BEDLAM LOST by Chris Tortora

Author:Chris Tortora
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, thriller, suspense, paranormal, horror, dark, supernatural, female protagonist, small town, Alaska, LOST, Paranormal, Urban, Fantasy, Remote Town, Horror, Survival Horror, Adventure, Psychological Thriller, Amazon Kindle, literature, reading, E-Book, Book, Books
Publisher: EDGE-Lite (an imprint of Hades Publications, Inc.)
Published: 2015-10-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

A Family Video

Hank exited the stairwell on the fourth floor.

He remembered that after the busy summer season Ophy had decided she was going to paint the exterior of the hotel and do a complete remodel of the top floor. Everything around him was in construction phase, the walls weren’t painted, the windows were covered in plastic, and sawhorses stood like grazing cattle. The rooms were open but he couldn’t see because plastic vapor barrier hung from the footers forming a labyrinth of construction.

Per his training, Hank had checked each floor on his way up, but he was starting to wonder if maybe he’d missed the naked man on one of the lower floors, and thought about double backing. That’s when he heard the loud compression sound, PFTTT… PFTTT… PFTTT.

Four six-inch nails, long enough to pierce his skull, pounded through the drywall inches from his head.

He had the right floor.

A voice emerged from the labyrinth. “Peek-a-boo, Hank, do you see me?”

Hank growled back, “Come out with your hands where I can see them.”

No answer.

Walking further into the naked man’s inner sanctum, he heard a scream. And not just any scream. It belonged to his wife. Sarah…! A wave of nausea assaulted him. This was a fear far worse than when he’d encountered Barnabus back in the alley. He could hear his wife crying, and then talking, but Hank was too far away to make out any words.

He closed in on the sounds of his wife weeping, every muscle straining to run to her side but training keeping his eyes on every gap in the wall, his long strides measured and sure despite the panic surging in his chest. Gun leading the way, finger tight on the trigger, the sounds led him to an unfinished room. Paint cans were stacked on the floor, discarded tools lay everywhere, and on the back wall sat a television set and old VCR on boards haphazardly strewn across two sawhorses. Hank had entered the room as the video tape finished and went to static. The static roared.

The video reached the end of its reel and the VCR automatically began to rewind. Hank realized it wasn’t his wife he had heard but whoever was on the tape. When the VHS got back to the beginning, it began to play again; an endless loop.

Hank took a quick glance around to see if he was being watched but saw only plastic vapor barrier gently blowing in a breeze from a nearby open window.

He turned back to the image shifting to life on the television. The image was of the back end of a yellow oversized Cadillac. The caddy was parked in an open field that seemed somehow familiar to Hank but he couldn’t quite place it. The car he knew, the Cadillac’s owner was a fisherman normally out to sea a few weeks at a time. The Caddy’s trunk had been left open. It was the kind of trunk you could fit a dozen clowns inside.

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