CHAPTER EXCERPT: Michael woke with a start, eyes wide with terror. The very memory of the darkness that had inhabited his dreams left him shaking in fear, covered head to toe in goose bumps. Not to mention the sticky sweat that left his sheets clinging to his ill-rested body. Despite the fact that he knew what he had just encountered had just been a dream, Michael couldn’t shake the fear that clung to his heart. For the first time in a very long time, he was genuinely afraid. Ripping the damp sheet from his sweaty body, Michael clutched his pounding chest and sat up, turning to examine his surroundings. He, having woken up, expected to see his navy blue wall paper, or the little oak end table that held his wallet and the tiny clock that woke him up to the sound of his favorite Christian worship CD every morning. But none of those things were where they were supposed to be. In fact, even his bed was missing. Michael hadn’t woken up in his own bed, or even in his own bedroom. Instead, he was lying with his back flat against the cold, black asphalt of a street .he had never seen before, with nothing but a sheet for company. Michael peeled himself from the ground, creating a sharp suctioning sound as the wet skin of his back separated from the asphalt. With a quick intake of breath, he quickly scurried to his feet, not even bothering to brush the dirt and debris from his skin as he took in his surroundings, all of which were completely foreign to him. He had no idea how he had gotten to where he was, or what he was supposed to do about it. There he was, standing in the middle of nowhere in the dark, wearing nothing but his boxers. No phone, no car, no money. Completely alone. Looking around, Michael noticed an old, beat up house to his left. It was two full stories, but looked condemned. Worse than condemned. It looked like someone had begun to demolish it and then decided it wasn’t even worth the effort and had just left it half destroyed. The dark red paint was peeling so bad that entire sections of the building were bare to the base wood. Several of the houses windows had been smashed in, and the front door was in splinters. The only thing keeping people out was the array of two-by-four’s that someone had nailed over the wreckage. The grass was knee high, and matted with dead tree branches and trash. And to top it all off, just poking its way out of the tangle of grass that had stretched its way onto the sidewalk was a long white sign covered in rich dark letters that spelled out the words: KEEP OUT. All in all, the house gave off the kind of vibe that Michael made a habit of avoiding. Deciding that their probably wasn’t anyone home who could help him, he turned to see what was on the other side of the street. As he turned, however, he caught sight of a large compound stretching out behind the abandoned house. The property’s fence stretched for as far as he could see, and behind it’s wiry boundary, there was an entire host of broken cars, in some places even piled three high. Most of the vehicles seemed to be the typical junk yard breed; but he noticed that in the very center of the property, there was a ring of cars that seemed to be in pretty good shape. They weren’t luxurious, by any stretch of the imagination; but neither did they seem to belong amidst the scrap metal that took up the rest of the particularly shabby junk yard. He would have headed that way for help, but he noticed almost immediately that the junk yards gates were chained shut, and there was a large sign posted that clearly said: Out of Business. So, instead of moving closer for a better look, he just finished his about face and headed across the street to the little white Church that took up the entire corner of the street. The Church didn’t seem to be in any better condition than the abandoned house; though, he had to admit that it didn’t look as if someone had gone at it with a chainsaw. No, unlike the house, this dank little church was just good old abandoned. Considering it to be the least likely of the three nearby properties to be a serial killer hide-a-way, Michael cautiously approached the church, hoping that maybe it wasn’t quite as abandoned as it looked. The short, white walls had dulled to a light grey from wear, and the stained windows had begun to look, well…stained. There was no clear definition, or color, to the pictures he knew had probably been very beautiful in their prime. All around the building, grass rose above the knee, and in several places, ivy wove its way all the way up the churches walls. Michael wondered to himself if the ivy wasn’t what held the rusty old building together. However, none of that was what struck him. What struck him was the cold dread that had crept into his muscles the moment he had laid eyes on the small, abandoned place of worship. Michael shivered, grabbing his goose bumped arms in a tight embrace. Suddenly, the chill of night had become a frost he could literally feel in every fiber of his being. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was making him so uncomfortable; only that everything in him was screaming: DANGER! As Michael prepared to abandon the darkened street corner, in search of home, he noticed two things in quick succession. First, he noticed that, contrary to the typical abandoned building feel, a lit light fixture hung from the church’s porch. He wasn’t quite sure why it was significant, only that he needed to remember that the light was on. The second thing he noticed was equally uninteresting, and yet also equally significant. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of the dark lettering that hung above the churches front steps. Running below the building’s gutters were the numbers: 109. **************************************************************************************** For the second time in a matter of minutes, Michael awoke with a start. Only this time it was to the loud smashing sound of his very own alarm clock hitting his very own bedroom floor. Quickly shaking himself awake, Michael gazed hard into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Like all lunatics who think they see something moving in those moments of pure hopelessness after first waking up, Michael knew he wasn’t alone. Moments later, when his eyes had adjusted, he realized, like he did most mornings, that he was absolutely alone…and absolutely crazy. Michael sighed with relief, realizing that the nightmare was over; and, with great delight, reached down and retrieved his alarm clock from the floor. A quick examination showed him that it wasn’t broken, and he was able to reset it and get up for the day. As usual, he tripped within a few steps from his bed, and landed hard on the floor. It was a shame. Twenty-six years old and he still couldn’t manage to get all the way to the bathroom before taking a nose dive. Groaning loudly, Michael pushed himself to his feet and opened the bathroom door, turning on the light as he stepped inside. This was the part of his ritual he most enjoyed. Within seconds he was standing in front of his floor length mirror, admiring himself head to toe. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. But no, Michael was not one of those vain boys who admired their beach-ready body before releasing their good looks onto the world. No, he was just vain. In reality, he was close to three hundred pounds, with dark honey-colored skin and bright purple hair. He usually wore long, button up shirts and unfortunately tight jeans and, for some reason, loved to tie his long, curly circus hair into a giant purple Mohawk. Yeah, there was absolutely no reason for him to be admiring himself in front of the mirror, and yet, there he stood, soaking it all up. Even better, with a smile. There wasn’t an awful lot to admire about Michael, but his confidence certainly made the list. A fact exemplified by the clear swagger he demonstrated as he checked himself out that morning. Pulling his classic finger guns from their imaginary holster, Michael fired a couple of practice shots into his reflection and whispered seductively, “Howdy there, Cowboy!” With a wink, and a quick click of his tongue, Michael okayed his appearance and climbed into the shower. Showering was one of Michael’s favorite activities of the day. Sometimes, he would just stand with his back to the shower head and let the water, which he kept as hot as it would go, run into his neck until it turned cold. It wasn’t unusual for his roommate, John, to end up rushing through a cold shower before work because Michael had taken all of the hot water. Unlike himself, Michael quickly lathered up and rinsed off, climbing out of the shower within ten minutes of stepping in. Admittedly, in his hurry, he forgot to clean up the hairball he had left in the drain, as he did each morning. I guess that’s just what you get when you have hair like a guerilla. Assaulted by the sweet sent of syrup, Michael quickly threw on a pair of blue jeans and a bright purple shirt to match his hair, and raced down the stairs. Sadly, his speed ended up costing him, because, in his haste to find the food, he missed the stray boot loitering on the bottom stair and ended up flat on his face at the bottom of the staircase. Michael groaned loudly, looking up into the wide-eyed face of his roommate, John, who stood in the doorway holding a piece of burnt toast to his mouth. Taking a second to register what he had seen, John grabbed his stomach and laughed so hard he literally bent at the middle. John, unlike Michael, was a tall, broad shouldered guy with an athletic build and practically perfect honey-colored skin. He had short cropped black hair and generally wore as little clothes as possible. It could be the middle of winter and John would be walking around in shorts and a t-shirt. With a final guffaw, John brushed the toast crumbs from his hand and reached down to pull Michael to his feet. The men stood together in the doorway and laughed for a moment before Michael headed into the kitchen to grab some toast, addressing his roommate as he did, “So, what’s up, John? Sleep well?” John followed Michael into the room, grabbing a glass from the counter and pouring himself some orange juice, “Perty good, Dude. Had some weird dreams, but other than that, doing pretty good.” “Oh yeah?” Michael asked, looking over questioningly, “What kind of dreams?” “Nothing impressive. Leprechauns and spies.“ John shook his head, “Leprechauns and spies.” “Gotchya,” Michael answered with a chuckle. For a second he had thought John was going to talk about the abandoned church, but that was just crazy. Spreading some jelly on his toast, he headed over to the table and plopped down in one of the metal folding chairs they had arrayed all over their house, “So, what’re ya up to today?” “Eh, you know me,” John answered, looking down at the paper he had opened up in front of him, “I need to head in to work in a couple of minutes. I have to meet with Pastor Burns this morning, and then get ready for tonight.” John was a youth pastor in their cities biggest church. Every Tuesday night, over two hundred kids met together to worship and learn the Bible. Looking up, Michael said, “Sweet. Yeah, I need to head in to the office here soon too.” Jon laughed, “Dude, you crack me up. You work for yourself. Why do you have to go in to the ‘office?’” he asked, holding up quotation marks. Michael just rolled his eyes and took a bite of his toast. Michael was a writer. He made a living authoring books and teaching around the country, “Because it’s a part of my process. You’ve never written a book; you don’t get how easy it is to get distracted. If I stay home and write, I won’t write! I’ll just sit around and watch old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer!” “Yeah, yeah,” John said, waving him off. Laughing, he refolded the paper and put it down on the table, chugging his orange juice as he got up and grabbed his keys from the counter, “I’m gonna be late. See ya later, Bro.” Michael waved over his cup of cocoa, “Yup. See ya.” Michael finished his piece of toast as John rushed out of the door, and then got up and headed out himself. Closing the back door, he fumbled with his keys and then locked the door, whispering to himself as he hurried to the car, “I may work for myself, but myself doesn’t like it when I’m late!”
Posted on: Sun, 29 Jun 2014 03:47:27 +0000
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