The house in black E-Book

Elias J. Connor

• Herausgeber: FINN Books Edition FireFly
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Lisa is only 11 years old, but she often feels like an adult - quiet and reserved, always in the shadow of her mother June. June works at the secret research station PATEC, the Physics and Astronomy Tests Edinburgh Centre, and is involved in a secret experiment that goes far beyond what Lisa could have ever imagined. But when June brings a strange, shiny stone home one day and examines it more closely, she disappears without a trace - and with her the entire house. Alone and confused, Lisa must embark on a dangerous journey to find her mother and uncover the secret of the mysterious stone. Her only ally is Carl, a school friend who has also noticed the strange events. Together they come across an abandoned house deep in the forest - black, gloomy and mysterious. But this house is more than just a hideout. It seems to be permeated by sinister forces that draw the two into a whirlpool of unimaginable events. As the house begins to transform into a ghostly haunted house, it becomes clear: the darkness lurking within is only a small part of a much larger, more dangerous secret... A gripping, exciting urban fantasy novel from the pen of author Elias J. Connor, which makes the invisible visible and the impossible possible.

Leseprobe

Elias J. Connor

The house in black

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Dedication

Chapter 1 - The sphere

Chapter 2 - The strange girl

Chapter 3 - The mysterious robot

Chapter 4 - June's object

Chapter 5 - The experiment

Chapter 6 - Waiting

Chapter 7 - Carl

Chapter 8 - When you come, we will call

Chapter 9 - The strange girl

Chapter 10 - The nightmare

Chapter 11 - New family

Chapter 12 - The stone

Chapter 13 - The call

Chapter 14 - If I had children

Chapter 15 - Who is the robot?

Chapter 16 - The proof

Chapter 17 - Back in the haunted house

Chapter 18 - Lisa and Lisa

Chapter 19 - Then and now

Chapter 20 - Between the worlds

About the author Elias J. Connor

Impressum

Dedication

For Jana.

My confidante, my companion, my life.

Thank you for being there.

Chapter 1 - The sphere

The neon tubes on the ceiling flicker as they always do before they turn on and fill the narrow corridor with a cold, pale light. It is a light that tolerates no shadows, but also provides no warmth. The air in the research station is still, too still, and carries the smell of metal, disinfectant and something else, indefinable and yet omnipresent - a scent that hangs in the senses like an invisible warning.

Dr. June Harrington walks briskly down the corridor, her white lab coat flapping slightly behind her, her shoes clicking on the smooth floor. She holds a tablet in front of her, her fingers running over the screen as she checks the latest test data. Her brow is deeply furrowed, and her eyes are fixed on the numbers and graphs dancing in front of her.

At the end of the corridor is a massive door made of reinforced titanium. Above it is a red sign that reads: "Laboratory S-13: No entry without special permission."

Two guards stand by the door. Their uniforms are dark, their faces hidden behind mirrored helmets. Their posture is motionless, their weapons at the ready. They look like statues, but June knows they are registering her every move. As she approaches, they scan her briefly with a handheld device before nodding and stepping aside. The door opens with a heavy hissing sound, and June steps inside.

The room beyond is dark, except for a faint, pulsating glow coming from the center of the room. The air here is different - thicker, warmer, and it seems to have a weight of its own. The source of the glow is obvious: a gigantic sphere resting on a circular platform. It doesn't float, but it doesn't seem to quite touch the ground either. It's about two meters in diameter, and its surface is designed like a mosaic - hundreds, maybe thousands, of small pieces that refract light in all directions like tiny mirrors.

The light comes from within, shimmering through the cracks in the mosaic pieces. It pulsates slowly, like a heartbeat. And indeed there is a sound, a deep, rhythmic pounding that fills the room. It is tangible, not just audible; the vibration runs through the floor, through the air, and June feels it in her chest, like a second heart in her own body.

Dr. Victor Kane stands at a console at the edge of the room. His shoulders are hunched and the dark circles under his eyes speak of long nights without sleep. When he sees June, he sits up and strokes his face as if trying to wake himself up.

"June," he says shortly. "You're on time."

"Of course," she replies, without taking her eyes off the machine. Her voice is calm, but she feels the trembling in her chest that always overcomes her when she enters this room. She forces herself to hide her fascination. "Are there any new findings?"

Victor hesitates for a moment, then sighs.

"The frequency is stable. No unexpected anomalies." He taps the console and a graph appears on the screen. Wavy lines dance across the display, smooth and orderly. "But... I'm not sure that's reassuring."

“What do you mean?” June puts her tablet on the console and steps closer to the ball.

The glow becomes more intense the closer she gets, and the vibrations seem to increase.

“Did something happen?” she asks.

Victor nods slowly.

"Yes. The electromagnetic sensors have registered something." He points to another display that looks like an incomprehensible collection of data points. "The machine is reacting to us. To movements. To voices. It's as if it's listening."

June stops. She frowns and examines the sphere. The mosaic pieces on its surface seem to move slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if they were breathing.

"Listen?" she repeats. The word sounds strange, wrong, and yet somehow fitting. She feels the intensity of the machine, its presence, like an invisible hand dominating the room.

"Yes." Victor speaks quietly, as if he's afraid the machine can hear him. "I don't know how else to describe it. It's watching us. It feels like it has consciousness."

"That's impossible," June says automatically, but her voice doesn't sound convinced. She knows that Victor isn't making claims lightly. If he says the machine is reacting, then he has proof.

“And the tests?” she asks finally. She tries to bring her attention back to the work, to bring the rational scientist in her back to the forefront.

Victor takes a look at the console.

"Today's test is ready. But I'm not sure if we should continue. It feels wrong."

"Our job is to find answers, Victor," June says. Her voice is firmer now, although she senses doubts herself. "We're running the test."

Victor nods reluctantly. He enters the commands and a low hum fills the room. The mosaic pieces on the surface of the sphere begin to move faster, as if they were excited. The glow becomes brighter, almost blinding, and the vibrations become so strong that June can feel them right down to her jaw.

Suddenly the heartbeat of the machine changes. The steady pounding becomes irregular, hectic. A deep, droning sound fills the room, like the roar of a huge animal. June feels her heart racing and she takes an involuntary step back.

And then... silence. Absolute, oppressive silence.

The machine stops. No light, no pulsation, no movement. It is as if it has gone out.

June holds her breath. Her eyes are fixed on the orb, which now rests silently in the center of the room.

“Victor,” she whispers, “what’s happening here?”

But before he can answer, the surface of the sphere begins to change. The mosaic pieces shift, sliding apart like liquid metal. An opening appears, a circular gap that reveals a warm, organic glow. It is as if the machine is revealing a secret that it has kept hidden until now.

June can't look away. Something seems to be moving inside the sphere - a shape, vague and indefinable, but clearly alive. She only sees it dimly, but she feels its presence, feels that it senses her too.

"June," Victor says suddenly, his voice full of panic. "We have to stop this. Now."

But June can't answer. She can't move. She just stands there, unable to look away from the ball. A feeling is growing inside her that she can't name - awe, fear, and something that almost seems like realization.

The machine is alive. And she looks at it.

"June, get out of here, now!" Victor's voice sounds panicked, almost brittle, and before she can react, he grabs her arm. His grip is firm, almost painful, and he drags her towards the door. The silence in the room is heavy, but somewhere inside her there is something lurking, a feeling of movement that lies beyond the visible. June stumbles, her gaze fixed on the ball, on the mosaic pieces that continue to shift as if they were following an invisible pattern.

"Victor, wait! We have to..."

"No!" His exclamation is so sharp that it silences her. He pulls her out of the room with a determination she has rarely seen in him. The massive doors slide shut with a hissing sound and Victor slams the security panel to activate the lock. A shrill sound signals that the room is now completely sealed.

"No one is coming into this room again," he gasps, his voice gasping. "Not until we know what we're dealing with."

June stares at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Victor, we can't just ignore this. What if..."

"Stop!" He raises a hand to interrupt her while rubbing his face with the other. "That wasn't normal, June. You felt it yourself. We're not prepared for what's going on in there."

There is a long moment of silence, where all they can hear is the faint hum of the neon lights in the hallway. Finally, Victor sighs and looks at her.

“Come on. Let me examine you.”

Victor leads her through the labyrinthine corridors of the research station, past colleagues who give them curious or worried glances. The sterile environment that June usually found soothing now seems oppressive, almost hostile.

Dr. Meredith Lang is already waiting for her in a small examination room. She is a resolute woman in her fifties, with grey streaks in her dark hair and an analytical gaze that tolerates no uncertainty.

"Sit down, Dr. Harrington," says Meredith, pointing to a couch. She seems calm, almost too calm, as if she has seen a million cases like this - which June doubts.

“What happened?” Meredith asks, pulling out a stethoscope.

Victor answers for her. "The sphere - the object - opened. And there was something inside. I can't describe it, but I think it interacted with us."

Meredith raises an eyebrow but says nothing. She begins her examination, taking June's pulse, blood pressure and reflexes. She shines a light into her eyes, checks her pupil reaction and asks her if she is in pain or feels dizzy.

"Physically, everything is fine," Meredith finally says after making her notes. "No sign of injury or abnormal values. But..." She looks directly at June. "How are you feeling?"

June hesitates.

"I don't know," she finally admits. "It was as if the machine was looking at me. It sounds crazy, but I had the feeling that it was thinking. That it was conscious."

Meredith exchanges a brief glance with Victor.

"I'm going to order some more tests," she says finally. "But for now, you should rest, Dr. Harrington. And I strongly advise you to stay out of this room."

Later, June sits alone in her office. The sterile environment, the clean lines of the furniture and the quietly humming machines offer her no comfort. Her thoughts constantly revolve around what happened in the laboratory.

She taps on her keyboard and calls up the research station's internal archive. She meticulously searches through every file that has even the slightest connection to the sphere. But the information she finds is sparse. The object was recovered several years ago from an unnamed source, the reports are sketchy, the data incomplete. No one seems to really know what it is or what it might be capable of.

She opens new windows, looking for patterns in the data streams she and Victor have recorded. She runs simulations, runs algorithms that might look for anomalies or patterns. But every result is a dead end. It's as if the machine refuses to be analyzed.

Frustrated, she runs her hand through her hair and closes her eyes. She feels empty, drained. It's as if the machine had taken something away from her, something invisible and yet essential.

Finally, when the monitors in front of her offer no new answers, she turns off the PC. The hum of the electronics stops and an eerie silence fills the room.

She leans back and closes her eyes for a moment, but a strange feeling spreads through her. It is not just tiredness; it is something deeper, a kind of exhaustion that she cannot name.

It's late when June leaves the research station. The parking lot is almost empty, the only sounds coming from the automatic gates opening to let her out. The sky is dark, and the wind carries the smell of rain.

She drives through the quiet streets, the lights of the street lamps passing by her like blurred patterns. Normally she enjoys the ride home - it helps her clear her head. But today she feels heavy, as if she has an invisible burden on her shoulders.

When she arrives at her house, she gets out of the car and looks up at the night sky. The stars are hidden behind thick clouds, and a strange feeling of isolation comes over her. She knows she should be sleeping, but the thought of being alone scares her in a way she can't quite understand.

She stands still for a moment as she unlocks the door. A strange restlessness stirs within her, a quiet, barely perceptible pulse that seems to vibrate deep inside her.

She shakes her head, trying to shake off the feeling. But it remains. And when she finally closes the door behind her, she has the uncomfortable feeling that something - or someone - is watching her.

Chapter 2 - The strange girl

It is winter and the air above the small suburb on the outskirts of Edinburgh is sharp and fresh. The low sun casts a cold, silvery light on the snow-covered houses and gardens. The suburb, which is located near a lake, looks like something out of a winter fairy tale. The streets are covered in a fine layer of frost that crunches under your boots with every step. There is a calm, almost meditative silence, only occasionally broken by the hoarse call of ravens or the distant laughter of children playing in the snow.

The houses here are mostly Victorian-style, with pointed gables, decorative ornamentation and narrow chimneys that often billow smoke. The warm, yellowish light of gas lamps illuminates the streets as dusk sets in. The gardens surrounding these houses are covered by a thin layer of snow, and here and there you can see traces of squirrels and birds foraging for food.

The lake that forms the heart of this suburb lies silent and mysterious in the winter landscape. It is only partially frozen over; thick ice covers the flat areas near the shore, while the middle of the lake is streaked with cold, dark water. A fine layer of snow has settled on the ice, and where the ice is clear and transparent, you can occasionally see frozen air bubbles and small cracks that look like veins. A few children are skating on the ice, gliding across the smooth surface, laughing, while their parents stand on the shore drinking hot tea from thermos flasks.

A narrow path leads around the lake, lined with tall, bare trees, their branches silhouetted against the grey sky like black silhouettes. Along the way, you'll find dog walkers, joggers doing their laps despite the cool temperatures, and the occasional photographer capturing the quiet beauty of the landscape. Beneath the trees, there are often piles of brown leaves that are not yet completely covered by snow. The few trees that have retained their leaves - mostly evergreen pines and firs - now bear a heavy load of snow.

In the centre of the suburb there is a small market square, which remains the social heart of the community even in winter. Here you will find a few shops and cafes, their windows adorned with lights and winter decorations. A baker offers fresh rolls and gingerbread, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts from a small, cosy cafe, whose windows are covered in frost flowers. In one corner of the square there is a Christmas tree decorated with colourful baubles and a string of lights. Children often stop to admire it while the adults are laden with shopping bags.

A little way away from the busy market square stands the old village church with its tall, slender tower. Its stone facade is overgrown with moss and the heavy wooden doors are decorated with icy branches that look like small sculptures. The church bells ring every hour, giving the place a touch of nostalgia. Behind the church is a small cemetery whose gravestones are covered in snow. The place exudes a peaceful, melancholy beauty, especially in the light of the early evening.

The residents of the suburb have adapted well to winter. Many wear thick wool coats, scarves and gloves, and it seems as if no one is afraid of the cold, the clear air. Fireplaces flicker in the houses, and the inviting smells of winter dishes - soups, stews and freshly baked bread - waft from the kitchens. Some families have placed candles in their windows, whose warm light creates a welcoming atmosphere. In the evenings, children can be seen hurrying home with red cheeks, while adults end the day with a walk by the lake.

A particular highlight in winter is the small Christmas market that takes place every year on the shore of the lake. There are wooden stalls selling handmade goods, hot mulled wine and roasted chestnuts. Musicians play traditional Scottish songs on their fiddles and a choir sings Christmas carols, the sounds of which mix with the crackling of the fire baskets. The community gathers here to enjoy the festive atmosphere and you can feel the spirit of togetherness and friendship filling the place.

Winter also brings challenges. The suburb's narrow streets are occasionally blocked by snow drifts, and residents help each other clear the sidewalks and driveways. The lake, as beautiful as it looks, poses dangers when the ice is too thin in some places. However, the village community has established clear rules to prevent accidents, and a small team of volunteers regularly checks the safety of the ice surfaces.

Winter has a firm grip on Lochview. Frosty air cuts like tiny knives, and everything that stands still is covered in a rigid, glittering shell of ice. The bare branches of the trees at the edge of the lake bend under the weight of the frost, which glitters as the last rays of the setting sun touch it. The lake itself is still, a thin, brittle layer of ice has settled over it. The surface is choppy, small cracks and floes testifying that the ice is almost not yet strong enough to test the curious courage of local children.

But the lake is not deserted. In the middle of the old wooden jetty that stretches precariously over the water lies a girl. She is perhaps eleven or twelve years old, it is difficult to tell under the thick, worn winter coat that almost swallows her. The coat is too big for her, the ends of the sleeves dangle loosely around her hands, which lie spread out beside her body. Her legs, encased in faded woolen tights, are slim, and her small feet in worn boots protrude over the edge of the jetty.

The girl lies on her back, motionless, her eyes closed. To the casual observer, it might seem as if she had been defeated by the cold, as if she had fallen asleep and never woken up again. But if you look closely, you can see the life in her. Her chest rises and falls, faintly but constantly. The cloak over her body rises slightly with each inhalation and falls again with each exhalation. A gentle, barely perceptible rhythm that fights against the overwhelming silence of the winter evening.

People can be heard in the distance. Laughter echoing through the frosty air. Occasionally, shouts and the dull sound of footsteps pierce the peaceful lake. It is the usual bustle of a winter evening in Lochview, where most people retreat to the warmth of their homes before darkness falls. But no one seems to see the girl on the dock.

No one notices it lying there, like a little secret, hidden in the middle of the icy landscape.

Suddenly the girl moves. It is a tentative movement, a tiny jolt, barely more than a tremor. Her head turns a little to the side and her closed eyelids twitch slightly. For a moment she remains still again, as if she had only been dreaming. But then her forehead arches, a fleeting frown, and she slowly, carefully turns onto her stomach. Her hands feel over the rough, frost-covered planks of the jetty. She moves as if she were following an invisible instruction, listening to an inner voice that no one else can hear.

Finally, she lays her head sideways on the boards, pressing her ear against the frozen wood. Her movements are deliberate, almost ritualistic, as if she knows exactly what she is doing. Her dark hair, spilling out from under her knitted woolen hat, sticks to her cheek, which is red from the cold. Her eyes remain closed, but her lips move softly, as if she is murmuring words that no one can hear.

Then it's there. The sound. A quiet, deep vibration, barely more than a whisper, carried to her through the wood of the bridge. It's a dull, rhythmic sound, like a distant heartbeat, steady and yet alien. Her eyelids twitch, her hands cling to the wood. The vibration gets louder, intensifies, becomes so intense that she not only hears it, but feels it in her whole body. It's as if the bridge itself is starting to live, as if it has a story to tell that only she can understand.

The girl remains motionless.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---