Rise From Ashes: Nightmare Mansion 4

By Elena Snowfield

“Wake up!” she’s telling me. “Wake up!”
THE NIGHTMARES ARE FINALLY ENDING

BUT THE EVIL IN THE MANOR HAS OTHER PLANS FOR HIM
Determined to rid himself of the nightmares of his great grandfather’s manor once and for all, Judas recruits Dolores to help him with one final thing: burning down the mansion.

Together the two of them collect the items necessary to execute their exceedingly dangerous plan and put it into action. The house, however, has other plans, and it needs Judas and it’s not about to let him go without one last battle.

Weak, disoriented, desperate and at the very end of his rope, Judas must fight the forces of the house as the true natures of every creature in it are at last revealed in all their wickedness. They are attacking everything he holds dear, worming into the cracks of his consciousness with lies and deceits and illusions all in hopes of winning the last thing he has of value: his soul.

With the help of Dolores who believes in him above all else, Judas must find the strength to resist the taunts and temptations that the house chooses to throw at him. His very soul will be tested.

Above everything else, will the final question come into play? Is he sane? Was this all really just a mere nightmare? Or were the demonic forces really at work under the guise of his ‘family.’

The board is set, the pieces are ready and the kings are now facing each other at last. The checkmate approaches! Who wins the crown?

It’s up to you to decide!

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EXCERPT
'“You don’t have to run anymore Judas,” Bast’s melodious, tinkling voice floated through my head and I hazily turned to look at her. She looked once more like a white–clad angel who had kissed me that night in this very courtyard so many weeks ago. Her huge, luminous eyes were shining in the glowing light and I stared at them unabashedly.

“What do you mean?” I whispered.

“I will bring you peace!” She caressed my face exactly how my mother had done when I was a child and I closed my eyes as she pulled me close to her. Her lips found my ear and she spoke to me softly. “You will feel no more hurt, no more sorrow, no more fatigue. It will be as though you lived a long full life of experiences and happiness. Time will have no meaning and you will see everything as you were meant to. You and Dolores, I will start you both off where it should have been. What you will experience is the perfect life. All we ask is that you let go. Surrender, Judas.”

“Surrender...” the word slipped from my numbed lips and I blinked. A hot wetness surged behind my eyes, unmerciful and burning. “Surrender...” The word had a deceptively peaceful sound to it, and I was tired; so very tired...

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Ross
• Release date: Jan 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310669040

Book preview

Rise From Ashes

By Elena Snowfield

Published by Publications Circulations LLC.

SmashWords Edition

All contents copyright (C) 2014 by Publications Circulations LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, companies and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

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Chapter One

I REMEMBER THE great author, William Gibson, once said: Time moves in one direction, memory in another.

It's a fantastic quote, and as I blunder through the jumbled thoughts infecting my own head, I can't help but marvel at the solid truth of it. The events that occurred in my great grandfather's mansion had no concept of time. I don't even know if they happened in a linear fashion.

I've been racking myself in an effort to form some coherent idea of what really occurred but so far, no matter how hard I try, it all just seemed like a madman's dream. A blithering tale of insanity developed by a deluded, corroded mind.

I am trying to piece this all together to make some sense of it. God be with me. Please, allow me to relate to you the final chapter of my story.

I clearly remember the smell of whiskey permeating the air as Dolores splashed it generously across the walls and floors of the mansion on our way up to my great grandfather's personal bed chamber. That, I felt, was the perfect starting point, the heart of the house, the blackest, filthiest room so steeped in sin and evil intentions that the very air of it was almost noxious.

Dolores led the way, my determination and desperation personified inside her. She was the one who flipped opened the Zippo and held it against the alcohol-soaked rag stuffed into the whiskey bottle until the hungry flames were licking merrily at the cloth.

Which part do you want to burn first? The tone of her voice was flat but I could see an eager brightness dancing in her eyes as she handed me the burning bottle.

There, I used my free hand to point a bloodied finger towards the bathroom. The tub was full of water and I saw hundreds of developed photos floating inside it. Hundreds of poor, naked, defiled Lolit as stared up at me with silent, gaping screams begging me to put them out of their misery.

Judas...

The disembodied voice echoed around me, caressing the skin of my cheeks like cold, putrid breath. It had a pleading tone to it, a desperate, irritating twang that scraped at my nerves and hardened my resolution.

Judas, stop. You're making a big mistake, boy! You don't know what you're doing! The volume was raised as the voice frantically tried to sway me from my goal.

No, Grandfather, I whispered back and for some reason, there wasn't a single doubt in my mind that it was he to whom I spoke, "I know. For the first time since I arrived here, I know exactly what I'm doing. I've never experienced such clarity."

I saw my reflection in the mirror beside the tub holding the flaming whiskey bottle in my hand. The skin on my image's face was rotten and hanging off in slick flaps. Pus and blood leaked from its pores and the eyes were rheumy red and raw, with yellowed rims and thick, milky cataracts. Flesh had been stripped directly off the bones of its fingers and the lips had been split open in several places, chapped and bloodied.

Don't do it. My mirrored self begged through a shattered