Part 33 (1/2)

The novel is set in a house I lived in during my last year of high school with my mother and her then-husband and later, when they closed off the first floor from the rest of the house, where my wife and I lived for a few years with our then-three-year-old son.

That house was very haunted and very few people who entered it left doubting. For the entire time I lived there, the front door opened and closed so many times I lost count. Several nights while we lived on the first floor, I woke up to the sound of my son walking across the floor in our bedroom only to get up and find him still sound asleep in his bed. And these weren't the half asleep imaginings of a dreaming mind, I always sat up and listened carefully to make sure I hadn't been dreaming and almost every time, unable to see anything in the dark, I still heard him, usually across the room on the opposite end, near the bookcases.

The incident in Joey's closet really happened to my son. He was in his room playing, the closet door open, and he was in there trying to find a toy when he came into the living room upset, nearly in tears, asking why I'd come in and scared him. I hadn't left the living room.

The incident with Joey in the bathroom at dinnertime is also based on a real event.

While the story of the Denglers and what happened to them is fictional, the house and the atmosphere surrounding it are real. Hopefully I was able to put my experiences there to good use in this novel, and if THE THIRD FLOOR creeped you out even half as much as living there did me, then I've done my job.

Up next is the prologue to a novella, ”The Man in the Window.” I include this excerpt here because this was the very first Angel Hill story. For a full copy of the ”Man in the Window”, which was published by Crossroad Press, you can get the Kindle version here, the Nook version here, the Kobo version here, and the Sony version here. Or if you prefer print, that's right here.

Following the ”Man in the Window” excerpt is another excerpt, this time the first chapter of my first published novel, Revelations, which was published in 2012 by Necro Publications. Print or ebook versions are available directly from the publisher here.

My last excerpt is the first chapter of a novel by my friend David Bain, Death Sight, the first novel in his Will Castleton series. Will is a ”slightly psychic” investigator and ex-US Marshal whom Dave and I have discussed possibly having visit Angel Hill some time in the future. If that adventure ever becomes a reality, I figured now would be just as good a time as any to give readers of my book a chance to meet him. The full novel can be purchased in both ebook and print formats here.

THE MAN IN THE WINDOW.

Prologue.

Caleb had lost count of the days he'd lain here. It was long enough for the c.o.c.kroaches to infect his bedsores. He watched them lay eggs and he was helpless to stop them. He couldn't move. He lay there with tears in his eyes. The sun shone outside and through the window across the room it looked like a beautiful day, but he was denied the enjoyment, trapped here in his own body.

His nurse would be in a few hours later to feed him, but he thought ”nurse” was a bit of a stretch. A nurse would have kept the bugs out of him.

He felt no pain, and he supposed for that he should be grateful; whatever was wrong with him, it didn't hurt. But sometimes seeing a thing is bad enough without feeling it.

Having no family, Caleb figured he should count his blessings he had that woman to feed him, because stuck up here in this bed twenty-four hours a day, as inept as he thought she was at her duties, he was always glad for the company.

And then a thought occurred to him: count his blessings? What blessings? Was it a blessing to be a prisoner of himself and not even know why it was happening? Was it a blessing that the only person he ever saw shoveled cold soup into his mouth twice a day, but couldn't be bothered to bathe him or to make sure his muscles weren't completely atrophied? Where was the blessing in this life?

Whatever was happening to him, it was no blessing. Whatever was happening to him, G.o.d certainly had nothing to do with it. G.o.d the creator, G.o.d the loving father to all. As far as he could see, the ”generous G.o.d” myth was one of the biggest hoaxes ever pulled on humanity.

I would gladly turn my back on all He has created for just one more day of mobility.

As that thought formed, then dissolved in Caleb's head, he noticed a man in his room. This man was perched atop the bedpost like a gargoyle, smiling down at him.

”Would you, now?” he said to Caleb. ”Because I think we can work something out, you and I.”

Who are you? Caleb thought. Paralyzed within himself, thinking it was all he could do.

The man made a brief motion with his eyes, looking up. Caleb's eyes followed and saw horns sprouting from the man's forehead. ”Now do you know who I am?” the man whispered. ”I can get you out of this bed. I can make it so you walk again, so you can clean yourself and feed yourself again. No more cold soup, no more soiled sheets.” He leaned in closer, his feet still clinging to the bedpost but the man was so impossibly close to Caleb's ear now, Caleb wondered how he didn't topple forward and fall to the floor. ”There's a world out there, and you're missing it. I can change that. Just say the word and it's done.”

Caleb lay mute and terrified.

”Sorry,” the man said. ”I guess you can't. I tell you what, if I make it so you can talk right now, I'll trust you to fulfill the rest of the bargain afterward. If it's a deal, blink once.”

If this man can make it so I talk again, Caleb thought, I'll give him whatever he wants. Even if I don't walk or move again. If I can talk, that would be enough.

He blinked.

The man's eyes lit up and he leapt from the bedpost to stand beside Caleb. He touched Caleb's throat and heat invaded the invalid's body where the man's hand rested. He took his hand away and asked, ”Do you accept? Speak.”

Caleb croaked the word and his mouth was still numb, but he could tell it was moving, his tongue thick and heavy between his teeth. ”Yes,” he said.

”Yes,” the man repeated. ”Perfect.” He laid his hands on Caleb's face this time, his thumbs resting over Caleb's eyes, and that heat swept through him again, this time through his entire body. He felt it in his chest and his stomach, he felt it in his legs.

”Sleep,” the man told him. ”In the morning, you'll get up, dress yourself, and go downstairs.” Before Caleb had time to think of anything else, he pa.s.sed out.

Night fell and the nurse came, but Caleb was sleeping so she let him rest and would check on him again later. Before she could do so, she fell asleep on the couch.

Meanwhile, Caleb was upstairs having the most horrible nightmares. He wouldn't remember the details, but there was darkness and heat and c.o.c.kroaches. Good G.o.d the bugs he dreamed. Millions of them, more even. Every c.o.c.kroach to ever populate the Earth must have been in his dream.

And then before he knew it, the sun was s.h.i.+ning again and outside his window he heard a bird chirping. Caleb opened his eyes, rubbed them, and lifted his head off the pillow to look about the room.

He suddenly realized what he was doing and he shot up in bed. He looked at his hands and watched the fingers flex and relax. He swiveled his head about. He pulled the cover off and stared at his legs.

The bugs were gone, the bedsores were healed. But, even if his body were fixed, wouldn't the sores still be there? He wondered for a moment if the dream he'd just woken from had been the sickness and maybe all that time he'd spent trapped up in this room had been the real nightmare, from which he'd now woken only to find it all a figment of his imagination? Could it be?

He climbed out of bed and pulled fresh pants and a s.h.i.+rt from his dresser. He stood before the mirror and watched his body at work. Dressed and ready for the day, he took the gla.s.ses off the nightstand--it seemed like he hadn't worn them in months--and headed downstairs. Excited, Caleb did a foolish thing and leapt down the first two stairs. He overstepped and his foot came down on the edge of the plank, slipped, and Caleb went tumbling head over heels to the floor. He smacked his head on the stairs as he went down, then once more on the hardwood floor. His vision went blurry, then black, and his head rang with bells and his skull felt as if it were vibrating. A vision appeared on the ceiling above him, a thousand scurrying c.o.c.kroaches swarmed from cracks that opened up and they all sat there, upside down on the ceiling, watching him.

”Bugs,” he said before losing consciousness.

REVELATIONS.

Chapter 1: In the Year of the Scavenger.

Ashley and her family had left early in the morning along US 54 out of Kingsdown, and had just cleared the infected zone after Waterloo. They wanted to put as much distance between the zone and themselves as possible by tonight. It was late afternoon and the sky was red with grey and black clouds. The air was close and thick with mid-summer, and the caravan's engines were the only noise for miles.

A lot of the families were on the move, they knew, but so far they'd seen no one else. As conditions grew worse, as the infected zone expanded, the people fled. They drove busses, RVs, eighteen wheelers hauling trailers loaded with possessions and people., whatever it took to keep going.

Ashley and her family traveled in smaller groups: two trucks and three cars. The trucks had campers over the beds. Shoved into the back of Millie's F-100 was everything they owned. In the back of the Viewliner, sitting quietly and seeing nothing, were four seemingly comatose old men.

Ashley squinted against the glare of the sun that glowed white against the red sky, and pressed on. Phillip sat beside her stroking his sandy beard, almost tugging on it. Neither spoke. What was there to say, comment on the weather? Remark on how black the landscape was, stretching out on either side of them? Or maybe talk about how they hoped they came to a town before nightfall because the barren, blackened fields surrounding them were too creepy?

Ashley rubbed her eyes, flipped the visor down to s.h.i.+eld them, and pressed the gas pedal further, the speedometer needle sweeping past eighty.

The cars and trucks sped up with her.

They pa.s.sed a sign announcing Garden Plain before Phillip broke the silence.

”Getting hungry?” he asked.

Ashley leaned her head to the side, glanced up at the sky to judge the time, and said, ”Yeah, I could use something. I can*t believe we're still in the middle of nowhere.”

Phillip grabbed the CB mic and told everyone the plan.