There Comes a Moment...: A Haunting in Highland

During the early dawn of a summer morning in July, Jonathon Parker is awakened by a scream and runs outside to find his neighbor standing over a dead body. Suddenly, the harmony that has surrounded his peaceful cul-de-sac for years is shattered. An eyeless, hairless head of a corpse is not what Jon expects to see on his suburban lawn first thing in the morning, yet overnight, he and his neighbors are unwillingly cast into a nightmare of horrific proportions. All of a sudden, something is consuming his quiet little neighborhood in Highland, Illinois, and no one can explain why. Unfortunately, the first dead body will not be the last, and what follows in the days and especially the nights to come will forever change the lives of those who live on one street, in the middle of one town, in one part of the country. The Devonshire cul-de-sac residents are decent people who thought they were ready for anything ... but it turns out no one is ready to face a ruthless killer seeking vengeance.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

There Comes a Moment ...A Haunting In HighlandBy Andrew CarmitcheliUniverse, Inc.Copyright © 2009 Andrew CarmitchelAll right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4401-4266-6 Chapter One There comes a moment, inevitably in every one of our lives, when stark, unmitigated fear suddenly captures us completely. It is almost always when we least expect it, is always uninvited, and is characterized by a totally inexplicable paralysis that captures us, body and soul. When it comes, whether it lasts a long time or is blissfully short, we know somehow a fiber of it will always remain with us for as long as our contentious journey lasts here on this beleaguered, but still stubbornly blue planet. It is a moment of blind terror when every cell is consumed with total fright; an emotion that brings, in a millisecond, a panic so intense that it robs us of all reason. It can come in a thousand ways, and at any time, but this terror freezes us in every way, and is unforgettable to the survivor. It is usually momentary, thankfully, but it stays lurking in the nervous system forever, waiting for the next time. And it will come again, you can be assured. It may come in the split second before a perceived life-threatening accident or assault or, if we're lucky, as the result of a horrible, if ultimately harmless, nightmare. It may come with an unexpected sound in the dark, an unexplained rustling coming from right behind us as we walk, from a wayward rodent running over a foot, or even sometimes, as the unintended result of a well-meant surprise from a loved one. We don't know where, and we don't know when ... but it's out there somewhere, waiting. For all of us. Just such a "moment" came to Jonathon Parker in the first milky white light of dawn on what should have been an unremarkable summer morning in July. Jon's clear blue eyes snapped open, wide open, from what had been a dead sleep, and stared near uncomprehendingly at the clock at his bedside. It said 5:23. Something had happened, he knew. He was afraid to breathe, but didn't know why. He was perspiring, trembling slightly, and his mind was struggling fiercely to understand, to make sense of this, or even, in those first few seconds, to have a coherent thought. The clock turned to 5:24. He stared at it, his head still on his pillow, as afraid as he had ever been in his life. Then the scream came. It was the second scream, he instantly realized. A woman's scream. A jarringly loud, piercing scream that somehow seemed to contain all the fear and grief of the world. And it seemed to be coming from right outside his bedroom window. Jon bolted upright in his bed, and in those first few panicked seconds he wished, albeit irrationally, that someone was lying there beside him; a lover, or even just some girl he'd hooked up with the night before, or a place to run to, like the safety of his parent's bedroom long ago. Anyone. Someone. The scream stopped. He threw off the sheet, and tried to get up, as it happened, too fast. He over swung his legs while trying to jump out of bed and stand at the same time and tumbled to the floor, hitting his head hard on the nightstand in the process. It was a blow that dazed him, and under normal circumstances he would have spent the ensuing minutes regaining his senses, and nursing himself in the bathroom, but he knew there was no time for that now. The paralyzing fear was still there, even if it now carried a bruise with it. If anything, it was greater now that there was silence outside. He struggled to his feet, took a deep breath to try to stabilize himself, then reached for his jeans. Still dizzy, he almost fell again, but grabbed the nightstand to keep himself upright. Then he sat back on the bed, and after taking a moment to right himself, began struggling to get his pants on. Moments later he was in full sprint down the hallway toward his kitchen when the screaming started again. He was further away from it, so it wasn't quite as ear-shattering, but now that he was fully awake, it was perhaps even more unnerving. He entered his still half dark kitchen, found the light switch after two quick tries, and then, with badly shaking hands, picked up the phone and dialed 911 for the first time in his life. An operator answered on the third ring. "You have dialed 911. What is the nature of your emergency?" "There's a woman screaming, right outside my house! Please send someone...now!" Jon said. "Please calm down sir. What is your name, sir?" "Jesus Christ! You're kidding!!" Jon screamed. He couldn't believe this. He'd heard some of these inane 911 calls played on TV before, but now it was him, and now he needed help. "Just send someone to 335 Devonshire Court ... I'm begging you! I'm at the end of a cul-de-sac. Hurry up!" "We're responding right away sir. Please calm down, and try to answer my questions. Is the woman hurt, Mr. uh ... what was your name?" Jon hung up the phone. He stood for a moment, still shaking, and tried to think clearly. As is almost always true in situations such as these, his first, primal thoughts were for his own safety. Had he locked both his doors last night? Had he closed the garage door, for sure? He reached a hand up to wipe the sweat he felt dripping down his forehead, and when he pulled it back down, he saw that it was blood, not perspiration. "Great. Just great," he said aloud as he rushed over to the kitchen sink to wash himself. Temporarily, he thought only of himself. But as soon as he began to run the water, there was a scream again, shorter this time, and more guttural, as if the woman was in grievous pain. Rape? Ashamed of himself, Jon shut off the faucet and looked around the kitchen quickly. He needed a weapon. He didn't own a gun. He saw the carving knife set his mother had bought him when he had first moved in. He'd never used them. He grabbed the handle of the biggest one, pulled it out and looked at it for a moment and then ran for the front door. He had indeed locked it, and nearly cut himself again in his hurried effort to open it. He finally succeeded, swung it open wildly, and ran off his short front porch and through the cold, dew soaked grass in his bare feet to the side of his house that the screams were coming from. He saw her immediately, as she was standing in the pale light almost precisely on the lot line between their two houses, and more toward the street than he would have guessed by the sound. Barb Ellsworth, the cute little blonde from next door, wearing her fashionable jogging clothes and pristine white running shoes, was standing over what looked at first like a big leaf bag, with her hands held up to her face as though trying to cover her eyes, and she was sobbing convulsively. Jon sized up the scene as he slowed to a jog and then a walk, relieved beyond measure that Barb was not hurt, but only, apparently, terribly frightened about something. He lowered the knife to his side as he approached, not wanting to hear that scream of hers ever again. "Barb," he said as gently as he could with the breath he had left , "Barb, what's the matter?" Barb appeared to be oblivious to his words or his presence, even when he got to within a few feet, and right across the bag from her. He saw that her trembling hands were actually on her upper cheeks, as though she was trying to pull her wide open eyes even wider as she stared down. "Barb," he said a little more forcefully. "What is it?" And then he looked down. It was hard to make out what he was looking at, at first. To be fair, an eyeless, hairless head of a corpse that is almost the exact color of the grey dawn is not something one expects to see on one's safe, suburban lawn first thing in the morning. At least not most mornings. Jon bent closer to get a good look, and at once the overpowering smell of death, and the recognition of what had recently been a human face hit him. He jumped back, emitting an involuntary, almost effeminate scream of his own. Jon's scream had the effect of violently retrieving Barb from her state of shock, and she looked up at her bloodied, bare-chested, bare-footed, knife wielding neighbor ... and fainted, right on the spot. Jon stood paralyzed, now several safe feet away, staring first at the wax-like head sticking out of the body bag, and then at his fallen neighbor, whose face was lying perilously close to the corpse's. He stood gasping for breath, and trying to comprehend what had just happened. He heard, but only vaguely, another neighbor yelling and coming on the run, and the distant sound of sirens in the early morning * * * Pete Vanderberg lived on the other side of Jon, the west side (the Ellsworths being the first house to the east), at the end of the Devonshire cul-de-sac. Pete was already awake, had had a cup of coffee, and was in the middle of shaving when he heard the distant scream. He turned down the news program on the radio he had on at the same time each morning and, face still half lathered, listened intently while staring at his tired, gray visage in the mirror in front of him. He heard nothing, so he continued his shave, but with the volume down. When the scream came again he heard it clearly, and it startled him enough to cut himself slightly. He swore out loud, but quickly wiped off the blood and remaining lather from his face, and then walked hurriedly toward his living room and front door. His wife Margie came out of the hallway to their bedroom at the same time, and they almost ran into each other. "Did you hear that?" she asked after she stopped just short of him. She was close enough to him for Pete to catch a whiff of sour morning breath, and between that and the wild sagebrush look of her hair, and the old tattered robe she insisted on wearing that made her look like a heft y homeless woman, along with the fact that she had scared him half to death with her sudden appearance from the hallway, all combined to make Pete answer her far more irritably than the situation called for. "Go back to bed, will ya!" he snapped. "I'll handle this!" Margie drew back in surprise at his tone, but said nothing. There was no screaming at the moment, and she was still half asleep, so she shrugged and turned to pad back down the hallway, while rubbing whatever dream or nightmare she must have been having out of her eyes. Pete, towel still in hand, headed to the front door. He unlocked and opened it, stepped out onto his front porch into the grey, new dawn, and had just taken his first breath of the humid July morning air when he heard his friend Jon Parker scream. He had no idea it was Jon though, because the scream was short and high-pitched, unlike the one he had heard while shaving. It was the yell of someone temporarily frightened out of their wits, like a victim of a scare on a Halloween night. He couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. It made him jump, and because it was early morning, and not Halloween, he knew then for sure that something was very wrong. He started out on the run toward the noise he'd heard. Pete didn't have to go far. He saw the shadowy scene between Jon's and the Ellsworth's houses when he was only a few feet away from his porch. And then he saw someone, or something collapse to the ground. It was then that he yelled out, "Hey, what's the matter over there?" while racing over to see. He recognized his neighbor Jon first, and saw the knife he was holding right away. The knife, and the dazed way John was standing there made him slow up considerably before getting too close. An image of Jon as a crazed murderer flew through his head, but didn't hold. Jon killing an intruder, maybe? But, in Highland? "What happened here Jon?" Pete asked as coolly as possible, from what he judged to be a safe distance from the knife. Jon stared at the bodies in front of him for a few moments more before slowly turning his head toward Pete. Pete saw that Jon's face was more frightened than frightening. That, along with a groaning sound from the ground gave Pete assurance enough to take his eyes off of Jon (and the knife), and look for the first time at what was lying down there. He saw Barb Ellswoth, the girl in so many of his illicit dreams, on the ground, rolling her head back and forth as though she was having a dream of her own, and he saw a large black bag next to her. Now Pete was even more confused. This scene made no sense. What about the screams? "Pete, go look at the open part ... the part up there," Jon said suddenly in a cracking voice. Pete took a step back instead, and shift ed his gaze back over to Jon, who was standing right where he had been, but was now looking at, and pointing his knife with a shaking hand at, the top of the bag. In the growing morning light, Pete could now see the blood running down Jon's forehead and temple. He took another step back. He became conscious of the sirens then; sirens that were getting steadily louder. He knew they must be coming here. They were probably two minutes away. "Go look, Pete! Right here in the yard!" Jon's voice sounded close to hysterical now. Pete studied his neighbor. He was trying to think calmly, but there were so many possibilities here. Should he keep backing up, and wait for the police? What if they weren't coming here? "Look Jon," he finally began while easing backwards, "why don't you get rid of that knife, OK? Then I'll go look at the bag." Jon looked slowly down at the knife he was holding, and then at his friend. He looked to Pete as though he didn't quite understand. "Throw the knife down buddy. We've got to help Barb out, right?" Pete asked. Jon looked at Pete for a long moment, then turned his head slowly back toward Barb and the bag. Then, finally, he took an audible, shaking breath, and threw the knife, hard, back toward his own house. Then he put his head down in resignation. Barb raised her head up as Pete moved quickly over to her side. She looked confused, as though she had just woken up from a long beauty sleep, with her aimless look, mussed blonde hair and lack of make-up. Pete helped her to her feet while whispering that everything "would be all right," even though he still had no idea what had actually happened. The loud wail of the first police car turning into their cul-de-sac made all three of them turn and watch its approach. The sound raised the hair on Pete's neck, made Jon feel like running away ... or sitting down, he didn't know which, and it appeared to make Barb more dazed and confused than ever. As the first car screeched to a halt at the curb in front of them, a second car fishtailed into the entrance of the cul-de-sac, then gunned the motor and wailed down the street toward the first. The three stood mesmerized, and as still as the fourth one lying there, as the police officially arrived. Now, up and down the cul-de-sac doors swung open, and neighbors came out onto their porches and into their yards in pajamas and bathrobes, squinting into the new day's first sunlight, trying to see just what had happened down there at the end of Devonshire Street. * * * Officer Darrin Crandle was the first to arrive at the scene. Though he was the newest member of Highland's Police Department, and just 23 years old, there was no other officer more ambitious or enthusiastic about his chosen life's work. In fact, the whole department combined couldn't match his boundless energy, and being a rookie, this added up to much hidden resentment, open teasing, and even jealous mockery from the mostly cranky, veteran staff. Officer Crandle was young, conspicuously bright, ridiculously good looking, and very single and free - all things that caused, understandably, envy and resentment in the rest. The reason he was first on the scene is in some ways an illustration of this. Darrin knew the sprawling, growing suburban town like the back of his hand, even though he'd been a Highland resident for only five months. He studied it day and night, on duty and off, and he knew every street and alley (and almost every garbage can in those alleys) better than, or at least as well as anyone ever had. He also studied the people, the traffic patterns, and everything else he could think of that might some day benefit him in the line of duty. To some, he was too good to be true. When he heard the call toward the end of his shift to proceed to 335 Devonshire he knew right where it was. The map in his head told him. The officer in the other car, who was also finishing up his night shift , knew about where it was too, but not as precisely as Crandle. He would arrive, therefore, a few seconds later. Once again, in second place to the kid. (Continues...) Excerpted from There Comes a Moment ...by Andrew Carmitchel Copyright © 2009 by Andrew Carmitchel. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Reviews

News