The Burning Fire Rises: Part One: The Mysterious World Of Professor Darkk And Miss Shadow

ENTER THE WORLD OF PROFESSOR DARKK AND MISS SHADOW

It is a secondary world that goes unnoticed by all of us — for this is where strange things occur beyond our sight. Dark places where creatures prey upon the weak; where terrifying bizarre moments become a reality; and shadows in the corners come to life.

Professor Darkk and his ever faithful student, Miss Shadow, are our only hope against the nightmares that hide in the depths of the unknown. No one knows how long they have been among us. Not even the various governments around the globe have a clue as who or what they are. They are the ultimate enigma shrouded in secrecy.

These two mysterious individuals seek that which would harm innocence or subvert it for sinister purposes. For they must undo the damage that has been inflicted, returning the balance of good and evil. They, alone, must constantly fight against an evil that tries to breach our reality. Evil that will do whatever it takes to bring about the end, swallowing us all into its realm.

IGNITING THE FLAME

The elderly woman walked quietly with her pint-sized cross bred terrier through the dense park forest, taking in the sights and sounds of the natural world around her. She loved nothing more than embarking on spontaneous adventures with her faithful companion, exploring new trails and discovering uncharted territories. She had lost track of time on the trail and only realized how late it was when she emerged to find the sun had set long ago and darkness had already fallen. With great diligence, she meticulously searched through every pocket she had for the keys, while her furry companion, who was eagerly waiting, pulled on the leash she held firmly in her hand.

Alright! Alright! She spoke with mild annoyance. I know we’re late to get home. Just give me a minute…

She adjusted her large-brimmed straw hat while dealing with the dog that kept pulling on the leash slightly. The elderly woman expressed her frustration by tutting at her pet, while still fiddling with her hat. Upon reaching the clearing, the elderly woman grinned and let out a sigh of relief when she saw her vehicle waiting for her in the makeshift gravel parking area. Now that night had arrived, it was all alone, as the other trail walkers had left in their vehicles long ago. With loving care, she held onto the leash of her dog and guided it calmly towards the car where it obediently followed.

The fall weather was perfect, cool, yet not so much that it was uncomfortable, and her attire reflected that. She occasionally brushed off stray leaves and twigs that got stuck to her clothing. The park was a painter's palette, with the vibrant colors of the foliage creating a picturesque scene that left her eager to return for another hike the next day. The park was situated within a few miles of the main town of Flint, Michigan. It was a remote location ideal for those who enjoy biking, hiking, or simply being out in nature. The forest was a peaceful haven, not crowded with people, and beloved by those who sought solitude.

As she walked towards her car, she stopped abruptly, her ears perked up as she heard a faint sound. It was like quiet whispers in the wind, a garbled chatter that was barely audible. In an attempt to ignore it, she shook her head dismissively. The nocturnal creatures were the likely cause of the sounds she heard in the night, stirring up leaves and chattering to each other as they frolicked about. But then it started to progress, the noise became increasingly louder and louder.

She turned her head back and looked again, and after a moment of peering and turning her ear towards it, she realized that the noise resembled that of people. It was a rhythmic chanting that filled the air, and she could hear many voices blending together. Annoyed by her dog's constant tug and sudden whimpering, she commanded it to stop and peered into the forest to see where the sound was originating from.

It’s a bit late for a choir practice… She spoke again to her pet, giving a slight twist of her lips. And why in the forest, of all places? Why not at the church in town? Very curious…

The elderly lady glanced around the parking lot, searching for any cars concealed along the gravel road that led out. But there wasn't anything. There was no one else there, to her knowledge. As the muffled voices turned into louder chants, the little terrier started barking uncontrollably. She shushed her pet to be quiet. The old woman wanted to hear what they were saying, and strained an ear to make out the words.

The dog suddenly pulled away, fast enough to yank the leash out of the old woman’s hand. The dog's actions infuriated her, and she scolded it for causing her pain. The terrier cowered and whimpered as it hid under the car, its small body shaking with fear. She couldn't understand why he was so scared. She attempted to calm its fear by using a gentler tone and pleading for it to come out.

Just as she stooped low enough to see it quivering there, the chants suddenly silenced and the forest eerily became quiet. The chirps of crickets and bullfrogs stopped suddenly, it instantly made the woman take notice of it. She turned to observe the thick forest and saw a light building inside of it. The dog continued to whimper with an occasional growl of nervousness.

The elderly lady peered as best she could; her eyes not being what they once were, and tried to make out the source of that light. Suddenly, a bright glow beamed out of the forest, a massive blinding flash, followed by a pillar of smoke that rose out of the top of the tree line. The woman cradled her face and cowered away from the ultra luminous spectacle. She thought she could hear a unison of people screaming in pain; it was an awful sound as she cupped her ears, a loud combined cry of blood curling horror. Once the bright fiery flash and smoke had disappeared, she quickly rushed towards it, thinking something horrible had happened and wanted to know if they needed help.

In her lifetime, she had been a nurse in the Gulf War, perhaps that was a long time ago, but the training from it would always be engrained. She had switched careers over time, giving her a wonderful life of comfort, but always helped the community in times of need. This was no exception. War had made her brave in the face of danger. There was nothing she hadn’t seen that would be shocking or too gory to look upon.

She sprinted as fast as she could, paying heed to the stress of her frail heart and her aged limbs, and her dog bounded out of its hiding spot, finding the courage to join her quickly as well. Together, they ran towards the center of the forest and stepped into the danger zone. She froze in her spot, put a hand to her mouth, and gave a look of shock.

Oh my God… she stated in the moment.

To her surprise, no one was there—no one at all. The dog yelped on and on as it stood on the edge of what looked like a massive, smoldering crater. A crater that looked unnatural, as if placed there or made by an unknown force, nestled directly in the very heart of the forest. The trees surrounding it were undisturbed; they weren’t on fire or burned, and nothing in the center existed, other than the crater itself. The trees within it had just… vanished, as if removed entirely. The only thing scorched or charred black was the whole crater.

The old woman continued to gawk in horror. She knew she heard people in here. There had to have been. But what happened to them? She stumbled slightly, as she sheepishly stepped in further, just as a misty fog formed around the site and out beyond her. It swirled about and surrounded her like a specter. The intensity of it grew, and it was becoming increasingly harder to see. Then, she heard the voices again, whispered chanting, like echoes of the ones before. Only this time, it was as if they were calling a name––it was her name.

That caused the woman to suddenly retreat in fear. She called for her dog, who was still yapping and running around the circle of the crater’s lip. The old woman grabbed on to the leash as her pet circled back, yanking hard on it in a frantic state. The dog yelped from her brutal pull and tried to keep up with her as she bolted away. Both successfully returned to the car, and she clambered to find the keys in her pocket once again.

The old woman wanted to scream, desperately trying to do so all the while, but she was overcome with sheer terror and wanted to leave the area as fast as she could. A feeling of evil washed over her mind, a sensation of coldness and death that sent a shiver down her spine. How she came to that conclusion was beyond her in that moment something inside told her to get out of there and call the police.

Whatever occurred here was well beyond her understanding. She was scared by the entire situation and her agitated dog barking ferociously at the forest was only deepening her fear. She needed to get help, to find somebody better suited to handle this sort of thing. As soon as she was back in her car, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed, nine-one-one. Perhaps the police would know what to do, or could find someone more qualified to explain the strange and somewhat bizarre manifestation that fell upon this quiet wooded forest.

Nine-one-one… The operator spoke. What is your emergency?

The old woman's expression grew pensive, and she fell silent as she tried to make sense of what she had just witnessed.

CHAPTER

ONE

Special Agent John Mathers sat patiently outside the Director’s office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Despite his best efforts, he could not block out the irritatingly low hum of the fluorescent lights that dangled above his head. He briefly glared up at them with contempt, while anxiously bouncing his right leg in a nervous repetition. John shifted his eyes from it to the meeting room door several times.

The display caused many fellow agents and office workers to curiously glance over at him as they passed by. Mathers simply nodded with a wry smirk as he met their gaze. In a short while, the secretary would be exiting the private meeting and inviting him to step inside. The Director, Bill Morgan, was engaged with two other individuals that arrived well before he did. Of what they were talking about, he couldn’t be sure, but, he was fairly certain it was about him.

John wriggled in his seat and started to prim his clean and well kept dark grey-suit attire. All agents and office workers had this sort of, bland, muted-color scheme of an outfit; it was a professional and proper form of uniform (of sorts), a typical dress code for the Bureau. The bone white shirt and black shoes were almost in pristine condition, and seemed to complement his neat appearance.

Normally, he wouldn’t be so clean and formal. Most agents practically live in those suits for over eight or ten hours (or longer). So the odours and stains of the day would tend to embed themselves pretty good, in the course of time. However, if one is about to meet a superior (and others of higher stature), it is much better to look and smell like you’re a professional, and not some slob that just walked off the street. He felt confident he’d be ok with his choice of clothes, so long as they didn’t notice his cartoon printed Tasmanian devil socks, that is. One can dress for success, but never compromise on keeping some individuality. At least, that was his belief.

Looking at the clock on the adjacent wall, he could see that the meeting was taking longer than expected, though, a little too long for his liking. Anxiousness caused him to infrequently fiddle with his well-ironed black tie. John began shifting from side to side in the faded colored wooden chair he sat upon. It looked comfortable enough when he first got there, but now, after squirming for nearly half an hour, the plushness had long flattened out. Mathers repositioned yet again, and tried to bring the feeling back to his other bum cheek.

This might be a punishment, or just to keep loiterers away from the office. He thought in mid-move. Either way, it’s doing the trick.

As his extremities continued to protest and started to go numb, John turned his attention to the others busily working away. The entire floor was littered with cubicles and offices, some with staff walking in and out of them, others completely empty and awaiting new occupants to take it over. Budgeting takes its toll on government employment, even to an agency such as this. Jobs tended to shift, and some positions got redundant. Mathers was hoping he wasn’t going to be one of those.

It seemed his presence sparked quite a gossip among the staff. He could hear them whispering to each other behind those cubicles, with heads bobbing out to peer at him from time to time. He began to wonder; Did they know? Had they heard about the trouble he was in? Or just waiting to see if he gets fired on the spot? If only his ears could pick up on that whispering traffic flying about the room. He rubbed his clean-shaven face and slowly let out a frustrated sigh. John would have liked to be anywhere else right now. Instead, he was here. Listening to those annoying lights and waiting for his fate outside the boardroom.

The secretary opened the door abruptly; it startled him as his head cocked suddenly. They’re ready for you now, Mr. Mathers.

She waited as his shock dissipated. She gave him a slight sense of nostalgia when he remembered his childhood teacher with jet-black hair pulled back in a bun. He couldn’t remember her name, it was such a long time ago, but, he still remembered the look of displeasure she had and it made him smirk at the remembrance.

Should I beg or grovel first? He playfully inquired. Tell me…what kind of scenario am I going into? There was little to no expression on her face, just a hand gesture for him to enter. Ok, I’ll take that as a ‘wait and see’ kind of thing.

Mathers fixed his tie and rose with a slight nod in acknowledgment. With a quick clearing of his throat, the agent stepped into the office with an air of confidence—or whatever amount of courage he could muster as he entered the lion’s den. The secretary closed the door abruptly once he strutted by. She rolled her eyes and returned to her desk outside the Director’s office.

Once inside, John eyed the spaciously well-lit room, which looked recently renovated and spotless. A group of three men waited for him at a round a large wooden table. The room was stark in design; a dark blue carpet, light grey painted walls and a few pictures of former US Presidents, as well as the latest elected leader occupying the White House. Mathers held his hands behind his back and stood in place as he approached the end of the table.

The three men looked at him for a second, breaking their conversation upon him entering, and then proceeded to chat further, as if he wasn’t there. It wasn’t until one in the middle (the slim, bald-headed FBI director) looked up and gestured to the others to quell their chatter. Mathers stood there, trying not to make direct eye contact. He sensed the Director could almost feel the nervousness radiating out of him, even as he leaned back in his chair and arched his fingers together.

The Director let it linger on for a second, letting the fear set in. But then the man relaxed in his well-weathered red leather chair and folded his hands together. The other two men did the same, as if they were mimicking the behavior, and turned their attention to Mathers. Nothing could be more unnerving than having a room of individuals focusing their glare at you. John was in an uncomfortable situation and tried his best to remain undisturbed outwardly.

Special Agent John Gregory Mathers, The Director gruffly spoke, while unfolding his hands and flipping a file folder open on his desk. He briefly gazed down at it and turned through the pages as he went on, Graduated top of your class, commendations for several involvements in cases dealing with serial murders, drug busts, missing persons and…. He riffled through a few more pages. Just the usual stuff we deal with on a daily basis. So… pretty much, nothing special there.

Mathers looked puzzled by that statement. It almost sounded patronizing in tone. The Director glanced up at him to see any sort of reaction and proceeded to read through it.

Transferred through several departments over the years… sticking with special investigations, working with assigned task forces, and now the head of Special Cases Division.

Head is a stretch, sir. I’m pretty much the only one in it, really. Oh, and I love that name by the way, sir. Mathers wittily remarked with a smile. Can’t really call it ‘We have no idea what this is’ division. So why not ’special cases’ and shove all the weird shit into it. The Director showed no interest in his comedic comment. Mathers smile quickly diminished. So… ah…yeah, Special Cases Division… that’s me…

Ghost, goblins and UAPs, huh? The man on the left snorted. Christ, hard to believe you guys launched a division to that hullabaloo…

Thirty-eight years old, single, no spouses, mother and father deceased. The Director continued on, ignoring the other man’s comments. Currently, no fixed address. There’s a hotel listed here as a contact. Why is that?

Well, uh… just in-between places right now. Mathers explained calmly and adjusted his tie slightly. And it’s not really a hotel, per se, though it had been one in the past. It’s an apartment complex… I’m kinda living there as a temporary status. John shrugged and gave a slight grin. If this is about accounting not knowing where to send my pay cheque, they should know that this is a paperless society now.

No gambling debts?

No, sir…

Nothing to compromise your position in the FBI, is there?

Nothing financially, sir… just uh…

Girlfriend kicked you out did she? The man on the left mocked again.

John shifted his frustrated stare towards him. The guy was clean-shaven, slightly robust, and had the smoothest, sculpted short crop of white hair. He had met him once, briefly, at a White House function. Richard Plantson, who looked more like a politician than the head of an important agency like the NSA. If he remembered correctly, Plantson openly admitted to him he was one who turned down his application for a position at the NSA five years ago. His reason was simply, I think nothing of your character. So it seems he was a dick to him then, and he was certainly being a dick to him now.

I beg your pardon, sir… Mathers sternly responded. That’s none of your concern.

We’ve seen your file, boy. The other man on the right stated. The Director here keeps tabs on all the agents. As do we… just in case.

That deeply southern accent was true blooded Texan. Putting voices to faces was becoming a talent of Mathers. Grant B. Donovan, head of the Central Intelligence Agency, and all around spokesman for the ‘shoot first, ask questions never’ club. If there was ever someone you wanted to hate, it would be him. Far too many under his leadership got killed or came close to it. John wondered if the man ever had a problem sleeping at night with that kind of track record. Nope—it was just part of the job as far as he was concerned.

Trying to lie about it or hide the fact is just, dog-gone-idiotic. So cut the crap… He passively waved. Straight answers, boy, respect the chain of command here.

The Director closed the file and leaned back in the chair with folded hands again. His eyes focused on Mathers sternly. This was no simple debriefing, job review, or whatever they made it look like. This was about the report he just filed a few days ago. A report that’s centered on a certain individual that every agency in the world has been interested in themselves.

Mathers realized that was the main reason for his presence. How could it be otherwise? The report must have displeased enough top officials in the government to send all three to chew him out. The level of tension was so thick he wasn’t sure if he was going to escape intact.

Sorry, sir… Mathers finally responded to the Texan man. Guess I haven’t had too many meetings like these. It’s just my personality, I don’t like being scrutinized or having my personal life under a microscope.

It was true though. His ex-girlfriend did kick him out. Mainly because he was never home half the time or when she needed him to be with her. But that was months ago, and certainly not having to do with any of this. He never really had much luck with women. Most would find him charming and very outgoing at first. But when it came time to make commitments or explain what he does for a living, they would find it more than they could handle and tended to leave or break up over the phone.

His was a life of constant moving about and deeply guarded secrets. They would never understand his world or the oddities he would investigate. It made finding a stable relationship rather difficult, and while he yearned to have one, he’d grown accustomed to being alone.

Personally, I don’t care about that… The Director stated, giving a brief sigh as he closed the file firmly. What I do care about is the fact you handed us a report with so little details, this might well have been blank sheets of paper. He took out another file folder from