SPIRIT KILLER
HIS FINAL BATTLE WITH DEOFOL
POLTERGEIST in DELIVERANCE country.
Tagline: There is sex for the Damned & Hell Bound but there’s a price to be paid.
A street tough Indian Shaman, after experiencing a sweat lodge vision, escapes from prison to help the Elder, a two hundred year old mummy who is losing Its battle for the sacred mountain against the Celtic devil, Deofol.
Deofol is being strengthened by consorting with a beautiful ghoul who haunts her ex-husband’s abandoned alpine hunting lodge on the mountain. For the nearly two years since she was ripped apart by rabid Devil Pigs, the sexually ecstatic ghoul has inhabited the lodge and has willingly experienced her 666 nights of ecstasy. But now it is time to pay for it with a descent to eternal torment in Hell.
The Shaman arrives at the lodge at dusk, ready to fight Deofol and the female ghoul to the Final End, only to discover that the owner’s college age nephew and his girlfriend, who too closely resembles the dead woman for her own good, have driven up that afternoon for what they hope will be a fun weekend. Not…
And the Shaman’s near impossible task isn't made easier when the female ghoul's fully armed, Rambo style Ex drives up in the middle of the night to explosively send his dead ex wife over to her infernal fate so that he can sell a cleaned up and discreet property to a consortium of secretive Oriental millionaires.
All Hell breaks loose during the night of demonic struggle and in the morning a supreme sacrifice has to be made or all is lost.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
When I wrote SPIRIT KILLER, first as a film script, (which was optioned by Beacon International Releasing but not produced), and then as this novel, I was living alone in a small cabin surrounded by a tall dark Wet Coast BC forest during an endless rainy winter. My only heat was a wood stove and my only lights were a couple of Coleman lamps. But I and the old manual typewriter stuck it out. Why? God only knows and it’s well above my pay grade. But I did persist even though every sudden night sound coming from outside made my blood run cold.
And being a solitary writer out in the middle of nowhere to say that I was emotionally involved in these two creative works is a real understatement. I was scared sh…well, you get my point.
Now it’s your turn. And can’t tag your butcher back.