Nip it in the Blood

By Julie Parker

Thirteen-year-old Kitrina Bancroft comes from a long line of hunters who destroy monsters. Her ancestral home, located on the outskirts of a small town, was built at the pinnacle of where fears manifest into being. Inside the manor, the hidden staircases, secret passageways, trap doors, and the labyrinth behind the walls and beneath the floors contain the threats until they’re vanquished. But sometimes, things escape.
Kit’s parents go missing. She soon discovers monsters sometimes hide in plain sight, and it will take the combined efforts of Kit with her younger sister Jem and undying trust in their hunter bloodline to keep a blissfully unaware town safe from destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: World Castle Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Oct 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955086721

Julie Parker

Julie is a long-time resident of Hamilton, Ontario, where she raised her two sons with her husband of over twenty-seven years. As a family, they built their home, right where they tore down the old one.Julie spent six years working in the public library, and over ten years working with children. Both occupations inspired a love of reading, writing, and endless storytelling.Having a long love affair with writing, Julie spent countless hours creating stories and reading them to her boys. Now, empty nesters, she spends her time hatching tales and enchanting her husband with her endless story ideas. Lucky for him, they built a man cave too.You can find Julie on Facebook, Twitter, Book Bub, Goodreads, and Pinterest, where she loves to connect with readers and other writers.Website: https://julieparker.net/

Book preview

Prologue

There was something in the closet.

Kit heard it rustling and creeping around in the clothes and toys in the darkness, so loud it had woken her from a sound sleep. Not again.

Jem sat up in the bed beside Kit’s and rubbed her eyes. Whatsa matter, Kit? She had a lisp to her speech, which Kit usually found amusing.

But not tonight.

Not with that noise coming from their closet again.

Kit eyed the door to the hall, noticing it was slightly ajar. Judging the distance, she figured if she and Jem ran right now, they might be able to make it. But Jem was still pretty small. Only five years old, in fact, and not as fast as seven-year-old Kit.

She watched her sister and saw her little cherub mouth open into a wide yawn. Her long dark hair lay in a riot of unruly curls about her face and down her back. She was looking at the closet and her big green eyes were wide with trepidation.

It’s back, Jem whispered. What should we do? She turned her gaze to Kit, expecting an answer.

Kit sighed. She couldn’t take a gamble on her little sister not reaching the door in time. There was no choice but to stay behind and distract whatever was making all that racket. A loud thump came from the closet, and suddenly the handle began to rattle and turn. Moments later, as both girls watched from their beds, the door began to slowly swing open.

You’re gonna have to make a run for it! Kit hissed, not taking her eyes off the closet. She threw back her covers and crouched on her bed, ready to spring.

What about you? Jem whined. What are you gonna do, Kit?

Kit turned and glared at her sister. Don’t worry about me. You just get to that door.

When Jem looked about to argue, Kit lifted her finger and pointed toward the exit. The closet door was now fully open, and a large dark menacing shape began creeping forward. Go! she snapped at Jem before jumping to the end of her bed and stepping bravely to the floor.

Jem threw back her covers and leaped from her bed. Her little legs tore across the carpet, stopping just as she reached the door.

Kit saw her hesitate. What are you waiting for? she whispered harshly.

Nothing! Jem grasped the hard wood of the door in both hands. Instead of fleeing the room, she shut the door and leaned against it.

Kit winked at her and moved to stand before the closet. She could see the monster now, big and hairy and ugly, with long dripping fangs and claws for hands.

She smiled at her sister as Jem crept up to her side. Ready?

Jem grinned back and nodded.

Grasping each other’s hands, they stepped forward into the shadows.

Chapter 1

When everyone else ran from terror, I was the one running toward it. But now, my palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, my body was jumpy and agitated. I’d never felt this way before, but I recognized the condition.

Fear.

An alien emotion for me.

You’re sweating, Jem said, a slight smirk on her face. Try as she might to put forth a brave front, I knew she was as terrified as I was.

We’re not like them. I don’t know why we have to go. Mom and Dad never made us go to school.

That was them. Uncle D isn’t the homeschool type, she reminded me.

Understatement of the year. Uncle D wasn’t the home anything type. We’d seen him barely a handful of times in the two months since he’d become our guardian. Instead, he’d installed the tyrant-osaurus Lebby as nursemaid, housekeeper, and jailer, all in one.

What is this crap anyway? I stabbed a fork into my breakfast, taking my irritation out on what appeared to be French toast or pancakes—an omelet, perhaps?

Shhh. She’ll hear ya, Jem warned, casting a wary look over her shoulder.

Not that I give a—

Shh!

Uncle D had made all the arrangements with the school, he’d informed us, last time he’d graced us with his presence. Thanks to the adequate education we’d been given by our dedicated, if somewhat unconventional, parents, Jem would be entering the sixth grade, and I the eighth. Upon Uncle D’s third visit, when it seemed apparent my folks were not coming back any time soon, he’d instructed us each to complete an essay on a subject of our choosing. In turn, he presented the final projects to the school principal. Despite architecture design not being my area of interest or expertise, I’d opted to write about the history of our ancestral home.

After some Google searches, I determined the house to be considered a Second Empire design, complete with a mansard roof. It could also boast of six original fireplaces. Built in 1860 by my great-great-grandfather, Alastair Bancroft, it’d been in our family ever since. With the outside, I went into great detail about elongated dormer windows, towers, brick façade, color scheme, land size and attributes, chimneys, etc. etc. Inside, I talked about square footage, original hardwood floors, staircases, ancient rugs, antique furniture, number of rooms, paint, wallpaper, light fixtures, etc. etc. I even went on to describe a bit about life—and lack of electricity and plumbing—in the 1860s.

What I didn’t discuss was details about the inhabitants, past or present. I didn’t talk about Alastair—what he did for a living or how much money he had. Where he’d come from, or how he’d wound up in the small town of Hastings. How he’d specifically chosen this parcel of land, or what had befallen him—or his wife. I didn’t talk about the crypt or the family cemetery on the hill beneath the giant oak. I didn’t speak of the family business or the legacy handed down from generation to generation.

I didn’t speak of the secrets.

And I didn’t mention the closets, tunnels, or the hidden passageways and staircases.

Jem, being Jem, wrote about plants on the property and in the large greenhouse, extolling their many uses. She discussed the color and beauty of marigolds, chrysanthemums, black-eyed Susans, and daisies. The grassy areas mingled with clover, attracting wildlife from the surrounding forests. She failed to mention the wolf’s bane, hemlock, and mandrake, or their many valuable medicinal uses—for just such an emergency.

Uncle D was my mom’s brother. Not of the blood, my grandfather would boast. The legacy we inherited stemmed from our father’s line. Therefore, Uncle D was not aware of the danger. If he had known, he would have run, far and fast. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have stepped forward as our guardian or installed that old scarecrow as our jailer. Lucky for her, she’d yet to be introduced to the intricacies of our home. Jem and I had worked double time making sure she didn’t.

Finish up, girls. The bus’ll be at the end of the driveway in precisely six minutes.

We both jumped upon hearing the old bird’s predictive squawk. How she managed to sneak up on us, I’ll never know. She was small enough. I’d give her that. Most times, if you listened hard, you could hear the forewarning swoosh of her clothes, her arms and legs battering them like a wild wind against sails.

Lebby snatched two identical paper lunch bags off the counter and stuffed them into the backpacks sitting on the floor. My bag was green, Jem’s was blue. At least Uncle D hadn’t deigned to guess our tastes and bought bags sporting logos, designs, animals, or animated characters. Even he must have realized how little he knew us.

The cool autumn wind whipped our long hair around our heads as we stood waiting for the bus. Either it was late, or we were early. I cast a squint-eyed glare toward the windows of the house, hoping that old bitty caught it. Jem fiddled with the shoulder straps of her bag, having never donned one before.

This is lame, she complained.

My keen sense of smell foretold an early winter in our future. A rumbling noise alerted us to the yellow bus coming up the road. Bright sunlight emphasized the color but hid the occupants. When it pulled up in front of us, I could make out several curious faces peering out the windows. Jem and I exchanged a glance as the door swung open, and we climbed aboard.

Good morning, girls, greeted the bus driver, an older, heavy-set lady with a ready smile.

Morning, we echoed.

Jem and I shuffled down the aisle, bombarded by at least a dozen pairs of curious eyes. The bus door swung shut with a resolute thunk. There was no turning back.

Look at that creeper house, snarked a boy. He shared his seat with another boy and had the attention of the pair of kids in the seat behind and the pair in front of him. Freckle-faced and with tousled brown hair, I guessed him to be around Jem’s age, or maybe a year older. I disliked him on sight.

I didn’t know anyone lived out here, I heard a girl whisper as we passed by to take a vacant seat two rows behind her.

As soon as we sat down, the bus rumbled to life again. The interest in our old house didn’t surprise me much. Town was about a ten-minute drive from our place, making us off the beaten path. Not to mention the stark dirt road we traveled being a far cry from the smooth paved streets in and around Hastings.

Hastings was small by anyone’s standards. We passed a sign boasting a population just under four thousand as we entered the hub of town. Comprised of mainly farmland, lakes, and forests, our quiet northern hamlet bustled during the summer months with tourists. The rest of the year, things were relatively calm and quiet. The majority of the population opted to live downtown, where shops lined the streets within walking distance of most of the homes. Those of us living on the outskirts pretty much kept to ourselves. Or at least, us Bancrofts did. Things were better that way, my dad had told us. The less people knew of us and our business, the better. Needless to say, friends weren’t high on our list of priorities.

Halfway through town, the bus pulled up in front of Hastings Junior, the kindergarten to grade eight school. The high school, Hastings High, was just a few blocks over. Both schools were one story and similar in size and age, considering the small population of kids here.

We left the bus single file, and the kids scattered, meeting up with various groups of friends. It being the third week of October, school had been in term for a month and a half, more than enough time to build new friendships and reestablish acquaintances. Jem and I stood together staring at the wide sidewalk that ended at the double doors of the school.

It’s not too late, I said.

She cast a longing gaze at the acres of fields stretching out behind the school and the forest beyond. They’ll just call home and rat us out.

Yeah. Then we’d have to listen to the scarecrow drone on and on and hear it from Uncle D, I predicted.

We both sighed and moved off to stand under one of the large oak trees standing sentinel before the school. Just like on the bus, we endured the stares and whispers following in our wake. Kids were curious. I got that. We were an oddity in a town of predictability.

The bell rang, and we were swept along by a boisterous crowd into the school. A tall man stood amidst the chaos like a stone dividing the rush of a tide. In his hands, he held a clipboard, and as we came closer, he stepped in front of us.

Ah, the Bancroft sisters. Welcome. I’m Mr. Edgeway, the principal here. His smile was broad, displaying a row of white crooked teeth. I judged his imposing height to be over six feet, like my father. The gray of his suit was fading, as was the shine of his black loafers. He had a thick head of brown hair showing signs of white, making me gauge his age in the mid to late forties. From the speculative, curious look in his blue eyes, I wondered what he knew of us. Or guessed he knew. My parents would come into town for supplies but never lingered. They didn’t eat out in Hastings’ pair of greasy diners or one fancy restaurant. They didn’t frequent the lone movie theatre. I supposed he fancied us somewhat of an enigma. His hand was firm and strong when I put out mine to shake it. He reached for Jem’s hand next, but she shoved both into the pockets of her jacket. Mr. Edgeway, ignoring the slight, handed each of us a slip of paper with our homerooms and other classes listed. Of course, our homerooms were on opposite ends of the hall.

The first bell signaling the start of class rang. Even if we hurried, we’d be late. With forlorn looks at each other, Jem and I parted and went our separate ways.

Good luck, Jem called to my retreating form.

You too, I replied over my shoulder. She looked little standing there all alone in the hallway, and I felt a pang of sadness in my gut. It was a rare occurrence for us to be separated.

We’d been assigned lockers, and it took me extra time to track mine down, making me even later for class. It wouldn’t matter whether I walked in