Read Online Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1) by Chris Tetreault-Blay - Free Book Online Page A

in our own minds.’  His body started to rock back and forth on the spot as he spoke to himself.
    ‘You’re wrong,’ said the old man, ‘I of all men know that.’
    ‘Who are you?’  Colin asked again. ‘Please make it stop,’ he begged referring to the humming sound.  
    ‘It will cease when it is ready,’ he replied.  ‘As for me, in life my name was Julius Archibald.’
    ‘What do you want from me?’
    ‘I am here to tell you that you need not fear him anymore.  He is done with you.’
    As the nauseating sound and sensations of the throbbing began to ease, Colin’s mind returned to thoughts of the sleeping man in the car, the one who had evoked that animalistic and desperate reaction from The Reaper.  The anger began to rise once more.
    ‘What does he have that I don’t?’
    ‘Strength,’ the reply was blunt and honest.  ‘Desire.  He – we - need these in order to succeed, to live again and rule as we once should have. These attributes are easy to manipulate.  Your weakness was your weakness alone.  He, our Leader, merely leeched from you, living from the evil inside of you and that which came through the acts you committed, but he could not gain strength from you for you are weak.’
    It was all becoming clearer for Colin. Finally he understood why he had been haunted for so long.  The Reaper latched onto those who were vulnerable and easy to control, puppeteering in the hope that his power may grow with or through them.  The more Colin reacted to his presence and acted on the emotions he felt - the anger, the resentment, the joy from bringing pain to others – he was displaying weakness, unable to control his baser instincts, and allowing himself to be manipulated by something that others could not see.
    As Colin’s head rose from his hands, the pulsing suddenly ceased.  He looked up to find Julius Archibald gazing at the ceiling.  A warm smile, yet chilling in its appearance, broke over Archibald’s face.
    ‘What is it?’ Colin asked, trembling.
    ‘It has begun,’ Archibald replied, his gaze returning to Dexler.  ‘They are coming for you.  Goodbye Colin.’
    Dexler tentatively rose from the cot and stared at what was taking place on the floor before him.  The shadows that had formed, flickered from the light of the single torch and started shifting, crawling towards him.  They rose up from the floor and stood in front of him.  Everywhere he turned, more and more of the shadows were lining the room, now resembling a cell. They appeared like a demonic firing squad, watching and waiting to strike.  As Colin followed each apparition, more features started to form on them all; some grew faces that grimaced, displaying sickening deformities. Others formed limbs that had been cut short. One hunched over and resembled an unholy impression of something wolf-like.
    Colin felt that he knew them all and that he was somehow the source of all of their agony.  They all crept forward towards him; those who had arms reached them out grabbing, tearing, and slicing him.  His screams curdled within his cavernous cell.  With one last frantic look around the space, he realised that there was no door, no windows, no ceiling.  No way out.
    The pulsing started again as the shadows tore Colin’s body, ribboning his flesh, his screams weakening to pathetic whimpers.  The pulsing shook the walls and were splitting Colin’s head from within, the sounds becoming louder and faster.
    In the dark, cold, lonely hallway of his house, Colin Dexler’s body laid slumped upright against the front door, not moving.
    The pounding on the door grew louder as the shouted requests became frantic orders.
    ‘Wildermoor Police, open up!’ the officer shouted, rattling the weak wooden door with every slam of his fist.  ‘I know you’re in there, Dexler.  This time we have you,’ screamed DI Darke.
    The rhythmic, pulsing of Dexler’s heart slowed and finally stopped.  As he remained locked, trapped,