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Elmdale Sagas: Book 2

By Leonard Herrington

Copyright 2018 Leonard Herrington

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.


I would like to thank everyone who read my stories in Tome of Terror, Dreams of Cerberus and in Elmdale Sagas: Book One. Your feedback and words of encouragement mean a great deal to me. They inspire me to be a better writer and to craft stories which take you on journeys into worlds that don’t exist (or do they?).

Table of Contents

Fatal Mistake


Send Me an Angel


Taking Me Home

The Ween

Unexpected Guest

Three’s Company

The Big Hole

You Can’t Always Get What You Want


When Evil went looking for a place to live it found the perfect location….Elmdale.  Elmdale a sleepy little town with stately Victorian Houses, beautiful tree-lined streets, quaint little shops, and a picturesque park by the river was a community where everyone knew everyone.  That all changed when Evil settled in. The newest resident in town brought out the very best in the people of Elmdale….their dark, twisted, horrible best.

Fatal Mistake

Dr. Robert Gupta entered his office at the professional building in Elmdale as he did every morning Monday through Friday.  

“Good morning, Caroline.  How are you today?”

“Good morning.  I’m well. How are you doing?”

“Great.  What’s my schedule look like today?”

“Well, you have Mrs. Johnson at 9:00.  Tim Blake at 10:00. You had me hold the 11:00.  We have a new patient, Bob McDonald, at 11:30. Then there’s nothing until Jenny Wilson at 2:00.”

“Sounds good.  Dr. Anthony Russell is the 11:00.  When he arrives, send him straight in.  We have some business to attend to.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks, Caroline.  I’m going back to check my voicemails before Mrs. Johnson gets here.  You know she hates it if we don’t get started on time.”

“I was going to make some tea.  Would you like some?”

“I’d love some.  Thank you.”

“I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.”


Anthony Russell climbed the stairs to his private jet.  The flight would take roughly an hour. Once landed, he had limo waiting to take him to meet with a Dr. Robert Gupta.  Besides both being in health professions, it seemed that they also shared an interest in old guns. Dr. Gupta collected guns from the Civil War Era of American History.  His own passion centered on weapons from the Old West. When he heard that Dr. Gupta was selling a pistol that had allegedly belonged to Wyatt Earp, he had contacted him immediately.  If all went well, he would soon add this gem to his collection.


Dr. Gupta said his farewell to Tim Blake and smiled.  It had been a long road, but Tim was making great progress.  It checked his Rolex and saw that the time was 10:50. His buyer would be there in a few minutes.  If a price could be agreed upon, he stood to make a decent profit on the find.

More money to buy more guns for my collection,” he thought to himself.

He headed toward the wall behind his desk.  He slid the painting on the wall upward to gain access to the wall safe behind it.  He punched in the code and the safe popped open. He reached in and removed a small wooden box and a large envelope that contained the documents to authenticate the weapon.

Dr. Gupta set the items down on his desk.  He opened the box and admired the pistol inside of it.

“If only you could talk.  I’ll bet you could tell some great stories,” he said.

He closed the box and checked his watch.  The time was 10:59.


Bob McDonald checked his watch.  The time was 10:59. He pulled his car into a spot in front of the Elmdale professional building.  He couldn’t remember if his appointment was for 11:00 or for 11:30, so he decided to arrive for the earlier one just in case.  He rubbed his temples. The voices were bad today. His medications didn’t seem to be working anymore. That was the reason he left Dr. Ramsey’s practice.  She didn’t seem to be helping him to get better. He was nervous about meeting Dr. Gupta. He wanted him to like him. He had put on his best suit and tie so that he would make a good impression.  

Tammy told him that he looked sharp.  Chuck said that he was an asshole and it didn’t matter what he wore to see the new quack.  He had told them both to please be quiet. Sylvester laughed when he did. Oscar just muttered about too many people living inside of one person.  Bob managed to suppress the voices and get himself dressed. He gathered up his paperwork and put it in a briefcase. He stopped at the mirror near the front door of his apartment.  He heard James tell him that he was very handsome.

Bob got out of his car and grabbed the briefcase from the passenger seat.  He walked into the building and saw the sign for Dr. Robert Gupta, MD. Opening the door, he saw an attractive woman sitting behind a counter.  Looking around the room, he saw that no one was in the waiting room.

Caroline looked up from behind the counter to see who had entered.  She glanced at the clock on the wall. The time was 10:59. The man was immaculately dressed and was carrying a briefcase.  He was quite handsome.

“Good morning.  Go right on in. Dr. Gupta is expecting you,” said the woman.

“Thank you,” Bob said, nodding as he headed toward the door.


The time on the clock in the limousine read 10:59.  

“Can’t you find another way?  I’m going to be late!” Anthony Russell said to the driver.

“I’m sorry, sir, but there is a bad accident up ahead.  Traffic’s not moving. We may be stuck here for a while.”

“Dammit!” Dr. Russell cried out and pounded his fists on the briefcase that held the money for the purchase of the pistol.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his cellphone.  He scrolled through the numbers until he found the number for Dr. Gupta’s office.  He tapped the number. He needed to let Dr. Gupta know that he was going to be late. The phone rang and rang.  No one picked up on the other end.


“You must be Anthony.  Welcome,” Dr. Gupta said rising from the chair behind his desk.  

“I must be,” said the man, extending his right hand.

Dr. Gupta shook the man’s hand.

“Please, have a seat.  Can I get you something to drink?”

“Tell him you want a soda,” Sylvester said.

“Just get some water,“ Tammy said.

“Screw both of you, I want a beer,” Chuck said.

Bob shook his head to quit the voices.  “Nothing, thanks,” he said

“Asshole,” Chuck said.

“Alright then, let’s get down to business.  You’ve traveled a fair way to see this amazing pistol.  Let me show you the gun and then I’ll show you the documents that authenticate it.  If you like it, we can talk price.”

“Sounds good,” Bob responded.

“Holy shit, he’s got a gun!” Chuck yelled.  “I can’t believe it!’

“I don’t think that this is a good idea,” Tammy said.  “We should go.”

“I agree with Tammy,” Oscar said.

“You all suck,” Chuck said.

“You suck, Chuck!” James said.

“You’d know all about it; wouldn’t you, James?” Chuck said.

“Why are you so mean to him?” Tammy said.

“Shut the hell up, Tammy!  I want to see that gun and I’m in charge here,” said Chuck.

“We’re in trouble,” Oscar whispered.

“So, what do you think?”  Dr. Gupta said. “As you will see in the paperwork, she’s the real McCoy.”

Bob, now Chuck, took the pistol out from its wooden case.  He pointed it at different spots in the room. It felt wonderful in his hand.

“Does this thing come with any ammo, Doc?” asked Chuck.

“As a matter of fact, it does.  I have two boxes which I have included in the price.”

“Can I see the ammo?”

“Of course,” Dr. Gupta said with a smile.  He turned to retrieve the boxes from the safe.

Chuck pointed the pistol at the back of Dr. Gupta’s head when he turned away and chuckled to himself.

“We’ve got to do something,” James said.

“Bob, where are you?  You need to get back in control!” screamed Tammy.

“Shut up before I kill all of you, once and for all!” Chuck said.

“Here you go; two boxes of ammunition.” Dr. Gupta said placing the items on his desk.

“Do you mind if I check to make sure that these are the right shells for the gun?” asked Chuck.

“I can assure you that I’m not trying to deceive you, however, if it makes you feel more confident, then go right ahead.”

“Thanks, Doc.  It would make me feel a whole lot better as a matter of fact.”

“Stop him, Bob!  Somebody do something!” Tammy screamed.

Chuck placed the bullets in the revolver.  “Look at that. They fit perfectly. You know, Doc, I think I’ll take it.”

“But Dr. Russell, you haven’t even seen the paperwork.  We haven’t discussed price.”

“No need to.  I said that I’m taking it.”

“Fine then.  Let’s talk price then.  What are you prepared to offer for the piece?”

Chuck grinned from ear to ear.  “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said that I was taking it.”

“Dr. Russell, please, that is a one of a kind pistol.  I can’t just let you have it.”

“No, but I can let you have it.”

Before Dr. Gupta could move, Chuck shot him in the chest three times.

“By the way, my name’s Chuck.  I don’t know who the hell Dr. Russell is.”

Chuck grabbed the boxes of ammunition from the desk and stuffed them into his pockets.  As he turned to leave, Caroline ran into the room.

“Have a nice day!” Chuck said and shot her twice.

“He killed them! He killed them!” James screamed.

“I told you to shut the hell up or I’d kill you!” Chuck yelled, placing the point of the gun to his temple.

“No, don’t!” screamed Bob.  “Stop!”


As the limo pulled into the pulled into the parking lot of the Elmdale Professional Office Building, Dr. Russell, sat up in his seat.

“What the hell is going on here?”  he asked the driver.

“I’m not sure, sir,” responded the driver.  “Whatever it is, it doesn’t look good.”

There were several police cars and two ambulances in the lot with lights flashing.  A woman was being brought out of the building on a stretcher. A team of paramedics was working frantically around her.  

“Let me out here.  Maybe I can be of assistance.”

Dr. Russell got out of the limo, grabbing his briefcase as he did.  He made his way toward the building but was stopped by a police officer.

“I’m a doctor,” he said to the woman.  “I can help.”

“Too late, Doc,” said the officer.

“What happened here?”

“Double shooting.  We got one dead and one wounded. We got the shooter.  He was sitting in the waiting room with the murder weapon.  Some old pistol from what I’ve heard.”

Dr. Russell watched in shock as two police officers escorted an immaculately dressed man from the building in handcuffs.

“Who did he kill?”

“Can’t tell ya that.  We got a crime scene investigation going on here.  Why? You know somebody in there?”

“Not exactly.  I was meeting with Dr. Gupta.”

“Well, it won’t be happening today.  We got the entire place closed off.”

Dr. Russell reached into his jacket for his cellphone.  He’d try to recall the limo and then get ahold of Dr. Gupta to reschedule another time.


Bob McDonald sat silently in the back of the police cruiser.  

“You should have just left Bob in charge.  Why do you always have to be such a prick, Chuck?”

“Go to hell, Oscar!”

“That’s exactly where we’re going thanks to you, Chuck-a-roo,” James said in disgust.

“We’re all going back to the nuthouse.  I hate that place,” mumbled Tammy.

“Yeah, if they don’t put us in prison.  We could end up getting the death sentence.” James said.

“You should have left Bob in charge,” repeated Oscar.

“I hate you people,” Chuck said.


Jessie saw the man pacing outside the window of her store.  He was walking back and forth; muttering to himself. His hair was dirty and disheveled.  His clothing was more of the same. He wasn’t bothering any of the other pedestrians on the street or anyone coming into her store.  None-the-less, in between waiting on customers, she was keeping an eye on him.

Her store was called Wordz.  She and her boyfriend, Trent, had opened it two years ago when they had moved to Elmdale from Los Angeles.  Wordz was part used book store, part used record store, part coffee shop, and on the weekends a place for local poets, writers, and musicians to hang out and show their stuff.  When Jessie was between movies and Trent wasn’t on tour with his band, Drac Mamba, the couple enjoyed escaping the craziness of their lives and hanging out in their little store.

Wordz hadn’t caught on at first in the sleepy little town but was now frequented by many of the locals.  Despite their fame, Jessie and Trent were just regular folks in the town. “They were ‘Elmdalians’,” Trent liked to say.

Jessie closed the drawer of the old cash register.  “Thanks, Kirsten. Let me know how you like the book.  Jon Flushing is one of my favorite authors. He’s a little crazy, but I love crazy.”

“I know, Jess.  I’ve seen your movies.  By the way, the coffee is great.  I love the new blend.”

“You’re too kind.  See you soon.”

Kirsten Yates was almost to the door when it swung open wildly nearly hitting her.

“I’m sorry,” said the man as he rushed passed Kristen.  “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Indeed,” Kirsten said, gave Jessie a quizzical look, shrugged her shoulders, and then headed out the door.

The man was the same man that had been pacing outside of the store.  He headed straight for the counter, carrying a large rumpled brown paper bag in his arms.

“Here we go,” Jessie thought to herself.  She reached under the counter, feeling for the shotgun that Trent had left for her.  He didn’t like the fact that she was often alone at the store when he was on tour. Feeling the cold wooden stock of the gun, she knew if “Dirtball” tried anything funny, he would be sorry that he had.

Jessie knew her way around weapons, growing up in eastern Ohio with two older brothers, Jessie had learned to hunt before the age of ten.  In many of her films, she had been trained to use anything from a sword to a crossbow. She knew that she could handle herself.

“You buy used books here, don’t you?” Dirtball asked, putting the bag down on the counter with a thud.  He looked nervously around the store and then over his shoulder out toward the street.

“We do,” Jessie responded, keeping her hand on the gun.  “What do you wish to sell?”

In a flash, the man dumped the contents of the bag onto the counter; startling her.

“These books are old, really old.  What do you think that they are worth?”

Jessie looked at him.  His blue eyes were wild and bloodshot.  He hadn’t shaven in days. She was pretty sure that he was a junkie.

“If I might ask?  Where did you get these?”

“In a desk in some old abandoned building done by the paper mill.  How much can I get for them?

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