Hour House

By Gail P. Robertson

Kyle and his friends Mindy, Amber, Neil and Grody simply can’t resist a mystery. It was their natural curiosity which lead them to explore Hour House in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night. And it was that same curiosity which got them trapped there. Now the only way out is by completing a series of challenges which no one before them has ever passed. It takes teamwork and using every talent they possess to face tests of mind, athletics, heart and courage. But even if they succeed, will they be allowed to leave? Or will they be bound to Hour House forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gail P. Robertson
• Release date: Dec 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9780992120344

Book preview

Hour House

Hour House

Gail P. Robertson

Copyright

Hour House

ISBN:  978-0-9921203-4-4

Copyright © 2013 Gail P. Robertson

All rights reserved.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mother,

Paulette Davies, for her unwavering belief in me

throughout the years.

Cover photo by Tamas Erdosi,

cropped and modified by Gail Robertson.

CHAPTER 1

The trout were ignoring Kyle’s bait, but then, he was ignoring Amber’s, too. Instead of fishing from the dock like most of them were doing, she had changed into a tiny multi-colored bathing suit. She had draped herself across the floating lounge and was letting it drift right over the underwater ledge where Kyle wanted to cast his lure.

The sun glinted off Amber’s snow white teeth and she crooked a finger at him. Oh, Kyle. Why don’t you put that silly thing down and come join me? There’s lots of room. It’s not like the fish are biting.

She had been carrying on like that since they got to the lake, and Kyle’s patience was wearing thin. They might if you weren’t parked over the dropoff.

The smile vanished. Amber’s green eyes glowered at him, but Kyle pretended not to notice, even when she tossed her curly, shoulder-length honey hair back from her picture-perfect face.

Well, alright, if that’s all you care about. Go back to your smelly old fish. With that, Amber slid off and splashed noisily towards shore, hauling the offending float behind her. She paused a bit when the water was only ankle-deep, and struck what Kyle assumed was meant to be a tempting pose. He had to admit, her figure was surprisingly developed for a 13-year-old. Too bad her attitude hadn’t grown up with it.

Kyle sighed and reeled in his line. If there had been any fish around, thanks to Amber’s antics, they were long gone. Just another downside of him being the handsomest boy in class. Maybe someday he’d be glad of it, but so far all his soulful brown eyes (to quote Amber), collar-length wavy brown hair and long, lean body had brought him was trouble. Girls were always making a play for him, then getting mad when he didn’t show interest. Only the boys seemed to notice he had a longish face. That fact seemed to be brought up every time some pretty girl batted her eyes at him or bumped into him on purpose. But Amber had become even more aggressive since she turned 13. If that was how teenagers acted, Kyle was glad he still had a year to go.

Amber’s nine-year-old brother, Neil, also pulled in his lure. She did that on purpose, all that splashing around. Neil cast a resentful glance at his sister as she huffed off up the embankment. The movement turned him in Kyle’s direction and his lure nearly hooked Kyle’s nose.

Let me get that. Kyle hastily nabbed the line and secured the hook to one of the eyes on the pole.

Neil was the youngest of the group, and had startled everyone, especially himself, by shooting up five inches in the past six months. Almost overnight, he’d gone from an athletic kid to an ungainly spider monkey unable to tell where his arms and legs ended. He was forever tripping over his own feet or knocking things over, and was basically a menace to be around.

Mindy, on the other side of Kyle, was the same age as him. She bent down to pick up their only fish. She had landed it just before Amber floated in their way.

What do you think? Throw it back? Her long straight auburn hair partially hid her blue eyes as she regarded her catch swimming limpidly in the tub at her feet.

Yeah, might as well.

Kyle watched her hold the trout upright in the water until it was strong enough to swim away. Mindy was nowhere as pretty as Amber, but Kyle found her a lot more fun to be around. She didn’t throw herself at him and, like Kyle, she was always willing to investigate anything unusual. She didn’t just sit around all day preening herself like Amber did.

Mindy got to her feet. So much for a trout dinner. Good thing we brought plenty of food.

Especially with Grody along. Kyle nodded towards the campsite. Grady, the rotund 10-year-old, was already stuffing chips into his mouth, short fat legs swinging under the folding chair. Everyone called him Grody because he over-ate till he felt, well, grody.

Hurry up, you guys, he called, little bits of chips fluffing from his mouth. The hot dogs are ready and then Mr. Cormack’s taking us hiking. He said there could be bears around. Grody raised both arms and pawed the air suggestively. Or maybe even mountain lions. Rarrrrr! Startling gray eyes bugged out at them in mock ferociousness behind black-rimmed glasses which kept sliding down his smallish nose. A dip in the lake earlier had plastered Grody’s black hair, still parted in the middle, against his head. Stray locks cut across his moon face like saber scars.

Kyle’s pulse quickened. A hike would be perfect, and he knew just where he’d like to go. On the way to their campsite he’d spotted what looked like a cave in the hill on the opposite side of the tiny lake. Maybe Mr. Cormack, who was Amber and Neil’s father, would let them explore a bit on their own, as he had at the municipal campsite they visited last summer. They had had to promise not to venture too far, but it had been great anyway, until Grody twisted his ankle. This time, though, they were in the wilderness, and would only be here for the weekend, not a whole week.

Are there really bears and cougars, Dad? Neil asked hopefully as he approached the barbeque.

Well, you never can tell. We are out in the bush, after all. Mr. Cormack handed him a plate of hot dogs and potato salad. Relishes, chips and pop are over there, he pointed with the spatula.

Mindy and Kyle got in line behind Grody. Amber sat off to one side, arms crossed. One look at her sullen face warned Kyle to let her be. Apparently her father hadn’t read the signs, though, for he said, Dinner’s ready, hon.

I’m not hungry.

Can I have hers? Grody piped up. He reached out to take it, but Amber jumped to her feet and snatched the plate from her father’s outstretched hand, favoring Grody with an angry scowl.

Mr. C, can we poke around over there? Kyle asked, pointing his chin towards the hill as he accepted his plate. I think I see a trail.

Mr. Cormack squinted at the sun. Let’s do that tomorrow. It’s getting a bit late. I was thinking more of that path over there.

So when they’d all finished eating and cleaned up, the group headed down the trail, single-file, with Mr. Cormack in front to watch out for trouble. But trouble was bringing up the rear, in the form of Grody.

* * *

His stomach rumbled, even though he’d eaten his last bite not five minutes before. Grody gazed longingly at the campsite just before he lost sight of it around a bend. He wondered how long it would be till they’d see it again.

And those are rabbit droppings, Mr. Cormack’s voice floated back to Grody. As time went by, the voice became increasingly faint. Grody was falling behind again, like he always did on these hikes. Soon, he was panting like a dog and his legs began to cramp. He stopped and bent over to rub his thigh muscles and catch his breath. Why did they have to go so fast? This was supposed to be a hike, not a race.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grody spotted a small, blue something – in fact, a lot of small, blue somethings. Blueberries! Bushes upon bushes of them. His stomach gurgled urgently and he reached out with eager hands. Pick, pop; pick, pop. The delicious fruit went from shrub to mouth like a non-stop assembly line.

Grody didn’t notice how quiet it had become until he was well into his eighth bush. It seemed a lot darker now. How long had he been picking? Well, just a