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  Winterborn/ Roland

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  Winterborn/ Roland

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  Winterborn

  By

  A. D. Roland

  TEASE PUBLISHING

  www.teasepublishingllc.com

  Winterborn/ Roland

  3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  WInterborn

  A Tease Publishing Book/E book

  Copyright© 2010 A.D. Roland

  ISBN: 978-1-60767-089-6

  Cover Artist: Ash Arceneaux

  Interior text design: Stacee Sierra

  Editor: Gail Martin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Tease Publishing LLC

  www.teasepublishingllc.com

  PO BOX 234

  Swansboro, North Carolina 28584-0234

  Tease and the T logo is a Tease Publishing LLC. All rights reserved.

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  Dedication

  To Bob Sullivan. Wow. Without you, Winterborn would have been stillborn. Thanks so fraggin’

  much for all the hard work and encouragement, as well as the ‘insider’ tips.

  Thanks go to Gail, as well, for her tireless editing, and fantastic work at RORR and

  SwampDweller.

  And thanks ‘Adra’ for sitting down, shutting up, and letting me finish this.

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  Prologue

  “Oh my gosh, that place is so creepy,” Betty said, leaning between the front seats.

  From the driver's seat, Jack grinned and nodded. “Heck yeah.” Next to him in the passenger seat,

  Sharla frowned. She glanced down at her tightly clenched hands. Her long dirty-blond hair fell around

  her face like a curtain. She liked the sense of separation and isolation the thin veil of hair provided.

  With a reluctant sigh, she sat up and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

  “I don't know, guys. I really don't think it's a good idea.”

  Next to Betty in the back seat, Charles snorted. “Sharla, if we waited on you to agree about

  something being a good idea, we'd be too old to even do anything.”

  “You know, I wouldn't think things were such bad ideas if they weren't bad ideas, Charles.”

  Charles scoffed at her and leaned forward, draping his arms over the back of her seat. “I still don't

  know why you even come with us when we go out. You know we're going to do something that's bad.”

  Sharla squeezed her interlaced fingers together even tighter, so tight it hurt. The massive stone-

  and-timber house jutted from the landscape like an ominous creature of the night. The shadows too

  dark, too alive, the moon too pale. All around the house, the wan moonlight created lacy patterns on

  the white shell driveway as it filtered through the skeletal trees. Earlier as they'd driven down the

  long, winding driveway, the shadows draped so thick, they'd threatened to swallow the small car.

  “Where’s the cop that’s usually out here?” She craned her neck around, looking.

  “Who cares? Hey, what's that?” Betty pointed off toward the side of the house, where the remains

  of an elegant stone balustrade stood around what must have been a big courtyard. “Is that—?”

  “That's the cop car,” Jack muttered. “See?”

  Sharla leaned forward, straining to see through the murky shadows wrapped around the other

  vehicle. “There's something all over it.”

  “Ew, blood maybe?” Charles said, much too eagerly.

  “Shut up, now. It's mud or something.” Please be mud and not...something else! Sharla thought.

  Her fingers ached from the pressure she exerted. Fear tickled her belly and traveled through her

  bones. Her bladder throbbed, a dull sensation.

  Jack cut the lights off and drove the car farther down the wide stone-paved drive that looped

  around itself in front of the three-hundred-year-old manor. “Let's check it out.”

  “No, we should just go. We really should just go.” Sharla shook her head, fighting back irrational

  tears of panic. She sensed something horrible, something vile, lurked in the shadows within the

  house. Unseen eyes stared at her through the windows. Beckoning her.

  But the others piled out of the car, chattering, laughing, and making no effort to be stealthy.

  Shadows rushed to consume the little Nissan Sentry—shadows with tiny red eyes and gnashing teeth

  like maniacal ferrets.

  You’re overreacting. It’s just dark. Those wacked-out stories mom and dad tell about magic and

  spirits are just that—wacked-out stories. Biting back a rush of terror, Sharla sprang out and hurried after her friends. She wasn't properly dressed for the cold. She originally planned to hang out with

  Betty, just Betty, at her house. When she'd arrived, ready for a night of movies and gossip, Charles

  and Jack waited, a case of beer stolen from Jack‘s old man in hand. Charles hinted at having dope, so

  the others deemed the party ‘on‘. Obviously, Betty‘s house, with her hawk-eyed mom, wasn‘t an

  option, so Charles suggested the Estate. The old house was the most coveted make-out spot in Railley.

  Sharla guessed by the end of the night, Jack and Betty would pair off, and ugly old Charles Marvin

  would expect her to give it up.

  The thought of Charles and his narrow, skinny body naked startled her out of her fearful march

  through the deep, soft crushed shell. She paused long enough to force a smile. She was seventeen,

  almost eighteen. She would graduate in May. Much too old for childish fears of bogeymen and

  monsters hiding under the beds.

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  Jack and Charles reached the patrol car. Betty waited until Sharla drew even with her. “Cold as a

  plumber's butt,” Betty remarked.

  “Well-digger's bum,” Sharla murmured, knowing how much the others hated it when she

  corrected them.

  Unseasonably cold air gusted around the Estate. The thin, razor-edged wind cut through her

  clothes. The trendy vest didn’t do crap to keep her warm, and her tattered tights seemed to allow more

  heat out than they kept in. Bring a sweater next time you go trespassing.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. Sean lived just through the woods, down the road about a

  quarter mile, if they walked that way. Maybe he was still awake. If so, he wouldn't care if she showed

  up unannounced. “I don't see the cop.”

  She heard a soft flurry of motion. Evil ferrets! Oh shut up, brain… She kept an iron grip on her instinct to turn and look.

  “Maybe he's taking a leak somewhere.” Charles paused, bent to scratch his ankle. “I swear

  something just bit me.”

  One of the shadow-things zipped around his leg so swiftly, Sharla gasped aloud. Though she

  strained to see in the darkness around Charles’ legs, she couldn't shake off the pervasive feeling of

  unease. “I just really think we need to get back in the
car and go now while we still can.”

  Betty shot her a weird look, her face mottled by shadows and wan moonlight. “What? Why would

  you say something like that?”

  Shrugging, Sharla took a few steps toward the guys. “Something's not right here.”

  “Yeah, duh. We're out here in the cold instead of inside by one of the fireplaces getting loaded.”

  “Not what I mean.” Sharla wanted nothing more than to go back to the car. The guys peered into the

  patrol car's driver side window. They spoke among themselves, too quietly for her to hear. The night

  was nearly silent, save for the soft creak of frost-laden branches. Every once in a while, the wind

  would gust through the trees. Every hoot and moan from the forest sent another round of goose

  bumps crawling over her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Come on, please, let's go.”

  Jack stepped back. With one hand he reached out and ran his fingertips through the substance

  gleaming wetly on the driver's side back door. Looking at his digits closely, he slowly held his hand

  out, his eyes opening wide. “Oh crap,” he muttered. “I think it’s...it’s really...”

  Sharla held her breath, leaning forward to see. Betty did the same, but she clutched Sharla's arm

  with vice-like fingers.

  “This...this is...It's—”” Jack took a stumbling step toward the girls, eyes so wide they could see the

  whites.

  “Mud!” He jumped at the girls, who squealed like all of hell chased them, and smeared the grainy,

  icy-cold substance down Sharla's cheek.

  She jerked backwards and lost her balance. She fell hard into the shell paving mixture and lay

  there, frozen by embarrassment. Since her first day of her junior year, these three people had been her

  best friends and worst enemies. She had lived in town her whole life, sequestered at home, schooled

  by her parents in both traditional subjects and the crazy arcane stuff they believed in.

  Her only friend had been Sean, a kid a year or so younger than her, and so obviously infatuated

  with her since they attended a weekly physical education group for home schooled kids. When the

  state forced her parents to put her in formal school, Betty adopted her as a friend, and Charles and

  Jack immediately accepted her into their circle of outcasts. She put up with their pranks and stupidity

  without complaint, all for the sake of having friends.

  Sometimes, like now, she mourned the loss of the close bond with Sean, but then she realized

  she’d moved on. Her fault, hers alone. No doubt he wouldn’t even mention the weeks-long gap in

  contact.

  She swiped her cheek with her arm. “You jerk. Just back off, okay?” The smear of darkness on her

  white coat sleeve caught her eye. She fumbled in her pocket for her house keys. A tiny flashlight on the end illuminated the contrasting streak perfectly.

  It wasn't mud.

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  There wasn't mud that color red anywhere around.

  “Jack?” she whispered. Her voice sounded hollow, weak. “Look.”

  Betty saw it first and gasped. “Oh God, that's blood!”

  Charles hurried over. “I see a foot! There's a foot by the fountain. Oh God!”

  Jack twisted around, nearly falling over himself in his rush. “Where? You idiot. It's part of the

  statue. See? Look, maybe Sharla's right. Tonight's probably not the best night to be here.”

  As if to punctuate his thoughts, a horrific bellow ripped through the still night air, and something

  huge crashed around in the bushes just yards from where they stood. Betty chanted a litany of, “Oh

  my God, Oh my God,”

  Sharla scrambled to her feet. “It's coming closer.”

  “We need to get in the house,” Jack decided. Without waiting for anyone, he sprinted for the long,

  low row of steps leading to the big double doors. Charles took off after him, leaving the girls to fend

  for themselves. Betty squealed and bolted.

  Sharla followed at a run, hesitating as they passed the car. Why not get in and drive out? Why not

  go home, or to Sean's, where it was warm and their jackets didn’t have blood on them, and nothing

  huge and loud crashed through the woods. But Jack had the keys and she could only wait while he

  punched out a pane of glass from the narrow windows by the front door.

  Resigned, she followed her friends, knowing without a doubt something horrible waited in the

  darkness within.

  ****

  The house reeked of age and rot. The smell of fresh lumber from the sporadic renovations wafted

  about on air currents drifting down from upstairs. Jack and Charles leaned on the heavy front door,

  panting. Sharla smelled urine, and wondered which of them had peed. All the endorphins and all the

  adrenaline left her numb, floating, like she had left her body somewhere out there in the cold sandy

  yard. Betty whimpered and hugged herself. She shifted from foot to foot.

  “What do we do, what do we do?” she whispered over and over again. “Is it still out there?”

  Charles took a step away from the door and crouched to peer out of the small broken pane of

  glass. “I can't really see—”

  A dark shape burst through the hole. Long, bony black fingers, glinting wetly in the faint

  moonlight coming in through the high, narrow windows all the way across the vast empty foyer,

  looped around his head. Sharla lurched forward and grabbed his waist, dragging him backwards with

  her entire body weight. He screamed and fell on top of her, freed from the horrible thing that clutched

  him. He kept screaming, a high-pitched, girlish screech, until Jack reached down and popped him one

  across the face.

  “Shut up, Charles!” Grabbing Betty's arm, he ran for the massive, curving staircase.

  Sharla tugged on Charles' arm. The black hand, attached to a scaly black arm ropey with wiry

  muscles, grasped and groped. More glass shattered and Sharla heard the creak of cracking wood as

  the thin panes gave way. “Charles, you have to get up. Come on, come on!”

  The ghoul‘s hand withdrew. A second later came the thud of a heavy body slammed against the

  weakened window panes. The monster squealed constantly, a sound of triumph. “No, no,” Sharla

  whispered. Despite her fervent plea, the rest of the glass cracked and shattered. Distressed wood

  popped, creaked, and then broke, one thin pane at a time. “Charles, we have to go now.”

  “I can't see! I can't see! It-it-it-it-My eye! It took my eye! ”

  Sharla jerked back, terrified, repulsed.

  Charles stopped fighting her off. He curled up in a ball and screamed. Out of frustration, Sharla

  kicked him in the back and hollered at him. “Get the hell up! Jack, Jack, come help me!”

  An expletive rolled down the stairs from the black space of the second landing. Sharla resisted the

  temptation to holler one back.

  “Charles, I'm leaving. I'm going upstairs. Come on, please.”

  He wasn't moving. Hating herself, she turned around and followed Betty and Jack up the stairs.

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  Beneath her feet, the wooden risers sank and groaned. She had a sudden mental image of that scene

  in Nightmare on Elm Street, when the girl‘s feet sank into the stairs and Freddy grabbed her ankles. A threadbare runner, old and disintegrating, ran up the stairs. In places, it looped and bunched, a major

  hazard even in the best of light. Now, in the darkness, her way lit only by the weakest of leftover moonlig
ht, every other step hung up in the mangled old carpet and cast her to her knees.

  From downstairs the windows cracked and finally gave way. A throaty rumble wafted up the

  stairs. Sharla froze and pressed herself against the mushy wall. Charles whined something

  unintelligible. A voice spoke out of the darkness. A voice so deep and guttural, Sharla felt it vibrating in her bones, like the bass at a rock concert. The unnatural words it spoke touched the deepest part of

  her, luring her down, begging her to partake. Her soul cowered within her, fighting the sudden pull

  toward the beast at the bottom of the stairs.

  Charles screamed amid the meaty, juicy slurps and crunches of the monster‘s feasting. Biting back

  a sob, Sharla scrambled up the stairs on her hands and feet. Before she reached the first landing, the

  screams ceased.

  A few feet of the landing overlooked the first floor via a balcony. She ran past it on light feet,

  hugging the solid wall opposite the decrepit wooden rail. She entered the corridor and stopped. The

  very end of the hall opened on to a balcony overlooking the atrium. Moonlight spilled into the

  hallway, just enough to show her the way. On either side, a repeating pattern of doors left her

  disoriented.

  Heavy thudding footsteps moved up the stairs. She chomped down on her bottom lip to keep from

  crying out. She reached for the door on the left. Locked. The door on the right, locked. Over and over

  again, down the length of the hall, she encountered the same thing.

  She knew from history class the Wraithborne Estate had a three-story atrium, with entrances on

  all three floors, landings, and a pair of gracefully-arched staircases bracketing the ground-floor

  entrances. She didn't dare call out for Jack or Betty. They probably wouldn't answer, and she didn't

  dare attract the creature's attention. Sharla found a hallway that appeared to run in the direction of

  the atrium, located squarely between the three wings of the house. By sheer luck she found the door

  and burst through. She stared around, squinting in the blue-tinted darkness for the stairs that were