The Threshold

By Anita Kovacevic

Dancing the thin line between pride and vanity can be tricky. What if the house you dream of isn't the home you wanted, but the home you deserve? And who decides what it is you deserve?
Spanning over a few centuries, this urban legend revolves around a mysterious house and its alleged secret treasure. The original owner is obsessed with the house, but once he enters it, he never leaves, till his death. Over a century, a creepy urban legend develops about it. But nobody tampers with it till a real estate mogul wants the property to build a business tower on the site. To gain legal control over it, he strikes a deal with the city officials, and starts a reality show in which contestants are asked to enter the house and retrieve the treasure from it. The show does not go as planned, and the newly built tower will hold deadly secrets of its own. Who will end up having the upper hand - the tycoon or the threshold?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312450899

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The Threshold

THE THRESHOLD

Written and illustrated by Anita Kovacevic

Second edition

Copyright © 2014 Anita Kovacevic – first ebook edition

All rights reserved.

ISBN : 978-1-312-45089-9

Paperback ISBN 978-1-326-84262-8

This work is licensed under the Standard Copyright Licence

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

Distributed by http://www.lulu.com

Published by Anita Kovacevic

Foreword

The power of words has always fascinated me. There are limitless possibilities in the use of only one of them, because its power stems not only from its lexical meaning but its historical connotations and changes, its previous contexts, media and user, its audience, location and timing. And, as is always the case with a superpower, it can be used for good or evil, and alas, misunderstood or misused as well. But whatever the effect may be, the desired one or its complete opposite, effect takes place, and it makes a change or a difference, or both.

It never ceases to amaze me how many emotions and ideas can stem from just one word. When you see it, hear it or say it, regardless of whether its effect is immediate or delayed, it is simply unbeatable and irresistible. It's like magic, and I do like magic, just like any other child trapped in an ageing body.

One such word, hidden within a bundle of other wonderful and horrible, yet all impressive words, as I read it in one of my all-time favourite stories, grabbed my attention instantly. It was 'threshold'. Mind you, in the story I was reading, it was completely unimportant, and simply denoted the entrance to a house in a description. But to me, it was that word which stopped me from reading and forced me to pick up a pen and write this story.

As soon as I started writing it, a new world opened up before my eyes, like in those science-fiction TV-series, when a starship goes into warp and everything changes at light speed. The world becomes different and bigger, and you are transported into a place so far away from home that it seems you will never go back. Till the story is finished and you warp your way back, with the merciless blow of disappointment at your story being over, and still, quickly psyched up again over another new word and another adventure, beyond our world, yet so much part of our world.

The Threshold is about change, which is different for everyone, no more or less than we deserve. The change is eventually always consistent with our decision on how we choose to react to that change. The threshold is always open, but what we choose to do with the door is our choice, and ours alone.

Anita Kovacevic

Dedication

To my family and friends who let me be myself,

push me and drag me across my threshold…

Thank you. Always.

Introduction

Old houses always have secrets. Always. Trust me, I know. I live in one.

The house in this story is truly special. Just like with people, what shapes its power is its past, location, roots, and all the dreams that were invested in it. But this house only shows its extraordinary power to those who dare cross its threshold. Do you dare?

Come on, step over the threshold! Be my guest! My book is your house…

Part 1 – THE MESSAGE

Mrs Poole, a quaint elderly lady in her sixties, was just about to make the most of the subsiding autumn sun, and walk her old dog to the city park. It had taken her quite a big portion of the morning to fix her white hair just the way she wanted to. A brisk walk would do her old hips a lot of good; sitting in front of her oval mirror, at her exquisite little dresser, may have been productive as far as her hair style was concerned, but it had certainly caused her bones unwanted pain.

When she was finally satisfied with her styling, she put on her new flowery bonnet. It was the latest ladies' fashion statement and a gift from her favourite nephew for her birthday the week before. She rose slowly and carefully, put on her lavender coat, and called for her pet. Just like his owner's, the dog's legs were weary and aged, but he welcomed his collar, expecting some fresh air and a good stretch to the park.

Mrs Poole walked out of her house, locked the door and placed her key carefully inside her tiny velvet purse. She arched her back, showing off her slim figure and proud posture, and walked into the street. Her ladylike pace was composed and serene, and only by the occasional tugging on her dog's leash could you notice that she was in a bit of a hurry. There was a matter she wanted to resolve in the park.

Gertrude Bennet, the butcher's wife, would undoubtedly be there, strutting one of her new outfits again. Mrs Poole really wanted to show off her new hat to that wretched money-soaked hag, who had called Mrs Poole's old hat 'a dirty straw mess on a silly old head', shrieking so obnoxiouly and loudly above all the conversations of the ladies and gentlemen in the park the Sunday before. Mrs Poole's pride was her most precious possession, and she wasn't going to roll it out like a rug for ruthless people to walk all over. She never had and never would.

Mrs Poole's eyes wandered quickly forward and above, checking the sky which was slowly, but steadily, gaining a dark shade. 'Not a very enlightening sight to see at the beginning of the day,' the old lady thought. Those heavy grey clouds, thickening more and more, certainly didn't look promising.

But still – there was hope. She was already quite close. There was only this infamous creepy house to pass by at the end of her street, and then cross the main road to reach the park. She took a deep, anxious breath, trying not to look at the grand house on her right. When she was a little girl, all the grown-ups around her would tell tales about that luxurious, mysterious mansion, and the ominous words got so deeply etched into her conscience that just the thought of the house made her feel uneasy. She decided to pass the building as quickly as possible, telling herself her speed was due merely to the oncoming rain.

Suddenly, a rather