The Somnibus: Book I - Finding the Mark (A Paranormal Thriller)

by McGray, Craig

  The Somnibus: Book I

  Finding the Mark

  by

  Craig McGray

  Copyright ©2012 by Craig McGray

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Somnibus: Book I

  Finding the Mark

  “A CHILLING PARANORMAL THRILLER”*

  PRAISE FOR THE WORK OF CRAIG MCGRAY

  “Mr. McGray has crafted a chilling paranormal thriller that will keep you awake at night, because it is sometimes terrifying but also because you won't want to put it down.” -*Michael K. Rose Author of Sullivan’s War

  “...there are moments in here that will creep you out of your skin. Craig does a great job of keeping the story flowing nicely with a finale that will leave you at once well satisfied and begging for more.” -Griffin Hayes Author of Malice and Dark Passage

  “Mr. McGray has crafted a chilling paranormal thriller that draws you in and never lets go. It is well written and twists keep you off guard making it hard to see what's coming next. McGray's characters are strong and help progress the story.” –Horror_Nerd Amazon Review

  Acknowledgments

  FIRST AND FOREMOST I would like to thank my family. My wife and two beautiful daughters are my foundation. They provide a solid base for me to build my life upon, and show an undying support for everything I do. I thank them because I know that I sometimes spread myself thin yet they continue to be there for me. You girls are the best!

  While I’m sure to miss a few names, I would like to thank Dylan J. Morgan, Andrea Harding, Michael K. Rose, and Griffin Hayes, as well as a host of other authors willing to help a new writer with advice, criticism, and support while I went through this journey. To my wife Andrea, Patrick Johns, Peggy Bernardo, and the others that read my second draft, I thank you for your time and input. Without your fresh eyes, I would have never been able to complete this book.

  Works by Craig McGray

  Novellas

  The Somnibus: Book I

  Finding the Mark

  The Somnibus: Book II

  The Six Stones

  The Somnibus: The Complete Edition

  Short Stories

  This Little Piggy

  Madeline

  Visit the link for more books by Craig McGray HERE

  -Chapter 1-

  The passing of time can be a strange thing. Sometimes it speeds by, while other times it seems to slow down; like when you’re forced to watch your parents die.

  Thnx for dinner. Luv u guys.

  I’d only just sent the text message to Mom when my parents’ car swerved in front of me. It swung off the side of the road and rolled several times.

  Time came to a crawl and as the spiraling finally came to a stop, I pulled to the shoulder. Jumping from my Jeep, I dashed for the car. A small fire on the underside of the vehicle ignited and matured into an inferno. The blast knocked me backward, but I scrambled quickly to my feet while fire engulfed the darkness and smoke filled the back of my throat. My mother’s tortured screams pierced the night air. Thrown clear of the wreckage, my father lay on the ground, peering at his exposed torso, bowels oozing to the glowing pavement.

  I ran for them again, trying to save them, but the heat writhed across my skin, pushing me back. Orange light splashed over trees lining the rural road. I fell to my knees while the dying screams of my mother’s torture dug through my mind.

  She remained trapped, her peeling face pressed against the passenger-side window. Shoving her hand through a small break in the window, our eyes locked on one another. Her fingers bled, wilting, uncurling to spill a small object from her palm. I tried again to reach the car, but the intense heat savaged my arms and neck. I stumbled and fell, wanting to touch her but flames leapt from behind the window, spitting on my hand. I jerked my arm away, and grabbed the object my mother had dropped on the ground. The heat held me back while the flames licked my mother’s face until the clawing ended.

  I backed away from the gruesome scene, the small object cool in my grip. The inferno reached out and engulfed my father’s living half. For a moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of his soul as a shadow lifted from his fallen body. Within seconds, he was gone, swamped in the fiery chaos. I sat on the road sobbing, clutching my knees to my chest, holding a small green stone in my palm while my parents melted away in the raging fire.

  Traffic came to a halt and bystanders tried to reach them, but searing heat shielded the wreckage. My senses went numb.

  -Chapter 2-

  Moving boxes littered my parents’ house. Mom had always kept the place in perfect, uncluttered order, and it would have made her crazy to have it in such disarray. I imagined the scowl on her face and it made me smile. I thought I’d forgotten how to be happy. I hadn’t smiled since I’d watched my parents die.

  The thought of that night brought me to tears, but I stopped myself when my cell chirped in my pocket. I rolled my eyes when the caller ID popped up.

  “Hello.”

  “Michael? This is Joe Barnes from First Community Bank.”

  “I know.”

  “I wanted to make sure you got my earlier message about the auction tomorrow.”

  “Yeah I got it, and that’ll be fine. I’ll be here at 10 a.m. to let you in the house.”

  “Ok fine. I’ll see you then. Have a good afternoon,” said Barnes.

  I had nothing else to say to him. It wasn’t the bank’s fault, but the situation was difficult because I knew how hard my parents had worked to keep their home. I was glad they’d left it to me, but I couldn’t afford it. My dad’s small insurance policy covered my normal living expenses but not much more. I hoped that after the auction I would have a little money left over as breathing room until I got on my feet and school was over.

  Since the accident, I’d carried the small green stone with me wherever I went. It comforted me, as though I still had my mother with me. I reached into my pocket and rolled it in my fingers; it had become a nervous habit. The deep blue elliptical mark in the center appeared to be a hole that went on forever, like an eye in the dead center. My fingers explored the stone’s round edges, sending a tear sliding down my cheek.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning my parents’ room. Waves of emotion took their toll eventually and I sank to the bedroom floor, clutching my mother’s stone. I closed my swollen eyes and let my mind drift off to sleep.

  Suddenly, a burning in my hand grabbed my attention and an intense energy squeezed my chest. I felt heavy while shadows rushed by, brushing my skin. An invisible force squeezed my chest, stealing the breath from my aching lungs, and my eyes were peeled open by a green flash. An emerald haze outlined the periphery of my vision, and I took a chest full of air.

  I found myself standing in a sprawling field, the sun not yet high in the sky. Dandelions and sunflowers stretched on forever. Raising my hands I explored the wrinkles on my face, the features familiar: my mother’s face. I had somehow become my dead mother. The sun warmed my face as it rose higher, breaching the horizon. My mother’s favorite dress rippled in the breeze. I continued to examine my mother’s features with her own hands, a sensation of happiness washing through me for the first time since she’d died. She often told me about her childhood and how she’d spend hours walking through the fields, daydream
ing. Without warning, the sun dropped from the sky, and the flowers wilted as it went dark.

  The green haze faded and my brow wrinkled as I strained in the darkness, searching for even a hint of light in the pitch-black space. The nape of my neck prickled with a growing fear. My skin tingled as a cold breeze blew over me, the facade of my mother crumbling and drifting away.

  A foul and tormenting puff of air, like a constant breath, replaced the cold air and weighed me down, as if the air pushed against my skin rather than brushing over it. Sorrow over my parents’ death rose to the surface, magnifying ten-fold, and I wept out of control as the mourning and misery overwhelmed me.

  I noticed I wasn’t alone as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Like shadows within shadows, they swirled around, brushing me with each pass. The creatures were large and mysterious, their bodies concealed by a flowing robe trailing behind them with no apparent end. They appeared to be investigating me. One of them stopped and moved to within inches of my face, while the others held their distance, dancing in the darkness.

  In an instant, shadowy tendrils shot out from beneath its robe and encircled my body, binding my arms and legs. The flexible limbs clung to my skin as they constricted. I wanted to run, wanted to scream, but did neither. My mind spun as it searched for something reasonable to hold onto, anything to make sense of this nightmare.

  Its emaciated hand reached for my head, its bony palm cradling my chin while the creature’s lengthy, gaunt fingers squeezed my face. A faint light appeared in the distance, behind the thing; growing in size and intensity as it raced toward us. Darkness peeled away with the approaching burst of light, and my eyes squinted in the glare.

  The shadowy form gave way to reveal a more-detailed silhouette, exposing yawning empty sockets where eyes should be, its face totally featureless. Its jaws opened wide with nothing but blackness inside a lipless mouth. Its head titled to the side, saliva spanned the opening, as the overwhelmingly strong hand drew my face closer. The stench of death and metal filled my mouth and nose, choking me. Tendrils radiated from under the cloak, waving in the wind like a tattered flag. Those that weren’t wrapped around me writhed like serpents in the surrounding space.

  The light approached from behind and struck the shadow. The creature released me and went hurling into the darkness. The others retreated with a shrill and concerted hiss. The large orb of light circled around and closed in. My eyes closed, waiting for the same blow that knocked the creature from me. The strike never came, and I opened my eyes to find the light had stopped within inches of hitting me in the chest. Squeezing my eyes shut, I hoped to wake up from this hell.

  A brutal energy slammed into my chest, sending me back to the relative safety of the floor in my parents’ bedroom. My clothes were drenched, and my eyes blinked feverishly while my heart settled from my throat. My right hand and arm burned with pain as I tried to make sense of my surroundings.

  I struggled to lift my arm as I searched for an explanation to the burning, my right hand clenched in a tight fist. Releasing my fingers, my mother’s stone rolled to the floor. I pulled my palm closer to my face and gazed at a fresh, oblong burn in the center of my palm. I slid facedown to the floor as blackness devoured me.

  -Chapter 3-

  The next morning, my eyes opened to the sideways view of the Berber carpet. Daylight pushed its way through the blinds and into the bedroom. I struggled to a sitting position and sat with my back pressed against the wall. My mother’s stone lay on the floor next to me. I took a moment to collect myself before heading to the bathroom to clear my mind, placing the green stone in the nightstand. I’d never had such a realistic nightmare.

  I stood in front of the mirror examining the hatch marks on my cheeks from my night spent face-down on the floor. I splashed cold water on my face and caught a glimpse of my right hand. An oblong patch of fresh, pink skin appeared in the center of my palm – no pain, just tightness. Realization sank in that what I’d gone through the night before might not have been a dream, but may have been, in fact, a reality I couldn’t explain.

  Making my way to the shower I stepped inside, clothes and all. Not the kind of shower you take to get clean, but the type meant to help you sort things through. My head hung as the hot water rinsed over me, and I removed my clothes. I placed my palms on the wall beneath the showerhead and stood there as the water flowed down my body. My mind struggled while trying to make sense of what had happened. The hot water ran out before I had any answers, and gooseflesh forced me from the stall.

  I stepped out of the shower and looked for any other damage, aside from the pink mark in the center of my palm. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

  Sufficiently revived, I made my way downstairs and checked my cell phone: 9:30 a.m. Barnes would be there at ten so I made a cup of coffee to take with me. I planned to leave before the auction at 11 a.m., wanting no part of watching the vultures circle our home.

  As I drank my first cup, I made my way back into my parents’ room. A box full of pictures sat on the top shelf in the closet. Taking it down, I set it on the dresser, and paused, hoping it wasn’t those types of pictures. I half expected the contents to scar me for life.

  The box was filled with regular pictures, but also Polaroids of different people and places. My parents were often with large groups of strangers. A tall, thin man, slightly older than my parents, appeared in nearly every shot.

  I flipped some of the pictures over, searching for a date, or maybe notes as to where or when they were taken. The dates ranged from the mid ’80s up until last year. At the bottom of the pile were pictures of my mother as a child. She sat in front of a cake with a large wax number three in the center. Nana and Grandpa were in the picture, along with people I didn't recognize. My eyes narrowed, and my skin quivered as I focused on one individual, a man standing next to her. The sunken eyes and hollow cheeks were familiar.

  My heart raced when I shuffled through the stack of pictures. I pulled one out dated 1980 and set it down next to the one of my mother as a child. Nothing made sense.

  The same man stood in both, one dated 1963 and the other 1980. He’d not aged in the 17 years between images, an exact duplicate in both.

  I grabbed the box and rushed downstairs to lay the pictures out on the kitchen table. As I passed the front door, the bell rang. Barnes stood outside, silhouetted alongside some other suit. I went to the kitchen and grabbed my car keys and laptop, before opening the door.

  Pushing the box under my arm, I stared into their counterfeit grins. Their false greeting was the last thing I needed.

  “Good morning Mr. Black,” Barnes said. “I’d like you to meet ….”

  I left the door open and brushed past them before jumping down the steps of the front porch. “I’ll be on my cell if you need me. I left the house keys on the counter. Let me know when it’s finished. I’ll have everything out by the end of the week.” I opened the driver’s door of my Jeep.

  “Michael, this is unfortunate, but I assure you the bank….”

  His voice cut off as I pulled the Jeep door closed a little harder than necessary. I took the two pictures from the top of the pile and set the box down on the passenger seat and flipped them over, trying to make sense of the dates.

  Cars lined the street outside of my house, so I decided to grab a bite to eat. I wouldn’t watch as they stole my parents’ home. The house disappeared in my rear-view mirror.

  I sat at Panera going through the pictures, the strange man in almost every one. I finished going through the box and put the ones that caught my attention to the side. Squeezing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, I shoved them aside and flipped open my laptop.

  Figuring I may homeless by the end of the week, I thought it best to find an apartment. While I had the classifieds up, I decided I had better find a job too. It would be hard to pay rent with my looks, at least rent for anything worth renting.

  My parents told me they would take care of me while still in school, but I
’d struggled since losing them. Having never held a real job for more than a few months the thought of having to provide for myself overwhelmed me. I’d taken the summer semester off to get the house and my parents’ things in order. I had a couple of months before classes resumed, so that was as good a time as any to get started with a new job. Hopefully there’d be enough money left over from the auction to live on for a while after paying the mortgage to the bank, but I had no idea how much to expect, or how long it would last.

  The search for a job went as well as the search for the apartment did. Everything was too expensive and I didn’t find any jobs listed that seemed to be the right fit. I closed my laptop and put the box of pictures under my arm before heading out the door.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon in the parking lot searching through the photographs. I smiled as I sorted through the pictures of mom and dad, they looked so happy, but something kept pinching part of my mind. The stranger was always there, hovering around mom. My skin became hot when the thought crossed my mind that maybe my mother and that other guy had a different type of relationship.

  Shuffling through the pictures again something caught my eye. The group stood facing the photographer. Some waved, and others just smiled at the camera. The creepy guy had his hand raised, and there appeared to be a mark on his right palm. I pulled the picture closer but couldn’t quite make it out. I glanced down at my palm, and my heart rate skipped a little faster.

  I drove to the department store at the other end of the shopping center. I took the picture inside with me and headed to the area where they sold reading glasses. When I held a magnifying glass to the picture, the glass revealed an oblong mark in the center of his palm. I opened my right hand to reveal a similar mark.