Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society by R.D. Hunter (pdf e book reader TXT) 📕

morning. I needed to go back to sleep. Tomorrow was a big day, and I’d need all my faculties.

Deep breathing exercises are great for a lot of things. With the right technique, they can relax the body, soothe the spirit and even help to block out pain. Alternatively, they can also be used to deliver massive amounts of oxygen to your heart and lungs, jacking up your fight-or-flight response to eleven. I’d had enough of that, so I settled on the former.

After a few minutes, my heart had settled back into its normal, steady rhythm and some of the tense cords in my neck and shoulders loosened up. Then I heard something that made every ounce of blood in my veins turn to ice; a high-pitched insane laugh, and it was coming from right next to my bed.

My eyes flew open to behold the horrifying visage of the Smiling Man, standing so close he could have reached out and grabbed me. A choked cry escaped my lips as I rolled off the other side of my bed, then crab-walked backwards to put some distance between myself and the monster from my dreams.

Panic flooded my entire being and, for a few moments, I couldn’t think. That’s what panic does. It clouds reason and thought, letting your base instincts have free reign. I knew I’d need more than them if I had any hope of surviving this encounter. But forcing them back into the box and letting my rational thought processes back into the driver’s seat was easier said than done.

The Smiling Man casually walked around the bed, his unblinking eyes locked on mine and his grin sharp and tight. He reached down with one hand and hauled me up by the scruff of my Tweety Bird night shirt. Almost without thinking, I smashed the palm of my hand against his lower jaw, trying to gain some kind of leverage for escape. But his grip never loosened, and I was unable to wriggle out of my shirt.

“Did you just strike me?” he asked quizzically, his head cocked to one side. “How quaint. Do it again.”

Never one to turn down a free shot, I brought my elbow up in a superb uppercut that snapped his head up towards the ceiling. A normal man would have dropped like a stone, but the only reward I received for my efforts was another round of squealing laughter that felt like someone was driving knives into my eardrums.

“That looks like fun,” the Smiling Man said, his lips never moving. “Let me try.”

An instant later, his hand came around too fast to see and smashed against the side of head. Once again, fireworks went off in my brain and my legs turned to jelly, unable to support me any longer.

“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” my tormentor said with surprising sincerity. “Don’t pass out. Please don’t pass out. We have so much more fun to have. You can’t sleep through all of it.”

With a supreme effort of will, I marshaled what few reserves my body had left. My vision cleared somewhat and my feet found new purchase on the hard wood floor. This seemed to please the Smiling Man, because I saw him nod his head, almost in respect.

“That’s my girl.” I spit in his eyes.

Something like a growl vibrated the air in the room, and the next thing I knew I was flying through the air to land in an ungraceful heap in the next room. I’d always wondered why in the movies the bad guys throw the good guys around when they have them in their grip. Turns out it hurts, a lot. Also, it’s a hell of a power move. Nothing takes the wind out of your sails quicker than being tossed about like a child’s toy. It makes you realize how small and insignificant you truly are, physically speaking.

I had to move. I struggled to my feet, wincing as my left knee threatened to give out from where I’d landed wrong, and hobbled towards the living room. The sound of steady footsteps coming my way pushed me forward. I’d left my gun and athame on a little table right inside the doorway. I guessed that I’d reach it at about the same time as the Smiling Man rounded the far corner, which meant I had a choice to make.

The cop in me said to grab the gun and empty the entire magazine into the bastard’s torso, then use it to beat him about the head, neck and shoulders until squishy things started coming out of his ears. Violent, simple and oh so satisfying.

But the witch in me cautioned that this was obviously an extra-planar being and not necessarily subject to the laws of our universe. Physical measures, as impressive as they may, might not work. The safer alternative was to use my athame to cast a circle. It should repel whatever energies animated the Smiling Man, and I’d be safe until daylight. Instinct told me sunlight was not this thing’s friend and he wouldn’t stick around for a cup of coffee.

Wait a second! That was it. It was a creature from the nightmare realm. Someone had helped it cross over to our dimension, but it still originated from that same pit where our deepest, darkest terrors came forth to assail us in our sleep. Which meant I knew how to defeat it, or at least get rid of it.

I reached in my jacket pocket that hung on the back of the chair, and pulled out the little piece of rose quartz Gramps had given me after it fell out of his bag. Rose Quartz is good for all kinds of things; it detoxifies the body, good for the complexion and will even help to soothe a cranky baby if you put it under its crib. But I wanted it for another reason. Rose quartz