Saving the dead saving t.., p.1
Saving the Dead: Saving the Dead Book 1, page 1
SAVING THE DEAD
SAVING THE DEAD BOOK 1
REBECCA ALLAN
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Also by Rebecca Allan
About the Author
Copyright © 2022 by Rebecca Allan
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2022
Book Cover by Kris Wagner: https://www.facebook.com/digitalgunman/
Edited by Natasha Larry: https://www.natashalarrybooks.com/
https://rebeccaallanbooks.com
Created with Vellum
To Nathan, with whom I embarked on many “ghost hunts” and spent countless hours watching creepy supernatural videos with as a child. I’m positive without these experiences this book would never have come to fruition. Thank you for being the best friend and supernatural enthusiast a person could ask for.
To Zoe, my biggest hype woman while writing this series. Thanks for all the love and help while I was crafting this world and its inhabitants, it means so much.
To my dad, who also had a hand in my interest in the weird and wonderful. I will never forget the weekends spent watching Japanese horror movies and playing Silent Hill together. Thank you for all the help and feedback during the writing process.
To Mum, for all the support and hype for my first ever book release. The love and excitement for my next book has been a great motivator, and I hope this story hits the same.
And lastly for Marc, the most supportive partner. Thank you for believing in me and encouraging me to pursue my writing dreams.
1
It wasn’t the first time I was awakened by the all too familiar feeling of fear breathing down my neck. It would not be the last time either. This time however, something felt different. Every hair on my body stood at attention. My heart pounded and the tell-tale taste of cheap vodka burned the back of my throat. My back was to the intruder. I closed my eyes to stop the room from spinning. Pulling my duvet tight over my head like a cocoon, I began chanting to myself.
“You’re not real, you’re not real. Go away, leave me alone.”
Only, it was real. The floorboards creaked under the feet of my voyeur, but no footsteps. I felt eyes boring down on me, as if they could see right through my blanket nest of safety. I wanted to scream at them to go away, to call for my mother, but I knew she would smell the vodka on my breath. She would know I had lied to her about where I had been that night. That, and I had promised her the “visions” had stopped. She thought I believed her when she said they were all in my head. She was wrong. I could see the dead, and the dead could see me. Sometimes if I ignored them for long enough, they would leave, for a little while at least.
This one felt different, persistent. I lay, as still as I could, internally begging my duvet cocoon not to stir and give away my consciousness. I counted to ten in my head before straining to listen for the intruder. The shuffle of feet told me it was still there. I opened my mouth to ask it who it was, what it wanted, but it interrupted me with a familiar whisper.
“Cassie…”
I breathed a sigh of relief, rolled my eyes, and tore the covers down from my face. False alarm, the alcohol must have clouded my judgement.
“Jesus Christ, Mel! You scared me. I thought you were a spirit!”
The silhouette of my best friend swayed, the effects of staying at the party long after I had left.
I screwed up my eyes to look at her, my vision still hazy. “I thought you were staying at Jay’s. Hurry up and get into bed before my mum hears you.”
She said nothing.
“Mel! Get into bed!”
“Help me,” she murmured, her words slurred.
“For God’s sake, how drunk are you? I knew you should have come home with me, but you never listen, do you?”
I slipped out of bed, my foot hitting thick shag carpet. As I moved towards her, the smell of pine needles and dampness tickled my nose and I pinched it to fight back a sneeze. As I got closer, the icy touch of the air around her spread goosebumps across my skin. My eyes widened and my mouth watered as I began to panic. Arms shaking, I reached out a hand towards her and tried to grab her shoulder. There was nothing there.
I ran to the door, flipped on the light, and stopped before turning around. It was a hallucination, it had to be. I had never been drunk before; did cheap vodka cause hallucinations? The presence behind me still loomed, cold and dreadful. For a second, I heard my dad’s voice in my head, “be brave.”
The sound of soft crying began to ring through my ears, and I turned slowly to face its source. I fell to the floor, screaming echoing through the dark house and drowning out her sobs. Mel reached out to me, water pouring from her blue lips, wet hair dripping. Only, the droplets never hit the floor.
Pain and panic contorted her face as she begged, “Help me! Help me!”
2
“Today James Johnson was sentenced to life for the murder of seventeen-year-old Melanie Hammond. Almost two years ago to the day, prosecutors say that Johnson lured Melanie into the woods near a party the two were attending in Newton. Following an argument, Melanie was brutally-“ “
I shifted in the front seat of my taxi and pointed to the radio. “Do you mind if I turn this off?”
The driver glanced away from the road for a second. “Aye of course – terrible case that wasn’t it? I hope that bastard rots in jail. I heard his da’ was a cop on the case; got disbarred for tampering with vital evidence. Can you believe that?”
I mumbled under my breath so he couldn’t hear me. “No, no I can’t.”
He fell silent as I skimmed through radio channels, skipping through endless adverts before turning it off already. I settled back into my seat, relishing the silence, although only for a split second.
“Wait a minute…” The driver glanced over at me as we pulled up behind a queue of traffic. “Did you not say you’d just got off the train from Newton?”
I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath in anticipation for the onslaught of questions I was about to be barraged with. “Yes.”
The driver's knuckles tightened against the steering wheel. He almost spoke in a whisper, like a high schooler about to divulge some sordid gossip. “Did you know that girl? Or the lad that did it?”
“They were my best friends.” I replied, my words tinged with ice.
“Well, I never… I’m sorry pal… were you, you know, at the party?”
I sighed. “I’d really rather not talk about this please.”
Finally, the traffic began to move again and he shifted his attention back to the road. “Of course, I’m sorry. My big mouth, always getting me in trouble. My wife is always telling me to shut it.”
I smiled, softening a little. If it wasn’t people close to me, I’m sure I’d be intrigued by the headlines as well. I’d read them out of scandalous curiosity or listen to podcast hosts describing the gory details with a disgusted awe, rather than heartache and burning desire to know what had really happened on that fateful night.
“Don’t worry,” I said, picking up my handbag from under my seat and rummaging around for my purse. “I’ll still give you a big tip.”
He whooped with laughter. “So, I take it from the fact you’ve packed everything but the kitchen sink into the back of my car that you’re planning on staying a while. Fresh start, eh?”
I heard my mother’s voice in my head, “You’re running away!”
I shook it off and pulled the purse from my bag and began fumbling around for change. “Something like that.”
“First time in the big city, pal?”
No, I stayed here for over a year in a mental asylum.
“Eh, kind of. I’ve been through for shopping trips with my friends…” The friend whose murder you were just ogling over.
“You’ll love it here, it’s braw,” he enthused, “And at least you got a wee pal to keep you company!”
He gestured to the back of the car to the cat carrier that was crammed in beside bags of my clothes. I looked back over my shoulder at Smokey, my grey Maine Coone and stifled a giggle as he glared at me with furrowed eyes that screamed, “Why am I in this box?”
“Almost there,” I mouthed to him. I knew I was in for an earful when we finally arrived at the college dorm rooms; Smokey was more than just a cat. He was my saviour – my familiar. A spirit from the other realm who came to guide me when my powers had almost destroyed my fragile mind. We often laughed; if I were to tell anyone that a talking cat was the one who had helped me clin g to my sanity, I would be thrown right back into the padded cell he had rescued me from.
I settled back into my seat and watched grey high rises and barren lots where shops once stood fly by. Occasionally, we would pass one that was still open; hairdressers with chipped signs, their names derived from arbitrary puns; grocery stores with faded canopies over the door, but most stood empty.
“Best friends to have are animals – I swear they understand what we’re saying! Sometimes, my wee dog- “
I met Smokey’s eye in the wing mirror and fought back a smirk. If only you knew, I thought to myself.
I let the taxi driver drone on about his dog as the high-rises turned into lush, manmade parks and old stone buildings as we exited Edinburgh’s Old Town. Finally, we pulled onto the college campus. Holy Oaks Community College was to be my home for the next year. A relatively new establishment, they had renovated a bunch of abandoned old buildings to house the school. The main campus building stood tall over an overgrown courtyard. It was an old cathedral building that had been converted into classrooms, with mismatched extensions leading off it in every direction, twisting together like a methodical spiders’ web. The original stone gargoyles still clung to its rafters, and an old church bell somewhere in the distance rang to tell the students it was six o’clock. Time for me to finish the qualifications I never got in high school and move on with my life.
The taxi finally came to a halt by a fresh, more modern building a few hundred yards from the old cathedral. I stepped out of the taxi and stretched out my arms, my five-hour pilgrimage finally at an end. I took in a breath of fresh air. Only it wasn’t fresh, not like back home. Rather than the smell of pine trees and open air, I felt the heavy, pungent smell of exhaust fumes fill my lungs. Ah, the big city. As the driver helped unload my bags onto the front steps of the dormitory, I picked up the cat carrier from the back seat and grinned at Smokey.
“Honey, we’re home!”
“Finally!” The dignified, yet sweet voice of my unassuming looking cat purred from his temporary prison.
“Thank you so much,” I gestured toward the pile of suitcases and bags piled by the door. “Here.”
The driver took the money from my outstretched hand and grinned. “Good luck Highland lass! Hope you find what you’re looking for out here.”
“Me too,” I sighed, bending down to scoop up some of my stray bags. Smokey’s carrier balanced on my hip, I grabbed my suitcase and dragged it towards the entrance, holding the door open with my foot as I did so. The sounds of chatter and laughter drifted through from the nearby common room as I conducted my balancing act towards the stairs. Despite my best efforts, my arms gave way under the weight of my luggage and crashed to the floor. For a second, the conversation in the common room seemed to stop, before picking up volume again.
“We’re on the first floor,” I mumbled, more to myself than Smokey. “Here, guard these bags while I take the cases up.”
I knelt, opened the cat carrier and Smokey emerged, arching his back, and fluffing out his big grey tail. As I arrived at my room, I knocked. I knew I was sharing with another girl, much to my mum’s relief; she couldn’t believe there was such a thing as co-ed residence.
There was no answer, so I entered. The room was small, with a single bed on each side separated by a small desk. The left-hand side was decorated in band posters and gig ticket stubs, tacked to the wall haphazardly. The other side was barren, save for another desk that was squeezed in at the foot of the bed. I dumped my bags on the empty side before going to fetch the rest. Once the last bag was collected, I collapsed on top of it and let out a sigh of relief.
“Are you going to unpack?” asked Smokey, sniffing around the nooks and crannies of the room.
“No, I’m starving! Let’s go stretch our legs and find something to eat. There should be an onsite cafeteria somewhere.”
Smokey gave a meow of approval and leapt up onto my shoulder. It had been surprisingly easy to get permission to bring a cat to school; all it took was convincing my mother and the college officials that he was a therapy pet, and that being away from him may cause another breakdown. They had clammed up and given in, the way people always did when they heard I was a certified lunatic.
I made my way back down the stairs and out to the courtyard, garnering a few stares from other students as I passed by. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was a new face, or because of the cat balancing on my shoulder like a pirate’s parrot, although I had an idea. I made my way towards the main building, barely twenty steps out of the dorm when my phone began vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Mum.
I felt Smokey’s big yellow eyes stare at me with disapproval as my finger hovered over the screen. “You should just answer it and get it over and done with.”
“I hate it when you’re right,” I grumbled, swiping my finger, and placing the phone up to my ear. “Hi, Mum.”
Mum’s voice practically screamed from the receiver. I jerked the phone away from my ear. “Cassie! Have you arrived safely?”
“Yes, I’m all good.”
“I told you to call me right away!”
I rolled my eyes, kicking a pebble across the footpath as I walked. “I literally just arrived. I’m just going to grab dinner.”
She seemed to relax a little. “Well, that’s a relief. Keep in touch my dear, ok? If you feel even the slightest bit unwell, or decide you want to come home just let me know. It’s ok if this was all too soon I- “
“Mum. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later – bye.”
Before she could respond I hung up and slid the phone back into my jean pocket.
“That was rather cold,” Smokey purred.
I shrugged. “I’m just hangry. Cafeteria should be this way.”
As I made a beeline for the large wooden doors ahead, the muggy, summer night became icy cold. I stopped dead in my tracks. It couldn’t be…
Smokey jumped down from my shoulder and stood, alert. “Do you feel that?”
I nodded, looking around. “There’s a spirit nearby. We’re in the city - there’s probably tonnes more dead people than back home. Come on, let’s just go get some food.
“Cassie!” Smokey spun round and glared up at me, his eyes bright as headlights. “You know what happens when you ignore them, let’s deal with this!”
“Are you serious? I’m exhausted I- “
There was a long, guttural groan from behind me. I spun around. The courtyard was empty, cast in shadow as the sun set behind the high rises in the distance. As quiet as I could, I made my way towards the sound. My footsteps, as gentle as they were, still echoed slightly off the cobbled stones beneath my tennis shoes. No matter how many dead people I had been in the presence of, it never failed to make my spine tingle or my pulse race. The unwelcoming, bitter cold was getting easier to bear since Smokey had come along, but it wasn’t exactly fun. As I scanned the area, I caught sight of someone lurking between two large oak trees.
My voice echoed off the old stone walls. “Hello? Are you ok?”
The shadow slowly emerged from between the trees, piercing blue eyes staring right through me. It was a man of around thirty, in a smart suit and tie. Blood dripped methodically from a gash in his head, with the incessant pitter, patter of a leaky faucet, but never leaving a mark on the ground. His silhouette was strong, I could barely see through him; Smokey had taught me that this meant it was a relatively “fresh” soul. The older the ghost, the blurrier their memory and thus, the more transparent and fluid they became.
“We’re here to help,” said Smokey, trotting toward the man with a confidence I envied.
The man slowly opened his blue lips, a gravelled voice escaping him. “Forgive her.”
