Sojourner's Path: Sojourner Series, #1

By Amy Kurylo

Allie's nightmares are more than just bad, they're terrifying. Manifesting into the physical. Sight. Sound. Smells... Is someone or some thing trying to get her attention?

 

Allie Gerard's not the kind of person to believe in things she can't see, living independently in a small town, but now...

Nightmares plague her sleep.

People she's known for years aren't who they appear to be.

Her own body has betrayed her.

Is she losing her mind or is there an external force pushing her?

To make matters worse, she's being hunted.

When conventional wisdom fails and time running out, Allie must make a choice to either trust what's tangible or a higher power.

Which direction will she take?

 

Sojourner's Path is the first book in a series which glides across a razor's edge between fantasy, science fiction, and the supernatural. A Christian novel, it asks thought provoking questions about a realm just beyond our purview and the motives of the driving forces behind it. Mystery and wonder take center stage as the dramatic tale unfolds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sulad Media, llc
• Release date: Jul 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393457824

Book preview

The Encounter

The small, corner cafe on Winston St. was the favorite eatery of many in Alnwick. Newly refurbished, offering customers a homey interior with classic American fare. Today was À la mode Day, promising a full house.

The bell above the front door jingled as he entered.

The man could have been a properly dressed business man. His slacks were pressed, shirt tailored to fit his form, and he was careful about grooming and hygienic practices. However, his behavior did not suit appearances.

He glared at the patrons. Watched as they ate their meals, mouths opening and closing with each bite, as if mastication were repugnant to him. He began smacking his mouth and rolling his tongue, mocking the act of eating. He continued this behavior, raising in intensity until most everyone was watching. 

A hush fell over the café. Customers fidgeted with their meals and tried to continue conversations. Eyes made sidelong glances in his direction. Retired men who regularly spent their afternoon’s at the counter gossiping while enjoying a slice of pie and bottomless cup o’ joe, gawked at the creature, waiting to see what he’d do next. Children sidled closer to parents, peeking from behind their clothing.

Cock-a-roaaaaches... He spat, uttering every syllable in odious mockery. He opened the pepper shaker, pouring the contents into his mouth.

Wanting no part in a lunatic’s behavior, some people took this as a sign to pay the check and leave. Hastily, they grabbed belongings as the other server scrambled to close out their tab. Others, simply left money on the table and left.

A well-dressed, amiable, young woman returning from the restroom made it halfway to her table before she saw what was in the corner booth. He was staring at her. At first she was curious, Who’s that? Why’s he staring? Is he flirting with me? With each moment, this dalliance felt more and more intrusive. He wasn’t just looking at her. His gaze was penetrative.

She began remembering things from her past she’d long since forgotten. Moments she’d allowed herself to be corruptible and willingly depraved. Her breath became shallow and panic flooded her being. One after another, her mind was overrun with shameful memories; overwhelming, terrible thoughts.

The thin, weathered server cautiously walked up to the disturbing man’s table, breaking his concentration. The younger woman, averted her eyes, stumbling to her seat in an effort to recover. He chupsed, and disdainfully rolled his eyes as the server set down silverware and a glass of water. His presence made her skin prickle and mouth dry. In a barely audible voice, she asked, What’ll ya have?

The man heaved a sigh, glared at her for a moment with hooded eyes. A split second later he lurched forward, sitting more upright. She instantly recoiled, jumping back and nearly losing her footing on the art deco tile floor.

Taking a more relaxed posture, he drummed his fingers atop the table. Nothing you have.

Yes, sir. The server stayed facing him as she retreated, holding a round tray in front of her like a shield; instinctively knowing better than to turn her back on him.

The hesitation and reserve in response to his countenance was titillating.  He began puffing out his nose and smiling, amused by a private joke.

Watch carefully now. Instantly, he put two fingers inside his mouth and pulled down his jaw, dislocating and disfiguring its features. Next, his eyes rolled back in his head as a mixture of mucus and ground pepper began pouring out of his eyes and nose, pooling on the table in a grotesque display.

The horrified server’s breath caught in her throat. She gaped trying to scream, but nothing came out. Her feet finally overrode her response, causing her to flee to the kitchen.

Many of the café patrons reacted by leaving as quickly as possible through the side and front entrances. Horrified screams, children in hysterics, broken dishes, bouncing silverware, thrown chairs and shattering glassware cascaded throughout the restaurant. Those who remained seemed to have grown roots — unable to move or stop staring at the hideous sight despite the chaos consuming the establishment.

He laughed mirthfully, now peering back at them through slated eyes, enjoying this game. His jaw wagging with only tendons and flesh holding it on, it jiggled unnaturally with every chuckle. Asinine simpletons.

After thirty-seconds of people staring and cringing, he heaved a large sigh. The fun was over, and now it was boring. The demon reset his jaw, wiped his face, slapped a twenty on the table, and walked out the front door onto the sidewalk as if nothing happened.

He knew what all tethered to this plane of existence know... people crave to be special. They want talents, opportunities, uniqueness that helps them stand alone from others. They want a legacy; importance. A lasting impression on future generations so no one will forget they existed. To be forgotten is unthinkable. So he gave them what they needed: A story. A tale they could tell each other and enjoy for years to come. Something to make them stand out from all the other little cockroaches God made. It was... a gift.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

ALLIE sat on her front porch swing looking down the street. A gentle breeze made the trees sway rhythmically, caressing her face. Scents hinted of fresh cut grass and blossoms she couldn’t name. The sun broke through the clouds like a chapel’s stained glass windows.  

She swung gently, holding a cup of tea. Next to her was a sketch book with pencils. The drawing utensils rocked with her, just enough to ease onto their sides showing the brand for a brief moment, and then rolling under —  like children playing peek-a-boo. She brought out the book to do some typography with an uplifting phrase.

Allie liked positive idioms: ‘Be the Good,' ‘Joy in the journey,' ‘Grow where you’re planted.’ She found comfort in them. Also, she enjoyed the art of typography, which made marrying the two easy. Her home was full of artistic homemade signs, akin to the ones sold at farmer’s markets and street fairs.

But today, she was far too enraptured by the sounds, sights, and aromas of the world to need reminders of how to live in it. It was enough just to sit and breathe. These kind of days were distant and few; much more were deserved in her mind.  

Allie spent a good portion of the week working with people who couldn’t care less about slowing down. Too busy trying to become the next fortune 500 company’s junior executive or some such nonsense, her colleagues hummed through their day like the whirring of the fluorescent lights above their heads. Once they started going, they may flicker by a hunger pang or nature’s call, but then it was back to the steady, droning pace of work until they switched off at 6pm.

They didn’t exist right now. Late spring afforded her the luxury of enjoying the evenings after a long work day. This was her time to relax.  Letting her thoughts drift, she yawned and reached around her back to scratch a small itch.

CRACK! Allie could feel the tremor in the house as the back door slammed shut.  The sudden shock caused her to jolt and spill tea over her lap. She jumped up and started brushing the hot beverage off of her jeans as quickly as she could.  Glaring back into the house, she heard heavy footsteps cross the threshold.  

Hey, Allie!  Ya home?  Her brother Ty appeared in the front door frame behind the screen.  The tea had managed to spill across her upper thigh and down between her legs.  Oh, hi.

He had a habit of parking around the back of the house, driving through her neighbor’s gravel driveway that led up to the property line and coasting over the lawn until he reached her driveway. The continued abuse of the grass left both it and her, worn and dejected. Her disappointment and disdain dripped from every word.  Hello... Come on in.

Wow. Hi to you too. What happened?  Allie’s little brother looked slightly amused and a little proud of himself, as she pushed past him to head upstairs.  She wanted to ask him what he was doing there and why he hadn’t fixed the back door yet, like he’d promised so many times. Can I eat this?

Allie left some cookies on the kitchen counter she’d meant to bring out onto the porch, but got distracted and left them. Now, in her room upstairs, she wanted nothing more than to shove one of those cookies down his throat. Why are you here?!

He called back, You know. Take that stuff to the thrift store. Where is it?

Seriously?? She murmured under her breath. He could have stopped in anytime this last week, or when she’d asked, five or six weeks ago. She called out, Basement.

Where?

BASEMENT!

WHERE in the basement? There was a touch of annoyance in his voice as if to say, I can’t read your mind!

Hang on! She zipped up the fly on a fresh pair of jeans and walked downstairs. Hey, did you remember my sweater?

No. He looked bemused.

Figures, Allie thought and rolled her eyes showing Ty exactly what was on her mind.  He rolled them back in reply with a smirk, and headed for the basement.  As he clomped down the stairs, Allie followed.  They reached the bottom and Ty looked into the abyss of clutter saying, So, where is it?

Um... Her eyes searched the room. After an awkward silence, Allie crossed her arms and covered her mouth. She knew she had pulled it out and set it aside for him to take, but that had been when she’d initially asked for his help. Impatience got the better of him, turning on the stairs to glance over his shoulder at her. Allie, still covering her mouth in deep thought, broke her concentration briefly to cast her eyes downward and raise her shoulders to her ears. 

You don’t know?!

"Someone was supposed to pick it up over a month ago. She was clearly indignant. I tend to forget where I put things after a while to make room for other things, like paying my bills and picking up takeout for someone who’s sick."  

Ty didn’t go for the barb. She was obviously discontent with his inability to perform the task.  Just point me in a direction.

Try over there. She pointed to a large pile of boxes.  They both walked over and started opening box after box searching for the forgotten thrift store contribution.  

It was musty, but well lit in the basement. The foundation was made of stones and mortar, which was typical for a home built in the beginning of the twentieth century. Her parents had bought the house from an old man who tried to keep it up after his wife had passed, but finally decided it was too much for him alone. She grew up  in it, and knew every crack and creak in the place, so she didn’t mind being in the musty, old cellar.

There were lots of memories combined with junk stored away.  An old blender from the 1980’s, when their mom decided to make shakes and couldn’t find the lid.  Ty was so excited he walked up and started pushing buttons.  The once blue walls took hours to clean and they still found spots of dried shake up to the day she left home for college.

Allie left apartment life behind when her mother fell ill, deciding to move back to her childhood home. Really, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. She missed the house and with no family of her own, just a few bad breakups, she welcomed it.

Her mother once said, The cancer is just a symptom.

Dell, Allie’s father, died years before. Her mother never remarried or even dated, citing that part of her responsibility was over. But what was clear, was her heartache never would be. She missed him terribly and it showed. There were times it would be hard for her to get out of bed in the mornings and other times she would wear his clothes just to be near the memory of him.

Allie and Ty’s mother did her best for them. They never wanted for anything, save the father they all missed. Still, Christmases were happy, summers joyful and fun, and the day to day bustle of school and work continued without fail, sprinkled with moments of humor and silliness.

Allie and Ty laughed and reminisced for a few hours, until Ty finally stood and stretched. Well, I gotta get home.

I suppose.  It’s been a while.

Yeah.  Got stuff to do.

O.K.  They started back up the stairs.  It was disheartening.  Probably be another month or two before he’d attempt another run for her to the thrift store.  No, better take care of it yourself.  Listen, don’t worry about it.  I’ll take it in.

How? You can’t even lift the box up the stairs.

Oh really? Just don’t worry about it.

He stopped, Well, can you?

What?!

Lift the box?

Yeah! She put her hands on the small of his back and pushed him up the stairs. I can take it up a little at a time if I have to. It’s fine!

I can see it now, ‘Woman buried under pile of brick-o-brack, search dogs released, news at 11.

She laughed, SHUT UP! You better get outta here. Aren’t you meeting Tammy at Schlitz’s?   Ty’s wife Tammy made it their ritual to go out to dinner every Thursday at Schlitz’s Supper Club. Their kids, Chloe and Zachary, spent time with Tammy’s sister and cousins while they went out. Is it Thursday?"

Yup.

Then I’d really better move it. Bye, sis. Talk to you later.

K. Say hi to Tammy for me.

Will do! He called from the door. CRACK! It went a moment later... I’ll fix that!

You better!

Bye!

Allie smiled. Bye, Ty.

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COLD.  So cold.  The smell: Rancid. Burnt. Something dead. Festering over burning coal. A stench she never witnessed before and could hardly endure. Something died here. Hands instinctively covered her mouth and she opened her eyes...  

Nothing. Everything was black. Where am I?!  She reached out, straining to see; just an outline, something.  Allie rolled onto her hands and knees and tried to focus her eyes on anything she could: Her own breath, her feet beneath her, something. She shuffled forward. The ground: slippery and sharp. Crawling through what seemed broken glass until she reached the base of a sharp, upward angled piece.

Allie felt worse than she’d ever been in her life; Shaking from fear and cold and clammy skin.  She felt like a parasite on an unwelcome host.  Helpless, abandoned, and confused, waves of revulsion passed over her as she desperately searched for an egress. And the smell!  It was all over her, permeating her clothing and hair, but it went deeper too, as if it was part of her now. It burned her airways. Became part of her soul.

She felt around the ground and picked up something hard and heavy.  It was sharp, like everything else in the place.  She tried to focus her eyes on the object for a clue as to where she was.

She didn’t like it here. There was nothing familiar or warm about her surroundings.  No trees, no grass, nothing reminding her of any place she’d ever been. She’d give anything to see something she could recognize. The environment was so hostile; so horrific.

There’s nothing alive here. She knew that, instinctively. Nothing could live here. There was no sound of birds or animals, no leaves rustling, no water moving — just the cold and the smell and the jagged rocks, like little nicks of razors cutting into her.

The worst part was she was ravenous. Though repulsed and sickened, there was a hunger that demanded satisfaction. I’m starving... starving... food... She started putting things in her mouth. Anything she could pick up, she’d chew on and swallow.

A wind started blowing her hair back. She had thought perhaps this new development would rid her of the noxious odor, but instead it shot the foul air right into her nostrils.  It was cold, starting small, but then it started slowly to build and build, like an air raid siren.  It grew into a deafening sound as debris flew and collided into other things.  For the first time she forgot about her hunger and started to panic. It was as if the air was being sucked out by a typhoon.  Allie turned towards the direction it was coming from, unable to open her eyes — what good would it do? It was still pitch black. She turned away.

Allie grabbed frantically at anything that was around her.  Agonizing pain seized her as she wove fingers around and into the sharp grooves of the structure in front of her.  She was being pummeled by objects from every direction.  Please stop, please end.  But there was no stopping it and no seeming end to it; just the noise and the pain and the force of it all.  

Allie’s body was being contorted and pulled like a rag.  Her hands felt slippery. Blood. Oh my God. Blood.  It became increasingly difficult to hang onto her lifeline. It was a fight between the urge to suckle the blood off her fingers and the desperation to cling to the only stability.  She knew it wouldn’t be much longer and she’d lose her grasp.  No, No, No,...!

Twisting and kicking her legs, she tried desperately to bring them down around the object she was hanging onto.  The strength of the cyclone above her had reached its full potential and she grunted and strained every muscle to keep holding on.  She released a cry of anguish as she tried one last desperate attempt at securing herself to the structure.  There was nothing she could do.  Slowly, one by one her fingers lost their will to hang on.  Dear God, help me...

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ALLIE sat bolt upright in bed.  Her hand found its way to her face, rubbing her eyes.  They were sticky and wet, but her hands weren’t cut.  She’d been crying. She felt her legs; nothing there, just sore. Her body felt like she’d just run a marathon.  Allie groaned and sighed, looking around the room. Sheets were tangled around her.  The nightstand lost all but one item — the rest were on the floor.  What a nightmare.  She pulled the covers off and turned to get out of bed.  Using the wall to stabilize herself, she headed downstairs.

The dream was playing back fractured in her mind.  She remembered way too much of it to function in the moment. She was so lost and scared. She needed to get perspective; let it go.  

The stairway in Allie’s house was long with a small landing at the bottom which turned ninety degrees.  With some effort, she navigated the stairs and walked through the dining room towards her small, open kitchen.  She needed a cup of tea.  Something soothing and sweet.  Something to help her forget or at least stop her heart from beating so fast.

She grabbed her favorite porch mug from the cupboard and turned on the sink.  The electric kettle was such a fast, convenient tool at a time like this. She filled it with water and flipped the switch to turn it on.  Now, it was an easy decision of which tea.  

The cupboard with the tea was to the left of the kettle. She knew just the one to fill her spirit with calm: Rose.  It was such an easy decision that she’d already pushed the Orange Pekoe and Earl Grey aside, pulled out the box of rose tea and gotten a bag.  She looked at her prize. A warm smile curled upon her lips.  

The kettle boiled and switched off automatically.  Allie filled a mug and dropped in the tea, letting it steep.  Meanwhile, the sugar was plucked from its haven, as well as a spoon from the silver drawer.  She stirred a teaspoon of the sweet granules into the warm vessel, sighing again. The first sip washed over her taste buds — a tidal wave of warmth and comfort, the hot liquid snuffing out most of the dread about returning to sleep.  

Why couldn’t I have dreamt about an Irishman with dark hair and green eyes?  Why didn’t I get that?  She shuffled to an over-stuffed recliner being careful not to spill her beverage and squished herself deeply into its enveloping arms.  She tried to think of the possibilities of what a dream involving an Irishman would entail; Strong arms, sweet laugh, penetrating eyes and smart, he had to be smart.  Setting – hmmm... a café or bistro. A chance encounter. It should be engaging...

Cataloging his every feature, she imagined simple quirks he may have: He liked the sound of crickets and playing with children.  He was, of course, kind, sincere, charitable, and a little bit cocky.  She liked the thought of fighting with him; getting a taste of the Irish temper. It was exactly what she needed at the moment: A distraction, without being taxing or unpleasant.

The tea tasted just as she remembered: refreshing and sweet. She wasn’t a honey girl, as the aftertaste bothered her.  Allie liked to drink most tea the English way if she could — with sugar and a drop of cream. Though rose tea didn’t call for the dairy.  She continued to sip as all the while thinking of this tempestuous, yet altruistic Irishman.  

However the nightmare would not be drowned out.  It crept through Allie’s psyche and wove itself in and out of her thoughts coiling around anything it could.  She closed her eyes and concentrated on her fantasy while taking more sips of tea here and there, but the memories weren’t dissipating.  In fact, they were really growing; feeling more real and constricting. She could now physically feel the cold.  The hair on her skin was starting to stand up and her mouth felt chalky and dry. The hunger. The all consuming, desperate hunger threatening to consume her all by itself. The sensations were a weight or pressure compounding on her.  It became difficult to breathe.  She was sweating.  

Her hand brushed back the hair falling in her face. Her tresses were soaked. Skin felt