Founding of a Coven

Founding of a Coven is T.G. Roettiger's first collection of stories. All of the stories take place in early 20th century New England. Residents of the region will recognize many landmarks in these stories. The stories range from "Watcher and Keeper". a tale with a Lovecraftian bent, about the real reason Lake Warren in East Alstead, New Hampshire, was created, to the title story which is an alternate history with a dark side. In between are "Brothers" and "Blues" which ask the question, "Who is the real monster?" And, finally, "Spectacles" which is a cautionary tale about spiteful action and its consequences.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Founding of a CovenAnd Other Stories of New England's Dark SideBy T. G. RoettigerAuthorHouseCopyright © 2017 T. G. RoettigerAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-5246-9538-5ContentsAuthor's Note, vii, Founding of a Coven, 1, Brothers, 29, Blues, 45, Spectacles, 57, Watcher and Keeper, 65, About the Author, 103, CHAPTER 1Founding of a CovenFall 1924Benjamin Franklin Wentworth cursed silently as he navigated the rough road that was taking him into the sparsely inhabited country to the west of Brattleboro, Vermont. Though recently the area had seen an upswing in tourism, September was the off-season and he had had the road to himself since leaving the Brattleboro city limits. The weather and scenery were beautiful but all he could think of was the pounding his already battered and ancient Grout automobile was sustaining.Wentworth had taken this route several times in the past, so the conditions of the road were by no means unexpected. In each of those past excursions his destination was the same as it was today: the bookseller. Over the years, the esoteric and occult interests of Benjamin Franklin Wentworth had lead him to create a network of contacts that could get him items and information he needed. The bookseller was one of those contacts. However, this time, their meeting was a bit different then their usual transactions.In all past transactions, Wentworth had sent notice to the bookseller of a particular need and the bookseller would find it. In this case, the bookseller contacted Wentworth. The note that summoned him was both unexpected and brief: "I have something many would desire, but only you could use. Come quickly. B.C."The "B.C." at the end of the note indicated Baldus Coffin, bookseller. In truth, Mr. Coffin was a rather odious creature. Standing a touch less than five feet tall, he was perpetually unkempt and odoriferous. His wispy white hair, mottled skin and cloudy eyes suggested an advanced age, but just how advanced was anyone's guess. No one knew anything about Mr. Coffin except that he had been scampering around his bookshop in his oversized frock coat for as long as any living member of the community could recall.The afternoon was just beginning as Wentworth steered the protesting Grout into the parking area of B. Coffin, Bookseller. As the tires crunched to a halt, he looked up toward the attic window and saw the repellent visage of Baldus himself just as it turned away from the window.Wentworth got out of the car and made his way to the door of the shop. It opened as he approached. Mr. Coffin smiled crookedly and whispered "Indeed, indeed" through jagged teeth as he watched Wentworth step into the shop.The shop of B. Coffin, Bookseller was everything an antiquarian bookseller's shop should be: Dim, dusty, over-full of books of every description, and reeking of age and knowledge.Coffin did not speak. With one serpent-like paw he beckoned Wentworth to follow. Waddling among the stacks of books, his frock coat nearly dragging on the warped and worn floorboards, Coffin led the way to an awkwardly constructed loft ladder at the back of the shop. Without looking back, he pulled himself up the ladder with surprising alacrity. Wentworth followed.The ladder terminated in a room as book-choked as the one below it. Coffin was waiting and beckoned a second time. This time, he led the way to a desk situated near the window overlooking the parking lot. He turned to face Wentworth. He rubbed his hands together with an almost gleeful air (if indeed a creature such as Baldus Coffin was capable of being gleeful) then turned and began rummaging among the clutter of the desk top."You will have to pardon me," it was the first Coffin had spoken since Wentworth's arrival, "but I felt that something of so great a value should be hidden in plain sight."Coffin turned back to face Wentworth and held out his hands with an air of triumph. In his hands was a hand-bound manuscript with a ragged leather cover. It was obviously very ancient. Wentworth's heart raced, even from a distance its authenticity and value were apparent."It came from the estate of an old French family. It was found in an ancient chateau rumored to date to the time of Charlemagne Go ahead, look it over. Feel it. I think you will find it to your liking." The bookseller's words contained a hint of the ominous.Wentworth's hands began to tremble and sweat unaccountably as he took the codex from Coffin's hands. It was not a large tome, only about six inches by seven inches. The cover was crudely tanned leather. The pages were of a roughly made parchment. The whole codex seemed to have been created by someone who had to work hastily with unfamiliar materials.Wentworth opened the codex near the middle. He gazed at the shaky letters on rough parchment. The language gave some indication of the age of the manuscript. It was Latin, but not the classic Latin of Cicero. This was a very crude and ungrammatical Latin that was difficult to decipher. Still, it aroused his curiosity and seemed to pull him in."I see you are intrigued," hissed the loathsome bookseller. "I knew you would be." His hands flexed impulsively, like the paws of an alligator sunning itself. "I feel the price rising!""It is an interesting piece," Wentworth tried to feign indifference. "But I have many projects. It would be some time before I could get to it ...""Stuff it! You know darned well what that book is. Something no library in the world has!"Coffin was right. Wentworth had never seen or even heard of something like this. The language and the construction all pointed to a deeper story. A story that Wentworth already felt himself being drawn into.Coffin smiled and tapped the tips of his fingers together.Wentworth's temples burned with anger. Was it anger at not finding this book on his own? Was it anger at the obvious glee of the loathsome bookseller? He could not say, but the anger was there. He relaxed as best he could."A very interesting piece, though perhaps beyond authentication," Wentworth struggled to sound skeptical. Something inside him told him this book was authentic. Not only authentic, but something he had to have, was meant to have."Hmm ... haha ... hmmm ... heh ... heh," you are not much of a liar my friend!"Coffin had him and Wentworth knew it. There was no way Wentworth could pass on this piece. He prepared for the worst."So, what were you thinking for a price?""Hmm ... indeed, indeed, a price ... Remember what you paid for the copy of Von Jundzt? I would say that three times that would be fair." Coffin smiled very, very slowly."That von Jundzt was a very rare item ...""And this even rarer!" The bookseller's voice was sharp.But then Coffin did something completely unexpected."I will offer you a deal, based on our longstanding relationship. You take the book with you. Research it, if it checks out; you pay my price. How is that?"Wentworth was nonplussed. Unsure exactly what to do, he clutched the book to his chest, like a child holding a doll. Nodding to Coffin, he turned and bolted down the ladder and out the door. He shuffled like a drunk to his car and sat behind the steering wheel. Just before starting the engine, he looked up toward the attic window of the shop. Coffin's grinning face was clearly visible. He snapped away his gaze. Confused by all that had transpired, he started the engine and made his way home in a mental haze.The brick mansion on Mechanic Street showed only one light, and that in the upper level. That light came from the study of Benjamin Franklin Wentworth as he pored over his newly acquired treasure. Everything he saw reinforced his impression that the codex was authentic. Yet the language still confounded him. While it appeared to be a form of Latin, the grammar, even some of the words, made it nearly impossible to muddle through. The thought did occur to him that maybe it was written by someone who, not possessing a strong understanding of Latin, used their native grammar, thus resulting in something of a hybrid language, similar to the Gospel of Mark which was written in Greek, but used Aramaic grammar. But what was the underlying native language? He knew someone who might be able to figure it out.Jessica Valente, PhD, was a professor of medieval languages at the nearby Ashuelot College. The institution was a small one, never comprising more than 500 students, that specialized in obscure and esoteric studies that other institutions tended to look past. Indeed, it was the only institution in the world where one might obtain a degree in Balkan Witchcraft. But this was no gaggle of crackpots, this was a serious institution with a world-renowned library. The Ivy League may snicker behind their backs, but in truth they coveted many of the college's staff and its library. A group of highly discreet benefactors made sure that staff at Ashuelot College were well compensated and it was rare that any left for another institution of higher learning. The largesse of the benefactors also rendered tuition obsolete. Rather, students were selected on merit after a lengthy interview process. Jessica Valente was a perfect fit at Ashuelot College. Thought still young by academic standards, she was a formidable intellect and unquestioned expert in her field.It was Dr. Valente's physical appearance that set her apart. She was not your stereotype of the scowling academic kill-joy. A statuesque redhead with an alabaster complexion and fierce green eyes, she never passed unnoticed. In truth, she enjoyed the attention. While not blatantly vain, she knew what she had and had no problem putting it on display.Wentworth had known Dr. Valente since their undergraduate days at Acworth State College. Their mutual interest in the esoteric quickly made them friends. Though never romantically involved (not for lack of effort on Wentworth's part), they maintained a close friendship.Regardless of the late hour, Wentworth picked up the phone and dialed Jessica's number. Far from being offended by the late call, she was instantly intrigued by Wentworth's new find. She immediately volunteered to come over that night.It was nearly 10 o'clock when the cab dropped Jessica off at Wentworth's door. She gave the gargoyle knocker a solid knock against the massive oak door. Within seconds, it opened."Ah, if it isn't my favorite flame-haired demon temptress ...""Stow it buddy, I'm here for the book. Not your cheap lines." It was their typical greeting."All business as always. In that case, let us to the library."They proceeded up the stairs and entered Wentworth's personal library. Beautifully appointed with oak furniture, blackened with age, and blood red carpet, it was his greatest joy and held a bewildering array of rare texts from around the world. Jessica loved this place nearly as much as Wentworth did and never missed a chance to visit. She admired Wentworth's ability to find rare texts that even Ashuelot College's vaunted collection lacked. In fact, several times the college's benefactors had quietly added to Wentworth's personal fortune when Jessica had noticed a tome of particular interest.Without words, Wentworth motioned to a desk. The newly acquired codex rested on top of green blotter paper. Jessica immediately sat down and began looking it over without touching it. Always the professional, she put on archivist's gloves before picking up the book.For several minutes, Dr. Valente perused the book. Cover, binding, pages, nothing escaped her examination. Wentworth noticed that her breathing had quickened and sweat had begun to appear on her brow. At length, she sat back and looked up at Wentworth."You have something incredible here." She had a slight tremble in her voice. "As you mentioned, it appears to have been hastily constructed. Also, you were right about it being Latin with a foreign grammar. The grammar is a Celtic variant, specifically Pictish. Now Pictish is a semasiographic language, so it uses signs and pictures to convey meaning. That makes it less than suitable for use in longer narratives in book form. Also, it would mean that very few people could read that book. I surmise this book was created by someone who spoke Pictish as a native language and likely realized that someone who did not know Pictish would have need of reading this book, thus they chose to write in Latin, knowing it was the universal language of lands of the former Roman Empire. But, did you see this part, written inside the back cover?""Yes, I wondered about that. It seems like even worse Latin.""This part is in a different hand and a different language. It is Old French, which is kind of like really bad Latin. This part was added later, literally centuries, after the main text was produced. Were you able to read any of it?""I could make out words, but not really create coherent sentences.""Okay, then prepare yourself." Jessica gave Wentworth a look of restrained academic excitement. "This could be one of the biggest finds in history. A find that rewrites history. I am talking Cairo Genizah type of find. That is, if it is authentic, and right now I have no reason to doubt that it is."Let me read you the first bit:'Herein represents the story of the death and burial of the wise man who lost his mind at the battle Arfderydd and returned to save his people, written by one who was many years in his service.'"Wentworth's eyes bulged. He could barely speak. "You mean that ...""Yes, we may have just found a contemporary account of the man we all know of as Merlin the Magician!"But wait, there is more. This last bit, in Old French, is written by someone who read this book and followed its instructions. They found the tomb of Merlin! And they found it right here in New England!"Wentworth dropped into a chair. He needed time to process this. A contemporary account of Merlin that placed his tomb somewhere in New England. Nobody was going to believe this.Jessica broke the silence, "I will need a few days to translate the rest. And I will want Dr. LaVey to authenticate the materials. It's quite late. Might I stay the night here? Don't worry, I sleep small."Wentworth was caught a bit off-guard by the request. Still, he managed an affirmative response. Then it occurred to him that she hadn't asked to use the guest room.The next morning, Wentworth was awakened by fingertips lightly dragging across his chest and heard a voice whisper "Well, we're already naked."Downstairs, after breakfast, Jessica was all business. "I have a light workload this week, so I will concentrate on getting this translated and having Dr. LaVey authenticate its age. We may need the help of a geographer, but I would like to keep as few people as possible involved in this. You never know what will fly when something this big comes out."And without further ceremony or speech, Jessica grabbed her bag and headed out the door. Wentworth was left standing alone in his kitchen. Many questions swirled in his head. His life had just become much more complicated.Suddenly the kitchen door burst open. Jessica rushed up to face Wentworth. He suddenly realized just how much taller than him she really was. She placed her hand behind his neck and kissed him firmly. Then she stood a moment with her piercing green eyes locked in a gaze with his. She turned and was gone again.Wentworth heard nothing more from Jessica until three days later when she called him. She was finished with her translation and had Dr. LaVey's results in hand. She wanted to meet at his place. He assented and they agreed to meet that evening.A knock on the door told Wentworth that Jessica had arrived. He opened the door and she stood before him with her hair pulled back in a severe knot at the back of her neck. He had never seen her look so business like. With a terse greeting she made for the stairs and into the library. Wentworth trailed in her wake.Jessica sat down at the reading table. She placed the codex, which was now in a protective wrapper, on the table. She then placed a folder containing several sheets of paper next to it. Wentworth took a seat off to the side of the table."Well," she began, "what I would like to do is run through all the information I have first. Then I can field any questions you may have. Is that ok?"Wentworth nodded in assent."Good. I will start with Dr. LaVey's report. The materials are of North American origin. Specifically, the cover is moose hide and the pages are whitetail deer. The methods used to produce and bind them are consistent with the time period we are looking at. Further, the condition and ageing of the materials all point to it being from the period indicated by the text. In short, we have a book that is over 1500 years old!" She smiled. It was the first bit of emotion she had shown since arriving."Wow, I guess I need to wire some money to my old pal Coffin," mused Wentworth. "He will probably retire when he gets it!""Indeed!" Jessica gave a quick nod and a wry smile. "Now for the text. As we already saw, the author claims to be a companion of the man who we today know as Merlin. The text does not give a biography of Merlin. Rather it deals solely with the circumstances of his death and the subsequent actions of his companions. While the story does portray him as being recognized as a powerful wizard, it contains no account of him doing anything magical. To the contrary, his death is good old human treachery. (Continues...)Excerpted from Founding of a Coven by T. G. Roettiger. Copyright © 2017 T. G. Roettiger. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

About the Author

T.G. Roettiger was born and raised in Wisconsin. He has a Master's Degree in Fishery Science from the University of Minnesota. For about 20 years he worked in habitats as diverse as the Great Lakes, Everglades and Alaskan tundra. He is also a Jeet Kune Do practitioner and avid student of Chinese philosophy. In 2014 he and his wife opened the Belgian Mare Brewery in Alstead, New Hampshire. They continue to operate the brewery.Though an avowed skeptic, he has a life-long interest in the paranormal and cryptozoology. Even as a young child, he could never pass up an abandoned house with taking a peak and creating a story for it. He currently lives in a home that was built in 1850. Family, friends, brewery customers, as well as he himself have all had experiences of an apparently paranormal nature at the property.

Reviews

News