TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE BIKER AND THE BOOGEYMAN
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
The Biker
and
the Boogeyman
Book 1
The Cracked Mirror Series
By
Carolyn Q.Hunter
Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying, or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
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THE BIKER
AND
THE BOOGEYMAN
Book 1
The Cracked Mirror Series
PROLOGUE
* * *
The young woman stood across the street, wearing a thin pink tank-top and cut-off denim shorts, staring up at the looming brick building which seemed to encompass the sky before her. Savanah was no older than seventeen and, even in a small town like Fawkes, Arizona, she seemed out of place on the street at night. Despite it being late spring, and quickly moving into an early summer, she felt a slight chill run down her back.
She knew it wasn’t from the weather.
No, the frightening warning that tingled the back of her neck came from the building—the one she had been dared to go into by her boyfriend, Billy, and his stupid trio of buddies. Earlier that evening they had all been in the basement of her house watching a scary movie, something about a house that possessed a teenage boy to murder his family.
Savanah had complained that the whole story was stupid nonsense and something like that would never happen.
That’s how they’d gotten onto the topic of the old building, a bar that had stood empty in downtown Fawkes for nearly three-and-a-half years. According to her boyfriend, the place was haunted, just like the house in the movie. The previous owners had supposedly just up and left, never bothering to even go back in to grab any of the furniture, appliances, or even booze they’d used to run the bar. Billy claimed that they’d been forced out by the ghosts who lived there.
Of course, Savanah had foolishly opened her mouth and told him there was no such thing as ghosts.
Prove it, he had dared. Go into that old bar and prove that it’s not haunted.
Now, thanks to her own selfish pride, she was standing outside just before midnight, staring at the place in question from across the street.
Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Billy and his tag-along trio parked in the alleyway nearby. All their eyes were trained on her, willing her to go inside.
The place never looked like much during the day, but at night it gave off a harrowing aura of dread. The two arched upstairs windows were like black eyes staring at her. The singular door on the first floor acted like a mouth, waiting to gape open and swallow her into the darkness of the bar’s belly.
A light honk on the horn made her jump, and she glared at the boys.
“I’m going,” she snapped and began marching across toward the building. Why weren’t any of those idiots going into the building with her? Why did she have to go alone?
Of course, Savanah realized, if she succeeded in her task, she wouldn’t only have bragging rights, but she’d also be the hero of the group. They had instructed her that she needed to go inside, find the old collection of booze that was left behind, and bring a bottle back out.
Reaching the front door, she tried the knob. Just as she guessed, it was locked.
As far as she knew, besides the one tiny window next to the front door with the open sign still hanging in it, the first floor had no other windows.
She’d have to check the back door. Disappearing into the alley at the side of the building, she looked up and realized there were the remnants of a ladder that used to go all the way up to the roof, but nothing low enough for her to grab onto.
Finally, moving around to the back of the building, she found the door. Walking up to it, she gripped the handle and pulled.
Much to her dismay, it was open.
Stepping inside, she pulled out her cellphone from her shorts pocket and turned on the flashlight app. Holding up her phone, she turned slowly, examining the room.
Standing behind the bar, looking out on the area where patrons would usually sit and have a drink, she realized the room was completely empty. There didn’t appear to be a single chair or table in the place. Additionally, the many glass shelves behind the counter were completely empty. “Darn it, Billy,” she groaned. He had been wrong. There wasn’t any leftover booze.
That’s when her light fell on the door at the end of the bar. Maybe it was a store room. Maybe there was at least one leftover bottle of beer inside, waiting for her to grab it and prove her bravery.
Walking that direction, she carefully and slowly opened the door, half-expecting someone—or something—to jump out at her.
Luckily, no such person appeared. Shining her light into the room, she realized it wasn’t a store room at all. It was a stairwell with wooden steps leading down to a middle landing, and then turning and heading off into the thick darkness.
“No way,” she groaned. “There is no way I’m going down there.”
Unfortunately, she knew she had to. It was her last bet for finding a bottle to bring out. Taking her first step, the wood creaking beneath her foot, she felt a wave of cold come over her body as if she’d just stepped outside on a chilly winter night.
“W-What the heck?” she said in a shivered voice.
Suddenly, before she could gain some composure to take another step down, a sound from below caught her e
ar. Freezing in place, her heart beginning to pound relentlessly in her chest, Savanah listened closely to see if she’d just imagined it.
She hadn’t.
A woman somewhere in the darkness below was crying, sobbing. P-Please, was her moan, don’t hurt me.
Following her plea came another voice, this time a man’s. There was a sinister laugh followed by a loud whacking sound. An agonizing groan filled the air, and a body fell.
The young woman clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Someone was being attacked down there.
Savanah was ready to turn tail and run, never mind the bottle of beer, when the sound of something on the stairs made her pause. There was scratching noises, followed by dragging. When a woman’s pale hand, spattered with fresh blood, appeared on the mid-landing and clawed desperately on the wood to get away from her attacker, the teenage girl couldn’t contain herself any longer.
A shrill scream escaped her throat, rattling her very bones. Turning, she ran from the building—still screaming the whole way.
CHAPTER 1
* * *
“Here we are,” the realtor announced, pulling up in front of the old two-story brick building. Putting her car in park, she opened the door and stepped out.
Her odd-looking passenger, an older man with a long gray ponytail, bushy mustache, and leather vest jacket stepped out and peered up at the place. “Wowie!” he exclaimed. “Now that’s some sweet digs.”
Henrietta Perkins had gotten used to his strange use of language, deciding to embrace it for the sake of a sale. “Well you’re in luck,” she commented. “You’re my first client to ask to see this place in probably three years.”
“Three years?” he gasped, his furry mustache moving with his breath. “What the devil is wrong with it?”
“As a matter-of-fact, nothing,” she confirmed. “Every one of the original windows are intact, the plumbing is in good condition, the lights all work, and the structure itself is sound.” She shrugged. “At most, it needs a little deep cleaning.”
“Sounds too good to be true,” he admitted. “Especially, for the price you’re proposing.”
“Well, when a place gets hard to sell like this one, the price tends to go down.”
“Any joe who passed up this beauty is a downright fool,” he laughed heartily, patting his ample beer belly as it bounced up a down. “Next thing I know, you’re going to be telling me it’s haunted.”
“Of course not,” she laughed out loud, desperately trying to hide the lie behind her smile.
* * *
Henrietta hated going in the old building and avoided it at all costs if she could. However, this time she thought her client was ignorant enough of the bar’s history that he might actually buy it. If that happened, she’d never have to go in the building ever again.
It was that thought she kept in her mind while she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Just a few minutes, she whispered to herself, just a few minutes to show him around and then I’m out of here.
Walking into the gloom of the nearly windowless room (except for the tiny glass frame next to the front door which held an old neon OPEN sign) she instantly felt the temperature around her body drop. It was partially a result of stepping out of the hot Arizona sun and into a dark building, but she knew this chill was something more—something sinister.
Shivering nervously, she fumbled for the light switch and turned it on. The overhead hanging light fixtures, each covered in a green glass shade, flickered on and illuminated the empty floor. She let out a slight sigh of relief at the blessing of light. Unfortunately, it only helped ease her anxiety a little.
“How about that?” Parker “Pork” Daniels smiled, walking to the middle of the room and taking it all in. “It’s not half-bad. Not bad at all, in fact.”
The room was made up of an open floor where tables and chairs could be set out for customers, a long bar across one wall with glass shelves and mirror behind it, and finally, a low-set platform which acted as a stage. Behind the bar was an open door to a stairway going down into the darkness of the building’s basement and stockroom.
“Yes, this is about it,” she smiled, hoping that just getting a glimpse inside the bar was enough to satiate his curiosity to buy. She remained near the entrance the entire time, keeping the door open with her foot. She didn’t dare let it swing shut.
There had been a time, right after she took the building onto her account, that she’d gotten locked inside. For the thirty minutes, she was trapped in the darkness of the bar, screaming for anyone to come and let her out. She’d felt like she was in hell.
“Isn’t there an upstairs to this place?”
“T-There is,” she stuttered, beginning to feel the chill on her skin increasing, “but we can’t get to it.”
“Can’t get to it?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow questioningly. “I thought you said there wasn’t anything wrong with the place?”
“Well, that’s fairly true,” she confirmed, shifting closer to the sunlight which filtered in through the doorway. “The stairway leading to the second floor collapsed a few years back. The owners at that time decided it was better just to wall in the broken stairs and turn the alcove into a lounge for the pool table.”
He nodded, stroking his mustache. “I see. A pool table might be a nice addition.”
“Oh, yes,” she nodded a little too vigorously. “A perfect addition to the place. It would be just perfect for you.”
Her professional demeanor was slipping, and she knew it. She could already feel her heart pacing unnaturally in her chest—almost as if she’d just drunk too many cups of espresso all in a row. Sweat was building up all along her forehead and she prayed her client didn’t notice.
“So, no way to get to that second floor, huh?”
“T-There used to be a ladder to the roof from the alley, and you could get to the second floor from there.”
“Is that so?” he nodded turning in a circle again to look at his surroundings. “I suppose that’s gone to the shores of oblivion, too?”
She nodded, feeling the first sweat droplet run down over her eyebrow. “It, unfortunately, rotted off the wall.”
“I see, so this place isn’t in as spit shine shape as you first made it sound,” he accused.
“W-Well, perhaps we can negotiate a lower price?” She was desperate to get out of there, willing to say anything just to get the man to leave. Heck, she was tempted to just bolt out of there and let the door close on him, but she didn’t dare. She needed this sale, needed to get this cursed building off her account once and for all.
“Now you’ve intrigued me,” he noted with a broad smile.
“G-Great,” she said. “Let’s go back to my office and we can come up with an official offer.”
“How about the basement?” he asked, stepping behind the counter.
Instantly, Henrietta felt her whole body go ice cold. “N-No,” she blurted without thinking.
He stopped cold and looked at the realtor with a furrowed brow. “No?”
“I m-mean, no one uses it for anything but storage.”
“Ah, I see,” he nodded, his raised questioning eyebrow still trained on her face. “Are you okay, hon?” he asked. “You look a bit pale.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “I think I’m just a little hot.”
The man’s smile returned with a chuckle. “Yeah, that sun can sure do ya’ in if you’re not careful.”
“S-shall we head back to the office and fill out the paperwork?”
He hesitated, glancing toward the dark stairwell leading down. Finally, he shrugged. “Sounds dandy to me,” he nodded. “The place looks good enough, second floor or not.”
Henrietta let out a long audible sigh. “Very good. By the end of the day, you can start moving in.” As soon as he was out into the afternoon sun, so was she, quickly locking the door behind them. She vowed she would never step foot in the place again.
“With the way you look,
baby cakes, I’d almost think you were scared of the place.”
“Hardly,” she lied. “I think I just need a tall glass of water.”
“Sounds sweet. Or even better, how about a cold bottle of beer? My treat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Daniels, but not in the middle of the day.”
Getting back into the car and driving off toward her office, neither of them saw the neon OPEN sign flicker on in the window.
CHAPTER 2
* * *
“So, what’s the news, sister?” Muddy—a dark haired woman in black jeans and a grease stained white t-shirt—asked from where she sat on the orange corduroy chair in the corner, her feet propped up on an old speaker next to a cup of coffee. Through the open doorway of the garage, her friend with long and large locks of blonde hair stepped in. With her leather pants and biker’s jacket, she looked like she’d just stepped out of an eighties music video. Her face looked hot from walking in the sun.
Dumping her large black purse on the Asian rug and falling backward onto the tie-dye patterned futon, the blonde woman groaned. “There isn’t any news.”
“You mean we didn’t get the gig?” asked a third woman standing next to the open fridge. Just like her two friends, she too had long poufy hair, only hers was red.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Foxy,” Betty retorted, reaching over and stroking the strings of her nearby electric guitar.
The three women, although as close as sisters, were actually just best friends. Betty and Muddy had known each other since they were little girls, watching scary movies in the basement late at night and pretending to be rock stars with their pink plastic toy guitars.
They had always talked about starting a real band, but had never really done anything to make it happen—until about a year earlier when Betty had returned from one of her cross-country motorcycle trips with her dad.
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