Where the Night is Darker

By Murillo Lamas

Five tales in places where the night is darker.

Shadow Hallow. Artur Chagas is a teenager in the 1970s who moved with his family to a village where an ancestral force is certain that dying may not be his worst fate.
Hoover. Hoover is a Border Collie puppy in a pet shop trying to survive the Rennis Junior; the owner's sadis

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faell Literary Agency
• Release date: Sep 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780578566528

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Where The Night Is Darker

Copyright © 2018 by Marcus Demóstenes

ISBN: 978-0-578-56651-1

Portuguese edition published by Capítulo Zero

English edition published by Faell Literary Agency LLC.

Text copyright © Faell Literary Agency LLC 2018

Illustration copyright © Remi Bryant 2019

All rights reserved © 2018

All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.

Published by: Faell Literary Agency LLC.

1110 Brickell Ave STE 701(B)

Miami FL 33131 United States

www.faellagency.com

Author: Marcus Demóstenes [e-mail]

"I remember when I was a child dreaming of being an astronaut, I was about 7 years old. I told my friend’s dad who would take us to the school that I would like to land on the moon, get a rock that would fit in my pocket and present you with it. Well, I've never been to the moon, and I don't think I'll ever be, but never mind, you've already become a star.

Mom, this book is for you ... "

Table of Content

Shadow Hallow

Hoover

Executor

The Revolver And The Spider

Red City

About the Author

Shadow Hallow

If someone said to me during my childhood that the dead would come back at night to pull my foot while I was asleep, I would have laughed in their face and thought they were a fool. Yeah, I know, this may not be what you would expect from a child; most kids would’ve been terrified to hear something like that, but that was not my case.

My name is Arthur Chagas. I was raised, as they say, in a small dusty town. My family was not like the typical average small-town type of people. My father was an inveterate Darwinist. When I was a child, my father taught me "from the dust we came and to the dust we shall return," but to him it all ended right there. An enormous accident in an immense soup of nitrogen, ammonia, hydrogen, methane and water; it was called the Primordial Soup.

My dad loved to read, especially scientific articles. He was a hick, at least that’s the impression he gave. My father would wear a hat, pointy cowboy boots, with braces. But as soon as the man opened his mouth, you'd notice right away the old man was a bookworm.

My mother, in contrast, grew up in a Catholic household. Yet, I don't remember ever hearing anything about Jesus Christ and all those transcendental things about angels. You know, the parallel universe, with souls burning eternally as some claim to have read in the bible. Occasionally, mom would set up a nativity scene under the tree in the corner of our living room on Christmas eve.

One memory that was most striking to me, I remember, my father nudging me. He was speaking very softly in my ear saying, "Do you see that little baby lying there with open arms and all those little dolls around him? I nodded. I was about eight years old. Do not let them tell you otherwise, because he's just that; a little baby in a manger. Our whole Gregorian calendar it’s not worthy."

This all took place before we moved to Shadow Hollows when I was a teenager. After Shadow Hollows, everything we thought we knew changed.

My father worked in a major mining company, so wherever the company needed him, that's where my family and I would go. He was a Blaster, which means he was responsible for the organization, distribution, disposal of explosives, and accessories used in the extractions of rocks. My father was the guy who blew things up.

When we moved to the city of Shadow Hollows, although calling it a city was one hell of a compliment, Shadow Hollows was more like a village at the time. It had a population of less than 1,000 inhabitants. You would only find records of the place if you had the updated version of the 1972 map at your fingertips. Right around that time a yellow dot was inserted parallel to that long irregular line representing the Kumaru River. The river was in the middle of nowhere with Shadow Hollows written in italics next to it. Shadow Hollows was born and only existed as a result of the mining company. There was a brothel, which all little towns much like Shadow Hollows would have that was right by the entrance to the Complex. The Kumaru Complex is what the mine was called. I was 15 at the time with hormones boiling like water in a hot kettle. But I was either square or coward to never pay for a prostitute. Up to this day, I don’t exactly know if this is something to be proud of or embarrassed about.

Shadow Hollows was surrounded by mountains and hills. This small inert city was at the heart of a valley where a dam once stood; but it was said, the dam had busted. The whole story at that point sounded very confusing to me. It was something about another village and a great tragedy, anyway.

The sun hardly shines on Shadow Hollows. At four in the afternoon it was already getting dark. I remember the massive haul trucks with house-sized tires traveling along with tractors and trucks filled with rocks following behind. My memories often displayed the yellowish color of the dust that scattered the air. It was on a Sunday, one of those afternoons with nothing to do. My father would grill up a bunch of steaks in a BBQ for his subordinates at our house.

The men drank beer and ate the greasy meat roasting on the grill. My mother, Mrs. Clarisse, was slaving over a hot stove cooking rice, beans, pumpkin with cassava flour for whom she used to call the troupe of gobblers.

That afternoon two extraordinary things happened: The first and most important was meeting Helen, the daughter of Mr. Matheus Herrera, the foreman.

Mr. Herrera was a widow. He had Latin characteristics that his 17-year-old daughter, Helen – whom was two years older than I - had inherited. Helen had curly and voluminous hair down to her shoulders. Her eyes were large and more cunning than an owl’s. When I was with Helen, I swallowed my first marijuana cigarette and gave her my first kiss. God knows, those were good memories.

The second extraordinary thing that happened to me, was the old Pessoa telling us about an old village, the Village of The Hidden. The Pessoa said, that such a village had been established on an even deeper ground than Shadow Hollow’s terrain. The village laid inside a crater. The very crater that had been opened when Satan, along with his demons, were thrown down to earth by Archangel Michael and his angels after the celestial rebellion. This was a damned village that ended up submerged when the old dam broke.

Old Pessoa told us a little about this story between a glass of brandy and some puffs he exhaled from his Continental cigarette. The boys laughed and my father looked at me minute by minute with his skeptical tight-lipped smile.

The old Man did not laugh. Anyone with a little more sensibility, would instead notice, the cheap sneer on the man's face. It was a typical look that suggested, these naive idiots think they know something about something but don’t know crap. I think that's what the old man was thinking.

God only knows how old Pessoa was, but he certainly bordered a century. The old man had a bulky white beard and a large round face. His skin was pale and ghostly like a specter. The hair on top of Pessoa’s head had long since gone, his eyes were deep and blue like the dark blue dawn.

The old man claimed to have learned something of medicine from his father-in-law years ago. He even proved his worth by stitching up one or another wound in case someone got injured in Shadow Hollows. Since the E.R. attendant wasn’t there.

For that reason, Pessoa used to help in the clinic. To others, Pessoa was head of the kitchen, but do not take head chef so hard. Pessoa was just the guy in charge of making sure there was rice pans, beans, noodles, steaks, and fried eggs because there had to be enough food to feed the peons.

People were saying, Pessoa was already up there when the mining arrived. Shadow Hollows and the Nameless Lake in the middle of the Complex didn’t exist during that time.

Summer 1972

Laugh, you bunch of peanut brains, laugh as much as you like, bah, said the old Pessoa with his gestures. The old man takes a sip of brandy from his glass.

You've had enough old man? my dad asked. You're already confusing the stories that you heard as a child with reality.

You, Mr. Ramon, are a man of learning. I'll have you know this can be both a blessing and a curse. The old Man pulled a Continental cigarette wallet out of his shirt pocket. He took one cigarette out of the wallet with his lips. As the old man bent over towards my father with the cigarette in his mouth, my father lit the cigarette with a lighter. After getting in a few puffs, Pessoa started to sip on some more brandy before continuing. It's not a story! No sir, I saw it myself. The old man sighed contemplatively for a moment. Right before my very eyes, that man, bah, was dead. No one in such condition would be alive, no sir.

Here we go pawn, that was Roy Reed, one of those mockers. I must have known at least fifty guys like him throughout those building sites all over the world. This was a scrawny guy who would never miss a chance to laugh in someone's face and would not accept anyone who makes fun of him. The old story of the warehouse's negro. Up in your grey hairs you get hooked for blacks, Grandpa? Look out, maybe there's something unresolved from the past. hiiinc-hiiinc-hiiinc... Roy laughed just like a horse whinnying.

Show some respect, you son of a gun! exclaimed the old man.

Hey, do not curse my late mommy, old man!

No altercation inside my house, are you listening to me? I do not accept that, waded my father.

This was the time kids like me had no voice in adult affairs, but old Pessoa's words caught my attention. Helen and I had just gotten acquainted, we drank soft drinks, talked of small things, and listened to music. Besides, I listened to Helen more than I spoke.

What happened to the man? That was me. The black man from the warehouse you were talking about, what happened to him, I asked.

Helen's face made an expression as if she wanted to say, do you really want to hear the stories from this old drunk? I looked at her and as soon as I noticed, I almost apologized, but it was too late.

Before Shadow Hollows existed boy, the old man went on, right there where that Nameless Lake stands, there was a village and a dam. People formerly knew the place as Village of the Hidden. When I moved there, bah, I was supposed to be a little younger than your father. I was thirty-five and pretty much a kid.

You sir, were not really that much of a boy, my father replied sipping on a glass of beer.

Old Pessoa went on.

My first marriage clocked out, came to an end, you know? I lost a son to tuberculosis, bah, the little one was only 10 years old. I think my son was a little younger than you are today, am I right?

I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Pessoa, I said.

"Nah ... That was a long time ago, son, but whatever. My first wife did not handle things well and our marriage ended. As they say, 'it bit the dust', and I do not blame her for it. After that, bah, I started working selling shoes from town to town, you see. I was doing that traveling salesman thing, you know, bah. It was then that I arrived at the Village of the Hidden. To be honest, I certainly