Bone Valley Vampires: A Dark Coast Tale

By Michael J.P. Whitmer

Sebastian, a seminary school dropout, returns to his hometown of Dark Hills, Florida, to find his estranged brother, Elijah, who is obsessed with blaming the prominent Meszaros family for the murder of his parents, seven years prior. He claims they are vampires, but his quest for proof leads him down a dark path from which there is no salvation. Sebastian had given his grief to God, but his faith is put to the test as he and Elijah’s allies are hunted by biker-ghouls and shadow creatures, spawns of the Bone Valley Vampires, bent on protecting their bloodthirsty lifestyle. Orchestrating the murder and mayhem, an ancient evil lies entombed in the phosphate bed beneath a reclaimed open-pit mine, plotting its resurrection to again enslave humanity for its blood sustenance. The brothers, once torn apart by grief, are now bound by opposing light and dark forces to do battle against the vampire god, Neferkare, and save the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TWB Press
• Release date: Apr 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9781959768388

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Bone Valley Vampires

A Dark Coast Tale

By

Michael J.P. Whitmer

Copyright by Michael J.P. Whitmer 2024

Published by TWB Press at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this story (e-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 written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or book reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Edited by Terry Wright

Cover Art by Michael J.P. Whitmer

ISBN: 978-1-959768-38-8

Dedication

To my sister Tammy... 'I love my Teddy Bear.'

Prologue

The Gilded Age saw the industrialization of America during the late 1800s. It was a time of material excess eked from the land by the wealthy elite who exploited the working class. Bone Valley, in the heart of the Dark Coast, offered jobs and lucrative opportunities in the profitable phosphate mining industry.

The Meszaros family established holdings early on, and built a mansion as testament to their mining success. It shined like a jewel among the open-pits and overburden mounds that dotted a landscape of sand and longleaf pine forests. Meszaros Manor rose three stories high, gothic and horseshoe-shaped, a staple of Spanish Renaissance design that Florida would become known for, as many of their ruins littered the landscape up and down the Dark Coast.

On a windy, humid summer day in 1890, a mineworker garbed in dusty gray overalls, rushed in through the front double doors, where servants moved through the halls. Above them, stained glass windows beamed down a kaleidoscope of colors from a grand vaulted ceiling. The mineworker, a supervisor who went by the name of Striker, stopped to assess his next move. His face was flush with excitement, and the Florida heat and humidity hung heavily on his brow.

From somewhere deep in the mansion, a man’s angry voice reverberated throughout the halls and chambers. Damn the lot of them. Damn them, I say.

Striker hurried toward the commotion from which the servants ran and halted at the doorway to the study just in time to see a wine glass shatter on the floor, tossed by his very angry boss. Peter Meszaros stood tall in front of a blazing hearth, wearing a slim coat, black vest, a white shirt with ruffled cuffs, and an untied bowtie dangled from his collar. Elizabeth sat in a deeply cushioned chair. Her dollish face radiated a regal beauty enhanced by piercing gray eyes and pouty lips. Her long blond hair appeared more silky smooth than the pearly white Empire evening gown she wore.

They promised us, Peter shouted. If we sold them our coastline property up north, they’d invest in our mining company. Turn our fledgling town into the Big Apple of the South. But what are they doing instead? Building hotels and railroads along the coastal keys in a more tropical climate. He tossed an official-looking parchment into the fireplace.

Mute, Elizabeth watched it burn.

He turned to her with a bewildered look, as if perplexed at his sister’s silence on the matter. Did you not hear what I said? Flagler and Rockefeller will not be investing in our future.

She curled up in the chair and stared at her brother with a serious glare. I don’t care about their promises. You promised me a child, and that this humid Florida climate would offer a cure for our infertility. Get our blood pumping, you said.

I’m sorry, my dearest. Peter dropped to his knees at Elizabeth’s chair, took her hands in his. You’re right. I have forgotten what is most precious to you. He planted butterfly kisses on the back of her hand, a true prince to his unholy maiden. We will find a child, perhaps dozens, to fill this room with joyous laughter.

Striker coughed. Suddenly aware of his mistake, he immediately tore his gaze away from the sight of the siblings’ affections and turned his back to the door. In the past, those who had witnessed improprieties between the twins had their eyes gouged out. In the eyes of God, incest was not only a sin, but a fast track to the fires of Hell.

Peter shot to his feet and straightened his coat. What is it, Striker? Barging in like a wild animal. Your intrusion had better be important.

Mr. Meszaros...I apologize, sir. You told me to tell you at once if we found anything while digging.

So out with it, dolt. What did you find?

The man shuddered. A tomb.

#

Striker led Peter and Elizabeth to the open-pit mine. They stood on the lip of an overburden mound, the sand his men had stripped away to expose the ancient formation of phosphate some thirty feet down. There, a gaping hole had been dug into the phosphate. Metal tracks ran vertically from the hole and across the bottom of the open pit, and rails extended up the steeply sloped side to the rim where a primitive pulley system was rigged to haul up phosphate-laden carts from the mine and shuttle a crude lift for the miners. It took a hundred men to work this site, but none were visible.

Striker gasped. Dear Lord. Where is everyone? He scrambled down the rails while Peter and Elizabeth took the shuttle lift.

At the edge of the hole, twenty yards across and eighty feet deep, Striker shouted down, Hello.

Only his voice echoed back.

At the bottom, in the flickering glow of lanterns, wheelbarrows filled with broken rock were left unmanned, picks and shovels lay scattered amidst piles of rubble. And something else lay down there, which to Striker looked beyond morbid and macabre. Body parts?

He climbed down the vertical rail. Halfway down, the air thickened with the sulfuric odor of dislodged phosphate and gypsum residues.

At the bottom, hell had been unearthed. The mining crew had been torn to pieces. Heads were missing from torsos as though they had been bitten off and devoured. The remains were pale as if drained of blood, but the sand and bedrock had not been stained.

The lift rattled to a stop.

Striker fell to his knees. A hundred souls have been lost.

Elizabeth screamed.

Peter turned her away from the slaughter. I told you not to come, my love.

Like I-I said... She shuddered in his embrace. I wanted to be here...to see if this so-called tomb might hold riches from Florida’s past tribal royalty. We’d no longer need investors.

He stroked her shoulder. The indigenous tribes were poor and simple people. Whatever did this is pure evil.

Peter turned to stare at the monolithic entrance to the tomb the men had unearthed. A stone slab had been moved aside with shovels and rope. Carved stone images guarded the dark maw: devilish creatures with the limbs of a man, pincer insects, and dogs with pointed ears. The craftsmanship and artistry had a Greek look to it, Athenian, Early Middle Ages, yet tribal the way crosshatches in the figures were etched.

On the ground lay a talk-battery box used to communicate with crews on the surface, however, the wire to its companion box ran across the phosphate and into the tomb, as if miners had used it to report back as they ventured in to explore.

Striker grabbed a lantern, held it up, and entered the darkness, following the wire line. Hello. Is anybody in here?

Peter stood by as the blackness of the tomb swallowed the man, leaving nothing but the ball of light from his lantern, which shrank until it vanished from sight. Why did he do that? He turned to Elizabeth who was looking on unblinkingly at the massacre around her. Elizabeth, you must get out of here.

She merely gazed at him with disturbed admiration.

A crackling came from the talk battery on the ground.

Peter bent down and grabbed the receiver. Hello? Striker. Can you hear me? Get out of there at once.

Peter hoped he was speaking to Striker on the other end, but the man came stumbling out of the darkness, clutching his throat as if trying to stem the flow of gushing blood. He collapsed at the threshold of the tomb. Neferkare. He choked, gagged, and fell silent.

Shock stole the twins’ voices. There was a long silence, hardly a breath taken...until the talk battery emitted a voice: a deep, dead, gelatinous, cold, inhuman, disembodied voice that uttered a command, Peter...Elizabeth...Meszaros, join me.

Peter, somehow entranced and not in control of his own thoughts, walked toward the dark void, as did Elizabeth, holding his hand.

Chapter 1

Dark Hills – Founded 1902 – Population 9,032

Static...

Quade, a passing motorist called about a breakdown on Highway 630 near Bone Valley ATV. You want to check it out? Dispatch came through with background crackle on the police radio mounted to the Harley-Davidson. Daniel Quade was new to the Dark Hills force, but he’d descended from a family of lawmen. It was in his DNA to rush toward danger. His dad always said, We Quades were born to serve the greater good.

Dispatch. I'm on it. He tightened the strap on his helmet and accelerated the Harley into the night, toward Bone Valley and into Lord only knows what. The Dark Coast was known for gruesome crimes, murders, missing children, an occasional body dump site. He hoped some poor guy had simply run out of gas.

When he arrived on the scene, he dropped the kickstand behind a Mercedes 450 sedan parked on the shoulder and flipped on his emergency lights. There was no one around. The car’s dome light was aglow, the passenger door hung open, and someone was in the driver’s seat. He dismounted the bike and approached the car where he touched the rear taillight and felt a vibration from the engine. It wasn’t out of gas.

He walked to the driver’s open window and discovered a man slumped against the steering wheel...covered in blood. A crater in his neck looked like an animal had torn out a chunk of flesh. Florida panther? His body took a hot jolt of adrenaline. He drew his revolver and flashlight from his utility belt and scanned the tree line, fearing the panther was lurking in the shadows. His wired nerves made the flashlight beam quiver. He hovered his finger over the trigger, but nothing stirred. Another look into the car...a purse lay on the seat, abandoned as if a woman had suddenly fled into the brush.

He sprinted back to his bike and grasped the mike. Dispatch, Quade. Send backup. I’ve got one fatality. His instinct to run toward danger was yelling, get going. I’ll be 10-20 in the bush.

Chief says wait for backup.

There’s no time. Out.

He stalked off into the darkness, sweeping the flashlight back and forth, his heart beating hard, expecting a wild animal to jump at him any moment, but he had to serve the greater good.

Those words are going to get me killed.

He followed a trail of trampled Bahia grass through the woods until he came to an open-pit mine. Under the dim halo of a perimeter light, he saw the woman he’d been tracking, her dress tattered to shreds, her limp body in the clutches of an unearthly creature, skeletal, pale, its head more mouth than face as it bit the woman’s neck. Her head lolled back, hair hanging, as she uttered a mere whimper. Glazed wide eyes stared into the night, either from shock or total submission.

Quade fought to hold his urine. His stomach knotted. Never before had fear taken such a tight hold on his throat. He leveled his revolver on the beast, or whatever abomination... Let her go.

The bloodsucker’s head jerked up from the woman’s gushing neck, its fangs dripping as its eyes, deep pools of crimson menace, now focused on him. Its stare sent a shock down to his soul, freezing him in place while the creature returned to feeding on the woman.

He pulled the trigger, no...tried to pull the trigger, but his finger wouldn’t obey. Stop. Get on the ground... but no sound came from his voice. What is happening to me?

The beast tossed the woman’s body to the ground with no more care than a banana peel.

Quade managed to get off a shot...and another, and a third. The beast didn’t flinch, just screeched at him, then bounded off into the dark woods.

What the holy hell...

Childish laughter came from behind him. He turned, swept the beam, which found a group of kids emerging from the bushes. They were skin and bones and stared at him with red glowing eyes. They wore tattered clothes, shirts, shorts, dresses, all soiled as if they’d been crawling on the ground. Their faces were pale, skin flaking, lips chapped, dark