The Bogeyman E-Book

Jason Downes

• Herausgeber: Post Mortem Press
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Some second chances are not what they seem. In the sleepy small town of Woodcroft, three young boys are enjoying a typical pre-teen summer: bike rides, exploration and boredom. Yet, one day a run in with Ernie Craven, the hermitic local crank, also known as The Bogeyman, changes their lives in a horrific way.Seeking to gain a margin of revenge for being humiliated by Ernie, the boys bike their way to his cabin in the woods. A seemingly harmless prank spirals out of control and Ernie Craven meets with a grisly accident. Equal parts shocked and scared, the boys are drawn into Craven’s house only to discover The Bogeyman’s secret life. The chilling trip to the basement reveals three young captives from different parts of the country. Alive and frightened they appear to have been the lucky ones.However, The Bogeyman wasn't done with them and in death he'll return to finish what he started. 

Leseprobe

THE BOGEYMAN

Jason Downes

POST MORTEM PRESS

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Bogeyman

The Bad Prank

Woodcroft, CT, 1983

Ernie Craven

The Bogeyman Cometh

Molly

Deana

Bobby

Travis

Denis

The Bogeyman Returns

Vatican City

Father Kevin

A Return to Higgens Street

After the Scorched Earth

Acknowledgments

THE BOGEYMAN

Jason Downes

© 2017 Jason Downes and Post Mortem Press

For Jess, Lily, and Orla.

Hush little baby don’t say a word,

And never mind that noise you heard,

It’s just the beasts under your bed,

In your closet, in your head.

Enter Sandman

Metallica

Strangle my hope and make me pray,

To a God I’ve never seen but who I betray,

To the people who live the afterlife,

In a place I’ll never be ‘til I’m crucified

Let’s All Make Believe

Oasis

May you get to heaven a half hour before

the Devil knows you’re dead.

Irish Blessing

THE BAD PRANK

WOODCROFT, CT, 1983

WOODCROFT WAS AN UNREMARKABLE TOWN in almost every way. A small logging town at the base of a forested mountain and on the banks of a free-flowing river it was small but nonetheless prosperous. Logging boats chugged up and down the river every day and transport the wooden cargo to points all over. And when the interstate revolution kicked off the big rigs replaced the boats and the steady thrum and rev of engines were heard coming in and out of the town.

It was a community just like many others, it had its industry, forestry/ logging and it had its school, bars, (two of those), library (which was no more than backroom cast off behind the school but it was still there), a small general store and a handful of the usual small town offerings found all over the country. If the inhabitants fancied a trip to the mall it was a fifteen-mile drive two towns over to Delmont in order to do so.

The coffee shop was more of dinette and closed after 2pm until 5pm when it opened again to offer the town folk a chance to eat out. In every way it was a sleepy one horse town, and at times the boredom came close to driving the one horse away. If Woodcroft had anything remarkable about it, it was really more to do with its now derelict neighbor located up in the mountains, Riverton.

Riverton was a little different from Woodcroft. Its origins stretched back about one hundred years before the settlement of Woodcroft and it had been an early attempt at a farming community. A series of accidents, poor land, and a tendency for bad luck ultimately put paid to Riverton’s existence. Now as it sat deserted and overgrown. The buildings which had been homes and businesses just like the ones in Woodcroft stood broken and dead and breathed a haunted life into the legends of curses and evil which had attached themselves onto Riverton’s history. How could they not have? It was the perfect site for such stories.

Down at the end of the mountain in Woodcroft the lure of Riverton for kids and teenagers was like honey to the bee, undeniable, it had to be explored. And with every trip up there by a small group of intrepid young explorers there seemed to return with them another tale of eerie sightings and strange and awful business. Add to the mix the small homestead at the bottom of the town which was still inhabited although it was nothing more than a dilapidated and ramshackle wooden cabin, along with the odd old man who lived there alone, himself somewhat dilapidated and ramshackle, and the children of Woodcroft had the complete package. A deserted town, an old and nasty hermit whose own reputation was one of fear and coldness, it was a constant penny dreadful horror show.