The Netherworld of Kemet: Kismet’S Ray of Hope

By A.R. Bey

A. R. Bey resides in Pennsylvania. She has earned her BA in Communications from Wesleyan College and her MFA in Creative Writing from Rosemont College. A multifaceted artist, she is also a professional songwriter and an associate member of the Recording Academy. Her additional creative works include a poetry chapbook and four feature-length screenplays.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 25, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453584583

A.R. Bey

A.R. Bey resided in the Greater Philadelphia Area of Pennsylvania, and earned her BA in Communications from Wesleyan College, and her MFA in Creative Writing from Rosemont College. Bey is the recipient of a 2019 Purple Dragonfly Book Award, including a 2020 Mom's Choice Award for her middle-grade fantasy novel, Adventures in Boogieland. She also authored the young adult trilogy book series, The Netherworld of Kemet: Ezra’s Trial of Faith and The Netherworld of Kemet: Kismet’s Ray of Hope. On 2022, Bey’s pseudonym, Autumn Simmons, received two honorable mentions, and her non-fiction title, I, Quirky Girl, won the Royal Dragonfly Book Award under Biography/Autobiography/Memoir and Humor. To learn more about her respectable works, visit www.arbey.biz today.

Book preview

The

Netherworld

Of Kemet

83718-BEY-layout-low12132010.pdf

Kismet’s Ray of Hope

A.R. Bey

Copyright © 2010 by A.R. Bey.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010914296

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4535-8457-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4535-8456-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4535-8458-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

83718

Contents

Chapter 1 The Shadow Man

Chapter 2 The Aset Knot

Chapter 3 The Tutor Lesson

Chapter 4 The Abandoned Barn House

Chapter 5 The Greatest Show Ever

Chapter 6 Booth Thirty-Seven

Chapter 7 The Goddess From The Sky

Chapter 8 Jacob, The Key Man

Chapter 9 The Mysterious Package

Chapter 10 Punks On Ice

Chapter 11 The Blizzard Of Bizarrerie

Chapter 12 The Ancient Doorway

Chapter 13 A Ribbon In The Sky

Chapter 14 The Stranger From The Mist

Chapter 15 To Catch A High Priest

Chapter 16 The Hall Of Two Truths

Chapter 17 Khufu’s Ship

Chapter 18 The Great Council

Chapter 19 Yinepu’s Bride

Chapter 20 The Temple Under Siege

Chapter 21 The Water Of Truth

Chapter 22 Beyond The Reed Fields

For Elihu and Darren

In loving memory of Michael Joseph Jackson,

the world’s greatest entertainer.

Illustration Credit Page.jpg

Cover art by James Patterson

Illustrations by James Patterson

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 .jpg

The Shadow Man

Kismet was sleepwalking in circles past her bedroom window with her eyes wide open. The clock that sat on her nightstand read ten o’ clock sharp as the hour and minute hands aligned with the thin second hand. Though fast asleep, she saw herself crossing over a threshold into an unknown temple with many column corridors.

There inside, it was fairly dark and she felt cold. The sensation of goose bumps spread throughout her body. She presumed she was on a quest, searching for something significant, but was unable to recall what it was. Though she perceived it was closer than far, she stood before a ceremonial altar. There a statue of a black jackal sat perched on a golden throne, on all fours with its head and ears perked upward, appearing fully attentive.

Standing near the east corridor, a dim light began to filter into one of the chamber rooms. From there, Kismet could see two ebony-complexioned men with painted eyes arguing in an ancient language. Though both seemed to be of mature age, they appeared to be of different rank. One of them was a high priest, for his head was completely shaved and he wore a linen robe. The other appeared to be a noble and he wore a nemes-headdress along with a loincloth. As their heated exchange continued, the high priest gestured to a scroll in his right hand. Made of papyrus paper, it contained many hieroglyphic symbols.

Before long, a tussle ensued and the man with the head covering delivered a powerful blow to his opponent’s lower jaw, which caused him to lose his balance, stumbling backward. The papyrus scroll fell to the ground with a loud thundering clap, which made the floor tremble. From below, the high priest lifted one of his hands; making a swift motion, he uttered an inaudible spell, which caused the noble to grasp his throat as if he had been poisoned.

He seemed to be choking and eventually fell to the floor in agony. Clutching his head, his countenance turned purple as he trembled all over, rocking back in forth in the fetal position. Shortly thereafter, he began to grovel on his hands and knees. To Kismet’s astonishment, the noble began to bark like a dog. Then he howled at the moon. The high priest rose from the floor, dusting debris from the scroll. With a smirk of satisfaction upon his face, the high priest spat at the man as he prowled on the ground. He seemed to exercise absolute control over the noble. Then he proceeded to recite several incantations, finalizing the transformation. The metamorphosis was similar to a man becoming a werewolf.

As the vision began to fade from view, Kismet felt herself drifting from the corridor and was now facing the ceremonial altar once more. The black jackal statue stood there staring back at her. In spite of the fear it inspired, she felt compelled to touch it. Reaching out, she traced the stone statue with her fingertips, roaming over its back up toward the top of its head. It felt warm, but it seemed to be growing warmer, like a stove burner.

Soon, steam emitted from the statue and its head began to shake in a volatile manner. It seemed as if the pressure inside would render an explosion. Though it did not, the steam filled the surrounding space, precipitating soot throughout the atmosphere. Suddenly, the jackal’s face lit up with its scarlet eyes that seemed to flash like laser beams. By now, Kismet knew that she was dreaming, but she was unable to awaken from her slumber. She felt as if an invisible force was pressing down on her soul, hindering her from coming around. Moreover, she perceived that an ominous shadow had descended onto the quiet suburban town, inconspicuously observing its inhabitants.

While most were resting peacefully, several of the township’s children pretended to mind their bedtime as their parents and guardians watched the nightly news on their television sets. All the while, the tenacious presence was ardently searching for an ancient relic of great importance. But where the elusive object was hidden was an enigma. The shadow bellowed over every street and home, casting its clammy veil, and scanning through each space and all surrounding matter. Thinking it had seen something in the blink of its third eye, it sought to follow the reflection, but the object abruptly slipped from view when a flash of lightning struck the evening sky.

What appeared to be a pair of large violet eyes staring downward and a winding gapping hole in the air was short of incredible. Exhaling, a strong gust of wind blew over the creeping shadow, causing it to become disoriented.

Nut, you dare to deter me? the shadow growled.

I’ll do all within my power to protect the bearer of what you seek, the celestial voice from the sky said, rendering another strike of lightning that was more ominous and powerful than the first one. This time, it struck the shadow, bringing it to a sudden halt.

Nevertheless, the entity was agitated as it stood rigid like a granite obelisk, seething from defeat. After accomplishing its purpose, a northern wind blew and a light temporal shower fell from the sky, releasing the spell. Soon, the shadow had regained its clarity and was more determined than ever. Catching a glimmer from the corner of its eye, the shadow perceived a sparkle from the highest window inside a three-story brick house. The home resembled a stout yet sturdy gingerbread structure with wide shutters that resembled red licorice and vanilla frosting. From the last room on the second-level, the glimmer shone from a well-lit bedroom. The window had been left more than halfway open and a vibrant jazz composition played softly in the background.

The November night air blew the white polyester curtains fondly, causing the hem of the fabric to twirl gaily. Prying, the shadow lingered on the cool pine sill, listening patiently, surveying the room until the reflection from a jewelry box seated on a cherry wood dresser caught its attention. It drew closer to examine the jewels it contained and saw that they were insignificant. Incensed, the shadow waited for the right moment to unleash its disappointment. Then a bathroom door swung open, emitting warm steam from within.

It engulfed a chubby petite middle-aged woman as she merrily hummed along to the music. With a loud thrashing thud, she shifted her weight from left to right, prancing and swaying around her bedroom, imagining herself to be a great jazz singer, sashaying before an enthusiastic audience. In a gusty vibrato, she belted loudly, Oh, Valentino! My fancy Romeo! Come to these arms and we shall embrace in love!

Ms. Bowman, the principal of Cedarbrook Middle School, was fully robed as she carried out her bedtime ritual. She generously applied her favorite autumn fragrance behind her droopy earlobes, dabbing a few drops along her wrists. She tucked her stiff, salt and pepper hair beneath her black silk bonnet as she sat before her vanity mirror, observing her plump face. Barely a wrinkle in sight, she gently applied her night cream, which was a homemade concoction of freshly whipped avocado.

Ah, good enough to eat! she declared, licking the excess from her pudgy fingertips.

She was diligently filing her fingernails with an emery board, when she felt a cool sensation upon her right shoulder. Looking into the vanity mirror, she gasped in terror, screaming as she clasped her right hand over her chest.

She managed to press a tiny blue button on a small device that hung around her neck before she passed out, dramatically falling backward onto her plush, velvet rug, mumbling inaudibly.

Within a matter of minutes, several wailing sirens disturbed the tranquil night. An ambulance, a fire truck, and several police vehicles had been dispatched to her home. The sound of breaking glass and Ms. Bowman’s blaring security alarm system intensified the atmosphere, rousing curious neighbors to peer through their mini blinds. Unable to view much, many soon lost interest and returned to their previous inactivity. With an immediate sense of urgency, the heavy, swift footsteps of paramedics ascending the stairway with a gurney and a rattling oxygen dispenser could be heard.

Finding the middle-aged woman sprawled out on her bedroom floor, spread turkey, with music still playing, they immediately attended to her.

One of them checked her vital signs, detecting irregular breathing, but a strong pulse. After several minutes of intensive care, the EMTs were able to stabilize her breathing and it appeared that she would be okay.

As she was carried downstairs on a stretcher, Ms. Bowman gradually began to come around, but she was still disoriented and she frequently moaned from confusion. Placed into the ambulance that waited outside, the police continued their investigation, taking notes of the domestic scene, and searching the house for clues and indications of foul play. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary and there were no signs of forced entry—of course other than their own.

But the shadow’s presence observed incognito, watching the bustle of activity with mild interest. Seeing that the house on 3489 Viola Lane contained nothing of value, it passed on through the broken window, continuing its search, all the more determined to find what it sought and to possess it, taking extreme measures if necessary.

Meanwhile, the next morning a detective spoke quietly to a nurse outside Ms. Bowman’s hospital room. The elder woman was so upset from her previous night’s ordeal, that she had been given a mild sedative to soothe her nerves, which allowed her to drift off to sleep. By seven o’ clock in the morning, she was awake, though a bit drowsy. Staring out of the window, she watched the white, foggy sky, listening to a local radio program for the latest news and weather.

She was oblivious to the man standing outside her room and did not take notice of him until he entered. Observing that he was thorough and well-mannered, he soon won her approval. The nurse obliged his request, but not without her supervision.

Though she deemed the detective to be trustworthy, the nurse had a tendency to mind the affairs of others whenever she felt bored and tired from standing on her feet during fifteen-hour shifts. In her mind, this habit seemed to revive her and it was better than watching any daytime soap opera. It also made the time pass quickly. Nonetheless, she stood at the door like a security guard, monitoring all that was said, savoring each detail.

Approaching the older woman with discretion, the detective observed a streak of terror within her puffy eyes. Trembling, she looked up helplessly as he approached her bed, pulling the sheets closer to her neck for additional comfort.

Ms. Bowman, I’m Detective Florendo from the Cheltenham Police Department and I’d like to ask you a few questions pertaining to last night. To the best of my ability, I will try to make this painless as possible.

The older woman listened attentively, though initially, she did not make eye contact with the detective. She lay there sullenly like a ragged doll, looking every bit of a nervous wreck.

How much do you recall from the other night? Can you tell me what you saw? he said, patiently waiting for her reply.

For a moment, it seemed that Ms. Bowman did not hear the detective direct his question to her at all. Eventually, her reticence subsided, but when she spoke, her grave voice quivered.

I don’t remember much of anything except seeing a tall, dark figure leaning over me. It looked like some kind of man-dog with sharp pointy ears. And those red burning eyes—they seemed to be spinning like pinwheels, she said, her agony ever present, she appeared to be reliving those terrifying moments.

Detective Florendo gave the nurse a dubious look, but continued to take notes. Throughout his twenty-year career of working for the police department, he had investigated many outlandish cases, but he had never heard a tale as bizarre as this. Indeed, the world contained little green men, Bigfoot, vampires, werewolves, fairies, and elves, but a living, breathing man-dog was truly original. Was this the latest urban legend, a new-aged bogeyman running rampant? Clearly, something had disturbed Ms. Bowman and if there was any validity to her statement, there was not a shred of evidence that was found by the authorities at her home to authenticate her claim.

The detective wanted to believe the old woman given that she was a respectable middle-school principal with an impeccable reputation, but to him, her story lacked creditability. He knew based upon his expertise of criminals that they could be extremely crafty, but he reasoned that the perpetrator was someone she knew.

Ms. Bowman, do you have any family or friends that would have access to your home?

No, she answered emphatically. "I am an independent woman with no children and I’ve never married. Besides, none of my relatives live in the same state as me. I’ve never given the few friends that I have a key to my home, or anyone else for that matter."

Ms. Bowman, there is still a chance that someone found a way into your home without you being aware of it. The intruder could have worn this eerie man-dog costume to frighten you and as you say—

She interrupted him.

"It was not a costume, detective. It was real!" she said firmly.

Stunned by her blatant expression, Detective Florendo was rendered speechless. He looked down at his notes and back at the nurse, who also appeared astonished by the older woman’s account. It seemed to be the invention of a child’s overactive imagination.

Ms. Bowman, is there anything else you’d like to share with me? Detective Florendo asked as he stood from his chair.

No, she said flatly.

Are you sure? the detective pressed.

To this, Ms. Bowman shot him a stern look before shifting her gaze back to the wall, staring off into space, withdrawing into her own world.

Accepting her final answer, he looked down at his shiny shoes and scratched his right temple. He exhaled while reviewing his notes, thumbing his pen. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, Okay, then I have no further questions. Thank you for your time and for your cooperation. Should you have any concerns? Here’s my card, don’t hesitate to give me a call.

He placed his business card onto the wooden nightstand. Ms. Bowman looked up at the nurse, who had looked away merely seconds before, hoping to avoid her gaze. The older woman knew that neither of them believed her, but that did not concern her. What mattered to her most was her job. Though she knew she was not delirious, she wondered what if she was senile and had imagined the whole incident. If it ever got out, how would it affect her position at school, would the school board and the superintendent ask her to resign?

Ambivalent feelings pervaded her tuckered mind. She was confused and embarrassed, but mostly lonely. Moreover, she had one acquaintance who would have believed her, but most people regarded her as eccentric. When the detective left the room, he spoke to the head nurse on duty. Taking a moment to glance at her name tag, he saw that it read Betty. He cordially said, Pardon me ma’am, I don’t mean to pry. But would you happen to have knowledge of Ms. Bowman’s medical history?

Detective, I’m afraid that information is confidential, the head nurse replied.

Well, that’s not what I asked. I’m aware that information would be kept classified, I was curious to know if you had any general knowledge regarding Ms. Bowman’s mental health.

Detective, either way, it would be unethical for me to deny or to confirm that question, I am not her medical doctor, the nurse answered politely.

I see. Well, in that case, thank you for your assistance, he said.

You’re very welcome. Have a nice day!

You too, Detective Florendo said, tipping his fedora hat.

He walked down the hallway and around the corner, heading toward the elevator. Pressing the down button, he waited for the lift and heard something curious. Another patient was being wheeled in from the east wing; he was hysterical and cried out.

"I’m telling you it was a black jackal. He had the body of a man and the head of a dog."

Mr. Sanders, relax there’s no such thing, a nurse reassured him.

Why doesn’t anyone believe me? the man cried as he lay on a bed, in the hallway.

Detective Florendo turned around to have a closer look. He saw that the man had rotten teeth, a disheveled appearance, and he seemed to be homeless.

"It’s the end of the world, I tell ya! This is it! The apocalypse is here!"

Suddenly, the elevator doors opened with a sharp bing and the detective walked inside. Standing next to him was a woman and her small child, who appeared to be six-years-old. Holding her mother’s hand and a teddy bear in the other, the child looked at the homeless man with the utmost compassion.

Mommy, he’s right. I’ve seen the black jackal too, but I pulled the covers over my head and then he went away, the little girl said.

Honey, let me know when he comes back, her mother said matter-of-factly.

Oh, I will, the child replied.

Though he had been up all night, the detective could not believe his ears.

In less than one hour, he