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Pandora Reborn
By John Coon
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Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0/5 ( ratings)
Length: 277 pages4 hours
Description
A buried chest is unearthed. A malevolent witch returns. Can Ron Olson stop her before she destroys Deer Falls?
Ron is a reluctant newcomer to this small Colorado town. Adjusting to Deer Falls is tough for Ron, who has been torn away from his father, his friends, and his soccer team.
His situation takes a frightening turn when a mysterious woman in black is released from a buried chest that imprisoned her. This ancient and powerful evil descends upon Deer Falls once again, like she did 55 years earlier, and a series of unexplained deaths follow. No one is safe. Anyone in the town could be next.
Ron is soon targeted by the centuries-old malevolent witch as she spreads terror and death upon Deer Falls a second time. Will Ron and his new friends find out the truth behind the string of deaths and disappearances and stop the witch before more people die?
John Coon's debut novel, Pandora Reborn, is a relentlessly suspenseful small town horror tale in the tradition of Stephen King and Charles L. Grant that will hook you from start to finish.
- Publisher:
- Samak Press
- Released:
- Jun 26, 2018
- ISBN:
- 9781732487116
- Format:
- Book
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Pandora Reborn - John Coon
List
Chapter 1
FIRST DAY AT A NEW high school and Ron sensed he already had a fight on his hands.
Soccer isn't a sport. Real men play football.
A barrel chested teen, roughly the same age, planted himself in front of Ron and his locker. His eyes shifted into a menacing glare. Mimicking a nightclub bouncer, this unwanted antagonist made every effort to tower over Ron. He owned the perfect frame for an outside linebacker and he didn't hesitate to use it to his advantage.
A smattering of laughs and high fives rippled through the small group of football players flanking Ron and the other teen.
Ron rolled his eyes and smirked.
I'll bet a hayseed like you doesn't even know what a soccer ball looks like,
he said.
Who the hell cares what it looks like?
Enjoy all of your concussions and knee injuries while I'm playing pro ball.
Pro ball? Only thing you're going pro in is being a pussy.
This new retort earned another smattering of laughs and hoots. One of the other boys fist bumped Ron's antagonist.
Way to go, Trevor. Burn!
Ron drew in a sharp breath and clenched his teeth. His face and ears began heating up as if an invisible hand had plucked coals from the embers of a fire and wedged them right under his skin. Going to a different high school seemed bad enough. Being stuck out here in the sticks among a bunch of soccer hating hicks felt like pure torture.
Guess what? I'm going pro in kicking your ass.
Ron dropped a textbook and notebook on the floor by his feet and then slammed the locker door shut with his other hand. He locked eyes with Trevor. Every muscle in his arms and chest tightened like ropes stretched out by pulleys.
Trevor cocked his fist. Time to shut your mouth.
A quick jab sent Ron stumbling backward into his locker. His cheek rippled around Trevor's knuckles and pushed his lips toward the other side of his face. Blood escaped between Ron's teeth and trickled over his tongue with the same speed of fizz escaping from a freshly opened soda can. He ran his tongue across his lower lip to catch dribbling blood and saliva trying to trickle down his chin.
There's one injury you don't have to fake.
Trevor's teammates roared with approval at his latest one liner. Ron charged forward, mirroring the speed of an agitated bull trying to take down a matador. He sized up Trevor's jaw and let a pair of haymakers fly. Trevor weaved out of the path of the first blow. Ron's other fist didn't miss. His knuckles connected with the top of Trevor's jawbone and also his left ear.
Trevor let out a grunt and latched onto Ron. He drove him backward again like a tackling dummy and slammed him onto the rough carpet. The two teens became a jumble of punches and kicks. One blow here. Another there. Blood mingled with sweat started to trickle down both sides of Ron's face.
STOP IT! STOP IT NOW!
A loud whistle pierced the air. Ron felt a hand grab his shoulders and wrench him backward. He found himself peering up into the face of a scowling bald headed man who owned the whistle. As he hunched over him, Ron could practically inhale the coffee stains checkering his thick mustache. His tight polo shirt, complete with the school logo emblazoned over the left breast, didn't leave enough of the man's flabby pecs and gradually advancing gut to the imagination.
Ron squinted and turned away. He glanced straight ahead and saw another man clad in a long-sleeved dress shirt and tie restraining Trevor. Pulling him away must have been a chore. The man's glasses were a bit askew on his nose and his carefully slicked down hair now sprang free in multiple directions, giving greater prominence to his receding hairline.
The mustached man grabbed Ron by the shirt collar and yanked him onto his feet.
Do you want your first day of school to be your last day too?
Before Ron could say a word, Trevor beat him to the punch.
He started it, Coach Barker. Took a swing at me. I had to defend myself.
All of Trevor's teammates nodded vigorously. A couple chimed in with shouts of He's right.
and The new kid is a total psycho.
Ron's mouth dropped open.
He's a lying son of a –
Coach Barker held up his hand to silence them.
Look, I don't care who started it. I'm finishing it.
Without another word, Ron found himself being marched down to the principal's office. First day at school and already he felt like a soldier captured behind enemy lines. The principal wasted no time doling out a punishment. Detention. Ron had it for one hour after school for the entire week.
This outcome didn't sit well with Ron. He stared hard at the principal's nameplate, tracing the words Principal Reynolds
with his eyes, and frowning.
I can't spend an hour holed up inside the school.
Images popped into his head of a wooden bench with his name stamped on it. Missing soccer practice ahead of the season opener offered a sure formula to not be included in the first XI going forward. Ron knew he possessed good enough attacking skills to get the lion's share of playing time at forward, but he also needed a chance to prove what he could do to a new coach at a new school.
Should have thought about that before getting into a brawl out in the hall,
Principal Reynolds replied.
He threw the first punch,
Ron whipped out his wrist and gestured to Trevor on the opposite side of him. Am I not allowed to defend myself?
Let me give you a free piece of advice, Mr. Olson. Fighting doesn't solve anything. You can't get rid of your problems in life by punching them away.
Ron squinted at her and scrunched up his nose in disbelief. Did his new principal swallow a self-help book? Where was she coming up with this nonsense?
You're absolutely right, ma'am,
Trevor said. I've seen the light. I'm turning over a new leaf.
Ron snapped his head toward Trevor. The smirk plastered across his face offered a true reading on his actual thoughts. He obviously didn't give a damn about detention or what the principal had to say.
Principal Reynolds apparently couldn't see the same facade that Ron saw. Her eyes instantly lit up and she slapped a hand down on her desk as she rose from the chair.
That's a highly mature attitude, Mr. Judd,
She turned to Ron and pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose with her index finger. You could learn a thing or two by embracing the same philosophy, Mr. Olson.
Ron was definitely learning a lesson. Spending his junior year at Deer Falls High would turn out to be a bigger pain in the ass than he first imagined.
NICE SHINER. WHO'D you piss off?
Ron instinctively brushed his fingers over his black eye. It lingered as a souvenir of his earlier fight with Trevor. It also offered a tender reminder of what put him in this stupid classroom in the first place. He looked up from his smartphone and saw a freckled red-haired teen with braces leaning over his desk. The other teen thrust his hand forward.
I'm Casey. I noticed you're new at this school, so I thought I'd introduce myself.
Ron scowled. The detention crowd wasn't a social circle he felt compelled to join. Hanging out and training with other soccer players offered a much healthier option for his social life.
Hey, I feel you,
Casey continued, cheerfully oblivious to Ron's reluctance to engage in any small talk. Not a fan of Trevor either. He figures he can get away with anything just because he's a star linebacker.
Yeah, well, that's how football players everywhere roll. ...
Ron trailed off as he glanced away toward the window. He couldn't see the soccer practice field from his current location. It only added to a sinking feeling that he had been effectively exiled from the rest of his team. Being stuck inside tore him up.
What tore him up even worse was the fact that Trevor wasn't trapped in the detention room with him. He hadn't even bothered to show up. Ron got the impression that the football coaches found a way to bail one of their star athletes out of trouble.
If it were up to me, I'd give him a taste of justice just like an Avenger would dish out.
A loud laugh answered Casey from the back corner of the classroom. Ron turned and saw a teen with spiked brown hair and dressed in baggy jeans like a wannabe rapper. He leaned back in his chair and propped up both feet on a desk next to him.
Dude, Trevor could make you his prison bitch in a heartbeat if he felt like doing it.
Casey frowned. A slight shudder ran through his frame as he took in the full meaning of those words.
Thanks a lot, Nick. I didn't need that visual.
Nick laughed again and gave him a thumbs up.
Props to standing your ground,
He said, turning to Ron and giving him a quick nod. Better to show you’re a real man than a tough-talking geeky chicken shit – even if it gets you a black eye.
You should see how he looks,
Ron replied.
I saw him,
Nick said. He leaned further back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head. Let's just say, I wouldn't declare you the winner.
Ron scowled and buried his face deep in his smartphone again. An hour inside this room with these clowns already began to feel like an entire day.
Trevor is the least of your worries living in this place,
Casey said.
Ron looked up at him and sighed.
Tell me about it. I'm stuck here in some backwoods hole away from my friends, my club team and my life.
That's not what I meant.
What do you mean, then?
Deer Falls is a nexus of supernatural weirdness.
Nick laughed again, dropped his feet on the floor and jumped out of his seat.
God, it never ends with you, does it?
You can't deny the things that go on around here,
Casey said.
Which things is it this time?
What about that subterranean reptilian monster that attacked two years ago? Pulled like a dozen people into the ground and fed on them before being exterminated.
What the hell?
Ron had heard some nonsensical stories in his life. This one topped them all by a mile.
It gets better,
Nick said. Trust me.
How do you explain that cursed section of the Arapaho Forest?
Casey threw his hands out and gestured as if he were a politician making an impassioned campaign speech. You know for a fact that our mayor sent a search and rescue team into that place last summer. They went in there to find and extract a lost group of hikers. Barely anyone made it back out alive.
Wild animal attacks. Exposure to the elements. Falls from extreme heights.
Nick counted off on his fingers as he went through the list. There are tons of more reasonable explanations for all of it.
You're just like all the other people in Deer Falls.
Casey replied. Pretend nothing happens. It's all cool to see this stuff in movies and TV shows. But then everyone is too afraid to accept the real thing.
Ron glanced at the teacher sitting in the front of the room. Her face was buried in a tablet. If the teacher had monitored their conversation at all, and heard anything Casey said, she didn't care enough to even respond to it.
I gotta admit I'm feeling skeptical,
Ron said, turning back to Casey. I'd have to see it before I believe it.
Casey's lips curled tight and his countenance turned grim.
Once you do, you're gonna wish you hadn't seen anything.
Chapter 2
NICK ALWAYS HEARD PEOPLE say Dean was no ordinary vagrant. He personally didn't see what made his brand of oddness so special.
Dean camped in the same spot under the same giant willow tree every day. At least it seemed like it to Nick. Images of his heavy green jacket with a frayed collar and sleeves, coupled with jeans that had holes torn in both knees, had become tattooed onto Nick's brain. Nick wondered if this dude ever left long enough to grab a bite to eat or go to the bathroom.
A small camping trailer parked a short distance from the tree offered convenient shelter. Still, the door remained closed and Dean stayed fixed to the same spot like a grubby statue whenever Nick walked by the lot or drove past it. He really wished that the bum would do something – anything, really – to change up his daily routine.
You suppose the rumors about him are true?
Nick glanced over his shoulder. Trevor stood behind him and shielded his eyes with his hand. Nick smiled. Did he actually own a pair of sunglasses?
Beats me,
He said. He's got a weird vibe, but no different than your typical drifter.
How many drifters sit there and guard a tree like their life depends on it?
Nick shrugged. Is this a trick question?
I'd like to know why he hangs out under that tree.
Trevor said. Maybe he buried a dead body there.
Dead body?
That's what Alex Moss claims.
The stoner from your English class?
Moss claims Crazy Dean chased him and a couple of other guys off with a huge stick when they came out here to huff on some weed.
Thinking about Dean tearing after some stoners made Nick laugh. Given how weathered and disheveled he looked, he didn't feel convinced that the old bum could even pursue a tortoise and catch up to it.
The best part is, Moss claimed the old man rambled the whole time about how this was for their own good,
Trevor continued. Told them he had to protect them or some other retarded thing.
Nick shook his head. He had a good idea where this train would travel. The same stories spread through Deer Falls over and over again like a late summer brush fire. Hidden dead bodies. Monsters attacking people. Demons arising and walking the Earth again. Deer Falls, of course, always ended up being ground zero in each tale.
All of the stories he heard made no sense to Nick. Just simple nonsense from bored people in a town no one cared about.
It's a bunch of horse shit,
Nick said. People in this fucking town always end up believing all the same garbage. No one has an original thought.
What's your theory?
I don't know. Buried treasure?
Trevor laughed and slapped him on the back. Buried treasure! Why the hell doesn't he dig it up? Dude could build himself giant houses and bang a bunch of hotties with big tits.
You got a better idea?
Give anyone five minutes and I'm sure they'll all come up with better ideas.
Nick frowned and started walking away. Trevor ran after him.
Where are you going?
I'm coming back later tonight.
Nick had figured it all out in his head. He'd bring along a metal detector to help pinpoint whatever was buried there, a sturdy shovel and a crowbar.
Tell me if you find any gold,
Trevor scoffed. He turned and walked away. Nick flipped him off and fished his car keys out of his pocket. Once he finally discovered whatever Dean was hiding, Trevor definitely wasn't getting a share.
LIGHT FROM A NEARBY street lamp reflected off the metal detector lying against the passenger seat of Nick's car. He peered at Dean through a pair of binoculars. Once again, he found the old vagrant curled up in the same exact spot under the large willow tree where he kept a vigil during the day.
Damn, Nick thought. That old man really never moves an inch. What's so special about this spot?
Nick opened the car door and pulled out the metal detector, a shovel and a crowbar. He tugged the hood of his wind breaker tight around his head. Flipping on the metal detector, Nick fanned out from the edge of the sidewalk toward the tree. He carried the shovel and crowbar in his other hand.
A steady hum emanated from the metal detector as he climbed the slope leading from the sidewalk to the willow tree. Nick couldn't be sure if the metal detector still worked right. It sat unused in his dad's closet for longer than he could remember. He always laid out his plans to Nick about going prospecting in the Rockies. The only problem? His dad didn't have the slightest clue where to even start looking for a mine in near Deer Falls. Hell, he couldn't find his own truck keys half of the time. Nick or his mom usually retrieved them from a different room each day whenever he was in town.
Leaves crunched under Nick's sneakers as he zeroed in on the willow tree. Combined noise from the metal detector and his sneakers did not rouse Dean from his slumber. That wasn't a bad thing. As long as he didn’t crowd the spot where Nick needed to dig anyway.
Only a few feet away from where Dean slept, beeps grew more forceful from the metal detector. A smile crept across Nick's lips. He set down the metal detector and started digging just arm's length from the old bum. Random sprays of leaves shot past him as a breeze kicked up near the tree.
Now let's see what you've got here, old man,
Nick muttered.
No! Get away from the tree!
Nick turned to the hoarse voice barking out commands. Dean's eyes were wide open now. He scrambled to his feet.
Leave this place right now, you fool,
Dean said. You're in serious danger!
Nick swung the shovel head upward and pointed it straight at the vagrant.
You're not keeping me away from whatever treasure you're trying to hide here. Go back to sleep.
Dean lurched forward and stabbed his hands at the shovel. Nick swung the handle backward to keep it away from his grasp. With the same motion, he brought the back of the shovel head down and planted it in the middle of Dean's forehead.
The old vagrant crumpled to the ground and flopped over on his side. Nick reached down with an index finger and felt his neck. Dean still had a pulse. Good. No need to kill him. But Nick also didn't want him in his way either.
A brownish plume of dust wafted upward. Nick scattered loose dirt and chunks of rock around him as he attacked the soil with his shovel. Carving out a hole near the willow tree required much more effort than he anticipated. Wooden finger roots reached out from the tree and plunged through the soil. Beads of sweat dotted Nick's forehead like clear freckles as he dug around them. His shoulder muscles hardened into a bundle of knots with each shovelful of dirt and rock he tossed to either side of the deepening hole.
Nick lost track of how long he had been digging before a loud clank greeted his shovel blade. The hole reached up to his hips now. He let go of the shovel and shined a flashlight on the dirt. Beneath the beam lay a large blackened object. It possessed the wrong color for a boulder. Only one other remaining option made sense to Nick.
This had to be a box or a chest.
He dropped onto his hands and knees and brushed aside loose dirt. It took a minute or two to find the edge of the object. Once he did, Nick plunged one end of the crowbar into the surrounding soil and wedged it underneath the object. With repeated tugs and pulls, he jerked it loose from the soil. The crowbar raised the bottom of the object up in the air. Nick got his hands underneath it and pulled the
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