Ravens Cove, An Iconoclast Thriller (Book 1)
The Spiritual Battle for a Small Alaska Town
By Mary Ann Poll
America’s Lady of Supernatural Thrillers
GUARDING THE RAVINE
Ransom Plotno sat cross-legged, facing town, back to the ravine path, just as instructed.
“Wait here,” Atramentous told her. “My commander will meet you in due time. First, though, you are to guard the path for me and Miggie.”
“Our enemies are coming, and they mean you harm. Prepare to fight. It is the only way you will survive.”
Ransom held the knife, pointed skyward, both hands clutching the handle.
Miggie and Atramentous left to consult with Iconoclast.
“This is our chance,” Martin said to Anita.
“Are you crazy? We will be tortured.”
“The demons lied to us! They promised we’d take part in their banquet of destruction, and instead they destroyed us. They allowed this horrible woman,” he pointed at his former wife with the stub of the finger he’d lost in the vain attempt to defend himself, “to destroy us. It’s our turn.”
As in life, Anita agreed.
“Ransom!” A macabre duet commanded her to look up.
Ransom’s eyes widened. Her recently deceased husband and his latest tryst stood before her. The latter, covered with blood, focused on her through empty eye sockets.
Ransom’s body quaked, forcing her to drop the knife.
“I am here to take you to Hell where you belong,” Plotno said. He lunged forward.
“Oh, you will taste good!” Anita giggled and grabbed Ransom’s wrists, holding her in a vice grip.
Ransom yowled in agony when Plotno and Anita latched onto her face and sucked. Skin unwrapped from her skull in lines like they were peeling an apple.
Iconoclast’s head snapped back from the celebratory huddle with his minions. “Go!” He commanded Atramentous and Miggie.
They darted up the ravine.
Ransom Plotno lay in a heap. Her skinless face, deep maroon fluid seeping from the bare muscle and bone, greeted them.
“You fools!” Atramentous shouted. “You should have left well enough alone. Iconoclast will see you, now!”
Miggie grabbed Anita.
Atramentous looped around Plotno.
Together they dragged the pair into the pit.
Iconoclast dined on their souls—jagged, sharp teeth cutting their spirits apart piece by piece.
Iconoclast’s minions shook. The endless screams reminded them of their own fate of endless torture in the abyss if they disobeyed the Commander.