Becoming
Page 1
Something ancient has wormed its way up from the earth....
A change has come today.
After Michele Cote's best friend disappears, no one believes her story about the thing responsible for his abduction. Forced to figure out the mystery for herself, Michele encounters terror she has never known, and witnesses the impossible.
When other members of the community begin to change or vanish, Sheriff Shane Davis must look beyond reason in order to stop the evil seeping into this small town. With help from an unlikely source, Sheriff Davis will come face-to-face with the truth.
You can't destroy what you don't understand. For the small town of Avalon, Maine, the future is about change...for better or worse.
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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.
Becoming
Copyright © 2017 by Glenn Rolfe
Edited by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Hook of a Book Media
www.hookofabook.wordpress.com
Cover by Jason Lynch
http://jlynchgraphics.com/
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 Electronic Publication: March 2017
Alien Agenda Publishing
www.glennrolfe.com
Praise for the author:
"A vital part of this next generation." – Brian Keene, author of The Complex, and The Rising
“We're in the presence of a rising star in the genre.” – Ronald Malfi, author of The Night Parade, and Floating Staircase
"Rolfe is the real deal, folks, and anything he writes is well worth checking out." - Gord Rollo, author The Jigsaw Man and The Crucifixion Experiments
Praise for Blood and Rain
"A major new talent rises from the Maine woods...Rolfe is the real deal, and Blood and Rain is a classic monster novel, full of blood and teeth and the kind of razor sharp writing that makes the pages sing. Small town horror is back, with a vengeance!"--Nate Kenyon, award-winning author of Sparrow Rock, Diablo: Storm of Light and Day One
"Many authors nowadays get lauded for writing 'throwback' horror fiction, but none of them quite goes the distance like Rolfe does in Blood and Rain. Werewolves, silver samurai swords, and small New England towns: it all makes you wish this was twenty years ago so you can take the paperback off a supermarket spinner-rack and huff the yellowed pages." - Adam Cesare, author of Zero Lives Remaining and The Summer Job
"I devoured Blood and Rain in two frenzied sittings. A wonderful throwback to the fun and bloody days of paperback horror glory! Devoted fans should sprint to the store for this one. Can't wait to see what Rolfe comes up with next!" - Richard Chizmar, Editor-in-Chief of Cemetery Dance, and author of A Long December.
"We have a great villain to root against, and heroes to cheer for. Many more experienced, more celebrated writers could learn from Rolfe. If you Love werewolves, you'll love Blood and Rain." - Brett J. Talley, author of He Who Walks in Shadow
BECOMING
Glenn Rolfe
Dedication:
For Erin, Hunter, Russell, Brian, and Ron.
I love this stuff.
Thanks for the inspiration and constant encouragement.
Thanks to God, to my wife and three awesome kiddos. Thanks to my mom and step-dad. Thanks to Erin for all that she does. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Thanks to all my friends in and out of the writing world. Much love and respect. I always appreciate your support and kindness.
Special thanks to Lisa Cleveland for asking me whatever happened to this story.
Cheers.
-GR
“A long time ago I never knew myself. Then the memory
Of shame birthed its gift.
No more. The small one, the weak one, the frightened one.
Running from beatings, deflating. I'm becoming more
than a man.” - Pantera
“I said I feel so alive now
And you know I feel that a change is
A change is gonna come.” - Candlebox
“We are the angel mutants. The streets for us seduction
Our cause unjust and ancient
In this "B" film born invasion.” - The Misfits
- “Table of Contents”
PART ONE:
MORE THAN A MAN
Before….
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
PART TWO:
A CHANGE HAS COME
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
PART III:
THE LADY OF JADE LAKE
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Bonus Novella
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
-
PART ONE:
MORE THAN A MAN
Before….
Under a September sun, the last visage of summer heat clinging to his bare back, Clint Truman gazed out over Jade Lake. The shimmer and shine off the water was blinding. The beauty of the lake behind his house always seemed taunting compared to the ugliness of his life. Sweat rolled down his wiry frame, the scars on his ribs serving as tattooed reminders of the wickedness in his past. The power, fury, all-around evil of his father.
Jack Truman now lies dormant to an extent. Stomach cancer has slowed his will, and ultimately, his physical ability to dole out the sadistic punishment that prevailed over Clint’s life for the last few years. The old man weighs in at about eight-nine pounds, wheezes like Anakin Skywalker at the end of Return of the Jedi, and can barely do more than shit and piss himself in the back bedroom. Yet, despite his atrophy, the eyes hold steadfast to the man’s hatred and pain. His gaze cuts Clint in half.
Every. Fucking. Time.
A splash from the lake caused him to sit up. It came from right in fro
nt of him.
Shielding his eyes, squinting as he surveyed the water, a set of glowing green lights faded in and out below the surface shaded by the dock.
“Whoa…”
It was only when he leaned over the edge of the platform that he saw the face looking up at him.
“…holy fucking shit.”
The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, black hair floating out around her head, like seaweed, floated below him. His gaze drifted down her neck to her bare breasts.
Two long appendages darted up from below and latched hold of him.
His mouth opened to scream, as he plunged into the warm lake, the water doing its best to replace the air in his lungs.
Wide-eyed, he was gripped with the pain, confusion, and terror that exploded within him.
The thing was human-like, yet far from it, and let its mesmerizing glowing eyes come back from their dead depths. Its slick tentacles slithered around his head, pried between his lips, and shoved their way deep inside.
His limbs lost all feeling.
Clint’s eyes lost focus. An oddly euphoric rush flooded his head as the face with the green glow faded to black.
The night sky welcomed him back to life. Stars blurred, then came into focus.
It felt like someone poured gasoline down his throat and set it ablaze. He tried swallowing and instantly regretted it. His tongue might as well have been sandpaper covered in some sort of foul paste. He managed to flip himself over as he gagged and vomited. Brown sludge...the sight of his puke made him purge again. Lightheaded, he crawled from the gross mess and tried to get to his feet.
Stumbling toward his house, he made his way up the back steps, and stopped at the tic tac sounds of something hitting the porch floor at his feet.
Dropping his gaze, he stared at the two teeth that had fallen from his mouth.
The fucked up sight jolted him.
Clint rushed inside, praying his father wouldn’t call out to him.
“Hey!”
Shit.
“That you, boy? Where the fuck have you been?”
Clint entered the bathroom next to his father’s death cell, flicked the light switch, and closed the door. Lunging forward, he turned on the faucet and sucked at the egg-smelling water.
Thirst quenched, he stood and gazed at the monster in the mirror.
His face was morgue-ready white, his eyes more bloodshot than anyone not knocking on heaven’s door should be, and his chin was smeared in a mix of mud and blood. He reached up, lifting his top lip to reveal the spot where his teeth used to be. His gums were black.
“Clint! You missed my goddamn pills, you faggot. You hear me, boy?”
He couldn’t let his father see him this way. The miserable prick would just have to wait for his meds.
“You make me get out of this bed again and I’ll make sure you pay.”
Clint snatched the pain pills from the rack above the toilet. Without showing his face, he stepped into his father’s room and tossed the prescription bottle at the fading bag of bones.
“What the fuck? Where you going? Clint, you get your pansy ass back here. Get me some water. Clint!”
He went upstairs, into his dank and dingy bedroom and curled up beneath his comforter. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to remember where the day went and what happened to him. His mind was blank. One minute he’d been sitting in the sun on the dock, the next…he’d woken up under the clear night sky like this… some kind of monster.
Sleep, that’s what he needed. A little rest and that would give him back his color and take care of his horrifyingly bloodshot eyes.
But what about my gums? What the hell is wrong with my mouth? Jesus Christ, two of my teeth just fucking fell out. What if more come out while I’m asleep? Can you choke to death on your own teeth?
Eventually, the thoughts quieted and exhaustion overtook him. He let go and fell into a deep slumber. Somewhere in the background he could still hear his father pissing and moaning from downstairs.
Just before sleep nestled him into unconsciousness, he recalled twin green lamps…and a face in the water.
Chapter One
“Michele? Did you see this?”
She watched Greg reach down into the water’s edge and scoop up a large clump of mud. He was such a boy. Even at fourteen, he still loved to play in the dirt. Staring at him, she took in his fluffy brown mop that her dad called a Beatles haircut swaying in the breeze off the lake and his brown eyes lost in wonder at whatever he’d snatched from the water.
“Listen," she said. “I have to get back home. My dad’s taking me out driving again.”
“You gotta see this,” he said. “This slug is glowing.”
She thought he was being crazy and messing with her until she stepped next to him. The thing poking up from the mud was glowing, but it didn’t look like a slug, more like a slimy vine. It stirred an uncomfortable sensation in her gut, and then, it moved. She jumped back holding a hand to her chest.
“Greg, put that down.”
“What? No way. I need something to put it in.”
“I’m serious, Greg. You should just toss it back in the lake.”
“No way. It’s cool.”
“You’re not bringing that home. Your mom will kill you.”
“My mom won’t even know. Stop being such a chick and find me something to hold it in.”
Uh. Chick. She hated that word. She wasn’t about to cluck. She backed away, not daring to avert her eyes from the awful thing in Greg’s hands.
“Michele, come on, please? Look around.”
She spotted an old plastic soda bottle by his BMX bike.
“You’re an idiot for touching that thing. And you’re going to owe me, big time.”
“Shit, shit, shit.” Greg stumbled backwards, falling onto his butt, waving his hand like a madman, trying to shake the glowworm-thing off.
“Here, here, here,” she said, rushing over to give him the bottle.
“Just hit it, get it off me,” he cried, his voice shrill, scared.
She swatted the creature, turning it into a patch of green slime across his palm.
The strange green illumination faded.
Greg dropped to his knees and crawled toward the water trying to rid his flesh of the bizarre mess.
“It won’t come off.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it won’t come off.”
His voice was making her feel ill.
“Let me see.”
He held his palm up to her. The slime was still there, clinging to him. She saw a cut between his thumb and forefinger. The green guts seemed to be gravitating toward the wound.
“Give me your hand,” she said.
Greg did. She reached down toward the lake water, drudged up a creature-free clump of mud, and tried grading the mess away.
“Rinse it again and let’s see…” she said.
As he plunged his hand into the murky water, a series of glowing spots came to life.
“Get back,” she cried.
Another, larger glowworm reached up and latched itself around Greg’s wrist.
“Greg!”
Before she could grab him, Greg Hickey splashed into the lake. His feet disappeared below the surface.
She readied herself to jump in after him. More of the bizarre creatures poked up from the water.
Michele screamed.
…
Greg’s weak attempt to scream drowned the moment his head submerged. His hope for making it back up suffocated when the slimy extension slipped past his teeth, hit the back of his throat, and continued farther inside of him. His arms and legs went dead. His mind, racing with horror, went fuzzy like when he’d drank too much Nyquil with his cousin Todd. Green lights surrounded him as he moved away from the shore. It was then he noticed, even though he wasn’t breathing, that he was still alive.
…
Michele could see the trailer park just beyond the trees. Holding her hand up to
keep the branches from whacking her in the eyes, she pushed herself, pumping her legs, tears streaming down her cheeks. She knew time was of the essence. She’d be lucky if Greg hadn’t already drowned.
As she bolted from the tree line onto the dirt road, she screamed to her father.
Her dad was reaching for something in the bed of his pick-up when he turned toward her.
“Michele?”
“Daddy, quick, something pulled Greg into the lake.”
He didn’t question her. He took her hand as they headed back toward the woods.
One of their neighbors, Dot Olson, peeked out her door.
“Dot, call 9-1-1. Possible drowning.”
That was all her dad shouted, not waiting for a reply, as they hurried back down the path.
By the time Michele and her dad got to the lake, Greg was nowhere to be found.
The fire department, Sheriff Davis and his deputies, and even the State Police came out and searched the lake. For two days, they went from one end to the other. There was no sign of him.
Betty and Don Hickey were a mess.
Everyone asked Michele what happened. Nobody believed her story. They never said as much, but she saw it in their eyes. Glowworms? Or slugs? A creature in the lake? Everyone around her looked at her with sympathy in their eyes. She knew he didn’t jump into the lake or fall. Greg was a good swimmer, he always had been. He would have made it out. He was taken by something in the water.
Her father told her, “I want to believe you, Cheli, but what you’re telling me, it just doesn’t make any sense.” That had hurt the worst. She knew how stupid it sounded, but she knew what she saw. There was nothing sensible about what happened to her best friend.
In her dreams, Michele saw him, standing at the water’s edge, glowing in the dark.