The Withering (House of Souls Book 3) by Ambrose Ibsen

Author:Ambrose Ibsen [Ibsen, Ambrose]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-24T22:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

The salesman spread out the pamphlet before me, daintily indicating the various tiers of security product with occasional waggles of his well-trimmed brows. He was a young man, easily fifteen years my junior, and dressed in a tailored black suit with royal purple tie. His every word was fraught with gesticulation, and he spoke in hushed tones as though Charlemagne dozing in the next room might hear and take exception to his sales pitch.

I slumped at the kitchen table over a cup of afternoon coffee, still draped in wrinkled pajamas, and promptly moved to the rightmost of the listed options—the one with the most zeroes behind the cost. “Just give me the whole enchilada.” I had called acquaintances of mine throughout town that morning, seeking their advice and referrals on local home security outfits, and Vigilance Inc. had been the most common recommendation. Before the young salesman could even pull into my drive in his Lexus and carry in his attache of impressively-printed literature, I'd decided not to spare any expense. I was determined to pursue the most impressive security set-up available—to turn my home into Fort Knox.

The young man smiled—laughed, even, as he began doing mental math to figure out how much commission he'd be earning from so extortionate a sale—and smoothed out his tie. “Now, that's a very fine choice. You get the whole kit n' caboodle—corner to corner alarm, four high definition cameras, window and entry sensors, 24-hour support and free installation.” Whipping a Parker ballpoint out of his breast pocket, he scratched at his ear and began filling out the paperwork. “You know, I think this is a fine, fine choice. A very responsible choice.” He was careful to pad his comments in this way, lest the follow-up question on his lips scare me away from the beaucoup package and spoil his commission. “But most homeowners in a neighborhood as nice and quiet as this one don't opt for such things. What was it that made you give us a call this morning, Mr. August?”

I cared little to explain myself, and the soreness of my sleep-starved eyes must have relayed as much, because the slick salesman looked down to the forms he was filling out and pried no further. The truth of the matter was that I'd spent the previous night in a state of high anxiety, stamping throughout my home like a jail warden anticipating a cell block riot. It'd been a night of no strange noises or visitations, and yet in this neighborhood, with the things I knew to walk about, it was only a matter of time before something happened.

And the next time Marcel got up to no good, I'd be prepared.

My front and back doors would be mounted with high-definition security cameras and the perimeter of my home would be secured by an alarm system of apparently “professional” sensitivity, if the hype on the pamphlet was to be believed. Furthermore, I would mount two cameras indoors as well—one in the kitchen, the other in the living room—to record any goings-on in the lower level.

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