John Sinclair: Demon Hunter Volume 9 (English Edition) E-Book

Jason Dark

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Pulp
• Serie: John Sinclair: Demon Hunter (English Edition)
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 542

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The stage is set, and the graves are dug — the graves of John Sinclair and his friends, that is! The Black Death has prepared his most elaborate scheme yet, paving the way to the all-deciding battle in the Graveyard at the End of the World. With the help of Suko and Will Mallmann, John must sneak into East Germany, where in a mountain of witches lies the team’s last hope: the Book of Nightmares, the key to the Black Death’s demise. If only it were so easy to take. With his friends being abducted one by one into an ancient world filled with horrors and nightmares, John had better hurry. The final battle is drawing near, and only one shall face their final slumber, but will it be John Sinclair or the Black Death?

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Cover

The Compilation

About the Author

Episode 33: The Book of Nightmares

Episode 34: The Threat

Episode 35: The Graveyard at the End of the World

Episode 36: The Final Duel

About J-Novel Club

Copyright

Landmarks

Table of Contents

The Compilation

Episode 33: The Book of Nightmares

Long ago, it had been written.

No one knew the identity of the author, but everyone knew what the book was about — it contained the secrets of Hell! Each chapter depicted the gory details of terrible deeds of which the creatures of Hell were capable.

It also explained how to negate the power of one of the most powerful demons to exist... and how he could be destroyed. It was for this reason that the Black Death was afraid the book might fall into the wrong hands. One person, however, was already following the trail of the Book of Nightmares.

That person was me: John Sinclair!

Episode 34: The Threat

The mountain was in the middle of nowhere.

Deep in the valley, the air was boiling and bubbling. Poisonous vapours — with a stench of Hell and sulphur — crept up the mountain and wove around the feet of a mighty, sinister demon.

It was the Black Death!

He clenched his bony fist threateningly, his right hand clutching his scythe. Then a cruel threat boomed from his mouth. ‘John Sinclair!’ he roared into the seething Hell. ‘I shall destroy you — this time forever more!’

Episode 35: The Graveyard at the End of the World

John and his friends sit imprisoned in the cabin of a suspended cable car! They stubbornly fight on, trying to find safety amidst an onslaught of witches.

But then the cable snaps!

John’s life and that of his friends hangs on a single cable. Will they survive the adventure of their lives, or will a bleak prophecy become reality?

The Black Death threatens to kill the Demon Hunter during their next battle and bury him in the Graveyard at the End of the World!

Episode 36: The Final Duel

The distance between John Sinclair and the Black Death is shrinking with every second. Both opponents know there’s no escaping this fight, even if they wished to try. The air is thick with questions:

Who will be faster?

Who is stronger?

Who possesses the better weapon?

And then begins the decisive battle - their final duel!

About the Author

Jason Dark (real name: Helmut Rellergerd) was raised in Dortmund and wrote his first story in 1966, a mystery in the Cliff Corner series. Seven years later, he left his day job as a chemical engineer to join the editorial team at Bastei Verlag, writing and editing for various crime series including Jerry Cotton, Kommissar X and John Cameron before creating John Sinclair. Since Sinclair’s debut in 1973, Jason Dark has written over 1,500 adventures for the Demon Hunter, and his stories have been adapted for comics, audio dramas and a TV series.

Episode 33: The Book of Nightmares

Long ago, it had been written.

No one knew the identity of the author, but everyone knew what the book was about — it contained the secrets of Hell! Each chapter depicted the gory details of terrible deeds of which the creatures of Hell were capable.

It also explained how to negate the power of one of the most powerful demons to exist... and how he could be destroyed. It was for this reason that the Black Death was afraid the book might fall into the wrong hands. One person, however, was already following the trail of the Book of Nightmares.

That person was me: John Sinclair!

***

Somewhere, an owl hooted.

The hoot echoed woefully through the dark night, drowning out the splashing of the waves as they crashed against the muddy banks of the river, churning up silt and sand.

The swamp was close.

One could smell the stench of mould and moisture that hung over the water, its odour reminiscent of that of graveyards, where the leaves on the many graves slowly turn to humus.

The owl continued to screech.

The animal appeared to know that something was wrong. Perhaps it sensed that a man was on his way to commit a terrible crime.

A murder, for example.

Yes, Leo Genn was on his way to commit a murder.

He was crouched in a boat that, in its rudimentary form, resembled a punt, but it was somewhat more misshapen. To ensure that it moved at all, the man had to use every muscle in his body and a long wooden quant that he plunged into the dirty water at regular intervals.

The water gurgled and smacked. In the dark of night, it looked black and somehow dangerous. The tall grass, bushes, and shrubs on the banks looked like ghostly creatures from another world. They had grown in height and width over the years, resulting in the occasional outgrowths. Their branches reached across the water as if to catch the objects borne over the gurgling surface.

Very few people lived in this swampy place. Those that did live here worked as peat cutters, barely making ends meet with the pittance they earned.

But someone lived nearby. That someone was old Mr McKenzie.

Gerald McKenzie had kept his secret for many years. He kept it because he knew how dangerous the book was. Whoever read it either lost their mind or became a servant of darkness. Both were terrible ends. That was why McKenzie guarded his secret with his life.

But Leo Genn had discovered the truth, having learned of the book’s whereabouts at a seance. Someone from the realm of darkness, who wanted the book to find a new owner, had sent the man a sign.

Blood-red, a word had appeared in the air: Dorset! Then the word had vanished. In its place a name had come, and that name was Gerald McKenzie!

Dorset and Gerald McKenzie. Two names — one the name of a county, the other of a person.

But who could that be? There were probably thousands of people with that name. But Leo Genn was industrious and had all the time in the world. He no longer worked but lived off some winnings that had made him a rich man.

So Leo Genn had begun his research.

He had studied in old libraries and dusty archives, not restricting his research to England, no, but even travelling to the continent and south to Egypt. There, in the ancient libraries of old Cairo, he had searched. He had found clues: a tip here, a lead there. The secret of the book had remained deeply buried, but the trail had started to come together.

And it led to the county of Dorset.

That was where the book lay.

The Book of Nightmares was its name.

But Leo Genn didn’t let that frighten him. He wanted the book and would find it. The search had gone on long enough.

Now he was so close he could almost taste it.

Leo Genn had found out that Gerald McKenzie lived in a hut by the river. Not far from the hut was the small village of Horlin. It was a godforsaken place in the middle of a swamp, where people lived the same way as they had for centuries — in quiet isolation.

They lived in harmony with the swamp. It fed them, for once a week, a train arrived to take away their blocks of peat.

Leo Genn thrust the quant into the murky water with monotonous regularity. It stirred up the mud and silt, which drifted up to the surface and turned the water even darker.

The undergrowth on the bank became thinner. Now, alder trees and gnarled poplars grew close to the edge of the water. Leo Genn had to punt down the middle of the river because their low-hanging branches often blocked his path.

The current was slightly stronger here, and the water level was higher than usual, courtesy of a recent rainstorm.

The harbingers of autumn storms had already swept through the countryside, stripping the first leaves off the trees. The nights had become colder. Leo Genn wore a leather jacket with its wool collar turned up.

Somewhere in front of him, a light flickered.

Genn jumped.

Was he already here?

He stopped punting and stared straight ahead. The black water moved, surging back and forth in gyres and clapping against the bow of the punt. The boat bobbed up and down as it drifted slowly forward.

Leo Genn continued to watch the light. It swayed back and forth, so it wasn’t from a hut or a house.

A will-o’-the-wisp, perhaps.

Will-o’-the-wisps were often found in swamps. Folklore told that they were the souls of the dead who couldn’t find peace and haunted the world at night.

It was spooky, alone in a swamp.

Once again, the owl screeched.

This time, however, it was nearby. Leo Genn got goosebumps. He heard the beating of wings behind him, ducked, and spun around.

The owl was there.

It flew right over the man’s head, missing him by a hair. It had flown so close that Leo Genn had felt the beating of its wings.

Genn hit at the bird with his quant but missed it, and with a cry more like a sneer, the animal disappeared into the darkness.

Why had the bird flown at him? It had attacked him; Leo Genn was sure of that. Was the bird a guardian, perhaps, or a keeper of the book’s secret?

The lone man toyed with the idea of turning back, but then he decided that turning around would be the same as giving up. No, he wanted to carry on. He had to have the book at all costs.

He continued on, plunging the punt into the water again and again. The river began to bend.

Leo Genn aligned himself with the right side of the bank. He no longer cared that branches grew over the river and hindered his path. It wouldn’t be much further. Old McKenzie lived right on the bend.

Nearing his destination, Leo Genn knelt in his boat and ducked his head low. The punt was carried over to the bank by the current, almost right up to the front of the house.

After putting the quant in the boat, Genn raised his right arm and grabbed a hanging branch, which he used to pull himself along.

The hull slid through the mud.

It made a scraping sound as small stones ground against the wood; then came the jolt as the punt came to a stop.

A rope lay ready.

Leo Genn unwound the rope and tied it to a strong branch after pulling one end through an eyelet at the bow. Now the boat could not float away.

He didn’t make the mistake of getting out immediately, but remained in his boat for the time being.

There, he listened intently, but he didn’t hear any strange noises. He felt his heart beating much louder than usual, a sign of how nervous he was.

His torch hung from his belt. Genn detached it from the carabiner, took it in his right hand while holding on to a flexible branch with his left, and got out of the boat.

There was a splash as his boots sank into the sand. The water sloshed over the edges and soaked his feet.

Leo Genn climbed onto the bank.

Once he stood on dry ground, he looked to the left, where he thought he could see the contours of the wooden hut in which McKenzie resided.

His target was close.

Leo took a deep breath. Despite the night air, his forehead was damp with sweat, but that was due to the excitement that gripped him. After all, he had searched long and hard and was finally only feet away from his heart’s desire.

He knew full well how dangerous it was to guard the book, but there was no turning back now.

Not for him!

Twigs brushed his face, leaving wet trails behind. Leo Genn wiped the moisture off with the back of his hand. He was nervous, and that annoyed him. He couldn’t afford to show any sign of nervousness or else his plan could fall apart.

The book was important.

Once he had it in his hands, he would possess its power.

He would even control a part of Hell.

The thought alone drove a shiver down his spine. He would read every line, every word, every letter, and absorb it.

Leo Genn walked on.

His feet splashed through the water. The ground became softer, giving way beneath his feet. It hid lots of traps like water holes or puddles that were covered with deceptive layers of grass.

He had to be careful.

Leo Genn thought about every step. Then, suddenly, he felt solid ground beneath him.

Genn switched on his torch, covering the beam with the palm of his hand and pointing it towards the ground. Sure enough, he saw a footpath barely a foot wide that climbed a slight incline towards the small hut.

Genn sighed with relief.

The worst was behind him.

He hooked his torch back onto his belt and carried on walking, carefully bending aside the branches that grew over the path and swept over his face. He was looking for a light, for even a faint flicker, but he saw nothing.

Darkness pooled where old McKenzie’s hut lay. Genn stopped and looked up. Not a star twinkled in the sky. The darkness was ominous and not for the faint-hearted.

But Leo Genn did not give up.

Again and again, water collected in his footprints. The air tasted damp. Somewhere along the river, something clapped into the water. It echoed eerily through the silence.

The nearby swamp was alive. It made a cacophony of noises that one only had to know to interpret. There was the groaning of dead branches, the quiet rush of the wind as it blew through the knee-high grass, the rustling of leaves, the gurgling of gas bubbles as they burst, and the shrieking of the owl.

The animal was the lone man’s only companion. The bird’s call heralded danger. Leo Genn had not forgotten the old tales.

Suddenly, he saw the outline of the house. He was surprised, having not expected to reach it so soon. Through the bushes, he saw posts as thick as his arms stretching out of the ground. Even from this distance, he could see how rotten the wood was.

Leo Genn was already above the posts, around the level of the platform that was at the back of the hut and that ended at the river. From there, he saw the water flowing heavily through the riverbed. A rope ladder dangled from the platform. Its rungs were made of wood, the last of them swaying above a boat that was moored below. It was a decayed old rowing boat in which a puddle of water shimmered. The wood shone as if coated with a layer of oil.

The path curved to the left, leading around the west side of the house and ending at the front door.

That was the path Leo Genn took.

Now he walked ever more carefully, tiptoeing towards his destination. His heart beat faster, and his nervousness increased as he stopped in front of the wooden door.

The wood smelled rotten; the paint had long since peeled away; and there were no panes of glass in the small square window frames. Wooden crosses hung in their places. A strong gust of wind would be enough to blow them away.

The door handle was also missing.

Leo Genn shook his head. Who would be so stupid as to leave a door unlocked when there was an object so valuable inside? It was madness — crazy — or... was it intentional?

Once again, Leo took a deep breath.

Then he put his hand against the door and pushed it open. There was a click, and then the door swung back with a groan.

Darkness gaped at Leo Genn. He couldn’t help but hesitate. Fear of the unknown spread through him. He fumbled for his Luger pistol, which he had brought with him for reassurance. In his left hand, he held his torch, his finger on the switch.

He carried on, carefully setting one foot in front of the other.

The wooden planks creaked and bowed beneath his feet. The deeper he went into the hut, the more intense the foul smell that permeated the interior became.

After four steps, Leo stopped and switched on his torch. Since he hadn’t heard any suspicious noises, he refrained from dimming the beam. The cone of light fell on a half-open door.

Genn was in a kind of hallway from which several rooms branched off. All of them were locked except for this one.

Leo Genn stopped hesitating. He no longer gave any thought to the fact that it was peculiarly quiet but instead walked towards the door, pushed it open, and entered the room behind it.

As he did so, two things happened.

The walls began to radiate a red light. It was a dim glow that offered next to no illumination. It did, however, provide enough light for him to see to the back of the room.

Leo Genn’s breath caught in his throat.

It was then that he felt a movement to his right and left, but before he could turn around, two slippery mitts tightened around his throat...

***

My friend Bill Conolly thought we’d gone mad. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was right, because the tip we’d just recently received was so many steps beyond vague.

The tip was about a book — a book of black magic. Its title? The Book of Nightmares.

I’d received a mysterious phone call. Even now, I could hear the voice in my ear.

‘I am speaking to John Sinclair, am I not? I’ve heard so much about you, and I’d like to tell you something. All the way down in Dorset is a secret relating to black magic. This secret is a book that you should certainly take a look at. It contains all the secrets of Hell. If you want to learn about it, you should go there. I’ll be waiting for you. But I can tell you one thing: do not concern yourself over right or wrong. This is bigger than that. Think about it. Soon, I may have to commit murder. But that is the least of our problems if you consider what is at stake.’

‘Just a moment,’ I interrupted. ‘What’s all this about? You call here, tell me a horror story, and talk about murder without even giving me your name.’

‘That’s irrelevant.’

The line had gone dead.

I’d spoken with Suko about the call and to Bill Conolly. While Bill took it for a hoax, Suko felt there was some truth to it, so I had listened to my partner and set off. Of course, we had spent some time researching first, but the county of Dorset was a pretty expansive area. We had no idea where to start looking.

Until the second call had come.

Again, it was the anonymous man. This time, he had given us a new tip.

Horlin.

Nothing more than that.

Now we had two clues to work with. Horlin was a nearby village. It had taken us a long time to find it. The village wasn’t on our regular road map, so we’d had to use a special one to find it.

There was no road, only a path leading to the village. It was unpaved and little more than a wide track that played havoc with my Bentley’s suspension.

Marshland steamed on both sides of the track. Billowing clouds of mist rose from the moor, spreading over the land and obscuring our view.

The Bentley’s headlights melted into bright spots that were swallowed up by the haze. We couldn’t see very far ahead.

Suko had turned on the light in the car and was looking down at the special map, shaking his head.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘Swamp, swamp, and more swamp. And in the middle of it all is this bizarre place. It feels like we’ve reached the end of the world.’

I nodded. ‘Do you know the way ahead?’

‘Keep going straight. It’s the only way through all this. We’ll get where we need to be eventually.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

I was annoyed that I’d believed the caller so blindly. On the other hand, however, there could be some truth in the stranger’s words. If this book really did exist and we didn’t take the chance to find it, I’d never forgive myself. That alone was enough to justify our trip into this wasteland.

I was curious about our mystery caller. Would he even be there to meet us? Who was this man, anyway? He most certainly wasn’t from Horlin. I had come across my fair share of country folk from remote areas over the years. They all stuck together and were more often than not suspicious of strangers. It was dangerous to act against a village community. If anyone from their own ranks so much as dared, they were ostracised with utmost immediacy.

However, those were mere stumbling blocks. We were only interested in the Book of Nightmares. It supposedly contained all the secrets of Hell. If that were true, it would be chock-full of useful information, and perhaps I could even discover some of my opponents’ weaknesses — above all, the Black Death’s Achilles heel.

I had to destroy my arch-nemesis. Lately, I had sensed something in the air. The Black Death had lost much of his standing. Unfortunately, I knew too little about him to strike his weak points. Perhaps this book would solve the mystery.

We would have to wait and see.

I drove onwards. The Bentley rocked along the narrow path at walking pace, its tires churning through water-filled furrows, throwing up dirt and muck. Every so often, a stone would tick against the paintwork or something would bump under the floor.

Unfortunately, we had arrived in the area after dark. The marsh presented itself as a grey sea that lay quietly in wait but could become a monster if anyone drew near.

I stared through my windscreen, constantly on the lookout for a light of some kind that might tell us we were close to a village.

There was nothing...

Everything was black and grey. A godforsaken area. Desolate, lonely, and eerie. Horror seemed to lurk around the narrow path.

‘It can’t be much further,’ Suko said, rubbing his cheek. He was just as worn out as I was after our long drive.

I slammed on the brakes.

Suko had no time to prepare himself and was thrown forward into his seat belt. ‘What did you do that for?’ he snapped.

Ahead of us, the path seemed to have come to an end. I turned on my high beams and saw something shining — a jetty lying over a pathway.

‘Should we risk it?’ he asked when he saw it.

I nodded to my partner. ‘We’re going to have to.’

Cautiously, I put my foot on the accelerator. The tires dug themselves from the mud, and a second later, the front wheels were on the wooden planks.

I drove gingerly onwards. The planks were sliding beneath us. If we slipped now, we would be in trouble. The jetty was only a fraction wider than the car.

It really was a dangerous endeavour, but we soon got it over with. Eventually, we drove free of the planks and were on our way again.

‘Well, I never,’ Suko remarked, rubbing his hands together. But it was too soon to be celebrating. Our next surprise was ready for us.

Like a ghost, a man appeared in the headlights. He must have come from the side. In any case, he stood in the middle of the path and waved.

He made for a sinister silhouette. The mist surrounded him in long veils and distorted his image.

I stopped.

‘He wants something,’ Suko remarked.

The man approached our Bentley. He was walking sluggishly, as if bearing a heavy load. His shoulders were hunched forward, and his grey hair clung in slithers to his forehead. I looked into the angular face with protruding cheekbones and a grimly puckered mouth.

‘He doesn’t look like he’s here to welcome us with open arms,’ Suko commented.

I agreed.

The man walked over to the driver’s door. He was so jittery that he knocked against the window. He probably didn’t know where the door handle was.

I undid my seat belt and opened the door.

The foul smell of the moor hit me, and the pervasive stench of sweat filled my nose. I instinctively held my breath. This man could have at least washed before coming to see us.

‘Good evening!’ I said politely.

The bony man grunted in reply.

I got out. Standing before him, I saw that the fellow was at least half a head taller than I was, and I wasn’t short by any stretch of the imagination. The man looked at me as if he wanted to kill me.

I remained polite. ‘Can you tell me how far it is to Horlin?’

He looked at me but didn’t say a word.

I could feel the disdain he had for me. This man didn’t want to speak to us; he saw us as his enemies. Nonetheless, I repeated my question.

‘Piss off!’ he growled.

Sensing something was amiss, Suko got out of the other side. He stood beside the door, waiting.

‘I’m going to tell you something, chap,’ I said to the man. ‘We’ve come all the way from London, so we’ve been driving for a while. We need to get to Horlin. We would have loved to have arrived here in daylight, but the gods of traffic had other ideas. Now, please be so good as to tell us the way.’

He looked at me. Being so close to him, I could see his dark, almost black eyes and the sharp wrinkles that stretched from his nose to the corners of his mouth. The man was wearing an old jacket and baggy trousers, with shoes made of wood.

Where on earth had we ended up?

‘We don’t want any strangers in Horlin!’ he said tersely. His accent was so strong, I had to listen closely to understand him.

‘It’s not against the law to come here,’ I said stubbornly. If someone didn’t want us visiting Horlin, that person certainly had something to hide. Was it connected to the book?

The man drew a deep breath. ‘Go away, or we’ll kill you,’ he said.

I became alert.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Suko slowly walking around the bonnet of the car. He, too, had heard what the man had said. It was a serious threat — and a death threat, at that.

‘We’re on our way to Horlin!’ I said sharply.

The bony man looked at me. Suddenly, he reacted. He clenched both fists and threw them up towards me.

It was a powerful, vicious, and sneaky blow that I unfortunately noticed too late. I leant back and turned my head away but was still struck on the chin.

I flew against the car door, which was slammed shut by the weight of my body. For a moment, I lost my vision.

Suko, however, didn’t let the attack sit. He leapt over the bonnet of the Bentley, and before the man could take a second hit, Suko was next to him. His karate chop seemed to come out of nowhere.

The bony man was shaken and staggered back.

Suko didn’t follow up with a second blow but bent over to check up on me as I opened my eyes.

We heard a whistle.

And then they came.

They appeared to the left and right of the path, like an army of ghosts. Friends of the bony man... all armed.

Suko pulled me up on my weak knees.

We were suddenly faced with six men. If we included the bony man, seven.

They came over in a sinister silence. Only their bludgeons whistled through the air.

Suko sprang into action. My partner flew at the men as if he had nothing to lose, using every martial arts trick that he knew. He took on three of them at once, leaving the other four to me.

And they came for me.

I stood with my back against the car. I was still dealing with the after-effects of the punch. I could have drawn my gun, of course, but the situation was far from life-threatening, so I left my Beretta in its holster. I hate drawing blood unnecessarily.

I blocked the first blow, giving my assailant a good right hook and sending him flying.

The second blow almost grazed me, and the man fell towards me, but I managed to throw him back with a kick. He fell against my third assailant, taking him down with him.

Then the bony man came back for a second round.

His fists had already knocked me out once. This time, however, he didn’t try to hit me but went for my throat.

I ducked out of the way, which proved to be a mistake because his claws caught hold of my hair.

The man yanked brutally upwards.

I jammed my right fist into his solar plexus. The bony man winced and loosened his grip. My left fist followed my right, this time a lot higher up.

The man staggered and fell.

That was when I heard Suko’s strangled scream.

I wheeled around to see my partner fall under a devious whack from a club. The sight distracted me for a moment, and I paid the price.

I heard the whistle as a wooden club came slicing through the air, landing a blow on the side of my head.

An orchestra of fireworks flashed before my eyes. I stretched out my arms to catch myself on the roof of the car, but my knees gave way.

Already unconscious, I slid to the ground, unaware that I’d fallen face first.

***

Leo Genn couldn’t breathe.

The slimy mitts pressed mercilessly together, stealing his breath.

He staggered forward. Suddenly, he felt a shove. The mitts loosened from his throat, and Leo Genn fell to the floor.

There he lay, spluttering. His throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper, and his voice had left him completely.

Slowly, he rolled over onto his side. The triumph of having reached his goal had been long forgotten. Now he was only afraid.

Leo Genn opened his eyes wide. And then he saw the monster!

It was a sight that would have given a weaker person a heart attack. It was a shapeless, green, slimy creature that seemed to be made only of water and seaweed, that secreted slime with every movement. If Leo looked hard, he thought he could make out a body and also a face, for two pale, white eyes were shining from inside the green mass. The monster didn’t have any hair, but it had two long arms that resembled those of an ape.

It came closer, waving its arms back and forth. There was a splash with every step. Genn had no choice but to look at the monster. He had read about the existence of water spirits in old sagas and legends. They were often described to look just like this monster.

It gave off a stench that reminded Leo Genn of old, mouldy water. An acrid odour lingering around the man’s throat.

The monster came closer and closer.

Leo Genn suddenly remembered his Luger. He reached under his jacket and began to pull out the pistol.

The water monster waited until Genn had wrapped his hand around the weapon before flinging its right leg forward. It was as thick as a log, and there was immense force behind the kick. The gun flew out of the man’s fingers, slid across the primitive floor, and came to rest out of sight.

Leo Genn feared his end was nigh. He thought he was going to die, but the monster didn’t kill him.

Slowly, Leo Genn pulled himself together. Through his spells and rituals, he had already dipped his toe into many areas of magic, so the shock wasn’t especially great.

Genn picked himself up. He was no longer interested in the monster but in what he had seen when he had entered. That was a sight to be afraid of.

Against the wall opposite the door sat a skeleton. It was hunched over what could, with some imagination, be described as a table. But what Leo Genn saw defied concepts of length, breadth, and height. The skeleton before him wore a white hooded cloak and had its arms bent. On the table before it was a book.

The very book he was seeking.

The Book of Nightmares.

It could be no other. It lay open, its pages shimmering yellow despite the red light. Its guardian was sitting on a wide chair. Its artfully twisted backrest caught Leo Genn’s eye. A large, carved star particularly stood out, although the wood around it was twisted and riddled with holes, giving away the chair’s true age.

Leo Genn was fascinated.

So this was it. He had finally reached where he’d dreamt of being.

Behind the skeleton, distances merged. Leo Genn believed he was looking into a red glowing universe in which distance and time did not exist. Earthly concepts seemed obsolete. All that was left was the spirit.

The spirit of evil.

Leo Genn took a deep breath. He had pulled himself together and dared to take a step closer.

The skeleton did not move. It remained seated, staring at him.

Another step...

Genn had already forgotten about the monster at the door. He only wanted to possess the book in which all the secrets of black magic were unravelled. Once he read, no one would be able to stand in his way, and the spirits of darkness would be under his command.

But before he could do that, there were obstacles that needed to be removed.

One of those obstacles was John Sinclair.

Genn’s plan sounded paradoxical, but in reality it was well thought out, right down to the very last detail. He had known that he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on the book without difficulty. Nor could he overcome those difficulties alone. John Sinclair would help him. The demon hunter would break through the invisible ring that surrounded the book. Once he had done so, Leo Genn would strike and kill John Sinclair.

That was his plan.

But where was Gerald McKenzie? It was his hut, after all, and he was supposed to be the guardian of the book.

Leo Genn stopped and shook his head in confusion. It was incomprehensible. Had McKenzie fled? Had he known what was in store for him?

Genn shook himself and took the last step forward.

Now he was right in front of the table.

The skeleton still did not move. Its empty eye sockets stared at the visitor. The mysterious figure remained sitting like a judge.

Genn decided to risk it. He stretched out his arms to take the book. He knew that the cover and some of the pages had been made from the skin of a demon. This leather would certainly show signs of age and have become brittle, but there were means of restoring it.

Just a few more inches, and he’d have done it.

Now!

Genn’s fingers grabbed at the book.

Then something uncanny happened.

Suddenly, there was a tremendous roar, so loud and echoing that Leo Genn jumped back and put his hands in front of his face so as not to be blinded by the bright flash of lightning that followed the noise.

This only lasted a few seconds.

Then all fell silent.

Leo Genn opened his eyes. He expected any number of things to happen, but none came close to what he actually saw...

***

An ancient man stood before Leo Genn.

Gone were the table, the book... Even the monster had disappeared. Only the old man remained.

Leo’s mouth fell open in amazement. He shook his head and wiped his eyes, thinking he’d succumbed to a hallucination, but everything stayed the same.

The old man was standing before him.

The inside of the hut was shabby. Moss grew from the wooden walls. They glistened with damp, and mould had gathered in the cracks. A dim oil lamp hung from the ceiling, casting a flickering light that danced across the room, creating bizarre patterns.

Leo Genn didn’t understand. He stood there and stared.

The old man smiled. He wore a dark cloak similar to a poncho. His face looked like weathered tree bark, consisting of thousands of folds and wrinkles. In his right hand, the man grasped an old knotted stick on which he leaned. His left hand was clenched into a fist.

‘Well?’ he asked.

Leo Genn cleared his throat before he could speak. ‘Who... Who are you?’

The old man laughed, then swung around and walked over to an old wooden table. He took a seat behind it and propped his arms up in the same way the skeleton had, only the book was missing from the tabletop.

‘Can’t you work it out, Leo Genn?’

The visitor was astonished. ‘You know my name?’

‘Yes. I always know the names of my visitors.’

Genn nodded. Now he knew who this was. ‘You’re Gerald McKenzie,’ he whispered.

‘That’s right.’

Genn’s thoughts were racing. Suddenly, his whole carefully thought-out plan had been thrown into disarray. He would have to make other arrangements. He had thought he’d get the book from McKenzie, but that wasn’t looking likely.

‘What do you want from me?’ McKenzie asked Leo Genn.

Genn hesitated.

The old man smiled again. ‘You want the Book of Nightmares, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you seen it?’

Leo Genn nodded.

‘Many have already seen it. You are not the only one to answer the call,’ the old man said prophetically. ‘But you won’t get it.’

‘Why not?’

The old man ignored the question. ‘Why did you carry a pistol?’

Genn looked into the corner where the weapon lay. There, he saw the gleam of the metal.

‘I know what you were going to do with it,’ McKenzie continued. ‘You wanted to force me to give you the book.’

‘That’s not true!’ Leo protested. ‘I only brought the weapon to defend myself. This swamp is dangerous.’

‘You’re a poor liar, Leo Genn.’

Genn thought about it. ‘You’re well informed.’

‘Yes, I know a lot of things that you don’t. I was aware you would come tonight. I, or rather, we have been expecting you, like others before you. I also know who told you where to find the book. You used a spell to conjure Myxin the magician. He told you of this place. But Myxin is a coward. He knows exactly how securely the book is kept. He cannot touch it. That is why he always seeks fools to obtain the book for him. To this day, not one has succeeded. The Book of Nightmares is untouchable for you and all others.’

It was a long speech, and Leo Genn memorised every word. He suspected that by visiting, he had signed his own death warrant, but he wasn’t going to make things easy for the old man.

Genn started, ran over to his weapon, raised it, and pointed the muzzle at the old man.

‘You see, my friend,’ he said, ‘I’m not dead yet, and I will get that goddamn book. So now I want to know why you don’t want to give it to me!’

‘Because I was chosen as the guardian of the book,’ the old man answered promptly.

Leo Genn laughed coldly. He felt immensely strong with the gun in his hand. ‘Quit playing around, old man. You’re already as good as dead. Tell me where you’ve hidden the book.’

‘I no longer have it.’

Leo Genn walked forwards, stopping one step in front of Gerald McKenzie. Swiftly, he raised his right arm, intending to whack the old man over the head with the barrel, but McKenzie just looked at him.

His gaze was cold.

Leo Genn froze mid-movement, drawing a breath through his teeth. Slowly, he lowered his right arm.

The man before him possessed an iron will. His eyes were not only keen and compelling, but they seemed to hold the knowledge of centuries.

Genn shivered.

The old man spoke. He possessed a quiet yet powerful voice, so one had no choice but to listen. ‘You will never know what is in the book, Leo Genn. You will disappear just like your predecessors. That is already certain. Ziita is already waiting for her next victim.’

‘Who’s Ziita?’ Genn asked.

The old man smiled mysteriously. ‘You’ll know soon enough.’

Leo took a step back, his eyes flickering back and forth. He turned his head, looking left and right, then ran to a tall cupboard standing against the wall and pulled the doors open, convinced that the book was in there.

The door was not even fully open when a hand flew out of the opening and hit Leo Genn in the face.

He cried out, dropped the gun, stumbled backwards, and pressed his hands against his face. It was burning so badly that he felt as though his whole body had been doused in acid. He stared through splayed fingers into the cupboard and saw the water monster standing there.

The creature held its arms outstretched. It had turned its misshapen mitt, revealing a red liquid on its palm.

Now Leo knew why his face was burning.

He let his hands sink and turned his head back to the old man.

Gerald McKenzie smiled narrowly, then shrugged. ‘When are you going to understand that your time is up, Leo Genn?’

‘No, old man. Not yet it isn’t!’ Genn responded. ‘I won’t let you do to me what you did to the others. I’m stronger than they ever were!’ He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I’m leaving now, and no one will stop me — not that monster and not you, old man.’

‘Fool,’ was McKenzie’s only answer.

Leo Genn walked backwards towards the door. He groped with his hand, found the handle, and pulled the door open. He had completely forgotten his pain.

‘Hold it right there!’ the old man called. ‘I want to show you something.’

‘No!’ Genn bellowed.

He turned and ran away. It was easy to find the way out. Genn yanked it open... and flew backwards.

A group of men stood before him like a wall. They were imposing figures with torches in their hands that all seemed to flow into one another and merge into a wall of fire. These men would not let anyone pass. The red glow on their faces emphasised their determination.

Leo Genn’s chances sank towards nil. For seconds, he was unable to move.

Then, suddenly, he felt a thin hand on his right shoulder. Gerald McKenzie had walked up behind him.

‘I told you that you wouldn’t get out of here alive. None of the others made it out either. These men have come to escort you.’

‘Where?’

‘To your execution, Leo Genn,’ the old man replied firmly.

***

I wasn’t out for long. When I came around, I felt like my head had doubled in size.

‘Welcome back!’ I heard Suko say mockingly.

I tried to sit up — with little success. Wire bound my hands and feet.

Delightful.

I was going to reply to my partner but decided against it because I was given a mightily painful thump to the head.

The thump had come from a pothole that our car had driven through.

Our Bentley.

Yes, you read correctly. Suko and I were lying in the back of my car, tied up with those damned wires. The metal cut painfully into my skin.

Two men were sitting in front of us. I managed to lift my head a little to take a peek at the profile of the driver. It was the bony man from before.

I sank back down again. ‘Bugger!’ I muttered.

Suko laughed sourly. ‘I can’t remember the last time that we were taken out so quickly.’

My partner was right, of course. We had walked right into the trap like rookies. But it would have been impossible to fight them. There were too many of them and too few of us. It was one turn of bad luck after another.

But why had they attacked us? What secret were they hiding? Was this all connected to the mysterious caller and that book? Despite our terrible situation, I was as curious as ever.

When Suko moved, I felt the tip of his boot tickle my chin.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome.’

My partner certainly hadn’t done that on purpose, but when you’re lying together in the back of a Bentley, even the wide back seat becomes as cramped as a train during rush hour.

The driver didn’t speak a word. Neither did his accomplice. The car drove on at a snail’s pace. Through the window, I saw the faces of the men from earlier, who were walking next to the car. Every now and then, one would scowl into the Bentley. An uneasy feeling came over me when our eyes met.

I tried to speak to the men in the front. ‘Where are you taking us?’

Silence.

‘To Horlin?’

The passenger turned around. His horrific face startled me. The left half was occupied by a rampant vascular tumour, and his eyes shimmered green like the water of a marsh pond.

‘You will die!’ the man prophesied. He spat the words out in such a way that it was difficult to understand. On top of that, English wasn’t his first language. He had an Irish twang when he spoke.

What on earth had we got ourselves into? What kind of people were holding us prisoner?

Suko and I were silent after that. The car drove so slowly that it took us another twenty minutes before we could see the lights from the village.

I say lights, but they were more dull flickers that could hardly be described as such. They were old lanterns that mostly hung over the doors of the old, warped houses. I saw the outlines of the buildings and already had the feeling of being transported to the Middle Ages. In Horlin, time seemed to have stopped.

The car did the same, lurching forward twice before coming to a halt. These men weren’t the best of drivers. How could they be? Anyone who lived here would ride nothing more than a bicycle.

The two men opened the doors.

Strong hands grabbed Suko and me by the shoulders and dragged us outside. Then we were set down so they could release our feet from their bonds. Two men came over with a pair of pliers and cut through the wires.

I saw Suko take a breath. He was ready to fight once his feet were freed.

I shook my head to signal that I was against the motion. After all, we were outsiders. Even if we did manage to break through the circle of people, where would we go? We were trapped in a place surrounded by marshland.

I looked around and noticed for the first time that there were no women or children. The latter were surely in bed at this late hour, but the women must still be up and about. They were nowhere to be seen. It felt like a place run by men.

The wires were cut and fell to the floor.

Immediately, my feet began to ache as the blood rushed to my toes. I stood on tiptoes anyway, as I wanted to see more of what was going on.

We were in some kind of marketplace. The Bentley looked like a foreign object amidst the old single-storey houses.

I saw no church and no pub, only an old fountain with a plinth rising at its centre. On it stood a stone statue.

A statue of a woman.

Even in this light, I could see it was a witch. She looked extremely ugly despite being so young. Her stone arms were outstretched, and her right hand held the head of a goat: the image of the Devil. Witches served the Lord of Darkness with devotion.

Suko’s feet were also cut free. Then the men stepped back.

Amongst them, I recognised the ones who had attacked us on the way. They were still gripping their clubs as they scowled at us, whereas I read nothing in the faces of the others that suggested open hostility — only indifference. I didn’t let that fool me, however. I knew that indifference could quickly turn to hatred if the situation called for it.

A foul smell hung over the area, which was typical near a swamp.

No one said a word. They all waited, and the silence was deafening. I could barely hear anyone breathing.

Then we heard footsteps.

They sounded overly loud, for their clogs made clacking noises on the cobblestones.

The tension grew.

I leant back slightly. My jacket stretched, and I felt the pressure of my Beretta. They hadn’t taken my gun. Why? Had they been so sure of themselves that they’d forgotten to check us for weapons?

It was of no concern to me at the moment. The important thing was that I still had it.

Our future was a fraction less gloomy.

Several of the men stepped aside, clearing a path for the new arrival. It seemed to be someone of respect in the village, because the men behaved somewhat reverently.

My first impression of the man, however, was that he was a strange fellow. Physically, he was small like a dwarf. In contrast to his size was his mirror-like bald head with its small, devious eyes and cruelly contorted mouth.

We had to be careful of this dwarf.

He stopped two steps in front of us, tilted his head back, and looked up. He was wearing a loose pair of trousers, a smock-like jacket, and the unmistakable wooden shoes on his tiny feet.

We returned his gaze.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

I answered him. ‘Tourists who came to take a look around.’

The dwarf chuckled. ‘I don’t think so. As mayor, I would have known about this.’

‘I’m sorry we couldn’t inform you earlier, but we were of the strange opinion that we lived in a free country where we can come and go as we please.’

The dwarf made a derogatory movement with his hand. ‘Don’t lie to me!’ he hissed. ‘I know exactly why you’ve come. You want the book.’

‘What book?’

The dwarf laughed. ‘Don’t try it, mister. You’re a terrible liar. Tell me your name.’

‘John Sinclair.’

‘And your friend?’

‘Suko,’ my partner said. ‘You would do well to remember it.’

The dwarf stamped his foot, gritting his teeth angrily. ‘I’ll teach you to remember who you’re talking to. Go on, boys, show him who’s boss!’

The men had been waiting for this. Two clubs whistled through the air. They hit Suko across his shoulders, but my friend didn’t so much as wince.

The dwarf was surprised. The corners of his mouth twitched. He had probably expected Suko to start screaming, but my partner was made of sterner stuff.

I changed the subject. ‘Is this how you treat all strangers that visit your village?’ I asked.

The mayor looked back at me. ‘Strangers hardly come here.’

‘And when they do?’

Now the dwarf laughed and rubbed his hands together. It sounded like paper rustling. The other men joined in with the laughter until the dwarf stopped them.

‘Others who come here share the same goal as you. We know that. That is why we don’t disappoint them. They see what they came to see, and then they stay with us forever.’

I didn’t like the idea. ‘Dead?’ I asked suspiciously.

Once again, the dwarf began to laugh. This time, it rang out emptily, as if he were laughing into a bucket.

I glanced at Suko. The dwarf’s reaction didn’t bode well.

My partner shrugged in response. He looked over the mayor’s head as I had, but nothing had changed. There was not a single woman to be seen. The streets leading to the marketplace looked deserted. Veils of mist billowed around us like flags, bringing cool, damp air from the nearby swamp.

I still couldn’t see a church. This only strengthened my suspicion that the people here were in league with the forces of darkness. We had stirred the hornets’ nest.

The mayor was talking to the villagers. I couldn’t understand what they were saying because their accent was so strong and they spoke so quickly.

After a while, the dwarf nodded. He moved his head so forcibly that it looked like it might fall from his shoulders. His long index finger shot forward, pointing once at Suko and then at me.

‘Take them away!’ he ordered.

The men didn’t need telling twice. Four strong men ran over towards us. We were grabbed, turned around, and pushed towards a narrow alleyway.

The dwarf walked ahead of us. He led the way while the others marched like geese behind him.

The alley was particularly narrow, and the partly destroyed cobblestones had become tripping hazards. The further we marched, the more I noticed the musty smell of the swamp. But I could also hear the gurgling and gentle murmur of a river. Horlin was situated near a body of water. If the map was to be believed, the river was sourced from somewhere in the swamp and wound its way through the countryside.

The men led us to an old, narrow-roofed house. There, we stopped for a while.

I let my eyes glide up and down the facade and was far from impressed. The house looked in desperate need of repair. The windows next to the wooden door had been boarded up. Only on the first floor did I see cloudy panes mounted in frames.

The dwarf opened the door.

Having been herded inside by a few shoves, we found ourselves in a musty hallway and then on further to a stone staircase that led down into the cellar.

I was given a good whack and sent sailing down the steps. I’d expected as much so managed to roll into a ball before I hit the floor, a move which absorbed most of the impact.

I arrived at the bottom in one piece.

As did Suko.

Only, he fell on top of me.

‘Hey, be careful.’

‘Sorry,’ my partner said. ‘I wanted a soft landing.’

We got to our feet, which we managed easily despite our bound hands. It was a matter of practice.

The dwarf followed us down the steps. Someone had lit two candles, whose flames bathed the underground room in a quivering, ghostly light.

The mayor was the only one who could stand upright. Suko and I had to keep our heads lowered, I more so than my partner.

‘What now?’ I asked the mayor.

‘I’ll wait here with you until it’s your turn,’ he said.

‘What are you going to do with us?’

‘We are going to do nothing. Ziita will distribute your punishment.’

I paused. ‘Who’s Ziita?’

The dwarf laughed. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll meet her soon enough.’

‘What about the book?’

The dwarf shook his oversized head. ‘You’ll never see it.’ The mayor rubbed his hands together again. ‘You’re nowhere near as innocent as you would have me believe. You clearly know about it.’

‘I’ll admit as much,’ I answered with a smile. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t know enough. What’s it about?’

The dwarf looked at me with suspicion. ‘It’s the Book of Nightmares.’

‘Who wrote it?’

‘An ancient demon. That’s all you need to know.’

I hadn’t finished. ‘Is there anything about the Black Death in this book?’

‘Nothing more!’ the dwarf hissed. He pointed to a door. ‘Go on; get them in there!’ he ordered.

The door was unlocked.

As it creaked open, we were hit with the stench of damp air. One of the candles shone into the darkness below.

I gulped.

The room was lower than a normal cellar. Still, we could stand upright because the ground had been excavated. They had dug out a trench about a yard deep in which water had collected.

The water came up to one’s shins, which I could see from a young prisoner, who was huddled fearfully in a corner, staring at us with wide eyes.

I held my breath.

The prisoner was a girl. She wore a simple dark dress and had long hair that fell loosely over her shoulders. I could see fear in her narrow face. The girl was shivering from the cold and had been tied up just like we had.

Rage bubbled up inside me. ‘What have you done to this girl?’ I yelled at the dwarf.

‘She is a witch, who will be tried this very night.’

The girl began to sob.

I, however, spun around, planning to get a better answer from the mayor, but a blow to my chest drove me into the water. Thankfully, I was able to stop myself from falling into the sludge.

Suko followed.

Then the door slammed shut.

The room went dark.

We were prisoners!

***

At first, Leo Genn thought he had misheard. ‘Where are they taking me?’ His question came out as a croak.

‘You will be executed.’

‘You’re going to kill me?’ Genn shook his head, lowering his eyes. ‘Kill?’ he echoed. ‘Why? Why do I have to die? I... I haven’t done anything wrong!’ he cried. ‘You can’t just...’

‘Oh, we can,’ the old man said.

Suddenly, Leo Genn knew what it meant to be afraid. He saw the resolve in the faces of the men and knew to expect no mercy. Now that his very life was at stake, he was trembling like a pathetic coward — forgetting, of course, that he himself had been prepared to kill whomever stood between him and the book.

The old man signalled to the people at the door. Two men handed their torches to those beside them and began moving towards Leo Genn.

Genn stared at them. Suddenly, his thoughts were as clear as day. If he let them take him now, he would be done for. There was only one option: run!

To his front and sides, the living wall of people had blocked his way. But not to his back.

Leo Genn spun around, thrusting his fist into the chest of a surprised old McKenzie. The old man was thrown back, which Genn took as his cue to leave.

He sped off, accompanied by the angry shouts of the men behind him. There was no chance they’d let him escape. This was no more than a cat-and-mouse chase, after all; Genn didn’t stand a chance. He couldn’t take his boat, nor could he run away on foot, for the village was surrounded by the moor. The residents know every trail through this swamp. Genn did not, and it would spell his end.

He threw these thoughts and theories aside as he ran. Perhaps he could hide somewhere where no one would find him. Once a new day dawned, things would look very different. He might be able to make it out of here. By then, maybe John Sinclair would have arrived.

All of these thoughts coursed through his mind as he ran out of the room in which his demise had begun.

But there stood the monster.

Leo had forgotten all about that.

He rushed into the room with such momentum that he couldn’t stop himself in time and flew straight into the slimy creature.

Leo Genn screamed. As his face bored into the slimy mass, his scream became a gurgle.

Then its mitts grabbed him.

And the monster was strong. It picked the man up like a rag doll and flung him against the wall.

Leo slammed against it. For a moment, everything spun before his eyes. When he finally came to, he found himself surrounded by several of the men.

They’d got him.

This time for good.

‘I told you it was no use,’ came the voice of old McKenzie. ‘You are and shall remain our prisoner.’

Leo Genn lay huddled on the floor, moaning and whimpering as he anticipated heavy blows.

Instead, two strong fists pulled him up. Leo Genn stood swaying between the two aggressors.

The old man looked at him. ‘Your curiosity will cost you your life!’ he said harshly. ‘Take him away!’

Four men held Leo Genn in place as the others waited outside, torches in hand. The wind coming from the river fanned the flames, which flitted eerily across the men’s faces.

They left through the normal exit. The torchbearers stepped aside to make way for Gerald McKenzie and his prisoner. Leo Genn fought against his captors, digging his heels into the ground and wriggling in their grasp, but his aggressors held him with an iron grip. When they grew tired of his wriggling, they struck him.

The group skirted the house and walked down towards the river. The ground quickly turned to marshland. Water and mud gurgled under their shoes, which left fresh prints in the wet swamp grass.

The torches lit up their surroundings so that Genn could make out every detail. He saw countless bushes and reeds growing near the banks, and he also saw the back of the hut, where his ladder swung over his boat on the water.

Leo Genn bit his lip. His eyes teared up. The boat, which had been his last hope, was now no use to him.