Lair of the Swamp Witch

By David Wood

Science is real. So is witchcraft.

 

Treasure hunter and former Navy SEAL Bones Bonebrake can't seem to avoid trouble no matter how hard he tries.

 

The search for a missing ghost hunter leads Bones to Burnt Swamp, where, according to legend, a witch and her minions guard a pirate's treasure. But the witch is more than a legend, and it's up to Bones to foil her plot before it's too late.

 

Join Bones in an action-packed adventure where legends come to life and the monsters are real!

 

Classic adventure for the modern reader!

 

Praise for David Wood!

 

"With the thoroughly enjoyable way Mr. Wood has mixed speculative history with our modern-day pursuit of truth, he has created a story that thrills and makes one think beyond the boundaries of mere fiction and enter the world of 'why not'?" David Golemon, Author of the Event Group series

 

"Jurassic Park meets Jungle Cruise in this rollicking adventure!" Rick Chesler, author of Golden One

 

"An adrenaline-fueled thrill ride!" Alan Baxter, author of Hidden City

 

"What an adventure! A great read that provides lots of action, and thoughtful insight as well, into strange realms that are sometimes best left unexplored." Paul Kemprecos, author of Cool Blue Tomb and the NUMA Files

 

"David Wood has done it again. Within seconds of opening the book, I was hooked. Intrigue, suspense, monsters, and treasure hunters. What more could you want? David's knocked it out of the park with this one!" Nick Thacker- author of The Enigma Strain

 

"Dane and Bones.... Together they're unstoppable. Rip roaring action from start to finish. Wit and humor throughout. Just one question - how soon until the next one? Because I can't wait." Graham Brown, author of Shadows of the Midnight Sun

 

"A page-turning yarn blending high action, Biblical speculation, ancient secrets, and nasty creatures. Indiana Jones better watch his back!" Jeremy Robinson, author of SecondWorld

 

"A twisty tale of adventure and intrigue that never lets up and never lets go!" -Robert Masello, author of The Einstein Prophecy

 

"Let there be no confusion: David Wood is the next Clive Cussler. Once you start reading, you won't be able to stop until the last mystery plays out in the final line."-Edward G. Talbot, author of 2012: The Fifth World

 

"I like my thrillers with lots of explosions, global locations and a mystery where I learn something new. Wood delivers! Recommended as a fast paced, kick ass read."-J.F. Penn, author of Desecration

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adrenaline Press
• Release date: Jan 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215692660

David Wood

David Wood is W. Alton Jones Professor of Philosophy at Vanderbilt University. His most recent book is Deep Time, Dark Times: On Being Geologically Human.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Southern Delaware

1719

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Night came early to Cypress Swamp. The dense trees blotted out the last rays of the setting sun. Olaf Bergman gripped the hilt of his knife and tried not to think about the legends associated with this forbidding morass of tangled flora and dank muck. He was already questioning his decision to enter the swamp, but he was determined he would not succumb to fear.

Did you hear something? Malachi paused, cupped his ear.

Not a thing. Olaf tried to keep his voice level. Malachi was not the brightest fellow, but he was a loyal friend. The rumors are nonsense. There is nothing here to be afraid of.

What about snakes? Malachi said.

Are you trying to tell me you heard a snake? Olaf looked to the heavens in exasperation.

No. Just pointing out that there are things that can hurt us out here. Malachi grimaced. This place feels wrong.

The elders have filled your mind with superstitious nonsense. Olaf’s confident words lost their impact when a distant, deep growl made him jump.

That definitely did not sound like any snake I have ever heard of. Malachi tried to force a smile, but his wide eyes and tight facial expression made him look like he’d seen a ghost.

Sounded like a bullfrog to me. Don’t be such a coward. If Olaf was completely honest, he was feeling a bit on edge, and that made him quick to anger.

Don’t call me that, Malachi snapped. And that was no frog. We ought to be sitting by the fire enjoying a mug of ale. Instead, we are lost in the swamp with no idea what might be out there.

You are welcome to turn back if you like. I’m going to finish what we started. Olaf wouldn’t mind strong ale and a warm fire right now, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Malachi.

They trudged along, their feet sinking deeper into the malodorous sludge. Olaf kept his ears peeled for the strange sound but didn’t hear it again.

I wonder if it really exists, the Witch Tree, I mean, Malachi said.

I believe the tree is real, Olaf replied. But I do not, for one minute, believe it is haunted."

Nobody said it is haunted, only that a witch put a hex on it to keep intruders away. You get too close, and you begin to see and hear things, and then a feeling of terror overcomes you.

I know the stories. And then you lose your bearings and wander off into the swamp, never to be seen again. Solomon forced a laugh. It’s a nonsense tale meant to keep people from searching for the treasure.

You believe in the treasure but not the rest of the legend? Malachi asked.

Buried treasure is real. I’m even willing to believe a woman who called herself a witch once lived here. I put no stock in the superstitious claptrap.

Convenient, Malachi said. The natives say...

Use your common sense, man. The natives don’t want us here. Their stories are intended to scare you, and it is working. Olaf rolled his eyes.

Quiet! Malachi’s eyes went wide. There it is again.

You are imagining things and it is beginning to annoy me.

It is not my imagination. There is something out there and it sounds like it is following us. If you listen, you will hear it too.

Olaf doubted very much he would hear anything other than the ordinary noises of the swamp, but he went along with Malachi. They kept going, the soft squelch of their boots and the rush of wind in the trees were the only sounds he heard.

And then the sound came again. It was a low, rumbling growl—almost human but not quite.

More bullfrogs? Malachi whispered.

A bear, perhaps? Olaf said. Privately, he had no idea what the sound was. It was like nothing he had ever heard. We should be close to the tree by now. He pointed to the final landmark—a moss-covered boulder shaped like a frog. We’ll dig in the prescribed spot, then go home and have that ale you’ve been wanting.

Sounds wonderful to me. Malachi halted, gasped, and pointed a trembling finger into the darkness. The tree! There it is!

The dark outline of an old cypress tree loomed up ahead. It grew in the middle of a sunken area that was mysteriously free of water. Unlike others of its kind, it was short and squat, with branches extending from either side of the trunk like outspread arms.

It does resemble a witch, Olaf said. Now we see how it got its name.

And why a pirate would choose to bury his gold here. Now that the mystery had been solved, Malachi sounded confident. He hefted his shovel and marched forward. Olaf followed behind.

They were ten paces from the tree when something flew out of the darkness. It bore Olaf to the ground and began clawing at the man’s throat.

Malachi drew his knife, but he dared not make a move toward the horrifying vision. The beast turned its glowing eyes in his direction. Its appearance was so bizarre, so foreign to anything he had ever seen that Malachi could only call it a devil.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil... He couldn’t get the rest of the prayer out.

The horrible creature let out a hiss.

Malachi turned and ran.

A picture containing watch Description automatically generated

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Cypress Swamp

1922

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The hour was late and the weather dreary. On any other night like this, Doctor Michael Schuler would be seated in front of the fire sipping a glass of the bootleg liquor he sometimes accepted as payment for his services. Tonight, however, he was responding to an emergency. A hunter had gotten himself gored by an unidentified wild animal and his family insisted the doctor was needed right away. That was the problem with being the only physician in the area—there was no one else for him to pass the buck to.

The patient, Seamus Duncan, lived in a cabin near Cypress Swamp along with the rest of his family. Schuler tended to avoid the area. The place was rife with perils—natural and of human making. If the rumors were to be believed, other dangers lurked there, threats his educated mind refused to take seriously. But he couldn’t entirely forget the stories he had heard. They whispered to him as he rode through the night. His imagination painted images darker than anything he had experienced in reality.

There is no swamp witch. No one else was around so he spoke to Atlas, his black stallion. Nor are there ghosts or monsters. It’s all superstitious nonsense.

As he spoke, a cloud passed in front of the moon. Suddenly, the legends didn’t seem so foolish. He clicked his tongue, squeezed his legs against Atlas’ flanks, and the horse began to trot. He told himself it was because his patient needed attention, not because he was afraid.

By the time he reached the Duncan’s place, his heart rate and breathing were back to normal. The home was a large cabin situated at the edge of the swamp. There was no barn, so he tied Atlas to a tree.

I’ll be back soon. He gave the horse a quick scratch on the withers.

That’s a fine horse, a voice said.

Michael turned to see Jimmy Duncan, patriarch of the Duncan clan, standing in the doorway. Jimmy was a weedy old fellow, tall and skinny. His adult children and grandchildren supported the family, mostly by ill means. Jimmy was sizing up Atlas as if assessing the horse’s value.

Thank you, Michael said. But he has an ill disposition. He won’t let anyone but me ride or even feed him. That was a lie, but if it kept the Duncans away from his horse, it was worth it. He’s also a biter and a kicker.

Sounds like my missus. Jimmy flashed a crooked smile, opened the door wide. We’re much obliged to you for coming out here so late, Doc. My boy Seamus went out hunting and came back all tore up.

Did he say what attacked him?

He doesn’t exactly know. Jimmy’s expression was cagey. We were hoping you could tell us.

I’ll do my best. Michael stepped inside the cabin. A cheery fire blazed in the hearth. Its warmth was welcome after the damp slog he had just endured. He moved closer to the fire and tried to rub the numbness out of his fingers. Jimmy closed the door behind them, cleared his throat.

I understand you don’t mind bartering for your services. We don’t keep a lot of cash money on hand. He picked