THE HAUNTING OF SAM CABOT

MARK EDWARD HALL

Review by T.G.Reaper

A very atmospheric tale of terror written by an expert in the field, read the first chapter and you will know why I am a fan of this author. The Haunting of Sam Cabot is a story that immediately sucks you in and doesn't let you go untill the very end. It took me an extremely long time to write this review, not because I was trying to get through it, but because I wanted to do it justice.

Join me, won’t you? To Davenport Maine, where there’s a cheap fixer upper for sale. A house dripping with evil. Sam Cabot, a novelist struggling with writers block, discovers the house, or more importantly, the house discovers him.

Sam moves in with his wife Linda, and his son Sean, in hopes of living a quiet life. What he doesn’t realize is nothing is quiet at the Farnham house, especially the dead.

The Haunting of Sam Cabot is a future classic with all the signs of a Horror author on the rise. I am both amazed and extremely jealous of Mr. Hall’s talent; he is setting the new standard for the rest of us to rise to. I happily give it 5 out of 5 bones!

THE ROAD OF LOST SOULS

TGREAPER 2009

     “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Brenda asked for the third time. Her brother rolled his eyes, which she noticed.

     “I don’t want to nag, but you know what they say about the area.”

     “Bull shit,” Keith replied. “No such things as ghosts.”

     “I don’t know,” Brenda continued. “I’ve heard things.”

     Keith slowed down his Beetle and turned down a dark gravel road. The moonlight   created eerie shadows along both sides of the Volkswagen. He didn’t reply to his sister’s ranting, just stared straight ahead.

     “Especially the kids from Morning side. They say that the kids come out on the anniversary of the fire, looking for souls.”

     “Who are they?” Keith asked.

     “You know, they.”

     “I know that they are full of it, and I can prove it.”

     “How?” Brenda folder her arms across her chest.

     “Easy. Tonight is the anniversary, Morning side is right over there, and they’re no kids…” Keith’s voice trailed off. He brought the car to a full stop, not taking his eyes off the road.

     “Keith?” Brenda shook her brother, who pointed out the windshield. Brenda turned and looked into the eyes of a dozen kids standing in the headlight beams. A young girl walked to the front of the pack, right up to the hood of the car. She pointed a finger at Keith and the car shut off. Lightning filled the skies and a wind came out of nowhere. Brenda looked from child to child, their expressions sending chills down her spine. They were all staring, with hate and death in their eyes. A young boy stepped forward, and like the girl, pointed at the car. The Volkswagen began to shake violently as if it was in an earthquake. Two other girls walked to either side of the car, pressing their faces to the windows.

     “You are going to die tonight,” they chanted. The other children joined in.

     “Oh my God!” Brenda said, covering her eyes. Keith, calm as always, eased himself down in his seat.

     “I wonder if anyone will find our bodies,” he said.

     Martha Shuberg was scared senseless. She knew the stories about Morning side, but this was the only way back to the highway. She cursed herself for not starting before nightfall. She rounded the curb just in time to see two adults being led by the hands by a group of small children. They seemed to vanish as soon as they left the road, leaving a Volkswagen beetle with its headlights still trained on the night. Martha knew what she saw, deep down, she knew she just seen the spirits of Morning side. She knew, but she left anyway. It was easier to deal with a guilty conscience, than it was to deal with the dead.

....JACKSON.... BURG

TGREAPER2009

     Travis pulled up underneath the only working streetlight on the strip. The general store stood like the rest of the town, empty and dark. It was like a ghost town, everything were it should be, except there wasn’t anybody anyplace. Donna moaned softly in her sleep. Travis looked down at his young wife. Blood was starting to seep through the wet bandages on her arm. He reached down and ran his fingers through her soft brown hair. He had to do something.

     Travis pulled the car up a little farther, just out of the light, and then climbed out and into the pounding rain. He crouched by the front door of the store, looking for any alarm system. In doing so, his hands slightly pushed, and the door opened without a sound. He took one last look around, his eyes falling on his Buick and the precious woman bleeding inside it, and then he went inside.

     The first thing he noticed was the security cameras. They were propped in each corner, each having the wires unplugged and dangling in the shadows. A wave of relief poured over Travis. He wasn’t a thief, and if the store was open, he would pay for everything. He found a first aid kit in the middle of aisle four, next to the can goods and engine oil. He grabbed two handfuls of cupcakes from the hostess display and carried his goods up to the register. He reached over and pulled a plastic bag from behind the counter and dumped everything into it. Then he slipped back to the door, and after checking again for any onlookers, he slid back out into the wet night.

     Donna was starting to stir as Travis pulled into the hotel. It was a three story box, generic, and yet comforting at the same time. Travis looked down at Donna, who was studying her wet bandages.

     “How are you feeling?” He asked.

     “Like I fell from grace.”

     “Well, more like fell on your ass, but I won’t get technical,” Travis said. “C’mon, let’s get you inside and patched up.”

     Travis half walked, half carried Donna into the hotel. Like everyplace else, the reception desk was empty, and all the keys were neatly arranged on the board. Travis looked around to make sure the coast is clear, and then grabbed a set of keys.

     “Looks like were in fourteen b,” Travis said, studying the keychain.

     Two hours later Travis was sitting in a recliner staring out the window at the night sky. Donna was sleeping on the bed, her wound freshly dressed. Travis was about to fall asleep himself when the bathroom light turned on. He looked over at Donna, who stirred softly, then returned to whatever dream was making her smile. He walked over to the bathroom and slowly opened the door. The tub was filling with hot soapy water, and two candles were lit at the far end.

     “What the hell?” Travis whispered.

     “For me? You’re so sweet!” Donna brushed past Travis and started searching for a towel. There was a set of them neatly folded in the cabinet. Travis took another look around before closing the door. He didn’t want to tell Donna that he had nothing to do with the candles or bath; he didn’t want to scare her. He walked back over to the recliner and was soon snoring in it.

     Something brushed past Travis’s arm, waking him up. Moonlight was filling the dark room, casting shadows on the walls. Donna was on the bed, sound asleep. It didn’t take long for Travis to realize he wasn’t alone. He jumped out of the recliner and found himself surrounded by people. Men, women and children, in various uniforms and outfits. They wore blank expressions, just stared straight ahead.

     “Are you comfortable?” A soft voice echoed from somewhere in the room.

     “Yes, thank you,” Travis said. “Sorry about the store. I needed bandages for Donna.”

     “She fell,” The voice said.

     “Yeah, we were camping, and there was a downpour. She slipped and rolled down a hill. There was some barb wire in the foliage and she wrapped up in it.”

     “She will be fine,” the voice said. “Rest.”

     “Travis wake up!” Donna’s voice brought him off the chair in an instant. She was sitting in the dining room, her back to him. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the room. Travis walked over to Donna, who was reading a get well soon card. There were two plates loaded with steaming eggs, bacon, sausage links and toast. Travis sat down across from Donna and started eating. She looked up at him with shock in her eyes.

     “What are you doing?” She asked. “I didn’t make this; it was here when I woke up.”

     “I know,” Travis replied. “I think I met the welcoming committee.”

     “What the hell is going on?”

     As if in answer to Donna’s question, there was a knock on the door. The couple exchanged looks before Travis slowly walked over to the door. He opened it to an empty hallway. On the floor was an old newspaper. Travis reached down to pick it up and suddenly felt dizzy. He shook it off and took the paper back to the table. Donna was eating heartedly when he returned. He sat down and read the headlines.

     “Town poisoned by unknown source. Investigators looked into the possible disappearance of town’s people when communication coming from ....Jackson.... burg suddenly ceased. Upon investigation, the residents were found dead, most of which were sat around the dining room table, breakfast still in front of them.” The couple looked at the food, then each other. Eyes bulging, Donna tried to stand and fell on the floor. Travis tried to move, to help her up, but couldn’t get his legs to move. He could hear the same voice from the night before.

     “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

THE CHOP SHOP aka THE TOURIST TRAP

TGREAPER 2009

     “Mary, I’m telling you, the smart money’s on Bakerfield.” I watched my Mom roll her eyes at my Dad’s statement before burying myself back in the new issue of Inside Kung Fu.

    “John, we’re vacationing, not buying stocks. Turkey Ville is right up the highway. Small community, craft shows, the best turkey dinner in ....Michigan.....” Mom stopped when she realized Dad wasn’t listening to a word she was saying. He took a big bite of his omelet and chased it with a cup of steaming decaf. That’s my Dad for you, Holier than thou. His way or the highway, even if his way was on a dead end street. Mom looked at me, shrugged, and then went back to eating her oatmeal.

      Dad waved his empty cup to the waitress, who looked like she could’ve been in my grade in high school. Dad’s eyes danced across her body freely, making her noticeably uncomfortable. I looked over at Mom, who was doing her best to ignore him.

    “So,” Dad said in his seductive voice. “Ever been to Bakerfield?”

     “You’re going to Bakerfield? Awesome! They’ll love you there.” The waitress brushed back her blonde hair, exposing her big blue eyes, which were suddenly full of life. She ripped the check off her pad and left in on the table as she left. I watched Dad watch her ass, the whole time convincing myself that if he slapped hers like he did to the waitress in Leslie last night I was going to seriously kick him in the scrotum in the parking lot. Mom looked relieved that he kept his hands to himself for a change. I started reading about balisongs when Dad slapped the table.

     “Wake up Karate boy! Time to head out.” He sat back, waiting for my reaction. His being an ass was pretty much a daily ritual. First, he belittles Mom, then pisses me off, then goes to work, just to come home at night to start the fun all over again. He wasn’t physically abusive, even though at times I wish he was so I could claim self defense. No, he was the lowest of all scum; he attacked your dreams and your heart.

     “What’s your problem Miyagi?” Dad had that dickhead sneer on his face.

     “Besides the fact that you made two Japanese references and I study Chinese martial arts? Nothing I can think of.”

     “Time to go smart ass,” He said. Mom and I climbed into the mini van as he flirted with the waitress some more.

     “Think she will give him her phone number?” Mom asked.

     “She’s my age. That’s sick.” I replied.

     Dad walked out, stuffing a piece of paper in his shirt pocket and smiling ear to ear. He climbed in and started the van without saying a word. I wish the whole trip was that silent. We got onto the Highway and I got to listen to how I was wasting my life “doing that chop sockey crap” instead of working full time and chasing skirts around. Then came the usual questions about my sexual preferences, because if I wasn’t womanizing, I must be queer. I used to argue his point by telling him I respect women, but I figured Mom was tired of hearing him say that women were only tools, good for sex and cleaning and nothing more. If you treated them any better than that, they would start believing that their opinions mattered. So I buried my head back in my magazine and let him crow on in all his stupid glory.

     We took the off ramp and followed the signs down an old gravel road until we found a sign that said WELCOME TO BAKERFIELD. It was one road. I never saw a smaller town. One road ran past the length of the town, with rickety old buildings lined up on both sides. The first building on the left was a gas station, and it looked like a city of old cars parked behind it. Across from that was a grocery store, then a hardware store across from that. The last two buildings on the left were the butcher shop and hotel, and on the right was a bar and what might at one time have been a restaurant. Now it was just an empty building. Dad looked disappointed.

     “Don’t worry John,” Mom said. “I’m sure they’re plenty of tools working at the hotel.” The look he gave her was priceless. He said nothing as we unloaded and filed into the hotel.

     Two hours later I was lying on the bed in my room reading my magazine. Dad talked the hottie at the front desk to give me my own room so he wouldn’t watch me wasting my time doing my chop sockey stuff. I could hear them across the hallway, arguing over the young women Dad humiliated today. I heard him tell her he was going to the bar just before the door opened and slammed. I put my ipod in my ears to block out my Mom’s crying. I stood up and started stretching.

     It was about twelve thirty in the morning and I still couldn’t sleep. Dad hadn’t come home yet, and I didn’t like the idea of Mom being left all alone. I got up and started to head over there when I decided to arm myself. I pulled my throwing stars from my bag and shoved them into my sweats pocket. I really had no reason to arm myself; I just figured it was the magazines I read. I put my hand on the door knob when I heard the door across the hall way open and close. Ah, the great one finally returns, I thought. I walked over to the window, which overlooked the butcher shop. There was a small group of locals gathered outside, looking around nervously. A minute later, two men walked outside from the hotel, carrying something wrapped in a sheet. It looked like a body. I ran across the hall to Mom’s room. It was empty, and the sheets were missing from the bed.

     “What the hell?” I said out loud. I ran back to the door and opened it just in time to see two guys walk into my room, closing the door behind them. I slipped quietly into the hallway, and put my ear up to the door.

     “He was supposed to be here,” one of the men were saying.

     “You reckon he saw us outside?”

     “I reckon so.”

     “Think he’ll go to the sheriff?”

     “If he does, Sheriff Hodges will just bring him to us anyway.”

     “Pa says the loud mouth will make a great stew.”

     “I love stew.”

     Dad. It had to be. I slipped back into Mom’s room and waited for them to leave. When they did I went back and grabbed my bag. Inside was a set of throwing darts and a retractable tai chi sword. I strapped my darts to my wrist and slipped into my kung fu uniform. I knew I looked out of place, but if I was going to fight, I was going to fight as a kung fu warrior. I slid my sword into a case that was strapped to my back and I eased over to the window. Three guys were standing down there staring back up at me. Not a good start. I waved to them, and they waved back, just before running inside. I could hear them on the steps charging in my direction. They kicked in the door and filled the room, crouched and ready to pounce on me. I reached behind me and pulled my tai chi sword. A quick flick of the wrist snapped it into its full extension.

     “Well, lookie here,” one of the men said. He rushed me and my body went into motion. It was like a dance. I didn’t realize he had a machete until it whizzed above my head as I ducked and thrust the point of my blade into his stomach. I pulled it out and swung it deep into another man’s ribs. He turned away violently, snapping the blade off and into his body. The third man took a swing at me and I deflected it easily with my left hand, while striking his face with a palm heel from my right. Instinct was running the show as my arms grabbed his attacking arm and shoved him down to the floor.

     Where are they boy?” I heard myself shout. He was down on three limbs, his fourth one being held by me. When he didn’t respond I stomped on his heel, driving his toes into the floor. I heard them crack.

     “Ow Damn!” He shouted.

     “I asked you a question. Where are they?”

     “Butcher shop. Back room at the butcher shop.” He was fighting back tears. I didn’t want to have him showing up and warning the others while I was trying to save my family, so I stomped his other heel. Hard. I could hear the tiny bones shatter. He screamed out in pain and I worried they would hear him. As a final measure I locked out the arm I was holding, and then rammed my knee into it. His arm turned in the wrong direction. I left him sobbing in a pile and slipped outside.

     The back door was unlocked and unguarded. I saw a total of ten guys outside and I wondered if that was all of them. If it was, I only had seven left to go. I crept down the dark hallway, being careful not to make the wooden floor creak. At the far end, two men were standing next to a door talking to each other. I pulled my darts out of the case and hugged the wall, hoping to get close enough to get a good shot. I got a few steps closer before one of them noticed me.

     “Come here boy,” He said, walking towards me. I hurled the dart at him, expecting to get him in the arm or leg. My aim was off a little. The point impaled his throat, the impact knocking him backwards and into the other guy, knocking them both down.

He saw the dart protruding from his neck and scrambled to his feet. He started to charge me, and again I hurled a dart. This one struck him in the center of his left eye. I quickly ran up and punched his throat before he could scream out.

     He was still wiggling on the floor as I opened the door and slipped inside. Mom was sitting in the corner, her hands and feet tied, a gag shoved into her mouth. The room was small, with a single light hanging from the ceiling. I untied Mom and pulled the gag.

     “They’re going to kill us,” she whispered. “They’re going to kill us, and eat us.”

     “What the hell?” I said. Mom reached up and slapped me with a weak hand.

     “Where’s Dad?” I asked. Her face turned sour.

     “That bastard gave us to the people to save his own ass. He walked out with them.”

     I wanted to say what the hell again, but I didn’t want her to slap me. Mom looked like she was about out of it. I crouched down in front of her.

     “Mom, I’ve taken out five of them so far. Do you know how many there are all together?”

     “No. Not too many I don’t think. I heard one of them say more were coming tomorrow for the feast.”

     “Okay, I’m going to get Dad, you wait here. Lock the door after I leave.”

     “Are you nuts?! You’re all I got in this world now. You are not going anywhere young man!”

     “Mom, you can ground me later. Right now I have to find Dad.”

     Reluctantly, she let me go. I slipped back into the hallway and continued moving forward. There was another door at the far end that opened with a slight creak. Inside was Dad. Or what was left of him. His head was on a shelf, along with his left hand. His legs from the knees down were leaned against the wall in the back corner. His torso and other arm was missing. I wanted to vomit.

     “What you doing here boy?” A voice said behind me. I turned to see five men crowding the hallway, armed with cleavers and machetes. A fat man in the center was wearing a bloody tee shirt that read KISS THE COOK on it.

     “You’re Pa I take,” I said. The man smiled and nodded.

     “Well, that’s my Pa in there,” I said, pointing at the door. “You took away my ....Pa.....”

     “Shut up boy,” one of the other men said. “Your Pa is going to taste good.”

     “You’re going to make a good dessert boy,” another added.

     I was unarmed, except for one remaining dart. Without warning, the men charged me. Once again, my body took over. I dodged a cleaver that bit into the man behind me, nearly removing his head. I took the dead man’s machete and slammed the blade into the first attacker. I pulled it out and swung it wide, striking the other two men, hitting them both in the throat. The fat man turned to run and I hurled the machete at him, spearing him in the back. I started taking deep breaths as he slumped onto the floor. I went back to the back room and found my Mom, who was lying in the corner with a cleaver sticking out of her chest. That was it. Something in me snapped like a twig. I grabbed the cleaver and walked back out to the hallway.

     By the time the rest of the town arrived in the morning, I had tons of meat chopped up and boiled for them. At first they were shocked to see me, which I understood, since they were used to the fat guy being their ....Pa..... It didn’t take long for them to warm up to me, and soon we were all enjoying the meal. And I had to agree with them, Dad did taste good in the stew.

TRAINING UPDATE

     First things first. I need to apologize to you. In my last update I discussed the fact that my training injury pretty much retired me. Several of you immediately sent me messages of encouragement, telling me it was okay to move on and do other things. Thank you, all of you, for being such great friends.

     Thing is, I got on the poor me soap box. I stopped training, outside of the rehab I’ve been doing for my arm, and I started feeling sorry for myself. I have options still available to me in forms and point tournaments, but instead of looking on the bright side, I wallowed in self pity for not being able to fight the way I used to. The amazing people in the lost word writers group really came forward; they even came out to my house when they read my blog post to make sure I was okay. It’s not like I live down the street, these guys went way out of their way for me. Then there were my friends here that kept supporting me even though I was having a hard time supporting myself. Bless all of you for the support and encouragement. With all this, do you know what really turned me around? Let me tell you a story:

When I married Phyllis 19 years ago, she was a size 18, big from pregnancy with my daughter Becca. She had gestational diabetes, and the doctor told her if she didn’t lose the weight and take better care of herself the diabetes would return. Now back then I was weighing in at 185 pounds, and was teaching self defense and competing all the time. I talked her into working out with me a few times, and the spark was lit. She wasn’t a big fan of martial arts, but it opened her eyes to aerobics and resistance training, then Pilates and yoga. By being hooked I mean she trains now just as hard as she did then, and she went from a size 18 down to a size 4. (Sometimes 6, depending on the jeans name brand) and she has kept the weight and the diabetes away for years. It took her reminding me of this, and basically asking me what was wrong with my head for not training harder when I have the chance to get me really thinking again.

     *Slaps forehead* what the hell is wrong with me?!? I restarted my training program roughly 2 hours ago. It’s not the same as before, because of my arm I have to be careful with the lifting and the push ups. So far I have put in an hour on the exercise bike, and I will be attacking my core in a few minutes. Once I establish a set program I will post it here for you guys to check out. I’m afraid it will be a little while before I can post another in progress photo of myself, since progress came to a stand still recently. But rest assured, I am back, and if all that is available to me now is forms and point fighting, then I will do my very best to represent those aspects and someday win a championship in both events. That is my new goal. For those of you who already compete in these events, don’t take what I said as an insult. I have nothing against that type of competition, my preference is just for something more violent.

Thanks for listening, and never give up on yourself! (I’m telling myself this as well, since I somehow forgot this recently)

Your friend and fan

Thom