Beatrice is back to face her greatest threat since. . .well, the last time! In Cooper’s Cove a hapless team of archaeologists unleash the vengeful spirit of a 16th Century witch on the sleepy seaside town of Dorsal Finn. Hexes and curses fly as Beatrice and her friends must find out what links the appearance of this incredible foe and The Spirit of the Ocean, a super-yacht hosting the biggest celebrity charity event the town has ever seen. As the population of Dorsal Finn succumbs to witchcraft, so Beatrice must gate-crash the party with her motley-crew of friends and allies in the hope of stopping the witch's sinister plan, and save everyone from endless oblivion. . . Again. ©️ Crystal Lake Publishing
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BEATRICE BEECHAM’S CRYPTIC CRYPT©2016 Dave JefferyPROLOGUEUnlocking EvilThe shop has been in existence for over thirty years, its huge plate glass window a lidless eye gazing out upon an ever changing street. The window has watched a country turn into something quite unrecognisable—quite incomprehensible. Where there had once been chaos, there is now order. Where there had once been civilisation, there is now only brutality. This is a country that has lost its soul in a quest to find a heart. This is a country in the cold, unyielding grip of Nazi doctrine: cruelty in the name of order.This is Vienna, Austria, 1941.Vienna is now an extension of Nazi Germany, since its annexation by the German army in 1938. A climate of oppression is symbolised all around the plaza; the quiet streets, citizens exiled by the evening curfew. Huge flags are draped from the third floor window of the Heldenplatz; bent, black crosses encircled in white, and languishing on a field of blood red.Swa
THE END?Not quite ... Have you tried Beatrice Beecham’s Cryptic Crypt: A Supernatural Adventure/Mystery Novelby Dave Jeffery? We included an excerpt from the book if you keep paging.Or dive into more Tales from the Darkest Depths:Novels:The Mourner’s Cradle: A Widow’s Journeyby Tommy B. SmithHouse of Sighs(with sequel novella) by Aaron DriesBeyond Night by Eric S. Brown and Steven L. ShrewsburyThe Third Twin: A Dark Psychological Thrillerby Darren SpeegleAletheia: A Supernatural Thrillerby J.S. BreukelaarWhere the Dead Go to Dieby Mark Allan Gunnells and Aaron DriesSarah Killian: Serial Killer (For Hire!)by Mark SheldonThe Final Cut by Jasper BarkBlackwater Valby William GormanPretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy by Mercedes M. YardleyNameless: The Darkness Comes by Mercedes M. YardleyNovellas:A Season in Hellby Kenneth W. CainQuiet Places: A Novella of Cosmic Folk Ho
ABOUT THE AUTHORDave Jeffery is author of 12 novels, two collections and numerous short stories. His Necropolis Rising series and yeti adventure Frostbite have both featured on the Amazon #1 bestseller list. His YA work features critically acclaimed Beatrice Beecham series and Finding Jericho, a contemporary mental health novel which has featured on the BBC Health and the Independent Schools Entrance Examination Board’s recommended reading lists. Jeffery is a member of the Society of Authors, British Fantasy Society (where he is a regular book reviewer), and the Horror Writers Association. He is also a registered mental health professional with a BSc (Hons) in Mental Health Studies and a Master’s Degree in Health Studies. Jeffery is married with two children and lives in Worcestershire, UK.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURIn the followingdays, the town of Dorsal Finn did what it did best, it healed. Part of this process involved embracing the nuances that came with living in the town, whilst on another level it meant denying a fair few things too.Some things were hard to deny, the tragedy of the many lives lost on the night The Spirit of the Oceanwas claimed by the sea. The reasons for its loss were compiled by Trevor, the only surviving crew member, and supported by his adamant witnesses, that for reasons unknown, a great explosion occurred in the lower decks, sinking the vessel within minutes.In claiming ignorance, Trevor was able to fudge the detail, and while he was never able to return to the sea as a crewman, he did have more adventures, thanks to his friendship with Claire, and a new TV show called ‘Perils of the Sea’ where he acted as a consultant, and her co-presenter. Before she left town, Claire had made Thomas a promise to return once a year and they woul
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREEAgnes wrinkled hernose despite the heavy scarf wrapped around her face.“Just when I thought we couldn’t sink any lower,” she said. Even though her voice was muffled, it bounced around the sewer tunnel, a narrow passageway of red bricks that stretched off into a seemingly infinite gloom.“I dunno,” said Dennis. He was up ahead, a handkerchief tied around his face, which made him look like a cowboy from an old movie. “I’ve drunk in worse places than this.”“You’re aware that fact surprises no one?” Albert said from in front of Dennis. He had his own mask, a heavy towel draped over his head and around his mouth like some flannel balaclava.“Let’s keep goin’,” Maud said from behind Agnes. The hideous wheeze of a gas mask respirator punctuated her words. “I ain’t sure if what’s niffin’ out there can be worse than the smell of rubber in this here headpiece.”Albert rubbed at his face. “Believe me, Maud, what’s out here is worse.”He had used the paraffin la
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOThe fog inthe streets made the drive to the library slow going, the density reflecting the headlamps to such a degree that Albert turned them off and used only sidelights.Sitting forward, he peered through the windscreen.“This isn’t normal,” he muttered.“Damn right,” said Dennis. “Normal is a night in the Salty Sailor drinkin’ pints of Cinder’s Cider until ye can’t tell difference between the landlord and a coat stand.”“How did we ever become friends?” Albert said.Before Dennis could reply, a shadow crossed in front of the car, forcing Albert to stamp on the brakes. Dennis whacked his head off the windscreen and cursed profusely as he rubbed his forehead.“Another piece of drivin’ like that an’ we ain’t goin’ to be friends much long after,” he grumbled.“I almost hit someone,” Albert said. His hands were gripping the wheel, and he’d stalled the engine. “Guess I’d fail if this was my driving test.”“That’s assumin’ ye ever took a test in the first
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONEThe man by the fire watched as a despondent Beatrice paced the sitting room. Twice she had appeared as though she intended to stomp out of the house, but the internal battle to go or remain always brought her back into the room where she would loudly air her frustrations.“I have to get out of here,” she said. “Surely I can’t be expected to do nothing?”“If you leave and Lucas finds this place, he will die,” the man said. “You will have to live with the fact that your actions were to blame.”Beatrice stopped pacing. She eyed the man with contempt. “He’s as good as dead now, though, right? I’ll never be with him. He’ll be gone forever.”The man offered her a forlorn smile. “The smallest of things can bring the greatest joys,” he said. “Objects of desire are made so by what we ascribe to them.”He looked down at his coat, and plucked a button from it as though it were a berry from a burgeoning fruit bush.He put it in his palm and held it out to her, and in the
CHAPTER TWENTYFalling, the sensationin her stomach was akin to going over the world’s largest speed bump. Beatrice had no concept of time or place, no affiliation with the laws of normality. There was just the sensation of a hundred butterflies in her belly.No sooner had she cleared the boat when the terrible rage that had consumed her vanished. The distance between her and Emily acted as a fire blanket, smothering the flames and leaving behind serenity, and the sensation of flight. She did not question it; she merely welcomed the innate, pervading peace.As she fell, she began to see a change in the fabric of darkness, as though a distant light was somehow eating into the blackness. She made out shapes below her, structures that seemed both familiar and alien in the same instant. They also appeared to have symmetry, either lined or blocked. As these shapes came into view she found herself looking down on an ancient town, the buildings in ruins, the streets nothing but strip
PROLOGUEThe girl stood on the prow of the galleon, thick ropes binding her wrists, her hands limp and white against the black material of her heavy skirts. Her mouth moved but the sound that came forth was as restrained as her limbs; hushed whispers that cracked and wavered as they passed over parched lips. Wide eyes stared out across the bay, where the rolling blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean rose and fell like the folds of a great bed sheet aired in the sweet, spring breeze.Her position was precarious but her resolve was steadfast. The sea breeze tousled her hair—turning it into ebony tendrils—and the face beneath was as pale as candle-wax, marred only by a splash of strawberry beneath her right eye where a birthmark lay like a livid isle in the blanched skin of her cheeks. There was a smile on her lips, as though she knew things that others did not, yet there was no fear.Behind the girl, the ship’s crew were a jeering mob, faces twisted in hate, and their cries of malice rose
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