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Dark Water
by Peter Mark May

Category: Suspense/Thriller
Description: Where only hell and high water awaits? The caves have been explored before. Now man has entered the legendary tunnels again; to delve deeper than before. But the storm waters are rising. Their way out is blocked. The only route they have left is to dive deeper into the dark waters of the tunnels s in hope of escape Will they find a way out or they answers to the mysteries of the depths Where a death scream can echo for five miles?. Dark Waters will trap you in an air pocket of asphyxiating terror. Excerpt: Williams suddenly shivered and rubbed at his cold forearms and he sat in the shadowy cave tunnel between the long cavern and his self-named well. It had been three hours since the creatures had ransacked the forward base camp, yet to the Welshman sitting alone in the near dark it felt more like three days. He wondered if the others had encountered these creatures yet, and even in his darkest moments wondered if any of them were still alive. The fear that he was trapped alone in the womb of the world sunk even his normally strong spirit to morbid depths. A splash like a heavy rock falling into the well caused him to jump to his feet now, all thoughts pushed to the back of his mind as survival instincts took over. He switched on his torch and pointed toward the William's Well end of the rock tunnel, past the lantern, but could see nothing. He quickly flicked his head backwards as the lantern to his right the other way started to flicker. Holding the spear guns tighter, he turned his wrist and pointed it beyond the flickering lantern some feet away. A yard or some behind the lantern stood a white human like creature, with a round mouth, who instantly raised its livid arm up to protect its sensitive eyes from the strong beam of the torch. Williams quickly put down the spear gun and picked up a diving helmet and threw it with both arms at the advancing creature.
eBook Publisher: Eternal Press/Damnation Books LLC/Damnation Books, 2011 2011
eBookwise Release Date: July 2011

eBookeBook

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [314 KB]
Words: 68836
Reading time: 196-275 min.


Chapter One

He was eating his supper when the telephone rang. He knew who it was, but he did not want to answer. He continued to chew his food and swallowed the mass of meat and gristle. The phone stopped ringing; she had answered it. He placed his knife and fork neatly beside his plate and hung his head in his hands. The call was important, but he really wished that she had not answered.

She sauntered into the dining room, which was always kept as one of the neatest rooms in the house; everything had its place. Her husband sat at the end of the rectangular oak table; he had shoved one of the three candle sticks away that adorned the table as a center piece. He eyed her slim figure. Her round, perky breasts stretched the fabric of her red nightgown taut; her milky, white skin so silky and smooth. Her raven hair flowed gently down the open back of her garment. Her green eyes met his, piercing right through him.

"Herman," she said, "your brother is on the phone. He wants to speak to you."

Herman hesitated, but then lifted his hand to grasp the receiver of the cordless telephone.

"Hello?" he said into the phone.

On the other end he heard static.

"Good evening, Mister Adams," the voice said. It was his brother.

"So it is business, then?" Herman asked.

"Is that really such a surprise?" his brother asked.

"No, Bob, it isn't."

"I am calling in regards to our meeting tomorrow. Is noon alright with you?" His brother's voice was light and business like.

"No, Bob, I already told you that I'm supposed to be at the mortuary tomorrow. I work a real--" Herman was cut off, mid-sentence.

"Great, so, I'll see you at noon," Bob said, obviously ignoring what Herman had said.

The line clicked, and then after a moment Herman heard the tell-tale buzzing. He angrily gripped the phone and punched the button with his finger. He laid the handset on the table beside his plate and pushed his plate away.

"Finished already, darling?" his wife asked.

"Loretta, I just know that Bob is up to no good," he said and then excused himself from the table.

He walked into the living room, eyeballing the old faux leather couch that sat across from his favorite recliner. As he sunk into the cushions of the easy chair, he could feel that they were old and did not hold up like they used to, but regardless, it was still comfortable. He glanced at the cheap plastic clock that hung on the wall. He had always dreamed of owning an old style grandfather clock, but gave up on that dream years ago. Time had no relevance to him anymore, but it was nearing eleven at night.

The mortuary demanded a lot of his time, always being on call as the town undertaker; he basically ran the place alone. It had been the family business until his brother, Francis Robert Adams, his older brother, made business the family business.

Loretta entered the scene, her flowing hair drifting lightly behind her. She glanced at her husband, today's paper spread wide-out in front of him. His long legs were propped on a red, suede footstool. His black suit clung to his form; she admired his always lean figure. He lightly licked his long, thin fingers and turned the page.

"Well, my dear, I am going to retire for the night," Loretta said. "Unless, you need anything else."

"That will be all, dear," Herman said, without even a glance up from his paper.

Loretta turned and walked up the dark steps, disappearing into the inky blackness to the guest room, where she spent time when she wanted peace and quiet, or if she wanted to read. She heard a faint whine, the sound of the bathroom door shutting. Herman continued to read, and then his pager began to vibrate. He did not even have to look at it; he knew what it was. It was the call center. Someone had died.

Upstairs, Loretta heard the car door slam and then the faint purr of the engine as it backed out of the driveway. Herman was on his way. The hearse never slept.

She lay awake in the darkness, her mind wandering the vast expanse of torrid thought. Her hands began to wander. Oh, how she missed her husband. How his job had consumed him.

As the night went on, she found herself in the throes of self induced ecstasy.

* * * *

Herman stood over the corpse of an elderly man that lay on the floor before him. That was mostly what he was called out for, elderly people from whom time escaped.

As he stood in the foyer of the huge mansion, the remains of what was once a wealthy man lay before him. The hardwood floor beneath him soaked up the pool of blood that seeped from the skull. This seemed no ordinary death, as a fancy, pearl grip handgun lay beside him. A bullet had kissed the man goodnight.

His young, blonde wife sat in the other room with the crime scene investigators, bawling; her sobs so loud that Herman had to concentrate on his removal of the body. Herman thought to himself about the vast wealth that would befall the newly widowed beauty. He knew that she and her lover would have nothing to worry about, their money woes now a thing of the past. That was how it always was; the young wife and her secret lover plotted the murder of the wealthy older husband. He of course had her in his will to inherit his empire. With the help of the crime scene investigators, Herman would be asked, or rather forced, to rule the death a suicide.

Herman walked out the door into the crisp night air. He inhaled; even the air outside the house tasted of blood and reeked of death. What else could there be? Death was his life; death was how Herman Adams made money.

A few moments later, the lead crime scene investigator came outside and stood beside him. The short man's neatly trimmed mustache was barely visible above his lip. The man pulled off his rubber gloves, and with his still lightly powder coated hands, slicked back his greasy dark hair, removing his hair net at the same time.

"I believe," he said as he lit a cigarette, "that we can rule this one a suicide."

Herman shook his head. The man did not seem to notice.

"I think that it's a staged suicide. I believe that the woman and a possible third party are trying to get their hands on this man's money." Herman turned to the man, who in turn blew smoke almost directly into his face.

"You believe that the poor, shaken woman in there shot her husband only to get his money?" The man's eyes looked small and beady now. "I cannot and will not put that into my report! This is a suicide, cut and dry." He dropped his half smoked cigarette and stamped it out. "You listen to me. You put a suicide in your report or you'll be number one on our list of suspects!" He turned and left Herman standing alone.

Herman looked up at the full moon staring down at him from high in space, reflecting on what just happened. He choked back an urge to walk inside and tell the man off. Tell him that he was not going to be pushed around; he was not going to lie about this death.

After several minutes, he stepped over to the hearse and retrieved the gurney and body bag. He took another minute to stare at the full moon, its peculiar ambiance radiating down to the earth. He felt another urge to tell the man off, but he held back.


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