Immolation

By H.E. Kline

One of the most popular and notorious phantoms walks along a dark stretch of road in a small Massachusetts town.

For more than three decades a redheaded "man" has been seen walking down Route 44 waiting to be picked up. Several people have died along this same stretch of road including a "man" matching this phantom's description, but no one can say for sure who the "man" is or when the haunting started.

A daunting epidemic. A mutating virus. A dark secret from beyond the grave.

Doug and Karen King, along with their daughter Amy, are the typical all-American family with a cuddly and loving pet cat, Ponce De Leon, until a chance encounter with a hitchhiker transforms the family fur baby into a murderous evil beast spreading a lethal virus that can't be contained!

After his wife, friends, and neighbors are brutalized and slain, Doug is forced to take matters into his own hands to destroy and contain this horrific plague...Sammy Atkins is a hot (yes, and she knows it!) brilliant young vet. She wasn't looking for love, never mind an instant family. It just found her...

2019 Readers' Favorite Bronze Medal For Horror Fiction

• Language: English
• Publisher: H.E. Kline
• Release date: Apr 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781500557805

H.E. Kline

Before becoming an award-winning author, "Lainie" specialized in transcribing expert, medical, and scientific testimony for almost 30 years. H.E. (otherwise known as "Lainie") is a Registered Professional Reporter, a Registered Merit Reporter, and a Certified Realtime Reporter. "I write," Kline says, "in a conspicuous effort to creatively intertwine nonfiction into imaginary contemporary paranormal romance, mystery, science fiction, and horror in a concerted effort to give a 'voice' to those whose voice may have been forgotten or lost in translation".... A Special Message to All Readers Past, Present & Future: I would like to thank all of the readers who have taken the time to reach out to me after having read one of my "crazy" (as my kids would say) supernatural stories, either on Twitter or Facebook, and who have now become my friends. Connecting with you has been the single most rewarding experience of my life (except, of course, for raising three children) ... please friend me on Facebook @https://www.facebook.com/helana.kline.39 or follow me on Twitter @https://twitter.com/heKline or my website @ http://helanakline.wixsite.com/immolation                

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

DRIVING HOME ON ROUTE 44 in Seekonk at 11:05 p.m. with his cat, Ponce De Leon, tucked safely inside his Petmate carrier on the passenger’s seat, Doug King couldn’t stop yawning. Ponce was crying and whimpering and biting his fresh cast, and Doug was ignoring his wails. After a battery of tests at the Goddard Emergency Animal Hospital, he was broke too.

$1,800 for a stray! He thought to himself, I must be nuts. His mind flashed back to six o’clock when he’d arrived home from Boston to find his eight-year-old daughter Amy holding Ponce on the front stoop crying, Daddy, Ponce is hurt.

A small animal dashed in front of Doug’s Volvo, and he slammed on the brake as Ponce stopped crying. Shit! he said as the cat crossed the road. Out of his peripheral vision immediately to the right of his car a redheaded burly man in a red flannel shirt stood with his thumb erected.

Where the hell did this dude come from? Doug said out loud. He rolled down his window, and the hitcher peeked his head through the slight opening.

Need a lift? Doug whispered, his voice cracking. Where you, um, going?

The big white farmhouse ‘bout a mile down on the right, the stranger uttered.

Oh, Rehoboth, me too, Doug said with a smile. I’ll give you a lift. 

Doug’s mind drifted to a 48 Hours special he’d seen recently on the dangers of picking up hitchhikers. He looked at the hitcher in focus and dismissed his worries. He looks like my Uncle Jimmy, he’s harmless, he thought as the stranger opened the rear passenger’s side door.

Ponce began crying and whimpering, and the stranger whispered, I love cats. Pass that cat back; I’ll quiet him for ya.

Doug struggled attempting to release the seatbelt mechanism when he slammed his thumb into the door yelling, Ow! The stranger got out of the Volvo, opened the front passenger’s door, and unhooked the latch as Doug smiled. He placed the cat carrier beside him and carefully placed the rear seatbelt around the carrier saying, All set, as he began to giggle.

Ponce began purring, his motor revving, overpowering WBCN Boston. Wow, he really does have a way with cats, Doug said to himself while smiling at the stranger in the rearview mirror as the hitcher’s giggle turned into a roaring laugh. As Doug watches, his eyes fixated into a trance, the hitcher’s face distorts with malice and his eyes turn red and bug out with the look of psychopathic glee.

Jesus, this guy’s a little off, Doug internalized as he pulled in front of the farmhouse on the right as Ponce continued to purr.

Okay, here we are, Doug said turning his head toward the back seat ... there was no one there, and Ponce began to cry.

What the hell? Doug said out loud, You’re losing it, buddy, and he began rubbing his eyes while in park. I’m hallucinating, he mumbled as he stepped out of the Volvo to grab a breath of fresh air listening to Ponce now howl inside his prison. Time for Dunkin’, Doug said smacking himself across the face several times trying to wake up.

He walked into his kitchen and placed the carrier on the floor. Ponce De Leon wouldn’t exit the Petmate, and Doug said, What the hell, buddy? That’s weird. 

Doug was tired and his patience gone. He left Ponce in the carrier on the kitchen floor with the door open. Fine, you like it in there, stay put, he said as he walked upstairs to his bedroom.

He tossed and turned, unable to shake the image of the redheaded stranger insanely giggling in the back seat. After forty-five minutes he got up and went downstairs to the kitchen thinking,  Hmmm, maybe I’m hungry?

Ponce was sleeping in Doug’s favorite recliner and opened his eyes slightly as Doug approached. He patted the cat’s head observing the oversized cast encasing his entire right front leg. 

Doug picked at the cold roast chicken thinking, Where’s the mooch? He walked toward Ponce holding out a sliver of chicken, and Ponce didn’t acknowledge his presence. He held the chicken under the cat’s nose. Ponce didn’t budge. That’s weird, he said listening to his cat snore and grunt, a foul odor filling his nostrils.

What’s that smell? he mumbled as his mind flashed to the Lynyrd Skynyrd Reunion Concert a few years back at the Comcast Center in Mansfield. Oooh that smell, can’t you smell that smell, Oooh, that smell, the smell of death surrounds you, he sang out loud returning to the kitchen.

DOUG’S ALARM SHRIEKED at 6:15, and he hit snooze three times until 6:45 when his wife Karen whispered, Staying home today, Babe? 

I wish, Doug said kissing his wife’s forehead. As the hot water beaded down Doug’s back, he couldn’t shake the image of the redheaded hitcher in his back seat, his facial features permanently etched and embedded into his memory.

Amy was eating Cheerios at the kitchen table as Doug entered. Hi, Daddy, Amy said as she gulped a heaping spoonful, dribbling milk down her chin.

Hi, baby. How’s my girl today?

Good, Daddy. Is Ponce okay? Amy asked making a face.

Sure, he’s fine, baby, Doug said grabbing a banana.

You sure, Daddy? Amy asked.

I’m sure, baby ... why?

It’s just, um, he’s, um, not himself today, Daddy. He won’t wake up, and, um, he smells bad, Daddy.

Hmmm, Doug said walking over toward his recliner. He gently placed his left hand on the cat’s head while holding the banana to his mouth with his right. Ponce didn’t open his eyes. A growl filled the air as Ponce began to hiss with his eyes shut.

Hmmm, that’s weird, Doug thought ... Cat’s hissing at me? He thought, Geez, he really doesn’t feel good ... probably all the drugs.

He’ll be fine, baby, Doug said as he patted Amy’s shoulders. He had surgery last night. His leg was broken, Amy, in three places. They gave me this, Doug said holding a small green bottle of a liquid pain analgesic marked in bold black letters: Roxanol (Morphine Sulfate Oral Solution). Directions: Administer one drop every six to eight hours as indicated for pain.

Good luck with that, Daddy, Amy said skipping to the bathroom as Karen said, Come on, sweetie. How ‘bout a French braid today?

Hmmm, Doug thought, this should be fun. He rummaged through the translucent vet baggie finding the eyedropper, and he screwed it to the top of the bottle and quietly snuck into the living room. As he approached Ponce, the smell was rancid, and Doug began to gag, I can’t do this, he said as he ran to the kitchen sink. He managed to stop gagging just before vomiting.

Shit, he said to himself, what the hell is that smell?

Karen whispered to Doug, What’s that smell, Hon? as she grabbed her car keys and headed out the door following Amy who was singing her new fav song, Who’s that Chick, by Rihanna: Baby, I just wanna dance, I don’t really care, I just wanna dance, I don’t really care care care (feel it in the air, yeah.)

Ponce didn’t open his eyes. Doug knelt on the carpet observing white froth drooling from the left side of Ponce’s mouth. He opened the bottle, filled the eyedropper to the first white line, and inserted the medication into the cat’s mouth. Ponce swallowed, opened his eyes, showing Doug his protruding canines as he hissed.

Hmmm, that’s weird. Better call the vet, he said to himself walking out the front door. He looked back toward Ponce who was sleeping with his head curled underneath his body snoring. 

As he walked to his car, the poignant smell of lilacs filled the air. As Doug fired the ignition, his iPhone connected to his Volvo, and The Who‘s Tommy Can You Hear Me began booming.

DOUG SAT AT HIS DESK staring out the wall-length window. Hi. Doug King for Dr. Collins, please. Doug explained in meticulous detail Ponce’s injuries, his surgery, and his odd behavior feeling temporarily reassured by Collins’ brief explanation. 

Mr. King, Dr. Collins began, believe you me your cat is in pain so don’t be bothered by his erratic behavior for the next couple of days. As far as the foul smell, it may be the anesthesia actually.

The anesthesia? Doug asked in disbelief, anesthesia smells?

No, no, Collins explained, Anesthesia can be ... um, how do I say this delicately ... um, anesthesia medications can be quite binding.

So you’re saying the awful smell’s because my cat has to poop, Doc? What about the foamy saliva, is that from the anesthesia too?

That’s very odd, Mr. King, but, yes, give him a couple of days to recoup, and with that Doug was spinning in his leather swivel recliner. That’s ridiculous, he said to himself, utterly ridiculous, as he spun slamming his right knee into his desk.

By 3:30 Doug was wiped out and put his head down on his desk and began nodding off as his cell rang. Hi, Daddy! Amy shrieked jarring him awake.

Hi, Amy, what’s cooking, kiddo? Doug asked while yawning.

Daddy? Amy asked with a pause.

Yes, Amy, Doug said while yawning.

Something’s wrong with Ponce, Daddy. He won’t wake up, Amy exclaimed.

He had surgery last night, baby, and some heavy-duty drugs. He needs to sleep today, baby. He’ll be okay.

Promise, Daddy? Amy asked while sucking the bottom of her braid nervously.

I promise, baby. See ya later, okay?

K, Daddy ... Daddy? Amy whispered.

Yes, Amy? Doug stammered.

Love you, Daddy, Amy said.

Love you, too, baby, and Doug yawned, his eyes watering. He swiveled his chair to face the window remembering the redheaded stranger with his red eyes bulging and his evil grin giggling in the Volvo’s rear bench seat...

CHAPTER TWO

DOUG PULLED INTO THE driveway at 5:25 and smiled watching Amy picking daisies in the front yard. She ran to greet him yelling, Daddy! and wiped out on the driveway a foot in front of the Volvo cutting open her right knee. Doug picked up his daughter covering her face in kisses as she cried.

Kiss my booboo, Daddy, Amy asked motioning for Doug to kiss her Band-Aid. He complied and began kissing