Below the Surface

Prologue

A/N: Welcome, nerds! Did you know that Stephen King's son wrote The Black Phone? I've written stuff for Stephen, it's only fair to write for Joe.

This book is dedicated to Craig. Craig is a cool dude who admires my work. Rare to see.

Only a week after Billy Showalter was pronounced dead by the police department, Max Shaw, father to you and husband to no one, was found unresponsive in your trailer bathroom while you were at school. It was immediately suspected to be an overdose. His brother was called in from out-of-state, and you were pulled from school early.

Five days later, it was confirmed that Max Shaw, aged 39, had died of a cocaine overdose, leaving his young daughter, Y/N, to live with his only family and partially estranged brother, Albert.

Two days after that, he was buried in a run-down cemetery, where his grave would fall into disrepair until, eventually, Max Shaw had been forgotten by society as a whole. A nobody who lived and died as one. Tragic.

Now, let's take a look at the life of Albert and Y/N. Albert moved you out to Colorado, where he lived. He took you less than twenty-four hours after Max was read the Rights of the Afterlife, leaving behind your (very few) friends, your trailer, and life as you knew it.

Well, then again, you didn't know much. You were six. All you knew was that your dad was gone, you had to live with Uncle Albert, and you were not living la vida loca.

Albert had told you one thing when you arrived at his unassuming house in Denver.

"Feel free to roam the house however you like," he had said, a small sigh evident in his high voice. "Just don't go down into the basement. Sound fair?"

You rolled with it. You didn't know Al here too well. Wasn't worth fighting with him yet. And besides, basements are scary. Dark corners, drippy pipes. Monsters down there.

And so life went that way for two more years.

Then, on your eighth birthday, Uncle Al sat you down on the couch and handed you an envelope. It contained a ten-dollar bill, a birthday card, and a key.

"What's the key to?" You asked.

"I've locked a bunch of doors around the house. Go find out."

Around the house you went, growing increasingly confused. How was this key, which was supposed to unlock a door in the house, not unlocking any doors in the house? Hell, you even tried his van. Doubting it was going to do anything, you approached the basement door and put the key into the hole. Much to your surprise, it swung open.

"This is my workspace," he sauntered past you down the stairs, pausing midway down. "Do you know what I do?"

You shook your head.

"Well, I don't know what to call it, really, but sometimes, I bring people down here. I keep them down here for a couple of days, and then I take them away. Do you know where I take them?"

Head shake again.

"I bury them. I bet you're wondering why I'm telling you, huh?"

You nodded this time.

"Well, I think it's time for you to help. I'll even pay you. How does five dollars for every chore you do down here sound? You can spend it however you want, too. And there's only two things you have to do. I need you to bring my friends some food two times a day, and I need you to clean up the messes when they go away. Do you understand?"

You nodded.

"One more thing," he stepped up towards you and put his hand lovingly on your cheek. It was the first time he had touched you. Affection was rare with him. "If you tell anyone anything about our little secret, I'll kill you." His smile faded as it was replaced with a dark glower. "Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent." His smile returned as he continued down the stairs. "I'd like you to meet my friend, Bruce Yamada."