RABBIT: CHASING BETH RIDER is a bestselling Christian Thriller novel (Book One of Three) by Ellen C. Maze. The story contains violence, peril, horror, and heroism all viewed from a biblical point of view, giving the real-life Christian an opportunity to enjoy fiction and not have to ask, "What would I do if this happened to me?".
HORROR MOVIES -- who doesn't like to be frightened? Most of us do, especially those of us who read vampire and paranormal novels. Still, we want to shout at the screenwriters, "COMMAND THAT DEMON/GHOST/MONSTER TO DEPART!" (Insert a laugh here; they just don't write mainstream horror with Truth involved). In all of the novels by
Ellen C. Maze, you will have the same peril, suspense, and yes--even blood and gore--found in quality non-biblical novels, yet the reader can watch Truth triumph in a non-preachy way. You will be able to put yourself in the novel and command those spirits in the way you want to!
TO SUM UP-- We can boss those spirits around... we know it, they know it, we're not taking any lip.
READ EXCERPT, Michele married a modern day Count, but he's possessed by demons, and they love blood and violence...
(from the upcoming Christian Paranormal Thriller based upon the Baals from the Old Testament, alive and well in 2017 and ready to bring on the End! From Ellen C Maze, The Indwelling of Tori Blessing, Little Roni Publishers 2018)
...The screeches were much worse than the screams,
and tonight, her husband’s voice carried ear-splitting elements of both.
Michele covered her ears and shuffled down the hall at a jog. Reaching her
bedroom, she double-locked the door and collapsed onto the bed. When another
staccato shout filtered through the floor from the basement, Michele curled her
legs beneath her and squeezed closed her eyes.
“Please, please, please don’t let him come up here.
Please!” Michele prayed the same words a few more times, wondering to whom she
was speaking. God? If so, which one? There were so many, how could she know
which to turn to?
A loud crash sounded from beneath her room,
splintering wood and breaking glass—Cedric was in the laboratory.
Michele opened her eyes and leapt to her window.
It was nearly dawn; that fact alone might keep him downstairs. He was Ba-alim
and unable to walk in the sun.
“MEEE-SHHH-ELLLL!”
The elongated three-syllable version of her name
sent goose-pimples across her flesh. Only Ki’tarit called her that—Mi-sha’el—and of the seven spirits that
tormented and possessed her husband, he was the most foul. Michele jerked her
gaze to the north horizon fifty miles away where the mountains towered over
neighboring Slovakia. Her east-facing windows had been painted over and sealed
shut, for what purpose, she never knew. Whatever the reason, it mattered
little; Ki’tarit was summoning her, and the sky was still more purple than
pink.
“MEEE-SHHHH-ELLLL!”
Michele startled and pressed her hands to her
ears. He would have to come and get her; she wasn’t going to him. She had learned
the hard way that when one of Cedric’s Indwellers spoke her name, she should
run and hide. Each of them longed to destroy her, and only Cedric’s incredible
love restrained them from doing so. They did whatever else they could do, including
rape, sodomy, and flagellation; in their hellish minds, the more dehumanizing the
better.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Michele screamed, her fingers clutching the
amulet Cedric had given her to wear. He had promised her that it had protective
powers, that the ancient crest on its face would ward off negative attraction.
His words gave her little comfort now that Ki’tarit was at the door. Would he be
able to open it?
“OPEN UP, YOU SELFISH WHORE!” the voice bellowed,
and Michele cringed backward until her buttocks bumped against the wide,
protruding windowsill. Fingering the necklace’s design, she scooted onto the
sill and looked to the landscaped lawn outside. The shadows had reached the
shrubbery, but she was on the first floor, a fifteen-foot drop at the most. She
could make it. Michele tensed, preparing to force open the age-locked latch.
“Michele?” the voice asked, softer, with a harsh
accent on the first letter, sounding more like Mi’shull. It was Yuli, Cedric’s father, and therefore the most
recent Indweller; Michele recognized him by his voice. He was the one who gave
up his breath so Cedric could live. He was certainly no angel, but he lashed out
at her the least. Michele remained at the window, and called across the room at
the bolted door.
“Yuli, get Cedric downstairs,” she said, hoping
she sounded braver than she felt; the tremor in her voice was difficult to
erase. “The sun is coming.”
“Come sleep with us, Mi’shull. It’s been soooooo
long,” the ancient voice crooned.
Michele winced as the Indwelt sent a telepathic
image deep into her mind. It wasn’t unpleasant this time, but she held firm to
her misgivings. They could not be trusted. Not in the least.
“Mi’shull,” the voice continued, still soft,
slightly begging, “Cedric will be back. Open the door. Trust me. We will be soooo gentle with you. Not like last
time. That shouldn’t have happened. Open the door.”
Last time. When they last attacked
her. It was in the den, not the
crypt, and she’d been left unconscious. Michele shivered and faced outside,
looking as far east as allowed by the corner of the house. Of course, she’d
never consent to Yuli’s request. It was too risky. She’d slept with her husband
once in the catacombs below the house and nothing bad happened; the Indwelt
were still. But since then, over the past year, she’d seen enough of their
violence that she vowed she would never voluntarily place herself in their
clutches. Cedric promised that he would never allow them to kill her, but that
was little comfort when being violated in his absence.
Knock-knock. A soft rap, he’d
changed again.
“Kitten, it is I, your husband.”
Michele faced the door and her hand flew to her
throat.
Cedric.
When he was present in that crowd of spirits he
called a body, her heart grew warm within her, and she flushed from
head-to-toe. It was her husband, and he had come forward to wish her a good
day.
“Cedric!” Michele breathed and reached the door
in six rapid strides. Then, remembering herself, she paused, palms on the wood.
“Cedric, should I open the door?” she asked, putting her faith in the true voice of the one she loved.
“Yes, Kitten, open the door.”
Michele unlocked two deadbolts and removed the
iron bar atop them both. With a vigorous tug on the weighty oak, she was in her
beloved’s embrace.
“There, now. Shhhh…” Cedric held her gently and
kissed the crown of her head. “I wanted to wish you a good day, my sweet.”
Michele held him tightly, her face pressed into
the lapel of his cool leather coat. It had been three nights since she’d last
seen him. When he left Monday at sunset, he hadn’t returned until last night,
and she knew better than approach him then for as she prepared her dinner, the
Indwelt overcame him in the bowels of the house and began the tumult to which
she’d unfortunately become accustomed.
But he was here—now—for a few minutes.
“Are you all right? I missed you,” she whispered
against him.
“If you missed me, you will look at me, no?”
Michele smiled and pulled away well enough to
look into his face. As usual, Cedric’s extreme comeliness brought tears to her
eyes. She considered herself a mousy girl with dull blonde hair and pale blue
eyes too big for her face. She had always attracted men much too old for her,
but Cedric was the first one she’d paid any mind. Painfully attractive, his
eyes were always at half-mast, hiding centuries of secrets. His mouth was set
in a permanent smirk, which only served to convince Michele that he knew
everything worth knowing, and that his wisdom would change her world.
And she never knew tenderness until she met the
walking god who held her now. She was an orphan; the illegitimate product of two
sketchy Americans on expired tourist visas. Her parents sold her to pay for
passage back home. Because of her fair coloring and gender, the local flesh
traders intended to sell her for top dollar. Fortunately, she was sold to an undercover
government operative seeking to eradicate human trafficking in Central Europe. The
officer deposited her in the Irme orphanage where the beatings were infrequent,
and as soon as she hit puberty, she was released to work in the nearby state-regulated
tavern.
The very tavern Cedric found her in a year ago.
“Who put the look of the doe in your eyes,
kitten?” Cedric pierced her with his gaze, asking questions he could divine if
he chose. Michele answered right away so he wouldn’t have to.
“Ki’tarit threatened me,” she admitted, appreciating
the flash of anger she read in her husband’s gaze. “Yuli came next, begging me
to join you in the crypt today. Then, you were back.”
Cedric nodded, still thoughtful. “Yuli and I have
come to an agreement. He promised to subdue the others for me, but it appears Ki’tarit
is too much for him.” Cedric brushed Michele’s hair from her cheek and pushed
it behind her ear. “I will deal with Ki’tarit.”
“How did you get Yuli on your side?” Michele
asked, truly curious. Cedric explained his way early in their relationship, and
as far as she knew, the Indwelt could not be persuaded by anyone at any price.
“I took him on a little trip.” Cedric whispered,
his black eyes sparkling with humor.
Michele didn’t ask for more. The Indwelt were
bloodthirsty and murderous, so to satiate them Cedric would have been party to
horrendous activities. Cedric put a finger to her chin and bent to kiss her
mouth, lingering there long enough to stifle her breathing. Straightening up
again, he ran both hands into her hair and held her head gently.
“I apologize that we frightened you.”
Michele smiled, and wiped a tear that had slipped
out as they kissed. “Yuli said you wanted me to sleep with you today. Is that
so?”
Cedric nodded his head, his shoulder-length black
hair catching the light from her room in its loose waves. “You will be safe.”
Michele’s pulse increased a few ticks, but she
nodded her head in his palms. “Let me change clothes. Do we have time?”
Cedric looked over her shoulder in the direction
of her window, although he could sense the sunrise more easily than observe it.
“Seventeen-and-half minutes, Kitten. Will that do?”
Michele nodded and backed into the room as he
released her. She’d visit the restroom, wash her face, and change back into her
nightgown. She normally slept from noon until sunset, but she needn’t worry
about insomnia; in Cedric’s crypt, he would put her to sleep hypnotically.
Her husband leaned against the threshold and
watched her prepare to bed down. It would take her ten minutes, tops, and then
she’d accompany him to the basement where he slept away the long Hungarian
days. As she slipped her silk nightdress over her head, she prayed to the
unknown God that He would keep the Indwelt at bay.
It was worth a shot.
(Devil Man pic from https://pixabay.com/en/users/diggersstory-407656/, used by permission)
