Clare and the Desert Artifact

By Anne Veronica Hierholzer Conover

Clare Alexander Menderman is a fulltime horticulturist and reclusive wonder worker. She reluctantly accepts an assignment that involves travel, unaware that she will soon be exposed to a malevolent god and its slave sorcerer.

After thousands of years, Seta Amun has emerged from the depths of the earth once again, going on a rampage of destruction and terrorizing the small city of Mydyn Lyxinat. It’s only a matter of time before his full strength takes hold.

Seta Amun’s sorcerer possesses an Egyptian thief, transforming and forcing him to lure people into a lair of dark magic and death. Clare has no idea what’s in store for her but suspects the strange death of one of her students is a dire clue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Nov 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665706988

Anne Veronica Hierholzer Conover

A fiction author, Conover’s novels are in multiple genres. She sees the world and life’s situations as a canvas for stories that she weaves together with threads of truth, legend, fantasy, paranormal, supernatural and historic elements.A native of Norfolk, Virginia USA, she earned her Bachelor degree from Florida State University and Virginia Commonwealth University and a Masters degree from The Catholic University of America. She resides in Central Virginia.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

J osh Lambert sits on the edge of his bed with a chill running through his body. He shrugs and squirms around in his T-shirt. It feels as though something itchy is crawling around on his back. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead, and his stomach clenches with nausea. A sharp pain grips his chest, and for another few seconds, the pain pierces his back.

Guess I did too much partying on spring break, Josh says to himself. He gets up and takes a long, warm shower. Refreshed and feeling better, he dresses for school but not until after he looks at himself in the mirror. He tops out at six feet and weighs 175 pounds. Turning to check out his back, which an awesome tattoo has forever changed, he is satisfied with the beauty of his physique.

He knows how important it is to keep in shape and immediately remembers he has track-and-field practice after school. Spurred on by the after-school practice, Josh grabs a couple of apples and a bagel on his way out the door and walks two blocks to the bus stop.

Hey, Josh, Al Morton, Josh’s best friend, says as he motions to Josh for one of his apples. What’s up?

Not much. Feel lousy, though, like I have a flu bug coming on. Maybe I picked something up on spring break, Josh mumbles as he hands his friend an apple. I get these weird sensations.

Too much partying?

No, not really. I did a lot of sightseeing. Sounds pretty lame, doesn’t it?

Where’d you go? And how come you didn’t come to the eastern shore with the rest of us? I looked for you.

Well, my folks gave me a gift for my birthday, graduation, and spring break this year. I love all things Egyptian. I mean, ever since I was a kid, I have had a fascination for ancient temples, pyramids, treasures, pharaohs, and other cool stuff. My folks thought it would be a good idea to go on one of those cruises on the Nile River.

Whoa, how exotic is that! Can’t top that, buddy.

It was a great week, and I brought something awesome home with me.

Oh yeah? Like what—a mummy?

Nope, something better. Ask me to show it to you after school before track practice. You’re gonna love it.

Just then, the bus pulls up. Josh takes a seat at the back of the bus, while Al joins several of his friends who were with him on spring break. They laugh and joke about their time at the beach. Meanwhile, at the back of the bus, Josh becomes nauseated. A weird chill sensation creeps up his spine again, and he shrugs and squirms in his seat, trying to scratch an itch that feels like a thousand bugs crawling all over him. His forehead breaks out with beads of sweat, and he feels a searing pain deep in his back and then in his chest. This time, the pain is unbearable, and he is on the brink of passing out. By the time the bus arrives at Bristol Gardens, Josh is constantly squirming and pulling at his shirt, trying desperately to shrug off the worsening sickness.

All the students aboard the bus are signed up for a landscape class, and since it is first period, the bus takes them directly to the teaching nursery set up for the students. By the time Josh gets off the bus, he is pale and on the verge of passing out. He is determined to fight the growing illness taking hold of him. Each student takes his or her assigned seat along three long tables where a clay pot is set out for each of them. Clare enters the room and looks over her students.

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Sometimes I think this is the best part of my work—that is, being able to teach a class on horticulture to the high school seniors.

Hello, and good morning, everyone, I say as I set my briefcase at the foot of my desk. As you can see, each of you has potting soil and a plant at your place on the table. Your task today is to figure out what the soil pH should be for your plant, which you will also identify. Then proceed to enhance the potting soil should you need to do so, and of course, plant—

A crash halfway down the room interrupts me. I look up to see several students bending over and looking at the floor. Someone shouts, Josh! Josh! Ms. Alexander, Josh is sick!

I run down the aisle, shouting, Get out of the way, everyone! Get back to your places!

Josh is writhing, and his eyes are bulging. He appears to be in pain and shock. I kneel next to him. Having mastered a gift given to me at birth to heal and expel evil, I place my hands on his chest and, by way of sheer will, emanate a healing power from my hands into Josh, hoping no one notices what I am doing. I feel something pushing against my hands underneath the boy’s T-shirt. Then it disappears. Something is there, yet I see no black shadows or evil entities around the boy.

Again, Josh’s back arches upward from the floor, and this time, he screams bloody murder. He is in excruciating pain and frantically grabs at something under his shirt. He throws himself forward into the fetal position and rips at his shirt until it comes off in two pieces.

Then I see it: a large multicolored fluorescent insect with wings the length and breadth of Josh’s back and a single talon-like spear at the tip of each leg scurries all over the boy, and to my horror, it burrows into his chest and comes out Josh’s back.

Call 911, and somebody go get Mr. Milliott, my foreman! Hurry! I am taken aback, unable to destroy or expel the hideous creature scrambling and tormenting him. No matter how many times I pulse a repelling power over Josh, the hideous thing continues to elude me, undeterred, and burrows into his back. I try to calm Josh, but to no avail. He arches his back one last time, screams at the top of his lungs, falls backward, and goes limp. I sense he is dead. I look around at the students.

Did you see that? I ask, but the students are huddled across the room, near the exit doors, and none of them saw anything except me struggling with Josh.

Some students whimper in fear, and one asks, See what, Ms. Alexander?

Did anyone see something crawling on Josh—something that would hurt him?

Everyone shakes his or her head. Some of the kids are crying; others cover their faces. Moments later, Billy Milliott is at my side.

What happened? he asks.

He’s dead, Billy. The boy fell to the floor, writhing in pain right up until he died.

His voice a near whisper, Billy asks, Did you see anything, Clare?

Careful not to be heard, I look at Billy in a way that lets him know I saw what killed Josh, and I give Billy a slight nod.

It seems an eternity before the police and ambulance arrive. When an officer approaches me, I explain what I think everyone saw, which wasn’t much, as the kids gravitated to the front of the nursery entrance, and Josh was nearly at the back of the room, on the floor where he collapsed, writhing and screaming in pain. I add that he ripped his shirt off, trying to get at something that seemed to be tormenting him.

I’ve never seen anything like this. I’m certain there is nothing in the nursery that could have done this to him. All the other students are fine. I’m confident there is nothing here that can give any of my students an allergic reaction of any kind—not ever.

When the med techs show up, they find only a strapping eighteen-year-old male student lying dead on the concrete floor, naked from the waist up, with no signs of foul play. Sheriff Devon Vogle, a good friend and confidant, questions me for an hour, asking the same questions over and over, and still, I am not sure he is convinced there was no foul play involved in Josh’s death.

I guess we’ll have to wait for the autopsy, the sheriff says. I’d better get on the horn and notify his parents.

An empty silence settles over the arboretum after everyone leaves. I stand outside the horticulture classroom for a long time, going over the incident in my mind again and again. I know what I saw. There is no doubt that something crawled over Josh’s body and dug in and out of him before the boy died, but where is the hideous thing now?

Take it easy, Clare, Billy says as he pats my shoulder. It is not the first time my friend of nearly ten years or his wife, Sarah, has been witness to otherworldly phenomena.

I’ve never seen anything like this, and I feel helpless—a feeling I haven’t experienced in a long time. Billy, there was nothing I could do to save him.

Let me close the place for the day and get you upstairs to your flat. I’ll call Sarah and have her come right over, Billy says comfortingly as he walks me to my flat.

We soon arrive. I’ll be up in a few minutes, Billy says, staying behind at the foot of the stairs. I look back at him and notice as he pulls out his cell phone. I assume he is calling Sarah.

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Billy waits until Clare has gone inside before he speaks with his wife. Sarah, there’s been a death at Bristol Gardens. Clare’s okay, but I’d like you to come over as soon as possible.

Billy recalls when, a decade ago, Clare first arrived in Bristol, and he rescued her from the freezing waters of the DeGrasse River. He and Sarah were fishing when they found her half frozen and unconscious, with the smell of liquor all over her. She had keeled over and slid into the icy waters.

Before they found her, he argued with Sarah as to whether they should sell the fish they caught or smoke it and keep it for themselves. Billy remembers their conversation clearly.

We never catch enough to make any money, Sarah said. It just seems such a waste of time. I would much rather just keep the fish and have a fish fry with the family.

People come from the city to buy our fish at the farmers’ market, and I like selling it. I like the extra cash, Billy argued.

Well, we’d better get up a lot earlier than six o’clock in the morning to catch the fish we need to sell to make extra money; besides, I don’t want to clean the fish. Sarah’s voice echoes in his head.

Billy recalls the sound of the river’s rushing waters when they arrived at the boat landing, unloaded the fishing gear, untied the canoe from the top of their Jeep, hoisted the canoe over their heads, and carried it the short distance to the landing. They loaded their gear into the canoe, pushed off into the swiftly moving current, and paddled upstream, which was doable with two people paddling against the current.

It was a beautiful, crisp morning, and for several minutes, they paddled the canoe in silence, listening to the chatter of the waking birds. They watched for swirls in the river where they knew fish gathered and fed.

Billy will never forget where he found Clare. It was a favorite place to fish, especially for the large bass, as they liked to hide beneath the smooth, flat glacier rocks that jutted out from the shore. It was Sarah who spotted Clare half in and half out of the water, lodged between two large, flat rocks. They paddled over to see who it was, never expecting it to be a woman.

He jumped out of the canoe and quickly checked to see if the woman was alive. She was passed out and breathing still. Together he and Sarah pulled Clare from the freezing water, laid her down in the bottom of the canoe, and wrapped her in a blanket. Billy distinctly recalls the smell of bourbon on Clare. It was clear she had fallen into the river drunk, and they wondered what in the world she was doing out in the middle of nowhere. He carried Clare back to the Jeep, set her in the backseat, and wrapped her in a few more blankets stashed in the backseat. He and Sarah debated whether they should take her to the medical center. They wondered if she was a bum and if she had medical insurance.

Billy shamefully recalls saying, Let’s take her home and see if we can bring her around. They took her home, not because he and Sarah were do-good rescuers but because they did not want to pay the drunken woman’s expenses. At this memory, Billy grimaces.

I’m on my way, Sarah says, and she hangs up. They are connected to Clare on a spiritual plane. In addition to being highly skilled gardeners who spend their days assisting Clare at the nursery, including opening in the morning and closing at night, Billy and Sarah are Clare’s longtime guardians.

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Sarah’s on her way, Billy says as he enters my flat.

I am still in shock, and I hate the feeling of not understanding the hideous thing that took Josh’s life. I surmise it to be some form of incarnate evil. I ask myself, How, could this happen here? I look out over Bristol Gardens, which I built from nothing. It is fully operational now, a magnificent structure of glass domes and windows that house a huge diversity of plants from all over the world. I don’t just grow and sell plants; I work tirelessly in cultivating clientele, offering seminars, classes, and demonstrations as well as how-to videos for online customers. Landscapers and gardeners come from all over the state of New York to purchase plants and take my classes.

The best thing about being a horticulturist is the time I get with the students from the county schools. Last year, I went before the school board with a presentation on horticulture and convinced them to add a horticulture class for seniors that included class credits. They also agreed to busing the kids out to the gardens several days a week to take my classes. However, now, with this on-site death of a student, I wonder if the school board will cancel my classes and fire me. I feel as though there is a dark cloud over my head.

I think of Michael. He has been present in my dreams of late. Never speaking to me, he’s just there like a sentinel. I thought it to be a good omen,