Part 5 of My Horror Novel

Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4. To Recap: Detective Bryan had an extended flashback where he got attacked by a mysterious force at the mysterious Berkeley house. It was mysteriously. Meanwhile, Monte Carlo, the sister of the girl that died at the end of Part 2, acquired a ticket to a mysterious Regatta Gala taking place at the Berkeley estate.

“So,” Monte Carlo said back in the year 2015 where corporations ruled the earth, “You don’t know what happened in those ten years?”

“Not a clue,” Detective Bryan murmured as he mixed more codeine into his scotch, “All the doctors know is that they found me in the street with all of my blood and most of my organs removed. They were able to save me through the magic of stem cells. Everything grew back, real fast. Bing bong.”

Monte Carlo nodded. Stem cells were amazing.

Bryan gazed off into the distance as a single tear rolled down his cheek and screamed, “So you see why I can never go back.

“No Bryan, I see why you have to go back.”

Bryan took another swig of codeine-scotch, “You’re right Margaret. I have some unfinished business.”

Bryan didn’t have any real unfinished business, he was just a little high and drunk at this point and wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

“My name isn’t Margaret,” Monte Carlo whispered.


Monte Carlo and an incredibly drunk Bryan Mantis wandered up to the Berkeley mansion and, with a gulp, pushed open the cedar doors. They moved passed the atrium, passed the in-patient rooms, and into the grand master ballroom where the few other guests for the Regatta Gala were all assembled. The ballroom was as exquisite as a ripe avocado. The meathooks hanging from the ceiling were exquisitely polished, the doors were locked and shut firmly so you couldn’t hear the screaming from the inpatient rooms, and the rusty nails lining the floor were barely sharp at all.

Bryan was tense, he grabbed Monte Carlo’s arm and screeched, “If this is a Regatta Gala….. THEN WHERE IS THE REGATTA!”

At this, all the lights went out.


The lights came back on and walking down the stairs in the middle of the ballroom was a sharply-dressed middle aged-man who looked exactly like American film and television actor Peter Gallagher.

“Oh my god, it’s American film and television actor Peter Gallagher!” whispered several of the guests.

“I’m not Peter Gallagher,” the sharply dressed man bellowed.

The guests started to boo.

“My name is Arthur Blackwood. I am the executor for Charles Berkeley’s estate.”

The guests continued to boo. One of them threw a shew at Blackwood.

“You’re not getting this back,” screamed Arthur, holding the shoe.

“Do Sandy Cohen!” someone yelped from the back of the gala.

Blackwood ignored the guests, “Now some of you may have noticed that there’s no Regatta at this gala. That’s because….”

“Yeah, this isn’t a Regatta Gala, we figured it out,” screamed a very short African-American man named Kevin, “Get on with it Sandy.”

“You’ve all been brought here as per the will of Charles Berkeley. You are here to get a chance to inherit the entire estate. All you have to do is survive the night.”

At this point everyone went apeshit crazy. It was well known that Charles Berkeley was a reclusive billionaire.

“And now,” whispered Arthur, “Let the game…. Begin.”

With this, Arthur pressed a button and all of the exits to the estate disappeared. They were trapped.


“I played all-state, yo!” murmured Chad, one of the guests, “But I blew out my knee scoring the game winning touchdown. I need this money to repair my knee.”

At this Chad began to sharpen his knife, “And I’ll do anything to get it.”


“My name is Brittany!” Brittany screamed at the other guests, “I’m a varsity cheerleader with a dark secret. I need this money to repair my boyfriend Chad’s knee!”

“Hi Brittany,” the whole group said in unison as they roasted marshmallows around the camp-fire.


Kevin, who, to remind everyone is African-American, suddenly yelled, “I have emotional depth. I’m kind and considerate. I need the money for my momma. She lost her eyes working overtime to put me through school. They got scooped out real good. I wanna buy her new eyes.”

No one acknowledged Kevin (except Brittany, who quickly began to have sex with him) because he was statistically the most likely to die first and they didn’t want to get too attached.


“Hi, I’m Ryan! I love mayonnaise,” the world’s most non-descript white guy whispered as literally nobody listened.

“I don’t have any specific character traits, but when things start to go down I’m going to take charge and try to lead the group, often resulting in my own death. I grew up in Europe, so I know things about the world that others don’t. I’m allergic to snakes.”

No one responded to Ryan’s speech except Brittany who looked at him lustily.


“The only thing I love more than doing drugs is playing video games,” Marshall screamed, “I also love to do drugs.”


The group wandered out of the ballroom and back to the atrium of the house.

“Okay,” Ryan yelled, “As the leader, I think we should stay around the entrance of the house. Camp out, watch each other. We know this place could be filled with traps or stuff like that to get rid of us. It could be haunted, but here we have strength in numbers. Best case scenario there could be nothing, and so we spend the night here and get a good camping trip. Who’s with me?”

“FUCK YOU,” Chad screamed, “You just want us all here so you can pick us off one by one. I’m not staying down here so you can kill me. I vote we split up, and all go our separate ways, that way none of us can kill the other.”

“Yeah!” agreed Brittany.

“Guys, why don’t we ask the detective? You know the guy who’s been to this house before?” Kevin asked, suddenly making sense.

“Yeah sure,” said Chad mockingly, “Let’s ask the guy who blew up the moon. That’s a great idea. Now when we look up in the sky there’s nothing there, and sometimes it rains chunks.”

“Honestly, fuck the moon,” yawped Kevin, “Bryan did the right thing by blowing it up.”

“Whatever,” wailed Monte Carlo distressingly, “I think it’s a moo point.”


“Detective Bryan is gone!”


“Okay, now I know someone is killing people,” screamed Chad, remarking on the disappearance of Detective Bryan.

“He’s right,” agreed Marshall agreeably, “I’m not sticking around to see which one of you bitches is the killer.”

At this, Marshall ran into the depths of the house. Chad grabbed Brittany and took her into the basement, remarking that, “the basement is the safest place in the event of harsh weather conditions.”

This left Kevin, Ryan, and Monte Carlo alone in the atrium.

“We have to find Bryan,” demanded Monte Carlo, “He would do the same for us. I also want to find my sister, who was last seen here.”

“Listen, sweetie, I’m the leader here,” murmured Ryan, “Your friend is dead or dying and if we look for him we’ll die too.”

“You can’t just leave someone to die like that. Bryan is a person, not a goddamn avocado,” interjected Kevin.

“Well fuck you guys then, I’m staying here,” muttered Ryan.

Monte Carlo grabbed Kevin by the shirt and dragged him away. “Let’s start by checking the library,” she screamed.


“Find anything?” yelled Kevin as he looked around the library.

“No, nothing,” responded Monte Carlo, “Nothing except this old, dusty scroll.”

The old, dusty scroll was old and dusty. It looked like it had been written in blood and folded up many times. It was written in a dead, antiquated language called French.

“Do you speak French?” Monte Carlo asked Kevin lethargically.

“Why, no one has spoken that dumb language in over a hundred years,” Kevin yelled back, “I read it, though.”

“Quick, come over and read this!” demanded Monte Carlo.

Kevin ran over to read the scroll. As he read it, the blood drained out of his face.

“Oh my god… Oh no… Fuck….”

“What is it?”

“It’s some sort of….. prophecy.”

Monte Carlo gasped.

“It says it all here: If a thousand people die in this house Satan will pop up again. Also, you need to kill a set of twins last or it won’t work. Don’t ask me why. Extra conditions to follow.

Kevin gasped.

“The Berkeley murders… the house…. They weren’t experiments, they were murders. He was murdering them. For him!”

“Who is he?! Who is him?!” yelled Monte Carlo as she shook Kevin, trying to find an answer.

“He’s… he is…”


Kevin gulped and whispered, “Satan.”

Next Time: Where has Detective Bryan gone? Where has Arthur Blackwood gone? Where has Jessica gone? Where has Stephen gone? Where has the ghost of Charles Berkeley gone? Where has the homeless man from part two gone? Have they been Taken? Where are Luke and Brittany? And Marshall? Why is Charles Berkeley harvesting souls for Satan? Do you remember that Jessica and Monte Carlo are twins? Why did people keep sending patients to the Berkeley Hospice when Berkeley would just kill every single patient? None of these questions will be answered in the next set of excerpts. Also, everyone dies. 

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