Excerpt from a book I am writing

THE DEAD HOUSE

(From the book:'The Dead House and Other Bizarre & Twisted Tales)

I really do hate to start off with the words ‘It was a dark and stormy night.’ which is the worst way to start off any story, however on this night such words are quite appropriate as this late night fits such a scenario. Now nearing three o’clock in the morning, there is a storm unlike any we’ve ever really seen in these parts at this time of year. It has been raining now since about ten, a steady rain that has been coming down like you’d expect to see during monsoon season in the tropics. The Pitch blackness of this night has been routinely punctuated with sudden and epic flashes of lightning, followed by the loud and reverberating crack of thunder so strong that at times can be felt through the foundation of this old house and upwards through my bones.  And to finish this symphony of God’s wrath, the wind seems to howl in protest all around us and causes the branches of the thick, massive red oak outside my house to scrap against the side of it. A fitting night for spooks and all manner of other ghostly and ghoulish things.

 Needless to say that I am awake at this un-believable hour, with not only the storm outside keeping me from my slumber, but my own mind rebels against sleeping on this night, my thoughts racing through it like a hurricane! Normally on most nights, I would have no problem drifting off to sleep the moment my head hit the pillow and to have no problems being able to sleep through even a storm such as this, but on this night? This night is quite different as my mind is a racing hot-bed of mental activity which I cannot quiet, which I cannot calm! Something unexplainable is once again happening, something that I have kept hidden for so long, buried deep within my brain and which is now attempting to force itself to the surface and make it’s presence known to the world, an evil thing which I am unable to prevent! And so, it is for this reason that I am sitting here at my desk in the middle of this dark and forboding night, a single small lamp upon that desk dimly lighting the world around me as well as the glow from my computer monitor, lighting my face as I stare at it and it back at me. I am currently using it to write all of this down, to document the whole unbelievable story. Close at hand is my favorite coffee mug, filled of course with a strong and almost unbearably bitter concoction that is my favorite coffee, much needed if I am to stay awake this night and relate to you all of this unholy tale.

But I am not the only one awake in the house mind you, there is my cat Captain Jack. Old Jack, as I call him, is a grizzled old orange tabby with one eye who adopted me five years back when his original owner and my friend, Ansel Geiger, vanished without a trace leaving behind a beautiful house, a bookstore filled with rare and unusual books, a housekeeper named Mrs. McMurdle, and of course, Captain Jack. That story however, will be for another time.  And Old Jack has for these last five years, been my constant feline companion and best friend.  I have often stated on many occasions that Old Jack is quite intuitive for being an ordinary cat and his actions at times, seems at time to mimic my own which tends to cause me to wonder if he is psychic! At this moment, Old Jack is making his rounds of the house, prowling from room to room in a methodical sort of way, as though checking to make sure that he and I are the only ones about at this time of night and that there are no other worldly or unworldly creatures lurking about in some darkened alcove or closet. And when he is finished, I have no doubt that he will re-enter my office and curl up on his cat bed situated next to my desk where he will lay and stare at me until I head off to bed if I were to go that route, at which time he will follow and take up a position at the foot of it, kneading the bed sheet and blanket just like he likes it before circling three times and then laying down. Like me, Old Jack always prefers quiet and peaceful nights of undisturbed sleep. Tonight however, I wonder if it is the storm which keeps him awake, or if it is my own inability to sleep and my current emotional state which disturbs him? And as for those thoughts and emotions which will not quiet themselves inside of me and allow me to sleep? Allow me to tell you what they are all about.

(Keep your eye out on Amazon for the complete anthology, coming soon)