Sample Chapter of my latest novel

Prologue

     Sometimes, Jake Patterson dreamed of normal things. He dreamed himself a cowboy riding through Western plains, a spaceman on galactic missions, or a soldier dodging bullets in battle. He dreamed of things lost and longed for; of faraway destinations; of experiences he could never have.

But this dream was unlike any other. It was different because he sensed a change coming. Like a tooth breaking through the gum of his mouth, the change heralded its arrival with dull pain.

He saw a blend of colors and images wrapped in a discord of sound. Reds, yellows, and blues all whirled around inside his head. Spinning wheels. Racing horses. Pink clouds. A three spire tent. Screams. Cheers. Applause. Laughter. Cries. Roars. Explosions.

As the noises grew louder and louder, the pain became sharper. Just underneath the layer of powerful noise and color, almost to counteract it, was the festering cavity of dread.

If truly his silent prayers were answered and a change was coming, what was the price? Because everything had a price. It was the order of things.

              *         *         *

Every so often Jake had a dream so vivid he couldn’t tell if he was awake or in deep sleep. Sometimes, he felt trapped in a limbo between the two, a longing for his dreams to linger a while and the pull of reality. He wondered when he dreamt, if a part of him slipped away in the middle of the night, like a runaway dashing to freedom.

He woke from his sleep to morning light that brightened everything it touched in his bedroom. The yellow walls turned to egg yolk. Even the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling twinkled with faint green luminance. The colors kept dancing with every blink as if he were still dreaming.

In reality, dreams lost relevance once eyes were opened. So while motes of dust spun lazily in the sunlight, Jake pushed his dream into a lockbox deep in his mind, because lockboxes kept secrets safe and secure under their steel confines. 

He did his best to keep his imagination in place, much like everything else in Charlestowne. And like some in Charlestowne, his dreams did a poor job at following the rules.

He contemplated telling Johnny, his fourteen year old brother, about the incoming change he sensed in his dream. He soured a bit at the idea. The few times he did share his private dreams Johnny gave him strange looks and scolded him for being soft.

“You don’t see me daydreaming anymore,” Johnny grumbled under his breath once.

When Johnny said things like that, it made Jake worry. If he grew to be Johnny’s age, would he stop dreaming too?

He needed his dreams. They were the baseball cards of his life. When things became painful, he retreated to those dreams in his mental lockbox to marvel at their possibilities and to remind himself that those dreams were his and no one else could take them away. He would not trade them for anything.

Johnny slept serenely in the other twin bed across the room. His mop of brown hair looked as though it were fighting with the pillow. His thin arm hung off the side like a dead limb and barely touched the floor. The tiny hairs on his arms turned golden in the sunlight. He had slept the same exhausted way he had collapsed into the bed last night.

Johnny insisted that he and Jake stay up all night watching television and whatever else was on late night. Johnny ensured that they weren’t going to get in trouble. Their father was out-of-town and not expected back until morning, and their mother allowed herself to drink a little bit more after supper.

“Johnny,” Jake whispered in a high-pitched voice. As he sat up in bed, his chest tightened. “Johnny, wake up.”

“Leave me alone,” Johnny muttered drowsily behind half-shut eyelids.

“Johnny… it’s Sunday.”

Johnny’s eyes snapped open. He rolled across his bed and fumbled for his wrist watch on his desk in a blur of motion. His eyes dashed from his wrist watch to the alarm clock he forgot to set. After pin-ponging back and forth between the times, he groaned loudly and then exploded. “Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!”

Jake clenched at his bed sheets as he cringed into himself. He couldn’t breathe. It was as though the air was burned from the room in the very same way he learned about in science class. His teacher, Mr. Manheim, covered a burning candle with a tall glass and described what happened. Because smothering the candle limited its supply of oxygen, the fire inevitably suffocated itself.

Sundays in the Patterson home were like every other day. It was regimented from sunup to sundown. Things had to be done in a certain way, and everyone had a role to play in it. And when their father, Jayson Wyatt Patterson, worked longer routes, which could take him across town and overnight, he expected the family to run according to his order of things. That Sunday, their father wanted them ready for Church before he arrived back from work.

“Is he here?” Johnny asked cautiously.

Jake shrugged slowly as if he lugged around the weight of the world. He buried his chin into his chest, closed his eyes, and escaped to the pastel colors of his dreams. 

“It’s okay, Jake. There’s still time. We can do this.”

Johnny jumped off his bed and rummaged through his dresser and closet pulling out whatever decent Sunday clothes he found. His father had rules about the clothes they wore. Everything Johnny pulled was pressed into sharp creased and free of wrinkles.

“We can do this.” Johnny’s voice trembled a bit. “Forget brushing and showering. Just do the basics. We can do this.”

Behind his eyes, Jake heard Johnny’s feet bouncing around the room as if he were playing catch with himself. 

“C’mon Jake! Move!” Johnny yelled.

Suddenly, Jake was yanked to his feet and his Sunday clothes were shoved at him. As he fumbled with buttoning up his shirt, he pushed away his dream of a circus into his lockbox where it could be preserved.

“The bed, Jake,” Johnny said urgently after slipping on pants. “We gotta’ tuck in the corners.”

Johnny was already making quick work of both their beds. He tucked in the corners and stacked the pillows.

As Jake bent down to tie his shoes, his shoelaces squirmed in his hands. His fingers had become like thick sausages and kept getting in the way. He was ten years old and was still having trouble with his laces. He froze and became utterly useless as he imaged what his father would say about his inability to do such a simple task like tying his shoes. Tears stung his eyes, but even with blurred sight, he saw Johnny heading out the door.

There it was that sickening feeling that seized Jake’s thoughts sometimes. More and more, he sensed that Johnny wouldn’t be there when he needed him, truly needed him, in the way a younger sibling needed the older one to guide the way.

Johnny was going to graduate and move on to high school. He would make new set of friends and not want Jake around. And when the time came, Johnny would move out the house, off to college, find work, or to be drafted in some war the way their father had. Either way Jake was left behind.

“Don’t leave me!” Jake shouted.

Johnny came back to the bed room door, and Jake held him in a powerfully wide stare that took in everything. Unlike anyone else in the family, a colorful golden ring in Jake’s mixed gray eyes shined through Johnny like an x-ray.

Johnny shifted uncomfortably under the hard stare and said, “If you don’t keep up, I will leave you.”

Jake dropped his laces and followed his brother into the hallway and downstairs.

Downstairs smelled like an ashtray. The curtains were closed. Even if they were opened, the walls and the furniture would still have a haze of gray to them.

When the boys gathered in the TV room, Johnny looked disdainfully at their mother sleeping on the couch.

Last night, she had passed-out as the boys watched television. She drank while she flipped through the things inside her pink and purple makeup box. An empty bottle of wine she had finished left a dry red ring on the coffee table. The makeup box was curled up in her arms like a stuffed animal.

Johnny pulled the covers off her and sighed, “Get up Ma. It’s Sunday.”

Normally, when excited, their mother, Patricia, would flush with blood and her cheeks rouged as bright as McIntosh apples. In those glowing moments, she was alluring, alive.

However, her transparent skin betrayed her. At that moment her rosy complexion blanched from her face and left her a ghostly white. She covered her mouth as if to gag.

She didn’t breathe as she rambled, “I thought we’d have more time to get ready. What happened?”

Johnny said in the most reassuring voice he could muster, “We stayed up too late.”

“I’m so stupid!” She punctuated with a smack to her forehead.

“Don’t worry, Ma’. It’s not your fault.”

“Oh God.” She wasn’t listening to him. She stumbled up to her feet, disorientated and drowsy.

“It’s my fault.” Johnny explained. “We stayed up too late. I forgot the alarm clock. We overslept.”

“You were supposed to remember, Johnny. Why didn’t you? You know how he gets.”

“Get dressed, Ma’. We won’t be late. He’s not even here yet.”

She began pacing, her arms wrapped around her slim body, on the verge of another rant, until Johnny grabbed her by the arms.

“Ma’!” He got her attention. “Shut up and get dressed!”

She tensed up in his grasp and stared at him blankly. Her brown eyes were dark and listless, as if they could absorb the colors of a rainbow.

Johnny let her go and cringed at his handprint around her white arms. Eventually, her flowing blood would erase it, but it wasn’t fast enough for Johnny, who whispered to the floor, “Do you trust me, Ma’?”

She nodded.

“Then just get dressed. Please.”

She nodded, headed for the stairs, and stopped. She looked back at Johnny briefly before she ran up the stairs.

 Johnny opened the curtains in the room. He threw away the empty bottle of wine and placed the bright makeup box in its usually spot in the kitchen. When he returned from the kitchen, he noticed Jake shaking.

He placed his hand firmly on Jake’s shoulder, and said with a steely smile, “Don’t worry. We can do –”

A car horn blasted from outside the house, and Johnny’s whole body deflated. The ease on his face dissipated as quickly as the air in his lungs.

The car horn blared again, and this time it was followed by their father’s deep voice shouting, “Let’s go!”

Moments later, their mother hopped back down the stairs as she put on her last heel. She wore her bland Sunday dress without stockings. Her brown hair was tied back like it usually was for Church.

Jake wondered how she was able to look like she hadn’t rushed. There were times she looked in the mirror and complained for minutes about how ugly she looked. Jake couldn’t understand what flaws she saw in her reflection. She always looked beautiful to him. 

He worked his hand into hers, and said quietly, “You look nice.”

“Thank you, Jake,” she said with a frown. “But we’re late.”

“Shut up, Ma’,” Johnny snapped back.

The car horn blasted one long angry note as their father shouted over it, “Where the hell are y’all?”

Huddled together, they all stared at the front door in silence.

Johnny was great at coming up with plans: brave ones, crazy ones, intelligent ones, but he drew a blank this time. He waited for angels to smile on him. Maybe his mother would surprise him and say and do something courageous, but he didn’t believe much in miracles or angels anymore.

He summed every bit of courage he had left and walked out the front door. His mother and brother were behind him apprehensively.

Outside, Jayson Wyatt Patterson leaned against the hood of the family car. Having already dressed in his slacks and button-up back at the warehouse, his shirt sleeves were rolled up his arms. His hairy arms were folded across his chest. There was a cigarette between his lips and a haze of smoke billowing around his close-cropped head. With burly hands, he took a final drag, threw the cigarette to the ground, and crushed it under a heavy foot. 

“You were supposed to be outside already.” When he spoke, his words were like stalactites hanging dangerously over their heads. “What happened?”

“Sorry, Sir,” Johnny said along with his brother.

“You’re sorry? There’s an order to things. How many times do I have to tell you that? Why aren’t your shoes tied?”

Jake opened his mouth to speak, but his voice escaped him. He couldn’t muster anything above a dry wheeze.

“Speak up, boy! You know that this messes up everything right? If we show up this late, all their eyes will be on us. Didn’t I tell you boys to be ready for Church when I came back?”

“Yes, Sir,” the boys again in near unison; Jake a tad more softly than Johnny.

“So why am I repeating myself?”

Their mother interjected. “They said they lost track of…”

“Shut up, Patty. I’m talking to the boys,” He sneered.

“Okay, Jay,” She backed off quickly. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. We’re late.” He clipped every word and syllable. His face had a gargoylish quality. It was stuck on one stern position with gray stubble that made him older than he actually was. “Why the hell am I repeating myself?”

Neither boy moved to answer.

Their father picked up a bike on the lawn and hurled it at the house. It didn’t go far, but its intent was clear. It struck the lawn with a pedal impaled in the grass.

As their father screamed about his order of things, their mother put herself between and the boys and him.

Johnny ran back inside the house. Jake was right behind him until he tripped on shoelaces and fell on the floor in the living room.

A punch to the chest sent their mother folding back into the house. She rolled away from the door and groaned for the boys to run.

Their father stalked into the house and slammed the door behind him.

“Boys, come here.” He said calmly.

Johnny didn’t get very far. He was snatched up by the collar and beaten across the back with furious fists. Thuck! Thuck! The punches sounded each time they landed.

“There’s an order to things.” His father recited. “And I’ll beat you raw until you get it.”

Thunk! Thunk!

Jake watched from the floor as Johnny was swung about and finally discarded against a wall.

Johnny wasn’t crying, but his face was red and sweaty.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut as soon as his father’s attention was on him. He retreated to his mental lockbox, thought of his dreams, and found solace in the dull pain of change he experienced that morning.

Thump!

A solid knock at the front door shook the house, followed by another.

Thump!

The door creaked as if the wood would splinter under the force.

THUMP!

So hard, pictures that hung on the wall near the door fell to the floor.

Their mother quickly sucked in her cries and looked frighteningly back at their father, who was poised for action. Johnny gaped at the door in disbelief, and Jake couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Who’s there?” Their father yelled.

The door proceeded to rattle violently, shaking hard against its frame.

Jake’s heartbeat sounded wrong in his ears, like the rapid rat-a-tat of drumroll. It sounded exactly how the front door rattled. The same exact way. And if his heart were to burst from his ribcage, he expected the door to fly off its hinges.

Their father went back to the door and threw it open.

The door went still. The house fell quiet. Nothing was outside except for daylight. No one was running away from the house. The father stood at the end of the driveway perplexed. He looked up and down the street to make sure he didn’t miss anybody. There was no one there.  

By the time he came back inside the house, the boys and their mother had retreated upstairs. Their father was too preoccupied with his thoughts to pursue. A lit cigarette was back in his mouth, while he checked and rechecked the door. He rubbed the back of his neck in confusion.

“A change was long overdue.”

– kARNEVEL (M.J. cROSS)

In Kärnəvəl, we are introduced to Jonathan and Jacob Patterson, brothers who live in Charlestowne, a place as humdrum as white walls. At home, the order of things is maintained by their father’s fist, and in the streets, the brothers search for things to do. Kärnəvəl, an international traveling circus, parades into town, and the boys’ silent prayers of change appear to be answered. The festive atmosphere takes a turn when a local girl is found butchered on the fair grounds.

Drawn by the magical and mysterious Karnies and the other Kärnəvəl attractions, the brothers risk their safety by going back again and again. As the conflict between the Kärnəvəl and Charlestowne swell to a bloody showdown, the brothers’ adventure will change their relationships, challenge their dreams, and awaken powers and strength they never knew they had.

Karnevel is available NOW for ebook and paperback sales!

Stay Ghoulish out there friends and family.