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

their hell either succeeded or failed. Dell looked to his hand, wiggling his fingers, which still reflected the fires around him. He was suddenly finding it hard to remember what his hand had looked like before.

Memories of whatever life he’d had were clouded with the thick fog of hate and violence. His mind was covered in it, and he started to swing wildly, screaming at the top of his lungs.

His fists connected with demons, spilling more fire and lava, triggering more screams of pain, and the longer that Dell fought, the worse the noises became. And there he fought, alone, against a sea of evil. An evil that he was slowly becoming.

87

Brent didn’t take his foot off the gas until he saw the sign off the highway for Bell. The trooper’s cruiser had made the trip back much quicker than his departure from the town. He wrung his hands over the steering wheel on the tight bending turns of the two-lane road that cut through the forest and dumped onto Bell’s main street.

He turned sharply off the road, parking the cruiser next to Pat’s tavern, and opened the revolver’s chamber, re-checking the bullets.

Brent flicked his wrist, and the barrel snapped back into place, the motion fueling his ego as he climbed out of the cruiser, choosing to take the keys with him, leaving the cruiser parked skewed near the tavern.

He walked up the back side of the building, his eyes on the house on the hill. And as he walked toward it, he realized that he couldn’t take his eyes off it, no matter how hard he tried. Fascination took over, and before he reached the end of the row of buildings, he slowed to a stop.

Mouth slack, Brent widened his eyes, a tingling cold crawling up his back that was even harsher than the air that surrounded him. It was like ice was crystalizing his spine, which stiffened. His heart pounded heavy in his chest, and he grew short of breath.

He suddenly thought of the woman that had set him free from the back of the squad car. A tickling whisper entered his ear with the calmness of a light breeze. It was wordless, and yet Brent understood what was said, and the realization spread the ice from his spine and into the rest of his limbs and body.

The icy glaze reached into his mind and seeped into his thoughts and memories. The terrible, thunderous voice of his father echoed through his mind, and Brent shook in fear. He shut his eyes, fighting back tears, knowing how much his father had hated seeing that kind of weakness from his son.

He was back under his bed, but this time his father threw the mattress off and across the room, exposing Brent like a cockroach in the darkness. He still held a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, his eyes red and glossy. The front of his shirt was stained red, and the blood on his knuckles was still damp.

If he was done with Brent’s mother and he was still thirsty for punishment, then Brent knew that it was going to be a walloping. A viral hate of his mother’s weakness flooded through him, and he screamed as his father lifted him off the floor, bringing him front and center to his father’s foul stench.

The drunkard’s breath always smelled like shit, and the mix of booze and heat and sweat only amplified the sourness that, even now, churned Brent’s stomach.

The fear grew so strong that Brent wet himself. His father berated him, beat him, and left him bloody and bruised and for dead in his room once he was finished.

And just as quickly as the whispered memory surfaced in Brent’s thoughts it was gone, and he gasped for air as if he’d been holding his breath.

Still trembling, he glanced down at the wet patch on his jeans, which was now freezing in the cold. He grimaced in anger and disgust and then looked back to the house. And when he did, there was another whisper, and this time he was able to make out the words.

“Find her and bring her to me.” The woman’s voice purred into his ear. “And I will give you everything you want. I will give you the power that you deserve.”

Another warmth spread through his groin, but it was triggered by a more primal sensation. He wanted that power, but what was more was the fact that the voice he was listening to understood what he had always known. That he deserved it.

And why not?

The power that he wanted was a chance at safety. Because if you were all powerful, then there was nothing that could hurt you. Nothing that could harm you. Enough power in your possession and you were invincible.

Brent started up the house, not sure what was drawing him to it, but coming to the self-realization that it was where he needed to go. And as he started up the hill, he could see the front entrance of the house. He kept off to the side, choosing not to use the grand staircase that provided an easy path to the top, again drawn by the primitive instinct that it was where he needed to be.

And with his eyes locked on the door, Brent stopped when he heard a door slam up ahead. His gaze turned west, and from his position on the hill, he watched Sarah sprint from the house and dart into the woods.

At first, Brent remained motionless, the shock of being so close to his prey immobilizing him. He watched her fade into the woods, and then he smiled and reached for his revolver. It was perfect, a final chase to lead to a confrontation between the hunter and the hunted. And the prize for Sarah’s bounty was clear.

No longer would the past haunt him. No more would the memories of his childhood prevent him from becoming the man he was supposed to be. The future was