The Angel of the Abyss

  The Angel of the Abyss

  Publisher’s Note:

  This book is published in Australia.

  For authenticity and voice, we have kept the style of US English suited to the author and setting.

  We have, however, changed dashes and dialogue marks to our standard format for ease of understanding.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction.

  All people, places, events, demons, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The Angel of the Abyss

  A Jake Hatcher Novel

  Hank Schwaeble

  The Angel of the Abyss

  © Hank Schwaeble

  Cover Art © Dean Samed 2016

  Internal Layout by Geoff Brown

  Set in Palatino Linotype

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

  Cohesion Press

  Mayday Hills Lunatic Asylum

  Beechworth, Australia

  www.cohesionpress.com

  Chapter 1

  None of the three escorting Hatcher and the spry older woman through the holler beneath the waxing October moon looked all that bright, but each made up for it by being extra-large and then some. The smallest was probably six-four, maybe two-ninety, the biggest a good thirty pounds more than that. To top it off, each also had that stiff gait, weight a bit forward, shoulders rolling; the kind of body language Hatcher associated with guys who wanted everyone who saw them to know they were comfortable with violence.

  And considering the circumstances, that suited him just fine.

  “It's not too much farther,” the woman said. She was short and hunched, and in her semi-crouch managed to move through the woods like she was part whitetail. Hatcher took her to be in her late fifties, maybe early sixties, a bit worn; brittle, graying hair mismatched against a sinewy build that seemed brimming with energy. She carried a lantern in front of her but didn't seem to need it. She planted each step quickly and without looking.

  He tried to remember her name. Something Kermit, that much he knew. Ethyl Kermit, maybe. Or Edna. He'd written it on the check he'd sent, so he felt rather dumb being unable to recall it now. She'd introduced her three sons, but those names didn't stick, either. The last name was definitely Kermit, though. That was the name the locals talked about, the one those websites mentioned. The one connected to the legends.

  Legends. He didn't give one damn about them, no matter how much they played them up. He wasn't there for the stories, and he wouldn't be interested at all if it wasn't for Vivian. What he wanted were some answers. And one way or another, he was going to get them.

  The woman stopped and held up a hand. She raised the lantern and paused before turning to look back at the rest of them. The nearest son drew close while she whispered something to him. He nodded then scuttled ahead into the darkness, cutting through it with a flashlight.

  “Horace is going on ahead to make sure it's safe.”

  “Why wouldn't it be safe?”

  The woman hitched her brow and tilted her head but said nothing.

  They stood like that, listening to the trilling and chirping of the holler for an awkward stretch of moments, then Hatcher said, “How old is she? Your daughter, I mean.”

  “Nineteen. She's the baby of the family. My little girl.”

  “And she's… what, a witch? I'm still fuzzy on that point.”

  “No, it's her great, great grandma was the witch. She's just inherited the dark sight.”

  “The dark sight. Right.”

  “You don't believe.”

  “I don't believe most of the stuff I can see, taste or smell, let alone hear, so don't take it personally. What do you care, as long as the check cleared?”

  One of the sons took a step forward at that, hands balled, eyes animated. The woman held an arm out to the side, stopping him. Her palm ended up barely above his navel, given the difference in height. Her hand pressed in a bit against the t-shirt. The boy was tall and wide, but a bit soft around the middle. Hatcher took note.

  “Now, Dunham, I'm sure Mr Hatcher didn't mean any offense. He's just not from around here, is all.”

  Thank you, Dunham, Hatcher thought. You just told me one thing I wanted to know.

  “Dunham here's quite protective of his mama. But it's Grady there you don't want to mess with. He tends to let his fists do the talking, much as I used to whip him for it.”

  Hatcher looked at the son she'd nodded toward. Grady stiffened his back and twisted his mouth into the frown of a twelve-year old. He was bigger than the others, bigger even than Dunham who was being stroked on his arm by his mother like a family pet being calmed. Of the two, Grady may have also been in better shape, better muscle-to-fat ratio, but it was hard to tell in the uneven light of the lantern.

  “Horace, Dunham and Grady,” Hatcher said. “You could form a law firm.”

  “Ha!” Dunham said. “Don't see how. Ain't none of us lawyers.”

  Before Hatcher could convey his surprise, movement sounded from the direction they'd been headed, rustling and snapping and crinkling. A circle of light appeared, bobbing through the brush.

  “Good to go,” a voice said in a stage whisper so loud Hatcher wondered what the point of whispering was at all.

  The woman hoisted the lantern and resumed the path, negotiating branches and bushes and fallen limbs without much hesitation. Hatcher followed at a slower pace, having to watch his step and occasionally getting his foot caught beneath a log or on a vine. He counted five slaps to his neck, only one confirmed kill. After about ten minutes they emerged into a clearing in front of a steep, rocky hill. At the base of the hill was a large opening, wider than it was tall. It made the hill look like a yawning whale.

  “You keep your daughter in a cave?”

  “We're not animals, Mr Hatcher. She's only there for her own protection. That she was born a vessel is not her fault. But there are people in this county who would see her burn, just as they burned her great, great grandmother.”

  Hatcher nodded. He knew the story. Local lore told of a witch immolated in the village square by early settlers of what later came to be known as Cobbler's Hollow, Kentucky. Two children had disappeared and all suspicion had immediately fallen on her, with swift results. But knowing the story and knowing what to believe were two different things.

  “Yes,” she continued, “it is Jesse-Beth's burden to bear. But if she truly can communicate with those voices of perdition, we decided it is only right she use that power for good. Let people know if their loved ones have been consigned to Fire Lake or, as they surely hope, not. And, of course, to help spread faith in God's word, give people a reason to avoid a life of sin. Use the Devil's own words to keep people from his clutches, I say.”

  “For a fee,” Hatcher said.

  “We all must eat, Mr Hatcher. If I had my way, I'd eliminate the need for filthy lucre altogether. But sometimes we must accept the world the way it is, not the way we'd like it.”

  A second later she added: “Speaking of the fee, about the remainder... I trust you brought cash, as agreed.”

  “And I'll hand it to you as soon as I get what we bargained for.”

  “I'm sure you'll be quite satisfied, Mr Hatcher. Quite satisfied.”

  The woman dipped
her head toward Horace, and he picked up a wooden torch that was propped near the mouth of the cave. He pulled out a lighter and set it ablaze, handed it to one of his brothers. Then he lit another.

  “I have to warn you, Mr Hatcher – not many have ever lasted more than a few minutes. Some of the things you are about to gaze upon might forever change you.”

  “I can only hope. But I doubt it.”

  “Oh, I can see you are a hardy soul. But I must ask, for your own safety and ours, that you do exactly as I say. We have yet to lose anyone, but there have been times...”

  She shrugged as if there was nothing more to say on the subject, then stepped toward the cave. “Jesse-Beth! Jesse-Beth, baby! We're coming in! Don't be afraid!”

  The woman moved into the mouth, lantern high. Hatcher felt a prod in his back urging him forward, glanced to see it was Dunham. Horace and Grady fell in place, one to each side, wielding the torches above their heads. They stared at him like school kids waiting on the outcome of a triple-dog dare.

  He entered the cave. The cool air thickened with an earthy, humid scent. The acoustics changed within the first few steps. Hatcher could hear his footfalls echo, the damp background hum of moist walls, the occasional sound of dripping. The Kermit woman was stopping every few steps to look over her shoulder, beckoning him to follow.

  The floor of the cave rose a few yards in and Hatcher had to stoop. Then the ground dipped and the space opened up into a cavern the size of a small amphitheater. Mrs Kermit waited at the threshold so he could join her. She turned a knob on her lantern until the glow of the wick receded. A pair of mounted torches guttered against the far wall creating a dance hall of shadows, shapes twitching and bouncing and shaking.

  But not all the shadows danced.

  One slumped motionless, off to the right, just out of reach of the lambent incandescence, a faint silhouette in the darkness.

  “Horace!” The woman gestured toward the figure, and her son stepped forward with his torch, raising it above his head.

  A wash of yellow fluttered over the shape, and Hatcher could see it was a woman. A girl, actually. With long, thick curls of bright, almost beet-colored hair and pale skin. She sat on her haunches, arms hugging her shins. Her eyes, glistening ice blue in the glow of the flame, peered over her knees.

  “She's naked,” Hatcher said.

  The older woman next to him sighed. “I must apologize for that. Unfortunately, we cannot keep her clothed during any of these sessions. She has shredded every article of dress we have attempted, right down to her unmentionables.”

  He looked at the girl. “How is this supposed to work?”

  “There are places on this Earth where the forces of darkness are closest to our own world, where the spiritual ocean separating the two narrows to but a tiny strait.”

  “And this, I'm supposed to believe, is one of them?”

  “Folks believe whatever they want, so I don't see why you'd be any different. This place is unhallowed ground, Mr Hatcher. There is a reason it has the reputation it does among the local natives of every color and creed. It is said Mohawk Indians used to perform human sacrifices here when they passed through the region on their hunting trips, filling the space with tobacco smoke to protect themselves while they ate the flesh of their victim to absorb its power. Did you know the word 'Kentucky' was born of the white man's tongue attempting to pronounce the Iroquois word for the area?”

  “Can't say I did.”

  “And it's not just the Indians. It was the evil of this place that drew Morgana Kermit to this spot, the place of her infamous deeds that cursed our poor Jesse-Beth. Just as that same evil drew the McMillan family as recently as the 1930s when they sacrificed their mother in a burnt offering after strangling her with a chain. They say the evil was so thick from their conjuring they were able to turn grapevine stalks into writhing snakes and water into blood, blood they proceeded to drink from hollowed-out skulls they found already here, waiting for them, placed at the tips of a pentagram.”

  Hatcher panned his gaze across the cavern. “I guess the place was under different management back then.”

  “You can be flip all you want, Mr Hatcher. But no one has ever asked for a refund. I trust you won't either. You wanted to know how this works. You stand out in the middle and stay there, go no closer. My boys and me, we shall turn our backs, for we cannot look upon this evil, no matter what happens, no matter what we hear, we cannot, will not, look. In fact, we will be humming to ourselves so that the evil cannot even invade through our ears. When it is done, you let us know you are ready to go, and we will walk you out, same way we came.”

  “That's it?”

  “Yes. Of course, it is expected that I receive payment of the balance agreed upon at that time.”

  “Of course. And what, exactly, happens while your back is turned?”

  The woman spread her lips into a flat grin. “That is different for everyone, Mr Hatcher. For some…” she shrugged, “it's over quickly. Seconds, and they leave with a stunned expression, pale and trembling. For others, whatever happens goes on for a longer time and then they are anxious to depart as quickly as possible. But either way, no one ever dares utter a word about it, I can assure you.”

  Hatcher rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger then walked toward the middle of the cavern. The woman nodded to her boys and they all took positions in a semicircle as far away from him and the girl as possible. Then they turned their backs on them both.

  Several seconds passed in silence, nothing but the swollen sound of dead air and the barely audible hiss of torch flames.

  I've been waiting for you.

  It was a gurgled voice, feminine but unnaturally deep. It reverberated gently off the walls, almost liquid in his ears.

  “Well, it was a long drive.”

  A movement in the darkness, a shifting of weight.

  You have questions.

  “The biggest one being, is this where I can get some answers?”

  I am full of answers, Jacob. Come closer, let me whisper them to you.

  “I can hear you just fine from here. Thanks.”

  The shadow rose and Hatcher could see the nubile shape of a woman. She didn't seem quite so young now that she was standing.

  But I so want to share my secrets with you.

  A demure hand emerged into the light, reaching for him. White fingers, red nail polish. He could detect a mix of perfume and the body scents of a woman wafting over as she moved.

  “I don't think so.”

  The dark form stayed that way, hand out, body in shadow. Hatcher looked at the hand, then into the shadow, then at the hand again. He started to take a half-step forward, barely.

  The shape exploded toward him, into the light, hissing loudly, teeth bared. Hatcher drew back just enough. The hand grabbed for him, fanning the air near his chest.

  It was definitely a woman, no question about that. She was alabaster and freckly with aqua-blue eyes wide and round as a bug's. And just as naked. Her breasts swung freely as she stretched into a lean, reaching that arm. Plump, swollen breasts with large pink nipples, an hour-glass figure. A shorn patch of red hair terminated at a ruddy pair of lips between her legs.

  The bottom half of her face, however, was distinctly non-human.

  Starting near her cheeks, her skin turned a pale shade of green, with descending layers of scales. Crescent-shaped slits, three on each side, overlapped each other like gills. The line of her upper lip extended beyond the edges of her mouth into a pair of catfish whiskers. Three jagged teeth separated two curved fangs that curled down to her chin. A serpentine tongue complete with a forked end tentacled in the air as she lunged again and again and again, making loud guttural noises.

  Hatcher leaned a bit to the side for a better view. Nothing but shadow behind her, but he could see her other arm was in a manacle attached to
a heavy chain. The woman's free hand continued to swat and scratch the air.

  “Wouldn't I have felt stupid,” Hatcher said.

  After a few more tugs and swipes, the girl pulled back into the darkness. A combination of grunts and howls, then quiet, followed by sobs.

  “Am I supposed to ask if you're all right?”

  More sobbing, some sniffles. “I'm cold.”

  “I'll get your mother.”

  “No! It will come back if you do. He'll come back. It's let me go, for now. It wants me to talk to you.”

  “I'll bet.”

  “It does this. It likes to let me go sometimes, to watch me.”

  “Do your Facebook friends know about this?”

  “Please...” The woman padded slowly, one step, then another, into the light. Her face was different now, normal. A pretty face, looking girlish under that wild mane of red curls. Instead of clawing for him, her free hand was covering one breast, her forearm crossed in front of the other.

  “I really am cold,” she said. “Won't you come hold me? You'll know if it comes back. I'll tell you. There'll be time. It takes a minute, and there are signs. There'll be plenty of time.”

  The woman's arm slid down a bit, her tit peeking out from behind. She held Hatcher's gaze and blinked, then let her other breast go and extended her hand.

  “Don't make me beg. It's been so long since anyone has shown me any warmth, touched me with any gentleness.”

  Hatcher glanced to the side, caught heads turning back, pretending they'd never looked.

  “I'm pretty sure that's about as far from the truth a statement can get before it starts to come back full circle.”

  The young woman stood there looking confused for a moment, then she threw her head back and started to convulse. Her body shuddered several times in a fit of spasms. She disappeared with a jerk, falling back into the shadows.

  One agonizing word screamed out of the darkness: “RUN!”

  Moans and groans turned to growls and grunts. Hatcher started to take a step closer and she lunged, her face back to being scaled and gilled. She slashed her free arm back and forth, snarling at him.