The Bottomless Pit

By Jesse Skiles

Saddle Ridge is home to a dark secret. The Order of Souls, a sadistic cult, has carries out their evil practices of infant sacrifices on a blood altar for seventy years. Suddenly their existence is threatened by a quite, shunned thirteen year old girl.

Her penalty: death in the Bottomless Pit!

Thirty years later, a thirteen year old

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jesse Skiles
• Release date: Mar 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781952750373

Book preview

cover.jpg

The Bottomless Pit

Jesse Skiles

Copyright © 2022 by Jesse Skiles.

ISBN Paperback 978-1-952750-36-6

Ebook 978-1-952750-37-3

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 express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Printed in the United States of America.

Prologue

The thin, pale girl sat abreast her faithful horse. Her short legs barely reached the stirrups, sometimes dangling in the wooden triangles as she rode familiar trails. Her horse stood motionless. She sat silently as they were quickly surrounded by a group of eight faceless riders. They appeared from the black of night and organized themselves with a speedy efficiency that belied their apparent youthfulness. She watched with fascination as they materialized one by one, emerging from the shadows like a specter forming out of the darkness. They were disguised by the impenetrable wall of the black night and quickly transformed as they descended upon her special place.

Suddenly her body tensed, raging wildly with surging emotions as she realized that danger was imminent.

***

Earlier that evening, her homework done, Abby had gone out to the barn and saddled her horse. It was her habit to ride every evening just before twilight, arriving back at Casper’s Point well after dark, but not so late that it gave her parents any grave concern. Their ranch earned its name because of the haze that surrounded it a great deal of the time. It gave the point a ghostly appearance. Its original name came years earlier, however, when the ranch was built by a German family whose last name was Kasper. The entire family was slaughtered by a psychotic killer and the ranch became known as Kasper’s Point in the family’s memory. Time though, as it always does, has a way of altering things and the ‘K’ in Kasper’s Point was eventually replaced with a ‘C’, so it became Casper’s Point.

The lonely, little girl, who was born and raised on Casper’s Point, had to earn the right to ride alone at night. Not until her eighth birthday did her parents allow her out after dark...but still not alone. Not until she turned twelve, was she allowed to ride unescorted at night. By now she knew every inch of the woods and felt perfectly safe by herself—but she was alone...always alone.

With a gentle pressure of the reins, Abby steered her horse along the driveway, which dropped below and around the house where it turned west and ran parallel to Bluffside Road. The sweeping turn of the driveway straightened and dropped gradually downhill for about a quarter of a mile where it merged with Bluffside Road.

The recently paved road ran east and west, aptly named for the bluffs that skirted one side of it for about two miles. A portion of the bluff extended halfway over the road at one juncture and looked as though it might fall to the road below if the slightest weight were added to it. Riding under the bluffs gave her a feeling of security.

Turning East on Bluffside, Abby let her horse pace itself at a gentle, but steady, trot. Within minutes after leaving the driveway and trotting along the bluffs, she drew abreast of the huge log house that stood as a lone sentinel on Casper’s Point far above the road. She glanced up and could barely make out the cedar shake shingles where the house sat majestically on top of the hill.

Had the circumstances been different, she might have felt some measure of safety by its reassuring presence, but not today, or any other day since she learned about the existence of The Order of Souls. She was now an outcast in this town with her peers. After that, the only time they wanted anything to do with her was to torment her occasionally. Now, she only felt the loneliness of rejection.

Rejected by anyone she could have called a friend.

Never invited to join in their parties. Never asked to be a part of anything they did.

God how it hurt!

It hurt worse than just having an enemy, sometimes to the point of causing sharp pains in her stomach. Regardless of how bad it hurt though, she never let it show around her parents. She was happy to let them think her life was normal. After all, it was her choice to go after these kids, to expose them. She would have to live with her decision.

Still—it was awful. She hated it! Hated it!

Abby turned her attention from the house high on the hill back to the road as it began to drop off sharply. Her horse continued its same gait, its shod hoofs pounding, first the soft, black pavement of the road and then the hard, concrete surface of the bridge as the hillside gave way to a winding creek below.

Horse and rider crossed over the natural ravine where the creek meandered aimlessly through the countryside, she could hear the gurgling sounds of the cool, clear water as it eddied and tumbled along, making its way around and over the vast array of river rock.

Across the bridge, the ground became level and Bluffside Road was intersected on the left by Creekside Lane—also aptly named, because it followed Chisholm Creek through several miles of mildly docile, rock hardened hills that were smothered by a thick carpet of plush green grass.

Abby turned onto Creekside Lane and followed the road for about three hundred feet until it gradually fell away to a stretch of flat ground. She opted for the familiar obscurity of the woods, which were dense with poplar, ash and sycamore trees and a light covering of underbrush for about fifty feet before thinning considerably. She chose a trail that she and her horse had carved through the woods after years of riding the same route and followed it until it opened into a long clearing. The day had usually given way to a thin, seedy darkness by the time she arrived at this spot—and tonight was no exception.

It was her favorite time of the day and her favorite place on earth to ride. It would be nice to sit here all night and often wished that she could and just stare into space.

Out here, the stars shined brighter and seemed to spread over an immense, black sky, lighting it with millions of glowing sprinkles. Abby often wondered what it was like in outer space. I’ll bet I could make friends out there, she cried to the twinkling dots, smiling up at them. Friends that would never turn on me. Eventually, her internal clock would remind her that, indeed, there was someone to worry about her and if she didn’t get back soon, she might lose her riding privileges. She regretfully removed her eyes from the huge expanse of space, from the stars that offered her freedom and friendship and continued along the trail before her time ran out, forcing her to turn back. She looked one more time to the sky and then reined her horse in when she spotted the evening star. Twisting around in the saddle, she muttered out loud, Star light, star bright. First star I see tonight. I wish I—, Abby stopped in mid-sentence and stared intently toward the trees. The first pangs of fear began to gnaw at her stomach as the trees began to move, but there was no breeze tonight. Her heart raced wildly as rustling noises accompanied the shifting limbs.

Instinctively, she backed away and then stopped when the sinister apparitions came at her from all sides. She reined her horse in and watched as her heart continued to pound away in her tiny chest and her palms became clammy and cold with sweat.

Suddenly, she understood.

The further the apparitions emerged from the darkness of the trees, the more their shapes took a recognizable form. They were people on horseback. The riders stopped and stared at her with unseeing eyes.

It was them!

They had been waiting for her. They must have followed her one night and knew she would be here. Their circle closed in around her, leaving no avenue of escape. Abruptly, at a silent signal that was more of a congruent perception passing between them, the ring started moving. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t do anything.

They just circled.

The space around her was considerable, as the riders had retreated a short distance, creating several large spaces between each of them. She thought maybe, if she timed it just right, she could dart real fast between two of the riders and escape whatever horror they had in mind for her. She made up her mind quickly and dashed at a hole that looked promising.

It closed immediately.

She backed her horse up slowly, while searching the perimeter for a weak link. Spotting one immediately, she tried again, charging quickly at a spot that looked promising again. Before her horse had taken two steps, the opening closed. Terror stabbed at her heart.

Leave me alone! she screamed at her tormentors. What do you want from me?

The girl brought her horse to a skidding halt and backed away, returning to the only safe place, so far, the center of the circle. Concealing the fact that she was searching for yet another hole of opportunity, she picked out another point of attack and charged at it, but the results were the same as before. After several similar attempts, it became painfully obvious that she was trapped.

She watched the aggressors, circling, endlessly circling with their eyes to the front, but somehow still able to anticipate her moves.

The masks over their heads perpetuated the illusion of facelessness rather than disguise. But they couldn’t hide from her. She knew who each one of them were. They were the same eight kids who she had the run-in with earlier that day.

They never did like her. Neither did they try to keep it a secret.

She hated them for making her an outsider, because now no one liked her. She was the feared one around town, like she was some disfigured, diseased mongrel that would infect them if she touched them, or even came close to them. For a while she had thought that maybe, just maybe, things would change. Dear God, how she wanted to be accepted. All she wanted was a friend, someone her own age to talk to when she had a problem and to do things with like girls her age was supposed to do. Was that asking so much? Was it ever going to happen? Not here, not now, not ever. They had made sure of that. While she pondered her loneliness, the fear she felt suddenly turned to anger. They had no right to do this to her. They had no right to do what they had done to her before. This was a childish game, and someone would get hurt.

Abby drew her breath in sharply! Like a slap in the face, she awoke to the truth. They wanted to hurt her. They were not just trying to scare her anymore. This time…they wanted to hurt her.

Somehow, she had to get away from them.

You’ve had your fun, she yelled. Isn’t that enough? They seemed not to hear, or just didn’t care. Through quivering lips, she sobbed, I want to go home.

Suddenly, they started chanting. It began as a low, murmuring that built into a crescendo of unceasing monotones, interrupted occasionally by the sound of a horse’s gentle neigh. The chants increased in tempo, as did their horse’s gaits. It was like the horses knew the plan, understood the challenge and were willing to participate. They were one with the scourges who rode them.

Her tears flowed heavier while sobs wracked her smallish frame.

Angry and afraid, she lashed out blindly, but her horse was the unwelcome recipient of her errant hand, which clipped its ear. She became angrier and more frightened by the second. She wanted to go home where it was safe.

Please let me go, she begged, pleading through trembling lips. What have I done to you?

I think you know the answer to that, a female voice answered gruffly. What? Did you think we wouldn’t know that you found out about us? Do you think we’re really that stupid?

Please, she begged again. I won’t tell anyone. I swear I won’t.

Sorry, the brash female voice snickered. But we can’t trust you.

But why this?

At least this way, we know our secret will be safe, the crusty female responded hoarsely. Don’t be such a baby about it.

Abby’s horse sensed her fear and started pawing at the ground, prancing around nervously. Its own fear mounting, it reared up in magnificent splendor on its hind legs, thrusting its front hoofs out as though it could drive away the evil kids. After a minute of panic filled frenzy, the horse came back down on all four hooves and suddenly bolted for an opening in their ranks, but the oppressors had anticipated the movement and came alive in a flurry of activity. When done, their web changed from a circle to a square.

They were still moving, but not around her. They swept her along with them as they moved toward the creek and then parallel to it.

Her fear mounted with each step they took. Abby trembled when she realized their aggression was far greater than ever before. What did they intend to do to her? Where were they taking her?

The procession moved steadily, and she looked at each of the eight children, as a sense of dread filled her, her gaze lingering on each one for a few seconds, hoping that one of them might see the fear in her eyes and feel some bit of compassion for her. But no one even looked at her.

Abby peered into the darkness that hung like a black curtain over them, her hope for escape dwindling like the beautiful sunset earlier. If they could see her through the inky thickness of the night or hear as her tears splashed in a puddle on the saddle, they would know how terrified she was.

Did they care?

No!

Onward they marched, carrying her along with them. As each minute passed, she became even more frightened. If they would talk to her, she was sure she could convince them to let her go. The silence was deafening, frightening. She decided to try talking to them again, but the horrible silence continued when they stubbornly refused to speak.

Why are you doing this? she demanded, screaming at them as her panic burst forth in a wild frenzy. No one looked at her. No one said anything. They just rode on in that infernal silence. A silence that grated on her nerves like fingernails scraping across a blackboard. With each passing moment, her fear heightened. Still, onward they rode.

Suddenly, the front line moved aside, adjusting their formation so that she was only boxed in on three sides. Freed of their prison and able to outrun all of them, she was ready to spur her horse into action.

Her heart pounding unceremoniously, the girl had a sudden eerie premonition that the worst was yet to come. Instead of bolting forward, she rode slowly forward, her heart pounding ferociously. Suddenly, the entire formation halted, like a giant machine had been switched off. Abby stopped. She discovered her horse was standing at the edge of a small pool of water.

She stared at the water.

The children still surrounded her on three sides, so that her only escape was through the water. It seemed so simple.

Cross this little pool and the nightmare was over. A little too simple, but she had to try. Certainly, this was their idea of a little joke. They would wait until she was in the middle of the pool and then push her off her horse. They would all stand around and laugh again as she cried.

Let them have their fun. She would pay them back. Every one of them. She knew all their names and where they lived. They would pay for this devilry, every one of them.

She nudged her horse forward, but it refused to move. What was wrong with it? She kicked it in the sides, but it stubbornly held its position.

Something was terribly wrong. Without warning the fear returned and her stomach knotted again in a tight ball. She coaxed her horse forward and the nervous animal took a wary step into the shallow edge of the cold, still water. Then another.

Suddenly, the horse lost its footing and they both began to pitch forward head first into the murky pool. She took a huge gulp of air and remembered thinking that this was supposed to be a shallow pool. How could she and her horse both be completely under the surface? Where was the bottom? Seized with even more panic than before, she realized with hopeless abandon that the stories must be true about the Bottomless Pit.

The horse struggled, thrashing about wildly. Abby fought desperately to escape the treacherous hooves.

Rider and horse broke the surface at the same time. She gulped appreciatively, but the air was mixed with water, as her horse continued thrashing. She coughed and sputtered as the water entered her lungs, but still had the presence of mind to try and swim to the edge.

Help me. Please don’t do this, she sputtered, spitting up mouthfuls of water.

The powerful grip of the Bottomless Pit refused to release her. She struggled violently, but it was too strong. Against her will, she was being slowly dragged backward.

Redoubling her efforts, she fought against the Pit and just as she thought she might pull free, her eyes focused on the eight children as they pointed at her and laughed. Their head coverings removed, she stared into their cold, empty eyes.

They would not help her.

Infuriated, she drove herself even harder, but could feel her energy waning as her arms and legs grew tired from the endless exertion. She couldn’t keep this up much longer.

The Bottomless Pit was winning.

Abby noticed that her horse, which had a hundred times her strength, was also losing the battle. Her poor horse. This was so wrong.

As the knot in her stomach tightened even more, she made one last plea for help, but still they only stared...and laughed.

As the last screams tore from her throat and with her final breath, Abby swore her revenge. She promised them she would even the score.

She took a final gulp and disappeared far below the surface of the dark, murky water, holding the air in her lungs until she was sure they would burst. Finally, as the air began to slowly escape, water flooded in.

Abby wasn’t afraid. In fact, she felt comforted, warmed.

It wasn’t anything like she had imagined it would be. Somehow, she was relieved with the knowledge that she would no longer be punished by the mean, evil children.

The chill of the water invaded her dying body as the soothing warmth of death clutched her in its grasp...

***

ONE

Danielle sat erect in the saddle, glaring intently—her hand shielding the sun from her eyes—at the flat, almost barren, land that stretched out in front of her, dotted with occasional trees and bushes, their soft tendrils of foliage dancing in the faint breeze that was so rare in this usually windy part of the country, inviting her to explore their intoxicating virtues.

From her vantage point on the horse’s back, Dani had a commanding view of the prairie that was, for the most part, representative of what she was sure all of Kansas must look like. She was born and raised here and had never left this flat and dusty state. They never took vacations. Her dad was too busy working at the bank for that.

The closest thing to a hill in these parts was a mound of dirt in someone’s yard. They had such a mound out back where her and other kids used to play king of the hill. She was too old for such childish games now. At the tender age of twelve, Valley Center had a lot more to offer pre-teens than playing in the dirt.

The ditch.

So, it had come to be known, was a water reservoir on the north side of town. A sandy, dirt road had formed along the top and was a popular haunt for teen-agers desiring to make-out.

It was the nineties and Dani was certain moral values had declined to the point that it was much more than just kissing and heavy petting. Of course, she was not an expert on those things, but was not ignorant about them either. While trapped in a bathroom stall one day at school, she overheard some older girls bragging about their dates. At first, she was disgusted by their language, but then became interested when their conversation turned more sensual.

Every now and then, Dani would ride on top of the ditch. It was high above the ground, about fifteen feet she guessed, and afforded her a spectacular view. On a perfectly clear day, she could see for fifty miles—or so it seemed.

Okay! It wasn’t really fifty miles, but it was a long way. The point is, the land was too flat, allowing one to see farther than they should.

And now, as she sat atop Fresca, her faithful horse and friend for four years, staring at the distant horizon, a lonely stand of willow trees drew her attention. Her hand tightened on the saddle horn, as she raised up in the saddle. She could have sworn she saw a movement inside the darkened tree line. A shadow, like someone had darted quickly across the trail. She pulled back on the reins as Fresca danced about nervously, evidently having seen the same thing that caught Dani’s eye.

Fresca was her faithful cream-colored palomino who sported a beautiful blond mane and tail. She had a nervous habit of prancing around when spooked, which was the only fault Dani had found in her. It required Dani to be extra cautious when she practiced her competition run, but she would rather not ride at all than leave her horse behind.

Dani stared intently at the trees.

Her curiosity aroused, she loosened her grip on Fresca’s reins just a bit. The tall, slender mare knew this was her master’s signal to begin walking. If this thin, slight girl had wanted the horse to stand steady, she would have maintained her hold on the reins, allowing no slack.

Fresca started forward at a slow gait, while nervously working the bit in her mouth. She waited for the gentle pressure on the reins, which would give her permission to stop their advance on the spooky trees. She would prefer to turn and leave but would do what her owner signaled.

The gentle Fresca wasn’t fast like a race horse, or strong like a quarter horse, but she loved to run—to run free and wild like the wind that usually blew across this flat, barren ground.

I’ll bet it’s Carly. What do you think, Fresca? she asked, a trace of uncertainty in her tone.

Her horse seemed to understand and offered a soft neigh in nervous response.

Carly Whitfield was Dani’s best friend and loved playing practical jokes. They were usually harmless, but now and then she went a little overboard. Carly wouldn’t purposely hurt anyone, especially Dani. It’s just that, her need to play pranks overshadowed her better judgment.

Dani accepted that she was just that way—and it wasn’t likely to change.

Dani’s name was a perfect example.

When they were small children, Carly had a difficult time pronouncing Danielle. For Carly’s sake, Dani’s mother shortened it to Dani—a nickname that sounded very much like a boy’s name. Dani hated it at first but, learned to live with it and it stuck.

Dani had soft, long blonde hair, something else she learned to live with. It was a light ash that hung as straight as uncooked spaghetti most of the time, but then morphed to a soft, silvery hue when sun baked. The silver luster strengthened the intensity of her hazel eyes.

It was those sparkling, light-green eyes that stared at the cluster of trees, whose leaves looked greener today than usual. They were a stand of willows that had survived the death of the dried-up river. At one time, they held within their bosom a refreshing spring that was regarded as an oasis in the middle of this God-forsaken land.

That was many years ago, before the spring dried up.

The old timers say it happened in the late sixties, about the time when the hippie movement sprang into full force, and that the decline in morality was the reason for the disaster. God had seen fit to take something good from the land, because of the immoral, evil acts the kids were doing.

Of course, Dani never believed such a thing. She thought it was narrow minded of adults to make that ignorant claim. Besides, she had argued with any adult who would listen, Why would God harm His creation for something people did?

The spring had withered to a trickle and eventually desiccated completely. Now the trees guarded a grave, the last symbol of a dried-up relic. The tree roots reached deep into the ground, so that these sentinels of the past lived on, supplying enough moisture to keep the brush and little bit of grass around them green as well.

Dani had heard the same old timers tell stories about the river when, as they put it, it was in its youth. She always got a laugh out of their metaphors that compared an inanimate object, like a river, to a person. That, she decided long ago, was just as silly as a ship, or a car being referred to as ‘she’. The ‘she’ was not just a woman, mind you, but a woman that was highly cherished. She thought the whole thing was gross and would never compare herself to a ship, or a car. But the river...

They talked about the river like was alive.

The river had claimed the lives of many people over the years when it was active. The list was longer than her proverbial arm and just as diverse in its choices of victims. There was one story she remembered well, perhaps because of its severe tragedy, or maybe because it was so grossly heinous, she wasn’t sure which, but regardless, it had lingered like a bad taste from yesterday’s supper.

This is how the story went:

After a rousing game of sandlot baseball with several of their friends, four boys were walking past the river on their way home. It was one of the hottest days of summer. They decided to strip down to their underwear and jump in for a quick swim in the dirty but, cool water. They had done it hundreds of times before. They splashed around and romped playfully, dunking each other by turns for about half an hour. Then the youngest of the four, ten-year-old Jerry Hemphill, decided to try and swim the breadth of the