J.F. Penn is the Award-nominated, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thrillers, dark fantasy, crime and horror. Jo lives in Bath, England and enjoys a nice G&T.
Walker Kane didn't believe in monsters ... Until they took his daughter.
Beneath the streets of Edinburgh, an ancient evil waits. Each year, the Grendsluagh—a prehistoric monster of insatiable hunger—demands a human sacrifice in exchange for the city's continued prosperity. A secret society known only as the Cabal has overseen this sinister ritual for centuries, binding Edinburgh to a grim legacy of terror.
When ex-military search and rescue officer Walker Kane's estranged daughter Emily is taken to sate the Grendsluagh's appetite, he plunges into a race against time through a treacherous underworld of danger.
Aided by a mythology-obsessed librarian and a daredevil urban explorer with secrets of her own, Walker and his makeshift team must face nightmares at every turn to reach Emily before she is devoured. The deeper they delve into Edinburgh's serpentine catacomb, the more their resolve is tested—by the mutated monsters of the volcanic depths and the violence of the Cabal.
To save his daughter, Walker will sacrifice everything—even his own humanity—in a heart-stopping confrontation with the monster at the heart of the labyrinth.
A stand-alone action-adventure horror novella from USA Today bestselling author J.F. Penn. Join the exploration into depths that were never meant to be disturbed. The secrets of the CATACOMB are waiting to be unearthed—if you dare.
J.F. Penn had just released Catacomb when I contacted her about this bundle. She happily put it in here, at a discount as all of the books are, so that you folks can have a lovely (if terrifying) Halloween. Set in the catacombs beneath Edinburgh (which you have to know that J.F. explored, probably on her own), the book brings all kinds of monsters to life. Enjoy! – Kristine Kathryn Rusch
"Brilliant. Another fantastic read from JF Penn. A race against time underground in Edinburgh to save a young girl from the clutches of a monster. A lot of heart stopping spills and thrills along the way. Will her dad get there on time? You'll have to read it to find out."
– Anne Christie, 5 star review, JFPennBooks.com"Cracking adventure with plenty of thrills, spills and chills! Plenty of heebie jeebie moments, with mythological beasties and a mysterious cabal to keep you intrigued, entertained, and on the edge of your seat! Loved the main characters facing their fears, the sinister subject matter, and the fast pace. This was an easy-to-digest, yet gripping read. Perfect for a lengthy plane ride or a rainy day at home on the couch."
– Michelle B, 5 star review, JFPennBooks.com"A heart pounding hellacious read, one that's well researched, puts you right in the pages, full of heart pounding twist and turns and leaves you begging for more. It's really my type of book, due to the fast pace, it's action packed, full of suspense, tension filled, has you on the seat of your pants, an extra load of twist and turns and like the good vs evil theme."
– HornFan2, 5 star Amazon reviewPROLOGUE — 1,000 years ago
As the sun dipped below the horizon, it cast its final golden rays upon Castle Rock. The nascent settlement of Edinburgh stirred with a sense of foreboding as the shadows lengthened and bony fingers of darkness clawed at the walls of their humble homes. The chill of encroaching night swept through the village, a cloak of fear descending to silence any who might dare speak against the atrocity to come.
The dying light of day cast a sinister glow upon the gnarled and twisted trees that encircled the settlement, their skeletal branches swaying and groaning. A low, mournful wind wove its way through the ancient oaks, like the sorrowful cries of the damned.
A thick fog rose from the damp earth, slithering through the narrow lanes and curling around the huts of the settlement. It carried with it the acrid scent of decay, a pungent stench of rot and damp that seeped into the marrow of the villagers' bones.
As the hour of the ritual drew near, the villagers gathered together, seeking solace and strength in each other's company as, beneath them, an ancient force stirred.
Flora, a young mother, whispered a fervent prayer to the goddess as she cowered by her hearthside. Perhaps if she stayed inside, hidden, she would not have to witness what lay ahead. Her words were a plea for protection as the midnight hour approached, a time when the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest. Flora trembled as she clutched her baby girl, Ailsa, tight to her chest.
She had witnessed the price of defiance, the heavy burden that might threaten her precious child in years to come. To withhold an offering was to invite destruction upon their village, but she was terrified that her own blood might one day be demanded as payment.
As she rocked Ailsa, Flora reached out to touch the small clay pot that contained the ashes of her ancestors. They had done whatever they could to ensure the continuation of the village, and now Flora must do the same. She took a deep breath and walked outside to take her place amongst the gathering villagers.
The solemn drum beat began, the deep resonance marking the start of their annual abomination.
Ailsa, swaddled in a tattered woollen blanket, whimpered softly, sensing her mother's fear. Flora gently rocked the child, her eyes welling with tears as she stifled Ailsa's muffled cries so as not to draw attention.
A sliver of moonlight pierced the fog as the tribal elder led a procession through the narrow lane between the huts of the settlement. He was a hulking figure with a weathered face etched by time, like the rocky crags surrounding the village. Long, snow-white hair cascaded down his back, a stark contrast to the ritual cloak of tattered skins that hung heavily from his broad shoulders, used by generations of priests before him. He wore an obsidian talisman around his neck, the black stone seeming to draw the night inside it.
As the elder walked by, Flora looked up and met his piercing gaze. His eyes were the colour of storm clouds that held the weight of countless years of sacrifice and unspoken secrets. They seemed to bore into her soul, demanding unwavering loyalty and unspoken acquiescence to the ritual that was about to unfold. Flora looked away quickly, her heart pounding as she clutched Ailsa closer to her chest.
Behind the elder, two hooded priests walked at a deliberate, measured pace, carrying flaming torches held high. Their flickering light danced upon the damp earth, casting eerie, elongated shadows that seemed to twist and writhe like tortured souls.
Between the two torch-bearing priests, a slender young woman struggled to keep up with the sombre march. Her wrists were bound with coarse rope, the fibres rubbing her delicate skin to angry, red welts.
She stumbled on the uneven path, her bare feet bruised and bloodied by the jagged stones. With tear-streaked eyes, wide with terror, she desperately searched the faces of her kin for solace but found only downcast gazes and lips pressed tight with fear.
The young woman's once-lustrous auburn hair hung in matted, tangled strands, her once-vibrant green eyes now dull from the herbs she'd been given to ease the way ahead. Her ragged breaths were loud against the silence of the villagers, each gasp a second closer to her last.
As the priests passed by, the villagers joined the procession, walking behind with solemn steps in time with the drum.
They reached the outskirts of the settlement, where the oppressive darkness of night seemed to coalesce and gather, hungry and expectant. The ground beneath their feet grew rougher, slick with moisture from the ever-present fog that clung to the earth like a spectral shroud. The air grew colder, heavy with the dank scent of decay and the metallic tang of blood that saturated the soil upon which they trod.
At the outer boundary of the village, a jagged, imposing rock loomed from the earth, its gnarled surface covered with layers of moss and lichen, marking the entrance to a dark and foreboding cave. The wind howled a mournful dirge as it swept past the entrance, carrying with it the whispers of restless souls who haunted this unholy place.
In the flickering torchlight, the elder raised his arms, his tattered cloak billowing around him like the wings of a malevolent bird. He chanted ancient words passed down through generations, a sombre incantation in a language long forgotten by all but the most devout practitioners of their dark rites.
The villagers, compelled by fear and tradition, hesitantly joined in. Their voices wove together to form a mournful chorus that echoed across the darkened landscape.
As the chanting reached a crescendo, the elder led the young woman to the jagged rock and secured her to its cold, unforgiving surface.
Her cries of desperation echoed within the cave entrance as the skies above swirled with menacing clouds. The air grew thick and a roll of thunder boomed out from the approaching storm. The wind howled like a beast in torment, its voice carrying the echoes of a thousand anguished cries, heralding the approach of the ancient creature.
From the depths of the earth, the Grendsluagh emerged.
It was a monstrous abomination born of darkness and chaos. Its vast form was a grotesque fusion of man and demon, an unholy testament to its malevolent power. The creature's skin was the colour of a tar pit, slick and oozing with a foul ichor that glistened in the flickering torchlight. Towering above the trembling villagers, its hulking body was a twisted mass of sinew and muscle, contorted limbs ending in jagged, razor-sharp talons that gouged the earth.
Its misshapen head bore a twisted mockery of what once might have been a human face, its features warped and elongated into a snarling mask of rage and hunger. The Grendsluagh's eyes were soulless, twin orbs of black that seemed to drain what was left of the light. Its mouth, a gaping maw filled with rows of jagged, yellowed teeth, dripped with an acrid saliva that hissed and sizzled as it met the dirt beneath.
As it loomed over the sacrifice, it gave a guttural growl, a sound torn from the bowels of the earth.
The elder and priests increased the tempo of their fervent chanting, beseeching the creature to accept the offering and spare the village from its wrath.
The Grendsluagh turned away from the lone sacrifice.
It looked at the gathered villagers and took a step toward them with malevolent intent. Flora gasped, holding Ailsa more tightly against her chest, as she tried to stop herself from fleeing. To attract attention now — from the creature or the elder — might only serve to seal their fate in blood.
The elder spoke ancient words of power as he lifted the obsidian talisman high.
The Grendsluagh reeled back with a growl, snarling with rage — but it turned away from the villagers.
It reached for the terrified young woman and ripped her from the rock with its massive, clawed hands. The Grendsluagh's grip closed around her with a sickening crunch, the force of its grasp shredding the rope that bound her to the rock like mere thread.
As it dragged her struggling and writhing form into the cave, the Grendsluagh's grotesque silhouette was briefly illuminated by the torchlight, casting monstrous shadows that merged with the darkness beyond.
The villagers averted their eyes. They could not bear witness to the horror that unfolded before them as the night was pierced by the young woman's final, anguished scream.
Once the echo of her cries had faded into darkness, the villagers returned to their homes, the weight of the ritual heavy upon their hearts. Tonight they would grieve the dead, but tomorrow they would feast to celebrate the living.
As Flora tucked Ailsa into her nest of blankets, she kissed the tiny girl's forehead and sent up a prayer of gratitude to the goddess.
In the coming months, the fields would deliver a bountiful harvest and their animals would remain healthy and multiply. The young mothers would deliver without fear of death in childbirth, and the settlement would grow richer and more prosperous.
At least for another year.
