The Suffering

The Suffering MJ Mars WICKED HOUSE PUBLISHING The Suffering By MJ Mars Wicked House Publishing No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental. Cover design by Christian Bentulan Interior Formatting by Joshua Marsella All rights reserved. Copyright © 2023 MJ Mars Contents 1 Halloween 2016 2 Turbulence (3 Weeks Later) 3 The Wanderer Returns 4 Party On 5 Hangovers 6 House Meeting 7 Disbelief 8 Recreation 9 Caleb 10 Walking Nightmare 11 Hotel 12 Sometimes, people are worse 13 Be Our Guest 14 Sharing is caring 15 Work of Art 16 Hospitality 17 Poetry in motion 18 Mortal Combat 19 Showdown 20 The Cellar 21 It’s All Relative 22 Halloween Once More About the Author Wicked House Publishing Dedicated to my favourite pioneers of the paranormal Loren Coleman, Zak Bagans, and Tom DeLonge And all those who build empires while others stand and laugh. “There is no exquisite beauty…without some strangeness in the proportion” – Edgar Allan Poe 1 Halloween 2016 “Trick-or-treat! So, what’s it like living in the Victorian murder house?” Cassie laughed at the little girl peering up at her from the porch. The kid’s young mother wearily pinched the bridge of her nose and apologised. “I’m so sorry. She’s extremely morbid. We have no idea where she gets it from.” “That’s all right,” Cassie said, reaching for the dish of sweets behind the door. “I was the same at that age.” The woman eyed Cassie’s Halloween costume. It was a homemade praying mantis homage, complete with the cardboard half-eaten corpse of her mantodean husband swinging by a thread from her arm. “I can imagine.” Grinning, Cassie caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror. She suited green, and it was a good thing she did—her costume comprised of lime leggings and a turtleneck sweater, green make-up painted over her cheeks, lips, and eyes. Her hair was tied back and sprayed with neon colour. Her scalp felt chalky and stiff. When she raised a hand to scratch an itch, green powder tumbled down and dusted her cheeks. “Guess who I am?” the little girl demanded, hopping closer to Cassie and throwing out her arms. A straggly brown pigtail escaped from the red wig that sat lopsided on her head. She wore a torn blue dress with a white apron tied around her middle, and she carried a toy octopus. Her jewellery was too large for her, pooling around her hands instead of her wrists, the cords threaded with dozens of seashells. Cassie snapped her fingers, impressed that the kid had chosen to dress as one of the ghosts from the house’s history. “You’re Lisa Vaughan.” “Yes!” The little girl reached behind her and grabbed her younger brother, pulling him up the steps to join her. “Guess who he is?” The boy looked to be about five years old, adorable in a grey three-piece suit and shiny black shoes, a pocket watch swinging from his waistcoat. While his sister had come dressed as one of Brackenby House’s infamous ghosts, there wasn’t anything too gruesome about his outfit. Visibly disinterested in the history of the house and his costume, the little boy wordlessly held up his pillowcase to Cassie. She tossed a handful of sweets into the sack. The suit and slicked-back hair could only mean one thing; that the kid’s costume depicted the Victorian psychic who had unleashed the ghosts on Brackenby and banished them back into its walls. “Some loot for Mr. Lucius Holgrove?” The little girl jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “You got it.” “Wait here a minute,” Cassie instructed. She hurried down the hallway and yelled into the dining room. “Kyle! Come out here a sec.” A few moments later, her housemate ambled up to her side, clutching three long, white candles. He was dressed as a Ghostbuster in a tan jumpsuit and jackboots, a plastic proton pack slung over one shoulder. Cassie pointed to the tiny trick-or-treater on the doorstep. “Look who it is. It’s your Great Uncle Lucius.” Kyle looked stunned. “That’s fantastic!” “And I’m Lisa Vaughan. What’s it like living in the Victorian murder house?” “Emelia!” The mother cringed and stepped forward, attempting to herd the kids away from the house. “I am so sorry for this. Thank you for the sweets.” “Are you going to do a séance at midnight?” the little girl persisted, gawping at the candles in Kyle’s hand. He grinned down at them. “As a matter of fact, that was the plan.” “No way! Can I come?” “Emelia! I’m so sorry…get down off that step at once and leave these poor people alone.” Emelia frowned up at her mother and folded her arms, shell bracelets sliding down to her elbows. “I’m going to have a séance all of my own. I want to talk to The Suffering ghosts.” “Emelia Grace Stone, you are eight years old. You will not be having any kind of séance in my house.” The woman’s exasperated voice faded as she ushered the children onto the street. They disappeared behind a row of hedges. Cassie closed the door with a laugh. “Great kids.” “It’s always nice to meet the fans,” Kyle quipped. Cassie glanced down at his nametag and hid her smirk by biting her lip. Earlier that day, Lance’s cousin, Jonah, had painstakingly changed the stitching on the tag so that instead of saying Venkman, it clearly read Wankman. Kyle had been too wrapped up in thoughts of the séance to realise. She followed him as he carried the candles through to the dining room. He had set the huge oak table ready for