Henry put the note back where he found it and said, “Naw, that’s not too much. I‘m sorry for not noticing.” He lowered his head and gave Tom a moment of silence before taking out his phone and calling 911. While he reported the death, he felt the presence around him. He always felt it. But like he’d told Tom, you had to learn to ignore it. This time it was stronger, though, and he knew it was because the presence wasn’t alone anymore. And then he had a feeling burn through him, as if it hadn’t been a presence at all--not like he’d thought. He felt the house open up, then close in around him again and suddenly feel very small despite its three floors. And then it was big once more, only not just big, cavernous, full of stark, empty rooms with walls that echoed and corners that swallowed light and even with Rodney and Taylor just a few feet away, Henry felt totally alone in the house. He felt it like a solid object, as if the loneliness were touching him, weighing on him. But it had what it wanted and maybe, for a while, that would be enough. Maybe now it wouldn’t be so restless. Maybe now the crying would stop.
END
AFTERWORD
The novel you’ve just read, THE THIRD FLOOR, is very loosely based on a true story. While the main events of the story didn’t happen, many of the smaller occurrences did.
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 cockroaches 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, God certainly had nothing to do with it. God the creator, God the loving father to all. As far as he could see, the “generous God” 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 passed 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 cockroach
es. Good God the bugs he dreamed. Millions of them, more even. Every cockroach to ever populate the Earth must have been in his dream.
And then before he knew it, the sun was shining 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 shirt from his dresser. He stood before the mirror and watched his body at work. Dressed and ready for the day, he took the glasses 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 cockroaches 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 shield them, and pressed the gas pedal further, the speedometer needle sweeping past eighty.
The cars and trucks sped up with her.
They passed 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.
Ashley pulled over and killed the engine and Phillip was out before she could even get her seatbelt off. As soon as his door slammed shut, he screamed.
She thought maybe he’d slammed his finger in the door or stepped on something, but when she glanced over, Phillip was gone. In his place was a bird. She could see it easily from inside the car, as they were over half the size of any man--four feet at least. Its thick wings folded back and fluttering, she knew the thing was perched on Phillip’s stomach as its foot-long black beak tore into his throat.
Phillip gurgled. The bird craned its golden-feathered head back, dropping a chunk of bloody red meat into its gullet, then went back for more.
Ashley didn't hesitate. The Challenger sped away, spraying road gravel and almost fishtailing as the tires gained purchase. The caravan behind her was doing the same, all of them watching the birds flock toward them. A few birds had landed. Elle and Steven had fallen, but this wasn't the time to mourn or try to help. There was nothing they could do, and they knew it.
The caravan was a mess of metallic beasts rumbling down the highway, but by the time Ashley had reached fifty on the speedometer, the single-file line was back in order.
A few miles down the road, the CB crackled and a voice asked, "Where are we going?" Her name was Sara. She was a dainty twenty-one, blonde with green eyes and she'd been with the family since she was fifteen.
Ashley grabbed the mic and answered, "I don't know!"
"We have to get shelter," Sara said.
No shit! Ashley thought.
Another voice came on, Derek’s. He was driving the Charger with Sara in it. "We're just driving until we find something?"
"Have you got a better idea?" Ashley yelled.
Neither Sara nor Derek had an answer.
The birds swooped to attack the rooftops, but never gained the foothold they wanted, and when the drivers hit the gas or the brake or swerved to the other lane, the birds fell tumbling to the highway, flipping end over end until they came upright and took to the air again, screeching their dissatisfaction.
One tried to come straight for Ashley, but she hit the headlights and honked the horn, disorienting the bird, which missed the car. A second later the first truck clipped its feet and it went face down into the camper, then slid off and just missed being flattened by the second truck.
"Sack of shit!" Ashley yelled back before it vanished from the rearview.
She almost reached for the Colt, but instead, she focused on driving and kept her eyes open for a place in which to take refuge until the Scavengers went away again.
She looked at the empty space next to her and thought It's too bad about Phillip. She enjoyed his company. He was a few years older, but had always seen Ashley as an equal. She thought maybe that was because of how he felt about her, which, she thought, was how she'd begun to feel about him, too. It would have been nice, she mused, to marry and have the strength of two leading the family instead of Ashley alone. It had been almost three years since her father died and she still made decisions with a secret feeling of trepidation. Her father never felt that, she told herself. Her father was the greatest man to ever live. If he'd lived before, she thought, he surely would have been taken.
She passed a sign announcing Goddard but saw from the highway that it was no good, all fields and rundown houses. She shook her head. Wichita was next. She gazed around, hoping something would be out there, a large brick hospital, a grocery store, a school building, anything. But she sped almost another ten miles down US 54 before seeing anything other than black fields and killer birds.
What she saw in the distance, through the dust and the glare of the red sky, was more than Ashley would ever have hoped for. She grabbed the mic again and said, “Everyone see that building?”
She came to the access road and turned off 54.
The place loomed in the distance, but the more she sped ahead, the closer and more defined it got, and the clearer she saw it, the more her heart sank because she suddenly knew they'd never get inside. And if by some stupid lucky chance they did, there would be a family already in there--but surely there's room for two--or the place wouldn't be secure at all. Gaping holes in the walls, or broken windows that wouldn't keep the Scavengers out.
She tried not to let these thoughts kill her hopes before they
reached the place.
One of the birds dive-bombed her hood, got its beak caught in the metal, then flopped down onto the windshield, shattering the glass. The windshield held, but it was covered in a spider web of cracks.
She yanked the wheel to the side, the car fishtailed, and the bird fell over. The tip of its beak snapped off where it was lodged in the hood, and the bird slid off the car. She didn't turn to see it get up again, but she knew it would.
Ashley saw the front door of the huge building. There was an attached carport with stone pillars holding up the concrete roof. Ashley steered for it. A bird was on the ground in front of her car, but she didn't swerve. She slammed into it instead and the monster flew back, tumbled somersaults in the dirt, then landed upright, spread its huge wings, and took off.
Ashley was close enough now to read the faded and peeling letters on the door: WELCOME TO THE TRUST.
A bird swooped down and rammed the shattered glass. It fell inward, knocked Ashley sideways, and the car swerved, slammed into a pillar, and she was thrown into the steering wheel.
The caravan pulled in around her in seconds and Sara's window went down. “Climb over!” she yelled.
Ashley looked up from the steering wheel, a dark bruise already starting to swell over her brow. She tried to focus, but through the birds’ shrieking and the cars honking and the voice yelling for her to "Come on!", all she could do was notice the swirl of colors and shapes blurring in her eyes.
She had clear passage from her exposed hood to Derek and Sara's Charger. If she were quick enough, she'd be in before the birds could flock to her.
She got her feet on the front seat and prepared to slide across the hood which would bring her directly to the other car. Then she stopped. A bird stood on the ground ten feet from the car.
She couldn't stay put, not with the windshield gone. But the bird was right there. The gun might hold it off long enough for her to switch cars.
The Third Floor Page 27
