The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

you meet me at the warehouse at 11:00. Tom.”
Trist gazed at it and read it over again. He tried to find a reason why Morrel would
need to see him. They had just left each other moments before. And why the warehouse?
Very strange. Trist knew the only way to find out these things would be to meet him. It
was only ten now. He still had plenty of time to shower and make a sandwich. He texted
Morrell back that he’d be there.
At 10:40, Trist got into his Mercedes AMG-GT and headed for the warehouse. He
raced along the back roads to miss the lights. And the cops. It was a twenty minute drive
but he could make it in fifteen.
When he arrived, he saw Morrel’s moonlit silver Maserati out front. He parked next
to it. Before he got out, he felt in his coat pocket. Yes, the Glock was there. Just in case
Morrel tried any funny stuff.
Trist let himself quietly inside the warehouse. It appeared empty. He called Morrel’s
name but there came no answer. Of course, it could be a trap, but Trist decided to
investigate anyway. He tried a light switch and an eerie red light came on overhead. He
didn’t remember there being a red light, but he hadn’t been to the warehouse in months.
He called out for Morrel once more. No answer.
Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind and got him in a headlock with what
seemed like superhuman force. He was being dragged down the hall to an open room.
Trist struggled against the cold looming figure, but it was useless. As he struggled, Trist
was aware that the figure wore a dark hood and robe, obscuring its features.
When the figure reached the room, it thrust Trist to the ground and quickly closed
the door behind as it exited the room.
Trist jumped quickly to his feet and tried the door handle, thinking he hadn’t heard
the telltale “click” of the lock. But it was no use. The door did not open, though the
handle turned easily. Trist banged on the door and yelled.
“It’s not use, Jim,” said a tired but familiar voice behind him. Trist turned and looked
into the weary eyes of the man who had asked him to come there — Thomas Morrel.
Trist immediately attacked him with questions. Morrel told him that he had received the
same text that Trist had. To be at the warehouse at 11 to talk about important business.
The text appeared to have come from Trist’s number. Trist looked at him in disbelief. So
someone had brought them both there for a reason. From the looks of the figure that
had thrown him into the room, things did not seem promising.
The two men tried to think of an escape plan when the door opened and two large
fellows in robes and hoods stood there. Before Trist and Morrel could try to escape,
again they were subdued by the uncanny strength of these goons and were forcibly
dragged to a dark room lit only by a single candle. The candle was on a desk with two
chairs in front of it. Behind the desk, sitting in another chair was a large hooded figure.
His hood obscured his face, offering only shadow in its place. His robe was the robe
of an ancient monk, with strange symbols embroidered in blood red thread. The figure
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