Harbinger Wake-Robin Ridge
Book 3
Blurb:
Continuing in the tradition of Wake-Robin Ridge and
A Boy Named Rabbit, Marcia Meara's North Carolina mountain series takes a
shivery turn with the Appalachian Legend of Ol' Shuck, the Harbinger of Death.
“. . . he felt the wet slide of the dog’s burning hot tongue on his face, and the scrape of its razor sharp teeth against the top of his head. A white-hot agony of crushing pain followed, as the jaws began to close.”
The wine-red trillium that carpets the forests of the North Carolina Mountains is considered a welcome harbinger of spring—but not all such omens are happy ones. An Appalachian legend claims the Black Dog, or Ol' Shuck, as he's often called, is a harbinger of death. If you see him, you or someone you know is going to die.
But what happens when Ol' Shuck starts coming for you in your dreams? Nightmares of epic proportions haunt the deacon of the Light of Grace Baptist Church, and bring terror into the lives of everyone around him. Even MacKenzie Cole and his adopted son, Rabbit, find themselves pulled into danger.
When Sheriff Raleigh Wardell asks Mac and Rabbit to help him solve a twenty-year-old cold case, Rabbit’s visions of a little girl lost set them on a path that soon collides with that of a desperate man being slowly driven mad by guilt.
As Rabbit’s gift of the Sight grows ever more powerful, his commitment to those who seek justice grows as well, even when their pleas come from beyond the grave.
“. . . he felt the wet slide of the dog’s burning hot tongue on his face, and the scrape of its razor sharp teeth against the top of his head. A white-hot agony of crushing pain followed, as the jaws began to close.”
The wine-red trillium that carpets the forests of the North Carolina Mountains is considered a welcome harbinger of spring—but not all such omens are happy ones. An Appalachian legend claims the Black Dog, or Ol' Shuck, as he's often called, is a harbinger of death. If you see him, you or someone you know is going to die.
But what happens when Ol' Shuck starts coming for you in your dreams? Nightmares of epic proportions haunt the deacon of the Light of Grace Baptist Church, and bring terror into the lives of everyone around him. Even MacKenzie Cole and his adopted son, Rabbit, find themselves pulled into danger.
When Sheriff Raleigh Wardell asks Mac and Rabbit to help him solve a twenty-year-old cold case, Rabbit’s visions of a little girl lost set them on a path that soon collides with that of a desperate man being slowly driven mad by guilt.
As Rabbit’s gift of the Sight grows ever more powerful, his commitment to those who seek justice grows as well, even when their pleas come from beyond the grave.
Excerpts From Chapter 11
Monday
Afternoon, March 10, 2014
North
Carolina Mountains
RABBIT’S
SILENCE TOLD Mac almost as much as his frown did. Something was bothering his
son. Worry showed on the boy’s face and in his body language, as the two of
them walked away from the parked Jeep, and headed up the long driveway toward
the Birdwell place. Full of eager chatter about his reimagined control module
on the drive over, Rabbit’s mood had changed the minute they climbed out of the
vehicle.
“You want to
talk about what’s bothering you?”
Shoulders
hunched upward in a half-hearted shrug, Rabbit didn’t say anything for a few
more steps, but then he slowed, scanning the area to each side of them. “Don’t
you feel nothin’ different today, Daddy?”
“Different how?”
Another hunch of
those narrow shoulders. “Just … different. It don’t feel so good here right
now. Feels like somethin’s waitin’.”
Mac came to a
dead halt. “Waiting? What do you mean? Like waiting for us? Is someone here?”
He’d assumed all the tire tracks in the drive were from their previous visits,
but maybe not. He studied the impressions left in the dry, powdery clay, but he
couldn’t tell how old they were.
Rabbit stayed by
his side, peering more closely at the drive, too. “I ain’t never learnt to read
tracks an’ such. Grampa was always plannin’ to teach me someday, but … well … I
guess we just run out of somedays. Can you tell anything by lookin’ at these
here?”
Mac confessed he
couldn’t. “Maybe we’ll get some books on tracking. Well, tracking animals and
stuff, at least. It would be fun to learn how together, wouldn’t it?”
At that, Rabbit
perked up for a minute. “I’d like that a lot. It’d make Grampa happy to know I
was learnin’ ‘bout it, too, even if he ain’t here to teach me hisself.”
They stood side
by side, staring up the road in silence, and Mac wondered whether coming today
had been a good idea, after all. “Maybe we should leave, Rabbit. We can come
back another day.”
With a shake of
his head, Rabbit started walking again. “I don’t think nothin’s gonna hurt us.
It’s just a weird ol’ feelin’ … like breath bein’ held. Like somethin’ bigger
than we are is waitin’ to see what comes next. Bigger than people, I mean, not
just you an’ me. I can’t ‘splain it no better than that.”
“But it doesn’t
feel like we’re in danger?”
The boy shook
his head again. “No. But the woods is awful still, like even the critters are
waitin’ to see what’s comin’.”
Eyeing the trees
around them, Mac realized Rabbit was right. The woods were still as death. No
birdsong, no animals rustling in the heavy underbrush, no breeze stirring the
leaves. It was eerie and disturbing.
He considered
leaving again. “Maybe we really should go, Rabbit.”
“But what if we
went on home an’ come back another time, an’ it weren’t no different? We’re
already here. Reckon it won’t hurt to walk a little bit closer, anyway. If
anything starts feelin’ worse, we can always leave then, right?”
Mac nodded his agreement,
and they continued on their way, but he decided then and there, he’d bring his
shotgun next time. There was a reason for the old expression, ‘better safe than
sorry,’ and where his son—his whole family—was concerned, Mac didn’t intend to
end up sorry, this time. No, he promised himself. Not ever again.
~~~
THE OPPRESSIVE
SILENCE of their surroundings kept both Mac and Rabbit more subdued than usual.
They trudged up the long drive, each lost in his own thoughts, for another
quarter mile, and rounded a bend, just as a bloody apparition burst out of the
woods and raced directly toward them.
Mac immediately
stationed himself between Rabbit and the frantic man, who screamed at the sight
of them. Eyes wild and arms windmilling all over the place, he skidded to a
stop three feet away, gasping and wheezing. Blood dripped down his face from
numerous small cuts, and sweat plastered his red hair to his skull.
Before Mac could
ask what was wrong, or offer help, the man shrieked, “Get outta my way!” and
shoved past them.
Stunned, Mac
watched him lurch down the road, yelling every step of the way, and glancing
back over his shoulder again and again, as though he were being chased by the
hounds of Hell. His screams grew fainter until after a few minutes, they could
no longer hear him at all.
Rabbit tugged on
Mac’s arm, eyes wide in his pale face. “Daddy? Can we go home now?”
“I think we
should, partner. I don’t know what was chasing that man, and I don’t want to
find out, either. You were right to think something’s wrong here, today.”
“Ain’t nothin’
wrong, now, though. Listen.”
Sure enough. The
birds were calling again, and a soft wind shushed through the pines. Off in the
distance, a fox barked. The woods had returned to normal.
“Huh. You’re
right, Rabbit. Everything seems fine, now. But you still want to go home?”
“Yes, please.
Might be, I got some thinkin’ to do.”
They headed back
toward the Jeep, quiet once more, though for very different reasons, this time.
As they approached the vehicle, Mac asked, “Rabbit? Do you know what happened
to that all-wrong feeling you had earlier?”
“Yes. It went
away as soon as the man did.”
~~~
Author Bio
Marcia Meara
lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over
thirty years, four big cats, and two small dachshunds. When not writing or
blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of
wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. At the age of five,
Marcia declared she wanted to be an author, and is ecstatic that at age 69, she
finally began pursuing that dream. Three years later, she’s still going strong,
and plans to keep on writing until she falls face down on the keyboard, which
she figures would be a pretty good way to go!
Marcia has
published six books to date, all of which are available on Amazon in both print
and Kindle format:
You can reach Marcia via email at mmeara@cfl.rr.com
or on the following social media sites:
The Write Stuff: http://marciamearawrites.com/
Bookin' It: http://marciameara.wordpress.com
Twitter: @marciameara
Facebook: www.facebook.com/marcia.meara.writer
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/marciameara/
To keep up with the latest news and giveaways, sign up
for Marcia’s Mail List here:
or on the following social media sites:
Twitter: @marciameara
Facebook: www.facebook.com/marcia.meara.writer
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/marciameara/
