House Trap

By Mike Mauthor

Rachel Evans is a sixteen year old overachiever who would take nothing less than to achieve her goal of getting into Dartmouth College. But Rachel’s life would never be the same once she stepped into the house of Alicia Hausefalle, the most popular girl in Wedds High School. Rachel was there to tutor her. She never expected to meet two strangers who were ready to end her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Mauthor
• Release date: May 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458053831

Mike Mauthor

-Book Reader ( Fav: Sphere and Pay it forward)- Movie Lover (Fav: too many to list)-Reality show Watcher ( Fav: survivor and big brother)This might sum it up but I'm also...-Ambitious Author(my blog:novelpro.weebly.com)- twitter follower (www.twitter.com/mauthor)- lay-back kind of guyI think that's enough about me, how about you?

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House Trap

by

Mike Mauthor

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Mike Mauthor on Smashwords

House Trap

Copyright 2011 Mike Mauthor

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’re 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.

Prologue

December 23, 1978

The houses on Hamington Street kindled like a winter parade. Every house on the block had Christmas decorations. On their snow-covered lawns, everything from Jolly Old Saint Nick with his reindeers to oversized twirling red and white candy canes adorned their front yard. Pearlescent Christmas lights shimmered at the edges of their roof; some went as far as to spell Merry Christmas. The snow fell gently, salting the earth as night approached. The neighborhood children were done building their snowmen, wrapping on a red scarf around few of them before they left. A Silver 1972 Cadillac Sedan passed by, viewing the rambunctious children crossing the road from the rearview mirror. It finally parked at the far end of Hamington Street; with a jerk from the driver’s door, a lady stepped out of the vehicle looking rather tired.

Underneath her snow hat, she had long, hazel hair that almost reached her shoulders. She's in her early thirties but the look on her face made her appear much older as she hauled out four heavy shopping-mall bags from the backseat of her car. She trudged on the icy path that led to her two-story home. As she finally reached the oak door, she dropped the bags, and fished out the keys from the pocket of her Speckled Tweed Coat. She opened the door slightly, but before she reached for the burdensome bags, she stuck her head inside the opened door, scanning the living room and beyond. She heard creaking noises and her head turned to the stairs that's opposite to the door. A man with jeans and white undershirt leisurely came down the stairs—the handrail, banister, and newel post festooned with pine garland. His brown hair was neck length with side burns and a clipped moustache.

Where is Nicolas? she whispered to the man.

What? he asked loudly.

Shh! Is he around? she hissed at him. He grinned at the way she acted as she scanned the premise once again.

Don't worry. He’s in his room, sleeping, he said in a matter of fact tone, taking the last step and went toward her.

As soon as she heard that, she seized two of the bags, bringing them into the house. The man saw the mistletoe that he deliberately placed earlier at the header of the door. He gazed at his wife with intensity. Then he closed his eyes and was about to kiss her.

Hon, would you please get the other two bags from outside? she asked as she quickly bypassed him and headed to the stairs. Her mind was somewhere else and she was too weary to figure out why her husband acted so strange.

Sure, he said unhappily and grabbed the other bags from outside. He felt how heavy they were as he veered at his wife and said, My goodness, what do you have in these bags, Charlie Chaplin's coffin?

They both strode to the master bedroom and his wife quickly shut the door.

Okay, now we have to hide the presents so that he won't find them, she said glancing around the room, but where?

Hon, you need to calm down, he said, getting closer to her then massaging her tense shoulders.

I know, it’s just that I have a lot to do—did you shop for the Purtis' gifts? she asked her husband, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the massage.

Uh, not yet, he replied.

Her eyes instantly popped open; she spun around, flustered. His hands let go of her shoulders.You’re supposed to do that today!

I know. I was busy with work; I'll do it tomorrow, he replied.

You got only two days till— she said, but he interrupted her, reassuring her again and again that he would do it.

I'm just so stressed, she said. Ignoring her mental frustration, she and her husband both carried the heavy bags rimmed with gifts into their wardrobe and placed an iron lock on it. After that they changed into their nightwear and went into their comfy bed and called it a night.

At the front of the master bedroom's door stood a brown-haired boy in his flannel pajamas, his right ear pressed against the door. He stood there for a while but he now removed his ear from the door. He didn't get to hear what his mom got him for Christmas as he walked away upset.

I stayed awake for nothing, he thought as he headed back to his room. Once inside, he nested in his bed then shifted his eyes at the window. He saw that the pitch-black night tented the sky as the gray, full moon eyed back at him and the earth. The sky brought heavier snow than before. Turning his eyes away from the window, he wondered what his parents might have gotten him.

Star Wars, Star Wars, Star Wars! He thought. They know how much I love that movie. He also thought of the alternative gifts that he might get, but Star Wars was definitely the first on his list and was the only thing he wanted, no substitute. It took him awhile before he dozed off.

Everything was silent in the house for awhile, but the snow outside fell very rapidly. The boy heard some muffled noises, but his door was closed, so he wasn't sure if he imagined the sounds or not. Ignoring it, he kept on sleeping. He felt warm in his blanket as his room got cold; it felt as if he slept on a fluffy, cozy cloud, an image that captured his sleepy mind, giving him a small smile. As the boy sleepily pulled his blanket closer to his chin, his door opened abruptly. Someone stood by the door, but he couldn't see who it was.

Nicolas, the person said in a cold whisper.

Nicolas rubbed his eyes still feeling sleepy; he knew that voice and replied, Mom? What—what do you want? She stood lopsided by the door; her entire body engulfed in shade. His mother slowly came close to him, and then she said in the same cold whisper, Nicolas, you have... then coughed. Nicolas tried to open his sleepy eyes, he barely saw his mother wearing her pink nightgown over the same color night robe. There was a dark splotch on her night robe that he couldn't identify.

Probably a food stain, he thought. His mother slogged toward him like some sort of zombie but suddenly fell to the floor. Nicolas jumped out of his bed, bewildered, and rushed to his mother. He raised her head up and saw that she looked very pale and weak.

Mom, Mom what’s going— he stopped himself, his eyes bulged. The big spot on her night robe wasn't a food stain but rather a bloodstain.

Mom, what happened? he said, trembling with fear.

Nicolas, run! she said in her final, cold whisper then she stared into his eyes, dead.

Mom? Mom! Nicolas shook her but she wasn't responsive. He bent toward her and tightly hugged her, crying. Footsteps surfaced from a close distance outside his room. Nicolas remembered what his mother had said but he knew he couldn't go out there, so he did what instantly came to mind. He guiltily left his mother on the floor, went to the nightstand and opened the drawer. He took a padlock out and shut the drawer. Next, he seized the telephone from the top of his nightstand and rushed into the wardrobe opposite his bed. He locked the wardrobe's folding door with the padlock, and before he was able to dial 9-1-1, he heard footsteps inside his room. Nicolas’s terrified eyes flickered through the jalousie of the wardrobe; first sighting a shadowy figure stretched on the carpet then a man with leather boots sauntered over his mother's body like it was insignificant. Nicolas stopped looking and cowered at the corner of the wardrobe. He calmed his nerves while plugging the telephone in the socket and dialed 9-1-1.

This is 9-1-1, how may I help you? a lady with a honey-sweet voice said.

Hello, my name is Nicolas, my mother was kill— Nicolas whispered.

I'm sorry sir, I can't hear you, you need to speak louder, the sweet voice cut him off. Nicolas grew nervous and the operator's voice, although lovely, wasn’t consoling.

My name is Nicolas, someone’s in my house, he said.

Okay, Nicolas, how old are you? she asked.

Ten years old, he replied.

Do you know your address?

I live at 1610 Hamington Street, he replied. Please hurry.

Okay, Nicolas, the police are on their way... Nicolas removed his ear from the phone receiver. He heard the stranger’s footsteps approaching close to the wardrobe. But his footstep soon faded away.

Where are you right now, Nicolas? the frail voice from the phone’s receiver seeped out but Nicolas crawled slowly to peek through the jalousie to see if the person had left his room. As he did so, the folding door shook violently. Nicolas twitched and shrieked a little then retreated in fright. The stranger definitely knew Nicolas was inside the wardrobe. The person kept on shaking it, trying to open it.

Who’s in there? the person bellowed. Nicolas ran to the phone shouting at the operator to hurry.

Nicolas, please calm down, don't panic, the sweet voice said. Nicolas didn't like the lady's honey-toned voice; it's as if she thought his situation wasn't serious or life-threatening so he hung up on her. He crouched on the floor, his knees pressed against his chest, his arms around them. He stayed put in the corner staring fearfully at the constant, violent jerking of the folding door.

When I open this door, I’ll kill you! the person sneered in the same scary tone. The person kept shaking the door but abruptly stopped. It seemed the person went away. It became quiet. To Nicolas, this was more terrifying. A second ago there were roaring noises and now—eerie silence.

Whoever it was might still be in my room, Nicolas thought as he crawled again to look warily through the jalousie. He saw the intruder wasn't in his room, so he took a deep breath, bracing himself before opening the wardrobe. His mother’s motionless body remained on the floor as he bent down next to her and lifted her head to close her eyes. His thoughts now were of his father, where is he? He sadly laid her down and cautiously left his room. He felt like the intruder, at any moment now, might pop out of nowhere and attack him, so it took him awhile before he was able to get to his parents' bedroom.

The bedroom was messy. Everything on the bureau, nightstand, and bed was scattered on the floor. In the corner where the