Jeremiah Black

By Jason Gehlert

Jeremiah Black is unwittingly trapped in Hell after heroically saving his family from a serial killer one fateful night during the 1890’s. There he finds himself propositioned by none other than the Devil himself.
Resurrected and immortal, he is forced to kill his wife and entire bloodline over the course of the next century in order to appease the Devil.
When two Inspectors attempt to halt his killing spree, he murders them, or so he thinks. One of them, Inspector Jackson Granger, through a freak mishap of Black’s blood mixing with his own while wounded finds himself immortal. Looking to end Black’s reign of terror, and bent on getting revenge for his murdered partner, Jackson sets out to find Black, and destroy him even if he has to battle against the power of the Devil himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Bed Sheet Books
• Release date: Jan 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781370997428

Book preview

Jeremiah Black

Jason Gehlert

with Joe Rutigliano

A Black Bed Sheet/Diverse Media Book

October 2012

Copyright © 2012 by Jason Gehlert

All rights reserved.

Cover and art design by Nicholas Grabowsky and

Copyright © 2012 Nicholas Grabowsky

and Black Bed Sheet Books.

The selections in this book are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012950718

ISBN-10: 0-9858829-9-9

ISBN-13: 978-0-9858829-9-0

Advance praise for

Jeremiah Black

JEREMIAH BLACK is a compelling, well written novel. It is a constant thrilling ride from beginning to end. But fasten your seatbelt before beginning. Recommended!

Oops, neglected to put my byline.

---Gene O'Neill, THE BURDEN OF INDIGO, OPERATION 

RHINOCEROS HORNBILL

"A harrowing tale through history's darkest moments, cloaked in murder and

> mayhem." ~ Tim Marquitz, author of THE DEMON SQUAD

Action, historic events, dark forces and evil come together in an extremely suspenseful book that reads like HG Well’s The time Machine meets the movie The Omen. Jason Gehlert is a rising star in the horror genre with an action-oriented, sinister and shocking style that makes Jeremiah a true page turner.

Sharon Day

"Ghost Hunting Theories" blog

Author of

Zombie Housewives of the Apocalypse

and other books

'Jeremiah Black is a bullet train tale that drags you to Hell and takes you for a ride of cleverness, killer creativity, and a thrill worth reading ten times more.'

--S.D. Hintz, author of Blood Orchard and Editor-in-Chief of KHP Publishers, Inc.

Satan, Serial Killers, Werewolves, Time Travel and a trip on the Titanic are just a few of the things you will read about in Jason Gehlert’s new work of Supernatural Horror, ‘Jeremiah Black.’ Took me places I haven’t been before. Gehlert’s literary skill is evident, as he effortlessly takes the reader on an international time warp through Terror and beyond.

---William Cook, author, BLOOD RELATED

JEREMIAH BLACK

A Black Bed Sheet/Diverse Media Book

Antelope, CA

Dedication

Jason Gehlert

This list keeps growing with unparalleled intensity. First of all to my wife, Tammy, for her love and friendship. Natalie to her insanely awesome artwork for Jeremiah that will be featured in the BBS merchandise store. To her better half and twin sister Delanie for her amazing ideas, thoughts, and unique grasp of my world. I love you both. To Cara, our newest addition, she keeps my pendulum swinging and my existence so much sweeter. Joe, thank you for all your insight and talents with Jeremiah- To my parents and brother, I love all of you.

To Gene O'Neill, SD Hintz, William Cook, Tim Marquitz, Cinsarae Santiago, Sharon Day, and Nick Kisella for your wonderful support and blurbs for Jeremiah-I'm truly grateful.

To my readers- Thank you for everything and enjoy Jeremiah.

Always,

J.G.

Dedication

Joe Rutigliano

As I step through the doorway into this new world of writing there are a few dedications I would like to make.

Firstly, I would like to thank my wife Alyson for being so encouraging and supportive during this process. I couldn’t have done this without you I love you.

Secondly I would like to thank Jason Gelhert for this amazing opportunity. Jason I am eternally grateful to you for allowing me to share in this story with you. It awakened a creativity I didn’t realize was inside of me. Thank you.

Lastly, to my brothers and sisters in blue, continue to take care of each other and always remember the oath that we took to protect and serve. Stay safe.

--- Joe R.

A WORD

When Nick, my publisher challenged me to write my best novel, I accepted the challenge with a passionate intensity. I delved into the world of Jack the Ripper, Titanic, 1913 New York City, and the turn of the century New York City and Ellis Island in 1996.

From these ideas spawned forth the character, the twisted, demented, and at one time, heroic man, Jeremiah Black. A loving father and husband who risked his life and died on the cobblestone streets of London in the late 1980’s, the Devil resurrects him as his personal immortal hit man. The one caveat? Kill those who have cheated fate.

The entire novel chronicles Jeremiah’s epic struggle between both worlds, not only his allegiance to the Devil himself, but the dogged pursuit by Inspector Jackson Granger, who also an immortal, chases down Jeremiah over time.

The combined efforts of myself, my best friend and fellow writer, Joe Rutigliano, and the experience and mentorship of Nicholas Grabowsky has made Jeremiah’s life a tortured reality for you the reader.

Thank you for the continued support and feedback and love for not only the horror genre, but for also reading a solid story with rich characters blended with action and drama.

And a final word of advice.. If you see a tall man walking in your street with a top hat, clutching a python knife, pray your name isn’t on his list. But, then again, Jeremiah Black has no rules, or allegiances.

--Jason Gehlert

Jeremiah Black

Jason Gehlert

•

with Joe Rutigliano

PROLOGUE

-Ferryman-

His aged hands calloused from countless trips down this famed River Styx stroked the black waters with the oar. The innumerable hours of rowing robbed him of sanity. The purpose of this trip, as all the other trips before, was to bring new souls for the Prince of Darkness to feed on, to regenerate from, to endure another day. An eternal chore that claimed this man’s freedom.

But he didn’t mind. Really.

All aboard! His chipped teeth chattered the words. The Ferryman sacrificed many things over the course of his life: a wife, a child, and the warmth of everlasting friendships. It was cold and dark through these tunnels. A scattering of hungry bats, and perhaps maybe some electric water eels, remained all that was left of a thriving ecosystem. The Ferryman’s aging bones, retreating pupils, and eroding muscles were at one time his greatest strength. Now, they became his greatest enemy, a battle raging on for eternity, with no relief in sight.

He watched the passengers shuffle their anxious feet across the wooden dock with trepidation and concern. Men and women alike dreary and battered from their lost war with death. The Ferryman felt their pain and anguish.

It may seem a bit bleak down here, he cautioned, his pasty hands untying the rope at the end of the bouncing dock. But, before we proceed, he paused for a moment to scratch an annoying itch on the top of his bald head, does everyone have their payment?

A collection of chattering erupted among the passengers.

The Ferryman held out his hands, his palms quivering from the bitter cold breeze that lived in the tunnels. One by one gold and silver coins landed in his hands, satisfying his demands.

Except for one. A thin, wiry young man ransacked his pockets, but to no avail.

Sir, do you have payment? the Ferryman asked once more. We need to embark on our journey now. He took one final look at the passengers as they found their places on the boat. Their movements rocked the boat against the dock with a gentle slap of water.

No, I’m afraid not. The young man, clad in torn wardrobe became sullen.

The Ferryman walked across the dock, the wooden planks groaned underneath his feet. His left hand clutched the handmade oar, a long wooden shaft with a python’s open mouth for the tip. The python’s fangs yearned for new blood, a new soul to capture.

The Ferryman had reached a deal with the Devil concerning those who couldn’t pay their way across the river. The Ferryman’s body needed rejuvenation from time to time, a splash of energy to continue his lengthy service. For those who failed to pay, the Devil allowed the Ferryman to retrieve their souls for his own body. A payment that the Ferryman accepted most graciously.

I’m sorry to hear that, his words echoed throughout the tunnel. I have to take payment right now. The Ferryman raised his oar, displaying the python’s fangs at the young man. One more time. Do you have payment?

The young man frazzled and confused checked one last time. Yes, yes, he exclaimed, I have payment right here. His shaking hands dropped the collection of coins in the Ferryman’s waiting hand.

After close inspection, the Ferryman shook his head in disapproval. I’m sorry Son, but your payment will not suffice.

Please, can’t you let me on?

The Ferryman straightened out the oar and touched the young man’s chest with the python’s fangs. No one crosses the river without payment.

The oar absorbed the young man’s soul, feeding it in to the Ferryman. The python’s fangs enjoyed the kill, sucking the young man dry of his remaining life force.

The Ferryman ceased use of the oar and returned it his side.

The young man, now a specimen of bone and sprinkled with sinew, collapsed to the docks.

He returned back to his boat and placed the oar in the water. A few short rows later, he turned around and faced the startled passengers. Now, if that little exercise wasn’t enough to stir the vomit in your throats, I have a story I’d like to share.

We don’t want to hear it, they chorused together.

Well, I’m going to tell it anyway. I tell this story every time I bring new passengers across the river. It’s a tale of an arrogant man whose egoistical views quickly became his downfall. This man’s mind erupted in power and soon it corrupted his values, morals, and it ransacked his well being.

The crowd remained silent.

This man’s name was Jeremiah Black, and let it be a cautionary tale to each of you, that fate chooses no sides, it claims many victims, no matter how hard you try to save them. All of us are tied to fate’s chains. Where they lead, is anyone’s guess.

The Ferryman rowed further into the dark tunnels, sending a small pattern of ripples through the black water, as the eels rolled over in its wake.

CHAPTER 1

-August 23 1899-

London, England

Madison’s Avenue

Thomas Madison, a reputable serial killer, enjoyed the chilled air, as he pinched off the young woman’s final breath. Draped over his battered victim, Madison’s knees kept her from escaping his clutches. The damp, dark alley served for the perfect cover, allowing him the freedom to clench his knife with ease, bringing it forth with fluid movement, breaking the victim apart.

Madison felt the young woman’s legs dying down to a mutable twitching. Whistling, the aging sadist, pummeled the woman with a series of brutalized punches, to ensure she wouldn’t be rising to escape. Satisfied, Madison stepped away, wiping the knife clean against the alley’s brick wall, before returning back to its leather sheath.

The distant chattering brought Madison to the end of the alley, taking a short peer around the corner. A family emerged from the theater. A mother, father and a young boy. The young woman, a striking strawberry blonde, fueled Madison’s repugnant perversion. His eyes widened at the thought of dominating this woman, and breaking her will. She would be another beauty on one Inspector Granger's desk courtesy of Madison. It was with a twisted pride that Madison reveled that his name had become synonymous with cruelty and the despicable acts of violence frequently brought to the Inspector’s doorstep. Madison even found it comical that Inspector Jackson Granger labeled the stretch of murder sites, Madison’s Avenue.

After pulling his mind back to the present, his cautious plan of action played out in his head. The boy, quick and fast, would die first. A knife to the side of the neck, and then a plunge of the weapon in the father’s femoral artery. Lethal blows would stymie any form of revenge from either of them, especially the father, who would only have seven minutes to live. Madison figured the man would waste at least four of them, clutching his wound and begging for his miserable life to be saved.

Madison would have a clear path to the woman, who would undoubtedly run for her life. Her futile attempt to escape the inevitable would be a frenzied path, stretching through the pitch black streets. Madison knew these streets inside and out, every crevice, nook, loose brick, and how often the bobby’s patrolled the area.

Madison’s body, although suffering from an onset of arthritis, still managed flexibility in his attacks. A graying temple, steel blue-gray eyes, always swooned the ladies, right before he’d watch their life flicker from those pretty eyes.

****

A man of business royalty, Jeremiah Preston Black benefited his late father’s profitable take from real estate to strengthen the family business. At times, Jeremiah, regarded by his wife and young son as the ideal husband and father, resorted to cruel tactics to finish off business rivals. Tonight there would not be any business dealings, just a night out in London, enjoying the theater and a hearty dinner with family. He strolled alongside his wife, Karolina and his only son Elijah down the dark streets, and the family continued along, leery of the dreary mist ahead.

A sparkling of black shadows weaved through the mist, startling Jeremiah’s wife.

My dear, it’s perfectly normal. Perhaps some of Poe’s ravens are loose in the streets, eh? Jeremiah attempted to soothe over her worries, with his best of British accents.

Karolina brushed back her lengthy strawberry blonde hair, and returned his assurance with a slight peck on his cheek. I’m not worried. Not with you by my side.

Jeremiah ran his fingers through his son’s dark black hair, an indelible bond the two of them shared. He even promised his son a trip to America, to watch a new sport in its infancy. It was known as baseball, and consisted of several teams. The great city of New York would be their destination. Elijah dreamt of the infamous city, and impatiently waited for the day to arrive. He even kept a baseball in his possession at all times. The same one he used to play catch with his father on some Sunday afternoons.

Jeremiah felt disconnected for a moment from his family, a morose feeling swept over him. His nostrils swelled with the scent of death, his expensive black loafers snapped about in a sticky residue on the cobblestone street.

Elijah, just shy of ten years old, remained a fraction ahead of his father, peering around the city’s dark portrait.

Jeremiah titled his head to the right to kiss his wife, when Elijah grunted, falling hard to the cobblestone surface.

****

Thomas Madison’s plan began with solid momentum. His hand suffocated the boy’s screams; his hands drew the knife to the boy’s throat. Madison never brought the knife to its intended conclusion. The boy, with a hard knee, startled Madison, sending the prolific killer staggering to the right, grabbing his pained testicles.

Jeremiah, without hesitation, scooped up his son, and handed the confused boy to his mother. Get out of here, he growled, I’ll take care of this.

Karolina, hesitant to leave her husband behind, knew women and children always came first. Her legs wanted to run for safety, yet refused, immobilized with fear.

You think you can attack my son, and get away with that Mister? Jeremiah approached the man on the ground.

Madison reached for his knife, still idling on the street. You interfered with my specific plan.

I know who you are.

Oh, my name’s that famous now? Madison fondled the knife between his fingers, regaining his grip on the weapon.

Jeremiah reached down in a furious rage, a tunnel vision of violent rampage. His hands brutally punched Madison in the face, thwarting his chance of using the knife to defend himself.

I was going to kill your son first, Madison said with a chortle. But, I’ll kill you first, and you can watch me finish off your sweet wife too.

Jeremiah unloaded another critical blow to Madison’s face, opening a cut over his left eye, sending the killer sprawling backwards. Madison’s back against the wall, his patience became a silent strength for him. His body absorbed the blows from Jeremiah, until the punches slowed down, and Madison countered with his own.

The two men entrenched in a bludgeoning fist fight, refused to give up. Madison, slightly stronger of the two men, reached behind Jeremiah and delivered the fatal blow. A man of stubborn power, Madison broke Jeremiah’s right arm, inches below the elbow, forcing him to the hard ground. A heartless killer, Madison withdrew another knife from his ankle, and with a cold stare at Karolina and her son, plunged the knife in Jeremiah’s back. Madison administered several brutal attacks with the hunting knife, piercing right through Jeremiah’s overcoat, exploding through the other side of his body. I’m coming for you next Sweetheart, he said with conviction, pulling the bloodied knife from Jeremiah’s shuddering body. Madison, finished with his latest victim, stepped over Jeremiah, as blood flowed freely from Jeremiah’s mouth, swerving through the cobblestone.

Madison dangled the knife by his side, walking towards Karolina and Elijah. The fear in your eyes, the scent of your defeat, he said, I thrive off that weakness.

The faint clapping of horses deterred Madison from his next attack. The Inspector was nearing the area, on alert from eyewitnesses, no doubt.

We will meet again, I guarantee that. Madison waved goodbye with the bloody knife, disappearing to the dark alleyway.

No, no! Karolina raced for her husband. Her movement towards Jeremiah fluid and emotional. Her knees caught her slide, scrapped open by the hard cobblestone, her hands reached under her dead husband’s head, cradling it against her white dress.

Mommy, Elijah called out to his mother, is he sleeping?

Fighting back strolling tears, Karolina nodded a weeping yes.

Ma’am. Son, the voice beckoned their retreat from the dead body.

Yes, Inspector? Karolina answered.

I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Black, but we need to investigate this entire area. I have information regarding Madison has killed several people tonight. Unfortunately, your husband was one of his innocent victims, the Inspector drew the conclusion from the facts he had gathered. He knew of the Black family. Jeremiah routinely donated to the Inspector’s cause, and brought forth an amicable friendship between the two.

He died protecting his son. Protecting me, Karolina cried out the uncomfortable answer. Elijah wrapped his comforting arms around his fading mother, and offered whatever strength he had left in those small bones of his.

I will have one of my men take you home. It was Madison wasn’t it? The Inspector asked the hard question.

Yes, Karolina said with a recurring weep.

I thought so, he said.

After a few moments of clearing the crime scene, and watching Karolina and her son enter the stagecoach and safely return on their way, he crouched down by Jeremiah’s dead body. A gentle flick of his fingers brought Jeremiah’s eyelids closed.

Chief Inspector Jackson Muriel Granger, well into his forties, wondered when this case would close, and how soon Thomas Madison would become the victim. Granger always relied on facts, logic, and the evidence. His quiet obsession for crime scenes and their importance