Ritual and Racita: Chapter One
An adult-only horror novel
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And now the first chapter:
Ritual and Racita
Chapter One:
Debbie
Bethesda, Maryland
Maybe she wanted to lose it all.
She hadn’t grown up here, but her grief made a misguided memorial of these concrete slabs stacked like remnants of Nagasaki. The mansion and its memories were cruel, and her parents’ deaths, as brutal as the architecture.
Debbie paused and listened to the words repeat in her head. Was that good? She opened her phone’s note function.
In the end, their deaths were as brutal as the architecture.
It was good. She could use that somewhere.
She sat in the great room’s leather chesterfield. Twice she shifted her position, fully aware of the vanity in such efforts. The chair served no purpose, but she couldn’t bring herself to use the couch. Not the couch. Her parents’ last moments had left eternal shadows in its sage fabric. She should have thrown the couch away, but she couldn’t throw the couch away, not as long as these guilt-forged chains bound her. If she could sell the house, the Dickensian chains might clink and clank along after it. But the house would not sell.