Land Of The Dead

By Brick Marlin

A Tracker for the dead, named Gatchett, steps into the Graveyard where all souls arrive after their untimely deaths. In this case, a ghost sends Gatchett to avenge not only her own murder, but her child’s, as well. The problem is the fact that the murderer is Eero—Gatchett’s vampire brother. In this adventure, our hero must locate his brother, sifting through a mist of terror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781611604979

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title Page

LAND OF THE DEAD

by

BRICK MARLIN

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Published by

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

Whiskey Creek Press

PO Box 51052

Casper, WY 82605-1052

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Copyright Ó 2013 by Brick Marlin

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-61160-497-9

Cover Artist: Gemini Judson

Editor: Jeremy Tyler

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

To the great authors I have read, exposing me to their nightmares.

Beneath a dreary sky, Gatchett stood in front of the Graveyard. A wrought iron fence enclosed the large area that held the Dead inside. As with any case he worked, he was summoned here in his sleep by one of the Messengers who invaded it, appearing in the shape of a black mass until showing the replay of the one who had been murdered. As always, it frightened him by turning his pleasant dream into a nightmare.

Watching a vampire bend the victim’s neck back, exposing the throat, then sink its teeth in and rip away a patch of flesh, spit it out, and slurp up the blood that flows freely out of the wound would haunt any normal person—even in a dream.

This was not the vision Gatchett had, merely an example of what horrifying scenes do arrive in his dreams, but…

From inside, two figures drifted over, meeting him at the gate, and opening it wide. They were the Guardians of the Dead, and they made sure nothing slipped in, especially the ghouls that lurked along the countryside. The only ones who had free access inside were the recently deceased.

The gates swung open and the hinges creaked, like the opening of a coffin lid.

Not speaking, nodding once, and motioning with a long arm hidden beneath the sleeve of a dark robe, one of the Guardians invited Gatchett to step inside. They closed the gates, and both silently directed Gatchett forward.

One led the way, while one followed behind the visitor.

Each visit to the Graveyard had always given Gatchett a cold sensation that seemed to soak into his skin. It was hard to shake off, giving him the emptiness of the Dead, their sadness of not walking the planet of Hearth any longer, unable to wear flesh and feel the beating of their heart as it pumped warm blood through veins which had not dried up. He could hear a few of the Dead who moaned beneath the surface—some close by, ones who were still haunted by the depression of being gone from their loved ones forever.

The majority of the Dead were the unfortunate ones who had their life snuffed away by a vampire, a werewolf, or even a ghoul, before having the chance to live a long, full life. The rest were made up of the murderers responsible for this.

Horribly, the ones who did reside in the Graveyard still carried with them their souls—almost like being trapped in their own decaying corpse.

To avenge the Dead was Gatchett’s job.

Walking behind the Guardian reminded him how much he did not like these beings. Even though they protected the Dead, they gave him the creeps. Their faces were unseen, hidden beneath their large hoods; their robed bodies seemed to whisper over the ground, much like all of the ghosts that occupied this Graveyard; and their hands, wrapped in black, crusted flesh, were enough to make the naked eye have to look away.

There was no direct path to travel as Gatchett followed the Guardian around the graves. They passed gravestones that stuck out the ground; some leaned to the side, some stood erect. Shapes of figures, stones that were arc-shaped, stones that were plain with a square top, littered the area. Cracks from old age showed on a few, crawling southward.

On Gatchett’s left, stuck into the ground, was a large wooden cross with a slight lean that held a crucified stone figure. One of its wrists was severed and was held up with a spike driven through the middle of the palm. The head of the figure tipped to the side, a blank sheet of stone.

Out of the corner of Gatchett’s eye, he noticed movement, which was very normal here. Ghosts walked around, some in their own little world, a few speaking to one another, and a few observing the visitor’s every move.

The ghost of a small boy who was running as fast as he could around three different gravestones—as well as being scolded from a ghostly head of a man sticking up out of the ground beside one of the stones, complaining that he was trying to sleep—noticed Gatchett. The boy ran full throttle up to Gatchett, not leaving a trace of a footprint in his path, and stood there holding a handmade slingshot.

It looked odd, as if it floated in the air, rather than being held by the small hands of a ghost.

Are you the one who is going to help me and my mommy? the boy asked, his eyes wide. Since each apparition was white, showing not a speck of any other coloration on any part of their bodies, Gatchett often wondered what their features had looked like in their previous lives. He wondered about the color of this boy’s hair, his eyes, and if his skin had