The Priest's Hole

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Categories: Horror/Dark Fantasy
Publisher: Eternal Press/Damnation Books LLC/Damnation Books | Date published: 05/01/2012


If you're willing to unlock the gates of hell, be prepared. Four charred bodies in the middle of a field. The evidence suggested a ritual killing. The body of a young constable with his head smashed to a pulp. He was investigating with his colleagues and he was on the other side of the oak tree from the four charred bodies. No one saw or heard anything! A registered charity collector, bloodless and deflated, stretched out on the driveway of the house of a famous, well-known, local writer. With each of the mysterious slayings, there are no clues, no motives, and no witnesses. The police have no ideas, until their investigation takes them to Mark Farnham's house, the author, a man who has everything ... including more than enough secrets ... and one of those is a Ouija-Board. Have the police found the answer to their problem? Or have they found an even bigger headache? Excerpt: Mark had seen enough. He wanted to stop now. Forget the rest of the game. It wasn't his scene. "Look at that!" shouted Peter. A blue light surrounded the perimeter of the planchette. It was wafer thin and sparkled like a freshly cut diamond. It circled slowly at first, before speeding up. A shrill whistling sound followed. Eventually, the light was so fast it became a constant blue line above the top of the instrument. The pitch of sound had increased as well. The planchette exploded, along with their wine glasses. Tiny, razor-sharp fragments flew in all directions. Paula screamed. Peter shouted. A small piece of glass embedded itself into his left cheek. "Fuck it! That's enough!" Mark should have brought the game to a halt before now. The players had lost all control. The whole room started to vibrate. Cracking and grating sounds escalated from every corner. Paintings were shaken from the walls. Crockery exploded. Furniture moved and creaked as it took on a will of its own. Mark stared on in horror. The carpet rose up, forming humps, as if giant moles had invaded, digging their way through the foundations. A howling wind reared inside the four walls, bringing yet further destruction. Expensive ornaments were blown from cupboard tops, shattering on contact with anything solid. Whatever was coming was imminent. The showpiece of the front room was a large, curved, leaded, bay window, covered by vertical blinds, which rattled before being torn from the wall fixings. Mark ducked as they flew past his head. They landed in a heap in the corner. They were left with a bleak view of the world outside their house. It was night. It should have been dark. A swirling mist thickened by the second, filling the entire window space. Mark wanted to leave the room but it was too late now.

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