Fifty years to the day Max Jensen walked into the Starke house, Jesse Miller is throwing a party.
Jesse wants to go down in high school history as the kid to remember. Only problem is, he may just get his wish. If he thought throwing a party in the long abandoned house of a serial killer would do it, then he would be right. But what happens that night at the old Starke house isn't something you want to remember...not if you ever want to sleep again. Performing a mock ceremony to raise Starke from the dead proves to be a mistake of monumental proportion. And by the time Jesse realizes he is in over his head, he must now worry about keeping that same head on his shoulders.
What would you do if the only way out was to go Beyond the Red Door...into the very mouth of hell?
WARNING: This book contains extreme violence and language that may be offensive to some readers.
Excerpt
The following excerpt cannot be shared, printed, or duplicated without permission from the author and/or the publisher.
Fairfield, California, 2012
Taylor stood before the old house.
Jesse grinned. “So, what do you think?”
She took a step closer. Crossing her arms, she looked up at the building. “What did you call this place again?”
“The Starke house.”
“And you say some serial killer lived here over fifty years ago?”
“Yep.”
“And he buried twelve boys in his basement?”
“You can check for yourself, if you don’t believe me.”
She studied him, her blonde hair falling down into her eyes. “I just might do that, Mr. Miller.”
Jesse’s grin widened. “You haven’t heard all of it.”
“You’re telling me there’s more to this story?”
“You have no idea.”
“Well?”
Lowering his voice, he leaned in. “It’s been said, Starke killed a teen in this house, in 1962.”
“Didn’t you say he was executed, in 1956?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let me guess. His ghost rose up from Hell and slayed him.”
He shrugged. “To be honest, I think it was the demon.”
Taylor’s brow furrowed.
“I read Starke made a deal to raise his little brother from the dead—if he sacrificed thirteen boys to a demon.”
“Wait, if there was some sort of pact with a demon to raise Starke’s little brother, then when this teen—”
“Max Jensen.”
She paused. “If Max Jensen was killed by this demon, as you say, wouldn’t that have completed the pact?”
“Now that you mention it, there were stories of a five-year-old kid found wandering the streets, that same night. The kid was the spitting image of Starke’s little brother.”
Again, her brow furrowed. “But why Max? Surely, people have gone into the cellar before that day.”
“A bag, a knife, and a chip of wood were found just inside the door. The knife had blood on it. They think he was trying to take a piece of the door and cut himself.”
“And he bled on the ground.” She nodded. “You’re not saying you actually believe any of this.”
The corner of Jesse’s mouth curled. “You want to know what happened to the little kid, don’t you.”
“I never said…” She pursed her lips. “Okay, what happened to him?”
“He was adopted by the people who found him. Wasn’t long after that they moved. From time to time, for years after, a reporter would track him down and dredge the whole Starke thing up, to make a fast buck. But, after some time, he dropped off the map.”
“So, as far as you can tell, he’s just some regular Joe.” She hesitated. “What I don’t get is why Max was down there in the first place? What was he doing trying to take a piece of the door?”
“My best guess? Someone bullied him into it.”
“You’re serious.”
“What can I say? Things never change, it seems.” He sighed. “But, like I said, check it out for yourself, if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I will.”
He slipped his hands around her waist. “And after we can—”
Taylor pulled back. “Who is that?”
An old man stood on the sidewalk. His baggy pants and droopy sweater had seen better days, his scraggly grey hair in desperate need of a combing.
“Ah, that’s Mad Melvin.”
Her blue eyes narrowed on the old man. “Mad Melvin?”
“He’s harmless.”
“Guy gives me the creeps.”
“He’s not staring at you. You just happen to be in front of the Starke house. It’s the house he’s staring at.”
“And why would some old guy stare at this house?”
“Dunno. Just know he walks down here every day and stands there.”
She squinted. “What’s that in his arms?”
“That…I think is a cat.”
She clasped a hand to her mouth. “My God, is it dead?”
“No. At least I don’t think so.” Jesse chortled. “But, if it’s not, it should have been years ago. The thing is probably older than he is. That’s most likely why he carries it everywhere.”
“Like I said, are you sure it’s not dead? Because if that’s a cat, I’m a…”
“Yes?”
She gave him a shove. “Never mind. You were going to show me all these crazy stories you made up, on the net.”
“I didn’t make them up. They’re in the newspaper archives. I’ll even show you pictures, if you want.” He drew her to him.
“All right.”
He accessed the net on his phone. “There.”
“Let me see.” She grabbed the phone. “Starke…killed…buried in the basement. Okay that I believe. But this nonsense about a demon rising up and killing some teen.”
“That’s what I think happened. If you ask around, people will say it was Starke.”
“What people?”
He took the phone. “Here, read this.”
“This says Max Jensen was found dead, here at the house. It says nothing about Starke killing him. It could have been some vagrant, for all we know.”
“Ah, but you didn’t read what Starke had to say just before he died. According to reports, he claimed he would return from the grave to seek vengeance.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Right. So, anytime something happens in that house, it has to be Starke.”
WEIRD RHODY is a short story collection featuring five strange tales all set in Rhode Island and written by five Rhode Island authors. The anthology is a tribute to H.P. Lovecraft, the Ocean State's famed author of pulp horror.
