Darkside Blues by Ambrose Ibsen

Author:Ambrose Ibsen
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Mystery, Horror, Thriller
Published: 2017-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

12

It'd been more than twenty years since Harlan Ulrich had set foot in Moorlake, Ohio. The sleepy college town was a mere half hour away, separated from Toledo by long stretches of empty highway and acres of farmland that were now caked in snow and ice. There was a state university there and a bustling assortment of businesses downtown where the student body spent long nights drinking and partying.

Would that his visit was such a pleasant errand as that. He was speeding down the lonesome highway, eyes peeled for cops, in the hopes of visiting a psychic. The Passat's tires thrummed against the asphalt, the mile markers flashing past as he reached into his memory and tried to recall the best route into town. Madame Zarnubius, a psychic and self-professed clairvoyant, ran a consultation business out of her home in Moorlake, and though the hour was ungodly, he prayed the woman would see him. He'd pay whatever she wished so long as she could provide some sort of legitimate insight into the problem he was now faced with.

Holding his breath, he looked into his backseat.

Only Beardsley was there, peeking out of the window.

Thank God, he thought. Since bolting from the Internet cafe, there'd been no sign of Vivian. Though he couldn't be one-hundred percent sure, he felt reasonably confident that he'd built enough distance between himself and the shambling spirit to allow for some breathing room. Tapping nervously at the steering wheel, Ulrich came upon a lone stoplight, the red reflecting eerily off of the wet road.

He'd never dealt with a psychic before, had never sought out or put much stock into their services. But times were desperate and he found himself in need of an expert. If Madame Zarnubius was even remotely as attuned to the world of the dead as she claimed, then perhaps she'd be able to help.

Otherwise he was out of luck until morning.

The light changed and he was moving again, the car skittering as he accelerated. He was entering town now, the outline of a car dealership coming into view on his right, then a bank, a Burger King, a laundromat on the left. Fumbling with his notebook, he peered down at the harsh scrawl he'd taken down and referenced her address. The psychic's home was on Waterman Street. He was unsure precisely where that was, but after rounding a corner and passing several rows of dormitories, he stumbled upon a squat little house with a neon sign mounted in its front window advertising love potions and palm readings.

This was the place. Rolling to a stop in the driveway behind an aged black Buick, Ulrich leaned forward and looked for signs of occupancy. It was nearing 5 AM, but a few lights remained on within the abode. He looked down again at his notes, wondered if he shouldn't call her instead. No, he quickly decided. She wouldn't pick up, not at this hour. But if I go up to the door and knock, then...

Leaving the key in the ignition, Ulrich gave the cat a nod and stepped out.

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