1,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: WS
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
Being stuck in a dead-end town really wasn't teenaged Sylvie's worst nightmare.
When Sylvie Morgan's parents travel to Africa to study insects, she is left with relatives in the Midwest for a summer of endless boredom and babysitting.
Sylvie's Uncle Toby tells a horrifying tale around a campfire of a destructive ghost that terrorizes Effingham County every 17 years, but she thinks it's not as terrible as not having phone service.
An axe wielding neighbor and a polydactyl cat may soon make her a believer in this town's legendary ghost. The rural legendary monster that now seeks her as she faces and fights the terror of the entire town.
Genre/Categories:
Horror, campfire ghost story, stories with urban legend (or in this case rural legend)
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 43
Ähnliche
THE REGENERATION OF TOMAS RENELL
(A.K.A. SYLVIE’S SUMMER OF SCARY SH*T)
KRISSY KNOXX
Copyright © 2024 by Kris Maze/Krissy Knoxx
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Https://KrisMaze.comhttps://krissyknoxx.com/
The Regeneration of Tomas Renell (A.K.A. Sylvie’s Summer of Scary Sh*t) / by Krissy Knoxx
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-957944-07-4
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023922981
Editing by Luminare Press
Cover and Book design by Kris Maze
For all bored, unbelieving babysitters everywhere
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Krissy Knoxx
ONE
As Sylvie Morgan stepped from the streamlined Greyhound, a blast of warm dust hit her face like air from a hairdryer. Awesome, she thought. This is Illinois, not Africa. She looked in her reflection, opening the camera of her phone, and wiped off smudged dirt from her cheek. All she saw was a sea of corn fields as she looked for her Aunt Beatrice.
The departing bus roared off, swirling dirty gusts through her pink-striped, dark hair as the cloud settled. Her aunt was leaning against the side of an old Chevy pickup truck. She uncrossed her arms and rushed across the two-lane highway towards her niece.
“Sylvie, baby! You made it!” Aunt Beatrice waved her arms like a car lot windsock. “How was your trip?” Her aunt’s phone began to ring and Aunt Beatrice pulled it from her back jeans pocket and answered it.
“Moderate.” Sylvie opened a glass jar of Snapple from her backpack, while her aunt talked to what seemed to be her mother. The smooth metal top popped off and she read the inside of the lid for the hidden message, Be Generous and Kind. “That’s an inspirational message?”
Aunt Beatrice turned the screen towards her niece. “Your mom and dad. All the way from Tanzania.” Aunt Bea smothered her in a hug. “It’s so good to have you here.
And for the whole summer!”
“Yeah. The. Whole. Summer.”
Aunt Beatrice handed her the phone and took Sylvie’s luggage to the back of the truck.
“Hi, Mom. Dad. How’s Africa?” she said, stretching out the syllables casually, as if any kid in the eighth grade said that kind of thing to their parents often.
“Sylvie, it’s wonderful here. We met this great couple, they’re here at the research center too, and later we’re meeting them for drinks.”
“Great. Aren’t you going to the wilderness? You know, the reason you didn’t bring me along?” At that moment, a praying mantis several inches long landed on her doodle-markered black and white Vans. Violently shaking her foot, she panted, getitoff-getitoff-getitoff. Sylvie nearly dropped the phone before the insect got a clue and flew away.
“Are you okay?” Her aunt shot her a side-eye. “Your mom said something about you not liking bugs much. Kind of ironic, don’t you think?” She pushed up the tailgate of the truck bed. It latched with a grinding thud.
“Just a carnivorous manteodea on my shoe.” Sylvie took a big swig of the Snapple before pushing it into the backpack.
“Being the daughter of entomologists may mean my parents travel for research, a lot. But it doesn’t mean that they expect their bug-fearing only child, me, to be enthusiastic about entomology, too.”
“Sylvie? Are you still there?”
Sylvie lifted the phone. “Sorry, Mom. Yes. I made it here in one piece. You can go and enjoy your drinks and African safari now.”
“Well, it isn’t all fun. You know that. We are going to the savanna in a couple of days. And want to make sure you got to Aunt Bea’s alright.” The sun beating onto her black T-shirt, Sylvie walked to the shaded side of the truck and wiped her brow. Her throat hurt from the parched air, and
she pulled out the Snapple to finish it.
“Can I talk to Dad?”
“Sure. Just be nice to your cousin. I told Bea you were a great babysitter.”
“That’s on you. But I’ll do my best. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Be good.” Sylvie watched the phone screen pan through a small outdoor café as her mother handed the phone past candles and half-filled wineglasses to her father. Some shriveled fruit lay on a dish, one of which her father was quickly chewing as he took the phone.
“Hi there, Bug!” She rolled her eyes. Entomologists. He will always call me his little Bug.
“What did I say about calling me Bug?”
“Oops. Habit. How is Illinois?”
“Hot. Possibly hotter than where you are. You and Mom look like you’re having fun.”
“We report to the remote camp next week. A bunch of tents on platforms, so we’re taking some time to see the sights with another group of researchers. A safari and a visit to Kilimanjaro.”
“That’s cool. Sounds epic, actually.” She swatted at flies attracted to the briny sweat on her forearms. “It kind of supports my theory that you guys planned to take a worldclass vacation without me, though.”
“Just for a couple days, Bug. Then off to research Tsetse Flies.”
“Da-ad.”
“Sorry. Habit.”
