The Door

By Lee Allums

Steven is a single parent struggling to raise his son in rural America. In the year 2036, work is scarce and he is a traveling specialized construction worker, steadily moving from place to place and job to job with his son in tow. Then he becomes the new caretaker of the old family farm. Steve can now see a new stable beginning for himself and his son. But he soon finds out that his father is missing and he is under suspicion of murder by the crazy sheriff. His farmhouse is haunted by spirits, and he finds out that his family has guarded the gates to hell for the last two hundred years and the lock keeping it shut is no longer adequate. Then to top it all off, someone kidnaps his son. A crazy adventure that will take you beyond your imagination to the unthinkable, with believable characters and wonderful newfound friends. A story where a father's love for his son enables him to do the impossible and accomplish the unachievable. A story you will never forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781642143133

Book preview

cover.jpg

The Door

Lee Allums

Copyright © 2018 Lee Allums

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64214-312-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64214-313-3 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

1

A Fresh Start

The morning was cool and damp. Dew covered the ground and the cold air had a bite to it. The rising sun gave a soothing hint of the morning warming up. Kevin clinched to his blanket. Holding it like a shield against the sting of the morning’s cold that crept through his bedroom window. It was the first night he and his dad stayed in the house his dad had inherited from his grandfather. Kevin’s dad had put up his bed next to the window, and Kevin went to sleep while stargazing, fascinated at the amount of stars that covered the sky unscathed by any city lights.

It was still early as Steven stretched. He was not able to hear a thing for the house was completely quiet. Outside there was no wind blowing. He had inherited his father’s house and the twenty-three acres of farmland it sat on. He was glad to be there. He figured it would be a new start for him and his son, giving his son the stable home he deserved to be raised in.

It was the summer of 2039. Work was scarce. Most jobs were robotized. The farms, like the one that Steven inherited from his father, were very few, with the vast majority of farms government- or corporation-owned. To those without a high-end college degree or trade in technology, their lives were consumed by poverty.

Labor jobs were almost nonexistent. The robotic revolution in 2030 changed America dramatically. Robots filled 80 percent of the workforce. Only white-collar jobs are obtainable. Of those, only the best and most highly qualified are accepted. Making those jobs short-lived and highly competitive.

Steven was a jack of many trades, picking up most of his skills in odd construction jobs. He had spent the last ten years going from place to place, helping build special designated mansions for rich corporate CEOs or political individuals. Even though most houses were manufactured, there were still those rich, and powerful enough to have intricate houses, which had to be hand-built. So needless to say, he had become quite the handyman. A carpenter, electrician, painter, roofer, concrete finisher, tile layer, and cabinetmaker, just to name a few. Running the farm that his father left him should not be a problem. So he had thought.

Steven was forty-three years old and a single parent. Kevin’s mother had died during birth due to a heart defect ten years earlier. The defect could have easily been corrected, but she was a strong-willed woman with her faith as her backbone. Steven would often remember trying to convince his wife to have the correctional procedure done. His wife would always end the conversation with Steven Anthony Harper, I am the way God made me. That is the way I will stay. Steven never won an argument with her.

Kevin was in the sixth grade. He attended virtual school via the net. He was an average kid having a vivid imagination and doing things mainly with good intentions, and rarely rebellious, but his social skills left much to be desired. He and his father were always on the move. He was never really in any one place long enough to create or develop good peer bonding with others of his own age.

The farm was right outside Muscoda, Wisconsin. A small northern town with what seemed to be very friendly people, but Steven was always cautious of small towns. He knew the power of idle hearsay derived from lying lips, which always led to foreboding rumor or reputation-destroying gossip.

Steven stretched again, then sat on the side of his bed, still enjoying the morning silence, preparing himself to answer the early morning call of Mother Nature. Standing with a mild groan, he walked into the bathroom.

Kevin was curling ever so tighter into a ball with blanket clutched tightly in hand as the scent of bacon and eggs seeped into the air.

Kevin! Steven called up the stairs, loud enough to make Kevin let out a sigh, trying to hold on to his sleep, even though it slowly faded as if retreating from his father’s voice.

He sat up in the bed yawning so deeply, one would think it was painful. Finally he stood up and headed for the bathroom, whining as if to be in sorrow that his sleep had left him.

Steven listened for confirmation that his son had gotten up. Then he heard the water running in the upstairs hallway bathroom. He was walking to and fro in the fairly large house. Opening blinds and lifting windows, he was letting in the morning air that was now only slightly cool but still steadily being warmed by the morning sun but also fragrantly pleasant. He let the smell of the grass and trees into the house, mingling with the aroma of breakfast simmering on the kitchen stove. Once done with the windows, he maneuvered his way back through the house, over and around boxes still unpacked back to the kitchen, to set the kitchen table before his son came down the stairs.

Steven had deep dark memories of that house from when he was very young, ones he couldn’t quite recollect, not because he was so young but rather because he spent a lifetime trying to forget and suppress them. He and his father never saw eye to eye. Their father-son relationship was almost nonexistent, except for the actual fact that Kevin was his son. One thing was very apparent in his youth. His father was very emotionally, verbally, and physically abusive.

Steven tried to understand his dad but failed miserably at every attempt. He remembered his mother. She told him that a great responsibly had been placed upon his family. That it was an honor but also a curse carried by his father and forefathers for over three hundred years, given to them by the Indians that kept the land before them. Although every time his dad heard his mother telling him these things, he beat her severely and yelled at him, "One day you must also pass through the door!"

Dad, Kevin said, placing one hand upon his father’s shoulder. Steven jerked back, shoving his son painfully to the floor.

Haaa! Kevin yelped, then began to sob.

Oh my God! his father said, rushing to his son’s aide. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. He continued, trying to explain his actions.

They sat there for a while, Steven cradling his son in his arms and whispering how apologetic he was for his rash reaction.

Steven had made a vow secretly to himself when his son was born to never be or become an abusive father to him. Hence, that day he has kept his vow. Nor did he drink or say anything that would be harmful to him. He also never spanked his son. Instead, he spoke with him or used punishments only when it was necessary. This was trying for Steven, but he loved his son dearly. So he held fast to his conviction. This was the first time he had ever lashed out to his son consciously or unconsciously.

They had finally got back to their feet and Steven ushered his son to his breakfast chair. Are you all right? he asked cautiously.

Are you? Kevin replied, letting the hurt and anger be heard in his voice.

I am truly sorry, son. My reaction was inappropriate and uncalled for. I just got caught up reminiscing about long ago, Steven replied calmly, trying to soothe his son’s temper with his voice while fixing up his plate.

Were you thinking about Grandpa?

Yeah, I was.

You want to talk about it?

Kevin and his dad talked about everything—world events, his dad’s jobs, bills, budgets, to his dad’s dates and girls in general. He and his dad talked about literally everything. Steven was not only his dad but also his best friend.

I guess it’s time I talked to you about your grandfather, and grandmother for that matter.

I notice how you avoid talking about him and Grandmama. Mama always used to call me on the phone before she died but Gramps never did.

Go ahead and eat your breakfast. We have a lot of unpacking still to do, which will give us plenty of time to get things out in the open. OK?

OK.

Kevin had made short work of breakfast and was now moving his boxes up to his room. He had only been at it for about thirty minutes, but to him it felt like hours. There were so many boxes in the living room and dining room to shuffle through. Then he had to find the ones marked with his name and take them up to what now seemed to be the long stairway, then down the hall to his room, and they still had to be unpacked.

He dropped to the floor with the box in his hands and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

I’m done in the kitchen and thought you would need a hand. Steven said, standing in the doorway of his son’s room, startling Kevin but bringing a smile to his face.

Thanks, Dad. These boxes are killing me, Kevin said, getting up to his feet again.

Where do you want it? his dad asked with a smile and finally relieved the morning’s issue was completely over and his son’s anger had subsided.

Over there, his son said, pointing to the corner of his room.

Steven put the box down where his son had specified, then walked out the door, tucking his son under his arm as headed out the bedroom door.

"I’m glad your grandfather left some basic furniture in this