Soulsnatcher
A novel by new author
Kerry Alan Denney


*Chapter 3*

Kaylee Daley smiled, the secret hers for the moment. Mom and Dad always told her that God meant for us to share the love we have, so why not share the gifts too?

Well, what Mom and Dad – or anyone else but Kaylee for that matter, as far as she knew – didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. Could it?

Besides, ever since Kaylee started sharing her gift, Daley’s Delights Floral and Gardening Specialties had blossomed. They couldn’t stock the shop with inventory fast enough to satisfy their happy customers, and Mom and Dad were cheerfully running themselves ragged trying to.

At least so far, they hadn’t yet attributed their success to their daughter’s special talent. Or so Kaylee thought, because they would be all up in her grill if they made the connection. If her parents figured out what she was doing, then others might also. Others who must not discover her secret.

Last week, after they tallied up their substantial earnings, Mom had said, “I just can’t believe how good God’s been to us this year.”

“Spring is in the air!” Kaylee had twittered, hoping they wouldn’t ask her any tough questions.

It was a Friday afternoon in late May, just before closing time. Kaylee sat at the front counter beside the cash register. She was admiring the floral arrangement she’d specially prepared for Ms. Kennedy when Tom Grainger walked in grinning. He gripped two stuffed plastic bags in his hands.

“Hey, Mr. Grainger!” Kaylee chirped, smiling.

“Hey, sweetheart. You know I told you to call me Pops. Everybody does. No reason you shouldn’t either.”

“Whatcha got?”

Pops plopped the bags on the counter and chuckled. “Best dadgum produce I ever growed, honey. And that’s saying something, ’cause I been around a awful long time.”

“Oh.” Kaylee’s smile melted. Oops. She glanced toward the back of the shop, hoping Mom and Dad hadn’t heard the bells hanging from the door jangle when he entered.

“Yep,” Pops said. “All my years, ain’t never seen the like. Still can’t quite believe it. Take a gander at this, young lady.” He pulled a couple of bell peppers out of one bag, and a pair of tomatoes out of the other, grinning and chortling.

“Whaddaya think of them apples?”

“Wow.”

“Yessiree, Bob. You betcha. And wait till you taste ’em!”

God please don’t let Mom and Dad come up and see this! Kaylee had to run Pops off quick, and hide the evidence.

“And you oughta see my squash!” Pops pulled one out of the bag, and Kaylee wanted to stuff it, the tomatoes, and peppers back in the bags and tell him she had to close up now. “Look at that. Have you ever… what’s wrong, girl?”

“Umm… nothing. It’s… epic.” Kaylee swallowed a lump in her throat.

Holy crap, if Dad sees this, he’s gonna know, and shit liquid fire. And rake me over the coals…

Unfortunately, Mom and Dad took that precise moment to pop out of the back.

“Tom!” Dad said, smiling. He took off his gloves and offered his hand. “Good to see you. How is every little thing?”

“Hey, Pops,” Mom said, brushing thick strands of her auburn hair back over her ears. “How’s crops?”

“Ken, how are ya? Things couldn’t be better.” Pops shook Dad’s hand firmly, smiling. “Darlene, you’re looking as lovely as ever. And your little girl – well, she’s all growed up now, sweet sixteen and probably breaking every poor young man’s heart in Hawkins County – is the spittin’ image of ya, praise the Lord.”

Mom blushed. “Sweet talker, are you angling for a discount on fertilizer?”

Pops laughed. “No, ma’am. Nothing of the kind, darlin’. But if I was twenty-five years younger and you and I weren’t both already married…” He beamed, showing them his prizes before Kaylee could hide them.

Kaylee avoided her parents’ eyes. How was she going to talk her way out of this one?

Pops proudly displayed his yield. “Y’all ever seen anything like this?”

“Wow.” Dad hefted a tomato in one hand, a pepper in the other. Kaylee felt his gaze burn into her skull. “Amazing.”

“Yeah,” Mom muttered. “Unbelievable.” Her amazement was directed at Kaylee, who felt daggers piercing her.

Dammit!

“Ayuh,” Pops said, nodding. “And just wait till you take a bite of them tomatoes. You won’t even care about the juice dribblin’ down your chin, they’re so tasty.”

“I’ll just bet,” Dad said, glaring at Kaylee. He offered them back to Pops.

“Oh, no! These are for y’all. I can’t pluck ’em off the vines fast enough.”

Kaylee wanted to disappear, but her talent didn’t include that slick trick.

“Well, thank you kindly, Tom,” Dad said. “Guess we’ll be having stuffed bell peppers and fresh sliced tomatoes and sauteed squash-n-onions for dinner tonight, huh? I’m sure Kaylee will be happy to rustle up our grub, too. Won’t you, Kaylee?”

“I guess.” I’m screwed. Thanks, Pops.

“Yeah, and just you wait,” Pops said. “You won’t believe how tasty they are.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Mom said, and hugged Pops. Then she asked him the damning question. “How’d you get ’em to grow like that, hon?”

“Aw, hell, it wasn’t nothin I did. More like your magic fertilizer, I reckon.”

“Yeah, right,” Dad muttered. Kaylee was melting under his glare.

“Nothing magic about our fertilizer, Tom,” Mom twittered – a little nervously, Kaylee thought.

It was stifling in here. Kaylee, Mom, and Dad were sweating. Pops smiled and winked, and hammered the final nail in Kaylee’s coffin.

“Well then, darlin’, it must be Kaylee’s magic touch that did it, ’cause I didn’t do nothin different than what I always done.”

Kaylee grimaced, and Mom and Dad tensed.

Dad snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Magic touch! That’s just silly.” Mom forced a laugh.

“Think what you will, but I’m convinced of it ever since she came over three weeks ago,” Pops said, and winked at Kaylee.

Kaylee closed her eyes. Isn’t it your nap time, Pops? “I don’t know what gave you that crazy idea, Mr. Grainger.”

“Don’t you worry none, sweetie.” Pops touched Kaylee’s arm. “I won’t tell a soul. It’ll be our little secret.”

It was a furnace in here. A cauldron.

The phone rang. Kaylee grabbed it after the first ring, but Dad snatched it out of her hand.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair now,” Pops said, nodding. “You folks have a nice evening.”

“Thanks again, Pops,” Mom said, waving. Kaylee noticed her hand shook. The other hand was clenched into a tight fist.

Dad nodded at Pops. “Good afternoon, Daley’s Delights.”

Pops finally left, and Mom turned to Kaylee, frowning with her arms crossed.

“How are you, Ms. Campbell?” Dad said. Kaylee heard his voice quaver, and couldn’t look in his eyes any more. Dad never got this angry.

She couldn’t help but notice that he looked frightened too.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m delighted you’re so happy with your rose garden.” Dad grimaced. “Yes, ma’am. It is amazing they’re blooming so fast, and in such dry weather.” He nodded. “Well, I have a feeling it’s going to be an especially green summer.”

Mom sighed, her shoulders slumping. Dad winced.

“No ma’am, we didn’t put anything special in our fertilizer. I reckon you just have one heck of a green thumb.” Dad looked like he was about to cry. “Oh, she did, did she?” He looked first at Mom, then Kaylee. “Well, yes ma’am, Kaylee’s always had a special touch with flowers. Especially roses. Yes, ma’am, you’re very welcome. I’ll be sure and tell her. You have a blessed weekend too, Ms. Campbell.” He set the receiver down softly, and closed his eyes and shook his head. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white, and opened his eyes and glared at Kaylee again.

“Kathryn Leeann Daley!” Mom said, squinting. It was never good when Mom used her full name.

“I didn’t tell ’em anything, Mom! I just… touched their stuff, and whispered to it. They can’t know!”

A tear rolled out of each corner of Mom’s eyes, breaking Kaylee’s heart.

Dad groaned. “Kaylee, how long?”

“Dad—”

“How long?”

Kaylee slumped. “Only a couple months, Daddy, but nobody really knows, I swear it.”

“Apparently Tom knows. ‘Magic touch’? And Ms. Campbell? You may as well have painted it on a billboard.”

“Oh, Kaylee,” Mom whispered.

“I’m sorry!” They were tearing out pieces of Kaylee’s soul. She loved them so much, and couldn’t stand to be the cause of their pain. They had done so much to make her happy.

“Kaylee, honey, the letter was very explicit,” Dad said, his voice husky. “It was meant for your protection. And you’re practically advertising your talent to the whole county.”

Kaylee felt tears burn her eyes. “You always said before that my gift was meant to share! Now all of a sudden I’m supposed to—”

“You were supposed to exercise some personal restraint!” Dad huffed. “How much more clear could the letter have been, Kaylee? It said they would stop at nothing if they found out.”

Kaylee pouted. “They? Who are ‘they’ anyway, Dad? How do we know for sure any of it’s even real?”

Dad smacked his palms against the counter. Kaylee had never seen him this angry, or this scared. “The very fact of its existence means it has to be real, Kaylee! Somebody had to know about you to write the letter in the first place. How many times have we gone over this?”

“Every single day for the last three months, ever since that stupid letter came in the mail.” Kaylee couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Dammit, Kaylee!”

“Ken,” Mom whispered, and put her trembling hands on Dad’s arms. “It’s too late to put the genie back in the bottle now, baby.”

Dad sighed, then nodded. “All right. Okay. We have to think this through.” Mom squeezed his arm, and Dad turned to Kaylee. “Okay. If Ms. Campbell knows, or even suspects, then no doubt half the state of Kentucky knows by now, or will by dinnertime.”

“She’s a nice lady, but that woman couldn’t keep her mouth shut about this if her life depended on it,” Mom said.

“Right. Which means we have to assume the worst.” Dad closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “Kaylee, get the bags Pops brought and ride your bike home, and don’t stop for anything. Get dinner started. Your Mom and I’ll close up. We’ll be home in twenty minutes, thirty tops. Then we’ll figure out what we’re gonna do.”

Kaylee grabbed the bags of produce and bolted. She needed to get away from the tension and paranoia, even if only for a short while. She left, silently screaming, It’s not fair, not fair!

“Be careful, honey!” Mom shouted after her. “And lock the doors when you get home, and don’t answer if anybody knocks or calls! We love you!”

“So much,” Dad croaked, but Kaylee barely heard him. She was so out of there.

She stuffed the ridiculously oversized produce in her backpack and jumped on her bike and hurried home, and let the artificial breeze blow the tears off her face. She wasn’t sure if she believed in what the stupid letter said would happen if she publicly revealed her talent, but she glanced from side to side and over her shoulder on the way home as if slavering hellhounds were hot on her tail, ready to rip her to shreds.

When she got home, she put her backpack on the counter. She almost didn’t lock the door in defiance of Mom’s wishes, but a nagging fear that the letter’s warning might be true made her turn and lock it anyway.

“Stupid damn letter! Even though Ms. Motormouth Campbell is the biggest gossip in the southeast, there’s no way anybody could find out about it this quick.”

She washed her hands, and then the bell peppers, squash, and tomatoes, and set them on the countertop. Then she got some ground beef out of the fridge.

No snarling demons with razor-sharp talons leaped out at her.

“Ken, Darlene, you are so way overreacting!”

Kaylee went into the pantry to get the rice and a couple of onions. The boogeyman wasn’t hiding in there, waiting to pounce on her and spirit her away to some hellacious place where they would torture her and try to squeeze her talent out of her for some nefarious agenda.

Kaylee’s nerves were already frayed, and it just made her angrier.

She crouched, opened the cabinet beside the dishwasher, and reached in and pulled out a baking pan and the skillet. No slithering tentacles with poisonous serrated spikes reached out and clamped around her arms.

Kaylee tossed the pan and skillet on the counter, and listened to them clang resoundingly in the empty house. Her brown and orange striped tabby Tigger wandered in, meowing and looking up at her as if complaining about the commotion.

He didn’t transform into a vicious Bengal tiger, didn’t gore her with mighty metamorphosing claws. He rubbed against her legs, and she picked him up and cooed at him and stroked his soft fur.

The phone rang, and Kaylee screeched. Tigger’s claws raked across her forearm and drew bloody furrows as he flew out of her arms. He sprang out of the kitchen with an angry “Mwrowr!”

“Dammit!” Kaylee was angry at herself, not Tigger. She grabbed a washcloth from the kitchen sink and pressed it against her arm and walked over to the kitchen phone as it rang again.

Mom had said not to answer it or the door.

Kaylee sneered, her heart thumping. “God, this is freaking ridiculous!”

She looked at the caller ID display. It read “S. Daniels”. It was probably Robbie. Because Mom and Dad didn’t care for him, Kaylee answered the phone out of defiance.

“What do you want, Robbie?” It was important to pretend like he was annoying her.

“Hey, Kaylee. What’re you doing?”

“Mopping up the blood where my stupid cat just scratched me.” The pity ploy was always good too.

“Ouch. How bad is it?”

“Hurts like hell. Bleeding all over the place. What do you want?”

“Well, I was just wondering—”

Kaylee heard someone yelling in the background over the line. She looked out the window, wondering when Mom and Dad were coming home. “What, Robbie?”

Robbie sighed. “Mom says to ask you if you’ll come over and look at her stupid plants tomorrow morning.” Another shout, and another impatient sigh from Robbie. “She said she’ll pay you. What the hell have you been telling everybody, Kaylee?”

“I haven’t told anybody anything.”

“Yeah? Well, everybody seems to think you’re like some plant fertility goddess all of a sudden, or something. What the hell did you do?”

Damn! Somebody had blabbered. “Is that all you called me for?”

“Well, no. I was wondering if you wanted to go hang out at the lake with me tomorrow after you get off work.”

“Robbie, there is no way my parents are gonna let me go out with you. You know that.” Especially now, because of the stupid letter.

“That’s cool. Carla can pick you up, and you can tell ’em y’all are going to a movie or something, then we can hang out together. They don’t have to know.”

“I don’t know, Robbie. I doubt they’ll even let me come over in the morning before work. They’re all like paranoid all of a sudden.” Kaylee scowled. They especially wouldn’t let her go if they knew what Ms. Daniels wanted. Maybe she would go over there anyway, because all this letter bullshit was starting to piss her off.

She was getting worried too. Her parents should have been home by now, and jumping all in her face for using her damn talent.

“Well…” Robbie said, sounding desperate. “Promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

Teasing boys was sweet. It made the misery she was going through right now a little more bearable. “All right. But that’s all I can promise.”

“Okay. So I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” If they don’t ground me forever when they get home. Or if the boogeyman doesn’t get me first.

They said ’bye and hung up, and Kaylee went into the bathroom and cleaned and patched up her arm. No extraterrestrial lizard monster was in there, waiting to give her an anal probe.

She hurried back into the kitchen and watched out the window while she started dinner. Maybe the shop had some late customers. That had to be all it was. The letter was a prank; some overgrown kids just having a little fun at her expense. If she found out who it was, she’d make them pay, somehow.

Thirty minutes later, dinner was almost ready, Mom and Dad still weren’t home, and it was getting dark outside. Kaylee eyed the phone. They should have at least called her by now.

She dashed toward the phone and snagged it, her hands shaking, suddenly certain that if she didn’t call them right now it would be too late, and a giant ungodly worm would devour them all. She stopped before she punched the speed-dial number.

There was no dial tone. She randomly punched buttons, a scream building up inside her. She’d just spoken to Robbie on it. There had to be a line down somewhere; somebody screwed up and cut into a cable. That’s all it was.

Kaylee screeched and dropped the phone when she heard the sound of a car engine outside.

“Thank God, finally!” She ran to the door, and though Mom had told her don’t answer it for anyone, she twisted the lock, threw the door open, and ran outside.

It wasn’t Mom and Dad, nor was it their car. It was the van from the Presbyterian church. Reverend Thatcher hopped out of the passenger side, a somber look on his face. Darrel Clayton, the owner of the hardware store, slowly stepped out of the driver’s side. He didn’t meet Kaylee’s eyes.

Parasitic aliens gnawed on Kaylee’s insides, trying to eat their way out.

“Where are my Mom and Dad?” Kaylee shouted, and ran toward Reverend Thatcher. His eyes told a terrible tale, and she stopped a few feet from him, her heart about to explode.

“Oh, Kaylee, I’m so sorry,” the Reverend said.

“No!” Kaylee screamed.

Mr. Clayton frowned and stared at the grass and dirt at his feet.

“It was terrible, so horrible,” the Reverend said. “They never stood a chance. The smoke got to them even before the fire—”

“No! They can’t be dead! I was just with them—”

“They’re in God’s loving arms now, Kaylee. I’m so sorry.”

“So hot. So incredibly hot…” Mr. Clayton rasped, talking to the dirt as tears spilled from his eyes. “We tried, but nobody even had a chance to save them. Pfft, and it was gone just like that.”

Kaylee crumpled to her knees, and finally noticed the pall of smoke drifting over the hillside, coming from town. With the light breeze came a whiff of corruption, of finality, and she suddenly realized everything the letter said was true.

She heard the sound of a hammer striking a melon, and Reverend Thatcher lurched forward and smacked face first into the dirt at her feet.

“Holy—” Mr. Clayton started, and Kaylee heard the thwacked melon sound again. Mr. Clayton jerked and fell against the van’s hood. He slid down it and to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut, and didn’t move.

Kaylee looked up, trying to see through her tears and a dark viscous fluid that ran down her face. A figure stood behind the van, pointing something. His teeth glimmered in the gloom as he leered at her.

It was the boogeyman.

She spider-crawled backward and scrambled to her feet. The ground seemed to give way beneath her and her licorice-stick legs almost betrayed her as she stumbled toward the house, whimpering.

She looked back over her shoulder when she reached the front door. The boogeyman was grinning at her, and said one word.

“Boo.”

Then he laughed and sauntered toward her as if he had more than the weekend to kill and wanted to taste her terror buffet-style.

Kaylee bolted inside and slammed the door shut, her heart hammering holes in her chest. She fumbled the doorknob, her hands slipping on it. The dark fluid on her hands was blood, and something else.

Reverend Thatcher’s brains.

Kaylee finally twisted the lock and turned and staggered toward the hallway, wheezing. She couldn’t draw in enough air.

She heard glass shatter and looked over her shoulder as she ran down the hall. A hand reached through the front door’s broken pane and twisted the lock…

…and Kaylee crashed into a wall of black leather and dark unyielding flesh. A glove clamped over her mouth before she could scream.

“Shh! Kaylee, if you want to live, come with me.”


- - -
Weirdyear is proud to run the first three chapters of Kerry Alan Denney's novel "Soulsnatcher", which is currently looking for a publisher! Keep an eye on this one-- he's going somewhere!

Bio: I've won a short story contest, am a member of Atlanta Writers Club, work closely with two writers' critique circles, and am currently shopping for an agent for my fourth novel Dreamweavers. Check out my website at: http://sites.google.com/site/kerrydenney/

Soulsnatcher
A novel by new author
Kerry Alan Denney


*Chapter 2*

Apparently still dreaming, Mara snagged Poppa’s keys off the kitchen table and hurried back down the hallway, and there was no air to breathe, no air anywhere.

The dark man stopped her in front of her bedroom, spun her around, and snatched the keys out of her hands. “Go, go!”

“I have to get some of my stuff and—”

“There’s no time, Mara!”

She turned and fought him for a couple of seconds, but he spun her around again, and she thought she would faint, explode, die.

“Do you know how to start his truck?” he asked.

Mara felt like she was going to vomit. “Uhh, yeah. Why?”

“Go, Mara!”

“What’s wrong with your car? Why can’t we take it?” She suddenly understood their isolation, despite the fact that gossip traveled faster than a neck-snapping jolt out of a nightmare. “You couldn’t have walked here!”

“My ride is compromised. They may have gotten to it, sabotaged it.” He handed her the keys, and her panic surged. “Start the truck, I’ll be right back.”

Then her dark man spun and left her alone, just like she’d always been since Momma died. Nobody understood her. Nobody ever would.

Mara raced into the garage, hit the door button as she ran past it, and jumped into Poppa’s truck. She fumbled to fit the key in the ignition and finally found the slot and turned it, and the truck rumbled to life as the door rose behind her. She wondered where her dark man had gone, what he was doing, and if she should leave him.

She could drive. Sort of. Poppa had taught her how, even though he’d lost his temper a few times.

Mara shifted into reverse, her foot on the brake, her heart in her throat.

The dark man sprang through the kitchen door into the garage, rounded the front of Poppa’s Ford, threw open the driver’s door, and practically tossed Mara into the passenger seat. In reverse, the truck lurched backward when Mara’s foot let off the brake.

“What, were you going to leave me here?” He grabbed the wheel and turned it. The passenger side mirror tore off against the garage door frame, and when they cleared it, he kicked it and spun them around in a one-eighty in the gravel driveway. He glared at her, his foot hovering over the gas pedal.

“I was thinking about it,” Mara mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I heard you.”

A minute later he pulled out past the gates of the Fleming farm and onto the dusty road. “Wouldn’t have gotten very far in this old crate,” he muttered, flooring it. The pickup backfired, belching a cloud of smoke out of the exhaust.

Mara felt like she was outside her body, and knew she was in shock. It was just like when Momma died. She said nothing, and slumped in the passenger seat, scowling.

“Where did you think you were going to go anyway, Mara? There’s nowhere you could go that they couldn’t easily find you.”

“Away from you.”

“That would’ve been a bad idea.”

“And this is a good idea how?”

“Ungrateful kid. Trust me; you’re much better off with me.”

“Why should I trust you?”

He turned to her and sneered. “Because I just saved your ass in there, Mara.”

“Why couldn’t you save Poppa too? Huh?”

“I tried to!”

“Didn’t look much like it to me.”

“Damn, kid, you’re a feisty little smartass, aren’t you?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Jesus. Why do I gotta get all the hard cases?” He studied the rear view mirrors as if he expected to spot someone following them. He even looked up in the sky, and Mara thought that was just weird.

“Expecting someone?”

“You’d damn well better hope not, girl.”

“You’re not very good with people, are you?”

“And you are?”

“Obviously better than you.” Mara turned toward him. When were the tears going to come? “Why did that man kill Poppa?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“What if I wanna know now?”

“Jesus, kid, cut me some slack. I almost got killed in there too.”

“And that’s my fault how?”

He looked at her and shook his head, his lips pursed. “You were given a friendly warning to keep your ability a secret, Mara. The letter told you the bad people would come for you if they found out about it, and guess what? They found out because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, and they came. You changed everything when you disobeyed the letter’s instructions.”

“Damn your letter, and damn you!”

“Too late for that, kid.” He frowned, watching the road, the rear view mirror, and the sky. “Did you burn the letter after you read it, like it said?”

He waited while she seethed. “Mara?”

“Poppa said he did.” Mara scowled, not sure if he actually had.

“Do you think he hid it in the house? Because if they find it now—”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away from them.” He glanced at her, and his furrowed brow smoothed out. “Some place where you’ll be safe, Mara. I promise.”

“Was that man going to kill me too?”

He snorted. “No, he was going to do something much worse.”

What could be worse than that? “What—”

“Trust me; you don’t wanna know, okay?”

“That’s what you think, buddy.”

“Damn straight. And if you’re lucky, you’ll never find out.”

Mara looked back toward home, and the rage boiled over past her shock. She punched him in the arm right where his jacket was split open. “I want Poppa back! And I want my life back!”

“Oww, Mara! Dammit, that hurt! Why’d you do that?” He flexed his arm, shook his hand.

Mara looked at her fist. His blood was on her knuckles. “Why’d you do this to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you. I’m the one who saved your ass, remember?”

“Yeah, you keep reminding me.”

“Look, Mara… I can’t give you those things back. And I’m sorry. But I am taking you to some people who’ll… give you a new life. A better life, where you’ll be safe, and won’t have to hide your ability. That I can promise you.”

“Yeah? Well, what if I liked the one I had just fine?”

He turned to her, his eyes smoldering. “You liked hiding your talent, Mara? You liked getting beat by your father?”

“He never hit me before! Never! And I never asked to be able to… see things before they happen.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the real world, Mara Fleming.” He opened and closed his right fist. “It chews you up and spits you out. Lots of people don’t get the lives they wish for. Why should you be any different?” He shook his head and sighed. “Why didn’t you just do what the letter said?”

“Because Josh and Jonas told everybody me and Poppa pushed Momma down the stairs and killed her, and that’s a lie! So I told them their daddy was gonna die in an accident today.”

“Jesus, Mara. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I messed up, okay? I’m sorry. They just made me so mad. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”

“So you saw that, but didn’t see this?”

“No. Duh. If I did, I wouldn’t be riding here with you, running for my life from people you say wanna do something worse than kill me, would I?”

“Huh. Good point. Maybe not.”

Mara smirked, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away. “So what was happening to that guy on my bed? When he started… flickering?”

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Mara crossed her arms. “I wanna know now!”

“I’ll explain later, when we’re safe, okay? Or someone will. Look, Mara, I have to ask. Do you… see what’s going to happen to us?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“But if I did, what makes you think I would tell you?”

“Jesus, kid. I’m not the enemy here, I swear it.”

Mara sighed, reached behind the seat, and pulled out a first aid kit. “Pull over, and I’ll bandage your arm.”

“There’s no time. I have to get you as far away from here as fast as possible.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not gonna be much good to me if you bleed to death, are you?”

He looked at his arm and grimaced.

Mara shook her head. “At least take off your jacket and let me clean and dress it while you drive.”

He took off his glove and carefully removed his jacket, wincing. Mara helped him take it off while he kept one hand on the wheel. He continued gazing all around them, including up in the sky, as if he expected them to be abducted by extraterrestrials.

She looked at him in his short-sleeved black T-shirt and gasped at all the scars on his arms, the white lines, scratches, burns, and punctures standing out against his dark skin. Was the rest of his body this ravaged? He was definitely real. “Oh my God.”

He grunted. “God didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Mara shook her head and tutted, just like Momma often did. Had. This she could handle. Momma taught her how to patch a man up. The scars were scary, but she wasn’t afraid of a little blood. She got busy and cleaned his wound, concentrating on her task, and talked to stay distracted.

“So why is your jacket so heavy?”

“Because it’s got Kevlar sewed up in it. That’s—”

“I know what Kevlar is. Just because I grew up on a farm doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” She smirked at him, and he grimaced. “We gots the Internets and all that stuff even all the way out here in Nowheresville, Kansas. Can you believe it? We even have them ‘liberries’ where you can go for some book learnin and all that.”

He took a deep breath. “Look, Mara, I’m sorry—”

“Be still.” Mara pursed her lips and snorted. “Looks like your Kevlar didn’t stop that bullet through the armpit. You’re luckier than you think. Coupla more inches to the left…” She clucked her tongue.

“Huh?”

She picked up his jacket and showed him the two corresponding holes, in and out, four inches apart.

“Whoa.”

“Yeah. Be still.” She set the jacket down and resumed her task.

He watched the road; the sky.

“So you know my name, dark man. What’s yours?”

“That information is given out on a need-to-know basis. And right now, you don’t need to know.”

Mara pressed her cloth against his wound, and he gasped.

“Hey!”

“Don’t be such a baby. What’s your name?”

He alternated his gaze between her, his arm, and the road. “Cody. Jackson. Not that it matters.”

Now Mara knew what a sea-jay was. She nodded. “Well, maybe it doesn’t. But if you’ve been telling me the truth, then thank you for saving me from a fate worse than death, Cody Jackson.”

He grunted. “You’re welcome.”

Mara finished dressing his wound. “You’re gonna need to get that sewed up.”

“It’ll have to wait.” He looked at her work and flexed his fingers. “Good job. Thank you, Mara.”

“You’re welcome.” Mara curled up against the door, her arms wrapped around her shins, and let the tears come. Cody left her to her grief.

She missed Momma. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t control what she foresaw and what she didn’t. Momma had understood Mara’s talent, and had called it a gift. Poppa had never understood; to him, it was a curse.

Now everyone would think Mara was a killer, and there was nothing she could do about it. But she would have done anything, would have given her own life to prevent Momma from tumbling down those steps and breaking her neck, if only she’d seen it. She would have saved Poppa, too, but she hadn’t seen that either. It was so not fair.

She eventually cried herself to sleep.

When she woke, it was twilight. Cody looked eternal, like a statue, his eyes dark, intent. At the same time, he looked like he could just melt into the landscape, as if he wasn’t even there.

Mara yawned and stretched, and groaned when it all came back to her. She barely glimpsed the sign welcoming them to Oklahoma as they passed it in the encroaching darkness.

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more, C.J.”

Cody chuckled humorlessly. He glanced at her, then back to the road. “Damn straight.”


- - -
Weirdyear is proud to run the first three chapters of Kerry Alan Denney's novel "Soulsnatcher", which is currently looking for a publisher! Keep an eye on this one-- he's going somewhere!

Bio: I've won a short story contest, am a member of Atlanta Writers Club, work closely with two writers' critique circles, and am currently shopping for an agent for my fourth novel Dreamweavers. Check out my website at: http://sites.google.com/site/kerrydenney/

Soulsnatcher
A novel by new author
Kerry Alan Denney


*Chapter 1*

“I told you and told you not to ever let anyone find out, you little witch!” Poppa growled and threw Mara against the wall by the kitchen table. His voice rasped, probably from chain-smoking and too much cheap liquor. “How many times have I told you, Mara?”

He ground his fingers into her shoulders, and she gasped. He leaned over her, his face inches from hers. “The letter said, Mara! Tell no one!”

Mara whimpered, almost gagging from his rotten breath. “I didn’t mean to Poppa, I swear. Josh and Jonas were telling mean lies about us in front of everybody, and I—”

“What did you say to them?” Carson shook her and pushed her against the wall again. His fingers squeezed tighter, and tears rolled down his leathery cheeks.

“Poppa, you’re hurting me.”

“Goddammit, what did you say?”

Mara knew Poppa had started drinking early today, ever since the phone began ringing off the hook. Rumors traveled fast in small towns. She fought the tears, knowing it would just make him angrier, but they came anyway, in a deluge, long overdue.

“Please, Poppa. I didn’t mean to give away the secret.” Mara cringed, waiting for the hammer to strike. She’d seen Poppa angry and even mean plenty of times, but the violence in his hard eyes had always simmered beneath the surface before.

It finally boiled over, stoked by the wild accusations hurled at them that afternoon. Pandora’s Box had been opened.

Poppa let go of her shoulders and reared back. Spittle flew from his lips and he howled and backhanded her, striking her cheek.

Mara crumpled to the floor on her hands and knees and whimpered.. “Poppa, I’m sorry, I—”

“What did you tell them, you little freak?”

That was what Josh and Jonas Thorne had called her. Mara knew she was a freak, and she hated it.

It’s not my fault, don’t you understand? I can’t help it!

Poppa staggered backward and drew one leg back, and Mara struggled to rise, more frightened than ever. He kicked her in the thigh, knocking her to the floor again. He sneered and leaned over her, fists clenched, and Mara thought he was going to start punching her.

“No, Poppa, please don’t hurt me! They said we killed Momma. They said we pushed her down the stairs together.”

Poppa wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “Did you tell them their daddy was going to die today? Goddammit, Mara, did you see that, and tell them? In front of everybody?”

“I had to, Poppa! I’m sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it any more. Did you make this happen, Mara? Is that how your power works?”

He was gone, so far gone. Mara saw it in his eyes; they were finally empty of reason, and there was nothing but rage left. He didn’t understand, would never understand, and the realization left Mara so alone.

“You know I can’t make anything happen, Poppa!”

Poppa reared his leg back again, and Mara kicked the closest chair at him. He tripped and fell over the chair, and Mara screeched and struggled to her feet.

“Bitch, you did kill your Momma! You could’ve seen it, could’ve stopped it!”

“I told you I can’t control what I see!” Mara stumbled away from him through the kitchen doorway and ran into the hall. Poppa regained his feet and hurried after her. His boots clomped against the hardwood floor, sounding like the deadly tread of an enraged giant.

“Mara!” Poppa dove toward her and grabbed her foot and yanked it, and Mara tripped and crashed to the floor. Her face smacked into the hard wood, and stars blazed in her eyes as she turned her head and stared at a man she no longer recognized.

He scrambled toward her on all fours, and oh God, he was going to kill her. Mara shrieked and kicked him in the face.. Her heel smashed into his upper lip and knocked his head back and against the wall. He lost his hold on her leg, and she staggered to her feet and dashed toward her bedroom, as if safe refuge were to be found there.

Nowhere was safe any more, at least according to the letter.

“Mara, what have you done to us?”

That more than anything else cut like a blade in Mara’s mind. It was all her fault. If only she’d kept her stupid mouth shut, hadn’t told Josh and Jonas that their father was going to die today in a horrible farming accident.

She couldn’t take it back. Even though she was only thirteen, she already knew that you never can, once the door is opened.

“I’m sorry Poppa!” She dove through her bedroom doorway, her heart hammering her chest, blood pounding in her ears. Poppa snagged her jeans and tripped her again, and she tumbled into her bedroom. No quarter was to be found there, and none was offered.

Poppa staggered against the door frame, his face scrunched up in a tortured grimace. He growled and slowly advanced toward her.

“You fucking little freak, do you have any idea what you’ve done to us?”

Mara scrambled backward, trying to regain her feet. She bumped against her bed and slowly rose and glared at him. She was cornered, but fight conquered flight in her heart. Momma would have been proud, even though Mara trembled and her legs felt like jelly.

Poppa stopped short, fists clenched and teeth grinding. Mara wondered crazily if this was as good as life gets, if this was her final destination, and if she was going to join Momma, and how painful the journey would be.

And why oh God why hadn’t she seen this?

Poppa tensed to strike a moment later when the madness resurfaced.

“Touch her again and I’ll break both of your arms, asshole,” a soft but commanding voice rang out in Mara’s bedroom.

Mara and Poppa froze. There was no immediate indication from where the voice had originated.. It seemed to come from everywhere.

“It’s them, Mara,” Poppa hissed. “They’re here. Just like the letter said. It’s all your fault.”

“No.” Mara sucked in a sharp breath as she glanced into the corner of her dim bedroom. Her hands flew to her lips and Poppa turned to follow her gaze.

The man stood there immobile, so dark except for the whites of his eyes and the flash of his teeth that he almost fused with the gathering gloom. But how could they not have seen him? His presence was indomitable, irrefutable.

He wore a waist-length black leather jacket, black jeans, and black Rockports, along with a pair of black gloves that were clenched into fists at his sides. He may have been waiting there for hours, days, even years.

Maybe he’d been waiting there all Mara’s life.

Poppa sneered. “You see what you’ve done now, witch?”

“I’ll break both your legs too.” The man’s voice was quiet but firm, barely there but impossible to deny, just like the specter it came from.

Poppa spun toward the dark man.. “Are you with… them? Because if you think you’re taking my girl and killing me…” He shuddered, but maybe he was gathering his courage. “You got another think coming, mister. This blood runs true here, asshole, and—”

“Oh, shut the hell up.” The dark man’s voice was soft, but it resonated throughout the room. He looked around, maybe searching for something beyond the other two occupants. Then he glared at Mara, his gaze inscrutable.

“You should have stuck to the letter, Mara.”

Mara looked down, overwhelmed with guilt.

It all came back to the letter.

Poppa growled again. “See, Mara? I fucking told you, but no, you—”

Glass shattered and sprayed inward through the window, and a whirling dervish followed it. Poppa shouted, his yelp cut short when hard steel stabbed into his throat. The spinning demon ripped the blade out, and a crimson spray shot from Poppa’s torn neck. He gargled and clutched at it as if trying to stem the flow of life pouring out.

“Poppa, no!” Mara screamed, and quicksilver lightning filled her bedroom.

The new intruder spun toward the dark man in the corner so quickly Mara could hardly track his movement. He was a man but also a weapon, a killing machine, and somehow Mara’s whole life had just changed irrevocably, unforeseen and way out of control.

The killer attacked the dark man, but Mara couldn’t keep her eyes off Poppa. He lay on the floor gasping and retching and twitching. He was dying, already half dead, and something broke inside her as she realized she couldn’t help him.

From the corner of her eye she saw something metallic flash out of the killer’s hand toward the dark man. The dark man dove and rolled, and threw his right arm up to ward off the flying blade. It glanced off his bicep with a wet tearing sound and thunked into the wall behind him.

The dark man landed on his feet in a crouch and jerked his wrists forward hard and fast. Two sleek black pistols shot out of his loose jacket sleeves, and flames spat out of the barrels as he fired each one once, their reports deafening in the small room.

Poppa’s killer moved like chain lightning, and kicked the dark man’s right hand before he could fire again. The dark man’s pistol flew from his hand, and he barely ducked another deadly kick to the head in time and rolled and fired his other pistol again, and again.

The killer jerked, clearly hit, but he kept on coming. He snatched a pistol from a shoulder holster as the wet blade in his other hand flashed. He fired one shot and the dark man fired again, twice, three times.

The killer staggered backward and tripped against the wooden bedpost. He fell onto the mattress and dropped his gun and blade at his sides.

Blood sprayed out of his neck, and he gasped and gurgled. Mara could hardly breathe; she was too scared to move even though her mind screamed at her to run. Her raging heartbeat hammered blood in her ears, clashing with the ringing from the gunfire.

The killer bared his teeth as he watched the dark man move slowly toward him. The barrel of the dark man’s pistol never wavered.

“Mara, move away from the bed! Now!”

Mesmerized and in shock, Mara couldn’t move, couldn’t obey. Her chest wouldn’t let air in.

The killer laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “You guys are getting…” he coughed and rasped, “…quicker, sea-jay.”

The dark man didn’t reply; he spoke to Mara instead, who wondered what a sea-jay was. “Mara, get away from him!”

The killer was dying. Most of the dark man’s shots had hit their mark. Mara’s bed was getting soaked with blood, and her world was crumbling around her.

Poppa’s killer just laughed again, a horrible gurgle. Incredibly, he sounded victorious. Crimson fluid mixed with God only knew what else sprayed out of his mouth.

Mara felt a soul-searing scream building up inside her, and whimpered instead. If she let the scream out, she’d never stop.

Poppa lay motionless on the floor in a pool of blood at her feet, his arms evermore reaching for her. His eyes were open but empty; Carson Fleming was done with this world.

Mara turned her gaze back to Poppa’s killer, and a new and dark fury built up inside her along with the scream. He stared at her, grinning as if he’d just single-handedly won the war, and laughed again, spraying up another gory mess.

“Mara, dammit, get away from him!” The dark man’s right arm dangled at his side, and blood dripped from the fingertips of his glove. But the pistol and his left arm stayed on target.

Mara believed he was afraid the killer might suddenly leap up and take them both apart limb from limb. She didn’t know what to do, who to trust. Everything was wrong.

She clenched her fists and glared at the killer. Fury, grief, and fear warred inside her. Then something happened that was far stranger than anything she’d ever seen or imagined.

The killer shimmered.

Mara freaked out, system overload, and the scream escaped her.

“No!” the dark man shouted. He fired four quick shots into the killer, two in the head and two in the chest. The killer’s body jerked with the shots, and the bizarre hallucination ended as he died smiling.

“Damn,” the dark man muttered. His pistol arm dropped to his side.

Mara’s body hitched as breath finally came. She stumbled backward, and her feet slipped in Poppa’s blood. She smacked into the wall beside the doorway.

The dark man sneered. “You see what you’ve done, Mara?”

“N-no.” I didn’t do this. Not this.

“You should have heeded the goddam letter,” he muttered, but it was a defeated admonishment. Mara saw it in the sudden slump of his shoulders.

He wasn’t going to hurt her, wasn’t one of the bad people, wasn’t with them, whoever he was. He sighed, and held out his injured right arm to her. More blood dripped from his gloved fingertips.

He wasn’t a spook, he was real, a man: He bled, could be hurt, conquered and destroyed. And somehow, he’d saved her from something awful.

“Mara…” He shook his right arm as if trying to restore feeling in it, and blood spattered. He sighed and grimaced. “If you want to live, come with me.”

“No!”

The dark man shook his head, his curly shoulder-length hair dancing. Droplets of sweat sprayed with the motion, making him more real. His fathomless eyes scared Mara the most, telling the tale of a man who had nothing left to lose. He moved toward her, avoiding Poppa’s blood, and held his hand out to her again.

“You can either stay here and suffer the consequences of your decision to ruin your lives – and it’ll be unimaginably painful, Mara, trust me, they’ll make you beg them to let you die – or you can come with me and strike back at them for what they’ve done to you. Your choice.”

No, Mara tried to say, but it wouldn’t come. She couldn’t breathe again. This crazy crap only happened in bad horror flicks and graphic novels.

Instead of advancing toward her, her dark man turned aside. He ejected the clip from his pistol, caught it and pocketed it in his jacket, and replaced it with another one. Then he picked up his dropped pistol and shoved it and the other one into his jacket and half-turned toward Mara and pursed his lips.

“Decide, Mara.”

No. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. No. Not fair. Poppa…

“He would have taken you, and they would have used you up until there was nothing left. I’m giving you a choice. Live and fight, or stay and die.”

Mara whimpered. No one could survive this misery. “No!”

He crouched in front of Poppa, and she couldn’t see what his hands were doing. He turned his head toward her and sighed.

“Where are your father’s keys to his truck?”

“Wh-what?”

“His keys, Mara. Where are they?”

“Ki… uhh, kitchen. Table. Lazy Susan.”

“Go get them and bring them to me. Now.”

Mara staggered out of her bedroom and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. She had no idea why she was doing what he said, no reason to trust him, but something in his voice and eyes compelled her, was impossible to refuse. This wasn’t happening. Poppa wasn’t dead, it was just a bad dream. Just like Momma tumbling down the stairs.

Mara sobbed, and stumbled into the kitchen telling herself, Yes, that's all it is. Just a nightmare. One I can't seem to wake up from...


- - -
Weirdyear is proud to run the first three chapters of Kerry Alan Denney's novel "Soulsnatcher", which is currently looking for a publisher! Keep an eye on this one-- he's going somewhere!

Bio: I've won a short story contest, am a member of Atlanta Writers Club, work closely with two writers' critique circles, and am currently shopping for an agent for my fourth novel Dreamweavers. Check out my website at: http://sites.google.com/site/kerrydenney/