Read Online The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) by R. Scott VanKirk - Free Book Online
Authors: R. Scott VanKirk
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of the room.
He was so angry he barely gave a thought to the golden harp as he passed it. The second time he had come back to the house, he had found it perfectly whole again, sitting in a pile of gold glitter. This time though, there was no gold paint on it, just the reddish brown stain that had been hidden underneath the gold. Every time he saw it, he contemplated destroying it again, but so far hadn't worked up the nerve. He hadn't even touched it. He automatically gave the hell harp a wide berth and headed for the secret door, which lead to the kitchen.
The space where the piano had stood was not empty. Sending it off to be restored was one of the first things Max had done at the house. It wouldn’t be finished for several months and would cost him tens of thousands of dollars, but it was a bargain no matter the cost.
He left Old Bone behind, cradled in its bra on top of a comfy nest of blankets, facing the blank television. The lidless, cataract-filled eyes followed Max for as long as they could. When Max disappeared from sight, the eyes looked around the room, and seemingly resigned, they finally just rested on the blank television.
Max came back into the room a short time later with a gin and tonic in his hand. He noticed the blank TV screen. “Oh, sorry, Old Bone, I didn't mean to leave you here in the dark.” He turned the TV back on and quickly switched channels. “The Vampire Diaries should be coming on soon. I know it's your favorite.” He studied the head now watching the television. Max fancied that the fresh air, intellectual stimulation, and frequent water misting he gave it had Old Bone looking somewhat healthier. It seemed... less brittle somehow, perhaps more filled out?
Max tossed himself down on the luxurious leather of the expensive couch that now sat in front of the TV and next to the card table that sported the toolbox containing the skull. Ignoring the television, he gave a disgusted look at the mangled chair rail he had been working on and then looked around the room. In the last couple of weeks, it had gone from a complete disaster zone to a total disaster zone. He had hired a company, at quite a large cost, to come out, clean up the entire house, and remove the areas of moldering carpeting or curling parquet, except for the living room. He made that room off limits because he didn't want anyone to see the hole in the floor filled with the murky water and the coffin. The news of it would spread like wildfire, and he just didn't need that sort of publicity.
He'd also gotten electricians out to restore power to the mansion, install or repair some lights, and overall reduce the odds that the place would burn down if he plugged in a toaster. It had taken a couple of days to get the workers here because it seemed that no one could find the place until Max met them in town and led them to the house. Once here, they did their job, but they refused to make any assurances that the ancient wiring in the walls wouldn't burst into flame. Living dangerously, he had placed floor lamps in all the downstairs rooms. They lit up the place—sort of. The lamps did cast considerable light, but they also highlighted the shabbiness of the place and seemed to create dozens of dark shadows. Sometimes, he felt that something was watching him from those shadows.
Meanwhile, Max was collecting a large assortment of tools. He'd had to travel quite a distance to find them all.
During those two weeks, with all their problems, he had felt himself bonding even more closely with the house. It was odd. A lot of strange and disturbing things happened in this house. He often heard footsteps or faint voices when no one was around. Tools went missing or were scattered around when the workers returned in the morning. Ladders got pushed over, and there were a lot of unexplainable accidents. This house was undoubtedly haunted, but it didn't disturb Max as much as he would have expected. The thought of throwing it in Lucian's
He was so angry he barely gave a thought to the golden harp as he passed it. The second time he had come back to the house, he had found it perfectly whole again, sitting in a pile of gold glitter. This time though, there was no gold paint on it, just the reddish brown stain that had been hidden underneath the gold. Every time he saw it, he contemplated destroying it again, but so far hadn't worked up the nerve. He hadn't even touched it. He automatically gave the hell harp a wide berth and headed for the secret door, which lead to the kitchen.
The space where the piano had stood was not empty. Sending it off to be restored was one of the first things Max had done at the house. It wouldn’t be finished for several months and would cost him tens of thousands of dollars, but it was a bargain no matter the cost.
He left Old Bone behind, cradled in its bra on top of a comfy nest of blankets, facing the blank television. The lidless, cataract-filled eyes followed Max for as long as they could. When Max disappeared from sight, the eyes looked around the room, and seemingly resigned, they finally just rested on the blank television.
Max came back into the room a short time later with a gin and tonic in his hand. He noticed the blank TV screen. “Oh, sorry, Old Bone, I didn't mean to leave you here in the dark.” He turned the TV back on and quickly switched channels. “The Vampire Diaries should be coming on soon. I know it's your favorite.” He studied the head now watching the television. Max fancied that the fresh air, intellectual stimulation, and frequent water misting he gave it had Old Bone looking somewhat healthier. It seemed... less brittle somehow, perhaps more filled out?
Max tossed himself down on the luxurious leather of the expensive couch that now sat in front of the TV and next to the card table that sported the toolbox containing the skull. Ignoring the television, he gave a disgusted look at the mangled chair rail he had been working on and then looked around the room. In the last couple of weeks, it had gone from a complete disaster zone to a total disaster zone. He had hired a company, at quite a large cost, to come out, clean up the entire house, and remove the areas of moldering carpeting or curling parquet, except for the living room. He made that room off limits because he didn't want anyone to see the hole in the floor filled with the murky water and the coffin. The news of it would spread like wildfire, and he just didn't need that sort of publicity.
He'd also gotten electricians out to restore power to the mansion, install or repair some lights, and overall reduce the odds that the place would burn down if he plugged in a toaster. It had taken a couple of days to get the workers here because it seemed that no one could find the place until Max met them in town and led them to the house. Once here, they did their job, but they refused to make any assurances that the ancient wiring in the walls wouldn't burst into flame. Living dangerously, he had placed floor lamps in all the downstairs rooms. They lit up the place—sort of. The lamps did cast considerable light, but they also highlighted the shabbiness of the place and seemed to create dozens of dark shadows. Sometimes, he felt that something was watching him from those shadows.
Meanwhile, Max was collecting a large assortment of tools. He'd had to travel quite a distance to find them all.
During those two weeks, with all their problems, he had felt himself bonding even more closely with the house. It was odd. A lot of strange and disturbing things happened in this house. He often heard footsteps or faint voices when no one was around. Tools went missing or were scattered around when the workers returned in the morning. Ladders got pushed over, and there were a lot of unexplainable accidents. This house was undoubtedly haunted, but it didn't disturb Max as much as he would have expected. The thought of throwing it in Lucian's
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