Haunted By The Succubus Read online

  Haunted

  By The

  Succubus

  The Haunted Ones Book 3

  By

  Michelle Dorey

  ~Also included~

  Legacy: The Mystical Veil Book 1

  About This Book

  Previously Titled The Demon And Me

  From Best Selling Author Michelle Dorey, Episode 3 of 'The Haunted Ones' spine chilling tales of ordinary people confronting unspeakable evil

  He was marked as a child, now the Evil is back to claim him...

  Adam is a typical nineteen-year-old guy except...he isn’t. Born with uncanny abilities, he could be a great help to people. Could be, if he wasn’t such a slacker. Instead, he’s obsessed with his nonexistent love life; trying to hookup and constantly striking out at the local watering hole.

  Marked when he was twelve by a powerful spirit, he encounters it again. It’s been waiting for him to mature and now he’s definitely ripe.

  Adam is revolted by the evil succubus. Even a wannabe Lothario has some standards! When he rejects the horrifying ‘offer’, the enraged demon strikes back. Bodies start to pile up. Making an already terrifying situation worse, the evidence points to Adam as the murderer.

  He flees his small town and ends up in Saranac Lake—exactly where his stalker wants him. Now it’s up to him to finally man up and fight.

  All hell is about to break loose.

  Haunted By The Succubus: A stand alone novel of Paranormal Suspense in the traditions of Odd Thomas and Rosemary’s Baby.

  About The Haunted Ones

  Tales of ordinary people dealing with unspeakable evil

  Click this link to see more of this series!

  SPECIAL BONUS!

  LEGACY: The Mystical Veil a full length novel is included!

  Copyright 2018, Michelle Dorey

  ISBN: 978-1-988913-11-7

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design by Juan Padron

  https://www.instagram.com/padrondesign/

  Edited by Paula Grundy

  https://paulaproofreader.wixsite.com/home

  111018Rvsddocx

  CONTENTS

  About This Book

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  A Note From The Author

  Special Bonus Book: Legacy: The Mystical Veil Book 1

  ONE

  I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN THINGS. Stuff that people try to hide under a plastic smile as they go about their day-to-day lives, bang around in my head all the time. It can get pretty distracting when you’re in a crowd, but thankfully, I learned how to handle it at a very young age. Otherwise, I’d probably be in an insane asylum. Nope, all I do now is relegate the noise to a junk pile in the back of my head.

  But sometimes I slip up and get steamrolled.

  Take that girl up ahead, waiting at the bus stop. No wait. Let me. She’s gorgeous. The ragged designer jeans hugging model-thin thighs, the blond, tousled mane framing a face that flaunts indifference; the total effect carefully crafted and expensive. But it can’t erase the fact that she’s shrouded in a muddy green haze. I don’t even give her a second look as I pass by.

  That girl has more issues than a 7-Eleven magazine rack. The worry that her boyfriend is cheating on her causes a crease in her perfectly applied makeup. I could tell her that the constant self-deprecating mantra playing in her head, is anything but true. But why bother? She’d think I was some kind of freak.

  Which I am.

  Besides, at twenty-five, she’s too old for me. I’m barely nineteen and a high school dropout to boot. She’d give me the same look as if she stepped on a wad of chewed bubblegum.

  I wait for the light to turn green and then hustle across the intersection. Late again for a job that barely covers my rent, let alone food. But even so, it beats living with my parents and the shining star who is my older brother Seth. I miss my little sister, though. Amy was the peacekeeper, the only one of my family who actually “got” me.

  When I open the door to the courier shop, Hilda looks over and waves before continuing her conversation on the phone. There are two order slips waiting on the counter. The first pickup is at a florist which will take me to the outskirts of town for the delivery. I’m reading the second when a hard shove on my back makes my head snap back.

  Even before I wheel around, I know it’s Phil.

  “You’re late! Two more minutes, and I was gonna have to do these.” He stands with arms resembling gnarled tree trunks folded across his chest. The usual sneer is plastered to his lips and small piggy eyes.

  “Bite me, loser.” I turn away reading the second order. It’s a weak comeback, but the guy could break me like a twig. He spends every free minute at the gym pumping iron and downing protein shakes. He’s a full head taller than me and outweighs me by at least fifty pounds. Of muscle. Damn.

  Hilda hangs the phone up with a resounding bang. “Philip! Sometimes, I swear if you weren’t my sister’s kid, I’d toss your sorry ass out of here.” She shoots a hard look at me. “Adam, you are late again. Consider this your last warning. One more and...” Her voice trails off, and she takes the keys that Phil hands her.

  “Sorry. I got caught up in the game again. It won’t happen anymore. I promise.” I turn my head a bit, so I’m looking at her from the corner of my eyes. I call it ‘sidey-eyes’, and when I do it I’m able to see Hilda’s aura. She’s that clear green like a newly mowed lawn, just like normal. Not a trace of the red that flares when she’s really mad, so I know she’s bluffing. Truth be told, she likes me more than Philip, and who could blame her? He’s a bully and not overly bright. I can do five orders in one run, planning a route that doesn’t waste a drop of gas in the process.

  Yeah, I know. That’s not exactly Mensa material.

  She finishes writing out the order from the phone call and hands it to me. Phil takes that opportunity to grunt a “see ya later” and slip out the front door.

  “You know, if you applied yourself a little more and took on more hours, you could be an assistant manager. I’m not going to work here forever, get carried feet first out of the store like what happened to my dad.” She leans on the counter and flashes a smile at me. It isn’t the first time she’s asked me to assume more responsibility. She’s in her late fifties—hell, she’s going to turn sixty real soon. And… she’s tired. Not sick with some kind of cancer or disease. I’d know that. Just worn out like an old boot that’s seen too many winters. The woman’s worked hard since she was a young girl, and is running out of gas.

  She bats her eyes. “So, what do you say? Pitch in more here, and the assistant manager slot’s
yours for the asking, Adam.”

  I snort. “Ya, that’d go over well with Phil all right. He’d probably break every bone in my body. You trying to get me killed or something?”

  She pushes up from the counter and sighs. “My father would roll over in his grave if I let Phil run the place. The only muscle that boy needs to exercise is between his ears, but I think it’s already atrophied beyond use.”

  I sidey-eye a look over her shoulder. Yep. Her father nods his wispy gray head in agreement and casts a smile at his daughter.

  That’s another thing that I can do. I see ghosts.

  Certain places and people are magnets attracting spiritual essence. Hilda and this place keep her dad around. I wish it were that simple where I’m concerned but like everything else about me, it’s complicated. I’d give anything to see and chat with my grandmother’s spirit but she never comes. Instead, spirits I barely care about or who I don’t even know are drawn to me.

  “I’m sure your father would be proud of what you’ve done here, Hilda. You buried the competition and tripled the amount of business.” A glance past her shoulder takes in the old guy’s nod while his rail-thin chest puffs out like a banty rooster.

  “See? That’s what I mean.” She points her chin at me. “Look, Adam, you’ve worked here for what—six months? Yet you have a really good handle on what’s going on, here! You easily assessed the growth—”

  I cut her off. “Which would be even more if you set up a better website and did some stuff with Google search ads!”

  She laughed. “See? You get the lay of the land, and what can be over the horizon while Phil does well to tie his shoes.” She shakes her head and waves of exasperation slide from her shoulders.

  “I’ll think about it.” I pluck the order slip and keys from her and head to the back door where the van is parked. I hate leading her on, and what’s worse is that she knows I’m fudging. I pause for a moment. “Want me to pick up some lunch for you when I’m out?”

  She reaches under the counter and holds up a brown bag with her lunch. “Thanks, but I’m opting for healthy.”

  I nod, pushing the door to go out into the back lot. The day is warm even for May, with the sun casting a glint on the windshield. As I wander around the vehicle inspecting it for any damage that Phil may have done, which of course he’d blame on me, I wonder how my sister is doing. It’s been six months since I’ve seen Amy. Email and Skype aren’t the same as actually hanging out together, watching a movie or something.

  And the fact that I’d left just before Christmas and missed seeing her face when she opened my gift still leaves me with a hollow feeling.

  I get in the van and start the engine, trying to shake off the remorse. The blowup with my parents that day had been a storm hulking on the horizon for like forever. It was a hurricane of a fight, but the worst part was Amy’s tears streaming down her face before I closed the door. That image haunts me.

  TWO

  THE PROBLEM WITH DOING THIS JOB is that it takes so little mental effort. As I drive first to the florist and then to the automotive shop to pick up the packages, that last scene with my parents spools on a loop in my head.

  I’d skipped school again. But unlike the times before, my parents received an email from the guidance counselor. Just my luck that the teachers had nothing better to do on their lunch break but talk about Adam Rafferty pissing away ‘real academic potential’. What made it more stark was the contrast with ‘Wonder Boy’, my older brother Seth.

  That day, Mom had even left work early to come home to have it out with me. It didn’t help that she’s a teacher herself, albeit for grade six. She’d lit into me like a banshee, screaming so hard that the vein in her temple stuck out. But Dad pushed it over the top when he came home, grounding me and trying to take away my phone, my gaming shit, and any use of the car, EVER! Snippets of the lecture, I could recite by heart since it still rings in my ears. ‘Underachiever’ was the best of it, although ‘lazy bum’ and ‘loser’ came a close second and third.

  What they didn’t understand was how irrelevant school had become for me. Why pretend to give a shit about quadratic equations or expository compositions? And if atoms and molecules are the basic building blocks of everything, how come I can see spirits and the energy field of every living thing?

  And at the end of the day, does working your ass off, getting deeper in debt to get the vaunted sheepskin from a college make you any happier? How come success isn’t measured in terms of happiness instead of money?

  But explaining this to two people who had to work three jobs in order to get an education and get ahead would be like trying to explain to a dog why it should want to become a cat.

  At the blaring honk behind me, I glance up at the traffic light which is now green. If it weren’t for the van’s Rabbit Express logo emblazoned on the side panels I’d flip the bird at that asshat laying on his horn. Seriously? Two seconds of the guy’s life, and he has to make it a thing.

  I pull into an empty parking spot in front of the dry cleaner’s and get out. With any luck the cute girl working there the last time I was in is there today. She’s not drop-dead gorgeous, but I can tell she’s a good person, not stuck on herself. She’s kind of shy like Rebecca had been.

  Rebecca. My first love before her family got posted to Pensacola. At first we Skyped and texted every day. Then there were gaps of a day, becoming a week, then weeks, before she wrote me that she’d found someone new.

  An old-fashioned bell clangs against the door as I enter. My heart flips into my stomach when I see the girl look up from behind the counter. She’s got these deep pools of ebony eyes that I could fall into forever. And the pink haze surrounding her clinches it for me. I’m a sucker for girls with that glow. They’re like cotton candy on the outside but steel inside when it comes to loyalty. Too bad Rebecca’s hadn’t been pink. She might have waited for me.

  But this girl’s got it in spades. With a smile as bright as the sun outside, she says, “Hi. You here for the Johnson pickup?” Even her voice is soft and sweet. Her cheeks have a fresh glow. No need for layers of makeup. Am I crushing on her? Duh!

  “Yeah.” The word comes out as a croak, and I clear my throat, noting her amused smile before she turns. I let myself probe a little, trying to keep my hopes at a manageable level. No boyfriend. Bonus! But there’s something worrying her. I can see darker threads in her aura. Her mother. She just found out her mother has breast cancer. Shit.

  She hands me the clothes all pressed and packaged in the cellophane. “They already paid for the cleaning.“

  “Great.” I take the bundle and hesitate, looking at her. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I’m Adam from Rabbit Express.” I extend my hand hopefully.

  When she takes it, murmuring, “I’m Polly,” another image jolts from the touch of her hand right into my head. It’s the face of a red-haired girl, eyes closing as she draws closer, the slightly parted lips, saturated with love and desire as she’s about to be kissed.

  Great. Polly’s gay and has a girlfriend. Just my luck.

  “Well. Nice to meet you. I guess I’ll be seeing you sometimes. This store is one of our accounts.” I take my hand back and then head for the door. She’s not for me, but still... she’s nice. I turn and look at her. “They do amazing things with breast cancer patients. I saw a documentary on it last week. Your mom’s going to pull through the surgery. See ya!”

  I turn again before she has a chance to say anything and before I can see that look of shock in her eyes. I’ve seen it too many times before on people’s faces when I tell them their private thoughts.

  I know I stepped over the line in telling her that. Nana would never have approved. She saw my gifts, the psychic talent I was born with at a really young age. She had it too. She always wanted to shelter me and warned me against saying too much to people. But as usual, I don’t always follow advice. Even from someone as wise as Nana had been.

  She was right about keeping it from Mom
and Dad. They would have had me tested for autism, Asperger’s, or some other thing. Amy knows about it, of course. We’d make a game of it, walking down the street with me telling her stuff about strangers going by us. Some of it I made up just to hear her laugh. She had a laugh like small Christmas bells jingling, a bright tinkling of pure joy. Before I start the van I pull my cell phone out to send her a text.

  Hey! How r u? I just met the girl of my dreams and she’s gay. Good thing Wonder Boy’s around to keep the Raffterty gene pool going. Have you started the countdown to summer vacation yet?

  I hit send and then slip my phone into my pocket. It buzzes right away, and I look to see her reply. But it’s only Hilda with a few new stops scheduled for me. Oh well. Amy’s probably still in class anyway.

  ***

  By the time I finish work the sun is a fiery ball on the horizon. After entering the old brick building, I go up the two flights of stairs to my apartment trying not to notice the cooking smells wafting in the air—a mishmash of seared meat, fish and cabbage. As I pass the second floor level, the half-deaf old lady in 2-C yells at some contestant on a TV game show. Thankfully, I don’t live in the apartment next to her as the walls are paper thin to begin with.

  I share an apartment on the top floor with another guy. Doug is older; he’s a twenty-seven-year-old mechanic licking his wounds from a marriage breakup. When his wife called it quits, he needed a roommate to share the rent, and I needed cheap shelter. We don’t have all that much in common, so we manage to stay out of each other’s way for the most part.