Anyone For A Story?
Would anyone be interested in reading a rather—what I believe to be—unique and intriguing, supernatural mystery thriller. I still have a few copies lying around from the old "Author Do-It-Yourself" PA days. Besides, I’m always looking for opinions concerning my style of writing—and a few more reviews never hurt either…hint, hint.<img border=0 src="http://www.ezboard.com/image/posticons/pi_bigsmile.gif" />
If anyone’s interested, just give me your mailing address and I’ll send one your way. I’ll be on my 12-hour dayshift schedule tomorrow and won’t be in from work until around 7:00 P.M.
Just keep in mind that I never had this story professionally edited, so anything can be expected.
Below is the prologue and first chapter to get you started:
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Prologue
Abyss of Darkness
Saturday, September 23, 1995
But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there.
Isaiah 13:21
Pure horror enveloped Marcy Ashbrook. The sight of Janice and Kelly brutally murdered kept her frozen with fear. She stared with perplexity and uncertainty as blood flowed from their fatal wounds. Then, with each passing moment, her facial expression changed from shock to satisfaction. She was glad that they were out of the way—glad they were gone. Marcy slowly closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and then suddenly looked down. Her eyes widened and she screamed while releasing a curvy dagger from her grasp. The oddly shaped weapon fell to the ground in slow motion and blood splattered from the blade upon impact. She shut her eyes then released another terrifying cry that echoed throughout the woods…
Marcy’s eyes quickly opened, she had been dreaming again, only this time it seemed more realistic. She took a quick glance at her clock radio. It was five in the morning. Marcy eased to the edge of her bed, wiped some tears from her face, and then slowly stood. She carefully walked across the room and looked out her window. It was dark…very, very dark. A thick layer of fog filled the air making it almost impossible to see. Marcy turned, slowly scooted toward her wall calendar and circled the twenty-third day…a day that pained her so. She sighed heavily then returned to bed. Once under the covers, her eyes filled with tears. The thought of an old sin festered and then stabbed her in the heart. It had been a year now, and it was back again. Why wouldn't it go away, why couldn’t she rid herself of it. It was haunting her, tracking her like a wild animal searching for its prey.
“Oh God,” she silently whimpered. "I don't know who to talk to? I’m alone now and the pain is back.” She placed a hand over her heart and said, “It hurts right here. What I’m I going to do? No one would understand if I told them.”
The door to Marcy’s bedroom eased open causing her to shiver involuntarily. A strange-looking dark shadow emerged from the hall. She trembled as the figure approached while whispering her name.
“Marcy,” it said with a long draw. “Marcy.”
Fear devoured Marcy as the figure drew nearer.
“G-G-Go away?” She stammered.
“What?” The figure asked. “It’s only me, silly.”
Marcy released a sigh of relief then batted her eyes. It was just Angela, her eleven-year-old sister.
“I heard you crying, so I came to see if you were okay,” Angela said.
Marcy smiled weakly then reached out to hold her sister’s hand. “I’m fine. I was just having a bad dream…that’s all. Now go to bed and get some sleep. And stop worrying about me…okay?” After hesitating, Angela turned and left the room. A beam of moonlight reflected off a certain picture hanging on Marcy’s wall. She slowly turned her head and stared at its beauty with awe and at the same time with regret. It was a masterpiece. The painting was of the Second Coming of Jesus—a mighty army of angels accompanied Him. Marcy gazed at the painting long and hard as her tears began to flow.
“I want to talk to you, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’m too far-gone now. How could you ever listen to me anyway, especially after what I’ve done? How could you ever forgive me after what I’ve done…I‘m nothing…but a monster.”
~
It begins, but where? A man of average size opens his eyes only to find himself in a dark and grimy room. He studies the area carefully. Over in one corner, on an old rugged desk, sits a rusty lantern and box of matches. Within moments after utilizing the much-needed items, the room has a foggy orange glow. The man examines the room once again and wishes he had not lit the lantern. Strange memorabilia lay scattered everywhere. Horrifying pictures clung to the walls like parasites, and a strange odor occupied the air. The man makes his way around the desk and opens the top drawer. There, among cluttered items, lies a curvy, bloodstained knife with odd markings embedded in the blade’s handle. A torn note lay next to the knife with words written in blood that read:
Two little flowers led to the slaughter, near the water, by the dead oak trees, in the place, where it hides its face from the sun. During the witching hour, Samhain will have the edge. Amidst the whole moon, the third flower will rest its head and then release the power.
TD
Horror enveloped the man’s face as he saw a single word within the paragraph morph before his very eyes. Samhain slowly changed to Molech, then back to Samhain in a creepy fashion.
Saturday, October 7, 1995
5:10 A.M.
Franklin Matheson cuddled in the big plush chair to stay warm. His greenish eyes revealed a sparkle of joy for the moment he was experiencing. The chair was perfect for someone of about five-foot ten, which suited his frame exactly. Franklin reached up, brushed his fingers through his dark-brown hair, and then breathed deeply. The Islander Hotel Suite was by far one of the finest rooms anyone could rent in Orlando, Florida. Franklin happily flipped through the two hundred plus satellite channels that the room had to offer. He stopped on a certain station, hopped from the chair and then moseyed into the kitchen. He then grabbed a bag of corn chips and peered out a nearby window. The night was thick with darkness and the window was fogged-up too much to see clearly.
Franklin paused momentarily, then quietly made his way back to the cozy warm chair. As he settled in, the TV came alive with a tall slender man speaking with great vigor to a captivated audience.
“I want to tell you tonight my friends…there is only one way to make it to heaven, and that’s through God’s only begotten son! You need to know tonight that the Bible clearly says, ‘for the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.’”
“Another fanatic,” Franklin mumbled. He then proceeded to flip pass the channel. “There must be something on? Maybe I’ll just watch the news.” Franklin flipped channel after channel until finally reaching his wishful destination.
A blonde-headed lady sat confident, ready to deliver the early morning report. “This is Connie O’Neil with channel 18 news. The Dow Jones Industrial Average took a plunge today as…” The news lady began to fade out and everything became fuzzy.
“What’s with this?” Franklin griped. He then crawled from the chair, walked over to the TV, gave it a couple of shakes, and then returned to his seat. “That’ll do it,” he promised himself. The news station slowly cleared back up but appeared to be on a different channel. “What’s the deal?” Franklin barked.
A man with dark features appeared on the television set and began to deliver an unwanted version of the news. “Uh…this just in. The bodies of twin sisters Kelly and Janice Primrose were found on the bank of Tea Creek located at Twisted Oak, Florida. Both girls were residents of the town.”
Franklin’s face turned pale and his eyes widened. “Kelly and Janice,” he breathed. “This can’t be…”
The newsman interrupted Franklin’s moment of horror with a startling revelation. “The local authorities of Twisted Oak have not yet apprehended whoever may have been responsible. They do, however, have reason to believe that local resident and supposed friend, Marcy Ashbrook is the prime suspect.”
“This can’t be…” Franklin repeated. “I…I know Marcy. She would never do something like that.”
“My bag does not lie,” a distorted voice assured.
“Who’s there?” Franklin whispered. Suddenly, his attention was drawn toward the sound of a doorknob turning. He looked to his right and noticed that the closet door across the room was opening. Franklin cringed with fear as a bluish-skinned creature emerged. It was wearing overalls, old-fashioned work boots, and its hair was styled with an orange flattop. The creature slowly approached Franklin in a hunched position, and with every other step it would convulse. The monster walked up to him, grinned, and then pierced his very being with glowing red eyes.
“She filled my bag, Franklin.”
“W-W-Who…Marcy?” Franklin queried.
The little monster slowly shrugged its shoulders and continued to speak. “I have to go empty my bag. It’s been filled. I have to go empty it so I can fill it again.” Franklin stared at the creature with a perplexed and terrified expression. It was as if there was this long pause in time. As if time itself had stopped while Franklin and the creature continued to look at each other. “You don’t know me, do you?” the creature asked.
No,” Franklin choked.
“I…am the bag holder. My name is in my walk. I come from the place with the red floor and many voices. My bag was empty until she filled it. I need to go empty my bag so I can fill it again.”
Franklin shivered as the creature unfastened a small brown leather pouch from its side. “W-What’s that?” he stuttered.
The creature grinned revealing a mouth full of rotten jagged teeth. “A secret it is. And told it cannot be…but a peek will I give thee.” The creature held the bag up to Franklin’s face and quickly opened it. A flash of dark light temporarily blinded him. Then, rapid images of terror flooded his mind until Franklin drifted off into an unconscious state. He had taken his first step into an abyss of darkness…a darkness that wanted to devour his soul and leave nothing but the empty shell of a man.
Chapter 1
A Small Puddle
Saturday, October 7, 1995
The streets throughout Brightwood were covered with leaves—oak tree leaves. The casual gusts of wind pushed the leaves along the road and sidewalks that graced the subdivision. Brightwood was one of two neighborhoods in Twisted Oak that housed the so-called “rich”. It was quiet in Brightwood…however…
A dark-green bronco wheeled its way down the street and pulled into a certain driveway. Its door opened and out stepped a tall man dressed in a uniform that matched the bronco. He was about six-foot, extremely burly, and had wavy black hair and dark-brown eyes. His footsteps echoed across the concrete as he went to the front door of a beautiful two-story brown-bricked home.
The man approached the front door, rang the bell, pulled two pictures from his pocket and took off his hat. He waited as though he had all eternity for the door to open, and then…
“Oh…good morning, Sheriff Wright!”
“Thank you Darlene…same to you.”
For a moment there was only silence while they stared at each other.
Darlene, with her child-like frame, became engulfed by the sheriff’s shadow as he stood before her. The little bit of wind that eluded the sheriff’s bulky body blew through Darlene Ashbrook’s golden-brown hair causing it to seemingly run and hide for cover. Her fire-blue eyes were filled with fright, as if she knew that something terrible was about to be revealed to her.
“Is…there something wrong?” she asked.
The sheriff sighed and looked away. “I know that you’ve been going through a lot lately, especially with your grandfather passing away. I just want you to know that Carl Bastion Limsworth was more than a leader—he was a good friend. We all miss him, very much.
A single tear rolled down Darlene’s face, she sniffled, and then smiled. “Thank you, those were kind words Max, but why are you really here?”
The sheriff lowered his head and managed, “I assume you didn’t watch the news last night?”
“No,” Darlene said perplexingly. “I was at the women’s Church meeting. We have a meeting every Friday you know.”
“What about your husband?”
“Ronald was on a business trip…at least…I think. We were both so tired when we got home we virtually collapsed.”
“Darlene, I don’t want you to think of me in an ill way, but I need to ask you something…something that may cause you to become apprehensive.”
Mrs. Ashbrook merely shook her head in a negative manner and shrugged simultaneously. She was already feeling it.
“Darlene…where was your daughter on the twenty-third of last month?”
“Marcy…she was…well…for most of the night she was over at the Martins. I think they were supposed to be having a birthday party for Paul’s older brother. Has…has something happened?”
The sheriff gave a slight nod, then lowered his head and handed her the pictures.
“Are they…?”
“I’m afraid so,” he interrupted. “They’re dead.”
Darlene began to turn a sickly color. “Oh God,” she wheezed.
“Do you know them?” he asked.
“Not really. I believe that they were Marcy’s friends though. Primrose, isn’t that their name?”
“Yeah,” Max acknowledged. “Kelly and Janice Primrose. The twin daughters of Benny and Margaret Primrose…you know, they live on Gothic Drive.”
“Gothic Drive?” Darlene pondered. “Sure…my husband’s business partner, Franklin Matheson, lives on Gothic Drive.”
The sheriff nodded again. “Do you think I could talk to your daughter for a moment, or is it too early?”
“…I…of course…come inside and I’ll make you a cup of hot tea. It may take a while to get her down stairs though. You know, with it being Saturday and all.”
Sheriff Wright merely agreed with a nod.
Darlene turned to lead him inside then suddenly stopped mid-step and looked back. “Marcy’s not in any kind of trouble…is she Sheriff Wright?”
“I just need to talk to her, that’s all.”
Darlene responded with a weak grin, and then motioned for him to enter.
~
Marcy frantically tossed in her bed…was something wrong? Maybe she was having a bad dream? Maybe she was just restless? She turned and rolled, and continued to do so until she suddenly awoke. Marcy sat up and rubbed some tears away from her eyes. For a moment she sat as if in a daze, then crawled from bed, and staggered to her study desk that sat near her large colonial-styled window. She opened the top drawer and pulled out a gold-plated dairy and matching key. She unlocked it, and picked up a fine-tipped black-ink pen and began to write.
Dear Diary,
Today is Saturday, October the 7th, and I’ve just awoken from another bad dream. I dreamed that something terrible happened to Felicia. I dreamed that she was murdered. Just like the dream I had about Janice and Kelly. What’s going on with me? Sometimes, I think I’m going crazy. At least I have Paul. He’s always there when I need him. But I can’t even tell him about my problem. If I only knew what all these dreams meant. If I only knew how to stop them…
Suddenly, the door to Marcy’s room flew open causing her to drop the pen. It rolled toward the door where Mrs. Ashbrook was standing.
“I’m sorry dear,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay mom. I guess I’m still trying to wake up.”
Darlene knelt to pick up the pen, then placed it on a nearby mantle. “Marcy, I need you to come down stairs as soon as possible. The sheriff came by and wants to talk with you.
Marcy’s dark-blue eyes widened in terror and her body froze.
“Did you hear me Marcy?”
“Uh…yes ma’am. I was just…thinking.”
“Well hurry down stairs dear, you don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Marcy watched her mother leave the room then quickly grabbed another pen and glanced out her window at the sheriff’s bronco. She jotted down that he was there then locked the diary and hid the key. Not long afterward, she was dressed and on her way down stairs and heading to the living room area. She approached the opening and peeked around the wall. Sheriff Wright was sitting by a large double window drinking a cup of hot tea. He looked up and saw Marcy eyeing him.
“Good morning, Marcy.” Sheriff Wright then turned and placed his cup of tea on a nearby table. “I know it’s Saturday and you would rather be sleeping in…” The sheriff’s voice trailed off as Marcy slowly approached him in a zombie-like state. “Is something bothering you?” he asked.
Marcy shuffled over to a matching chair that stood next to the sheriff’s was, then eased into the seat. She began to peer out the nearby window in a daze.
“Marcy.”
“Huh…what?” I’m…I’m sorry Sheriff Wright. What did you say?”
The sheriff began to probe her intensively. He knew something was wrong. “I said…is something troubling you? Do you have anything that you would like to share with me?”
“No…” she said. “Everything is…am fine I mean.”
She was lying.
With skepticism on his face, he said, “Well that’s nice to know.”
Marcy glanced at the sheriff from the corner of her eyes as he began to pull something from his pocket.
Pictures...two pictures…she caught a glimpse of one…it was Kelly.
Marcy brought a hand to her mouth as her mind raced. No…please God, not this, she thought.
The sheriff noticed her reaction and narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?” He queried.
“N-Nothing!” She stammered.
Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Marcy quickly turned her head to hide newly formed tears.
“You know them don’t you?” He insisted.
“Yes, I mean no…I mean, I mean.”
Sheriff Wright frowned and narrowed his eyes some more. He didn’t like liars. “Think really hard Marcy.”
“They were in one of my classes. I do know them…a little.”
“Do you also know that they took drugs?”
Marcy grabbed the arms of her chair and said, “Yes. Some of my friends told me.”
“Marcy,” he continued. “If you know these girls more than you’re inferring you need to tell me.”
“I don’t,” she insisted. “I mean…I know them, but only from school, I promise.” Marcy began to bite her nails. “What happened to them anyway?”
Sheriff Wright brushed his fingers through his thick black hair and shifted on the seat. “I don’t think it would be a good idea if I told you the details. But both of your friends, Kelly and Janice, are dead.
Dead, she thought. Oh God…this can’t be.
Suddenly, Marcy had a flashback of her first nightmare. She saw her friends crying out for help while a shinny blade began to slash them. The moment of horror caused Marcy to scream. She twitched in her chair, buried her head in her hands, and began to quiver with fear. The sheriff lunged forward and knocked his tea off the table in the process.
Mrs. Ashbrook hurried from the kitchen to see what had happened. “What’s going on?” She demanded.
“I think your daughter just had some kind of spell.”
“Is she all right?” Darlene asked while racing to her daughter’s side. “Darling, are you all right?”
“I…I think so?” Marcy glanced over at the spilt tea only to discover an alteration. A small puddle of what appeared to be blood covered their plush white carpet. And the teacup was no longer there either. A small brown leather bag lay in its place. Marcy began to tremble as the bag and blood changed back into its previous form.
“What is it?” The sheriff asked.
“I just…I just remembered a bad dream…that’s all.”
Sheriff Wright slowly nodded and helped Marcy’s mother clean the mess up. “Sorry about that,” he begged.
“It’s fine,” Darlene assured. “Sometimes…things just happen.”
The sheriff retrieved his hat, put the pictures in his pocket, and said, “Well…I guess I’d better go. I’ve got things to do.” Darlene showed him to the door while Marcy sat in her chair—overwhelmed by the news of Kelly and Janice being dead.
“If you remember anything,” he said. “I’ll be down at the station. If I’m not there, just leave a message with Cindy and she’ll let me know.”
Marcy looked up at him and tried to smile while a tear rolled down her cheek. “I will,” she lied. Marcy knew she’d never tell anyone about her dreams. She couldn’t. If she did, it might incriminate her. I can’t, she thought. I just can’t. What if I’m blamed for their death? Or maybe…maybe it was me…I can’t remember anymore.
Marcy peered out the window and watched the sheriff pull away in his bronco while her mother came to check on her.
“Are you all right?” Darlene asked.
“I just need some fresh air…that’s all.” Mrs. Ashbrook gave a nod then left the room.
Marcy walked outside and leaned against a large water oak that stood in front of her house. Maybe I should tell Paul, she thought. Or then there’s Felicia—she would understand me.
Suddenly, a custom-made red Oldsmobile convertible turned into the driveway and Marcy’s father stepped out. Ronald Ashbrook was wearing a dark-maroon dress-suit, which satisfied his taste in color perfectly. He was not quite so tall, about five-eight, had curly brown hair and bright green eyes. Everyone in Twisted Oak always wondered were Marcy got her height from. “Hello dear,” he said happily. “Are you going to see Paul today?”
“Maybe later,” Marcy replied.
“Well that’s good honey, I hope you have a good time, we all need to be happy. That’s what’s wrong with the world today, nobody’s happy anymore. Oh, by the way, is your mother home?”
“Yes Sir, she’s inside.”
“Thanks honey.” Mr. Ashbrook turned away and trotted toward the front door in a cheerful mood.
I wish I could be as happy as daddy, she thought. He’s always happy. Marcy tilted her head up to watch the tree branches blow in the October wind. The oak had a strange growth pattern. It turned and twisted in every direction while trying to reach the heavens.
Everything was peaceful now. Everything was quiet. Marcy began to calm down and take in relaxing breaths of fresh air. She began to forget about the terrible thoughts, about what happened to Janice and Kelly, and about her dream of Felicia. Then, as Marcy began to drift off, she heard a voice whisper next to her ear.
“I know a secret,” it hissed.
