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    The Ocean Shadows
    The Ocean Shadows
    The Ocean Shadows
    Ebook51 pages47 minutes

    The Ocean Shadows

    By Jason Lefthand

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    About this ebook

    Water is life. Water is death.

    There is something that hides in the imposing forest that overlooks an idyllic Oregon coastal town, something that lured Oscar, the best witch hunter in Navajoland, to his death. It is something that was hidden for so long. It patiently waited for the right time to return.

    Michael, a fellow hunter, answers the call. He is in search of what really happened to Oscar, and he quickly finds out there is more to his murder. Michael is outnumbered, and alone in such a foreign place.

    He will have to face an evil that poisons an impossible forest lake, and monsters from the distant past who were thought to be long dead. Armed with a white buffalo blade and a mysterious pouch, he will have to fight against the tide and save himself from drowning in the crushing darkness of the ocean.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJason Lefthand
    Release dateOct 10, 2016
    ISBN9781533709950
    The Ocean Shadows

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      Book preview

      The Ocean Shadows - Jason Lefthand

      By: Jason Lefthand

      Copyright © 2014 by Jason Lefthand

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

      Printed in the United States Of America

      First Printing, 2014

      Dark Waters by Yuri Levchenko, used for the cover under CC BY 2.0/Modified from original.

      The very first thing Michael noticed, as he stepped out of the stuffy truck, was the seemingly endless expanse of water that crashed upon a gray beach. He stood on firm pavement, atop a hill, a half mile away from the sand. He was taken aback by the sheer majesty of the ocean. It wasn't a mere lake he stared at, or something manageable like a river. It was the Pacific Ocean, which, by his visual judgment, went on for an eternity, maybe more. It was such a huge contrast to his desert homeland. He paused for a moment and took it all in. It wasn't every day he got to see something that magnificent, and that intimidating.

      It felt a little overwhelming to him. He had two choices. He could have continued into town, or he could have jumped back into the truck and rode out the rest of the Pacific Northwest with his foul-mouthed driver of the last several hundred miles. Rick was his name. Michael tried not to stare too much at Rick's ruddy face and a smile that was all beard. Rick was a talker. Michael was a bit of an introvert by nature, so he listened to Rick's tall tales of desolate roadhouses that hid lusty secrets, and women so exotic they must have been shipped in from islands whose main export was hookers. Rick had told so many stories during the journey that by the time they reached the northern Oregon coast Michael was positive that he too had the clap.

      Michael slung his worn leather backpack over his shoulder. He didn't have any parting words for his driving friend. Rick had just spun a tale about a sea siren named Debbie who smoked long cigarettes and could change wigs at a moment's notice. Most of it, Michael thought, was just made up.

      Rick held out his meaty hand. Take care, little brave. Don't let these white folk scare ya'. With that, he laughed and pulled the creaky door shut. The engine belched black smoke, and Rick tore up the small incline. Rick was soon gone, down the road and over the next. Michael stood virtually alone, alongside a row of houses framed by the ever-present crash of the ocean.

      You are the tip of the arrowhead, Uncle Mitch said to him a few days earlier. It was Michael’s final goodbye before he set off from the western edge of Flagstaff. We will continue to sing for you, until you return.

      His uncle climbed into his old Ford truck and then waved as he merged onto the highway. His uncle made a sharp left and skidded along the median dirt road meant for official vehicles. Michael watched the steady stream of cars and big trucks. The road ahead was long, but he was determined not to let his uncle down.

      Michael was the arrow. He had to accept it. His clan sang and performed sacred ceremonies back home. Blessings were bestowed upon him in a rich shower of corn pollen and smoke. He knew he had to be the one. Being the weapon was how he was raised ever since he was strong enough to pick up a blade.

      There was no turning back. Michael knew that much. He especially felt it when he crossed the California border and into Oregon. The trip had suddenly become real. He was really there. He felt the road as it pressed back on his feet. Salty water fell onto

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