Walter's Rifle: Haunted Collection Series Book 2
Walter's Rifle: Haunted Collection Series Book 2
Walter's Rifle: Haunted Collection Series Book 2

Walter's Rifle: Haunted Collection Series Book 2

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The gleaming muzzle of a rifle burns with an insatiable desire, and its new owner is all too happy to comply…

Haunted items are traversing the country and its ghosts are wreaking havoc on their new owners. At the center of the chaos is an old rifle possessed by a blood-thirsty specter, who dreams of massacres at every turn. Meanwhile, lurking in a nearby mailbox is an antique novel, possessed by a monster who takes pleasure in agonizing, heart-stopping torture.

Stefan Korzh’s plan is unraveling flawlessly and he can’t imagine a better way of seeking revenge on the world. But Victor Daniels and Jeremy Rhinehart won’t let that happen. Recovering from their grisly encounters with the dead, they’re more prepared than ever before. They work on finding the sources of bloodshed and imprisoning the crazed collectibles.

With murderous ghosts continuing to raise the death toll, Victor and Jeremy have their hands full. They race against time to stop the mayhem and save innocent bystanders. Fueled by their quest for revenge, each step brings them toward the culprit behind all the horror. But as they get closer to catching this madman, they discover how dangerous Stefan Korzh truly is…

215 pages

Chapter 10: Something’s Wrong with Julius

His mouth suddenly dry, Tom swallowed and moved to the stairs. He listened, heard the rasping sound again and called out, “Mom?”

When she didn’t answer, he called out for his father.

His father didn’t respond, although the rasping sound picked up speed.

Tom’s heart picked up its pace and panic crept into his throat. He snuck down the stairs, calling out to both his parents again, yet neither answered him. When he reached the first floor, he saw the light over the stove was on. He shivered from a combination of fear and a sudden cold that had sprung up in the house.

With his blood pounding through his veins, Tom stepped into the kitchen and saw nothing.

The room was empty.

He walked silently to the side door and opened it, wincing at the slight squeak of the hinges. The overhead light in the garage flickered into life and revealed only his father’s new Mercedes. His mother’s older model Volvo was gone.

Tom’s shoulders slumped.

He closed the door, turned around and screamed.

His father, completely undressed, sat on the stove, his eyes wide, and filled with terror. The man’s hands, which seemed to move of their own volition, were busy shoving a metal skewer through his lips. Blood dripped down his chin as the skewer joined others already threaded through his flesh.

The strange rasping sound, painfully loud, issued from his father’s throat.

Tom watched as his father’s left hand dropped to the stovetop, fingers dancing around until they found another skewer. Awkwardly, the man began to thread that through his lips as well.

“Dad,” Tom managed to whisper.

The man’s hands stopped, and a strange, hollow voice said, “Your father’s busy now, son. You’d best go back to bed.”

The voice came from somewhere near his father, but Tom couldn’t see who the speaker was.

His father tried to shake his head but some unseen force stopped him, and the voice said, “Stop moving around! This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“You need to stop,” Tom stuttered. “Leave him alone!”

“I don’t,” the voice said, “and I won’t. Now, off to bed, young man, before I decide to keep your mouth closed as well.”

“Stop it,” Tom ordered, finding his confidence. “Stop it!”

His father’s hands froze, and the voice chuckled.

“What can you do to me?” the voice asked. “Tell me that.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said, his words losing the strength they had so recently found. “But I’ll find a way.”

The voice laughed and said, “I’m sure you will. Challenge accepted. But it will have to be for your mother, and not your father.”

Before Tom could react, his father jerked one of the skewers out and then thrust it up under his chin. The long, thin metal vanished into his skull.

Horrified, Tom watched as his father’s eyes rolled back to reveal their whites and his bare heels tapped and bounced off the glass of the oven door.

Then his father’s hands dropped down, his body slumped, and he fell backward into the wall. Glass bottles filled with spices were knocked off the top of the oven, some tumbling to the stovetop while others fell to the floor, breaking and scattering their contents.

The thick smells of cumin and basil filled the air, joined by oregano and cilantro.

“Now,” the voice whispered in Tom’s ear, “let’s see if you can find a way to save your mother, boy.”

And Tom was left alone with his father’s body.

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