The Shadow of Empire: Issue No. 1 - "The Coachman": A Dark Fantasy Horror, #1

By Davy Lyons

The Shadow of Empire is a brand new historical horror fantasy serial, told in twenty four issues.

It begins in 1871, in the dark corners of London. Gravedigger Bill Hardwicke is undertaking a series of jobs for mysterious employer, Lord Henry Highmore. It is not something he is at ease with at the best of times, but it soon transpires the monsters of old London town seem to gather in the graveyard after dark. Bill hopes it's all in his imagination, but something tells him things aren't as straight forward as Highmore has made it seem.

The story also centers on the journey of twenty year old Rayne Merritt as he leaves his childhood home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, in search of adventure. When he meets privateer Ulysses Kaylock, the temptation of adventure is too much to refuse. His stowaway younger sister, Ellie, disappears, Rayne vows to find her. He is tested in ways he never dreamed of as the quest to save his sister takes many a bizarre and terrifying turn. Not only does he begin to unlock the very darkest secrets of the British Empire, he makes discoveries that make him doubt the very fabric of the world around him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Golden Triangle Press
• Release date: Apr 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386891390

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Table of Contents

THE SHADOW OF EMPIRE | By | Davy Lyons | Issue One: The Coachman

THE SHADOW OF EMPIRE

By

Davy Lyons

Issue One: The Coachman

London - 1871

THE MOON DISAPPEARED behind misty cloud, and the graveyard was covered in a foreboding black shroud. On top of a sloping mound, between patches of gravestones, a clump of trees split the yard in two. A man crouched behind a thick trunk of a birch, surveying a shape hovering in the darkness over by a nearby grave. The leaves swirled as a chilling gust of wind passed across the mound, tugging at the sides of his ill-fitting trousers and coat.

Bill Hardwicke cursed. Whatever was lurking there made him hesitate, delaying his move down the embankment to the grave where he’d placed his spade an hour or so ago. He wiped the end of his round nose with his sleeve, absently stroking the long sideburn on his angled cheek. There was a spiteful chill in the air and he pulled his woollen coat up around his neck. He was twenty-nine, by three months, and he was feeling the efforts of the day more than he used to. He was sure he could feel it in his bones. Sighing, Bill reached to the inside pocket and pulled out his trusty pewter flask. It was a gift from his beloved Liza, given to him when they first met. His hands were shaking as he unscrewed the lid, another frosty bite of wind nipping his cheeks. He tipped the warming brandy down, looking into the misty gloom.

There it was, hovering by the grave. It seemed somehow translucent, yet was the definite shape of a human being, stooping over as if its back bone was too long for the body. Bill gulped the brandy, his eyes fixed on the strange shape. The mist seemed to thicken, obscuring his view to the grave. A chill pulled at his heart. He could swear there was a voice, whispering in the darkness. He couldn’t make out any words, but he heard a giggle. Like a child, but not quite.

He shuddered, watching as the mist began to reduce to a thin swirl. There was a definite