The Green Lama: Horror in Clay (The Green Lama Legacy Book 2) by Adam Lance Garcia Page A

… now that I think about it, there’s something about the clay that reminds me of a story I heard as a child—”
    Caraway suddenly jumped out of his chair, his right hand falling to his holster, his eyes alert. “Shh!” he hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. “Did you hear that?”
    “Hear what?”
    “Sounded like thunder…”
    • • •
    Jean’s head throbbed, a kettledrum in her cerebellum. She stumbled out of the bedroom Chaim had provided. Something had roused her, climbing up from below, escaping out into the world. She needed to leave, get back to the city and the Green Lama. She would have called him, but by the time they had reached Chaim’s home she found herself overcome with exhaustion, barely able to stand. Chaim brought Jean up to the bedroom, where she promptly collapsed onto the mattress and instantly fell asleep. But her sleep had been restless, lasting no more than an hour or two, her dreams filled with a city larger on the inside than the outside, the silhouetted man whispering: “… From the empty void He made the solid earth, and from the non-existent He brought forth Life .” And there was the other, glowing in jade, hissing, in a voice like sandpaper over and over again the words: Truth. Death.
    And then there was a third man, somewhere in the shadows, his voice like a scream, “For that is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die.”
    She clutched at her temples. Truth. Death. Words she had unknowingly scrawled across the shore with her bare hands. If she could just find her way back to the Green Lama… She took a step down the stairs and her heart froze, hearing the words “truth” and “death” emanate from the study down the hall.
    • • •
    “Life?” Dr. Pali leaned forward in his chair, enthralled and amazed. “What do you mean?”
    “Exactly that! Rabbi Loew found within the Book of Creation the prayers and invocations needed to do as Hashem did to create Adam! He dug out clay—virgin clay from the banks of the river Vltava, never before touched by human hands. He then molded out the shape of a man,” the Rabbi said excitedly, “crude, and ill-formed, but a man. He gave him hands and arms, feet and legs! He drew on his head eyes to see, ears to listen, and even a mouth to talk.”
    “But… how was he… How did he…” Pali gesticulated frantically, struggling to find the words. “How did he bring it to life?”
    The Rabbi ran a thumb against his forehead as he spoke. “He wrote into the clay figure’s forehead three Hebrew letters, which spelled the word Emes , breathing life into the clay, creating a golem .” The Rabbi couldn’t help but smile as Pali mouthed the word Emes like a schoolboy enraptured by a circus magician. “Rabbi Loew commanded the golem to seek out the Jewish people’s enemies and destroy them. And the golem did, saving thousands of Jews from certain death or exile. But… the golem was too effective, and soon…” Rabbi Brickman hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Soon, it began killing indiscriminately, and Rabbi Loew realized… he realized that although he had been hailed as one of the great holy men of his time, he was not Hashem. Only Hashem can create life from nothing. Regaining control of the golem one last time, Rabbi Loew reached up to the creature’s forehead and wiped away a single letter, alef , turning Emes into Mes . The golem crumbled to dust instantly, lifeless once again.”
    “ Emes … Mes … What do they mean?”
    “‘ Truth ,’ and ‘ death .’”
    Suddenly, Jean Farrell, the young woman Rabbi Chaim Brickman had helped earlier that evening, burst through the hallway door. Pale, sweating, and breathing heavily, she stared at the Rabbi—through him—almost as if she saw his very soul. The Rabbi felt his body quake with fear when he looked into her green eyes, recognizing something deep within. Jean raced forward to him, grabbing his shoulders, and