Read Online Agonal Breath (The Deadseer Chronicles Book 1) by Richard Estep - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Richard Estep
Tags: Paranormal Fiction
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outside onto the balcony, which stretched off into the distance to the left and right of me. At regular intervals, there were rooms that looked like they were exact duplicates of mine. The balcony had a waist-high parapet made of brick. Beyond that, I could see a landscape composed of trees and rolling hills for as far as my eye could see. A tiny sliver of moon was riding high in the sky, casting a small amount of light down onto a lawn formed mostly of weeds and overgrown, out-of-control wild grass.
The night was warm, and I could see that the stars were out, the speckled band of the Milky Way arching high above the treetops. Now that was a Colorado mountain sky, I’d know it anywhere. From somewhere up above me there came another barking cough, and then several more in various different directions. Taking a firm grip on the brick parapet with both hands, I leaned out and craned my neck to look upwards. There were five or six floors reaching up into the night, and from the look of them, all of their rooms were similar (if not identical) to the one I’d just woken up in. Reversing my position and looking downward, I could see one ground floor beneath me, but the construction was different to the others – it contained several sets of double doors, for starters, lots of glazed windows, and what looked like a main entrance, complete with a porch and two support pillars.
For a moment, I wondered just exactly what this place was. I mean, it was obvious that it was a healthcare facility of some kind, but it was like nothing I was used to seeing around here. I’d been to Boulder Community Hospital to get my tonsils taken out when I was a lot younger, but that had been all plexiglass and steel, with a warm and friendly interior that made you feel just a little bit comfortable and secure. Not this place, though. I hadn’t been here that long, but this place felt cold and impersonal to me, the brick and stone and concrete generating a forbidding vibe that I really didn’t like.
Before you come down too hard on me and thinking I’m a total idiot, please remember that I was dreaming, OK? Your sense of logic doesn’t work properly in the dream state. Things that would seem perfectly obvious in the light of day can appear very much less so when you’re asleep. I walked slowly along the length of the balcony, looking curiously into each dark opening that I passed. Inside the shadowy recesses of each one was the very same thing, a twin-sized bed with a wrought-iron bedstead. My night vision was getting better, and I could just about make out the lumps and bumps under the pristine white sheets, some of them moving as the body beneath shifted position.
Coughing accompanied me along the entire journey. I passed maybe nine or ten rooms before I finally came to a door which opened onto a central stairwell. A glass-fronted cabinet was mounted at waist-height on the wall, and in it was a neatly-coiled length of white fire hose. And suddenly it hit me; because right there, stenciled in red lettering on the glass door, was the name of the institution.
I was at Long Brook Sanatorium.
At the end of the hall was a small restroom, little more than a couple of stalls, a sink, and a urinal. I pushed my way inside, wary of running into any other nocturnal visitor wanting to use the restroom, and was relieved to find it deserted. On one wall, adjacent to the small window, was a half-length mirror. I stood in front of it. What I saw made my eyes grow wide in surprise.
After the initial shock wore off, I studied my reflection in the shadowy depths of the glass.
Looking back at me was the face of a much younger boy, maybe ten or eleven years old. He – I – was wearing flannel pajamas. Plastered with sweat across my forehead, I saw that my hair was dark brown, mussed and tousled because I’d just woken up from sleep, and my frame was a lot skinnier than I was accustomed to.
Most worrying of all was the color of my skin, though.
The night was warm, and I could see that the stars were out, the speckled band of the Milky Way arching high above the treetops. Now that was a Colorado mountain sky, I’d know it anywhere. From somewhere up above me there came another barking cough, and then several more in various different directions. Taking a firm grip on the brick parapet with both hands, I leaned out and craned my neck to look upwards. There were five or six floors reaching up into the night, and from the look of them, all of their rooms were similar (if not identical) to the one I’d just woken up in. Reversing my position and looking downward, I could see one ground floor beneath me, but the construction was different to the others – it contained several sets of double doors, for starters, lots of glazed windows, and what looked like a main entrance, complete with a porch and two support pillars.
For a moment, I wondered just exactly what this place was. I mean, it was obvious that it was a healthcare facility of some kind, but it was like nothing I was used to seeing around here. I’d been to Boulder Community Hospital to get my tonsils taken out when I was a lot younger, but that had been all plexiglass and steel, with a warm and friendly interior that made you feel just a little bit comfortable and secure. Not this place, though. I hadn’t been here that long, but this place felt cold and impersonal to me, the brick and stone and concrete generating a forbidding vibe that I really didn’t like.
Before you come down too hard on me and thinking I’m a total idiot, please remember that I was dreaming, OK? Your sense of logic doesn’t work properly in the dream state. Things that would seem perfectly obvious in the light of day can appear very much less so when you’re asleep. I walked slowly along the length of the balcony, looking curiously into each dark opening that I passed. Inside the shadowy recesses of each one was the very same thing, a twin-sized bed with a wrought-iron bedstead. My night vision was getting better, and I could just about make out the lumps and bumps under the pristine white sheets, some of them moving as the body beneath shifted position.
Coughing accompanied me along the entire journey. I passed maybe nine or ten rooms before I finally came to a door which opened onto a central stairwell. A glass-fronted cabinet was mounted at waist-height on the wall, and in it was a neatly-coiled length of white fire hose. And suddenly it hit me; because right there, stenciled in red lettering on the glass door, was the name of the institution.
I was at Long Brook Sanatorium.
At the end of the hall was a small restroom, little more than a couple of stalls, a sink, and a urinal. I pushed my way inside, wary of running into any other nocturnal visitor wanting to use the restroom, and was relieved to find it deserted. On one wall, adjacent to the small window, was a half-length mirror. I stood in front of it. What I saw made my eyes grow wide in surprise.
After the initial shock wore off, I studied my reflection in the shadowy depths of the glass.
Looking back at me was the face of a much younger boy, maybe ten or eleven years old. He – I – was wearing flannel pajamas. Plastered with sweat across my forehead, I saw that my hair was dark brown, mussed and tousled because I’d just woken up from sleep, and my frame was a lot skinnier than I was accustomed to.
Most worrying of all was the color of my skin, though.
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