Something Evil

Echoes of Darkness

W.T PACE

All Rights Reserved © 2024 Blaine A Pace.

All content, illustrations, and materials in this book are protected by copyright and intellectual property laws. The author and creator of this book is Blaine A Pace. You may not modify, publish, transmit, participate in the transfer or sale of, reproduce, create derivative works from, distribute, perform, display, or in any way exploit any of the content, in whole or in part.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Published by: Book Publishers Ink

In loving memory of my father, your stories will live in my heart forever.

I love you dad.

Acknowledgment

I want to thank my wife JaDee for her patience, and believing in me when any other person may have had enough. Thank you for going on this incredible journey with me. You are my heart; I love you baby.

Thanks to my awesome children James, Jordan and Megan for your faith, trust and love. I'm glad that you were all old enough when I finished this, that you could be the first to read the raw manuscript, I knew you would give me your honest feedback. I will always cherish the bond that we all share. I love you.

I am truly blessed to have you all in my life. Thank you and as always, nothing but love.

Table of Contents

Something Evil

Acknowledgment

About the Author

Chapter 1: Bill

Chapter 2: Osgoode

Chapter 3: Smith

Chapter 4: Old friends

Chapter 5: Home

Chapter 6: Dinner with Jack

Chapter 7: ERICKSON

Chapter 8: Back with Osgood

Chapter 9: Thirteenth Street

Chapter 10: One Last Interview with Osgood

Chapter 11: We Wait

Chapter 12: The Story

Chapter 13: The Trial

Chapter 14: Fedronowits Comes Home

Chapter 15: A MUCH NEEDED VACATION

Chapter 16: HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND

Chapter 17: FEDRONOWITS'S LITTLE SECRET

Chapter 18: THE CONNECTION

Chapter 19: THE MANGLERS BIG DAY

Chapter 20: NEGOTIATING

Chapter 21: PUTTING THINGS TOGETHER

Chapter 22: FER-FUCKING SHIT'S FINEST HOUR

Chapter 23 WHAT'S NEXT

About the Author

W. T. Pace was born in 1968 in, what was at that time, a small town in Utah. He worked for the Utah Department of Correction and received his degree in criminal justice. He was an F. B. I. trained crisis negotiator, and a Correctional Habilitative Specialist. Author of Something Evil: Echoes Of Darkness, and working on the sequel; Chasing Shadows. He loves the art of storytelling.

With a medical condition forcing him into early retirement. He now lives in Idaho with his loving wife, and his service dog Zeke, where they enjoy the many hunting, fishing and camping opportunities the beautiful state provides.

Chapter 1:

Bill

July the 12th, probably the hottest day of the year so far, all the kids in the neighborhood were busy making futile attempts at cooling themselves off, running through sprinklers with the likeness of some off brand Disney character. All in all, a very upscale neighborhood with perfectly manicured yard, beautiful shade trees, on one half acre lots. You can almost feel the frustration of the home builders trying not to destroy the giant old elm during construction. That’s when you notice the lady of the house pruning the flowerbeds and taking credit for the masterpiece that is her yard. As if she were the one who knew exactly where to place the rain birds and popup risers to cover the entire yard with water conservation in mind when it was Bubba’s lawn care and landscaping service who are the true artists. It is almost an insult to think that she is out there claiming the knowledge and talent for this glorious piece of artwork. It is comparable to the janitor of the Louvre telling all who frequent the museum that he painted the Mona Lisa.

As you continue down the street, you can tell just by looking that this is the upper-class part of town. The air conditioners are working overtime just to keep the heat at bearable levels. I’m sure that you know what I am talking about; days when you feel like you can’t wear your clothes because they stick to your skin like oozing fungus; when you look out across the road, it seems that you are looking at the world through a piece of broken glass noting the distortions in your vision created by the heat waves.

Bill was just getting home from his nine to five mundane days at the six-x-six cubicle where he spent every day, listening to the whines and complaints of the clients trying to get one over on the insurance company. To hear the lame ass story, told one hundred different ways, by one hundred different people was enough to make anyone start to slip mentally. The office space where he spent his days was starting to feel more like a cell or even a tomb than what was once his workspace. You could no longer see the picture of his wife and daughter that he kept on his desk. What was once a well kempt area to do his job, now looked more like a cyclone had blown through and he had left everything where it lay after the chaos. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on his work, with the grotesque visions running through his mind becoming more and more frequent. As they came more often, they were becoming ever more vivid, sometimes it seemed that they were not just in his head but truly happening in that moment.

His wife Sarah who had been his high school sweetheart for three years before they were married, and his daughter, Jamie, who seemed to be very mature for a seven year old, were there in modern day suburbia, waiting for him to arrive home so they could go to the Thursday matinee.

At least the theater would have air conditioning. He thought as he made his way to the front door of the two story brick home.

The heat was nearly unbearable, the sweat rolled off his brow while the bloody images raced through his mind. He had been having the nightmares for months now. The horrifying images, the blood, the screams, he couldn't seem to get them out of his head. They haunted him even during his most lucid moments.

Listening to the shit all day at work and then coming home to have to deal with the constant nagging and whining, it was overwhelming.

Can we do this, and will you do that?

It was always something not done right or not done well enough. Why wouldn't they just get off his fucking back and give him some time to relax. With the dreams running through his mind even now when he was awake, it was too much for him to handle. He walked through the front door hoping that they wouldn't start as soon as he walked through the door, Hoping for a few minutes of reprieve. It was almost like waiting for the phone on the wall of the execution chamber to ring, with the governor on the other end giving him pardon. However, there would be no peace from the voices in his head, and certainly not from the ones outside of it. He managed to make it all the way to the staircase which would carry him up to his bedroom before he was met with the first sign that it would never stop.

Daddy, are we going? Are you going to get ready? Can we buy some popcorn when we get there?

The pressure starts, he loved his daughter, but there was so much of her mother in that nagging voice.

God he just needed five minutes; couldn’t they just give him five goddamn minutes.

Honey, hurry into the shower or we'll be late. I've set your clothes out on the bed for you.

His wife said with a rushed tone in her voice.

"What? Now he couldn't even fuckin dress himself? Maybe I don't want you to pick out my fuckin clothes for me. I think I can handle getting dressed by myself. He thought as he went to the bottom of the staircase.

Without saying anything to either one of them he worked his way upstairs to the bedroom where he noticed the pants and shirt that his wife had set out for him. He needed time for himself. He looked toward the bathroom where he knew that he could turn on the water, turn up the stereo and lock the door. This was sure to be the only time he would have by himself, and that is only if he hurries. Bill managed to make his way to the welcome arms of the cool water in the shower. With a little Black Sabbath cranked up so he could hear it over the rush of the water, he knew that this might be the only time he gets to try and relax. Understanding, that as soon as he gets out of the shower the complaining and nagging is going to start up again. He may not even make it out of the shower before they are on top of him, telling him that he must hurry up so that he doesn't make them late. Thinking this, the bloody images of death start to race through his mind again. He can't stop them, he needs them to stop but he can't make them, they won't go away.

Please try to keep in mind that Bill has always tried to be a good father and provider for his family. They attend mass every week, they have all the modern conveniences that are supposed to make life easier, the dishwasher the garbage disposal, the minivan even though they only have one child. They are what is considered the ideal family, however in order to make that happen they will have to have 1.3 more children and a dog. Go figure.

He tries to relax in the cool water but when he closes his eyes there, they are again, the horrible scenes that have been rushing through his head for months now. He puts both hands on the sides of his head and tries to shake the vision from his mind. They won't leave him, not even when he opens his eyes. He still sees the faces nagging and yelling and pushing him to do more. All the time needing more from him, he is doing the best that he fucking can don't they understand that. Then as vivid as his waking dreams have become Bill slips completely.

Bill knows that he must hurry now, or he will be stuck going with them, and listening to them all night. He knows that somehow the visions must stop, and there is only one way that he is ever going to make that happen. He will have to make them stop. So here it is, now is the time he will make them cease forever. He is going to take care of these fucking dreams once and for all.

Bill opens the shower door quietly; with such stealth it would have made his old drill sergeant proud. The task even more difficult will be to tiptoe out of the bedroom and down the hall, without being noticed by the other occupants of the house. His wife and daughter are still scurrying about trying to get ready for their night out. Jamie is in her room jumping up and down on the bed yelling, We are going to the movies. We are going to the movies. Daddy hurry, I'm ready to go.

He can't let her see him not like this, not even dressed. He's in such a hurry to make the visions stop that he hasn't even taken the time to dry himself with a towel. Bill sneaks passed his daughter's room without being detected. Now, down the stairs and quietly through the hall into the kitchen, not having been noticed by either of who unknowingly is now his prey.

This is going to be perfect, he said to himself. The look in his eyes now has gone from someone who is in pain, to that of a wild animal about to devour their last meal. Careful not to slip on the tile floor, he crosses to the far side of the kitchen opening the drawer with the silverware inside. Bill takes out a rather large butcher’s knife. Looking at it and silently laughing, thinking to himself that it might be too big and get the job done too quickly. The events need to happen the way it has been in his mind. He must make it happen exactly like he has seen it so many times in his dreams. Sliding the knife back into its resting place alongside the others which seem to be jump toward the hand of the devil, wanting to be picked for the job. He gropes at several of the knives in the drawer before taking out one quite a bit smaller, thinking to himself, This one should do nicely. Trying to be quiet, and pushing the drawer closed ever so gently. As he is turning around to move into the living room so he can get started, he slams his knee into the corner of the cupboard.

God damn it. He has been banging his knee on that damn thing for eight years now; you would think that he would get used to having the island in the middle of the floor.

Like some primal instinct he shouts out the profanity. Shit, Sarah must have heard him, she has heard him and is on her way to the kitchen.

Honey? Is that you? I thought you were in the shower. Are you all right?

What can he do now, he is standing in the kitchen bare assed naked with a knife in his hand. This is going to be one fucked up scene when she walks in. He thinks then laughs a little.

When Sarah enters the kitchen to see what's going on in there, because there is no way that Bill could have