Gateways: A Novel of Supernatural Demon Horror (Demon Blood Book 2) by Tim Meyer

Author:Tim Meyer [Meyer, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-02-24T22:00:00+00:00

6

OWEN BACKED OUT OF the room, nearly losing his balance. His hand gripped the door frame, preventing him from falling on his ass. Barely aware of his own actions, Owen's jaw dropped open, wide enough to eat a fist if someone had been there to feed him one.

What happened here? he asked himself.

No rational thoughts explained what he had walked into. It was chaos. A veteran detective would have had trouble piecing together the event. A lot of blood decorated walls. Bodies were strewn across the floor; although, not all were intact. Far from it. Deciphering which parts belonged to which corpse would be difficult. Bloody appendages littered the floor like landfill trash. The walls were smeared with crimson symbols, some psychopath's cryptic message.

Owen felt numb from the waist down. His stomach turned. Flashbacks of Nebraska came back to him, as they so often did. He did his best to cast them aside, making room for new nightmares.

Then, he heard Grace scream again.

His temporary paralysis broke and he took off running down the hallway, as fast as his legs could carry him. He bounded down the stairs, determined to reach the bottom without wasting a single second. He followed his new friend's bloodcurdling cries. Holding the lamp out in front of him, Owen found the door leading to the basement.

He heard the undead woman sniffling between loud, heart-wrenching outbursts.

“Grace!” Owen called down to her.

She replied with more desperate cries.

Owen descended the staircase. The stair-speak could not be heard over Grace's sobs.

“Grace?” Owen called.

He found the bottom of the stairs, nearly shrieked when he held the lantern in front of him, illuminating the dank, mildew-scented basement.

A woman with long black hair had been tacked to the concrete wall, a nail in each hand, one through both feet. A broken broomstick penetrated her chest. The disturbing scene reminded Owen of the cross his mother hung in the kitchen, the one displaying Jesus in his iconic pose. The woman looked like that, only—unlike Jesus—someone had cut the poor girl's stomach open and peeled back her skin, placing her innards on display for all to see. Her intestines and other inner parts dangled from the gory cavity like some twisted assemblage of mangled dinner meats. A symbol had been carved into her forehead, one Owen didn't recognize. If he had the power to avert his eyes, he would have noticed Grace ogling the cadaver, her face tightly scrunched, tears pouring down her smooth cheeks. Owen nearly vomited, tasting acid in the back of his throat. The dead woman's skin had shriveled, already graying. Owen mustered the strength to raise the lamp, noticing something had been carved into the poor woman's crucified body. A concise message had been cut into her chest.

WE HAVE YOUR DADDY, the words read. DON'T LOOK FOR HIM.

On the floor, below the dead woman, Owen noticed a small token glimmering at him. Cautiously, expecting the body to suddenly come back to life, he approached. Bending down, he squinted. “What the hell...” Owen muttered, picking the token up off the floor.

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