by Willow Rose
Thirteen, Fourteen... Little Boy Unseen (Rebekka Franck #7) - Grab your copy today
Better Not Cry (Rebekka Franck #8) - Grab your copy today
Edwina - Grab your copy today
To Hell in A Handbasket - Grab your copy today
Umbrella Man - Grab your copy today
Black Bird Fly - Grab your copy today
Itsy Bitsy Spider (Emma Frost #1) - Grab your copy today
Miss Polly had a Dolly (Emma Frost #2)- Grab your copy today
Run, Run, as Fast as you Can (Emma Frost #3) - Grab your copy today
Cross your Heart and Hope to Die (Emma Frost #4) - Grab your copy today
Peek A Boo I See You (Emma Frost #5) - Grab your copy today
Tweedledum and Tweedledee (Emma Frost #6) - Grab your copy today
Easy as One Two Three (Emma Frost #7) - Grab your copy today
There's No Place like Home (Emma Frost #8) - Grab your copy today
Slenderman (Emma Frost #9) - Grab your copy today
Where the Wild Roses Grow (Emma Frost #10) - Grab your copy today
Waltzing Matilda (Emma Frost #11) - Grab your copy today
Horror Short Stories:
Eenie, Meenie - Grab your copy today
Rock-A-Bye Baby - Grab your copy today
Nibble, Nibble, Crunch - Grab your copy today
Humpty, Dumpty - Grab your copy today
Chain Letter - Grab your copy today
Better Watch Out - Grab your copy today
Mommy Dearest - Grab your copy today
The Bird- Grab your copy today
Box Sets:
Jack Ryder Mystery Series Box Set: Vol 1-3 - Grab your copy today
Rebekka Franck Series Vol 1-3 - Grab your copy today
Rebekka Franck Series Vol 4-6 - Grab your copy today
Rebekka Franck Series Vol 1-5 - Grab your copy today
Emma Frost Mystery Series Vol 1-3 - Grab your copy today
Emma Frost Mystery Series Vol 4-6 - Grab your copy today
Emma Frost Mystery Series Vol 7-9 - Grab your copy today
Emma Frost Mystery Series Vol 1-5 - Grab your copy today
Daughters of the Jaguar Box Set - Grab your copy today
The Afterlife Series (Books 1-3)- Grab your copy today
Horror Stories from Denmark - Grab your copy today
The Wolfboy Chronicles - Grab your copy today
About the Author
The Queen of Scream, Willow Rose, is an international best-selling author. She writes Mystery/Suspense/Horror, Paranormal Romance and Fantasy. She is inspired by authors like James Patterson, Agatha Christie, Stephen King, Anne Rice, and Isabel Allende. She lives on Florida's Space Coast with her husband and two daughters. When she is not writing or reading, you'll find her surfing and watching the dolphins play in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. She has sold more than two million books.
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Copyright Willow Rose 2017
Published by BUOY MEDIA LLC
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
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Cover design by Juan Villar Padron,
https://juanjjpadron.wixsite.com/juanpadron
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Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque
http://janellparque.blogspot.com/
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One, Two ... He is coming for you
For a special sneak peak of Willow Rose's Bestselling Dark Mystery Novel One, Two ... He is coming for you turn to the next page.
Foreword
One, two, He is coming for you.
Three, four, better lock your door.
Five, six, grab your crucifix.
Seven, eight, gonna stay up late.
Nine, ten, you will never sleep again.
Prologue
One, two…the song kept repeating in his head. Sure, he knew where it came from. It was that rhyme from the horror movies. The ones with the serial killer, that Freddy Krueger guy with a burned, disfigured face, red and dark green striped sweater, brown fedora hat, and a glove armed with razors to kill his victims in their dreams and take their souls, which would kill them in the real world. “A Nightmare on Elm Street,” that was the movie’s name. Yes, he knew its origin. And he had his reasons for singing that particular song in this exact moment. He knew why, and so would his future victims.
He lit a cigarette and stared out the window at a waiting bird in the bare treetop. Waiting for the sunlight to come back, just like the rest of the kingdom of Denmark at this time of the year. Waiting for spring with its explosion of colors, like a sea of promises of sunlight and a warmer wind. But still the winter had to go away. And it hadn’t. The trees were still naked, the sky gray as steel, the ground wet and cold. February always seemed the longest month in the little country, though it was the shortest on the calendar. People talked about it every day as they showed up for work or school.
Every freaking day since Christmas.
Now, it wouldn’t be long before the light came back. But in reality it always took months of waiting and anticipating before spring finally appeared.
The man staring out the window didn’t pay much attention to the weather though. He stood with his cigarette between two fingers. To him, the time he had been waiting ages for was finally here.
He kept humming the same song, the same line. One, two, he is coming for you…The cigarette burned a hole in the parquet floor. He picked up the remains with his hands, wearing white plastic gloves, and carefully placed them in a small plastic bag that he put in his brown briefcase. He would leave no trace of being in the house where the body of another man was soon to be found.
He closed the briefcase and went into the hall, where he sat in a leather chair by the door to the main entrance.
Waiting for his victim to come home.
He glanced at himself in the mirror by the entrance door. He could see from where he was sitting how nicely he had dressed for the occasion.
He was outfitted in a blue blazer with the famous Trolle coat of arms on the chest, a little yellow emblem with a red headless lion—the traditional blazer for a student of Herlufsholm boarding school. The school was located by the Susaa River in Naestved, about eighty kilometers south of Copenhagen, th
e capital of Denmark. As the oldest boarding school in Denmark, the school took pride in an array of unique traditions. Some of them the world outside never would want to know about.
The blazer was now too small, so he couldn’t close it, but otherwise he looked almost like he did back in 1986. He was, after all, still a fairly handsome man. And unlike the majority of the guys from back then, he had kept most of his hair.
His victim had done well for himself, he noticed. No surprise in that, though, with parents who were multibillionaires. The old villa by the sea of Smaalandsfarvandet in the southern part of Zeeland was big and admirable. It could easily fit a couple of families. It was typical of his victim to have a place like this just as his holiday residence.
When he heard the Jaguar on the gravel outside, he took the glove out of the briefcase and put it on his right hand. He stretched his fingers and the metal claws followed.
He listened for voices, but didn’t hear any, to his satisfaction.
His victim was alone.
Chapter 1
“We’re going to be too late. Do you want me to be fired on my first day?” I yelled for the third time while gazing up the stairs for my six-year-old daughter, Julie.
“Go easy on her, Rebekka. It’s her first day too,” argued my father.
He stood in the doorway to the living room of my childhood home, leaning on his cane. I smiled to myself. How I had missed him all these years living in the other part of the country. Now he had gotten old, and I felt like I had missed out on so much and that he had missed out on so much of our lives too. It was fifteen years since I left the town to study journalism. I had only been back a few times since, and then, of course, when Mom died five years ago. Why didn’t I visit him more often, especially after he was alone? Instead, I had left it to my sister to take care of him. She lived in Naestved about fifteen minutes away.
Well there was no point in wondering now.
“You can’t change the past,” my dad would say. And did say when I called him crying my heart out and asking him if Julie and I could come and stay with him for a while.
I sighed and wished I could change the past and change everything about my past. Except for one thing. One delightful little blond thing.
“I’m ready, Mom.”
Her.
Julie is the love of my life. Everything I’ve done has been for her and her future. I sacrificed everything to give her a better life. But that meant I had to leave it all behind—her dad, our friends and neighbors, and my career with a huge salary. All for her.
“I’m ready.” She ran down the stairs looking like an angel with her beautiful blond hair braided in the back.
“Yes, you are,” I nodded and looked into her bright blue eyes. “Do you have everything ready for school?”
She sighed with annoyance and walked past me.
“Are you coming or not?” she asked when she reached the door.
I picked up my bag from the floor, kissed my dad on the cheek, and followed my daughter, who waited impatiently.
“After you, my dear,” I said, as we left the house.
* * *
I found a job at a local newspaper in Karrebaeksminde. It wasn’t much of a promotion, since I used to work for one of the biggest newspapers in the country. Jyllandsposten was located in Aarhus, the second biggest town in Denmark. That was where we used to live.
When I had a family.
I used to be their star reporter, one of those who always got the cover stories. Moving back to my childhood town was not an easy choice, since I knew I had to give up my position as a well-known reporter. But it had to be done. I had to get away.
Now, after dropping off my daughter at her new school and smoking two cigarettes in anxiety for my daughter’s first day, I found myself at my new workplace.
* * *
“You must be Rebekka Franck. Welcome to our editorial room,” said a sweet elderly lady sitting at one of the two desks piled high with stacks of paper. I looked around the room and saw no one else. The room was a mess, and so was she. Her long red hair went in all directions. She had tried to tame it with a butterfly hair clip, but it didn’t seem to do the job. She got up and waddled her chubby body in a flowered yellow dress over to greet me.
“I’m Sara,” she said. “I’m in charge of all the personal pages. You know, the obituaries and such. People come to me if they need to put in an announcement for a reception or a fifty-year anniversary celebration. Stuff like that. That’s what I do.”
I nodded and looked confused at all the old newspapers in stacks on the floor.
“You probably would like to see your desk.”
I nodded again and smiled kindly. “Yes, please.”
“It’s right over there.” Sara pointed at the other desk in the room. Then she looked back at me, smiling widely. “It’s just going to be the two of us.”
I smiled back, a little scared of the huge possibility of going insane in the near future. I knew it was a small newspaper that covered all of Zeeland, and that this would only be the department taking care of the local news from Karrebaeksminde. But still…two people. Could that be all?
“Do you want to see the rest of your new workplace?” Sara asked and I nodded.
She took a couple of steps to the right and opened a door. “In here we have a small kitchen with a coffeemaker and the bathroom.”
“Let me guess. That’s it?” I tried not to sound too sarcastic. This was really a step down for me, to put it mildly.
Sara sat down and put on a set of headphones. I moved a stack of newspapers and found my chair underneath. I opened my laptop and up came a picture of Julie, me, and her dad on our trip to Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt. We all wore goggles and big smiles. Quickly, I closed the lid of the laptop and closed my eyes.
Damn him, I thought. Damn that stupid moron.
I got up from the desk and went into the break room to grab a cup of coffee. I opened the window and lit a cigarette. For several minutes I stared down at the street. A few people rushed by. Otherwise it was a sleepy town compared to where I used to live. I thought about my husband and returning to Aarhus, but that was simply not an option for me. I had to make it here.
I drank the rest of the coffee and killed my cigarette on the bottom of the mug. Then I closed the window and stepped back into the editorial room.
I need to clean this place up, I thought, but then regretted the idea. It was simply too much work for one person for now. Maybe another day. Maybe I could persuade Sara to help me. I looked at her with the gigantic headphones on her ears. It made her face look even fatter. It was too bad that she was so overweight. She actually had a pretty face and attractive brown eyes. She looked at me and took off the headphones.
“What are you listening to?” I asked, and expected that it was a radio station or a CD of her favorite music. But it wasn’t.
“It’s a police scanner,” she said.
I looked at her, surprised. “You have a police scanner?”
She nodded.
“I thought police everywhere in the country had shifted from traditional radio-scanners to using a digital system.”
“Maybe in your big city, but down here we still use the old-fashioned ones.”
“What do you use it for?”
“It is the best way to keep track of what is happening in this town. I get my best stories to tell my neighbors from this little fellow,” she said, while she leaned over gave the radio a friendly tap. “We originally got this baby for journalistic purposes, in order to be there when a story breaks, like a bank has been robbed or something like that. But the past five or six years, nothing much has happened in our town, so it hasn’t brought any stories to the newspaper. But I sure have a lot of fun listening to it.”
She leaned over her desk with excitement in her brown eyes.
“Like the time when the mayor’s wife got caught drunk in her car. That was great. Or when the police were called out to a domestic dispute between the pas
tor and his wife. As it turned out she had been cheating on him. Now that was awesome.”
I stared at the woman in front of me and didn’t know exactly what to say. Instead, I just smiled and started walking back to my desk, when she stopped me.
“Ah, yes, I forgot. We are not all alone. We do have a photographer working here too. He only comes in when there’s a job for him to do. His name is Sune Johansen. He looks a little weird, but you’ll learn to love him. He’s from a big city too.”
Chapter 2
Didrik Rosenfeldt thought of a lot of things when he got out of the car and went up the stairs to his summer residence. He thought about the day he just had. The board meeting at his investment company went very well. He fired three thousand people from his windmill company early in the afternoon without even blinking. The hot young secretary gave him a blow job in his office afterwards. He thought about his annoying wife who kept calling him all afternoon. She was having a charity event this upcoming Saturday and kept bothering him with stupid details, as if she would ever be sober enough to go through with it. Didn’t she know by now that he was too busy to deal with that kind of stuff? He was humming when he reached the door to the house by the sea.
A tune ran through his head, his favorite song since he was a kid. “Money makes the world go round. A mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound. That clinking clanking sound can make the world go ‘round.” Didrik sighed and glanced back at his shiny new silver Jaguar. Money did indeed make the world go around. And so did he.