Wicked Prayers

By S.D. Moore

The award winning S.D. Moore returns with a scary, entertaining literary ride. Wicked Prayers is a fast paced, action packed horror story in which an unusual band of heroes desperately fight all manner of hellish incarnations to thwart Evil and his infectious hideous creatures. The book reads like a graphic novel without pictures, but plays like an action packed horror movie in your mind. In the action filled spirit of Underworld, 28 Days Later, and From Dusk ‘til Dawn - Wicked Prayers offers original creatures for a helluva scary fun thrill ride. May no more dark doors be opened tonight. Contains mystery, action, supernatural erotic scenes, violence, adult language, and a little faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524616632

S.D. Moore

Hailing from humble beginnings, award winning author S.D. Moore is the embodiment of the little engine that could. In spite of a physical injury incurred during military service that left the use of only one half of the brain’s communication sector, S.D. Moore masterfully creates literary works. S.D. Moore is also a retired Air Force member and a patented inventor. The author’s love of tinkering and science is the basis for the science fiction weapons and gadgets in the book. S.D. Moore holds two Masters degrees and is a dissertation away from a Doctorate’s degree.

Book preview

Prologue

Harry Wilson stands motionless in the mausoleum, staring at the gravestone of his beloved Sarah. The inscription reads To my dearest Sarah, your day of birth, your day of rest, February 29th, an odd day. He stands alone, as he has for the last hour since the funeral party dwindled away. Pondering why Sarah was taken from him. Why did she have to die? Harry quietly sobs as he reflects back one week earlier on the last happy memory in his life. The recollection plays in his mind like a late-night movie.

He and Sarah had been sitting in their living room, occasionally listening to the evening news while they went over the plans for Sarah’s fiftieth birthday party. Harry recalls how she responded whenever a storekeeper asked for her date of birth: February 29th, an odd day for an oddball, Sarah quipped. She often thought she was being funny, but many of the elderly people in Autumntown are quite superstitious and usually shot her dirty looks. Sarah detested surprise parties, so she thought she’d plan this one herself. Besides, this way she could ensure all of her friends would be invited and not just the ones Harry got along with. Sarah always thought his attitude toward others could be as wicked as the sins he preached against on early Sunday mornings.

Sarah grew tired. She kissed Harry softly on the forehead and prepared to retire early. Harry decided to stay up a little while longer to touch up some points of his sermon. He paused to watch his lovely wife engage in her nightly ritual. It was the same thing every night: Sarah filled a small glass with water, changed into a soft flannel nightshirt, and then knelt to pray.

Just as she had done for the past five years since her only sister died, Sarah placed a sealed envelope over the glass of water and then gently slid the glass under her bed. She said her grandma used to recite a poem: This is the way you speak to the dead. And if you open your soul, and release fear and dread, they’ll speak to you in your dreams, while you lay sound in bed.

Well, for the past few years Sarah performed the water gazing ritual just as her grandma told her to do, but she heard not a whisper from her sister. I guess I’ll have to open my soul a little bit more and hope my prayers get answered, she whispered to herself as she slid into bed.

Soon she fell into a very deep, peaceful sleep.

Harry recalls the times he used to protest Sarah’s little dalliances with the dead. After all, his grandma used to tell him that the living should never play in the world of the dead, else you confuse your soul and lose your way; and then no one will be able to find you.

He had dismissed his grandma’s sayings as nothing more than a twisted way to amuse herself by scaring the grandkiddies, but later the Good Book reinforced her foreboding about consulting with familiar spirits. Yet Sarah was relentless in spite of how hard he protested. Alas, he finally surrendered. Harry found it better to keep the peace than to damn the day with a fuss. Harry grew tired much earlier than usual that night and gave in to sleep.

Sarah gently stirred in her slumber. In her dream she saw wavy images, but the forms were unclear. She could hear a distant voice whispering, calling, Hellooo? Can you help me? Hello? I need you.

Sarah called out, Tara? Tara, are you there?

It’s dark in here. I can’t find you. I can’t find the light. Can you help me? the voice begged.

Here’s my hand, Tara. Take it. I’ll help you find it, baby. See my hand? Take it.

Through the cold, humid haze someone grabbed Sarah’s hand. The touch felt icy, but she figured it was simply like this on the other side—murky and cold.

Tara, I can’t see you. But hold on, sister. Just hold on! Sarah ignored the harsh bite of her sister clawing into the back of her hand; she pulled Tara closer instead.

With each step, Sarah felt joy at the thought of joining with her sister again—and with every step, the sorrow of knowing she would have to let her sister go yet again once she woke. Sarah pointed toward the light, telling her sister to go toward its beautiful glow.

But instead of moving away, the cold hand slid up higher to grasp Sarah’s upper arm. Sarah felt other hands clawing at her in the darkness, each trying to latch on to her warm life. Sarah could soon see the one with the tightest grip on her arm. It was a ghastly being with a stark white face, jagged teeth and red eyes that quickly appeared and disappeared in the darkness as it leisurely moved towards her; taking its time like a snake approaching a mouse caught in a snare. It was a horror unlike anything she had ever seen or experienced before.

She managed to break away from the others but could not undo herself from the clutches of the sinister thing slowly clambering at her in the dark. Sarah felt herself falling backward faster and faster. Finally, she landed on her back just as the entity moved its cold grip to her throat.

Sarah was no longer in her dream. The thing had forced its way back to the realm of the living. She opened her mouth to scream, but no words escaped.

Hold your tongue. it hissed through breath that smelled of death. Hold … your … tongue!

*

Harry was woken by moans coming from the bedroom. He ran in to find Sarah flailing about in bed, moaning and groaning as if she were being tortured and was in tremendous pain.

Harry shook her by the shoulders and screamed, Sarah, what’s wrong? Wake up! Wake up!

Suddenly her body quieted. In a flash Sarah’s eyes opened wide just as she shot forward, sitting straight up in bed. She was screaming, February 29th, odd day! Don’t! Don’t! Eevillll! Odd daaayy!

She stilled her thrashing and looked at Harry with wide, tear-filled eyes. Honey, I’m Sorry. Don’t let the evil—

With the sound of a loud, hollow crack, Sarah’s head twisted chin over shoulder before her body crashed to the pillow as quickly as it rose. Her last breath was spent trying to render a frightful warning.

Harry threw his face upon her lifeless bosom, sobbing, Oh no, Sarah! No!

He had known his love was gone forever.

Now, staring at Sarah’s tombstone torments Harry until he can no longer hold his rage. He thrusts his hands toward the heavens and shouts, I have been a faithful servant to you, Lord; why have you done this to me?

Harry falls upon his knees, sobbing, resting his face against the lowest gravestone as he welds curses to the wall with wicked pounds of his fists. Curse you! Curse you with everything in my being! I would trade my soul to be with my wife again.

Harry continues to sob uncontrollably. Damn you! Damn you, Lord!

Were it not for his heated rage, Harry might have noticed the unusual chill in the air, or the distant glow of a specter slowly moving toward him. The lights flicker and dim.

A voice whispers, "Harrieeee," breaking his grip of deep sorrow.

He glances up and down the corridor. Who there?

"Harriee … I’m heeeaaarrr," the voice whispers.

Harry turns toward the direction of the voice.

He stumbles and falls to his back at the sight of the apparition floating above him.

A glowing figure hovers high above. It appears to be in the form of a human garbed in flowing robes of gray.

Sarah, is that you? Harry asks.

No. I am a guaarrrdian.

Guardian? My guardian angel? Well, you’re a bit late. What do you want with me now? Harry snaps.

Your cries of paainnn summoned meee, it says.

My pain? Why don’t you go play guardian with someone else? As far as I’m concerned, you’re fired!

Aahhh, but I’ve come to answer your greatest prayers.

My Sarah? Harry asks.

I will grant your desiiirre, but you must agree to give me your service.

Harry gives a brief pause and then says, Yes. I will do anything for my beloved Sar—

In an instant Harry is lifted off the floor, his mind swirling with wishes to take back his agreement, but it is too late.

The specter finally reveals its hideous white pitted face and glowing red eyes to Harry.

He opens his mouth to scream, but it is quickly choked off as the creature vomits green bile into his nose and throat. Harry’s mind begins to see horrific sights of pain, suffering, and death.

The creature places its hand on Harry’s head as it speaks. Fail me, and I will take away your light. If you betray me, and I will take away your soul.

Harry’s defenseless body floats to the floor, and he somehow manages to nod his clouded head.

Now, faithless servant, go—go make way for me.

A tear flows down Harry’s cheek. This being is no angel. He now knows he’s been betrayed and that he will be the vehicle of the greatest betrayal of all, but he still must go and prepare for this sinister being: this evil thing from the darkness.

Chapter 1

"This is KTWN, and boy is it a beautiful morning in Autumntown! Check out that thermostat: seventy-five degrees and still climbing. But it’s hotter right here. When you want to get down, you turn your dial to Kaaaay-town, the funkiest town in Washington," the DJ chirps.

Funkiest town, my ass, Julia murmurs.

Tweedle deep … tweedle deep!

Julia snatches up the phone. Hello?

Hey, Julz, what’cha up to?

Just another boring Saturday in Autumntown, Jenn. Julia sighs.

What say we hit the Tee-Cee Zone tonight? I heard Jeff is supposed to be pluggin’ in with some hot Warfare gamers, Jenn almost sings.

You mean ‘jump me in the backseat of your Mustang’ Jeff? Julia asks.

Uh-huhhh. Maybe you can get him to give us a ride to Jeremy and Cortney’s Live Free and Burn out Young party tomorrow, Jenn replies.

That guy just graduated; he wouldn’t be caught dead with a senior, Julia says.

But it won’t hurt to flirt with him a little. You know, give him a clue you’re checking him out.

Besides, my dad has me hanging around the house to help out with my mom.

Is she having more of those issues? Jenn asks.

Nahh, she’s on meds to keep her leveled out now.

Good, so stop worrying; she’ll be fine.

Okay, you’ve twisted my arm. Dad gave me his old car today as a pre-grad gift, so I’ll pick you up around eight.

Woo hoo! See ya!

Julia ends the call.

"Juuulia! Do you want to take a little walk into town with me today?" her mother Elizabeth Holly calls out.

I don’t know, Mom, Julia says with a snarl.

Her father, John Holly sticks his face into her room and silently mouths, Pleeeeaassse.

Mom, should you be walking around in your condition? I mean, you’re due to have the baby soon, right?

Her father pokes out his bottom lip and pouts. Julia rubs her fingers together and mouths payola to her father. He reaches into his wallet while her mother continues to speak.

I’m really overdue. The doctor says I need to walk around to encourage my labor, or they’ll have to induce it. Besides, I thought we’d stop by the store to pick up those jeans you want so badly. Plus, I promise not to sing that Winterpic Lee song while we’re walking.

Julia looks at her dad and mumbles, Good, if I hear the line from that song ‘Niecey’s Candy Wrapper’ one more time, my head will explode. Oh, and that goes for any of her old-school faves like Meco Howard’s ‘Screamin’ for Me’ or ‘Watertown.’

What? ‘Watertown’ by Lecia Jones is the jam! her dad says.

"Dad—no!"

Julia’s mom sings out from downstairs, Julia, if you would prefer to stay ho-ommme aand forget about those new jee-eans? I’ll be o-kaay.

Her father slams some cash into her palm and mumbles, Patience, Julia. This will really help your mom. I’m going to Lana’s Bake Shop to pick up a big piece of strawberry coconut cake for your mom. You want anything?

Nah … I’m good. You know I would’ve done it for free, right? But I figured I’d try for the dough. Ha-ha! She quickly kisses her dad on the cheek and rushes downstairs.

It’s an abnormally hot spring afternoon. Julia can’t remember it ever being so hot in April, but she loves how the warm sun feels against her skin. The wind barely blows, but it’s just enough to carry a horrible, nauseating smell from Old Man Wilson’s house. He’s now the unhinged former reverend who publicly rejected all things related to his ministry.

Her mother becomes violently ill almost immediately after inhaling the dreadful stench coming from the old man’s house. She falls to her knees, retching and vomiting uncontrollably. Julia tries to help her mother to her feet but can’t budge her. Elizabeth grabs her stomach and screams.

Julia tries to call for an ambulance but can’t pick up a cell signal on her or her mom’s phones. She sprints home to get help.

Beth Holly writhes on the ground moaning and shaking in front of Old Man Wilson’s house. John Holly, scrambles to call an ambulance, and then he and Julia run back to try to help her mother—but her mother has vanished.

Are you sure this is the right spot? her Dad asks, and Julia points to the puddle of vomit on the ground.

Then they notice a trail of groove marks in the loose soil leading to the Wilson house. It is as if something the width of a person had been dragged through the dirt. They follow the trail, thinking that maybe the old guy dragged Mrs. Holly to his house to help her.

A foul smell grows stronger and stronger as they near the property. The trail is winding to the rear of the house. Julia can barely breathe as every fiber of her being is filled with fright. She pushes the dreadful thoughts from her mind as to why Mr. Wilson would drag her mother past his front door to the rear of his house.

After they arrive at the barn, the horrid sights and gut-turning stench make it painfully clear why Old Man Wilson made the detour.

Mr. Holly is stopped in his tracks by a sight that gives him an overwhelming need to paint the foul-smelling lawn with his own vomit. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and stares at the barn wall, which is covered with what appears to be small animals stuck to it, all of them covered with flies and dried blood.

Mr. Holly is further disturbed to see that each animal is displayed spread-eagled with a nail through each paw attached to the barn’s side. It’s a host of animals—squirrels, rabbits, rats, possums, and raccoons—most of them dead, but some of them crying out and writhing in pain.

Oh my Lord, what kind of maniac would do such a thing? he whispers.

At the other end of the barn, something is covered with a light blue tarp, stained with brick-colored blotches and dotted with buzzing flies.

Her father shouts for his wife: Beth … Beth, honey, are you in here? He receives no response.

Julia’s heart is pounding so hard she fears she might faint.

Julia, baby, look away from the tarp, baby. Just don’t look at it, he says.

Her father runs to the tarp and examines it closely, studying it, pondering whether the contents are what he fears they might be. He grabs each side of the tarp, tugging it hard with both hands, but a piece is caught on something, so he can’t break the cover free.

He and Julia hear the siren from the approaching ambulance blaring louder and louder as it moves closer to the Wilson house. Her father pulls harder on the tarp. Something beneath it moves.

John Holly is screaming "Beth!" as he frantically pulls at the cloth, trying desperately to unveil whatever is hidden beneath it. Julia pushes her face deep into her father’s side. She doesn’t want to see … doesn’t want to.

Her father gasps. Oh, thank God, it’s not her! He bends down and braces his hands on his knees as he chokes back tears in front of his daughter. Thank God!

Julia looks at the big, brown, lifeless dog, and she begins to cry with relief that it’s not her mother and sadness that someone could do such a thing to a sweet animal.

Mr. Holly approaches the barn door and pulls hard on the handle. There stands his beloved wife, Beth Holly, nailed to a large board. Each of her hands and feet are pierced in the center. Her head droops forward, motionless. Blood runs down her forearm, staining her once-nice white dress. The blood drips onto what appear to be dead animal carcasses thrown about her feet like unclean offerings beneath a dark altar. Julia screams and begins to cry.

Julia and her father unsuccessfully try to pry her mother loose using their bare hands. John Holly finds a sturdy metal rod and begins to pull at the bolt in his wife’s left hand when suddenly Old Man Wilson bursts from the shadows, wildly running toward him, screaming, My angel! My angel!

Mr. Holly swings the crowbar, catching him on the shoulder with a dull thud. Old Man Wilson falls to the ground jabbering something about Mrs. Holly being an angel.

Don’t take away my angel, he murmurs. Old Man Wilson manages to get up and make another run at Mr. Holly, who slams the crowbar into Old Man Wilson’s forehead.

Harry Wilson lies still near the carcass of a small animal.

Julia notices something moving at her mother’s feet. Oh Lord, Daddy, the baby! Julia screams.

She kicks her way through the dead animal carcasses and runs toward the baby. She removes the dead animals from atop the infant and picks up her newborn sibling. The child is covered with thick, slimy mucous and dried blood.

A medic runs over to help her. My name’s Ben. I need to examine the baby. Are you okay, miss? He picks up the child and listens to its little chest. The other medic immediately radios for the police.

How’s the baby? John Holly yells while he’s tries to free his wife.

He appears to be okay, sir.

John Holly is relieved that his son’s okay.

Ben puts his hand on Julia’s shoulder, assuring her that everything is going to be all right. Tears roll down her face as she imagines the horrors her mother must’ve experienced to end up in such a frightful state. She wants to believe the paramedic, but she knows in her heart everything is not going to be all right. Nothing about this whole mess could possibly be all right. Julia hates it that people casually toss those everything is going to be okay, all right, or it’s just fine lies around all day like sweet little candy-coated pacifiers. She feels a knot in her stomach urging her to throw up.

Hey, man, give me a hand over here! the other medic yells.

What’s your name, kid? Ben asks.

Julia, she replies.

I need your help. I want you to look after your little brother outside while I help take care of your mom, okay?

Okay, she responds.

What’s your little brother’s name? the medic asks.

My mom said she was going to name him Waed after my granddad. Its pronounced Wade but spelled W-a-e-d.

That’s an odd spelling for Wade.

My granddad was British.

The police arrive. One of the cops handcuffs Mr. Wilson to a gurney before they roll his unconscious body out of the barn. John Holly tries to answer the list of questions thrown at him by one of the police officers, but his mind drifts to the horrors of the day instead.

Julia can’t hear most of what they are saying, but she can see her father doing his usual gesturing with his hands as he talks. Suddenly her hands grow very cold. She shifts the baby a little bit; icy cold liquid trickles down her forearms.

You’ve been so quiet I almost forgot about you. Julia coos. Her hands feel as if she drowned them in a tub of ice water. Oh my gosh, little baby, you must be freezing. I must have been so concerned about everything else that … oh well, let’s find you a dry blanket.

Julia walks toward the ambulance. Ben rushes over and takes the baby from her arms. Oh great, cold baby pee-pee, he whines.

Is he okay? I noticed something on his neck, Julia says.

Oh, that looks like a birthmark. Odd shape, huh? It’s kinda like a three pointed crown. Other than a low body temp, he seems okay. We’ll make sure he’s bundled up tight, Ben says.

Julia’s father decides to give the medics room to work in their crowded vehicle. He and Julia ride in a police car trailing one of the ambulances to the hospital.

It seems like they were waiting forever before finally seeing a doctor. Mr. Holly, I’m Dr. Bowman.

How are my wife and baby, doctor?

We were able to stabilize Mrs. Holly, but she lost a lot of blood. She drifted into a shock induced coma in route to the hospital. oh dear God no! Mr. Holly utters a hushed scream. Dr. Alex Mitchenkev and I are doing everything we can to help her. However, if and when she wakes from the coma, we’ll likely move her to Sidonia of Grace for rehabilitative care for the damage to her hands and feet," Dr. Bowman says.

The baby’s body temperature is lower than normal, but we’re trying to elevate it. Although it appears that his low temperature does not seem to negatively affect him, we’re running more tests.

May I see them now?

You may see your son, but Mrs. Holly is still in recovery.

Okay, Mr. Holly whispers.

Can I come too? Julia asks.

Her father nods.

The doctor says, Well, yes, but you may only watch from the intensive care window.

Julia looks through the window at all the sick little babies. Her father walks in dressed in a surgical gown and mask. He holds out his arms and slowly turns from side to side, showing off his hospital attire. Julia cracks a toothless grin. Her father holds up his right thumb in approval.

A nurse hands her father a child wrapped in a mint-green blanket. Mr. Holly smiles widely. He moves closer