At 8:30 a.m. on Sunday, the 11th of November, just prior to my granddaughter’s third birthday party, I completed the manuscript of my second novel. It is a sequel to Simon Says and picks up where its predecessor left off, continuing on a journey that takes the reader across oceans and into the minds and souls that house evil and good, as they search for and run from each other. It is titled Hide and Go Seek. I have included an excerpt from the story that you are welcome to read and will continue to post others in the weeks ahead. Rest assured, they will not reveal the mysteries in either book, but hopefully they will entice you to discover them on your own.
“He was almost four years old when he passed the first doorway, which led into his mother’s massive bedroom, and felt the first inkling of the presence. He slowed and looked, left to right. A shiver ran up his spine. He continued on, at half the pace now, past his bathroom. Normally the night light would be on inside the room, plugged into the wall. But not tonight. Finally, he reached the entrance to his own room. It was even darker back there with just the faintest of light emanating for where his journey began. He stood motionless outside his open doorway and wondered why he had not turned on the hallway lights. Something inside him had triggered a warning. He could no longer hear his grandfather counting; only the muffled sounds of what he thought to be the television. Something sinister crept in. A second chill ran up his spine, swirled around his head and neck, then cautiously made its way down his arms, raising the fine, young hairs attached to his skin, before stopping at the tips of his fingers to linger momentarily.
The sounds of the television changed direction. They were no longer behind him. but rather in front of him, coming from within his bedroom. He wanted to run, to get out of there, to hold his mother, to be in the light. All of his senses told him it was the right thing to do; to escape while he could. But the thought of his grandfather told him otherwise. He was learning to be a man just like him. Just like his father once was. As if reaching into an abyss of unknown proportions, his left arm stretched through the doorway, into the darkness where he let his fingers crawl along the cool surface of the wall, searching for the plastic switch that would illuminate his world, not this foreign one he now stood in, where his bowels weakened and his tear ducts yearned to unleash a flood. Almost there, he knew, almost.
An unfamiliar object made its presence felt, beckoning the young child to reach farther, not just with his hand, but his mind and even his soul. Initially, the child rejected its request. He was consumed with fear. The presence knew this and anticipated this. Slowly it began to batter against the walls of the child’s will to escape and run to the creature that gave birth to him. It neared the child, searching for weakness, probing, hoping the child was still too young to know its strength.”