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
ANOTHER LOST SOUL
Ken jogged past Bart and arrived at the ravine first. He surveyed the scene. There lay a battered corpse, eyes wide and blank, face frozen in a scream. Steam rose from the skinless red mass which served as muscle and tendon and human being just moments before.
Bart joined Ken. “I believe we are looking at Ransom Plotno, the good Reverend’s wife.”
Ken gave him a questioning look.
“Hair color. The cherry Kool-Aid tint is unmistakable.”
Ken nodded. “Right! Jo mentioned it. Definitely not a color one sees every day.”
“She’s not in the same position as the others,” Bart noted.
Ransom lay several feet from the ravine pathway, sprawled on her back, dead eyes looking into the starless night sky.
“She doesn’t smell like the others, either.”
Ken stooped down, looking at, but not touching, the large blade at the corpse’s side.
“Mrs. Plotno left-handed?” Ken asked.
“There’s a mean-looking butcher knife, coated in dried blood, beside her left hand.”
Bart walked to Ken and shone the flashlight on the corpse. “A lot of good it did her. Why the hell didn’t she use it to protect herself?”
“Bartholomew Andersen! Watch your language.”
Bart pulled himself to his full height, blocking Grandma Bricken’s view. “You need to go home now. This is no place for you.”
“Really? And at home is the place to be? Waiting to be the next victim of this evil?” She pushed firmly on Bart’s chest until he acquiesced and let her by.
Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle an involuntary scream. Tears filled her eyes. “How horrible!”
“I told you to leave.”
Grandma Bricken turned wet piercing-green eyes to Bart. “I’m not scared of seeing the dead, Bartholomew, I’ve seen much in my time. But I cry for the souls lost to God. Those losses are the true horror!”
Bart shook his head. “Ok, Gram.”
Josiah walked up to the corpse. “This is not the work of Iconoclast,” he said. “It is the work of evil but not of Iconoclast.”
“How do you know, Mr. Williams?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know it. I am surmising it. There is no smell. There is no purple and black liquid oozing from her eyes. Furthermore, this woman just murdered her husband and his lover. Why would she come up here instead of running for the hills, unless called here to be a part of Iconoclast’s plan? If Iconoclast didn’t take her, then she did not fulfill her part yet.”
“We wait; and we pray. The fifth victim will come. And we must stop him—or her—from going into the ravine.”
The group bent their heads.
“Father in Heaven,” Paul said. “We are almost in the Lion’s den. We are afraid, and we are confused. Please send Your holy angels to fight with us. Please guide us; please help and protect us. In Jesus’s mighty name.”
Iconoclast’s razor-toothed mouth widened into a horrible grin. “The fifth one is here!”
“Where?” Gambogian asked.
“At the top of the ravine, you fool.”
“How do we get this one here?”
“We set a trap.”
Iconoclast looked at the ink-black arrowhead in his clawed hand. “Pet, lure the one into my lair. But do not cut the body; do not touch the heart. If you do, I will destroy you! Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Pet answered.
“This one is the key to opening the abyss and releasing more of Lucifer’s angels. Earth’s destruction will begin here in this insignificant town, and grow. Now go!” Iconoclast threw Pet to the top of the ravine.
“Pet do this; Pet do that! And just how am I supposed to entrap without possessing her?” Pet seethed, hatred coursing through his arrowhead shape, sending black tendrils out along the trail.
“How I long to come to my full height and be no one’s servant. Iconoclast’s captains have sniggered at me for centuries. Not for much longer!
“I’ll show them! I may be small, but I’m as mean as any of them. I’ll get this chosen one. And Lucifer will reward me with my own army! Then, I’ll exact my revenge on all of them—Iconoclast first.”
Pet searched the night for his prey. “There you are! Come to me—now!”