Jonah the Wolf

Dedication

To all of you dark fiction fans out there.

Publisher's Note

Jonah the Wolf is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Publisher's Note

PROLOGUE - THE FALLEN SOUL

CHAPTER 1 – GET OUT OF MY HOUSE

CHAPTER 2 – HAL ROMIC

CHAPTER 3 – WEE ONES

CHAPTER 4 – WELCOME HOME

CHAPTER 5 – THE LITTLE PEOPLE

CHAPTER 6 – MARGARET’S RUN

CHAPTER 7 – THE BIRD BATH

CHAPTER 8 – LAVENDER TEARS

CHAPTER 9 – SLEEPWALKER

CHAPTER 10 – NOT ANOTHER NIGHT HERE

CHAPTER 11 – THE LIBRARY

CHAPTER 12 – GROUNDED

CHAPTER 13 – A DROP OF BLOOD

CHAPTER 14 – POM-POMS

CHAPTER 15 – EVERLAND

CHAPTER 16 – FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE

CHAPTER 17 – MAN OF THE HOUSE

CHAPTER 18 – CURIOUS KURTIS

CHAPTER 19 – CURFEW

CHAPTER 20 – HEAVY HANDED

CHAPTER 21 – THE FIFTH DEGREE

CHAPTER 22 – A LITTLE DARK TALE

CHAPTER 23 – THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR

CHAPTER 24 – RAPID AFFAIR

CHAPTER 25 – EVIDENCE

CHAPTER 26 – THITHER

CHAPTER 27 – HITHER

CHAPTER 28 – THE NOOSE TIGHTENS

CHAPTER 29 – MASHER

CHAPTER 30 – RESTITUTION

CHAPTER 31 – SINS OF THE SON

CHAPTER 32 – SINS OF THE FATHER

CHAPTER 33 – A SIGN OF SPARROWS

CHAPTER 34 – THE WELL OF SOULS

CHAPTER 35 – A HOST OF SPARROWS

PROLOGUE - THE FALLEN SOUL

– I –

Wilson Hutgreen (formerly Wilson Wiltshire) took a little walk about through the bird sanctuary and made his way up the hill that led towards the abandoned Wiltshire estate. As he got to the top of the hill, in the distance he spotted that the lights of the accursed place were on all through the house. Curious about this discovery, he hurried along until cramps set into his legs, making him stop for breath. After a few minutes, he eyed the steep inclination grudgingly, before trudging upwards with mumbled complaints. To him, it was just one more obstacle before reaching the acreage of his long deceased families’ estate.

As Wilson hiked upwards, the large two-story house loomed in the dwindling light of dusk. He was drawn to his birthplace more by curiosity than by his fear of the violent spirit that claimed the property as its own. Wilson swatted at his ear, in the hope of brushing off the memory of those who had lost their lives there, and - if he were really lucky — the devil himself.

The house was still as beautiful as when his father had owned it. The white wood panel siding, the fire-engine-red doors, and the deep-blue-trimmed window panels added to the colonial style of the home. His eyes zeroed in on the side of the house, to where the cellar door was, and he started to hyperventilate. It was a dark and dank place – the place where his nightmares originated. For deep in the cellar lurked a terrible secret, which his heart dreaded to know.

Although there was an impressive record of horrors down below, the house itself seemed to have held together fairly well over time. But on closer inspection, the place was weathered, tarnished by neglect and seasonal storms. The massive water pond in the back was full of mold and bird droppings. The acreage around the mansion itself apparently needed a gardener’s touch to bring it back to its former glory. The old stable and shed that had once occupied the backyard was long gone having fallen over many a winter ago. The crops and garden that Wilson’s family had labored over had been devoured by the surrounding forest. The trees beyond the acreage swayed and Wilson, despite hesitantly continuing his trek, wished that he were elsewhere. But like a moth drawn to a flame, he was lured deeper into the haunted ground by his damnable curiosity. He knew that his life had begun there and that no matter how far he went, he would always return. After all, he had given his word, and what is a man without his word?

I see that another desperate realtor has a for sale sign up again. He chuckled at the thought of some poor fool buying the old homestead, and wondered who it would be. He lingered in the shrubbery and slunk towards the front of the house. The old memories were coming back like a swarm of angry bees, tempting him to turn back for home. Instead, he kept swatting at his ears. He was trying to stop the voices that whispered for release from their eternal prison.

It’s not my fault! He swatted behind his ear and hurried down the path, hoping to escape their taunts and to resist the temptation to seek them out.

He made me do it! Wilson’s walk became a jog, and then an outright dash to escape before his sanity slipped away — as had happened so many times before.

The moment his feet squished into the soil of the bird sanctuary, all of the little, high-pitched voices died away. But as Wilson turned to look up the path that led to the old estate, he clutched at his chest and felt his heart beating hard as he wheezed for breath. Even from this distance, he could still feel the one who had given him years of recurring nightmares.

Wilson’s thoughts drifted back to the time his father had lost control, and Jonah had slipped into Wilson’s life. Back when Wilson was just a child and his father had purchased the Middleton Estate. Wilson’s father had a dream and as part of that dream he had promised his family that they would prosper. Wilson’s father had been a retired Baptist Minister and had turned away from society. He had believed in isolating his family from the ills of the modern world. He sneered at sinners and jeered at the televangelists who threatened the sanctity of spirituality and religion. He abhorred how they were turning Christianity into some sort of carnal Vegas showroom that demanded payment for entry into the gates of Heaven. Wilson’s father had scorned the future baby boomers, dressed in their skimpy psychedelic clothes and their bell-bottoms. He ridiculed their feminist revolution, and all of those who doped up and dropped out of life. He had been exhausted by their egos, as they protested against the very fabric of American traditions. They thought they would somehow change the world as they protested and fornicated like feral beasts in heat that he had believed them to be.

Unfortunately, Wilson had been the most stubborn sibling in his family. Young and defiant, his conduct towards his siblings was not always appropriate. Although he was just a teenager, he was rebellious, with a cruel streak in him.

Why won’t you listen to me? his father screamed furiously at him. He motioned to Wilson’s two older brothers to bring the child closer, so he didn’t have to chase after him and get tired out. His father slid the leather belt from his pants.

It wasn’t the first time Wilson had felt the lashing of his father’s belt. His older brothers held his arms tightly so that Wilson couldn’t use his arms to protect his rear from his father’s rage.

I’ll be good, Daddy! I’ll be good! Wilson squealed.

You’ll be good or be damned! his father swore as another welt appeared on Wilson’s tender flesh, caused by the great force with which he swung the belt.

I’d do anything to be not here, Wilson remembered thinking hysterically, anything.

As he was being beaten an image had formed in his head. It was as if a doorway opened from another world, and out of it stepped a man. But he was not a regular man because no light could reach him — he was a creature composed entirely of shadows.

A malicious spirit, Jonah, had heard young Wilson’s unspoken plea, and now rubbed his hands together in sick glee. I guess that it’s time for me to get started then. And so Jonah wormed his way into Wilson’s life, and from then on they were inseparable.

– II –

When Wilson regained consciousness, his mother dabbed at his brow with a cold, wet cloth. At some point during the punishment, Jason, one of his older brothers, had noticed Wilson’s eyes fluttering oddly and had let go of the boy’s arm. Their father had his punitive belt in the air, poised to bring it down again on the poor child’s back. Jason had looked at his father as if he had gone mad and held up his hand.

Wait! Wait, Father! Something’s wrong with Wilson!

I’ll beat the devil out of him! His father tried to continue, but the rest of the children had flocked over to restrain their enraged father.

In fact, Wilson had his first seizure. His eyes fluttered as his half-naked body shook on the floor, as if he had been talking in tongues and feeling the Lord’s rapture. Seeing this for the first time, the other children had become hysterical and had rushed to his aid.

When Wilson finally regained consciousness, his father was gone. He had gone off with one of Wilson’s older brothers to fetch the local doctor. His mother and his tearful sisters were at his side.

W-what happened? He looked around. Was his father’s punishment just a dream? No. No. He felt the pain of the welts on his back and rear. He knew that he had done something bad and had been punished. Thus, he had accepted his father’s merciless punishment.

He looked into his mother’s eyes. He never remembered her smiling or being happy. She was often mournful and always at a loss. The years had weathered her. At that moment in time, she and her daughters were begging the Lord for Wilson to be all right.

You should not tempt your father anymore, Will. She parted his hair and placed a wet cloth on his head. "At least try to be a good boy."

He gave her a warm smile and nodded, I will Ma, I promise. Tears slid down her cheeks as he lunged up to hug her.

– III –

Four years later to the day, Wilson realized that he wasn’t alone anymore. After those four long years of surviving his adolescent years, he heard his Master’s voice in his head again. This time, it was most urgent. Without a word he crept out of his bed and escaped into the night from his adopted parents’ home. He took his new bicycle down the starlit path, to an abandoned old shack once owned by an old hobo named Travis Parker, down by the bird sanctuary. He came over the hill and saw the lay of the land. In the distance was the old shanty house, while across from the boggy creek was the bird sanctuary. A mile or two up from there stood the infamous estate where he had grown up. The place that held some of the darkest secrets he had ever known.

Even as an adult, Wilson had never really wanted to go back to the house, even though he was technically the heir to that cursed place and his gut told him that this wasn’t so because it belonged to Jonah, and always had. He remembered the day when the sheriff had to drag him, kicking and screaming, away from the gruesome discovery in the cellar. He had only been pubescent back then, but he had seen enough madness and brutality to last him a lifetime.

What, are you soft in the head, boy? The sheriff had to struggle just to keep him from running off again. What’s the matter with you? The officer tried to look into Wilson’s eyes, but the damned kid kept struggling to avert his gaze.

Boy is as crazy as his parents were; God rest their damned souls. God only knows how long he’s been like this.

Wilson remembered the day they had rescued him from the locked cellar. He had left the estate with the firm intention of never returning.

It had been the middle of a hot spell in July when the sheriff and his deputy had to chop through the cellar door. The sound of flies buzzed in the air – and the air reeked of that unmistakable smell of spoiled meat on that life-altering day. They found Wilson in the corner of the cellar, half-naked, living like an animal in filth, and surviving on preserved food, as the rest of his family rotted away around the empty well.

– IV –

As the sun slowly descended behind the tall grass, Wilson watched as the realtor showed the Wiltshire Estate to two out-of-towners. The husband appeared old and lanky, like a man who spent his days studying, perhaps even preaching. His lovely bride seemed quite young and athletic, and agreeable to her husband’s wishes. Wilson strained to hear their names and squinted at the looming shadow that followed the couple back to their car.

A lupine-shaped shadow dogged behind them, licking its chops as if savoring the affection the two had for each other. The wild beast’s eyes dimmed for a moment and then blazed with a supernatural light that engulfed the oblivious pair like a curse. Wilson mumbled worriedly, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. The couple had no way of knowing that they had been chosen to live at this estate — to unknowingly nurture and nourish the household with their essence. Then, when Jonah was ready to explode into another supernatural fury, the malevolent apparition would lead them to madness and immorality, and finally to the liberation of Hell itself.

CHAPTER 1 – GET OUT OF MY HOUSE

Janet Stroud entered the old house through the front yard, where she had a path made to prospective buyers. The dusty, wide entrance felt cold and uninviting. Overhead loomed a cobweb-coated chandelier. Janet struggled with the light switch, trying to get it to work. The old estate was in need of some repair, but in the realtor’s eyes, the land value was well worth the asking price. For some odd reason, though, other agents could not seem to get rid of it.

That was where Janet had stepped in. She specialized in selling old properties that everyone else had trouble selling. Janet had not got the reputation of being an old hard-ass for nothing. She was the type to go above and beyond to make a sale, and that was how she had managed to buy her 1999 BMW Z8.

She didn’t care at all about the history of the place. If she had it her way, she would go to every public library from Addison to Windsor County on a mission to erase its history. She was the type who would not hesitate to erase every bothersome shred of a newspaper article or archival material that shone a bad light on something she wanted to sell.

She scurried plumply from room to room with her flashlight, notepad, and pen. Her reading spectacles perched on her nose, she scribbled down anything that she thought needed to be tweaked or patched up before any prospective homebuyers came to see the estate. She knew it was the negative first impressions that kept prospective buyers from investing their time and money into refurbishing old houses like these.

She had heard rumors that the previous owners had gone mad while living here. Some reclusive family that had isolated themselves like a bunch of modern-day Luddites for years, until one day had they all just snapped and had set to killing each other. It was father against son, brother against brother. Or so the stories had been told to her.

They were awful tales, and not the only stories that were told of those who had lived here before.

As she took notes about the room she was in, she scoffed at the house’s dark history, at the tales of it being haunted or even cursed. People die every day, and not just in their sleep. Many meet horrible deaths, commit suicide, or suffer other terrible tragedies. There should be more than enough spirits from the history of mankind to haunt the entire earth and bother all of the living. There was not a place on earth that should not be haunted by some or other violent death. Funny how people who believed in the supernatural never thought of that.

As she walked around the nursery room she started to shiver. She hardly noticed it, being so preoccupied with her note taking that it was a little while before she noticed that her own breath was visible in the air.

Damn, its cold in here! She rubbed her hands together. I’ll bet the walls are like paper. She pressed her foot on the mildewed floorboards, testing to see if they could hold her weight. The wood flooring groaned as Janet ventured across the room.

She went to the only window in the room. Someone must have painted over it very thickly, so that not a single ray of light could penetrate. It felt as if no one had been in this room for at least a decade.

Janet imagined that children had slept in this room. The old gas heater in the corner looked as if it had been here since the turn of the last century. It looked rustic sitting there in the corner of the room, abandoned and left to rust away under a sheet of ancient cobwebs. Janet sighed. Such a terrible thing for a child to be left unattended around something like that, even in those days.

In her mind, she saw the little children running around the room, loud and rambunctious, being joyful, as children always have been. Janet could almost hear their laughter and their frivolity, and she smiled like a proud parent.

Suddenly the laughter she heard began to melt. It warped and twisted in her head until the horrifying sound of children screaming made her crumple to the floor. The boards buckled beneath her as the screams grew louder and louder. The floorboards around her exploded.

Oh God! Janet tried to move, tried to flee, but her body ignored her commands.

She felt numerous little hands tearing through the breaking floor, coming for her. In her mind she saw tiny howling faces, clawing at her from the darkness below. They clung onto her, their weight pulling her down into a dank place that had never seen the light of day.

No! Janet screamed defiantly. The touch of the children’s hands was like ice. In the distance she heard a cell phone ringing.

Janet opened her eyes and looked around and saw that nothing had changed. There were no broken floorboards; no haunting children’s faces with empty eye sockets crawling with little black spiders.

The cell was in her purse. The notepad was scattered across the floor, and her pen was in the corner of the room. The small flashlight she had been clutching in her hand rolled slowly across the floor.

She cursed as she glanced down at the warm puddle of urine beneath her. Luckily she had an extra set of clothing stashed in the trunk of her car. The smell of urine made her loathe the situation more, but at least she had been alone when it had happened. The last thing she needed was one of her loose-lipped employees finding out that she had wet herself.

She yanked the cell up to her ear and feigned a tone that was much happier than she felt. The caller sounded muffled and far away. Janet cursed the spotty connection in the area, knowing there wasn’t a phone booth for at least a mile.

Hello, Janet? This is Hal Romic. Remember that place you showed us last week? Well, I’ve discussed it with my wife, and we’re going to take it.

Janet listened to Hal as she went around the cold room, gathering her things up off the floor. She was listening to Hal’s voice, but not paying much attention to what he was saying. In her hand she clutched the notepad, staring at it in disbelief. The words GET OUT had been scribbled in what looked like a child’s handwriting.

Without another thought, Janet was out of the nursery door. Behind her, the door slammed, making the chandelier in the entrance below jingle.

I’m so sorry about that, Mr. Romic. W-when do you plan to come down again? I see. Yes. Yes, I’ll be here. Okay, thank you, and I’ll see you then.

She hung up and looked back at the nursery door. To hell with it! I’m as good as gone from here, now that this goddamned place is finally being sold.

She hurried down the stairs and stopped short of the chandelier, which was swaying and twinkling as if it had a life of its own.

A window must be open; there’s no reason to get so panicky. It’s just an open window, or perhaps an open door.

A slight chill blew on her, stiffening the sparse little hairs on the back of her neck. Goosebumps appeared on her arms. It felt as if someone was standing right behind her.

"Shit!" was all she could mutter before she ran toward the entrance door.

Overhead she heard the sound of the chandelier as it started to sway. The tiny twinkling sounds swelled, until all she could hear was the insistent sound of chinking crystal.

In a panic, she tried the door, but it refused to budge. The handle wouldn’t turn to let her out.

Let me out of here, she demanded. Let me go! Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow taking shape, looming over her and growing larger. Her breath was visible in the air now.

Oh God, have mercy on me, Janet sobbed. Don’t, please don’t —

Just then the door had finally unlocked, and she pushed it open, racing to her car without looking back. She fumbled for the car remote and activated the car engine. Without a second thought, she was in the car and gunning the car out of the driveway.

It had taken a while before Janet took her foot off the pedal, and then she glanced back through her rear-view mirror. The door to the house was wide open. Janet could have sworn that someone was there, looking back at her. She couldn’t make out the details from such a distance, but she could feel their eyes on her, and she started to panic all over again. As she glanced up one last time, she saw that the door had slammed shut.

Janet sighed with relief. She was finally going to get rid of that cursed place — no matter what it took.

CHAPTER 2 – HAL ROMIC

– I –

They were on the highway at noon, and they still had over an hour to go before they would get to the estate. Hal looked over at Margaret, languidly relaxing with her bare feet up on the dashboard. She was wearing a light summer dress and thick black sunglasses that hid her eyes. They exchanged smiles, and he turned his attention back to the highway.

This is a big day for us! Hal burst out excitedly. We can settle in and get the renovations going, and then maybe I can come up with an idea for my next novel.

Margaret just nodded her head and stretched.

Did you like the honeymoon? Hal bent closer and gave her an even broader smile.

I loved it, she responded, stretching her hand out to show off the wedding ring he had given her while they were in Vegas.

"So you