An American Haunting

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Description
Every neighborhood has that house. It's the one children whisper about, the one that seems to watch the passers-by. It's the house that people cross the street to avoid standing in its shadow. Though no one knows why exactly, that house is evil, malignant, haunted. An American Haunting tells the story of a family who has found the perfect house. It seems like the ideal place to live, with a large yard, gardens, and close to town and work. As soon as they move in, however, strange forces begin to work against them, tearing their lives apart and enslaving family members in a cycle of pain that has lasted for nearly a century.

Inspired in part by real locations and events, An American Haunting takes the reader on a journey, proving that there are things in the dark to fear. Perhaps that house is listening, waiting, for the right family.

Excerpt
She felt the doorway twist and contort behind her. Nearly frozen with terror, she turned to see the door twist and bulge until an all-too-familiar face emerged. It was the face she'd seen beckoning her in the nightmares that began when she and her husband moved in, the same face that she'd seen smiling at her in mirrors out of the corner of her eye. It was that cherubic face, twisted in hatred and evil that now loomed before her, its mouth wide open in a guttural howl of defiance.

She felt her feet begin to kick and somehow got moving, this time toward the back door. The fireplace erupted, a gateway to hell. The plaster cracked as the house began to violently quake. She got through the hallway to the kitchen where her husband, no longer raving, stood smiling dementedly, the gleaming axe in his hand smiling back.

“I was wrong, you know," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but she could hear him plainly over the din. "It wants you too. We all want you. Stay with us!"

He lunged for her, barely an eyelash away from her delicate flesh. The axe whizzed past her, slicing the bodice of her gauze nightgown. She screamed and leaped for the door, swinging at her husband and connecting with his temple at the same time. He fell to the floor dazed.

He looked at the axe as if seeing it for the first time and dropped it. "My God," he said softly.

Marian was clawing at the door, though it would not open either. Her voice was raw from screaming and she could taste blood in the back of her throat, but the sound would not stop. She caught movement from the corner of her eye and whirled to see her husband, his face twisted in rage, swing the axe high overhead. She screamed and closed her eyes as the axe began to fall. She heard the clank of metal on metal, and opened her eyes. Steven had swung the axe and cut through the latch on the door and was now kicking with all his might to open it.

"Run!" he shouted as the door flew open. The house howled.

Marian stared, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Had he killed her and she not felt it? Had he missed and was going to try again? Was he again himself?

"Goddamit," he cried. "Get up! Get out of here!"

He grabbed her roughly by the arm and slung her through the open doorway, sending her sprawling across the terra-cotta tile outside. She watched in horror as inky black tendrils embraced him as a lover.

The look on his face said fear, abandonment, enslavement. With a howl, the door to the house slammed shut, and Marian was left alone, sobbing gently on the terra-cotta tile, surrounded by the rotting remains of what was once her garden.