The Blocker: The Shadow War

FOR:

Rob

A son, a husband, a father, and a soldier.

Proud of you, son.

Thank you for your service.

Acknowledgment

I would like to thank Toni, Pam, Laura, Bob, Bill, and Carol, my pre-readers.

You have helped me bring THE BLOCKER to life. I can never thank you enough. Yes, Toni, there will be a second book.

Title page

Cover Design: 100 Covers

Author Photo: Life Portraits by Angela

Title Page: Fiona Jayde Media

Also by R. L. Snyder

The Branwen Saga

Branwen

The Riddle of The Storm

Glenlock

The Shadow War

The Blocker

First Dragon

Oathsworn

CHAPTER I

Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, 1966

The dark wall shuttered, rippling like water agitated by a small stone. A deep whirlpool of emptiness, the size of a manhole cover, materialized as the brick seemed to melt into itself. An ebony mist ascended from the liquid darkness, seeking the voices. Voices that were calling, welcoming it into the glorious dark. The dark that allowed it to move, to explore, to hunt. It paused, then sent a mere suggestion of itself through the air to the singers. To soothe them. To prepare them.

Hey, Gwen.

Another? It stopped — listening.

A teen-aged boy strolled from the kitchen of the small house to the living room and called out again. Gwen! I’ve made popcorn for you and your friends. I’ll bring it down during the next commercial.

Placing the popcorn and a bottle of Coke on the coffee table, Art threw himself onto the couch, feet propped up on the arm. The commercial ended and the image of a green dancing girl appeared on the small screen gyrating in front of her audience. At least he assumed she was green. That’s what Kirk called her. Art looked forward to the day they would get a color TV.

Dressed in nothing but a small bikini the girl stopped in front of the starship commander and ran her hands down the sides of his face. Kirk always got the girl, even the green ones.

Art was babysitting. His parents were at their weekly bowling league, and although his sister was nearly ten, they didn’t like leaving Gwen alone. He didn’t mind. She was a good kid.

School was out and his young sister had invited three of her friends to a slumber party. They were in the basement with the lights out playing some kind of game, spooky stuff. Funny really.

It’s not like he had anything else to do for the evening. School didn’t start for another month, and his girl Becky was working at Bishop’s Diner. He’d call her when she got off. They had been going together for a year. She was something special. Pretty, smart, and sweet. He considered himself lucky.

This would be their last year of high school. He understood that things were about to change. Decisions had to be made. What college to apply to if he was even going to college. He knew Becky would go. She was really smart. Art didn’t know what he was going to do. He knew if he didn’t get into a college he would probably get drafted. Some of his friends had talked about enlisting. Even though a lot of people seemed to be against Vietnam, his country was still at war. He had a responsibility, didn’t he? Like his dad and his uncles did in Korea and World War II.

He looked down when he heard a whine from the small dog at his feet.

"You need to go out, Sampson? Can’t you wait? I want to watch this.

The dog turned towards the basement. His tail lay flat between his legs, a low growl emanating from deep within him. The short fur along the back of his neck and spine stood up like the bristles of a boar.

What’s the matter with you?

Sampson moved towards the basement. He sulked through the kitchen and stopped about three feet from the door, his ears laid back along his skull, a menacing growl growing in intensity.

You want to see what the girls are doing? He walked towards the dog. What’s with all the attitude?

Trying to keep an eye on the TV he stepped around Sampson and reached for the door to the basement.

The dog stepped back another two feet, lowered his head, and curled his lip, exposing his canines.

What is wrong with you?

As Art’s fingers touched the doorknob, he pulled his hand back. What the heck? He looked at Sampson, then reached for the knob again. It was cold. Cold, like fresh ice. Like a flagpole in the winter. Turning the knob he called down the stairs.

Gwen, everything okay down there?

No answer. He glanced down the stairwell. It was dark in the basement. The girls had turned all the lights out and were using candles for effect. A séance. Horror movies were the rage and everyone thought it was fun to try to talk to the dead. Stupid!

Art flicked the light switch at the head of the stairs. Nothing happened. Surely they hadn’t unscrewed the bulb.

Gwen, what are you guys doing down there?

He could see the flickering of light from the candles brushing the cinder block wall of the basement. It appeared faint. Even the light coming from the kitchen behind him appeared to fade as it reached farther down the stairwell.

Art looked at Sampson, then turned his attention back to the stairwell, the show all but forgotten. He took a hesitant step down, trying to look everywhere at once. This was not funny.

Gwen?

He carefully stepped down another step.

Answer me. Are you okay?

Art couldn’t see the girls. The enclosed staircase was so dark he had trouble making out the wall at the base of the steps. Keeping a white-knuckle hold on the railing he continued into the darkness. Clouds of frosted mist materialized in front of his face as if he had stepped into a walk-in freezer. The hair on his arms stood up and the face of his watch fogged over.

He took another step. Gwen? What’s going on down there? You better not be screwing with me. Answer me. I’m going to tell Mom about the candles if you don’t stop this crap.

It’s the middle of summer. It shouldn’t be cold.

He continued down, being careful not to trip in the dark. Step after step until he reached the base of the stairs. Turning towards the girls he stopped, they were just sitting there ignoring him. That pissed him off.

Okay. You have had your fun, now put out the damn candles and turn on the lights. Game over.

No response. The four of them continued to sit, unmoving, legs crossed, staring at the flickering candles. Gwen was closest to him, her back to the wall. It was like she didn’t know he was there. He was about to step into their circle and put the candles out when something caught his eye. He tried to make it out. There was something on the wall near Gwen. A shadow.

But it didn’t belong to him, or any of the girls. And how could he see a shadow in a dark room? It made no sense. But there it was. A patch of blackness on the dark wall like looking into a deep hole.

It moved again, towards Gwen.

Art watched in horror as the shadow stopped behind his sister and what looked like dark fingers materialized, extending beyond the surface of the wall. They stretched, like thin branches from a tree until the tips touched Gwen, gently caressing the back of her head, the fingers moving one at a time, up and down, like the hand of a lover. They suddenly stopped, then shot forward into the back of her head.

Gwen sat straight up. She arched her back so far Art thought her neck might snap.

Leave her alone! He screamed, concern for his sister breaking the spell of fear.

More of the shadowy figure flowed into the young girl. It moved faster and faster until completely absorbed into the child’s body like water into a sponge. Gwen slumped forward and Art reached out grabbing his sister by the shoulders. He pulled her to her feet.

Gwen!

She didn’t react. She stood rigid, staring at him as if he wasn’t there.

Look at me!

She lifted her head. The eyes that looked back were dark, empty. It was like she wasn’t looking at him but something else was. Something wrong. Something cruel. Something evil.

A wisp of darkness, like a finger, reached out from her eye and touched his face. It was cold and generated feelings of dread as it slowly moved along his cheek.

Dark hands sprouted from her eyes and grabbed Art by the temples. It was like being touched by dry ice. He couldn’t move, his head trapped as if in a cold vice.

The shadowy digits pushed. He could feel them as they increased their grip against his skull, sharp nails trying to force a way into his head. The pressure increased until Art thought he could take no more. But the shadowy claws did not break through.

He felt surprise emanate from the thing and frustration that it was unable to penetrate his skull. But a voice did, loud, booming inside his head.

This child is mine. Leave her to me!

The hands pushed harder, the cold becoming so intense that Art felt his head might explode. They pulled him towards his sister. Towards those black empty eyes.

As their faces touched, Art screamed, Leave, you bastard! Leave my sister alone! Leave me alone you son-of-a-bitch!

He felt something, like a warm current of water coursing through his body. It began in his gut and spread as if a fever had taken him. A light, a hot brilliant white light, settled behind his eyes. It didn’t hurt. It felt — right. He was no longer afraid, just angry.

A bolt of illumination suddenly flew from his eyes, like a jet of liquid fire, sticking to his sister.

The thing inside her screamed as it withdrew its hands from his temples. Gwen arched her back again, and dark shadow rushed from her eyes and mouth like escaping steam. It flew back and struck the wall behind her. Gwen collapsed to the floor as the light faded from Art’s eyes.

He kneeled to support her. She sat there, unmoving. Art looked at the wall behind her. The darkness was still there and was growing. It increased in size until it resembled the outline of a large man.

The thing stood for a moment, seeming to absorb what little light came from the candles. The featureless head turned, then the shadow leaped over Art like thick smoke.

Art stood and placed himself between the thing and Gwen. He watched in horror as the shadowy figure engulfed the other girls in a misty bubble. It was like looking at them through a dirty window.

The three young girls arched their backs as Gwen had done. But the shadow did not enter them as it had his sister. It was squeezing them. Pushing them together with increasing pressure. They didn’t resist, made no sound as it closed on them, pushing their small bodies closer to one another.

Art stepped forward, not sure what to do, but knowing he had to do something. Stop!

Ignoring him the shadow increased its constriction, tighter and tighter until the fragile bodies of the helpless children could no longer withstand the pressure.

The room became dark, the candles extinguished, the result of the girl’s grisly deaths. Art lay on the floor where he had been thrown, covered in the blood and gore of what had been his sister’s friends. Gwen was sprawled next to him where she had fallen when he crashed into her.

Everything was still. Art sat in total darkness for a moment, speechless, repulsed by what he had just witnessed. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he watched the shadow as it morphed into the three-dimensional shape of a man. A man with powerful arms and legs, but no features on it’s face. A solid figure he could see even in the dark room.

Eyes appeared on its shadowed face. Dark orbs encased in fiery rings. Eyes with a blackness that seemed to swallow all else. Art felt the hate and cruelty that radiated from the depths of the thing. It took a step towards him.

Heat ignited within Art’s body, coursing through him with a power he never knew could exist. He was no longer afraid. This thing had to be stopped, and it had to be stopped by him. Now! Before it could hurt anyone else.

A thin aura of yellow light surrounded Art illuminating the room as he slowly crawled back to his feet. The shadow stopped, and took a step back. It seemed confused, frightened. Art lifted his hand and pointed at the abomination.

No more!

Intense light burst from his hand and struck the shadow. The thing screamed and called out to him with fear and hatred. Then it shattered like glass. Ebony pieces, resembling black hail, scattered onto the floor before melting into the carpet.

The lights came back on and the room warmed. Art stood exhausted as the heat and the light faded from his body.

Turning to his sister he helped her to her feet. She stood as if awakening from a deep sleep, unaware of what had happened. He led her from the carnage of the room. This was something she did not need to see.

Placing his arm around her shoulders, he gently pushed her towards the stairs. He stopped and looked back at what had been his sister's friends.

I’m sorry.

He helped Gwen as they slowly climbed the stairs. Sampson was waiting in the kitchen and followed as Art led Gwen to the bathroom. She didn’t resist, didn’t say anything, she moved as if in a trance.

Art wiped Gwen’s face and cleaned the rest of her up as best he could. Taking her hand he led her to her bedroom and helped her onto the bed. She smiled up at him, then closed her eyes.

Covering her with a blanket, he returned to the bathroom and washed what he could from his face and clothes then went to the kitchen. Lifting the phone from the cradle of the wall unit, he dialed the police.

Hello. I need to report a murder.

After telling the authorities where he lived he hung up the phone and walked to the front door. Stepping out into the still night he sat on the steps, took a deep breath of the clean air, and tried to stop shaking.

Sampson sat down beside him and nuzzled his arm licking his hand with obvious concern.

Looking down at the small dog he sighed. It’s okay, buddy. It’s over now. It’s gone.

CHAPTER II

Blue lights flashed from the grill of the unmarked car as it weaved around the chaos of the dozens of emergency vehicles, police, and gawkers.

Damn, will you look at this circus, the man in the passenger seat said?

His focus was the front lawn of a small single-story home encircled with yellow crime scene tape. Lights from several police cars and ambulances lit the quiet suburban street like a spinning disco ball.

Separated from the madhouse of activity by uniformed police, a man sat on the front porch of the home, his arm around a woman. A plain-clothed policeman appeared to be attempting to interview them. On the opposite side of the porch, separated by two concrete steps, sat a boy about seventeen, his only companion a small brown dog with its head resting on his lap. His light gray polo shirt and tan slacks were bloodstained. He was wearing handcuffs.

The black sedan worked its way to the curb.

Ready, the driver asked his partner.

No. I’m telling you, Tom, this is a waste of time. I should be home having a beer and watching TV instead of sticking my nose into something that doesn’t concern us. He looked around and then grinned. Although it could be fun messing with the locals I suppose.

Maybe. But remember what happened in Cleveland last week. This seems too much of a coincidence. The main office needs us to make sure there is no connection. And be nice, brother. These folks have been through enough.

Withdrawing black leather-bound credentials, from the jackets of their well-tailored dark suits, the two men approached a lone uniformed officer standing outside the crime scene tape.

Good evening, officer; Special Agents Wolf and Grobson of the FBI, the taller of the two offered.

The cop looked at the Feds. Both were big men, looking more like NFL players than FBI agents. The one that had identified himself as Wolf was huge, maybe six-two, and built like a linebacker or a professional bodybuilder. Add that to his cold blue eyes and fiery red hair, he was a man you could not miss or soon forget.

The other Fed was a little shorter, maybe six feet, and, although not as big, gave a similar aura of strength. His dark hair was a little long for what you would expect of a Fed, and unlike his serious-looking partner, he was smiling. Even in the subdued light his sparkling green eyes were obvious and seemed full of excitement, and mischief.

Can I help you, gentlemen, the officer asked.

I hope so. We got a call from Cleveland asking us to take a look around, the larger man said.

Here? Why would you guys be interested in our crime scene?

Beats me, officer. Just like you, we do what we’re told, the slimmer one offered. You know how it is.

Yeah, know what ya mean. The homicide lieutenant’s over there, the cop said pointing to a short, very thin man in a tan trench coat. He was speaking to another man, not in uniform. Gotta warn ya, he ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout you guys messin’ with his crime scene.

Homicide? Grobson asked still with the hint of a smile.

Yeah, couple of kids got torn up real bad, the officer said nodding at the three blood-stained sheets stretched out on the lawn. Only witness is over there. He pointed his thumb at the boy sitting on the porch.

Think he did it, Wolf asked.

Don’t know. Lieutenant talked to the kid then had an officer cuff ‘em. Sisters over there in the ambulance. Appears to be the only other survivor. Poor kids in shock. He looked at the covered bodies. Can’t say I blame her. Never seen nothing like this, and hope to never again.

Wolf looked toward the ambulance and saw a young girl, about ten, being examined by a paramedic. With a nod of thanks, the two walked toward the homicide lieutenant.

They waited as the lieutenant finished giving instructions to what they assumed was another detective. As the man turned away Wolf stepped forward.

Excuse me, Lieutenant, My name’s Wolf, and this is my partner Agent Grobson. We’re from the FBI.

Fed’s?

Yes, sir.

Why the hell would the FBI be interested in a small-town homicide? And how did you find out about it so soon? We ain’t been here more than an hour.

We are looking into a series of rather grisly murders that have taken place in the last few months. Our office monitors the police bands and when they heard the call about the deaths of three girls, our supervisor asked us to stop by. Just in case. Probably nothing to it, but to make sure, we’d appreciate the opportunity to look around.

"Multiple murders? Sure as hell hope not. Not anymore like this. I can’t even figure out how it was done.

Sorry, names Williams, Frank Williams, he said offering his hand.

Glad to meet you, Lieutenant Williams, Wolf said taking his hand and shaking it. "Names Tom Wolf and this is my partner, Luke Grobson.

That kid a suspect?

I have no idea. Witness for now, but his story makes no sense. I don’t know if he’s in shock, crazy, or lying. Said something came out of his sister and did this to her friends. She’s over there in the ambulance. Not hurt. Hell, there’s not a mark on her and has no idea what happened. It’s like she just woke from a deep sleep.

Came out of his sister? Grobson asked. Did he say what it looked like?

Yeah, some kind of big shadow. Crazy, huh?

The agents looked at one another. The grin on Grobson’s face disappeared.

You mind if we take a look and maybe talk to the boy? Wolf asked.

You think this is connected to your case?

Don’t know for sure. Do you mind? We don’t want to step on any toes.

Agent Wolf, if there is any chance we got us a serial killer in my town, I won’t object to help from anyone; even a Fed.

Thanks, Wolf said with an answering smile. He turned to his partner. Luke, take a look in the house. I will talk to the boy.

Got it, Tom.

Wolf walked over to the porch and sat on the step next to the young man. He pulled a lollipop from his pocket. The small dog looked at him and growled.

It’s okay, Samson, the boy said placing his hand on the scruff of the dog’s neck. Sampson put his head back on the boy's lap but kept his eyes focused on Wolf.

Like one? Wolf asked offering a lollypop.

No thanks.

Wolf took the wrapper off the candy, and placing it in his mouth, introduced himself. My name’s Tom Wolf. Mind if I ask what happened?

I already told the other detective all I know.

I’m not with the local police. I’m with the FBI, he said pulling his credentials from his pocket.

The boy looked at the leather folder and sighed. You’ll just think I’m nuts. He looked towards Lieutenant Williams. He does.

I don’t know if I will or not. You’d be surprised at the things I’ve seen. Why not tell me what happened? I promise to keep an open mind, he said with a smile.

The man who had been sitting with the woman on the other side of the porch appeared in front of Wolf.

Who are you? he demanded

Dad, it’s all right, the boy said looking up.

Wolf stood and offered his hand. My name’s Special Agent Tom Wolf of the FBI. I take it this is your son?

Yes, and you cops need to be looking for the real killer instead of harassing him.

I agree that your son did not do this. But if you allow me to talk to him, it might help us find who did.

Wolf turned to the officer guarding the boy. Could we remove these cuffs, please? I don’t think he’s going anywhere.

The patrolman looked at Lieutenant Williams who nodded and he removed the handcuffs.

Rubbing his wrists, Art looked up at Wolf and nodded his thanks.

It’s okay, Dad. I want to talk to him.

He’s just a kid, mister. Take it easy with him. He’s had a rough time. He turned to Art. I’ll be with your mom. You need me, call. Leaning down and hugged his son. He looked at Wolf and then returned to his wife.

I’m sorry. My dad’s worried about me and my sister. My name’s Art.

Nice to meet you, Art. Can you tell me what happened?

Art placed his elbows on his knees, and looking at the ground, nodded his head. He told his story. When he finished, he looked at the FBI agent.

"You think I’m nuts, don’t you?

Wolf was quiet for a moment, then placed his hand on Art’s shoulder. No, I don’t. What I believe is that you were very brave to fight that thing and protect your sister. Are you all right? Were you injured?

No, I’m fine. Just a little tired. So, you believe me.

I’m glad you weren’t hurt, and yes, I believe you. You said it spoke to you. What did it say?

It called me something.

What did it call you?

Blocker.

CHAPTER III

You’ve got to see this, Tom."

Any doubt?

None. The smell of the thing is everywhere. I don’t know what happened to it, but it’s not coming back. It’s dead, and the basement is sealed. Nothing is getting back in there. Bad about the kids though. A real mess.

Luke, I would like you to meet Arthur. Arthur, this is my partner, Agent Luke Grobson.

Nice to meet you, Mr. Grobson.

Arthur just told me an interesting story. He might be able to shed some light on what you found; what happened to the girls. Why the basement’s sealed.

Really? Luke said raising an eyebrow. Please, do tell.

It seems that Arthur confronted what he called a very cold, very large, very dark shadow.

Confronted? Luke asked.

Yep. The thing even called him a name. Didn’t it, Arthur?

Yes, sir. I don’t know what it means, but it called me Blocker.

Grobson stared at the boy for a minute. Then he turned to his partner. That explains a lot.

It means something? Art asked.

It may, replied Wolf. We’ll see.

You need to see the basement, Tom, Grobson said.

If you will excuse me, Arthur. I’ll be right back.

Wolf signaled the officer that had removed the handcuffs.

Please keep an eye on Arthur until we return. Let no one except his parents speak with him.

The officer nodded.

As Grobson opened the door to the basement he stopped. You smell it?

I can, but I doubt the officers outside would have noticed; brimstone and roses.

Keep going, it gets better.

Wolf led as they began their descent into the basement. Pictures hung on the walls on both sides of the staircase. Annual pictures, showing the growth of a happy family.

Reaching the basement floor Wolf hit the light switch. The left side of the basement was unfinished and used as a utility room with a furnace, hot water tank, washer, and dryer. It was obvious there had been an attempt made to make the right side an area for relaxing or entertaining. A glossy coating of green epoxy paint covered the walls. Several large area rugs concealed the concrete floor.

Someone had pushed the furniture from the center of the room to allow the girls space to conduct their séance. Colored fishnet hung from the ceiling. Movie posters dangled from the walls on long pieces of masking tape. The candles Art had mentioned were still in the middle of the rug, their flames extinguished before they burned down. All displaying evidence of what had happened to the girls.

Check out the wall, Grobson said pointing. You can see where the boy and his sister were standing. There’s blood all over the walls, except where they were. Look at the edges of the boy’s silhouette; the blood that hit the wall there is dry, baked into the concrete through the epoxy, no drip at all. That would require some intense heat. He moved to the carpet. Look at the floor.

Wolf carefully moved around the carpet. Reaching into his coat pocket he withdrew an unusual-looking flashlight. Flicking it on, it shone blue light onto the rug.

There are stains all over, Grobson said. Not blood. Spots, no splatter, frozen as it hit the floor. Then something caused it to melt — fast.

We need to have our own forensics people down here. I do not want the locals collecting anything. We need to contain what happened here, Wolf said as he stepped off the desecrated rug. "Call it in and I’ll take