Fountain Dead
by
Theresa Braun
Genre:
YA Horror
Mark
is uprooted from his home and high school in the Twin Cities and
forced to move with his family into a Victorian in Nowhere-ville.
Busy with the relocation and fitting in, Mark’s parents don’t see
what’s unfolding around them—the way rooms and left behind
objects seem alive with a haunted past.
Of
course, Mark keeps his ghostly encounters to himself, all the while
sinking deeper into the house's dark, alluring, and ultimately
terrifying history. As romantic entanglements intensify, the
paranormal activity escalates. Past and present come together.
Everything is connected—from the bricks in the walls to the hearts
beating in their chests, all the secrets of Fountain Dead are finally
unearthed.
The vapor wafting from the stagnant pool
smelled like the rancid rot from inside a carcass. Mark felt he breathed in
fire. The gooey surface boiled and foamed as if a prehistoric substance. His
heart stopped as something emerged. A goopy and gnarled dome became a sickly
face. The eyelids still closed, the rest of the form rose, covered in green.
A tattered dress clung to the
feminine curves. The cloth slipped from the shoulders, drawing his attention to
her skin. The texture made him gag.
A sour taste of bile filled his
mouth. His skin contracted as he contemplated her spongy flesh. Her black eyes
sprang open like a demonic doll’s. Her inhuman gaze stabbed his very core, and
he knew he was facing a soul-less being. The eyes burned like hot stove
burners.
A decomposing hand extended
toward his throat.
Mark
woke, wet with perspiration. His pillowcase and sheets were damp, as if he’d
taken a swim in the fountain. That idea made him unable to breathe. His
heartbeat sped along at a rate close to heart attack status as he tried not to
blow a gasket about the evil that lie in wait. He whipped his pillow from
behind his head and squashed it to his chest. No one would grasp what he’d been
feeling—or what he’d been seeing.
His
lip trembled.
Something—a
fiend, a spirit, the fountain—wanted to hurt him.
Mark’s
chest compressed.
The
devil on his shoulder advised him that his mother had to be right. All of the
metal music, the cartoons, the swearing, had been an invitation for demons and
darkness. Forget the fact that none of his friends had ever mentioned opening
some gateway to hell. These dark forces had chosen him.
He
lied back, exhaustion sinking him deeper into the mattress. After pulling the
blood warm sheets up to his chin, he shunned the moonlight streaming into the
room. The crooked claws of the branches squealed against the half-open windowpane.
Summer’s hot breath puffed into the house. Mark didn’t have to strain to hear
its griping—the sighs of the woodwork and the building’s various joints.
The
door to the servants’ quarters was open again. However, that bothered him less
and less. A perfume of fragrant flowers sent him to sleep.
Theresa Braun was born in St. Paul, Minnesota and has carried some of that hardiness with her to South Florida where she currently resides. An English teacher and adjunct college professor for over thirteen years, she continues to share her enthusiasm for literary arts with her students. She earned a Masters in English literature with a thesis on Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. In her spare time, she enjoys delving into her own creative writing, painting, photography and even ghost hunting. Spending time with her family and traveling as often possible are two of her passions. In fact, her world meanderings are often backdrops for her work. Striving to make the world a better place is something dear to her heart.
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