are no coincidences on a chess board.

OK, we can go, I said and walked past her.

I shut the door and she tried the handle to make sure it was locked before we walked back to the lounge and I took a seat and a sip of coffee.

So I think I know what your problem is, I said.

But you haven’t heard everything, she complained.

Like what?

Well the Ouija board, it spelt something. Look I kept this, I don’t know why, I wrote down what it spelt out.

She dug around next to the seat she was in and pulled out a piece of paper that she handed to me. I read through it and sighed mentally.

Most of it is nothing, they say you are meant to start off with simple questions, but then it started to move on it’s own. That’s the last sentence, she explained.

Yes, that’s all good, but it isn’t your issue.

But it says that we would be visited, she argued.

"And as I told you the Ouija board was invented by a games company. It’s not evil. The problem here is that you, as a family, were open to let evil into your house.

I told you I’m a Christian and I told you that I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do believe in demons, I do believe in True Evil. And I believe that you can let those influences into your house, into your life.

She looked at me and nodded even though her eyes told me she didn’t really understand.

"You don’t have a problem here, Mrs Davies, you just dabbled in something you shouldn’t have and those files on your husband’s desk are more of an issue. He is dealing with a case that involves demonic things and then you all declared an interest in it by playing with the Ouija board.

Your problem is easily solved by getting those case files back to the office, but also through a simple prayer. Would you be willing to pray with me?

Well, as I said, I don’t believe, do you think it would help? I mean can I, if I don’t?

Yes. It is a cleansing, an affirmation that you are not interested in such things.

Well, OK, I mean, do I have to pray? I wouldn’t know what to say, she flustered.

No. I will pray if you will take my hands.

Well, yes, if it will stop all of this.

It will.

OK then.

I motioned for her to come and sit next to me on the sofa and I took her hand.

Lord, this is a good household, a family of love that has strayed into realms that they did not wish to. It is not their fault, You know that as you see everything and You are good and merciful. You are great and have love for all people on this Earth. We pray now that You would rid this house of that which might want them to be unhappy, that would settle a blanket of dread and unhappiness over them. There is no interest in darkness here and we ask that in Your infinite mercy You would see them not tormented by it. We ask this in Your name, in Jesus name, amen.

Amen, she repeated.

I let go of her hand and stood up. She took a second and then stood up also.

Thank you, she smiled.

Yes she was happy, I could see it in her eyes, but I could also feel it in the walls, that feeling of dread was gone. She had pronounced in her ‘amen’ that she and her family were not interested in the dark paths of this world.

I told her to call me in a week to let me know how things were, sooner if things hadn’t changed and then left.

†

When I got back to the office I sat behind my desk. Adelaide assured me there were no messages, but that only meant that she hadn’t picked up the phone. I considered knocking off early and pulled out the piece of paper that Mrs Davies had given me. What the Ouija board had spelled out. Most of it was ‘yes’ and ‘no’, like she had said, normal questions, but the last thing she wrote down, when she said it wrote itself, said this:

‘Expect a visit.