The Somnibus: Book I - Finding the Mark (A Paranormal Thriller)

The Somnibus: Book I

Finding the Mark

by

Craig McGray

Copyright ©2012 by Craig
McGray

All rights reserved, including the right to
reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or
are
used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locations,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Somnibus: Book I

Finding the Mark

“A CHILLING PARANORMAL
THRILLER”*

PRAISE FOR THE WORK OF
CRAIG MCGRAY

“Mr. McGray has crafted
a chilling paranormal thriller that will keep you awake at night, because it is
sometimes terrifying but also because you won't want to put it down.”
-*
Michael K. Rose
Author of
Sullivan’s
War

“...there are moments
in here that will
creep
you out of your skin. Craig
does a great job of keeping the story flowing nicely with a finale that will
leave you at once well satisfied and begging for more.”
-
Griffin Hayes
Author of
Malice
and
Dark Passage

“
Mr. McGray has crafted a chilling paranormal thriller
that draws you in and never
lets
go. It
is well written
and twists keep you off guard making it hard
to see what's coming next. McGray's characters are strong and help progress the
story
.”
–
Horror_Nerd
Amazon
Review

Acknowledgments

FIRST
AND FOREMOST
I would like to
thank my family. My wife and two beautiful daughters are my foundation. They
provide a solid base for me to build my life upon, and show an undying support
for everything I do. I thank them because I know that I sometimes spread myself
thin yet they continue to be there for me. You girls are the best!

While I’m sure to miss a
few names, I would like to thank
Dylan
J. Morgan
, Andrea Harding,
Michael
K. Rose
, and
Griffin Hayes
,
as well as a host of other authors willing to help a new writer with advice,
criticism, and support while I went through this journey. To my wife Andrea,
Patrick Johns, Peggy Bernardo, and the others that read my second draft, I
thank you for your time and input. Without your fresh eyes, I would have never
been able to complete this book.

Works by Craig McGray

Novellas

The
Somnibus: Book I

Finding
the Mark

The
Somnibus: Book II

The
Six Stones

The
Somnibus: The Complete Edition

Short Stories

This
Little Piggy

Madeline

Visit the link for more books by Craig McGray
HERE

T
he passing of time can be a strange thing. Sometimes it speeds by,
while other times it seems to slow down; like when you
’re
forced
to watch your parents die.

Thnx
for dinner.
Luv
u
guys
.

I’d only just sent the text message to Mom when my
parents’ car swerved in front of me. It swung off the side of the road and
rolled several times.

Time came to a crawl and as the spiraling finally
came to a stop, I pulled to the shoulder. Jumping from my Jeep, I dashed for
the car. A small fire on the underside of the vehicle ignited and matured into
an inferno. The blast knocked me backward, but I scrambled quickly to my feet
while fire engulfed the darkness and smoke filled the back of my throat. My
mother’s tortured screams pierced the night air. Thrown clear of the wreckage,
my father lay on the ground, peering at his exposed torso, bowels oozing to the
glowing pavement.

I ran for them again, trying to save them, but the
heat writhed across my skin, pushing me back. Orange light splashed over trees
lining the rural road. I fell to my knees while the dying screams of my
mother’s torture dug through my mind.

She remained trapped, her peeling face pressed
against the passenger-side window. Shoving her hand through a small break in
the window, our eyes locked on one another. Her fingers bled, wilting,
uncurling to spill a small object from her palm. I tried again to reach the
car, but the intense heat savaged my arms and neck. I stumbled and fell,
wanting to touch her but flames leapt from behind the window, spitting on my hand.
I jerked my arm away, and grabbed the object my mother had dropped on the
ground. The heat held me back while the flames licked my mother’s face until
the clawing ended.

I backed away from the gruesome scene, the small
object cool in my grip. The inferno reached out and engulfed my father’s living
half. For a moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of his soul as a shadow lifted
from his fallen body. Within seconds, he was gone, swamped in the fiery chaos.
I sat on the road sobbing, clutching my knees to my chest, holding a small
green stone in my palm while my parents melted away in the raging fire.

Traffic came to a halt and bystanders tried to
reach them, but searing heat shielded the wreckage. My senses went numb.

M
oving boxes littered my parents’ house. Mom had
always kept the place in perfect, uncluttered order, and it would have made her
crazy to have it in such disarray. I imagined the scowl on her face and it made
me smile. I thought I’d forgotten how to be happy. I hadn’t smiled since I’d
watched my parents die.

The thought of that night brought me to tears, but
I stopped myself when my cell chirped in my pocket. I rolled my eyes when the
caller ID popped up.

“Hello.”

“Michael? This is Joe Barnes from First Community
Bank.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to make sure you got my earlier message
about the auction tomorrow.”

“Yeah I got it, and that’ll be fine. I’ll be here
at 10 a.m. to let you in the house.”

“Ok fine. I’ll see you then. Have a good
afternoon,” said Barnes.

I had nothing else to say to him. It wasn’t the
bank’s fault, but the situation was difficult because I knew how hard my
parents had worked to keep their home. I was glad they’d left it to me, but I
couldn’t afford it. My dad’s small insurance policy covered my normal living
expenses but not much more. I hoped that after the auction I would have a
little money left over as breathing room until I got on my feet and school was
over.

Since the accident, I’d carried the small green
stone with me wherever I went. It comforted me, as though I still had my mother
with me. I reached into my pocket and rolled it in my fingers; it had become a
nervous habit. The deep blue elliptical mark in the center appeared to be a
hole that went on forever, like an eye in the dead center. My fingers explored
the stone’s round edges, sending a tear sliding down my cheek.

I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning my
parents’ room. Waves of emotion took their toll eventually and I sank to the
bedroom floor, clutching my mother’s stone. I closed my swollen eyes and let my
mind drift off to sleep.

Suddenly, a burning in my hand grabbed my
attention and an intense energy squeezed my chest. I felt heavy while shadows
rushed by, brushing my skin. An invisible force squeezed my chest, stealing the
breath from my aching lungs, and my eyes were peeled open by a green flash. An
emerald haze outlined the periphery of my vision, and I took a chest full of
air. 

I found myself standing in a sprawling field, the
sun not yet high in the sky. Dandelions and sunflowers stretched on forever.
Raising my hands I explored the wrinkles on my face, the features familiar: my
mother’s face. I had somehow become my dead mother. The sun warmed my face as
it rose higher, breaching the horizon. My mother’s favorite dress rippled in
the breeze. I continued to examine my mother’s features with her own hands, a
sensation of happiness washing through me for the first time since she’d died.
She often told
me about her childhood and how she’d spend
hours walking through the fields, daydreaming
. Without warning, the sun
dropped from the sky, and the flowers wilted as it went dark.

The green haze faded and my brow wrinkled as I
strained in the darkness, searching for even a hint of light in the pitch-black
space. The nape of my neck prickled with a growing fear. My skin tingled as a
cold breeze blew over me, the facade of my mother crumbling and drifting away.

A foul and tormenting puff of air, like a constant
breath, replaced the cold air and weighed me down, as if the air pushed against
my skin rather than brushing over it. Sorrow over my parents’ death rose to the
surface, magnifying ten-fold, and I wept out of control as the mourning and
misery overwhelmed me.

I noticed I wasn’t alone as my eyes adjusted to
the darkness. Like shadows within shadows, they swirled around, brushing me
with each pass. The creatures were large and mysterious, their bodies concealed
by a flowing robe trailing behind them with no apparent end. They appeared to
be investigating me. One of them stopped and moved to within inches of my face,
while the others held their distance, dancing in the darkness.

In an instant, shadowy tendrils shot out from
beneath its robe and encircled my body, binding my arms and legs. The flexible
limbs clung to my skin as they constricted. I wanted to run, wanted to scream,
but did neither. My mind spun as it searched for something reasonable to hold
onto, anything to make sense of this nightmare.

Its emaciated hand reached for my head, its bony
palm cradling my chin while the creature’s lengthy, gaunt fingers squeezed my
face. A faint light appeared in the distance, behind the thing
;
growing in size and intensity as it raced toward us.
Darkness peeled away with the approaching burst of light, and my eyes squinted in
the glare.

The shadowy form gave way to reveal a
more-detailed silhouette, exposing yawning empty sockets where eyes should be,
its face
totally
featureless. Its jaws opened wide
with nothing but blackness inside a lipless mouth. Its head titled to the side,
saliva spanned the opening, as the overwhelmingly strong hand drew my face
closer. The stench of death and metal filled my mouth and nose, choking me.
Tendrils radiated from under the cloak, waving in the wind like a tattered
flag. Those that
weren’t wrapped
around me writhed
like serpents in the surrounding space.

The light approached from behind and struck the
shadow. The creature released me and went hurling into the darkness. The others
retreated with a shrill and concerted hiss. The large orb of light circled
around and closed in. My eyes closed, waiting for the same blow that knocked
the creature from me. The strike never came, and I opened my eyes to find the
light had stopped within inches of hitting me in the chest. Squeezing my eyes
shut, I hoped to wake up from this hell.

A brutal energy slammed into my chest, sending me
back to the relative safety of the floor in my parents’ bedroom. My clothes
were drenched, and my eyes blinked feverishly while my heart settled from my
throat. My right hand and arm burned with pain as I tried to make sense of my
surroundings.

I struggled to lift my arm as I searched for an
explanation to the burning, my right hand clenched in a tight fist. Releasing
my fingers, my mother’s stone rolled to the floor. I pulled my palm closer to
my face and gazed at a fresh, oblong burn in the center of my palm. I slid
facedown to the floor as blackness devoured me.