Read The Digger's Rest Online

Authors: K. Patrick Malone

Tags: #romance, #murder, #ghosts, #spirits, #mystical, #legends

The Digger's Rest

 

 

Rave Reviews

K. Patrick Malone

 

 

*****

THE DIGGER’S REST

*****Honorable Mention Hollywood Book
Festival, 2008 *****

*****Honorable Mention New York Book
Festival, 2008 *****

*****Honorable Mention New England Book
Festival, 2009 *****

 

 

*****4

 


When people search for proof of the
legendary King Arthur, few think to hunt down his skeleton. "The
Digger's Rest" is a story following a team of archaeologists as
they dig through the ruins of an ancient medieval castle for the
body of Arthur. While they begin to shine new light on one of
history's mysteries, it isn't the one they were looking
for.


Adventure blended in with a large bit
with horror, "The Digger's Rest" is a solid pick for suspense
readers.”

……………
. Midwest Book Reviews

 

*****

~~~INSIDE A HAUNTED MIND~~~

*****

*****
Honorable
Mention Hollywood Book Festival, 2007
*****

*****
Honorable
Mention Arizona Authors Assoc. 2008
*****

*****Winner, USA Book News
National Best Books Awards, Horror, 2008 *****

***** Honorable Mention, San
Francisco Book Festival, 2009 *****

*****Wild Card Winner, New
England Book Festival, 2009 *****

***** Honorable Mention,
Paris Book Festival, 2010 *****

*****Honorable Mention,
Beach Book Festival, 2010 *****

 

*****


One may get so lost in this story that
the conclusion comes as a somewhat of a shock. One factor that
gives this story its tone—almost missed due to its subtleness—is
Malone’s uncanny ability to portray Chagford’s downward spiral
toward insanity. It is as if he himself has experienced what it is
like to be ‘inside a haunted mind’. The book is an excellent work,
but only those able to handle graphic descriptions of depraved
violence should enter Malone’s world of terrifying
horror.”


Nelly Heitman … ForeWord Magazine
Book Review.

 

*****


This is a good, old-fashioned ghost
story complete with an old, creepy house, spirits and flying
furniture. Or is it? Could it be nothing more than the illusions of
a haunted and disturbed mind? The reader will have to pay close
attention to figure it out. At times the vividly created characters
wrap readers up in their stories and eventually they are all tied
to a set of long-ago murders…overall, a good read.”…Chattanooga
Times Free Press.

 

*****


Inside A Haunted Mind is …a
suspense-laden deconstruction of a good man’s mind gone terribly
wrong, laced with shocking revelations and edge-of-the seat
tension.”

……………………………
Midwest Review, Page Turner
Publicity

 

 

THE DIGGER’S REST

 

 

By

 

 

K. Patrick Malone

Argus Enterprises International

North Carolina***** New Jersey

 

THE DIGGER’S REST
All Rights Reserved © 2008 By K. Patrick Malone

 

No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any
information storage retrieval system, without the permission in
writing from the publisher.

 

A-Argus Better Book Publishers, LLC

At Smashwords

 

For information: A-Argus Books

9001 Ridge Hill Road

Kernersville, NC 27284

 

 

 

ISBN: 978-0-6155362-9-3

ISBN: 0-6155362-9-8

 

 

Book Cover designed by Dubya

 

Printed in the United States of America

 

Acknowledgements

 

Special thanks to Trisha (Goddess) Moore for
believing in me throughout; to Mike and Rona Abramow, every writer
should have such angels on their shoulder; to Mark, David and Jay
of The Digger’s Rest Pub in Woodbury, Salterton, England, for
welcoming a stranger from a strange land into their midst with a
rare generosity of spirit, strong ale and fine brandy, and who, by
allowing me to pry into their lives, inspired me in ways I could
never have envisioned without them; to Steve Donohue for being a
kindred spirit on this unusual journey we casually call life. Your
words and thoughts have opened my eyes in a ways no other could
have achieved; to Kyle Brown for his unfailing ability to make me
laugh in my dark days when laughter would otherwise not have been
an option, and reminding me that, in our modern-day world of
throw-away friendships, the old fashioned qualities of trust,
respect and loyalty are alive and well in you; to George Henry
Esler IX, with special fondness for lending me his eyes. I hope you
approve of the condition in which I returned them, George; and
finally, to Will Lobo, Merry Christmas, Will.

You have all been with me each and every day
as I’ve traveled into the deep, dark heart of The Digger’s Rest and
you will never be forgotten for your companionship along the way.
It would have been a dull, barren and lonely trip without having
all of you to color it for me.

KPM

 

Dedication

 

 

To adoptive and foster parents throughout
time everywhere for having hearts in their home and home in their
hearts. They make more of a difference than we realize. To
mentoring programs everywhere like Big Brothers/Big Sisters
(bbbs.org) and Community for Youth (communityforyouth.org) for
picking up the dropped ball and running with it. The lesson here
being; a biological parent, by that very virtue alone, does not
make one the best parent, or even a good one. It takes more; it
takes heart and home, which can very often be the same thing and
found in the same place.

KPM

BOOK ONE

 

Human Clay

 


the Lord God formed the man
from the dust of the

ground and breathed into his nostrils the
breath of life,

and the man became a living being.

………
..Genesis, 2:7, The Holy
Bible

 

 

Setting: Nickleby, a young schoolmaster in
Victorian England has unwittingly taken a job in a brutal northern
boys’ school. He meets the most impoverished and mistreated of the
boys, Smike, lamed by a clubfoot. To prevent Smike from receiving
yet another violent beating from the school’s owner, Nickleby
thrashes the school’s owner, rescues the boy and runs away. After a
night in a cheap boarding house, Nickleby awakes to find Smike
hiding in his room, having followed him from the school. Smike
kneels to him.

 

 

“‘
Why do you kneel to me?’
said Nicholas, hastily raising him.


To go with
you---anywhere---everywhere---to the world’s end--to the
churchyard grave,” replied Smike, clinging to his hand. “Let me, oh
do let me. You are my home---my kind friend--- take me with you,
pray.”

…………
Charles Dickens, from Nicholas
Nickelby (1839)

 

 

Chapter I

 

The Trouble With Boys

(Christmas Eve 1986)

 


Trouble me; disturb me with
all your cares and your worries.”

Trouble Me

………
.As performed by 10,000
Maniacs

 

 

The light flurries of the first snow of
December in New York City had just begun to change into the
predicted snowstorm as the Lenox’s town car pulled up to one of the
most fashionable addresses on Central Park West. As the chauffeur
opened the back door of the car, Evelyn Lenox appeared in her usual
flourish of mink, not bothering to wait for her husband, and
pranced regally to the front door to ring the bell. A tall,
shapely, blonde woman of about forty opened the door wearing a
cobalt-blue cocktail dress with a short ruffled train.


Annette, Dahling! You look absolutely
divine. From the look of those sparklers I’d guess Santa has been
good to you. You must have been a very good girl this year,” she
said to her hostess with an intentional air of affectation common
among her circle of friends, the talent-less wives of ridiculously
wealthy men entrenched for generations like the Chanel-robed
gargoyles on Fifth Avenue, Central Park West and the Upper East
Side.

Annette Edgeworth just batted her eyes
dramatically in the doorway, exaggeratingly stroking the enormous
blue diamonds hanging from her neck and ears. “Yes, Dahling. And
you can believe I’ve earned every carat, with Jack leaving his
filthy clothes all over the house for eight out of every twelve
months and touching me with his dirty hands; you better believe I
did,” Annette replied, imitating Evelyn’s voice pattern measure for
measure as they gave each other air kisses on each cheek.


Really dear, you should have added it
to your invitations: black tie required, sunglasses recommended,”
Evelyn said, and they laughed together as Evelyn dropped her ton of
mink on the arm of the brown-skinned maid she didn’t bother to
acknowledge before taking Annette’s arm to walk into the
marble-columned entry hall, her husband, Oliver Brant Lenox, a
smallish graying man old enough to be her father trailing dutifully
behind them. “Dior?” Evelyn whispered quietly into Annette’s ear as
they strolled.


Oh, this old rag? Valentino, dear,”
Annette replied, and they laughed again.

As the two women walked into the dining room
set with a feast befitting the Royal family, Evelyn spied Jack
Edgeworth on the opposite side of the room near the set of terrace
windows overlooking the park, making hasty greetings to the guests
until she reached the windows. “Merry Christmas, Jack,” she said
lowering her voice to an almost sultry purr.


Merry Christmas, Evie,” he said,
barely taking his attention from the storm brewing outside. “How
nice of you to come. I’m sure Annette is thrilled.” Determined to
have all of his attention, Evelyn took Jack’s hand and stood next
to him to look out the window, but not before looking down at it to
see that it was certainly not dirty, manly and rough, yes, from
twenty years of digging in deserts around the world. After all, he
was one of the country’s foremost archaeologists, not a crusty old
dilettante like Oliver.

She looked up at him to see Jack’s patrician
features made rugged from years of working in the sun contrasting
against the panels of silver hair at his temples and thought to
herself that she would crawl over Annette Edgeworth’s dead body to
have him instead of that increasingly decrepit and endlessly
tiresome husband of hers, but Jack paid no attention.

Jack only seemed to notice her when he
went to look down at his watch and had to make her release his
hand.
Where is he? He should have been here
by now,
he thought to himself and went back to staring
at the storm rapidly intensifying into a blizzard. After a few
minutes, Annette joined them by the window.


Jack, we do have guests for the
evening. Remember?” she said with her hands on her
professionally-toned hips, annoyed.


Yes, dear,” he answered absently, and
turned to join the group of twenty or so of her guests, just then
beginning to seat themselves around her enormous Louis XIV dining
table.

The next time he looked at his watch it
was almost fifteen minutes later.
Where is
he?
he thought. That was when the little voice in the
back of his mind told him,
Something’s
wrong,
and kept repeating itself to him over and over
for the next ten minutes until he knew in his heart it was telling
him the truth.

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