Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1) by Halsey Al

Author:Halsey, Al [Halsey, Al]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2015-01-29T16:00:00+00:00

Kelsey slept fitfully. He tossed and turned all night. Once again, cyclopean blocks of twisted stone filled his dreams, wet from mist, covered in kelp. In his slumber he could smell the acrid scent of rotten seaweed, dredged from the bottom of some dark sea. A voice quietly called his name, and Kelsey turned. In the darkness of a close column of stone, the voice emanated again. He strained to see and tried to make sense of the place. The unknown shape shifted in the darkness. Slowly a figure shuffled into the filtered light and he recognized the face of his brother.

Rob raised a darkened hand, wet from the moisture in the air. His face was blue. His head tilted to the right, and water drained from his half open mouth. His Navy Working Uniform was torn and scorched, and showed tattered flesh and flayed muscle beneath. Bloody seawater bubbled from bloated lips and his red eyes focused on his older brother. Kelsey woke. He shook like a leaf in an evil breeze. Sweat had soaked his pillow.

He did not fall asleep again. He sat in a chair in the living room and waited for the sound of the alarm clock. Kelsey dreaded Thursday’s arrival because of the week’s events. As he sipped a cup of coffee in his modest kitchen, he glanced through copies of the photos made from Rudy Samuels’ albums. For a long time, he stared at the Heart of the Monster, an ancient sacred place to the Nez Perce Indians. The mound was an hour and a half drive away, and the detective’s mind buzzed with possibilities.

He slurped the last of the hot liquid, and then set the cup in the sink. Kelsey scratched his cat that was stretched out on the couch before he holstered his pistol and slowly ambled to his car.

He sat quietly for a few minutes as the car warmed, then left the driveway and drove through early traffic to the Police Station. As he looked out into the cold overcast of this late November morning, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

“Hey Francine, it’s Kelsey,” he said into the phone. “I’m fine, yeah. Gonna be in late today: would you pass it on to the Chief? No, later. Yeah, everything is ok. Bye.”

He sat for a few more seconds, and then drove through traffic onto Main Street. It took several minutes to switch lanes and dodge road construction to end up on the highway heading east out of Lewiston.

Across the river was the huge lumber mill: hot steam and bitter odors belched from massive stacks into the cold air. The cloud hung over the mill eerily, held in place by a stagnant inversion. Kelsey drove in silence and thought of Rudy Samuels and the photographs on the refrigerator. What did he know? he thought.

It took several long minutes for the overcast valley to be left behind, and the four lanes of highway became two as the hills around him gained height.

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