Where the Demon Is
After years of mourning the death of his beloved father, Lord Donahue finds himself trapped in a state of drunken despair in his family’s castle. He wishes for nothing more than to speak with his father one last time, but when his wish is granted by a witchy medium, he finds himself faced with a terror stronger than any he’s ever known before it. As a demon freshly released from Hell torments him within his own home, Lord Donahue must do everything in his power to survive while still holding on to what sanity still remains with him. A classic gothic horror tale like no other, Where the Demon Is will leave you breathless, if it leaves you at all.
$2.99 - eBook
Published Oct. 2012
“I’m no prize, Miss Martha,” he said. “I am probably more of a lost soul than anyone here.”
“You know, I still look at you as a kid.” She smiled, looking his face over and nodding her head. “You were so spritely as a teenager. And then, after your father passed – well, I can imagine you miss him dearly.”
“He was more than just my father,” Lord Donahue admitted. “He was my best friend.”
There was a brief moment of quiet between the two, as if each was reflecting on the life and passing of the great Lord Duncan, but the moment was interrupted with the shouting of a drunken patron at the opposite end of the bar.
“I’m running dry here, Miss Martha,” he yelled with slurred speech. “Can I get another pint?”
“Hold your horses, Tanner,” Martha snapped in return. “Can’t ya see I’m in conversation?” Looking back at Donahue, she shook her head and smiled. “That’s Tanner McAlister. He has become a regular since moving to these parts. Drunk every night. Wakes up on his front steps every morning. He’s back here just as soon as the sun sets again. Loud as all get-out, too!”
Lord Donahue smiled but did not reply. He watched as Martha poured the same triple shot whiskey he’d ordered every time he’d visited her, impressed that she had not forgotten his drink of choice. She slid it over to him and placed a hand upon his.
“The people we love are never really gone, you know,” she told him and placed a kiss to his cheek. “I loved your father too; you know that. And I feel his presence every day.”
“I was so pleased when he began courting you,” Donahue replied. “You’ve always been like a mother to me.”
“And you’ve always been my boy – and always will be too. Now, drink up. I’ve got to go make the rest of these buffoons happy.”
“Thank you, Miss Martha.” He kissed her cheek in return and went to sip his drink, downing it halfway instead. It was strong – bitter – as it trailed down his throat and it sent shivers down his spine, just as he liked it.
Taking the second half of his whiskey with him, he stepped away from the counter and stared at the sea of people flooding the tavern. The mandolin player was steadily strumming away, determined to finish his set of songs despite the lack of attention, and a few feet from him, a game of billiards was going on, nearly breaking out into a fight over who had just outscored whom. Lord Donahue chuckled a bit at this and looked away, spotting a young waitress bent over a table a few feet from him, pouring a bit of ale into some ruffian’s mug. Although her skirt was black and long, he could tell that her bottom was full and firm and that her legs were long and – at least in his own imagination – flexible. Taking a sip from his whiskey, he considered approaching her, but something stopped him – the thought of his father that popped back into his mind.
“For one night,” he said under his breath, “I’d like for my thoughts to be clear of him.”
End of Excerpt