The Town of Griswold: Berkley Street Series Book 3

Unseen predator, deadly trails, welcome to Griswold. Taking a much-needed break, ghost hunter, Shane Ryan, spends a day exploring an old New England town. What starts as a hike, becomes a deadly game of cat and mouse with a malevolent ghost who preys upon unsuspecting visitors. Shane has seen his share of bad spirits, but nothing could have prepared him for the evil predator dogging his trail. Abel Latham is the scourge of Griswold, a deathly quiet town populated by the undead. Abel stalks the hapless victims who stumble onto his unholy ground before torturing them to death. The police rarely notice who's missing until two brothers disappear and the only clues are the boys' abandoned trucks and blood. Lots of blood. Though shaken by the gruesome details of Abel's depraved life and dreadful crimes, Shane knows his new job is to end Latham's reign of terror and his vengeance for blood. As Shane hunts his ghostly mark, he prays he won't be the next grisly artifact found in Griswold Forest! PRINT LENGTH 225 pages AUDIO LENGTH 7 hours and 14 minutes NARRATED BY Thom Bowers PRODUCT DIMENSION 6 x 0.5 x 9 inches ISBN 979-8-89476-002-5 LANGUAGE English PUBLICATION DATE September 24, 2016   Read a Sample CHAPTER 34: UNINVITED GUESTS   Shane was good and buzzed by the time he finished his tea party with Eloise. He sat alone in his study, the last cigarette of his pack in his mouth, unlit. There was a fresh carton in the kitchen, but it was too far to travel when he couldn’t feel his legs. I could ask Carl, Shane thought, grinning. He might do it. He might not. Too tired to call for him. Shane looked at the lighter on the table beside him, reached out, and missed it. He swore, and the cigarette fell out of his mouth and onto his chest. Shane frowned and thought, I am not that drunk. He patted around his chest for a moment, picked the cigarette up, and returned it to his mouth. For a moment, he eyed the lighter, and then figured he would wait. Don’t want to light myself on fire. The doorbell rang. Tiredly, Shane looked to the study door. Carl appeared a moment later, passing easily through the thick wood. “You’ve guests, my friend.” “How many?” Shane asked in German. “Three,” Carl replied. “Men. Police, from what I can see.” The doorbell rang again. Shane rolled his eyes. “Will you answer it?” Carl asked. “Sure,” Shane said, pushing himself upright. He hesitated and then got to his feet. For a second, he swayed unsteadily, but he shifted his weight and maintained his balance precariously. “And if they arrest you?” Carl said. Shane chuckled. “Then I’ll sober up in jail tonight. Not worried about it, Carl. So don’t.” Carl shook his head and slipped away. For a third time, the doorbell rang, and Shane yelled out, “I’m coming!” Carefully he made his way out of the study, down the hall, and to the front door. He opened it, saying, “Come in, gentlemen.” The three men looked at him warily as they entered. Shane put a hand out to the wall to keep himself upright. “Follow me.” He led them back to the study, dropped into his chair, and watched them as they entered the room. They sat without waiting for permission. Shane sighed and examined the men. One he knew. Henry Martini, the State Trooper. The other man, a little older than Martini, had the bearing of a police officer, and Shane thought he had seen the man at the barracks in Manchester. The oldest of them Shane had never seen before. But on the man’s jacket was an American flag pin, the Vietnam War campaign pin, and a small, blue-enamel combat infantryman’s badge. He’s a hard case, Shane thought. He glanced at what remained in the whiskey bottle, considered it for a moment, and then decided against it. “You’re drunk,” the old man said. “Almost,” Shane said. “But I plan on getting drunk, and remaining so for several days.” “We’d rather you didn’t,” Martini said. Shane waited to hear why. Martini cleared his throat and then introduced the men. After he did so, the veteran, Gordon, said, “You’ve seen Abel Latham.” “Yup,” Shane responded. Guess I’ll need the drink. He reached out to pour it and Donnie said, “Don’t.” A bolt of anger raced through Shane. “Donnie, this is my house. I’m going to drink as much as I want.” Carl came into the room and stood behind the visitors. “You’re too drunk already,” Henry said. “I will take the bottle away from you until we’re done,” Donnie added angrily. Shane smiled. “Best if you don’t try, Donnie. I’d hate for us to get off on the wrong foot.” Picking up the bottle, Shane started to pour the drink, and Donnie stood up. In German, Shane said, “My friend, if you would.” Carl stepped forward, put his hands on Donnie’s shoulders and pushed him back down onto the couch. Donnie’s exclamation of surprise filled the room as Gordon and Henry looked at him in shock. “What the hell just happened?” Henry asked uncomfortably. Donnie was rubbing his shoulders, glancing around nervously. Carl still stood behind him. “That was my friend, Carl,” Shane answered, lifting his glass and taking a drink. “Carl is dead. Has been for an extremely long time. But he is my friend. This is my house. And if I want to get so drunk that I wake up in my own puke on the floor, that’s what I’m going to do.” “Unfortunately,” he continued, “your arrival has sobered me up somewhat, and I don’t particularly want to be sober right now. I have extremely bad coping skills, as you can see by the nearly empty bottle of whiskey at my elbow. Now, if you gentlemen will kindly explain to me what it is you want, we can all be about our business, whatever it may be.” He drank a little and waited for someone to speak. Henry finally broke the silence. “Can you tell me what happened at the Roy house?” he asked. The question surprised Shane. “There was an intruder.” “There’s more to it than that,” Henry said. He leaned forward. “I know it. They ran a paranormal website. Something happened.”