Rain of Terror (A Blacklick Valley Mystery #1)

"One night in early January, with dark clouds racing across a full moon that cast its ancient glow across the mountain top, they came. Clad in hooded black robes, carrying torches that blazed with evil fury, they came. With chanting—at first a distant murmur, then growing and building, louder and louder—incessant, demanding, hideous chanting, they came.
Mother had been rocking both Jeremiah, my four-year-old little brother, and me on our rickety rocking chair, its swaying motion in itself a soothing comfort on a dark night. But more than that, mother sang to us in her clear and lilting voice as she often did, chasing away the ghosts and goblins that sometimes haunt a young boy’s mind. As I was about to drop off to sleep, the noise and the clatter from outside our cabin startled me back to consciousness. Mother’s voice mixed with the incessant chanting that came closer and closer. Her voice faded. We could see the lights from their torches through the window panes, and mother rose quickly from the rocker and hurried Jeremiah and me into our bedroom. She cautioned us in whispery tones to stay quiet, to stay in our room, pretend to be asleep; and then on tiptoe, she rushed out the door, closing it quietly after herself.

Within minutes, I heard Mother scream a piercing wail that emitted both terror and defeat. They came through our bedroom door, robes rustling, wild eyes searching, hands reaching, and carried Jeremiah and I from our beds. They dragged Mother out the front door, through the dark forest, up the mountainside, our captors pulling my brother and I close behind. I remember the brittle sound of the fallen leaves under our feet, the cold chill of the night air brushing against my face, the pale moonlight frosting the tips of the last remaining leaves on the black, skeletal oak trees that rose above us. And we kept climbing, climbing, farther and farther up through the forest.
And as we walked, a cold wind came up, turning the leaves; and the racing clouds changed into thunderheads. And then the first bolt of lightning lit the sky and illuminated the hellish scene around us—the shadowy, dark figures stomping through the bushes and underbrush, the swaying glow of lanterns through the trees. All the while their chanting reverberated across the landscape, mixing with the sound of the howling, barking, snarling, pawing dogs that followed in their midst."