Imps of Willow Dell

by Wentworth M Johnson

The Devil snatches Sonyi and the boys move heaven and lots of earth to find her.

Three people vanish without a trace in a sleepy little farm community; legend has it that they were taken by the Devil. A haunted hill, a deserted ruin and three children with vivid imaginations conspire to unravel the mystery … yet something sinister is lurking in those parts. Alice, a retired schoolteacher, defends the children and her beliefs to the point of near ruination, though some say she is only shielding a murderer. A haunted hill, a deserted ruin, and three children with vivid imaginations connive to create a fun and a fear-filled adventure that no one will forget. The Devil snatches Sonyi and the boys move heaven and lots of earth to find her.

Book Format

hardcover, Kindle, paperback

Reading Age

13 to Adult

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Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The jagged pieces of a puzzle make very little sense until at last they are all fitted together, and then the picture becomes self-evident. Like old man Melenski he was a recluse, an inventor, and an entrepreneur. Mostly he lived in a log cabin on an open plain north of the tiny mining village of Davisville, Ontario, Canada. His business, the Melen Mining Company, was winding down as the gold became uneconomical to retrieve. More and more people moved south where a living could be made in the new and upcoming industries of the time.
Never a man for other people’s invention, Melenski had no phone nor even that new fandangle electricity stuff. The new house, his retirement home, was heated by wood or coal. The light came from candle or oil, with the occasional use of chemical battery power – his own invention. As a hedge against inflation and possible robbers, he had buried one thousand two-ounce bars of pure hallmarked gold under the floor of the new house. The gold was from the Melen mine and effectively cost him nothing.
On a hot summer’s night in the year 1909, old man Melenski walked from his house to his secret laboratory for what would be the last time ever. One hour later, an inferno broke out in the new house. Flames and sparks leapt into the hot night sky, yet no one seemed to be around to sound the alarm. The volunteer fire service would take far too long to reach the blaze, that is, if anyone ever noticed it. Horse-drawn vehicles along with hand-operated pumps eventually reached the site of the conflagration and proved totally ineffective against a well-established fire.
Time settled over the area like a hot and dusty blanket. Great snows in the winter and arid, desert-like dryness in the summer. The Melen mine became just another dangerous area in a northern grassy plain with dangerous unprotected and unused ventilation shafts. The new house grew older and older as the weather and insects consumed what remained of any woodwork. New conifers grew from seeds brought by the wind and birds, replacing the surrounding pine trees burned and disfigured by the fire.
The advent of the automobile brought people north again and made living there practical. The World Wars came and went as the tiny village of Davisville grew into a farming town and expanded with the growth of the twentieth century. As the twenty-first century rolled round, no one remembered Gustaf Melenski or the Melen Mining Company. No longer did anyone ask; “Whatever happened to that old man?”

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Late in the twentieth century, a young girl vanished from a trailer camp just outside Davisville. Neither she nor any trace of her turned up. With a high police presence, nothing at all could be found. Eventually, the media and the investigators got tired and little more was said on the subject of a missing camper. The child’s parents went back to their Toronto home and the town of Davisville returned to Canadian northern obscure normality.
Two years after the beginning of the new millennium, yet another disappearance plagued the area. Just another jagged piece of life’s jigsaw puzzle showed but did not fit. In a lonely house almost half a mile west of town lived a family who had escaped from Kenya. The political and social pressures of Kenyan reform forced the Sonmiani family to find somewhere else to live in the British Commonwealth. Canada seemed a likely place.
One day, the eldest girl of the family came home in great distress. She screamed and ranted about a devil that had consumed her sister. Quickly, the police forces of the area responded. The OPP, the RCMP, and the local police force poured into the surrounding district. As was in the case before, not a single trace of the missing girl could be found. Neither a wisp nor even a hair remained, (almost.)
Officer Belmont, a specialist in missing children’s cases, politely questioned the only witness. He sat in the front living room of the Sonmiani home and gently spoke to Mehar. “I would like you to tell me in your own words what happened,” he said softly.
The girl glared at him through swollen and tear-stained eyes. “I told them. I told them.” she bleated.
Belmont smiled. “Yes, dear, but I would like to hear it from your lips. I promise you. I’ll do everything possible to get your sister back.”
“So you won’t. She’s dead. The devil took her.”
“Ah!” said the cunning policeman. “That may be, but even devils aren’t above the law.”
“We … we went for a walk to Angel Falls, up in Herman’s Woods. Sonyi ran on ahead.” Mehar stopped and sobbed into her hands for a moment. Eventually controlling herself, she continued the saga. “I saw it near the pool. A dark fog and then the creature grabbed her and vanished into the cloud. Nothing, except a splash in the green water and her hat. That’s it, that’s all.”
For sixteen weeks, four whole months, the police searched and questioned. The pond at Angel Falls was thoroughly searched by divers. A cave in the water filled hole led into a labyrinth of submarine tunnels. Hundreds of miles of unexplored and flooded passages that seemed to lead nowhere. Only the victim’s pinafore was found, mysteriously weighted with smooth round stones, and a hat floating on the green water.
With no useful clothing, no body, no DNA, not even a hair or a footprint, the investigation slowly ground to a stunning and immovable halt. The general theory drifting around town was that the elder girl must have murdered her sister and successfully hidden the body. An unfriendly black cloud hovered over the Sonmiani household, imprisoning the parents and ostracizing the remaining children. The town became deeply affected as tourists stayed away in droves. What use taking a holiday only to lose your young ones?
The solution, or at least the glue for building the solution to the puzzle of the missing people, lay in the town of Dingham in England. Archibald Hendry Blythe, a twelve-year-old genius and fully paid-up member of MENSA, started a ball rolling that would change the world. Well, maybe that is a minor exaggeration, but it would change quite a few lives.
Tranquility settled over the small town like a sickly blanket. A cuckoo hooted at its companion, and a dog barked in the distance. The early spring sun beat down on the parish church as the tower clock clicked to ten and the great weight began pulling the wheels to grind out the hourly chimes. The chimes rang over the peaceful English country town, echoing through the sleepy streets.
A cacophony of squeals and yells quickly swelled into the air as the children ran from the school, rushing from the building like termites startled by an anteater. To a mere bystander, the raucous children appeared to have no meaning, no controlling force, and no purpose. As the seeming cloud of youngsters fled the premises, a thunderous clap burst forth, belching out the windows of the school. The air being rent by the clamorous tintinnabulation of breaking glass and a rumble like thunder as the explosion echoed from the surrounding hills. Birds, beasts, and passers-by had fled and taken cover. Though the excitement and immediate danger had passed, all but the educational institution returned to normality.