Black Oak by Titus Murphy

The Loveless Chronicles 1

A young-adult paranormal horror-thriller in which a sleepy Midwestern town hides a darkness centuries in the making. Blending romance, mystery, and supernatural dread, this opening chapter sets the stage for a war between an ancient evil and the unlikely heroes who must rise to meet it.

On the surface, Black Oak is an ordinary, “run of the mill” town of country folk, small-town gossip, and forgettable days. But beneath that calm lies a buried history of indiscretions, murders, and long-kept secrets waiting to come full circle—like a blazing blood moon.

Mark is an unassuming trucker whose entire world narrows to Sharon, the beautiful clerk at the local mom-and-pop store. After a routine delivery run into the Bayou, destiny serves him a plate of the unexpected, sparking a wickedness that threatens to set his hometown ablaze.

As long-buried secrets begin to surface, the truth fans those flames until nothing is left but ashes and chaos. In the end, the only mystery left to solve is whether this nightmare stays contained to one small town—or whether the fate of the entire world now hangs in the balance.

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Excerpt from The Loveless Chronicles Chapter 1 Black Oak © Copyright 2020 Titus Murphy

A sense of uneasiness rested heavily over Wichita, a small town planted on the outskirts of South Kansas City where young Mark called home for the better part of his life. He was a truck driver, filled with hope for a better life, carrying a job for a large trucking firm called Murphy and Blanche, Inc. They specialized in interstate transport, and Mark loved it because the work was easy and the pay was decent. It didn’t hurt that his long-time friend Keith was the “boss,” as Mark would remark on occasion.

It wasn’t long before Mark was considered the best among his peers, often called upon to take the most important gigs since he was, if nothing else, dependable. Before each trip, Mark would make his way to the neighborhood one-stop, Sally’s, to stack up for the long drives. The cappuccinos and freshly baked beignets were enough to draw the most road-weary of travelers, and Mark was no exception; he wouldn’t pass up a fresh cup of Joe for nothing or no one. But there was more than caffeine and sweet-cakes on Mark’s mind.

Sharon.

To Mark, she was as much beyond description as she was his reach. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail most of the time, but every so often, she’d let it run free and allow her beautiful mane to flow in the wind. It was long, thick, and smooth, reminding him of deep red wine flowing smoothly over the rim of fine crystal—the same kind his weary-eyed grandfather had fallen in love with.

Her eyes were gray, with sparkling flecks of green, giving her an intimidating quality, but her demeanor was always disarming and inviting—at least to Mark, that was. Other truckers didn’t dare step to her, afraid to be shot down with a glare. She’d been a star on the track team in high school, and her days of hard work weren’t lost on her sun-kissed skin and athletic figure. In this dead town, she was his rose among the thorns, and he was unapologetically drawn by her beauty and sexy demeanor.

To say Mark was interested in Sharon was an understatement, but somehow his interest had gone unnoticed, and Sharon seemed oblivious to his countless hours of admiration. He, like the other fellow truckers, couldn’t bear the thought of rejection, so he did his best to hide in the open, keeping a poker face and never wanting to let on that she had captured his heart and possessed his very soul. During his shifts, he’d walk in the store, say hello, and proceed to the coffee and snacks. Offering a simple wave goodbye was all he could do to maintain his cool. He never had a hard time talking to chicks in school. Around Sharon, however, he was the quintessential shy guy, never able to hold a decent conversation, teetering on the edge of embarrassment. She was the sun to his world; it was just too bad he kept her in the dark about it.

Mark’s work took him on a long run to Dallas, Texas, delivering large loads of washers, dryers, and such to a company called Maxx Parts, Inc. One afternoon after making his drop, Mark received a phone call on the company cell phone.

“What’s going on?” Keith asked.

“Nothing much. I just finished my last drop at Maxx Parts.”

“Okay, good. Are you just leaving from over there?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I really need a big favor. It’s important.”

“Okay. Shoot. What’s up?” said Mark.

“I need you to pick up some items from our subsidiary out of Beaumont, Texas, and bring them back to the main office. I know you are off right now, and this is a bit out of the way, but you are the only one I have out there right now. I really need to get this done. Can you do it for me, please? I’ll owe you one.”

“No problem. See you when I get back.”

“Thanks, Mark!” Keith said. “You’re a lifesaver!”

“You know you can count on me, Keith. If I can, I will. So don’t hesitate to ask in the future.”

“Will do. Catch you later.”

On Mark’s way to Beaumont, he stopped at a small gas station to fill up, with coffee being his fuel of choice. It was the ultimate pick-me-up drug that continuously blocked out the charming whispers of Siren song flowing to his ears. Mark was all too familiar with the lonely road’s ability to make a man drift. After returning to the road, Mark could feel his body begin to wane from the overtime hours he was putting in. Fifty miles outside of Beaumont, the heaviness began creeping over him, and that wasn’t good at all. Mark knew he was playing with fire, but he was anxious to finish this run. He turned up the radio and blasted some music, but it didn’t help. The cup-of-Joe he’d savored was now running weak in his veins. He could feel himself losing track of small moments. The heaviness had just about overtaken him when he felt his truck swerve to the side of the road.

Out of nowhere, a pair of flashing blue lights lit up the dark sky behind him, reflecting off his side mirrors. “Shit!”

Mark’s mind froze in a panic. Quickly, he pulled to the shoulder of the road. When the truck barreled to a complete stop, the officer’s voice boomed across the loudspeaker. “Step outside your vehicle with your hands up.”

Mark opened the door and jumped down from his truck with a heavy thump. Dust swirled from the floor beneath his feet.

“Step away from your vehicle!” the cop’s voice blared.

Mark lowered his eyes from the blinding light, put his hands above his head, and proceeded to follow the officer’s instructions. He walked to the back of the truck and put his hands on the hood of the cruiser. The cop exited his car and stepped to Mark.

Mark asked the officer, “What’s going on?”

“License. I saw you swerving. Have you had anything to drink tonight?” the officer asked.

“No, sir. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” Mark cautiously handed over his ID, keeping his back to the cop.

“Are you sure? Have you had any alcohol or other substances that would impair your driving?”

“No, sir,” Mark repeated.

“I’m going to issue a breathalyzer test. Do you have any objections to that?”

“No, none at all, officer.”

As the officer walked to the back of his cruiser, he stopped and turned around. “I’m going to run your name to make sure you don’t have any warrants or attachments. Do not remove your hands from the vehicle. And if there’s anything you need to tell me, now would be the time.”

“I have nothing to say, sir,” Mark said with frustration. If there was one part of the job Mark loathed, it was dealing with the highway patrol.

It was late, and the darkness seemed almost tangible. The only lights of any consequence were the cop’s patrol car headlights and the spotlight the cop had shined onto the driver’s side of Mark’s truck. Mark placed his wallet on the hood of the patrol car, and the officer proceeded back to the driver's side of his vehicle to run Mark’s information. Mark refused to take his eyes off the cop. He’d heard too many stories of incidents on the highway that were the result of truckers becoming victims of the night. Mark made sure to play the compliant good-guy role to a tee. He understood that some cops had itchy trigger fingers, and he didn’t want to become a victim himself. Gazing into the late-night sky, he prayed that his encounter with the cop would go smoothly.

After the police officer ran his name and saw that Mark didn’t have any warrants or attachments, he got out of his car, walked to the back of his cruiser, and got a breathalyzer test out of the trunk. When the officer came from behind his cruiser, he paused momentarily and slowly reached for his weapon. He waved an open hand at Mark. “Did you see that?”

“Did I see what?” asked Mark. His mind raced as the cop upholstered his gun. This can’t be happening! Mark thought. He didn’t want to make any sudden moves, but something was off about this situation.

The cop fixed his gaze into the woods just beyond the vehicles. “What’s going on?”

“Did I see what, sir?” Mark repeated in a shaky voice.

The cop kept his eyes glued to the shadows, barely paying Mark any attention. Seconds passed, and the two were suspended in silence until the officer finally broke his gaze. “I don’t know what it was,” he said shaking his head, “but I swore I saw a large black shadow run across the highway into the woods.”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“What do you mean? It just ran across the highway! It was too big to miss,” said the officer in a hushed tone.

“Officer…uh…I don’t remember your name. But you’re making me very uneasy, standing there with your gun,” said Mark.

“If you saw what I saw, and happened to have a gun on you,” said the officer, “shit, you’d be clutching steel just as tightly as I am right now.” The cop holstered his weapon and began to administer a breathalyzer test on Mark while cautiously maintaining a watchful eye on their surroundings. “Breathe deeply,” the officer instructed.

After a few drags, Mark scored in a safe range, scoring a 0.00 on the breathalyzer. “Is there anything else I need to do?” Mark asked.

The officer handed Mark his license. “Yes. For your own safety and everyone else’s, I’m ordering you to pull over at a rest stop for at least six hours. I don’t want you falling asleep on this highway and causing an accident. I don’t need any fatalities on my shift.”

With that, Mark realized the officer’s words were true. He had been hitting it pretty hard over the past few days, and the idea of catching some much-needed rest sounded better than any oversized paycheck. When the officer turned around to walk back to his cruiser, Mark cried out to him from behind, “Have a nice night!” The officer stopped and gave Mark a grungy grin.

Mark caught the glare the officer gave him, and it sent a tingling sensation down his spine. He quickly did a 180 and walked back to his truck as fast as he could before things got any weirder. I hate this part of the job, he thought. He started his truck and put on his left blinker, anxious to be on his way.

As Mark cruised down the highway looking for a rest stop, he kept checking his rearview mirror for any more police patrols, still a little flustered by the look the officer had given him earlier. He couldn’t shake the nerve-racking sensation of the entire episode. What the hell did that cop see?

After a few more miles, Mark finally spotted what he was looking for. The words “Rest Stop Ahead” tatted across an overpass sign pasted a wide smile across his face. It wasn’t long before he exited the highway and pulled in as a feeling of relief washed over him. Mark didn’t have to worry about any more police officers and could now get the proper rest he needed to finish the trip. He left the truck running and locked all the doors before folding himself into the sleeper portion of the vehicle. After that, he kicked off his boots, curled up in a small compact bed, and fell asleep.

Three hours passed before the light of the sun peeked in on Mark from the horizon. He slid into the front seat and put his boots back on before turning on his headlights, hitting the gas and flooring it back onto the highway, heading to Beaumont with both Wichita and Sharon on his mind. “I’m gonna do it when I get back,” he murmured to himself. “I’m going to ask her out.”

It was 6:25 a.m. when Mark was fifty-five minutes outside of Beaumont. He knew the company warehouse, where he’d pick up the parts for shipment, was open twenty-four hours, so there was no need to rush. But his impatience to see Sharon again got the best of him and flooded his veins with a dose of much-needed adrenaline, keeping him awake.

When Mark finally got into town, he parked his truck and footed it to the front office, where the reception desk was located. He greeted the secretary with a smile. “Hi. I’m looking for a man who works here by the name of Allen.”

“Are you referring to Mr. Allen Green?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s the guy.”

The secretary picked up the phone and paged him. “He’ll be here shortly. Have a seat.”

Marked turned and found a comfy spot on an old, worn, blue couch. After a few minutes, Mr. Green came down to the receptionist's desk. Mark stood and approached him. “May I help you?” Mr. Green asked with a raised eyebrow.

“How are you doing today, Mr. Green? My name is Mark. I’m in town from Murphy and Blanche out in Wichita.”

“Oh! Yeah, I’ve been expecting you. Pull around to the back so I can have my guys load the boxes onto your truck.”

Mark went outside, climbed up into the cab of his truck, and pulled around to the back of the warehouse where the guys were waiting. Shortly after they were finished, Mark signed the acceptance forms as proof that he’d picked up the load, and seeing that it was secure and everything seemed to be in order, Mark made his way back to the office to check out with Mr. Green. The two completed business, and Mark shook hands with Mr. Green and proceeded to leave.

“I’ll give you some parting advice,” Mr. Green told Mark. “Make sure you take it easy down the highway. There are a lot of crazies out there.”

Pondering the earlier events of the night, Mark nodded. “Agreed.” He then jumped into his truck and pulled out of the parking lot. Once again, Mark was back on the highway headed to Murphy and Blanche. His mind mulled over the long ride ahead of him. “Maybe it won’t be too bad this time,” he whispered. He was refreshed and ready to go from a couple of hours of rest, and if need be, he would take another pit stop, but he felt pretty confident about making the rest of the drive without a hitch. Sleep and fuel were all he needed, but Wichita was waiting.

His main concern was to not see another police officer on his way back, but he knew it was a possibility. As Mark was leaving Beaumont, an uneasy feeling began to wash over him again—similar to before, but somewhat different. His heart raced at the sight of every squad car littering the quiet roads. He was on the verge of having another panic attack.

He’d had them before when he was a kid, but mainly when the neighborhood bully tried to jack him for his lunch money. Pills had become a haven and kept the anxious vibes at bay for most of his childhood, but he’d since chosen not to be a slave to meds and taken up yoga and other relaxation techniques to quell his hidden demons. But nothing was working now.

Every police car Mark saw made him think of the night before. Am I losing it? Nah. My mind is messing with me, he thought. His paranoia was on ten. Mark knew he had to pull himself together because if he didn’t, he might have an episode.

As a young boy, panic attacks were not the only thing that plagued Mark. He was also diagnosed with a mild form of schizophrenia. He’d had these episodes on and off at different times. They were always triggered by stress or fixation on something unpleasant. He hadn’t told anyone for fear of being perceived as weak or crazy. It was also too much to go into about his past and the incessant abuse he and his mother endured at the hands of his father. He was an only child, living in a mixed-race family in the small town of Schenectady, New York. It never really mattered to him, but having a black mom and a white dad made him an instant outsider, an easy target for name-calling and unrelenting teasing. His reddish-brown hair, hazel eyes, and lightly freckled face caused him to stand out quite a bit. At the age of eleven, mostly because of issues with his father, Mark moved to Wichita to live with his mother’s sister, Aunt Pam, and her husband, Hank Woodland.

There were times Mark would remember how his mother would beg his father to stop hurting her, using her as a punching bag to fight through his alcoholic rages. He was a mean and merciless drunk. It got so bad that she eventually abandoned all hope of a peaceful life. Distraught and worn, she eventually left the family for good. No words were exchanged, no warm embraces given. And from that day, no one had seen or heard from her.

Daydreaming about his horrible childhood was something Mark couldn’t help. And out on the road, there was nothing but time and opportunity. Visions of his father abusing his mother flashed across his mind and enraged him. The things she had gone through for both of them, forcing her to choose a life alone over a life of peace and promise, made his blood boil. Thoughts would flood his mind constantly. Where is she? Does she ever think about me? Is she even alive?

When Mark snapped back to reality and regained control of his anger, he noticed there was no longer any law enforcement in sight. As he rolled through Dallas, Mark knew he had to maintain his speed because a cop could pop up at any time; they were known to lurk in the shadows like vipers ready to strike. The closer he got the more at ease he felt. Home sweet home was all Mark needed to keep his mind from falling into the abyss that seemed to loom ominously during times like these.

When Mark was close to the Wichita city limits, he took a deep breath and exhaled. Finally, he felt the safety of familiar surroundings—no more highway paranoia, no more cops. As he got closer to home, the events that had shaken him slowly faded, replaced only by the image of Sharon.

Any moment could be your last, he reasoned. He couldn’t keep pretending that she was just another beautiful face in the crowd. She’d always been more to him. And now it was time… time for him to say what he’d only ever had the courage to dream. Maybe it was time for him to know his heart.