During the early 1990’s, as many as fifty historic Norwegian churches were burned to the ground. These actions were eventually traced to a coalition of ‘black’ (Satanic) metal musicians.
Paul Nemeth asked, “could it happen here?” and then set to work.
Description of Cataclysm Children by Paul Nemeth:
The brutal slaying of Father Dermott Cavanaugh tore apart the sleepy town of Hadley, Colorado.
More shocking still was the revelation that a cult of satanic metal musicians calling themselves the “Brotherhood of the Wolf” was behind the murder, as well as the arson that left Father Cavanaugh’s parish in charred ruins.
Now, ten years later, the Wolf is rising from the ashes to terrorize Hadley once again, recruiting troubled teens to carry out a reign of terror involving music, mayhem and murder. Exiled Brotherhood founder Ian Andrews has learned that his nephew Danny is about to fall victim to the evil that he helped create. Ian must stop the resurrected Brotherhood before they launch open war against society, and the streets run red with blood…
Excerpt from Cataclysm Children:
It was going to be a busy day for Rabbi Avram Levin. There was extra work to be done at the synagogue, so he left his house at 6:30 a.m., thirty minutes early.
The Temple Beth-El was a small synagogue in suburban Colorado. The area had a community of Jews, but it was nothing like New York City, where the rabbi was born and raised. He had never thought he’d settle down in the country, and compared to where he had grown up, this was the country.
Years ago, he’d been on a flight to California, and his plane had been diverted here. He’d been stuck in the area for a day, done some quick sightseeing, and decided he wanted to stay. He loved the high, dry climate, so different than the humid summers and brutal winters he’d grown up with. He loved the breathtaking vista of the mountains in the Western sky, and the rolling prairies to the east. He loved the expansive, uncluttered feel of the roadways and towns. Most of all, he loved the people. They were friendly and polite; so different than the famed casual hostility of New Yorkers. There were few Jews here at the time, but the people respected him and the work that he was doing. Besides, his congregation was growing. As people left the huge cities, they moved out to places like this, like the children of Israel wandering in the desert. And there were many people here who were the descendants of Jewish immigrants, who were interested in rediscovering their faith.
The sun peeked over the horizon, stabbing daggers of light through the thin air. There was a bad pollution problem here due to the temperature inversion caused by the dry climate and the mountains, but it looked like today wasn’t going to be a bad day for the air.
The rabbi drove, humming along to Thelonious Monk playing “Straight, No Chaser ” on KJAZ. Avram adored jazz. His father had favored it in New York, and it brought back memories of home and warmth and family.
He pulled into the parking lot in front of the synagogue. It was hidden from the main street, and many people, even those who’d lived here for years, weren’t aware of it. He saw an old car (a Buick maybe, or an Oldsmobile) parked in front of the temple. Two figures sat in the front seat.
At first he thought they were women: they had long hair, and white skin. The rabbi blinked, and then tried to get a better look at them. Their long hair wasn’t necessarily unusual, but the faces…
They’re wearing makeup, he realized. Not transvestite makeup: they didn’t seem to be trying to look like women at all. There were large, dark circles around their eyes, and sinister, rune-like patterns ran down the cheeks of one of the strangers. The other one had black blood flowing from the eyes, down the cheeks until it pooled around his chin. Avram wondered if he was dreaming. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and decided he was still awake. The interlopers were still there.
He got out of his car and walked over to the two strangers, still sitting inside the front seat of the aging Oldsmobile. They were dressed in black, with odd symbols adorning their clothes.
“Good morning,” he said. “Can I help you find something?”
“We just found it,” the one in the driver’s seat said. His voice was low, and it held a hunger that Avram didn’t like.
To Learn More:
Read more about Paul Nemeth’s heart-stopping debut novel Cataclysm Children by reading reviews and visiting his author page at www.amazon.com.
Paul Nemeth was born in 1970 in Wheatridge, Colorado and raised in neighboring Arvada. The son of two music teachers and youngest of four siblings, Paul learned to read by age three and spent much of his childhood writing stories to entertain himself and his family.
A professional musician by trade, Paul maintains a busy schedule playing and teaching bass and lead guitar throughout the San Francisco Bay Area, where he now resides with his wife Tara and son John.
His writing, much of which centers on the power of music to influence spiritual and political thought, has been featured in several publications.