Jacob

By Mark D. Campbell

To the outside world, author Jacob Matheson appears to have it made.

With numerous bestsellers under his belt, a lavish house, and a sizable bank account, he lives a lifestyle that most could only dream about. Yet despite outwardly appearances, Jacob is a troubled soul whose only glimmer of happiness sits at the bottom of a glass.

Then, after a night of lavish celebration, Jacob wakes up to discover that he can’t remember the events from the night before. Soon his seemingly perfect life starts to unravel as fast as his fragile sanity.
Haunted and tormented nightly by two ghostly and demonic entities, the lines between reality and fantasy blur. Surrounded by people who don’t believe his claims, Jacob remains determined to get to the bottom of what is happening.

But as the psychological anguish and physical attacks become more and more horrific and gruesome, can he still trust himself when he starts to question his own sanity?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Apr 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781618684028

Book preview

-Chapter 1-

After fumbling with his keys for five minutes, Jacob finally managed to unlock his front door and escape the downpour. He was drenching wet and smelled like liquor. It was dark and desolate inside. He reached over and tried to turn on a lamp that sat on a narrow table next to the front door...

The lamp tumbled against the hardwood floor, and the shade went skittering across the hall.

Jacob murmured under his breath and tried to lay his keys on the table, but he ended up missing the table by about twelve inches.

The keys clanked as they struck the floor.

Thunder clapped loudly outside.

Aggravated and dizzy, Jacob slapped his hand on the wall, blindly feeling for the light switch…

He found the switch and flicked it on, leaving a bloody streak with his hand.

The recessed lamps in the ceiling came to life and bathed the narrow entry hallway in white light.

The clock on the wall showed it was almost four in the morning.

Jacob squinted and raised his arm to cover his eyes from the intruding beams of light. His head pounded, and his gut ached. He squinted and staggered down the hall, kicking the lamp out of his way in the process. As his eyes adjusted, he looked down and saw that his slacks and dress shoes were caked with mud. It wasn’t surprising, considering what he just went through.

Fuck, Jacob slurred. He looked behind him and noticed the dirty trail he made across the floor.

Cursing, he kicked off his muddy shoes, took off his pants, and stumbled his way past the living room towards the kitchen, almost falling three times during the short trip.

Once inside the kitchen, he somehow managed to turn on the lights. He reached up and loosened a tie that felt like a noose pulled taut around his frail neck. He took off the tie and let it fall to the floor. His eyes darted around the room and took in his beautiful stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, and mahogany cabinetry. It didn’t impress him; he was used to the finer things that his lifestyle afforded him. His wandering gaze stopped on one particular cabinet underneath the massive island that separated the kitchen from the living room; there were countless cabinets in his kitchen, but even in his drunken stupor he remembered which one had what he required.

Jacob made a beeline towards the island, opened the cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed the cap and took three greedy swallows, letting the concoction dribble out of the corners of his mouth. He finally put the bottle down and gasped for breath as he hunched over the island’s sunken sink. His vision blurred as he stared off into the dark recesses of the living room. The fiery concoction still wasn’t enough to drown the recent memory. In truth, what elixir could?

His gut churned as he became lightheaded.

He leaned over the sink as the contents of his stomach emptied into the basin and splattered across the countertop. As soon as he thought he was done, another eruption happened and proved to be even worse than the first.

Finally finished, he gasped for air and reached a shaky hand towards the bottle...

The neck of the whiskey bottle was covered with blood.

Jacob was jarred a little by the sight. He looked down at his hands and was surprised to see that they were also covered in blood. He looked down at his expensive button-front shirt and noticed that it was stained crimson.

His eyes widened.

He tore his drenched shirt off and threw it in the general direction of the kitchen trashcan, missing the can by a few yards.

He took another swig of whiskey and then put the bottle away. Groaning, he left the kitchen and lurched towards the stairs. Climbing the stairs was an arduous task in his condition, but he eventually made it to his bedroom wearing nothing more than a pair of soggy socks and boxers.

Dizzy and exhausted, Jacob collapsed on his bed and passed out almost instantly as the relentless rain pelted against the windows.

-Chapter 2-

Jacob was awakened by the sound of someone pounding against the front door. His bloodshot eyes opened, and in his first few seconds of consciousness, he was greeted with the sensation of a thousand needles prodding the center of his skull. He tried to shield his eyes from the sunlight that poured in through his massive master bedroom window, but there was no escape; it was the worst hangover he had ever experienced.

The pounding continued, followed by repeated rings of the doorbell.

Jacob grumbled and sat up as he looked over at his digital clock. It was noon. He closed his eyes, massaged his temples, and waited until the room stopped spinning.

I’m coming, he tried to yell, but it ended up sounding more like the labored croak of a frog.

He opened his eyes and cleared his throat as the pounding at the door continued.

I’m COMING! Hang on! he shouted again as he pulled off his damp socks and flung them into the hamper.

The person at the front door kept knocking.

Jacob stood up, stumbled, and sauntered towards the bathroom. He glanced at himself in the mirror and froze. He was tall, thin, and pale. His blonde hair, normally kept neat and tidy, had tangled into a god-awful mess during the night. Dark circles formed under both of his eyes, and dried vomit was caked around his mouth. His hands were stained with dried blood. He looked like an absolute mess.

He ignored the banging downstairs and simply stared at himself in disbelief; instead of twenty-nine, he looked forty.

He splashed some water on his face, wiped away the old vomit with a towel, and scrubbed the blood off his hands. Even after minutes of vigorous scrubbing, he still couldn’t get all of the blood out from underneath his fingernails. It would have to wait. He threw a bathrobe on and tied it up as he walked down the stairs.

The commotion at the door continued as he made his way down the entry hall. He slowed as he looked at the scenery, shocked at the mess he made during the night. He was a very orderly man and normally kept his place immaculate, but he supposed that was just another part of him that disappeared when he drank.

Jacob was careful to walk around the glass fragments from the lamp’s broken bulb and made sure not to step in the muddy puddles. He reached down and put the lamp and his keys back on the entryway table, trying to rebuild some semblance of normalcy.

Each knock on the door made him wince in pain.

HANG ON! Jacob shouted at the top of his lungs.

The pounding stopped.

Jacob lurched towards the door, unlocked the latch, and swung it open.

It’s about time, a black man wearing a grey suit said from the porch. He was holding a leather briefcase and wore a thick pair of glasses. Worse, he was wearing that awful cologne that Jacob hated. I knew you were probably asleep.

Jacob yawned and wiped his face with his hand. What do you want so early in the morning, Troy? he asked groggily. He cleared his throat and shook his head. Are you here with Trish to report how foolish I acted last night? If she has video on her phone, I’m not interested in seeing it.

Troy laughed and adjusted his glasses. No, Trish isn’t here. She’s probably sleeping it off. Needless to say, you weren’t the only one trashed, he said with a grin. Hell, we all had reason to celebrate, but you’re the one who earned it.

Jacob smiled thinly. Despite his hangover, he was proud of his accomplishment. After years of writing, he finally won his first Pulitzer Prize in fiction. Who would have ever thought that a novel about a simple woman’s plight would win him such prestige? Officially, it had been a week since he won the award, but it still felt so very surreal. He had the award framed and hung proudly in his living room for all to see, even though he rarely had company.

Well I couldn’t have done it without you and Trish, Jacob said. He was being genuine; Troy proved to be an invaluable literary agent and also proved to be one of his toughest critics. Troy always gave him that extra push just when he needed it and always kept him humble as he climbed the best-seller charts. Still…coming all the way out here to check on me? I don’t understand why a simple phone call couldn’t suffice.

It wouldn’t do any good, Troy said as he slid a phone out of his pocket and handed it to Jacob. I must have grabbed it by mistake when you dropped me off. Needless to say, I was pretty wasted.

Jacob slapped his forehead and groaned, closing his eyes. Ah, Jesus, he muttered. His phone was practically tethered to his hip, so he was surprised that he had forgotten it. He took the phone and smiled. You’re a lifesaver. I don’t even know how to repay you.

Well you can start by meeting your literary deadline, Troy said nonchalantly. "I can’t get the publisher to extend the date for Hellhole again…"

Jacob grimaced at the prod; Troy’s true intent suddenly became clear. Hellhole was an ambitious project that was proving to be especially challenging as it neared the end. With his new fame and recognition, he felt as if additional weight had been placed on his shoulders and that he was suddenly expected to create masterpieces. The joy he once found in writing was starting to vanish. He’d been putting it off despite the fact that he had two weeks left to finish it.

I know, I know, Jacob said with a dismissive sigh. I’ve been trying, but things have just been hectic.

Troy looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Hectic? he asked. You have a deadline. You need to stay focused and stay away from alcohol. Trish and I threw that gathering last night with the hope that it would get it out of your system for a while.

Troy’s callow views amused Jacob. Troy acted as if Jacob’s drinking was some sort of nasty bug that would soon pass.

Did you come here to lecture me or return my phone? Jacob asked.

No, I’m not here to lecture you, Troy said. It wouldn’t do any good. All I’m saying is that you’re not some unknown author anymore. You have deadlines and responsibilities, and you need to honor them. If you want to keep respectable royalties rolling in, it’d be good to keep your responsibilities in mind.

So you did come here to lecture me, Jacob said.

Troy smiled and shook his head. No, I can’t stay, he said. I just came by to give you back your phone and this… He retrieved a framed photograph from his briefcase. He handed the photograph to Jacob.

The group photo showed Jacob, Troy, and Patricia smiling in front of a large pyramid of empty wine glasses and an oversized cardboard cutout of Jacob’s newest award-winning novel.

I thought it’d be commemorative of the night, Troy said with a grin. Especially since I don’t think you remember much about the party.

Jacob took the photo and then raised his eyebrows, nodding. Nice, he said in admiration. This is from last night? I don’t even remember posing for it.

Troy laughed. See? All of those martinis are nothing but a distant memory, he said. I would have given it to you in the car, but by the time I remembered it, you were long gone.

Jacob smiled. Considering how badly his head ached, the memories weren’t distant enough. Well you know what they say, he mused. The best parties are the ones you can’t remember.

Troy waved his hand in the air, laughing. Whatever, he said. Just remember to stay focused! We’re running on borrowed time, and I put a lot of work in on that contract. Don’t let me down.

Fourteen days should be plenty of time, Jacob said. "Hellhole will win me a second award, you just watch."

I hope so, Troy said as he walked towards his Lexus. He glanced over at Jacob’s BMW and stopped. Jesus…what happened to your car?

Jacob stepped outside, walked out on the driveway, and sighed. The grille of his vehicle was mangled, his bumper was dented, and his left headlight was shattered. It was just another fragmented memory that wasn’t distant enough. At least the rain washed off the blood.

I hit a deer last night on my way back after I dropped you off, Jacob said, embarrassed. It jumped out right in front of me.

Troy shook his head. We never should have ridden with you. We all should’ve taken a cab, he said. Imagine if you got busted. Drinking and driving? Imagine how well a DUI would play in the press.

I know, Jacob said. "We weren’t thinking. It was a bad judgment call on my part. I’m sorry. I’ll behave myself. No more drinking until I get Hellhole finished. Okay?"

Trish was against you driving from the start, Troy said. I don’t remember much, but that much I do remember.

Jacob rolled his eyes.

Patricia, or Trish as she liked to be called, was a nice enough woman, but she always aggravated Jacob. Even for an editor, she could be a real bitch sometimes. She lived in the apartments located near the outskirts of his gated community, knowing she’d never be able to afford one of the houses located inside. Even with their close proximity, they hardly ever talked outside of projects simply because she seemed to disagree with everything he had to say when it came to his work. In truth, he thought she wanted his success. Then again, he thought that most editors who lived under the shadows of giants were that way.

We all made it, right? Jacob asked with a shrug.

Tell that to the deer, Troy said as he got into his car.

Jacob waved at the Lexus as it pulled out and disappeared down the street. Once the Lexus was out of view, he lowered his hand and sighed.

His elderly neighbor across the street was standing at the mailbox, checking the mail. He stared at Jacob, gave him the most peculiar look, and then waved.

Jacob hesitantly waved back and then lowered his arm. He never really talked to the neighbors, so he knew that they probably viewed him as some eccentric reclusive, but he didn’t care.

His cellphone rang and vibrated in his pocket.

He pulled it out and frowned when he saw the name.

Patricia.

He dismissed the call and decided that he would call her back later. She probably just wanted to yell at him for driving home drunk, he figured.

Jacob walked inside and put the picture down on the entryway table. Yawning, he entered the kitchen and poured himself a drink.

-Chapter 3-

It had taken him most of the day just to clean the mud off of his hardwood floor and argue on the phone with the insurance company. The adjuster was supposed to come within the next few days and take a look at the damage done to his car. After dealing with everything, he was absolutely exhausted, but he felt more like himself after taking a nice hot shower.

Needless to say, with all of his busywork, he didn’t make any progress in his novel.

That’s it, he said to himself as he finally sat down upstairs in the massive study next to his bedroom. After countless hours of cleaning, his hands reeked of Clorox. Tonight I’m going to finish this and move on. You can do it, Jacob. Pull your head out of your ass and just focus.

His self-motivational speech didn’t seem to help as he stared at the open document on his computer screen for several minutes without typing a single word. He sipped his drink and set the glass down on his desk. He gave a hefty sigh and spun around in his mahogany leather office chair, gazing up at the motionless ceiling fan.

For an author, the tall bookshelves in his study were surprisingly barren. Both sides of the study were covered with shelves but held little more than a few unread leather-bound classics that he purchased just to fill space. A huge teak wood desk sat in the middle of the room and overlooked the picture window that dominated the entire wall in front of it. Old wadded-up pieces of paper littered the floor around the overflowing trashcan next to his workstation.

During the brief period when he had a girlfriend, back before he lost himself, the room was going to be a nursery. Now it felt more like a room where his ideas came to die.

Jacob sighed and took another sip of his drink and stared at the blank screen. How could he come so far just to find himself unable to write a fitting conclusion? He honestly had no earthly idea. He took a deep breath, typed a sentence, read it aloud in his head, and then quickly deleted the line, aggravated.

The doorbell rang.

Jacob pushed himself away from the computer and looked down at his Rolex.

They were late.

They were always late, but he couldn’t help himself; he loved their food.

Wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, he hurried downstairs with a twenty-dollar bill. He turned on the lamp sitting on the entryway table and opened the door.

A teen girl wearing headphones and an attitude waited on the doorstep holding a greasy-looking paper bag. She held her hand out towards his chest and popped the bubble she had blown. How the bubble survived past the metal rings in her lip, he had no clue.

Hi. Thirteen dollars and forty cents, she said over the nonsense blaring from her headphones as she smacked on her gum.

You’re late. Did they remember the extra soy sauce this time? I specifically asked for extra soy sauce, Jacob said as he handed her the money.

Yeah, sorry, traffic, she lied as she handed him the bag and pocketed the twenty. Sauce is in the bag. You need change?

Jacob hated when they asked that. People in general irked him, but the delivery workers at Wong’s Kitchen really pushed his last nerve.

Yeah, I’d imagine so, he said in an irritated tone. You’re twenty minutes late, and you expect a tip?

The girl made a face as soon as she smelled liquor on his breath. She rolled her eyes, pulled out a wrinkled five-dollar bill from her pocket, and handed it to him. She dug in deeper for the rest of the change as if it were some arduous task…

Jacob pocketed the five dollars and held up his hand.

You know what? Just keep it, he said as he closed the door in her face.

As he walked away from the door, he heard her call him an asshole, but he didn’t care; he was starving. He looked in the bag as he walked and shook his head.

Unsurprisingly, there was no soy sauce to be found.

He was about to turn around and go outside to say something when he noticed the picture that Troy left him. The picture was still on the entryway table where he left it earlier in the morning. He picked up the picture and grinned as he looked at the blown-up cutout of his book in the background. To him, that truly was the focal point of the portrait.

You know what? She can have all the soy sauce in the world, he announced to the empty hallway. I have what she’ll never have.

He tucked the framed photograph underneath his arm and walked upstairs into his study with his food, nearly tripping as he navigated the steps.

-Chapter 4-

His own snoring woke him up.

Jacob groaned and found himself sitting in the study, slouched in his leather chair. Empty takeout containers