The Guest House Hauntings Boxset by Hazel Holmes (novel books to read txt) 📕

until the next breath came. If there was a hell, then Dell Parker was positive that he’d found it.

“That was a brave thing you did.”

Dell spun around, startled enough to fall backwards onto the hard rocks. “Gah!” A sharp pain ran from his tailbone and up his spine to the base of his skull, where it lingered.

Dell leaned forward, shoving his head between his knees to ease the pain, but it did nothing. Like the darkness that covered him, the pain was content on making him wait, pushing him to the point of collapse before finally offering a reprieve.

“I wish I could say that you get used to this place, but that’s just not true.”

Dell looked up and found an old man standing nearby. He pushed himself to his feet. He cradled his lower back and then grimaced. He gave the old timer the once over, shaking his head. The old man wore clothes from another era, and his thick white beard concealed most of his face. “Who are you?”

“Allister Bell,” he said.

Dell narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Allister Bell died over a century ago,” Dell answered. “And if you’re dead, then—” Dell examined his body, looking for bullet holes or knife wounds, any sign of his demise.

“You’re not dead,” Allister Bell said, walking over and placing a heavy hand on Dell’s shoulder. “At least not yet.”

But Dell shrugged Allister’s hand off his shoulder. “No.” He took quick, shallow breaths, and his heartrate accelerated. “No, I can’t— This isn’t real.” He retreated from Allister, spinning around in circles to get his bearings. “This isn’t—”

And then Dell heard it, and he felt it. A heavy bass thudded through his chest. The vibration started from his core and spread outward to his limbs and toes and fingertips.

The beats grew stronger, and then suddenly they weren’t coming from inside of him anymore. Dell looked to the horizon where a high-rise of boulders and rocks blocked the commotion beyond it.

“They’re ready to leave,” Allister said, appearing alongside Dell. “They’ve been in a frenzy lately, and it’s only going to get worse. For everyone.”

A heavy gong silenced the world and cracked the molten sky above, bringing a rain of fire and ash, and if Allister hadn’t grabbed him and pulled him away, he would have been smothered by the rain of molten rock.

The uneven ground cracked and shook beneath Dell’s feet as Allister pulled him toward the ridge of rocks where those drums echoed beyond.

Eventually the hell rain from the sky ended, and the quaking of the ground subsided, and Allister flung Dell against the side of the high ridge. He shut his eyes as he collapsed to his side, hacking and coughing. His innards had caught fire, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that he was coughing streams of black smoke.

Dell shook his head, unable to shake the panic washing over him. “How is this possible?”

“Listen to me,” Allister said, taking hold of Dell’s hand. “Look over the ridge. And be quiet, and careful.”

After a moment, Dell acquiesced, but as he crawled forward, Allister shuffled backward, remaining hidden beneath the cover of the rocks. Dell watched the deep lines of fear carve out Allister’s expression. It was the type of fear that was a product of decades of neglect and suffering, someone who had grown to fear the rod.

Despite the sheer horror that Dell saw on the old man’s face, Dell couldn’t stop himself from peeking over the ridge. He needed to see it. He needed to know where he was, and what in the hell was going on.

The drums returned, the bass vibrating through Dell’s body as he flattened his stomach against the rocks, then slowly crawled toward the top. He only went as far as it took for his eyes to see, and when he saw, he understood Allister’s fear.

Beings of fire and rock swarmed the valley below, spewing lava and acidic smoke and gas from their bodies. They had no eyes, but carved into their heads were large mouths filled with jagged and razor-sharp teeth.

Their craze was magnified by the hastening pace of the drums. They turned on one another, killing and tearing apart rocks with their claws and teeth, spilling their molten innards on the ground, which they drank from thirstily.

But for every demon that was killed, two more took its place, and the violence spread to the horizon. There were millions of them. Hundreds of millions.

Slowly, Dell lowered himself back behind the ridge and turned around to find the old man staring at him with a knowing glance.

“It’s the devil’s army,” Allister said, moving his eyes about as if even speaking the name would cause Satan to appear like a version of Bloody Mary. “They were created to destroy; to transform life into death.”

Dell examined the barren landscape, the rocks and the fire and ash. He tried to envision Redford or Bell like this, the beautiful Maine wilderness destroyed, the life sucked from the world and replaced with only death.

“How do we stop it?” Dell asked.

Allister smiled sadly. He shook his head. “My dear boy. I’ve been here for a long time, and until you showed up, those things remained with the dark lord behind the gates of hell.” He returned his gaze to Dell. “You were the last soul that the dark lord required. You were the key. And yet…” Allister touched Dell’s shoulder, as if he was still unsure if Dell was real, or only a figment of his imagination.

And then Dell remembered the curse, the witch, and Sarah. “Six-six-six.” He looked to Allister. “There are others down here, aren’t there?”

“Yes.”

Dell jumped again, scrambling to his left and away from the redhead that had appeared out of nowhere. She wore a white gown that was dirtied from streaks of black and grey, and the gown blended seamlessly with her pale skin. The only color on her was the fire red of her hair, which matched the same brilliance of the embers that surrounded them.

“I’m Mary