Come the Swine: A Supernatural Thriller

By Jim Feazell

1898-THE MEN of Heaven, Arkansas, committed a lunacy so evil. It opened a gate for a demon from hell. Th e demon established its Kingdom in the vast swamp bottom to the north of town and commanded the wild Swine to host the spirits of the dead. The evil that permeated the swamp touched the hearts of the townspeople like a contagious disease. For eighty-seven years the town grewand the wanton immorality, larcenous and covetousness grew with it.

1985-CHUCK ABBOTT, an aspiring young film actor, went to Heaven in search of his missing Grandfather and entered a world of immoral and licentious inhabitants, controlled unknowingly by an artisan of Satan!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462006038

Jim Feazell

Jim Feazell?Retired filmmaker and singer/songwriter worked in Hollywood for 22 years as a motion picture stunt actor and cinematographer and also performed in folk clubs and coffeehouses as a singer. After retiring from stunt work he headed his own film company for 15 years in El Dorado, Arkansas and Tucson, Arizona. He has written numerous theatrical screenplays?ie. The Lord?s Share/A Deadly Obsession/Two Guns To Timberline/Wheeler/Redneck Mama/The Legend Of Cat Mountain and Psycho From Texas.

Book preview

Contents

PROLOUGE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I want to thank my sons Shane and Christian, without who’s help this book would never have been written. Thank you Shane for your most valuable input into the story and thank you Christian for your constant persistence that I continue writing. I love you guys.

PROLOUGE

Narrow beams of sunlight streaked through the heavy overgrowth of trees. Thick defiant branches scattered eerie shadows on the soft murky ground. The tall bearded man’s heart hung in his throat and he felt a pounding in his temples. He had never gone this far into the swamp. He had long since passed the spot where—years ago—he left his wife.

His stomach trembled and threatened to turn upside down. Yet something compelled him to keep going—something that had antagonized and tormented his mind for some time.

All the occurrences of the past cascaded through his terrified mind. The voice he sensed more than heard—the persistent urge that became more and more an obsession to obey—to follow—to come into the swamp—the frightful premonitions of inescapable doom.

He tried to make some rational sense out of it. He wondered why his own mind was letting him live through this. He fought to understand, as the unearthly force kept pulling him deeper and deeper into the vast swamp bottom. He wanted to turn—to run. He shouldn’t be here. He had gone to far—but there was no turning back. He had been drawn here—coaxed and lured by a power not his own.

A pall of gloom hung ominously over the swamp. The tall man swallowed hard and choked back his fear as he moved further inward through the dense vine covered black oak, pig-nut and cypress trees—huge cypress trees with distorted clumps of blue-gray moss hanging from swaying limbs like sinister apparitions—mocking and taunting him.

His breath was heavy and raspy and he trembled fearfully as he kept maneuvering his way deeper into the bottom, staying to the high ground, skirting the marshes, sloughs and bogs. He noticed the ground was void of underbrush and small plant life. He saw no sign of small animals or reptiles—no possum, coon or rabbits—no lizards, snakes or turtles—not even a frog—God, there should be frogs.

Sweat poured from his tensed body as the urge to continue grew stronger. He tried to fight it—to turn—to ran. But his body followed a stronger will than his own mind could muster—a will, powerless to resist. He moved forward, still deeper into the swamp—and then suddenly he knew—he knew the profound secret evil lurking in his own heart was being summoned by a greater force—much greater than he could possibly imagine—he felt it—he felt the presence of evil—of earthbound spirits—and lost tortured souls.

The sloughs and bogs began to look like giant wallowing holes. The mud was black—black and curdled. The tall man’s nostrils flared and burned as the thick pungent smell of sulfur assaulted him—the presence of decay and death—the sickly odor of evil.

And still he continued on with the merciless force of evil engulfing him—surrounding him—pulling him further into the bowels of hell. His bearded face froze and his throat tightened as he found himself in the middle of a sea of black mud littered with bones—human bones. Broken rib cages—crushed skulls—splintered arm and leg bones. And it was cold—chilling icy cold. The tall man shivered uncontrollably as he choked on his vomit.

Then came the swine—they closed in around him from every direction, those grotesque four, five and six hundred pound beasts of hell. Boars and sows alike, their eyes brimmed with the pain of doom.

There was noise—louder and louder, high pitched, ear splitting squeals and screams—from tormented souls suspended between two dimensions of existence—possessed by devil swine. The noise drowned out the sound of his own panicking screams.

He felt his right arm ripped from its socket as his torn body was tossed around the mud like a rag doll. In a hungered frenzy, the screaming beasts fought for possession of dismembered limbs.

His mind numbed and gave way as he cried out with his last breath for mercy—for understanding—for forgiveness.

The pain was gone. He saw pieces of his rendered body being eaten. He tore away the flesh from his stomach and gorged on his own entrails, blood dripping from his tusk and wrinkled snout—and the tall bearded man realized he was now—one of them.

And the evil that permeated the swamp bottom like a great black shroud of death had grown a bit more.

—neither cast ye your pearls before swine, least they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.

Matthew 7:6

CHAPTER 1

Hollywood, California—1985

Endless mounds of dog dung, fresh and decayed, lying randomly along the sidewalk was all that marred the bright southern California Sunday morning.

Chuck Abbott thought of the letter momentarily as he walked around the corner to the Village Cafe. He had breakfast with some of his aspiring actor friends and caught up on who was doing what—or who.

Eight—forty—five. Chuck made his way back through the canine mine field, got into his van and drove down Beachwood. He made a right on Franklin, crossed Gower and went onto the Hollywood freeway at Vine. The traffic was moderate as he zipped along over the hill past Barham and took the Lankershim exit, passed Universal Studios and into North Hollywood. He was almost to Susie’s apartment.

Chuck looked at his watch. Nine—fifteen. I hope she’s gotten the rose, he thought. Yesterday afternoon, he called the florist to have one long-stem red rose delivered at nine o’clock Sunday morning. It was their first anniversary, one year into an absolutely perfect relationship—for both parties.

Chuck met Susie while working on an episode of a night time television series. Susie was a regular on the show. Twenty years old, beautiful and talented. They hit it off from the start and became good friends. Actually, they became more than just friends, they became lovers, and held a great admiration and loyalty for one another.

Early in their friendship they discussed many things such as opposition to marriage—independence—fear of aids—and how these things effected their personal lives, goals and inhibitions—and they made a solemn pact, based on mutual trust—that their sexual relationship would forever be monogamous.

Chuck was seven weeks into a mini-series at Universal when the letter arrived. Uncle Dad had called and left the message on his answering machine.

The hours were long and tedious, and would be until the series wrapped—in another week. Chuck decided to wait until then to go get the letter, since Uncle Dad lived out in Azuza. Besides, he needed to study his lines at night and had promised to spend Sunday with Susie. He wondered however, (only briefly) about the letter from his grandfather Abbott. He had never before gotten a letter from him. They exchanged Christmas cards for eighteen years—but that was it.

He parked the van on the street and went in through the front of the building. It had been a whole week since they were together.

Too long, Chuck thought. Way too long. He felt his jeans tighten as he neared Susie’s door and pushed the button.

Who’s there? He heard her voice on the intercom, and his jeans tightened more.

It’s me, Chuck

Chuck who

Come on, open the door, he said impatiently.

The door opened to reveal Susie clad in a short see-through nylon robe. She provocatively held the stem of the rose in her mouth and her eyes sparkled with anticipation. She pushed the door shut, removed the rose from her mouth and embraced Chuck. As she kissed him long and passionately she unsnapped the top of his belt-less jeans and ran her hand deep down inside. Chuck waited in an ecstatic trance for as long as he could stand it before he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Chuck and his parents lived in Arkansas on his grandfathers farm until he was almost seven years old. His parents were killed in an automobile accident and he was brought to Azuza to live with his Aunt Gladis and Uncle John Hemstead.

He quickly became one of the family, and they just as quickly became became Aunt Mom and Uncle Dad.

After graduating from high school, Chuck leased a small apartment in Hollywood to pursue an acting career. He loved drama with a passion and committed his every dream to becoming a screen actor.

The first year and a half was spent in acting classes, workshops and part time jobs. The next three years turned into a career of casting calls, interviews and finding the right agent. There was an occasional bit part, one liner or walk-on, until about two years ago when he landed a starring role in a low-budget theatrical feature and then guest starred in two television series, back to back. This bought him a new van and repaid Uncle Dad for his financial generosity through the hard times.

Since then the business was good to Chuck. He starred in two more movies and did quite a bit of television.

A handsome man, twenty-five years old, almost shoulder length blonde hair, steel blue eyes and a well proportioned five foot eleven inch physique. Chuck possessed all the qualifications to be a leading man. He knew he was good looking, but he was not egotistical. He also knew it required much more than looks to be an accomplished actor.

It was twelve noon when Susie came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with two bowls of lentil soup and two glasses of something unmentionable which she had whipped up in the blender. Susie was a typical Hollywood health nut, and attempted a few times to convert Chuck, but to not much success. He had to have his red meat and occasional junk food. Chuck was sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard. Susie set the tray on his lap and sat herself cross-legged in the center of the bed. She watched him with deep concern as he sipped from one of the glasses, and grimaced.

All right, she said. Tell me what’s troubling you.

Chuck looked surprised. There’s nothing troubling me.

Don’t give me that, Chuck—I can tell when you’re troubled, and you know it

Oh yeah—well it’s really no trouble—it’s just that I’ve been a little concerned about a letter—I was thinking about my grandfather.

You’re not making sense. she said.

Okay, okay,—last Thursday, Uncle Dad left a message on my machine. He said I had a letter there from my grandfather in Arkansas.

That’s it? Susie asked.

Well, I’ve never gotten a letter from him before and I was wondering about it—Susie, do I have to drink this stuff?

No, she pouted. If you wish to be a pussy—then don’t drink it.

If I were, he said. I’d be the best you ever had.

I’ll concede to that, she chuckled lightly. Tell me—If you’re that concerned about the letter, why haven’t you called Uncle Dad and had him read it to you?

Chuck looked dumbfounded. I haven’t really been concerned, he said. Could I use your phone?

Eat your soup, and then call him—it’s good for you. It’ll make a man out’ta you.

Will it really, he quipped. Why do you eat it? They laughed and finished the soup. Chuck got up, slipped into his jeans and picked up the telephone.

Uncle Dad was on the golf course. Aunt Mom opened the letter and read it to Chuck.—It was brief.

Dear Chuckle,

Please come, I need some help.

They are trying to kill me.

Your Grandaddy Abbott

Chuck was stunned. He could hear Aunt Mom asking what he was going to do, but the words did not register. He stood like a statue with the phone frozen to his face for what seemed like an eternity. As his state of consciousness began to return, he sat on the bed and dropped the phone from his ear. Susie could hear the voice on the phone and took it from Chuck.

Hello, Gladys,—This is Susie. What’s happened?

Gladys Hemstead read Susie the letter and expressed her concern for Chuck. Susie was looking at Chuck as she told Gladys he would be fine and they would call her later. She hung up the telephone.

They looked reflectively at one another for a few long moments

Damn it. Chuck said uneasily. How can he expect me to come back there?—I don’t even know the man.

I don’t know what to tell you, Chuck—he is your grandfather. Maybe you should try to find out what’s wrong. Call and talk to him,—or something.

"Why the hell would anyone want to kill an old farmer?’ Chuck asked.

Susie pushed the phone across the bed to Chuck. Call him—do you remember where he lives?

Yeah, he lives just outside of Heaven.

No shit.

The telephone company had no listing for a Charles Abbott anywhere in the area. Susie had not moved from the center of the bed. Chuck was staring straight at her but wasn’t seeing her. Susie saw his eyes brighten as if a light bulb turned on in his head.

Chuck dialed O, waited a moment and asked for a long distant operator. Waited another moment and asked the operator to connect him with the Sheriff’s office in Heaven,Arkansas. He held the phone until his ear was red and burning. Finally a voice came over the line.

Hello, this is Sheriff Dobson, don’t’ cha know it’s Sunday an I’m home resting.

Sheriff, Chuck said, I’m calling from California and I need to get word to Charles Abbott to call me. He doesn’t have a—

Did you say Charles Abbott? the Sheriff interrupted.

Yes, I need to—

Never heard of em. he interrupted again.

He lives on a farm just outside of town.

Listen, I know everybody in these parts an I’m a’tellin’ya nobody by that name lives around here. Sorry I can’t help’ya—bye." The phone went dead. Chuck stared bewilderedly at the telephone and then at Susie.

Damn it, Damn it. You would think the Sheriff would know him. He said he knew everyone in the area.—Damn it—there’s something wrong here—this stinks to high heaven.—I didn’t really say that, did I?

So now what? Susie asked, ignoring the pun.

I don’t know, Chuck said. I’ll have to think about it.

Susie leaned back on her elbows letting the robe slide down her sides, exposing her petite and curvaceous body. She ran her foot caressingly up and down Chuck’s side, Relax darling, she said softly, Get it off your mind for awhile.

Chuck turned and began caressing her legs as she lay back on the bed. He slowly kissed and fondled his way upward, taking detours at her breast, cupping them in his hands, kissing, nibbling and gently sucking. She unsnapped his jeans and pushed them