The Haunted House Killer The Third Jake Rhodes Mystery

By Winslow Swan

Jake Rhodes is back in another mystery, but this time, he is trapped in a house with killers, thieves, and a green ghost. When eccentric millionaire Silas Dover passes away and his will is finally released after twenty years, his entire fortune is hidden in the house that he had built. A monstrosity of a house that was built for haunting, several people have disappeared searching for a fortune. Jake Rhodes along with his trusted secretary and now partner investigate on behalf of one of the benefactors the house that death built in this third installment of the Jake Rhodes series from the author of "Click (a tale of revenge)" and "Do Not Read This Book".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winslow Swan
• Release date: Oct 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370621996

Winslow Swan

Born and raised in Atlanta, Ga, I grew up surrounded by mystery and suspense, in book form. I also grew up listening not only to the great old radio horror shows but also heard the original run of the CBS Radio Mystery Theater. I contribute them for my imagination of horror and suspense. My favorite authors at the time were of course Stephen King, Dean Koontz, and Edgar Allen Poe. I now live in the North Georgia mountains where I am currently producing (with my best friend Crimson McKenzie) writing, directing, and appearing in a full cast audio series of horror, mystery, and suspense (with a few laughs along the way) titled "Doorway To Nightmare" on YouTube. (Check the channel out. 43 episodes with many more to come) Writing can, at times, become arduous and trying to find the quiet time to actually get my thoughts and stories down can sometimes be quite straining. However, I continue to do what I can to trouble the dreams of the reader.I find myself to be one of the few who have fulfilled all of their dreams. I have worked in both radio and television, as an actor and a writer, and have also appeared on stage. I have made two films (which shall both never see the light of day) and am now concentrating on a writing as a career.

Book preview

The Haunted House Killer

The Third Jake Rhodes Mystery

By

Winslow Swan

Published by Winslow Swan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 by Winslow Swan

Other Works by this Author

Toppling Over The Edge

Click (a tale of revenge)

No One Is Afraid Of Monsters Anymore (and other stories to read to the Thing Under The Bed)

More Stories To Read To The Thing Under The Bed

The Convincer

Feather Brained

Available at

http://www.smashwords.com

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

All characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to persons, places, firms, spooks, spirits, banshee’s, and other horrible manifestations is purely coincidental.

FORWARD

Welcome dear reader to the third adventure of that wonderful private detective that has haunted my mind for several years now. Will this be the last adventure? Who is to say?

I only hope that you enjoy this latest offering from my fevered imagination.

PROLOUGE

C’mon, you fucking coward, it’s only a house.

Phil Stanton stood before the massive structure that he had inadequately described. He shuffled from one foot to the other, smoked a cigarette, looked around at the dense woods that surrounded him, walked back to his car, smoked another cigarette, sat in his car for the better part of an hour, finally walking back to the front door of what he claimed was only a house.

The house was more of a mansion, built many years ago by some eccentric gazillionaire who apparently had more money than sense. Standing in the middle of nowhere down some dirt road that Phil had passed four times before chancing the turn, it was a house that had no business being where it was. Ten miles away from the main road with nothing around it except the forest, it stood three stories tall, four if you included the basement which stretched the entire length of the mansion.

He had crossed over a ramshackle bridge that spanned a small river at least twice before finding the driveway. He had been afraid that the bridge would never hold the weight of the car and imagined the river some thirty feet below him to be about the size of the Grand Canyon.

When Phil drove up the winding and rock laden drive toward the place, he had felt a cold chill run directly up his spine to the center of his brain. He had stopped the car a few hundred feet from the front of the place, shivering slightly even though the temperature was well in the eighties. Looking up at the house, he immediately thought of the Haunted Mansion at Disney World Orlando.

Vines from nearby shrubs had begun their ascent up the walls. Overgrown trees, dead and decaying, hung towards the grounds. Windows were covered in dust and dirt, both inside and out. As Phil stood at the bottom step of the front porch which seemed to wrap around the entire structure, he noticed the rotted boards in both the stairs and the porch. The only part of the house that seemed that it was held together at all was the front door.

He thought that it had looked almost brand new.

Maybe it is, keeping you out, or some thing inside, his inner voice told him.

Smoking yet another cigarette, he had at least made it up the thirteen steps (and wasn’t that just a wonderful coincidence) to the massive door. He ran his fingers across the intricately woven design of the heavy oak door. A large knocker resembling a gargoyle, smiling with a fiendish grin, stared back at him, as if daring him to knock to see what nasty surprise awaited him within the walls of the mansion.

Fumbling in his pocket, he had found the key that had been supplied to him the day before by his client.

He lit another cigarette and stood facing towards the woods, thinking back to the day that he was hired.

It’s a really simple job, the client had said, a tall distinguished looking man. Phil had made the judgment that his new client had very deep pockets considering the Armani suit that he had worn to the meeting.

I have found, Phil had told him, that no job is really simple.

All you have to do, the client stated, is to find something that is being kept in a house.

Sure, Phil thought, it sounded simple. Now as Phil stood on the front porch of the massive house, he knew that this was not going to be as easy as his client had led him to believe.

In the first place, he had no idea what the object in question could be. The only thing that he was sure of was that it was worth a fortune, of which he would be the recipient of ten percent.

Do you believe in haunted houses? his client had asked.

Phil had only laughed but he soon realized that he had been asked a serious question.

No, sir, Phil answered, I don’t believe in ghosts.

The client smiled and said, Then you should have no problems.

I do have one problem, Phil said.

Which is?

I don’t know what I am looking for, Phil said. That would be some handy information to have.

If only I could supply it, which I would be more than happy to, his client had told him.

Before Phil could refer him to another private investigator, the client had passed an envelope to him, containing ten thousand dollars in cash.

Phil pocketed the money and the next day had driven to the mansion.

He finished his cigarette and turned back to the front door, the key in his palm.

Sure, people have died in there, or disappeared, the middle aged waitress at the diner had told him only two hours ago.

What do you mean? he had asked over a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

You wouldn’t catch me near the place, she had said.

Phil talked to a couple of other people in the diner, all with the same opinion.

As far as he could tell, three people had died inside the house and one person had simply vanished, never to be heard from. There were the usual stories of vengeful ghosts, demons, or the simple truth that the aforementioned victims had met with untimely accidents.

Sure, just accidents, one of the patrons had told him. The house is falling apart and God only knows what the hell is holding it together. I figure that the people went inside and fell or part of the ceiling fell on them and they were killed. Pure and simple accidents.

They weren’t accidents, the waitress had whispered to him while he paid the check. If I was you, I would just go back home and forget about it.

Phil had just about decided to leave and let his client know that he could not find anything of value inside the house except a lot of cobwebs. Perhaps some of the furniture could be sold at auction. The heavy oak door and the gargoyle knocker would probably fetch a sizable amount.

The same cold chill that he had felt earlier had crept up his spine again.

The front door had slowly opened.

Phil felt the key slip from his sweaty palm and land with a loud sound on the wooden porch. It was the only sound that Phil could hear. For the first time since arriving, he noticed the complete absence of sound from the nearby woods. There were no birds chirping away in the trees. No sound of wind blowing its melancholy tune through the floor of the forest. There simply was an absence of noise save for the clank of the key as it hit the porch.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness that filled the void of the open door. Like with any decent haunted mansion, the door made a loud creaking sound as it opened wide, much like the mouth of a demon, inviting him in to the darkness to explore the mystery within.

Hello?

His voice echoed in the cavern of the old house, as if the house itself were given a voice to cry out with.

It’s only a house, he told himself as he stepped inside.

****

CHAPTER ONE

I sat on the wooden bench that had been recently painted by the city in the center of the park. I breathed in the warm summer air, felt the sun on my face, and sipped at a cola that I had just purchased from a nearby vendor. I watched the various people pass by me without giving me a second glance. Several groups of runners had jogged past. A few families with strollers walked casually by, laughing and generally having a good time.

At least it wasn’t the middle of winter, I thought to myself.

I smiled at a very attractive woman wearing a tank top and very short shorts as she walked past me. She smiled back showing off very perfect teeth.

Mr. Rhodes?

The skinny little man wearing the thick glasses had sat beside me while I was planning yet another sexual conquest.

Another rule for the private detective is to always be aware of your surroundings.

I was determined to find that fucking rule book and burn every copy.

You must be Mr. Quarles, I said.

Yes, the skinny man of about forty