The Christmas Spirit E-Book

S.e. Gordon

• Herausgeber: Publisher s21000
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Basil Frump is my name, and I have a very unique problem. The neighbor upstairs is a vampire, you see, and even worse, a tax collector. Or tax consultant. These things tend to get jumbled when there's a blood curdling scream at night or the old man decides to pay my door a visit.I've no choice but to stop this vile wretch before he claims every soul in the Greenway. Hopefully a wooden stake will be enough to stop him...and garlic butter...Approximately 12,500 words.

Leseprobe

The Christmas Spirit

S.E. Gordon

Also by S.E. Gordon

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Literary Dynamite

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On the Bloodstained Shore of Dreams (Lord Vangley's Nightmare) (English, Spanish)

The Christmas Spirit

The Sweetest Stalk

© 2017 S.E. Gordon. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form (electronic, mechanical or otherwise) without the express written consent of the author.

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

E-book layout, formatting and design by S.E. Gordon.

Written, edited and produced in the United States of America. S.E. Gordon is proud to represent beautiful Orlando, Florida.

Image(s) licensed by DepositPhotos.com and © Simion Marian (#7492098).

First Edition (v1)

Published on December 5, 2017

Last updated on December 6, 2017

ISBN-13: 9781386783824

Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/TFW3r

Support Me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/scottgordon

Table of Contents

Title Page

Also by S.E. Gordon

Copyright

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Product Description

About the Author

Thank You!

Support Me on Patreon

Dedication

To Amelia “Mia” Decker,

You are loved.

1

Troubled, you may call me. But not like the man upstairs. He’s a vampire, they say, and a taxman to boot. The very worst of both worlds, and tax season is fast approaching.

Sometimes I lie awake at night, watching the fan rock in its mounting. Tick, tick, tick... I listen to the sounds of the city: sirens screeching a block over, hoodlums blasting their profane music, car horns honking...

And then I hear him, his labored breath burning holes in my ears as he toils into the night. Rarely does he leave his cramped domicile; I know this because I am with him every hour of every day. Occasionally there’s a loud thud, followed by laughter.

Perhaps he’s just doing taxes. I can only hope...

It’s not always advantageous working from home, especially when vampires are concerned. Laughter quickly turns into screams--horrific screams that cannot be easily purged from the soul.

One morning there was a knock at my door, sending my heart racing once I realized who was standing on the other side. Though day, the old man lingered in the shadows, every patch of his pale flesh covered by a crimson robe. A hood concealed his stony face, save for a trickle of his snowy beard.

“Do you have a stick of butter I could use?” the old man asked.

Like a fool I opened the door, the brass chain preventing me from disarming myself any further. “Please, leave me be!” I cried.

My trembling lips brought a smile to his craggy face. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m just trying to make breakfast: scrambled eggs and blutwurst. Unfortunately, I’m a tax specialist, not a cook, and keep burning the eggs. If you give me a stick or two, I can make you some too if you’d like.” He grinned.

“No, leave me alone!” I slammed the door and bolted it shut. Silence indulged me for a few moments before giving way to his fading footfalls. When I checked the peephole, I found myself eye-to-eye with the elderly kook.

“Very well,” he grumbled, and walked away.

Later that evening he must have been in a particularly foul mood. As the clock struck two, a woman let out a blood-curdling scream. It tore me from my slumber, and forced me to my feet.

Calling the police proved to be a futile effort. Instead of taking a statement from me, the buffoon pounded on the door across the hall. Rather than risk my life, I pressed up against the door and listened to the brief exchange.

“Sorry to wake you, ma’am. Somebody called about a disturbance. Would that possibly be you? We tried the door across the hall, but no one answered,” said Officer Grant.

“Liar!” I screamed. Just as I put my hand on the knob, the old man passed in front of my door.

“What about you, sir? Have you heard anything suspicious?” Officer Grant asked.

A smile broke out across the old man’s grim facade. “Sorry officer, but I did not hear a peep.”

“Get out of there! He’ll kill you all!” I pleaded, but the dimwitted cop stood there and cracked jokes with the old man.

“See anything, Kennedy?” the officer hollered to a second patrolman lumbering down the stairs.

“Nah, nothing. Somebody must have had their TV up too loud.” He gasped for air. “You should really get that elevator fixed.”

“In good time, officer. In good time...” The old man peered over his shoulder.

“Well, if you hear anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Grant tipped his hat and followed Officer Kennedy out of the building.

“And don’t forget to pay me a visit when the vultures begin to circle. They’ll take a pint of blood from you if you let them,” the old man chuckled, and then disappeared from view.