The Chosen

Table of Contents

The Chosen

DEDICATION

To my husband Eric, without him, I think I would have never had the confidence to put this labor of love out there for the world to read. To my kids, Shane and Tori, thanks for putting up with me, as I put pen to paper and drifted off into the world of those portrayed in my story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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As a child, I had the unique privilege of growing up listening to stories that had been passed down from generation to generation. The most mesmerizing were the supernatural experiences, told about those who grew up in its midst of the strange and unknown.  I now have the opportunity to share with others, this somewhat obscured look into what some may consider the dark side. In my writings, I yearn to instill the belief that for every dark side, there is also light waiting on the other side, but to get there, you need to have faith, understanding, forgiveness, and love. 

Copyright © 2017 Carol Thibodeaux Jones

All rights reserved.

ISBN:

ISBN-13: 978-0-692-94163-8

THE CHOSEN

CAROL THIBODEAUX-JONES

CHAPTER ONE 

Doctor Karen Fuller stepped out of the helicopter, shielding her eyes against the debris swept up from the spinning rotors. Bowing her head, she ran toward the only vehicle in sight, a dirty, older model, blue Land-Rover. The driver scurried to open the back passenger door. The lines on his face and his short, gray hair, glistened with sweat, under the hot African sun.

Welcome, I’m Dage. Please sit. I will get your bags, he offered, helping her into the truck. The others send their apologies, they wanted to be here to pick you up, but business called them away. Although thankful to be out of the sweltering heat, the smell of stale cigarette smoke, mingled with the stench of body odor caused her eyes to sting and water up. She turned her head toward the open door in search of fresh air. Here, let me get that for you. The driver shut the car door, she reached for the handle to roll down the window, I’m sorry, but the window is stuck. It will not open, the driver gave her a small frown. Nodding, she took a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes, before placing it to her nose in an attempt to stave off the insult to her senses. It is just as well. Dage gestured towards the horizon, looks like there is a storm on the way. Walking around the rear of the vehicle, he opened up the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel.

Karen gazed out the dust-covered window. Is the sky always this beautiful before a storm?

Yes, but we must hurry if we are to get you home before it strikes. These roads are dangerous in the rain, and it will be dark soon. You don’t want to be out on the road after the sun sets, the engine roared to life, the truck jerking forward, as he struggled to put it into gear.

How long of a drive is it? she asked.

Not too far. We will be there soon, relieved, she leaned back and closed her eyes drifting off to sleep. 

The faint rumble of thunder in the distance crept uninvited into Karen’s dream, and she shivered from the chill of the rain beating down on her. She raised her hand to her throbbing forehead, before noticing the body sprawled on the ground next to hers. Davy, no! her screams filled the night air. A loud crack of thunder exploded waking her from the nightmare that had plagued her dreams for the past six months.

Are you okay? Dage turned his head to look back at her, Do you need me to pull over?

No. I’m fine, just a bad dream, managing a weak smile, she unclenched her fists, rubbing her sweaty palms on the legs of her pants.

Some people believe that bad dreams are demons. The tortured souls of men, trying to free themselves, he explained, tendering a little insight into some of the local beliefs before he focused his attention back on the road.

Really, I’ve never heard that one before, a chill ran down her spine, despite the sweltering heat that radiated throughout the truck. Old man, I know all too well, about the demons that plague a person’s soul.

Yes, my mother would tell me that dreams were a warning to let us know something bad was about to happen, he replied. Taken back by the change in the tone of his voice, the sweet rasp had been replaced by a cold and ominous tone, her eyes caught his in the reflection of the rearview mirror, and they seemed so cold, devoid of emotion, almost soulless. She squeezed her eyes shut, when she opened them back up, Dage’s expression was once more warm, and kind. She shook her head and chalked the whole episode as her mind playing tricks on her, due to her sleep-deprived state.

Sorry, but dreams are nothing more than series of thoughts, and images, occurring in a person's mind, while they sleep, she countered, irritated by the old man’s rambling, she felt the need to educate him on the exact definition of the word, as it appeared in the dictionary.

Yes, Dr. Fuller, you may be right. I did not mean to offend you.

Forgive me, I didn’t mean to snap, her tone softened, it’s just, between the jet lag and this God awful heat, my patience have worn thin.

No need for apologies. I am so glad you and the other doctors are here. You have been a Godsend to my people.

Godsend may be going a little too far, she chided. But I hope, I can do some good.

You already have, just by coming.

I can’t get over how beautiful it is here. The scenery is just breathtaking.

Yes. Guinea is beautiful, but its beauty only masks the evil that lies in the Mist.

What are you talking about? What evil? leaning forward, she noticed he had tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Legend has it that the evil in the mist has the power to eat away at the souls of even the strongest of men. he shot a quick glance through the rearview mirror, before shrugging his shoulders. Please, I am just a superstitious old man. I did not mean to scare you, he smiled back at her, yet, his toothless grin did little to settle the uneasy feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach.

No, you didn’t scare me, she lied, I’m a woman of science. I believe in facts, not old wives’ tales, gazing out the window, hoping the beauty of her surroundings would help ease her nerves, but the scenery, so vibrant moments ago, had grown dark and sinister. Looking down at her hands, she willed them to stop shaking, damn, woman, get a grip.

CHAPTER TWO

We are here, the driver stopped the truck in front of a small building. Karen peered out the window, and sense of dread filled her body as she stared in disbelief, at a rundown shack that reminded her of the rickety, old tool shed in her Dad’s backyard. She shook her head at the sight of the peeling paint, the missing window panes covered in plastic, and the sagging roof over the front porch. 

Are you sure this is the right place? she asked the old man, as he opened the door, exiting the vehicle. Poking his head back into the car, she was taken back at how his expression had transformed. His features, no longer warm and inviting, but cold and menacing.  When he spoke, it was slow and methodical, his words taking on an ominous tone.

Yes, Dr. Fuller, this is where you are supposed to be.

Alarmed by the sudden change in his demeanor, Karen sat there for a moment, pondering the decision she made to come here in the first place.  Although unnerved, she couldn’t fight the urge to laugh at the irony of it all. Maybe my family was right; maybe I shouldn’t have come. Looking once more at the pitiful shack, her heart ached at the sad state of her own existence, staring her dead in the face. Hell, this God-forsaken place is a step up, compared to how shitty my life has been lately.  Opening the door, she stepped out and the dark clouds looming overhead opened up. Fucking perfect, she swore under her breath. Standing there in the pouring rain, she contemplated whether to stay or have the driver take her back to the airstrip.  Good lord, what was I thinking when I signed on for this mission? She walked toward the little shack, and up to the steps leading to the front porch steps, each moaning in protest as they were forced to bear her slight weight.

Watch out for the... startled, she looked up toward the voice that rang out from behind a tattered screen door. Failing to notice the large hole at the top of the steps, and fell, landing on her hands and knees.

Son-of-a-... her words cut short by the sound of the tattered screen door, as it slammed shut. Rolling over, she sat up, rubbing her ankle.

Here, let me help you up, she looked up into the handsome face of a man, with eyes the color wheat takes on just before harvesting. His light brown hair fell in soft curls on his broad shoulders.  Bending down, he grabbed her by the arm, helping her to her feet

I'm sorry for the hole, I’ve meant to get it fixed. I hope you aren’t hurt, he apologized.

No, I’m fine, really, she tried to brush off the dirt, but it turned to mud, on her rain soaked clothes.

I’m Ben, by the way, he held out his hand.

I’m Karen, I’d shake your hand, but... she held up her own mud-covered hands.

I’ll tell you what, why don’t we get in out of the rain? You can wash up in the kitchen sink, Ben lead her into the house, she scanned the living room, glancing down at a beat-up couch with a faded floral design. Only two of its four legs had survived the test of time, the other two had been replaced by paperback novels. The only chair in the room set off in the corner, next to a small reading light on a wooden crate, and an old T.V set, resting on top of several cinder blocks.

Following Ben into the kitchen, she was surprised to see a large sink with an old-fashioned water pump. Oh man, I haven’t seen one of these since I was a little girl, on my Grannies farm. Does it work? Nodding, he reached for the handle, and after a few pumps, water began to pour into the stainless steel sink. Yes, she sighed, as the cold well water washed the mud away. Looking to her left she noticed the small propane, two-burner camping stove sitting on the counter, Is that what you use to cook with? Geez, is that even safe to use indoors?

Don’t worry, this old place is very well ventilated, Ben reassured her come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. He guided her down a short hallway to the bedroom. She peered into the small room, taking note of its sparse décor, which consisted of, two sets of bunk beds, and a couple of well-worn chest of draws.

Wow, how cozy, she mused, before noticing the door at the end of the hallway, Does this lead to the bathroom? Ben couldn’t fight back the urge to laugh, as he reaches for the door.

What’s so funny? she asked.

You’ll see, turning the knob, the door swung open. The rain had ended, and the smell of wet earth filled the air.

You’ve got to be shitting me. That is the bathroom? staring in awe at the makeshift shower, erected from a large tree in the middle of the yard, complete with shower curtain, and a large bucket, dangling from one of its lower limbs. Someone, please pinch me, I must be in the middle of a never-ending nightmare.