The Traveler (The Great Rift Book 2)

by Christopher Motz

He saw his friends trapped behind walls of glass like animals at the zoo.

  He saw Elmview shimmer and go dark as the shadows deepened and the air grew cold.

  Geoff wondered if Stacy was dreaming the same thing...

  ...and if she was, did she still have the ability to scream?

  Epilogue

  As the morning sun struggled through the trees, a man slipped between the blockade of police cruisers and stood at the yellow barrier of caution tape. His hands were jammed into the pockets of a long, black trench coat, and his face bore the weariness of his long trip. His short, blond hair stood up in pointed spikes, and he wore several days worth of stubble on his square jaw. He'd arrived too late to witness the removal of the bodies, but that wasn't why he was there; he'd seen more people carted away in body bags than he cared to admit.

  He lit a cigarette and exhaled a plume of white smoke, watching uniformed officers enter and exit the front of the house. What had happened here wasn't important, not anymore. The damage was done, but his curiosity needed to be sated.

  "Damn you," he growled, gazing at the abandoned wreck of the crumbling mansion.

  With a steady hand, he grabbed the caution tape and lifted it over his head. One of the officers noticed the intrusion and jogged over to greet him, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked the newcomer up and down and chuckled.

  "Halloween is a few months away, buddy," he said.

  "Was that a joke?" He took another deep drag off his cigarette and glanced at the officer's small, silver name tag. "Officer Kane."

  "No, no joke," he said. "This is Pennsylvania in July. You're not exactly dressed for the weather."

  "I travel a lot," the man replied. "I'm not here for a fashion show."

  "Then why are you here? This is a closed crime scene. Chief Barnes will give a press conference when we get this all sorted out. Until then, you need to turn around and go back the way you came."

  The man pushed past the sweaty officer and tossed his smoke onto the overgrown driveway, noticing the makeshift camp that had been set up in front of the house: three two-person tents, a pair of sleeping bags, a black patch of earth where a campfire had been built, a red tote bag full of bottled water and assorted snacks. A dusty RAV4 was parked on his left, while another vehicle sat crookedly off the road, nestled between the trees.

  "Hey, pal, I just said this is a closed crime scene," Kane shouted. "Are we going to have a problem?"

  "Not unless you make one," the man replied, slowly turning with a sly grin. Kane's hand hovered over his service pistol; his face had turned an unhealthy shade of red. "You're going to give yourself a stroke, officer. Why don't you take it down a notch, huh?"

  "Mister, I'm not going to tell you again. Turn around and walk away, or you're going in the back of my cruiser."

  "Kane," a gruff voice shouted. "Back down and let him through."

  "Yes sir," Kane responded, clearly relieved the situation hadn't escalated.

  The man nodded and took a few steps before calling over his shoulder. "Officer, careful you don't trip on your shoelaces."

  Embarrassed, Kane looked down and grunted. He wiped a sheen of sweat from his face, tied his laces, and tucked them into his shoe. When he looked back up, the stranger stood in front of the house with Chief Barnes, talking quietly.

  The man shook the Chief's hand and shivered in the shadow of the abandoned house. He watched officers entering and exiting the building, shoulders slumped, eyes darting from one place to another as if waiting for something to reach out and grab them. Even they felt it; the air was oppressively thick.

  "Arlan Bishop?" Chief Barnes questioned. "You come highly recommended."

  "Good to hear," Bishop replied.

  "Sorry about Kane. He's a good cop, just takes his job too seriously."

  "In this business, you can't be too careful."

  "I'm glad you made it," Barnes said. "I don't know what to make of this."

  Bishop nodded and wrinkled his nose. "This place stinks."

  "That's not the half of it."

  "What do you got?"

  "Six bodies," Barnes said. "Took us an hour to find them all; the place is a maze. We found two in an upstairs bedroom, frozen to death; two more in the dining hall burned beyond recognition; two in the cellar, one that appears to have drowned, and another that looks like she was attacked by something. Her throat was torn completely open, shredded. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was mauled by a bear... or a really large dog."

  Bishop sighed deeply and shook his head. "There are still others? I noticed the tents out front, the sleeping bags. I figure there's at least two more."

  Barnes chewed his lip and met Bishop's gaze. "You psychic too?"

  "I just pay attention."

  Barnes grabbed him by the arm and led him away from the front porch to a quiet clearing surrounded by shriveled, dead trees. "We found the others," he whispered.

  "And?"

  "A man and a woman, covered in blood. Guy didn't say a word. Just hopped in the back of the cruiser and fell asleep if you can believe it."

  "The woman?"

  "Poor girl," Barnes muttered. "She's checked out. Catatonic. Whatever she saw was enough to turn her lights out for good."

  "Where'd you find them?" Bishop asked, already knowing the answer.

  "That's not important..."

  "Yes it is, Barnes, and you know it."

  Barnes looked off into the brush, hoping for answers, but none were forthcoming. "You know where, Bishop, or you wouldn't have come so quickly."

  "Just say it."

  "Elmview," Barnes shuddered. "Walking right up Broad Street. He was carrying her like a sack of potatoes."

  Bishop bowed his head and stared at the ground between his feet.

  "Bishop, you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine." he grumbled, "I was hoping I'd never have to see that place again."

  "You're not the only one."

  Their eyes met, and unspoken volumes passed between them.

  "Where are they?" Bishop asked. "I'm going to need to ask them some questions."

  "You won't get anything out of her," Barnes said.

  "And him?"

  "Hospital, under observation and full-time guard. You want me to take you?"

  "Not yet. First, I want to see where you found the bodies."

  Bishop and Barnes walked the crumbling halls of the once-majestic mansion, listening as officers called to one another from room to room. Barnes wasn't lying; the place was a labyrinth. Sound was distorted, shadows crawled up the walls with no one to cast them, the air was chilly and smelled of ozone. Bishop looked over at Barnes and saw that he was oblivious to any of it.

  "We found two of them right there," Barnes pointed.

  In the center of a large dining hall was a circular patch on the floor that had been scorched black; the outline of two bodies had been burned into the bare wood. The air smelled of cooked flesh and hair.

  "I'm going to go in alone if that's okay," Bishop said.

  "Hey, knock yourself out. I'm in no hurry to go back in there, believe me."

  "Thanks, Barnes. I'll find you when I'm done."

  Barnes nodded and walked up the hall to meet several of his officers. Bishop couldn't imagine what was going through their minds. He expected a few of them to seek other employment after this, and he wouldn't blame them.

  Bishop walked across the cavernous hall, covering his nose with the sleeve of his trench coat. The smell of cooked flesh made him nauseous. When he reached the center of the room, he bent before the charred circle and swallowed with a click.

  Like thunderheads crossing over the sun, the room darkened, and the air grew damp. Bishop stood and turned as the large double doors slammed shut behind him, and a stale, fetid wind blew dust into his eyes.

  Bishop's hair stood on end as an electrical charge crackled and sizzled around him; sparks exploded from grime-coated sconces and rained down from three massive, crystal chandeliers hanging fifte
en feet above his head.

  The far wall shimmered as dark tendrils of smoke reached through the broken plaster and probed the edges of the quickly expanding rift. One long, black arm reached out toward Bishop and immediately pulled away as something behind the wall shrieked painfully. The rift grew smaller, and through that watery, rippling space, two large eyes appeared and squinted from the depths.

  Two silver mirrors.

  "You're still here," Bishop moaned.

  "Oh, how I've longed to see you again," a voice boomed through the void.

  "Get a good look," Bishop said, "because you won't get another chance."

  "Funny. I seem to remember the last few times we crossed paths."

  "I'm not a kid anymore, Shadowking."

  "You're the same person you always were. The same, scared boy running through the empty streets, thinking you could change what has happened," the thing hissed. "A new face and a new name aren't enough to hide from me. You can travel to anywhere or any when and I'm still going to find you. The stink of dry piss leaks from your pores like sweat."

  "Don't be so surprised," Bishop said. "I've learned quite a lot since last time."

  "You don't belong here. It's some trick the Guardian has taught you."

  "I'm full of them. Why don't you come out of there and find out?"

  "There's plenty of time for that," the creature rasped as it pulled its groping arms into the blackness of its lair. "All the time in the world. In all the worlds."

  Bishop stepped forward just as the rift closed; the darkness lifted as shafts of light shined through the broken windows. He jumped as a strong hand clutched his shoulder.

  "Who the hell are you talking to?" Barnes asked.

  "No one. Don't worry about it. Just thinking out loud."

  "About?"

  "Unfinished business."

  They walked outside together; Barnes saw that Bishop was visibly shaken.

  "You sure you're okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "Just get me to the hospital. I need to talk to the survivor."

  "Sure, no problem."

  "And one other thing."

  Barnes raised his eyebrows and stared into Bishop's blue eyes. "What's that?"

  "When you finish cleaning up, light a match and burn this place to the ground."

  A Few Words About 'The Traveler'

  !!!WARNING!!! This section contains spoilers. If you haven't read the book yet, do not continue reading!

  The dreaded sequel.

  A chance to use everything that worked the first time around and expand on it. Think The Godfather Part II.

  Or a time to pitch it into the wind and reinvent the story, like anything in the Alien universe after 1986.

  There are some very serious pitfalls either way. Readers want something familiar; they want to see characters they've grown to love, locations they recognize, themes that carry on from one book to another... but they also need freshness, new twists, and a plot that doesn't feel like they've already been there and done that.

  That's my job, and I can only hope you agree when I say I think I've managed to blend the worlds together to give both new and old readers something exciting.

  My first novel, The Darkening, was published in October 2016, and although I left the tale open for the possibility of returning, I really had no plan for a sequel. Certainly not this soon. It just goes to prove that some ghosts are more restless than others, and when the time comes for them to rattle their chains, you can either run away or face them head-on.

  This time, the choice was simple.

  When I began writing this tale, it had nothing to do with the universe I had created in The Darkening. The original idea was to create my own take on a haunted house novel: isolation, strange sounds, apparitions flitting between the branches of the surrounding forest, shadows creeping up the walls and hiding in corners. It's been done before, and much more convincingly than anything I had in mind.

  Then it began snowing in July, and the entire mood shifted to something much larger than an abandoned house on the edge of town. What if the nearest town was Elmview, and what would happen if our nemesis, the Skryel, was the only thing living in that crumbling mansion? From there, I knew I had no choice but to follow this path and see where it led. The House On Two-Penny Lane became what you're holding in your hands: The Traveler - The Great Rift Book Two.

  It would be remiss of me not to offer praise and pay homage to such works as Stephen King's Dark Tower series or William Hope Hodgson's The House On The Borderland. Surely they've done it better, but I'd like to think my spin on the multiverse is purely my own.

  While I've added quite a few new characters to this tale, I think you'll quickly recognize some very familiar faces as well. For those who are familiar with my other work, you'll see some similarities and recurring themes. This is intentional. The cycle of birth and death and rebirth continues... all under the watchful eye of an ancient enemy.

  One whose hatred of us is eternal and without bounds.

  The Darkening began our journey, and The Traveler gets us one step closer to what's coming.

  Somewhere, the final battle has already begun.

  Worlds are crumbling.

  The Skryel awaits us with open arms, prepared to fight to the bitter end.

  Keep to the path. One wrong turn and we're all damned.

  Christopher Motz - July 1, 2018

  About The Author

  Christopher Motz was born in 1980 and lives in small-town Pennsylvania with his wife, step-daughter, small dog, and two very hungry turtles. He's an avid music fan, collector of classic vinyl, and musician. He has appeared in several short story collections as well as having published three novels and two novellas since 2016.

  You can reach Christopher on the web at:

  Official Website

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  Goodreads