A Clockwork Life

By Kizzy Lee

Through time and travels knowledge is gathered and collected and handed down from father to son in each successive generation,each is driven by one ambition, each cannot rest until their goal is reached, but can their hearts desire ever be achieved? in this first novel from spine tingling suspense stories author Kizzy Lee, brings to life a darkly entertaining atmosphere filled with strange characters and is chillingly thrilling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kizzy Lee
• Release date: Oct 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301885404

Kizzy Lee

forty six married with four kids and two dogs , a greyhound that has lived forever and a chihuahua that is my constant companion. very happy with my life i love to write but i also sew making dance costumes as i have three girls and they have all loved to dance. my son has his own world and that's good too, together we are one happy family. i really hope everyone likes to read my stories as i have a ton of them all waiting to get out.

Book preview

A Clockwork Life

By Kizzy Lee

Published by Kizzy Lee at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Kizzy Lee

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

Adult Reading Material

This book has been written by an English author and will contain many words written in the English language and therefore using English spellings, some slang words are also used to maintain credibility of the story

Thank you to my best friend and ever supportive oldest daughter for always being there for me, it is only with your help that I am able to do this writing malarkey, and my three other kids for being the best kids in the world.

Table of Contents

In Times Past

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

About the Author

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In Times Past

It was like having an itch he couldn't scratch, this annoying, infuriating, unable to satisfy urge that drove his mind every day, every single day of his life. Even before he knew what it was he could feel it, gnawing away at his brain, he could never sleep, rarely eat, he could not concentrate on anything, except the one thing that constantly irritated every moment of his existence. How miserable, how wretched, his whole life had been, he hated every single minute, no one understood, how could they? He sighed deeply. How could anyone but another circus master ever understand? His face was thin and lined with deep set grooves, each one from the blight that hung over him, he remembered nothing else from his earliest moments born into this hideous life, nothing but the heavy feeling that scratched away at his brain, the longing, it was worse than anything he could think of and he couldn't understand how anyone would even compare this hell he suffered to anything, was it like desperately needing the toilet but never able to go, no that didn't even come close, he thought of drug addicts and smiled for he hated them, but even he could see how dangling a bag full of smack in front of a heroin addict, yet never letting them have it, they could look and never have, he could see their mouth watering, he could feel their insides twisting with the need for the drug, he could hear their minds slavering at the dirty brown powder in the grubby little bag, oh yes he could see how that would feel to them and still it never came close. No there was nothing in this world that compared to the living hell he went through every minute of every day. Yes he and all his forefathers, and all his relations yet to come, were surely the only desperate creatures doomed to this hellish existence and he hated this ever foul, stinking, and unable to satisfy the drastic and unstoppable urge, that plagued his brain from the depths of his soul he would send babies to hell if it meant he would be rid of this curse. It tormented him night and day, it ruined every thought and drove every action, the curse laid upon him before he was even conceived, the plague that fermented his mind was given to his ancestor and handed down through generations, each one struggled under the ancient curse and each one doomed to live under its rule, the one rule, to find the perfect and indescribably superb automaton.

His earliest memories held only recollections of his father, he never questioned that, he never once sat and thought about having a mother and he never missed having one and indeed he often thought of how having a mother would surely only get in the way. It would be annoying, more irritating than having a pox for at least a pox could be cured and would eventually go away, where as a mother would have to be endured until she died and he would have to find some way to hasten that situation. Like every other circus master he not only disliked any kind of relationship with a woman no matter what level it was on, and he actively avoided any such occurrence, to him as with his forefathers, women were a simple vessel for the procurement of the next circus master, he did not need them for anything else other than incubation of the next circus master, his needs were met by the figures and the ancients he had in his circus, women were noisy, messy, and infuriatingly simple, they had nor morals and what they claimed was their reason for all the heinous thing they did; love, here he actually shuddered was nothing more than a disgusting and lazy excuse for their deceitful and greedy aims, and they talked, all the time, incessant idle chatter, he hated all forms of unnecessary talking, if anyone ever mentioned the weather or asked how he was or any other form of so called polite chit chat he would inwardly baulk and walk away from which ever inane person was blighting his existence, he hated such a waste of time, of space, of energy, women were a complete waste of all resources, he only wished he had another way of producing the next circus master and he could then have no contact with them what's so ever, he frowned and grumbled about women having only one use and not even being good at that and anything else was not even worth wasting the time in even thinking of.

He considered he had been a good and dutiful son, he had worked hard every day learning all the secrets and chants and rituals, he had read all the histories of the circus and of his ancestors and learnt all their knowledge all excepting the great secrets, he often spent many hours sat contented with his uncle; Aleister Crowley listening to the many wonderful tales he would tell. Those times were the only relatively happy times he could recollect and though the unbearable burden was still there in his mind, constantly nagging at him, it was easier to bear when learning from uncle Aleister, for his uncle would not only help him learn the many secrets and incantations he needed, but he knew also that by listening to him, as to when he listened also to his father, he would be helping sooth the distressing constant urge because he knew some day that all he listened to now would help him bring about the one solution to the mental pain he was suffering, for he would take everything he learnt from his father and everything he learnt from uncle Aleister, and he would create the perfect, the most divinely and superbly perfect, automaton the world had ever seen, in fact the best the whole of history had ever seen, and he would smile to himself and listen harder, he would listen and concentrate, committing every tale, every fact, every chant and ritual, to his memory so he would know everything there was to know then he surely couldn't fail, he must create the one single truly perfect creature, it was his one and only true desire.

Nothing is as honorable as the search for knowledge, man cannot be satisfied on mere facts alone, he must search endlessly for the knowledge and the more he learns the more complete he becomes. Always embrace the search. this one remark from his uncle Crowley had stayed with him and rang true not only then but now also, he knew his thirst for more knowledge held on second place to the unquenchable strain of the prickle on his brain of the curse. He watched as he saw his uncle prepare and carry out rituals and the day he watched the ritual of the preparation of body parts had always held the most intrigue for him.

He had always enjoyed the preservation rituals but like his father before him the preservation of the soul and its interconnectedness with the preservation of the brain was tantamount to his goal of perfecting the automaton, and even as a young lad he had watched everything his father and uncle had shown him, and he had tried for himself first with a cat. He had caught a mangy, flea bitten, half bald, cat from the town they were visiting at the time and taken it under cover and quietly, back to the camp, he cannot have been more than ten years of age, though his years lasted so much longer than an average persons would, after he had tied up the cat he wanted to kill it slowly, as he had formed a few theories of his own, in spite of his tender age, though it was widely held that none of the talents of the circus master' were of any virtue and certainly not in possession of any capability of feeling tenderness, but be that as it may, he was young and he had thought if he killed the cat slowly he would be able to document exactly as the life force was ready to leave the body and he would be able to time correctly when to apply the death mask and to remove its innards, the longer it was left the more likely he could trap the soul and make it work for him.

So he kept the cat on a starvation diet, and he removed all its fur, he kept the poor miserable thing very cold and tried to slow its heart rate through near freezing, the wretched cat was in agony and nearly died on more than one occasion but each time he would raise the temperature a little and let it have water and a little food enough to bring it back from the brink only to starve it again, and as each day passed he had become obsessed with how long he could keep the cat just on the threshold of being alive, he knew it couldn't last forever but he had, rather perversely, enjoyed it so much he didn't want it to end, eventually the insatiable itch of the curse weighed in on him and he had to one day, just go in and finish the pathetic creature off, it was skin and bone now and in the perfect state for his project, so he entered the wooden cell he was keeping it imprisoned in, and holding the barely living cat by the scruff of its neck he listened to one last tiny feeble mew that escaped its starvation ravaged throat, and smiling he slowly squeezed its neck and pressed with his thumbs so that its head was backwards and then snapped it's thin, scrawny neck. It was no more than a stretched bit of sinew; it seemed to give in easily to him. He would have preferred a little more fight but then he had starved it of all life first anyway.

Slowly he placed the lifeless limp body so painfully thin now in death, on an old wooden table and began making a small incision in its paw and set about removing its insides, and removing the brain which he set in the preserving solution quickly, he had become so versed in the procedures it went like clockwork and he had the death mask already set and ready. He worked industriously through the night, and next day proudly showed his father his efforts, and his father who was near his natural end now also, saw the efforts and was pleased to see how well the boy had done, and as the cat walked in resplendent in its new gaily colored waist coat and played its beautiful tiny violin he did clap the boy on his back and tell him he was ready. Ready for what father? there is a new ritual for me tonight? the boy had eagerly enquired, looking up and searching his fathers face for a clue