By J. Gabriel Gates
A chilling and masterfully crafted teenager horror novel certain to preserve the pages turning, the brain reeling, and the lamp on any reader's bedside desk on lengthy after nighttime. Privileged and well known Caleb Mason is celebrating his highschool commencement while he gets a mysterious, irritating letter from his long-lost adolescence playmate, Christine. Caleb and his jokester pal Bean choose to go back and forth to his tiny place of origin of Hudsonville, Florida, to discover her. Upon arrival, they realize the city has taken a scary flip for the more severe. Caleb's early life house is deserted and his father has disappeared. youngsters are going lacking. The previous insane asylum has reopened, and Christine is locked within. Her mom, a witch, is fed on with insanity, and Christine's long-dead dual sister whispers clues to Caleb throughout the static of an a.m. radio. The terrifying prophesies of the spirits are coming to cross. 16 clocks are ticking; sixty-six murdered souls will result in the top of the realm. As Caleb peels again layer after layer of poser, he uncovers a fact extra terrible than something he had imagined, a fact that can merely be uttered by means of the lips of the lifeless.
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Extra resources for The Sleepwalkers
There is a stamp on it, though, so it apparently isn’t from anyone at the party. Heck, maybe it’s not even for him at all— but he can’t tell; the address is covered in frosting. He glances at his mom—thinking he could ask her about it, but she’s rapt in a conversation with Bob and his terminally boring friends. There’s only one way to find out who this particular piece of mail is addressed to, and if it involves eating more frosting, then so be it. He licks where the address should be. Delicious.
Two . . Another sound, almost too faint hear at first. But there. His mouth falls open and he shivers, leaning closer. Voices. A thousand, whispering, clamoring, lisps mingle and seethe over one another, creating a sound that is almost like silence—but isn’t. He feels his heart pounding, man or not, but steels himself against the rising tide of his fear. The door. Open it. He’s a man now; it’s just the kitchen, for Christ’s sake. One. Something behind the door. Two. Something waits. Three. He shoves open the door—to the sound of a thousand screams, a blast of light, and gigantic sign that reads: HAPPY GRADUATION, CALEB!
She walks slowly. Keeps looking back. Acting brave. I look up at the too-many windows, and they gape at me like gnawing, starving maws. Suddenly, I want to call her back. My stomach aches, I want to call her back so bad. But I don’t. I watch her. She sneaks under the chain-link fence, little dared one, catches her dress as she wriggles through but tears herself free. Crosses a patch of cracked, scarred cement; the heat waves from it dilute her for an instant; for an instant she seems almost to melt away, but she walks on, over old beer cans and fallen bricks, patches of grass poking through the cement.
The Sleepwalkers by J. Gabriel Gates