The Haunted
Michaelbrent Collings
Copyright © 2012 by Michaelbrent Collings
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author. For information send request to [email protected].
website: http://www.michaelbrentcollings.com
email: [email protected]
cover and interior art elements © Steve Collender, Oleg Doroshin, and Ozgur Guvenc
used under license from Shutterstock.com
cover design by Michaelbrent Collings
NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
For more information on Michaelbrent’s books, including specials and sales; and for info about
signings, appearances, and media,
sign up for his mailing list (http://eepurl.com/VHuvX)
check out his webpage (michaelbrentcollings.com),
and
”Like” his Facebook fanpage (facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings).
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
MICHAELBRENT COLLINGS
CRIME SEEN
"[Crime Seen] will keep you guessing until the end…. 5/5. " – Horror Novel Reviews
"It's rare to find an ending to a novel that is clever, thought-provoking and surprising, yet here Collings nails all three…." – Ravenous Reads
"Crime Seen by Michaelbrent Collings is one of those rare books that deserves more than five stars." – Top of the Heap Reviews
"With an ending that, again, will keep you guessing until the last chapter, I would definitely recommend this book to others." – Horror Drive-In
THE COLONY: GENESIS (The Colony, Vol. 1)
"5 out of 5 stars.... I couldn't put it down." – Media Mikes
"I barely had time to buckle my mental seatbelt before the pedal hit the metal...." – The Horror Fiction Review
"What a refreshing read. This is the first of a series and if this is any indication of what's to come, count me in! .... If I could, I would gladly give this novel a 10 star rating." – Horror Novel Reviews
STRANGERS
"Collings is so proficient at what he does, he crooks his finger to get you inside his world and before you know it, you are along for the ride. You don't even see it coming; he is that good." – Only Five Star Book Reviews
"Move over Stephen King... Clive Barker.... Michaelbrent Collings is taking over as the new king of the horror book genre." – Media Mikes
"STRANGERS is another white-knuckled journey that demands to be read in one sitting." – The Horror Fiction Review
"Michaelbrent spins a tale that keeps you enthralled from page to page…. Overall I give this novel an A." – The Horror Drive-In
DARKBOUND
"Really good, highly recommended, make sure you have time to read a lot at one sitting since you may have a hard time putting it down." – The Horror Fiction Review
"In Darkbound you will find the intensity of Misery and a journey reminiscent of the train ride in The Talisman…. A proficient and pedagogical author, Collings’ works should be studied to see what makes his writing resonate with such vividness of detail…. You will not be disappointed in this dark tale." – Hellnotes
"A spell-binding conclusion comes from out of nowhere that is hauntingly reminiscent of M. Night Shyamalan or Alfred Hitchcock. A certifiable bone chiller…." – horrornews.net
"Darkbound travels along at a screaming pace with action the whole way through, and twists to keep you guessing throughout.... With an ending that I didn't see coming from a mile away, and easily one of the best I've had the enjoyment of reading in a long time...." – Horror Drive-In
APPARITION
"Apparition is not just a 'recommended' novel, it is easily one of the most entertaining and satisfying horror novels this reviewer has read within the past few years. I cannot imagine that any prospective reader looking for a new read in the horror genre won't be similarly blown away by the novel." – Hellnotes
"[Apparition is] a gripping, pulse hammering journey that refuses to relent until the very final act. The conclusion that unfolds may cause you to sleep with the lights on for a spell.... Yet be forewarned perhaps it is best reserved for day time reading." – horrornews.net
"Apparition is a hard core supernatural horror novel that is going to scare the hell out of you.... This book has everything that you would want in a horror novel.... it is a roller coaster ride right up to a shocking ending." – horroraddicts.net
"[Apparition is] Riveting. Captivating. Mesmerizing.... [A]n effective, emotional, nerve-twisting read, another amazingly well-written one from a top-notch writer." – The Horror Fiction Review
THE LOON
"It's always so nice to find one where hardcore asylum-crazy is done RIGHT.... THE LOON is, hands down, an excellent book." – The Horror Fiction Review
"Highly recommended for horror and thriller lovers. It's fast-moving, as it has to be, and bloody and violent, but not disgustingly gory.... Collings knows how to write thrillers, and I'm looking forward to reading more from him." – Hellnotes
MR. GRAY (aka THE MERIDIANS)
"... an outstanding read.... This story is layered with mystery, questions from every corner and no answers fully coming forth until the final conclusion.... What a ride.... This is one you will not be able to put down and one you will remember for a long time to come. Very highly recommended." – Midwest Book Review
RUN
"[A] tense and intense scary sci-fi chiller/thriller.... RUN is a winner, as fast-paced as it should be, cinematic and gripping, lots of fun but with moments of poignancy and disturbing paranoia." – The Horror Fiction Review
HOOKED: A TRUE FAERIE TALE
"Hooked is a story with depth.... Emotional, sad, horrific, and thought provoking, this one was difficult to put down and now, one of my favourite tales." – Only Five Star Book Reviews
"[A]n interesting and compelling read.... Collings has a way with words that pulls you into every moment of the story, absorbing every scene with all of your senses." – Clean Romance Reviews
"Collings has found a way to craft an entirely new modern vampire mythology – and one strikingly different from everything I've seen before.... Recommended for adult and teen fans of horror and paranormal romance...." – Hellnotes
RISING FEARS
"The writing is superb. The characters are believable and sympathetic... the theme of a parent who's lost a child figures strongly; it's powerful stuff, and written from the perspective of experience that no one should ever have to suffer." – The Horror Fiction Review
To...
Shirley Jackson, Stephen King, and everyone else
who told – or was scared by – a good haunted house yarn,
My parents, who literally made it possible for me to write this book,
Tim, Aaron, and the nice folks at the Meridian Krispy Kreme,
and to Laura, FTAAE
Contents
Prologue: The First Story
1 The First Day 11:15 am
2 The
First Day 11: 56 am
3 The First Night 7: 35 pm
4 The First Night 7: 42 pm
5 The First Night 7: 51 pm
6 The First Night 11:58 pm
7 The Second Day 6:32 am
8 The Second Day 9:02 am
9 The Second Day 5:58 pm
10 The Second Day 7:30 pm
11 The Third Day 1:54 am
12 The Third Day 2:03 am
13 The Third Day 2:07 am
14 The Third Day 2:22 am
15 The Third Day 2:27 am
16 The Third Day 2:53 am
17 The Third Day 3:06 am
18 The Third Day 3:37 am
19 The Third Day 3:49 am
20 The Third Day 4:01 am
21 The Third Day 4:06 am
22 The Third Day 4:35 am
23 The Before
24 The Third Day 4:36 am
Final Story
Prologue: The First Story
***
The house sat atop a hill.
It had sat there for many years, and as far as anyone knew, would sit there for many more. Visitors would occasionally travel the long path to see it. They would shiver, and wrap their coats tightly around them if it was winter. If it was summer, they would shiver and wish they were wearing a coat in the first place.
It was a beautiful house. A bit long in the tooth, perhaps, but far from being any kind of an eyesore. It was hardly modern, but everyone who saw it and was able to focus solely on its architecture – as opposed to the feelings it engendered – agreed that it was of a good and hale age. Not too old, but rather full of character. Like a woman who has seen enough life to have a few wrinkles around the corners of her eyes. No longer virginal, perhaps, but the experience she had would more than make up for any kind of youthful energy.
Of course, few people could stand to examine it on that level. They shivered, and shuddered, and one or two got as far as the front porch before turning back. And when they made the long trek down the driveway, then rode through the forest and across the river and back into town, they met with friends and told whispered stories of the house in parlors just light enough to remind them of the shadows. Because tales of the house should not – could not – be told in brightness.
The woods stood around the house like an army of green soldiers, straight and true. And while traveling to the house, it was easy to feel at peace; safe. What could happen to someone in the middle of an army?
But when traveling back from the house, people would realized that the army was not to protect them as they traveled. It seemed, rather, to have been put there to maintain a barrier between the house and the rest of the world. Not to keep anything out, but rather to keep something in.
People in the town far below the house on the hill were of two minds about it. Some of them agitated to burn it down. Others said that as long as you left it alone, it would leave you alone. And then, inevitably, someone would point out that it wasn’t their problem. Not really. It wasn’t even a part of the town. It was an outsider.
Outside.
The voices would calm then. Everyone could agree on that. The house was different. Apart.
One more thing they could agree about: the house, though vacant, was not empty. Strange sights had been glimpsed from time to time through closed windows, strange sounds could occasionally be heard even as far away as the church in the center of town. Sounds like the wind, howling a low wail of pain, or disappointment. Or wrath.
A sign sat at the bottom of the quarter-mile long driveway. It had sat there for a long time. “For Sale,” it said. The words were on a metal sheet that hung from the canted sign. It swung in the breeze. And it could sometimes be seen – or so the townsfolk said – to swing when the air was still as death, as breathless as a corpse.
Most people stayed away from the house. Life was good in the town. They were happy. And if they had to lock their doors twice some nights, nights when the sounds came, when the lights could be seen in the vacant – but not empty – house, what of it? It was a small price to pay for the goodness that graced the great majority of their lives.
So the house remained alone. Vacant. But not empty.
The sign leaned farther and farther over through the years, canting to one side as though grown drunk on the strangeness that filtered down the drive. Eventually, the “For Sale” sign no longer swung, because it rested solidly on the dead leaves and grass that carpeted the ground.
The trees stood silent. Good soldiers that did not speak.
Then one day the sign changed. Gone was the rain-stained, peeling piece of rickety wood and its swinging metal sheet. In its place was a new sign, bright yellow wood holding up brighter red letters. “For Sale,” it still said, but this new sign seemed to say it louder than had the old. It seemed insistent, almost challenging, as though daring anyone to resist it.
The trees were all that saw it regularly, and they did not speak. The townspeople knew it had happened, but they busied themselves with life, and only spoke of the house infrequently, mostly to warn children and grandchildren not to go there. The house wanted its privacy, they said. It was vacant, but not empty. And whatever was there, whatever was the source of the lights and sounds, it didn’t want to be poked or prodded. It wanted to be alone. To do its work, to live whatever kind of life there was to be had in an empty house.
One summer, an old man named Achak went up and dared to plant sage all around the perimeter of the house. He claimed to be a descendent of an Algonquin chief, a proud brave in a proud lineage. The sage, he told everyone that night, would free the house. It would chase away the darkness that had lived there for so long. The townsfolk nodded politely – they weren’t the sort who would mock a man for his beliefs – but privately they agreed that Achak had spent a bit too much time alone in his own house on the edge of town. No one was much surprised when he was found hanging from a rafter the next morning. Some of the townsfolk thought of digging up some of the sage and putting it on his coffin at the funeral, but they only got far enough to see that all the sage plants had died in the night before turning around and going back to town.
The house remained “For Sale.”
And then one day, the sign disappeared. Folks in the town nodded gravely. Perhaps the owner – rumor had it the house was owned by some faceless corporation back east – had finally decided to plow the house under. Whispers even added that, if they were lucky, the house would not just be destroyed, but demolished, the ground below salted and the soil blessed by the town priest.
Instead, a few days later, a truck drove through the middle of town. It was a large yellow truck, one the townsfolk recognized as a moving truck. At first the people who saw it wondered where in the world the truck was headed. There were no vacancies in the town. No one moved in, no one moved out.
Then, they realized where the truck was headed.
The house.
Alone. But not empty. Not empty, and no longer vacant.
1
The First Day
11:15 am
***
Sarah looked around the kitchen, and wondered if she had made a mistake.
Not in being here, not in being with Cap. But in the very fact of buying a house. In the responsibility of it.
In the fact that it felt like the house was watching her.
She felt a lurching within her, a kicking, and touched her belly. The baby was moving, though whether that signaled that it agreed with her or disagreed, she couldn’t tell.
What are you trying to say, baby? she thought.
The baby flipped around again, swirling around and through the amniotic fluid that kept it safe. Another enigmatic response.
She sighed. She didn’t know why she expected to be any better a mother than most, but for some reason she felt as though she had a special connection to this child. A connection that was beyond that of other first-time mothers. As though she had held this child in her womb not for months, but rather years, perhaps even decades. Tha
t was ridiculous, she knew, but knowing something was ridiculous didn’t always mean disbelieving it.
She felt that way about Cap, too. Like they had been together forever. Their home could change, the world around them could shift and alter, but the reality of them was something that would never – could never – change. They were eternal. Her, Cap, and the baby they were making together.
She fought back the strange feeling, the suspicion that eyes were watching her. There was nothing odd about the house. It was hers. Just like the baby. Just like Cap. Hers. Forever.
Is that a good thing?
She shivered. She and Cap had suffered through what seemed like a thousand moves in their marriage. But they were finally here. Finally home. So why did she keep feeling… wrong?
The world seemed to swim for a moment, and she gripped the counter. Light-headedness was something she should have been used to at this point. Stand up too fast, she got light-headed. Sit down too fast, the same. Run up the stairs, and the universe would spin. Run down them, and it was even worse. The baby seemed to be positively allergic to movement, as though it wanted everything to stay in the same place forever.
That was fine by Sarah. She knew that some women grew to despise their pregnancies, but that hadn’t happened to her. Not yet, anyway. Maybe in another month or two, maybe then she would be ready for the baby to go. She knew of women who would try any labor-inducing trick to get the kid out, as though it wasn’t a gift, but a chore. And sometimes it could be a chore. She hated the fact that she had to pee an average of sixty-two times a day. And the fact that she had the strangest craving for cheese. She didn’t particularly care for cheese normally, but since she had been pregnant, if she went through the day without eating at least one grilled cheese sandwich, she felt deprived.
The Haunted Page 1
