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The Haunted
The Haunted
The Haunted
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The Haunted

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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"The Haunted is a tremendous read for fans of ghoulishly good terror." - Horror News

"I got chills and goosebumps, I had to step away from the book a moment and walk around going, 'wow ... damn ... oh wow.'" - The Horror Fiction Review


***

They have the beginnings of a perfect family. A husband, a wife, a baby on the way.

But something will stop them from being happy as they move into their new house: the power of the undead that roam the halls of their home.

The demons that have come to claim them. The darkness that seeks to destroy them.

The haunted.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 12, 2014
ISBN9781497709331
The Haunted
Author

Michaelbrent Collings

Michaelbrent Collings is a #1 bestselling novelist and screenwriter. His bestsellers include Strangers, Darkbound, Apparition, The Haunted, The Loon, and the YA fantasy series The Billy Saga (beginning with Billy: Messenger of Powers). He hopes someday to develop superpowers, and maybe get a cool robot arm. Michaelbrent has a wife and several kids, all of whom are much better looking than he is (though he admits that's a low bar to set), and much MUCH cooler than he is (also a low bar). Michaelbrent also has a Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings and can be followed on Twitter through his username @mbcollings. Follow him for awesome news, updates, and advance notice of sales. You will also be kept safe when the Glorious Revolution begins!

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Reviews for The Haunted

Rating: 4.222222177777778 out of 5 stars
4/5

18 ratings6 reviews

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    On top of a hill in a forest surrounded by tall trees that look like green soldiers was a beautiful old house with a dark past. A long gravel driveway leads to the house and occasionally people drove down the highway to admire the home's beautiful architecture. They didn't stay long though because the house had a sinister feel to it and the people in town were afraid of it. The house had a for sale sign in front of it for a long time but one day the sign came down and a young couple expecting a child moved in.This is the opening to Michaelbrent Collings The Haunted. The young couple's names are Sarah and Cap. As they move in they experience strange occurences that they can't explain, such as radios turning on and off, a truck turning itsself on and objects moving on their own. On the second night an all out assault begins and the couple is attacked by a legion of homicidal ghosts who want them dead. Among the army of spirits that try to enter the house is one with a noose around its neck, one with a slashed throat, and one in a long hooded robe that seems to be the most evil of all. The couple tries to escape but there is nowhere to run; the only help they receive is from the local preacher who may be in over his head.There are a lot of horror novels out there that can be considered a roller coaster ride but The Haunted is more like a freight train out of control. The opening reminded me of Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House and did an excellent job of creating a mood of spookiness and impending doom. Right from the start before anything happened I found myself hoping Sarah and Cap would leave the forest and not look back. Ounce the mood is set, The Haunted kicks into a terror filled thrill ride and never lets up, leaving the reader breathless and fearing for Cap and Sarah.While the plot unfolds you learn more about Cap and Sarah, the author gets inside their heads and makes you feel what they're feeling. I love the way Michaelbrent Collings presents his characters. you know their fears, their weaknesses and what there thinking at all times. You fear for them because you relate to them and you know you would probably be thinking the same if you were in their situation. The only things I didn't like about The Haunted was that the story was a little confusing and I was able to predict the ending. Despite this, The Haunted is still an excellent horror novel. This is the second book I've read by Michaelbrent Collings and in both cases I found myself thinking that this book would make a great scary movie. Michaelbrent's writing paints a horrific picture and his characters are always memorable. This book has plenty of frights, the descriptions of the ghosts are terrifying and one ghost in particular is scary enough to keep you from sleeping for a night. So if you like a good ghost story then check out the works of Michaelbrent Collings.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    They have the beginnings of a perfect family. A husband, a wife, a baby on the way. But something will stop them from being happy as they move into their new house: the power of the undead that roam the halls of their home. The demons that have come to claim them. The darkness that seeks to destroy them.Wow is all I can say! One of the best Horror novels I have read in a very long time.I don't want to say too much about it, except the events start happening to this couple the day they move. And the horrors don't let up.A very clever nightmare of a novel. And with a twist of an ending I didn't see coming.Read this one with the lights on! And watch out, their might be a face at that window!I discovered this Author by accident, and I will pursue his other novels, but I highly recommend this as a starting off point.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I wish I could sound really smart while describing this book. Alas, I am just me, a fan of haunted house books. I rate this book among the best I’ve ever read. I love a book that you just can’t put down once you’ve started reading it. This is definitely one of those.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Seriously one of the creepiest haunted house stories I’ve read. Lots of twists and very unexpected ending!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    If you are looking for a truly haunting read this book is exactly that. I started reading it alone at night which was a mistake. His imagery was so vivid I had to turn on the lights several times because the shadows in my room definitely started playing tricks on me. From the start, Collings lures you in with a subtle eeriness that grows stronger as the book continues. It is well written and fast paced without feeling rushed. The story unfolds nicely and everything falls neatly in to place at the end without forcing it, leaving the reader fully satisfied as to how and why everything happened.

    I've read several of his other books and this is my second favorite (after Strangers). I would highly recommend him as an author to look for. He's a refreshing new face for fans of horror.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This book is a fantastic haunted house story!

    A couple is moving in to their new house. They're expecting a baby together and have finally found a home that they can afford. They are happy to be starting this new chapter in their lives.
    Then all hell breaks loose!

    Mr. Collings does a great job of keeping up the tension throughout the story. The characters were likeable, but mysterious. Both the husband and the wife keep mentioning "The Before" and it kept me reading, hoping to find out what that phrase meant.

    All in all, I very much enjoyed this story and look forward to reading other works by this author.

Book preview

The Haunted - Michaelbrent Collings

Written Insomnia Press

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Stories That Keep You Up All Night

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Details are at the end of this book.

To...

Shirley Jackson, Stephen King, and everyone else

who told – or was scared by – a good haunted house yarn,

My parents, who literally made it possible for me to write this book,

Tim, Aaron, and the nice folks at the Meridian Krispy Kreme,

and to Laura, FTAAE

Contents

Prologue: The First Story

1 The First Day 11:15 am

2 The First Day 11: 56 am

3 The First Night 7: 35 pm

4 The First Night 7: 42 pm

5 The First Night 7: 51 pm

6 The First Night 11:58 pm

7 The Second Day 6:32 am

8 The Second Day 9:02 am

9 The Second Day 5:58 pm

10 The Second Day 7:30 pm

11 The Third Day 1:54 am

12 The Third Day 2:03 am

13 The Third Day 2:07 am

14 The Third Day 2:22 am

15 The Third Day 2:27 am

16 The Third Day 2:53 am

17 The Third Day 3:06 am

18 The Third Day 3:37 am

19 The Third Day 3:49 am

20 The Third Day 4:01 am

21 The Third Day 4:06 am

22 The Third Day 4:35 am

23 The Before

24 The Third Day 4:36 am

Final Story

Prologue: The First Story

THE HOUSE SAT ATOP a hill.

It had sat there for many years, and as far as anyone knew, would sit there for many more.  Visitors would occasionally travel the long path to see it.  They would shiver, and wrap their coats tightly around them if it was winter.  If it was summer, they would shiver and wish they were wearing a coat in the first place.

It was a beautiful house.  A bit long in the tooth, perhaps, but far from being any kind of an eyesore.  It was hardly modern, but everyone who saw it and was able to focus solely on its architecture – as opposed to the feelings it engendered – agreed that it was of a good and hale age.  Not too old, but rather full of character.  Like a woman who has seen enough life to have a few wrinkles around the corners of her eyes.  No longer virginal, perhaps, but the experience she had would more than make up for any kind of youthful energy.

Of course, few people could stand to examine it on that level.  They shivered, and shuddered, and one or two got as far as the front porch before turning back.  And when they made the long trek down the driveway, then rode through the forest and across the river and back into town, they met with friends and told whispered stories of the house in parlors just light enough to remind them of the shadows.  Because tales of the house should not – could not – be told in brightness.

The woods stood around the house like an army of green soldiers, straight and true.  And while traveling to the house, it was easy to feel at peace; safe.  What could happen to someone in the middle of an army?

But when traveling back from the house, people would realized that the army was not to protect them as they traveled.  It seemed, rather, to have been put there to maintain a barrier between the house and the rest of the world.  Not to keep anything out, but rather to keep something in.

People in the town far below the house on the hill were of two minds about it.  Some of them agitated to burn it down.  Others said that as long as you left it alone, it would leave you alone.  And then, inevitably, someone would point out that it wasn’t their problem.  Not really.  It wasn’t even a part of the town.  It was an outsider.

Outside.

The voices would calm then.  Everyone could agree on that.  The house was different.  Apart.

One more thing they could agree about: the house, though vacant, was not empty.  Strange sights had been glimpsed from time to time through closed windows, strange sounds could occasionally be heard even as far away as the church in the center of town.  Sounds like the wind, howling a low wail of pain, or disappointment.  Or wrath.

A sign sat at the bottom of the quarter-mile long driveway.  It had sat there for a long time.  For Sale, it said.  The words were on a metal sheet that hung from the canted sign.  It swung in the breeze.  And it could sometimes be seen – or so the townsfolk said – to swing when the air was still as death, as breathless as a corpse.

Most people stayed away from the house.  Life was good in the town.  They were happy.  And if they had to lock their doors twice some nights, nights when the sounds came, when the lights could be seen in the vacant – but not empty – house, what of it?  It was a small price to pay for the goodness that graced the great majority of their lives.

So the house remained alone.  Vacant.  But not empty.

The sign leaned farther and farther over through the years, canting to one side as though grown drunk on the strangeness that filtered down the drive.  Eventually, the For Sale sign no longer swung, because it rested solidly on the dead leaves and grass that carpeted the ground.

The trees stood silent.  Good soldiers that did not speak.

Then one day the sign changed.  Gone was the rain-stained, peeling piece of rickety wood and its swinging metal sheet.  In its place was a new sign, bright yellow wood holding up brighter red letters.  For Sale, it still said, but this new sign seemed to say it louder than had the old.  It seemed insistent, almost challenging, as though daring anyone to resist it.

The trees were all that saw it regularly, and they did not speak.  The townspeople knew it had happened, but they busied themselves with life, and only spoke of the house infrequently, mostly to warn children and grandchildren not to go there.  The house wanted its privacy, they said.  It was vacant, but not empty.  And whatever was there, whatever was the source of the lights and sounds, it didn’t want to be poked or prodded.  It wanted to be alone.  To do its work, to live whatever kind of life there was to be had in an empty house.

One summer, an old man named Achak went up and dared to plant sage all around the perimeter of the house.  He claimed to be a descendent of an Algonquin chief, a proud brave in a proud lineage.  The sage, he told everyone that night, would free the house.  It would chase away the darkness that had lived there for so long.  The townsfolk nodded politely – they weren’t the sort who would mock a man for his beliefs – but privately they agreed that Achak had spent a bit too much time alone in his own house on the edge of town.  No one was much surprised when he was found hanging from a rafter the next morning.  Some of the townsfolk thought of digging up some of the sage and putting it on his coffin at the funeral, but they only got far enough to see that all the sage plants had died in the night before turning around and going back to town.

The house remained For Sale.

And then one day, the sign disappeared.  Folks in the town nodded gravely.  Perhaps the owner – rumor had it the house was owned by some faceless corporation back east – had finally decided to plow the house under.  Whispers even added that, if they were lucky, the house would not just be destroyed, but demolished, the ground below salted and the soil blessed by the town priest.

Instead, a few days later, a truck drove through the middle of town.  It was a large yellow truck, one the townsfolk recognized as a moving truck.  At first the people who saw it wondered where in the world the truck was headed.  There were no vacancies in the town.  No one moved in, no one moved out.

Then, they realized where the truck was headed.

The house.

Alone.  But not empty.  Not empty, and no longer vacant.

1

The First Day

11:15 am

SARAH LOOKED AROUND the kitchen, and wondered if she had made a mistake.

Not in being here, not in being with Cap.  But in the very fact of buying a house.  In the responsibility of it.

In the fact that it felt like the house was watching her.

She felt a lurching within her, a kicking, and touched her belly.  The baby was moving, though whether that signaled that it agreed with her or disagreed, she couldn’t tell.

What are you trying to say, baby? she thought.

The baby flipped around again, swirling around and through the amniotic fluid that kept it safe.  Another enigmatic response.

She sighed.  She didn’t know why she expected to be any better a mother than most, but for some reason she felt as though she had a special connection to this child.  A connection that was beyond that of other first-time mothers.  As though she had held this child in her womb not for months, but rather years, perhaps even decades.  That was ridiculous, she knew, but knowing something was ridiculous didn’t always mean disbelieving it.

She felt that way about Cap, too.  Like they had been together forever.  Their home could change, the world around them could shift and alter, but the reality of them was something that would never – could never – change.  They were eternal.  Her, Cap, and the baby they were making together.

She fought back the strange feeling, the suspicion that eyes were watching her.  There was nothing odd about the house.  It was hers.  Just like the baby.  Just like Cap.  Hers.  Forever.

Is that a good thing?

She shivered.  She and Cap had suffered through what seemed like a thousand moves in their marriage.  But they were finally here.  Finally home.  So why did she keep feeling... wrong?

The world seemed to swim for a moment, and she gripped the counter.  Light-headedness was something she should have been used to at this point.  Stand up too fast, she got light-headed.  Sit down too fast, the same.  Run up the stairs, and the universe would spin.  Run down them, and it was even worse.  The baby seemed to be positively allergic to movement, as though it wanted everything to stay in the same place forever.

That was fine by Sarah.  She knew that some women grew to despise their pregnancies, but that hadn’t happened to her.  Not yet, anyway.  Maybe in another month or two, maybe then she would be ready for the baby to go.  She knew of women who would try any labor-inducing trick to get the kid out, as though it wasn’t a gift, but a chore.  And sometimes it could be a chore.  She hated the fact that she had to pee an average of sixty-two times a day.  And the fact that she had the strangest craving for cheese.  She didn’t particularly care for cheese normally, but since she had been pregnant, if she went through the day without eating at least one grilled cheese sandwich, she felt deprived.

At least she was finally past the first few months.  She loved being pregnant, but she didn’t miss the morning sickness, the constant nausea.  Plus, now she looked pregnant, as opposed to merely strangely chubby.

The world swam again, and she gripped the counter hard enough to suspect she might leave marks on the granite surface.  What was going on?

She looked out the window, and saw the moving truck right where it should be, parked in front of the house at the top of the long driveway that led through the woods.  That meant Cap would be nearby.  She gulped air, trying to decide if she should call him.  She didn’t want to.  Heaven knew he was already doing enough.  It wouldn’t be fair to make his job even harder by interrupting it.

But she felt an urge to call to him.  Suddenly wanted to interrupt him every bit as much as she didn’t.  She could chalk it up to the irrationality of pregnancy, a side-effect of the hormones that were using her as their own personal amusement park.  But she couldn’t deny it.  And she realized that she not only wanted to interrupt his hauling of boxes and bric-a-brac, she wanted to tell him to drop everything, get in the truck, and pull right back down the driveway, leave the house behind forever, nothing but a dark memory atop a hill.

What’s wrong with me?

She shook her head.  Deep breaths.  Slowly the dizziness passed.  The baby stopped moving, settling down for a uterine nap, perhaps.

After another moment, she decided she wasn’t going to faint and straightened up again.  She didn’t want to pass out.  The house was secluded, which was a boon in so many ways.  But it also meant that if something happened, it would be a while before they even got to the town in the valley below, let alone to a hospital.

She felt a thrill of fear at that realization.  What was she thinking, moving into a house in the middle of nowhere?  She was pregnant, for goodness’ sake.  What if something happened to her?  To Cap?  To the baby?

She shook her head again, this time not to dispel dizziness, but rather to cast off the dark thoughts that had gripped her on what should be nothing but a bright and luminously happy day.  They were starting.  They had the house.  Everything was going to be fine.

She knew where the thoughts had come from.  The past was past, but somehow remnants of it kept shoving into her present, trying to bend her future.  Thoughts infiltrated her mind, saboteurs of happiness.  Thoughts of what had happened.  Of The Before. –

No.  That’s old me thinking.

She did what she always did when thoughts like this threatened her: she thought of Cap.  His eyes, so brown they were almost black.  His frame, tall and lithe and tightly muscled.  His smile.  He was completely unlike anyone she had ever met before.  He was an even greater blessing than the baby was.  He was her rock.  Wherever they went, no matter how many times they might have to start over, as long as he was there, she would be all right.  More than all right.  She would be the thing she hadn’t dared to be since that hateful day so long ago.

She would be happy. So busy with her life – her good life – that she wouldn’t have time to be anything else.

She picked up the box cutter that sat on the counter nearby and turned to the kitchen table.  It was a beautiful piece of furniture, dark wood with elegant lines.  It had been in the house when they got here, and Sarah had been glad of that.  Seeing it made the place seem more like a home.  Anyplace with a kitchen table had possibility.  Meals could be eaten here, family could chat here.  She could almost see the people around it.

Of course, it was piled high with boxes right now, and she would have to get a move on if she wanted to clear it off before dinner time.  Dinner itself was likely to be nothing more than sandwiches, but she knew that if she could eat with Cap, both of them sitting at the table, it would be like laying claim to the house.  Making it hers.   And then later, in the night, in their bed, she and Cap would lay claim to the house in a different kind of way.

She smiled.  She flicked the small knob on the side of the box cutter, and the blade emerged.  It caught the light that glinted in through the large bay window beside the table and the sharp edge seemed for a moment to glow like some kind of mythic weapon.  She plunged the razor down, slicing through the packing tape on top of the nearest box.  She wanted to unpack the dishes first.  It was part of the feel of the kitchen, to have the plates and saucers and glasses put away neatly in one of the cupboards.  Unfortunately, Cap apparently hadn’t marked all of the boxes.  That was unlike him.  He must have gotten too busy toward the end of packing up for the move, which had happened so fast it was barely more than a fuzzy haze of activity.

She put the box cutter down, and opened the box.  It was at least kitchen ware, though it wasn’t the dishes.  A breadmaker, a waffle iron.  Some odds and ends.  She moved the box aside and picked up the box cutter again.  Opened another box.  This, too, disappointed her.  She repeated the process several times.

Pick up the box cutter.

Slash through the tape.

Put the blade down.

Open the box.

Glance inside.

Pick up the cutter.

Cut the tape.

Razor down beside the box.

Box open.

Look inside.

Pick up the...

She felt around blindly, still looking inside the box that sat in front of her.  A spice rack?  She didn’t even remember owning a spice rack, let alone packing one.  She sighed.  Somehow moving made everything seem new.  Or no, not merely new.  Alien.  As though someone else’s belongings had somehow infiltrated her life.

Stop it.  That kind of thinking doesn’t belong here.

She moved the box aside and looked for the box cutter.  Where had it gone?  She rolled her eyes.  That was a little tidbit that no one ever mentioned about pregnancy: the absent-mindedness.  Sarah knew that she wasn’t a genius, not by a long shot.  But neither did she think of herself as particularly stupid.  At least not until she got pregnant.  Then it seemed like the most basic mental exercises were beyond her.  Words had a tendency of deserting her.  She couldn’t remember what she had had for breakfast half the time, and couldn’t remember if she had had it at all the rest of the time.  She understood it was a fairly common occurrence among pregnant women, but the fact of its prevalence didn’t make her feel any less stupid when she couldn’t remember a name or a date.  When something she knew she had seen before seemed brand-new.  When she felt like she didn’t belong in her own skin.

Or couldn’t remember where she had put the stupid box cutter.

She moved the boxes around on the table like one of those puzzles that made a picture if you slide the tiles around in the proper order.  She wasn’t looking for a picture, though.  She wanted the box cutter.  Cap used his keys to open the boxes, but she hated doing that.  What was the point of having a box cutter if you used your keys to open boxes?

She moved aside several stray sheets of bubble wrap, pushed aside some papers that had somehow made their way onto the table, but still couldn’t spot the box cutter.  She looked under the table, wondering if it had somehow clattered to the tile floor without her noticing it.  The floor was bare.

What the heck? she muttered to herself.  She had a rare moment in which she was glad that Cap wasn’t in the room.  She loved him, loved to be with him, but he did have a tendency to tease her mercilessly at times.  Her inability to find a utility knife she had been using all of sixty seconds before would be prime fodder for some good-natured – but still irritating – goading and jeering.

She was loath to give up her search, and did not relish the idea of being reduced to Cap’s key method of box opening even less.  But after pushing the boxes around on the table a half dozen times, after looking on the floor twice, after peering under everything on the table that could possibly hide the razor, she had to admit defeat.  The baby flipped in her womb again, and this time she got the distinct impression it was laughing at her.  She didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl – she and Cap were looking forward to the surprise – but she got the feeling that no matter what the sex, the child was going to take after its

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