Listen to Me Now: Supernatural Horror with Scary Ghosts & Haunted Houses Read online

  Listen to Me Now

  Written by A.I. Nasser

  Copyright © 2018 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved.

  Thank You and Bonus Novel!

  To really show you my appreciation for downloading this book, I’ve included a bonus scene at the end of this book. I’d also love to send you a full-length novel in 3 formats (MOBI, EPUB, and PDF) absolutely free!

  Download your free novel in 3 formats, get FREE short stories and receive future discounts by visiting: www.ScareStreet.com/AINasser

  See you in the shadows,

  A.I. Nasser

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Bonus Scene Chapter 1

  Bonus Scene Chapter 2

  Bonus Scene Chapter 3

  Bonus Scene Chapter 4

  Bonus Scene Chapter 5

  FREE Bonus Novel!

  Chapter 1

  John Krik pulled up into the large Victorian’s driveway. He squinted through the rain at the large structure that stood ominously in front of him. He waited, taking in deep breaths as the sound of the car’s windshield wipers swished back and forth in perfect harmony.

  This is it, he thought to himself.

  He looked at the houses around him, two structures that were remarkably similar, albeit a little homier, to the one he was going to inhabit for the next six months. The illuminated windows promised warmth and comfort, and he couldn’t help but wonder what his neighbors were like. Then he decided that he didn’t really care.

  He was here to work. Nothing else.

  John took another deep breath and stepped out into the rain.

  ***

  “This will be good for you.”

  John Krik sat silently in his seat, looking at his editor with a frown on his face. He had been listening to the man repeatedly go over deadlines and contracts so many times that he had forgotten why he had come in the first place.

  Derrick Fern was an odd character, burly and balding, and quick to light a cigarette without a care in the world as to whether his company would mind. He was a small town man who had fallen in love with the city, and he fit in perfectly with everything obnoxious New York had to offer. He knew what he wanted, got what he wanted, and was quick to voice his displeasure if the opposite of either happened.

  John secretly wondered if, sometimes, the man had a little bit of the devil in him.

  As an editor, Derrick was worse, and it showed with the number of manuscripts he had shoved to a corner where they waited to be shredded. John suspected that at least two of his own had experienced the same fate, but things were different now. He was famous, and he had fans.

  That brought out a kindness in Derrick that was even scarier.

  “Maybe the place will spark some creative juices,” Derrick was saying.

  “I can’t just up and leave,” John replied. “My son is in school, and Karen’s been promoted. I can’t pull them away from the life they know because you think I need some time away.”

  Derrick frowned. Then he faked a smile John had gotten used to over the years, a smile that bordered on annoyance, the calm before the storm. “Who said anything about taking them with you?”

  “What do you mean?” John asked, already planning his next reply carefully.

  “You need to get away from them as much as anything else.”

  John shook his head quickly, waving away the suggestion as if it were ludicrous. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever suggested.”

  Derrick leaned in, folding his arms over each other, and fixed his eyes on John’s. “It’s not a suggestion, John, it’s a request from your editor who is on the verge of canceling your contract.”

  John gazed at the man in anger, half of him wanting to throw in the towel and tell him to stick the contract where the sun didn’t shine. However, he knew that he had no leverage, and the last two manuscripts he had kept aside for a rainy day had already been handed in.

  The truth was, John was in trouble, and Derrick could smell it.

  “I still have six months to hand in a new novel,” John said.

  Derrick nodded in agreement. “Hey, it’s your call, buddy,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But I happen to know that you haven’t written a goddamn thing in three years, and there’s no sign of anything cooking in the oven.”

  John sighed and looked away, hating how well the man knew him.

  “What do you say?” Derrick asked. “The house has been empty for years, and no one’s going to ask you any questions. Besides, I grew up in the town. It’s boring, a bunch of lifeless stores and farms and run-down factories. You’ll be surrounded by a bunch of people who’ve lived too long to know any better.”

  Derrick threw a set of keys across the desk and John watched them land perfectly in front of him.

  “Take what you need, tell the wife and kid, and disappear for the next six months,” Derrick continued. “Consider it a gift from me to you. I want you to write the next John Krik bestseller.”

  John gazed at the keys, then back at his editor. “You want your commission.”

  “And you want to keep your advance,” Derrick smiled. “Do us both a favor and take the keys.”

  John left with a frown on his face and the keys in his pockets, jingling the song of defeat as he walked towards his car.

  ***

  John Krik pushed through the front door, wiggling the keys out of the lock and failing miserably as the bags he balanced under his arms fell heavily to the ground. He groaned at the dust that rose in their wake, hanging in the air as if freed from their endless sleep, the specks dancing about in the sunlight that seemed to have been missing from the interior of the house for years.

  He kicked his bags inside, barely glancing at the dust trails they left on the hardwood floor as he forcefully pulled his keys out and shook the rain off his coat. It had begun to really pour, and he decided that he’d go back for the rest of his things later.

  He walked down the small hallway, turning into what was supposed to pass for a living room. He made his way to the large windows, pulling the drapes open and letting more light in. In the back of his mind, he imagined the house screaming at this sudden intrusion, too comfortable with the darkness that had found a home within.

  He took in his surroundings with a frown, wrinkling his nose at the smell of dust and decay. If the house had a caretaker, he or she needed to be fired immediately. He fought with the window latches, the hinges creaking in protest as he pushed the glass panes open slightly to let some air in. He knew the rain would find its way inside soon, but the smell of the place was unbearable.

  He inspected the spacious room, the furniture covered with sheets that had turned yellow with dust over the years. It would take him at least a day to clean the place up, and he immediately cursed Derrick Fern for putting him there. He cursed hims
elf, too, for agreeing to it.

  He made his way back to the hall, trying the lights, flicking the switch on and off in fury.

  “Let there be light,” he called out and was greeted by nothing but darkness.

  He had hoped he wouldn’t have to drive into town for at least a few days until he had settled in, but it was apparent that he’d have to do it sooner than expected. He walked through the rest of the house, trying different switches, slightly thankful that the lights still worked in the living room and kitchen. His steps left footprints in the dust, and he toyed with the idea of hiring someone to clean up instead of wasting his time.

  You have time, a voice in the back of his head seemed to laugh at him. You have six months of this crap.

  John made his way upstairs, barely glancing at the empty frames lining the staircase, careful not to touch the banister. The second floor had three rooms, each big enough to be the master bedroom. He settled for the one with its own bathroom and walk-in closet, already deciding on which of the other two to use for his writing space.

  If he actually got to writing.

  He thought back to the past three years of his life, the ones following the success of his first published novel. He had worked on the thing for years, pouring his heart and soul into it, determined to make it so good that he would finally stop having to pin rejection slips onto the wall above his computer. It had been a hit, and suddenly things had started to look brighter.

  The problem, though, was he had no idea what to do next. He had burned himself out for two years writing the bestseller, and his mind had started drawing blanks as soon as he sat down to write the next one. When deadlines started to draw nearer, he had kept Derrick quiet with older manuscripts, none of which were as good as the one he had published. He was riding more on the branding of his name than anything else, and that had kept Derrick at bay for as long as possible.

  Now he had nothing to show for the past three years.

  John walked into the second bathroom on the floor, switching on the fluorescents that immediately started to flicker on and off.

  Add that to the list, Johnny-boy.

  His cell phone rang, and he fished it out of his back pocket, cursing himself for forgetting to call Karen as he had promised to.

  “Two hours and you’ve already forgotten about us,” his wife said, her voice a bright light in the gloom he was currently standing in.

  “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his wet hair and watched the drops smack against the floor. “I just got in, actually.”

  “So, how is it?” Karen asked, seemingly more excited to know about the house than how he’d been.

  “It’s worse than I could have ever imagined,” he said.

  “Oh, come on,” Karen said. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “You have no idea,” John said, switching off the bathroom lights that were already giving him a headache. He closed the door, knowing that he would probably be using the one in his new room.

  “Derrick said this would be good for you,” Karen argued, “and I believe him.”

  “Sometimes I get the feeling that you’re happier about me being here than I am,” John teased. “Admit it, Karen Krik, you like having me out of the house.”

  “It does have its perks,” Karen played along. “At least I can walk around the house without any clothes on.”

  “So, you’re going to basically scar our son for life,” John smiled. “I never had a problem with you doing that.”

  Karen laughed, and John suddenly missed her tremendously.

  “Okay, I’ll let you get settled in,” his wife finally said. “I have to pick Dylan up from soccer practice.”

  “Give him my love,” John said. “Tell him Panda misses him.”

  Karen laughed again before blowing him a kiss through the phone and hanging up.

  John smiled to himself as he put his phone away, looking up at his surroundings and immediately feeling a lot better.

  He had a family to provide for, and if this place was supposed to help him, then he was going to give it a chance.

  Chapter 2

  The town was everything Derrick had promised. Even if it hadn’t been raining, John could hardly make out anything that promised more than his everyday needs. He spotted an arcade that was probably the only form of entertainment anyone got around here, but the faded paint and the flickering neon sign were an indication that no one cared much about it. He had caught a glimpse of a movie theatre on his way into town, but he hadn’t recognized any of the titles playing.

  Just you and the senior citizens, Johnny-boy.

  He pulled up to what looked like a market, the sign outside barely visible in the rain and dying light. He raced into the protection of the striped awning, shaking himself as he quickly skimmed the used paperbacks on display in the window. His eye caught his own book, blasphemously dog-eared, the pages wrinkled as if someone had dropped it in a toilet. He knew people had certain reading habits, but he had never felt comfortable with the knowledge that someone might be reading his words during their morning routine.

  He pushed into the store, the chimes above his head jingling ridiculously. He scanned the small market, eyeing the rows of goods as he tried to decide what his immediate needs might be. He had tried writing a list of things to stock the refrigerator with, but that had been shot down when he realized the thing didn’t even work. Canned goods it would be.

  John grabbed a cart and spent the next hour filling it up, stacking up on beans and tuna, cereal and instant coffee, throwing in a boiler for good measure. He’d have to get a microwave if he wanted to avoid the hassle of cooking.

  You’re here for six months, Johnny-boy. Accept it already.

  He pushed the voice aside.

  “Getting ready for a storm?” the older woman at the cashier asked, looking at the items he was setting down next to the registry and smiling.

  John smiled back weakly, wondering if he was actually required to engage in any form of conversation.

  “Passing through?” the woman asked, not letting up.

  John shook his head. “Staying,” he replied, his voice hoarse. This was a small town, and word spread quickly. He didn’t want to leave a bad first impression with the one place he could get food from.

  “Oh? Related to anyone in town?”

  John shook his head again and forced a small smile. “I’m staying at the Victorian out on Steel Lane.”

  The older woman squinted, her hand hovering over his canned tuna as she inspected him over the rim of her glasses. “Now why on God’s green earth would you do that?”

  John frowned at her as she went back to beeping his groceries across her small screen. “A friend said it was a good way for me to get away.” He didn’t even know why he had said that.

  “Haven’t heard of anyone willingly staying at that place,” she clicked her tongue. “Should be torn down, if you ask me.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  The woman shrugged. “Nothing, really,” she said. “It’s been empty for so many years you start to wonder why the hell it’s still there. Kids around here use it as a Halloween dare. The Greens next door wanted to buy it just to tear it down and extend their yard.”

  “That seems like a colossal waste of money,” John remarked.

  “Not for the Greens,” the woman winked. “Money grows on trees when it comes to them.”

  John smiled. It was amusing being part of small-town gossip. He looked over the woman’s shoulder at the lines of bulbs. He pointed to them, and she immediately grabbed half a dozen and added them to the rest of his groceries.

  “Do you know anyone who would be willing to help me clean the place up?” John asked. “I don’t think I could handle it on my own.”

  The woman placed a hand on her hip and gazed up at the ceiling, thinking. She suddenly nodded and took out a pad and pen from under the register. She jotted down a name and number, ripped the paper from the pad and handed it to him.

&
nbsp; “Gina Andrews,” the woman said. “Give her a call. The old bird might not have a lot left, but she’s tough as a nail, that one. She’ll have the place sparkling in a few hours.”

  “Wow, that’s great,” John said, pocketing the number and helping her bag the groceries. “I owe you one.”

  “Forget about it,” she said with a smile and wave. “Tell Gina that June Summers gave you the number. She’ll give you less trouble that way.”

  John smiled and thanked her again, carrying his bags towards the door.

  “Do you mind me asking you something?”

  John turned to her, shrugging. “Shoot.”

  “I’ve seen you before,” she said, leaning on the counter, eyeing him closely. “Just can’t place it.”

  John smiled and gestured with his chin towards the book stand. “You have my book on display,” he smiled.

  June’s smile delighted him. “Right, that’s it,” she said, waving a finger at him as if he had swindled her. “I knew I’d seen you somewhere before. I’m not good with names, but I never forget a face.”

  “John Krik,” he introduced himself, curtsying.

  “Well, welcome to Cafeville, John Krik.”

  John gave her a thumbs-up and shouldered back out into the rain. He was beginning to think he might actually enjoy it here.

  Chapter 3

  Hank Pollard parked his truck next to the blue Toyota in time to see its owner wrestle with the bags he was carrying and fiddle with his keys. Hank pulled up his collar and skipped towards the man, grabbing the bags off him before he dropped everything into the puddles that had quickly found their respective places all across Gale Street.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” the man thanked Hank as he opened the back door and took the bags off him.

  “No worries, buddy,” Hank said, pulling his cap lower over his eyes as if the rain threatened to blind him. “You drive safe.”

  Hank left the man and raced into the supermarket, waving at June as he made his way straight to the alcohol row, grabbing a six-pack and dripping water all the way to the cash register.