The Witches and Wizards of Ozz: Deep Impact (Volume 1)

The Witches and Wizards of Ozz: Deep Impact (Volume 1)

by J. Lew


Publisher J. Lew Books

Published in Literature & Fiction/Action & Adventure, Literature & Fiction/Mythology & Folk Tales, Science Fiction & Fantasy/Fantasy, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description

The townspeople of the Williams River Colony have lived in nervous peace for more than five years. Their entire world is spun into darkness. Tragedy turns two woman’s lives upside down, and while one prays, the other is filled with rage. While staring into her mirror, wishing for revenge, it appears. Images of her failed relationships, her dead child, a disabled sister, a hateful marriage, and her crippled son fuels the rage that darkens her soul to the point of no return. Hell hath no fury is just scratching the surface. Now she’ll give them something to fear. Now is the time to run!

Sample Chapter


She runs through the woods, pushing her way through tall weeds and bushes, running into trees and blinded by the darkness and the tears flowing from her eyes. Her master teleported her to the old burned-out ruins for training, and now she is running for her life. Unaware of her location, or of any way home, she runs to elude the darkness that follows her in silence through the woods. All she can do is run, run as far away as she possibly can. She stumbles over vines, tree roots, fallen branches, and other things she cannot see, for the night is pitch black. It is a moonless night, a cold-wet night, and the cold blows through her like an open window. The woods are as quiet as she has ever known, and she pauses to gather her thoughts. What am I doing? She wonders. Where can I run so that they won’t find me? Oh, for heaven’s sake. What was I thinking? I have a family, a good husband, and my children. The woods crackled, the wind freezing the tears on her face, but there is nothing more chilling than what she has just witnessed.

“Run,” she says to herself. “Run, damn you.”

All the while something is watching her, following her from the shadows of darkness. Minutes feel like hours as she succumbs to her delusions, stopping to laugh or cry, and then turning again to the darkness. She leans against a tree, pleading, “Let me be, I beg of you. Please, just let me be!”

She turns, slipping away from the tree to run again, and releases a blood-curdling scream.

Two weeks has passed, and on Wednesday, March 12, 1692 a tired, broken, and weary LeAnne Hempstead was dragged down the steps of the courthouse following a speedy trial. The magistrates did not feel there was any need to read her sentence to the townspeople, who stood by waiting for what would come next. Women in the township threw stones at her and called her a witch. The word witch echoed through the crowd, and soon the masses began to chant, “Stone the witch, stone the witch.” No one had mercy for the poor woman, not any of the townspeople that watched, and certainly none of whom were stoning her. LeAnne noticed one lone retarded woman, weeping away from the crowd and shielding her face from the horrible sight. LeAnne was one of the few women who paid attention to her, and who allowed her to play with her daughter. LeAnne’s precious little daughter died only a week prior, of what many believed was a high fever; but soon rumor spread and the townspeople began to talk. They were convinced a dark, sinister shadow hid among them. And LeAnne found herself accused of being a witch – accused of the death of her own daughter! During her trial, each time she tried to stand and speak on her own behalf, she fell to the courthouse floor like an epileptic, which the townspeople believed was the result of her wizard master or specter, to keep her from revealing his identity and his hideout.

After the trial, LeAnne’s husband watched helplessly as his wife curled up on the steps, pleading for her life. She was slowly dying from her wounds. The Magistrates said she and her wizard master met in the woods to conjure up spells against the township. After her death, the sheriff and his deputies searched the woods again for the wizard, but of course their search proved fruitless. It is for this reason that my aunt and uncle insist that I “stay out of the woods.” They are spiritually disturbed by Mrs. Hempstead’s stoning, and I often find them whispering, and then changing the subject each time I walk into the room. We often pray for Mr. Hempstead, who left the township before his wife was buried. “You murdered her, you bury her,” he told the townspeople. Then he packed up the few belongings he still had and left the Williams River Township for good. Sunday worship was never the same after that; the murmurs and the pointing gave way to fear and distrust, and it didn’t take long for the church to disassemble. Now I go to my room afraid, not for myself, but for my aunt and uncle, because they are afraid of something of which they will not speak. Their fears are my fears, and all I can think about is this thing they say is hiding among us. I stand at my door trying to listen to what they are saying, straining my ears until I can no longer bear it, at which point I walk right out of my room to make them stop. Even after they go to bed, I kneel down outside their door and listen.

I often pray and recite Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

At night I rest upon my bed, thinking of my parents, of whom I have no memory. My aunt tells me that I am much like the two of them, but more like my mother, who would roam the woods like a wild roe deer. I love running through the woods and jumping over old man Kirts’s fence. Aunt Liz tells me that my mother would have run right along with me (that is, until she got older and married my father). Now, my life is filled with worry for my aunt and uncle. Each week we hear that others have been dragged from their homes in the early morning, just before daybreak. My aunt and uncle warn me time and again, “Stay out of the woods. It’s for your own safety.” It seems more annoying to me now than a warning. These days I try to write in my journal as much as I can, but this morning I awoke from a dream that wouldn’t escape my mind. I was standing by the edge of the fence between two farms, and suddenly a horrible thing grabbed me by the arm. In my dream, I screamed, and then I awoke and could not fall back to sleep. It is now early morning, and I write about what I saw in my dreams. Even writing about it in my journal frightens me. This dream has put me on edge, and with all the talk going on about witches, I believe it is best that I tear the page right from my journal and throw it into the fire, lest someone reads it, in which case I would be dragged from our home and torn from the loving arms of my aunt and uncle. It’s best for all of us that I never mention this dream to anyone.

It’s been a month, and I continue to dream of this most hideous thing that knows my name and calls out to me. It seems that I am running from it, but I am not going anywhere, just running and crying as she calls my name. When I awake, I fear that I am vexed by this dream and dare not tell a single soul, alive or dead. I pray every night before I go to bed, hoping that I will never dream this dream again. I drift in and out of sleep, afraid of my own dreams. As I lie awake, just thinking about it makes me tremble, and I cry myself to sleep.

This week has been good for me; I have not had the horrible dream that keeps me awake at night. I hear my uncle and aunt talking in their room, and in my aunt’s frustration, she mentions a woman’s name, but I cannot hear her clearly. I do, however, hear the word wicked, and I also hear my aunt pleading that we leave this place before it’s too late. I run quietly into my room, trying to go through the names of the people in our township, and then the woman’s name becomes clear to me: Elmira… Elmira Pembroke. I don’t know her very well outside of Sunday worship, but come to think of it, I don’t like the way her son looks at me. The way he watches me makes me bristle with fear.

It’s been months now, and I can’t get her name out of my head. The word wicked seems to coincide with my dreams. It reminds me of a quote from a play by William Shakespeare that was read to me when I was a little girl: “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.” Oh, how I fear this thing, and now I believe it’s a lot closer to us than we think. Only the Lord can help us now.


Excerpted from "The Witches and Wizards of Ozz: Deep Impact (Volume 1)" by J. Lew. Copyright © 2017 by J. Lew. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

J. Lew

J. Lew

J. Lew, author of Rock, Paper, Scissors – Reflections of Life, Novel; The Witches and Wizards of Ozz – Deep Impact, Red Beans and Rice with Cornbread, and upcoming book; Sepulcher - The Devil’s Den. J. Lew is also the author of a Children’s book series; A Chris’s Adventure book - I'm Not Afraid of the Dark, Sunken Treasures, and soon to be released Little Ranch Hands, and Chris's Family Vacation at Rocket World.

View full Profile of J. Lew

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