Tranquility

By Charl De Klerk

The coldest winter is about to hit the small town of Stanley Ridge. Many dark secrets smoulder beneath the surface of this town. Dudley finds himself in a race against time to save his neighbour from malicious intent, invoked by a malevolent force. Dudley has been researching and dabbling in the occult most of his life, despite strong Catholic roots.

Consulting an ancient grimoire, The Lesser Key of Solomon, Dudley realises he needs expert help and calls on a Catholic friend trained as an exorcist at the Vatican to help him. Both men soon come to understand that this is a treacherous force at work.

This story unfolds into evocation of demons, witchcraft, black magick, demonic possession and other realms of the occult. After an assassination attempt on his neighbour’s life, Dudley springs into action to track down a demon and to analytically eliminate suspects who may hold a grudge against his neighbour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charl De Klerk
• Release date: Jan 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005116019

Book preview

A DARK AFRICAN THRILLER

Charl De Klerk

Copyright © 2021 Charl De Klerk

First edition 2021

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 any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Charl De Klerk using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Edited by Sue Taylor for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

Website: www.reachpublishers.org

E-mail: [e-mail]

Charl De Klerk

[e-mail]

Acknowledgements

Many thanks must be acknowledged before this book is read:

Firstly, Andrew Salomon who pored over each and every word of this book to make it what it is today.

Secondly, Andrew was also my mentor over approximately two to three years in the task of completing two diplomas in novel writing courses through the South African Writers College.

To my wife, Melanie De Klerk who continuously encouraged me and was my shoulder to lean on when the infamous ‘writer’s block’ set in from time to time.

My best mate Kevin White who spurred me on.

My tattoo artist, Chantal Brown who hooked me up with Jadene Naidoo who made a book cover for this book, working her magical skills as a graphic designer.

Lastly, my mom Priscilla De Klerk whose unfathomable faith in me is held like an iron sceptre, unwavering and never flinching.

Dr DM van der Merwe, you are an inspiration to my writing.

Without these people, this book would never have seen the light of day.

My love goes out to all of you.

Chapter One

It was a quiet, cold winter’s evening on the outskirts of Johannesburg. Mist had started to roll in over the small town that lay forty-seven kilometres south of the city. The only noise was car doors closing, footsteps, indistinct voices, and front doors opening and closing as families hurried inside, away from the icy wind cutting the air like a knife. As the noise of these commuters started to fade, the last of the motor vehicles drove into town. Mr Dudley Benson in his red, sporty Mercedes Benz was the latest arrival in Stanley Ridge that night.

An eerie sense of calm hung over this little, closely knit town as the mist thickened and leaves that had fallen were swept up by gusts which came with no consistency, like a ballerina who missed a step every now and then. The wind followed its own passage as it scattered the leaves over the streets.

This winter was predicted to be the coldest in years. Sitting at Africa’s most southern point, the country was close to the South Pole, and it was unpredictable as to what would be dished up for winter. Talk amongst the townsfolk was that this year would be eventful. Mention of polar air pockets was rolling off the tongues of people in pubs, churches, the local neighbourhood watch, teachers’ staff rooms and every other group in this small town. There were also murmurs of snow falls this winter which was a rarity for Johannesburg and its surrounding areas

John Jenkins went to the pub most Friday nights to ring in Happy Hour, which he had done for the last five years since retiring from the National Broadcaster as a meteorologist. John would speak at length to whoever listened, grumbling about the poor state of the meteorologists at the Broadcaster. Nevertheless, he was the most credible source of information about polar air pockets.

Some families were eating dinner in their kitchens equipped with modern-day versions of a hearth which heated not only the kitchen but the entire home. Other families were having their meal in the lounge cum TV room while a blazing anthracite furnace was fired up and would be left burning until morning, as these were safe, multi-fuel heaters.

While everyone was busy settling in for the night, nobody noticed that the mist had turned into a thick fog with near-zero visibility. No word had come in from the neighbourhood watch as per usual for dangerous driving conditions. The temperature had dropped from 1 degree Celsius to -5 degrees in half an hour. Homes closer to the river would have noticed the temperature change sooner. They did not, however, as all of the townsfolk were mesmerized by their house-hold furnaces, hypnotized by the dancing flames.

Bang, bang, bang! was the only sound that could be heard on the eastern side of the town as Alan from the local neighbourhood watch rapped his knuckles with vigour on Dudley’s front door. Alan waited a minute before knocking again. He was literally freezing out there with the temperature dropping so rapidly, so much so that his old pick-up truck’s heater had broken with the rapid temperature change. Alan’s knuckles hurt from the hard wood of the beautiful seamless Mahogany front door that sealed the entrance to the magnificent home.

The house was designed by an Italian-South African architect Dudley had assigned to develop the piece of land he had bought twenty years ago. The house was painstakingly built over a period of five years, exactly to the specs detailed by Dudley each year. It was built this way so as to accommodate Dudley’s financial means, as he had promised himself in his internship as a Chartered Accountant that he would not go into debt in the early stages of his career, but would do exactly as his father had and secure the services of the Italian, an old family friend, and build only as he progressed in his career.

Franco Salvatore, had been friends of the Benson family since he could remember. Franco attended most family events, even being there when the family broke up. His family had split apart when his father accused his mother of having an affair with the then local French immigrant, the so-called Artist of Stanley Ridge.

Artist, my fucking ass! thought Dudley, he only painted smudges of colours and pronounced it art! Dudley had never liked the Frenchman. He had shifty eyes and a weasel-like flat face with a huge Roman hook nose to top it all off. He patronisingly called Dudley ‘his boy’ when he visited his mother after school in the afternoons.

Dudley was always told not to come into the family room until four o’clock. His mother would emerge from the room looking a little flushed and her hair slightly tousled. Dudley knew what was going on and showed his disdain towards the Frenchman and his mother by calling them smoochers one day when he could no longer bear the arrogance of the Frenchie and his mother’s denial of the relationship. He of course would never mention a word to his father whom he adored as the provider and attentive nurturer of the home.

Alan saw a light emanate from the darkness of the house after his third hard knock. Then another light lit up the stained-glass windows next to the Mahogany front door and Alan saw a figure moving towards the front door. Dudley was a tall, imposing figure with large, broad shoulders and well-defined arm muscles. In fact, his forearms looked like the forearms of the cartoon character, Popeye. He also had a trim waist making a v-like shape, with strong, athletic legs. Dudley was not a member of the local gym but had built on an extension to his house with all the most up-to-date and state-of-the-art gym equipment where he exercised on a regular basis, at least four times a week, work commitments permitting. His strong, athletic body structure was also something he had inherited from his father who had tough Nordic blood pulsing through his veins.

Through the glass panes surrounding the front door, it always looked like the Hulk was approaching the door, which made Alan a little nervous and he instinctively stepped back before Dudley opened the front door. Alan was tall as well but was a scrawny chap who could eat almost anything in copious amounts. At times it was almost inhuman what he scoffed down, and would not put on a single ounce.

Dudley could see it was the Neighbourhood Watch truck as the yellow fog lights illuminated the mist and surrounds. He paused as he walked to the front door, lent into the kitchen and flicked the kettle switch, as he knew what the local watch was here for. Then he continued to the door, suddenly realising how cold the air had become. Alan heard the switches and locks rotating as Dudley turned off his intruder alarm and peeked his nose outside and said, Coffee, I take it?

Ja please, it’s freezing, said Alan.

My word! gasped Dudley as his breath misted in the air. The reindeers will need socks and scarves this Christmas!

Alan laughed and quipped, Ja, Santa too.

Luckily our Christmas is in summer, so no real chance of that, hey Alan? Come in, come in, Dudley beckoned to Alan. You’ll catch your death out there.

Dudley guided him to the kitchen where the kettle had just boiled. As per usual there was a plate left over from Dudley’s dinner as he had always made a little extra for the Watch guys on a Friday night. Whoever came to him at 9 p.m. that evening would be the recipient of the dinner.

Dudley was a good cook even though he had no family, had never married and never courted anybody. He was known as a career-driven man. He had many admirers and hangers-on in the town, but never let his guard down when it came to relationships. Dudley would rather be with a crowd than one person, never letting any single person get too close to him. He was awkwardly sociable in a crowd but never spent too much time with any particular person, keeping everybody at an arm’s length, especially those he knew wanted more than just idle chit chat. Little did Dudley know that this was going to change this winter!

Alan hungrily finished the plate of leftovers while his thermos was being refilled with piping hot coffee. Dudley had placed it next to the kettle for Alan to pick up before he left to continue his shift until 6 a.m. on Saturday. Alan picked up his thermos and lightly stepped into the den where a fireplace was crackling, emitting a tremendous amount of heat.

Perfect for a night like this, thought Alan as he began to say goodbye to Dudley, but was startled as Dudley seemed to appear like a Ninja from out of the wall behind the fireplace.

Jesus! exclaimed Alan. You scared the shit out of me!

Sorry, Al, said Dudley, it must be my gown that blends with the colours of the den. Let me see you out. Got your coffee, hey?

Yes, thank you, replied Alan as they started for the front door.

Dudley opened the door for Alan and the fog gently rolled in through the front door. Good Lord, the fog is rather intrusive this year.

Rather, said Alan as he stepped into the fog and literally disappeared two steps later.

God’s sakes, Alan, said Dudley, where are you?

Here I am, grinned Alan as he took two steps back and re-appeared inches from Dudley’s face.

Now don’t you bugger around like that tonight while on duty, said Dudley with a sigh of irritation.

Don’t you worry, you just stay safe now, Mr Benson, my eyes are on this beat tonight.

Chapter Two

Alan’s words had hardly frozen in the cold June air when they heard the sound of glass breaking, loud enough for the whole eastern side of the town to hear, shortly followed by a human cry and two blasts, Blam! Blam! Alan and Dudley looked at each other in horror.

The neighbourhood dogs were going wild barking into the icy night, but the residents did not seem to stir at all. Minutes passed as Alan and Dudley were just staring at each other.

I must call this in, muttered Alan, composing himself.

Best you do that, Alan.

Alan strode away to the yellow-eyed monster truck and proceeded to pick up the two-way receiver.

This is Alpha Seven calling in a disturbance at 336 Plankton Drive at 3:15 a.m. Wait! that can’t be, my watch must be frozen! Alan climbed out of the seated position and called to Dudley. Do you have the correct time, Dudley?

3:15 a.m., Alan, answered Dudley before he could check himself. How is that possible, Alan? The nine o’clock news had just finished on TV when you knocked on the door! Alan had by then searched across the entire radio frequency for a transmission signal to report what he and Dudley had just heard.

That’s what I thought as well, said Alan, recalling the National Broadcaster’s news jingle when he had stepped into Dudley’s kitchen.

How is it possible? said Dudley in a loud, exasperated voice.

Not sure, said Alan as he started to fold his first reefer for the evening. He walked back through the mist with his reefer and lit it at Dudley’s front door. Maybe this will help explain things a little better.

Dudley smiled and took a draw from the reefer. Maybe it will, Al, maybe it will ... No, Alan! We can’t stand here and get doped. There was a disturbance! Possibly two gunshots, or actually more like two Tom thumb crackers going off in succession, plus breaking glass and the cry of what sounded like my next-door neighbour. Did you report the disturbance?

I tried, said Alan in a hushed tone, saying softly to Dudley, Looks like the radio frequency is jammed as well. Turned the dial the whole way across the radio but found no frequency!

Phone one of the guard huts, snapped Dudley.

Good idea, said Alan as he flipped the patrol cell phone out of his pocket. The phone displayed the time as being 3:20 a.m. as Alan dialled the nearest guard hut. The phone just cut out as it started to ring on the other side. Alan tried another two calls to other guard huts but the same thing happened before it started to ring. The phone cut out.

Shit, that’s just plain weird, said Alan as he threw his partially smoked reefer onto the tar road, deciding that a reefer was not a good idea right now. He needed his head straight on his shoulders, and got an icy chill running from his lower back all the way up to the back of his neck. The hair on his scalp seemed to rise and recede again from the awkward sensation.

Dudley gestured to Alan saying, Let’s not just stand here, let’s go and investigate.

They both walked towards the only light on at the next-door neighbour’s, the bedroom light of Nicola Heyns. The grass broke like small glass shards underneath their shoes as they walked across Nicola’s immaculate garden. The air was so cold that it appeared to have frozen the garden flowers and bushes, as they didn’t stir even though there was a strong south westerly wind blowing across Stanley Ridge, from behind Nicola’s house and the other houses on that side of the street.

Alan checked his fancy military watch he had received from his dad as a pre-birthday gift, three months in advance to be exact. He looked at the temperature on the weather app. It read -9 degrees Celsius. He tapped the watch a few times to ensure the reading was correct, but the temperature did not budge.

Man, this is a cold winter, Alan muttered to himself as little flakes of snow started to fill the air and his teeth started to chatter. Must be one of those polar air pockets Jenkins was always on about.

They were not fazed by the snow flurries but were more importantly concerned by the situation at hand, as they approached the window, talking in hushed tones, goading each other on to look through the window. They both were a little shy to be looking in on a pretty lady such as Nicola Heyns.

Nicola was a beautiful lady who had inherited from her mother a figure every woman would die for. She had gorgeous golden locks of hair which she inherited from her father who was of Czechoslovakian descent. To add to all these beautiful features, Nicola had a sun-kissed, olive skin which gave her an air of mystery.

Eventually Dudley agreed he would look, as he was her neighbour after all and would only be showing concern should she catch him, risking the chance of being called a devious spy-on-your-neighbour type! From the angle where Dudley stood, he could only see the cupboards, the dressing table mirror and the bedroom door. Something caught his attention in the mirror, though.

He saw the reflection of Nicola’s arm and it appeared that she was lying on her back on the bed. She was on the left-hand side of the bed as her bed faced north. Her right arm appeared to magically hover in mid-air but Dudley thought she was on the bed. Dudley then plucked up enough courage to move a little more to the right to get a better picture of what he was looking at. As he did, he gasped and pulled back almost as quickly, as he saw Nicola lying on the bed.

Oh my God, Alan, gasped Dudley, she looks dead!

Alan immediately stood up from his crouched position and looked into the window and saw what Dudley had seen. As he was about to speak, the wind howled with tremendous force making Dudley and Alan lean forward into the wind to maintain a standing position. They could both see a pocket of fog moving towards them at a rapid pace. Alan estimated it would be over them in three seconds.

Alan counted down aloud by telling Dudley, Brace for it, Dudley, three, two, one.

Alan’s count was spot on. They were immediately covered in fog, the wind stopped, and they were barely able to make each other out in the dense fog. Both Alan and Dudley were bewildered momentarily but something more felt wrong.

Alan, do you feel something strange about this fog?

Very strange, Dudley. It doesn’t seem that we are at Nicola’s window anymore, right?

No, said Dudley, we are back at the house, my house! Quickly, Alan, what is your time?

9:45 p.m., came the reply.

Exactly, Dudley replied. My watch is spot on with yours.

Excuse my language now, Dudley, but what the fuck just happened? I am certainly not high either!

Not sure, Alan, but we can rule out the joint as there is not a powerful enough strain to cause a hallucination of that kind, unless you’re mixing it with other recreational drugs, which I know you don’t do. Am I right?

Right, absolutely not, replied Alan.

Well then I might have an explanation for this. Would you please run and check on Nicola; she’s probably fast asleep and the light off.

Truer words weren’t colder when Alan jogged over to the window and everything was as Dudley had said. All he could see was the outline of Nicola’s figure under the duvet and the pale moonlight shining directly on her long golden hair, which hung over her shoulders and neck. Very peaceful, Alan thought to himself.

He jogged back to Dudley’s front door. He had taken a step towards the entrance when he heard Dudley shout, Close the door, Alan, and come into the den.

On my way. Alan’s voice was raspy from jogging in that icy cold weather. It hurt his lungs as he struggled to breathe the cold air in. Got to quit the cigarettes soon, Alan thought to himself.

Dudley could tell if someone was at his front door because the pebble stone paving made a distinct noise on most people’s shoes. Alan stomped his shoes free of dirt on the front door mat, closed the front door and walked towards the den where there was a warm orange, inviting glow.

Dudley stood up from his captain’s chair behind his teak and leather-bound wooden desk. The den’s lights were on now and Alan could see a plethora of books behind the desk. It was a sight to behold, books literally from the floor to the ceiling, from one end of the wall to the other, in beautiful dark wooden carpentry woven into the design of Dudley’s den. Even a sliding ladder attached to the frame of the massive bookcase wasn’t considered to be out of place.

Dudley was staring down at a book that was as thick as an Oxford dictionary, just larger in size.

This explains exactly what we just experienced. Alan stood closer to the desk to see what Dudley was staring at. The book was opened approximately halfway and on one page was a naked man standing with legs astride