BOOK INFORMATION
TITLE – What
Rough Beast
AUTHOR – H. R. Knight
GENRE – Paranormal Mystery
PUBLICATION DATE – 9/8/14
LENGTH (Pages/# Words) - 320pp/109,000 words
PUBLISHER – H. R. Knight
COVER ARTIST – Rebecca Poole
BOOK SYNOPSIS
Harry
Houdini asks Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to help him expose Maximillian Cairo—a
spiritualist medium. But the two men underestimate Cairo. He's a master of the
occult and the most debauched man in London. Conan Doyle and Houdini get more
than they bargained for when they interrupt a magic ritual and accidentally set
loose a force for ecstasy and chaos on an unsuspecting Edwardian
London.
Soon one of
their friends is falsely accused of a grisly murder. Conan Doyle and Houdini
are sure the real killer was at the ritual with them. They're faced with a
locked-room homicide that baffles even Houdini.
One by one,
people in the little group who attended the ceremony feel an insidious
influence creep over them. Each succumbs to a burst of creativity, shortly
followed by an act of uncontrollable madness.
The proper
Victorian gentleman and the ebullient New Yorker must team up to solve the
murder and stop the thing they set loose before it completely unravels their
ordered world.
BUY & TBR LINKS
ITUNES – Books > Mysteries &
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EXCERPT
Chapter 28 - Encounter in the
Fog
As we
strolled along the tiny cobblestone lane, there was not a cab in sight. Not
that we could see far in the darkness. The damp fog off the Thames had worked
its way north to this neighbourhood. A thick patch of it rolled in quickly. In
a few minutes, we could barely see across the street.
A little
chill ran down my spine. I had a distinct feeling of being watched. I turned to
look behind me. The gaslights had become faint glows that hid more than they
illuminated. Movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention. There, had
something behind us just flitted into the shadow of a doorway? Or was it merely
a swirl of mist? I felt alone and quite vulnerable. I was grateful for the
sturdy companion at my side. Houdini spoke in a low voice.
“Let’s get
out of here,” he said. “I’m getting the creeps.”
We picked up
our pace and made south for Euston Road. The fog thickened and thinned around
us in pale, cottony patches. We encountered no other soul. At its densest, the
fog could have concealed armies. Indeed, it played strange tricks on one’s
ears. I thought I heard footsteps shuffling along behind us. Perhaps it was the
lateness of the hour or the disturbing events we were investigating, but the
sound made me uneasy. We continued on even more quickly. Then, suddenly, we
were in the clear. We could see the entire block of flats behind us. I paused,
and restrained my companion with a hand on his arm. Here was our chance to get
a good look at our pursuer. I could not be sure, but I thought I heard a foot
scrape the stones of the road before silence surrounded us. I looked to
Houdini.
“I heard it
too,” he said softy. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back
there.”
Why his
confirmation filled me with dread, I cannot say. The person behind us was
almost certainly a weary pilgrim such as we, eager for his own sitting room and
a warm fire.
I saw that
Houdini had drawn the sharpened screwdriver out of his pocket and held it like
a dagger. We turned to face whoever was following us.
Halfway down
the street a single gaslight glowed feebly. At the end of the lane a figure
approached. It jogged along the walls of the buildings. I got an impression of
a manlike shape with an impossibly lean body and grotesquely long limbs. It
loped along in an odd, loose-jointed way. I could have sworn I heard soft,
animal-like moans. It was as if some savage beast were hot on our trail. I felt
Houdini clutch my shoulder.
“What is
it?” he hissed in my ear.
I could only
shake my head. It was like no creature I had seen in all my travels. The
thing’s unnatural form filled me with loathing. Its huge shadow, magnified by
the streetlamp, flitted along the bricks of the buildings.
I stood, my
eyes riveted on the gaslight down the street. What would I see when the thing
stepped full into the glow? As if in answer to my thought, it paused and
sniffed the air. The misshapen head swiveled until it pointed precisely in our
direction. Its eyes glittered with a malign emerald glow.
The beast
took a step forward. Then an absolutely unexpected thing happened. Just before
it stepped full into the light, the creature swarmed straight up the sheer
wall. I gasped at the speed with which it scaled the bricks. It climbed until
it was lost in the shadows. For a moment, all was silent. Then I heard a sound
that chilled me to my soul—the faint sound of claws scrabbling across the roof
tiles high above us. And the sound was approaching rapidly.
“Come on,”
Houdini hissed, grabbing my sleeve.
We took off
down the street at a run. My shoes slipped on the flagstones. I wheeled my arms
to catch my balance. On and on we raced. The blood beat in my temples. We
careened into abrupt turns and doubled back on ourselves. Soon we were back in
another patch of fog. My breath sounded harsh in my ears. At last I felt
Houdini’s grasp on my arm as he pulled me to a stop.
I sagged
against the cold bricks and gasped for air. Silence surrounded us. My heart
pounded in my chest. Had we given our pursuer the slip? The alley next to us
was dark. We huddled in its shadows and peeped around the corner. We could
barely make out the walls of the tenements that loomed over us. The stones
beneath our feet were rough and uneven. The cold air seared the back of my
throat as I caught my breath. I scarcely dared look back for fear of seeing
something.
Houdini
whispered. “I think we lost—”
The
unmistakable sound of scrabbling above us cut him off.
“Run!”
The cry
echoed off the walls. We plunged into the blackness of the street before us. I
was racing at full speed before I realised that it was I who had shrieked the
command. Our feet pounded the pavement as we dashed through the darkness. We
both flung our arms up to protect from an overhead attack. The thing that
pursued us—was it what had murdered Mackleston’s brother?
The street
turned out to be a long, curving one with no side alleys. But at the end I
thought I discerned a glow of light.
“At... end,”
Houdini gasped beside me. “Stop ... set ambush.”
I thought of
what the creature above us had done to Reggie and shivered. How could we defend
against an attack that could come from any direction? But each breath I drew
felt like a stab in my side. I couldn’t run much longer.
Not three yards from the end of the street a huge figure
loomed out of the lowering fog in front of us. We skidded to a stop and barely
avoided colliding with it.
“Here now,
what’s the rush, lads?” a loud voice boomed. Two hands the size of hams
clutched at our lapels and hauled us into the street. “Let’s get a better look
at you,” the voice declared.
We found
ourselves under an electric light on Euston Road. The figure looming over us
revealed itself as a frowning giant of a policeman. The fog had lowered again.
Little droplets had condensed on the brass buttons of his uniform. They
glittered like gems under the lamplight. Though I continued to gasp for air, my
relief was palpable. As he saw how we were dressed, a look of surprise
registered on his face and he loosed his hold on us.
“I beg your
pardon, gentlemen,” he said. Then he noticed the sharpened screwdriver, still
clutched in Houdini’s hand. “Now what—”
“Constable,”
I panted, “someone or something is after us.” I pointed into the blackness
behind us.
Houdini
nodded vigorously as he leaned over to suck in air. “Tried to lose him ...
chased us a good two miles.”
“Oh, he has, has he?” The officer drew his truncheon out of
his belt and turned to face the yawning darkness. “We’ll see about
that.”
I could not
let him face the demon alone. “Whoever he is. .. he’s gone mad,” I warned
between breaths. “You must ... get reinforcements.”
The
policeman turned back to us and smiled. “One man only?”
“At least
wait... until we catch ... our breaths,” I urged. “We’ll accompany
you.”
The
policeman seemed not to have heard me. His face lit up in anticipation. William
the Conqueror’s face might have looked the same as he led the charge at
Hastings.
“I hope he
tries to resist arrest. I truly do.”
So saying,
he picked up a little black lantern from the ground beside him. He lifted it to
head height and plunged into the unlit street.
“Like Custer
at Little Bighorn,” Houdini muttered to himself. Neither of us had fully
recovered, but we straightened up and staggered after the man.
“Wait up!”
Houdini called. We chased the watery glow of light from his lantern as it
floated through the foggy darkness. Before we had gone six steps, the light
appeared to dance wildly. We heard a shout, a feral screech, and finally a
shrill scream, like a soul in torment. The shriek rose and fell. Abruptly, it
cut off. The lantern fell to the street with a clatter. It glowed brightly for
a moment and then winked out. A terrible silence followed.
AUTHOR BIO
H. R. Knight
is the pen name of Harry Squires, a critically acclaimed author who writes
mysteries—some paranormal, some not—as well as thrillers, and the occasional
magazine article. Harry has worked as an insurance underwriter, a software
marketer, and a corporate trainer. He attended Journalism School at the
University of Missouri and film school at UCLA.
He has
studied Okinawan karate and Chinese boxing. Current hobbies include dog
training, classical guitar, cooking, and collecting obscure, cheesy horror films
from the 1930s & ‘40s.
Having
traveled all over the world, he’s developed a preference for countries that
produce good wines.
He shares a
home and a life with his wife Susan, who publishes unconventional paranormal
romances. They own, train, and show Belgian Sheepdogs. Occasionally the dogs
are kind enough to give Harry and Susan hope that they may someday be in charge
of the pack.
They all live
at the beach in Southern California.
AUTHOR FOLLOW LINKS
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