Curse of the Death Maiden: Book One - My Thoughts of You Read online

the

  Death Maiden: Book One:

  My Thoughts of You

  Troy Veenstra

  Created & Inspired by a conception by

  Christopher C. Johnson

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this work. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This (e)book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This (e)book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  All Printed and Electronic

  Rights Reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9781497436732

  ISBN: 1497436737

  www.veenstrapublishing.biz

  https://authorchrisjohnson.yolasite.com

  “It’s about time you came in,” the older looking man said as Chris walked through the door. “We’ve been watching you off and on these past few days, the two of us,” he said, pausing for a moment as he walked closer to the young 16-year-old boy. His shortly trimmed dark hair slightly wet from the small drops of rain that had begun just as he entered the awkwardly looking bookshop.

  “The… the two of you?” Chris asked, slowly looking around the stacks of books, yet finding no one but he and the shop keep in the small shop.

  “Yes… yes, the two of us,” the man continued, “We’ve been watching you… noticed we have that you keep looking at our Jolly Roger, the pirate flag that hangs just outside our shop.” The older man said as he looked through a stack of book, as if trying to find something specific.

  “Yeah… I kind of have a fascination with pirates and that time frame, things… things may have been a lot harder but simple,” Chris said, slightly loosening the grip on his skateboard, feeling slight more at ease with the shop keep.

  “You’re going to ask me if I have any books on pirates now right?” the old man asked as he turned toward Chris, this time holding what appeared to me a ragged rolled journal, its flaps rough and slightly burnt.

  “I… I… how did you know?” Chris asked.

  “I just know these things,” the old man said, placing the book on the counter in front of Chris, “and yes, oh my yes for you dear child I do,” he sighed softly, a mixture of friendliness and enemy escaping through his demeanor.

  “This book here, this journal, this is the perfect book for someone like you, someone that already knows so much about pirates,” he said.

  “That may be,” Chris sighed, “but, unlike a pirate, I have no money today,” he shot back.

  “My dear young sir, this book was not meant to be bought, to be handed down between commoners, unable to obtain or see the underlining truth behind these handwritten lines, no sir, this was meant to be read… read by you,” the old man said, pushing the journal forward.

  “Read by me?” Chris paused, the tips of his fingers slightly gliding over the edges of the book. “Read by me,” he said again; suddenly feel a surge, a wave of power he never felt before.

  “Yes young sir, Read, read by you definitely,” the shop keep smiled darkly. “Now get out sir, I have things I must do, people I must see and you sir have a journal you must read.” He added.

  “Ohhh… kay,” Chris said, walking towards the door, journal by his side, never looking back as he exited out the main door, never taking heed, nor at the time needed to notice the sign which read, “Carlyle books and antiques.”

  October 31 1718

  Somewhere within the Bermuda Triangle

  “I am…, I am so, so close,” I thought. “And you… you are nothing, this… this storm, you placed upon us is nothing; you will not keep me from my freedom, my escape.” I shouted out across the deck, my voice carrying out across the stormy night sky, those few remaining crew shaking in absolute fear as I cursed that which they had come to dread.

  “You will not keep me from my promise, you will not keep me from her, from my…my last thought of you.” I howled once more this time interrupted as a bolt of crimson lightning shot across my bow. Filling the darkened sky around us with a momentary blast of light, allow the crew and I to see the walls of water, the waves of infinite death basking around us like some sort of demonic spray.

  Light faded to darkness again. The rain suddenly coming on harder as the wind tore like a cat of nine against my flesh; the waves crashed across the deck like a viper’s tongue laying waste to my crew, forcing them overboard, down to the depths of Davey, never to be seen ALIVE again.

  “You shall not have me so easily,” I thought to myself, not wanting to give in, give up, needed to go on, to be with her, to be with…

  “I will not give in.” I cried defiantly against the darkness around me, my hands hardened to the jagged, sliver covered wheel as lighting branched above me, sporadic sheets of red light crashing across the bow and stern, tearing the rigging to shreds as the wind tore through the sails like decayed pieces of parchment. I knew then, I felt it then in that moment, the reaper upon my heart and the tip of his scythe pressing across the flesh of my chest, the feeling of warmth draining from my body.

  “No… No I will not break,” I exhaled deeply, the strength in my legs starting to weaken, buckling to my own weight, the blood within me beginning to chill, allowing the death around me to take root inside. Yet my mind never faltered, my thoughts never relented, breathing on with each new breath. The need the uninhibited desire to never be forgotten and to never forget… her.

  “I will not… not be… forgotten,” I gasped only to feel the wheel slice away from my hands, tearing my flesh to the bone as it spun wildly, allowing the ship to speed toward the great unknown.

  “NO… I will not give,” I cried, reaching deep down inside with my last bit of strength, catching the wheel as I brought the ship back to course, “North by Northwest,” I thought, spinning the bow of the ship to the arrow of my compass.

  “Please Captain, we must yield, we must turn back, it will not let us escape, it wants us back,” I heard my second in command cry out like a child suckling his mother’s bosom, followed by a midshipmen and a few more of crew.

  Yet I cared not to heed their words, too proud a man to turn tail and give in, to allow myself to become a slave to the darkness, the great unknown. For winches, my glorious crew they had become, mere shadows of the men they once were mere days ago.

  “No!” I said aloud, “I shall never yield, never give in to a mystic, never give in to my rogues or you” I bellowed once more answering both my men and the evil, the darkness that surrounded us and my ship.

  “I shall never relent to you for as long as I still breathe breath into my lungs I am free,” I beckoned only to suddenly feel the storm breaking, the waves crashing with less intensity, the wind slowing, the rain stopping to all but a sprinkle for some fathomless reason that I could not explain.

  “Did you relent?” I asked softly, quietly as
the dark clouds broke away from us, only to show the dreaded land we had been running away from since the previous morning’s breath, within eyeshot.

  “No… No it can’t, I stayed on course, I never faltered,” I gasped checking my compass once more, sure to note we were heading on the correct course, away from the island and yet to my own eyes we were on dead approach.

  “No… you… you bastard,” I cried

  “By your last breath shall you be mine,” I heard its jagged, sickening voice echo through the deep chasms of my mind.

  “By my death?” I questioned, whispering to myself, only to see the flicker of a large bolt crash down from the heavens above, striking the ship with the force of a hundred cannons the small world around me cast a flame.

  “This cannot be,” I gasped, amazed by the inferno of hell burning around me, “The wood is water soaked, yet the flames burn true,” I sighed. It was prevalent to me then, a fool I had been, no mortal man could stand against the immortal power of death.

  Falling to my knees, I could smell the heat of the powder and then in that moment, that second, the flash of her fair cream colored skin, alluring emerald green eyes and brown hair. I could see her in that second, the gaze of her eyes upon me, the sweet intoxicating scent of her perfume.

  I could see her in the moment, in that second before chaos resonated before me and the bow