CHAPTER 1
The crowd at the stadium roared for another encore, but shewas done. The chants of "ELIA, ELIA, ELIA!!!" echoed through thecorridors of the stadium, rumbling the walls and becoming almostdeafening.
One year on the road, and this was the last night of her latesttour, and she was tired: mentally and physically. The tall, darkhaired singer rounded the corner to her dressing room and scurrieddown the cavernous hallways that run through the backstage ofthe stadium, she was followed by her entourage which rushed tokeep up with her long-legged strides: agents, managers, stylists,her band, and autograph seekers all bustled behind her. She finallyarrived at her dressing room and slammed the door on all of them,stopping them all in their tracks. Alone at last.
Elia Pearl was a big star now. She had four songs on theBillboard Top Ten, she had made millions, and she was a respectedsinger and songwriter. Her concerts sold out everywhere. Sheeven had a song that was the new ad campaign for a huge retailchain. She should be on top of the world, but as she stared at herown deep green chain in her mirror, all she could feel was her ownloneliness. In these quiet moments by herself, it almost consumedher, and nothing ever worked to heal the emptiness she felt everyday: not the men, not the drinking, not the work. Nothing. She hadno family to speak of, and outside of those people who worked forher or wanted something from her, she had no real true friends.It was a moment she replayed day in and day out.
As she sat down in her large make-up chair, she looked at herselfin the mirror, surrounded by the bright bulbs; she wondered whatwas it all for? Who cared? Did she help people with her music orwas it all just for fun and nothing deeper, more meaningful? Shemindlessly looked around the table at the items scattered about:a hair brush, make-up removers, eyelashes, powder, lipstick—andan envelope addressed to her, Elia Pearl. Her eyes opened widelyat this unexpected intrusion. She looked around to see who hadleft it, or how it got there, but the letter just sat there as if it hadappeared out of nowhere.
The envelope was made of elegant parchment, with a goldenfamily crest embossed on the top left corner. The handwritingwas purposeful and the calligraphy impeccable. She opened theenvelope to reveal a letter of the same quality paper. The letterwas hand-written in an old-school script, you could tell it was anelderly person who had written it; Elia just knew exactly who itwas from. Rose, Rose Standish. How did she find me? She shookher head and began reading:
My Dear Prima,
I hope this letter finds you well; it has been manyyears since we have seen each other, and I think fondlyof you and your lovely grandmother every day.
Please excuse this intrusion, but I must askyour assistance with the house. It has fallen intodisrepair and I hope that you will reconsider sellingthe property. It would fetch a vast sum, due to itslocation.
We realize that it has been many years since youhave returned, and I wanted to personally expressmy willingness to help you dispose of the property asyou wish.
Of course, we would prefer that you come backhome to care for the house, as it holds your familyname and maybe you can build a life here.
Most Sincerely,Rose Standish, Realtor and Your Friend
The house, that house, Elia had spent the last 20 years runningaway from it, and now it beckoned to her again. Years earlier, shehad vowed she would never go back, and yet, she was drawn backto the place that had twisted the souls of so many unfortunatepeople.
Sausalito, San Francisco, Northern California—home? Maybe,if there ever was a time for her to go back, it was now. Maybethis was the time for her to do it, once and for all, to deal with herdemons and her past. Go back to the house. Back to that house,back to the House of Pearl.
Elia thought long and hard, there were so few reasons to goback, and so many reasons to stay away. The lies, the betrayalsand the sadness: sad—and evil—tragic events, things that hadcoursed through her family for generations. Maybe the evil wasfinally done with them. But like a moth to a flame, the urge togo back was too strong for Elia: she picked up her cell phone andtexted her agent to get her on the first flight out and get her toSan Francisco the next morning.
CHAPTER 2
The morning sun shone on the old window that needed urgentrepair. One could see the paint had peeled and it was a shame toview the grandeur of this old home being neglected. Elia wouldsoon arrive here and begin her own journey of discovery.
A ray of sunlight streamed in through the old window andthen flickered menacingly through the long forgotten rustic floor.Below the floor a glistening streak of light wrapped itself aroundthe contours of a mummified human head. One meandering lineof light, similar to a Navy Seal's zigzagging war paint, revealed apair of sunken, dead eyes. This once vibrant head, frozen in time,looked up toward the cracks in the floorboards. From what onecould see in this dark underbelly of the house, was the side of itsmouth, jaw opened wide as though it was staring up at its assassinwith its face reflecting the final agony of its brutal end. Who wasthis man? Why had no one noticed the demise of this victim?His eyes, black and lifeless, glare longingly with no presence oflife remaining within them. An unknown soul lost under thesefloorboards for decades. Yet there seemed to be a secret storyhidden behind his dead, penetrating gaze.
Something prowled across the floorboards and followed thesun. A robust overfed Tabby cat began searching the floorboardsfor a warm spot to curl up on. It circled where the sunlight wasstreaming in. Below the floorboards like a Hollywood searchlight,the intense sunshine wrapped itself around the lifeless headas the nervous feline scratched at the floor and acutely sensedthat something was amiss under these old shrunken andseparated floorboards. As more was uncovered, one could seemore, the tortured man's long ponytail seemed weirdly andpristinely preserved. There seemed to be no damage or any lossof characteristics that this man's once living face would havepossessed. From what anyone could see, he was well preservedand attired in clothing from an era long since relegated to historybooks. Taking a closer look one could see his expression, stillfrozen on his lifeless face. The final emotion of fear was on hisface, written for others to see, what he had been through themoment his life was so mercilessly taken.
The internal parts of his pitiful head suffered the attack ofparasites and worms eating at it, but its external stare still lookedup through the floorboards, where the cat still watched.
It must have been a terrorizing death. His face depicted theopen frightful stare of a condemned man, frozen in shock. Howwas he murdered and how could this oddly attired man, still bepreserved here beneath the floorboards? His demise left himutterly alone, his hidden presence known to no one other thanthis chubby cat. The strangest and eeriest part of this murderedman was not that he was dead, but under the surface it seemedas if something was different ... something was unnatural. Itseemed also by viewing him that something was buried withinhim: something dark and unable to rest.
A glint of precious gems appeared as the cat moved and thesun seeped in...
