- The Parliament House
READ THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS: Alex McKenna & the Geranium Deaths by Vicki-Ann Bush
CHAPTER ONE
Alex held Margaret, his firm hand pressing her head to his shoulder. His breath brushed across her ear. “Don’t look, no matter what you hear. That’s how it gets you.”
All the other victims had turned to ice. Alex couldn’t understand why, but the rules didn’t apply to him. None of the deceased were family, so maybe that was his armor. His family history protected him somehow.
They were huddled behind the furnace in the basement while they attempted to construct an escape plan. Although in a frenzy, Alex knew the level of heat from the unit should be enough to throw the beast temporarily off their trail. The foul spirit followed the warmth from the living, which made hiding from its ghostly grips difficult. The tighter he held Margaret, the more he worried about Wilby. His little brother had bolted in the other direction.
Alex was careful not to touch the hot, metal tank as he peered around it. He made the mistake a few years back of carelessly brushing against it while moving some boxes. The scar on his right arm left a permanent reminder. Alex crinkled his nose—the damp walls and seventy-year-old pipes needed more than a little fresh air.
It was dark in every corner except for a sliver of light emanating from the single ground-level window. He hated the basement, and especially the furnace room. It was the part of the below-ground space that wasn’t finished, and he felt like he stepped into a portal to hell every time he was there. He could sense the darkened soul still lurking in the shadows, but couldn’t hone in on it. Only the goosebumps standing to attention on his arms confirmed his suspicions. He eased back behind the tank. His plan worked for the moment, but it also limited their options. Now he needed a solid way to find Wilby and escape.
“I think I know how we can get out of the house.” Alex spoke softly. “But you’re gonna have to trust me.”
She nodded her head, her eyes widened with fear. Neither were normally the type to rattle easily, this one had them both off-balance.
“I know you’re really scared right now. So am I. But I also know you can do this. I’m going to lead the creature toward the attic.”
“Alex. No.” Margaret grabbed his t-shirt and gripped tightly.
He softly smiled.
“It will follow me. Then you get the hell out of here and find Wilby. Try my mom’s room first; he used to hide under her bed when he was little. It made him feel safe.
“Luckily, that thing stayed on our heels. I know the darkness is down here with us. My bumps are strong. After I get its attention, I’ll run for the stairs. You give it a minute or two before following. Get Wilby, and then head back down here and out that window.” Alex pointed to the ground window. It was big enough for Wilby and Margaret to fit through. “See the large wrench on the bench? Use it to break the window. My mom has rags over there, too. Line the ledge so you guys don’t get cut.”
“Why don’t we just break one of the windows in the den? They’re larger.”
“No. It would be harder to break through one of the double panes, and it would attract a lot more attention. This way you’ll barely be heard.”
Margaret shook her head. “I can’t leave you.” A tear streamed down her cheek.
“I need you to do this for Wilby.” Alex hesitated. He yearned to kiss her, but settled for a pal hug. “Text me when both of you are out.”
“How are you going to get the hell out of the house?”
“Don’t worry, I got a plan.” There was no plan, but he had to tell her something so she would agree. Margaret’s fierce when it comes to protecting the ones she loves.
He pulled away and eased out into the open. A chill ran up his spine—it was close. Alex squinted, trying to distinguish the difference in the shadows. He took a step forward; a blast of cold air startled him, raising the hair on his arms and roiling the butterflies in his stomach. He was headed straight toward the evil spirit.
A low, gravelly hum tainted his ears. Could Margaret hear it? He shook his head. No, he was not about to call out and give up her location. He shifted his eyes toward the right, his heart pounding. The beast lunged forward and reached out with a translucent, icy hand. Alex ducked and swerved. Spinning around, he ran straight for the door, and crossed the threshold before it could stop him. He scrambled up the stairs and made the mistake of turning back. It was a costly move. He tripped, and his body hit the floor boards, scraping his knees. He could feel stinging cuts, but chose to ignore it.
A frozen grip seized his leg and a layer of ice spread across the denim like a fungus. Furiously, Alex kicked free and scrambled back to his feet, running for the staircase to the second level. The entrance to the attic was in the hallway. Once he got the spirit there, he could buy Margaret the time she needed.
He reached the top of the staircase, rounded the corner, and reached for the knob. There was no need. The door flew open, slamming it into the wall. Chips of plaster exploded and nicked Alex near his left eye. He didn’t stop. Taking the steep steps two at a time, he ran to the center of the room. He heard the door slam and knew his plan had worked.
He was alone with the dark soul and nowhere to go.
* * *
Days Earlier
October was by far the most vibrant month in Floral Park. Alex preferred the crisp, cold air over the heat of the summer, and would patiently wait each September for it to escort out the ninety-degree temperatures to make way for the aromatic Autumn nights and warm covers piled on the bed.
He’d worked over the summer at the community pool, saving nearly everything he’d earned. Now, with winter and the holidays coming, he was hoping to get a job after school; the means to his goal of buying a car. If he could save up three grand, his mom would match it. Only eighteen hundred and forty-eight bucks to go.
Jumping in the shower, he barely had time for the water to get hot. The alarm beeped, but the flashing numbers indicated another power outage during the night. He only realized how late it was after he checked his phone for messages from Margaret. He briskly dried off and stepped into the confines of his second skin, pulling it up inch by inch. It seemed to help when he wiggled and twisted a little. He slowly wriggled it past his hips and waist, then yanked it up to his chest. He adjusted it, straightening and smoothing, before slipping on his t-shirt, jeans, and a hoodie, and he was out the door.
He had missed the bus, so he pulled out his current mode of transportation. At sixteen, it wasn’t the coolest to show up at school riding a bike, but it was a lot quicker than walking. Alex didn’t spend much time worrying what others thought. Live and let live was his motto.
Alex pedaled past Mrs. Carricchio’s house—the elderly woman was raking leaves from her front lawn. Her only son had been killed in the Vietnam War, and she’d lost her husband to a heart attack two years ago. Sometimes he and Margaret brought her pasta, a care package from his mom.