In the House of the Devil

By Ken Sabey

A blade erupted from her chest; blood soaked steel flashing for an instant in the pale glow of the overhead street lamp. Just as violently it retreated, leaving splintered chaos in its wake. After his wife's murder, John escapes Chicago with his teenage son and takes refuge in an old farm house in northeastern Oklahoma. There a secret is revealed; when people die, they don't always stay dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Sabey
• Release date: Nov 5, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452379364

Ken Sabey

"In the House of the Devil" is my first novel. It came about after a conversation with my nephew, a TV writer, when I asked what made him such a successful writer. He answered, "I write. I write everyday.". So for six months I wrote everyday. For another year and a half, I re-wrote. Then I found SmashWords. Now I'm looking ahead to my next novel.

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IN THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL

Ken Sabey

Smashword Edition

Copyright 2010 Ken Sabey

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1: The Murder

A blade erupted from her chest; blood soaked steel flashing for an instant in the pale glow of the overhead street lamp. Just as violently it retreated, leaving splintered chaos in its wake.

The scene assaulted him - as if his own heart had just been butchered. What just happened? He hadn’t had time to react, to stop it! His cry of disbelief melded with his wife’s gasp for breath as the perpetrator escaped down a darkened alleyway.

John grabbed his wife as she collapsed to the wet curb. He pressed his hand against her wound and laid her head gently onto his lap. He screamed, his cracked voice echoing off the brownstone buildings. A bystander from across the street came running. John yelled out, Get help! Now! Turning back to his wife he tried to comfort her. Christine, hang on, I'll get you to a hospital. It’s okay, just hang on.

His wife had convinced him to go out that evening, saying that it had been years since they’d been on a date together. That their work, their son, even just plain laziness had prevented them from enjoying each other's company. Being so tired lately, he’d initially baulked at the suggestion, but Christine could be quite persuasive when she set her mind to it.

Now she lay motionless in his arms, silent but for her labored breathing. Her eyes – he’d never seen such fright in a person’s eyes.

With every beat of her weakening heart, warm liquid oozed between his fingers to mix with the biting night air. The resulting vale of steam lingered idly above his hand. No matter how hard he pressed, the bleeding wouldn't stop. She was dying and he was powerless to prevent it!

Why? This was the word that ravaged John’s mind as panic threatened to overwhelm him.

Suddenly Christine was raising herself up, pulling on his arms with all of her might. Help me! Please help me!

Not wanting to let up the pressure on her wound, John gently pushed her back down with his free hand and whispered, It’s okay, don’t be scared. Help is on the way. I just need you to hang on a little longer. Come on Baby, just stay with me!

His tears coalesced on her pale cheeks as he began to sense the life drain from her body. Damn it, hang on!

Her breathing stopped, her eyes stilled and he knew she was gone.

No! God no!!!

--

John? John are you alright?

John faded back into the moment with the sound of Greg's voice. Turning, he peered into the concerned eyes of his brother-in-law. Greg was an average looking man in his early thirties, whose best trait was his extreme maturity. He was Christine's only sibling and the two had been very close throughout their lives. Over the years John had found himself being jealous of that intimacy on more than one occasion.

John, talk to me, Greg kindly demanded.

I'm numb. Inanimate. Pointing to a grave a few feet away, John continued, Like… that grave stone. I should be feeling something, but I don't. I feel nothing.

It's alright, Greg reassured. We're all in shock. But take a look, he said, pointing to the people surrounding the freshly dug grave site. See everyone who's come to be here for you… for us?

John studied the gathering of family and friends, all fighting to stand up straight against the insistent winds whipping through the Rosehill Cemetery. It was an overcast day with hints of rain to come. The late September chill was making its presence felt. He unconsciously rubbed his hands together. Not a good day for a funeral he thought, but then when is?

Continuing to observe his surroundings, John addressed his brother-in-law again, Greg, what do you fear?

Quietly, Greg replied, I'm sorry?

What do you truly fear? John restated.

John, what are you talking about? Greg showed a bewildered expression.

John’s gaze settled on the casket that was on display prominently in front of them, I fear… the unknown.

John’s thoughts became focused on the casket, which was regal on its raised platform. It showed off of a hand-rubbed Champlain Cherry finish with immaculately polished, silver trimmings. It was made from imported Catapla wood, which was supposed to be very durable; at least that's what the funeral director had pointed out. John suddenly wondered why it would need to be so durable.

To protect her of course.

Interesting he mused, how he had felt some temporary relief in accomplishing this last task for Christine.

John turned and studied at his teenage son who was standing next to him. John admired the boy’s features. Luke had received all of his parents’ best attributes; dark hair, golden brown skin, well proportioned body and a handsome face. He thought about how everyone always mentioned the boy's eyes - the startling blue eyes. John remembered a friend once commenting on how Luke had soulful eyes. The friend went on to state that he had a sense about Luke that there was a maturity within him that most young people did not posses. John had trouble believing that himself; maybe because he dealt with his son on a daily basis.

In thinking about this, John realized that lately he had not been much of a father to his son and was thankful that his wife had been filling in for him. Like when Christine fought to get their son entered into a well respected gymnastics club and then drove him there every afternoon for the three-hour long practices. Luke had decided at a late age that he wanted to become a great gymnast and so Christine took on the responsibility to help him fulfill that dream. John knew he would never have enrolled his son in that particular sport, but now, after four years of observing his son’s unwavering commitment and proudly watching him win several championship trophies, he was beholden to his wife’s forethought and efforts.

John’s introspective ceased when his son looked up at him. He could not detect a single tear in those soulful eyes, but he knew what Luke must be going through.

Luke said, Dad, see all of the people who have come for Mom. I didn't realize she knew so many people. She was really liked, huh?

Yes, she was much loved. John smiled at his son.

Once Luke had turned back to observe the ceremony, John followed suit. Suddenly blinking his eyes, John focused on a spot about a hundred yards beyond the gathering of mourners. He had seen something, but now it was gone. Was he imagining it? No, there had been a man standing by the trees. And it was a man he recognized.

Dad, what is it? Luke asked.

What? Oh, nothing Son, John replied. Patting his son on the shoulder, John caught the concerned appearance on Greg’s face. No more was said however, as the three of them turned their attentions back to the proceedings.

--

The ceremony was short, as John had requested. At its conclusion, a few close friends approached him and his son to give their condolences. John assumed that the others in attendance would hold off until the wake.

John’s heart almost stopped as Christine's father finally approached. The man took John’s hand in his and held it firmly for a moment, then reached over and gently hugged Luke. After letting go of Luke and without ever saying a word, he turned and walked off in the opposite direction. John was sure the man was still morning the recent loss of his wife, and now his only daughter.

John was actually relieved that his own parents hadn't been able to fly in for the funeral. He knew he wasn’t prepared to see them yet. Sometime soon he promised himself, he would go visit them.

John felt the wind grow in intensity as he watched people stroll back to their cars. Taking a deep breath, he took several steps toward his wife’s grave and stopped. He looked down at the freshly covered ground and wondered how many times in the years to come he would visit this site. How many different days would he stand here asking, Why? Demanding to the gods to be heard, to be given an explanation. It should have been me! John’s knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground.

Greg, standing only a few feet away, reacted immediately and ran to his aid. He helped John get to his feet. Greg said, John, it's okay. Take your time. There’s no hurry.

After a few minutes, John composed himself and stood on his own. He thanked Greg for the assistance and in doing so briefly caught sight of his son, who was leaning against a nearby tree. Luke appeared as emotionless as a statue. John wasn’t sure why and was a little disappointed that his son hadn’t come to him in that moment.

Brushing away the feeling, John indicated that he was ready to leave and the three of them headed back to the car.

--

No one spoke on the return drive to the funeral home and upon arriving, John asked Greg to take a short walk with him. Greg’s frumpy girlfriend, who had accompanied them on the ride, offered to take Luke to a diner across the street. Greg thanked her and indicated he and John would be there shortly.

As the two men walked, John pulled a ring of keys from out of his coat pocket and began to rub his thumb over one key in particular. It was a vintage house key which, he could tell by the small speckles of remaining paint, had once been a cream color with red trim. It felt solid and smooth to his touch.

Speaking loud enough to offset the gusty wind, he laid out his plans to Greg. I'm taking Luke to the country. We are leaving Chicago. We will stay at a place I own in northeast Oklahoma.

Greg’s expression revealed that he’d been caught off guard by the statement. What land? What are you talking about?

John replied, You remember when I was the financial officer for that tech company?

Vaguely.

The owner was from Tulsa and he was an avid hunter. He talked me into investing in several acres of wooded land outside of a town called Claremore; to use for hunting trips. He said that it had an old farmhouse that I could use when staying there.

Greg cut in, Have you ever even seen the property? John shook his head that he hadn't. Greg quickly continued, A lot has happened in the past few days, but moving away? Are you sure? Luke has family and friends here. You both have a life in Chicago.

We can't stay here. John stated flatly as he shoved the key ring back into his pocket.

From his body language, it was clear that Greg considered their conversation to be turning fragile. He asked, Have you talked this over with Luke?

No, but I will tonight. We are leaving. He will understand. John studied the crisp, white lines of the parking lot as they approached the backside of the funeral home. He found himself timing his stride to avoid stepping on the lines.

Greg continued, What about the police investigation? You can't just pick up and leave.

I've talked with the lead investigator. Since there were two witnesses, other than myself, I'm not considered a suspect. They of course will check into whether I was involved… just procedure.

Greg shot back, How could they even consider that?

John stared for a moment at his brother-in-law, then replied nonchalantly, Don’t worry, it’s nothing. They have to investigate all likely suspects. Anyway, it's alright for me to leave the state, but I have to stay in communication with their office every day.

By now they had come upon a set of dumpsters that were partially hidden by a fence at the back of the building. The wind had blown one of the lids open so that it was banging loudly against the metal back of the container. Greg reached around, grabbed a hold of the lid and prepared to heave it shut. As he did so, he asked, How long will you be gone? You'll be coming back, right?

Not answering, John turned and walked away. The sound of the dumpster lid slamming shut echoed behind him. As he pulled out his cell phone and began to dial, he heard his brother-in-law yell out to him, John! How long?

--

John entered the aging diner and found his son and Greg's girlfriend sitting at a metal table drinking sodas. Strolling over to them, he made eye contact with first his son and then the woman - whose name he still couldn’t recall. Reaching them, he accepted the soda that Luke offered and sat down in one of the slick, vinyl covered chairs. Thanks. Holding the can to his neck he sighed, Nice and cold. Perfect.

The girlfriend casually asked, So where's Greg?

Not being in a particularly talkative or helpful mood, John just shrugged in response and was rewarded with a hiss and rolled eyes. Maybe 'Bitch' was her name he contemplated as he opened the soda can.

Luke broke the silence, Dad, can we stop by the store on the way home?

What? Why? It was the last thing John expected to hear.

There's a new band, Luke replied in his salesman voice. I want to pick up their album.

John turned on his son, who immediately averted his eyes. John could barely contain his anger as he asked, You want to stop by the store on the way home from your mother's funeral to shop for music? Raising his voice he continued, Am I hearing you right?

His son responded in-kind, Never mind!

No kidding never mind. John slammed his can down, splashing soda across the table. In response, Luke sprung up and made his way out of the diner. John watched his son leave, while at the same time becoming aware of the attention he was drawing from other patrons. He turned and frowned at the girlfriend who was currently burning holes through him with her eyes.

She spouted out, Maybe he just wants to think about something else John. Something else besides the fact that his mother was just brutally murdered.

John wished so much to lash out at her with a witty, biting comeback, but he knew she was right. He just screwed up royally. He got up and followed his son out into the parking lot. Passing Greg as he went, he cut off any attempt at rekindling their previous conversation with a wave of his hand. Luckily Greg got the hint and passed by with only a nod.

John stood watching his son for a minute. The boy’s back was turned to him, but he knew Luke was aware of his presence. I'm sorry Luke, he said quietly. It's been a long day and we still have guests arriving at our home shortly. We'll go to the store tomorrow, I promise.

I have school tomorrow, Luke replied as he walked a few feet away and stopped, both arms wrapped around himself like a blanket.

John approached and placed his hand on Luke’s shoulder, You don't have to go to school tomorrow. You don't have to go back anytime soon. I'll arrange it with your teachers.

I'm going back to school… its fine. Luke jerked his shoulder away and took another few steps forward. I want to.

Okay, then we'll go shopping this evening.

Don't bother. I'll just download it off the Internet. Luke turned, Can we just go home now?

Yes, of course, John replied.

As he observed Luke walking across the parking lot, John became vaguely aware of his own right-hand thumb rhythmically touching each of his fingertips, one after the other. It was a nervous habit he’d picked up as a kid, usually while sitting at the dinner table and trying to distract himself from the sights and