An exciting Mystery/Thriller about a landscape artist who has a recurring nightmare about women being held captive in a cave against their will.
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Over the last seven years, women have been disappearing from Shawville, Quebec. Some are as young as nineteen - others in their mid to late thirties. Being led astray by a man they thought to be a kind gentleman to a dimly lit cave filled with a labyrinth of tunnels . . . and something else . . . an evil . . . a man who never shows his face and dresses only in a druid's black robe. He turns his captives into slaves, making them do unspeakable things. Anyone who betrays him is dealt with slowly and mercilessly. In a brief time, the timid women refer simply to the dark man as "The Shadow."
Excerpt
In his Orleans, Ontario basement apartment home, on a rather humid but clear summer night, John Weldon lay in his king-size bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling; He wondered what type of landscape he would paint tomorrow. Being a well-known Landscape artist, having several of his works in an Art Gallery on Sparks Street in Ottawa, John never knew that he would be this successful, however, four years ago, he surprised himself when the Gallery graciously accepted his paintings. And, not only was he known for the paintings, as he was also recognized for the shadowing that brought out the trees, shrubs and sunshine, as well as reflections in windows and mirrors in bodies of water.
Every morning though for the last two months, he had been having the same strange nightmarish dream. Sometimes late at night and often in the early morning, he would wake up in a sweat and spring into a sitting position, gasping for air! Why this one dream occurred over and over again he had no idea. Most of the time he could barely recall the dream. So eventually, he would shake it off and try to either go back to sleep, or get out of bed to begin the day.
On this very early morning at three, O’clock, however, John was once again jolted awake by the nightmare. This time he stood from his bed and stumbled into his workshop, which was in the second bedroom of his apartment, in his underwear he placed an empty canvas on his easel. Concentrating on the empty canvas, he began painting in vivid recollection the dream which haunted him for weeks.
“Maybe if I do this, this crazy-ass dream will stop,” John said. “Then hopefully, I could get back to having a normal night’s sleep. Even when I manage to forget about it - it always comes back to haunt me.”
As John painted, he never stopped to think about what it could all mean. Not even to take a two-minute break. All time seemed to have stopped, yet he heard the clock on his workshop wall ticking away. The only other sound that he heard was the feather-light-lapping of the paintbrushes on his canvas, very slowly forming a disturbing picture...
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