Chapter One - Excerpt

Six children and their mother were lashed to a rope, drowning, each dragging the next into watery darkness. Angelic faces, contorted by terror, faded into the cold black abyss. The mother tried desperately to fight the increasingly cutting weight around her waist. Her beautiful dark eyes stared up. Lace-covered arms reached for the surface; her mouth opened, silently pleading to God for help. The bubbles rose as she followed her doomed children to their deaths, her precious golden medallion of the Virgin Mary sinking with her.

A dream, that’s what it was. Just a bad dream Marc thought, trying to erase the horrifying image that lingered from last night’s sleep. It was the morning after his sixteenth birthday, and he was ready to think only of the day ahead, as he stood looking across the grey-mirrored water and felt the cool morning air against his face.

He ran into the warm Atlantic, throwing his tanned and lanky body onto his surfboard, and paddled out into the lineup. Marc was the only surfer out this morning, which was fine with him. When he was finally in position, he sat up, straddled his board and waited for the first wave to roll in.

As he ran his hand through his blonde curly flop-top hair, he thought about his new home. Marc had recently moved here, to Amelia Island, off the coast of northeast Florida. He liked Amelia. The people seemed friendly enough and his high school classmates were okay, mostly. Sure, the surf wasn’t quite as large as what he was used to back home. But, hey, surf was surf, he thought. And the water was a lot warmer than the Pacific.

As Marc bobbed up and down on the gently rolling water, the apparition appeared. She materialized from the early morning fog that hung like a thick cottony curtain, just beyond the early morning swell. The woman seemed to glide from the white smoke-like mist, as if she was being carried along on some unseen platform. Her lace dress flowed behind, trailing white silken streamers gently carried on the stagnant air. She floated still closer. The virus of fear began to invade his body. Marc didn’t know what to think or do.

He thought he smelled the sweet essence of jasmine instead of the salty scent of the Atlantic. He couldn’t pry his paralyzed eyes away from the figure. Marc couldn’t make out her face. All he could see was a pale smear, surrounded by locks of red penny-curled hair and draping folds of white lace.

The apparition moved closer. Marc felt he could almost reach out and touch her. The sweet fragrance began to overwhelm his nostrils. Then she stopped. Marc froze like a statue. Only his eyes moved, as they tracked her like a predator. She raised a long thin alabaster arm and then, like a water glass falling from a table, her hand dropped and she pointed a long boney finger downward. She turned and glided back into the fog, slowly disappearing. The cottony mist first surrounded and then engulfed her. She was gone.

Stunned, Marc just sat there. His body felt petrified and weak, as if he was tied up with steal cable and all of his strength had drained away. His stomach was as tight as a knot. His mind was completely blank. It felt as though he’d blown a circuit and his system had simply shut down. Soon, the morning breeze blew across Marc’s unblinking eyes, slowly bringing him back to his senses. He swallowed hard feeling his neck muscles constrict, as they worked to push down what little saliva he had. Marc realized that he felt cold, as the warm breeze evaporated the sweat from his body. Unclenching his straining fist, Marc reached up and began rubbing his dried out eyes. He finally felt his body begin to warm and come back to life, as his chest relaxed and his heart steadily pumped blood to his chilled arms and legs.

“Oh my God! What, what the hell was that?” he blurted out. Maybe the old Mexican witch was right, Marc thought, breaking free from his fear and beginning to paddle rhythmically back to shore and safety. Maybe it was true what that old crone had spat out through stained and broken teeth that his destiny would be pointed out to him by the spirits. This wasn’t the first time he’d been told to listen to them.

This strange encounter with the witch had happened just last night. Marc and his mother, Lisa, had gone to the mom-and-pop taco shop to pickup some Mexican food to celebrate his birthday. His mom always wanted to share good times with him. Lord knows they’d had enough of the bad.

When he walked into the little restaurant, the old woman was sitting by the door, at the farthest table from the counter. Marc noticed that nobody paid any attention to her, as she sat mumbling and making hand gestures to unseen friends. He assumed she was the owner’s mother and probably senile; just another senior citizen trying to live out her remaining days.

As Marc walked past her, she broke free from her visions of friends and foes long gone and grabbed his arm with a vice-like grip. Startled, Marc turned and looked down upon the old Mexican meeting her milky eyes. She looked up to him and spoke in broken English, “Smell the flowers. Trust the spirits. They will show you the way.”

Whatever, Marc thought, escaping from her grasp and walking out into the evening; his birthday meal clutched in his other hand.