Normal

By John Luke Maxwell

Anyone who grew up in the small town of Normal has heard of old Milholland Place. Crispin Galloway certainly has. He's lived next door to the haunted house for years.

It’s now 1997 and a new family is renting the creepy old house. Crispin isn't putting money on them sticking around for very long. Nobody who rents the Milholland Place ever does. He certainly has no intention of going over there himself. After all, he's got enough on his mind, what with having a sexual awakening and crushing on his best friend.

Unfortunately, his new neighbors are in the market for a babysitter to take care of their twin children, and Crispin needs money. The job seems easy enough, even though it means spending an evening at Spook Central, and the money is good. Crispin figures he can handle it.

But then, strange things start happening. Crispin hears noises he shouldn't. Odd messages are left for him. And there is a growing sense that someone—or something—is watching him. Is he merely the victim of a practical joke? Or are the stories about the old Milholland Place rooted in reality?

It's up to Crispin and his friends to discover the truth. Four meddling teenagers and their dog will have to band together to solve this mystery.

And it's not like that's ever happened before!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deep Hearts YA
• Release date: Aug 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224134595

John Luke Maxwell

John Luke Maxwell grew up in a very rural area of the Deep South, a place that prides itself to this day on having no cable or high-speed Internet access. His family farmhouse is near the bayous of central Mississippi. Here, John learned about ghosts, witches, and other things that go bump in the night. Despite everyone's best efforts, he is more comfortable with creatures of the night than plain ol’ ordinary “good Christian folk”.His writings have been described as a “slow burn”, mixing romance, mystery, and the supernatural together for chills and delights of all kinds. He hopes to be a professional author and would love to travel more. One of the things on his bucket list is to become a space pirate.

Book preview

Normal

John Luke Maxwell

Copyright © 2024 by John Luke Maxwell

Cover design copyright © 2024 by Story Perfect Dreamscape

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Developmental editor: Craig Gibb

Proofreader: Sanford Larson

Published August 2024 by Deep Hearts YA.

Deep Hearts YA

PO Box 51053 Tyndall Park

Winnipeg, Manitoba R2X 3B0

Canada

Visit http://www.deepheartsya.com for more great reads.

To Paul,

the cutest of the Scoobies!

Chapter 1

I could hear music.

That was important because I couldn’t see anything. The world in front of me was a solid black, interrupted only by multi-colored dots whenever I blinked. I blinked several times to make sure that I could, that I hadn’t lost my eyelids and gone blind.

Hello? I called out weakly. Agent Mulder? Agent Scully?

My voice was soft, distant. I could hear myself, but faintly, as if I were underwater. I didn’t remember falling into a swimming pool. That happened once back in junior high when I went through a sleepwalking phase. The Mitchells—our next-door neighbors—liked to remind me how they found me floating in their backyard.

Cigarette Smoking Man? I tried vainly.

No one from the cast of The X-Files answered, which was probably for the best. Desperate, I waved a hand in front of my face. It was right there, all pale with four fingers and a thumb, attached and ready to perform hand-like duties. This meant I hadn’t gone blind, which also meant that I hadn’t been drinking.

Not that I ever did. I was fifteen-years old, underage, and it was very, very illegal for me to do so. Even in the state of Alabama, that was frowned upon.

This was a relief, though. My eyes were still working. I was simply in a very dark place with no clue where I was or how I had gotten there. That was much better than having simply gone blind.

Sarcasm, in case you couldn’t tell.

Okay, I decided, taking a deep breath. It was something a guidance counselor once suggested I do whenever I felt stressed. This was definitely stressful. Guess I’ll face the music, then.

The first step gave me another hint. I was walking on gravel. It crunched underneath the soles of my feet, momentarily blocking the song I was following. I felt a sudden rush, an impulse born out of fear, to freeze in my tracks. If I couldn’t hear the music, then I wouldn’t know which way to go.

Of course, I added, using reason and logical thought to block out the panic. The music might lead me off the side of a cliff. There’s a danger I hadn’t considered.

I decided to keep walking, but strained so that the sound of shoes crunching over small stones didn’t eclipse the music in the distance. Knowing that I had shoes on helped steady my nerves further.

I hadn’t been sleepwalking, it seemed. It was unheard of for me to go wandering out of my room, back when I did that sort of thing, fully clothed. This meant I hadn’t woken up in a strange place half-naked...or worse.

"Why couldn’t this just be a weird-ass Goosebumps episode? I asked myself, feeling safe enough at the moment to curse without fearing that Mom was within earshot. Or even Are You Afraid of the Dark?"

If Mom did hear me, she would be yelling about my potty mouth by now. This meant that I wasn’t in trouble. It also meant I wasn’t anywhere near home anymore.

"Definitely prefer Are You Afraid of the Dark?," I murmured to myself, keeping the flow of conversation for politeness’ sake.

The music was getting louder. It was easier to hear now over the crunching gravel underneath my soles. I picked up the pace a little, eager to get somewhere more familiar.

Something-something cyberphone, I sang softly.

I could never remember the German lyrics to Ninety-Nine Luftballoons.

Slipping in ‘something’, Captain Kirk, I tried again to no avail. But ninety-nine luftballoons!

I thought that singing aloud would help keep me calm. My anxious nerves were replaced with a feeling of mortification. Hopefully, no one heard me bombing at that.

Hello? I called out a little louder, cupping both hands around my mouth. Monk? Mimi? Is anybody there?

A hot wind blew over my face. With it, a rancid stink filled the space around me. I suspected that I was in some kind of tunnel. The wind felt very close, as if it was forced into a narrow space.

Guys? I tried, getting more desperate.

Abruptly, I was out. All it took was one other step for me to find myself out in the open. Dazed, I looked up into the sky, finding a million pinpoints of light winking down. My feet were still on gravel. The tiny pebbles covered the surface of a rooftop.

I was standing on top of a building. It had to be at least ten stories, maybe more, given the view. From here, I could see all across the city. Towers upon towers lined with lit windows shined, defying the surrounding darkness by shrinking it into shadows.

I get poetic sometimes. It’s a handy skill for songwriting, but lousy for when I find myself lost on top of a skyscraper with no idea of how I wound up there.

Hello? I called out yet again, getting sick of this routine.

The music blared. I recognized it now. This was an old song, one from way back when I was a kid. I remembered it being used in the opening to a movie. Robin Lively danced to this song while wearing a hot red number.

Crispin.

I heard someone call my name and turned around. Monk? I asked, startled by the sight of my best friend. You’re…where is your shirt?

Monk was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans. The hemline was frayed, like he had been wearing them for years. They definitely clung to his body in all the right ways. Those jeans were tight enough for Monk to have been poured in.

He took a step, and I saw Monk wasn’t wearing shoes either. The gravel didn’t appear to bother him one bit. He didn’t so much as wince when the tiny pieces of rock stabbed at the underside of his soles.

Monk glided across the sharp rooftop pebbles with a cat-like grace that I never saw him display before. It felt like I was being approached by a predator, a feeling my best friend had never inspired in me. Light shined down from the surrounding windows, illuminating his rich, dark brown flesh. Sweat rolled off his chest, sliding down through the small crack in the front of his jeans formed by the loose waist.

I’ve been waiting, Monk said, drawing near me.

Waiting for what? Instinctively, I took a step back, afraid of him getting too close. Where are we, anyway?

Monk kept going. I took another step, but he was able to close the gap quickly. I felt my back touch something solid. Reaching around, my hand brushed against the rough texture of concrete. Monk had backed me all the way into the border surrounding the roof.

We’re here, Monk answered as I glanced around, wondering how I got this close to the edge so fast. Where else would we be, Crispin?

I watched him raise a hand. A tremble ran through my body as Monk placed it over my heart. He waited there a moment, looking me straight in the eye while feeling my pounding heartbeat. I could feel it beating too, faster and faster.

Do you know? he asked.

I swallowed, unable to move despite wanting to. Know what? I managed to squeak out in a shaky voice.

How… Monk brought his face forward, leaning into mine. …long…

His lips were an inch from mine. …I’ve waited, he finished.

I opened my mouth, fighting for the words to speak. Nothing came out. It felt as though something or someone was pressing down on my throat. I could still breathe, but only barely, and screaming for Monk to stop was out of the question.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. Monk was less than a second away from kissing me. Why did he want to kiss me? Why did I want him to kiss me? Heat radiated off my body and my blood boiled, making it impossible to think.

Don’t even think about it, fart-knocker!

A hand seized hold of my arm. I felt the strong grip yank me away from Monk the instant before our lips touched. My face ended up planted between a pair of impressive pecs. I could feel them flexing as whoever grabbed me wrapped two muscular arms around my body, securing me to them.

My body relaxed automatically, like a switch had been thrown. Um, hi there, I mumbled around the bare skin my face was planted in now. Thanks for the rescue. Who are you, exactly?

Whoever was holding me had a sweaty chest too. Must be an epidemic, I said, wrestling away just enough to be able to see their face. Who—?

The other words froze in my throat. Chuck? I blurted out.

Chuck Shackelford stood tall, towering above me at well over six feet tall. He was a senior at our high school, and had devoted much of the last two years to making my life an utter hell.

Right now, though, he was holding me as if I were a heroine in one of my mom’s Harlequin novels. His lengthy dark brown hair hung around an angular face that was almost as brown as Monk’s. The jeans he wore were even more threadbare. They also sagged down on his hips, exposing the top of a pair of bright pink briefs.

Chuck was built like a brick wall. He was even more muscular and developed than Monk, who had a slender build like a swimmer. It was all too fitting that he played defensive lineman for the Blue Devils, the local football team.

Chuck was shirtless as well. I could count veins in the arms he held me with. The strength in them was like shaped steel.

Did you really think you would get away?

His voice was harsh, authoritative. It was like being scolded by a teacher. I struggled, attempting to flee, but he held me tighter.

I don’t think so, Chuck said, giving my smaller body a squeeze. We all dance with the Devil at some point.

His face turned down to my own, which was twisted with confusion. What? I asked, feeling like I had missed something seriously important.

It’s only a matter of time, Chuck went on.

I felt a pair of warm hands—warm to the point that they almost felt hot—touch my back. The heat bled through the fabric of my shirt, sinking through my skin all the way to the bone. Warm shivers ran up the length of me in response.

Turning, I saw Monk again. We have time, Monk told me. It’s still a while away.

Monk’s voice was low, softer and more supple. It was unlike Chuck’s voice, which gripped me as tightly as the footballer’s arms did. Together, they held me in their grasp. I wanted to wriggle free, but something kept me from acting. Turns out, I didn’t want to move as much as I thought I did. This felt wrong and yet so right.

Ahh! I cried out.

Something touched the underside of my feet. I felt a cold wetness brush along my toes. The sensation tickled. When I looked, my shoes had disappeared.

What the…? I stammered, hopping from one foot to the other while the sensation persisted. Monk and Chuck had both vanished, taking their sweaty, bare chests with them. Where did my shoes go?

My shoes were gone and something was tickling me. I danced across the gravel, never once feeling the hard pebbles stab at the soft flesh of my feet. Whatever was doing this would not let up.

Stop it! I ordered, getting mad. I said, stop it!

I tried stomping down, hoping to discourage the thing that was doing this. All that accomplished was something becoming tangled around my ankles. I swayed, panic-stricken from the sudden feeling of not being able to walk.

Whoa! I cried out, swinging my arms.

They became entangled as well. I was wrapped in some kind of soft rope. It held me tight, making it impossible for me to move my arms or legs. I was trapped. Whatever was doing this made it so that I couldn’t fight back.

Let go! I raged, unsure of what else to do beside scream. Let go of me, dammit!

My eyes flew open. Cool light from a nearby window streamed in, shining straight into my face. I was lying on my back, trapped in bed by a thick layer of blankets and bedsheets. Both of my arms were wrapped up in them, having become stuck due to me flailing about in my sleep.

The same thing was going on down below the belt. My feet had gotten tangled, holding me hostage. A bit of effort was all it took to free them, though. Getting my arms out required a little more creativity. Once I was able to pull one arm out, though, the process became a whole lot more simple.

There! I declared, relief flooding me now that I was no longer wrapped up like a K-Mart mummy. Now where did she go?

The culprit stuck her head up at once. Marshmallow, I said in the most disapproving voice possible. Were you licking my feet?

A pink tongue darted out, lapping at the bottom of her muzzle once before retreating. Marshmallow gave me her trademark innocent puppy dog eyes. She had been getting away with murder in this family for years using those.

I sighed. You are supposed, I began, tucking my feet back under the safety of the bedspread, to wait until after the alarm goes off. And only if I—

At that moment, the alarm on the nightstand rang out. It emitted a sharp, shrill screech, cutting me off in mid-sentence. Marshmallow and I both turned toward it at the same time. I was the one who growled, though, bringing my finger down hard on the snooze button.

Marshmallow was looking extremely pleased with herself when I turned back toward her. That’s no excuse, I insisted. I still had a good minute or so left of sleep. Think of the…

My voice trailed off before the thought could be fully vocalized. Something was wrong. There was a wet spot on my sheets. I figured the hot wind in my dream was Marshmallow breathing on my face. The part where I couldn’t move could be explained away as me getting tangled up.

What? I grumbled, raising the sheets up so as to have a look. Did you drool on my bed covers as well?

That, regrettably, was not the case. I only needed to look down at the state of my shorts to understand what the problem was. The front was completely soaked.

Worse, it was sticky. I would almost prefer to have pissed all over myself during the night. That would have afforded me at least a tiny scrap of dignity.

Well, that can’t be good, I said, growing ever more horrified as the memories of last night’s dream came flooding back. Nope! I haven’t got the time to unpack that right now!

Quickly, I leaped out of bed, stopping long enough to hit the off button on the alarm. The ear-splitting sound was like nails on a chalkboard, and something I could only endure once per sunrise.

Taking hold of the covers, I began making the bed up as fast as I could. Not now, Marshmallow, I grunted when she tried to pull the cover out of my hand with her teeth.

Bless her, she was trying to be helpful. The trouble was that I needed to get a move on. A shower was definitely on the to-do list. There was no way I was going to school with the evidence of last night’s crime wave crusting in my underwear. And I needed to conceal any proof from my mother’s ever-prying eyes as well.

All of that meant I had absolutely no time to waste. Washing the bedsheets would have to wait until I came home. There was a window of two hours, giving me just enough time to clean the stain off and make the bed up before Mom and Dad came home.

Thanks, sweet girl, I told Marshmallow, giving her a swift pet on the head when she passed me the pillow, which was now saturated in doggie drool.

Marshmallow barked, then helped even more by staying out of the way. In another minute, I had the bed set up to a passable standard. Mom wouldn’t necessarily approve, but she wouldn’t try to remake it before heading off to work. All that remained was the dirty pair of underwear I had on.

You’re lucky, I told Marshmallow while rifling through the bottom drawer of my dresser. You know that, girl? Nobody judges you if you wanna lick your own crotch.

Marshmallow looked at me funny while I slid the dirty pair of drawers off. And male dogs get to hump each other in the front yard, I went on, struggling to remain upright while I put the clean pair on, determined to finish my shpeal on the cruel injustices of the world. Nobody is shooting at them.

I was reminded then of the incident that went down at the last church picnic at the pastorium. Well, I added, amending my concluding statement slightly. Nobody but Reverend Meecham, anyway.

Marshmallow got another pat on the head, followed by some ear scritches. And lucky for you, I added while Marshmallow grunted. He’s a lousy shot.

One hand of mine trailed down past her head, stroking the length of her spine. Wavy brown streaks ran along the spine of her otherwise perfectly pale fur. It was her namesake. She was called Marshmallow because, as a kid, her pelt reminded me of marshmallows toasted over a fire.

Marshmallow barked again. I know, I said, nodding. It’s time to get up. Time to shower, start the day, and get a good education so that I won’t end up stuck in this oh-so boring town of ours where nothing ever happens.

She barked a third time when I stood up. I don’t care if Little Timmy is stuck down a well, I retorted, heading for the door. He can wait a few more minutes. I need to clean up.

Marshmallow followed me out into the hallway, but conceded to wait outside the bathroom door. She was a Canadian Inuit breed, after all. Being that she was no longer a puppy, Marshmallow had difficulty maneuvering in small spaces. She once knocked over three plastic bottles, opened two cabinet doors, and sent a stack of clean towels right into the toilet by wagging her tail.

Honestly, it was a wonder Mom let me keep her indoors at night.

Luckily, Marshmallow was the type to learn from her mistakes. I dunno where she gets it from, but it helped. She waited dutifully outside in the hall while I hopped into the tub, tossing my undies off onto the floor by the bath rug. The porcelain was cold, sending shivers up my spine while I fiddled with the nozzles.

Sure enough, the water never got beyond a tepid temperature. Mom and Dad always showered before work. It was rare that they left any hot water for me.

Sighing, I pulled the shower curtain closed and set to work, determined to rinse away the evidence of last night’s…activity before heading to school. I had to leave the bathroom door open. Marshmallow tended to bark after a few minutes if I locked her out. The shower curtain was a compromise, allowing me the tiniest bit of privacy.

It’s okay, girl. I soaped myself up as quickly as possible, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. The ever-so-slightly warm water had died less than a minute in, leaving me to endure an icy spray. I’m almost done.

Marshmallow barked once in response. Not wanting to show up for school looking like Jack Frost, I washed away the soap suds and killed the flow from the shower head. At this point, I was shivering.

At least I’m awake, I muttered, pulling the curtain aside. Who needs Starbucks anyway?

I snagged a towel and wiped myself down as fast as possible. In my haste, I neglected to dry off my feet. They were still soaking wet, and I nearly slipped stepping off the bath rug onto the tile floor.

Marshmallow barked again, giving me this irritated look. I know! I know! It sucks when your dog shows more intelligence than you do. I’ll be more careful, promise.

Her tail flicked from side to side, thumping on the hallway carpet impatiently. I finished patting myself down with the