The Cane
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About this ebook
Meet James! He is just a regular guy with the same issues as everyone else until he gets pulled into a life and death struggle with the mysterious and horrific things that go bump in the night. Discover how James finds the power to do the most amazing things while he encounters an outrageous and terrifying runaway situation.
Gerry McDowell
Gerry McDowell is a native of Benson, North Carolina. Growing up in open country gave him the opportunity to develop a fertile imagination. If you’ve read “The Cane” then you’re already aware of his penmanship. He now lives in Erwin, North Carolina with his wife Carolyn and their dogs PJ and Bandit.
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The Cane - Gerry McDowell
Copyright © 2012 by Gerry McDowell.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-4782-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4759-4783-0 (ebk)
iUniverse rev. date: 08/28/2012
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER 1
It all started with a cane, a simple walking stick. It had a way of falling in your path just as you walked by, it always somehow got between your legs, crossways, and always gave you a good trip. No matter where I put it down, be it in the corner, beside the chair where I was last sitting, or against a wall, it always would get you. I know this must sound pretty silly to you, but you had to be there to witness it.
The reason I needed a cane in the first place was because of a couple of ruptured discs in my lower back. And because of those discs, I had to endure three surgeries, the last being a spinal fusion operation that resulted in the placement of two metal plates and eight very long screws imbedded in my lower spine. Due to a problem with the screws, my left leg had the tendency to collapse. I could be walking along as fine as you please, and the next thing I’d know I would be on my way down. There would be no warning or anything. That’s why I liked to keep the cane close by. You can imagine how I feel about that. I am only forty-six years old, but I get around like a very old man when my leg is acting up. I hate it.
My name is James, my wife, Susan and I moved into this house fifteen years ago. We were very pleased with the purchase because the price was very reasonable. Now that I think about it, I should have known that something was wrong. The house was perfect. It was just the right size for my wife and me and our daughter Wendy. The other homes we’d looked at that were the right size, were way over our budget. So when we heard about this house we jumped on it. Of course no one volunteered any information about the house. I’m sure that almost everyone knew about the strange things that went on in the house, but no one was talking. From the beginning, it always felt as if someone were following you as you walked through the house. It felt as if they were about four or five feet behind you, but when you’d turn to look there would be no one there. There were times when you could walk into a room and stop abruptly, because it felt as if you were about to walk into someone. But we grew accustomed to that as the years passed. As a matter of fact, we joked about it to friends and relatives when we’d have cookouts and parties. I don’t care how many movies you see about ghosts and poltergeists; nothing can prepare you for the real thing. But I digress; let me tell you what happened to me.
Our next door neighbor, Don, gave us a little kitten. She was the prettiest little thing. We named her, Precious. While she was with the litter, she was the friskiest one in the bunch. But after two days in our home she became mean. She would scratch, bite, and growl at you with very little provocation. The only time she was her old self was when she was outside. She would play with her ball of twine and chase butterflies, as most kittens will. But the moment you’d try to take her back in the house, she would have an instant mood swing. I never could figure that out.
Then one night, in the latter part of May, I was startled awake by a lot of loud screaming and thumping. It sounded like World War Three was happening in my living-room. It sounded like someone was using a two by four to bang on the walls and the floor. Since Susan was at work, (she worked nights), I knew I was in big trouble, because I was supposed to be the only person at home. I heard Precious cry out in pain, so I knew someone was trying to hurt her. I went to the gun rack and got my deer gun, quickly loaded it, and went to the aid of my poor kitten. What I found was the beaten and battered remains of my sweet Precious. It looked as if she had been thrown into a meat grinder. Though her head was intact, it was badly deformed. It looked like someone had tried to stomp her head flat, but had only succeeded to stomp the shape out of it. Both of her eyes had popped out and were hanging by their nerve roots. The rest of her body was almost unidentifiable. It was so beaten and battered that it was almost flat. In some places the skin had ruptured, allowing her intestines to poke out. One of her hind legs were broken in so many places that it was folded back and around like there were no bones there at all.
Blood was everywhere. It was splattered on the walls and the hardwood floor of the hallway, and through the door to the living room. The carpet in the living room had a big round pool of blood just inside the door, and in the center of the pool of blood was Precious. As I stood there looking at my poor kitten my knees buckled, and I just leaned back on my heels down on my knees, and gave a primal yell. I screamed, Whoever did this is dead!
Then I jumped up