Paranormals (Book 1)
PARANORMALS
Other Works by Christopher Andrews
Novels
(Bronze IPPY winner for Horror)
Collections
Screenplays
(written with Jonathan Lawrence)
(written with Roberto Estrella)
Web Series
Video Games
Bankjob
PARANORMALS
A Novel by
Christopher Andrews
Copyright © 1980, 2002 by Christopher Andrews
Paranormals
ISBN Number: Hardcover 0-9774535-1-0
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the creator’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
First Rising Star Visionary Press edition: January, 2006
A Rising Star Visionary Press book
for extra copies please contact by e-mail at
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Contents
TAKAYASU, VORTEX, AND SHOCKWAVE
TAKAYASU, SHOCKWAVE, AND POWERHOUSE
TAKAYASU, SHOCKWAVE, VORTEX, AND
POWERHOUSE
Special Thanks, as always, to my parents.
To David Vance, who played "super-heroes" with me long after the rest of our friends had decided that it was way too uncool.
To Yvonne Isaak-Andrews, my wife, editor, and Imzadi.
And to my late brother,
Stephen James Andrews
, a powerhouse who left this world far too soon.
FIVE YEARS AGO
EMMETT
Emmett Morris was at home the Night of the White Flash.
As a twenty-seven-year veteran of the United States Postal Service, Emmett sure appreciated his routine. Never having the public relations skills necessary for a position as a clerk — and pulling in every favor he earned to stay forever out of the backrooms and warehouses — Emmett enjoyed his pick-up and delivery beat just fine, thank you very much. The few individuals who took the time to greet him were usually the nice sort (unlike the perpetual bitchers who flooded the lobby every weekday, and Saturday mornings, too), and he rarely had trouble with neighborhood dogs. Bad weather generally didn’t bother him, either; for every day of showers, there was another of crisp sunshine. The quiet routine provided him with plenty of time for reflection and amateur poetry writing, though if he had a dollar for every line he’d lost when he didn’t take the time to write it down because he was just
sure
he would remember it later, he could retire to the Bahamas. Unlike so many in his age group who found themselves longing for some other career — usually
anything
besides what they had chosen to do with their lives — Emmett Morris had no complaints.
Well ... maybe
one
complaint: Bone spurs.
In the last few years, Emmett had developed bone spurs, essentially little
spikes
, on the heel of his left foot. He’d tried changing his shoes and adding special pads to the interiors, but any relief provided by these measures was nominal. His family doctor had informed him that these things weren’t uncommon with individuals who spent a great deal of time on their feet. They had treated the condition twice now with injections of cortisone, but each time the little bastards slowly crept back out, and the doctor was hesitant to recommend a third cortisone shot because of the long-term effects it could have on the bones of his whole foot. The spurs were like having little bits of
gravel
stuck in his shoe, and the worst part was his doctor’s warning that it was possible — maybe even
likely
— that he would eventually get them on his right heel, too. A couple of tablets of Bufferin with breakfast and lunch held the nastiest ache at bay as he performed his rounds, but by the time those last letters left his hands, he felt like he was walking on
glass
.
So, combining both his doctor’s advice and his own assumptions, Emmett had taken to keeping off of his feet whenever possible ... which was pretty much from the minute he got home until the minute he went to bed, calls of nature notwithstanding.
And it didn’t take very long for this to first annoy, then irritate, then wholly
piss off
his wife.
Judy was almost ten years younger than Emmett, and though she never had cause for complaint before, she "sure as hell" wasn’t ready to spend her every evening lounging around the house. She had a day job, too — the nice little
sitting
job of a secretary — and when she came home, the first thing she wanted to do was go back
out
.
At first, Emmett had tried to compromise. Her favorite activities weren’t that demanding — dinner, a movie, visits to the shopping mall, whatever. But as the bone spurs sharpened their way into his flesh, Emmett found it easier and easier to resist her whining. Unfortunately, soon enough, the whining turned into all-out
bitching.
Emmett was a fair enough man, but he also had no desire to listen to the same tone of voice at home that he so steadfastly managed to
avoid
by keeping away from the Post Office front desk.
So Emmett encouraged Judy to go out
without
him. And she did, rarely coming home before ten o’clock, and returning well after midnight on more than one occasion.
It wasn’t until about a year ago that Judy stopped wanting to have sex with him. Emmett assumed that it was her way of getting back at him for making her go it alone so often. Truth be known, as he approached the big Five-Oh, he found that his potency wasn’t what it used to be, anyway, so if it was revenge she was after, he hoped she never realized that it wasn’t bothering him ... at least, not much.
So Judy Morris pretended to be frigid as a punishment to her lazy husband. That was what Emmett Morris decided.
And that was what he continued to believe, until the Night of the White Flash.
Emmett was one of the few people to actually
see
the Flash. Many people caught it out of the corner of their eye, of course, and many more noticed the pulse-like brightening that never quite dimmed back to its original levels. But Emmett was actually looking up into the sky at the time.