The Demon Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF

talkin’ about!”
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    3
    THE HAUNTING OF PANDORA’S
CAVE
     
     
    NED
     
    People were a pain in the
butt. That’s what Ned Taylor thought and he had good reason. It was
people who tore up the campground and left trash all over the
picnic areas that somebody would need to clean up. It was people who’d sneak
into Pandora’s Cave at night to party and write graffiti all over
the walls that somebody would have to remove. And it was people who’d
drink too much and get into fights that somebody would have to break up.
Guess who that somebody was?
    Yep, in Ned’s mind people were a royal pain.
But without them he wouldn’t have a job.
    Ned had been a seasonal ranger in Crystal
Creek Park since he’d graduated from high school three years ago.
The tiny park was located about twenty miles south of Front Royal,
Virginia, and backed up to the northeast boundary of the Shenandoah
National Park. Ned had Googled Crystal Creek Park more than once,
but nothing ever showed up.
    A rich old widow named Pandora Wilby still
owned the park property, though she had already deeded the land to
the National Park Service. On her death the NPS would absorb the
additional four hundred acres of forest and low mountains into the
Shenandoah National Park. Until then Mrs. Wilby’s shrewd attorney
made sure the park service was solely responsible for maintenance
and operation of land they didn’t even own yet.
    Ned Taylor worked as a park ranger three
seasons a year. The salary wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep
him in a small apartment, own a used car and go to college. Working
the graveyard shift never interfered with class schedules while he
went after an accounting degree. And now that it was mid-October
people hardly mattered. The campground was closed and the only
reason anybody even came to the park was to hike or go on a picnic.
As long as Ned worked eleven to seven he wouldn’t have to deal with
people again until next summer.
    His cousin, Eric Wooden, had gotten him the
ranger job. Eric was three years older and had been working in the
park system for nearly seven years. He loved the work, but he also
loved confrontations. With Eric the more problems people caused the
better he liked his job. Eric should have been a cop.
    Ned parked his Jeep in front of the
one-story log rancher that served as the ranger station. Lights
glowed from inside the building and right away he heard the deep
barking of Ripper the wonder dog in the pen around back. Ripper was
Eric’s dog, a black Lab-German Shepherd mix that was the park’s
unofficial mascot. Eric had originally gotten Ripper to keep him
company on the lonely evening shifts, but now all the rangers
preferred to have the dog around. Ned sure did, especially in the
middle of the night when he finished studying and all the shows on
TV were infomercials or reruns. Ripper was friendly, but he looked
dangerous and answered only to the rangers. Campers and hikers had
a healthy fear of the dog, which helped the rangers keep order.
    “Hey, Ripper!” called Ned as he got out of
the Jeep. “How you doin’ boy?”
    Ripper whined and jumped excitedly. Eric and
Ned had set up Ripper with a fenced-in dog run, a first-class house
and plenty of dog biscuits.
    “You wanna cookie? I got a cookie!”
    Ripper licked his mouth and barked
again.
    Ned was a bit stocky, standing about
five-eight, with medium length burnt-orange hair. He liked the
outdoors and enjoyed quail hunting and fishing. He’d given up
hunting larger animals ever since he’d shot and killed a
seven-point buck four years ago. Man, that whole scene had given
him nightmares. He’d never forget looking into the deep brown eyes
of that dying animal and seeing the life fizzle right out of it.
His hunting friends laughed at him and said he had Bambi syndrome.
Ned didn’t know about that. He just figured he’d stick with
quail.
    Ned zipped up his jacket against the chilly
October breeze, then checked his