The Raymond M. Towers
Sampler
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Raymond M. Towers
About the cover: The cover image displayed has been researched in good faith and is believed to be in the public domain. The image can be found at Best Wallpapers Here.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free sampler. You are welcome to share this ebook with your friends provided that it remains in its complete original form and is not used for any commercial purpose. If you enjoyed reading any of the stories in this sampler, please consider purchasing the full novel at Smashwords. Thank you for your support.
Rated R from some strong language and violence.
Other titles by this author at Smashwords:
Complimentary samples:
Non-Retrieval - A novella of science fiction.
Two Bedroom Cottage For Rent - A novella of horror.
Novels in the Chaos Rift Universe, Fantasy and/or Horror:
A Terrible Thing To Waste (A stand alone prequel.)
The Black Cellar (A stand alone prequel.)
Dobrynia’s Path 1 - Dark Harbinger (A Chaos Rift novel.)
Dobrynia’s Path 2 - Ragnarok (A Chaos Rift novel.)
Before The Seven 1 - Don Diego Meets Lucky Luis
Before The Seven 2 - Scary Peter (Coming soon!)
Works of Horror:
Demonic Murmurs - A collection of poetry and short stories.
The End Is Here - A collection of poetry and short stories.
True Tales Of The Weird (Coming soon!)
Works of Science Fiction:
Variant Worlds - A collection of short stories.
Roaches In The Attic 1 (Coming soon!)
And even a title for the little ones:
The Two Sides Of Humburg - A collection of children’s poetry.
The Raymond M. Towers
Sampler
Publisher’s Note:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
The Stories
Horror:
Two Bedroom Cottage For Rent - from the Demonic Murmurs Collection
The Father And Son Reunion - from The End Is Here Collection
Don Diego’s Dark Premonition - from the novel Before The Seven 1 - Don Diego Meets Lucky Luis
Humor:
Borderback Blues - from an upcoming collection
The King’s New Dog - from The Two Sides Of Humburg, a collection of children’s poetry
Science Fiction:
Junior Hypnotherapy Gone Wrong - A short from the Variant Worlds collection
Non-Retrieval - Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six - is a stand-alone novella, from the upcoming series Roaches In The Attic
Introduction
Greetings, fellow reader,
In this sampler, I’ll be placing one complete story from each of my novels, in order to give you a sneak preview into what the full e-book is about. Perhaps you’ll be intrigued enough to seek out the full volume.
I appreciate the time you’ve taken to download this sampler, and even if you choose not to purchase the full novel, I still hope you enjoy the stories I’ve included here.
Please check in periodically for updates.
Thank you for your support,
Raymond M. Towers
Currently, the sampler holds 6 complete stories, and 1 children’s poem. This sampler was updated on May 20 of 2012.
Horror:
Two Bedroom Cottage For Rent
(This story is part of the Demonic Murmurs Collection; which includes a diabolical twenty poems, short pieces, and novellas in the horror genre.)
Oh, how I dreaded returning home!
Even though I was still a few blocks away, my legs had already sensed in which direction I was headed, and were now producing only hesitant and faltering steps towards my residence. Can you believe that? My very body refused to go home!
Go somewhere else, it cried into my head, even though it well knew I had nowhere else to go. Anywhere else, it insisted, even encouraging me to settle down right there on the concrete sidewalk. This place is better than home, my body pleaded, never mind the grass that sprouts from the cracks, or the constant litter that whistles by as it rides the evening breeze. You can curl up here, right here, on a smooth patch of sidewalk. It will not be too comfortable, no, nor very warm, but it will be safe. Safe, safe, safe!
Regaining my senses, I forced my legs to continue their slow march, glancing beside me to the row of cars parked along the street. In the unflattering reflections of their windows, I could see how weathered my countenance had become. My lips were dry and chapped, my beard stubbly and scraggly, all my features combined together to give me the impression that I was far older than my present age of twenty-five. Attired in my worn jacket and ball cap, I might have even passed for a wandering transient.
A family van cruised by, navy blue and filled with loud, bouncing children, and at its helm sat a stern voiced mother that eyed me suspiciously as she passed. The vehicle pulled into one of the driveways up ahead, its side door instantly sliding open to spill its cargo of playful humanity in several confused directions. I watched as the scolding mother expertly corralled the immature strays toward the front door of the house. As the last of the entourage filtered inside, I thought, what I would give to enter a home such as this one!
Perhaps by crouching, I could enter amongst the children, and convince them that I too was a child. That I too was one of them! I could then hide behind a couch or a drape, and remain there unnoticed until the unholy darkness of night would come and be gone. But alas, this could not be so! It was impossible! Anxiously, I walked around the ass-end of the warm vehicle and continued on my way.
A few yards later, I came across a lazy Rottweiler mutt sitting on a wooden porch. Becoming wary to my presence, it raised its head at my approach, and after I’d further incited its interest, the dog trotted out to meet me. Like a good sentry, it waited by the corner of its yard, intending on mimicking my traverse on the sidewalk with its own steady march alongside.
Only a short height of chain link fencing separated me from the unruly animal, and this fence’s barbed edge was only a few meager inches above the monster’s big, broad shoulders. Effortlessly, it matched my pace and issued a low, menacing growl in my direction.
“Why not jump over that ridiculously low barrier?” I challenged the dog. “Why not just follow me all the way home, if you’re so big and bad?”
I wondered how long the brutish beast would last, once it was inside my private confines. A couple of hours, a handful of minutes, or just a few fleeting seconds? How long would it take for this powerful canine to be reduced from a violent, rumbling force of nature, and into a quivering mass of spineless yelps and whines? Perhaps, and unlike myself, it would make the wise choice and simply not enter into the house at all. Oh, the conundrum of it all!
A few steps later, the yard and the fence both abruptly ended, the dog was forgotten, and my thoughts quickly slipped elsewhere.
Once again, I was left alone with my own miserable memories. For two long and arduous months, I had resided in an earthly pocket of Hell. Two months, that was a short length of time for most, but not for me. The duration for me was better comparable to that of two lifetimes! When I roamed within this house, I swear to you that the wall clock would deliberately slow itself. It seemed to take hours to slide from one minute to the next, as if it were willing and eager to prolong my suffering while I was in there.
Finally, I reached my own street. The first house I walked by was painted yellow, the second green, the next pink with white trim, and so on and so on. I passed homes with chipped and peeling paint, yards littered with children’s toys, driveways accented by late model imports, and open windows releasing urban pulse-pounding music. As I moved on, I glanced at the front doors of these structures, so bold and forbidding they were.
What secrets were hiding behind these doors, what atrocities were being kept at bay by their restrictive walls? Which of these residences contained deviltries as sinister as those that awaited me at my own dwelling?
Hesitatingly, I came to the worn, bedraggled property on which I resided. Two houses had been built onto this cursed stretch of land, a cumbersome three bedroom monolith, and behind it, my tiny two bedroom guest house. The front residence was partially obscured by the neck-high shrubbery that ran across the entire length of the sidewalk, save for the few exposed yards of the cracked and dilapidated driveway. Five foot high, chain link fencing ran down the sides. The left end of the yard was particularly snarled by a blanket of rampant, serpentine vines that grew from the dirt and all the way up to the top. These vines were so thick that not even daylight could penetrate their dark choking of the fence. And, as an ultimate act of vandalism, both houses had been painted in an unsightly mustard color, an ugly tone that perfectly mirrored their dark personalities.
I had only traveled a few feet into the driveway, when the front door of the main house forcefully slammed shut. Clearly, I was not invited to socialize with my next-door neighbors, nor for that matter did I care to do so. The front house, I knew, had its own secrets, as evidenced by its late night arguments that would, on occasion, erupt into the sounds of struggle, of breaking dishes, of angry and sometimes chilling screams.
To the immediate left of the main house lay the short passage that led to my own dwelling. It was a bleak path, where the vines were at their thickest, and leafy, sap-laden trees from the neighboring yard would tauntingly reach over and tickle my head sticky with their overhanging branches. At the end of this walkway lay the place where I lived, a place that I would never, ever, endearingly refer to as ‘home’.
Its dimensions always brought to mind the archaic term ‘servant’s quarters’. It might have been described as a cozy cottage in a more affluent neighborhood, with its two small bedrooms, its living room perfectly suited for a thirteen inch portable TV, and a bathroom where two was definitely considered a crowd. No, it wasn’t much, but it was indeed the spot where I lay my head at night.
As had become my usual custom, I proceeded to walk around the entire structure first, scrutinizing all the doors and windows for signs of tampering. Once I’d completed this brief inspection, I stopped before the front door. There was no telling what manner of evils the house had lined up for me tonight. I began to feel a growing dread as I stood there, a pressing urgency to flee in a mad, screaming panic, when a sudden chill bit into my lower spine, and rippled upwards until I thought it would burst through my head. Natural or not, the chill had effectively accomplished its task. My trembling hand slowly inserted the key into the keyhole, unlocked it, and encircled the forbidding knob. I literally had to force my fingers to turn it.
Sliding the door open, I held my breath and poked my head in. Nothing malevolent was there to greet me yet, I sighed with relief, nothing dark nor frightening save for the creeping shadows of the evening. Stepping inside, I didn’t bother to lock the door behind me, a precaution I’d only recently begun, and made necessary by my need for an urgent and fear induced escape. Taking a customary seat on my old recliner, I patiently waited for the rest of the night to fall. There would be no reading here, of either books or magazines, and no watching of television, for the house would not allow it. It was expectant of my full attention, and one way or another it would have it.
As I sat there in the ensuing obscurity, in the dead silence and noticeable chill, I could feel movement stirring about me. This was not the kind of movement that you can point to and say, ‘Hah! There it is!’ Instead, it was a different type of motion, invisible to the naked eye, yet discernible by the mind nonetheless.
This dark energy presented itself in various forms. It could approach as if it were the subtle play of shadows, or announce itself as a sharp drop in room temperature, or it could seek to deceive with a quick, furtive dart in the corner of my eye. Most people would simply dismiss the movement as being the result of the vagaries of their own imagination, but as for me, having already resided in this little Hell for some time, I recognized the black ebb at once for what it was.
It was the house, ready to wreak its mischief. It would always send out a specter or two to ascertain whether or not I brought company in with me, and this night was no exception. Of their own accord, my breaths began to rasp out laboriously, exiting my body in steamy bursts. One of the ghouls approached from the vicinity of the kitchenette, creeping in its sullen manner towards my seat. Its soft steps were audible only to myself, coming nearer and nearer, and at any second, at any moment, I expected the very hand of Lucifer himself to fall upon my shoulder.
For an eternity, the phantom lingered just behind my head, as if undecided on which of its torturous pranks to commit itself to. For now, the demon was satisfied with its nerve-wracking taunts, and as slowly and quietly as it had approached, it withdrew and left me with only its dreadful memory, and a few shivers and tremors that didn’t die away until several minutes later.
This unexpected reprieve allowed my fear to subside temporarily, and my random thoughts to congeal into more coherent patterns. I tried to settle in to recollections of more kinder and gentler times, but my mind kept coming back to the house, and to how I’d ended up in its thorny grasp. The story is neither short nor pleasant, but since the house has so graciously allowed me a few moments respite (no doubt to pacify me now in order to augment the shock on me later), I will go ahead and tell it, in its entirety if possible, or if not, then as much of it as I am able to relate before the night’s cruel festivities begin.
Not too long ago, just a few months’ time, matters in my life had been vastly different than they are now. Emotionally, I was in a shambles, undergoing a particularly difficult breakup with a young lady whom I had dated for the past two years. Our relationship had been a tumultuous one from the start, sprinkled with a dash of excitement (or was it tolerance?) here and there, and from that point had proceeded steeply downhill with the reckless abandon of a runaway truck and trailer. Our final disagreement had been bitter, and on her part, even violent, resulting in the expedient packing of my belongings, and as she so eloquently framed it, me getting ‘THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE!!’
I managed to obtain temporary accommodations with a formerly close acquaintance of mine, setting up residence in his home’s guest bedroom. Things were looking up, I thought, until I stepped past the threshold and met the pair of destructive hellions that had cleverly disguised themselves as his small children.
My demanding position as the manager for a high traffic, exclusive and ritzy hotel’s parking garage required my constant attention, taking me from the home for substantial amounts of the working week, and my hours shifted according to the expected traffic flow. In the interim, the two rampant goblins would procure entry into my personal living space, apparently achieving a rare state of bliss after rearranging my belongings into the most random patterns imaginable. Not just some of my belongings, mind you, but each and every one, from the briefs in the underwear drawer, to the rolled up socks in the sock drawer, to the neatly organized shirts and pants in the closet, to my highly prized collection of seventies disco music, to the… Well, you get the idea, I’m sure.
Placing a security chain on the bedroom door didn’t faze them in the least, as they resorted to prying the window latches open with butter knives, taken right under the nose of their inattentive mother. In an attempt to counter their deviousness, I made it a loud point to hammer the windows shut one afternoon, but the very next day, I discovered that those butter knives worked just as well on the security chain as they had on the window latches. I thought a sliding bolt would finally rid me of my worries, until I observed that the door had been kicked in when I arrived the next evening, and I found the bolt hardware lying on the carpet with wood shavings still clinging to the displaced screws. (Of course, the mother claimed she hadn’t heard a thing while her children were busy kicking open the door. Perhaps she was in cahoots with my former girlfriend, but I never did find that out for certain.) My frustrations fell upon deaf ears, as the only viable solution from my hosts’ point of view was for me to move back in with my ex.
Excuse me? I should be moving back in with my ex? How utterly preposterous! Imagine me, sniveling and cowering, crawling on my hands and knees, begging for forgiveness and asking for a second chance from the woman who had thrown me out! After two long years, I was once again a bachelor, free from binding ties and dreadful obligations, and free from the punishment of required household chores. I was free to roam the earth, to stare and ogle at whom I pleased, and when I pleased, and for as long as I pleased! I was free to leave my phone number for the waitress to find, free to issue seductive winks to the girl at the end of the bar. If my two hosts were any indication of a happy matrimony, I said to myself, then to hell with married life!
After such harassment, my vindictive side was bound to come out. I gave the two troublemakers, as well as their insensitive parents, one last, dire warning not to touch any of my belongings, then proceeded to set mouse traps in choice locations throughout my bedroom. As you may have guessed, this is the juncture where my close acquaintance turned into my former acquaintance, and amidst threats of police action and lawsuits, I was given one week to find a new place to live.
I spent the next few days scouring through the ‘For Rent’ ads in the newspaper and shuttling back and forth across town looking at prospective places. Half a dozen rentals still remained on my list when I happened across that unforgettable flyer, awkwardly taped on the long stem of a street light.
TWO BEDROOM COTTAGE
$475 PER MONTH, UTILITIES INCLUDED
3973 EAST LANE
CALL MARLA AT 232-3101
I found the rent quote to be quite appealing, as most of the studios I’d checked out were going for an even higher rate. The neighborhood, on the other hand, I did not particularly care for, since I might have had a run-in or two with their local toughs, back during my own hell-raising days. In spite of this, I jotted down the number, and that afternoon I gave Marla a call. The older Haitian woman was as cooperative and friendly as could be, and we arranged for a showing later in the week.
I first laid eyes on the house just a few days later. I admit that it looked rather drab, with its odd mustard color and lifeless exterior. From the outset, I noted that there wasn’t much of a view. I could see the rear of the main house from the living room window, and the littered back alley, along with a couple of weedy, undeveloped lots, was visible from the small kitchen portal on the opposite side of the so-called cottage. Much of the interior was dowdy as well, from the brown trimmed kitchen floor tiles to the brown and orange, flowered curtains. The stove I found to be grimy and stained, roach droppings were in evidence on the cupboards, and the kitchen sink was leaky. Worst of all, the place was cold. Even though it was only early autumn, and the sun was still shining brightly outside, the temperature inside the dwelling was nothing short of icy.
Sure, the house had its shortcomings, but there was nothing some solvents and elbow grease couldn’t clean up. Marla also agreed to reimburse any upgrades I made through rent reduction, and with the rent as low as it was, I couldn’t afford to pass the place up. Heck, if I got a roommate down the line, I’d only be paying less than three hundred bucks a month. We agreed on the terms, I filled out some paperwork, dished out the security deposit and first month’s rent, and received two sets of house keys in return. I made plans to move in, the following afternoon after work.
Eager to be rid of those ransacking urchins and their less than benevolent parents, I arrived promptly at my new home. My entire collection of belongings came with me; two briefcases of clothing, three boxes of odds and ends, my portable television, and a pair of borrowed blankets. Surveying the barren household brought to mind that some furniture might be in order.
After a short bus ride to the local Goodwill, I returned the proud owner of a pair of used twin size beds, a ridiculously small kitchen table with four matching chairs, and a recliner and sofa clothed in fall hues that didn’t clash too much with the grimy orange carpet. Said items could have been delivered much easier courtesy of the back alley, but the delivery men, being experts in their field, instead parked their shifty, oversized truck in the driveway of the main residence, and carried the bulky furniture down the crowded walkway and through the front door. With something approaching glee I stood aside and allowed the two workers to bring my items inside.
It was then that my neighbors from the main house made a rare public appearance, perhaps out of curiosity over whether or not the puffy sofa would fit through the tight front door. The first to arrive was an old and foulmouthed woman, who feigned hanging laundry on the clothesline, but was in actuality only moving it from the first row to the second, and who continually cursed me for having chosen that particular day to take up residence. Soon after she retreated, a boy and girl in their teens walked by, their eyes listless and downcast, and looking so much alike that I took them to be twins, and most probably the old hag’s grand-children. The silent carousel moved on, and the two Goths were replaced by what I supposed to be their father, who was the strangest of the bunch. The man was in his late thirties, fair skinned and inquisitive, his hair permed into soft waves and dyed a bold shade of blonde. His interest in the deliverymen, I noticed, was more than casual as he observed them from different angles, and he carried with him a small napkin to wipe the drool from his mouth. This man, not coincidentally, was the sole person to acknowledge my arrival, casting a knowing nod in my direction every so often. The general attitude of indifference suited me fine, since I myself preferred privacy over publicity.
In my haste, I had neglected to purchase additional blankets, and that first night, I had to damn near put on my entire wardrobe to fend off the arctic chill of the house. The second night, I didn’t fare much better, as the nippy cold penetrated past the woolly thickness of four blankets. I awoke in the morning with a pounding headache, and a nose so runny I had no choice but to call in sick. As midday approached, I discovered I had somehow contracted a fever, and after gulping down a few aspirin, I settled in for a slumber that proved to be a hundred times more peaceful than what had passed for sleep during the past two nights. Unfortunately, my fever worsened with the approach of darkness, and much to the annoyance of my short-tempered boss, I had to miss two more days of work before the illness finally broke. On my fifth day in the house, my fever was completely gone, and slowly, steadily, I began to regain my energies. The worst, I thought, must surely now be behind me.
I had never been so utterly wrong in my entire life.
During the day, things were quite normal, but that might have been because I was not at home. For the majority of the following week, I picked up extra hours here and there to make up for lost wages, reducing my time at home to a mad rush of showers and shaving, and consuming alarming quantities of sweetened cereals, frozen dinners, and whatever leftovers I brought home from the local fast food joints. I must remind you, this is what I did during the daytime hours, when sunlight was in bloom, and warm breezes were still flowing through the cottage’s open windows.
It wasn’t until the lights went off that strange things transpired. In addition to the wintry temperatures, which gnawed and bit at my exposed skin like a writhing mass of starved maggots, I was introduced to even more sinister peculiarities of the house. For one thing, it was quiet. Not a relaxing kind of quiet, or a library kind of quiet, but the tense and clammy quiet of graveyards. It was a disconcerting quiet, where the slightest noises were magnified almost beyond comprehension.
The irregular drops from the sink, which were sometimes heard throughout the night, or sometimes heard not at all, resounded loudly as if wanting to draw a vain attention to themselves. At times, they dripped into the awaiting sink bowl with the clamor of Chinese gongs.
Also, as if to aid in breaking this dead silence, lonely canines from far and near would raise their grizzled snouts and howl in an unholy chorus where the sirens they serenaded were heard only by them and seemingly emanated from a central location in my living room.
Then there were the murmurs, coming from within the walls themselves, and the sobs, carrying into my bedroom from the rest of the house, and the sounds of hushed voices that I fervently hoped were only emerging from my own imagination.
There, do you hear that? From the other room, listen! Listen! Soft whimpers, like a child’s, that’s what I heard. You didn’t? Never mind, you’ll see soon enough. Now where was I? The silence? The voices? Enough about that! Let us move on to other, nastier things.
Then came the bites. The bites! THE BITES!! Tiny shots of pain, sharps jolts as if from needles, tearing into my flesh and rousing me from the deepest slumbers. These weren’t gradual and tingly like flea bites or mosquito bites, no sir! These were deliberate pinches and minute stabbings! Harsh enough to bring winces and tears from my eyes, startling enough to make me turn the lights on and disassemble the bed looking for what I presumed to be insect culprits. But there was no evidence! Not on my legs or arms, not squirming about under my covers, not anywhere except, I thought, as in the case of the murmurs, from the confines of my own confused head. At the moment, how was I to know it wasn’t just me and my imagination!
I suppose that with the passage of time, I became more tolerant, or ignorant, but not quite immune to the house’s foul moods. So, like a truly challenged opponent, it stepped up its efforts. I found myself tossing and turning about late one night, anticipating the liberating moment when fatigue finally overcame my restlessness, when the outdoor sounds of murmuring voices and scuffling footsteps brought me to complete attention. I mentally followed the whispers and footfalls as they rounded the corner of the house, and continued right up to my front door. Soft scrapes began to pry against the lock on the front door.
Like an assassin, I slipped from the bed and crawled over to the closet, where I kept an old baseball bat expressly for occasions such as these. Arming myself with the weapon, I left the sanctuary of the bedroom, and quietly stepped into the living room. Abruptly, the scratches stopped and cautiously, I peered past the curtains, discovering that no living soul was about. Similar results were reached after I’d systematically checked each and every point of entry into the house, from the doors to the windows. With no small amount of preoccupation, I took a wary seat on the recliner, and it was there that an untold time later I would finally find sleep.
The scraping sounds returned a few nights later, this time from the window just a few inches above my head. I rolled from the bed, retrieving my bat from its new resting place against the nightstand, and viciously tore the curtains from the wall. The view of empty night sky momentarily confounded me, until the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps spurred me into immediate action, and I bolted towards the front door. Several precious seconds were lost as I unlocked the door, but the instant it swung open, I dashed outside.
My impatient strides carried me through the dark path, and it wasn’t until I reached the sidewalk that I brought myself to a screeching halt. Panting from the exertion, I shot hawk-like glances towards all areas of the darkly cloaked street.
For a handful of long, frustrating minutes, I simply stood there, until the nagging coldness of the night air swept past the rush of adrenalin and into my sleeping clothes. Slowly, angrily, I turned back towards the house.
Stepping over the cold concrete of the driveway, my gaze swept to the entryway of the main house, where a lone figure sat on the porch’s narrow cement steps. A cigarette illuminated a portion of the man’s face. It was my strange neighbor with the wavy blond hair, ogling my sturdy frame through the tank top and boxer shorts, until his eyes came upon the smooth club brandished in my grip.
Once I’d dismissed him as being the guilty party, I spoke out aggressively. “Did you see anybody run through here?”
Slowly, apprehensively, the man cringed and shook his head, an impotent action that almost made me take the bat to his head anyway. Our gazes were fixed on one another, neither one of us daring to move, and in that brief span of time, he might just have realized the enormity of my barely harbored and grim potential. Then, our movements almost synchronized, we parted, me down the blackened walkway, and he up the steps and into his house, leaving the smoldering cigarette behind on the top step, as a defiant talisman meant to ward off demons, or perhaps merely bat-wielding, unpredictable back house tenants.
Be certain of one thing, I had made a few enemies in the past. Some even from this very neighborhood, I thought as I reentered the embrace of the cold cottage. Perhaps, I pondered, these past rivals had discovered that a former adversary was now again in their midst, and therefore, I had walked right into their clutches. A situation swiftly remedied, I surmised, locking myself in, and turning the bedroom light on. From the closet, I pulled out the last of my boxed belongings, which included a small caliber pistol, a .280 Davis automatic. It was a weapon I had hoped never to use again, but in the here and now, its uncontested protection and brashness was heartily welcomed.
As if contemplating my startling reaction to the outside phenomena, the house ceased its peripheral pranks, and concentrated instead on attacking me inside my own head, barraging me with the most dreadful nightmares. Their grisly details followed me long after daybreak; dismembered and crimson corpses limping through the house, friends and acquaintances plotting and carrying out vicious murders, including my own, and visions of barely human predators stalking and hunting down much weaker and defenseless prey while I watched from nearby, and worse. Oh, some of these nightmares were considerably worse.
I didn’t realize it at first, but I began dreading the time I spent inside the house. I took any excuse to work longer hours, and after work, I would frequently invite my buddies out for drinks or burgers, or do anything at all to avoid going home. It was during one of these occasions that I met Uma.
I was at one of the downtown dance clubs, in what should have been just another night out with the boys. My buddies were all having a good time, making one beer after another disappear, and pouncing upon any hapless female that happened to glance in their direction. Me, I was just sitting idly at our table, pretending to enjoy the company and the music, but in reality, I was desperately trying to figure out a way to prolong having to go back ‘There’.
One of my friends tried to coerce me onto the dance floor. He managed to get me to the edge of the gyrating crowd, where we both stood for a few minutes. Eventually, he found a dance partner and I didn’t. As I started to return to my seat, I inadvertently bumped into a girl. A very pretty girl.
I remember our conversation perfectly.
“I’m sorry...” I started weakly. “I didn’t mean to...”
“Oh, that’s okay.” She replied automatically. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, anyway.”
It was at that point that we both got a good look at each other. The young woman’s height was nearly equal to mine, and for a long, lingering moment, we both stood there as if transfixed. Her large brown eyes produced a gaze that was both curious and seductive, her lips were full and warm, her voice strong, yet very feminine. Her black hair was unusually long, reaching down to her lower back, and in sharp contrast gave her soft, light skin a very sensual radiance. She wore a dark, luxurious leather jacket over a black blouse that did little to hide her full breasts. Her tight black skirt stopped abruptly a few inches above her knees to reveal her long, toned legs. Her name, of course, was Uma.
The blaring music, and the low murmur of a hundred conversations, all seemed to fade away before her presence. I couldn’t bring myself to turn away from her eyes, for fear of shattering the special moment. “Would you like to have a seat with me?” I asked, summoning up my courage.
“I’d like to, but I really can’t.” Uma answered, glancing sideways. “My friend and I were just about to go.” Turning back to me, she smiled. “I don’t know, maybe I should stay a little longer after all.”
“You’re leaving already?” I asked, knowing that it was still fairly early.
“We have a long drive back home.” She admitted. “I live almost two hours away from here, in Los Angeles.”
“Where’s your friend?” I asked, suddenly concerned that Uma would soon be gone. At the same time, I was hoping that this ‘friend’ of hers was not male in gender. “Maybe I can convince your friend to stay? Is it a he or a she, by the way?”
“ ‘She’ went to the ladies’ room.” Uma informed me, to my obvious relief. “We really do have to go, because we both have classes in the morning.”
“Well, what if we both get lost in this crowd?” I kidded. “If anything, it’ll give us a few more minutes to talk...”
At that instant, the song being played ended, and another, more popular tune took its place. “This is my song!” Uma said excitedly. “Come on, dance with me!”
Taking hold of my hand, she led me onto the dance floor, where we squeezed into a crammed space between the other dancing couples. Immediately, Uma began dancing, her sensuous movements adding greatly to my attraction for her. (Although I could lay no claim to being an accomplished dancer, I held my own.) Pressed in by the other dancers, I found that our two forms frequently touched, and the thought of Uma’s body next to mine produced chills, but these were the good kind.
Uma brushed against me flirtatiously, briefly encircling my neck with her arms. Then, she released me, smiling teasingly as she moved away. The song went on, and we rhythmically danced, becoming oblivious to our surroundings. There was only the thumping beat, and me, and her. Just as I was settling into this mood, the song ended, abruptly intercepted by the following track, and our magical bond was broken.
“Aaww!” Uma complained. “The DJ cut the song off early!”
In irritation, I briefly thought of climbing over the towering speakers and strangling the poor fool.
“I really have to go.” Uma said, speaking loudly to break the wall of pounding bass. “There’s my friend, over there.” She pointed.
Uma took my hand and directed me off the dance floor and towards another pretty female. She introduced us, and as our words were being exchanged, I unwittingly caught the facial expression Uma gave her friend. It was a brief glance towards me, followed by her beautiful smile and the raising of her eyebrows. Right then, I knew that Uma felt the same way about me as I was feeling about her. It was lust at first sight.
Uma repeated that she had classes in a few short hours, and both women agreed that it was time for them to depart. Sensing our mutual attraction, Uma’s friend politely left first. We exited the disco shortly thereafter, pausing out front to talk. I wanted to find out so much about her, but I only had a couple of short minutes. That would not be enough, I thought. “I wish you didn’t have to go so soon.”
Blushing, Uma lowered her head. When she looked to me again, her eyes smiled as deliciously as her lips did. “I don’t want to go.” She replied. “But I have to. You know I do.”
Her friend pulled up to the curb, wisely parking a few yards ahead of us.
With her departure being so imminent, I became speechless. For several long moments, no empty words crossed the expanse between us. Our hands were clasped together, and the only movement came from Uma, who was giddily bouncing on her heels. Her wide, luscious smile beamed at me, and I gave in to its intoxicating hold.
Until now, I hadn’t even thought to ask Uma for her phone number. Awkwardly, I blurted out the request. After hearing those words, Uma’s eyes actually seemed to glow even brighter. She related her number to me easily, and I, caught unprepared as I usually was, searched fruitlessly through my pockets for something to write with. Giggling at my clumsiness, Uma ran to her friend’s car, and finally jotted down her number on an old napkin. As she returned to hand me the paper, she looked back at me, uncertain of what would happen next.
Instinctively, I reached out for her, my arms tightly clenching her body. In the embrace, I tried to convey the desire and passion I felt for her. She responded by holding me just as tightly, and nuzzled her head high against my shoulder. When our embrace finally ended, and our arms slipped away from each other, I found myself longing to kiss her, yet I could not bring myself to do it. My indecision cost me dearly, as the perfect moment rapidly faded away. Uma stepped over to the car, dropping into her seat, and instantly I regretted not having done it. We said goodbye to each other, and I watched dumbfounded as the door shut and the vehicle quickly drove away.
I could not get Uma out of my mind, and even after I was dropped off at home, I could barely resist reaching out for the phone and dialing her precious number. As far as I was concerned, things could not get any better that night, and strangely enough, the house made no attempt to ruin my mood.
The next day at work, I found myself frequently thinking about Uma. In my head, I repeated the pleasant images from the previous night over and over, completely wiping away the bitter moments I’d spent inside the house. The frightening events I’d gone through no longer seemed to have happened to me, but to someone else, far away.
Due to a slow day at the hotel, I got home much earlier than usual that evening. I prepared a TV dinner for myself, and sat down on my recliner to eat and watch the telly. I found my eyes were frequently hovering on the phone. I was doing this so much, that pretty soon the television lost its appeal entirely, and I ended up shutting it off. Around seven pm was the best time to call, I recalled Uma saying, and as that time neared I found myself becoming more and more agitated. Finally, at seven o’clock on the button, I could wait no more. I dialed Uma’s number, and surprisingly, there was an answer on the first ring.
“Hello.” I greeted clumsily. “Is Uma home?”
“Hi.” She replied. “It’s me.”
“Are you busy?”
“I’m just sitting here by the phone, doing some homework.” She said. “But that can wait.” Pausing thoughtfully, she added. “You know, I didn’t think you were going to call me.”
“How can you say that?” I asked, in disbelief. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day!”
“I don’t know.” Uma said. “I though you might be going out with your friends again.”
“I’m not ‘into’ going to the clubs.” I said, truthfully. “I don’t go out that much at all. It’s just that, I…” I could hear the house snickering behind me. “I just had to get away from home for a while. You know how things are, you go to work, you go home, and then you have to go to work all over again. I needed a break last night.” Then, I added flirtatiously, “I was lucky enough to run into you, wasn’t I? I’m suddenly finding no desire to go out anymore.”
Uma giggled at my corny remark.
As our conversation continued, I found we never experience that awkward initial phase that sometimes occurs, when two people first start talking to one another. Our talk flowed smoothly and pleasantly, as if we were already close friends. There were no abrupt silences where we didn’t know what to say next, and no prickly comments that shouldn't have been uttered. The conversation jumped from one subject to another, and I was pleased to find that we shared many common interests.
I learned a lot about her; Uma was twenty-three and worked part time as a hospital intern. She was studying medicine at a junior college on the outskirts of Los Angeles, and if her application were to be approved, as she suspected it would, she would eventually be transferring over to a larger university. In fact, her best prospect was the University of Nevada, and she had done plenty of legwork towards making her upcoming transition as smooth as possible. She’d already obtained next semester’s schedule for the out of state college, found interested employers in related job opportunities, and had even located suitable areas for student housing. She was really on the ball, for a woman.
Some time later, our conversation began to take a more personal tone. “I’ve been kind of kicking myself about this.” I admitted to her. “Last night, I really wanted to kiss you, right before your car drove away.”
“I would have let you.” She revealed, seductively. “I really wanted you to.”
I sighed.
Our conflicting work and school schedules left us little time to converse, and much less to date. On top of that, the considerable distance between us was a huge factor in keeping us from seeing each other. With no other appealing alternatives, we agreed to talk on the phone again a few days later.
It was ten o’clock by the time we said our goodbyes. As I returned the phone to its cradle, I was already looking forward to the next time I spoke with Uma. I leaned back on my recliner, and lazily stretched my feet onto the footrest. My jovial mood was yanked away by a sudden lurch backward from the recliner. The sensation of panic and falling were brief, yet frightening nonetheless. Cautiously, I righted myself, all the while wondering why this strange incident, which had never before occurred, decided to take place at this precise moment in time.
Those strange, inexplicable bites plagued me incessantly that night, even worse than they had before. Instead of one single prick, every so often, I was being hit with multiple shots simultaneously. It felt as if a handful of needles were being stabbed into my back, and a couple of hours later, the same thing would happen to another part of my body, like my foot or my ass. In this manner, my extremities suffered the most, but my face and neck did not escape affliction. Feeling this pain on my fingers and toes was especially excruciating, as it felt like portions of my skin were being nipped off. Only by turning on the bedroom light, and keeping it on all night, did I ward off the pinches long enough to find some sleep.
Over the next few days, I began thinking about the eerie things that went on in the house. During the brief period I had lived there, I considered, I had experienced events that were clearly beyond reason. Instead of blaming my own paranoia, like I usually did, I began to consider another, much weirder alternative. Perhaps the house itself was haunted.
Now, let me reiterate that I am not now, nor have I ever been, certifiably insane. In fact, before I moved into the house, I would actively berate and shun everything about the paranormal. However, the situation between when I was in the house, and when I was anywhere else, was as sharp a contrast as night is to day.
To test out my theory that the house was indeed haunted, I would need witnesses. Up until this point, everything I had gone through had happened to me while I was alone, and of course, I could not simply call a friend or fellow worker into my confidence and start jabbering away at them. Who would believe my story? I could already see myself, being dragged away by the men in white coats, kicking away and struggling to free myself from a straitjacket, while at the same time frothing at the mouth and screaming like a lunatic. Later, after some lengthy period of interrogation and medication, some experienced lunatic analyzer would introduce me to a padded room, and say ‘Unlike your previous residence, this room actually likes you. It likes you very much, in fact.’
Approaching my drinking buddies would be just as bad. All I could expect from them was ridicule and remarks for me to lay off sniffing glue, which of course, I’d given up a long time ago. ‘Hey, guys, guess what?’ I imagined myself telling them, over another round of the sudsy stuff. ‘I think I ticked off my house the other day, and now it keeps wanting to kick my ass. What gives, man?’
Refusing to simply cower away like a wretched dog with its tail between its legs, I decided to do some cold calculating of my own. I formulated a plan, the first step of which required a phone call to the landlady, in order to investigate the background of the house. Marla proved a bit elusive, and later, evasive, so I reluctantly dropped that item from my list. Second, I called up as many of my friends as I could, arranging a late night get-together at my place. I urged them to bring plenty of beer and chips, in the hopes that some of them would end up staying the night. Inviting so many strangers inside, I surmised, was sure to throw the house off guard.
Once I got to the residence, I instituted the regular practice of checking the exterior of the structure, looking over all the doors and windows, and even going as far as pulling on the security bars to ensure their strength. Once I had assured myself that nothing and no one could easily get in, I turned my attention to the interior. Mentally, I observed the contents of each and every room, familiarizing myself both with the type and size of the objects, and with their general placement. Finally, as daylight began to wane, I clicked on nearly every light in the structure, defying the shadows to creep out and face the glare.
Later, satisfied that I had done all I could, I settled down and waited for my company to arrive. My friends began trickling in, carrying either six packs of alcohol, bags of chips, or rented action movies. As the partying began in earnest, we proceeded in consuming everything we could lay our hands on, and twice had to go out to replenish our liquor supplies. I encouraged the others into participating in a beer chugging contest, with the winner being the first person to pass out. Almost predictably, the one who fell incoherent the fastest was myself.
I awoke from my intoxicated slumber much later, just a few strokes shy of ten in the morning. Most of my entourage had slipped away earlier, but fortunately two of my buddies still remained. One lay sprawled awkwardly across the bed in the second bedroom, while the other was draped over the recliner, mumbling unintelligibly when he saw me walking by. As I stood there in the living room, trying to piece together the previous night’s events, I noticed something regarding the house’s atmosphere. I wore only a thin covering of clothing, a tee shirt and jeans, yet I was not cold. Countless times before this night, I would be shivering even when under mountains of blankets. But not this morning! As I had hoped, the house had stayed away from me. I had successfully driven the evil away. I had beaten it! I thought gleefully, I had won!
My buddy on the recliner had phased over from muttering to loud snoring. It was a bothersome noise, but one that I could gladly live with, considering the darker alternative. I retreated back into my own bedroom to get dressed for work.
So encouraged was I with these favorable developments, that I reserved that night exclusively for Uma. I made no plans other than to be home beside the phone and awaiting her call. Sweet thoughts of her began dancing around in my mind, and I began to realize just how much I longed to hold her close again. To feel her breath against my skin, to run my fingers through her soft hair, that, my friends, was pure heaven.
Not too much later, the phone started shaking in excitement, mirroring the anticipation that I was feeling. Once our greetings were finished, we picked up exactly where we’d left off previously, as if we’d been apart mere seconds, instead of a stretch of several days. Our conversation leapt from minutes to hours, with neither of us willing to break free from the other. Inevitably, however, the moment came when we had to say goodbye, but the woeful event was considerably softened by an unexpected kiss from the receiver.
“That,” Uma said. “Was what I wish I had done to you, that first night!”
As I replaced the phone on its cradle, I knew I was falling in love with her.
Still feeling somewhat lightheaded, I stood up, intending to retire for the night. Shockingly, I was halted in my tracks by an overwhelming sensation of chilling, gnawing fear. In that unparalleled moment, I could not move or think. A few seconds later, I found myself gasping for air, realizing that I had unconsciously been holding my breath. I made slow progress towards my bedroom, shivering with every single step that I took. The dark, encompassing cold had once again returned to the house.
Hazily, I remembered asking one of my buddies if he were cold, during the previous night’s powwow.
“No.” He had answered drunkenly. “It’s just you, man.”
The words echoed hollowly inside my head. It’s just me, I thought. None of my friends had exhibited any discomfort the previous night. Thinking back, the only other person who had entered the house since I had moved in was Marla, the landlady. When she had been showing me the place, she hadn’t seemed affected by the cold either. In fact, she gave me a puzzled expression when I had mentioned it.
It’s just you, my head confirmed to me. This was something that I hadn’t fully considered before. Like a vengeful, sentient being, the house itself was battering me, and only me, from the moment I stepped through the front door. It was clinging to my body like a malicious leech, tormenting my mind with its vile thoughts and nightmares, and torturing my body with its unfaltering iciness and pinpricks.
“You’re a demon, aren’t you?” I asked out loud.
The unforgiving darkness did not answer, and that night, like so many others before it, I had to sleep with the light on, under the cover of half a dozen blankets.
The following morning, I awoke, still groggy and half asleep. For most of the night, I had wrestled with a myriad of nagging nightmares, and could still recount many of the details vividly. I remembered that I was being pursued by an oversized, axe-wielding barbarian. This stout menace was heavily bearded and scraggly, and his bulging, rage filled eyes revealed that his insanity knew no boundaries. This man wore a furry, animal skin tunic, held around the vast waist by a thin, leather belt.
In every one of these nightmares, one grisly detail haunted me. This was the large, double blade axe, dripping with blood, that the madman carried in his grip. Of course, at the conclusion of my dream, the blood dripping from its ends was always mine.
I had gotten up late and so hurriedly ran into the bathroom, where I quickly undressed for my morning shower. As I casually pulled open the shower curtain, I was startled to see the same barbarian from my nightmares, crouching patiently inside my bathtub. Swiftly, he stood up, dwarfing me with his massive frame. This angry giant stepped towards me, lifting his hairy arms high and preparing to swing his crimson stained weapon. I lifted my arms up protectively around my head, and instinctively hurled my body backwards. My back painfully slammed into the bathroom door, and as I fell to the floor, I immediately curled my body up. I knew that I had no chance against this monster, or his weapon. That huge axe could easily cut me in half.
My eyes were tightly shut as I braced myself for the impact. For many tense moments, I did not move. Hesitatingly, I lifted my head, and opened my eyes. Finding myself alone in the bathroom, I cautiously got to my feet. I was half expecting the apparition to return, and when it did not, I wondered if I had somehow carried over the previous night’s dreams into my conscious mind. Regardless of the reason, I was still shaken badly enough to take the fastest shower of my life. Dressing quickly, I left the house as soon as I could.
That night, I tried to round up my buddies for another night of boozing and carrying on, but being a weeknight, only a couple made it in. A single vehicle brought the two of them, Jesse and Steve, into the alleyway behind the house. Their arrival was less than discreet, as they pulled in honking their horn and flashing their lights. Steve brought in the liquor, two twelve packs, and set them on the living room coffee table. Jesse was the driver, and he stayed behind to lock up the car and bring in the rest of the edibles.
As I took my customary seat on the recliner, Steve tossed me the first beer, which I gladly popped open. We could hear Jesse fumbling with the outside gate, and then with the back door.
“I don’t really need any help over here.” He complained sarcastically. “But thanks anyway, guys.”
I heard the door close shut, and a few seconds later, a loud gasp, followed by the sound of falling grocery bags. Alarmed, I glanced over at Steve, and the both of us bolted from our seats and hurried into the kitchen.
Jesse was standing there, immobile and open-mouthed, just a few feet from the back door. His face was ashen, his eyes bulging, and his body trembling. The bags he’d been carrying were now on the floor, one going as far as spilling out some of its unsecured potato chip cargo.
“What happened?” Steve asked, rushing to Jesse’s side.
Jesse shook his head, dazed. “I dunno.” He replied. “When I stepped through the door, something went through me. Something went right through my body.”
Jokingly, Steve commented that he probably just had a bad case of gas. This produced a good laugh among us, helping to ease an anxious Jesse back to normal. Once the kitchen was cleaned up, the three of us went into the living room, and further comforted our buddy with a beer. I continued to rib Jesse, trying to get him to elaborate on what had happened to him, but he quickly clammed up.
Reluctantly, I dropped the matter, but as the conversation turned to other subjects, I noticed that something strange was still bothering my friend. Every so often, Jesse would glance over his shoulder, or turn his head sharply towards an unoccupied corner of the living room. As my buddy got more intoxicated, these unexplainable actions became more blatant. Steve nudged my arm, motioning for me to find out what was troubling him.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-26 show above.)