Slenderman CeeRee Fields (autobiographies to read txt) 📖

Chapter 8

In the daylight, Franklin’s house was very different than at night. Jo thought Redden and Ian would appreciate not being forced to face the scariest house she’d ever encountered under the veil of darkness. Stepping from the car, she rested her hand on the butt of her gun and eyed the shadows under the porch and bushes.

“Jo?” Redden asked from the sidewalk leading up to the house.

She jolted, dragging her weapon half out of its holster and startling Ian who was standing next to her.

“Jesus Jo, what the hell? I thought you said the guy was a friend.” Ian’s hand left his heart as he frowned at her.

“He is. His house is scary as hell though.”

Ian’s gaze bounced around the yard and the house before he clapped his hand on Jo’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you drank last night, but this is the most boring house on the block.”

She glanced at the other houses and had to agree. The others were decorated in various Halloween themes, some scary and others so over the top as to be funny. Franklin’s house had only a few strands of webbing attached to the trees with an odd sheet draped in the branches. No zombies crawled from under the porch. No spiders skittered across the front wall, and no petrifying ghost raged in the tree. The gray and white house was boring . . . until night descended. Then all the creepy crawlies would come out and turn the boring house into a living nightmare.

“Excuse me,” a man called from the house next door causing Jo to jump again. “Can you move the vehicle? We need to get the street prepped for the trunk-or-treat cars.” The man walked to Redden’s SUV. “I can show you where to park, so you’re not blocked in.”

“I’ve got this,” Redden said, pulling the car keys from his pocket. “You two go ahead, and I’ll catch up.”

Ian hefted the backpack on his shoulder, and Jo followed him up the porch to the front door.

“Jo,” Franklin said, opening the door before they knocked, as if he’d waited for them to appear on the other side.

He matched Ian in height, but where Ian was muscled, Franklin was wiry.

“Hi Franklin, this is Interpol Agent Ian Blair—”

“I thought you were bringing an FBI agent too.” He peered around Ian.

“We did, but your neighbor asked him to move our car so—”

“Kyle,” Franklin hollered back into the cavernous house while motioning Ian and Jo into the den.

The inside of Franklin’s house was nothing like the outside. An innocuous den with a television, sofa, club chairs, and tables scattered across the beige carpet. An archway behind the couch led to a large kitchen with a center island and an eating nook overlooking the back garden.

She had been to the house several times over the last year, mostly during October and November when Franklin and Linda hosted their murder mystery nights. To the right of the den was a parlor with wingback chairs and a fussy couch. A dark gold and blue oriental area rug took up most of the floor. Down the hallway behind the stairs was the library, done in a more masculine tone of burgundy and navy. Leather chairs, an old globe, bookcases, and a heavy desk was another central location for their murders.

Upstairs were three bedrooms, two baths, and another den with no television, all used for the murder mystery events. They even had VIP guests who would pay extra to sleep in the guest bedrooms, and the package allowed them to choose which character they wanted to be in the skit. The third floor was off limits as that was the family’s bedrooms. However, their true workshop was in the basement. The murder mysteries were just a side project, though they were renowned for the realistic stories they concocted for their guests to solve. From January until August they traveled the world earning a living as horror specialists. They dealt in bloodwork and special effects. Most of their work dealt with killing for horror movies. It began in the early 1900s with Franklin’s great grandfather and been handed down to Franklin’s father and now Franklin.

Kyle’s soft tread drew Jo’s attention and broke the silence.

“Yeah?” Kyle sauntered down the stairs, his skinny black jeans, black t-shirt and black unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt draped over it. Instead of black sneakers, he wore a pair of black socks. “Oh, hey Jo.”

“Hi, Kyle. Still wearing the same thing as last year. I hope you washed it in between.”

“Meh. I think Mom washes them when I hit the mall.” He shrugged like it was too tedious to think about while his eyes stayed glued to his cell.

“Kyle, I need you to hang out here, there’ll be an FBI agent coming up.”

Kyle blew a long sigh out of his mouth. “Fine. Where do you want me to take the feeb?”

“The basement.”

“Whatever.” Kyle spun in his heel and headed for the kitchen.

Franklin shook his head and walked to a door between the kitchen and stairs. It released a high-pitched squeal when he opened it that caused the hairs on Jo’s arms to stand on end. She knew what was down there and shivered with dread. The family were professionals at setting a stage.

“Jo,” Kyle called coming around the corner.

Jo was glad she wouldn’t be going down the basement stairs first as Ian moved ahead of her. She wondered what would be down there this time. Would it be trays of prosthetic skin being dyed for upcoming films? Or dolls with jewel eyes set up as murder victims for this month’s events? Whatever it was it would be fun to capture Ian’s and Redden’s reaction. Digging out her cell, she turned to face Kyle. “Yep?”

“You think Rian would let me come over for a gaming night? My friends are still in school, and if I have to do one more murder, I’m going to lose it—”

“I can see how that could get old,” she teased.

Kyle traveled with his