Sorceress Resurrected

By Evan Martin

With their only hope in a coma, John and Roger must save the town from an evil force, but can they stop it without the assistance of Clio’s natural gifts?

In the small, quiet town of Lake Melts, Wisconsin, three friends suffer a tragedy when Clio Boru is hospitalized and is comatose after a terrible accident.

As Clio lies powerless in a hospital bed, her mind in another realm, Old Native American superstitions arise in Lake Melts. Deputy John Slocum, beside himself with worry over Clio’s condition, has to find a murderer when two boys turn up dead. But, his inner fears surface—John’s depression and being heartbroken, hoping for a miracle for Clio makes it difficult to cope.

That leaves Roger Marquette as Lake Melts’ only hope of finding the truth. While Roger Marquette researches and attempts to fill the void created by Clio’s absence, he is limited by what he can do.
Meanwhile, Ancient Rites, complete with an influential family history of heroes from another time, force Clio to travel to different places far beyond her unconscious imagination.

Clio lingers far away, as Roger tries to figure out exactly what this unseen otherworldly danger is and how to keep it from the town. But lurking in the dark, a more horrific, sinister evil waits its chance to finally destroy Clio and all she and her friends hold dear. Will Clio be strong enough to resurrect herself before all is lost?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evan Martin
• Release date: Feb 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463501986

Evan Martin

Evan Michael Martin began looking into the supernatural first hand while an exchange student in Europe. Long a fan of historical legends of the dark, he traveled extensively in the Carpathians to observe the old traditions and see where these legends originated. In Great Britain and especially Ireland, he had wonderful experiences learning about ancient legends, Druidism and other practices. Camping in the Moors waiting to hear the scream of the Banshee, spending the night at Ruthin Castle Southwest of Liverpool to see the Grey Lady and searching for Ghosts at Malahide Castle north of Dublin. He lives in Lake Melts, Wisconsin with his wife Dierdre and their two children, Adan and Aidan. When not writing Evan is exploring the small communities of the upper Midwest with his two Bouvier Des Flanders, Max and Cash.

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Sorceress Resurrected by Evan Michael Martin, 2016 by Evan Michael Martin.

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual places or businesses, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher, Boru Publishing.

Editing: Brittiany Koren

Cover art design and interior layout: Ed Vincent of ENC Graphic Services

Cover art illustration: Timothy Lance

Cover art symbol © Shutterstock.com

Category: Horror/Dark Fantasy

Description: With their only hope in a coma, two friends must save their small Wisconsin town from an evil force, but can they stop it without the assistance of their friend’s natural gifts?

Dedicated to Cash.

Brave werewolf fighter, guardian and friend.

Gone too soon, but never forgotten.

Until we meet again.

Dear Reader,

Once again, we find ourselves witness to the evolution of Clio Boru. No longer just a simple Wiccan, she grows as evil grows around her.

I wanted to continue to not only grow this story around the fictional town of Lake Melts, but to also include some of the legends of local lore. As a result, we experience Charlie’s story. The legends are real, as are the places where they occur.

During my writing of this book I experienced the loss of a dear friend and inspiration. Cash, the brave little Schnauzer in Sorceress Rising passed over the rainbow bridge suddenly. He went peacefully and surrounded by friends and family. A brave and loyal friend and companion, he will be fondly remembered for the joy he brought those who loved him.

Evan Michael Martin

Prologue

Jason staggered to the sidewalk as he stumbled out of Briney’s bar before he stood alone in the darkness. Not certain where to go next, he contemplated the reasons that had brought him here. The years he and his wife had been together had dissolved in a flurry of harsh, angry words. Shaking off the earlier argument, he turned toward the lake and headed to the lighthouse. His jeans were soaked with beer and his blue plaid shirt was untucked and wrinkled; not much protection from the cool night air.

The soft sounds of Lake Nicollet’s waves rising against the rock breakwater would provide him with a soundtrack to sort out his feelings. He knew better than to drive after having as many drinks as he had; walking was the better choice. Plus, the solitude of the night coupled with the atmosphere of the lake was exactly what he needed. The brisk fall air felt good, keeping him awake and seeming to sober him up. Even his wet pants felt drier against his legs, the chill a stimulant on his skin.

The many boats moored in the marina occasionally bumped against the docks in a rhythmic bass and provided the right measure to gauge his plodding pace. The ancient light of the lighthouse was more symbolic than functional, but it guided him to his destination. Reaching a bench, he sat down as quietly as he could. The alcohol in his system made him unsteady, causing a slight oomph as he sat. Stretching out his legs in front of him, he looked across the water and sighed. What the heck does that woman want from me?

His arm snaked across his shirt as he took a pack of cigarettes from its pocket, removed one, put it in his mouth and lit it.

He pulled it out of his mouth just as quickly. The large flame on the end told him he had put the cigarette backward in his mouth. He threw it on the ground.

Dammit, he said with disgust.

Shaking the pack, he took another cigarette out, he made sure he put the filtered end in his mouth this time and again took out his disposable lighter from his shirt pocket. Inhaling the nicotine deeply, the cigarette dangled from his lips. As he stared into the lake, he set the pack of cigarettes and lighter on the bench next to him. Nothing he did would change her mind. Nothing.

As he exhaled, he looked at the stars above and finally relaxed, slumping on the bench.

He jumped with a nervous start. He was certain he had dozed off, but he wasn’t quite sure for how long. Sitting up straighter with his back more firmly against the bench, he looked around. Had he heard something? Or had he really dozed off?

A noise on the rocks got his attention. He stood up in front of the bench and peered toward the lake. There it was again.

Taking a few ungainly steps toward the water, he stopped. There it is again. He walked closer to the water, trying to see what had made the noise. Fish out of water?

The light from a quarter moon reflected off the water. Looking down at the water’s edge, along the rocks, he saw something. There.

He squatted down to see better, but he lost his balance. As he tumbled forward, his body crashed on the rocks and he landed in the shallow water.

He tried to stand, but he could not keep his balance. Suddenly, something grabbed his foot and pulled him further into the lake. Before he could make a noise he was submerged.

And disappeared.

A mournful wailing bounded across the water’s surface and then ebbed into total silence. Only the motion of the water made a sound.

Chapter 1

John Slocum, Deputy Sheriff in Johnson County, began his nighttime patrol when a call came in about a disturbance at the lighthouse.

Acknowledging the call, he drove the short distance down Nicollet Drive and turned his vehicle in front of Briney’s, finally arriving at the lighthouse. It stood at the southern end of Lake Nicollet at the mouth of the harbor and marina. Long a sense of pride for Lake Melts, the lighthouse was a symbol of the commerce that once moved across the lake—almost 30 miles end to end. It had fallen into disrepair decades ago and was scheduled to be demolished when a group of citizens had decided to save it. Now, almost fifty years later, the lighthouse still stood proud.

While it was no longer a functioning lighthouse, tourists to the area still climbed the stairs to enjoy the view of the lake, as well as the community south of it.

John saw an older man waiting for him in the parking lot as he pulled up. The man’s light tan sweater was buttoned high to his neck and extended down over his jeans. John picked up his microphone to give his location to the dispatcher, then got out of his vehicle.

Walking over to the man, John asked, Sir, are you the one who made the call?

Yes Deputy, I did, the man nodded. The sound came from over there, next to the lighthouse. It was a wailing sound I heard, then a splash. I thought I heard someone down there, but I didn’t see anyone.

John took his flashlight out and went toward the lighthouse. Shining his light on the structure, he walked through the opening of the decorative yet functional stone wall that surrounded the lighthouse and onto the grassy area it protected. John stopped on the grass, just inside the fence and shined the light around again, stopping his light on a bench a few feet from the rocky breakwater along the lake shore.

Seeing something on the bench, he moved toward it, keeping the beam of the flashlight in front of him. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. That’s odd, he thought.

Keeping the beam on the cigarette pack, he stood next to the bench. The only sounds he heard was of the gentle lapping of the waves on the rocks a few feet away.

Do you see anything? the man shouted.

Nothing yet, John answered. He continued his search of the area using the flashlight beam. Finding nothing, John shined the beam out onto the lake, focusing on the area a few feet from the shore. He knew from his childhood that just a few feet into the lake was a sharp drop off, with the lake being about ten feet deep.

A splash to his right outside of the beam of the flashlight startled him, and he quickly moved the light. Something blue was floating on the algae green surface of the lake. Moving closer to see the object, John realized it was clothing. Staring more closely at the cloth he said, That’s a shirt. But no body as far as he could see.

John turned and walked back to the man still waiting in the parking lot. What exactly did you hear?

I was sitting on my boat over there in the marina. The man pointed to a cabin cruiser ideal for fishing and other forms of recreation on the lake. I was just sitting out here, enjoying the evening. I planned on spending the night on the boat when I heard a loud splash and what sounded like someone calling for help.

That’s all? John asked.

No, the man replied. Earlier I had seen a man walk by. He was obviously drunk. I thought perhaps he had fallen in the water.

What did the man look like? John took out a small notepad and pen.

He was about my height, wearing a blue shirt and dark pants, and he was staggering, probably drunk from the bar. Using his head, the man pointed behind him toward Briney’s.

What were you doing out here at this time of night? John asked.

I decided to spend the night on my boat. Me and the missus…

Not wanting to hear the man air his dirty laundry, he shifted the subject. What happened after you heard the noise?

I grabbed my flashlight and ran over to the edge, by the bench. I didn’t see anything, but I was worried he might have fallen in. That was when I called the sheriff’s office.

Chapter 2

His shift ended, John filed his report on the situation at the lighthouse and stalked from the sheriff’s office. Plopping into his car, he started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. Driving slightly over the speed limit, his destination was the same place he had gone every day for the past two weeks, St. Alberta’s Hospital.

A squeak of the tires as they gripped the black top in the parking lot announced his arrival to anyone there, though as John got out of his car, he didn’t see anyone. He jogged across the street and into the entrance to the hospital. Walking past the visitor information desk, he waved at the volunteers, went to the elevators and pushed the button for the ICU floor.

With a slow whoosh, thump the doors closed and John felt the elevator rise. This thing is so slow, he thought. A little bounce and the elevator stopped, the doors opening automatically.

Striding down the hall toward the ICU, John wove in and out of the few people, staff and patients that were in the hallway. Seeing the large double door entrance into the ICU reception area ahead on the right, he turned into it and then abruptly stopped. Sitting in a chair, his hand on his chin and staring seemingly off into space was Roger Marquette.

A sinking feeling emerged in his stomach as he watched Roger. Is everything ok? John asked, fear in his voice.

Startled, Roger jumped slightly, before he stood up. He rubbed his hands along his corduroy pants, then tucked in his short sleeved polo shirt. No, everything is fine. They asked me to step out while the doctor did an examination and the nurse changed some bandages.

Did you, um, did anything new happen? John asked, the words seeming to choke him as he found it hard to speak.

Nothing, John. She is still with us; they told me all of her vital signs are good. She just can’t wake up, Roger answered.

The two men sat down as silence overtook them both. John felt helpless in the sterile world of this hospital.

They were interrupted by a nurse as she walked up to them. We’re finished now, she said. Her eyes moved back and forth between the two men as she added, One of you can go in. She walked away without waiting for a reply.

I guess that’s you, Roger said as he rose from the chair. His slight groan and a popping sound from the general area of his knees showed he had been sitting for some time.

Thank you, John said. Thank you for staying with her last night.

You do know eventually they are going to restrict us to normal visiting hours, John, Roger said as he extended his hand toward John.

Yes, I am preparing myself for that eventuality. He took Roger’s hand in his. A short but firm handshake was exchanged before Roger walked towards the elevators.

Thanks again, buddy, John called after him.

No problem. She is my friend, too, and I needed to be here as well. Roger said, before he disappeared from John’s sight.

Shaking himself and then brushing his hands across the front of his shirt as if to smooth the wrinkles from it, John walked through the automatic doors, their sensor detecting him and opening automatically.

As he entered the ICU proper, he saw individual rooms to his left and right, each with more machinery than he had ever experienced before with their single patients all seemingly asleep. Being asleep was how John chose to think about them. All the patients on this floor were in some type of coma, with only a couple occasionally awake as they were being treated for serious injuries.

He stopped at the door leading to Clio’s room. Beep, beep, beep the heart monitor counted each beat as it announced to him that Clio was still very much alive. The green and multi-colored monitors and the unknown numbers of wires running from her body to the electronic boxes and beyond was how he’d expected to see Clio presented in this room.

Taking a deep breath, he walked in and sat in the chair next to her bed. Reaching out, he took her small hand into his and held it. Her hand, warm as always, gave John a sense of hope. He looked at her face wrapped in bandages. Her head injury included a fractured skull, and all that was visible under the bandages were her eyes, nose and mouth. Her nostrils flared ever so slightly, and John was glad to see that Clio was still breathing on her own. None of the equipment was used to sustain her life, it was only used to monitor different vitals to help in her treatment.

Leaning forward, he rested his head on their joined hands. He stayed there for a long moment. Slowly, he raised his head and watched her face, seeing her chest rise and fall as she breathed. Fear consumed him as he sat there. He suddenly realized how much he truly loved this woman; he loved her more than anything in the world. Guilt coursed through him as he thought about how the accident had happened. Clio leaving the house to go and buy a bottle of wine…wine he thought, a damn bottle of wine. I should have gone to the store. This should be me lying here. His eyes teared up as he watched her.

Come back to me, Clio. I need you. You are the most important person in my life and I need you.

Of course there was no reply.

John laid his head on their joined hands again and took a deep breath. Her hand was warm in his and he put his cheek against them. Don’t die, Clio, please don’t die.

He was suddenly jolted upright when he heard a voice call his name.

Deputy Slocum… Deputy Slocum.

Glancing around the room, his vision a bit fuzzy, John realized he must have dozed off. The nurse stood in the doorway and said, Maybe you should go home and get some sleep. She knows you were here. I’d bet she’d want you to sleep as well.

John sat there silently for a moment, mulling over the nurse’s words before forming a reply that at first was no, but as he thought about it warmed toward a yes, you’re right. Standing, he faced the nurse and said, I think you’re right. I’ll be back later. Would you please call me if there is…if there is any change?

Of course, the nurse replied with a warm smile.

As he walked past her, he said thank you.

The nurse nodded as he turned to go down the hallway. John suspected the nurse was giving a quick visual check of all of the monitors surrounding Clio before she checked on her next patient. All the way down the hallway, he heard the steady beep, beep, beep… of the monitors.

Clio stood in the middle of a dirt road. Behind her was a long rolling hill. Is that the Ledge? she thought. She noticed the spires of a church. That must be the old Nunnery. Where am I?

In front of her, she could see a town with smokestacks from several factories as they belched columns of smoke into the air. In the distance, heading directly toward her, a single horse drawn wagon approached. Small puffs of dirt were visible each time the horse’s hooves touched the ground. To her right was a large cornfield and beyond it a tangled thick crop of pine trees. Behind them, she could just see the roof and chimney of more structures. Standing in the road, Clio looked around, trying to figure out where she was.

That must be Taycheedah.

To her left were woods and farm fields. In front of her, she saw more of the community—a few houses and the roof tops of distant, taller buildings.

As the wagon approached, Clio saw it plainly. The four wooden spoked wheels holding the carriage well above ground were thin and rimmed with a thick grey, probably black when not in the dirt, ridge. The spokes themselves were a faded tan color. On a broad, black leather seat sat a young woman. A black canopy, open in the sides and front, covered the passenger area and behind that, much like the rear of a pick-up truck, was an area for carrying things. While this was unpainted, the sides and front of the passenger area of the wagon were painted a fading black. The dark brown horse, with one white stocking and a splash of white on its forehead, trotted towards Clio.

The flaming red hair of the woman driving the wagon stood out first. Perched under a large, round, broad, floppy-billed black hat, a white ribbon wound around the crown and hanging down behind her, truly accented the appearance of her hair. She wore a long-sleeved, pale green cotton dress.

As the wagon pulled up alongside Clio, she could easily see that not only was the dress ankle length, but the feet sticking out were encased in black button closed boots with short heels.

Seeing what the woman was wearing caused Clio to suddenly feel self-conscious about her own attire. Looking down, she was surprised to see that she was wearing a long calico dress buttoned in the front from her neck to midway between her waist and knees. The dress was barely above the ground and as she poked her toes out from under it, she saw black button up shoes with pointed toes and solid heels.

Clio’s first thought, which brought a quick smile to her face was, Those look like the Wicked Witch of the East’s shoes in the Wizard of Oz.

Pulling back on the reins of the horse, the woman waited until the horse had completely stopped.

Hello, Clio said aloud, her hand creeping toward her throat.

The woman in the wagon turned her head toward Clio. Beside her copper-colored red hair, her green eyes and pale skin were stunning.

She smiled broadly with an ear to ear grin, catching her breath before she said, Hello Clio. I’ve been expecting you. I am Brigit, your great great grandmother.

Clio dropped to her knees in the dirt road.

Brigit, jumping out of the wagon, went to her and stooping down, put her