The Doors Have Eyes

By Drake Grayson

Book Summary
TEN YEARS AGO, a string of grisly murders rocked a small Montana town ... now they're back.
When a town grows silent and is afraid to talk, the new sheriff must search for clues elsewhere. Strangely, he discovers a red door, sitting upright in the middle of a vast field that may hold an answer. Is he willing to pass through it to find what's on the other side? Is he prepared to face the repulsive and disturbing truth?

Riveting, fast-paced and full of twists and turns, the story takes the reader down a steep path of the surreal, the bizarre and the macabre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue M Publishing
• Release date: Feb 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370140039

Drake Grayson

Drake H. Grayson is a pen name used by the author to write exclusively for the horror - thriller genre of books. He has written several spine-tingling novels including, The Doors Have Eyes, Generation's Curse, and others.Mr. Grayson lives with his family and writes from his home in Chicago.

Book preview

J

ustin Tanner had lived in Denver his entire life. As a graduating senior at North Roosevelt High School, he had been certain he would go off to college and return some day to raise his family there. True to his plan, he took a job with the Denver Police Department after graduating from the University of Nebraska in Omaha and majoring in criminal justice. Then, after years on the beat, he was promoted to detective, and he took over many of the high-profile cases that no one else wanted to touch. The police chief and chief prosecutor for Denver were glad to have him, as he was the only one they could turn to find a prominent killer or a rapist who was terrorizing the town -- especially when they were feeling the heat from the public to solve the cases.

Yet, just as he was about to be promoted as the new assistant police chief, the tethers were cut. He had been approached by a federal prosecutor to assist on an important case, and he had agreed. From that point onward, the police chief and mayor had treated him like kryptonite. It was a story cut from the headlines and just as quickly buried. The federal prosecutor was dismissed, and so too was Tanner. Fired after years of service, he was told he was no longer welcome in the Mile-High City. Leaving family and friends behind, he and his wife, Sue, packed up and moved. But it wasn’t another large city to which they traveled; it was a tiny town of fewer than two thousand.

Tanner was a big man, over six feet eight inches tall, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He towered over others but never used his physical stature to intimidate. Instead, he thought using charm and persuasiveness was always a better approach, even though sometimes even that didn’t work as well as he hoped. But his strong, square jaw, straight auburn hair that came just shy of his ears, long sideburns and bushy, dark mustache, all made him look like the stereotypical sheriff of a small town right out of a John Wayne western.

He had put on weight since college, but he could still wear a size 48 extra-long suit coat when he had to. His hands were as large as his frame, and some said, as large as his heart. There was a softness in his brown eyes – an understanding about others that few in the force had. That had always helped him probe deeply into the souls of those he interrogated or coax information from those who knew something but were afraid to tell. But it was also his broad, deep voice and hearty laugh that boomed across the room unfettered and unapologetic, that won him many fans and a wide following wherever he went … except in Bear Gulch.

Smart and nimble, Tanner’s mind assimilated facts and circumstances rapidly and often combined them with his keen intuition for things to solve problems and cases. He had been compared to the likes of Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous protagonist, but had discouraged such analogies. Rather, he felt his measured, plodding approach – that analyzed all the data once it had been collected – was usually the best. He was good with data – but he would have to accept things beyond facts if he were to solve cases in Carson County.

Things in the small town of Bear Gulch were different from those in Denver. He never imagined himself in such a place only ten years earlier when he left college for Denver. He had taken the job on the small-town police force out of desperation – his name and reputation having been ruined for any police job in any large city within five hundred miles of Denver. He had been one of three officers of the town and forced to run for sheriff, since no one else had wanted the job. He had won easily, winning 135 of the 147 votes cast – the other twelve votes having been filed in favor of Paul Winthrop’s old mare, which was still honored for winning the local derby more than twelve years earlier. Few people cared who was sheriff – it was a job in search of a purpose. The town’s jail cell hadn’t held a serious offender in decades.

But it wasn’t just Tanner who was struggling with the change; his wife of ten years was also having a difficult time. They had been having marital troubles even in Denver, where she too had grown up, and when they were forced to move, it had been devastating, not only for her, but for the family she left behind.

Sue had met Justin at a women’s league luncheon put on by the city’s upper-crust families to raise money for the Denver Children’s Hospital. Sue had been responsible for planning the event and coordinating the security at the local upscale hotel where the luncheon was being hosted. Although there was hotel security, there had been problems in the area with vandals breaking into cars and young thugs bursting into charity events sponsored by wealthy families to disrupt and mock them for their money and position.

It was during this time that Justin and Sue had found each other, and shortly after the luncheon was over they had started dating. They were married, and his career on the force only grew stronger as he showcased his sleuthing talents and started solving crimes that were headlining the news and causing discomfort for those in high places. The timing couldn’t have been better; there was a lack of talent in the force at the time with many of the old guard retiring. As a result, several big cases went unsolved, and the public was beginning to complain. Higher public dissatisfaction always resulted in lost elections – something the mayor and his political family refused to let happen. It was Tanner and others who worked the Special Detectives unit that kept all that in balance. He kept his superiors happy, and they kept promoting him – that is, until he didn’t.

Sue had developed her own business in Denver – a web-based editorial service. She was successful reviewing books, magazine articles, and other non-technical writings sent to her for her expert analysis. Even though she could continue her business anywhere, she tried to adjust to her life in Bear Gulch with a population of fewer than eighteen hundred people. It was nothing like Denver. She didn’t fit in, and after a while she gave up trying.

Tall and thin, Sue was beautiful and energetic. She was loathed by most women in town her age, as she was pretty, athletic and successful. Her spirit, was rooted in a bigger city, and her life in Bear Gulch was something she wasn’t sure she could endure much longer.

However, things would change suddenly for both of them, and after that nothing would ever be the same.

*****

CH 2 Door Number One

It was late November, just after Thanksgiving. Tanner and Sue had traveled to Denver to be with her parents for the holidays and had arrived back in Bear Gulch in the early afternoon the following Tuesday. They had enjoyed the time there, spending it with Sue’s two older brothers and their families, as well as her aging parents. Neither her father nor her mother could prepare a feast for Thanksgiving as they used to, so everyone brought dishes to supplement the catering arranged for the occasion. Tanner no longer had family in Denver. His father and mother had died a few years earlier, having had him, their only child, later in life.

A light snow Tuesday morning was forecast to turn heavier by afternoon, but as often happened, the storm didn’t really arrive in Carson County until the early evening. Ready and waiting, Tanner and one of his two deputies were busy at the police station coordinating the two snow plows to keep the town as clear as possible for emergency traffic. Almost everyone had a four-by-four truck or access to one. This type of weather was not unusual for that time of year, and with the advanced notice from the National Weather Service, they were well-positioned to handle it quite easily.

Unlike larger cities in the state, there were no runs on the local grocery store or other such nonsense. People were different there. These were true frontiersmen -- rugged individualists, ready and capable of fending for themselves when things got rough. They had done it for generations, and they would continue to do it for many generations to come.

What do ya’ think? asked Mickey Bumgartner, whom they called Boomer. Standing outside the station and scanning the murky, gray sky overhead, he pulled his scarf close around his neck. How much do ya’ think we’ll get?

I don’t know, answered Tanner. The weatherman said eight to ten. I’m thinkin’ more like twelve to fourteen.

Yeah, I reckon’ you’re closer to it than he’ll be, said Boomer, rubbing his hands. He took out a flask and took two swigs and then put it back in his rawhide-leather, coat pocket.

You know we’re on duty, said Tanner, only lightly reprimanding his charge. Instead, he lit a cigarette and sucked in the smoke, letting the nicotine settle into his blood stream.

Like that’s any better for you, said Boomer.

I suppose we both have habits we should kick, huh?

There were many things that didn’t change in those parts. There was rarely an incident worth reporting other than when an under-aged student at the high school was caught with alcohol or, worse, an ounce of weed. The local gas station had been held up once, but that had been over thirty-four years earlier. Committed by two young teenagers from a nearby town out pranking, they had returned the sixty-five dollars they’d stolen after having been caught. Their sentence had been a year of community service.

Sheriff? came a voice from his black service radio squawking at him.

What is it, Jake? Tanner answered, putting the radio a few inches from his ear.

We got a stuck Ford Explorer over here just east off state road 231. Can you bring your 350 over? I think your winch should be able to get it out, said Jake, the third officer of the Bear Gulch police brigade.

Sure thing, Jake. We’ll be over.

Oh, and sheriff?

Yeah?

There’s something else here you need to see. I’m not sure how to explain it, but … well, just get over here and you can see it for yourself.

Tanner and Boomer climbed into their police-issued, F-350 Supercab truck with its oversized wheels, and sped through the winter storm, their red and blue lights strobing above them. The snow was falling at a good clip by now, and the wipers were barely able to keep pace with the layers of flakes as they piled up on the glass. They turned left onto Countyline Road and then right onto SR 231. There were miles and miles of flat ranchland around in those parts, all used for cattle grazing. One could see for twenty miles or more on a clear day when the heavens were azure blue and the sun was high in the mid-afternoon sky. But at night in a dense snow storm, visibility was next to zero, and Tanner had to keep his fog lights on to keep from being blinded by his own headlights. He didn’t want to find himself off the road on a night like that, as there weren’t many trucks in the area large enough to pull his ass out of the ditch.

They kept driving until they reached the second turnoff Jake had mentioned. Through the dense white curtain in front of them, they spotted the officer’s headlights and his two red flares that pierced the storm like a laser spot coming from a sniper rifle. As Tanner pulled up, he saw the forest green Explorer down in the bottom of the ditch with the passenger’s side and rear right bumper smashed in. The windows on that side of the car were shattered as were the taillights in the back.

What do we have? said Tanner getting out and coming over to Jake.

Well, we’ve got this Explorer that must’a hit somethin’ someplace else before it slid off the road here, said Jake, shining his light on the back of the SUV. There wasn’t no one here when I got here. I was just makin’ the rounds and saw it off the road.

Tanner and Boomer took their flashlights and started going over the vehicle. The winds were picking up and the temperature was dropping. Boomer removed his glasses and wiped off some of the snow so he could see what he was doing, shivering as a gust of wind went down a small opening in the front of his jacket.

Sheriff, there’s somethin’ over here I want you to see, said Jake, motioning out toward the flat, grassy prairie that was experiencing its first white coating of the season. With the snow coming down in heavy sheets, it was hard to see much, but it didn’t stop Jake, who started marching across the open field. I could see it more clear earlier but now the storm is gettin’ so heavy it’s harder. Jake kept walking, pushing aside the snow with his black boots as he shuffled farther away from the road.

Finally, Jake’s flashlight shown on something quite odd. Tanner’s flashlight followed, highlighting a red front door with a white frame around it. It stood in front of them, beckoning a visitor to walk up and knock on its rough and weathered surface to ask for entry.

I didn’t know Norman had built a house way out here on his property, said Tanner, referring to the landowner.

He didn’t, said Jake.

Norman Bates owned thousands of acres in and around Bear Gulch. It had been in his family for generations, and he had doggedly protected it from anyone attempting to buy it or develop it through the years. The Bates’s main house was several miles away, setback off a secondary road at the end of a long, winding dirt road that ran along Bear’s Creek. The house was a mansion compared with most other homes in the area. Built before the turn of the twentieth century, it had originally been the home of Norman’s great, great grandfather, Howard, who had struck it rich in the mines in