Kooshma: Reborn

By Dytania Johnson

This sequel to Kooshma: The Origin takes you from Kooshma’s slave beginnings to the present day. Where he was once contained, he is now unleashed into the world again. The Wilcox bloodline is hunted by an evil that never sleeps on the abandoned Wilcox plantation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728320557

Dytania Johnson

Dytania Johnson is a multigenre author who has published historical fiction books, one of which is Kooshma: The Origin. He also published a children’s book, The Missing Naughty List Lesson 1: Sharing. Dytania has found that writing where his imagination takes him has worked out well. Not being contained within one genre gives him the freedom to create stories that can inspire, scare, put a smile on someone’s face, and perhaps find a placid place. “Creativity shouldn’t be contained by staying in one lane.” Thanks goes to my family and friends for all the support when I have had my down days and always believed in me. Also, a special thanks to New Chapter Art for the amazing illustrations and Ishika Sharma for the book cover. Last but not least my brothers at Cawcam Productions whom will and always has been a part of team KOOSHMA. Don't worry Angelle Ozenne I see you, without your promoting skills KOOSHMA the ORIGIN probably wouldn't have made Amazon best sellers list.

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© 2019 Dytania Johnson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/09/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2056-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2054-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2055-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019910300

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Prologue 1824

Chapter 1 Unclaimed Property

Present Day

Chapter 2 Settling In

Chapter 3 Blood on Your Hands

Chapter 4 So It Begins

Chapter 5 The Confession

Chapter 6 Deception

Chapter 7 The End of Gerald

Chapter 8 Resurrection

Chapter 9 Prime Suspect

Chapter 10 Who’s Badru?

Chapter 11 Hidden in Plain Sight

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

You’re lying there, unable to move, screaming for whoever can reach out and save you. As many walk by, unable to hear your cries, the fear intensifies. It seems like forever, and the air has been ripped from your lungs before finally awakening. This was my experience. I often wondered about the people who hadn’t been so lucky to awaken. Perhaps the Wilcox blood runs through us all, and Kooshma’s revenge will never end. Kooshma, an old Southern folktale, or so I thought.

Kooshma, only in name, relates to the South this nightmare, this evil spirit that haunts so many as they lie asleep in a comfortable, serene dream. It is known worldwide. For example, Russia knows it as Kikimora, and in Germanic folklore, it is Mare. The Turkish named it Basty, or Basti. My neighbors in the northern United States refer to it as Night Hag or Old Hag. For those who know Kooshma in other ways, just know you’re not alone, as told in part 1, Kooshma: The Origin, which took you back to understanding its creation. I say its creation and not his creation because at the peak of deceit, torture, lust, and love, an evil was created—an evil that can’t be stopped, only contained. Myth or reality, you be the judge.

PROLOGUE

1824

Cries in the dark come from a baby fresh into this world, not knowing the true taste of its mother’s milk. It was torn away from the warmth of a safe existence and cradled by the witch old, cold, unloving hands that reeked with the smell of rotting flesh, long overdue to have been put six feet deep many, many years ago. She can taste the blood of Kooshma, salivating, sweating from her brow, eyes wide open, bloodshot red, as she needs to satisfy her urge, the yearning for something she has never encountered over the generations of souls. Kooshma’s was the one, and the closest she could have was its child. She opened her mouth wider and wider. The soul of Kooshma’s baby was being pulled into her mouth. The witch began to gasp, choking, her already fragile skin being burned. She dropped the baby, whose soul was too pure, untainted by the evils of the world in which it was created. A life unable to be taken by Kooshma’s vengeful hands. The screams of the witch and cries of the baby merged, creating a sound that rattled the tomb in which Kooshma lays to this day.

Falling to the ground, weakened from a failed soul transfer, the witch made her way back into the turmoil of the burning Wilcox plantation. She needed a body, a temporary vessel to survive, for only souls can allow her to maintain her youth. On arriving there, mustering through the wooded swamp-like grounds, the Wilcox slaves and surrounding plantations that had seen the flames from afar gathered to contain the blaze from spreading. So many able bodies she could choose from. So little time before the aging process began to reverse. She thought, There’s the girl. Youthful enough to last until my next swapping of a body, until Kooshma can emerge to kill for me again. She recited a voodoo spell to swap bodies: Yako vijana I haja hapana roho kwa kuhifadhi umri in reverse umri hapana zaidi.

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CHAPTER 1

UNCLAIMED PROPERTY

PRESENT DAY

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T he crowd was chanting, White power! White power! White power! Shawn had his hand up, calming the crowd, some of whom had traveled hundreds of miles to hear him speak. He had a reputation that credited him with the ability to mesmerize and convince even the most cynical person with his words.

"They say we are monsters, that we are killers without compassion. But I say no one else can be more compassionate than we are. The compassion to preserve our race, to love our race. We do what we must to keep it that way. And if that makes us monsters, then I guess we are monsters. Seeing you all out here reminds me of the time I went to my first cross-burning ceremony. I didn’t quite understand what was going on, but as time went by, my parents preferred I focus on our core values and purity of our bloodline as a whole, rather than my studies at school. It was disturbing for me emotionally when I was around the age of ten. Wanting to play with kids outside my race was so exotic in my eyes; I just wanted to be a normal kid. I guess being rebellious was natural, and I can admit I did sneak around for years, becoming friends with kids of other ethnicities, not truly understanding why my parents and their friends were so adamant about me not interacting with them. But as the saying goes, everything happens for a reason.

By my teen years, coming of age, I became interested in a young lady, my first crush ever. Her name was Beth. We would, you know, do little things like kissing, hugging, and holding hands. You know, the usual; as we called it back then, first base. Part of the relationship, or what I thought was a relationship. She was all I could think of when I would awake every morning.

Shawn began to get teary-eyed. His followers could see the emotion in his story and his experience. "One day, I was walking to her house. It was on a Wednesday afternoon, and I saw in the distance someone I considered a friend at the time and his brothers, who were black, leaving the spot he and I normally met at the park. It was specifically chosen by us, away from eyes of anyone who might have relayed any interactions I had with