Black Acres- The Complete Collection

  Black Acres

  The Complete Collection

  Ambrose Ibsen

  Copyright © 2018 by Ambrose Ibsen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses and events are the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Thank you for reading!

  About the Author

  Preface

  I have a tendency to ramble when I get nostalgic, so I’ll try and keep this short.

  In the summer of 2015, I set out to write a serialized novel. Specifically, a haunted house story. Those of you who have followed my work in subsequent years may have noticed that the haunted house theme is one I’ve returned to many, many times. There’s a reason for that. Haunted houses lend themselves so well to any number of treatments. The scenery of the haunted house, the dark corners and hidden histories of such, contain so supreme a brand of intrigue that I’ll never tire of them.

  At the time I wrote the first installment of Black Acres, In Absentia, I’d published very little. My first full-length novel, Wretchedness, was at that point in its earliest phases. I’d put out a novella entitled Orchard in spring of that same year, but wanted to try my hand at writing something longer and more complicated.

  I remember pacing the floor of my old townhome (pacing is something I tend to do a whole lot of when hammering out the details of a new story) and trying to piece things together. The plot details were scribbled onto a number of dogeared legal pads, and the moment I felt I’d built a solid foundation, I began hammering out a first draft.

  I wrote the first two chapters of this story in a white heat while sipping coffees at my local Starbucks in the minutes before sunrise. The remainder of the story was completed in dribs and drabs—long nights spent typing at the kitchen table when the kids had been put to bed, or hurriedly typed during lunch breaks at work.

  I was very proud of the thing when I finished it, and was prouder still when positive reviews from perfect strangers began to trickle in. The success of Black Acres helped to solidify my confidence as a writer of horror. Since then, I’ve published more than twenty full-length novels, have worked with many talented narrators in producing audiobook versions of my books and have even fielded a bit of interest from Hollywood (don’t get too excited at this last—movies are a tough nut to crack!).

  Here you will find my serialized novel presented as a single, lengthy work.

  Please, enjoy!

  —Ambrose Ibsen

  July 3rd, 2018

  One

  The tires kicked up gravel as they dug into the snaking driveway.

  Julian turned to her and grimaced. The house was coming into view just ahead. It was a big house, but it still looked awfully small to warrant the superlative “estate”. “I can't wait to stretch my damn legs,” he yawned, wiping at the corner of his eye and giving the wheel a slight nudge to the left. “I feel like we've been in the car for days.”

  Kim leaned back in her seat and stretched out, one of her flip-flops dropping off in the process. “You and me both.”

  Their visit was owed to a brief internet posting. For a few months now they'd been scouring the web for real estate listings, looking for something that they might fashion into a dream home. The Beacon estate was at the end of a long line, the latest in an effort to find an HGTV-worthy diamond in the rough. They had very strong opinions on what sort of house they were looking for, and they knew just how they'd renovate and decorate it once they'd found it, from the countertops they'd select for the kitchen down to the finish of the furniture in the living room.

  From the very first, the look of the Beacon estate threw them both for a loop, however.

  The two of them leaned forward in their seats in near-unison, looking it over narrowly as it loomed large just ahead of them. Stopping at the end of the lengthy driveway they idled for a time and studied its exterior, a smooth, beige stucco. They'd seen a few grainy photos online, but in-person the building possessed an arresting quality. The seeming bastard child of a smattering of architectural styles, the first story appeared long and wide, with numerous bay windows jutting out towards the woods at the rear of the property. Perched atop it in relative simplicity was the second story, a narrower, somewhat boxy thing that terminated in a black, slanted roof. The shingles looked not unlike a bolt of black hair atop a long and malformed head. Neither of them could come up with a detailed critique of the house right off the bat. It had character. That was about all either of them could say.

  Julian shut off the car and stepped out, stretching and carrying on with exaggerated vocalizations. He placed his palms against the outside of the sedan and squatted down, testing his range of motion and reawakening the muscles in his legs that'd gone dormant over the long car ride. Kim stepped out, yawning as the autumn sunlight washed over her. There was a pleasant, earth-scented breeze pouring in off of the woods. The sky was mostly blue, save for patches of wispy white clouds peppered throughout. She stationed herself against the hood of the car and poked her husband in the side as he ambled by. “So, we're supposed to be meeting the guy here, right?”

  Nodding, Julian looked this way and that. “Yep. He said he'd meet us here, outside. And we're right on time. Dunno where he's at. We should have a walk around the house in the mean time. Get a good look at it, you know? That way, if there's something hideous about it-- and I'm not loving the look of that cupola up there-- we can take off before he gets here, yeah?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, all right.”

  They paced around the perimeter of the house, taking in the sights and sucking in lungfuls of the gorgeous breeze. The air out here was different than it was back in the city. Julian had talked about living out on a farm as a kid, had said again and again how different it was from city life. Only now was she beginning to understand what he meant. A dyed in the wool city-dweller, Kim had never spent much time in rural settings. She was used to the constant clatter of pedestrians in the street outside their apartment, the sounds of rush-hour traffic as a backdro
p to their dinners, the smell of exhaust in the air. The marked lack of these things was baffling and interesting to her, if not a little disorienting.

  Pausing before the back door of the house, they peered up at the small balcony, at the beige cupola Julian had taken such an exception to, at the dust-choked, heavy-looking windows that peered down at them from up above. They pushed on, marveling at the grounds as they went. Stacks of sun-bleached logs littered the back yard. Who'd put them there or how long they'd sat was hard to say. There was a fire pit, clogged up by the refuse of the changing seasons and fallen into disuse. The grass was tall in places, absent in others. Julian opined on the patchy lawn as they rounded the other side of the house and appraised yet more of the heavy windows with their thick, wooden frames.

  All the while, they stole occasional glances at the woods, which came up a hundred yards or so from the back door of the abode and stretched on for what seemed to be an incalculable distance. The trees shot up from the ground like thick Roman columns, but not a one of them seem to have anything in the way of leaves. The limbs jutting out from the ash-colored trunks were all shrunken and bare, and the forest floor was curiously clear of fallen leaves. Though Kim was no expert on trees, she couldn't ascribe the sight of that forest with the usual shedding of autumn. The forest looked utterly dead to her, nothing but bald, rigid trunks to be seen for miles.

  Rounding the other side of the house and walking about the front, they admired the large door and the smooth concrete steps that led up to it. To the immediate right, flanked by a few unruly bushes, was a dirt-flecked garage door that'd seen better days. Julian tugged on the waist of his jeans and sidled up to the house, climbing the few steps and running a hand against the smooth stucco. He pressed his face up against the nearest window and attempted to look inside. The interior proved dim, impenetrable.

  “Well?” asked Kim, waltzing over to the spacious front porch and taking a seat upon the steps. She plucked a curious-looking yellow flower from the grass and wrenched its petals off one-by-one. “What do you think?”

  She could already tell by the way he studied the house and tried to look inside that he was interested however. Julian tried to play it cool, sniffing the air and stretching, giving his shoulders a rotation and hitching his hands behind his head. “Not bad,” he said. “Looks to me like a little work could go a long way with this one. Won't know until we get inside, but she's got good bones. I'd bet you top coin she does.” A little grin betrayed his excitement. “And did you see that back yard! More space than we'd know what to do with. Could finally take up a proper garden, just like you've always wanted.”

  They were set to meet with the home's owner, a man by the name of Edwin, for a tour. It'd initially caught their eye for its remote location, and because it fell well into their price range. This was a lot of house, and for only a little more than a two-room bungalow in the city might cost them. She hoped their search would end here, that the inside would impress them as much as the exterior had. Though hodgepodge, the house was large and boasted a great, quiet location. The only problems to speak of were cosmetic, and even then, there'd been nothing so egregious as to turn her off. She chuckled, combing a hand through her black hair and knocking a small yellow leaf from her locks. “Why do you think this place is so cheap?” she asked, looking up at Julian, who now paced across the porch like a caged animal. “Think there's a mold problem? Did someone get canned in the living room? This place ought to be way out of our price range.”

  A disturbance in the gravel driveway attracted their gazes at once.

  From the main road a large pick-up truck could be seen to pull up, maneuvering the winding stretch of dull grey pebbles before stopping behind their sedan.

  Julian nodded towards the truck. “Guess we're about to find out. I reckon that's Edwin.”

  Two

  After nearly a half-hour's worth of chit-chat, the portly Edwin Kelley prepared to take them inside the house. A squat man of about Kim's own height with a swollen paunch and a thinning veil of greyish brown hair swept greasily to the side, he wore a faded Carhartt jacket and spoke in a baritone voice tinged with chain-smoking raspiness. In fact, as they spoke outside, idling near the porch, he'd gone through two cigarettes and seemed on the verge of lighting up a third when it finally occurred to him to carry on with the planned tour.

  “Lovely couple,” he said as his sausage-like fingers sank one-by-one into his pocket in search of the keys. “How long have you been married?”

  Kim smiled politely, glancing at Julian, who was absolutely twitching with impatience. “Uh, three years now.” She cleared her throat. “Just looking for a good starter home. Tired of living in the city. We've got an apartment right now, but want to upgrade to something full-size.”

  Edwin loosed a laugh, almost dropping the keys as he sank one into the meaty deadbolt. Nothing she'd said had been particularly funny but he laughed all the same. “Oh, this will be more than enough house for the both of ya, I'm confident of that. This ain't like some tiny apartment in the city, no, this is a proper house, plenty of room for you both. And plenty of room for any tikes down the line, too!”

  Kim blushed. In her few years as a married woman, she had noticed strangers to have a certain fascination with the concept of children. The first question new acquaintances tended to ask was always how long she'd been married. Then, when that was out of the way, they were quick to follow up the first query with “So, when are you going to have kids?” It wasn't that Kim disliked the thought of children. She and Julian had discussed starting a family and it was something they would likely pursue in time. Nevertheless, the insistence of strangers that they breed always came across as obnoxious to her. The man was just trying to be friendly, to make polite conversation, but he was relying on the most grating of tropes.

  With a grunt, Edwin shoved the front door open. Then, with a clumsy theatrical flourish, he bared his yellowed teeth in a grin and waved them inside. “Right this way, folks.”

  Julian all but rushed past the man, stepping into the foyer and studying his surroundings with the utmost urgency. When he'd taken in the sights, he pushed on further without invitation, stepping into the living room, and then the kitchen.

  Edwin hitched a finger Julian's way and grinned at Kim. “Fella's excited, I take it?”

  She smiled. “Yeah, he's been waiting all day for this.”

  “Well, I know you folks came a long way, so let me give you the run-down on this old house. They call her the Beacon estate.” He sucked in a deep breath, his paint-dappled work boots producing a persistent thudding against the dusty wooden floors.

  “Why is it called that?” asked Kim, tugging on Julian's sleeve and drawing him back towards her. He frowned, not wanting to be hampered in his exploration, but fell into step beside her as Edwin entered into his spiel.

  “No reason in particular that I know of,” admitted Edwin. “But I'll tell you what I do know about her.” Approaching the chimney he rested a meaty paw upon the mantle, a gesture that required him to reach upward awkwardly, and stroked the lacquered wood lovingly. “She was built back in the 60's, late 60's. There'd been an old house on this land before that, but it was torn to make room for what you see all around yas. Property extends all the way to the main road up front and all the way to the edge of the woods around back, but the woods are effectively yours as well, since there ain't another property to be seen for miles around. I mean, your closest neighbor is probably on the other side of those woods, and ten miles away. If you're looking to get away from city living, for something secluded and private, you simply can't beat this.

  “Anyhow, like I was saying, this old house was built in the late 60's by a pair of young lovers not unlike yourselves, went by the names of Marshall and Dakota Reed. Lovely folks, and they financed the construction of this house themselves. Built her from the ground up, they did, after tearing up the old shanty that used to be here. Put in five bedrooms, two bathrooms, an attic and built her to last.” E
dwin cleared his throat and moved from the mantle, starting into a rambling tour. First he led them into the kitchen.

  Kim's first reaction to the kitchen was one of dismay. The room wasn't simply outdated; it was essentially a snapshot of the 1960's set in amber. The appliances were ancient, probably didn't operate, and everything else, from the tacky-looking brown linoleum, to the orange tiles along the wall, would have to go. She almost threw her hands up right then and walked out. This room alone would require an incredible amount of work. The cabinets were perhaps the only thing that could be salvaged, done up in a traditional style from hardwood, however a few of them looked shabby on their worn-out hinges and would have to be repaired. She'd been looking for a fixer-upper, but this was a whole other level.

  “Now I admit,” said Edwin, scratching at his ear, “that this kitchen could stand a little update.”

  Kim held back a laugh. A little update? That was one hell of an understatement.

  “But she's got good bones,” he said, switching on the tap as if to make a point. It sputtered to life, spilling into the worn-looking basin. “Pipes still in good shape. Copper, sturdy. None of that plastic crap you'll find in the city.”