Broken Night

By Brandon Ebinger

'IT' knows what's scares you...
Janice Ross finds herself behind bars for the crimes that she claims she didn't commit. Coincidences were a part of books until they entwined with demonic power and uprooted the lives of young teenagers who face the wrath of wrong choices. Her life took a turn for worse when, even in prison, the evil plagued her dreams. The bizarre circumstances of Janice Ross's encounters intrigued Byron, a true-crime writer.
Not believing the strength of the ancient curse, he proceeds to investigate the story and caught up in a series of horrific evidences that turns his life on its axis.
Together, Janice and Byron have conjured hauntings that rival reality and uncovers the truth. Will Janice escape her fate or will Byron become another victim of the broken night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Editingle Indie House
• Release date: Feb 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9788194192855

Book preview

Broken

Night

Brandon Ebinger

EDITINGLE INDIE HOUSE

Mumbai, India

www.editingleindiehouse.com

www.indiebookcafe.com

BROKEN NIGHT

Copyright © 2021 Brandon Ebinger

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-819-419-285-5

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locals is entirely coincidental.

This book is not sold to subject to the condition that shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For more information, please contact:

Contact: - [e-mail]

For more information, please contact:

Contact: - www.editingleindiehouse.com/contact

Editor: Sara Miller

Cover Designer : Portia Ekka

First Edition : January 2021

Content

Prologue

PART I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

PART II

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

PART III

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Prologue

Emily arched her back, letting out a small groan. She had been hunched over her keyboard since the sun poked its head over the horizon that morning, making her stiff and sore. When things went well, she could churn out a few pages in a matter of hours, leaving the rest of the day for her to do as she pleased. 

Today, things were not going well. 

Shaking her head, Emily picked up her favorite coffee cup, the one with the black chaos symbol on the side that she had bought in New York City, and took a taste test. The coffee had long since grown cold.

Time for a refill, she mumbled. Even if it was of no consequence, she often talked to herself. Idle self-chatter often helped fill the void. 

Her last book had made a fair amount of money, more than everything else she had written. But even a sizable advance didn't last forever and Emily had again found herself back in the land of Ramen noodles and Taco Bell.  Hopefully, this new one would do at least as well as the last and she would be financially savvy enough to put some money aside, unlike last time.   

Probably not though, Emily uttered, shaking her head as she made her way to the kitchen and the cheap coffee pot she had since college. She was topping her cup off when she heard a small sound from the front door. 

At first, she wasn't sure that she heard anything at all.  Pink Floyd's The Piper at the Gates of Dawn was playing at maximum volume from her computer's speakers. The noise could have easily been some odd sound effect she had never noticed before. She smiled and had all but dismissed the noise when it happened again. 

Someone was in her house. 

Emily didn't write horror novels, but the realm of horror and magical realism crossed over more than a lot of people in the industry let on, so she was somewhat aware of the tropes, aware enough at least to not shout out who's there? like some airhead soon-to-be victim. Instead, she picked up one of her kitchen knives and slowly, cautiously, made her way toward the front door. 

What Emily Diamond saw at the door made her drop her knife, the weapon falling uselessly and soundlessly to the carpet below. Her eyes grew wide while she took a reflexive step backward, no longer thinking at all. 

She looks just like me...

Hello, The intruder said, in Emily's voice. 

Part I

1

Byron Matthews didn't know what to expect from the girl. 

His experience with prisoners was, besides those that he saw on television, pretty much nil. He had never hung out with the crowd that found themselves incarcerated, and while most families had the uncle or cousin that was always in trouble, it seemed his was the exception. Still, when he first laid eyes on Janice, he was surprised.

She looked every ounce the privileged rich girl that she was, tall and blonde, with the clearest skin money could buy. Something in the way she moved and held herself even made the orange jumpsuit look good, like the work of some avant-garde fashion designer from Paris. The hardness that he assumed all inmates eventually obtained had touched her but it didn't erase the years of private school and privilege; instead, it seemed to almost enhance them, giving credence to the nonchalant disinterest that so many young girls wore like a cloak. Byron found himself impressed in spite of himself. 

As one of the guards left the room, the other took position by the door, leaning back against the wall and trying to look unobtrusive.

You the guy writing the book? the girl asked. A hundred days of happy childhood hid behind the icy toughness of her voice, which perfectly matched the blue of her eyes.

I hope to be, yes, he responded with a soft smile. Byron was an unassuming man of moderate height and build, with short brown hair, and the sort of man people often forgot moments after meeting. He often used these things to his advantage during interviews and hoped this time would be no different.

I didn't kill them, she stated bluntly. It was clear that she said those words so many times that they had lost their meaning and became a simple prayer spoken repeatedly with little conviction. 

"Well, that’s why I'm here. I want to hear your story, not the one the news cycle put out there."

The girl was silent for a moment, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly. Finally, after a few deep breaths, she spoke. 

You'll think I'm crazy. Everyone does.

That remains to be seen.

Some people even think I shouldn't be here. That I should be over in Bellevue or somewhere. Bellevue was a nearby hospital which is a well-known mental health facility.

And what do you think? Byron asked. 

If I killed my friends, I should be here. she answered, her voice calm, practiced. 

But you just told me you didn't.

She nodded silently. At that moment she looked younger than her nineteen-year-old self, almost like a literal child. Byron felt a stirring of pity grow in his heart.

How about you tell me your story, and then we'll see what happens. Byron said, pulling a tape recorder from his pocket and placing it on the table that rested between them. Do you mind if I record your story, for research purposes?

No, Janice uttered hesitantly, I don't mind. And then, I don't know where to start.

How about you just start talking and let's see what happens. I brought several tapes, and can just fast forward through anything I don't need. Sometimes it's easier if you just talk and allow the words to flow.

Alright, she mused while reclining in the chair. I'll try.

Before we begin, can I get your name, for the record?

She gave a nod and began— My name's Janice Rosse.

"I guess it all started with that damn House, but I don't wanna talk about that right now. If you're really going to write a book about us, not just about what happened, but about us, then I should talk about how we were before. 

We were beautiful, you know, young, rich and without a care in the world. Some of us were going to go off to college when that last summer ended, some of us had jobs waiting with Mommy or Daddy's company, and some of us, like me, were content to just drift around, enjoying life until something made us stop, made us pay attention to the world beyond ourselves. 

Well, I guess that happened...

Anyway...when I think about us, I always think of us in cars. We spent a lot of time in them, the sort that most people probably dream of driving; going to one place or another. Usually another concert or the latest club opening or something else to distract us and make us a little less bored with the world. 

I thought about it a lot when we were driving to the House. 

Kelly was driving that night, and since the driver picked the music, we were listening to The Ink Spots. She loved all that old stuff, R&B, jazz, blues, anything that sounded like a rainy Chicago night in an old movie. Had I been driving it would have been electronic stuff, techno or industrial, but I didn't mind hearing Kelly's stuff either. 

I like music a lot, you know. 

All kinds.

Anyway...we were driving to the House, listening to some guy sing about swallows coming back to somewhere, funny how I remember that, huh? Anyway, I think it was the last time any of us were happy, the last time that any of us weren't afraid. 

'I hope this place is cool.' Kelly said from behind the wheel. She had been putting her short hair in tiny pigtails lately, and they bounced along with the music as she drove. 

'It's gonna be.' Lacey voiced from the passenger seat. 'It was created by Emily Diamond.'

Lacey was the nerd of the group, but didn't look like what you'd think. She was as fashionable and pretty as the rest of us. She did wear glasses, but always had the best frames, the ones that enhanced her fox-like face more than detracting from it. 

'I never read anything by her.' I remarked.

'She's a bit like Kelly Link, or Caitlin R Kiernan.' Lacey answered, turning back to look at me. 

'Just as weird, but not quite as good.' Julia said, from where she was sitting beside me. Julia was the punk/artsy friend, and, unlike Lacey, she looked exactly like you'd expect. Right down to the dyed pixie cut. 

'I never read them either.' I admitted. Though I did read some Caitlin Kiernan later on, something about messed up kids in Alabama and angels and spider creatures. It was good, but Julia was right, it was weird as hell. 

'She might not be as good.' Kelly said. 'But she is awesome at setting a scene, making you feel like you are right there with her characters. I bet this place is going to be amazing just because of that.'

'Wonder if it's going to be like that other place we went to. The hotel...' Lacey pondered. 

'With the masks and the dancing?' Julia asked excitedly. 'I liked that place!'

'I don't think it's going to be like that place. It’s supposed to be really scary. At least it looked very scary on the website.' Kelly informed after a moment's reflection.

'Sweet.' I said, resting my head against my seat and closing my eyes, letting the music and the hum of the road wash over me." 

2

Janice opened her eyes, which had been closed the entire time she spoke. It surprised Byron at how well the girl narrated her story, more like a memoir than a casual conversation. He wondered if she rehearsed all of this in her cell, eventually deciding that there was very little that Janice didn't rehearse. 

Sorry I'm spending so much time on this crap. she fiddles with her fingers nervously. 

It's fine. Just talk about whatever comes to you.

I don’t think this is what you want to write about, is it?

You never know. Byron gave an encouraging smile. And it's good to have as much background as possible. It makes for a better book, even if I don't end up writing about any of this.

Janice nodded, and Byron could tell from the girl's expression she was indeed thinking about what he had said. 

I guess you're right. Besides... I'm not ready to talk about... about what happened to my friends. Not yet.

That's fine. Just go at your own pace.

I will talk about it eventually, I promise.

I know. Don't worry.

You're not wasting your time... Janice looked genuinely worried that she was letting him down. 

What a strange girl. He thought to himself. 

I never thought I was. Byron replied honestly. 

Alright.

But time's almost up for today. The guard announced, pulling herself from the wall and looking to Byron. You can come back next week.

3

This time the girl, (Byron was still calling her that in his mind. She had yet to become Janice Rosse) seemed nervous. As soon as the guard, a new one this time with a scar on his right cheek, sat her down and removed the handcuffs. She began to drum her fingers on the table between them, creating short, staccato beats that led to nothing. Byron waited a moment to speak. 

Are you ready to begin, Janice? He finally asked, setting up the tape recorder. 

Oh. she seemed a little surprised, wide blue eye blinking rapidly as they stared through him. Yeah.

Is something bothering you?

No... well, yeah... It's just that I try not to think too much about what happened, and last week, after talking to you, it's sort of hard not to, you know?

I'm sorry. If you find these talks too distressing...

No, I want to tell someone. To a person that doesn't think I'm making it all up or I'm crazy. Somebody who wants to know what actually happened.

Well, that's what I'm here for. I do want to hear your side of things. Byron said. He wasn't entirely convinced. In fact, he was pretty sure she was crazy, to put it in the vernacular, nuttier than a fruitcake, but he wasn't about to tell her that. 

This is going to be quite the book. He thought to himself.

Mind if I start the recorder? he asked, putting his finger on the record button. 

No, go ahead. What do you want to ask me? Janice had stopped tapping her fingers on the table, and now jiggling her knee in a way that was even more distracting.

Well, you were telling me about your friends...

4

"We've known each other forever, since before I can remember. We went to the same daycare, the same schools, we all graduated from Manhattan High School for Girls just before... before it all started. In fact, though we never talked about it, this trip was going to be our last hurrah as a group before our lives tossed us in different directions. 

Lacey was going on to college. We all knew that was coming. She wanted to be a scientist of some kind, something about physics, but cool... like the real Twilight Zone, Star Trek kind of stuff. If you could get her talking about it, and if you could get her to not use all the fancy math terms, it was really neat to hear