BLACK MOON

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Chapter One

A low humming echoed in the darkness, He slowly opened his eyes
but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Satisfied that he was alone, he closed his eyes to go back to sleep when yet again the humming distracted him. Slowly the humming increased. Irritated he sat up on his bed. He
tried to listen, but it sounded gibberish.
“What is it?” he thought struggling out of the bed.
Stepping out of his room into a barely illuminated corridor he walked following the humming that now seemed to grow louder and louder. The semi circular corridor and connected his and his father’s room at both ends. But as he walked, he felt it was never-ending, he looked at the walls they seemed to be frozen. When he looked at the floor he felt as if his feet didn’t
touch the ground. He stopped, suddenly he felt cold. His hands were turning blue.
A loud cry stunned him; he moved back stared. The short terrifying cry had come from the dark corridor ahead
“Is someone there?” he called out, but in reply got only a dead silence.
It was cold, very cold. He rubbed his hands.
“Is anyone there?” He said slowly looking around when once more he heard it, a loud horrified cry of help, of death.
Figuring that it was coming from ahead he ran. His heart beat fast, though cold sweat covered all over his forehead. In seconds millions of thoughts ran through his head. What if she is dead? Yes he knew it was a woman’s voice. Soon he reached the end of the corridor and stood staring at a wooden door. It looked primitive in style and fashion. One side of the door was cracked the wood had scraped out. He bends down to take a look it was then he noticed his fingertips were numb and blue. He rubbed them together. Getting up he grabbed the doorknob and slowly twisting the knob. The door made a loud cracking noise. He stood at the door with his eyes roaming inside the strange room. He moved to forward leaving the door open. He found some old furniture, a single bed and two large windows.
“Who is it?” He asked in a low nervous tone.
“Is anyone there?” he added.
Suddenly, with a bang, the door behind him closed, the wind howled inside the room in immense speed that he was unable to keep his eyes open. Outstretching his hand he tried to block the wind but it seemed ridiculous as he could hardly open his eyes. The monstrous wind continued to blow creating a loud howl in the room. Deciding to leave he moved towards the door and twisted the knob, but it seemed stuck. He tried to pull open the door but it refused to open.
“Ahh… Help!” He shouted banging the door.
Suddenly the wind stopped, he turned around, and now the place was extremely silent. Breathing hard he glared around in the room. His hand was still on the knob.
“Beware!!” A loud horrifying voice said, it echoed in the room loudly and seem to bury in his head so deeply creating a fear that without anotherthought he twisted the knob pulled open the door and ran out but his feet got trapped in something loosing his balance he fell on his face.

He wrenched himself out of the nightmare to sit up in his bed. Roumoult looked around in the room glad to know it was just a dream. It was then he felt his skin cold and covered with sweat and his heart was beating fast.
“Whew, what a dream?” he said turning to look at his watch.

Newburgh
26th Saturday Jan 2003
7.30pm.
Roumoult Cranston drove his brand new BMW to his grandfather’s residence in Newburgh. The reason he had a new car was that he had managed to break his Toyota to a non-repairable state. He very often did that but not
intentionally. On the Route to his Grandpa’s place he had take the highway but as not use to drive for such a long period he was kind of getting bored.
“You are once more late for family get-together.” He said to himself.
The only son of Fred Cranston a millionaire by inheritance businessman by choice, in his 20’s, stood six feet tall; medium built, green eyes, oval face, dark brown hair parted to the right with small flicks that covered his forehead. He was trendy and stylish, loved cars and adventure. His mind was like a machine that seemed to be powered by mysteries, though just corporate lawyer an administrator to be exact, with the years he had trained his eyes  and generated skills. His abilities were disliked and regarded dangerous according to his father. According to him he was a non-dependable, innovative, clever and highly disobedient young man. That was what his father had told him last week. He let out a short laugh remembering that remark. The sun had already settled and the sky was purple. He drove his car on the amazingly smooth road. All he could see were the treetops and a dark purple colored sky. He rolled up the windows, as the drop in temperature was evident. He hardly visited Grandfather’s place; he had no idea why but he was never at ease in that house. Something always bothered him. He didn’t know if it was his grandfather or his own conscious. May be it was because his grandfather never approved of him becoming a lawyer. Nevertheless against all odds he worked hard and opened a law firm, today it was one of the best-known firms in the city. The road was barren surrounded by trees, as he drove his family issues started to cloud his mind again. His family was a celebrity as they were royalty by inheritance but he was an unusual brand of emblem according to his Grandpa. Yeah that was the word he used ‘unusual brand’.

His interests usually led him to the city morgue where his best friend William Sterling, a Medical Examiner currently worked. They had been friends since high school but chose their own careers. After completing their college they remained best friends and there was very little that they didn’t share. May it be a case in his firm or an outstandingly interesting case in the morgue they usually worked together. He smiled at his thoughts and admired the exquisite peaceful Saturday evening. He was hardly listening to the radio, he didn’t know why but it would seem that his mind was jumping from the past to the present.
His interests were different, always since childhood. These interest including solving mysteries had made him a kind of anomaly in the Cranston family and society. Most of the rich men he knew preferred to play safe and run a normal family business or follow their family heritage. Family heritage he respected but couldn’t follow the ‘laid rules’ or to think only inside the box. That he didn’t want. In his long run behind mysteries had created a different icon of himself. He was not a shadow but an emblem. At least that was what he thought.

His grandpa’s place was taken care by Alfred Hallway, a stocky man in his fifties, smart, intelligent and highly up to date man. This reunion included his two cousins, Mark Johnson and Chet Johnson, Mark handled his father’s business in Atlanta and Chet was a Stock Broker, Frankly Roumoult thought that he looked more like wrestler than a broker, physically. For an instance there was a wide smile over his face that immediately disappeared when he heard a loud ear piercing whistling sound. Unexpectedly from nowhere a train appeared at the approaching crossroads. He at once pushed the brakes; the wheels screamed creating marks on the road leaving a long
trail of smoke. He pressed his foot as firmly as he could and that instant the vehicle halted only a few inches away from the speedy moving train almost throwing him off his seat, his chest bang against the steering.
“Oh!” He cried out.
He held his chest for a few minutes and tried to breathe slowly as it made him feel better; he looked up at the train but it was too fast to recognize and then vanished. He felt chilly as he sat in the car staring at the intersection in complete darkness. His heartbeat was quicker, he touched his chest the pain was gone now.
“What the hell happened? He asked himself as he stepped out of vehicle.
“There was never a railway crossroad over here.” He said trying to remember but then thought may be they built a new one.
Still in the state of insensibility he walked towards the crossroad, but froze, his eyes stared at empty crossroad, there was no railway track! He shook his head. He looked on both sides of the road he was unable to see any tracks.
“This is not right.” He said standing looking at around. “I am going insane or what?” he thought.
At this time he was uncertain whether he was daydreaming or the unpleasant incident was for real. His mind couldn’t deduce as to what had happened. He was too distracted with fear to move. The sharp bright beams of the car’s headlights were the only illumination in the area.
"Where did the train come from? Why did I see it? This has never happened before.” He thought, deep in his mind he was mystified.
After a few moments making sure he had not missed anything, he returned to his car. Behind the wheel he thought about the train and lookedup and down the roads to make sure no other trains were approaching, but he thought, they needed track right! There are no tracks!
He let out a long breath and with a heavy heart started the car. Building his courage he put the car into gear, slowly he released the clutch and increased the acceleration. The automobile moved and crossed the intersection quickly, after the incident he drove more suspiciously and cautiously. He glanced at his watch that showed 8.45 pm as he neared the house that stood frozen in the shadows. The moonlight enlightened some parts of the house. The residence was extremely old fashioned made of large stones and big rectangular windows; the walls were irregular and never decorated nor
painted for many years. The gray stones gave the house a black impression in the hours of darkness and the rough surface of the walls gave it a spooky  manifestation. Stopping his car in front of the huge six to seven feet iron bar
gates he was about to step out of the car when he heard a loud clatter. He looked at the gates suspiciously.
“A night full of surprises.” He commented.
He turned on the ignition and drove through the extensive driveway. Small out-of-date lamps standing on both sides highlighted it. He parked his car with a few others cars. On parking his car besides his father’s Limo, he gave a sign of relief. Actually he was glad he had reach safely. After locking his car he walked on the cement tiles towards the door, and moved up the small number of steps to the main entrance of the house and was about to knock as almost immediately doors opened. He froze; bewildered he stood expressionlessly till the doors opened completely. He looked ahead there was no one was insight. He knew that these doors here weren’t automatic. He waited for a moment, when nothing he gradually walked inside and turned around to see two young maids had opened for him.
“Ladies.” He said smiling as he turned his face-harden, the train episode had left him panicky.
Of course he had been in the house many times but it never failed to grasp his attention and spook him simultaneously. He entered the majestic well-lightened hall; at its end was a twisted set of steps that led to the upper two floors. The first floor was used but the second was usually vacant.
“That was usual in the Cranston houses; they built two floors but never use them all.”
He looked up through the old stylish skylight to glimpse the clear dark sky. The wooden railing marked the passage of the first and the second floor. The residence was truly made up of two wings, the South and the North wing. But the South wing had been shut down long time ago. As a child he was told to that it was abandoned and forbidden part of the house. But as he grew, he understood even his father knew very little about the South Wing. The ground floor of the North wing was made up of a large living room, kitchen and a study. Servant lodgings were separate at the rear of the house. The first person to greet him was his own father.
“Hello Son, looks like you are late again.” Fred, said coming towards him and they hugged.
Fred Frank Cranston was an average built man, with blue eyes; his round face was forever packed with expressions. His hair partially grey had lost some of its glow. His face was injured due to some wrinkles that were more specific on his neck. Fred had a prosperous, wonderful life until his wife died. Since that day he had become a workaholic, very protective and suspicious. Though a positive thinker he wanted his son to be safe and sound. It matter to him, he knew it matter to Beverly. Despite the fact that he was approaching his fifty’s his physical condition was good and still worked hard. The only thing he was bothered about was Roumoult because he thought his son was not dependable. One look at Fred, one knew that he was Smart, Well-organized, intelligent, independent and committed.
“Sorry Dad, Traffic!” Roumoult answered. His father glared at him,
“Traffic!! Oh, c’mon son this is not New York.” Fred responded he said patting his shoulders,
“Please tell me when you are going to be punctual?” He asks.
“May be in the next millennium.” Roumoult answered winking.
Fred threw his head back as he laughed and they walked together to the  dinning room, he Dinning room or hall was huge with a hefty traditional wooden made table around which several chairs rested, on one of which they saw Mark Johnson reading newspaper, and he looked up to smiled at the Cranston’s.
“Hello, how are you?” He spoke on seeing Roumoult. The young man immediately got up to shake hands with his cousin. He was also in his twenties but elder to Roumoult, a man of short stature man, brown eyes, brown hair, round face with a dull appearance. He lived in Atlanta Cranston house and handled the business over there but was dependent  on Fred Cranston for all his work. “I am fine.” Roumoult answered diplomatically.
“Are you alright?” Mark asked out of the blue.
Roumoult read his face; there was a twinkle in his eyes.
“What makes you think I am not?” Roumoult asked getting slightly astounded and annoyed.
“You are not in any sort of crisis for last two weeks, things have been very… quiet lately.” he asked playfully.
Roumoult glared at Mark; Fred grinned shaking his head.
“You and your doctor friend identified a corpse. That gang hunted you down for two days. Oh my god… If I would have been in your place I would have been devastated.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “Tell me, do you want to be on the hit list of every murderer and drug dealer New York City? So, I was just curious what you were doing these days.” Mark ended sighing.
“Oh! I am so sorry I disappointed you, I have been out of trouble.”
Roumoult answered smiling as he sat on one of the chairs.
……

*Few pages of my first Novel to be out Soon!"
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