A Winter Sleep E-Book

Greg F. Gifune

• Herausgeber: Independent Legions Publishing
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

A Winter Sleep, the new novel from Greg F. Gifune.
In a haunted hotel on the outskirts of a forgotten town, a bizarre group of tenants guard a horrible secret. A troubled man on the run, with nothing left to lose, drives aimlessly along dark highways in search of redemption. A little boy, brutally attacked and left for dead, realizes the strange power his agony has granted him. An enigmatic homeless man with nightmares he can no longer control, lost in a violent dreamscape only he understands, watches and waits. As a snowstorm traps them all within the walls of the old hotel, where madness and depravity run wild, from the shadows, a new reign of lesser gods begins, and an aberrant evil fights for survival amidst the cold terror of a desolate winter, and the bloody dreams of the hopeless and the damned.
Cover art by Wendy Saber Core.

Leseprobe

A WINTER SLEEP

by Greg F. Gifune

ISBN: 978-88-99569-96-9

Copyright (Edition) ©2018 Independent Legions Publishing

Copyright (Works) ©Greg F. Gifune

April 2018

Editing: Michael Bailey

Cover Art: Wendy Saber Core

Digital Layout: Lukha B. Kremo

All Rights Reserved

Greg F. Gifune

A WINTER SLEEP

CHAPTER 1

We can all be forgiven in this life for choosing to see that which is good in the world, the best in other people and even ourselves. We can be forgiven for mistaking evil for things we wished they were instead, for thinking only love can heal, or only pain can harm. We might even be able to forgive ourselves for the things we’ve done, or those we love for the things they’ve done. But then something happens, something unexpected and impossible that leaves you trembling and afraid and certain there has never been any such thing as forgiveness. And with that clumsy, strangely malicious epiphany comes the understanding that nothing has ever been what you believed it to be, and nothing can ever be the same again.

I can’t say for sure what made me do the things I’ve done. I suppose I could blame love or lust, rage or some twisted sense of revenge, striking back at a universe I was certain had done me wrong. I could claim these things were bigger than me, beyond imagination, and that I’d been swept up in circumstances I could never fully understand. Maybe the Devil made me do it. Maybe I made bad choices. Or maybe, in the end, there were no real choices at all, only that which was destined to be. Maybe it was all her fault. Love is no different than the most addictive drug, and like most drugs, it can cure or kill. Maybe it was all a terrible dream, two nightmares unraveling at the same time and intersecting, or maybe I lost my mind somewhere along the way. Maybe we all did.

I could blame those things, but I’d be lying.

I’d also be telling the truth.

That night, the night it began, I knew something had gone wrong, everywhere, and at once. It had just started to snow. Snake-like lines of powder slithered across the black highway, sidewinders on the run. I tightened my grip on the wheel, blinked hard, and focused on the night before me. Snow rushed at me from the surrounding darkness, swirling and hypnotic as it crashed the windshield. The whirl of flakes dancing against the backdrop of such a dark night made time and place seem skewed. I couldn’t remember exactly how long I’d been driving, so I pushed the gas and rocketed faster into the storm.

What I could remember was that it was snowing the day I left home too. I’d outrun that storm, only to drive straight into this one days later. How many miles had I covered? Had it been two days? I wasn’t sure, and I was far too tired and drained to do the math. Other memories filled the gaps, drifted across my mind’s eye. If only I could’ve forgotten them too.

Standing at the bay window in my den, watching the house across the street as a gentle snow began to fall … It was early morning and deathly quiet. Alone with my thoughts, I remained in shock. Everything had come undone so quickly it scarcely seemed possible. I’d spent my life believing my existence was secure, that what my wife and I had worked and sacrificed for was worth it. At least we’d have what was ours, what we’d earned. But nothing was safe. Everything had gone up in flames in seconds, and I was right back where I’d started, with nothing. I knew this now, and better than most. I no longer had the luxury of believing anything different.

Neon brought me back to the night: the snow, the highway, the darkness. A small red sign burned through the storm, advertising a modest and unremarkable tavern: DUDELEE’S. Set on a dirt lot in the middle of nowhere, the place looked impossibly dated and worn, a relic from an earlier era someone had slapped a new sign on and tried passing off as contemporary.

Behind it, barely visible in the darkness and snow, stood an archaic gas station with two pumps and a main building with a single-stall garage. Unlike the bar, it was closed.

I pulled in, my old Chevy bouncing along the uneven terrain. A rundown, cream colored Cadillac from the 1940s, an SUV and a couple used pickups littered the crude parking spaces. A windowless rectangle with a flat roof, the neon sign atop it. The bar looked a bit ominous, but it was the first thing I’d come across since I’d stopped for gas hours before.

I slid up alongside the Cadillac—unsure if I’d ever seen one that old—and parked. Wipers still going, I watched the bar a while.

The front door was a heavy black metal job painted so incompetently that I could see the brush marks even from a distance, and in a snowstorm. With a heavy sigh, I rubbed my eyes, only then realizing how tired I was. Back aching and legs stiff—Christ, how long had I been driving?—I pushed open the door and wearily climbed from the car.

Met by a rush of cold air, an ocean of flakes danced around me, stinging my cheeks and eyes. I pulled my jacket in tight, and despite my stiff and sore muscles, hurried behind the row of vehicles to the door.

Inside, a small foyer led to a handful of empty tables and chairs, and a large bar. The place looked like an old honky-tonk, but with a northern bent. A rockabilly tune played from a jukebox in the corner. The six patrons at the bar paid little attention to the music, and less to me.

Only thing warm in here was the temperature.

I shook the moisture from my jacket, ran a hand through my damp hair, straightening and pushing it back and away from my face. I moved through the tables and over to the bar. No one acknowledged me, but the bartender, a chubby guy dressed entirely in black, with shoulder-length hair and a bandana on his head, nodded in my direction. “Evening.”

I slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and returned his nod with one of my own. “How’s it going?”

“Getting nasty out there?” he asked.

“Yeah, snow’s picking up.”

“Well, welcome to Dude Lee’s. I’m Rhett. What can I get you?”

I didn’t want to drink too much, as I wasn’t sure how much more driving I had ahead of me, and although a Jack and Coke sounded good, I opted for beer instead. “I’ll take a Bud.”

“You got it.”

As Rhett moved away, the chain hanging from the wallet in his back pocket slapped his thigh. I gave a quick glance down the bar. All six people seated were men, two of whom stood in unison and pulled on their coats the moment they saw me. Older and grizzled, they wore the clothes of laborers and had the weathered look of men who’d worked for years outdoors in conditions such as this, and likely much worse. Flashing disapproving scowls, they turned and headed for the door.

I slipped off my jacket and hung it on the back of the stool. This wasn’t the first roadside joint I’d wandered into, and it wasn’t the first time I’d encountered locals less than thrilled with my presence. But I couldn’t have cared less. I had other things on my head, serious things, and had neither the time nor the desire to worry about a bunch of rednecks with territorial issues.

By the time Rhett returned with my beer, two more guys had dropped from their stools and were preparing to leave. Subtly, I cocked my head in their direction. “Something I said?”

“Just the storm,” the bartender said, chuckling, but it was forced. “Plus it’s getting late, that’s all.”

I looked at my watch. Nearly seven o’clock.

“People work for a living in these parts,” he said. “They get up early.”

“And here I thought people worked for a living in all parts.”

Something behind Rhett’s eyes shifted, threatening to ruin his phony affability, but he held it together. Maybe that was his style, or maybe he was holding out for a good tip. No way to be sure, and I didn’t much care either way. Regardless, he responded with a big bright smile. “Get you anything else?”

“Do you serve food?”

“Lunch only, sorry. Kitchen’s closed.” Rhett reached beneath the bar and came up with a small bowl of pretzels. “Got plenty of nifty snacks though. Knock yourself out, my friend.”

I scooped up a handful. “Thanks.”

“You bet.”

Rhett left me, moved back down the bar, and resumed a conversation he’d been having with a burly guy and the rail-thin elderly man next to him.

The last remaining customer sat alone at the other end of the bar, and looked as out of place as I felt. He appeared to be in his early sixties, with short, mussed, graying and thinning blond hair at the beginning stages of what would eventually become a comb-over. Unlike the others, he was clearly no laborer. He looked instead like an aging diplomat, with a long nose, strong chin, and startling ice-blue eyes. His clothes—a shirt and loosened tie, slacks, loafers and a sports jacket—appeared as if he’d been sleeping in them for days; yet he didn’t look dirty or destitute, just mussed, like an absentminded college professor.

Before I realized I was staring, the man caught my gaze and raised his glass. I returned the gesture with my beer then looked away.

I took a pull of beer, hoping to forget those things creeping back that were refusing to let me go. But they won, as they always did, and I was right back there again, in the vulgar silence of that house, watching the snow fall, staring out the window at the place across the street. Not so different from ours, really, or any of the others in the development. Much like the people living in them, everything there was painfully alike, from the interchangeable cars in the identical driveways, to the rows of mailboxes lining the neatly paved little roads, to all the young mothers pushing babies in strollers to the park—each and every one as forgettable as the minivans and SUVs they drove, soulless as their overworked, already disinterested husbands and nowhere jobs.

But not us, I thought. We never even got that far, did we?

A blessing in disguise, people often called it. But I didn’t believe in blessings, disguised or otherwise.

“Have a good night,” the burly guy said to Rhett in a booming voice.

I cleared my head as best I could, had another gulp of beer, then set the bottle down.

The big man and his ancient sidekick shuffled off toward the night without as much as look my way. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the older blond man watching me.

“Gonna be closing up a little early tonight,” Rhett announced. “About half hour or so, most likely, all right, fellas? Snow’s only gonna get worse.”

The blond man powered down the remainder of his drink and slapped the empty glass on the bar. “In that case, I’ll have a refill, if you’d be so kind.”

Rhett hit his glass with another splash of Bourbon, then slid down the bar to me and asked if I wanted another beer.

“I think I’m good.”

“Nonsense,” the blond man said. “A man should never drink alone, particularly in a bar. Another bottle for our friend, if you will, Rhett. My treat.”

Rhett gave me a questioning look.

I shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

As Rhett fetched another beer, I thanked the blond man.

“You’re most welcome,” he said. “Most welcome.”

“Appreciate it.” I smiled and broke eye contact, hoping he’d take the hint that chatting was about the last thing I wanted to do. I ate a couple pretzels and let the music on the jukebox distract me until Rhett returned with my beer.

“Are there any motels in the area?” I asked.

He set a fresh bottle in front of me.

“Closest one’s off the next exit. Small roadside place. Nothing special, no HBO or nothing, but it’s clean and cheap. It’s been there almost as long as this place.” He leaned against the bar. “Hell, this place is older than I am.”

I did my best to feign interest.

“Had a different name but looked more or less the same. That’s why lots of locals still come out this way to get a drink. Long before the state highway ran through these parts, this was just a little bar on the outskirts of town. I know the reactions of the old-timers can be hard on outsiders like you, but don’t take it personally. Highway or not, they still don’t like travelers. Just their way, most don’t understand a place like this needs more than locals these days to survive. Me, I try to be nice to everybody, you know?”

“You live in town too?” I asked.

“Got an apartment out back,” Rhett said, jerking a thumb behind him. “Not a lot from my generation still here. Hell, not a lot from any generation still here. Used to be almost two thousand residents, now there ain’t but three hundred or so. Not much to keep people here, you know? Just the old guard now. That’s about all that’s left.”

I finished my first beer, slid the bottle to him. “So where am I?”

“Dellwood Summit,” he said, “at least until the next exit, about half a mile from here, as the crow flies.”

I held his gaze. “Pennsylvania, right?”

He arched an eyebrow. “You for real, mister?”

“Got a lot on my mind,” I told him. “Been driving a long time.”

“Too long, if you don’t even know what state you’re in.”

“But of course he knows,” the blond man said suddenly, sliding down from his stool and stumbling over to the one next to mine. “He just told you.”

Rhett considered us both a moment, his jovial manner fading quickly. “You’re in the wilds on Pennsylvania. You know what they say about Pennsylvania, don’t you?”

“No, what do they say?”

“Got Pittsburgh at one end of the state, Philadelphia at the other, and Kentucky in between. Well, you’re right in the heart of Pennsyltucky.” He grinned, but there was something mean about it, out of step with his previous demeanor. “Friend.”

I meant to smile, but it probably came off as more of a smirk.

“Like I said, be closing up soon, fellas.” Rhett moved away. “Storm out there ain’t gonna get any better.”

The blond man took the stool next to mine. “Luther Barrington.” He offered his hand and smiled, revealing bright teeth too pristine for a man his age.

I took his hand. It was warm, slightly damp with perspiration, his grip weaker than I’d expected. “Ben Hooper.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, still smiling. “On such an evening one doesn’t expect to find a comrade-in-arms, even for a short while. Particularly in a place such as … well … this.”

“Just passing through too?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” he said. He sipped his drink, savoring it a moment before swallowing. “I live not twenty minutes from here.”

“I see.”

“Didn’t take me for a local, eh?” he said, chuckling.

“Afraid not,” I said.

“Who could blame you?” Barrington killed his drink and waved the empty glass at Rhett, who had drifted to the far end of the bar and was talking on his phone. “Might I trouble you for one more, sir?”

Rhett held up a finger and continued his conversation.

With a sigh, Barrington returned his glass to the bar and spun toward me. “Now I ask you, whatever happened to service?”

I had another long swallow of beer, tossed some money on the bar and stepped down from my stool. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Barrington, but I—”

“Luther, please.”

“It was nice meeting you, Luther, but I’m heading out.”

He leaned toward me with a conspiratorial grin. “Surely not to that atrocity of a motel our ever-gracious host was telling you about.”

I pulled on my jacket. “Sounded like the only thing nearby.”

“You certainly don’t want to get lost or stranded out on these roads at night when the weather’s clear, much less in the middle of a snowstorm. That much is true. But it might be worth the risk to drive just a little farther. Might I suggest a lovely old hotel approximately twenty minutes from here? It’s not far from the highway, and while quite old and historical, much nicer than anything you’ll find at that other establishment. You’ll see signs for it, The Monarch Hotel.”

“Thanks for the beer, and the tip. Have a good night.”

“Won’t you stay for one more?” he asked suddenly. “I’m sure Rhett will allow us just one more.”

“I really should go.”

Something in his ice-blue eyes changed. His sorrow was palpable, and I wondered if mine was as well. In that strange moment, I hoped not, as there was something terribly obscene about it. His wounds were exposed, and they cut to the bone. While I had no idea what this man’s issues were, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Kindred spirits, perhaps, who could be sure?

“Please join me for just one more,” he said. “I hate to admit this, and likely wouldn’t if I weren’t already three sheets to wind, as it were, but I just don’t think I’m drunk enough to go home yet.”

I wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “That bad, huh?”

He gave a reluctant nod. “At times.”

His eyes burrowed into mine with such desperation, such sadness and vulnerability, such raw intensity, I swore I could feel his pain transferring to me. Or maybe it was only mine come to life again. Maybe there wasn’t much difference.

“You understand,” he said. “Don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. I answered anyway. “Yes.”

“Have one more drink then,” he said. “Surely you can find it in your heart to humor a lonely old man on such a dreary winter night.”

I could’ve left. Right then and there, I could’ve left, should’ve left.

But I didn’t.

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

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Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

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Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

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Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

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Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

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Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!

Lesen Sie weiter in der vollst?ndigen Ausgabe!