Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
She walked several feet from the truck, still attempting to get a signal, to no avail. Then she tried to send several text messages. Perhaps that was a viable plan B. Undeliverable.
“Shit!” She sighed, grabbed her bag from the truck, and made the trek back to where she’d been. Hoping and praying that she didn’t get shot and killed by the big man with ice for eyes before she had a chance to plead her case…
CHAPTER TWO
Haunted Houses and Frozen Bunnies
Behind the house I grew up in was an old, abandoned funeral home. The small concrete lot had wiry black weeds growing through the threadlike cracks, and the pointed pebbles and dusty rocks were heavy. I recalled when it was occupied. A thriving business. And I recalled when it went, according to Mama, belly up. Something about bad business practices. Most children, I imagine, would’ve been afraid to live behind a funeral home, but not me. It didn’t make me any difference. I was only about ten or eleven, and all I had on my mind was my next trip to McDonald’s, ball games, and NASCAR.
I would play baseball with my friends right in that backyard, or even on the deserted property, but we didn’t have the gumption to enter. Too many of my friends’ parents had warned them to stay away from there. My mama didn’t say anything at all about it. I wasn’t certain if she cared if I went over there or not. Maybe she just assumed I’d be too afraid to do such a thing, so no warning was necessary. If that was the case, Mama was wrong. One day, that all changed. I’d crossed the line that separated the living from the dead.
With my face covered in dried mud from a game of army men with my friends earlier in the day, I felt like some sort of stern sergeant dishing out orders. I usually assumed the position of leader, no matter what. I was an only child—wasn’t used to sharing or playing fair with others—but what I lacked in decorum, I made up for in bravery and generosity. It didn’t hurt that my nickname was Sky, due to my height. Kage ‘The Sky’ is Wilde. I just sort of commanded authority despite my child body. As if I were in the know, wise beyond my years. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Today began like many other days when my friends and I would fool around with a football, sticks, or a game of Freeze Tag over at Gideons Funeral Home. We’d dare one another to go in, but this time I said, ‘Let’s do it.’ I always led the charge in cases such as these, somehow thinking the mud caked on my face and the slingshot in my oversized jeans back pocket would protect me from any spooky things that may lurk within those walls. My band of misfits and I managed to pry the plywood off one of the first floor windows, and made our way inside.
Twisting and turning our bodies just so, helping each other through the portal of mortality. My neighborhood buddies and I felt accomplished, but I soon realized that they’d huddled behind me, grouped like little ants, pushing and knocking into my back. ‘Come on! Lay off!’ I yelled, needing some elbow room.
Our sneakers crunched on pieces of fallen wood and debris as we walked in slow motion. The sounds of our steps and jerky breathing added more terror to the situation. I remember how my heart boomed in my slender chest. An uneven, loud death rattle. A dark rhythm desperate for the beat of the light. When my eyes had finally adjusted to the dimness, only a sliver of light entered from the window we’d exposed, allowing me to see that we were in a big room with a low ceiling—a parlor of sorts.
A large gold mirror covered in grime hung on the wall to my left, and ahead of us, about fifty feet, was an old organ. I glanced back at the mirror, not liking how I felt when I gazed in it. I could see fragments of my reflection. Bits of motion, but not much more. I couldn’t understand why the mirror was so dirty, almost as if someone had tried to cover it with dark gray paint. I turned around and noticed other mirrors were partially covered with blankets, or had the same uneven paint-like substance. I then turned to stare at what I originally thought was an organ, but was more than likely a black piano.
Just then, a circle of light flashed all around us. I got startled, jumping in my skin, thinking some adult had caught us trespassing. Maybe a police officer, or Mr. Buster, the man who lived next-door to my mother and me. It was only my buddy, Trent, who held a flashlight he’d obviously forgotten all about until right then. He had a habit of keeping all sorts of things in his pocket. Matchbooks with only two matches. A lighter that never worked. Toy balls. Old, lint-covered pieces of candy that we wolfed down as if we’d never had a treat in our lives. I told him to come stand by me since he had something that could help our explorations, but he refused.