The Hunted by Mike Dellosso

Author:Mike Dellosso [Dellosso, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Christian, USA
ISBN: 9781599799704
Google: O5rwAgAAQBAJ
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 2976991
Publisher: Realms
Published: 2008-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

OE STEERED INTO one of the five parking spots next to the Dark Hills Public Library, shut off the engine, and got out of his truck. The building really wasn't much of a library. It was located in an old house, one of the oldest in town, and shared the building with the historical society. The century-old building was a two-story gray, stone colonial that sat atop a small green slope midway down West High Street and, like most of the homes in Dark Hills, was in desperate need of repair. The blue paint on the windows and front door was faded and peeling from baking in the sun for the past century. The shutters dangled from the window frames like autumn leaves ready to release their grip and blow away. Some clung to one hinge; others sagged and drooped, submitting to the forces of gravity. The roof was the worst, though. Decades ago, the old slate had been replaced with shingles, and now the shingles were at the end of their lifespan. Some flapped in the breeze, some curled like burnt paper, and some hung on by one nail, dangling precariously. Over the years, the foundation had shifted, giving the house an odd shape, almost as if the whole structure was frowning, begging to be renovated.

The building looked the same as it did fifteen years ago. As a kid it had reminded Joe of a haunted house where ghouls and specters hid in every shadow, waiting for the unsuspecting bookworm to stumble upon them. Being no bookworm and therefore avoiding the library like an eight-foot ogre with an appetite for amphibians, he'd considered himself safe.

Joe rounded the house on the narrow concrete walkway and stepped onto the wood-plank porch. The porch moaned under his weight, and more than one board sagged when he stepped on it. Rotted through and through. He jiggled the brass doorknob-which was loose-and pushed open the door, half expecting said giant ogre in platform boots to welcome him and offer a snack of newt's eyes and salamander toes.

Thankful the library housed no super-sized fiend, he entered and looked around. The interior was not much better than the dilapidated exterior. The wide-planked, pine floorboards were rough and gray; the walls were an odd off-white, muted by years of dust and road dirt that had made its way through the front door and open windows in the summer; and the plaster ceiling was cracked in so many places it was beginning to look like a road map.

The downstairs housed the library. There was a desk to the left, a small wooden table with three uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs to the right, and the rest of the main room was occupied by overstuffed, dusty bookcases arranged in narrow aisles.

There were no smoke alarms, at least not any in sight, no emergency lights, no exit signs, no overhead sprinklers, and no visible fire extinguisher. A building inspector would find himself in dire need of a Valium within seconds of beginning his examination.

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