The following is an excerpt from the book The Screaming Room
by Thomas O'Callaghan
Published by Pinnacle; May 2007;$6.99US/$9.99CAN; 978-0-7860-1812-3
Copyright © 2007 Thomas O'Callaghan
Prologue
The rain had stopped. The afternoon sun had resumed its assault on rotting
corn shocks, casting distorted shadows across the abandoned farm. A pair
of
cicadas sounded, silencing the chirping of the nearby sparrows, sending
them
into flight.
In the middle of the field, a sturdy youth stood silently, eyes fixed on a
mound of fresh clay.
A rush of cool air stirred wisps of his ripened wheat-colored hair.
Bending
down, he used a finger to inscribe the name Gus in the collected soil.
A second youth, a female, approached. "Can we go now?" she asked, wearily.
"This is our tenth field and there's nothing left of him to bury."
"In a minute."
The girl looked around. "Someone could be watching, you know."
"Just need a minute."
"Well, you'd better make it a quick one."
The youth's eyes lingered on the newly formed grave. With a nod of
satisfaction, he uprighted himself. As a smile lit his face, he used the
heel of his boot to eradicate their victim's name. "Lovee," he said, "may
the bastard rest in peace."
"You mean in pieces. Let's go."
Chapter 1
Cassie turned her head on the pillow as a sudden flash of light woke her.
"What the hell are ya doing?" she hollered. "It's two o'clock in the
morning!"
Her brother, Angus, who was sitting up in bed next to her, grinned, his
attention riveted to the gleam coming off the three-quarter-inch ball
bearing he was holding between his thumb and index finger. The narrow beam
of a pencil-thin flashlight had reflected off the ball's chromelike finish
and shone directly onto her eyelid.
"I liked you better when you got off pulling wings off flies," she said,
hiding her head under the pillow.
Angus, flashlight still directed at the ball bearing, brought his face to
within inches of the tiny sphere, watching the reflection of his pupil get
bigger and bigger, the closer he got. Hopelessly bored, and somewhat
blind,
he turned off the flashlight, slid his hand under the covers, and fondled
his sister's rump.
"Not tonight, we ain't," she said through clenched teeth. "We got lots to
do
tomorrow. Get some sleep!"
Angus slid out of bed, slipped into a pair of boxers, and ambled toward
the
door, opening it. A blast of warm air caressed his body. The sensation
aroused him. He glanced over his shoulder. His sister was snoring. He
pushed
open the screen door, sat on the top step, and glanced upward. It was a
cloudless night. The moon, just shy of full, cast shadows on the weeds and
tall grass that surrounded home sweet home; a fitting salute, perhaps to
what would begin at dawn. The thought of finally executing what they had
planned brought on a surge of adrenaline. He wouldn't sleep. Unlike his
sister, he'd stay up and wait out the darkness.
A slug, slithering toward him on the surface of the step, caught his
attention.
"I can kill ya, little fella. But I won't."
He had the urge to pet the small mollusk but decided instead to dabble his
finger in the slime that trailed behind it. He brought it to his lips,
applying it as a woman would lipstick.
Women. They fascinated Angus. Every curve. Every smell. Every everything.
In
his next life, he planned on returning as one. He could feel what they
feel.
Think as they think. God! Even screw as they screw!
He heard a rustling. It was not the willow tree, which was as limp as he
was. No, something was pu****ng through the grass. A deer perhaps. He hoped
so. He liked the sound they made just before dying, after he stalked them
and twisted their neck, snapping their cervical vertebrae.
There it was again!
The rustling.
Following the example of the snail, he slithered down the rickety steps
and
began his pursuit, certain his sister wouldn't start their big day without
him.
From THE SCREAMING ROOM by Thomas O'Callaghan, Copyright © 2007 Thomas
O'Callaghan.
Published by arrangement with Pinnacle Books, an imprint of Kensington
Publi****ng Corp. All rights reserved. www.kensingtonbooks.com.
Author
Thomas O'Callaghan is a native of New York City and a graduate of CUNY. He
lives with his wife, Eileen, a stone's throw from the Atlantic Ocean in
beautiful Belle Harbor, New York. The author of the acclaimed thriller
Bone
Thief, he is working on his next book featuring NYPD homicide lieutenant
John Driscoll. Please visit his website, www.thomasocallaghan.com.
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