Touched by Darkness

By Micah Richards

Ambitious and career driven, Chris Blevins is the youngest anchor in the history of Channel 9 news. He has succeeded where others have failed. Now his hard work has paid off. He's given the promotion of a lifetime to Editor in Chief at his company's newspaper. His boss, Chandler Preston has taken a personal interest in him. He has also found the woman of his dreams. Things could not be more right. That is until a night in the woods changes his life forever. Vampires and werewolves, once thought to be myth and legends, are horrifically all too real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669846161

Book preview

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my Grandmother, Helen Richards.

For always believing in me. To my wife, Natalie for her patience

during the process of writing this book. And to my children:

Chandler, Madison, and Hannah for their sacrifice and

understanding while I completed this work.

I love you so much!

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

The dark figure prowled the barren moonlit streets moving swiftly toward a large Victorian house. Its black trench coat hung low, attempting to conceal an expensive tailored suit and fine Italian leather shoes. With each advancing step, rang the tapping ping of its silver-tipped cane. This was the night he would call upon a young man who had earned his attention.

The man stretched his hands out at his sides, the cane dangling from his fingertips, and the blue of his eyes ran black as he gazed up at an endless sea of darkness. "Pe de negura întunericului mă duc." His voice was reverent and commanding, brimming with authority. In the mystery of his power, the man collapsed into a milky white fog.

Gracefully the mist crept. In a snaking motion, it slithered over the old Victorian’s fresh cut lawn and pooled around the rose trusses. Plank by plank the milky substance worked its way up the side of the house and seeped through the cracks around the old eight paned window.

Inside, the fog twisted and twirled like a vortex, then vanished revealing a shadowy creature, standing in the darkest corner of the room, watching. A young man lay shivering, struggling to sleep in the bitter cold brought on by the creature’s presence. The creature watched the man’s chest rise and fall with each labored breath, listening to the sound of his beating heart thumping beneath his ribcage. It was almost musical. The creature sneered, glaring at its restless prey. "Dormi, it hissed. Swiftly, the young man drifted from a state of consciousness into the fray which lies somewhere in between. As the young man slept under the creature’s veil, it hissed a new command, Creştere," and its prey levitated off the bed in supine fashion.

The shadowy creature emerged from the darkness and silently approached the foot of the bed. In the moonlight, the creature had the appearance of a man, yet nothing quite human. It paused to study the young man’s features, then clasped his toes in its icy hands. As the creature eased its way toward the headboard, it ran its elongated fingernails along the man’s bare thigh, stomach, chest, and neck, finally caressing the contours of his face.

Hear me, the creature whispered. Its voice was soft, yet still, it rumbled the young man’s soul. Hear these words of truth and admonition. For in time, that which I divulge in this hour, you shall come to accept. For I have staked my claim on you. And it shall come to pass that you shall kneel at my feet and serve my purpose. Upon your rebirth, the uttering’s I make this night shall surface, baring the truth of what I am. The creature wrapped its long slender fingers around the young man’s head, almost cradling it. For I have always been with man’s head, almost cradling it. For I have always been with you. It is I who develops the deepest desires creeping through your mind. It is I who breeds your darkest emotions: anxiety, despair, fear, greed... lust. I’m the one you have been warned about all of your life, and I am here."

The creature’s whispers traveled through the young man’s mind with no means of escape. Instead, the menacing rant subjoined deep into the subconscious caverns of the man’s mind, settling with the many distressing dreams of his past. The creature leaned in close, examining the large pulsating artery along the man’s neck. As its razor-sharp fangs filled its mouth, a click came from the hallway. Someone turned on the light, its brightness breaking through the cracks around the door of the young man’s bedroom. The creature’s dark eyes cut hard over its broad shoulders.

The intrusion had thwarted his opportunity, driving him to anger. The creature scoffed in frustration as it flicked its fingers, sending the young man back to his mattress. Studying the light for a moment, the creature sneered as the shadow of two dark feet approached and stood silently in the light’s blinding beams. A hiss escaped the clinched razored teeth of the creature as it violently spun into a milky fog, swiftly slithering over and under the man’s bed, and back toward the window. Soon, the voice rumbled throughout the young man’s soul.

Soon...

SENT FOR

CHAPTER ONE

SENT FOR

I’ve laid in bed many nights staring at the ceiling. Sleep was elusive. The moment I’d start to drift the tiniest noise would snap me awake––the settling of the house, a perched owl outside my window, even the slow, steady drip from the shower head down the hall. It was a wonder I managed to be productive from day to day. However, I can honestly say, I felt fine. Even though my eyes carried the telltale signs of exhaustion, I managed.

The studio makeup specialist, Kaye, earned her paycheck covering up all the luggage I’ve been toting around. Though the hours were sometimes long and demanding, I loved being a reporter. I’ve worked extremely hard to deliver the best stories for our station. I knew exactly what my viewing audience wanted to hear and what the producers were looking for when I put a story together. Without a doubt, I could say I’ve succeeded where my predecessors before me have failed.

Come to think of it, I was reminded that I needed to speak to Craig. Craig Palmer was my boss. I had needed to speak to him for some time now about a raise. At a mere 24 years old, I was the youngest news anchor in Channel 9’s history and making a field reporter’s salary just didn’t cut it anymore. I needed the extra cash so I could get out of renting my one room apartment from Ms. White. Not that I hadn’t enjoyed a few of the benefits which came from staying there, but it was time for me to move into a real place. I knew once I was gone, I’d miss the homemade suppers she had been preparing for me. Every night she placed them outside my room on a covered antique tray, because by the time I’d get home, she would have long since gone to bed. Admittedly, though, I did get in a bit late. I couldn’t imagine how long she’d lived in the house, but it suited her well. By the style of her well-kept furniture, the discolored wallpaper, and the light scent of moth balls, it appeared as though she had lived here most of her life.

Ms. White had the only Victorian house left here on Edisto Island. All of the others had taken terrible beatings over the years from the many hurricane seasons. They fell apart one after another until they were all gone. I’ve been told the demise of the other old homes was in large part due to poor maintenance and repairs after the big storms had passed. But this house is and has been well loved and cared for. It wasn’t completely without its maintenance issues, but all together, I’d say it had been treated more like a home than a house. Over the years, Ms. White had collected a lot of noisy ticktocking clocks and porcelain knickknacks. And though I believed them to be somewhat tacky, it was obvious they were important to her. These delicately handcrafted figurines were carefully placed all over her large, well-kept home, and collectively they revealed the history of her life’s travels.

I’ve often been told time goes by quickly, and before you knew it, you’d find yourself sitting on the front porch wondering where your life had gone. I was sure Ms. White had faced this question by now. She had at the very least found herself at a crossroads in her life. I was sure she knew it was nearly time to take the cold, dark, and lonely journey into life’s void.

I grimaced at the very idea that one day I would have to face death. However, I also knew it was inevitable. Pondering over it had me realizing one day death would come to escort me into the icy blankness of its Neverland. The dark mystery of it all frightened me. It was the not knowing that bothered me the most, and yet knowing would have been a curse all on its own. No one knows when death will come. Yet one thing remains certain; it would definitely come for us all one day. With each passing hour, death creeps closer. I knew one day it would extend a crippling hand to gather me into its resting flock of souls. Perhaps in those few fleeting moments when death secured a new victim, its thirst was quenched. One could only hope so, but if that were true, it was true only for a moment.

Suddenly, I came back to myself and glanced over at the clock. It would soon be time to head to work, so I pushed the morbid thoughts out of my mind and shut my eyes. Slowly, I drifted off into a peaceful sleep, and as I began to enjoy the serenity of a short nap, it was interrupted by a frigid draft. The chill crept slowly into the room, finding its way up my arms. I reached down and pulled up my red fleece blanket which I kept at the foot of the bed. For whatever reason, the house always grew cold during witching hours of the night.

As I began to warm up, I slowly slipped into a peaceful sleep. It was only three and a half short hours later when the annoying sound of my alarm clock startled me into a new day. Its nettlesome buzz demanded my attention, and as I fumbled along its top for the mute button, I managed to knock it onto the floor.

It’s too early, I thought. Throwing the covers back, I forced myself into a sitting position. Expelling a deep yawn of exhaustion, I forced my feet onto the cold, hardwood floor. My alarm clock had been deliberately set to go off as late as possible. Even though getting out of bed a little later didn’t allow me time for breakfast, I would have rather had the few extra minutes of sleep. Besides, I wasn’t a breakfast person.

I only live a couple blocks from the Channel 9 station, and I always laid my clothes out the night before to save time. By having my tie already looped around my shirt collar, and a belt laced through my khaki trousers, I was able to get dressed at a record pace. I routinely laid them out in the same place, my old green leather recliner. I loved that chair. I bought it when I was a freshman in college. Much like Ms. White’s knickknacks, my recliner had become a relic of my past, and I was never going to get rid of it.

Being a reporter had its perks. Bee’s Diner always gave me a free soda anytime I stopped in for a bite, and I was recognized almost everywhere I went. It has its pluses and minuses. People––total strangers, most of them––stop me on the street, attempting to steal a few minutes of my time. And it didn’t matter where I was or what I was doing. The downside was never knowing when a story would break. One could break on my way home, in the middle of the night after I had finally fallen asleep, or while I was on a date––if I could ever get a date. I needed to be ready to go on a moments notice. After brushing my teeth, I put on my clothes and made my way to my scooter, parked by the back door.

It didn’t take long for me to get to the station. The feeling of the wind on my face and the faint smell of the honeysuckles in full bloom lifted my spirits. As I approached the security gate, Ed Grime, our night watchman, was there to let me in. He wasn’t your typical sleepy security guard. Nope, not Ed. He stayed on his toes with his pearl blue eyes constantly scanning to and fro. It was no wonder he always managed to raise the gate just as I pulled up.

Hey Ed, I shouted, coasting by.

With his voice barely carrying he shouted back, Morning, Chris!

Ed was a good guy that everybody liked. He was a retired butter and egg delivery man who worked at the Pruitt’s Farm for more than twenty years. Every morning he routinely delivered fresh butter, eggs, and milk to his local Hollywood, South Carolina customers. His route kept him busy tapping on doors and waving to children as they made their way to catch the school bus each morning. It was a part of history from days gone by, days that were long gone, yet in some small way, ones that continued to live through him. To simply state that Ed had a nostalgic aura about him would only discount his true genuine qualities. He had become a highly favored and trusted friend to all ages. Much like an adopted grandfather to his customers over the years, Ed had become a cornerstone not only to the Pruitt’s but to the community as well. Unfortunately, in the spring of last year, Ed suffered a heart attack and for health reasons was forced to retire. Now at 63, he kept a much slower pace by earning a paycheck as the Channel 9 night watchman.

I dropped the kickstand and padlocked the scooter to a conduit pipe located close to the back entrance. I quickly swiped my I.D. badge and went inside. As I stepped through the door, I said my usual, Good morning to the techs. Kaye, in her typical panic mode, waved me over. She was the station’s makeup artist. I was told once about an accident meteorologist, Bill Vassar, had. From what I understood, it left a pretty nasty scar along the right side of his face, but you’d never know it––not with Kaye around. She could work miracles with that makeup brush of hers. A swipe here and a swab there and, just like David Copperfield, his scars vanished. I often teased that she was the real magic behind his Statue of Liberty illusion performed back in April of 1983.

Chris, I swear you’re pushing it way too often, kiddo! Frustration poured from her well-made face as she rushed to apply the expensive cosmetics.

Calm down Kaye. I always make it, I retorted, casually.

One of these days you’re going to give me a breakdown, she insisted. Say, here’s a concept. Get here in time for me to put this makeup on your cute little face.

She ranted on sarcastically as she chipped away at my inconsiderate ways, never missing an opportunity to roll her eyes or head, but I was used to it by now. Getting chewed out by the makeup lady was a requirement before going on air at 4:00AM. Nevertheless, I was behind the anchor desk in time for the Channel 9 intro music, and I began reading the teleprompter to my own disbelief. The morning’s top story was news even to me!

"Good morning, Edisto. And now, today’s top story at five. A Charleston County law enforcement officer was found to be in critical condition late last night. Chief Deputy Mike Garner was located behind Oliver’s Laundromat on Highway 174 here on Edisto Island. Paramedics were dispatched to the location of the incident after an anonymous ‘911’ call was placed at 11:45PM.

Chief Deputy Garner was rushed to Parkside General Hospital in cardiac arrest. The Paramedics along with the Parkside’s emergency medical response team were able to revive Chief Deputy Garner. He is currently listed in critical condition in the cardiac intensive care unit at Parkside Hospital.

Charleston County Sheriff, Steven Tully, says it was the anonymous call by a concerned citizen that actually saved the Chief Deputy’s life. Someone placed the ‘911’ call from one of the only remaining payphones and reported seeing the officer lying on the ground in front of his patrol car. Chief Deputy Garner has been patrolling the island for more than 8 years. He has received multiple commendations from the sheriff’s department, including last year’s, ‘Law Enforcement Officer of The Year.’ Chief Garner received this award after pulling a three-year-old child from a house fire in early September last year. It’s not clear whether the chief is expected to make a complete recovery.

On a personal note, I’d like to add that I, along with many other members of Channel 9, have had the privilege to know Chief Garner personally. He is truly a good and decent public servant. Our prayers and support go out to the Garner family.

Up next on the island news, Black Mold. Is your household at risk? We’ll be back with some staggering statistics. Stay with us."

By seven o’clock, I had completed my morning on-air responsibilities. Shortly after, David Morgan approached me by the soda machine. David was the station runner or gopher. He worked for Ramona Pierce, who happened to be the personal assistant/secretary to the big boss himself, Chandler Preston.

Ah, Chris, Mr. Preston wants to see you in his office straight away, said David.

David always delivered the worst messages, and in part, that was one of the reasons that no one truly cared for him. Everyone knew he was a rat, a hired spy, or snitch. He enjoyed hanging around the water cooler, picking up on bits and pieces of private conversations. As soon as the little weasel overheard anything worth mentioning, he would scurry upstairs to Ramona, practically gushing to tell her everything he possibly could. If there ever were a thing such as karma, I’d love to be in the room when he got his overdue introduction.

David handed off a passkey which gave me access to the top floor. In my opinion, this business about needing an access key was only one of many