The Death Chute

By Ambrose Stolliker

When his mother, Sophia, is diagnosed with an aggressive form of dementia, 44-year-old reality television producer Jake Porter leaves Hollywood and returns to his native Vermont to look after her. Jake plans to set her up in a posh new retirement community in the Green Mountains and then head back to Los Angeles to revive his career, which is now in jeopardy after his last few projects bombed in spectacular fashion.

But when he learns that the retirement community was once a tuberculosis sanatorium, Jake is uneasy at the prospect of leaving Sophia on her own. Only the assurances of the community’s chief medical officer, Christine Barrett, convince Jake that his mother will be in good hands. Not long after she’s moved in, however, Sophia has the first of many frightening experiences when she encounters the apparition of a little boy suffering from TB. At first, Jake dismisses her story as a symptom of her dementia, but as time goes on, it becomes clear the rest home houses dark secrets and is haunted by something terrible and strange.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AURELIA LEO
• Release date: Apr 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781946024497

Book preview

The Death Chute

By Ambrose Stolliker

The Death Chute

© 2019 Ambrose Stolliker

www.ambrosestolliker.wordpress.com

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written consent, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles, reviews, and so on. This is a work of fiction. Any semblance to persons, names, characters, organizations, places, events or incidents is the product of imagination. Any resemblance to the aforementioned is otherwise purely subliminal influence stemming from Ambrose Stolliker’s captive demons.

www.aurelialeo.com

Stolliker, Ambrose

The Death Chute / by Ambrose Stolliker 1st ed.

ISBN-13: 978-1-946024-49-7 (ebook)

ISBN-13: 978-1-946024-50-3 (Audiobook)

ISBN-13: 978-1-946024-48-0 (Trade Paperback)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019931096

Editing by Luann Reed-Siegel

Cover design by The Cover Collection

Book design by Inkstain Design Studio

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition:

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ALSO BY AMBROSE STOLLIKER

Old Hollow (2017)

To my mother, who taught me the power of story when I was just a boy...

A news story from the Barre-Montpelier Times Argus dated Saturday, November 1, 2017:

MAGNITUDE 7.1 QUAKE HITS VERMONT

Trembler Destroys Rest Home for Seniors, Scores Feared Dead

GLASTENBURY – The most powerful earthquake New England has seen in 200 years laid waste to the Glastenbury Mountain Rest Home at precisely 11 p.m. last night, according to scientists from the U.S. Geological Survey.

The quake’s epicenter was about four miles directly below Glastenbury Mountain, one of the taller peaks in Vermont’s Green Mountains.

The rest home, once a renowned sanatorium for tuberculosis patients, was home to more than 200 seniors and employed a staff of about 50.

It was not known at press time whether any of the residents or staff survived the quake.

Emergency, fire, and state police personnel arrived on the scene at about 11:45 p.m. to find what little was left of the 108-year-old facility in flames.

It’s like the earth just up and swallowed the damn place whole, said Shaftsbury Fire Department chief Walter Mann. How does something like that happen? The building is gone. Just gone.

Rescue crews had already removed more than 50 bodies from the rubble by 2 a.m.

Powerful earthquakes in New England are rare, but not unheard of. The most recent one was a magnitude 6.4 near Concord, N.H., in June 1988. An earlier magnitude 6.1 quake, dubbed the Christmas Trembler, rattled Ellsworth, Maine, in late December 1973.

Two Weeks Earlier

Jake walked into the main pavilion of the Glastenbury Mountain Rest Home and stopped at the reception desk. A young woman with a name tag that read Susie greeted him with a smile.

He smiled back. Hi. Jake Porter to see … uh … hang on a sec. He pulled a slip of paper out of his back pocket. Dr. Christine Barrett. She’s the administrator here, right?

That’s right. Let me get her for you. Susie picked up the telephone. "Dr. Barrett? Mr. Porter is here to see you. Yes, that Mr. Porter. She put the phone down. She’ll be right with you."

Thanks.

He took a seat next to a fireplace and looked around, singing the words to an old Glenn Miller song. I got a gal in Kalamazoo, don’ wanna boast but I know she’s the toast of Kalamazoo. Zoo zoo zoo. Zoo zee zoo zoo.

Why can’t I get this song out of my head? I hate that Golden Oldies stuff.

The pavilion was enormous and smelled like autumn. On the wall was a large portrait of a gentle-looking man in his late forties. He was dressed in a gray suit and wore round spectacles. Jake went in for a closer look. On the wall next to the portrait was a small plaque that identified the subject as one Dr. Thomas Barker, 1866–1948, founder, Glastenbury Mountain Sanatorium. Jake stopped singing.

This place was a sanatorium?

Uh, can I ask you something? It was Susie.

Sure, Jake said, not taking his eyes off the portrait. He knew what was coming.

"You are Jake Porter, right? The reality TV producer?"

Yep. That’s me.

"Can I just tell you how much I loved Walking with Mailmen?"

"You actually watched that show?"

Yeah. Why?

"It’s about mailmen, for Chrissakes."

Susie looked horrified. You didn’t like it?

It’s the worst piece of crap I’ve ever had the misfortune to put my name to, and that’s not saying much. He walked over to the reception desk. Wanna know a secret?

Sure! Susie squealed, delighted.

"I only did Mailmen because I owed my agent a favor. All the good ideas for reality TV were used up a long time ago. Basically, we’re just recycling the same garbage over and over again. This is what four years and $80,000 at USC Film School got me." Oh, and made me persona non grata in Hollywood.

"Well, I still thought it was great.’’

You’re one of the few.

Jake turned away in time to see a tall, dark mocha-skinned woman striding toward him.

Mr. Porter? I’m Christine Barrett. We spoke on the telephone a few weeks ago. She offered her hand, and he took it. Her touch was warm and smooth.

Right. I wanted to check the place out before I make a final decision about my mother.

Of course. Let’s go into my office, shall we?

He followed her through a set of large French doors and down a corridor. She motioned him into her office, a spacious affair that overlooked Glastenbury Lake.

This is way nicer than mine, Jake said. Bigger, too.

Her hazel eyes beamed as she laughed. I doubt it, you being a Hollywood big shot and all.

Nope. I’m just a poor boy from Vermont who got lucky.

They sat down.

Before we get started, Jake began, I’d like to ask you about something I saw on the way in here.

The portrait of Dr. Barker?

How’d you know?

We get a lot of questions about it. The fact that this place was once a sanatorium isn’t something we advertise. It makes people … uneasy.

I can understand why. Did a lot of people die here?

Christine paused. Well, you know, Mr. Porter—

Jake.

Okay. Jake. As I was saying, Glastenbury Mountain was a tuberculosis hospital for a long time. Back then, they didn’t have the drugs we have today to fight the disease, so it’s a good bet some of the patients who came here didn’t make it. I understand if that upsets you and your mother, Sophia. She opened a file in front of her. Sophia Pawlak Kolenski. Wait, do I have the right file?

Jake laughed. Yep. That’s my mother. Porter isn’t my real last name.

It isn’t?

Come on. How many guys named Jakob Kolenski do you think could ever make it in Hollywood? He pronounced his name YAK-ob.

Christine laughed again. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?

Nope, he said, scanning her left hand. No ring. Hmm. How is this woman still single? Anyway, the sanatorium thing shouldn’t be a problem.

You don’t think it will upset your mother?

Jake’s manner softened a little. "I doubt it. She’s pretty far gone at this point.