Tommy McLaughlin watched his wife, waited for her to laugh.
She didn’t.
After a long time, he began breathing again. His cigarette had burned to a line of ash. He tapped it on the concrete ledge and stared out at the forest.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” he said.
And taking his hand, she did.
About the Author
Jonathan Janz grew up between a dark forest and a graveyard. In a way, that explains everything. His debut novel, The Sorrows, which FEARnet called “a wickedly fun read,” is available in both ebook and trade paperback editions. His follow-up novel, House of Skin, is his second Samhain Horror release. He has also written two novellas (Old Order and Witching Hour Theatre) and several short stories. His primary interests are his wonderful wife and his three amazing children, and though he realizes that every author’s wife and children are wonderful and amazing, in this case the cliché happens to be true. You can learn more about Jonathan at www.jonathanjanz.com, or you can find him on Facebook and as @jonathanjanz on Twitter.
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The Sorrows
Something is trapped in the castle, and it wants to feed!
The Sorrows
© 2011 Jonathan Janz
The Sorrows, an island off the coast of northern California, and its castle have been uninhabited since a series of gruesome, unexplained murders in 1925. But its owner needs money, so he allows film composers Ben and Eddie and a couple of their female friends to stay a month in Castle Blackwood. Eddie is certain an eerie and reportedly haunted castle is just the setting Ben needs to find musical inspiration for a horror film.
But what they find is more horrific than any movie. For something is waiting for them in the castle. A being, once worshipped, now imprisoned, has been trapped for nearly a century. And he’s ready to feed.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Sorrows:
Eddie made sure he got the seat beside Eva. Ben and Claire sat behind them. Granderson flew the helicopter, Chris Blackwood sitting silently at his side.
They’d been in the air twenty minutes when Ben said, “There’s no cell phone coverage on the island?”
“That’s right,” Eddie answered.
“No internet.”
“Nope.”
“How are we going to communicate, carrier pigeons?”
Eddie looked back at him. “I figured you’d be happy Lee couldn’t get ahold of us.”
Ben didn’t answer.
Eddie thought back to when their agent had called with the news—Lee Stanley was ready to make another ghost story and believed the “unique stylings” of Shadeland and Blaze would be just the thing to lend the film the “necessary aura of darkness”.
Then he remembered the phone conversation with Lee last week and felt his throat constrict.
The director asking, “How’s the music for House of Skin coming along?”
Eddie grimaced. The title made him think of a dermatologist.
“You still there?” Lee asked.
“Sorry,” Eddie replied. “It’s coming along fine.”
No answer, Lee waiting for him to elaborate.
“Ben’s been writing some things,” Eddie lied. “I’m trying different ways of shaping them.”
“What does that mean?” Lee asked.
Who the hell knew? The truth was, there was nothing to shape, but he’d be damned if he’d tell Lee Stanley that. He could imagine how the news would go over. Sorry, but Ben hasn’t written a note. As a matter of fact, Mr. Stanley, the last time I mentioned House of Skin to him he said for you to take your precious movie and shove it up your ass.
The helicopter began its descent.
For a moment, there was nothing but clouds, but when the blades tore a hole in the swirling, gray mist, Eddie’s mouth opened and his breathing stopped. Larger than Eddie had pictured, the Sorrows was a stunning sight. There was a thin rim of trees ringing the island’s eastern edge, and in the center of the island lay a large clearing that might have been a graveyard. The rest of the Sorrows appeared heavily wooded.
Inland a hundred yards or so, Castle Blackwood seemed the fortified remnant of some long-ago battle. The L-shaped castle was tall and thin, its upper stories populated by multiple turrets and corbels.
Granderson’s voice took on the didactic tone of a history professor. “Robert Blackwood took a trip to Scotland in the summer of 1893. One of the sights that captured his imagination was Craigievar Castle, a sixteenth century—”
“Is that tower separate?” Eva asked. She leaned across Eddie to get a better view and one firm breast rubbed pleasingly against his arm.
“Yes,” Granderson answered. “There’s the main castle commissioned by Robert Blackwood to resemble Craigievar, and the tower—commonly referred to as the keep—which is the lone remnant of the original castle.”
“I don’t like it,” Eva said.
Eddie said, “We’ll only put you there if you misbehave.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, frowning. “It looks likes it’s about to fall.”
“It’ll stand until someone takes it down,” Granderson said. “Robert left the tower intact due to its privacy.”
“Maybe he wanted to remember his father,” Ben suggested.
Granderson grinned unpleasantly. “Robert Blackwood wasn’t the sentimental sort.”
As Eva leaned over him—Christ, she even smelled good, lush and peachy like his favorite Chardonnay—Eddie allowed himself a good look at her. Darker skin than he’d thought, the hair longer. Her eyes a surprising shade of green. His eyes crawled down her slender neck to the low-cut black dress and the perky breasts. Lower, to the smooth brown legs. She crossed them and cleared her throat. Eddie forced himself to look up.
Eva watched him with raised eyebrows.
He gave her a feeble grin.
Ben asked, “What do you think of the Clay incident?”
Eddie looked back and saw he’d been addressing Chris Blackwood. When Eddie turned to see Blackwood’s reaction, he was stunned by the anger in the guy’s face.
Blackwood said, “What do you mean ‘what do I think of it’?”
But Ben seemed unabashed. Maybe he’d expected a rise out of their host.
“I only mean, do you know the story, and if you do, does it bother you?”
Blackwood swiveled completely around and looked at Ben as though he’d suggested they purposely crash the helicopter. “Of course I know the goddamn story.” Blackwood glanced open-mouthed at Granderson. “Christ, you believe this guy?”
Granderson kept quiet but eyed Ben in the overhead mirror.
Blackwood shook his head and returned his gaze to the front of the chopper. Eddie glanced back at Ben, who shrugged and commenced staring out the side window.
After an interminable silence, Granderson said, “You should find the castle well furnished. I brought supplies earlier.”
“Any liquor?” Eddie asked.
“The castle has a fully stocked wine cellar.”
“I thought the island was abandoned in 1925,” Ben said. “Does wine keep that long?”
For a moment no one said anything, but Eddie could see that this was another subject that made Chris Blackwood uncomfortable. His shaggy, blond hair dark around the edges, the guy was sweating like a teenager whose girlfriend was late for her period.
“The wine in the cellar is fifteen years old,” Granderson said. “At that time Chris’s parents renovated the castle with the notion of transforming it into a vacation retreat.”
The helicopter banked right, heading for the castle lawn.
“I never heard about that,” Ben said.
“You wouldn’t be likely to unless you were one of the laborers or a member of the Blackwood family.”
They descended.
“Claire?” Ben asked, and as Eddie craned his head around, he was amazed at the change in her. Upon takeoff sh
e’d been quiet but composed. Her blonde hair had looked stylish, and though her makeup was minimal, the natural look suited her. All in all, Eddie felt he’d underestimated her the night before. Some might even call her pretty.
Now she looked like a plague victim.
Eyes glazed over, large beads of perspiration dotting her skin, her complexion had taken on a sallow hue.
Eddie scooted forward in case she puked.
The helicopter met solid ground. Chris Blackwood opened the door and hopped out of the chopper. Rather than helping them down, Blackwood moved off toward the woods.
Some host, Eddie thought.
He climbed out and reached up to help Eva. As he did so, he caught an exhilarating glimpse of sheer black underwear.
Naughty girl.
He wondered how long it would take to see the rest of her.
In the back seat of the helicopter, Claire sat still and willed her pulse to slow, her nausea to subside. The whirling blade, its whumping revolutions reminded her of that Poe story “The Pit and the Pendulum.”
Ben was watching her, concerned.
Claire forced herself to smile, to ignore the huge, deadly cleavers swinging above their heads.
“Not a fan of helicopters?” he asked.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said. “I didn’t want you to think I was a wimp.”
He helped her down, his hands strong yet gentle on her arms and back. Glad to be on firm ground, Claire watched Eva approach. The woman was, if anything, more exquisite than the night before at Lee Stanley’s party. Claire almost convinced herself the sudden bitter tang in her mouth was from her fear of flying.
“You felt it too,” the woman said.
Claire watched her uncertainly.
Eva put an arm around her. “You don’t like this place, do you?”
The hand on her back was firm, protective.
“I don’t like flying is all,” Claire said. “I’ve always been that way.”
Eva’s hand lingered there a moment, then the woman released her and went to retrieve her suitcase, which Granderson had placed on the ground. As Eva moved away, Claire took in the glossy black hair, the supple brown skin and felt a wave of self-consciousness. With a creature like this along, would Ben even notice her?
Enough of that, she told herself. You’re here to learn your craft, not to hook up.
“You want me to carry your case?” Ben asked.
“No thanks,” she said. She pulled out the handle. “Mine rolls.”
Ben nodded and shouldered his bag.
She stayed behind a moment and gazed up at the castle. Yes, she decided. There was an intelligence in its towering pallid contours. Something corrosive and upsettingly sly. It reminded her very much of another Poe story, “The Fall of the House of Usher.”
Except this building did not look like it could fall. It looked like it would stand forever, far outliving its inhabitants.
Or claiming them.
Shivering a little, Claire followed the others inside.
House of Skin
Jonathan Janz
All it needs to live again is fresh blood!
Myles Carver is dead. But his estate, Watermere, lives on, waiting for a new Carver to move in. Myles’s wife, Annabel, is dead too, but she is also waiting, lying in her grave in the woods. For nearly half a century she was responsible for a nightmarish reign of terror, and she’s not prepared to stop now. She is hungry to live again…and her unsuspecting nephew, Paul, will be the key.
Julia Merrow has a secret almost as dark as Watermere’s. But when she and Paul fall in love they think their problems might be over. How can they know what Fate—and Annabel—have in store for them? Who could imagine that what was once a moldering corpse in a forest grave is growing stronger every day, eager to take her rightful place amongst the horrors of Watermere?
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
House of Skin
Copyright © 2012 by Jonathan Janz
ISBN: 978-1-60928-913-3
Edited by Don D’Auria
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2012
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Before
Book One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Book Two
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Book Three
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
After
About the Author
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Copyright Page
House of Skin Page 32
