Home, p.1
Home, page 1
Advance praise for HOME
"There really is no place like home. Reminiscent of blockbusters like Summer of Night and Needful Things, Ben Young's Home invites the reader to become a part of small-town life. Pull up a chair, join the local HOA and watch as death and destruction bears down upon all you hold dear. Because everything dies. Everything."
Leigh Kenny, author of Cursed
"Reads like one Stephen King's better small-town horrors. Ben Young delivers 'can't-look-away' dread. And I LOVE these characters. Every time I put the book down I was excited to get back to them."
Ben Farthing, author of I Found Horror series
"You’ll find plenty of creepiness and blood. Words that are nightmare worthy. Each character could produce a book unto themselves, as they are multi layered and hold deep secrets only the reader knows about. The way Ben brings life to each one is masterful and shows his commitment to the craft."
Edmund Stone, author of Tent Revival and Within
Praise for STUCK
"This is an intelligent, carefully crafted novel that explores death, guilt, expectations, and fear in a unique and bare-bones way. It details claustrophobic settings and equally claustrophobic emotions, and demands that you shine a light on your own traumas and fears."
MJ Mars, author of The Suffering
"I took my time because I needed time to process each chapter. It shifts through so many emotions like grief, loss, loneliness, hope, and despair that one sitting feels like an emotional rollercoaster. One thing is for sure, this book is guaranteed to have you thinking about what death really means."
Kayla Frederick, author of Voices and After the Devil
As someone who is claustrophobic, the idea of being stuck anywhere is terrifying. This book made me really rethink what being "stuck" means and I'm so emotional about it. I'm so glad I read this and I truly believe everyone else (especially those experiencing grief) should too!
Asia Brito Guerrero, author of Butterscotch
Home
Ben Young
Copyright © 2024 by Ben Young
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact benyoungstories@gmail.com.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Cover designed by Don Noble www.roosterrepublicpress.com
Edited by Lauren Humphries-Brooks
Edited by Danielle Yeager, Hack and Slash Editing
Interior Formatting by Ben Young
Find the author online at www.benyoungstories.com
For Welles
My strongest symbol of all
Introduction
When I first met Ben Young, he was an aspiring indie author running around the second ever AuthorCon in Williamsburg, Virginia, pitching a short story to any author who would read. I’m happy to say he gave me a copy. Since then, our friendship has grown. We are even sharing two tables at the biggest indie cons of the year. I’ve worked with other authors in the past, but with Ben I felt a cohesiveness I didn’t find with others. We are now discussing other upcoming plans and projects. One thing you’ll find in Ben is a drive for excellence, in writing and reading. He also does something I greatly believe in; he pays it forward. Those are some of the best attributes an author, indie or otherwise, can exude.
He got some praise for the story he pitched at AuthorCon from some noted authors, namely Laurel Hightower, who added a blurb to the short story. I also had the chance to read and fell in love with his writing style. "system" was one of the best body horror stories I’d ever read. Definitely read it yourself if you get a chance.
After reading that story, I saw something in Ben that impressed me. Sure, his writing is phenomenal, as you’ll see firsthand in this book, but other things caught my attention as well. Notably, his ability to seek all the knowledge possible about the process of producing a book.
Putting together your own book is not easy. You are not only the writer but also an agent, a publisher, and manager, all rolled into one. It can keep you up all night sick with worry and fretting over the finished product. Then there’s marketing and building buzz for the book. You also must find a dedicated group of people who not only want to read and review, but wait with anticipation for the next release. These are people who not only enjoy your book but will share that praise with others as well. Depending on your level of comfort, this can be a daunting task unto itself.
A Facebook group called Books of Horror has helped Ben and I both in finding an audience. It’s such a great community. Where else can you find a group of dedicated readers and authors all in one place supporting indie horror?
But even without that help, Ben is one of those authors who will always rise to the occasion. His prose, as you will see soon enough, will wrap you up and make you thirsty for so much more. He’s a writer who is here to stay.
Ben Young is one of those authors you want to root for, because he gets it. Putting yourself out there for the scrutiny of readers and reviewers is never easy, but Ben handles it all with dignity and grace. He does this because his writing backs it up. You’ll see once you begin to read, characters like Lloyd Mnemic, Myrtle Fallsworth, Preston Clark, and Walter Sterling and his dog, Cowboy. Even the unsure and apprehensive mother, Katherine Yost. Each character could produce a book unto themselves, as they are multi layered and hold deep secrets only the reader knows about. The way Ben brings life to each one is masterful and shows his commitment to the craft. An impressive feat, this being only his second book.
His first book, Stuck, released last year, has already garnered fantastic reviews and praise from many readers and reviewers. Also, some notable authors. In it, he weaves a tale of some characters you’ll root for and hate at the same time. The premise will have you guessing to the very end and make you want to read again to make sure you didn’t miss something. Also, though, because the entertainment value is impressive.
You, my friend, are about to be entertained at a level you can’t imagine. This book starts with an ominous back story of a house going through several owners and a checkered past, then quickly evolves into a world of mystery and dark dealings with the sole proprietor, Lloyd Mnemic of the infamous haunted house on Asher Street.
Every town needs a funeral home to allow those in mourning a place to give their last respects, but do they need a friend? Mnemic seems to think so and he’ll soon find a cast of characters who are seeking so much more.
The town of Oak Hollow, Ohio, is not much different from where you live. I’ve been to a few small towns in Ohio since the state is right across the river from where I live. Ben captures the warmth of everywhere USA with an ease you’ll find inviting, even with the ominous tone he presents. You will see, as you read along, what I’m talking about is true. Ben will not only entertain you, but he’ll keep you enthralled.
I’m no stranger to small town aesthetics and writing those in my books. This story will give you the sense of cohesiveness a small town exudes, but also an underlying dread. The uneasiness presents itself when you read the premise. A house in a town with a dark past and lore everyone knows about but only half believes in its validity.
Finally, I’ll leave you with some added information. This book has horror in it. Some of the scenes are cringe worthy which, for me, helps to get me salivating. Going through an entire book and getting very little in the way of things that make me look around the dark room to see if I’m alone would be unsatisfying. This book, however, is not one of those. You’ll find plenty of creepiness and blood. Words that are nightmare worthy. Just the way a horror story should be.
Be thankful, my fellow reader, you picked this one up. When you feel as though you can’t put it down, as I did, realize you are taking a journey with an emerging talent in the genre of horror, and this is only the beginning of all the great things to come.
Edmund Stone, March 2024
I suppose I’ve passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn’t haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn’t be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
—Joyce Kilmer, “The House with Nobody in It”
“If decomposing bodies have disappeared from culture (which they have), but those same decomposing bodies are needed to alleviate the fear of death (which they are), what happens to a culture where all
decomposition is removed?”
—Caitlin Doughty, Smoke Gets In Your Eyes & Other Lessons from the Crematory
My ma’s so sick
She might die
Though my girl’s quite fit
She will die
Everything dies
Everything dies
Everything dies
Everything
—Type O Negative, “Everything Dies”
The House
You have one too.
That’s right, boils and ghouls, ladies and germs. Yes, even you, my young friend in the back. I realize you’
Whatever you do . . . don’t think about that house right now. Yeah, you know the one.
Are you doing it?
Are you picturing it?
I think you’d better stop. You know nothing good ever happened there.
Yes, there’s a house just like it in every town. And in every town, the stories are told with a momentum all their own. Feeding the undertow of our shared innate fears. Fear of our own mortality. Fear of the unknown, and of the inexplicable.
The terror nearby.
The cancer inside.
We think we can contain or overcome these fears by giving them form, then placing them safely on a shelf or across the street, and keeping our distance. Using them as mere props to caution those less informed than ourselves.
“Look, but don’t touch,” we say.
“Oh, I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”
The truth is, however, these fears can’t be extracted or removed. They won’t be controlled or made docile. And that is why it will always exist, this place. In every town across this great nation of ours.
It will never fade.
I’m talking, of course, about the house. Yes, the house.
The haunted house.
Folks, as we’re approaching our final stop, it seems fitting to point out that, back when I started planning these walking tours, there were plenty of unknowns. Yes, I was awash in a sea of options. There were endless decisions to make and questions to be answered, lots to figure out. But amidst all that uncertainty, there were three things I knew for sure.
First, I didn’t want this to be like every other “ghost tour” out there because I’ve been on my share of those, and most are quite forgettable. Which is why I don’t dress in period clothing carrying an oil lamp, and I do talk about far more than just spooky stories on this Midnight Mysteries tour. My goal isn’t simply to scare you, no. I want to make a deeper impact than just tonight. I want to expand your minds to the hidden parts and secrets of the world around you.
Second, I didn’t want to use lies or embellishments to sensationalize my stories. Which is why I keep telling you things other tour guides won’t. You may feel that takes some of the punch out of these stories, but I would argue instead that it gives the ones that are true a certain . . . gravitas. I aim for credibility first. I’d rather you believe what I tell you, even if it’s not the most exciting version, because I think it makes the spooky parts all the spookier. You can trust they’re real and I’m not some barnyard tour guide who acts like he’s channeling Amelia Earhart every time he picks up a pair of dowsing rods.
And third, one thing I knew for sure from the very start, one thing I never doubted or reconsidered, was that this needed to be the end. The grand finale. The last stop on the tour.
Gather ’round here, on the sidewalk, please. Can you . . . can you folks at the back scooch in closer? Thank you. I can’t have my groups spilling into the street. Mr. Spellman doesn’t like when we block his pharmacy’s parking spots. Plus, it’s a busy intersection. Well, busy for a place like Oak Hollow, of course. And if I’m being quite honest, this isn’t the best part of town to be in after dark. Even a few months ago it was different, but that’s Oak Hollow these days, I’m afraid. Things are getting dire, in a hurry.
It doesn’t help that the county sheriff’s office is understaffed, police presence is nonexistent, and response times are abysmal. Plus, everyone at city hall is distracted, caught up in their scandals and finger-pointing. I guess if someone wanted to get away with something big, now would be the perfect time. Hell, if they were slick about it, they could go days without being detected.
You’ve probably heard about the recent increase in drug-related activity and the rampant break-ins around town too. Then there was that slashing on the bus line last week, and . . .
Well, no. I’m sorry to startle you, and I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t think it was safe. But this town has seen better days and I just need to make sure we all stick together, that’s all.
And maybe keep a good grip on your purses and wallets.
Now, where was I?
Ah, yes . . .
As you’re trying your damnedest not to think about that spooky abandoned house in your own town, let’s talk a bit more about the mythos of the haunted house, shall we?
This one you’re familiar with, lying in wait back in your neck of the woods, coiled like a snake; have you seen people deliberately cross the street to avoid it? What kinds of rumors have you heard about it? Come on, don’t be shy . . .
. . .
Okay, we’re a quiet group tonight. That’s fine. In case you haven’t realized it yet, I like to talk . . .
. . .
Hey, these are the jokes, folks. They won’t get any better.
Well, since you’re not going to tell me what you’ve heard about your local haunted house, I’ll take a few guesses.
I bet you’ve heard tell about strange noises coming from the house late at night. And someone once told you about the time they walked by and there was an odd smell in the air, like rotten eggs or maybe like nothing they’d ever smelled before. I see a few nods already.
People claim unnatural sensations when they’re near it, right? Like the hairs on their neck standing, or cold flashes, even a blip of déjà vu or two. Bad vibrations, doo doo doo. They say they’ve seen lights on when there shouldn’t be, perhaps shadows moving inside the windows even though it’s been abandoned for years. Some time ago, an investor purchased the place and sent contractors to flip it, but one worker went into the basement alone and was never seen again, so the work just . . . stopped.
When you were in school, you heard one upperclassman broke off a small piece of the house and took it home as a souvenir. Maybe it was a splinter of wood or a cobblestone from the walkway. Maybe they were particularly ballsy and took the antique brass door knocker right off the front door?
More nods and a couple of shocked looks this time. Tragedy befell that brave upperclassman, didn’t it? Something came for them and took its own gruesome souvenir, like a finger or toe.
I see we have a general agreement on this point as well.
Folks, I could go on with more examples, but I think you take my point, so I’d rather pause there and explore this little phenomenon we’ve just uncovered together, if you don’t mind indulging me yet again.
It’s something we’ve all contributed to, you see. I like to call it the “Schwartz effect,” after the author of those books with the creepy artwork that were just a little too intense for their intended age group. Which, of course, made them wildly successful and popular. Then that got them banned, which made them even more popular.
Anyway, as rampant as those books became, none of the stories were his, you see? His main goal was to distill and share folk tales he felt deserved to be retold. He did it so well that he ended up contributing, in a big way, to a cultural touchstone.
And while we don’t all make the sizable mark he did, still, it’s something we’re each guilty of. Heck, I do it for a living now. There exists that healthy of an appetite. You see, we all add to those whispers in the hallways. We keep the tales aloft around the firepits, hanging up there with the tufts of smoke, droning along with the crickets. We pass the torch to the next storyteller, leaving our own little imprint or signature on it somewhere. It’s become a means to cope with a mortality we can’t face head-on. Instead, we try to cover it up, like underage kids on a corny sitcom wrecking a parent’s car and then hiding the evidence.
Stories are culture, but we’ve become a culture of death-deniers despite being specifically evolved to survive. That’s increased our fear of death, so we turn death into a fantasy so we can have some illusion of control over it.
