The Cul-de-Sac: Welcome to Growling Graves

By Ken Wilson

Benjamin Lakewood isn't ready to live in a new town. Especially in a Cul-de-Sac in a haunted suburban town with a paranormal past, but this is where young Ben and his famous writer of a father were sent to try and uncover the town's hidden secrets. Ben lived in New York his entire life and the only real paranormal activity he's ever experienc

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth Wilson
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988317319

Ken Wilson

Ken Wilson is senior pastor of a Vineyard Church in Michigan. Active in national evangelical environmental initiatives, his church is noted for serving the poor and exploring contemplative prayer disciplines, serving as online host to The Divine Hours.

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The Cul-de-Sac

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Ken Wilson

Copyright 2023 Ken Wilson

ISBN: 979-8-9883173-0-2

ISBN (ebook): 979-8-9883173-1-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publisher.

Interior Design: Ken Wilson

Copyediting: Greg Schauer

Between Books 2.0

www.betweenbooks.com

Cover artwork by: Aarika Hull

To Jannette, Emily, Jayce and Jarrett.

Thank you for being there for me and

letting me get my way…sometimes.

"Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your

life is burning well, poetry is just the ash."

- Leonard Cohen

Chapter One

Happy All Hallows Eve

Have you ever wanted to travel back in time? Maybe to fix a mistake you’ve made or even to try and stop something bad from happening? This is something my awkward brain has been bouncing around since my mother’s unfortunate disappearance from our not so normal life, two years ago today.

My name is Ben Lakewood and I just turned 12 years old yesterday, on All Hollows Eve. Halloween is my all-time favorite holiday. Probably because my dad is a well-known writer of horror up until a few months ago. Or maybe it’s because every one of my birthday parties were Halloween themed. Only the best for the son of the King of Horror Literature. At least that’s what the plaque hanging in my dad’s study from the local newspaper called him.

I don’t want to get too ahead of myself here. I’ll just put my mental time traveling helmet on and take you back to October 30th two years ago… Before the big move. And before our lives were turned upside down by this crazy demonic town we just moved to. I’ve said too much already. Time traveling helmet on.

BUZZZZZ!!!!!! My eyelids are heavy like someone super glued them shut. I reached my dead arm over to turn off the alarm and was instantly hit by the familiar smell of eggs and bacon.

  Mom must be making my birthday breakfast I quietly said to myself with a loving smile. She always made me a special breakfast on my birthday. It was her motherly way of letting me know she didn’t forget.

My dad yelled up Hey birthday boy! Time to get up for school.

  I was still trying to find my daytime voice as I yelled back I’ll be down in a minute and there better be toast with them eggs.

There was always toast. It’s days like this when I can’t get ready for school fast enough. My clothes were already laid out from the night before, so I didn’t have to think about what I was going to wear on this excellent day; my favorite jeans, a Night of the Living Dead shirt, my favorite New York Rangers ice hockey jersey and a lightly used pair of Converse All Stars.

    As I was leaving my room, everything was brighter than usual. Even my vintage horror movie posters against the wood paneled wall had a slight glow today. Before leaving, I looked back with a smile and gave my Monster Squad movie poster a thumbs up.

  Let’s do this! I silently whispered as if they were listening.

Our house is a three-story Brownstone in New York City. It’s been my home since I was born. My dad, Matthew Lakewood, is a well-known published author of horror and gothic fiction. He moved to America from Sutton Coldfield in Birmingham, England after meeting my mother on a US book tour. One year later they were married. I was born shortly after.

Some people think we have a lot of money, but unless you are Stephen King or R.L. Stine being a sort of known author doesn’t pay too well. My Mother, on the other hand, is a smart investor of my dad’s money, so we have enough to get by. Brownstones aren’t cheap ya know.

  As I raced down the spiral staircase, past dozens of family photos hanging on the wall, it seemed as if I were floating. Skipping two to three steps with each leap. Bang! I landed at the bottom in a superhero stance with a larger-than-life smile.

In my best English accent, I said Hello dearest parents! I like to mock my father from time to time. He usually gives me his approval with a childlike grin.

  My dad gave me a high five and proceeded to ruffle my hair like a shag rug as he sang out of tune It’s the B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y Boy! Come sit down and have some breakfast son.

  Not before a kiss for the best mom ever. Said my mom looking a little under the weather.       

  You know I gave birth to you after being in excruciating pain and in labor for two days straight?

  Yes, we know My dad and I said at the same time. My Mom makes it a point to tell me every year about how painful giving birth to me was, like a reminder of how much she loves me. We sat down to a perfectly set table complete with fresh squeezed orange juice, bacon, eggs, toast and a Baby Ruth candy bar for my walk to the bus stop.

  My mom leaned in and said Hey birthday boy, what’s the plan for after school today? You know I have a doctor’s appointment about my neck and your dad will be at work late tonight.

I was trying not to think about the appointment. Oh yeah, I’ll probably end up coming home and watching a few horror movies as usual…. After my homework of course. I added with a smile.

  Yes! My dad said. After your homework, of course."

  My mom has been complaining about a lump in her throat for a few months now. I could sense something wasn’t right from the constant doctor’s visits and quiet whispering behind closed doors in the house. She looked worn out the past couple of weeks too. As a kid you have this urge to want to know everything. It’s like you think you have that privilege to know, but some things are best left unsaid sometimes.

  Before leaving the house, I grabbed my Baby Ruth and my backpack, covered in horror movie and hockey patches and kissed my mom on the cheek. Good luck at your appointment Momma Bear. I said, trying not to sound scarred.

My dad gave me a thumbs up and I strolled out into the brisk Autumn air. School was too far to walk so I’m forced to take a bus. It’s not a bad ride since a few of my friends ride the same bus. We usually end up talking about movies and sometimes girls. Normal teenager kind of stuff. My friends are horror buffs too. Having a semi-famous dad does have its perks from time to time.

I boarded the bus, sat in my usual seat and joked around with friends. It was a normal day, or so it seemed…

CHAPTER 2

The Downward Spiral

  The last bell at school rang at 2:45pm. It was louder than the normal bells. One that left that annoying ringing in your ears for a few hours if you happened to be standing too close. I walked out the front double doors on my way to bus number seven and ran into my best friend Joe Walker. A short kid that didn’t really fit in. Maybe that’s why we got along so well. We were both outcasts. The only thing that we didn’t agree on was Ice Hockey. But even though Joe didn’t like sports, he always came to my roller hockey games. A great friend indeed.

  What’s up tonight, Birthday Boy? Joe asked as if he already knew the answer. Same as usual? Ghosts and goblins and popcorn?

  I anticipated a disappointment with my reply Sorry dude, not this year. I’m alone, by myself. Parents have things to do tonight.

  Joe looked at me with an over-exaggerated frown. Aw man! You’re breaking a tradition, sir. Not cool. Joe half smiled at me. Just promise you’ll facetime me normal time tonight so I can sing to you.

I probably should have told my best friend about my mom’s appointment. I mean, I tell him everything. But this wasn’t a typical thing. I couldn’t help but feel like something might be wrong. There was a tenseness at home. Not the normal kind of tenseness like when you sit down on the toilet and realize you only have enough toilet paper for a clean poop that only requires a few wipes. There wasn’t a lot of talking the last few weeks.

You got it man I told Joe. I wouldn’t miss your rendition of Happy Birthday Butthead for anything I said with enthusiasm.

  I waved goodbye to my friend and hopped on the bus. Riding home that day was strange. I felt anxious. I felt nervous. I even felt a little sad. It was my special day, and I was going to spend my night alone in a large house watching horror movies and reading Fangoria magazine. No different from any other night, but I couldn’t help thinking What was wrong with Mom?

  The bus brakes squeaked and squealed as it sharply stopped at my corner. The sun was setting, and the air was dancing through the trees like a wild wave of surfing leaves. A perfect Autumn evening to spend alone on my birthday.

  As I stood in front of my house fumbling through my purple and black backpack for my house keys, I noticed a manila envelope hanging out of the mail slot in the door. It was addressed to Mrs. Brenda Lakewood and had a medical sounding return address. The flap wasn’t sealed all the way. I pushed the sides together so I could see inside but had no luck. It looked like it might be from a doctor. I gave up on trying to figure out what it was. The wind was picking up a bit and I almost lost the envelope to a strong gust.

  I found my keys. There you are. I whispered as if they would answer back.

I unlocked the door and walked in, throwing the envelope on the table that was right inside. I tossed my bag on the large black velvet chair that nobody ever sat in and made my way to the kitchen for some much-needed provisions.

  I slowly made my way up to my bedroom juggling a large goblet of grape soda, a bag of Doritos and a few horror mags I found lying around. It was time to indulge in a night free of parents, a good old bad horror flick and a Facetime Birthday song from my best bud.

  There was a medium-sized red box with a black bow sitting on my bed next to a piece of paper. I managed to juggle the stuff I was carrying to my desk without dropping anything. Next thing I did was grab the piece of paper. It was a happy birthday note from my parents. I opened the lid to the box and pulled out an antique occult book my dad must have found at a book auction. The last couple of years, this has been my go-to gift since I’ve been obsessed with collecting old books. Especially the hard-to-find oddity books.

  Even though I was alone, it was still an okay night. The clock was blinking 12:00. We must have had a power surge today. My eyes were getting heavy, and I passed out before my parents got home.

  Just as I was about to be forced to kiss Betty zit face Dump I was saved by the ringing of the front doorbell.