Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark

By M. A. Jenkins

Between reality and fantasy, between fact and fiction, their is no distinct line, no solid divisor. In-between the tattered edges of both lurk the dark. The dark is its domain, and now it is free to roam the surface world once again. In the hours of nightfall, it is not the night that frightens little children, it is the dark. And now, for one young man and his closest friends, the dark is upon them, and fear runs through their veins. They alone know of its terrible power, and they have only one chance to stop it. And time is running out!

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. A. Jenkins
• Release date: Jan 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311610553

M. A. Jenkins

-About The Author And Book-

Book preview

-Don't

Be Afraid

Of The Dark-

-By-

-M. A. Jenkins-

Copyright © 1992, 2017, M. A. Jenkins

-All Rights Reserved-

-This book with all its information, its characters, and/or events, contained in and on this book are copyrighted, and may not be published, stored, duplicated, altered, rewritten, broadcast, rebroadcast, or redistributed, you may not modify, rent, lease, loan, sell, assign, display, perform, or create derivative works based on any of the materials contained in or on this book without the prior written consent of the publisher. -

-All names, characters, places and events in this story are entirely fictitious and were not intended to represent anyone living . . .

- Or Dead . -

In an earlier age, long before the dawn of recorded time, its kind ruled the world.

Even the mightiest of dinosaur fell prey to its ravenous, insatiable appetite.

One by one, even the ferocious Tyrannosaurus Rex, which kept it in check, began to disappear.

Then and only then did it turn on its own kind, seeking to fulfill the carnivorous frenzy of its species.

Forced by lack of food, they sought sanctuary in hibernation...

...Until Now.

-List Of Characters-

Tony Ramsey

Professor John Ramsey

Jim Douglas

Mr. and Mrs. Douglas

Cliff Barnes

Professor Darrel L. Jordan

Professor Zandorf

Zandorf’s Assistant

Roy Tallen

Paul Shank

Robert (Tank) Rickshaw

Jeff Porter

Tom Oscar

Harvey Whitford

John Tyler

Jerry Crockett

Bob Muller

Steve Sloan

Brad Maldune

Joe McCracken

Chuck Portlan

Alfonzo (Al) Roberts

Ron Walters

Professor Russel Frankford

Professor Clarence Shilling

Professor Sherry Tate

Sometimes the only way out, is through.

M. A. Jenkins

Cover Art Created

By

Christina Paraskevopoulou

At

https://www.fiverr.com/vampitrela

-Chapter 1-

The Dark Horse Expedition

Professor John Ramsey is forty-nine years old. Eleven and a half years ago he left behind a wife and a little son of five, never to return.

He connected the last of a series of cables before closing the access panels back into place. Finally, it’s just about finished.

Turn the azimuth point zero two zero seven by point zero zero zero two, Stated professor Frankford. We seem to be off a little.

How can we be off? How much is a little?

She's off by one, to the fifteenth power, west, by one, to the eighth power minus five, due south, down range, seven seconds.

How in the world did we get off by that much?

We must have disturbed the warberlers when we assembled the cone. Maybe we can adjust it out.

We're too far out on our right parameters. Pull the cone and echo the number-two warberler. If that doesn't work, pull it.

I don't remember ever having this much problem with its prototype.

It wasn't as elaborate, just point and fire the thing. It's so primitive by these standards, it's almost embarrassing.

Nonsense, in some ways... Just then professor Frankford realized someone had been watching them from the doorway. What are you doing sneaking up on people all the time? He was addressing professor Zandorf who now stood just inside their laboratory door.

Zandorf is head of the Financial Institute Research Center, a black corp. entity that supplies funding for all the island's research and development. "I’m sorry too, how should I say, catch you off of your guard? I heard you mention a prototype. Where is it? You were supposed to turn over all prototypes and research material to the department head. Warum habe ich es noch nicht gesehen?"

Zandorf’s words were usually slow and carefully chosen, as his English was hard to understand, due in part to his thick native accent and to the slight nerve damage on the right side of his face. His hair was silver-gray, except for a large oddly shaped bald spot, and he walked with a slight limp. Something of a war injury was the rumor, but no one actually knew for sure. He was somewhat of an enigma. Nobody really knew very much about him personally, all they knew for certain, was his company supplies the funding for their research.

Both men looked upon one another before Ramsey answered. The prototype we were referring to, was destroyed. It malfunctioned into a big ball of fire, five and a half years ago. You already have the information, it's on file in the data room.

Yes, why don’t you go take a look at it and leave us alone to finish our work? And take your shadow with you.

Don't you know who I am? If I were in your shoes, Dr. Frankford, I would be more careful whom I was trying to push around. As for my shadow, as you call him, you should be thankful. If he had his way, you would have been dog food by now.

Professor Zandorf turned to exit the room. "Keine schlechte Idee. By the way gentlemen, funds for this project follow-up, have at this moment, been cut by one person. Clear out your desk Frankford, du bist gefeuert. And Ramsey, let’s do lunch. Then he turned and walked away laughing and talking to his aid in their native tongue. Sie wissen, was zu tun ist, sollten sie nichts finden.''

It's professor Frankford, not doctor, you idiot. And you can't fire me, I quit! Frankford, a bit perplexed, inquired of Ramsey, Now what are we going to do?

Ramsey shook his head as he tossed a broken warberler into the trash bin. I don't know.

I'm glad you told him the prototype was destroyed.

Did you ever see anyone with eyes like that before? Gives me the willies. They look lifeless. Like the eyes of a shark.

"More like the eyes of a dead man, with the personality to match.

The next morning, shortly before the second round of tests were completed, an accompaniment of men moved in from diverse directions to seize the laser for their own use. They were all heavily armed, and they took their orders from one man, and that man was none other than Zandorf himself.

Most of the scientist and staff members were captured and thrown together into a large vault along the far wall, inside the new laboratory facility.

One of the scientist made her way to the evacuation module where she pulled the emergency evacuation alarm, alerting the whole of the island.

As the alarm was sounded throughout, the associate communications officer prepared to send a plea for help on all available channels. As she began to call out along the airwaves, one of Zandorf's men caught up to her and sprayed the area with machine-gun fire, catching her from behind and destroying parts of the radio and monitoring equipment.

The man watched as she crawled through glass and debris, toward the dangling microphone. She could hear the voice of another, as he tried to respond to her call. The man took aim and waited. As she reached to take the mic into her hand, he fired one final shot and stood watching as her arm dropped lifeless to the floor.

One jet barely escaped the island, but the other aircraft's were not as fortunate. Many of them were caught inside their hanger, the rest were destroyed before they could get off the ground.

Two of Zandorf’s men operated the laser while a hand full of others searched the records library, hoping to acquire the diagrams and schismatics to the laser and it’s components.

In these ruthless hands the cannon easily incapacitated or destroyed each one of the remaining planes, and to ensure no one could further use the airport, they made a passing sweep across the surface of the entire airstrip, laying it to waste.

A lone man, professor Jordan by name, escaped the fate of the others by hiding in a recess beneath a fallen tree. He made his way back around to the test site, where he killed the guard and both of the men operating the weapon. He proceeded to disable all fail-safe devices and prepared the laser for critical-mass overload.

Wait. Frankford shouted as he ascended the base platform. His right leg was broken below the knee, as well three fingers on his right hand. As he hobbled toward Jordan, the eye on his left side, hung autonomously from its optic nerve. His broken ribs hindered his speech as he addressed his former associate. I'll get this, you sink the blueprints.

As Jordan departed, Frankford struggled to make the final few adjustments. Without regard or reproof, he lowered the center control lever and depressed the blue button to the right. As the countdown concluded, professor Frankford held fast the cannon. All about him translated in increments of time so vastly small as not to be measured by human standards, engulfing him, and devolving him into obscure illuminations and resounding ultrasonic exhalations.

Professor Zandorf had retreated to his boat, The Dark Horse, where he acted as chief overseer, orchestrating the torturing of two captured scientists, professor Shilling, and professor Sherry Tate, by name.

Without warning the laser exploded, ejecting a massive radioactive shock-wave, and destroying most of the new laboratory building along with part of the mountain side it was built into.

The shock-wave raced out in every direction, rocking the very ship Zandorf was aboard, knocking some off their feet and bringing the rest, more or less, to their knees. Moments later debris rained down upon the tiny ship, covering the deck in silt and fine debris.

Where are the blueprints? They pulled yet another fingernail and tossed it to the ground. Tell me. He demanded, but professor Shilling would not talk. Take off his shoes. Shilling struggled as they loosed his shoes to remove them. Soon thereafter, they systematically pealed the nails from off his toes, one by one, until not a single one was left.

Very well then. I will torture the lady professor until you talk. You will talk, and you will tell me what I want to know, I assure you. He turned toward his assistant. "Beginne die folter."

Sherry Tate was brutalized for almost an hour, all the while pleading for Shilling to guard their secret, even unto death. "Very well, bringen sie, die hunde." Zandorf's men looked on as the wild dogs ravaged her body and spilled the entirety of her blood upon the ship's deck.

The ship's hands turned away as Sherry Tate was dismantled before their very eyes. Professor Shilling knew this was his only chance, he broke free and rushed across the deck, taking Zandorf by the throat.

Zandorf unsheathed the dagger hidden within the handle of his cane, and thrust it deep into the midsection of Clarence Shilling. Where is it? He demanded.

Professor Shilling smiled slightly in defiance to the mad doctor, coughing and spitting blood into the very face of Zandorf. Shilling struggled for each breath he drew, all the while taunting and cursing this incarnation of evil what stood before him. I dropped it, into a pit, of quicksand. Why don’t you, and your friend, here, go down, and get it, for yourself.

Shilling began to laugh in Zandorf’s face, enraging the mad professor. Schweinhund! Zandorf proceeded to slice upward and into his heart, draining his blood down along his arm and onto the deck, until it formed a large puddle around them both. Carelessly he discarded his lifeless body, face down in a pool of his own blood.

Unknown to the now deceased professor, the exact location of the information so desperately sought after by Zandorf, was in fact, at this very moment, sinking slowly towards the bottom of one of the largest, if not the largest pits of quicksand on the entire island.

The blueprints had been placed in an airtight metal box and dropped into the pit by professor Jordan, while on his way to the old lab.

What are your orders Von Zandorf? Asked the commander of The Dark Horse.

Take us back to port as quickly as possible.

He saluted the professor, As you wish sir.

Zandorf then called for another of his men. Radio ahead, get me, say, fifteen men, all outsiders. Men who have a flare for adventure, a quest for knowledge so to speak. I also want an orionscope, an oscilloscope, six metal detectors, and the sonar off the Reliant. We'll also need one of our special transport vessels, a very swift one. The vessel, Iron Maiden will do nicely. No, on second thought, make it The Soviet II. Is that understood?

Yes sir. Sir? What should I tell them when they ask of the task they are to perform?

Tell them, tell them they will be the first to explore the depths of a select pit of quicksand. Fortune and glory await them and they will be paid handsomely. Tell them, tell them they will be, The Dark Horse Expedition.

Yes, Von Zandorf. Replied the man. He turned to walk away but stumbled instead and fell to his knees, coming to rest face down on the deck, dead.

Zandorf’s assistant ordered another of the men to remove the dagger from the dead man’s back, and to returned it to the evil professor.

Zandorf took the dagger by the handle, and then he placed the tip against the chest of the deck hand. Did you hear my last order? Asked Zandorf.

Yes sir, Von Zandorf. The man replied in a rather nervous manner.

Do you have any idea what he did wrong? He asked.

I'm not sure sir.

He forgot to salute me. When you receive an order from your superior, you must salute him, always. Now you have my orders. Carry them out. At once.

Yes sir Von Zandorf, sir. Yes sir. The man saluted several times, just to make sure. Right away sir. He then departed, scampering off above decks, to the bridge.

Zandorf looked about at all the ships crew. They were watching intensely, stunned at the totality of what they had just witnessed. Everyone hurried back to their respective stations and acted as if nothing had ever happened.

"Ich werde in meinem quartier sein." Explained Von Zandorf. "Wecken sie mich, wenn wir hafen erreichen."

Zandor's assistant replied. Wie sie meinen herrn wünschen. Und von den Hunden?

"Töte sie, töte sie alle."

His assistant proceeded to exicute each of the dogs until their were none left alive. The last of which he slit its throat and cast it upon the edge of the deck by the stairway.

"Und sie. And you. He pointed at one of the hands. Get rid of these bodies, and clean up this deck."

-Chapter 2-

Quest For Knowledge

It is morning and Tony has just finished packing his second suitcase. He put on his glasses and carefully guided a comb through his short brown hair, making sure nothing was out of place.

Tony is a young man of seventeen who lives, for the most part, alone in his father’s house.

When Tony’s mother died last fall, Tony spent several months in Oak Island Texas, living with his grandparents and working periodically in his girlfriend's record shop on the near south side of Chambers County. But for now he has found his way back east to Hartford Connecticut, and back home once again in his father’s house.

Tony’s father, professor John Ramsey, is one of a handful of scientist stationed somewhere in the Atlantic, isolated from the rest of the world; concealed on a flyspeck of an island somewhere amid international waters, northeast of the Bahamas.

His father was called away when Tony was just four years old, leaving him and his mother feeling abandoned and alone. An act that, to this day, Tony has never completely forgiven him for.

As a child, Tony often watched and long waited; but his father was never to return. He no longer knew his father, and after his mother's death it didn't seem to matter so much to him anymore.

The sounding birds playfully perched among the many trees across the way, drew him towards the open window. Upon the desk before him sat a single letter and a picture of a lovely girl, formally of his acquaintance. Tony took up the picture and proceeded to separate it into tiny intangible little pieces, and sent them one and all aloft amid the warm spring breeze.

As he wondered the confines of these four walls, Tony's emotions burst forth with an overwhelming torrent, flowing with waves of anguish and ebbs of despair and profound sadness.

He could no longer restrain the past in its keep, nor hide from all his broken tomorrows. They cascade upon him like sands in the hourglass, raining down upon his head without relent, drowning him in awash of familiar unfamiliarity.

Tony found himself entranced by a grotesque figure trapped within the confines of an opaque and weathered looking-glass.

At bay deep in the outer reaches of his weary mind, a single haunted memory still remained. Tony tried to turn away but this time, he could not. The siren shadows beckoned, refusing to let him go.

Ever so slowly he pressed against its glass. Where do all these reflections go? Slowly his eyes searched the room in this world trapped on the beyond side of all his yesterdays. All these ages you've seen, all these reflections you've collected. Tell me mirror... Are they all still in there?

Tony stumbled backwards along the wall, coming to rest against a chair that sat beside his corner desk. His breathing began to labor as his grip tightened upon its back. Well lets say we find out shall we?

In the deepest reaches of his darkened heart, his anger grew. Thoughts so black and terrifying, his mind could scarcely dare ponder them all. The hate he had labored so desperately to suppress, could be contained no longer, and he became consumed within himself.

Tony took up the chair and bolted in the direction of this hapless aged mirror. He let out a wild shout as he cast the chair in the direction of his tormentor.

The chair, falling short of its mark, left a sizable hole in the wall and destroyed his favorite antique lamp which stood atop a small side-table along the opposing wall.

Tony fell to his knees before the broken lamp. Oh mom. I'm so sorry. He wept bitterly as he took up its pieces into his hands. Look what you made me do!

Suddenly there came a knock at his bedroom door, bringing him back to a more familiar and peaceful surroundings. He sought to acquire his composure before he spoke. Just a minute, Jim.

Tony, are you alright? I heard a crash. Jim’s raspy voice sounded through the closed door, but there was no answer. Jim waited for a short while before knocking once again. Tony? Open the door.

Let go of the handle.

I'm not holding it. Jim stepped back and waited for Tony to loose his door from the inside. Really? One of these days we're going to find your bones hunched over in the corner, with a note on your desk that reads, (I should have listened to Jim and fixed that stupid handle when I had the chance. Now look at me.").

"Quit kidding around. Are you...? I can't get it open.

Don't forget to write that second note. You know, the one naming me sole beneficiary of all your worldly possessions.

I don't have any worldly possessions you'd want.

Want me to call the fire department again?

No. What? What do you mean again?

How about the funniest video's people? I could probably make a small fortune on you.

The door broke free and swung to open. Finally. Okay, I'm ready now.

About time. You know how long I've been waiting for you? I was almost tempted to go on without you.

You would have looked kinda silly walking to the airport by your... Ah.

Jim shook his head. Hurt your back again. Didn't you?

Oh leave me alone.

I thought you said you were ready.

I am.

You don't look ready.

What are you talking about?

Well, if you really want to know, you look horrible. Your clothes look like you've slept in them all night, your shirts half tucked in, your shoes are scuffed, you have mismatched socks on, and you look like you haven't eaten in a week.

Tony stopped for a moment to look upon Jim. Don't sugar coat it for me, tell me what you really think.

Okay, I don't think you're ready, emotionally or physically. You don't know what you're going there for, or what you're going to find once you get there. You've planned this thing out with the mindset of a five year old on his first day of kindergarten.

That was a hypothetical statement by the way, I didn't really expect an answer. Would you mind getting my cases? Tony closed his window, grabbed his carry-on, and joined Jim, who now stood waiting near the top of the staircase at the end of the hall.

As the two young men descended the staircase, Tony noticed a man wearing a long dark coat wondering about the foyer. The man seemed to be unaware of the boys’ presence, as he was admiring a portrait of his old colleague, Tony’s father, professor John Ramsey.

Who are you? What are you doing in my house?

It’s alright Antony, The strange man responded. I'm professor Jordan. I'm a friend of your father's.

Tony pushed past Jim. Then you're no friend of mine. And it's Tony, not Antony. And you didn't answer my question. What are you doing here? My father sent you didn't he?

Great man your father. Looks just like him doesn’t it? He moved in closer towards the portrait. All except for the eyes. You can’t always catch the expression of a man’s eyes. Can you now? Not on canvas anyway. Jordan pressed his thumb atop his pipe. Eyes say a lot about a person. Don't you agree? They can tell you when someone is happy, or when they're hurt... He turned towards the two young men. ...Or when they're trying to hide something.

Removing his lighter he prepared once again to light his pipe. Eyes; the windows to the soul. Taking a few deep puffs, he closed his lighter and returned it to his inner coat pocket. Jordan turned and moved boldly in the direction of the two young men.

Tony, your father sent me to get help, and so I did. However, he expressly forbid me to contact you.

Tony clapped his hands. Bravo, I must say, very theatrical. Okay I'll bite. This is the part where I pretend to be concerned and ask... Then why did you?

This is no joke, Tony. Something's wrong out there. Your father is missing, and I thought...

Missing? What do I care? He's been missing for going on fourteen-years now. I don't see him racing back here to check on me. Do you? Besides, I don't care what happened to him anymore.

Then why are you going?

It's none of your business why I'm going. That's for me alone to know.

What's that supposed to mean? Don't you realize your father could be dead?

"He is dead. He's been dead for years, to me anyway. And I don't see how any of this