Forgotten

on May 01, 2014 by Rider Jacobs

The first of the year found me sitting with my best friend Angel making our plans for the New Year. This was going to be her year, she just had that feeling. I thought this would be a year of change for me too, little did I know how much of a change my life would have. Her dream was to put out twelve stories; it is bittersweet that it looks as if I will be the one that accomplishes that goal for her. On January 17th my best friend passed away after a very short battle with pneumonia. In February I had the story Everything Changes published by MLR press. It was the last story that Angel read and told me how much she loved it. She agreed with several people that read it, it was a story that brought a tear to her eye. Everything Changes is about romance writer Colton who refuses to move forward in life after his lover dies on Valentine’s Day. He is so wrapped up in his grief that seven years later he still refuses to neither love again nor see the love that is right in front of him. I didn’t know when I wrote it how much that story was going to echo my own life. I still find myself with a tear in my eye, I still find it hard to move past the loss of my best friend. My second story came out in March. It was a novel titled Forgotten. It is the story I’m the most proud of and I believe some of my best work to date. Forgotten is the story of two married men that buy a rather large country house that has more land than they know what to do with. It is more house then Peter wants but he could never tell Rhys no when the man had his heart set on something. It isn’t long before Peter starts to hear crying, doors slam and water that turns on. When he finds out that Rhys sees and hears nothing Peter begins to feel that the stress of the move and his career as a writer has finally pushed him toward a mental break. Forgotten_FBThumb Then the dreams start, dreams of a dark haired man that tells Peter he loves him. Soon Peter realizes that the house his haunted by a man who wants Peter and will do anything to get him even committing murder. My mother instilled a love for ghost stories in me as a child. The first song I can remember her teaching me is Ding Dong the Witch is dead as we swung back and forth. The books I checked out of the library were ghost stories, the first stories I wrote in school where ghost stories. It really came as no surprise to anyone when I published my first story, after all telling stories is something I loved to do all my life. Do I have a degree in English, creative writing or anything else along that line? No, my college days found me bouncing from one career choice to the other, a year of premed, a year of pre law before I settled into History and psychology. Wednesday and Friday nights would find my best friend Angel and I sitting in front of the TV watching Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures. The adventures of the paranormal investigators often sent us in search of more information, plot bunnies hopping around. Angel would always laugh and say someone could hand me a stick of butter and I would start thinking of a story. During the time of my Angel friend’s illness I focused on my writing. Three months into the year and I have four stories out. The short story The Right Combination can be found in the Red Hot Valentine anthology and the short Snow and Red can be found in the Hot, Strong and Irish anthology. My newest story, Loving a Marine will be in the upcoming Hot Shots military anthology. On January 17th my beloved Angel was gone. She was 39 years old. She died from something the doctors should have been able to cure. I put all my writing aside. Writing was something we did together and without my best friend to brainstorm with it held no interest. My releases started to come out but I couldn’t be happy about it. How can you celebrate without your best friend? I was barely functioning. Then a friend gave me a piece of advice, he said “tears can destroy a country but rage can build an empire.” Of course I stared at him like he had two heads. He smiled and said that crying will do nothing more than destroy everything we had created. I could take the anger that she was taken from me and use that anger to build upon what we started. I have started to write again. I sat down and made my beloved Angel a promise, I would take everything we started and I would continue on. I would take her dreams and turn them into reality. It is that promise that keeps me writing, that keeps me moving through the day. Now I find myself facing the year without my Angel. I miss hearing her voice, her bouncing up and down saying “Kitten friend Kitten friend guess what!” Everyone who met Angel remembered her infectious smile, her enthusiasm while I tended to stay in her shadow. I was content to let her shine. I looked at the dreams we had for the upcoming year and found they were still our dreams, the only difference is one of use wasn’t here in physical form but she was still with me in heart and spirit. Someday I would see her again and I refused to tell her that I let everything disappear, I took what we started and made something great. I am moving forward with my life, still talking to her in my own way. Now though instead of living for just me I am living for us both. Someday when I see her again I will tell her about my adventures but I have a feeling she will smile at me and say “Yes I know Kitten, I was with you every step of the way.” Forgotten_headerbanner

Forgotten

Some houses come with secrets, and some secrets should never be forgotten.

After eight years together, Peter and Rhys have finally achieved success: good jobs that keep them comfortably fed and a happy married life. The icing on the cake is their move from a small city duplex to a large farmhouse in need of repair.

Peter instantly senses something going on in the house that he can’t put his finger on, something a bit sinister. Things start to happen: whispers in the night, crying only Peter can hear, faucets that turn on for no reason. When Peter starts to dream of a dark-haired young man who tells him how much he loves him, he feels like he’s losing his mind, especially since Rhys doesn’t see or hear anything.

Only after suffering accidents and injuries does Rhys agree the house is haunted, and they’ll have to figure out how to fight a lovesick ghost.

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Excerpt

Prologue

August 2010

SARA AWOKE with a start. The soft sounds of muffled crying filled the bedroom. She snuggled further under the blanket, as if that would keep the noise at bay. The sobs rose in crescendo, the soft weeping becoming a wail of pain. She pressed the pillow over her head, hoping that would block out the cries, but they penetrated the plump pillow almost as if she had nothing over her ears.

Light footsteps hurried down the hallway toward the bathroom, and then the door slammed shut. Sara steeled her nerves and crawled out of bed. She reached on the floor and grabbed the clothes she had worn earlier. If she was going to flee the house, she refused to do it in her nightgown. She dressed as quickly as she could, listening to heavy footfalls of a second person walking toward the bathroom.

Sara began to tiptoe toward the door, then froze when she heard distinct voices on the other side. Her heart beat loud and hard as she looked around for a place to hide but found nothing that seemed good enough. She hurried back to the side of the bed, slid down the wall, and hid in the shadows that the bed and nightstand provided. If she stayed still enough and small enough, then whoever was in the hallway would never see her wedged there. Doors began to slam, each bang increasing in volume until even the windows rattled under the force.

Sara huddled in the space between the bed and the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her eyes were glued to the bedroom door, and her breath came out in short bursts as if even the sound of her breathing would alert whatever was in the hall.

She could see her phone sitting on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. It seemed so far away. Carefully she rose—her movements slow to prevent noise. She placed one hand on the side of the bed as she eased herself onto it. The light footfall of someone running barefoot echoed through the house, followed by the much heavier steps of a booted man.

Sara grabbed her phone and scrambled back to her hiding place. Her fingers trembled so badly she dialed the wrong number twice. A shrill scream pierced the night. Sara clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming herself. She heard glass breaking as something was thrown against a wall.

“Hello?”

“Charles,” she sobbed into the phone.

“Sara, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t care what you say or think, but this house is haunted. I won’t stay here a moment longer, Charles. You can call up the landlord and tell them we are moving out.”

“Sara, calm down. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

The sound of something solid slamming into the wall came from the room directly below. It hit hard enough to make the wall shake slightly.

“Sara….” Charles sighed into the phone. “There’s nothing in the house. The last time I left work, it was tree branch hitting the side of the house.”

“It’s not a fucking tree branch!” she hissed with as much force as her fear of being heard would allow. “I’m telling you right now, if you don’t get here in the next five minutes, I’m walking to the next town. Don’t bother to come find me when I do.”

“Even if I left right now, which I can’t, I wouldn’t be there in five minutes.” Charles spoke calmly.

The running started again, the slapping of bare feet hitting wooden steps as they ran back up. The heavy steps followed close behind. These steps were slower, unhurried, almost as if they knew there was nowhere in the house to hide. The running came down the hallway, closer to the bedroom door. Sara lifted the edge of the bedspread and tried to decide if she could wiggle her way under the bed.

“Sara?”

“There are people in this house, Charles! They are in the hallway.”

“Are you sure? Look, hang up and I’ll call the police. They will have a cruiser out there in five, maybe ten minutes tops.”

Sara’s eyes were glued to the doorknob. A beam of moonlight shone upon the door, illuminating the knob like it was in the middle of a spotlight. It was slowly turning.

“Hang up, Sara, I’ll call the police.”

The door flew open with enough force that plaster fell as it hit the wall. Sara shrieked, dropping the phone. The back flew off, and the battery skittered under the bed. Something landed on the bed, but Sara saw nothing. A loud scream pieced the night. Sara covered her ears to try and block it out. Above her, a shadow loomed, twisting and pulsing as if alive.

Sara scrambled on her hands and knees from her hiding place. She stumbled to her feet and ran from the room. Behind her, the bedroom door slammed shut. Sara ran down the hall as the bedroom door once again flew open. A wind as strong and violent as a tornado rushed past her, knocking her off her feet and the pictures from the wall.

Get out of my house!” the voice cried out.

Sara climbed to her feet. Grabbing the stair railing to keep from falling, she hurried down the stairs, willing her feet to go faster but feeling as if her movements were in slow motion. The cold wind blew through Sara and knocked her down the last few steps.

She lay on the floor for a moment, stunned and breathless. A large black shadow loomed over her. She rolled over, struggling to her feet, a sharp pain shooting through her ankle. Nothing would keep her in the house a moment longer. The shadow stood between her and the front door.

I want to live!” The voice screamed again.

Sara limped to the french doors. As she yanked them open, a coffee table hit the wall on her left. The sound of the larger furniture moving propelled her forward, the pain in her ankle all but forgotten.

Sara hurried onto the porch, but the fury was just as bad outside. The porch swing they had installed just a few weeks before rocked back and forth, bumping into the house. The trees bent low in the wind, but the stars shone brightly above in the cloudless sky. Sara stumbled off the porch and into the yard. A trash can sailed past her head, landed in the yard, and bounced into the nearest tree.

Wanting to be as far away from the house as possible, Sara rushed across the yard. As she glanced over her shoulder, the curtain in the front room was pulled back. She was sure she could see a man standing there in the window before the curtain fell back in place. She ran from the house. The fury abated the farther away she got. Finally on the gravel road, she bent over and rested her hands on her knees as she gasped, trying to catch her breath. From here, the house looked peaceful, almost tranquil.

She turned and walked down the road. She would have someone else pack up her things. She didn’t care what it cost to get them out here in nowhere town, but she was never setting foot in that house again.

The first of the year found me sitting with my best friend Angel making our plans for the New Year. This was going to be her year, she just had that feeling. I thought this would be a year of change for me too, little did I know how much of a change my life would have. Her dream was to put out twelve stories; it is bittersweet that it looks as if I will be the one that accomplishes that goal for her. On January 17th my best friend passed away after a very short battle with pneumonia. In February I had the story Everything Changes published by MLR press. It was the last story that Angel read and told me how much she loved it. She agreed with several people that read it, it was a story that brought a tear to her eye. Everything Changes is about romance writer Colton who refuses to move forward in life after his lover dies on Valentine’s Day. He is so wrapped up in his grief that seven years later he still refuses to neither love again nor see the love that is right in front of him. I didn’t know when I wrote it how much that story was going to echo my own life. I still find myself with a tear in my eye, I still find it hard to move past the loss of my best friend. My second story came out in March. It was a novel titled Forgotten. It is the story I’m the most proud of and I believe some of my best work to date. Forgotten is the story of two married men that buy a rather large country house that has more land than they know what to do with. It is more house then Peter wants but he could never tell Rhys no when the man had his heart set on something. It isn’t long before Peter starts to hear crying, doors slam and water that turns on. When he finds out that Rhys sees and hears nothing Peter begins to feel that the stress of the move and his career as a writer has finally pushed him toward a mental break. Forgotten_FBThumb Then the dreams start, dreams of a dark haired man that tells Peter he loves him. Soon Peter realizes that the house his haunted by a man who wants Peter and will do anything to get him even committing murder. My mother instilled a love for ghost stories in me as a child. The first song I can remember her teaching me is Ding Dong the Witch is dead as we swung back and forth. The books I checked out of the library were ghost stories, the first stories I wrote in school where ghost stories. It really came as no surprise to anyone when I published my first story, after all telling stories is something I loved to do all my life. Do I have a degree in English, creative writing or anything else along that line? No, my college days found me bouncing from one career choice to the other, a year of premed, a year of pre law before I settled into History and psychology. Wednesday and Friday nights would find my best friend Angel and I sitting in front of the TV watching Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures. The adventures of the paranormal investigators often sent us in search of more information, plot bunnies hopping around. Angel would always laugh and say someone could hand me a stick of butter and I would start thinking of a story. During the time of my Angel friend’s illness I focused on my writing. Three months into the year and I have four stories out. The short story The Right Combination can be found in the Red Hot Valentine anthology and the short Snow and Red can be found in the Hot, Strong and Irish anthology. My newest story, Loving a Marine will be in the upcoming Hot Shots military anthology. On January 17th my beloved Angel was gone. She was 39 years old. She died from something the doctors should have been able to cure. I put all my writing aside. Writing was something we did together and without my best friend to brainstorm with it held no interest. My releases started to come out but I couldn’t be happy about it. How can you celebrate without your best friend? I was barely functioning. Then a friend gave me a piece of advice, he said “tears can destroy a country but rage can build an empire.” Of course I stared at him like he had two heads. He smiled and said that crying will do nothing more than destroy everything we had created. I could take the anger that she was taken from me and use that anger to build upon what we started. I have started to write again. I sat down and made my beloved Angel a promise, I would take everything we started and I would continue on. I would take her dreams and turn them into reality. It is that promise that keeps me writing, that keeps me moving through the day. Now I find myself facing the year without my Angel. I miss hearing her voice, her bouncing up and down saying “Kitten friend Kitten friend guess what!” Everyone who met Angel remembered her infectious smile, her enthusiasm while I tended to stay in her shadow. I was content to let her shine. I looked at the dreams we had for the upcoming year and found they were still our dreams, the only difference is one of use wasn’t here in physical form but she was still with me in heart and spirit. Someday I would see her again and I refused to tell her that I let everything disappear, I took what we started and made something great. I am moving forward with my life, still talking to her in my own way. Now though instead of living for just me I am living for us both. Someday when I see her again I will tell her about my adventures but I have a feeling she will smile at me and say “Yes I know Kitten, I was with you every step of the way.” Forgotten_headerbanner


Forgotten

Some houses come with secrets, and some secrets should never be forgotten.

After eight years together, Peter and Rhys have finally achieved success: good jobs that keep them comfortably fed and a happy married life. The icing on the cake is their move from a small city duplex to a large farmhouse in need of repair.

Peter instantly senses something going on in the house that he can’t put his finger on, something a bit sinister. Things start to happen: whispers in the night, crying only Peter can hear, faucets that turn on for no reason. When Peter starts to dream of a dark-haired young man who tells him how much he loves him, he feels like he’s losing his mind, especially since Rhys doesn’t see or hear anything.

Only after suffering accidents and injuries does Rhys agree the house is haunted, and they’ll have to figure out how to fight a lovesick ghost.


Excerpt from Forgotten:

Prologue

August 2010

SARA AWOKE with a start. The soft sounds of muffled crying filled the bedroom. She snuggled further under the blanket, as if that would keep the noise at bay. The sobs rose in crescendo, the soft weeping becoming a wail of pain. She pressed the pillow over her head, hoping that would block out the cries, but they penetrated the plump pillow almost as if she had nothing over her ears.

Light footsteps hurried down the hallway toward the bathroom, and then the door slammed shut. Sara steeled her nerves and crawled out of bed. She reached on the floor and grabbed the clothes she had worn earlier. If she was going to flee the house, she refused to do it in her nightgown. She dressed as quickly as she could, listening to heavy footfalls of a second person walking toward the bathroom.

Sara began to tiptoe toward the door, then froze when she heard distinct voices on the other side. Her heart beat loud and hard as she looked around for a place to hide but found nothing that seemed good enough. She hurried back to the side of the bed, slid down the wall, and hid in the shadows that the bed and nightstand provided. If she stayed still enough and small enough, then whoever was in the hallway would never see her wedged there. Doors began to slam, each bang increasing in volume until even the windows rattled under the force.

Sara huddled in the space between the bed and the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her eyes were glued to the bedroom door, and her breath came out in short bursts as if even the sound of her breathing would alert whatever was in the hall.

She could see her phone sitting on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. It seemed so far away. Carefully she rose—her movements slow to prevent noise. She placed one hand on the side of the bed as she eased herself onto it. The light footfall of someone running barefoot echoed through the house, followed by the much heavier steps of a booted man.

Sara grabbed her phone and scrambled back to her hiding place. Her fingers trembled so badly she dialed the wrong number twice. A shrill scream pierced the night. Sara clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming herself. She heard glass breaking as something was thrown against a wall.

“Hello?”

“Charles,” she sobbed into the phone.

“Sara, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t care what you say or think, but this house is haunted. I won’t stay here a moment longer, Charles. You can call up the landlord and tell them we are moving out.”

“Sara, calm down. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

The sound of something solid slamming into the wall came from the room directly below. It hit hard enough to make the wall shake slightly.

“Sara….” Charles sighed into the phone. “There’s nothing in the house. The last time I left work, it was tree branch hitting the side of the house.”

“It’s not a fucking tree branch!” she hissed with as much force as her fear of being heard would allow. “I’m telling you right now, if you don’t get here in the next five minutes, I’m walking to the next town. Don’t bother to come find me when I do.”

“Even if I left right now, which I can’t, I wouldn’t be there in five minutes.” Charles spoke calmly.

The running started again, the slapping of bare feet hitting wooden steps as they ran back up. The heavy steps followed close behind. These steps were slower, unhurried, almost as if they knew there was nowhere in the house to hide. The running came down the hallway, closer to the bedroom door. Sara lifted the edge of the bedspread and tried to decide if she could wiggle her way under the bed.

“Sara?”

“There are people in this house, Charles! They are in the hallway.”

“Are you sure? Look, hang up and I’ll call the police. They will have a cruiser out there in five, maybe ten minutes tops.”

Sara’s eyes were glued to the doorknob. A beam of moonlight shone upon the door, illuminating the knob like it was in the middle of a spotlight. It was slowly turning.

“Hang up, Sara, I’ll call the police.”

The door flew open with enough force that plaster fell as it hit the wall. Sara shrieked, dropping the phone. The back flew off, and the battery skittered under the bed. Something landed on the bed, but Sara saw nothing. A loud scream pieced the night. Sara covered her ears to try and block it out. Above her, a shadow loomed, twisting and pulsing as if alive.

Sara scrambled on her hands and knees from her hiding place. She stumbled to her feet and ran from the room. Behind her, the bedroom door slammed shut. Sara ran down the hall as the bedroom door once again flew open. A wind as strong and violent as a tornado rushed past her, knocking her off her feet and the pictures from the wall.

Get out of my house!” the voice cried out.

Sara climbed to her feet. Grabbing the stair railing to keep from falling, she hurried down the stairs, willing her feet to go faster but feeling as if her movements were in slow motion. The cold wind blew through Sara and knocked her down the last few steps.

She lay on the floor for a moment, stunned and breathless. A large black shadow loomed over her. She rolled over, struggling to her feet, a sharp pain shooting through her ankle. Nothing would keep her in the house a moment longer. The shadow stood between her and the front door.

I want to live!” The voice screamed again.

Sara limped to the french doors. As she yanked them open, a coffee table hit the wall on her left. The sound of the larger furniture moving propelled her forward, the pain in her ankle all but forgotten.

Sara hurried onto the porch, but the fury was just as bad outside. The porch swing they had installed just a few weeks before rocked back and forth, bumping into the house. The trees bent low in the wind, but the stars shone brightly above in the cloudless sky. Sara stumbled off the porch and into the yard. A trash can sailed past her head, landed in the yard, and bounced into the nearest tree.

Wanting to be as far away from the house as possible, Sara rushed across the yard. As she glanced over her shoulder, the curtain in the front room was pulled back. She was sure she could see a man standing there in the window before the curtain fell back in place. She ran from the house. The fury abated the farther away she got. Finally on the gravel road, she bent over and rested her hands on her knees as she gasped, trying to catch her breath. From here, the house looked peaceful, almost tranquil.

She turned and walked down the road. She would have someone else pack up her things. She didn’t care what it cost to get them out here in nowhere town, but she was never setting foot in that house again.

Copyright © 2014 Rider Jacobs. All rights reserved.


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1 Comment

  1. Z.Allora says:

    Rider,
    I can only imagine what you’re going through. Death steals our loved ones and we’re left behind. Sometimes the only solace I can find is one day I believe we join them. But I’m happy you are writing again and carrying on your dream for the two of you. You’re very strong and an inspiration! Please take care.
    Hugs, Z.

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