**I wrote my first short story some months ago and it was received with rave reviews. It did so well that readers requested more! I'm still working out the details for this series as of right now, but I did get a greenlight to move forward. I have my hands full right now with Memoirs of a Dreamer, but I am looking forward to getting a little bit darker and adding more horror and paranormal references with a twist of old wives tales. I thank you all for the support that you have consistently given me. For others that had asked for the story itself, which apparently will now be chapter 1 in the first book of the series, this is for you.**

He lit a cigarette before we began. He was slow about it. He pulled on the filter and sucked in the smoke like the urgency for him to act didn’t exist. I was in a small room padded by concrete on its four walls. I was getting claustrophobic, but I was impatient more. I sat at the small steel desk, in the hard backed, matching steel chair and I tapped my foot. There were cameras in the northeast corner and one in the southwest corner behind me. I was grateful at the least that they were recording this. I didn’t want to have to say it again.

“I am going to tape our conversation, Dr. Phasser. Do I have your permission?” My God this man spoke even slower than he smoked that cigarette. I didn’t quite understand the need for both, a camera and a voice recorder, but I didn’t bother with questioning it. I had seen officials do this once or twice before.

“Yes, Yes. Of course! Inspector…what is it again?” I asked impatiently.

“Judson, ma’am. Inspector Judson”, he replied like a sloth.

“Inspector Judson, I got it. Could you speed it up? There are people dying out there. People in your very own backyard. Your district!” My impatience showed through my tone. I didn’t expect the squeak to come out when I said, “district”.

“Of course, Dr. Phasser”. He hit play on the tape recorder. Something I didn’t even know they still made. I was used to seeing digital recorders now. What a backwards, podunk town. My mind was stringing together obscenities.

“This is Inspector Arthur Judson of the lower Glastonbury Police Department interviewing Dr. Karen Phasser. Today’s date is Wednesday, November 6, in the year 2012. It is approximately 9:34 p.m.” I watched him talk almost bent over so that his voice hit the relic recorder. He had on a brown polyester suit, a white shirt and a black tie. He had graying hair and yellowing teeth. He, alone, wasn’t doing anything for the stereotype that British people held. As he talked, his breath greeted me and I don’t think he ever had a drink in his life that wasn’t coffee and Bailey’s or even whiskey. His mother probably put it into his bottle. That’s also probably why his eyes sunk into his head with skin that flapped over and hid any eyelids he was born with. The more I sat here listening to him go almost backwards in time, the more I wanted to grab some guns myself and take care of the problem. IF that would even take care of the problem.

“Dr. Phasser, please recount your earlier testimony.”

“Yes, thank you. As I told the officer before I came here from Wilmington, Delaware. I was contacted by a long-time friend, Bill Edwards. He lives 5 miles down the road from here.”

“And why were you contacted by Mr. Edwards?”

“Are you going to write any of this down?”

He paused first. “My assistant outside the door is writing all of this down, I assure you. Please continue”.

I rolled my eyes and looked at the camera in front of me and to the right, “you had better write down everything I say, do you hear me? People have died and if you don’t get this right more will die and that will be on your hands! And yours too, do you understand?” I yelled it out and also looked at the detective. These people clearly didn’t get it. It was infuriating!

“Yes, Dr. Phasser. We will not miss anything, I assure you. Please continue. Mr. Bill Edwards called you here. Please tell me why.” He sounded more upbeat and affirming. My yelling was working. I think.

“Bill Edwards was a colleague of mine in college. We stayed in contact through the years through our travels in the investigations of paranormal occurrences all over the world. He called me here after unexplainable deaths were occurring in his own backyard; to his neighbors all around him.”

“Did Mr. Edwards say they were unexplainable, specifically?”

“Well, not the deaths themselves. That was known. What was not known is how or why. My first contact with him was about a married couple that lived two doors down. They were burned to death, but no source of ignition was found. Nothing around them was burned; it was just the bodies. Bill said that a full investigation was done by the fire chief and they were left scratching their heads.”

“I see and then Mr. Edwards contacted you again?”

“The next night, around 2 a.m. he woke to the sounds and lights of police now across the street. He advised me that an entire family had been disemboweled.”

“Did he tell you why this incident, although tragic, was also unexplainable?”

“He told me that no weapon was found or traces of blood anywhere around the bodies. There were no signs of a break in.”

“Is that when you decided to then make a trip out to investigate, Dr. Phasser?”

"Well, yes, of course. Bill has been investigating what we consider the unexplained and paranormal events for two decades now. He has a knack more than anyone when events do not seem to add up, you know? He asked me to come out and help disprove what his gut was telling him.”

“And what did Mr. Edwards tell you that his gut feeling was?”

“He was concerned that there may be a poltergeist or demon in play here. I was inclined to believe him.”

“Can you elaborate as to why that is?”

“I…I…don’t know. I barely remember right now. I just remember that what he told me was important and I needed to come here right away. I gathered some equipment and bought a plane ticket. No wait, it had something to do with the church. I remember some of it now. He said that he found out the Roman Catholic Church used the ground that their homes were built on as a burial ground for what Bill termed their “throw aways””. As I went on, my words became rushed as some of the details came to the forefront.

“Give me one moment, Dr. Phasser, please”, Detective Judson said with an index finger up and a soft voice. He got up and walked to the only door in the small, block room, opened it and walked out; shutting it behind him.

The obscenities started to string together in my head again. My foot started to tap harder. I could feel sweat beading up on my forehead and even dripping down my back. Damn it was hot in here. I had to keep telling myself to calm down. “You just have to keep it together a little bit longer Kar; they will get to the bottom of this. Just calm down”. That would then turn into, “but these stupid, redneck idiots are sitting around taking their sweet old time like people didn’t die! Like people couldn’t be still dying!” It was all I could think about. The thought of it sat on my tongue like a sentence in a hurry to be spoken. Of course, there was some sailor perfection in there that my Navy-retired grand-dad would love, but I tried to spare recognizing it.

It didn’t take long before the detective walked back into the room and returned to his seat. However, this time he came in with a vanilla file folder, thick with contents, placing it on the table once he sat down.

“I’m sorry. Where were we? You were saying that Mr. Edwards had found some information about the land all of the houses were put on? Something about The Church? Is that right?”

“Correct. He told me that he was able to find conclusive proof that from the early 1600’s up to the late 1800’s that The Church used the land to bury their exorcisms gone wrong, what they deemed their witches, etc. of the times, among others.” I stopped there. I felt a twinge in my gut that told me to shut up.

“Among others? Any elaboration?”

“Unfortunately, no. My God, is it hot in here?” I was wiping my brow now. If I had any makeup left on my face it was running into my cleavage. “Did you turn the heat up?” I looked at Detective Judson and he looked just fine. How could that be?

“I feel quite comfortable, Dr. Phasser. Do you need another drink?” He sounded concerned and leaned over just enough to show the emotion behind the question, with a quick look of his eyes to the Styrofoam cup that sat in front of me.

“No, no thank you.” I took a drink. It was cold. It would have been refreshing if it weren’t for the fact that I was starting to feel lightheaded. I told myself to snap out of it.

“Can you we continue?”

“Yes.”

“So Mr. Edwards gave you the run down, the simple run down, about information he found on a church burial ground. Did he say what church?”

“The Roman Catholic Church, of course. I already said that”. I was snappy. He should’ve remembered the answer before he asked the question. He didn’t seem offended.

“I see. Let’s skip ahead to when you arrived. Can you please discuss what happened then?”

“I got off of my plane and grabbed my bags from baggage claim. I had rented a car prior to my arrival so getting through the Enterprise line was easy. I rented a small Ford. I can never remember car names for some reason, but it was a small Ford. It was dark blue.” He shook his head for me to continue. “I drove directly to Bill’s house which was about an hour away. I tried ringing him on his cell phone as he told me to, but it went to voicemail. “

“Did you find that odd, Dr. Phasser?”

“Please, call me Karen. Yes, I did find that odd. He knew that I was coming. I had even spoken to him this morning before I left for the airport in Philadelphia, so I didn’t appreciate it, to be honest. However, Bill is one to get caught up in his work so I rationalized it away.” I could feel my words getting caught in my throat. I had been doing what my training and lifelong experience in this field taught me. Block it out. Now, I was at the place that I couldn’t. I had to relive it now. This was my friend. My colleague. A man that I had known for a little over 20 years. The same man who snuck into my dorm and put a fake alien in my bed to scare the hell out of me following a drunken night out on the town with my girlfriends. The same man who once, and only once, I had a drunken one night stand with only to wake up the next morning and laugh at each other, promising that it won’t happen again. We called it borderline incest. We were close. I also, apparently, drank a lot back then. The years took us away, but we always managed to stay in contact and see each other once a year, if not more at a conference for our line of work. But now….now? The tears pooled up into my eyes and betrayed me on the way down my cheeks.

“I know that this is hard for you. Do you need to take a break?”

It took me a few seconds to answer. I was mustering up my courage to get through this in a professional manner. I was internally telling myself that I could fall apart after I made this statement. I had to do it. I pulled up the strength from my boots and up to my neck like a blanket. I wiped away the tears, took three short, hurried breaths, and shook my head no. “I can do this.” I sounded like a child who just found out her mother was in heaven and not coming back. Heaven? Do I even still believe in heaven or hell anymore?

“When I arrived at his house and knocked on the door, he didn’t answer. I was tired and a little on edge from the flight. I tried to look into his front windows, but the shades were drawn. So, I walked around to the back door and looked in.” I stopped there. I had to take a few breaths again. And then a few more.

“And what did you see?” he asked.

“I…” a few more breaths. “I saw his body lying on the kitchen floor. His head was a few feet in front of him.” I kept trying to take more breaths, but the shock of it, the pain of it; the terror of it crept up and bit me. The tears came again followed by shaking.

“I know this is hard for you doctor, I mean, Karen, but this was found on your colleague by the coroner. It was sent directly over as evidence. I need you to look at this for us and shed some light on anything that can help us with our investigation. Can you do this or do you need to take a break?”

“He wasn’t just my colleague, he was my friend”. What an inconsiderate assh….

Before I could finish surmising him, “my deepest apologies. Of course, he was your friend”. He slid the folder forward.

From overhead, “Jud, can you please come out here? We have a situation.”

“I’m very sorry Karen. I will be right back. Can you look through this file for me?” he asked.

“Before you go, what do you mean it was found on him?”

“The Coroner advised that it”, clears throat, “was found down the back of his pants, ma’am”. His cheeks turned rose red. When he said it I could feel my eyes bulge out of my head as if he had said, “see this tail I have? It’s rainbow colored and I can fly”. He cleared his throat again nervously, tapped on the folder with his right index and middle finger, and then got up and walked back out of the room.

I slid the folder close to me and opened it. I had to give it to him. Even in college he did his research the same way. Notes on the top, supporting information behind it. The notes seemed extensive so I tried to skim through them. It wasn’t until I got to the third page…

“8/4/11: Moving here was a whim. It isn’t anymore. I found it all and they knew it the entire time. I thought I was being quiet doing my research, but they have been watching. I wonder who tipped them off? I’m onto something here.”

“12/26/11: The murders have been gruesome. They seem to be getting closer and closer to home. I am so close to proving at least one of them, but I worry that they will continue to creep up the street. The neighbors are talking. If I can find any more evidence I will need to hold a meeting with them all. They simply aren’t safe. The Church knows it”.

Holy hell. What did he find? He never said there were more than two murders. What does he mean that he moved here? He moved for this? My head was spinning. I had to put both feet on the floor and both hands, palms to the table, to ground myself. He lied to me. “Get it together Kar!” I yelled to myself.

I skimmed quicker. The dates of his notes started to get closer together. Every month. Then several a month, etc., until it became day-by-day. “Woden’s Hunt”, “burned beyond recognition”, “meeting planned in two days, Karen will be here then. I will have another head to help me with this and figure out what to do”, “I heard the dogs barking and the chains tonight. I heard the gallops of the horses. I heard them! They killed them!”, “blessed medallions have been buried”, “I finished a salt circle around the house and picked up the vials of holy water today”, “The Taylor’s are gone. I heard them again. I heard the dogs and the chains again. This time….I saw them. It was brief, but I saw them. One of the huntsmen saw me. I could even smell them through my windows. It’s putrid death. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop them!”, “I will be next if we can’t figure out how to prevent them from coming above ground, but only if they don’t come for me first”. The latter was the last entry. He made it this morning. What in the….? Woden’s Hunt?

I threw the notes to the side and started to skim through the other papers behind it. All of what he had was about The Roman Catholic Church of England except for a few items. The little bit that Bill did tell me was here. In perusing the documents he had, which looked like printed copies, it indeed did show that The Church buried what they felt were demons and demi demons over multiple centuries. It was their spiritual burial ground. They thought it long dormant and there is even a deed present where The Church itself sold the land to a developer about 100 years ago. But then it got interesting. About 50 years ago unexplained murders started to occur and Bill found an internal memo from a church official dispatching “investigators and cleanup crews, should it be deemed necessary on approval”. Behind that was a stack of information about the myth of Woden’s Hunt with his notes on an artists’ rendition of what Woden’s Hunt would look like.

I read his notes on the drawing, “The myth says ‘there is a phenomenon known as the Woden’s Hunt, which is said to be a phantom group of huntsmen riding on horseback and a pack of baying hounds that thunder across the sky in search of prey. It has been said that the huntsmen are that of ghosts of great leaders, kings and legendary figures of the past. When seeing them careen across the sky it is said to be a presentiment of disaster such as war, disease or famine, and perhaps a harbinger of death for the person unlucky enough to see them.’ They aren’t important figures. They are what The Church buried there and they know it. It isn’t a myth anymore; they killed my neighbors. It’s real and they have collaborated. Hell is real and it’s here”.

Before I could get out the words, “holy crap Bill, what did you find?”, I was stopped short by a set of men coming back into the room and neither one of them were Detective Judson.

“Dr. Karen Phasser, we are Inspectors Amorah and Dibeers from the The Security Service, Division MI5. We need you to come with us, please”. They sure looked like some version of the FBI or CIA to me. Their suites were three steps up from Judson and their hair was slicked back and shaved short. Before I could ask where we were going, one of them had grabbed me by the arm and led me up from the chair. My questions went unanswered as they pulled me through the police station. It wasn’t until they plopped me into an awaiting car outside that either one of them spoke, and I still wasn’t sure which one was Amorah and which one was Dibeers necessarily.

"Where are you taking me?” I was panicking.

“No need to worry, Dr. Phasser. We have been called in to the investigation due to the gravity of the murders and evidence that has been found on scene”, the one driving answered.

“Ok, but I don’t understand how I am supposed to help you with any of this. I just got here myself.”

“We are under the impression that you received your colleagues’ notes and were informed prior to your arrival about his off-the-cuff investigation.”

“So what? What does that have to with anything?”

“Your specialization in the area may help to uncover pertinent information in our own investigation”.

“I assure you that I cannot help you at all, Inspector Whoever-the-hell-you-said-your-name-is”. I was getting snotty and scared at the same time. Something wasn’t sitting right in my gut about this. I was getting anxious in my chest and I knew that was a sign. “Please wait until we arrive and we will give you more information”. Finally, the passenger guy spoke.

My gut told me to shut the hell up and wait and see what happens. I looked over to the door which was on the passenger side and the door was locked. I don’t know what made me think of it, but I quietly slid my right hand up the door to the lock and tried to pull it up just to see if I could. It didn’t budge. The more we drove, the worse I felt. My chest was getting heavier and heavier, and it was harder and harder to breathe. I took in my surroundings. I didn’t know this area well, but from what I could tell I was heading back the same way I had came when I arrived at the police station. We were going back to Bill’s neighborhood. It was dark now although I didn’t know the time; it has slipped passed me with all of this. It is hard to see much of anything except for the occasional street light, which didn’t total many. We were more or less in a rural area.

When we arrived in the neighborhood it was quiet. There were no other cars or cops or FBI agents anywhere. Matter of fact, even the street lights weren’t on. It was a jet black sky and the moon was hidden behind mature trees behind us, and it didn’t light a thing through them. When the car stopped it wasn’t too far from Bill’s house and there was a clearing to my right.

“What’s going on?” I asked nervously. Actually, that is an understatement. I was freaking the eff out inside and pretending to have composure.

Neither one of them answered me. Inspector Driver got out first and came around to my door followed by Inspector Passenger. When they opened the door I wanted to run, but they grabbed me first. Hard. I bulked to move and they started to drag me.

“No! No! No!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I was jumping and pulling and fighting for my life only for them to grab me harder and pull me forward with their strength as my feet dragged behind me in between jumps. They never tried to stop me from screaming. It was if they didn’t care who heard me. They didn’t even look my way, only straight ahead. I didn’t have long to fight for myself because we rounded a bend of trees only to get into another clearing where there were more people standing there.

Actually, they were men. There were stakes in the ground with long white candles ablaze in a circle. In the middle was a block. There were four men all dressed in black robes except for a large silver cross emblazoned across their chest. When I

saw it all I screamed more. I fought harder. I tried to dig my feet in the ground as hard as I could only for them to pull me out of the foothold that I had. Two of the four men came over and helped them bring me within the circle.

“Karen Phasser, you are being charged with treason of The Church and with being in possession of stolen documents with the intent to damage humanity. You have been sentenced to death.” One of them said. It came out like he told me I forgot to pay the meter in the city. Like this wasn’t my life! One sentence was all this man had to say. It was that easy.

“No, no, NO! You have this wrong! I don’t know anything! You have to believe me! I didn’t DO anything wrong! I JUST got here!”

As I was dragged over to the block and forced down to my knees, I could hear it. I could hear the gallops of the horses and the barks of the dogs. I could hear the chains just like Bill said in his notes. It was getting closer and closer. I could hear the faint sounds of men charging them on. It sounded like it was coming through the trees.

At the same time one of the men took me by the neck and threw my head down over the block. I could hear one of them saying a prayer above me that sounded like it was Latin. The gallops and the dogs were getting closer….closer….closer. I could hear them trampling through the wooded grounds like they were smashing the earth to small little bits as they advanced.

Two men held me down, one over my back and one to hold my neck over the block. Another had a Bible in hand and started the chant, of which I couldn’t understand. My breaths were hard to catch; the wood was cutting into my throat. I couldn’t move anymore and I couldn’t speak. In my peripheral vision I saw another robe come to my right and heard the thump of a long scythe as it hit the ground next to me waiting for its orders. My execution.

Whatever was coming through the woods was almost here. The chains clinked together so loudly and the barking of the dogs howled through the last stretch of woods like a train coming full steam into a station with no plans to stop. There was getting ready to be a collision of something between this world and that one. My heart was racing, tears were flowing and panic invading ever space of my existence as I heard Woden’s Hunt coming and my beheading imminent.

The man who was chanting Latin came to stand in front of me and then squatted down to use his index finger and draw a cross onto my forehead. “Please, please…..please don’t do this. Please, I’m begging you!” is all I could get out through the tiny bit of space I had through the choking of the wood.

“In Jesus Christ’s name, we commit you to death. May your judgment here today be more swift than what you will face upon his Almighty”. He stood up and walked away out of my direct line of sight as I tried harder to save myself only to be met with the strength of the men behind me holding me down.

Gallops. Chains. Dogs. The smell. It’s here. It’s death and it’s here. No, no, no! No! “Help me! Please somebody help me!”

I couldn’t see it, but it was everywhere behind me. I could smell them and hear them. Gun shots rang out as hell erupted its army into reality, but the men holding me down didn’t move. I saw the scythe lifting…..”please God no”.