The Ride: A Novel

Tom Brandner provides horror fans with a wild ride into a hellish past - 5 stars -Harriet Klausner, Amazon's #1 Book reviewer "Stephen King has a new rival for the title of Master of Horror. Fans of horror, put this one on the top of your list" -ReviewYourBook.com "Tom Brander has your requisite things that go bump in the basement, shadows that pass across your line of sight, the crawly things that come up out of the river and variety of other worldy beings . . . reminding me a lot of Dean Koontz's earlier novels. Sign me up to read this author's work any time" -The Printed Page "The Ride is a thrilling and imaginative horror story" -Bookfinds.com U.S. A horrific accident, a dead man, and an extraordinary red truck set the stage for this thrilling ride into the unknown world of the lost and wicked. After a terrible car accident, a dying man hands body shop owner Carl Lee a mysterious envelope containing a gold key. Carl takes it, unaware that both his life and the life of his seventy-four-year-old grandfather, Thaddeus James, will be forever changed. Carl restores the man's red truck and gives it to his grandfather as a birthday present. Thaddeus quickly discovers, however, that the truck is no ordinarily vehicle; it blurs the boundaries between life and death. More than that, Thaddeus and Carl now find themselves encountering sinister forces and otherworldly beings. The Ride breaks the barriers of time and space and delves into the nether world of the damned. It is a love-inspired quest to save a life from the past, with the menacing, mysterious villain and a host of strange creatures standing in the way. It's a chilling chase to reshape the past, and those who try must accept the dire consequences of daring to take the ride.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The RideA NovelBy Tom BrandneriUniverse, Inc.Copyright © 2012 Tom BrandnerAll right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4502-4874-7Chapter One The red truck raced through the countryside, snaking its way along the winding roads of a small eastern North Carolina county named Lenoir. The driver kept glancing in the rearview mirror not able to shake the feeling that he was being followed. Although there was no one behind him, he could feel a presence closing in. With each turn the man began to have trouble keeping the truck on the road as he maneuvered the sharp curves, crossing the yellow line several times due to the excessive speed. Twice the tires slipped off the shoulder and slid precariously through the gravel nearly sending the truck into a disastrous spin. Each time the man eased the wheels back onto the asphalt without losing control and then continued on. Up ahead, a steep hill rose mightily before him. The man kept his foot on the gas and the truck bottomed out violently in the valley causing sparks to fly from the undercarriage. Inside the cab, the jolt caused the man to lose his grip on the wheel, and the truck jerked into the oncoming lane. Thankfully, there was no car in its path. The truck naturally slowed as it began to climb the hill, and the man was able to regain control. He took a slow, deep, breath before continuing on. For a brief moment, the man took time to appreciate the beautiful, Carolina, blue sky—something he had let slip by in the past. He read a sign on his right that had the words "Attic Treasures" painted in bright red. He smiled at the image of the old woman sitting on her porch in a rocking chair. Life could be good he thought as the truck neared the top of the hill, at least it was before he knew, before he was to find out. A white compact car carrying a mother and her two daughters was climbing the same hill from the opposite direction. They were heading to "Attic Treasures" to purchase gifts for teachers to welcome in the new school year, a tradition that began when the oldest had started elementary school. The two girls giggled excitedly when they saw the red tin roof peek over the horizon. Ages eight and ten, both girls were eager to browse through the endless supply of trinkets the antique shop offered, and both knew that at the end of the day each would receive a surprise gift from their mom. In years past, the mother always purchased a gift for the girls and presented it to them in the parking lot before they left. The gift was always unique and rather special, something that fit perfectly with each one's personality. As the car neared the top of the hill, the mother, ever the cautious driver, gradually slowed, put on her blinker, and checked her rear-view mirror to see if it was safe to turn. Secure that it was okay, the mother turned and crossed the highway just as the red truck came barreling over the crest. The ten-year-old, who was sitting in the front seat of the car, turned her head when something unexpected caught her eye. Her excitement quickly changed to fear when she saw the truck heading straight towards their car. Only seconds separated them from impact, and she tried to brace herself, terrified that she was going to die. Inside the truck, the man panicked when he saw the car cross into his path. He slammed on the brakes and pulled hard to the left as the tires screamed out. The man could see the girl's frightened face inside the car; her expression frozen in time. The man knew that if he could not avoid the collision, that terrified face would haunt him for the rest of his life, and perhaps, into his afterlife. The smell of burning rubber filled the truck's cab. The girl screamed out as the truck fishtailed by, passing so close that she could have reached out and touched it. The truck clipped the quarter panel of the white car, sending it spinning into the parking lot. Both girls screamed hysterically as the car spun around several times before coming to a stop in a field behind the store. The mother calmly checked her children as the truck continued down the hill, realizing how lucky they were to be alive. After hitting the car, the truck veered off the left side of the road, jumped a ditch, and with a loud thud, sideswiped a large oak. The truck careened out of control into the next yard, barely missing a couple of pines as it slid into yet another yard, heading straight for a concrete culvert that outlined the upcoming driveway. The truck slammed into the massive barrier. The deafening sound of crunching metal vibrated through the man's body as shards of shattered glass flew everywhere inside the cab. The collision caused the truck to go airborne, and it landed back in the road, momentarily riding on its left-side tires only, the man's head dangling dangerously close to the ground. Eventually, the truck rolled over on its side. Streams of sparks showered off the torn panels as the truck continued sliding across the asphalt for another two hundred feet. The truck finally skidded off the road and came to rest in a ditch opposite the Easy Mart. When the smoke cleared, the bloodied man was hanging halfway out of the driver's window, his legs held back by the lap belt. Two men inside the store quickly ran outside when they heard the commotion. A heavy cloud of smoke lingered in the air and debris littered the roadway. Finally, they spotted the rear of the truck sticking out from the ditch. "Get help," Carl yelled, "this looks bad." Carl Lee was the first to reach the truck, and what he saw made him sick. The left side of the man's face was gone, the skin torn away by the rough pavement. Part of his skull was exposed. The man's left eye dangled outside its bony socket, hanging only by the optic nerve. His neck was broken, and a large piece of glass protruded from his throat. His internal wounds were spurting blood into his lungs, clogging his airways. He barely clung to life. Carl immediately went for the seat belt, but the man pushed him away. He fumbled with something in his pocket, pulled out a small envelope, and attempted to hand it to Carl. "Take it," the man wheezed as blood oozed from the corners of his mouth, "Take it ..." The man grabbed his throat and pulled out the piece of glass, thinking it would help, but instead blood began to squirt furiously through his fingers and all over the envelope. The man grabbed Carl's shirt and pulled him close. "Hide them," he warned in a barely audible tone. "Hide ... them ... well." Carl took the envelope without saying a word. Before the man could speak again, he released his grip on Carl and slumped to the ground, dead. "Jesus, did he just die?" The man who had come up behind Carl was Stu, the crazy Valium-loving owner of the Easy Mart. He looked down in horror at the ghastly scene. "Damn, look at his face." Stu turned to the fifteen-year-old boy who had followed him out to the truck. "Did you call 911 like I told you?" Stu screamed, and the boy nodded yes. Carl dragged the man out of the truck and closed his remaining good eye. "Go get a blanket Stu," Carl said, realizing he still held the envelope in his hand. "He's dead." Without giving it a second thought, Carl stuck the envelope into his pocket. Stu ran off and came back clutching the curtains from the bathroom windows; it was all he could find. They gently pulled the man off the road and into the soft grass and, respectfully, covered his body. They stood uncomfortably silent, waiting for the authorities to arrive. After a few minutes, Stu spoke. "What'd he give you?" he asked nonchalantly, wanting to let Carl know he had seen something. Carl ignored him. "What was it?" Stu asked again as the sound of sirens rose in the distance. Carl shook his head in disgust. He wasn't worried about the stupid envelope or that Stu had even seen it. "Nothing Stu, I mean, damn, a man just died." Carl started across the street to get his tow truck as a car slowed to a crawl, gawking at the grisly scene. "Don't let anybody near the truck," he yelled back to Stu. Carl figured he might as well hook to the truck before the cops arrived, making sure he at least got the towing charge. Of course, the truck would have to be winched upright first, and that would add significantly to the bill, but he didn't mind, as the city had been skipping him lately in the towing rotation. He would make them pay dearly for this one. Hell, Carl thought, he had to pull a dead body from the truck. He backed the wrecker up to the ditch as the flashing lights appeared in the distance. Here comes the cavalry, he thought. Carl Lee was the thirty-five-year-old owner of a successful body shop in the small town of Kinston called Lenoir Auto Body and Sales. Along with his thriving collision repair work, Carl sold used cars; his motto was "Nearly New Cars at Used Car Prices." His friendly attitude, along with his lifetime warranties on repair work, kept the business highly successful for such a small town. Carl was overweight but not what you would call fat. He was round- bellied and stocky with a genuine quality to his personality that made people naturally gravitate to him. His truthful smile exposed an identity of an easygoing, fair and just man, a man who loved life, family, and friends, but who also had a soft spot for the elderly. He routinely kept up the maintenance on their vehicles, repairing small problems for the seniors at no charge. His generosity, some said, may have come from his caring for his own elderly grandfather, but those that knew him, swore that was just the way he lived his life. A young, clean-cut trooper wearing dark sunglasses and carrying a note pad strolled up to the truck. Carl climbed out. "Are you the one that got to him first?" the trooper asked. "Yes sir." The trooper took Carl's information, writing as he spoke. He listened as Carl explained what he saw. "Was he dead when you got to him?" "Just about," Carl paused. "He was barely alive." The trooper was sizing Carl up when he noticed the name written across his pocket. He had heard about Lenoir Auto from fellow officers, many of them labeling Carl as a problem, but the trooper didn't care. This was out of his jurisdiction, and it was Saturday, his kids were at home. He just wanted to get the day over with. "Did he say anything before he died?" Carl lied. "Not a thing. He gagged and a lot of blood came out of his mouth; then there was some sort of gurgle, and he was dead." The trooper wasn't amused. "Get this thing out of here," he said walking away. Carl followed him. "I need my tow slip," Carl reminded the trooper. "Must keep a record of it, you know, state guidelines." The trooper reluctantly filled out the paper and gave Carl his copy. "You got sixty seconds to get that truck out of here," he said with an irritated tone, "or I'll have another tow on the way as fast as you can say rotation." "We're gone," Carl said, and he snatched the paper from the trooper's hand. Carl waved goodbye to Stu and pulled out of the parking lot, passing the trooper who was standing in the middle of the road. "Thank you, officer," Carl said sarcastically leaning out the window, "You all have a good day now." The ambulance left the store with its lights off, and the remaining trooper followed. The other officer had driven up the hill to take a statement from the mother in the white car, who had also called 911. Stu was standing in the middle of the parking lot when his son finally grabbed him by the arm and turned him in the direction of the store. He was still holding the bloody curtains that had covered the dead man's body. He disposed of them in the dumpster. Damn, Stu thought, I need a Valium. Carl towed the truck to his shop and dropped it behind the building. Although he wasn't intentionally trying to hide it, he buried the truck among several abandoned wrecks that would never see the inside of the shop. He put the keys into his pocket and locked the gate behind him. It was evening when he finally arrived home. Carl lived in a once-abandoned, two-bedroom farmhouse that he had bought years ago for pennies on the dollar. He had bricked up the outside and remodeled the interior. He added a fireplace in the living room and a large garage off the kitchen where he kept his most prized possession, his bass boat. The huge black Mercury hung, like a monster, off the back. Carl loved his boat, and he had a reputation for pulling record-sized, large-mouth bass out of the Neuse River, even in the dead of winter. Carl grabbed a beer and went to change his clothes, suddenly realizing he had the man's blood splattered across his shirt. He revisited the scene in his mind as he undressed. He felt the envelope in his pocket and laid it on the dresser. Carl thought about the man's last words just before he died. Hide them, he said, hide them well. Carl stared at the envelope. Was the answer lying just inside? He finished his beer. There was only one way to find out. Carl got off the bed and picked up the envelope, running his fingers over it. He felt something hard inside, something square. He tore open the edge and a small black case fell out. Something inside the case jingled. Chapter Two Seventy-four-year-old, Thaddeus A. James sat in his rocking chair watching the same evening news just as he had done every night for the past ten years. He watched on the same nineteen-inch color television he had purchased nearly twenty years ago, refusing his grandson's request to buy him a new one. He didn't need a new one, he told him, and there was nothing wrong with his set. Kids today liked to throw their money away Thaddeus would always say. For example, two years ago they bought him a new rocker, but Thaddeus was still sitting in the old one, the new rocker collecting dust in one of the several rooms he never visited. He kept telling them that he liked his stuff, and for them to just leave him alone, but they never listened, and Thaddeus never stopped complaining. If one didn't know Thaddeus, they would say he was a bitter, old man, but in his defense, whether justified or not, a devastating tragedy had disrupted his life. The unexpected death of his wife in the late fifties proved too much for Thaddeus to bear. Thaddeus had married young—him nineteen, his bride, Charlene, barely eighteen. At the time speculation around town was that they were getting married because Charlene had gotten pregnant, but the real truth was they were having the baby because they loved each other. Already planning to spend the rest of their lives together, the two viewed the pregnancy as a message from God affirming their belief that they were meant for each other. With God's blessing to move forward and start their new family, and against their parents' wishes, Thaddeus and Charlene finally married. Nine months later, they couldn't have been happier when Charlene gave birth to a healthy, nine pound baby girl. They named her Charity, and she was beautiful. They watched her grow into a bright, energetic five-year old and even their harshest critics had to admit they had misjudged the couple, for they were truly in love. They were the perfect family ... that is, until the illness struck. Thaddeus was distraught when the diagnosis was confirmed. Charlene had come in contact with a deadly staff infection, a strain of bacteria that defied modern medicine, a virus without comparison. With no known vaccine existing to fight it, the prognosis was grim. Where she had picked up the microorganism, the doctors couldn't agree, but what they were certain was that the bacteria infiltrating her body had resisted all medically acceptable attempts to stop its growth, and if a vaccine were not developed within the next few weeks, she would die. And that is what came to pass. With no available treatment or viable alternatives, Thaddeus watched helplessly as the disease ravaged her body. Slowly and methodically the bacteria ate away at Charlene's nervous system, creeping into her brain, ultimately stealing her mind. During her final days, the pain had gotten so bad that Thaddeus wanted to put a bullet through her head to end her suffering. But he never did. Thaddeus remembered Charlene's final day vividly, their daughter, Charity, standing before him crying, begging him not to let her mother die, pleading with him to save her. Thaddeus could only stand there, helpless, and silent. He did not know what he should say, or even what to do. In his daughter's eyes, he had failed her, and from that moment on, nothing would ever be the same again. Thaddeus leaned forward in his rocking chair, surprised the news was over. He had missed the last ten minutes as his mind wandered. He flicked through the stations, stopping at a commercial showing an elderly couple walking lovingly hand in hand, bouncing through a flower filled garden, enjoying the moment. (Continues...) Excerpted from The Rideby Tom Brandner Copyright © 2012 by Tom Brandner. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. 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