The Portal

Craig Conrad

Description

PAUL RICE travels with his new girlfriend to meet her family and spend a week in their recently renovated home in Lanark, Wisconsin, where he finds a town haunted by a history of strange killings and disappearances, a Catholic priest frightened to come out at night, and a teenager who is afraid of his room and sleeps with the light on. By week’s end Paul comes face to face with a resident evil that is centuries old, very much alive, and only waits to be released from a house that has been its dark shrine for generations.
“This is a well written – and genuinely creepy – story.”
- Harper Collins Publishers

Sujets

• Craig
• Portal
• Conrad
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 13 mars 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669866589
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Portal
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Craig Conrad
 
 
Copyright © 2023 by Craig Conrad.
 
 
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-6660-2

Softcover
978-1-6698-6659-6

eBook
978-1-6698-6658-9
 
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
 
Rev. date: 02/28/2023
 
 
 
Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
809143
CONTENTS
Lanark, Wisconsin 1969
Prologue
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1978
Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Part Two
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Part Three
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Epilogue
I
LANARK, WISCONSIN
1969
PROLOGUE
Let them curse it that curse the day,
who are skillful to rouse Leviathan.
 
Job 3:8
 
Once, early in the morning,
Beelzebub arose,
With care his sweet person adorning,
He put on his Sunday clothes.
 
P.B. Shelley
PART ONE
THE TALL MAN HUNG BACK IN THE SHADOWS of the big maple tree, his scraggly head swiveling up one side of the dark street and down the other, until he was certain no one was about. Then he dashed from his concealment and quickly dropped the letter he had been carrying into the corner mailbox. Again his head shot darting looks along the street, making sure no one had seen him. He relaxed. No one had. The street was still empty.
A small trickle of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth as he pulled his lips back into a tight smile. Still safe, he thought to himself and, of course, to them . Maybe his disappearance hadn’t been discovered yet.
No! the warning exploded in his brain. HE’S LOOKING!
The tall man acknowledged the information with a grunt as the smile slipped from his face. Then, he shrugged. It wouldn’t matter. Let the fool look for all the good it would do him. Did his brother really think he could keep him locked up forever, separating him from his own? The trouble with James was that he always underestimated their power. After all these years, you’d think he’d know better. They are the powers that be, dear brother. The powers that be.
A car turned into the street, its headlights sweeping the trunk of the big tree before settling back on the road. The tall man quickly stepped back into the shadows. Perspiration rolled down his face, over the plastic-looking skin from under a hairline that stood out in tufts and swirls like a decaying bird’s nest. He was certain no one could see him. The night held a moon, but the deep shadow of the huge, old tree provided him with perfect concealment. Still, he waited until the car’s taillights disappeared in the distance. Then, he walked slowly out into the open.
The air was warm and sticky and motionless; a typical July evening in Wisconsin. There would be people outside tonight, trying to beat the heat of the indoors. Many people to choose from. He started walking.
Ten minutes of stealthy travel brought him to Fowler Street where, halfway down the block he ducked into an alley. There, under the dim illumination of a streetlight, he took a crumpled piece of paper from his pants pocket and checked the coordinates he had jotted down earlier from memory. He held the paper so close that it brushed the tip of his nose.
It had to be as exact as he could manage. That was essential. He studied the paper a moment longer, rechecking every detail, and when he was satisfied, returned the paper to his pocket. There was a short distance to go.
After three more blocks, the tall man found himself in another alley, this time between Bishop Street and Elm Boulevard. Again he checked his paper, then put it away. This is where it had to be done.
He walked back to the alley entrance at Bishop Street and stopped, tilting his head as if listening to some invisible companion.
He nodded, answering in thought-form. Yes, this will do fine. Yes. I have it. His thin fingers reached under his shirt and touched the knife. It was long and sharp and had a wooden handle. He listened again, then walked up Bishop Street, almost to the corner and waited.
PART TWO
TEN-YEAR-OLD DENNIS EVERS was returning home from an evening swim in Lake Michigan at the public beach in Thackeray Park. He had his wet swimsuit rolled up in a towel and tucked under his arm; his light blond hair, the same color as his mother’s, was still damp from the water.
The lake had been cool and refreshing in the night heat, but the sun had set well over an hour ago and the heat still lingered. Dennis started to feel sticky again. Maybe he’d walk down to old man Jenkin’s Frozen Dip for a vanilla ice cream cone before returning home.
He dug a hand into his jeans and brought out a fistful of change, mostly pennies, that he counted under the bright Texaco sign of Jake Eller’s service station. Yeah, he’d just make it. But that was all right. Tomorrow he’d receive his allowance again and still be able to take in a movie over the weekend. That is, if his dad would let him.
Dennis shoved the money back into his jeans and continued down the street, his tennis shoes falling softly on the hot sidewalks, as he thought about the old Laurel and Hardy movie showing at the Pix, one of Lanark’s three theaters.
His dad said all their movies were classics. He wasn’t sure what that meant exactly. Unless it meant that something old was still good. He just knew he liked them. They were neat. The skinny guy always made Dennis break out in a fit of laughter whenever he started to cry.
He didn’t see the tall man until he turned off Chestnut Street and started down Bishop. Then, as he got closer, he could see from the glow of the streetlight, that the man didn’t look right. There was definitely something creepy about him: his hair was messed up and sticking out all over the place and he had a dopey smile on his face.
Still, he wasn’t really frightened. If the guy was a pervert or something and tried anything funny, he’d just kick him between the legs and run like blazes.
Dennis tried to be nonchalant and continue on his way, but he couldn’t help feeling a knot of ice forming in his stomach. Maybe he’d better cross the street so he wouldn’t have to pass the guy. Just to play it safe.
Dennis crossed the street and when he couldn’t resist the temptation any longer, looked back. The creepy guy was crossing over, too!
Pulling the rolled towel from under his arm and holding it firmly in his hand, Dennis took a half dozen more steps, then broke into a run. He ran halfway down the street, recrossed Bishop again and darted into the alley. Then he started to slow down. The guy was probably a mile behind him trying to catch his breath. Dennis turned his head to check the success of his escape but didn’t finish the movement. A hand grabbed him by the back of his T-shirt and pulled him to a stop.
He thought about screaming but then felt something sharp scratch his throat, and the thought was never passed on to his vocal cords to be acted upon. The towel fell from his hand.
PART THREE
The tall man supervised his work. Everything seemed to be in order. Yes, it was all right. They will be pleased. Now, he must find the rest to make it complete. He would have to hurry. There was much to do before the night was over.
As he rose from the body, something dropped around his neck. He didn’t have to look at it to know what it was. The pain was immediate.
“Take it off!” the tall man hissed, spinning around to face his tormentor. “Take it off!”
The man standing behind the tall man bore a striking resemblance to him. The only difference was in the appearance and the eyes. The second man was well-groomed, and his eyes lacked the other’s burning intensity.
“I thought I’d find you here,” the second man said. “You forgot that I have your book and I know what you’re trying to do.”
The tall man sank to his knees, his face a kaleidoscope of pain. He felt his body being pressed down into this ridiculous position by the mere weight of the crucifix that dangled from his neck.
“It burns!” he screamed. “Take it off!”
The second man did not answer. Instead, he moved to the small, still form sprawled grotesquely in the alley. The sight sickened him and he quickly turned away before the nausea climbed into his throat. He came at the tall man in a rage.
“You bastard! Look what you’ve done!”
The tall man eyed h