May Day
A Curse, in Black and White
by
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"I'm telling you, it's real spooky," Bob pulled a snub-nosed .38 from a shoulder holster and checked to make sure that it was loaded. Satisfied, he put it back in the holster and straightened his jean jacket. He pulled a two-way radio off his belt. "Jerry, this is Bob. Wally and I are coming down."
"10-4," the answer was almost immediate. "What do you make of it, Bob?" Chief Deputy Wally Bird had just shut the driver's door of the light green El Paso County Sheriff's car. Smoothing the crease in his tan, short-brimmed Stetson, he placed it on his head and joined undercover narcotics officer Bob Langly. Langly was squatting beside the nearest of four bodies, which lay motionless on the forest trail.
"Beats anything I've ever seen," Bob said, glancing up at Wally. "What could have done something like that?" He pointed at the long, deep gash, which ran almost the full length of the man's torso. "That cut goes all the way through."
"Chainsaw?" Wally stooped over slightly, looking at the cut. "No, too neat. Those other three were burned. We haven't found this guy's arm yet." He stood up, still looking at the man at his feet. "I don't know who this guy was, but I think one of those others was Todd Johnson."
Wally straightened up and glanced over at the other bodies. "How can you tell?" He asked.
"Hmmm? Oh, the one with his head chopped off--- the hair was burned off, but his face was recognizable. I'm pretty sure it was Todd." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "If I hadn't had to work, I'd have been out here." Wally glanced back at the late afternoon sun, "Let's take a look at the rest of it, it'll be dark in an hour."
Walking past the rest of the bodies, they continued on down the trail toward the parking area.
"I'm telling you, it's real spooky," Bob pulled a snub-nosed .38 from a shoulder holster and checked to make sure that it was loaded. Satisfied, he put it back in the holster and straightened his jean jacket. He pulled a two-way radio off his belt. "Jerry, this is Bob. Wally and I are coming down."
"10-4," the answer was almost immediate.
Bob glanced over at Wally as he clipped the radio back onto his belt. "Jerry's really freaking out. He thinks two of those charred cinders down there are his mom and dad. We ought to send him home, he almost shot a magpie, earlier."
"Sudden noise," he said in answer to the quizzical look that Wally had given him. "He thinks there's a curse on the place," he paused. "Maybe there is. Just wait 'til you see what's down here. Then you'll understand what I'm talking about."
Wally walked a little slower as they approached the parking area. "How many men have you got out here?" he asked.
"Just Jerry and Red Grimes down here, Pat's back at Rampart Range. You saw him on the way in didn't you?" He looked at Wally.
Wally nodded, "Yeah, he was parked southbound on the other side of the road." They had come to the parking area and Wally stopped, surveying the burned-out cars.
"How many dead here?" He asked.
Before Bob had a chance to answer, a burst of static came from the radio. They both jumped. Bob snatched up the radio, "Yeah, this is Bob."
"Bob, this is Pat. A chocolate brown Continental and a Mercedes limo just turned onto the trail. They're coming your way." Bob looked questioningly at Wally.
"It's OK," Wally said to him. "They're I.D., from Denver. I didn't expect 'em here this quick." Then to the radio, he said, "It's OK, Pat. They're expected."
"10-4," came back.
Bob clipped the radio back on to his belt and began walking around the edge of the clearing. "As near as I can figure, there's between ten and fifteen bodies in the cars. There's also a dead guard on the other side of the clearing."
Wally pulled a 9 mm Beretta from a shoulder-rig and, jacking a shell into the chamber, placed it in his right hip pocket. Straightening his jacket, he followed Bob around the edge of the blackened meadow.
"Keep an eye on those I.D. people," he said, glancing back up the trail. "They were really pissed when I called them."
Bob had stopped by the dead guard on the other side of the clearing. He looked back at Wally. "How do we know their people didn't do this?" he asked.
Wally stopped beside him. "We don't," he paused. "They had one or two high-level Druids here. I know for a fact that we had eight or ten high priests-important people. We lost a lot more than they did."
"Another decapitation?" Wally was looking down at the dead guard.
"Yeah," Bob pointed to the Uzi, gripped tightly in the man's right hand. "His weapon's been fired-I don't know at who--or what."
"Or what?" Wally repeated, chuckling. "You really are spooked."
"Wait 'til you get a look at the big clearing. Maybe they summoned up something that they couldn't handle."
Wally glanced across the clearing, "I think I just heard some car doors slam," he said. "Let's get on down to the other clearing. They'll have the sun at their backs here."
They hurried down the path to the larger clearing and as soon as they emerged, Wally motioned for Jerry and Red to join them.
"Listen," he said, "some I.D. people have just arrived. They'll be down here in a few minutes." He looked at Red, who was carrying an M-16, "Red, get up that slope on the other side of the clearing. Act like you're checking out the terrain along the tree-line."
Wally looked at Jerry and hesitated. Jerry looked wild-eyed and kept clicking the safety on and off on the 12-gauge riot-gun that he held at the ready. "Are you OK, Jerry?" he asked.
Jerry pursed his lips and didn't answer.
"Look, Jerry--don't lose it. We're not sure what happened here." Wally nodded at Red, who began climbing up the slope toward the tree-line. "Why don't you help Red," he added.
"I'll tell you one god damn thing," spat Jerry, "I've seen two guards with their heads chopped off and the only thing we've found that could have done that is in that dead Druid's hand," he snarled, pointing the shotgun in the direction of the altar.
"We don't know for sure!" Wally snapped. "Get on over to the other side of the circle and act like you're checking out corpses. Don't blow it!"
Jerry spun on his heel and angrily strode off in the direction of the slope.
"Come over here and look at this dead Druid," Bob called out. He was standing a few yards away, beside the altar.
Wally, watching Jerry walk away, shook his head and walked over to join Bob.
"Holy shit!" He exclaimed. He stopped abruptly and stared at the bizarre corpse, "Holy shit!"
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About the Book
In the tumult of this modern world, it is suddenly necessary for Muslim and Christian activists to unite to oppose Satanism, widespread in the United States. Hermano is a minister on a mission. Toby is an Air Force veteran working to avenge his murdered niece. Texas ranchers the Hunts are in the midst of a serious run-in with the church of Satan. Prepared for the battle ahead, their journey begins with the extermination of all participants in a black mass in Colorado. Simultaneously, at a rural ranch in north central Texas, a wealthy rancher is murdered at the site of a mysterious cattle mutilation. An Afghan boy must be rescued from a powerful Satanist near Vail, climaxing in a final bloody confrontation. The author, Scott, had cause to thoroughly investigate the organized church of Satan when he learned they were responsible for the abduction and murder of a child in Denton, Texas—and yet, authorities did nothing. Scott made himself an expert on Satanism and the elements of “magic” ritual, which became the inspiration for this book. Join the dark journey as unlikely heroes expose evil in the government and beyond.
About the Author
The author, formerly a professional investigator in Texas, had cause to thoroughly investigate the organized church of Satan when he learned that they were responsible for the abduction and murder of a little girl in Denton, Texas. Receiving no help from local law enforcement, the author determined to make himself an expert on Satanism and the elements of “magic” ritual. May Day, A Curse in Black and White is the fruit of that endeavor.