Read Online Riser (Teen Horror/Science Fiction) (Book #1 in The Riser Saga) ((Volume 1)) by Becca C. Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Becca C. Smith
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Family, Horror, Twilight, Zombie, COmic, teen, undead, Ghost, writer, secrets, Smith, Dead, necromancer, Tween, Potter, tv, Little, Becca, Whisperer, hole, swirling, harry
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I had fallen asleep and this was the worst nightmare I’d ever had, or something very unexplainable and weird was going on.
THUMP!
I cringed in pain and when I opened my eyes, my mom and I were in an empty room. “Mom? What is going on?”
She wouldn’t answer me. My brain was squeezing with agony. I must have been having some kind of seizure and it was causing this insane delusion.
“I wanted to show you before it’s too late,” Mom spoke to me and her eyes met mine. There was a kind of desperateness to her expression I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Before what’s too late?”
THUMP!
“Make it stop!” I cried out from the torment and when I opened my eyes Mom and I were in the most extravagant mansion I had ever seen. Almost every item from the stairway, to the tables, chairs, even the frames on the wall were all gold. It was like stepping into Fort Knox, melted down and molded into a house.
“Where is this place?”
Mom put her finger on her lips to quiet me and pointed.
That’s when I noticed a very pregnant version of my mom standing in front of Vice President Geoffrey Turner and his wife, Roberta. Uh oh. She was a Feline. A genuine cat lady. I had only heard about Felines in history class. Back in the early two-thousands (before Age-pro) women and men used to have surgeries to literally lift their skin off their skulls and pull it back to get rid of their wrinkles and sags. Gross. As a result the more they did it the less human they looked until eventually they started to resemble cats, hence the term Felines. On top of that they’d inject themselves with some kind of paralysis drug to freeze their faces in place. It was a horrendous sight; I had only seen pictures, but standing there in front of this woman with her long black hair pulled back tightly in a bun, midnight colored eyes and shiny-stretched-back alabaster skin, made me cringe.
Looking at mom was a relief to the eyes, in her early thirties, fresh, vibrant, beautiful. The complete opposite of a Feline. Mom had obviously started her Age-pro by then and her face was timid and scared. She was standing next to a man and my heart nearly jumped out of my body. I was positive with every fiber of my soul that it was my father. He had my eyes and my lips. I found that I nearly choked from the emotion at seeing him.
The scene was surreal, as if watching it on a holo-tv and hitting pause. All four figures were frozen in time like we had stepped into a three-dimensional photograph.
This was so confusing, why was my mom talking to the Vice President? What were they doing in his mansion? And then it hit me…
“This is your memory.”
Mom reached out and touched my face, nodding once. “I know about your gift.”
My eyes widened. “You what?”
“I need to show you everything I know.”
“But why now?” I asked. Still trying to figure out what was happening.
“Just watch.”
It was like she hit play. The four figures started moving.
WHACK! Goeffrey Turner slapped my father so hard, he actually fell backwards.
“HOW COULD YOU FRANKLIN?! After all these years?!” Turner roared in outrage.
I turned to the ghostly image of my mother to see her reaction, but she just watched the scene in front of her, expressionless. As if these were events she had played over and over in her mind, she had become numb to them.
“I LOVE HER!” My father screamed back. “AND I LOVE THE BABY SHE’S CARRYING!” He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at Turner pleadingly, “She’s your grandchild, father. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
What? Did he just call Vice President Turner his father?
My mom from the past began to cry hysterically, holding her swollen belly, trying to regain her self-control. My father immediately supported her with his arms, keeping her steady.
“She’s trash, Franklin, look what she did to you?! You know what must be done,” Roberta said quietly, but far more deadly than Turner’s slap to the face.
My father’s eyes
THUMP!
I cringed in pain and when I opened my eyes, my mom and I were in an empty room. “Mom? What is going on?”
She wouldn’t answer me. My brain was squeezing with agony. I must have been having some kind of seizure and it was causing this insane delusion.
“I wanted to show you before it’s too late,” Mom spoke to me and her eyes met mine. There was a kind of desperateness to her expression I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“Before what’s too late?”
THUMP!
“Make it stop!” I cried out from the torment and when I opened my eyes Mom and I were in the most extravagant mansion I had ever seen. Almost every item from the stairway, to the tables, chairs, even the frames on the wall were all gold. It was like stepping into Fort Knox, melted down and molded into a house.
“Where is this place?”
Mom put her finger on her lips to quiet me and pointed.
That’s when I noticed a very pregnant version of my mom standing in front of Vice President Geoffrey Turner and his wife, Roberta. Uh oh. She was a Feline. A genuine cat lady. I had only heard about Felines in history class. Back in the early two-thousands (before Age-pro) women and men used to have surgeries to literally lift their skin off their skulls and pull it back to get rid of their wrinkles and sags. Gross. As a result the more they did it the less human they looked until eventually they started to resemble cats, hence the term Felines. On top of that they’d inject themselves with some kind of paralysis drug to freeze their faces in place. It was a horrendous sight; I had only seen pictures, but standing there in front of this woman with her long black hair pulled back tightly in a bun, midnight colored eyes and shiny-stretched-back alabaster skin, made me cringe.
Looking at mom was a relief to the eyes, in her early thirties, fresh, vibrant, beautiful. The complete opposite of a Feline. Mom had obviously started her Age-pro by then and her face was timid and scared. She was standing next to a man and my heart nearly jumped out of my body. I was positive with every fiber of my soul that it was my father. He had my eyes and my lips. I found that I nearly choked from the emotion at seeing him.
The scene was surreal, as if watching it on a holo-tv and hitting pause. All four figures were frozen in time like we had stepped into a three-dimensional photograph.
This was so confusing, why was my mom talking to the Vice President? What were they doing in his mansion? And then it hit me…
“This is your memory.”
Mom reached out and touched my face, nodding once. “I know about your gift.”
My eyes widened. “You what?”
“I need to show you everything I know.”
“But why now?” I asked. Still trying to figure out what was happening.
“Just watch.”
It was like she hit play. The four figures started moving.
WHACK! Goeffrey Turner slapped my father so hard, he actually fell backwards.
“HOW COULD YOU FRANKLIN?! After all these years?!” Turner roared in outrage.
I turned to the ghostly image of my mother to see her reaction, but she just watched the scene in front of her, expressionless. As if these were events she had played over and over in her mind, she had become numb to them.
“I LOVE HER!” My father screamed back. “AND I LOVE THE BABY SHE’S CARRYING!” He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at Turner pleadingly, “She’s your grandchild, father. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
What? Did he just call Vice President Turner his father?
My mom from the past began to cry hysterically, holding her swollen belly, trying to regain her self-control. My father immediately supported her with his arms, keeping her steady.
“She’s trash, Franklin, look what she did to you?! You know what must be done,” Roberta said quietly, but far more deadly than Turner’s slap to the face.
My father’s eyes
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