Shadow House: The Shadow House Chronicles, #1

By A. R. Silverberry

What Do You Do If You're Trapped In A Nightmare …

 

Elimination. The sentence of New Earth's Supreme Council rings in Johari's ears. Innocence won't spare him, but the House might. With no options left, Johari enters, only to find the guy who set him up cozy with the girl he loves. As if that isn't enough, something is stalking them.

 

Shrouded in mystery, the House is a rite few return from. Running for his life, questioning his heart, Johari is about to learn why.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tree Tunnel Press
• Release date: Jun 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223293743

Book preview

One

People disappeared.

Fear of it haunted Johari’s days and lurked in his dreams. But this morning all that dropped off his radar. All he could think about was breakfast and the note in his pocket. He figured the note was worthless. What he didn’t figure on was the girl.

He saw her for the first time on entering the Merrymaker Amusement Park. She wore a gold-foil princess crown, Birthday Girl written across it, and a big smile. Tripping along on the hot asphalt, she held her older sister’s hand, while her mother made eyes at a shooting gallery attendant.

Johari stopped at Murph’s Hot Dogs stand. With the last bills in his wallet, he purchased cotton candy. There was cotton candy all over the park. Murph’s was the best. And only the best for a girl who still smiled on her birthday. How many more years would go by before that smile vanished, replaced with growing dread?

Pink’s on the warpath. Murph nodded toward the employee lounge door, just past the bumper cars. Slip in before he sees you.

Johari leaned against the counter and scanned the menu at the back of the stall. Fix me a dog.

Cotton candy in hand, he strolled over to the girl with the winning smile. I hear there’s a princess having a special day, he said.

The smile met her ears. I’m seven!

No! That old?

Her pigtails swayed in time with her nodding.

Then this is for you. He handed her the cotton candy.

The mom gave him a vague thank you. Playing with a lock of her hair, she was still taking in the attendant. But the look on the little girl’s face was all Johari needed.

Back at the hot dog stand, Murph handed Johari a wiener with the works.

I’m good for it, Johari said.

It’s covered. Murph tapped his fanny pack where he kept his money. Some of us are getting together at The Last Stop for happy hour tonight. Why don’t you join us? His voice dropped to a confidential tone. Alice likes you. She’s hoping you’ll come.

Maybe I will.

Murph looked past him. Look out. Here comes trouble.

Johari turned to see Hilary Pink barreling toward them, a freight train spewing steam. Johari pushed away from the stand and headed toward the employee lounge. If they were going to do this, it should be away from customers.

Pink cut him off. Finally decided to show up, jailbird? He had thin lips and a narrow nose. His eyebrows were so fair they seemed nonexistent.

Nice to see you, too, Pink, Johari replied.

"Mr. Pink to you. You’ve only been here three weeks, and how many times have you been late?" He accented key words with a finger poke at Johari’s chest.

Let me guess. Too many for you?

If I wasn’t short on staff, I’d fire you on the spot.

If I wasn’t short on rent, I’d quit on the spot.

Pink nodded at the hot dog. You pay for that?

It’s covered.

You’re a worthless piece of shit, Hightower. Anyone tell you that?

You might’ve mentioned it a few times.

I’m counting the days until you go into the House. Then we’re done with you.

Johari took a bite of his dog. Maybe it’ll redeem me.

Pink snatched the hot dog and tossed it in the trash. If Paul Hightower couldn’t get out, you won’t.

Johari prickled at the mention of his brother. Also at his only meal since yesterday sailing from view. He forced the feeling down. The little princess was still in the vicinity. No point spoiling her day.

Pink got in Johari’s face, his breath like rancid cheese. You scheduled?

The House? It’s coming.

Not soon enough. Me? I’d lock you up and throw away the key.

Thanks for the confidence. Can I go now?

Pink looked Johari up and down. You’re not like us.

I’m not like you.

You know what I mean.

Johari did. His high cheekbones, eyes like restless flames, skin—a strange amalgam of oak and bronze—and hair that tumbled, wayward and black, to his shoulders.

What are you? Pink pressed.

Johari stifled a reply that might have gotten him escorted from the park. Instead he said, Just guessing. A person?

Pink’s eyes went ugly. You’re on the Thrill Swing.

Then I quit right here. Something’s off with the ride. The gondolas are bleating like goats.

Nothing’s off with the ride. If you had my experience, you’d know it.

Put me on something else or I walk.

Pink glared at him a long moment. Fine, take Speed Boats. And clear your locker at the end of the day.

Johari was okay with Speed Boats, a kiddie ride attached to a track. The boats swished around channels of water at the speed of a lame horse. It didn’t get much traffic, and it was away from crowds. On the down side, it was close to the Thrill Swing, manned by Pink and in range of the supervisor’s hostile eyes.

Johari couldn’t help but gaze from time to time at the Thrill Swing. A pendulum ride, the long arms swung thirteen times per minute. At that rate, the Gs generated plastered stomach to spine. A four-seat gondola at the end of each arm rotated three hundred sixty degrees. At vertical, the arms extended a hundred thirty feet in the air. To ride it, your brains must’ve already flown from your skull. From the Speed Boats, Johari could hear something was wrong with the ride, a low whining and vibrating that had gradually grown louder and more erratic over time.

The music of a merry-go-round, the cries of operators hawking their rides, and the aroma of popcorn and freshly roasted peanuts filled the air. But the complaining Thrill Swing always intruded. To distract himself, Johari watched heat waves rising off a sky-rail platform just beyond the park, and sun sparkles twinkling on nearby Lake Bon Tempe. High above the placid surface, an antigrav car flew in lazy loops and then soared off toward farms, orchards, and hills outside the city.

The hours ground by. Then he saw the little princess run for the Thrill Swing, her sister in tow. The mom was nowhere in sight. Johari hung Out of Order at his station, locked the entrance gate, and took off for the Thrill Swing.

He was too late. The long arm swept the princess upward. Alone.

Johari pushed to the head of the line and latched onto Pink’s arm. Bring her down.

Pink put his hand to a two-way radio clipped to his belt. Back off, or I’ll call security.

She’s too short.

My call.

The ride ended. Everyone but the princess disembarked. Giggling, she swung her feet from her seat. Again!

Happy birthday, Pink cried, and restarted the ride before Johari could stop him.

The great arms swung like scythe handles. The gondolas flared like the blades.

Johari whirled to the sister. Where’s your mom?

Her eyes grew round. At the shooting gallery.

Johari gripped both of her arms. Get her!

She took off. Johari vaulted over the turnstile. He shoved Pink aside and reached for the control lever that would end the ride and bring the gondolas down.

Scowling, Pink snatched up his two-way and barked into it.

A terrible rattling came from one of the gondolas. Johari pulled the lever and then stepped back, holding his breath as the ride slowed and stopped. The arms sat vertical. At the top, the princess gripped the handles of the containment bar holding her. The smile drained from her face.

From all around came happy shrieks and laughter and the roar and clack-clack-clack of a roller coaster. And from high above came the crash of bolts popping, like bullets hitting an oil drum.

The princess’s gondola lurched. She screamed, thin and strangled, like the strange cry of a bird. Her seat wobbled, slipped a foot, then seesawed until it stopped.

Johari shook Pink by the shoulders. Call the fire department.

He didn’t wait for Pink’s reaction. He leaped for an access ladder. It ran up a column that supported the giant arms. He rushed up. His shoes rang dull and hollow on the metal rungs. Sweat sprang to his palms. Halfway up, he struggled to breathe, as though his lungs had shrunk to the size of grapes.

An ear-splitting bang shook the arm. The gondola lurched. The girl shrieked. All three spurred him on. A breath of winter blew through him.

He reached a platform at the top of the column. The long arm holding the fate of the girl rose another fifty feet. The ride’s creators failed to provide ladders on the arms. Just about par for New Earth. A faulty design with no way off.

Wind gaps ran up the metal frame of the arm. With care, Johari could climb them. Hand over hand, step by step, he crawled up, clinging to the structure like a spider, snatching breaths before moving on. The girl looked down at him, her eyes so wide they seemed to fill her face.

Don’t move, Johari called.

Don’t even breathe.

The gondola thrust into space like a broken finger. From time to time it stirred and tipped, stirred and tipped, from a breath of wind or perhaps from the girl trembling. The cry of a siren rose in the distance. Too far off. The seats could snap off and plunge at any moment.

Straining for air, Johari reached the top. The gondola was attached to a J-shaped extension at the end of the arm. He climbed onto the bottom of the J and rose, bit by bit, until he grasped the horizontal bar holding the seats.

He gazed up at the girl. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m going to get you back to your mom and sister. But I need you to be brave and help me. Can you do that?

Y-yes. Her voice was small but as sweet as a song sparrow.

Good. I’m going to unclip the lock holding that safety bar. Try not to move, okay?

She murmured, Yes, and he unsnapped the harness.

Very slowly, I need you to lift the bar, he said.

With the patience of a tai chi master, she raised the restraint. The gondola rocked and then settled to a stop.

Johari exhaled in relief. Now pretend you’re moving like a snail and reach for your toes. I’m going to grab you. All right?

She made snails everywhere proud. When at last her fingers touched her toes, Johari latched onto her wrists. A clang sounded at the joint holding the gondola. He swung her to him. And the seats plummeted. A cacophony of crashing and screams rose from below.

Johari glanced down. A small crowd craned their necks to watch the rescue. Pink stared up, dazed. The girl’s mother and sister were clutching each other.

Going up was one thing. Looking down, he suddenly realized how high up they were. He didn’t like it one bit, and the longer he stayed there, the worse he felt.

The fire truck was still a ways off. He wondered if their ladder was even long enough. If not, how safe was a leap into a net from this height? Even if they brought a flying vehicle, seconds were passing. Any moment, more of the swing might come down.

That decided it. He had no desire to end his short life of eighteen years, splattered at Pink’s feet. More important, he’d promised the girl he’d bring her down.

Do you know Monica Monkey? he asked her.

Her eyes brightened at the mention of the stuffed animal sold at most of the stands below. Yes! She wraps around you and doesn’t let you go.

That’s right. If you wrap your arms and legs around me, just like Monica, I’ll get her for you. Bet you’d like a purple one.

That did it. She locked her arms around his neck and her legs circled his waist.

Ready? he asked.

He felt her nod, and he descended, setting his teeth against the searing sun and the hot metal and the air that seemed to have suddenly grown thin. But he toiled on, fighting to keep his balance, pausing only to wipe sweat from his eyes, while all along the merry-go-round calliope played an odd accompaniment to his journey. At last, quivering beneath her weight, he reached the ground.

Tears running down her face, the mom swept the girl into her arms. A crowd swallowed them up. A TV news crew was scrambling toward the ride with their equipment. The fire truck screamed up just behind them. Johari took advantage of the distraction to slip away through the onlookers.

Still panting, he stopped at Murph’s. I promised her a purple Monica.

Done. Murph eyed the crippled Thrill Swing. He can’t fire you now.

No, I’m out of here. Johari drew the note from his pocket. Give him this. Just for the record.

Murph read the note and looked up, surprised. Your probation officer made you late?

A bad habit of his.

Murph held out the note. Take it. Fight for your job.

Pink won’t care. He’s been gunning for me from day one.

With a sigh, Murph put the paper in his fanny pack. We’ll see you at happy hour?

Sure, maybe.

They shook hands. Johari clocked out and caught the sky rail. Without giving it a thought, he passed the exit for The Last Stop restaurant. His mind was full of the face of the little girl, of the mom who hadn’t been there, of the ride that shouldn’t have run.

Of the ordeal that loomed ahead. Because no matter what he did, he was going into the House.

And people disappeared.

Two

Dusk was settling in when Johari stopped at a corner store and purchased a few items on credit for his landlady. A short walk took him to his apartment building, a four-story stucco that needed paint twenty years ago. The carpet leading to his landlady’s door was seedy but clean. The hall lights flickered, though he’d tried numerous times to repair them.

Dandelion Jones opened her apartment door and regarded Johari with a quizzical eye. You’re late, she said.

But never unwanted.

True. She regarded the bag of groceries in his hands. You get the toothpaste?

And milk, magazine, antacid. He looked inside the bag. They didn’t have whole wheat. I got rye.

Rye is good. She was short with gray hair and eyes that missed nothing.

Want me to put it away for you?

I want you upstairs. There’s a girl waiting.

Not for me. Must be for one of the neighbors.

She looked at him shrewdly. It’s no good being alone, Johari. I should know.

It’s hard to focus on that, you know, with the House.

All the more reason to focus on it. She took the bag and glanced in it. With your looks you should have a steady stream of girls up there.

The other tenants wouldn’t like that.

You let me deal with them. She fixed her eyes on him. Quite a to-do at work, I hear. Mystery man saves girl. You wouldn’t happen to know about it?

Might’ve been Pink.

Not on your life. He should’ve been House bait. She clutched her belly and laughed. When are we celebrating your birthday?

We celebrated. Remember?

No, I don’t think so. I would remember that.

Johari took the emergency stairs to the tar-and-gravel roof. His room, a utility shed converted into a studio, squatted atop the building like a weather-beaten hat. He crossed over to a faucet where he filled a watering can, and then began sprinkling roses bursting from flowerpots. A billboard across the street flashed New Earth gospel: Praise the House, For It Redeems.

He plucked off a few dead blossoms, then entered his apartment. He took in the narrow bed, the worn rug thrown over a concrete floor, the small table with one wooden folding chair, Dandelion’s words echoing in his head. The only thing he loved here was a poster of Crazy Horse, an Old Earth leader of the Oglala Sioux, taped to one wall.

From a mini fridge in one corner, he retrieved a soda and took a long drink. A minute later there was a knock on the door. Dandelion stood there with two slices of chocolate cake, a candle sputtering on top of one of them. She looked past him into the apartment, as if expecting to see someone.

Disappointment lining her face, she handed him the slice with the candle. You sure you don’t want to call a friend or two?

I like it quiet.

A special someone, perhaps?

You’re it. Bed or chair? He nodded at the two seating options.

She shook her head. Can’t stay. My special someone may come knocking on my door any moment.

You met him?

No, but you never know what the wind might blow your way. I want to be ready. She paused and put her