Free The Book of Paul -- A Paranormal Thriller by Richard Long Page A

even as he watched them.
    “The angel and the boy soared onward and saw a wondrous city surrounded by tall, thick walls and colossal statues of kings and queens and more fantastic creatures, some with the bodies of men and the heads of falcons and jackals, some great winged beasts with human heads. Everywhere he looked he saw gold: the statues, the domes on every tower, even the giant doors of the palace. They passed between two enormous golden winged creatures, the boy gaping with wonder at the sight of a temple bigger than all the rest combined, with a spiral tower that reached high into the clouds. The entrance to the temple was enormous, its archway supported by the horns of two bull-headed statues, their human bodies bulging with muscles.
    “But when they passed through the portal, the temple had vanished. They were in a place even more astounding than the golden kingdom, a great swirling mass of light and darkness, infinite in size and pulsing with unimaginable power.
    “‘What is this place?’ the boy asked in amazement.
    “The angel smiled and said, ‘This is the source of all creation and destruction, all life and all beings in existence, all that ever was and ever will be. There at the Axis spins the Great Wheel, the wellspring of all that is real…and of all possibilities.’”
    “The Maelstrom,” Martin whispered, gazing at the swaying wheat, unsure whether his eyes had been closed all this time. “Can we go there, Daddy? Can you take me?” he begged, changing their usual dialog for the first time.
    Daddy nodded, a proud smile on his face, like he’d been waiting all along for Martin to ask that simple question. “Yes, I can take you. But there’s something we need to do first.”

The days with Daddy kept getting better and better. But the nights got worse and worse. Whenever they stayed out all day, Martin could tell that Momma was mad as soon as they walked in the door. But she wouldn’t say anything to Daddy. Or even look at him. He didn’t say anything either. He just smiled at Martin as they passed her in the kitchen, slapping him hard on the back. Every once in a while he winked at him.
    Momma smiled at Martin too. One time, when Daddy left them alone to go to the bathroom, she said, “You just wait,” with a really big smile. “You just wait.”
    Martin wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, but he knew it was going to be bad. Momma drank more. Daddy drank with her. He would smile at Martin and nudge him in the ribs when Momma wasn’t looking. Martin didn’t understand what the nudge meant, but when Momma turned toward them, Daddy’s face would flatten into the dead mask. Momma seemed afraid of the mask too. She’d grab Daddy’s hand and pull him up the stairs, smiling extra hard, trying to get his face to soften up again. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes the mask stayed on all the way to Momma’s bedroom.
    Martin would slink up to his room after they left, close the door and jump into bed.
    Sometimes he heard a trail of booming laughter behind him. When the laughter finally stopped, the noises in the bedroom would start. They had grown so loud now that even the floppy pillow covering his head couldn’t filter them out. Lately, they hadn’t been closing the door, so every grunt and squeaking bedspring echoed through the old farmhouse like the rattling chains of a ghost.
    One night, he heard Momma talking while the springs creaked up and down. The malice in her puffing voice sounded scarier than her screams. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, Martin crept out of bed as quietly as he could and stood in the hallway listening. Their door was halfway open. He didn’t want to look inside, but he couldn’t help himself from trying to hear what she was saying. When the garbled sounds finally fit together in his ears like a jigsaw puzzle, he ran as fast as he could back into his room.
    She had been talking about him. Martin didn’t understand what Momma said, but it scared him so much