She writes Mystery/Suspense/Horror, Paranormal Romance and Fantasy. Originally from Denmark, she now lives on Florida's Space Coast with her husband and two daughters. She is a huge fan of Agatha Christie, Stephen King, Anne Rice, and Isabel Allende. When she is not writing or reading, you'll find her surfing and watching the dolphins play in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Sold more than 800.000 copies of her books.

Connect with Willow online:

http://www.willow-rose.blogspot.com/

http://www.facebook.com/willowredrose

https://twitter.com/madamwillowrose

The following is an excerpt from Willow Rose's Bestselling Mystery Novel

SLENDERMAN
(
E
MMA
F
ROST #9)

P
ROLOGUE

November 2014

S
OMEONE WAS WATCHING HIM.
Rasmus Krohn was happy to finally see his friend again. He turned his head and glared at the door to his bedroom, to make sure no one was awake in the house other than him. It was one in the morning. They should all be asleep.

Rasmus turned his head to face the screen again. With much eagerness, he let his fingers dance across the keyboard.

>Hi there. Where have you been?<

>Hello<

Rasmus thought he heard a sound, and turned to look at the door once again. He held his breath. Someone was in the hallway outside. He followed the steps as they walked across the carpet. It sounded like his father. The steps were heavy, not like his mother’s that were usually light because she would be tiptoeing in order to not wake up the kids. Rasmus followed the sound of the steps and breathed in relief when they passed his door and continued towards the bathroom. There was a bump, then his father complaining and cursing. After that, the door was closed. Rasmus breathed again. He turned off the small lamp on his desk next to the computer. The light coming from under his door could reveal him.

He received a new message from his friend.

>Are you ready?<

Rasmus looked at the blinking message on the bottom of the screen. He heard his dad flush the toilet and the water start running. The old man cursed again, probably bumped his toe or his head, as usual, the drunk. Rasmus held his breath as his dad opened the door to the bathroom and entered the hallway again. He turned down the light on the screen to low and sat in darkness. Rasmus’s dad walked across the carpet outside, then stopped. Rasmus’s heart was pounding in his chest. He could sense his dad was right outside his door now.

Would he come in to check on him? Or to pull him out of bed and start beating on him like last time?

His parents had told Rasmus so many times not to use his computer at night. Especially on a school night. His dad would be furious if he found out.

The seconds that passed felt like years. Everything inside of him was screaming. If his father walked through that door and found him by the computer, it was all over. They would take the computer away, they had told him…even though Rasmus had saved up for it and paid for it on his own. It wasn’t good for him, his mother said.

As if she has any idea what’s good for me! She doesn’t even know how to take care of herself, let alone her children.

Rasmus stared at the bed and wondered if he could make it over there if the door handle moved. He could sense his dad was out there still. He even believed he could smell the booze on his breath.

Just go to bed, you fucking drunk. Leave me alone. Leave all of us alone!

Rasmus’s hands were shaking when he remembered what had happened the last time his father had come through that door at night. He still had the bruise on his back from the baseball bat.

Just go back to bed, you asshole! Find someone else to bother.

He felt the rage rising inside of him. The humiliation was the worst; the fact that he still couldn’t fight back was painful. At the age of fifteen, Rasmus was still scrawny. No one took him seriously. No one regarded him as anyone. But soon, they would. He was going to make sure of that.

The steps moved on across the carpet and Rasmus breathed again. He heard the door to his parents’ bedroom shut and everything go quiet again. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair for a few seconds before he turned up the light on the screen again. The expressionless white face of the tall and slender man stared back at him from behind the screen. He had written a new message.

>It’s time<

November 2014

I
HAD TIPTOED AROUND
the cigar box for two weeks now. I was back in my house after the renovation which followed the fire, and sitting in my wonderful new kitchen with a coffee and a pastry, staring at the box on the table in front of me.

I hadn’t opened it yet.

The construction workers gave it to me after we were allowed to move back in. One of the men handed it to me, telling me he had no idea what else to do with it.

“We found it when we fixed the roof. It fell out when we removed the old wood and replaced it with the new,” he said.

The man in the yellow helmet followed his statement with a shrug, and I took the old dirty box out of his hands. It had been with me ever since. I had taken it in my purse with me everywhere, and taken it out now and then to look at it, but never opened it. Not yet, at least.

“Aren’t you curious?” Morten had asked several times when he caught me staring at it. “Why don’t you take a look?”

“I’m extremely curious,” I answered.

Yet, I still hadn’t dared to open it. I wasn’t like me at all. What was I afraid of? I asked myself over and over. I didn’t know. I kind of felt like the box didn’t belong to me. Like I was intruding somehow on someone’s personal life. Like I was supposed to find its original owners and give it back. But I had no idea who they were. I didn’t even know if anyone would care enough about it to want it back. It wasn’t an ordinary box. Anyone could tell it wasn’t. It was dusty and dirty from being up there under the roof behind the wood. Someone had cared enough about it to hide it well for many years. Maybe it was of importance to that person. Maybe I was violating this person’s need to keep whatever was in it hidden?

The thought only made me more curious.

I touched the front again and ran my hand across it. On the cover was a handwritten name in cursive.

Larsen

“Maybe it belonged to your grandmother?” Morten had asked, but it wasn’t my family’s name. It wasn’t even my grandmother’s maiden name. I didn’t know any Larsen. It was a pretty common name here in Denmark, so it could be anyone.

I tapped my fingers on the kitchen table and sipped my coffee. I had decided that today would be the day when I finally opened the lid. My fingers marched across the top.

Just a little peek won’t hurt anyone.

I tried telling myself that maybe by opening it I could figure out to whom it belonged and maybe get it back to the rightful owners. It just seemed so private. My fingers touched the front once again and stroked it gently, while I wondered what great things could be in there. I kind of enjoyed having my own little fantasy about what it would reveal, and some part of me was really afraid to be disappointed as well. Maybe that was why I hadn’t opened it yet. Maybe I was simply afraid of ruining the illusion. I was afraid of finding cooking recipes or grocery lists or something boring. I wanted this to be special. That was also why I waited till the house was empty before I finally lifted the lid with the tips of my fingers. I held my breath as I finally pulled it off. I was about to close it again, thinking I had no right to be going through it, but curiosity won. After all, it could just be cooking recipes, and then no one would feel like I had invaded their private life. Maybe there were even some I could use?

Slowly, I looked inside. My heart was pounding in my chest as I pulled out a stack of letters, all neatly bound together with a ribbon. I put the letters on the table and took in a deep breath. Carefully, I untied the ribbon. All the letters were addressed to the same person, my grandmother. I opened one and started reading the contents. Two pages fully written from top to bottom in cursive using blue ink. A date was at the top.

March 22
^nd1959.

I read the first sentence out loud to myself.

“Dearest sister. He is the most beautiful child in the world.”

March 1959

H
E IS THE MOST
beautiful child in the world. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Oh, sister. I wish you were here with me. You’d be as enchanted as I am.

Helle Larsen glanced at her baby, who was sleeping in the crib next to her desk at the nursery where she was writing her letter. She couldn’t believe how good he had been. Only three weeks old, and already sleeping through the night. He was nothing like his brothers. They had kept her up all night for weeks until she finally let them cry through the night. It wasn’t something she had enjoyed; as a matter of fact, it was the worst part about having a baby. To have to ignore them night after night till they finally gave up. If it had been Helle’s choice, she would have kept going in to the nursery to take care of them to make sure they didn’t feel left alone, but both the nurse and her mother had told her this was the way to do it. This was the way they had done it for years. It was best for her, they said. That way, she would get her rest, and the children would know who was in charge.

BOOK: Thirteen, Fourteen... Little Boy Unseen

5.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads

Other books

James the Brother of Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls I by Robert Eisenman

Scaredy Cat by Alexander, Robin

Eyewitness by Garrie Hutchinson

The Widow's Season by Brodie, Laura

Amber Beach by Elizabeth Lowell

Big Weed by Christian Hageseth

Monster (Impossible #1) by Sykes, Julia

Midnight Sun (Sinclair Sisters) by Martin, Kat

Rainbows and Rapture by Rebecca Paisley

Unauthorized Obsession (Unauthorized Series Book 3) by Ladew, Lisa