Read Online Manchester House by Donald Allen Kirch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donald Allen Kirch
Ads: Link
answer.
Wells spotted his patrolman looking toward the mansion’s staircase. The young man’s hand went toward his gun’s handle. Something was terrifying the man.
“What’s the matter, son?” Wells swallowed hard and joined his fellow law officer.
Both Wells and his partner finally found Kyle Peters. He was a living skeleton.
“Sweet Jesus on a twisted crutch,” the young patrolman stated as he made the sign of the cross.
Kyle Peters was lying on the floor near the bottom of the staircase in a pile of his own excrement. Bloated flies buzzed about the pale man, feasting off both him and his remains. Kyle was looking up at the ceiling, fighting for each breath he was taking. A hollow gurgling sound was heard rising in his mouth, letting both Wells and his partner know of the agony he was in.
“He’s still alive,” the patrolman said, amazed.
“Barely.”
Wells bent down to inspect the horrid sight of Manchester House’s latest victim, hoping to whatever tired god who cared, that this man was the last body he would have to carry out of this cursed place. Wells prayed, but he knew that it would do no good. There would be more bodies, of that he was sure.
“He won’t be alive for long,” Wells stated, fighting back the horrid smell rising up from Kyle Peters’ body.
“Shouldn’t we do something for him, Lieutenant?”
Wells paused, looking at the horrible victim. “Pray for him.”
In one hand, Kyle Peters was carrying the same butcher knife he had used to kill his wife-this would later be proven by the County Coroner when compared with the wounds on Cindy’s body. Both officers were scared half to death as they heard the telephone ring. The sound of buzzing flies was almost deafening.
“What happened here?” Wells asked.
The patrolman walked away from Kyle, inspecting the rest of the house. “My mother says that this house sits on the Gates of Hell. That the original owner went mad after making a deal with the devil.”
“Superstition, son.” It was hard to make the argument over a living corpse.
“I&am&a&happy&man&” Kyle Peters whispered.
With a painful spasm, Kyle breathed his last breath, moving his head only far enough to open his eyes, looking at Wells. Up till now, the unfortunate man’s eyes had remained closed.
Wells panicked, jolting back in surprise at what he saw.
Kyle Peters’ eyes were completely red, and Wells soon noticed his pupils were no longer circular, they seemed to have a spiral in them, making them look alien. Kyle’s body quivered one last time. His battle was over. He was dead.
Wells, however, would never forget the eyes.
It would not be the last time that eyes such as these would look up at him, wondering, questioning, and never blinking.
* * *
Teresa’s hands froze on the walls of the mansion, trying their best to pick up all the information she had been reading about both Kyle and Cindy. There was nothing more for the house to offer. The only other thing she could sense was that the young patrolman quit the force shortly after his encounter with the house. He killed himself two months later. Lt. Wells had attended his funeral.
:No one leaves my sphere of influence, child. I am all&here!:
Holzer moved forward from the corner of the staircase, noticing a small smear on the floorboards at the base of the stairs. He was studying Teresa’s face, still locked in a trance; Holzer saw her eyes flash open and heard her gasping with great concern.
Pulling her hands away from the banisters of the staircase, Teresa was surprised to notice that she was no longer near the kitchen. Her exploring into the home’s past had caused her to walk in her visions, and the rest of her team had decided to follow. All were transfixed on her every move.
Teresa was rather shaken up. The rest of the team came rushing to her aide, all except Sinclair, who was too fascinated in what was going on to leave his camera. He had documented everything.
“Teresa?” Miranda
Wells spotted his patrolman looking toward the mansion’s staircase. The young man’s hand went toward his gun’s handle. Something was terrifying the man.
“What’s the matter, son?” Wells swallowed hard and joined his fellow law officer.
Both Wells and his partner finally found Kyle Peters. He was a living skeleton.
“Sweet Jesus on a twisted crutch,” the young patrolman stated as he made the sign of the cross.
Kyle Peters was lying on the floor near the bottom of the staircase in a pile of his own excrement. Bloated flies buzzed about the pale man, feasting off both him and his remains. Kyle was looking up at the ceiling, fighting for each breath he was taking. A hollow gurgling sound was heard rising in his mouth, letting both Wells and his partner know of the agony he was in.
“He’s still alive,” the patrolman said, amazed.
“Barely.”
Wells bent down to inspect the horrid sight of Manchester House’s latest victim, hoping to whatever tired god who cared, that this man was the last body he would have to carry out of this cursed place. Wells prayed, but he knew that it would do no good. There would be more bodies, of that he was sure.
“He won’t be alive for long,” Wells stated, fighting back the horrid smell rising up from Kyle Peters’ body.
“Shouldn’t we do something for him, Lieutenant?”
Wells paused, looking at the horrible victim. “Pray for him.”
In one hand, Kyle Peters was carrying the same butcher knife he had used to kill his wife-this would later be proven by the County Coroner when compared with the wounds on Cindy’s body. Both officers were scared half to death as they heard the telephone ring. The sound of buzzing flies was almost deafening.
“What happened here?” Wells asked.
The patrolman walked away from Kyle, inspecting the rest of the house. “My mother says that this house sits on the Gates of Hell. That the original owner went mad after making a deal with the devil.”
“Superstition, son.” It was hard to make the argument over a living corpse.
“I&am&a&happy&man&” Kyle Peters whispered.
With a painful spasm, Kyle breathed his last breath, moving his head only far enough to open his eyes, looking at Wells. Up till now, the unfortunate man’s eyes had remained closed.
Wells panicked, jolting back in surprise at what he saw.
Kyle Peters’ eyes were completely red, and Wells soon noticed his pupils were no longer circular, they seemed to have a spiral in them, making them look alien. Kyle’s body quivered one last time. His battle was over. He was dead.
Wells, however, would never forget the eyes.
It would not be the last time that eyes such as these would look up at him, wondering, questioning, and never blinking.
* * *
Teresa’s hands froze on the walls of the mansion, trying their best to pick up all the information she had been reading about both Kyle and Cindy. There was nothing more for the house to offer. The only other thing she could sense was that the young patrolman quit the force shortly after his encounter with the house. He killed himself two months later. Lt. Wells had attended his funeral.
:No one leaves my sphere of influence, child. I am all&here!:
Holzer moved forward from the corner of the staircase, noticing a small smear on the floorboards at the base of the stairs. He was studying Teresa’s face, still locked in a trance; Holzer saw her eyes flash open and heard her gasping with great concern.
Pulling her hands away from the banisters of the staircase, Teresa was surprised to notice that she was no longer near the kitchen. Her exploring into the home’s past had caused her to walk in her visions, and the rest of her team had decided to follow. All were transfixed on her every move.
Teresa was rather shaken up. The rest of the team came rushing to her aide, all except Sinclair, who was too fascinated in what was going on to leave his camera. He had documented everything.
“Teresa?” Miranda
Similar Books
