My novel People of the Ethereal Realm has been out for a little while now. It has been some time since I did any promotion on this book, so I thought I would post the prologue and first chapter here on my blog. I appreciate those of you who take the time to read this. I hope it creates a spark of interested and, of course, I hope you purchase the book. It is available at all major online retailers, and I will provide links after the excerpt.
Enjoy!
Prologue
IT WAS A NIGHT OF
DISTURBED SLEEP, covers sweaty and forlorn, thrashed and piled atop one
another haphazardly. There seemed to be something stirring, drawing Gerald from
his slumber. Usually, he slept very well—like the dead as some would say, though
he was quite reluctant of using such an analogy.
His eyes
opened into darkness, not to the pitch of night, but of blindness. He could
remember nights when he still had sight, and the fears that the dark seemed to
display in every shadowed corner, silhouettes that would appear perfectly
harmless in the morning light. Now, those fears seemed silly to him.
As he woke
in the middle of the night, sweating and disturbed, it was the sounds—or lack
thereof—that could bring those childhood fears of the dark back to him. Though
it wasn’t the dark, per se, that brought fear into the mind of a blind man.
Gerald
could tell by the utter silence that it was about three in the morning. The
city was always quiet during those wee hours in the middle of the night, long after
last call. The only sound was that of an occasional car driving by.
Yet, there
was something awry, something he could sense, though he was uncertain of what
was wrong. Perhaps an intruder, but he would have heard a noise by now, his
hearing having been amplified in the years since the onslaught of his
blindness. Then something caught his eyes, something shadowed and still,
standing at the foot of his bed. How could that be?
“You can
see me, blind man?” said a soft female voice.
Gerald was
too shocked for words. How could a
woman be standing at the foot of his bed? How was it that he could see her?
She’s no woman, thought Gerald. She’s a spirit.
“I can
smell your fear, blind man . . . but you not need worry of me.”
“How?”
Never before had one of them been able to talk so coherently. This woman was
something of a spiritual miracle, or perhaps a demon. He wasn’t experienced
with demons.
“You need
not know how, blind man. I require your help.”
Gerald was
very used to hearing the phrase “I need your help” from the living, but this
woman—this shrouded figure standing before him—was no longer of the living, of
that he was sure.
After
a pregnant pause, filled with Gerald’s steady breathing, she made her request.
“I need you to find my Arthur. I haven’t seen him in two hundred years.”
Chapter One
LIFE CAN BECOME
SOMEWHAT OF A RITUAL, a routine that sneakily takes hold without notice,
and before too long there seems to be no way to alleviate the monotony. For
some, the simplistic ritual of everyday life is a means of stability and
comfort. For others, it can act as a wedge that creates a divide—each
monotonous ritual a swing of the mallet on that wedge, widening the divide and
further separating what once was whole.
For Adam and Justine Kroger, there
was such a wedge (probably made of steel, maybe even titanium) that had been
driven between them. It happened so slowly that neither of them noticed it
distinctly enough to confront one another. If neither truly recognized there
was an issue, they would never know how to properly address it or seek
counseling, now would they?
Their routine always included
Justine heading off to the hospital at ten, while Adam was left home alone for
the night—simple as that. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite
that simple.
It had been
that way for the past several years of their marriage—hell, for the whole five
years of their marriage. When nine-thirty rolls around, Justine’s dressed in
her scrubs. With a peck on the cheek, she’s off to the graveyard shift at the
hospital.
Adam would
smile, kiss her back, and tell her he’d see her in the morning before work. On
those dreary mornings (he, foggy brained from sleep; she, worn out from work)
they would have an hour together to eat. He would have breakfast, while she
would have what served as dinner. It became a routine, a goddamned ritual. Yet,
they were oblivious to the detrimental effects it was having on their
relationship.
They were used to sleeping
solitarily—he at night, her in the afternoon. With such a schedule, sex was almost
nonexistent. Seeing one another at odd times—each in different moods and stages
of tiredness—made lovemaking a thing of the past. Yes, she had two days off
every week when their schedules were normal, but on those days Justine only
wanted to catch up on her sleep.
Adam
thought about their predicament while sitting in his easy chair, sipping a beer
and watching Sports Center. This was his little ritual every
night. The one perk of not having his wife around was that he could watch
whatever he damn well pleased on TV. Then there were the nights when he
couldn’t stop thinking about what their lives had become. She was gone every
night, while he sat at home alone, drinking into oblivion. He very much had
begun to realize the throes of their daily routine. It was crazy.
For all he knew, she could be
having a fling with one of the male nurses. What else did they have to do as
they waited for the next car wreck victim or amputee to waltz into the ER? A
lot of time was left getting to know one another, more time than Adam seemed to
have with Justine lately.
It’s
cryin’ time again.
Adam hated
the thoughts that the beer brought on. His father had called drinking “cryin’
time”. Apparently, his old man had had a lot of “cryin’ time” in his life, too,
for cirrhosis of the liver had taken him at fifty-six.
What was it with alcohol anyway?
It seemed to have an effect on him that rendered his mind to a basic paranoia
between his wife and their failing marriage. It wasn’t as if she had done
anything behind his back in the past.
Nothing
you know of, his mind interrupted.
He took
another swig, trying to focus on the hockey scores, but he couldn’t. His mind
was troubling him more than usual, pestering him with thoughts of
infidelity—his wife with Derek, that male nurse she worked with, her back
against the wall of a storage closet, his hands groping at the landscape of her
body. In Adam’s mind, Derek gives her a kiss, one the French would be proud of,
a kiss a thousand times more passionate than the little peck she gave Adam
before she left the house. Then, he unzips the front of her uniform, and . . .
Shut the
hell up!
It was the
beer again, talking, whispering jealous thoughts into Adam’s ear. It’s
cryin’ time again.
“I should
write a cheesy romance novel thinking up things like that,” Adam said aloud,
addressing an empty room.
“I don’t
know what the hell I’m thinking.”
He took his
empty into the kitchen and exchanged it for a fresh beer. He cracked the top
and took a hefty guzzle. It was getting late, but what would one more hurt?
Back in the
comfy confines of his easy chair, Adam finally extinguished his ridiculous
fears about his wife’s loyalties. What was he so scared of anyway? The hospital
could be busy at night, especially the ER. She was probably getting an IV set
up for someone who’d come down with a terrible sickness, or drawing someone’s
blood, or . . .
Nothin’ to
worry about, Adam thought as he swallowed the last drops of his final beer for
the night. It was after midnight: past Adam’s bedtime. Tomorrow would be like
every other day. How dull does that sound? He would wake up at six in
the morning. Justine would walk in the door around six-thirty, exhausted from a
night of dealing with everything from bloody bodies to crazy night owls and
drunkards. They would have a meal together, and then he would be off to the
shop to build custom cabinets.
Then, she
would do whatever it is she did during the day.
“Don’t even
think about it,” he scolded himself. “She sleeps during the day, does
housework. That’s it. Don’t start in on the cheating shit.”
After
brushing his teeth, he crawled into the lonesome bed. It was the lack of
intimacy that was frying his brain with thoughts of infidelity, thoughts of
Justine and Derek in the storage room at the hospital. For all he knew, she was
having the same questionable feelings toward him. She may be at the hospital
this very minute, racking her troubled mind over the awful thought of Adam at
home, in bed with a mystery woman.
Yeah
right. That’ll never happen.
It was the
last thought Adam had before he retired to the land of dreams. He didn’t sleep
the whole night through, though. There came a disturbance in the middle of the
night, both strange and enticing. It was about three in the morning when Adam
was awoken by the feeling of someone beneath the sheets with him.
At first,
his eyes opened wide at the lump beneath the covers, wondering what was going
on. Instinct told him to kick and push the intruder away, but after gathering
his thoughts together (feeling the unseen bedmate pulling his boxers off) he
realized the person meant no harm. That didn’t make what was happening any
better, but likewise, Adam’s body failed to reject the caressing of soft hands
beneath the sheets. His heart raced as she caressed and stroked him.
Has to
be a she, right? Could this obscene intruder be some crazed homosexual?
To him, it
sure didn’t feel like it, but what did he know about crazed homosexuals? The
hands were petite and soft, definitely a woman’s hands.
As his mind
unglued from the epoxy of deep sleep, he realized what was going on. He felt
ashamed for allowing some mysterious person to pleasure him, because at first
he was willingly acknowledging the possibility that it was indeed a stranger.
It wasn’t anyone unknown, though. The thoughts and feelings were something he
was going to have to keep to himself.
It was
Justine.
She had
done this once before, after unexpectedly being allowed to leave the hospital
early. That was several years ago (back when their bond had been still very
tight, before that pesky wedge began splitting the seam), and it had scared the
shit out of Adam. Though, it was a pleasant surprise.
He smiled
and groaned, letting her know he was awake and enjoying her little surprise. It
had been a long time since they’d been with one another sexually, maybe three
months. He couldn’t have been happier.
And I
was thinking she was hot for Derek.
As good as
her mouth felt, he knew she wasn’t a big fan of giving oral sex.
“Baby, come here,” he said,
reaching for her beneath the covers. As he grabbed for her—wanting to pull her
forward and kiss her the way he’d imagined she was kissing Derek in the storage
closet—the shape beneath the covers disappeared. He gasped, groping air and
empty sheets, searching the empty bed frantically for his wife.
Had she slipped away and was crouched on the floor playing some kind of
trick?
“Honey,
where are you? I can’t see . . . my eyes haven’t adjusted.”
There was
no response.
“Where are
you? Are you gonna try and sneak up on me again?”
Still no
answer came. The night suddenly felt cold and dark, and just a little
frightening. Had it been some lunatic, some mad-person getting their rocks off
on giving unsuspecting strangers blowjobs in the middle of the night?
Oh my
God!
Adam jumped
out of the bed, nearly tripping because of the boxers around his ankles. He
reached the light switch and flicked it on, ready for anything, but there was
nothing. No deranged queer, no Justine. The room was empty.
He looked
down at the boxers hanging around his ankles and pulled them up. If there was
no one in the room, then how had his boxers been pulled down? He hadn’t pulled
them down, he was sure of that. Besides, it felt so real. Disbelieving his own
mind, Adam walked around the bed and looked under it for good measure. He found
nothing.
It could
have been a dream, but Adam didn’t believe it. He could separate a dream from
the real thing, and what he had felt under those covers had been no dream. If
it were a dream, when had he woken up? He had reached his hand out to his wife,
and with his touch, the sheets had dropped over him as the shape disappeared.
At no point had he felt as though he’d awakened from a dream. It was real, all
of it.
I felt
her hands on my flesh for crying out loud!
As he thought
about it, he could pinpoint when he had woken up. He had awakened as he
felt someone beneath the sheets pulling his boxers down. How could he not wake
up? It was the kind of thing that didn’t happen every night.
It had to be real, he thought in
disbelief. Hadn’t it?
Sitting on
the bed, Adam knew sleep would be nonexistent for the rest of the night. If the
experience had been merely a dream, that would have been one thing. However, he
was adamant that what had happened, what he felt under those sheets, was real.
Even as he thought about it, it seemed real, felt real. He knew the power of
dreams and how life-like they could be, but never before was he convinced that
a dream really happened.
The phone
on the nightstand caught his eye. Perhaps he should call Justine, just to make
sure.
I don’t
need to call her. If that was her, she wouldn’t have snuck away like that. The
gag would be over by now.
Against his
own better judgment, he picked up the phone and dialed the number to the
hospital. After several rings, the receptionist answered. “Kaiser Hospital, how
may I direct your call?”
“May I
speak to nurse Justine Kroger, please,” Adam said, disguising his voice to
sound like that of an old decrepit man.
“Let me
see.”
Oh God,
she’s gonna’ tell me Justine went home early.
“Let me
page her. One moment, please.”
“Thank
you.” His old man voice was about as authentic as Pamela Anderson’s breasts.
After what
seemed like a small eternity, a voice he knew very well said, “This is Justine
Kroger.”
Adam
abruptly hung the phone up, as if she would know it was him based on the
pattern of his breathing. He looked at the phone resting in its cradle as if it
were something evil. In some part of his mind, he thought she actually was at
home, playing some elaborate prank on him. It was the only logical explanation.
“If not
her, then who?”
Suddenly,
the house felt eerie. Gooseflesh created a bumpy landscape on his arms, as the
feeling of being watched took hold of his worried mind. The room seemed to
swell—every crack and corner a place that eyes could be watching from, eyes of
the stranger who’d snuck into his bed.
But you
enjoyed it!
He felt
sick because it was the truth. For a moment there, before he thought it was his
wife, he had been ready to go along no matter who it was. It seemed like some
sort of fantasy, where a mysterious woman wakes him out of a sweet slumber for
a night of unadulterated sex, and it had felt good.
Once again
he felt ashamed of himself, the idea of some crazy intruder watching him now
fading like an old Polaroid. It was a dream, he told himself, nothing but the
makings of a teenage sex dream.
But you’re no teenager.
With that,
Adam nestled back under the sheets and fell asleep, much quicker than he
thought he would.
***
Praise for People of the Ethereal Realm:
"People of the Ethereal Realm is a wicked tale of possession and mayhem that is sure to unnerve the most seasoned horror fan! It's original, frightening, and very creepy! A ghost tale with razor sharp teeth! I loved it!"
--David Bernstein, author of Damaged Souls and
Machines of the Dead
"Robert Essig's voice is a beautiful thing. He wields it like a handcrafted
baseball bat, and People of the Ethereal Realm is Essig at his finest, with a
story that hits hard but leaves pretty scars."
-- Craig Saunders, author of
Deadlift and The Estate
"People of the Ethereal Realm starts off slow, allowing us to get comfortable
with the characters, but then picks up so rapidly that you find yourself turning
pages for hours. I finished this book in two sittings. Well done!"
-- Michael S. Gardner, author of Betrayal
People of the Ethereal Realm is available at
Amazon,
Amazon UK,
Barnes & Noble, and
Smashwords.
