The Malediction Legacy


(Supernatural Police Thriller)


Dean Steven Nichols


Elissa Ashlynn Harlow, a rational NY Police detective, investigates a murder. Though the crime, committed in a busy subway during rush hour, except a drunken homeless man who insists an Indian is the killer, and a mysterious feather in the victim’s mouth, she has no witnesses, and no suspects.

With no leads, she talks to her friend Mike Johnson, homicide detective and close friend. Mike convinces her to consult a psychic, who has cooperated with him in the past. The rational detective, though never believed in the paranormal, visits the psychic, and learns that the murder could be the result of a 350 year-old curse of the Chief Quanah Aucaman, the last chief of the Munsee Indians.

She questions the psychic, how does she know so much, and if there is a way to stop the curse. The psychic reveals that the secret of stopping the curse is written on the last page of the medicine man’s book, but no one has seen the book for the last 300 years.

Elissa begins researching and with the help of Mike, the Indian reservation, and a retired cemetery groundskeeper, she finds the medicine man’s grave. The psychic, a Native American Indian middle-aged woman named Nayeli Moema, tell her that a sacred ceremonial dance must be performed first, by a male who can see the spirit, or, the curse will kill them.

Mike suggests the homeless man who had claimed that the Indian kill him, he could perhaps have seen the spirit. With NYPD’S help, find the homeless in an alley nearly dead. Nayeli tells her that, the opening ceremony can only take place the night of the ninth full moon. After his recovery, with only a few days of the full moon, Nayeli teaches him the dance.

On the night of the full moon, Elissa, with Nayeli, Mike, and four members of the Indian reservation gathered at the cemetery. The homeless performed the dance; the spirit of the Medicine man appeared and gave her the book. Nayeli tells her that, if she can read the book, she could be the next victim, and that she cannot flip to the last page, she has to read the entire book. The book will only let her read a few pages a day, and ones she turns the page, she cannot go back because the writing will appear scrambled.

Knowing that she can be the next victim, she begins reading the book. The book gives her a challenge and the writing becomes unreadable. With Mike’s help, she realized that the book wants her to redeem the chief’s honor, and until then she will not let her read further.

Uncertain of what the book wants, she files a petition to build a replica of the village in its original location. After several petitions and denials and with the help of the Indian reservation and media, the city grants her request.

However, the book challenges her again to move the remains of the chief and his family to the village.

After completing the relocation, and the village opens to the public Elissa quits her job and becomes an active advocate for American Indian rights.


The leaf blower sounded loudly, but it was a welcomed distraction for Sarah, who had been reading her grandma’s diary nonstop.

It had been one year since she inherited the big house.

After her separation from Toby, she had lost her enthusiasm. She was a warrior, but she allowed herself to become the victim of her own feelings and desires. Her life had felt empty, pointless. The thought of ending the emptiness had crossed her mind many times. Until that day, an attorney called.

Her grandmother, Claudia had died, and she inherited the estate, the candle store, a considerable amount of money, and the five-bedroom house on one acre of land.

Sarah used to call the small ranch, forty miles from San Diego, “the Middle of Nowhere.” Though a city girl, moving to the country hadn’t been a difficult decision to make.

Sarah looked at the gardeners from the large living room window, smiled and snuggled on the comfortable couch.

“Busy bees,” she whispered and smiled as she closed her eyes, thinking of all that had happened in such a short time.

It all started a few weeks ago as she was shuffling through her grandmother’s belongings stored in the basement. She found a black leather covered book in a small, padlocked box.

Thinking it was her grandma’s secret diary, she began reading, only to discover that the little black book was her grandma’s book of shadows.

The little black book took Sarah on a trip through the world of magic, spells, and rituals. The thought of revenge became loud. She was still in love but hurt. Revenge was all she wanted.

On the next full moon, dressed in a ceremonial robe she found in her grandmother’s belongings, she walked into the basement, whispering.

“You must understand that you cannot treat women like trash. Five years together. Five years of cheating and daily abuse to satisfy your gambling addiction.

I love you, Toby. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. But here is where it all ends. There is a thin line between love and hate, and you’ve pushed me over that line. Now you’re going to pay Mr. Toby Jonson.”

She read the ritual one more time, carefully placed the book on the altar, cast the circle of protection and called the corners.

She suddenly realized the book had vanished, and in its place, a blank piece of paper rested. She looked at the paper more closely and saw writing begin to appear. Astounded, she read.

“Remember Sarah, what you put out, you get back threefold. Ask yourself… Is it worth it?”

A shadow across the basement caught her attention. The sheer smoky figure walked closer, holding the little black book. She recognized her grandma, Claudia.

“Don’t be surprised Sarah. Death is only a transition to a higher plane of existence. Nothing truly dies. You’ve been born with the gift. But you’ll need to learn how to use it. Magic is not a weapon, it’s a power that everyone has, but only a few know how to utilize. People refer to it as Karma. But we know: you take back what you put out threefold. My little black book can give you the satisfaction you’re seeking. The question is: is it worth it?  Remember, use your gift wisely. Once you cast the spell, there’s no turning back.”

It was late afternoon a few months later. Sarah finished writing another entry in the little black book. Then with a hot cup of tea, she walked towards the couch. On the sound of the telephone ring, she whispers “Toby.”

“Hello” Toby’s voice said on the other end of the receiver, pleading for forgiveness.

“Sarah, please don’t hang up on me. I know I’ve done you wrong. We had to be separated for me to realize how much I love you. I only ask for another chance.”

“Toby, I’ve always been honest with you, and this time is no different. I love you too. But we can’t be together. Goodbye Toby.”

At that moment, she felt free, and as the telephone rang again, she looked at it with a smile. She sat on the couch and whispered.

“It wasn’t worth it. Thank you, Grandma.”

Sarah looks at the gardeners from the large living room window, smiles and snuggles on the comfortable couch.

“Busy bees.” Whispers.

The Man with the White Dog

The fifty-year-old Lauren; single mother of the twenty-five-year-old Trevor, A rebel who had spent his life in and out of jail since he was ten years old. Thief and a rapist, who never held a job in his life, just finished unpacking the last box when Trevor walks in the house.

“So, this is our new pad?” ask as he looks around the small two-bedroom house.

“My room is too small, Mother.” Lauren looks at him.

“You should be out there looking for work instead of constantly complaining about everything.”

“Mother! I provide my share, don’t I?”

“Yes, you bring enough to bail you out of jail, and pay the attorney fees. If only your father was here”

“Mother I’m tired of hearing about my father. Your father and your father. The son of a bitch left you for a whore, not only you, both of us. What else is there to know about him?”

“No matter our differences, he’s your father, and you should be grateful. If…”

“I know mother. I know. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be alive. You know what? That would be the best. What did he ever do for me? Nothing. He wasn’t even there when I needed a father. So don’t tell me that I need to be grateful, because the only thing he did was to have some fun with you, and now I’m paying the price.” Lauren slaps him.

“How dare you.” Trevor opens the door, stops, and looks at his mother for a moment, then leaving the door wide open disappears in the foggy evening. Lauren, devastated by Tyron’s behavior, slowly walks to the door wiping the tears from her eyes. She looks out on the street hoping that he is still there. The neighbor’s kids across the street saw her and yelled hello. Lauren waved back at them.

“Get back in the house kids, it’s freezing out here.” Say and walk back in the house as softly closes the door behind her. Two days later, the Police knocked on the door at 75 Dover Street. Which, frankly, it’s an alley, in San Francisco’s Bay View district. Home of every scam bag, junkie, drug dealer, and con artist of the beautiful city by the bay.

Lauren opens the door and looks at the cop in the eyes.

“What did he do this time?” The Policeman looks at Lauren. “Miss Jefferson? How are you today?”

“Depends on the bail.”

“Miss Jefferson, your son, Trevor Jefferson, has been charged with strong-arm robbery. He’s held at the hall of justice.”

“Who did he try to rob?”

“A 7 11.”

Lauren, disappointed, walks back in the house, takes her purse, and asks.

“Officer, would you be kind to take me to the Hall of Justice please?”

“Yes of course Miss Jefferson. That’s why I’m here.”

`Lauren’s silent plea for sanity is the only sound in the Police cruiser during the ten-minute drive to the Police station. Lauren, unable to pay one thousand dollars bail, asks to see Trevor.

“What are you doing? I can’t pay that much money. Trevor please you’re…”

“Trevor please you’re twenty-five-years-old.  If your father was here, blah blah blah. I know the line mother. I hear it every time, and I am sorry. This is who I am. We both know it well. I know you what to hear that this is the last time. Mother, I can’t promise that. You’ll find the money in my backpack, in my room. And please don’t ask questions.”

Late that afternoon Lauren and Trevor standing at the bus stop about a block away from the Hall of Justice. A brief shadow of guilt crossed Trevor’s face the one and only time he looked at Lauren during the half hour, bus ride.

About eleven o’clock in the morning the next day, Trevor pulls the pillow off his head. “Strange, by this time, she screams. Trevor, get out of bed, and try to find a job. I’m cleaning other people’s toilets to put food on the table and pay the bills, and you’re still sleeping?” He mumbles as he walks into the quiet living room. Looks in the kitchen and dining room, he then looks at his mother’s closed bedroom door and knocks.

“Mother, mother.”

No one answers, opens the door, and sees his mother on the bed, with her eyes open staring at the ceiling. Trevor checks her pulse and calls for an ambulance. In the hospital, the doctor determines that Lauren died from a heart failure.

That was the first time Trevor felt sorrow, and responsible for the pain he caused to his mother. At that moment, realized that he wasn’t as tough as he pretended to be.

Devastated and hurt for the first time in his life. After the funeral return’s home, sits on the couch with his elbows on his lap’s and his head between his hands.

“Yea! That’s the only way; I just can’t do this anymore.” Whispers.

A few hours later, the neighbors report a fire at 75 Dover Street.  It was late afternoon when the fire departments extinguished the fire. With only the kitchen and a small part of the house damaged, investigators found a letter and a rope in the dining room.

On the letter, Trevor explains that his guilt for his mother’s death was greater than his will to live, and he decided to hang himself. However, it appears; he had changed his mind, and he had disconnected the stove gas line, sat on the kitchen table where his body was found, and lit up a cigarette.

Late that night, a little after midnight, the police dispatchers receive several calls of witnesses reporting a man with a white dog stopping crime in multiple locations at the Bay View district. Several days later, the Police still have no answers to, whom; the man with the white dog is.

Within two months, the forgotten district became the center of attention. Speculations about the mysterious man with the white dog that is been seen at every crime scene kept feeding the newspapers with outrage headlines.  

‘The mysterious ghost helps the Police to solve another murder…’ 

‘Police officials announced that the man with the white dog led them to an undisclosed location where a large quantity Opium, street value of over ten million dollars was discovered…’

A few blocks away, from 75 Dover Street, the headquarters of Bay viewers. A gang that under the leadership of Trevor, declared ownership of the Bay View district, now under the leadership of Mathew, Trevor’s childhood friend, planning to hit several ATMs in San Francisco area.

Unlike Trevor, Mathew is more contempt, and is not as aggressive as Trevor, been next in the hierarchy became the leader. He could of course, deny and let the next person take his place, but he accepted the position, only to prove himself, to himself.

Mathew, hesitant about the ATM job, decides to follow through as planned. The first target is a bank across town. Mathew being the only one who had knowledge of the area, it was a homophony decision to be the getaway driver.

Mathew casually drives through the almost empty city streets, following at a short distance the rest of the gang. Suddenly, in front him, the man with the white dog appears. Mathew horrified stops the car and recognizes Trevor and his dog Fuzzy, a dog who, both had tortured and kill several years ago. Mathew speechless staring Trevor as he hears his voice.

“Are you sure you want to do this Matt? Look at me. I’ve killed my dog. I’ve killed my mother. I’ve killed myself. I’ve chosen my own hell. You are still young; you have plenty of time to restart your life. You have the opportunity to live. You know what you need to do Matt. Live, live.” His voice echoed as his figure slowly disappeared in the fog.

As soon as the ghost disappeared, Mathew calls the Police and reports the ATM job. A few hours later, the entire gang was arrested.

It was early in the morning. The sun slowly begins to creep out of the horizon. The noise from the early-morning traffic slowly awakens the city. The few Police officers at the Hall of Justice, looking at the clock wishing for their shift to end, as they see a man with the white lab walking in the jailhouse. He walked through the doors and disappeared down the long hallway. No one has ever seen him again since.

Mathew, was released few months earlier for good behavior, graduated as a car mechanic and after his marriage, moved to 75 Dover Street, he still lives there with his wife, his son Trevor, and a white lab, he named fuzzy.

Half Moon Inn

Every morning at six, I used to walk down the grand staircases, which lead to the lobby. I could not help remembering the happy days of growing up into what it was. Half Moon Inn.

My great grandfather built the place as his home. Early 1950’s, my family rented the extra rooms. Because of its location, the place became popular with celebrities. As time passed, my father added more rooms and named it, the Half Moon Inn.

My great grandfather’s portrait was hanging on the wall above the staircase, between the lobby and the first floor, overlooking the entrance. Business was good, celebrities, tourists and locals were filling the dining room and the guest rooms. The pleasant atmosphere, filled with laughter, and happy people made Half Moon Inn well known in the entire Boston region.

Then one night, everything ended! It was around 11:30 the night after the Fourth of July celebration. The guests in the dining room were exchanging greetings and jokes while finishing their last drink, by midnight the dining room was empty,

I went onto the veranda and gazed upon the silent bay. The hypnotic reflection of the moon, on the peaceful water of Cape Cod, made me feel lethargic. Then through the misty air, came blood, rage, death, and destruction.

They came from the ocean, their black horses galloped faster than the wind, and as they killed everyone, they stopped to watch and gaze upon the victims with a smile of victory.

Then as they raised their arms into the air, pointing blood-stained weapons to the sky, they called upon the Angel of darkness, and they offered him the sacrifice.

A shadowy figure appeared beneath my great grandfather’s portrait. I recognized him. He came from the dead, to defend life.

Thunder and lightning struck the ground, far across the sky, I saw the infinite light, and touched by the Angel, I was no longer mortal with my great grandfather by my side, we fought the armies of darkness. At sunrise, the soldiers of death one by one, descended into the ground leaving behind them destruction and sorrow, and the promise that they will come back.

My great grandfather looked at me, smiled, and as he faded into the air, said.

“It is time for me to rest. It is your war now”

Ever since that night, I have been roaming the earth, to protect the innocent, and battle evil.

My name is Gabriel; this is one of my stories.