Excerpt of new book in rough draft. Very rough draft.

 

            The Colorado nights began to set frost to the grass and other ground covering in the wee hours of morning, still it was a dark and cold night for this stranger of the city to be out haunting the streets of Colorado Springs with Mother Nature’s wind chill beginning to slip out from under a short skirt just like much of the fall season had been short lived. He slipped in through a back entrance to the hospital and sought out the elevators. The warmth in the hospital formed a quick shudder to his skin as he adjusted to the lights in the hallway. Making his way down the stairs could have been the best choice, however, he did not know if alarms might be set afterhours. A quick trip down the elevator brought him to a much brighter hallway that was lit by harsh fluorescents instead of the bulbs used upstairs.

As he made his way down the hallway the lights flickered on and off along the chilly but sterile painted hallway putting the narrow walkways into a shutterbug’s nightmare. Below the hospital’s main receiving area at street level a ritual as old as time itself began taking place. Light was drawn away from its various sources as the ritual being preformed for a single human like a final curtain the light was snuffed out pitching everything into darkness as it reached the climax. Brilliant white orbs splashed back down the hall just before the light was thrown back out in almost a physical force, blowing out a few florescent bulbs as it illuminated the hall once more before retracting back to the place of power.

He fumbled his way through the afterglow of the light show to the morgue that proved to be far more difficult with a gurney parked off to one side, which he found his timing off thanks to that gurney to reach his mark before the ritual finished. The stranger noticed the light almost gone beneath the swinging doors to the morgue and knew the end was near. There was only two more doorways to go after checking down a branching hall before he could make it into the room the light had been beckoned to.

            A blinding flare of light burst through the swings doors bounding back down the hall he was occupying and happened to be next to an opening on his left that would shield him from the onslaught of brilliant light that would force him down to the floor or blow him back through the halls he had worked so hard to cover.

Bulbs began to burst in sequence from the morgue doors all the way back to where it had begun near the elevators. Lights past down the hall like thousands of bullets shot out of a machinegun, heat from the over radiated power left over from the ritual began to build and was thrust outwards from the center of the ritual, which was felt on his back as he threw himself behind the door and ducked down. Paint on the walls began to sizzle in the aftermath of the light, but it was short lived as the light began to fade a few more feet down the hall.

            The morgue was in sight now. He just had to find the mark, convince him or her to come with him, and get out unseen. Easy to do, sort of, screw it he would just wing it and see what pans out. He only had a few yards to go before entering the morgue. Pushing past he still swing doors the stranger found lines of stainless steel doors with the cold storage drawers lining the wall. Residue from the ritual still lingered on one of the door to the target’s cold tomb-like resting place, almost appearing to drip from the door. Noises begin to rise from behind the stainless steel door as he pulls the clipboard off to find the name. She, her name was Sally, reached for the door handle to open it but got thrown back as Sally thrust out with her hands, a raw cry spewing forth from her throat.

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Adam Santo is a SciFi/Fantasy writer who enjoys the quiet moments to sit idly writing stories. His debut novel, Temperature: Dead and Rising, took the world for a ride they would soon not forget. Santo began plotting the second novel, Temperature: Bitter Cold, before the ink dried on his first book. Santo continues to write nonstop because he knows there is always a story waiting to get out. When he is not writing, Santo enjoys quality time with his family and friends, spending the occasional weekend at a movie theater, and reclaiming his youth when his son challenges him to a video game. Santo currently resides in sunny Florida with his beautiful wife and equally beautiful children.

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