Strange Tales E-Book

John Reinhard Dizon

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A series of gruesome murders haunt a small Irish village. After a mysterious woman arrives to the town, the villagers find a young girl tortured and mutilated at the bottom of Devil's Drop. Who is The Lady on the Hill?

A prosperous, self-absorbed couple uncharacteristically offer shelter to two beggars. But then both claim to be reincarnated souls from a long-forgotten past, hell bent on possessing their saviours to be reunited in flesh. Who are the Kids in the Park?

One man develops a close relationship with a half-starved horse, rescued from an abandoned farmhouse. But troubling visions soon plague his waking moments. Can he prevent the terrible future Edd foretells?

Don't miss John Reinhard Dizon's latest work: a thrilling ride between the past, present, and future.

Leseprobe

Strange Tales

John Reinhard Dizon

Copyright (C) 2014 John Reinhard Dizon

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Chapter One

The Lady on the Hill

Years before the peace negotiations were ever initiated in Northern Ireland at the turn of the century, there was a killing field where neither side ever claimed responsibility for a murder. It was at the foot of a hill known as the Devil's Drop, a place along the border of the Republic of Ireland not far from the Irish Sea. The bodies found at this site had been so horribly mutilated that none risked any association with such heinous crimes. Both the Royal Ulster Constabulary and the Garda Siochana patrolled the area regularly, eager to capture the monsters who would commit such crimes. The Irish Republican Army and the Ulster Defense Association placed bounties on the heads of the perpetrators, eager to distance themselves from such revolting brutality.

The citizens of the nearby city of Dundalk avoided the area like the plague, believing the place to be haunted by demons. Though the city was considered to be the birthplace of the mythical warrior Cu Chulainn, the Devil's Drop was said to be a place forsaken by the gods. At first they believed that it was the killers of the extremist groups that had committed the atrocities. When the activists vehemently denied these things, they next assumed it was the work of the authorities who sought to blame it on the dissidents. When the police and the military pledged to bring the murderers to justice, they realized it was the work of a demon that could not be thwarted by mortal means. Their only hope was to pray that God would intercede and banish this evil from their land.

The latest incident was determined to have occurred near the Northern Ireland border where signs of a struggle were discovered by Garda investigators. The bloodstains appeared to have been two weeks old, indicating that the victim had been taken elsewhere before being butchered by her killer. The body had been found at the bottom of Devil's Drop, mutilated in a way detectives said was too horrible to describe. Even more terrible was the fact that forensics determined the victim was alive throughout most of the undertaking.

Garda Detective Siobhan Manley had been assigned to the case after the Irish President made a public statement vowing that the Republic would devote its full resources to the apprehension of the fiend. Both the Sinn Fein President and the County Louth representative in neighboring Ulster promised that the Constabulary would not rest until the monster was apprehended. The Irish Justice Minister assured the public that the citizens of Dundalk should feel safe and secure in their homes, though cautioning that isolated areas along the outskirts of town should be avoided until the psychopath was apprehended. Though Detective Manley's assignment had not been made a matter of public record, many of the residents along the Castletown River immediately took notice of the lovely young woman as she began her investigation.

She drove out to the bay area not far from Devil's Drop, deciding to rent a room and make it look like she was a student researching her thesis paper. She was a lovely girl with waist-length chestnut hair, dark blue eyes and a small upturned nose with pouting lips that most men found irresistible. It was only when they found out she was a cop did they keep their distance, and that was not the image she wanted to portray here in Dundalk. She needed all the help she could get, and if the local fishermen though they could teach her a thing or two, so much the better.

She went into the general store that was one of a long row of shops aligned in a commercial area overlooking the riverfront. She was dressed in a denim jacket and jeans, wearing her hair loose so as to attract casual attention. More than one set of eyes had found her to be a pleasant sight, but it was the presence of yet another woman in the store that was stealing her thunder.

Women were the harshest judges amongst one another, and here was no exception. The other girl had black hair, pale skin and an hourglass figure, but hers was the kind of face that most would consider beautiful. There was a difference between sexy and gorgeous, and this lass was past the curve. Her arched eyebrows accentuated her violet eyes and patrician nose, and her thick lips were perfectly shaped. Men might have been dying to take Siobhan to bed, but this lady was the type they would want to play for keeps.

The men seemed to be watching her as if a prize peacock had wandered into the store. She could not look at an upper shelf without one or two asking if they could reach something for her. Siobhan's twinge of jealousy was replaced by amusement as they appeared as circus clowns stumbling over themselves to assist her in any way. One of them was able to refocus their attention on Siobhan, offering to help carry her bundle out to her car. As she left the store, she and the lady caught each other's eyes and nodded politely.

Siobhan would soon learn that this was the Lady on the Hill.

Siobhan rose early the next morning and took a walk along the riverside, sorting out her thoughts and deciding on a plan of action. She wore a pea coat and black jeans along with hiking boots today, pinning her hair up so as not to attract as much attention as the other day. She hoped her plans worked better than they had at the general store when she got outdone by the lady on the hill. Today she hoped she would be perceived as a girl gone fishing, perhaps pursuing a pastime handed down by her father or brothers as the case might be.

She carried a fishing pole and a tackle box with her, and had a vague idea of how to go about this. She considered the notion that if she appeared to be a helpless lass without a clue, she might have a fellow or two come by and try helping her out. It was more than likely they would be married men, the same type that came over to help her and the lady on the hill. She wouldn't have to worry about them trying to walk her back to her cabin or get invited inside. It would be more about casual conversation, the kind that would give her the clues she needed to piece together what this place was about.

Apparently the murderer was abducting people from the village and bringing them to the cliff, before or after he killed them according to his whim. Of his twenty-one victims, eight were children, two were faeries and the rest were women. He would not take on someone who could overpower him or offer resistance. There were never signs of struggle at or near the cliff, so apparently the murders were taking place elsewhere and the corpses dumped afterwards, or some of them were rendered unconscious before being brought there. The problem is that no one had ever seen anyone suspicious in the area at any time the murders were committed, so most likely it was someone well known around the village. Yet, by now, someone would have surely known who was capable of doing such a thing.

It would have been impossible to rule out the extremist gangs in the area. If it had been either the UDA (*Ulster Defense Association) or the IRA (*Irish Republican Army), even if the locals knew who was committing the murders, they wouldn't have dared say a word. Both sides had committed a number of atrocities in this area throughout the history of the Troubles, and there was little that had been found at the foot of Devil's Drop that would have been beyond either of them.

What both groups were denying and condemning was the murders of the little girls and the women. Neither of them had any love for faeries though they were accepted as volunteers when the ranks were thinned by arrests or assassination. Scores of women had been murdered by the terrorists for what they called treason, and the killings were publicly announced as a warning to all those who would betray their organizations. It was obvious that none of the women had been murdered for political reasons. Plus, no one in their right mind would have condoned the depravity of the sexual mutilations in each case.

It would have made sense that possibly a rogue militant might be acting on his own in conducting the killings, which could well have caused his fellow terrorists to turn a blind eye to his misdeeds. These people were not only in a death struggle against one another, but had everything to fear from the police and the military. If one of them had gone astray or even suspected of doing so, to take him out would cost them an arms-bearing soldier. If he was captured, there was always the possibility of him turning supergrass (*informer). This might be the best angle for her to pursue and see where it would lead.

The biggest problem she could foresee is if it led across the border into Northern Ireland. She would be going out of her jurisdiction, and if they found out she was a Catholic, she might end up the exception to the rule as an example of what the UDA could do to informers. On the other hand, if the IRA decided it was an in-house problem, they could well take exception to an outsider trying to infiltrate their ranks in bringing one of their own to justice.

She decided to chill out and begin her little game, opening her tackle box and fumbling with her gear to see who she could bait. They had given her some nasty-looking critters to place on her hook, and she could see that as the biggest problem to overcome here. She did not want to be impaling these things on fishhooks, but if she couldn't make this work, onlookers would realize that she didn't really belong here and was out looking for something else besides fish.

“Should be a great day for fishing, eh?”

She looked up at her first bite of the day, beholding a tall, athletically built young man in his mid-twenties, his sleepy-eyed look giving him a sluggish look that belied his cunning. His longish face was offset by a strange 1930's haircut that made him appear as a stalk of asparagus, shorn tight around the years yet sprouted freely from the top of his head.

“Aye, my Da always said that the fish are like people in a sense, they like having their breakfast early before they go about the day,” Siobhan continued having trouble with her bait.

“Here, let me help ye with that,” he grinned as she gladly handed over her green highlander salmon fly, which he expertly baited with her European Night Crawler. “Y'don't come out here much, do ye?”

“No, not as much as I'd like,” she admitted. “I used to come out now and again with my Da. After he passed, I come out and it brings back memories of the good times.”

“I know the feeling,” he nodded, then held out his hand. “I'm Leo Blake. I'm a fisherman by trade, y'might say. I get a good catch and barter with the people in town. Either they'll pay cash for a good one, or I can pay my tab at the local shops with 'em. I love it out here, I can't think of a finer way t'make a livin'.”

“Lovely,” she smiled, shaking his hand. “My name's Siobhan, pleased t'meet ye. I was thinkin' of workin' my way along the shore, see which areas come up with the best bites. Why, I'll betcha there's some good fishin' out by that big cliff over there. You know how animals are, findin' refuge around places like that. They probably let enough leftovers drift out so that the fish know there's good eatin' thereabouts.”

“Spoken like a true landlubber,” Blake chuckled, “no offense. People sometimes think that our finny friends are as clever as our furry ones, or the feathery ones. Fact is, they do things by instinct that can be amazin' at times, but that's all it is, an innate sense that makes 'em do wonderful things kinda mechanically. That's the way of nature, y'know.”

“You put that very well,” she said admirably. “I suppose I'd just like to fish out there just to admire the bluff. It's a pretty wonderful sight.”

“Well, people say it's haunted, and not without cause,” Blake grew quiet. “You know, with the Troubles being as they are, quite a few people have gotten hurt out there, and not necessarily from climbin' about, if y'catch my drift. They say the banshees can be heard out there at night, and y'get the kids goin' out there and sprayin' paint and such. All in all, it's not th' nicest place for a young lady to be.”

“I knew a girl who they say disappeared out that way, and I was always wonderin' what became of her,” Siobhan confided. “I've heard stories that people went missin' here in Dundalk, but that seems to be the way things are all across the border.”

“And where're you from, if ye don't mind my askin'?”

“I'm from Dublin, comin' up on vacation. I guess you've lived here all your life, eh?”

“Aye, born an' raised.”

“Y'seem like the kinda fella that could keep a secret,” she ventured.

“Well, I suppose so,” he mused. “I don't have what y'call many close friends, I kinda keep to meself. Y'know how it is spendin' th' day catchin' fish. An' I'm not much of the type for pubs, or sittin' around the stovepipe passin' th' craic.”

“I was tryin' to find out more about what happened to th' friend of a friend. The lass' name was Sinead McNamara. She disappeared hereabouts over the past year, and th' police found her body just a couple o' months ago. Whoever did her in treated her badly, an' the family's tryin' t' find what's bein' done.”

“Aye,” Blake stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Now, I'll tell ye, I know of one fella who could be of help in such a matter. He's Joe Lynch, he's with the Royal Ulster Constabulary. Of course he's from the other side, but he comes through here now and again doin' investigations and the like. He's kind of a rough fella, but y'know that goes with th' territory. I can tell him that yertryin' to find out about what they're doin' about the poor lass, an' we can see what he knows, I suppose.”

“I'd greatly appreciate that,” she smiled gratefully.

“Well, I'll be runnin' along,” Blake took his leave. “I'll tell Joe about ye if and when I see 'im. Is there a place he might go lookin' for ye?”

“Sure, I'll be over at the cabins near Toberona Road not far from the bridge,” she replied.

“That'll be fine,” Blake smiled. “Y'can leave a message for me at the general store if y'like, I'm always around. The fishin's real fine out by the bridge, y'picked a great spot. Better than out by that ol' cliff.”

“Say, just one more thing. Y'know anything about that house up there on the hill? You'd think whoever lives up there might've seen or heard something,” Siobhan surmised.

“Actually, a young lady moved into the house just a week ago,” Blake revealed. “She's all alone up there with her dog, a little poodle. She came down with her jeep to buy some things a couple of times, and th' fellas at the general store were fallin' all over each other to help her out. Seems she's an artist of sorts and doesn't leave the house, doesn't even have a phone. Every once in a while the kids playing out that way see her out foolin' with her dog, but that's about it.”

“Aye, I guess that's how she ended up takin' th' place,” Siobhan nodded. “Th' killin's probably happened well before she went inquirin', and ye know the realtor wouldn't have said anything to kill the deal.”

“You're probably right,” Blake waved as he headed off. “Good fishin'.”

Siobhan decided to spend an hour sipping the coffee she brought in her thermos to build her storyline, tossing her weighted line into the river. She knew that word spread like wildfire in these little shanty towns, and Leo Blake would be repeating their conversation word for word at the end of the day before a potbellied stove in the general store. She wouldn't mind touching bases with Joe Lynch, but would decide whether she would reveal herself to him after meeting him. The RUC weren't always the most cooperative folks around, particularly when their jurisdiction was in question. If this fellow started throwing his weight around, he would be seeing Siobhan's back in short order.

She would give Jack O'Callahan a call back in Dublin after she returned to the cabin for lunch. He was a fellow Inspector at the Clontarf Station of Dublin Metro in Raheny, and also happened to be an ex-lover with who she had never completely gotten over. She knew the feeling was mutual, as he seemed to take particular interest in her out-of-town assignments and kept close tabs on her progress. They worked as partners from time to time, and Superintendent Mulcahy made Jack her liaison on this assignment as she called in her daily reports.

The problem with Jack, as far as she was concerned, was his over-protectiveness. He was a handsome fellow at 6'2”, 200 pounds, with wavy chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes, and a confident swagger that came from his years as an all-star rugby player at the University of Dublin. He was the stereotypical macho man who wanted his wife taking care of the home and bringing up his kids. He insisted that she be the one to give up her job, when she couldn't fathom why he wouldn't to hang it up, especially since they were on the same pay scale. She loved her job and the sense of fulfillment that came with it. He didn't seem to cherish his own position nearly as much, but it was that old-fashioned male pride that would not allow her to be the breadwinner. It grew to such a point of contention that he ended up moving out on her.

She would not fool herself into believing she was the victim here. Much of her own stubbornness grew from the fact that she had been an only child, and her Da had placed all his hopes and dreams on his daughter. He was filled with joy as she worked her way through the University where she met Jack, only he had passed away a couple of years after her Mum, just a year before Siobhan graduated. She resolved to become a cop, succeeding where he failed due to a weak heart. It was as if she was overcoming vicariously in his stead, and she was not about to let this go at the pinnacle of her success.

She finally caught a small trout, and felt so sorry for him that she cut the fishhook loose as best she could and tossed him back into the sea. She always wondered what it would be like on the day of reckoning when she pulled her Walther P99 on someone. She knew that Jack had killed a perpetrator during a bank robbery years ago, and he was haunted by the memory ever since. It was one reason why he fell out of love with the job. Siobhan doubted she would experience the same kind of trauma, for anyone who pulled a gun on a woman would most likely have no consideration for either children or the elderly if challenged. She would not gamble her life on a chance that such a person would survive to hurt or kill others.

“Inspector O'Callahan, please.”

“One moment.”

She had returned to her rental cabin with no fish and without lunch, and decided to call in before returning to town for a bit to eat.

“O.C.,” he sounded bored as usual.

“Hey, handsome, how's it hanging?”

“Same old stuff, lady. Got anything?”

“You don't sound like you're having a good day.”

“About as good as a fellow can get with his ex over her head in hot water.”

“Hey, simmer down, I'm doing just fine,” she insisted, touched by the fact he was so worried about her. I made a contact with a local fisherman, and he turned me on to a local cop. See if you can look up a Joe Lynch with the RUC, probably working out of South Armagh.”

“Will that be all, Inspector?” he was sarcastic.

“Hell, I've only been on the case for a day or so,” she tried to get her Irish up towards him. “See here, there's a lady living on top of that hill where Devil's Drop is located. See what you can find on her. I think she just bought or leased the property about a month ago. I don't think she'll be much of a lead, but we might as well take a look.”

“Get a name on your fisherman? Might as well look at him too.”

“Leo Blake,” she replied. “It can wait until tomorrow, I'm gonna lie low today. Blake saw me fighting with my bait, so word'll get out that I don't know my arse from my elbow about fishing. Plus I'm gonna go back to town for some fish and chips, so they'll figure I'm done in for the day. Tomorrow I'll call to see what you've come up with, then I'll go out and see if I can find Joe Lynch.”

“You know, this was a crappy assignment for you to have taken,” Jack fumed. “This is an ongoing murder investigation, and you're way out of your jurisdiction. Plus you're in the middle of a war zone between the IRA and the UDA. They're not gonna like the idea of a woman sticking her nose around out there, and if they find out you're a cop, even the RUC and the Garda aren't gonna like the look of you.”

“I'm not gonna let 'em know I'm a cop, silly,” Siobhan insisted. “My story is that I'm out here channeling the good times with my Da. If I get chummy with anyone I'll tell 'em I'm up here on vacation from Dublin. I already told him I was curious about what happened to a friend of a friend a while back, and that'll be Sinead McNamara. If I come across Joe Lynch I'll tell him the same thing. My line'll be that I was coming up here anyway and told the relatives I'd ask around. It's seamless, Jack, I'm sure of it, don't worry.”

“Like I told you, if you come across any heat, you need to step aside and let the big boys handle it,” Jack began to go into his alpha male mode. “Nobody's gonna look crooked if you step aside for the hardcases. Those extremists don't feck around out there, everybody knows that. They'd just as soon bump you off and make an example of you than cut you slack because you're a woman. As a matter of fact, it'd probably work better for them to show they make no exceptions.”

“You're scaring me shiteless, Jack,” she teased him. “Look, I'm just doing what Mike Mulchay asked me to do. I'm digging up some leads, firming them up, and then I'll hand 'emover just as we agreed. I'm not planning to get in the middle of some sectarian gang war, that I can assure you.”

“Okay, lass,” he relented. “Just keep in touch. If anything at all comes up, you call my mobile phone number. Don't forget, if anything hits the fan I'm only a couple hours' drive away from you.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

“Yeah, talk to you later,” he hung up.

She checked under her mattress for her gun and badge before heading out, locking up the cozy little cabin and slipping into her Kia Mini for the ride to town. She saw a couple of fish and chips places during yesterday's trip that would make up for the poor little trout that got away.

She had not the slightest indication that this would become the most frightful day of her life.