Demon in Salem Read online

  Laura Cabrerizo

  DEMON IN SALEM

  Supernatural City Book 1

  Published through Amazon

  Copyright © 2018 Laura Cabrerizo

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  All rights reserved

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

  Kindle edition

  LAURA CABRERIZO

  DEMON

  IN

  SALEM

  Table of Contents

  1. Sara

  2. Samuel

  3. Sara

  4. Samuel

  5. Sara

  6. Samuel

  7. Sara

  8. Samuel

  9. Sara

  10. Samuel

  11. Sara

  12. Samuel

  13. Sara

  14. Samuel

  15. Sara

  16. Samuel

  17. Sara

  18. Sara

  19. Samuel

  20. Sara

  21. Samuel

  22. Samuel

  23. Sara

  24. Samuel

  25. Sara

  26. Samuel

  27. Sara

  28. Samuel

  29. Samuel

  30. Sara

  31. Samuel

  32. Sara

  33. Samuel

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  To my husband who is pretty much the most awesome husband ever: thank you for believing in me even though you aren’t allowed to read the book.

  To everyone who reads this book (and hopefully enjoys it) thank you for your support! It means the world to me!

  1. SARA

  “I can’t believe you are considering buying this house.”

  Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had been dealing with this realtor for weeks, trying to find the perfect home. Her demands weren’t high. She wanted a decent-sized piece of land that wasn’t too far from the city and in her price range. She and the realtor had a very different opinion on what that price range was.

  “Can we at least go inside and look around?” Sara turned her head towards the woman who walked up beside her with her arms crossed over her chest and a look of distaste plastered over her well made-up face.

  “I’m not going in there, it’s haunted.”

  “There are no such things as haunted houses.” Sara closed her eyes and replied for what felt like the hundredth time, her patience wearing thin. They’d been having this argument over the last twenty minutes, the time spent traveling from Christie’s office to the house.

  Sara grit her teeth, thinking she should have taken her own car. “I don’t know why you're so… resistant. Anyhow, the property management company that owns it is offering a double commission to the buyer’s realtor, and you don’t have to live here. Win-win in my opinion.”

  “I’m still not going in there.” Christie dug her heels into the soft dirt of the front lawn, her arms still crossed in stubbornness. Sara rolled her eyes.

  The property was a renovated farm-style ranch house, situated on two acres of land, surrounded by a thick screen of trees, and butted up against the Putnamville Reservoir. Downtown Salem, less than thirty minutes away, would give her the feeling of living in the middle of nowhere without the inconvenience of living in the middle of nowhere.

  “You don’t have to go in, just unlock the door.” Sara’s eyes wandered over the outside of the house. It had freshly painted white clapboard siding with the front boasting a large porch dominating the area between the front door and garage.

  Flowers decorated the railings, making Sara grimace. Those would perish within two weeks unless she hired someone to care for them. She was more of an indoors person and couldn’t keep a plant alive to, well, save her life. There had to be some native plants that would grow out here with no assistance, she would have to look into it. Maybe she could replace them with plastic flowers upon their inevitable death.

  “The property management company went through a lot of trouble to make this place look appealing.”

  “That’s because it’s haunted. There is a whole neighborhood filled with new construction houses less than a mile from here. Why don’t we go see one of those?”

  Sara sighed, running her fingers through her short hair in and screamed in silent frustration. “Because those houses are over twice the price of this one. I would rather not hit the top of my pre-approval.”

  Christie shook her head but, after much hemming and hawing, walked towards the front door of the house to open the lockbox dangling from the ornate handle.

  “I’m warning you, there is something wrong with this house. It’s had six owners in the last seven years. The last occupants tried to sell it after living here for three months, couldn’t find a buyer, and ended up going into foreclosure. The flippers who bought it fixed it up with new everything, cut the price in half, and still haven’t been able to sell it in over six months.”

  “Your warning has been noted, please open the door.”

  Christie glared at her before handing her the key she had just liberated from the casing. She made a show of stomping down the front steps and walking back to her little red sports car parked along the curb.

  “At least she won’t be inside telling me how cute everything is,” Sara mumbled to herself. The woman thought everything was cute, from valances to baseboards and all the items in between. It surprised her that Christie could sell anything, but she had excellent reviews on the internet.

  And the internet never lies. Sara rolled her eyes again as she unlocked the door. Whistling, she looked around the vaulted entryway. The inside of the house was beautiful with light gray walls, dark brown hardwood floors, and white trimming. The flippers had put a lot of money into this house though it made sense; most of the properties in this area were at least half a million.

  Deciding to go clockwise around the house, she turned left and peeked into the formal living room. It was a good-sized room that had double French doors opening inwards so it could be closed off from the rest of the house. With the right furniture, it would make an excellent reading room. The house faced west so the afternoon sun would pour in through the large windows pointing towards the street. Christi was outside talking on her phone and shooting worried glances towards the house. She would definitely need to get blinds.

  The next room on her tour was a large master bedroom with several windows and a sizeable attached bathroom. The main windows in this room faced in a similar direction to the last room which, in her opinion, was a nice feature as she hated the morning sun. Correction, she hated mornings.

  The master bathroom featured a fantastic view of the backyard and lake behind the house over a garden spa tub. Sara could easily imagine sinking into a nice hot bath with a full glass of wine and a novel. Groaning in anticipation, she walked into the next room.

  Smaller than a bedroom, she guessed it was a study or media room. It would make a great computer room and home office for her. Her massive computer setup and monitors would take up almost the entire wall. This room also sported a view of the backyard which pleased her. She spent a lot of time on her computer since she worked from home and being able to watch the lake would be a pleasant distraction.

  After leaving the office, Sara peaked into a half bathroom, done in chocolate colored tile and oil rubbed bronze fixtures, an
d moved on. As she walked through the large open family room, a flicker in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to look but saw nothing that seemed out of place. None the less, a creeping shiver ran down the back of her neck, making her shudder.

  Shaking her head, she took another quick look around, glancing out the French doors that lead to the back deck. Whatever caught her attention must have been from outside, a shadow passing the window. Sara figured her reaction stemmed from the stories Christi told her on the way over. There were no such things as haunted houses.

  Sara continued her exploration of the building walking through two extra bedrooms connected by a Jack and Jill style bathroom. She didn't know yet what she would use the additional rooms for, maybe a guest room and storage, but more bedrooms were never a bad thing.

  Next on her tour was the kitchen, beautifully redone with glass faced dark wood cabinets and cream-colored granite countertops. The stainless-steel appliances were all new and matched well with the metallic and blue backsplash that wrapped around behind the sinks. The only odd thing, she thought, was the stove. It sat on a small island in the middle of the room. Glancing back into the well-lit breakfast nook, she moved on to the utility room which opened off of the kitchen.

  Through this door, she could reach the laundry, garage, and basement. The laundry had a conventional washer and dryer with a long row of cupboards to store things in and fold clothes on top of. She knew herself well enough to be confident the clothes would not only never get folded but would never make it into her closet either. Well, that was one great thing about not having roommates, you could run around naked all you wanted.

  Opening the door to the two-car garage, Sara glanced in to see it was what one would expect a garage to be. Two windows on the far wall provided light and a door in the back gave access to the backyard, she assumed for things like gardening. That door would never get used.

  She was about to open the door to the basement, placing her hand on the knob, when something stopped her. A grave, instinctual warning to run crept up her spine, causing the small hairs on the back of her neck to rise and her hand to shake. As soon as she removed her hand from the doorknob, the feeling abated, and the shaking stopped. Frowning, she placed her hand on the knob again and experienced the same sensation a second time. Her heart beat faster, and she perspired as her arms raised gooseflesh. The longer she kept her hand on the knob, the worse the sensation became, subsiding as soon as she released it.

  “I’ll let the inspector take care of that.” Sara rubbed her hands together and frowned. The feeling only bothered her when she tried to open the door. She stared at it a few moments longer before turning away to rejoin the realtor out front. “And buy a large lock.”

  She glanced once more over her shoulder before shutting the door to the utility room and leaving the house, locking the front door and replacing the house key in the realtor’s box.

  2. SAMUEL

  Invisible and powerless, Samuel watched the little woman walk away from his house, towards the car and the other woman waiting for her. He had observed her as she inspected each room, lingering in some, moving at a fast pace through others. She was short and robust, her black hair cut to a boyish length and tipped in purple, mussed from running her fingers through it every few minutes. He worked hard to scare off anyone who dared walk through his domain, but she intrigued him. There was something about her, he couldn’t describe it, but she seemed different from the others. So, he followed her until he couldn’t any longer.

  Three couples had come in the previous weeks to see the house. One didn’t even make it over the threshold before turning back and saying they weren’t interested. The second couple had made it to the living room, admiring the view of the backyard, before he’d used just enough of his power to touch the back of their necks and send them running. Using his meager supplies of energy cost him, and he hadn’t been able to recharge before the third couple darkened his doorstep.

  Afraid they would make it through the entire house and purchase before he could scare them away, he felt relieved when they stood outside the door of the utility room and felt the waves of the aversion spell placed under the old foundations of the house. They had turned away almost immediately and left.

  Several weeks passed before this little strumpet, in her tiny tank top and indecently short shorts came along and entered his house. He had tried to capture her attention, flickering at the edges of her vision, to scare her off but she ignored him. At one point he thought he had gotten through to her, but she merely shrugged and continued her perusal of his home.

  He had to give her credit, she’d made it further than anyone before her, actually placing her hand on the doorknob to the basement. She’d stopped there, testing her limits, before mumbling something and moving away. He felt sure she wouldn’t be back until he saw her glance over her shoulder one last time. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  She was standing on the curb, speaking with the other woman and gesturing towards the house. The other woman was shaking her head like she was insane but then her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she nodded, motioning for the little pixie to get in the car.

  After one last long look, the woman turned away and joined her companion, entering the car and driving away. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. Samuel plotted how to get rid of her and smiled to himself. At least something exciting would happen, it had been rather dull over the last few months.

  The house itself sat on top of the old foundations of the first farmhouse built when the settlers claimed this land from the Natives over three hundred years ago. A superstitious lot, the colonists had soon strung up innocent people as witches, a fervor of religious righteousness lighting the area like a beacon to those that went bump in the night. Simply because the villagers never caught a real witch didn’t mean they didn’t exist. The witches were a crafty lot, turning suspicion away from themselves while pointing it at those they could reap the rewards from.

  Eventually, the local coven had to tone down their practice, moving it to the outer edges of society to conceal their magic. They depleted most of their power controlling the villagers as he and his kind gorged themselves on the byproducts of greed and corruption.

  Moving away from the window, Samuel walked over to his favorite spot in the living room and lay down in the sun streaming through the bare windows onto the floor. He pretended he felt the warmth of the rays as he watched dust motes dance in the light. This is what his existence was reduced to.

  High on power, his senses befuddled, the witches lured him into the woods, and everything had gone dark. When he became aware again, he was trapped in a root cellar in the middle of a power circle, held down with wrought iron chains and rope woven from vines into inimitable patterns to contain his energy. Esoteric symbols were painted in blood across his limbs and around the flagstones he knelt on, holding him in stasis.

  He had gone out of his mind in those first years, raving like a lunatic and plotting his revenge against the witches. Samuel released a deep sigh, glad he could at least move around in an astral form. It had taken almost two hundred years, but he’d been able to reserve enough strength from the sapping of the witches’ spell to leave his body and explore the surrounding land. From there he’d learned how to manipulate parts of the world, moving objects, creating flashes of light, and other assorted changes that scared the sense out of people.

  It had been so much fun to chase people away from the property, but even that grew dull after a while. He’d had a good twenty years of playing with the inhabitants of his home before strangers stripped the house of all its metal and abandoned it.

  There was a long stint where he’d been all alone, the house fell into disrepair around him, and the land became overgrown in an attempt to return to nature. One day, a group of people with giant machines and bright lights swarmed over the house. Their clothes were strange and their behavior even more so. They pretended they w
ere being murdered, reenacting the scenes until a guy in a chair with a bullhorn told them they could leave.

  One day he overheard a person telling another that it was a perfect location, straight out of a horror film, though he didn't understand what that was at the time. He’d learned by watching the people behind the scenes make what they called 'movie magic' and he decided to help along the creepiness factor by causing disruptions whenever he could. He enjoyed himself to no end.

  On and off, for the next few decades, the house had become a favorite spot to film in, and he never grew tired of the whispered rumors that the house was haunted. At the end of shooting a new movie, one of the large lights they set up had an electrical malfunction, and the wires sparked. The house, built with wood as dry as tinder, became engulfed in a fire more massive than any he had seen before. Everyone escaped, and there were no fatalities, but his home was destroyed in the blaze. As he watched it burn, a deep sadness came over him, thinking he would be alone again.

  Samuel rolled over on the floor, crossing arms under his chin, and let his back soak up the rays for a while. After the fire, he grew used to his solitude and reveled in it. One day out of the blue, large machines appeared once again and cleared away the rubble until all that remained was the foundation of the old house. Men swarmed over the property and erected the framework of a new, larger home. After several months they finished construction, and a new family moved in.

  He enjoyed their company, observing from the shadows and learning about the world outside from the thing they called a television. He watched the children grow up and leave the house, going off to live their own lives, while the parents enjoyed being alone again. Soon they talked about how big and empty the house was and decided it was time to retire to a place they called Florida. He’d learned from the television that a lot of old people lived there, why he had no idea.