Yesterday's Fears: YESTERDAY'S MYSTERIES, #6

By Sam Cheever

Some people are willing to kill to keep their sins hidden. Others are willing to die to expose them.

 

Pastor Frederick made a mistake. He fell from grace hard, getting embroiled in something he never should have as a man of God. But, though he's lost the respect of many in Crocker, Indiana, some still trust him. One young man, in particular, entrusted him with his secrets and his life. But when the man is targeted by a killer. His only hope might come from the ether. And Pastor Frederick knows just the ghost to ask for help.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Electric Prose Publications
• Release date: Feb 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781950331635

Sam Cheever

Nobody really cares that Sam Cheever is a USA Today Bestselling Author. Nobody cares that she’s written a whole ton of fun and snappy books. Let’s face it, the most interesting thing about Sam is the fact that she’s a dogaholic. Yeah, there’s no Dogaholic’s Anonymous chapter that can help her. Believe me, she’s looked. So Sam deals with her problem the best way she knows how. She digs into the mountains of personal experiences (mostly involving dog poo) to write GREAT dog characters. Oh, and there are some people in her books too. She’s also pretty good at those. Want to ask Sam about her dogs…erm…books? You can connect with her at one of the following places. Just don’t ask her why she has 16 dogs. Nobody in the whole wide world can answer that. NEWSLETTER: Join Sam's Monthly newsletter and get a FREE book! You can also keep up with her appearances, enjoy monthly contests, and get previews of her upcoming work! http://www.samcheever.com/newsletter.html TEXT NEWS ALERTS: Or if you'd rather not receive a monthly newsletter, you can sign up for text alerts and just receive a brief text when Sam's launching a new release or appearing somewhere fun. Just text SAMNEWS to 781-728-9542 to be added! ONLINE HOT SPOTS: To find out more about Sam and her work, please pay her a visit at any one of the following online hot spots: Her blog: http://www.samcheever.com/blog; Twitter: http://twitter.com/samcheever; and Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SamCheeverAuthor. She looks forward to chatting with you! She has a technique for scooping poop that she knows you’re just DYING to learn about.

Book preview

1

Yesterday, 2015

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Reverend Frederick knelt below the enormous figurine of Jesus at the front of the nave. His head was bowed, his eyes closed. His mind was full of the sins he’d committed since the last time he’d knelt in that spot. They weren’t big sins. But each one put a bit more weight on his soul until he felt as if it was prudent to get rid of them. Lighten the load, as it were.

The pastor’s lips curved at the thought and he pushed humor away. It wasn’t a time for smiling. It was a time for prostrating himself before his Lord and Savior to ask forgiveness for being flawed.

He started through the list, taking care not to give himself excuses or justifications for any of them. He’d had an evil thought about Winchester Hannigan for dropping a single dollar bill into the collection plate the previous Sunday, and then palming a twenty back out again. He’d thought unkind things about Mrs. Kastleman at the Saturday morning prayer breakfast, when she’d hoarded muffins, stuffing them into her oversized purse. He’d said a swear word the day before when someone had cut him off as he’d attempted to exit the highway.

He'd had a busy week.

The smile returned because, as a sinner who was an alcoholic and had once struggled with violent rages because of his drinking, Reverend Frederick could definitely have worse things to report to his God. He had, in fact, once confessed much worse things. So he threw in a prayer of thanks for deliverance from his past sins and then brought it to a close. Amen, he muttered, before pushing to his feet.

The heavy door at the front of Crocker Lutheran church slammed shut, and footsteps stumbled heavily toward him.

Reverend Frederick turned, a smile of welcome finding his face.

The smile died on a gasp of pure horror.

The boy was sixteen years old. A spiky cap of thick brown hair stuck up all over his head, and his jeans were filthy at the knees. The white tee-shirt he wore beneath an open flannel shirt was vivid with blood. Probably from the wound at his hairline, which was still seeping blood at an alarming rate.

The pastor hurried forward, hands outstretched as the boy stumbled to a stop in the center of the aisle, weaving unsteadily. What’s happened, child? Are you okay? The reverend caught the boy as he fell forward, barely keeping him from landing on his face on the dark red carpet lining the aisle.

Reverend Frederick settled the boy carefully to the floor, pushing a blood-drenched spike of hair away from the wound so he could determine how bad it was. The cut was two inches long and fairly deep. It wasn’t life-threatening, but he would need stitches. We need to get you to the hospital, he said, pushing to his feet.

But Mitchel Mistren’s hand snaked out and clasped the reverend’s with surprising strength. No!

Reverend Frederick let himself be pulled back to his knees. Son, you’re bleeding. That wound needs to be tended.

Large, pale blue eyes widened fearfully. Please, no hospital. I just need a minute. And maybe some water.

The reverend frowned down at his young parishioner, knowing he needed medical help. But the boy’s fear was palpable, and he looked ready to bolt. Frederick finally squeezed the boy’s shoulder. Rest here for a moment. I’ll get my first aid kit and water.

The boy expelled a long breath and nodded. Thanks, Pastor.

The reverend stood. Don’t thank me, son. I should be calling an ambulance right now.

The boy closed his eyes. Beneath the drying blood, his face was white as a ghost. An ambulance can’t help me with this. I need an exorcist.

Reverend Frederick paused, turning back to the boy. What did you say?

The boy looked up at him with an expression of pure terror. I should have done something, Pastor. If I had… He shook his head. "I should have told somebody.