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    The Storm
    The Storm
    The Storm
    Ebook404 pages6 hours

    The Storm

    By Ty Johnston

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    About this ebook

    A small town in Kentucky is about to learn fear.

    Resting in the foothills of Appalachia, Coal Gap is the kind of place where everybody knows one another and people move to raise their children.

    One of those children is 10-year-old Billy Griffith, who harbors a secret of an unlimited power of the mind.

    Unfortunately for Billy, his special abilities can't remain hidden forever, and a stormy darkness gathers around Coal Gap, a maelstrom zeroing in on the boy.

    Within this storm is a stranger with powers of his own to raise the dead and have them do his bidding. This stranger wants Billy's powers for himself, and he does not come alone.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTy Johnston
    Release dateOct 17, 2012
    ISBN9781301041626
    The Storm
    Author

    Ty Johnston

    Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

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      Book preview

      The Storm - Ty Johnston

      Prologue: Miami

      1987

      Rory stood on the dock and stared east, his white uniform looking the color of a dead fish’s belly beneath the darkening sky. He wondered why the Hurricane Center in Coral Gables had not sent out a warning. Possibly the winds weren’t powerful enough for the storm to be labeled a hurricane yet. But that was doubtful. He had seen the reports from his own men, those reports clearly stating the wind speeds were approaching 65 knots out in the Atlantic.

      He shifted and stared further into the waters. Of course it was a hurricane. It had to be. He could sense it. Not only was the sky slowly turning gray, but the air was getting that harsh cold smell to it. The water wasn’t acting up much near the shore as of yet, but still, there was that hurricane smell like a mountain of salt getting ready to pour down on his head. Hurricanes in June could be expected, though; June was the beginning of storm season and Rory pretty much planned on getting wet this year. He planned on getting wet every year, at least until he could get shipped somewhere else, maybe up north.

      He chuckled at himself, a Coast Guard officer who didn’t like to get wet.

      After a few more minutes of watching, he noticed the water was getting a little choppy. Not too rough, just enough to let him know the storm must still be well to the east. It probably wouldn’t hit the coast until after midnight. That was bad, real bad. Rory knew he and his men hadn’t been able to save some lives during last year’s major storms because of the darkness; at night in the water during a hurricane a dozen people could be drowning within feet of you, but you might not be able to do a thing to save them because you couldn’t see them. The thought made Rory shudder. All those lives lost.

      The sound of footsteps made him turn around. Hey, Tom, he said to the lieutenant approaching him. They had been friends long enough to do away with rank and protocol in private.

      Tom nodded a greeting as he came to a stop next to the ensign. I see you’re enjoying the evening’s view. He looked toward the open sea.

      Rory nodded in return. It looks pretty bad. The chief petty officer reported sustained winds at 63 knots and strong wave activity farther out. We’ll get a Category One at least.

      Maybe worse.

      Tom pulled out a pack of Camels and offered it to Rory.

      Once they were lit up, Rory asked, "Have we received any news from Coral Gables yet?

      Not a peep. Tom took a puff and blew it out. But we’re still trying to contact them. It’s not like them to not put out a warning. Even if the storm only showed up today, they at least should have known it was coming.

      Rory nodded again as he smoked. It’s strange of them not to have contacted us.

      Tom finished his cigarette and tossed it over the railing into the tide. He grunted. Guess I’d better get back inside. I just came out to catch a smoke when I saw you here.

      Yeah, Rory said. We’re all busy with this storm dumped on us. Guess I’d better get back to my office, too.

      They were just about to turn and walk back when a patrol boat began to pull up on the docks.

      Tom grabbed Rory by a shoulder and said, They’re back mighty soon.

      Rory grimaced. Want to see why?

      Tom nodded.

      A few minutes later the boat was tied up and five men climbed off onto the dock. Four of them wore the usual Coast Guard apparel for patrolling, but the fifth was wearing a soaked gray suit. The four guardsmen were young, but the other looked to be at least in his fifties though in good shape.

      Tom stepped forward. Petty Officer Ryan, what’s happened here?

      Petty Officer Ryan straightened. We found this civilian at sea, sir. He pointed at the drenched man in gray. We tried to call it in, but the storm must be affecting the radio. This man refuses to give us his name or how he came to be floating in the water.

      The lieutenant glanced at the strange wet man. Sir, why will you not give your name?

      The stranger stepped forward and Rory felt fear wash over him. It was an odd sensation, cold with a certain smell to it, a hurricane smell.

      The stranger stared at Tom. Where am I?

      The lieutenant’s eyes opened wide. Good Lord, the man must be drunk.

      A couple of the seamen laughed, but the officers did not. It was a strange question this newcomer had asked, a question that made no sense. Surely he must know where he was, or at least he must have a guess. Even if one were lost at sea, it would be difficult not to recognize Miami along the coast.

      The stranger continued to stare calmly at Tom. All was silent. The sound of the waves seemed even to him drifted away.

      You’re in Miami, sir, Tom finally said.

      Where is that? the man asked.

      Unease hit the guardsmen. The seamen didn’t laugh this time. Rory felt his stomach tighten. The fear was still there, and it was still unexplainable.

      It’s in Florida, in the U.S., Tom answered with a quizzical look to his features.

      The stranger’s eyes wavered for a moment and he looked out to the sea, then back to Tom. What ocean is that?

      Rory now realized from where the fear was coming. It emanated from this old, wet man. It flowed from him.

      Tom frowned as if he too were feeling the sensation, but he answered the stranger in gray. The Atlantic, sir.

      Ahh. The old man grinned. This I know of. We must be on the west side of the ocean, then?

      Tom blinked, seemingly more confused than ever. Uh, yes, sir.

      We are west from Europe, then?

      Yes, sir.

      Good, the old man said, grinning again. I have a new land to see.

      Time seemed to stand still then. Without words spoken between them, the quiet continued to pour over the group of men, even dimming the surf and the cries of birds and distant planes. The most audible noise was that of each man’s heart beating, which sounded to Rory’s ears like a barrage of drums. No one moved or spoke for the longest time, as if everyone and everything had become frozen. The old man continued to stare into the lieutenant’s eyes, the stranger’s gaze seeming to speak, to say You are mine.

      Rory tensed. He felt as if something spectacular yet disastrous was about to happen. And it wasn’t the coming of the hurricane.

      The long, taut moment passed.

      I have never seen such lights, the old man said as he peered towards the haze of the city.

      Tom opened his mouth. Sir, I think we should get you --

      What a strange new world I have to conquer, the old man interrupted. Later, the ensign and lieutenant would agree they must have misunderstood what the mysterious figure had said.

      We really should get you inside and into some dry clothes, Tom said. I’m sure you can tell us your story then.

      The old man stepped away from the gathering of mariners and continued to gaze upon the city. Without looking back, he said, I have no time for such things. I believe I shall make my way into ... My Ami.

      None of the others said a word in protest.

      The old man walked further away. A fog sprang up from nowhere and appeared to envelop the stranger when he was almost off the dock and onto ground.

      Tom blinked. God. He blinked again as if coming out of a trance. He turned to those from the boat. Get after him. I want to know who he is.

      Two of the seaman took off into the fog which now covered the end of the dock near the regional Coast Guard headquarters.

      Ryan, how did you find him? Tom asked the petty officer.

      Ryan also seemed to be coming out of a daze. His words were stuttered. He was floating at sea, sir. There was no boat, no ship, not even a plane.

      And he told you nothing?

      No, sir. I mean, you are correct, sir.

      The two men who had disappeared came jogging back. Tom turned to them and Ryan seemed relieved that he would not have to answer any more questions immediately.

      Sir, one of the two said, he’s gone. Completely vanished, as if that fog lifted him away.

      Lieutenant Thomas Howell said nothing. For a moment he looked into the fog, then said, I wonder.

      Tom shook his head. Yes, well, we’ll forget about this, all of us. No one is to mention this to anyone outside of us, and it had damn well better not make it into a report. His last words were a command.

      Soon the four seaman returned to their patrol boat and prepared to pull out once more. Tom and Rory watched the craft smooth out into deeper waters.

      Spooky, Tom said.

      Definitely, Rory added. That man gave me the chills.

      Me, too.

      "Do you think we should report this?"

      Not at all.

      Good. It seems like too much trouble. I don’t think any harm could come from not turning this one in.

      Tom pulled out his cigarettes again. The two lit up once more and stared out at the churning sea, the sky growing darker and darker.

      The hurricane did not hit Miami. Instead it died down to a rain storm and turned north where it struck land near Fort Lauderdale.

      Chapter 1: Kentucky

      It was the last day of class for the students of Van Buren County Elementary School. The sky was ablaze with a glinting sun which spread its warming rays across the grass-layered hills surrounding the solitary school building. A few dandelions and daisies could be found here and there along the knolls, each little flower reaching up to drink in the nourishment it craved. The near trees appeared to be swimming when the gentle winds picked up to sway the branches, and a few squirrels darted among the greenery, the little animals frantic as they gathered a seemingly unending supply of nuts.

      But ten-year-old Billy Griffith wasn’t looking out his classroom’s window to thrill at summer’s fantastic sights. No. Instead he was diligently watching the hands move like molasses on the clock above Ms. Watson’s desk. The clock’s hands appeared to be permanently stuck on fifteen minutes to three. Three o’clock, when school was finally over for the year, seemed never to draw nearer.

      Only fifteen minutes, Billy thought. I can’t stand it! I’ll go nuts! First the schools make us stay in class an extra two weeks because of the stupid snow days, and now I bet they’ve turned back all the clocks in town, slowed them down ... something to keep us here!

      The clock’s hands moved ahead one minute. To Billy and the other thirty children in the room, it seemed as if it had taken that slender hand at least an hour to move a tenth of an inch.

      Forget the time. Just do this last multiplication table and the minutes will fly by. He picked up his pencil and went to work multiplying what seemed to him a bunch of useless numbers. Five minutes later he finished the math sheet and looked up at the clock. Nine minutes left! I’ll go crazy!

      Billy dropped the pencil on the desk and glanced outside at the green hills. I’ll never get out there, he thought as Ms. Watson stood behind her desk and gathered the last assignment of the year.

      Billy brought his attention around to the pretty twenty-three-year-old teacher who collected his math paper. Not for the first time, he suddenly wished he was in college, or at least high school, so he would be old enough to ask Ms. Watson out on a date. He knew he wasn’t old enough yet to really take an interest in girls, but Ms. Watson wasn’t a girl; she was a woman, and that definitely made a difference. He watched her curvy shape move in her dress as she passed by his desk. He felt heat rushing to his head and his heart began to flutter. Billy didn’t know why he liked to look at Ms. Watson; he’d never even seen a woman naked before and had no idea what one looked like without clothes, but he did know that whatever Ms. Watson had under that dress would be nice.

      Two more minutes passed. Billy sighed. Along with half his classmates.

      Ms. Watson returned to her seat behind her desk and placed the math sheets in a folder. More than a few of the boys stared at her every move. She looked up and caught a couple of them watching, but her smile was innocent, as it always was.

      Days earlier Billy had decided to take some roses from his mother’s flower garden and bring them to Ms. Watson on the next inservice day when the teachers would be at school calculating grades. He had changed his mind, however, because he was afraid she might think he was in love with her, which he was, along with the rest of the boys in the fifth grade. Billy sighed once more, still wishing he was older or that Ms. Watson was younger. He wondered what she had been like when she was ten.

      Another minute ticked away.

      This is stupid, Billy thought, me sitting here daydreaming about a grown woman. I wouldn’t know what to do with her if I had her.

      Out of boredom he picked up his pencil and started drawing on a piece of notebook paper. Nothing better to do. Another minute was soon gone and Billy was putting the finishing touches on his artwork of a football player when he thought of something more entertaining to do. It would be tricky with all the other kids around, and it had been a while since he had tried it, but ...

      He placed the pencil on his desk and closed his eyes. Concentrating, his face became strained. I’m not feeling anything. It’s gone!

      He opened his eyes and glared at the pencil. Nothing had happened. Everything was normal. I don’t believe this! Anger swelled within him. Fighting back an outburst, he looked outside for a moment to distract himself, then his eyes returned to the pencil. It’s not been that long since I tried it. Maybe I should just loosen up and not push so hard.

      Billy closed his eyes again. This time he did not squint or tighten up, and this time he felt the power, like gentle waves of electricity, flowing through him.

      Another minute passed and Billy had been sitting motionless.

      Oh! The single word came from Lora Meyers, the girl sitting on Billy’s left.

      His eyes snapped open and for a moment he saw what he had expected, what he had been visualizing in his mind. The pencil was resting in the air, floating six inches above the desktop.

      Other children’s heads turned and Ms. Watson stood at her desk. But they were too late to see and all their attention was on Lora Meyers. The pencil dropped to the desk and rolled until it spilled over onto the floor.

      Billy leaned over, grabbed up his pencil, then gave a sharp glance to Lora. She sat there, her mouth open, staring at him. For a second he thought her tongue was going to come rolling out of her mouth. The thought made him giggle.

      What’s wrong, Lora? Ms. Watson asked as she approached.

      Lora stared a moment longer at Billy, then blinked. With bewildered eyes she looked up at the teacher. Huh?

      Billy thought he would crack up, but recognized he was facing a dangerous moment. Up until now no one had ever seen or known about his special trick to move things, not even his parents. Now Lora Meyers, the most big-mouthed girl in the whole school, had seen, and she would probably blab to everyone. Well, I did push my chances. He wasn’t really all that worried, though; only Lora had seen and Billy wasn’t too sure everyone believed Lora because she was such a tattle tale.

      What’s wrong, Lora? Ms. Watson asked again, kneeling beside the girl’s desk.

      Lora blinked again. She hadn’t believed what she had seen and it put her in shock for a moment. Then she snapped out of it. Oh! Uh ... nothing! she blurted, casting a nervous glance toward Billy.

      Ms. Watson looked around at the boy. Did you do something to Lora, Billy?

      No, Ms. Watson, Billy said, nearly grinning but managing to keep his lips under control. The thrill of getting caught was almost too much for him, but frightening big-mouth Lora Meyers would almost be worth it. He was glad school was about over because on the walk home he could laugh himself silly.

      Lora? Ms. Watson asked the girl. What made you cry out?

      Lora had had enough time to think of an answer. There was a big bird at the window. It ... it scared me for a second.

      Billy thought his gut would burst from holding in the laughter. He couldn’t actually believe that for once Lora Meyers was keeping her trap shut. And the weak excuse she had used made him want to fall to the ground rolling around in hilarity. It was too much. If he could last just a few more seconds until the bell rang.

      Well, Ms. Watson began, I didn’t see any --

      The bell rang, interrupting her.

      Then came the happy shouts and hollers of the students. Children grabbed their belongings and dashed for the door.

      Have a good summer! Ms. Watson managed to yell over the din of ecstatic children. She was almost shoved aside by several of the larger boys who zipped past her on their way to the door.

      Billy was already outside and rushing downhill toward the tree line and home. He could have waited for the bus, but he enjoyed the two-mile trek to his house, and any way, Lora Meyers rode his bus. She would probably bug him to death with a million questions, or at least stare at him hatefully like she usually did when she had a secret.

      He was almost to the woods when someone behind him yelled, Hold up!

      Billy came to a halt and looked back.

      His best friend was coming at him, running crazily down the hill, lugging an almost empty backpack. Tripp’s long red hair bounced back and forth behind him and seemed to glow in the bright sunshine as he slowed but didn’t stop. Tripp kept right on walking into the trees and Billy followed.

      So, man, Tripp said, what’d you do to big-mouth Lora?

      Billy had laughed all the way down the hill and was surprised to find he still had a few giggles left in him. Nothing, really. I just made some funny faces. Small lies couldn’t hurt, right?

      She sure acted scared. Those must have been some pretty mean faces you threw at her.

      They made their way along a path built up by years of school boys’ shoes. Coming to a narrow stream, they crossed on boards they had placed there the summer before. The raw scent of decaying leaves reached their noses and made Billy sniffle; he liked the smell sometimes, like in autumn, but in the summer it got to be overpowering beneath the heat of the day. A soft breeze didn’t seem strong enough to take the smell away, but soon the boys were beyond the woods and in an open field. Here the tangy perfume of dry grass floated upon the air, a scent Billy liked much better.

      As they walked they spoke of usual boy things: baseball, fishing, crabby girls and more. They hadn’t spoken again about the incident with Lora Meyers and Billy was glad of that. Seeing Lora’s surprised face had been funny, but Billy was still somewhat frightened of what would happen if others found out about his special abilities. He was scared people might make fun of him or even try to hurt him. If you were different, especially that kind of different, most people probably wouldn’t like you very much. Billy knew this was the main reason he kept his secret a secret.

      Eventually reaching Billy’s house on a small rise overlooking the county’s main road, Tripp waved at his friend. Catch you later. He was headed toward his house another mile down the road.

      Don’t forget to meet me in town, Billy called as Tripp reached the highway. They had planned on getting together and going to the movies that night. It was Friday and a new Schwarzenegger flick was supposed to be showing.

      Seeing Tripp wave again, Billy turned toward his house and pushed open the front door. Mom! I’m home!

      Okay! Her call came from the kitchen in the back.

      Billy smelled boiled cabbage and decided it would be a good idea to leave early for the movies so he could eat at the local diner.

      Is Tripp with you? his mom asked from the other room.

      No! Billy yelled back, charging down the hall to his room.

      When he entered he saw his mother had once again straightened and cleaned his room. I’ll never be able to find anything now. He flung the notebook he had been carrying onto the bed and yanked open his closet door. Peering inside for a moment, he then went back and locked the door to his room before closing his window shades.

      Billy sat on the edge of his bed and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander. Now let’s see what I can do when I’m not being disturbed.

      A minute later he opened his eyes and saw his baseball bat from the closet now bobbing up and down in the air as if some ghost were about to swing.

      Billy grinned to himself. I just hope Lora doesn’t change her mind and blab.

      Chapter 2

      A group of children ran by the front of Sam Langston’s gas station while Lewis blankly stared out the front window. School’s out, he said. Kids are heading home.

      Yep, Sam said from behind the counter as he rang up Lewis’ order. I guess Monday I’ll be busier than ever.

      Pulling out his wallet from the back pocket of his faded jeans, Lewis thumbed past a picture of his wife and pulled out a few bills. As he handed the money to Sam, he said, I don’t suppose you’ll have my next order in by then?

      By when?

      Monday.

      Sam took the money and glanced at a calendar hanging next to the cash register. Not likely, Lewis. Your oil probably won’t get here ’til Wednesday, Tuesday at best.

      Lifting two of the four bags of top soil from the counter, Lewis turned toward the exit. That’s all right. I was going to be in town Monday. Thought I’d pick everything up at once.

      Let me help you with that, Sam said as he rounded the counter.

      Lewis stopped cold and stared at the other man. No, I’ll get it.

      Sam backed off.

      I’ll be back in a minute for the others, Lewis said, then made his way out the door and headed for his pick-up.

      Inside the store, Audrey Mullins made an appearance from the back, a small load of groceries filling a basket hanging around one arm. He sure is different.

      Yep. Sam stared through the dusty window at Lewis. I hate to see a good man go hard like that.

      He never smiles, Bill Johnson said as he came up behind Audrey, and he’s awful quiet compared to how he used to be. Remember when he’d tell jokes all the time?

      Lewis slung the two bags into the back of his truck and stood there for a moment catching his breath beneath the sun. He was tall and strong, which made sense because he had worked on a farm since he was a boy. His father and grandfather had been tobacco farmers, so Lewis had started early and stayed with the profession, even now when all the big companies were putting the small farmers out of business. Lewis got by, though; he had to do a few side jobs every now and then, but he and April kept up with the bills.

      He had always been an independent man, even before his heart attack, but he had also always been quick with a smile, friendly and ready with a joke. But since his trip to Lexington in the back of an ambulance, his demeanor had altered. Now Lewis hardly spoke to anyone. He never smiled. Most noticeable was that sometimes he was downright cold. April had seen this and pestered him to try to be more friendly, but he could not bring himself to do it. He had tried, but it didn’t take. His world had become a dark place, one in which he could perish at any moment.

      Lewis didn’t hate the people around him, nor did he mean to unfriendly. He had always been a trustworthy fellow to everyone. That trust had been built on years and years of hard work and paying his bills on time. People had relied on him and still did, but Lewis wasn’t so sure he could depend upon himself. He had let everyone down, including April, when the heart attack had struck, even though he knew it was not his fault. April told him time and time again there was nothing he could have done, that the attack had just happened. He had tried to believe this, and consciously he did, but in the back of his mind ... he was scared that others would no longer hold that old trust in him. To make up for this, he had gone against his doctor’s orders, going back to working full force on the farm.

      There were other reasons he was cold to people, all related to his heart. He was still relatively young, not quite fifty, and felt his body had betrayed him. If it let him down, that surely meant others would feel they had been let down. Also, Lewis didn’t smoke or drink, though he did enjoy a plug of Red Man every now and then, and thought God had somehow broken the rules through the heart attack. To Lewis’ way of thinking, if you were physically in good shape and didn’t smoke or drink, then you never had to worry about things like strokes or cancer or heart attacks. Lewis felt his body and God had revolted against him, and now everyone else would no longer treat him the same.

      All these thoughts were foolish, or so April and the doctors told him, but Lewis couldn’t believe. He just couldn’t shake the feelings.

      The townsfolk in the store were still talking about him and his changing ways, that much he knew without having to turn and look. It had only been a mild heart attack, nothing to disable a man, but it had nearly killed him. And that was what had truly caused him to go hard, to tune out his emotions so no one else saw.

      Rested for the moment, Lewis finally turned back to Sam’s store. When he entered he tried to be polite by saying hello to Audrey and Bill, but it came out awkward. He would never be able to be his old self as long as he felt undependable.

      Before he could shoulder the last two bags, Bill stepped up to him. I ain’t seen you or April around town much lately, Lewis.

      We’ve been busy at the farm, Lewis said with a soft voice but rigid eyes. You know how it is.

      He picked up the bags and was about to leave when Sam asked, Are you sure you don’t want some help carrying those, Lewis?

      Lewis had turned away. Now he stopped with his back to the others. He stood there for a moment fuming, ready to explode. Shaking his head, he muttered, No.

      Everyone was quiet.

      Then Bill said, Just trying to help, old buddy.

      Lewis’ head lowered between his shoulders as if he was tired. It’s all right. His words were little more than a whisper as he exited.

      Damn shame, Sam said, watching the farmer go to his truck.

      Outside, Lewis berated himself inside his head. You fool, why did you have to be so distant and mean with them? They were only trying to be friendly. Though Sam shouldn’t have asked twice. That nearly riled me.

      He was in an ugly mood now, and felt he probably would be for the rest of the day.

      He slung one of the bags into the back of the truck. His breathing was coming harder than usual, but he had been exerting himself somewhat. Maybe I should have taken Sam up on his offer? He placed the last bag with the others and slammed the tailgate closed. I’ve got to stop pushing myself. The doctor said so.

      Lewis went around to the driver’s side of the truck and suddenly thought to wave bye to Sam, Bill and Audrey. He turned and waved with a crooked grin at the edges of his lips. They waved back from the other side of the store’s large front window.

      Probably think I don’t like them much nowadays, Lewis thought, pulling a ring of keys out of a pocket. Guess I couldn’t blame them.

      He checked the bed of the truck to make sure none of the top soil bags would move around too much, then opened the driver’s door.

      I’ll have to be more friendly when I come into town Monday. Must try to smile at least a few times, or maybe even laugh some. April did say I needed to --

      PROTECT THE BOY.

      Those three words had not come from Lewis. They were from some outside source, from somewhere and something outside his own mind, and they hit like a bullet slamming into him. Lewis reeled and dropped back away from the truck. He stood balanced on the balls of his feet for a moment, then felt himself falling. He twisted to one side so as not to land on his back, instead dropping to his knees.

      My Lord! Sam yelled from behind his counter in the store. A second later he and Bill busted out the squeaking front door of the place and raced for the downed farmer.

      Lewis remained on his knees with both hands over his face. Oh, Jesus, no. No, no, no, no! He believed he was having another heart attack. Those three strange words that had boomed into his mind had been sharp enough to bring pain; it was a quick, electric jolt that had shot through his body and had felt very much like the heart attack he had suffered before. Please, God, don’t let it be happening again.

      Sam and Bill squatted, placing their hands on Lewis’ shoulders, ready to lift him or help him lay down, whichever

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