Bolder Ultimate Cause (A Zack Bolder Supernatural Crime Thriller Book 4)

1 MARIA ISLAND

Penal Colony—Maria Island, Tasmania
1825

A violent storm raged outside the sandstone structure of the penitentiary. The wind blew from the shoreline of the Tasman Sea; a gale so fierce that it hissed and whistled through the tiny cracks in the roof. With each blast, the ceiling shook as though nature was making a statement—we are in control here. There was no moonlight; stark, dark, and so pitch black that you could not see beyond the front steps of the reinforced timber door. It was bolted with a mortice lock and secured with an iron-clad door bar, just if the prisoners ran amok.
You never knew what could go wrong on Maria Island, a penal colony island outpost for the most hardened Irish convicts sent to Australia for their crimes.
A small group of British soldiers watched over the fifty or so convicts who resided in harsh conditions on Darlington Station.
The convicts lived in cramped conditions, malnourished, fighting amongst themselves for breadcrumbs and influence. Fighting was common and severe injuries abounded.
"Did you hear that, Mickey?" Edwin asked. He was rolling his cigarette, licking the paper, and pressing on it to seal the tobacco inside.
Mickey had his feet kicked up on the desk as he reclined back in a chair, sipping on the metal cup containing gin. It was their usual routine once the convicts were locked away for the night in their cells.
"Nah, mate, didn't hear a thing." He turned toward Edwin and grinned. "Have you forgotten there's a storm raging outside?"
"There's a storm every bloody night, and I've become so used to it that I can't hear it anymore."
"But you said you heard something," Mickey pointed out with a curious taunt.
There was a thump at the door—bang, bang.
Edwin crossed his arms and stood. "Godammit. So, does that sound like a storm to you?"
Edwin lit a match, holding it up to the cigarette in his mouth before inhaling nervously.
Mickey removed his feet from the table and stood with his cup in hand, poised and looking directly at the door while scratching his scruffy grey beard.
The wind continued to force against the structure as the rain lashed against the window with droplets the size of small marbles.
Bang, bang, bang. The knocking echoed throughout the room.
"There's a light outside." Mickey pointed toward the window. But it wasn't the usual glow of an oil lamp. It was a distinctive reddish-orange haze. What made the ominous sound more curious was that everyone was locked in for the evening at the orders of Captain Scarlett. There shouldn't have been anyone outside. At least, nobody crazy enough to walk around in this weather.
There was a moan and the ramshackle clatter of iron clamps and chains commonly used on prisoners on Maria Island.
"You've heard about the curse, haven't ya?" Edwin was the superstitious type and had come across talk amongst the prisoners.
"What do you mean, mate? I told you not to spend too much time with those scumbags."
Edwin turned toward Mickey and exhaled a plume of smoke from his rolled-up cigarette. "They spoke about an evil roaming the penitentiary at night that resembled a demonic figure. For those who have seen it, they say it mimics the dismembered prisoner who died last month. You know, the one murdered during a fight that started over a piece of chicken. His arms were cut off by that crazy prisoner, remember?"
Mickey nodded. "Ya mean prisoner 461, Screwy the psychopath?"
"Yeah, the one who was sent to the mainland for sentencing. They hanged 'I’m, right?"
Mickey took a couple of cautious steps toward the door. The moaning continued. It sounded like an animal in pain, in the throes of death. But Mickey was an educated soldier from the English private school system, so he understood Latin.
"It's not a moan. Listen carefully. It is saying something," Mickey said.
Edwin creased his forehead and squinted. "What are you talking about, mate? It's gotta be an animal of some sort."
"Then explain that glow outside the window." Mickey pointed again to the window. The rain pelted the glass, creating a filter for the glow outside, which changed intensity each time.
"Serva me. Serva me." A husky, deep, and painfully weak voice forcibly pushed out from their lungs and into their throat, permeating the room.
Edwin shook and dropped his cigarette onto the floor. He had heard the voice clearly this time, and there was no second-guessing—it was not the sound of a wild animal.
"Is that you, Screwy!" Edwin called out. His pale, angular face had turned red as the blood rushed to his head. His hands had become sweaty, and perspiration dripped above his receding hairline. His eyes were almost frozen as his body become rigid in anticipation.
"Serva me. Serva me." This time, the voice was louder, closer, penetrating as the husky, demonic sound filled the room like an echo chamber.
The chains rattled intensely with a loud jingle as the sound of footsteps stomped outside on the timber patio at the front entrance. The wind howled as though it carried its own voice, and it hissed like a viper.
Mickey grabbed Edwin and shook his shoulders. "Snap out of it, mate. Why are you petrified?"
Edwin raised his arm toward the window, not saying a word. An object the size of a ball on a chain smashed through the window, tumbling to the floor. It bounced and rolled over a few times before laying to rest at Edwin's feet.
He screamed, "My God, it can't be!"
Mickey jolted to the cupboard that stored their military equipment and snatched a rifle, pointing it straight at the door. "Whoever is out there, I warn you … I am pointing a rifle at you. I will shoot!"
Edwin fell back against the table at the sight of the severed head. The dead prisoner was too much for him. The straw-like, auburn hair, rigid nose, and scar on the left side of the face were instantaneously recognizable. Blood dribbled from the neck and onto the floor, forming a puddle of red. Its icy-blue eyes were wide with fear and terror.
The head belonged to Jacko, the mad Irishman, a thug, and bully. They often fought amongst the prisoners to gain an advantage. He had been a notorious criminal with a dark past, sentenced to the penal colony for murdering his English master.
The wind and rain gushed in from the broken window, blowing out the flames from the fireplace. The room temperature dropped immediately. Papers and other light objects were tossed around as the wind created a swirling vortex. It was not over—another thump at the door and a heinous groan.
Edward raced toward Mickey and stood behind him. "Whoever you’re, I warn you, you will be shot if you come through this door!" he called out in an authoritarian manner. He was the most experienced soldier of the two and much older. A man who fought in battles before and experienced death and misery—never to shy away from a confrontation. The prisoners respected him because of his tough exterior. This no-nonsense guy wasn't afraid to take on the toughest of prisoners when required.
"Get your rifle!" Mickey ordered. He understood they both had to be prepared for what awaited them outside.
Edwin didn't respond at first, still trying to come to terms with the shock of the severed head that lay on the floor in front of them.
"Get your rifle!" Mickey repeated. Then he turned toward Edwin and slapped him across the face. "Did you hear me? Snap out of it, boy. Get your rifle."
Edwin shook his head then took heed of his instructions. He thrust himself to the cupboard and snatched a rifle. Click, click. It was loaded and ready.
"Now, point your rifle at the door and, on the count of three, fire toward it. Got it?"
"Yeah, Mickey … but we don't know who’s behind the door!"
"Does it really matter, for God's sake? Do what I say, man, if you want to see your family again!" He paused before saying, "You don't want to know what's behind that door. A creature from hell."
They both took aim at the door and placed their fingers on the triggers.
Edwin had trouble keeping his rifle steady, shaking uncontrollably, and struggling to maintain his composure. The thought of dying had taken over his functions. He was staring at death.
"Three … two … one—fire!"
Two bullets penetrated the door, flicking pieces of shattered timber into the air and leaving two holes the size of small coins.
They reloaded quickly and continued pointing at the door, waiting. The moaning outside had ceased momentarily, and the glow of light visible through the broken glass window was gone.
Edwin and Mickey looked at each other, unclear as to what to do next. They were perplexed by their encounter on this grizzly night.
Mickey decided to take the lead and said, "Wait here while I check outside."
Edwin nodded, still visibly shaking. "You know this goddamned island is cursed."
Mickey didn't respond, focused on inspecting the front of the building. He slowly walked to the front door, taking cautious small steps with a heightened level of awareness. For him, this was no different than a battle with the enemy.
He was now standing in front of the door, leaving enough room for him to kick it open. The bullet holes had partially removed the door from the hinges as it dangled by a thread. With one big kick and his gun still pointing, he smashed the door wide open … only to be confronted by a demon.
He shriveled with fear and froze. He tried to scream, but it was impossible.
"Mickey, what’s that thing!" Edwin feared for his life.
Standing seven feet tall, hairy, and on hooves, it was half-man and half-animal. It had a red face, lionlike teeth, bloodshot eyes, no ears, a pointed nose, and a jagged chin that accentuated its gruesome appearance. Scarred across both cheeks and with a bullet hole in the forehead—Mickey's gunshot had hit the mark, though it made no difference—this creature was not of this dimension. It was an evil entity, a poltergeist.
It slithered its purplish, forked tongue, drooling from its mouth as its spit covered the floor in sticky droplets. The smell was like putrid death on a hot day, a caustic mixture of everything vile.
The monster was surrounded by a foggy mist, and Mickey couldn't see beyond its presence. The rain continued to pelt down and splash along his eyes, making for poor visibility.
Then the poltergeist launched toward Mickey, engorging him with its vicious teeth and sharpened nails as it tore through him. Mickey didn't even have time to scream—he was already dead.
It tore apart Mickey's head and severed it from his body. Throwing it toward Edwin, it rolled, bleeding and tongue sticking out. Mickey's veins protruded outward at the end of the spine.
The poltergeist licked its mouth over and over and shook its head, staring directly at Edwin. It was an intense look and designed to instigate as much fear as possible. It was clear that Edwin was next, that the demon's job was only partially completed.
Edwin aimed his gun at the demon and fired another bullet, hitting the beast in the heart. But it made no difference. Besides a gaping hole in the body, it did not bleed, only inflicting a minimal amount of pain and temporarily halting the onslaught.
Edwin tried to reload, but his hands shook so much that he dropped the bullet casing. Panic-stricken and incoherent, he repeatedly fumbled until he was able to pick up the bullet and reload his gun.
The poltergeist stood there and surprisingly did not launch toward Edwin straight away. It had other plans.
"Shoot yourself, and I won't tear your head off," the demon said in a husky, reverberating voice.
Edwin looked on, confused, now facing an ultimatum—which way was he going to die? To end his life by gunshot or have his head torn off, like Mickey? Edwin had a choice not afforded to Mickey and Screwy.
The monster growled and lifted his arms in the air like a beating ape before taking a step forward. It was going to initiate the final confrontation.
Edwin turned the rifle on himself and pointed it at his head. He cried inconsolably and begged forgiveness from God. Flashes of images of his family rolled across his mind. In his final moments, the people who cared most for him were his last thoughts.
"My Lord, forgive me for what I'm about to do."