When Only The Nightmare Remains

By Rick McQuiston

A supernatural horror thriller that showcases how, when working as a team, a town sheriff and three young boys manage to overcome a world-threatening evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Class Act Books
• Release date: Sep 14, 2014

Book preview

Chapter 1

1967

Emily nudged closer and closer to the spider-webbed pane of glass. The window offered little in the way of a view—being octagonal and no larger than a dinner plate—but what it did reveal was adequate to say the least. It allowed anyone gazing through it to see the lush rolling landscape surrounding the house…and all it contained.

Feeling her already weak heart pound heavily in her chest, Emily scanned the grounds intently, watching for any signs of movement, for any hint of life. For any signs of William. She held the Book tightly in her small hands, refusing to relinquish it to anything or anyone. She had only scratched the surface of its contents, but that was still enough to impart its importance to her.

Her eyes moistened with tears as she thought of earlier, happier times in her life and her marriage to William. They had been happy once, long ago when they first married and were entertaining plans of a life together. Those plans were short-lived however and not meant to be.

Emily brushed back her long, golden hair from her face. Premature wrinkles had already begun to form near her eyes, no doubt spawned from the countless days and nights of worry and sorrow, of sheer unabated fear. A person as young as she was should have been enjoying the prime of her life. She should have been thinking about raising a family and planting flowers around the front porch of her home. She should have been thinking about what to cook for dinner when her husband returned home from a hard day’s work.

All these simple notions, ones so many young people took for granted, were well beyond her grasp. In their place were terrifying visions of a dim future. Or worse—no future at all.

Movement caught her eye, sending a fresh batch of fear down her already frail spine. She rubbed her eyes to clear them and stared at the spot where she thought she had seen something.

It took only a few seconds before her fears were confirmed. Something had moved. She was sure of it, but it was not easily noticeable. Whatever was lurking in the dense foliage was crafty and using stealth to its advantage.

Despite expecting it, Emily found herself cringing from the implications. She knew what it was, slithering around the fields, worming its way closer and closer with each passing minute. She also knew that eventually, inevitably, it would reach her house.

Her house. It was her house and hers alone since her beloved husband died earlier that year. Nearly eight cold, empty months had passed since that fateful day when a bullet found its way into his forehead, killing him instantly. Some said that it was a suicide. Perhaps it was, but Emily was not so sure. William had no reason to kill himself.

The pain of that day pushed its way into Emily’s heart, so slowly at first as to be almost unnoticeable, but gradually increasing in its intensity. William had been a good man and a good husband, at least he was before he had changed into a cold, cruel person wholly incapable of compassion or love.

Emily stepped back from the window and slumped into a small, worn leatherback chair. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and the alluring thought of sleep entered her mind more than once. She ignored it. She had too many problems, too many things to think about to be able to enjoy a good rest. Not that she didn’t deserve it.

Outside the house, nestled snugly within the green vegetation of the fields, something waited for its chance to move, to advance toward the house and reach a solitary figure huddled in the attic of the building, and end her life.

***

Chapter 2

2012

Lattin city limits. Population: 3,715.

The words spread across the rust-tinged sign in uneven, black lettering. It stood at the outskirts of the town as if announcing to the few visitors who might find themselves at its gates that it was there. It existed, nothing more, and was by no means interested in tourists of any kind.

Lattin was a small secluded town. Nearly thirty miles separated it in all directions from the next city...and, for the most part, its inhabitants liked it that way.

The three boys walked in a tight formation, each deathly afraid of losing contact with the others, but all anxious to explore the old house looming on Lattin’s hazy horizon.

How much farther? Ricky asked. Being the youngest member of the adventurous trio, he was tired and inpatient.

Justin, his older brother by six years, did not even turn around. Chill out, Ricky, he snapped. We’ll be there soon. See? He pointed to the horizon’s orange-red glow. It’s just a little farther. Can’t you see that big building over the hill?

Ricky leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse of their destination. Is that it? he asked while pointing. Is that the house we’re going to?

Of course it is, Ronnie, the third member of the party and Justin’s best friend, said in a smart tone. Look around. It’s the only house for miles. Nobody wanted to live this far away from town, so now the place is empty.

Ricky whimpered. He wasn’t too anxious to explore the old place now that it was within walking distance. It was just like when he read about exotic, dangerous, faraway places. On paper, it was fun to investigate them, to imagine the people who used to live, and think about the things they did. But to go to those places...well, that was a different story altogether. He huddled closer to Justin.

What’s the matter, Ricky? Scared to go to the old haunted house?

Knock it off, Ronnie, Justin said. He himself liked to scare his little brother sometimes, but it bothered him when someone else did it, even Ronnie.

The three boys continued on their journey toward the house. None of them had ever gone near the place, and only once had any of them ever ventured to the town’s outskirts. Ronnie rolled his old bicycle past Mills Orchard and into the open fields stretching across the land. All the kids called the desolate, empty area No Man’s Land, referring to its barren properties and lack of vegetation. Nothing grew there, and everybody knew it.

Occasionally, in years past, an enterprising person would toy with the idea of developing the land, maybe build a strip center, or stagger a row of condominiums, but nothing ever came of it. As soon as someone saw the fields, or did some preliminary soil tests or layout pricing, they’d back out.

So the field coated the ground with an empty sheet of nothingness. Situated in the middle of the sea of nothingness stood vacant building, solitary in its scope, defiant to the void surrounding it.

Some said the house was haunted. Others said somebody still lived in it... an old lady, all by herself with no contact with the outside world, even a world as small and isolated as Lattin.

~ * ~

Ricky was amazed and terrified at the same time. He’d never been anywhere so empty, so foreboding as the fields surrounding the old house. Nothing was there. No grass, no weeds, no animals, nothing but emptiness...and it scared him.

Justin and Ronnie were also frightened. Neither had ever seen the fields or the old house situated on it, and both were asking themselves just why they were there in the first place.

I heard at night the house comes alive and slithers across the field looking for victims to trap inside its walls, Ronnie said with a sly grin.

Justin looked back at his friend. That’s just an old wives tale. He looked down at Ricky, who was scared. Don’t listen to him, Ricky, he consoled. He’s just making stuff up again.

Justin looked up at their destination. The house, in all its dark and unnerving glory, stood a scant two hundred yards before the weary group of explorers, like an abandoned lighthouse serving as its own tiny island.

And there, gentlemen, is our destination, Ronnie laughed, further enjoying the effect his words were having on the youngest member of their group. The old house.

Justin nodded. Come on, guys. Let’s get moving before it gets late.

Justin, why are we here at night? Ricky asked. He decided at the last minute to tag along on the trip. It was one of his many bad decisions. Mom and Dad are gonna worry about us.

Ricky, they don’t even know we’re gone yet. You know Dad always falls asleep in front of the TV, and mom does her knitting. She doesn’t know anything that’s going on around her when she knits her blankets and stuff. And you know she’ll have her glass of wine by her as well. I bet they are both sleeping right now.

But why do we have to come out here now? It’ll be dark soon.

Justin stopped and faced his little brother. He relived the flashback when his parents had brought Ricky home for the first time, remembering how tiny and fragile he was, and how much he didn’t like him. He remembered how Ricky had looked wrapped in that blue blanket his mom had knitted, and how he worried that he wouldn’t get any attention anymore. With a baby in the house, he would be ignored, forgotten, tossed aside like yesterday’s trash.

He’d softened toward his baby brother, even growing protective of him, adopting him in a way, as a student of sorts. He, being the older sibling, had a responsibility to teach his younger brother, and make sure no harm came to him. Which is why he was entertaining a healthy dose of guilt about bringing Ricky along on their little expedition.

We’re here now, and that’s all that matters, he replied.

Why couldn’t we come here in the daytime?

Justin looked around at the vast emptiness of the fields. A breeze was moving in from the East, but gave no clue to its presence other than to ruffle the hair and clothes of the three boys.

Because someone might see us for one thing. Besides, there is nothing to be scared of. It is just an old house that’s been abandoned for years.

Ricky took a deep breath, his tiny chest expanding as he took in air. Do you really think so, Justin?

Justin forced a smile. It was insincere, but the best he could do. Yeah...sure. Just an old abandoned house. He tried to cover his unease with his grin. Just an old house.

In the distance, shadowed by the setting sun, the house stood, surrounded by its dark mysteries.

***

Chapter 3

Stan McTindel stood at the gated entrance to the cemetery. His lithe form—a by-product of too many skipped meals and not enough meaningful exercise—wavered forward, and then back again. He could not lie to himself that there wasn’t a small, almost nonexistent part of him that wanted to venture forward into the graveyard, but he played host to a seemingly endless series of skirmishes, a boiling pot of inner turmoil and conflict. There were several members of his family buried on the solemn grounds of Lovethorn Cemetery, most notably his older brother Joe.

A single tear formed in the corner of his eye, and trickled down his cheek. He absent-mindedly wiped it away.

It had been four years since his brother Joe finally allowed himself to be released from the ever-tightening grip of lung cancer, deciding it was better to be comfortable in God’s arms than miserable on Earth.

Stan looked up at the evening sky. He marveled at how many stars punctuated the heavens, like tiny specks of white paint scattered across a pitch-black canvas. With the inevitable thought of whether or not his brother resided near those stars seeping into his mind, Stan reached into his back pocket and withdrew a small red flashlight. Twisting the end of it, he was relieved when a narrow but bright beam of yellow light shone into the barren September trees.

The tombstones stood before Stan like a group of frightened children. They seemed watch him, waiting eagerly for him to take that fateful step past the wrought iron gateway and onto the cemetery’s grounds. Once there, it would be too late for him to turn back and escape to the sanctuary of the outside world.

Stan thought it odd that every time he visited his dear brother’s final resting place, he entertained bizarre notions of dark horror…of the ground suddenly lifting upward, splitting down the middle as the casket below pushed its way toward the surface…the sky overhead morphing into an ominous purple-black with jagged spikes of razor-sharp lightening forking toward the ground…a hundred and fifty foot-tall trees sprouting hideous faces with malicious leering grins full of curved fangs and blackened spittle…

It didn’t help that he chose to pay his respects to his long-lost sibling at night, particularly around 9 p.m. That was the time when Joe had finally succumbed to the cancer plaguing in painful fashion the last days of his short life, whisking away any remnants of comfort or happiness and substituting the realization that for him there would be no tomorrow. Deep inside, Stan felt somehow Joe would appreciate his punctuality.

Stan stepped into Lovethorn Cemetery, staring at the forgotten dreams of its cold, dark inhabitants. There were markers of varying size and