In the End

By Breanna Bright

There is something very wrong with the house on Drunk Horse road, something that bothers Thursday, even as he and Alice make it their home. There are always strange noises and shadows that come with a new house, but in these shadows a sinister existence is watching, and waiting.

When Thursday becomes trapped in limbo he must find a way to get back to the real world and save Alice from the creature haunting their home, but Thursday’s crossing could mean the end of the world. And as with all ends, there is undoubtable Death to answer to.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Jul 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781618683076

Book preview

A PERMUTED PRESS book

Published at Smashwords

ISBN (Trade Paperback): 978-1-61868-306-9

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-307-6

In the End copyright © 2014

by Breanna Bright

All Rights Reserved.

Cover art by Dean Samed, Conzpiracy Digital Arts

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Table of Contents

Chapter One – A New House

Chapter Two – How They Met

Chapter Three – How He Died

Chapter Four – When the Fireplace Burns

Chapter Five – Answers in a Book Store

Chapter Six – The Previous Owners

Chapter Seven – When It’s All Hallow’s Eve, the Dead Will Rise

Chapter Eight – Charlie’s Voice

Chapter Nine – There’s a Party at the House on Drunk Horse Road

Chapter Ten – The Smiling Man

Chapter Eleven – Death Makes a Deal

Chapter Twelve – All Soul’s Day

Chapter Thirteen – In the End

About the Author

-Chapter One-

A New House

Alice and Thursday found themselves on Drunk Horse Road, staring up at house number 1310, ignoring the shivers that ran down their backs. It was a two-story home, Victorian style with a pointed roof, a covered porch, and dark windows that seemed to conceal some watching entity.

The real estate agent’s spiel was lost under the squeal of the porch steps. Thursday looked up at the rotting beams and scratched-away paint. The agent had trouble unlocking the door, and used her shoulder to push it open.

They walked inside. Thursday watched the dust dance in the beam of sunlight that fell through the door. Corners of the house were filled with cobwebs and shadows which had deepened with time.

Now this one has been on the market for a while, the agent said, so I’m confident we can negotiate it down to a point where you can afford the renovations it needs.

We really weren’t looking for a fixer-upper, Thursday said.

The agent smiled an oddly mischievous grin. She was looking at Alice as she spoke. Thursday followed her gaze; Alice was staring up at the large bay window in the living room. There was a crack in the glass. Yes, the agent said, but I really wanted the two of you to see it.

As the tour continued, Thursday came to understand what she’d meant. He didn’t so much look at the house as he studied Alice, the way her eyes widened and her chest swelled as she gasped, discovering the hidden charms the agent had been hiding up her sleeve. There was a spiral staircase that led upstairs, a marble fireplace, and bookshelves that went all the way to the ceiling.

Thursday immediately hated it. The closets were tiny, the kitchen was outdated, and the bathrooms . . . ugh.

But then they found the secret passageway.

The real estate agent strolled up to a bookcase, her high heels thumping loudly on the old floor. Alice was close behind, her sneakers padding softly. The agent smiled – an impish little smirk that said she had this one in the bag – and motioned for Alice to give the shelf a little push.

The shelf slowly moved on hinges, revealing a doorway and hidden staircase. Alice squealed, a childish sound of delight that echoed throughout the house, disturbing the dust and making the shadows shift. Alice was already halfway up the stairs before Thursday could register the return of the chill. He quickly went after her, wondering what renovated horrors awaited him.

The narrow stairway led up to an attic. It was small and triangle-shaped, but they could stand up in it. There was a little round window on the opposite wall, letting the orange light of the sunset tumble through.

Alice was smiling and the sun was reflecting off of her hair. It was all so bright Thursday had to turn his face away and look at her long shadow pinned to the wall. Thursday knew they would have to live here. Nothing else would compare. Alice was in her storybook, her fantasy land.

He watched her shadow twirl on the wall.

Sold.

***

Thursday wanted Alice to be happy with the house because she would be spending the most time in it. She was taking a year off work to write a novel, and, with all that down time, she would also be the one fixing it up.

They moved in a couple of weeks later. A recent college graduate, Thursday’s credit wasn’t great, but they got a pretty fair interest rate thanks to Alice’s parents co-signing on the home loan. Thursday was an orphan. He had spent his childhood in shared homes with foster parents, and had immediately moved out to a college when he was eighteen thanks to some grant money. Having his own place was a strange change of pace. This is what he attributed to the tingling of his spine as they moved in, hauling the few boxes and furniture that had previously occupied a tiny apartment.

They sat on the moving boxes in the living room, watching Netflix on Thursday’s tablet.

I’ll do the bedroom first tomorrow, Alice said, so we have a place to sleep.

You should do your attic first, Thursday said. Focus on your writing. I’ll help with the bedroom this weekend.

I don’t want you to leave! Alice whined, clinging to his arm, You’re going to leave me all alone in this strange house!

He knew she was joking, but he felt accused, because, truth be told, he hadn’t been able to shake the creepy tingling in his spine since he first saw the house. He didn’t want to leave her alone in it.

I’ll fake sick after lunch and come home early, he said.

Haha! I’m just teasing, silly. You don’t have to.

Thursday began coughing horribly. Oh, god, so sick, I’m going to—blaah! Thursday regurgitated air all over Alice’s lap. She squealed as if there was really something there and ran off.

Oh god, it’s projectile! Blaaah! Thursday ran after her, making puke sounds along the way. He turned the corner into the kitchen, and found that she had disappeared. He listened for her laughter, but all was silence. This was odd. Alice didn’t do silence. She couldn’t hide to save her life.

Thursday felt that tingling in his spine migrate to his stomach, where it clenched and twisted. Alice . . .

Yes?

Thursday managed to hold back a brief scream. Alice stood behind him, smiling.

Where did you go?

Alice raised an eyebrow, bemused, You chased me in here, Goof. You better knock it off, or I’ll have to give you some disgusting medicine, or leeches, or something.

Their banter turned to play. Thursday forgot what was bothering him.

***

The next morning, Alice, who preferred to sleep in, was up early with Thursday. She tried to sneak into the shower with him.

You’re going to make me late.

I thought you were sick anyway.

Alice . . .

Oh, all right. She stuck her tongue out and wiggled her butt at him. Thursday finished his shower with cold water.

He went downstairs and smelled food. He grinned and peeked into the kitchen. Alice had made pancakes; a plate of them sat on the counter surrounded by the spilled powder she had used to make them.

You going to clean up this mess you made or are you saving it for me? Thursday teased. He circled through the kitchen looking for Alice when she didn’t answer. He found her in the hallway, holding a smaller door open. Thursday frowned. What was that room? Alice was staring into it, glowering indignantly.

Thursday, is that the basement? Alice asked. Her voice had gone up a decibel, something Thursday always associated with fear. He approached and looked inside. The doorway was the entrance to a very narrow and dangerous-looking staircase. There was a light switch. Thursday tried it, but nothing came on. Only the light from the hallway behind them allowed them to see to the base of the stairs, but it was too dark to make out anything beyond that. Thursday could smell dampness and soil. The real estate agent had neglected to show them this space.

I guess so. Hope the laundry hook-up isn’t down there, Thursday mused. Alice’s eyes widened and she backed away.

Can’t we hook the washing machine somewhere else? she asked, beginning to panic.

Alice, chill, it’s just the basement.

It’s scary. I don’t want to go down there. I don’t want to clean it by myself!

Okay, okay! Thursday quickly shut the door, locked it, and gave Alice his biggest smile. See? It’s gone. You don’t have to go down there. I don’t want you messing with it at all, got it?

Alice had her hands clenched beneath her chin. She looked at the door, then slowly relaxed. She nodded.

Good. Some other time I’ll take a look at it and get the bulb replaced.

But what if you never come out?

Alice! It’s just a basement! A boring, old room, and the worst thing about it will be the spiders, okay?

Alice smiled. Okay.

You freak out too much.

Alice turned her nose to the air and sniffed. Well then, you don’t get any pancakes, she said, marching off. Thursday chased her.

I’m sorry. You’re the most responsible, rational, adult, unsuperstitious person I’ve ever met.

Alice laughed, doubling over against the kitchen table.

What’s that? You don’t believe me? Thursday mocked, putting a hand against his ear. You’re the most childish, scaredy-cat girl in the whole world?

Shut up! Alice giggled and punched his shoulder.

Can I have my pancakes now?

You don’t deserve them, but fine. Alice couldn’t stop smiling as she brought out the syrup and forks.

Don’t deserve it? I volunteered to go down into that scary-ass basement for you. I deserve a medal.

A golden medal, Alice agreed, in the shape of a pancake.

Conversation ceased as they dug into breakfast, but they kept giggling between bites. Thursday gave her a sticky kiss and hurried off to work.

Thursday worked at the local news station in town. His job was small; he manned the cameras for the morning show and ran errands, but lately they were letting him assist with editing footage, something Thursday was very excited about. Maybe, in a few years, he could be chief editor, maybe even director . . .

Thursday kept the camera steady all morning, sipping coffee and giving the anchor reassuring thumbs-up. Thursday was popular with the cast. He brought them all coffee and helped the weather woman, who sometimes forgot where certain states were on the green screen behind her. Thursday would give her signals to help her out, and it was paying off. She had mentioned taking him along on the next storm-chase, which would be an excellent opportunity, especially for editing afterward.

After the morning news everyone took a break. Thursday joined the weather girl for lunch, hoping to secure the deal on the storm-chase before he faked sick.

Thanks again for your help, Wendy said. I can never remember where Scott County is.

No problem. Speaking of Scott County, didn’t they have that big storm not too long ago?

Oh yeah, nice thunderstorm out there. I tried to get out there in time for some shots of the lightning, but we were too late.

I’d love to help out with something like that. Next time you hear of a storm brewing, let me know and I can get out early for the good stuff.

That would be wonderful. I’ll ask Mike about it next time I see him.

Thursday grinned. Mike was the station producer, and, if he said yes, good things were ahead. Thursday looked at the clock. It was almost twelve-thirty.

Ugh. This sandwich isn’t setting right.

Is something wrong? Wendy tilted her head. Her heavily moussed hair didn’t move.

I think it might have gone bad. Ew . . . I’ll be right back. Thursday stood and jogged to the bathroom, where he waited a few minutes, pinched his cheeks for good measure, and then stepped out, putting on his best sick face.

He approached another cameraman. I just threw up in the bathroom, he lied. I knew that tuna salad had gone bad.

"Uh oh. Need