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The Cabin on Calhoun Ridge
The Cabin on Calhoun Ridge
The Cabin on Calhoun Ridge
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The Cabin on Calhoun Ridge

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Leslie Lane sits on the porch of her rustic cabin, trying to convince herself that the whistling coming from the woods is only a bird. And she believes that.

Until she recognizes the song.

When a stranger descends on her house, Leslie's ordinarily peaceful night turns into a nightmare.

One from which she may not wake.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 26, 2013
ISBN9781311752079
The Cabin on Calhoun Ridge
Author

Kimberly A. Bettes

Kimberly A. Bettes was born on Thanksgiving Day, 1977, completely ruining any chance her mother had at enjoying a delightful dinner. At the age of 12, Kimberly began writing poems, essays, and short stories. At 14, she began her first novel, a project that would take two years and many sleepless nights to complete. Since then, she has written more than ten novels, dozens of short stories, and hundreds of poems and essays. She currently lurks in the Ozark Mountains of southeast Missouri with her husband and son. It's there she terrorizes the residents of a small town with her twisted tales, most of which focus on the dark side of human nature. In addition to writing, Kimberly is also a freelance photographer and life-long chocolate enthusiast.

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    Book preview

    The Cabin on Calhoun Ridge - Kimberly A. Bettes

    About THE CABIN ON CALHOUN RIDGE

    Leslie Lane sits on the porch of her rustic cabin, trying to convince herself that the whistling coming from the woods is only a bird. And she believes that.

    Until she recognizes the song.

    When a stranger descends on her house, Leslie's ordinarily peaceful night turns into a nightmare.

    One from which she may not wake.

    THE CABIN

    ON CALHOUN RIDGE

    KIMBERLY A. BETTES

    This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

    Copyright © 2013 Kimberly A. Bettes

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Printed in the United States of America.

    Case Publishing

    First Edition: December 2013

    Dusk had turned to night on Calhoun Ridge. Without the moon or stars, the sky was an empty pool of black.

    Leslie Lane sat on the front porch of the rustic two-story cabin, slowly rocking back and forth in the old wooden rocker, taking comfort in the rhythmic creaks of the floorboards beneath her feet.

    As evening had drawn to a close, a chill had descended around her, settling into her very bones. She donned her favorite flannel shirt, a blue and black number worn thin by years of use, and her most comfortable jeans, faded blue and frayed at the hems. Her feet were clad in hiking boots and thick cotton socks. It was the perfect gear to chase away the cool night air.

    Beside the rocking chair was a small side table that held everything Leslie used to entertain herself throughout the evening. A white ceramic mug, empty now except for the brown ring around the top—all that remained of the rich hot chocolate that warmed her from the inside out. A cell phone equipped with some of her favorite games. A book of crossword puzzles, half of the puzzles completed. And an oil lantern turned low, casting a pale glow on the porch around Leslie.

    One of the things she’d always loved about this cabin was the way it was nestled among the trees in the valley between two hills. Built more than ninety years earlier by her grandfather, the cabin was engulfed by trees which had grown up around it, making it seem as though the cabin had always been there and was just another part of the forest.

    Ernest Calhoun was his name. He owned over three hundred acres of land, upon which the only thing he’d ever built was this cabin and the outhouse that went with it. Both the outhouse and Ernest were long gone. The outhouse had

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