The Haunting Of Mr. Coster's Money

By CJ Chastain

Jack had always been worthless. He fumbled through life taking what he wanted and not caring who he hurt. Of course, it was never enough. Fed up, Jack wanted a big score to give him enough cash to run away from his life forever. After hearing the legendary story of mean old Mr. Coster and his missing money, Jack thought it was the perfect chance. Certain Mr. Coster was dead by now; Jack expected to find the old man’s corpse along with the money. But what he found instead was far more terrifying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CJ Chastain
• Release date: Oct 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301702343

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THE HAUNTING OF MR. COSTER’S MONEY

By CJ Chastain

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Monkey Moo Publishing

All rights reserved.

This book and the contents of this book are property of Monkey Moo Publishing. All rights are reserved.

Any reproduction of this book or the contents of this book, in whole or in part, are prohibited by law, without the written consent of the publisher. It may not be replicated by any means, including, but not limited to, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, transcribe or rewrite, recording, photocopying, or any other duplication method.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real people, places, and events is completely coincidental.

THE HAUNTING OF MR. COSTER’S MONEY

Jack was trouble. He had always been trouble and no one had any reason to believe he would ever be anything but trouble. In high school he sat in the back and paid no attention to what the teachers were saying. He only attended to steal from the backpacks and desks of students and teachers as well. Later he stopped attending altogether; finding that the tools, electronics, and jewelry he could take from empty houses during the average school / work day had much higher values.

In his twenties the things he stole were mostly just to keep. After selling meth for couple years he had a system he was happy with and plenty of cash for beer and cigarettes. He justified his actions of course. After all, he didn’t make the horrific drug, he just distributed it. Sure he could make a lot more money doing it all, but that was a lot more work. And it was a lot more to hide from the cops. No, he was happy. He had it good, especially compared to his friends. They all worked jobs they hated although they never really put in a full day of work. To them their bosses were assholes and always asked them to do more than they should have to. No matter where they worked, that was the story.

As far as anybody ever knew, Jack was always between jobs. Although most of them bought their meth from him weekly, no one was smart enough or cared enough to realize he never got a job. Selling them their disgusting habit was his job. He never had anything he had to do, but always had some place he had to go. Every evening he collapsed into a white plastic chair in the front yard, alone or with friends, a beer in hand, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, exhausted from the day.

He had lived with Miranda for a couple of years now. Her trailer wasn’t big, but it was one of the nicest in the park. He had promised to fix the broken trellis on the porch last summer, but hadn’t got around to it. After all, he and his best friend Rick broke it one night, drinking and wrestling in the yard. Jack would be damned to let Rick think he could kick his ass. Nothing was resolved on that night or any other night for that matter. Both drunk and unable to stand up with ease, they pushed and pulled on each other until they fell into the porch, crushing the cheap trellis wood. Rick cut his arm, but they both couldn’t stop laughing. Miranda yelled at them for an hour.

Miranda was a sweet girl, but made horrible decisions. She had two kids with two men, neither of which had been seen in years. Her oldest, a girl, was almost ten. Miranda had been a teen mom, so happy and ignorant to the challenges in her future. Her boyfriend at the time wasn’t any more ready than she was, but he wasn’t physically attached so he could leave. He first told her he was going to his uncles to work. It was only a few towns away and he could come back on the weekends and buy stuff for the baby. He, of course, came back very few weekends. Later he started coming back more, but not to see the poor pregnant girl. She would find out he was in town but had made no effort to tell her and she would cry. She cried all the time. The last she heard, a month before little Kelly was born; he had left the town a few towns away and went even further.

Her second child was a boy, a