A Caleb Carol

Stave 1: Marley's Ghost

Copyright 2001 by Eric J. Juneau. All rights reserved.

This story is in no way intended to infringe on the established copyrights and trademarks of Monolith Productions, Inc. It is for entertainment purposes only and is not intended for sale. It may be freely distributed providing that no alterations to the story are made. The characters and incidents portrayed and the names in this story used herein are fictitious and any similarity to the name, character, or history of any person, living, dead, or otherwise, is purely coincidental and unintentional.

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A Caleb Carol

By Eric J. Juneau

Stave 1: Marley's Ghost

Marley was dead, to begin with.

The cultists had made absolutely sure of that before they signaled the Chosen. With a task as minor as the killing of some mortal citizens who posed a threat to the Cult of Tchernobog in some way or another, only the low-ranked and expendable needed to see to it. Tchernobog cared so deeply for His four esteemed generals He made sure the lower rungs of the Cabal performed any minor or uncomplicated responsibilities. Even though, by the definition of being a general in Tchernobog's army, the four had received such dark powers that cannot be mentioned, the One that Binds would take no unnecessary chances. The four could not disagree.

It didn't matter what this fellow did, whether he owned a steel mill the Cabal could annex, or he led some sort of anti-cult movement or organization of the old religion that hindered their ways and means. It didn't matter. If there was something they had that could serve the Cabal, like a lumber mill or a railroad, of course the Cabal would not have killed him outright. The intentions of the Cult had to be kept secret, away from public's eyes. They wouldn't understand. No, first the Cabal would try to coerce him to join their cause, being sure to highlight the advantages of servitude to the Dark God, the riches, the immortality, the power. Failing that, which most often happened, coercion would change to threat. Failing that, which didn't often happen, there was no longer any other alternative. Not with the knowledge of the Cult and its purposes at the hands of some puny civilian. The Cult of Tchernobog did not care to mince words or waste time.

Caleb liked this philosophy of the Cult best. No one tried to bullshit him with sugary words or false promises. Direct and prompt was the only way to do things and it was the only way the Cult operated. The hand signal the gray-dressed cultist was displaying right now only further proved that point. Why complicate matters with elaborate words or a report when a simple hand signal was all that was needed.

Upon this signal, the four Chosen ones, Caleb, Gabriel, Ishmael, and Ophelia, who were standing a fair distance away from the manor for protection and watching the underlings, began walking towards the homestead and into its doors.

Caleb was the last to make it through the house's archway, getting his leather trench coat caught on a doornail jutting out of the frame. If Caleb were a smarter man, he would have thought it unusual that such a refined home would have a mistake in construction obvious as this. But the fact was Caleb was not a man of great intelligence and he only ripped himself out and cursed the nail in his mind.

Ophelia, Gabriel, and Ishmael had fanned out and were searching through desk drawers and cabinets, under sofas and tables for the object that had been stolen from them. The floor was far from a tidy state, as if the house had been picked up by a child's hand and shaken to hear what was inside, like a Christmas present. The Cabal was looking for an object of great value and power. It had been given to Marley as a demonstration of their power, though he kept it when he denied the Cabal's request. Probably for evidence to show authorities. And there would be no having that.