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-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
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.
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
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
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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
CHAPTER ONEThe boy runs headlong across the beach. There is the sound of music on the air, The Beatles are singing a song about a walrus and an egg-man, and it drifts from the promenade above, turned tinny by the transistor radio. The gulls are also demanding attention, wheeling overhead as wind currents determine their path across the flat grey sky.Then there is the ocean, it sucks and slurps on the pebbles and shale, a drawn out hiss marking its advance and retreat.All of these things are secondary to the boy’s sobs. They are the sounds of grief, the sound of loss. His heart is a stone in his chest, his throat raw with the screams of despair at the recent, awful news that has been brought to their door by a coastguard whose face was ashen with shock.His father is dead. The man he looked up to, the man who kept him safe, made him laugh with terrible jokes, now gone claimed by the sea. The breeze hits his face, his eyes are already blurred with tears but now they are stinging