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    The Hundredth Floor
    The Hundredth Floor
    The Hundredth Floor
    Ebook235 pages3 hours

    The Hundredth Floor

    By J.S. Frankel

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    About this ebook

    Kyle Toombs, seventeen, is about to walk the race of his life. Suffering from the mental and physical aftereffects of a terrible accident that almost took his life, bullied at school, he enters a contest in order to show that he’s capable of doing the impossible.

    The contest is at a local hotel, and the rules are simple—walk up to the fifty-ninth floor and then down again.

    Rule number two is that he must have a partner, and his partner comes in the form of Marina Ohanian, another student who has secrets and scars of her own.

    Along the way, things go from the mundane to the unsettling to the truly horrifying, as a demon named Ankrus makes an appearance, toying with their minds as well as the reality they are in.

    Various scenarios, some that are amusing in a grotesque way, and some that are simply grotesque, beset the duo, and they offer challenges to the mind and spirit.

    It’s up to Kyle and Marina to concentrate on the task at hand—finishing the race—before Ankrus can accomplish his own task, one that is too terrifying to contemplate.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublishereXtasy Books Inc
    Release dateJan 31, 2021
    ISBN9781487428860
    The Hundredth Floor
    Author

    J.S. Frankel

    J.S. Frankel was born in Toronto, Canada, a good number of years ago and managed to scrape through the University of Toronto with a BA in English Literature. In 1988 he moved to Japan and started teaching ESL to anyone who would listen to him. In 1997, he married the charming Akiko Koike and their union produced two sons, Kai and Ray. J.S. Frankel makes his home in Osaka where he teaches English by day and writes by night until the wee hours of the morning.

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      Book preview

      The Hundredth Floor - J.S. Frankel

      Sometimes, the greatest horrors aren’t physical ones.

      Kyle Toombs, seventeen, is about to walk the race of his life. Suffering from the mental and physical aftereffects of a terrible accident that almost took his life, bullied at school, he enters a contest in order to show that he’s capable of doing the impossible.

      The contest is at a local hotel, and the rules are simple—walk up to the fifty-ninth floor and then down again.

      Rule number two is that he must have a partner, and his partner comes in the form of Marina Ohanian, another student who has secrets and scars of her own.

      Along the way, things go from the mundane to the unsettling to the truly horrifying, as a demon named Ankrus makes an appearance, toying with their minds as well as the reality they are in.

      Various scenarios, some that are amusing in a grotesque way, and some that are simply grotesque, beset the duo, and they offer challenges to the mind and spirit.

      It’s up to Kyle and Marina to concentrate on the task at hand—finishing the race—before Ankrus can accomplish his own task, one that is too terrifying to contemplate.

      The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

      Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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

      The Hundredth Floor

      Copyright © 2021 J.S. Frankel

      ISBN: 978-1-4874-2886-0

      Cover art by Martine Jardin

      All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

      Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

      Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

      Look for us online at:

      www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

      Smashwords Edition

      The Hundredth Floor

      By

      J.S. Frankel

      Dedication

      To my wife, Akiko, and my children, Kai and Ray, thank you for putting up with my quirks and hogging the computer at all hours. And to—in no particular order—Sara Linnertz, Lolo, Emily Linnertz, Joanne Van Leerdam, Eva Pasco, Toni Kief, Michelle Holstein, Elizabeth Zervos, Julia Blake, Anna Casamento Arrigo and too many more to count, thank you for your support. A special thanks to my sister, Nancy D. Frankel, for never giving up on me.

      Chapter One: School Daze

      Wendell High School. Portland. Tuesday, June eighth. Gym class. Present day.

      You’re up, Toombs!

      The gym teacher’s voice rang out, loud and clear, startling me from dreams of a stress-free summer. Three PM, last class of the day. Summer vacation would start next week, and man-oh-man, was I looking forward to it.

      Say goodbye to my second year of high school, and in three-something months, say hello to my third turn around at this institute of higher learning. I’d missed a lot of school due to an accident I’d had. Now, I had to make up for it by climbing this stupid rope and putting up with insults about my failure as a human being.

      Rah.

      The other kids had been climbing ropes for the past ten minutes. Up and down they went like pistons, unceasing, untiring, and mechanical. They had strength and endurance.

      Not me. I’d tried, but getting my fat butt up the rope more than a few feet was impossible. Try as I might, it was a no-go.

      What made it worse was that our gym teacher had divided us up into two teams. No time limit, but we had to reach a certain level on the rope. It had been marked with white tape, and we had to touch it in order for it to count.

      C’mon, fat-ass, move it!

      That came from Rod Morton, our so-called team captain. He was a combination class jock, bully, and all-around maggot who seemingly hated all humanity.

      His hatred of humanity included me—especially me—although I’d never understood why. We’d known each other since grade school, and he took delight in either verbally or physically abusing me—and others—whenever possible.

      Leave him alone, man, Erik North said. Short and stocky, he was another member on our team. Guy’s got a ruptured back. He can’t do it.

      Rod, red-headed, tall, and rangy, he gave credence to the concept that all redheads had terrible tempers. He had a hair-trigger one.

      Being a jerk was bad enough, but he also happened to be the star athlete on the baseball and track team. Unfortunately, he had the mind of a gutter rat. He sniffed the air as if something had died and the authorities had forgotten to take the body away. With a look of impatience combined with meanness, he faced Erik down.

      "Hey, we’re supposed to climb, so he climbs. What’s your problem, anyway? This is a team effort, and you act like it’s a bromance. Is that what you’ve got with fat-boy or what?"

      Reactionary, angry, bullying—that was Rod in a nutshell, always asserting his dominance. Erik stared at him. What’s your problem, man?

      I don’t like him, Rod countered as he returned the stare. He’s a wuss, and he’s gonna screw up our team. I don’t like losing. Period. Got a problem with that?

      Even though Roy was a jerk supreme, he was right about my back being busted. An accident that had almost killed me a number of months ago was responsible. I could walk, but stiffly, sort of like Frankenstein’s monster taking its first steps.

      Being fat didn’t help much, either. I’d once seen a movie where one victim had been chained to a chair and force-fed junk food for six months. He’d gained an incredible amount of weight. In my case, I wasn’t force fed, as the hospital food was lousy.

      However, my mother always visited, and she’d slipped me extra food. Soon, the bed was groaning from the extra tonnage it had to support. After I’d gotten out, my mother had put me on a diet. You used to be so slender, she said.

      Yeah, and who’d given me all those chocolate donuts and pizza slices and other goodies? But, she was right. What was that old saying... Old Man Usta? Oh, yeah, Old Man Usta died.

      In my case, slender had once been my middle name, but no longer. Even after the diet kicked in, even after I’d dropped about twenty pounds, a lot of flab remained. Rod knew it, he delighted in pointing it out, and I hated every moment of it.

      Toombs!

      Mr. Collins, our gym teacher, a towering giant of muscle, bellowed my name. One last try. Get going.

      One last try. I gripped the rope more tightly than ever and started up. I wrapped my withered legs around the rope and pushed and pulled myself up inch by inch. Sweat popped from my brow and ran down my face, my heart hammered, and my muscles swelled in concert. A foot up—two—three...

      Then the chant broke out from my teammates. Erik started it off. Toombs—Toombs—Toombs.

      Everyone save Rod took up the chant, even the other team. My name rose to the ceiling in a low incantation. Slowly and laboriously, I made my way up. Sweat popped out on my face, ran from my forehead to my double chin, and more sweat coated my torso.

      There it was, that white strip of athletic tape a few inches from my hands. My goal was just shy of the ceiling. It was in reach. A cramp began in my fingers and soon spread to both hands. More, I thought... a little more...

      Toombs, Toombs!

      The chanting grew louder and more high-pitched with every inch I climbed. My back seized up, my biceps muscles burned, and then the cramp spread from my hands to my forearms.

      My muscular system almost gave out, but adrenaline and something else—willpower, maybe—compelled me to reach for the mark. I pushed with my withered legs that were wound around the rope, and...

      Yes, I made it!

      Reaching the mark meant not only passing the class, but also having our team win. Coach Collins had designed this test as a handicap kind of deal, and even though no one wanted me on their side, for a change, I’d proven myself.

      A cheer broke out. I looked down while clinging to the rope. Happy, sweaty faces greeted me—except Rod’s. His wore a scowl. Screw him.

      I panted madly, and my heart hammered almost out of control, but all the same, relief swept through me as Mr. Collins blew a whistle and called out, Good job, Toombs. Team Morton wins. Down!

      Your wish is my command. I slowly slid down the rope, and then I hung on for dear life as Rod started shaking it. Hey, moron, I called out, suddenly fearful of falling. Stop it!

      Make me, he responded and shook the rope harder.

      Jesus Christ, WTH? Morton wanted me to fall. A thick mat lay below, and while it would cushion things, with my back being as bad as it was...

      Mr. Collins had walked away, but the other students yelling made him turn back. He did so with a look of concern on his face. Morton, move away. Now!

      Rod didn’t and continued worrying the rope. I was only about four feet off the ground, so I let go and landed on him, squishing him in the process. He let out an oomph and beat his legs and arms on the mat. Mass laughter broke out. Well, at least I was good for something.

      Get off me, you pig, he squealed. God damn it, get off me!

      As soon as we got up, he launched a left hook aimed at my face. He always threw that punch first, and I’d learned to avoid it. I ducked and backpedaled awkwardly. My back and legs didn’t want to cooperate, and I stumbled.

      Rod bore in and landed two quick shots to my head. Fearful, I covered up, but when he got close enough, I fought off my panic and threw a quick hook to his ribs

      Now, it was his turn to stagger back, surprised and hurt. Call that the shock of the year, and even a few other students nodded with approval.

      Rod recovered and started in again. Only the call of Mr. Collins stopped Mr. Bully from taking another swing at my head. Quit it, Morton.

      My nemesis halted in his tracks. Collins strode over, an angry shadow sweeping across his rugged features. Morton, you may be the best athlete this school has ever had, but you have a lot to learn about being decent. Toombs did what he was supposed to. Suppose he’d fallen. You’d be responsible. Did you consider that, even for one second?

      Rod shrugged and hung his head, averting his gaze and muttering something akin to an apology. Yeah, right. He’d never apologized in his life for anything.

      Then he picked his head up, whining, I was just having fun, sir. We got a mat to break things, and he’s got a coating of flab. We’re talking that dough guy in the commercial, you know, sir?

      At that comment, the expression on Mr. Collins’ face grew even darker. Making fun of someone being overweight doesn’t figure into this. Trying to injure another student isn’t fun. You could be sued, and I’d be a witness for the other side, not yours.

      He then swiveled his head around. Toombs, hit the showers and then go to the principal’s office. Morton will be joining you later.

      Me, what did I do? There was no point in arguing, though. Anyone who argued with Mr. Collins ended up at the principal’s office.

      Having no choice, I took a quick shower and then went to where I was supposed to go. Principal Anderson greeted me personally. He didn’t believe in employing secretaries.

      A small, slender man in his fifties with beady black eyes and a mealy-mouthed way of speaking, he asked me to sit down. Rod walked in a few seconds later. He sat on a nearby chair and mouthed to me, Dead meat.

      Nice, you maggot, real nice.

      Anderson was not amused by his gesture. I can read lips, Mr. Morton.

      Rod blanched, but quickly recovered. Sorry, sir. Just saying.

      Uh-huh.

      The principal inhaled and exhaled deeply, as if trying to control his temper. I received a call from your gym teacher. Attempting to injure a student along with fighting, Mr. Morton?

      Sorry, sir. A shadow of a smile crept over the jerk’s face.

      Our principal leaned forward, all pretense of civility gone. Wipe that smile off your face, mister.

      Morton did, and our principal sat back in his chair. Mr. Collins has informed me of the details. You like competition, and Mr. Toombs here isn’t much of it, is he?

      Rod’s smirk returned, and this time it was on full display. No, sir. He’s a... he’s got problems, sir.

      Call that the understatement of the year, and my biggest problem was sitting three feet away. Sir, I began, but Anderson waved me off.

      So, he said. Toombs, you have a physical problem. We’re all aware of that.

      As if on a kind of mechanical axis, his head, small and round like a ball, swiveled to nail Rod with a glare. You also have a problem, but of a different sort.

      Flip-flop time, and Rod shriveled under the intensity of the older man’s gaze and lowered his head, but I could see that he was seething. In his own pea-brain, he’d done nothing wrong.

      In the past, with all the altercations you’ve had with just about everyone, I have tried to impress upon you the concept of decency, Anderson continued as he thrust his body forward to emphasize his point. But apparently, my words have fallen on deaf ears.

      Now, he leaned back and tapped the end of his fingers together, as if contemplating the secrets of the universe. Seconds passed, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

      Finally, he cleared his throat. So, I have come to a decision. You two are going to settle your differences in a friendly competition.

      Rod jumped up, suddenly defiant. I don’t have to do anything. Sir, he added.

      In a flash, Anderson got up to lock eyes with him. For a small man, he had a fearful way of staring at people, almost like a vampire holding its victim in a hypnotic embrace. Rod wilted.

      No, you don’t. But fighting is one thing I will not countenance, and if it means expelling you or restricting you from being the captain of the sports teams you love so much, then that’s what I’ll do, starting in September.

      At that, Rod blanched. You don’t have the right.

      Whoa, he’d actually come out with a semi-intelligent statement. Truthfully, maybe the principal didn’t, but he was an administrator, and Rod had overstepped his boundaries way too often. Maybe I don’t, Anderson answered, staring him down, and the hint of an evil smile of his own crept in.

      Inform your parents. Get a lawyer. Make a federal case of it, if you want. And when you do, I’ll be the first to point out that any other school would have kicked your sorry behind out for your behavior long ago.

      With that response, Rod hung his head. He was mean and pig-headed, but not totally devoid of an IQ—just perilously close to it. Sorry, sir.

      Anderson sat and grunted out his answer. That’s better. Summer vacation will officially start next Friday. My guess is that you are free that following Saturday night, aren’t you?

      If someone had injected adrenaline into Rod’s veins, his reaction couldn’t have come any faster, as his head shot up and his eyes widened. No, sir, I just got, I mean, I have a part-time job.

      Anderson waggled a thin forefinger at him. It’s the job or repeat the year. Make a decision, Mr. Morton, and do it right now.

      Hesitation hung in the air, the choice between being a jock and earning a few bucks an hour. Finally, a whisper came from the carrot in the other chair. I’ll change my schedule, sir.

      That’s more like it.

      Our principal then nailed me with a glare. I assume you’re free as well, Mr. Toombs?

      What? His question mystified me, and as for my plans, I’d rather have stayed home and picked navel lint for ten hours nonstop. Still...Yes, sir.

      Good, then you can do this for one night.

      Anderson searched on his desk for something, and then he pulled out a piece of paper from a stack of forms and slid it across to us. The headline jumped out at me. A walking race? I asked.

      Yes. You can’t run, Toombs, but you can walk. This is a walking race, and it’s going to be held on the anniversary of a hotel’s opening. Other schools are involved, and the rules say that two students from each school can compete. There have been no takers so far. You two will fill that need.

      A spark appeared in Rod’s eyes. Uh, sir, you said can, like in voluntary?

      Wow, he was smarter than I thought. No, that wasn’t quite right. He was a weasel, and weasels would do anything to worm their way out of a trap. This was a trap.

      "Yes, Mr. Morton, it is voluntary, but in your case, I’m making it mandatory. If you both show up, I won’t take

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