The Curse of 1977: Book Ii of Iii

By Shawn A. Jenkins

It’s five months later. What evil awaits those who dared to survive?
The summer of 1977 is a tumultuous period for all of America, but in the town of Cypress, Ohio, in the midst of a heatwave no less, both tumult and evil will become the best bed mates. The ungodly events that took place months earlier with Isaac and his case of lycanthropy still casts a dark shadow upon the town and those who remain. Add to the fact that two unannounced visitors, both of whom happened to share Isaac’s curse, have entered the town with a few days to kill.
This is far from over. No one is safe. Everyone is fresh prey. Whoever imagined that a curse could ever hurt so bad?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532072277

Shawn A. Jenkins

In 2012, Shawn A. Jenkins introduced a brand new take on an age old tale. In 2018, that take is revisited. Beast of '77, Remastered Edition, while the same story, offers new insight into a piece of work that will eventually set up for a forthcoming trilogy. Isaac Mercer and his war with the demonic spirit within him was only the start of something even more sinister and malevolent. Shawn A. Jenkins' vision will be realized in a stunning new atmosphere that will carry you from one point to the next in the most terrifying ways imaginable. You will remember how it all began...

Book preview

Chapter 1

JULY 1977

W hy does this foolishness always happen to me? Detective Wilson groaned from his empty stomach as he stood above the still smoldering corpse of the large animal lying on the ground in the alley.

Surrounding him that scorching hot morning was not only other police officers who were milling about the scene, but also little black children who were sequestered behind a fence. Their small, curious hands were clinging to the fence’s links as they observed the creature on the ground in awesome wonder.

Wilson, wanting to at least unbutton the top of his short sleeved shirt, stood above the stinking cadaver with a disgruntled, almost depressed appearance on his sweaty face. All the man could seem to do was glance back and forth from the animal to the children who were either oohing and ahhing, or simply watching with their mouths hanging wide open.

He wanted to shove them along on their way, but Wilson knew that he had more pressing matters to attend to that didn’t involve the intrusive little ones. Blowing smoke away, the man cautiously knelt down and began poking at the burnt animal that resembled a large dog with a stick that was lying on the ground next to him.

Eww, look, he’s messin’ with it! One of the little girls squealed out from behind the fence.

Soon, the other kids joined in on the chorus of disgust. Wilson simply ignored them the best he could while prodding at the animal’s charred fangs and snout.

What in the blue hell is that? Wilson whispered with a turned up nose.

What do you make of it, Detective Wilson?

Surprised, Wilson looked up to see a middle-aged Hispanic man standing above him. Wilson stood back up and asked in an arrogant tone, Do I know you?

With his right hand extended, the man replied, Inspector David Ortega.

Taken aback for a second, Wilson smirked, Inspector?

That’s right, just started this morning. Ortega beamed.

Holding on to his smirk, Wilson leaned into Ortega’s ear and whispered, I take it you’ve met O’Dea?

As a matter of fact, I haven’t, Detective.

When you do meet him, ignore the fact that he’ll make a big deal out of your race.

I didn’t realize it was an issue with the man. Ortega whimsically whispered back.

Wilson only stood back and laughed before turning back to the burnt animal on the ground. Well, Inspector, what we have here is a mystery that is beyond me.

So I can see. Ortega said as he knelt down to gain a closer view. Tell me, Detective, just what kind of animal do you believe this once was?

That’s exactly what’s got me thrown for a loop. I’d say it was a dog, but I’ve never seen a dog that big before. Mind you, we speculate that the thing had been smoldering since around three a.m. this morning; so much like anything else that’s been on fire for quite a while, it’s decreased in its size.

I can understand that, Detective, but looking at its teeth, I can honestly say that I have never seen such a dog that fits such a description.

Wilson knelt back down beside Ortega. I bet you’ve never seen anything like this back where you’re from, huh?

"My friend, I’m all the way from Chicago."

Chi-Town, Wilson looked startled. "What brings you all the way out here to Ohio?"

Sniggering, Ortega said, I thought an easier life for me and my family, but, now that I see burned up animals in the middle of an alley.

"Old Cypress has its days. Wilson muttered as he eyed the beast from head to toe. Forensics measured it at five foot six."

Is that the measurement before or after?

After.

Ortega looked hard at Wilson before saying, That means this thing was a lot bigger before it was set on fire. Maybe it was a timber wolf or something of that nature.

Wilson just stared on and on at the thing as though he was in a cold trance. Not once did the man’s eyes leave its snout.

Detective, is there a problem?

Shaking his head, Wilson replied, Yeah, I was just thinking of something for a second.

Well, share with the rest of the class, if you please.

Wilson swallowed before clinching his fists and murmuring, "A few months ago we had—

Detective Wilson, we got a report of a shooting just three blocks from here. An officer approached Wilson and Ortega from behind.

Let ’em know we’ll be there soon. Wilson despondently replied.

Looking downright confused, Ortega asked, Shouldn’t we be hauling ass over there?

Without looking at the man, Wilson remarked, We’re only the cleanup crew. One matter at a time, Inspector.

Ortega glanced around his surroundings before calming down and returning his attention to the cadaver. So, uh, what are you planning on putting in your report concerning our friend here?

Wilson contemplated the man’s question and said, Captain Brickman is a reasonable, if not stubborn man. All I can say is that we happened upon an incinerated animal, possibly an escapee from the zoo.

Wait a minute, there is a chance that this thing was a whole helluva lot bigger before last night. And if that’s the case, then how do we know for sure that there’s not another one running around out there?

Wilson stood back up with Ortega following in suit. He then took the inspector by the arm and led him over to where three trash cans were located, away from the other officers and children.

Look, I’m not the kind of man that gets into all these conspiracy theories and stuff like that. That thing lying on the ground, you and I can’t put too much into it. It could be something from the zoo, or it could be something that just blundered into this city. Who knows? Wilson shrugged his shoulders. All I know is that someone may have done this city a favor by putting that big old thing down for the count. Apparently someone saw it, it was about to attack, and they killed it before it killed them.

Ortega studied Wilson’s face methodically. I was speaking with one of the officers over there, and he said that someone reporte seeing a man and woman out here before the fire was set.

There you go. Wilson tossed up his hands. They were probably out here fooling around, saw the thing, and did what they had to do. What would you do if you saw something like that coming at you in a dark alley? Stand there and pet it? Hell no, you’d kill the damn thing.

Ortega looked back at the creature on the ground. Steady streams of smoke were still emanating from out of the animal’s stomach and eyes.

It doesn’t even look real. Ortega whispered.

And yet, there it is, dead as a doornail. Good riddance. It’s just an animal. Wilson dropped his shoulders.

"I take it this happens on a regular basis here in Cypress?"

Wilson offhandedly snickered before asking, "Why do you think I’ve taken three vacations this year so far? I’d be more than happy to take your place in Chicago anytime."

Both men then looked up at the blazing hot July sun before glancing back at the kids behind the fence.

"Does it always get this hot in Ohio, Detective?"

Last month we had three teenagers get shot on three separate sides of town. Last week, a woman stabbed her husband to death for farting in the bed. Last night, someone sets fire to a…thing. It’s not hot yet, Inspector.

Wilson then simply turned and walked away from Ortega. At long last the man undid the first two buttons on his shirt and exhaled. He was finding that the further away from smelly creature he got the more he seemed to be able to breathe comfortably.

The second he reached his brown sedan, the man opened the driver’s side door and grunted, I could go for another vacation.

Chapter 2

E ven before she could enter Jimmy’s that evening, Lynnette could already hear The Brothers Johnson, ‘Strawberry Letter 23’, blasting loudly inside the building.

With two jittery legs the young woman steadily ventured towards the establishment like she was heading for a prison term. She was wearing only a short-sleeved shirt that read Topaz High Drill Team on the front in bright glitter, and a pair of bell-bottomed blue jeans. Her fists were balled up so tight that sweat was glistening on both the insides and out.

The young lady stepped up on a ledge before approaching the front door where a large black man was standing. Without saying a word to each other, Lynnette pulled out two dollars and handed it to the man before the man opened the door to allow her inside.

Once she was in, the woman was bombarded by not only the loud music but also by legions of young black men and women roller skating, dancing and playing video games. But rather than become engulfed in all the chaos, Lynnette simply glided past one merrymaker after another on her way towards the rear of the building.

On her way back, she just happened to take a very quick glance at a certain familiar booth. The booth was empty, and that was the only glance she required. She could hear her own heart beat in her ears.

Before Lynnette could even reach the rear, she immediately saw another large black man standing at a door speaking to a young woman. Lynnette barged her way past scores of skaters just to get to the man.

I’m here to see Clavell! Lynnette raised her voice to the man.

For a second or two both the man and the woman he was speaking with appeared offended by her presence.

Is he expecting you? He spoke out loud.

He told me to meet him here around eight! I’m Lynnie!

The man stood and stared at the young lady, contemplating his next move. He then sighed and opened the door behind him. Follow me!

Lynnette did as she was told and followed the man down a long, dark corridor. Down the hallway was just one light bulb that was burning faintly in a corner all to itself.

The man then stopped at a door that was at the very end of the hallway. He knocked four times before the door swung open to reveal a young, angry looking, slender black man named Wendell behind it.

I got a Lynnie here to see Clavell.

Lynnette held her breath for what seemed like countless moments while waiting for the man behind the door to reply.

Oh yeah, we’ve been waitin’ for her. Wendell said as he opened the door all the way.

Sidestepping the larger man, Lynnette entered into the smoke-filled room that reeked of marijuana from one corner to the next.

Seated in a corner was an older black woman with grey dreadlocks who was sifting through bags of white powder, while clear on the other end of the room was another black man named Marvin who was counting money and cutting his own stash of white powder on a table.

Lynnette’s emaciated frame stood at total attention. The woman honestly could not make a single move. It was as if she no longer possessed the will to operate her own body. She hadn’t stopped shaking since before she entered the parking lot.

There was another door just two feet away from her. Behind that door emerged an older, caramel skinned man with a perfectly manicured mustache and finger waves in his hair. He was wiping his hands clean and smiling as he came out. The woman and the two other men all stopped what they were doing at that moment to take notice of the man.

Well, if it ain’t little Lynnie. The man smiled gregariously.

She probably should have become relaxed at that stage, but all Lynnette could do was continue to stand in the middle of the floor while the music up above her head vibrated down into her feet.

Sitting himself down in a chair, the man said, Come closer so I can see you better.

Unclenching her body, Lynnette dragged herself from the middle of the floor to the man. Once she was standing directly in front of him, the man sat perfectly still and eyed the woman from her sneakers all the way to her face. Once he got to her face, Lynnette immediately began to shiver all over again.

How long is your eye gonna be like that? He pointed.

He was referring to Lynnette’s right eye that had a deep, red scar in the middle. Lynnette cut her face away momentarily before replying, The doctor said that it was permanent.

The man only rubbed his chin and said, I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t take it personally, but I heard that you looked a whole lot worse months ago. I’m glad to see you doing better.

Thank you, Clavell. Lynnette meekly muttered.

Have a seat, Lynnie. Clavell motioned to a chair that was already seated beside her. You don’t have to stand before me; I ain’t no drill sergeant. He smirked.

Wendell pulled the chair up to where Lynnette could sit down right in front of Clavell. She sat only twelve inches apart from the man.

I’m sorry for not being here a few weeks back when you first arrived. Clavell said as he began shuffling hundred dollar bills on the table he was seated at. "I was busy taking care of business up in N.Y."

It’s okay. Lynnette blushed with knocking knees.

Right in the middle of his stacking duty, Clavell all of the sudden paused to turn and look at Lynnette. Tell me, how have you been doing all these months?

It was as if the question had sawed right through her body like a chainsaw. In her mind, time was something that didn’t exist.

Biting down on her bottom lip, Lynnette answered, I’ve been fine.

Shaking his head, Clavell said, You gotta forgive me for being so nosey, but when they told me what Isaac did to you, I almost couldn’t believe it. I mean, I didn’t know the cat all that well, but I never imagined he would end up losing his mind like he did.

Bashfully turning her head, Lynnette said, Yeah… me neither.

"I heard he was dealing with some Jamaican cats." Wendell cut in.

"Yeah, we also heard that those same Jamaicans knocked off both Larry and Marvell. Clavell said. But then again, Larry was such a simple nigga, he would’ve slipped on a banana peel and killed himself. That’s the number one rule in this business, never get high on your own supply."

With the exception of Lynnette, everyone gathered inside the room began snickering. Lynnette only pressed her lips together while holding on to a courteous smile as though her life depended upon it.

Well, at least he’s gone now. He can’t hurt anyone anymore. Clavell patted Lynnette on the knee. How’s that boy of yours doing?

He’s fine. Lynnette rushed to say. I, uh, I really have a long night to get back to, with work and school and all.

Okay, okay, just calm down, you can’t rush perfection. Clavell smirked as he bundled his wad of bills inside a rubber band. So tell me, how did your meeting with my contact go last night?

Lynnette hurriedly tried to collect her thoughts on the question that she knew full well was going to arrive sooner or later in their meeting.

Uh…I didn’t get a chance to get what I needed. She stammered.

Clavell’s smirk immediately shrank into a frown at that stage as he stared Lynnette in the eye. Nita, come over here and do your thang.

At once, the older lady in the corner dropped what she was doing and proceeded to step up behind Lynnette. From there, she stuffed her hands down Lynnette’s blouse and into her pants and panties. Lynnette could have melted away in sheer fear at that moment. She couldn’t even shut her eyes.

Once Nita was through with her invasive inspection she raised her hands to Clavell and went back to her table in the corner.

Nodding his head in approval, Clavell said, Just checking, that’s all. Now, tell me why you didn’t get what you needed last night.

Wiping sweat from her forehead, Lynnette replied, I just didn’t feel right last night. I felt like someone was watching us. The meeting place we were in felt hot.

Clavell sat and eyeballed Lynnette ever so carefully before steadily saying, I see. But I was under the assumption that you really needed my stuff. I mean, my contact was a sure thing.

I know, and please don’t think that I don’t need your stuff, Clavell, I just get real nervous every now and then. Lynnette quickly blurted out.

I guess I could understand that, with all that happened months ago. But you have to understand, I can’t have my people meeting you all over town just for you to up and ghost them. They get real nervous, too.

I understand, and I’m sorry.

Clavell turned his attention back to counting his money on the table and asked, "So now be honest with me, Lynnie, it’s been on my mind for a while now. Was your man dealing with those Jamaican cats? You see, I need to know if someone is moving in on my turf."

Rubbing her hands together, Lynnette kept her eyes focused solely upon Clavell. I swear, Isaac was never into drugs. She shook her head from side to side.

He sure could’ve fooled everyone back in February. Wendell said.

Yeah, the nigga cut off your damn finger, girl. Clavell turned to Lynnette. "I’ve seen those Jamaicans do that and a whole lot worse."

Lynnette placed her hands on Clavell’s table. That man is gone. Do you understand? He’s gone. She firmly stated. You’re people have been dealing with me now for the past four months, and not one time have I double-crossed you, Clavell. I’ve paid you every time, on time. You’ve no reason to doubt me now.

Clavell sat and studied the young woman with such a thoughtful contemplation that it seemed he was feeling sympathy for her.

Tell me, do you still write poetry? He asked.

Subtly stunned by the question, Lynnette humbly responded, A little bit, here and there.

"You oughta come to New York, they got some places there for up and coming artists."

"Yeah, go to CBGB’S." Wendell laughed.

Nigga, that’s for white folks! Clavell chuckled out loud. "You should go to The Fever, that’s where the real black folks hang out."

Smirking, Lynnette said, "With that Son of Sam guy and that blackout, I think Cypress will do me just fine."

"Man, that Son of Sam cat ain’t stupid enough to step into the ghetto." Wendell added.

Right then, the front door opened revealing a small, black boy with an afro and a medium sized crate in his skinny arms.

Little nigga, what did we tell you about coming in here without knocking first? One of the other men in the room angrily shouted.

Shaking, the boy said, I’m sorry, sir, but Jimmy wanted me to bring these down to you guys.

Put it over there, Youngblood. Clavell kindly said as he got up from the table and went over to the boy. What’s your name, my man?

Uh, Sammy, sir, the boy shuddered.

Tell you what, Sammy, you take this and be on your way. Clavell said as he handed the child a hundred dollar bill.

"I thought I told you—

Jimmy, the overweight proprietor of the establishment barged inside the room like a steaming locomotive.

Oh, I didn’t think he got down here so soon. Jimmy huffed and puffed while his dark face blushed out of control.

Calm down, big chops, Clavell motioned with his hand. Why don’t you go back upstairs and enjoy yourself, Sammy?

Without any hesitation, Sammy took the bill and darted back the way he came, out the door. Lynnette watched in silent regret as the boy took off. He couldn’t have been no more than ten or eleven years old at best.

Coming down from his panting tirade, Jimmy said, My fault, Clavell, that’s my nephew Sammy. I told him to wait till I knew that the coast was clear.

Approaching Jimmy, Clavell said, So let me get this straight, you got your little nephew working in your club?

"His mom wants me to keep an eye on him this summer. I just thought that having a job here would—

I see, I see. Clavell patted Jimmy on the shoulder. Let me reassure you of something, Jim, I don’t like having my operation left naked like that. You understand?

I sure do, Clavell. Jimmy stuttered.

Kids tend to have big mouths when it comes to seeing stuff like this down here. Clavell then pulled out a handgun from his back pocket before waving it in Jimmy’s portly face. Believe me, I used to be one of those big-mouthed kids. We need this clean and tight. You got me?

Yes, sir, I sure do. It won’t happen again. Jimmy stumbled and fumbled before turning and heading out the room, shutting the door behind him.

Still, Lynnette would not budge from her seat. All she wanted at that point in the evening was for someone to knock her unconscious.

Slipping his gun back into his pants, Clavell turned to Lynnette. Well, Lynnie, I’m a very busy man. He sighed. I’ve got a couple of friends stopping by later on, so let’s get this over with.

Standing up from her chair, Lynnette pulled out her own wad of bills and fervently said, I got it right here.

Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Clavell said, Oh, you didn’t hear? The price has gone up.

Lynnette’s stomach dropped at that instant to the point where she wanted to break down and cry. But this is all I have.

Clavell just stood and stared at the woman before turning his head to the door behind him. We can always work something out…you and I.

Everyone of Clavell’s crew all paused what they were doing at that moment before going back to their business as if it were expected of them.

Lynnette saw the door and only the door. Without hesitation, she stuffed her money back into her pockets before walking past Clavell on her way into the bathroom.

With only her reflection facing her in the cracked mirror inside the tiny bathroom, Lynnette saw Clavell slowly making his way towards her.

She wanted to close her eyes, but the abrasion in her right eye quickly reminded her why she was there to begin with.

She kept her eyes wide open…and watched as Clavell shut the door behind him.

Chapter 3

G ood morning, I’m Phil Reynolds for Action Seven News. What you are seeing behind me was once the Downtown Forensic Examiners building, but now, it is a pile of ash and rubble. Last night, around eleven o’clock, this very building went up in fl ames.

As of now, the cause of the fire is still in question, but firefighters are speculating that perhaps a faulty outlet could be to blame, being that the building itself was ninety-eight years old.

Thankfully, no one inside the four floor building was hurt or killed. There is still a lot of cleanup to do, as well as trying to figure out just where the new building will be erected and just where the funds for the building will emanate from an already cash- strapped city.

With Mayor Findlay’s speech last week on the city’s fiscal plight, erecting another building could very well put Cypress in yet another financial bind that it cannot afford at the moment. Though Cypress needs a medical examiners station, some say that re-building one in today’s climate may not be in the best interest of the city, considering the new subway system that the Mayor wants to construct.

Now, we did get reports that the fire started in the forensics lab downstairs on the bottom floor. Two technicians stated that one moment they were working, then the next thing they knew there was a sudden burst, and then everything went up in flames.

Unfortunately, the fire was so intense that the building itself could never be recovered. What’s left would have to be taken down. The fire marshal is calling the fire itself very suspicious. Not suspicious in human error, but in the way it began. He states that he has never seen a fire spread so quickly. According to firefighters, it took only an hour for the entire building to burn to the ground.

I’m Phil Reynolds for Action Seven News.

Chapter 4

M r. Mercer sat inside his car, right in front of 909 West 7 th Blvd. The man’s lips never parted as he stared longingly at the disheveled, abandoned home that still looked like a crime scene even after so many months.

Mercer’s head was oozing sweat. Even without an undershirt on the domineering heat of July bore down upon him like an ancient plague. His skin was sticking to his shirt’s fabric making simple movements feel squishy and cumbersome.

Outside on the sidewalk were three scruffy looking, young black men who looked as if they were in the midst of committing some sort of heinous act. While clear on the other end of the sidewalk was an old, black man cutting his lawn.

The man’s left hand was welded to the door’s handle, all he had to do was pull down the latch and it would be wide open. But he chose to remain inside the sweltering vehicle and just look on. He couldn’t budge an inch; the house appeared as if it wanted to crumble right there in front of his eyes.

Suddenly, the teenagers that were just milling about on the sidewalk began yelling out loud which in turn caused Mercer to awaken from his suspended animation. With about as much will power as he could possibly gather, the man opened the door, got out and gingerly made his way towards the front door.

All around him the sounds of rowdy teenagers, loud lawnmowers and simple insects became inaudible. It was as if he had become the only person on the planet at that point. Even his own two legs felt like they weren’t below him anymore; he suddenly felt as though he were levitating rather than walking.

The very moment he reached the decrepit porch steps, almost immediately the very first board gave way. Mercer sidestepped the flimsy wood and simply lifted high his large leg on his way up.

He stood in front of the door and waited. Just what the man was waiting for was lost somewhere between his logic and memories of the past. All Mercer could do was stand absolutely motionless for ceaseless moments before taking his sweaty right hand and using it to twist the doorknob until it creaked open.

Immediately, the stench of must and body odor rushed into Mercer’s face and out into the summer air. Mercer proceeded to prance right inside, closing the door behind him. The entire living room was completely empty. The carpet was stripped bare while the walls still had imprints of where furniture and frames once rested.

He couldn’t believe how smelly the house still was after so long as he strolled about the humid living room and into the kitchen. The small stove and cabinets that he passed along the way looked like something from out of the previous century. Once Mercer approached the backdoor he gazed out the window at the tiny woodshed that was leaning to one side as if it could fall to pieces at any second.

When he was through at the door, Mercer turned and began back in the opposite direction. He went from the kitchen to the bedroom that was empty but alive with glorious sunlight that illuminated the room from just about every corner.

Right behind him was the hallway. All Mercer had to do was turn, but his body became strangely immobile once again. He couldn’t move a muscle, and deep down, he honestly didn’t want to. There was a single window in the bedroom just several feet from where he was standing; jumping out of it was an option for the man.

Mercer gradually turned and found himself inside the cavernous hallway. The man stepped one foot in front of the other until his face came into contact with the one room in the house that could possibly take his mortal life.

In front of him was the bathroom. For some reason or another he expected to see at least a few spots or speckles of blood in obscure corners of the room, but the entire space was pristine; in fact, it was possibly the cleanest room in the entire house, save for the dead mouse on the floor next to the toilet.

However, behind Mercer, clear down at the other end of the hallway, stood a figure. And stand is all it did. It had no face, just the form of a human body that stood patiently and without words or breath, unbeknownst to Mercer.

All Mercer could do was drop his heaving shoulders while staring down at the tile in a dreaded pout. Soon, his hands began to tremble. At first, he expected it, but after a second or two the shaking became annoying considering he required complete composure for his tour.

Mercer clasped his hands together right then before turning and looking back down at the other end of the hallway. The man stood and gazed forever at the quiet corridor in which he figured he was all alone inside. But there was something seizing him at that phase. He neither saw nor heard a single individual inside the house, and yet, he abruptly found himself surrounded.

With his hands still clutched tightly together, Mercer’s eyes looked down the dim hallway for at least two whole minutes.

Dear Lord in heaven…deliver me not into the hands of mine enemies. He whispered. "Be with me inside this dwelling, that I may—

But before Mercer could finish, the sound of something crashing from another room broke right in between, causing the man to break out into the most rapid and violent sweat.

Be gone from here, Lucifer. He muttered with trembling jaws.

The man’s legs somehow found the energy to move at that juncture. With one foot in front of the other he