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  Slaughter Series

  Books 1 – 3

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  Written by A.I. Nasser

  Copyright © 2019 by ScareStreet.com

  All rights reserved.

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  See you in the shadows,

  A.I. Nasser

  Table of Contents

  Slaughter Series

  Children to the Slaughter (Book 1)

  Shadow’s Embrace (Book 2)

  Copper’s Keeper (Book 3)

  Listen to Me Now

  FREE Bonus Novel!

  Children to the Slaughter

  Slaughter Series Book 1

  Prologue

  Jeremiah Carter’s stomach turned.

  He walked alone, keeping a good few yards between him and the mob of two dozen men and women walking in front of him. Holding their torches high as they walked, they lit the night sky with a dangerous orange hue, their voices a mix of anger and vengeance. The procession followed a narrow path through the woods that once linked Melington to its neighboring towns, but had now been abandoned for more modern and accessible routes leading in and out of the southern part of town.

  The winter was harsh this year. No matter how much Jeremiah tried to protect himself against the cold, the chill winds still managed to find their way into his thick coat. Footprints littered the route in front of him. Occasional longer streaks showed where the tied prisoner tried to keep up with the ropes that pulled him along.

  Jeremiah kept his eyes cast low, unable to look at his fellow town members as they dragged their half-naked captive behind them, beaten to an inch of his life, every man and woman capable of hurting him taking full advantage of their chance. Jeremiah’s efforts to stop them were met with derision and scorn.

  Jeremiah tried to put more distance between him and the others without appearing to empathize with the prisoner. He frowned as he noticed dark stains in the snow and quickly realized they were splatters of blood. The prisoner was bleeding, but there were none who cared.

  “We’re going to rip you into pieces!”

  The woman’s shrill voice brought Jeremiah’s head up. He watched in dismay as the prisoner stumbled and fell to one knee, then immediately kicked as another pulled heavily on the rope tied to his wrists. He fell face first onto the path, and in the midst of even more kicking, he was pulled to his feet and carried along.

  “Leave him on the ground!” a man shouted. Jeremiah was unable to discern who the voice belonged to, but he felt sure he recognized it. The others cheered in approval.

  “Drag him along!” came another shout, and Jeremiah quickly realized that if he did nothing, the man would suffer more than was needed.

  He picked up the pace and helped the helpless half naked man back up to his feet.

  “This is your doing, Jeremiah,” the man whispered angrily, his words coming in one long breath that was followed by a deep moan of pain. His teeth clattered mercilessly against each other, and even through the heavy coat, Jeremiah felt the sting of the man’s cold grip.

  “This was not my decision, Copper,” Jeremiah answered, his voice equally low so no one would hear him. “I was not your judge…”

  Copper Tibet groaned as Jeremiah wrapped the man’s arm around his neck and proceeded to help carry him.

  “Let him go, Jeremiah!” someone shouted.

  “I say hang him here!” another replied.

  Jeremiah ignored the townsfolk, lowered his head once more and pushed forward, distraught that he was now in the midst of the mob. He did not believe Copper Tibet was innocent, but he knew the man did not deserve this. There were rules, but everyone in Melington had decided to ignore them, including the Council.

  The mob moved along, following the path until it opened into a large clearing where a market had once been held. Jeremiah remembered his childhood, when his father had brought him along to the market so they could sell their farm’s produce. It had always been a very colorful and busy place, rich with friendly faces and a New England charm.

  It was a desolate field now, dotted with the skeletons of large maples, a place where the people of Melington would carry out Copper Tibet’s death sentence.

  Jeremiah was led to one of the larger maples, now fully carrying Copper’s weight as the big man drifted in and out of consciousness. Jeremiah’s lips moved in silent prayer for mercy.

  Hands lifted the dying man off Jeremiah and carried him swiftly to the large tree, a rope tossed over one of the thicker branches while a noose was adjusted around Copper’s neck. Jeremiah watched the man’s eyes flutter as he tried to stay awake. He wanted to shout to him to let go, and release himself from the life he was still clinging onto.

  “Copper Tibet, you are hereby sentenced to death for the kidnapping and murder of two children.”

  Jeremiah looked over at Chairman Cole, frowning in disgust as he listened to the man speak. This was not right. This was not justice. Jeremiah couldn’t believe how primal the townsfolk had become.

  These were men and women he had grown up with, people he knew well and invited into his own home. Seeing them now, the snarls on their faces, the words they spat at Copper, made him second guess everything he believed in.

  They wanted a victim. They wanted someone to blame, and the minute they had been given someone who fit the desired profile, they had taken action.

  All of a sudden, Jeremiah felt a rush of guilt. Had he acted on emotions as well? Was an innocent man being hung because of him?

  Jeremiah opened his mouth in protest, but was instantly distracted by Copper’s cry of pain. Three men stood to one side of the tree, heaving on the rope that tightened around the man’s neck. Copper’s big frame slowly rose off the ground, his bare feet sliding and slipping in the snow until he was lifted off the ground. His hands grasped the noose, crying out in anger as he tried to stop it from suffocating him. He thrashed about in the air, somehow finding strength to fight back, forcing two other men to join the others as they resisted the big man’s efforts to break free.

  “I will see you all dead for this!” Copper screamed, his voice suddenly clear, eyes wide as he stared out in fury at the mob before him. Some of them took a few steps back, suddenly frightened by the man’s newfound strength, one or two looking at each other uneasily as Copper screamed and cursed.

  The sight of the big man swinging in the air almost made Jeremiah heave. He closed his eyes and turned away, wishing he could shut Copper’s voice out completely.

  “You hang an innocent man, you fools!” Copper cried out. “Your culprit walks free amongst you, and you hang me? I will see you all burn in hell!”

  Jeremiah decided he had enough. He began to walk away when a hand grasped his arm and stopped him.

  “Where are you going?”

  Jeremiah looked into the eyes of Chairman Cole, the frown on the other man’s face as deep as his determination to see this through, was reflected on Jeremiah’s own face. Jeremiah pulled his arm back forcefully, pointing angrily at the hanging man behind him.

  “This isn’t right, Cole,” Jeremiah hissed.

  “You put him at the top of the list, Jeremiah,” Cole spat. “You will stand here with the rest of us and see this through.”

  “This isn’t justice!” Jeremiah shot. “I never agreed to this!”

  “This wasn’t your choice.”

  “Neither should it have been yours,” Jeremia
h countered. “He should have been delivered to Hartford!”

  “And what then?” Cole asked. “This is the rightful punishment. You wanted justice for your daughter’s death, and I am delivering it.”

  “Do not drag my child into this,” Jeremiah threatened.

  “I will do whatever I must,” Cole spat. “This burden is for all of us to bear.”

  “I will have nothing more to do with this,” Jeremiah said.

  Cole grabbed him by the arm again, and Jeremiah was ready to throw a punch at the man when a loud crack pierced through the night. Both men turned to Copper, their eyes wide in horror as the branch above his head heaved against the weight of his thrashing. The man was getting weaker, but he still had an unbelievable amount of fight left in him.

  He might actually break free, Jeremiah thought.

  “Burn him!”

  Jeremiah’s head snapped around to Cole as the words echoed through the field. The Chairman glanced briefly at him before repeating the order, and Jeremiah Carter watched in horror as several members of the small mob raced to where Copper hung and pressed their torches against his skin.

  Copper’s screams pierced the night. Jeremiah fell to his knees in the thick snow, his eyes wide in disbelief as he watched Copper Tibet burn. He couldn’t decide what was worse, the screaming, or the smell of burning flesh, but he knew that this night would haunt him to the day he died.

  “I curse you all!” Copper screamed. “From the pits of hell I will come for you. Your children will never be safe! Do you hear me? Your children will never be safe!”

  Jeremiah felt the world around him spin and darken. He fell to the ground. The last thing he heard was Copper Tibet’s screams of vengeance.

  Chapter 1

  Melington had changed.

  Well, as much as a small town was expected to change in the span of twenty years.

  It had very little to do with its location, that was for sure. Smack center in the state of Connecticut, the most it ever had to offer was a reprise from the non-stop, stress inducing hassle of the bigger cities. The more one would think about it, the greater the confusion as to what would push any sane human being to even slightly consider moving there.

  But Melington had changed.

  The college had brought the first wave of new outside residents. It was followed by an amusement park and then a bunch of motels.

  The college had been planned, an attempt by the local Council members to bring something more to Melington than just its ‘charm’. No one really knew whose idea the amusement park had been. If one would ask how that came to be, the usual reply was a shrug and a confused frown as the person in question tried to think of a reasonable answer, but at least they acknowledged that Melington had changed.

  Two malls had quickly followed, bringing with them friendly neighborhood fast-food restaurants and a bunch of department stores. Zealous investors found opportunities to cut down forests and build housing compounds with names like ‘Green Meadow’ and ‘Sunny Creek.’

  The sheriff’s department had become the Melington Police Station with a force of thirty strong, justice-seeking men and women. Melington High had added two more buildings, expanded its football field and made the town the home of the ‘Melington Braves’. What was once the town center was now known as Old Melington as newer roads were laid, three story office buildings were built and farmland quickly sold to accommodate the growing need for residential and office development.

  The town grew to a population of twenty thousand, people flocking to it as if they had been told that salvation lay in Melington. What had once been the home to families that had known each other by name, was now a mess of strangers who rarely bumped into the same person twice. RVs had begun racing into the ever growing Melington Park. Gas stations had sprouted up everywhere, and when the highway made its way along the outer town limits, the Council had made sure to include a large billboard advertising Melington as ‘The Place to Be’.

  Melington had changed, and no one knew that better than Alan Carter.

  ***

  On any regular day, the shrill sound of the cell phone alarm was more than enough to wake Alan Carter up. Not that it mattered much. His biological clock was already in the habit of making sure that he was ready to snooze the alarm a second or two after it began its incessant shriek. He couldn’t remember the last time he had opened his eyes to any hour after seven AM.

  His morning routine was simple, a set of rituals that already had a mental checklist and were followed instinctively like clockwork. Nothing changed, ever, and any slight deviation usually resulted in a disastrous continuation of the day, with Alan constantly feeling like something was off. It was a routine that had been drilled into him, something to keep his mind blank in the mornings when his dreams would reach out beyond the realms of sleep and inflict hours of mental suffering.

  The pills helped, but it was the routine that was most effective, and he was careful to stick to it.

  However, this was not one of those regular days, and when the alarm sounded, piercing through his sleep, Alan Carter woke up with a start, the room spinning uncontrollably around him. He had to squeeze his eyes shut against the vertigo, careful not to keep them closed for too long lest the nightmares he had been experiencing found their way into the waking world. He reached out for his cell phone, feeling around for its cold touch and aimlessly swiping at the scream to turn off the shrieking that was echoing in his head.

  His breaths were coming in short, uncontrolled gasps, and he forced his eyes open as the first of many images from his dreams began to flash in front of his closed lids. He tried to control his breathing, forcing himself to inhale deeply, letting the air out of his lungs in slow, measured breaths. His heart pounded like a jackhammer in his chest, making him cringe, and he clenched his fists as he tried to fight through the pain.

  It was not the first time he had woken up like this, and according to his doctors, he was going to experience more of the same for a very long time.

  Alan reached for the small commode next to the bed, grabbing his pills and popping the cap open. With shaking hands, he spilled half the contents out, cursing under his breath. He let most of them drop into his lap, quickly pushing two aside and throwing them into his mouth without bothering to get a cup of water to wash them down with. He could feel his heartbeat slow, and he knew that in a few more minutes, the effects of the pills would quickly kick in.

  Alan Carter dropped back down into bed, eyes open as he stared up at the ceiling and waited for the day to begin.

  ***

  The smell of coffee filled the small kitchen with a gentle aroma of wistfulness. Alan breathed it in with a small smile as he cradled his mug between his hands, letting the heat warm him.

  It was early summer, but that did little to warm him. He usually woke up feeling colder than he was supposed to, shivering through the early hours of the day. He had gotten that from his mother.

  Alan smiled as he looked up and around the kitchen of his childhood home. It was just as he remembered it, albeit a little worn. He sat alone at the kitchen table where his family had spent every morning of his childhood. It had been a tradition his father had insisted on, even on Sundays when all Alan had ever wanted to do was sleep.

  The house stood empty now, a shell of what it had once been. Gone were the gentle sounds of Frank Sinatra echoing from the stereo in the living room. Gone were the sounds of his father hammering away at one new project after the other.

  Twenty years was a long time for anyone to be away from home, and Alan quickly realized that he had missed this house more than he had thought.

  He had returned to Melington the day before, driving in just as the sun was setting, lost in the maze of new roads and unfamiliar buildings. He had expected the town to be different, definitely not the home he and his family had left behind two decades before, but what he had seen on his drive in had made him second guess where he was.

  It had taken him almost an hour to find
his way to the old house. Foster Street was still there, but only a shadow of the bustle it had once been when everything anyone could ever need could be found in the stores that lined the street on both sides.

  As he had parked in the driveway, he had taken in the two- story Colonial with a deep sense of nostalgia that had had him aching for a time when the world had made a lot more sense. He remembered afternoons spent playing on the tire swing with his sister while his father had thought up plans for a tree house that was never to be.

  Alan sipped at his coffee tentatively, briefly looking at the time on his watch to make sure he wasn’t late for his interview. The next few days in Melington were going to be hard, but he didn’t mind.

  He was home.

  From the Journal of Jeremiah Carter.

  Melington. September 16, 1826.

  I fear for my sanity.

  It has been two weeks since Abbey has last spoken a word to me. I wake and find her side of the bed empty. She has begun to wake early.

  Anything I say or do is as smoke to her. She does not see or hear me, rocking back and forth and gazing out into the fields beyond for hours on end. She only rises when it is time to sleep. I cannot blame her. It is not easy for a mother to lose a child.

  Sometimes I wonder. It has been almost a month now, and the search for my daughter has ceased completely. The Council members believe she is lost. It is cold when the sun sets, and she was never one to cope with low temperatures.

  My God, I speak as if she were dead. But what use is there for false hope and prayers? None. I know this, and my Abbey knows this.

  Sometimes I wonder when our sons will carry our stiff bodies down to the old maple tree and bury us side by side, with a third grave for the lost body of Allison. A hole is left where our daughter and her laughter once made the brightness of the sun seem dull.