TABLE OF CONTENTS
CREEPY CHRISTMAS WAFFLE
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
Creepy
Christmas
Waffle
Book Seven
in the
Diner of the Dead Series
By
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2016 Summer Prescott Books
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CREEPY CHRISTMAS
WAFFLE
Book Seven in the Diner of the Dead Series
PROLOGUE
* * *
A single strand of multi-colored Christmas lights hung along the stone wall, adding an eerie glow to the small, subterranean room. There were no windows and no additional light in the dungeon-like space, except for a single burning candle atop a hard wooden table.
Tied to a chair near the medieval table, gag in his mouth, a strange and haggard looking man groaned quietly, struggling against his restraints. A tattered winter cap sat atop his head and a stained coat was wrapped around his body. He looked at his captor with wet and pleading eyes.
Snickering quietly, the small cloaked figure crouched nearby, using carefully gloved hands to handle a strange, round object, setting it on a pedestal. The smooth black stone glimmered in the low light of the small room. Appearing more like a gem than any normal rock would, it’s translucent surface glimmering in the low light, the stone gave off a strange aura—almost like a warning of its inherent power.
“Soon,” the figure spoke in a husky, hushed voice, picking up a small curved dagger in the shape of a crescent moon. “All I need is a little of your blood.”
The poor man’s eyes widened, filling with more tears. His moans echoed pleas for help, but they fell on deaf ears. The cloaked villain grabbed his hand in a vice-like grip, causing him to squeal in a muffled voice.
“Just a little blood,” the voice demanded. Drawing the knife across the palm of the man’s hand, the blade retrieved a heavy amount of the deep red liquid. Two gloved hands lifted the rock gently from the table, from the stand on which it rested, and shoved it into the helpless man’s hand. A sizzling noise echoed in the small room and the stone began to glow bright red. Screeching in pain, the man struggled against the ropes that held him there.
After a moment, the sizzling stopped and the stone was lifted away. The blood had all but vanished and the wound appeared to be seared shut, almost as if by fire.
“There we go,” the cloaked person mused. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Moving back toward the table at the center of the room, the figure placed it into the bottom of a delicately decorated box. The interior was lined with silk and the outside covered in black velvet.
Closing the box, the figure tied it closed with a red ribbon. To top it off, a personalized tag was added. On it was written: To Sonja, Merry Christmas.
Turning toward the restrained man, the person picked up the moon blade. “I’ll no longer be needing your services.”
The man screamed as the figure moved in.
CHAPTER 1
* * *
A soft rapping on the door roused Sonja from her slumber. Stirring under the covers, the tousle-haired redhead sat up, listening to make sure she had not imagined the knock at her door. Again, a light tapping echoed through the small single room home.
“Just a minute,” she called, throwing back the blanket and stepping down onto the cold hardwood floor. Quickly, she pulled on a pair of sweatpants over her yellow sleep shorts and put on a hoodie to cover her small black crop top.
“Coming.” Headed for the kitchen area, she opened the front door and was instantly hit with a gust of the bitter Colorado mountain wind. A small shower of snow blew across her bare feet and the tired young woman shivered.
Peering out, she could easily see that no one was around.
“Hello?”
No one responded.
Sonja was prepared to give up, assuming she had indeed imagined the knocking when she spotted something small and black on her doorstep.
“What’s this?” she wondered aloud, crouching down to pick up the little box. Turning it over in her hand she realized it was a gift of some sort, a red ribbon tied around it and a tag attached. Flipping over the tag, Sonja read the greeting: To Sonja, Merry Christmas.
She looked the card over more closely, checking for any indication of whom this early Christmas gift may be from. No other name was present.
Closing the door, she quickly hurried over to her desk and sat down, wondering the whole time who could possibly have dropped off the package. For the slightest second, she considered waiting the two more days until Christmas to open the gift but ultimately gave into her curiosity.
Perhaps this secret Santa had left a clue inside as to their identity.
Gently pulling on one end of the delicately tied bow, she undid the ribbon and pulled it away from the black velvet box. Taking an excited breath, she lifted the lid off the box and looked inside.
Eyes widening with both confusion and surprise, she found herself staring at a strange translucent rock. The body of the stone was completely black and was about the size of a golf ball. A little lost on the point of such a gift, Sonja reached in to grab the rock and see if anything else were under it.
As her hand met the surprisingly warm surface
of the stone, she suddenly felt an unnatural wave of chills running through her entire body. Sonja had grown used to this feeling, having associated it with the presence of paranormal or supernatural elements—only this time, the chills invaded her entire body. It was an intense sensation like she’d not yet felt, and it was quickly followed by a sudden dimness in her vision.
Sonja knew as soon as the tunneling blackness began, that she was passing out. Her hand reached out to grab onto the desk for stability, but missed, sending the supernaturally sensitive young woman toppling down onto the carpeted floor.
She was out before she hit the ground.
* * *
Blackness completely surrounded her, as thick as oil and pressing against her skin with an almost tangible quality. For a moment, it was almost as if she were drowning. The dark substance felt as if it were running into her mouth, her nose, and even her lungs.
Sonja coughed, trying to free herself from the suffocating sensation, and struggling to breathe as she felt around for a way out, an exit.
In the last moments of her struggle, a glimpse of light glimmered through the inky veil. Staring intently at the pinprick in the distance, Sonja felt herself gradually drawn closer—as if floating on air—toward the escape.
A sense of excitement and relief came to her as she rushed forward, but her hope soon disappeared as the light solidified into one large, looming image before her. She saw a table decorated with Christmas decorations, lights, and garland, and adorned with all manner of food. In the center of the table lay a punch bowl of red liquid.
Face down in the punch bowl was Santa Claus, and he was dead.
* * *
Coughing and gasping for air, as if she had just come up from under water, Sonja sat bolt upright. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she realized she was sitting on the floor in her own home, the familiarity of the carpet under her.
What was it she had just seen? Had it been another ghost telling her of their own death?
Glancing down, she spotted the stone laying on the carpet where she had dropped it. Instinctively, Sonja scrambled away from it, having no desire to pick it up again.
As her hand brushed the carpet in her scurry, she flinched. Lifting her arm, she examined her palm and her mouth hung open. Etched into her skin, almost as if someone had carefully and shallowly carved it there with a crafting knife, was a strange circular symbol.
CHAPTER 2
* * *
On her way out to her van, Sonja stopped in briefly at her mother’s house to ask about the present. “Mom?” she shouted as she walked in the back door.
“In the dining room,” a voice replied.
Heading through the kitchen and into the dining room, Sonja found her mother having her morning cup of coffee along with two fried eggs and a slice of toast.
“Mom, did you see anyone come up to my door this morning?”
“Well good morning to you too, dear.” Her mother took a hearty drink of her coffee. “Nice of you to stop in.”
“I’m serious, Mom,” the clearly perturbed daughter complained. “Did you see anyone come up to my door this morning? Drop off a little package?”
Sonja lived in the guest house behind her mother’s large Victorian style home. The other houses on the block were relatively far apart, and large snow dressed trees bordered the yards, meaning that Diane, Sonja’s mother, would have been the most likely one to see a stranger on the property.
“You’re the first person I’ve seen today,” Diane confirmed.
“I was afraid of that.”
“You know I don’t spend all my time looking out my window at your front door.”
Sonja shrugged. “I just thought it was worth asking.”
“Sit down with me, honey. Have a cup of coffee?”
“I can’t,” she admitted, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “I’m going to be late getting to the diner.”
“You’re the owner,” her mother teased. “It isn’t like anyone is going to fire you.”
“I should set the right example for my employees,” she retorted, turning to go. “I’ll be back early today to help get things set up for tonight’s Christmas party.”
Just thinking about the evening’s upcoming celebration helped to calm Sonja's nerves. It was her favorite holiday tradition. Each year, the whole stretch of houses on Diane’s street held a Christmas block party. Beginning at one end of the street, the party guests went from house to house enjoying various assortments of food, admiring decorations, and drinking in the spirit of the season. Ever since she was a little girl, Sonja had considered this party to be one of the best nights of the year.
“Did you say someone dropped off a present this morning?” Diane chimed in before her daughter could make her exit.
Pausing, Sonja turned and nodded her head. “Yes, and it didn’t say who it was from.”
Diane couldn’t seem to help but smile. “A secret admirer, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Sonja lied.
“Or an early gift from Frank?”
Frank was the local sheriff of Haunted Falls, Colorado, and he also happened to be Sonja’s boyfriend. “I doubt it,” the impatient daughter admitted. “I’ve gotta go.”
“What was in it?” Her mother pressed.
Shrugging, the young woman refrained from telling the truth. After all, why would her mother believe her if she said, “It was a haunted stone.”
“Bye, Mom,” she whispered, stepping out the door. She couldn’t help but squeeze her hand, hidden by her winter glove, where she had bandaged the cut symbol.
* * *
Stepping out into the snow she pulled her long, red wool coat tighter around her body, lifting the collar up to protect her cheeks and nose from the chill.
She’d almost forgotten how unbelievably frigid it could get in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, however, the cold was refreshing and brisk, a nice wake up call to another beautiful day. It helped to keep her mind off of strange things, such as mysterious and potentially cursed rocks showing up on her doorstep, or her inherent ability to see ghosts. The fact that Christmas was only two days off also helped raise her spirits a little.
While she usually considered Halloween her favorite holiday, Christmas and the entire holiday season were not so far down on the totem pole, and she liked both for very different reasons. Halloween was enjoyable and exciting, giving kids and adults a chance to face their fears and have fun at the same time.
Christmas, on the other hand, brought a sense of peace, comfort, and charity to the entire community of Haunted Falls. Christmas lights, decorated trees, and gifts created a certain magic that had never vanished with age. Sonja knew some of her friends who, once they got past the age of twelve, grew very cynical about the holidays. She refused to let herself fall into the same trap.
Stepping out onto the main street where her catering van was parked, she dug for her keys in her purse. A fresh bout of snow began to drift down around her as she reached the door to unlock it, but before she could, the quiet sound of a meow—almost like a distant echo against the mountain silence—came from her feet.
Glancing down she noticed a little cat, seemingly all dusted with snow, staring up at her with vibrantly yellow eyes.
“Oh, hello,” she whispered. “You look half frozen. Where is your home?”
Squatting near the little white animal, she looked for a collar, but there appeared to be none. “Are you a stray?”
The cat meowed in reply, almost as if it could understand Sonja’s words.
Sighing inwardly, Sonja titled her head at the cat. “I can’t just leave you out here,” she whispered, contemplating what it meant if she took the little frigid animal back to her house and gave it a little milk. The cat would most likely decide it enjoyed being fed and stay around forever.
Sonja shrugged. “Well, I don’t think I have another choice.” Reaching out, she attempted to grab the cat but failed. It wasn’t as if the cat had darted away or hidden behind the wheel,
it was because her hands went right through its little body as if nothing were there. Wisps of cold white mist danced up from its body and its eyes glowed brighter.
“Of course,” the supernaturally sensitive woman conceded. “You’re a ghost.” Standing up, she watched the little cat brush up against her legs, purring—part of the animal even disappeared into her jeans. “I don’t think I can keep a ghost cat,” she commented, opening the van door to get in.
Before she could say another word or make another move, the cat jumped up—through Sonja’s body—and into the van where it cuddled up on the passenger seat. “Guess I don’t have a choice,” she replied, getting into the car.
CHAPTER 3
* * *
Sonja, as much as she hated to admit it, was fairly used to ghosts by this point. Her very first encounter with an entity from the great beyond was the night she had returned to her hometown of Haunted Falls. The ghost had appeared in her diner and led her straight to a dead body.
Since that night, she had seen more than her fair share of apparitions and spirits. Worse yet, she had little to no one to share her experiences with—at least not if she wanted to sound sane.
The only exception was her local friend, Belinda (whom the entire community had deemed the town nut case). Belinda was very open about her ability to communicate with the dead and had been from a very young age.
Thinking of Belinda made Sonja wonder if perhaps she could visit her friend at the library to ask about the strange rock. Despite being the richest woman in town, Belinda volunteered at the local library. Sonja had visited the library on other occasions to research ghosts, murders, mysterious deaths, and more, all with the help of her “nutty” friend.
Glancing down at the little semi-transparent animal in the seat next to her, Sonja could hardly believe this had become the norm in her personal life.
Creepy Christmas Waffle: Book 7 in the Diner of the Dead Series Page 1
