Darkness Awakens Read online

  Darkness Awakens

  Written by

  Kari Chaplin

  Illustrated by: Karen Baxter with Charles Baxter

  Cover Design by: Gant Thompson

  Copyright © 2016 Kari Chaplin

  All rights reserved.

  Dedication

  For my dad, Charlie,

  The thank you list is never ending. Thank you for always choosing us. Thank you for choosing us in the first place. I remember very clearly the minute I met you, I knew that you were meant to be a part of our family. You were supposed to be our dad. You are a great dad. You and Mathew made our family complete. Thank you for everything you have done for me and all of the life lessons you have taught me. You have always been a strong influence in molding me into the person I am today. Thank you for your patience and love. Thank you for family date nights, building our first car to share, and then my own car. That car is still my favorite car. Thank you for pushing the publication of this book. Thank you for always being proud of me and believing in me. I cannot thank you enough for being you and choosing to be our dad. I love you more than you will ever know. It brings me great pain to write this next and final thought about the man I call my dad. You are deeply and perpetually missed.

  Acknowledgements

  I have many people to acknowledge and thank for the completion of this book. I want to thank my mother, Karen. She has been my rock behind this project from the beginning. She has helped with editing along the way and the illustration. My mom has encouraged me to complete this book and begged me to publish it from the time she first read the partial draft. I need to thank my dad, Charlie; he pushed me to publish this book. Next, I would like to thank my super awesome friends, Jessy Yaeggy and Sharon Mullins, for reading it a million times and always excited to read it again. Thank you both for contributing to the editing process and the many other things you have done to help make this book possible. My husband, Heyward, deserves a much needed thank you. He had helped me in so many ways, even when I interrupted football games. Last, but not least, thank you, Whitney Vaughn, for her contribution to the illustration, even though her lovely mother “lost” it and I was not able to use it for this book. Maybe next time you won’t lose it, Jessy! Last, but not least, Kari (Kari) Simon deserves to be added to this list. Thank you for seeing all of the small things.

  Illustrated by: Karen Baxter with Charles Baxter

  “Your dreams are the playground for your soul.”

  -Charles Baxter

  Timber

  November 1647

  She awoke in a daze on the cold, sodden ground. The clouds were deep gray, almost black, releasing a grim feeling into the air. The ambiance around her resembled twilight; nevertheless, she couldn’t be sure it was even that late in the day. Freezing rain poured from the sky. Mud entangled her long, fiery red hair and tousled locks clung to her back. An angry man towered over Timber. “I’m waiting,” he said with faux patience.

  “Where am I?” she inquired. The pain in her head was much too fierce to think. Pain intensified with each slight breath.

  “Timber, stop acting imprudently.” The man grabbed his hair in frustration, pulling out short strands of black hair. Even angry, he was beautiful. “Answer my question.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks as she sobbed.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he growled with a deepened Irish accent.

  Timber’s already racing heart pounded faster as panic consumed her. “I don’t know.”

  He drew her toward him, grabbing the torn material that was once her shirt. “Sure you do. Think.”

  “I don’t know. What do you want from me?” Her crying was more frenzied.

  “Your mother,” he growled, pulling at his hair.

  “My mom?” Timber glanced down at the blood on her body. She felt tender and fragile, like glass.

  “Where is your mother?” He reiterated his anger through violence, leaving her once strong body frail.

  “My mom is dead.” Those words cut deep.

  “Don’t you know, little girl?”

  “Don’t I know?” Timber bellowed.

  His laugh was menacing. “Death is no obstacle for your mother, I assure you.”

  “Please, leave me alone,” Timber begged, ignoring his words.

  “You see, I cannot do that. Your light-fingered mum filched something of paramount importance.” The tone of his voice softened. “I just want it back.” His words were tranquil, almost hypnotic.

  “I wouldn’t know. My mom didn’t tell me such things.”

  “I don’t believe you.” The glint in his eyes was undeniable evil as a jagged edge knife rose above his head. She watched, fear-stricken, as his anger and hatred surged toward her.

  A sudden rush of wind sent strands of Timber’s hair flying into the air. Instantly, protection and safety washed over her, melting the incapacitating fear. Pain flowed out of her body like warm, golden honey. He approached her aggressor and spoke to him in a hushed whisper. She could not hear words, but his tone was obvious. His frame shook with wrath.

  “I’ll get what is mine if it takes me a thousand years. Or I will get my vengeance.”

  “I will be waiting,” her hero replied.

  The girl's punisher vanished into thin air.

  “What was that?” she cried.

  Her savior slowly and carefully slid one arm under her knees and the other under her feeble neck, lifting her limp body carefully from the cold, wet ground.

  “You are safe now.”

  Her consciousness faded into oblivion.

  Undisclosed Location

  September- Current Year

  “I have a job for you.” The voice in the shadow sounded different somehow.

  “Who?”

  “The deadline is March,” the voice continued.

  “The origin of this request is a matter of conjecture,” the assassin observed.

  “That is a correct assumption.” Having a deeper undertone, the voice was most certainly different. Nevertheless, it made no difference. He would not ordinarily accept orders from anyone, but he owed a few favors to more people than this assassin could count. He would complete the job.

  “Why this mark?”

  “I am not at liberty to answer the question.”

  “Are there any ties?” the assassin asked as he always had, knowing the answer is the same.

  “Ties?” the voice asked in forced surprise. Not bothering to mask his boredom.

  “You know exactly the correlation to which I am referring.” He permitted a very calculated expression of discontentment to creep onto his impassive face.

  There was no reply. He waited in the still of the darkness, not sure a response would bless the conversation. Although he was hoping for an answer, it did not mean he would give this stranger the satisfaction of asking again.

  The voice finally boomed from the pitch-black air. “The agreement, if you will, is the same. You acquiesced to eradicate all threats.”

  The answer was always the same, but he had to ask. He couldn’t disregard the consequences. Too much was at stake.

  “Who is it? Where do I need to go?” His rejoinder was mechanical.

  “We will be in touch.”

  Chadwick, Oklahoma

  Current Day

  He walked into my life and hit me like a freight train. One day my life was normal. The next… Completely upside down. My story began a few weeks before Halloween. It was a “usual” night for me. I should have had the night off, but Mandy called in, again. She called in at least once a week, so as I said “usual.”

  Driving through town, I noticed the town’s maintenance crew had been hard at work decorating for the upcoming, unavoidable holiday. I had the awesome pleasure of cruis
ing by horrifically bloody creatures frozen in battle suspended above Main Street. The hanging monstrosities hung low enough to give the effect of the passing cars amidst fighting demons, and each was bloodier than the last. The last few were so grotesquely bloody that liquid dripped onto my car. Now, that was scary and gross. You would think tourists would not want to come back, but they did. They came back in droves year after year.

  The street, lamp posts, and businesses running along the main strip were all very neatly outlined with lights that sparkled red, orange and black. Glistening spider webs housing gigantic, colorful spiders were strung from buildings. “Of course, it wouldn’t be completed without holy wars,” I said, noticing angels and demons were at it in the lit-up alleys. The decorative lights gave off the appearance of daytime all night long, lighting my way all through town.

  “Ah, watch out! You might run into zombies on your walk to lunch,” I mockingly said to no one, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of it all.

  Rob, our local city maintenance engineer, always began planning for the holidays a year in advance. Christmas would be more overdone than this spectacle. I loved Christmas, so that was just fine by me. It’s a nice holiday, not ridiculous like Halloween. Rob was a cool guy. He had always been one of my most frequent customers.

  I pulled up in Myra’s driveway to see her waiting for me on the porch. Myra was my best friend. Our relationship began forming at birth. I have invariably found that very few people are worth my time. I don’t date much, either; never have. Some people say that I am too picky when it comes to dating, but I say that I’m not picky enough.

  “What took you so long?” she asked, opening the car door.

  “I had to be careful not to run into the dead.” I rolled my eyes, again, at the outlandish decorations.

  She laughed, “Yeah, isn’t it awesome this year.”

  “It gets worse every year,” I retorted.

  “What! You mean to say that you don’t love running into vampires and zombies?” she replied, feigning shock. “It gets better every year. I love it,” she sang.

  “Yes, I’m well aware.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Why do you hate Halloween so much?”

  “Hm,” I paused to try to remember. “I don’t know. Halloween is freaky.” I shuttered. “Rob doesn’t help any.”

  Myra laughed. “He does love tricks over treats.”

  I groaned. My distaste is well known.

  By the time we arrived at the bar, the sun had completely set. The bar was far enough outside of town that the Halloween decorations had stopped lighting our way miles ago. Once we turned into the parking lot, we had to rely on the trusty old normal lighting that lit up the parking lot.

  “Perfect, the street lights just blew out,” I said, noticing the immediate dimness. We ran inside and reported the outage. “I’m sure Rob will be in later and will call it in,” I told Alex, the employee assigned to check ID at the entrance. “Make sure you let Joe know, please.”

  We headed to clock in. “Let’s make some money. Mama needs a new duvet.”

  Myra laughed. “Didn’t you just buy a new duvet? I need a new pair of shoes.”

  “Didn’t you just buy new shoes?”

  “Touché.”

  The night started off slow but picked up around ten. Since the decorations were up and running, people from fairly close neighboring areas came to bless us with their presence. Since our town didn’t offer much in the way of entertainment after five o’clock, travelers piled into the bar in herds. I loved working in a bar because in a place like that, I didn’t have to be sweet or upbeat. I’m not much of a people person. I never have been and I don’t anticipate changing that at any point… ever. I enjoyed the fact that I didn’t have to suck up to the losers who came through that door. I took drink orders, delivered them and moved on as quickly as possible. That’s all I had to do. It was pretty easy work. I just had to deal with all the crazies, perverts and all-around jerks. That was the most daunting part of the job.

  An obvious out-of-towner walked in and sat at a table in my section, of course. As my eyes met his from afar, my toes began to heat. The warm tingle quickly spread through me like wildfire. My cheeks flushed as I became light-headed. I felt embraced in a warm blanket of strength and protection, but yet, he instantly terrified me. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but something about him was a warning. I really couldn’t decide if I wanted to run as fast as I could away from him or have my way with him on the top of the closest table, not caring who witnessed the humiliating, confusing public display of affection.

  As I inched closer, I noticed something about him was unmistakable. I stopped in mid-stride and stared at him. There was something familiar about his black, curly hair, which fell just past his shoulders. His hair was crazy thick. I could play with him-I mean his hair-all night. My body tensed from the flood of excitement and anticipation. Those black eyes were so familiar, like they had burned into my soul long ago. I knew him. The feelings that stirred deep inside my soul told me that I had seen him a million times before, but that wasn’t reality. I had never met this man. I would’ve remembered that silky, caramel skin accompanied by perfectly sculpted muscles. I quickly convinced myself to pull it together. I found myself at his table as if my feet floated toward him of their own accord.

  “What can I get ‘cha?” I asked impatiently. An unexplainable anxiety engulfed me. I didn’t want to stick around and chat, yet a very powerful part of me did - a part of me that I had never known before this moment. No part of me held the desire to stick around any customer ever… except for him. Something about him sent tingles down my spine, chills throughout my body, my knees to go weak, and my brain to stop working. I yearned for him. I really had to have every part of him right then and there. I wanted to witness how bad his bed hair was in the morning. I had an intense urge to find out if he read the paper over coffee in the morning. Does he even drink coffee? Maybe he is an herbal tea kind of guy, I wondered. I convinced myself to end the absurd thoughts. I was going way overboard. Besides, I already knew the answers. He was a coffee guy. How I knew, I had no idea. I must have been going psycho. I mean, uh, physic.

  I took a deep breath and I told myself that this guy, this unbelievably alluring man, was just like any other customer. I’ll treat him like every other jerk, I thought to myself. My shoulders automatically shrugged in response to my internal dialog.

  “Hello, Vanessa,” he said, drawing my name out. All of my senses woke in response to his voice. Damn, the tingling started again. I collapsed a little, grabbing the table to keep myself upright as my knees gave way. “We finally meet.” A smug, dark smile spread across his face. It was a smile that left me pondering his intentions yet craving his everything. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

  Okay, calm down. He’s just like all of the other dumbasses, I thought to myself as an attempt to calm my nerves down.

  When I was confident that I would be able to, at least somewhat, control my shaky voice, I said, “Um… yeah.” My voice betrayed me. I was trying to show boredom, not the excitement blasting through my veins. “What can I get ‘cha?” I repeated, still making a terrible attempt to seem unaffected. I touched my pencil to my chin as I glanced at the ceiling trying to avoid his intense gaze; my foot vigorously tapping the floor. I took a few seconds to regain control of myself.

  It wasn’t his comment that fazed me. A lot of customers said crap like that to try and get my attention. They thought they were cool and mysterious. Yeah, right. They assumed I was all about partying because I worked at a bar. I was just paying the bills. As a rule, I didn’t drink or “hang” with the customers.

  Two things scared me: the dark glint in his black eyes. Seriously, black eyes equaled scary. Who has black eyes? Also, the insane attraction I felt toward him. His expression told me he knew too much about me, personal things, not just the name on my name tag, which actually read “Ginger.” Joe had us draw stage names from a hat. He felt it would be fu
n for the out-of-town customers to think they knew our names. Most bar employees do not wear identification or provide names for obvious reasons. I guess knowing too much about a person is as easy as turning to the computer these days. Personally, I rebelled against the internet. I didn’t have websites or personal pages posted on the internet, giving away my life. I realized my information was still out there somewhere anyway, though, readily available with a few keystrokes, which was actually really scary.

  “I’ll have a beer if you’ll have a seat, um,” he leaned toward me to read my name tag. With a dramatic southern accent, he continued, “Ginger.” His smile was cocky, dark… sexy. Secretly, he made me feel a sense of excitement and belonging like I was home. That alone scared me the most.

  “Fine, a beer it is. Any particular brand or brew? I’m too busy to sit. As you can see, my section is packed.” I allowed my eyes to gaze around the bar, hoping he would pick up on the hint.

  “Whatever is fine. I trust you. Sit with me for a minute. No one will mind. Trust me.” He purred, showing off a knee-weakening, crooked half-smile. His lips were full, dark red and lusciously moist.

  My mind drifting, I couldn't help but inventory the tables, finding the perfect one that would be the most supportive. I had to remove myself from his presence before I did something I’d regret. “Of course, maybe I wouldn’t regret it,” I mumbled under my breath.

  His eyes were somehow more intense the instant those words escaped my mouth. “Did you say something?”

  “Nope. Whatever comin’ up,” I said, ignoring him. I turned away from him quickly so I could melt. Literally, melt. Okay, not literally, but you get the point. Audibly exhaling, I walked as fast as I could to the bar, really hoping that I didn’t trip over my feet on the way.