House

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Authors: Frank Peretti

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Praise for Frank Peretti
and
Ted Dekker's novels

“Peretti and Dekker's taut, roller-coaster ride of a thriller will have you tearing through the book at a breakneck pace . . .”

—
Parkersburg News
review of
House

“If you are looking for a book that will keep you up at night and yet offers hope at some point, then
House
is a must-read for you. My words will never suffice how spectacular this book is, so go out and get this book for yourself. But don't forget to lock the windows and doors, and whatever you do . . . stay out of the basement.”

—1340mag.com

“Dekker and Peretti hold their cards close to their chests to the very end in this taut mind-blower.”

—
Christian Music Planet

“The story builds constantly, leaving readers in a state of continuous tension . . .
House
is a must-read for anyone who loves a good suspense thriller.”

—
Aspiring Retail

“You will not be disappointed with this collaboration.The writing is flawless. The seamless continuity of this novel is testament to the two creative minds behind it and their commitment to a quality story.”

—Novelreviews.blogspot.com regarding
House

“Its premise and pacing recall some of the down-and-dirty thrillers of Dean Koontz, and predictable it is not, partly because the authors withhold as much information from us for as long as possible, lending the events in the basement a surreal, nightmarish quality.”

—Bookgasm.com review of
House

“. . . Peretti is a bona fide publishing phenomenon.”

—
BookPage
review of
The Visitation

“Dekker delivers his signature exploration of good and evil in the context of a genuine thriller that could further enlarge his already sizable audience.”

—
Publishers Weekly
review of
Showdown

“In the world of Christian fiction, the hottest novels are those by Frank Peretti.”

—
Newsweek
review of
Monster

“Exciting, well-written, and resonant with meaning,
Black
,
Red
, and now
White
have won over both critics and genre readers . . . An epic journey completed with grace.”

—Editors, Barnes and Noble

“. . . plenty of spine-chilling mayhem . . .”

—
www.Amazon.com regarding
This Present Darkness

“Ted Dekker is clearly one of the most gripping storytellers alive today. He creates plots that keep your heart pounding and palms sweating even after you've finished his books.”

—Jeremy Reynalds, Syndicated Columnist

“Not only is Peretti the country's top-selling Christian fiction author, but he has become, by any standard, one of current fiction's biggest stars.”

—
Chicago Tribune
regarding
The Visitation

Reading Group Guide Available at
www.thomasnelson.com/readingguides

HOUSE

FRANK
PERETTI

TED
DEKKER

OTHER BOOKS BY
FRANK PERETTI

Monster
Hangman's Curse
(The Veritas Project, Volume 1)
Nightmare Academy
(The Veritas Project, Volume 2)
The Visitation
The Oath
This Present Darkness
Piercing the Darkness
Prophet

OTHER BOOKS BY
TED DEKKER

Skin
Saint
Showdown
The Martyr's Song
Obsessed
Black
Red
White
Three
Blink When Heaven Weeps
Thunder of Heaven
Heaven's Wager

Coauthored with Bill Bright
Blessed Child
A Man Called Blessed

© 2006 by Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Thomas Nelson, Inc. titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

Scripture paraphrased from The Holy Bible: New International Version
®
.
© 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

Publisher's Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authors' imaginations or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Peretti, Frank E.
House / Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-59554-155-0 (HC)
ISBN: 978-1-59554-156-7 (TP)
ISBN: 978-1-59554-342-4 (SE)
ISBN: 978-1-59554-362-2 (MM)
I. Dekker, Ted, 1962– II. Title.
PS3566.E691317H68 2006
813'.54—dc22

Printed in the United States of America
07 08 09 10 11 QW 5 4 3 2 1

The light came into the darkness,
and the darkness did not understand it.

My heart holds all secrets; my heart tells no lies.

Contents

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

PROLOGUE

HE STOOD MOTIONLESS IN THE ENTRYWAY, staring at his own shadow splayed before him like a stain upon the floor. He studied the patina of dust, sampled the stench of mold and rat urine, listened to a beam settling one more fraction of an inch toward the center of the earth.

This room bore so little evidence of the events that had led to the dawn. From this vantage point, it was just one more abandoned house. Interesting.

But the rest of the house told the truth.

Beneath his boots, the floorboards lay shoulder to shoulder like the buried dead, cupped with creeping moisture, edges buckling, obscured by gray dust and fallen flakes of white paint.

Across the foyer, at the base of a wall, the rose-printed wallpaper fluttered. Behind one of the roses, something scratched, pushed, gnawed, and clawed until a black, whiskered nose burst through. With a wad of shredded wallpaper in its jaws, the rat wriggled through the hole, then rested on its haunches and met his eyes. Neither found the other's presence alarming. The rat skittered along the baseboard and disappeared around a corner.

At the far end of the room, half a tattered curtain rustled and stirred before a broken window. A pitiful attempt at escape. Apart from the broken window, there was no sign that anyone had been here in years.

But when some curious passerby—or the police, should they be so fortunate as to stumble upon this place—wandered farther in, they'd find signs to the contrary in abundance. And those signs would lead them to the mysteries below.

Death lingered in the musty air, even up here. The walls were like shrouds, enfolding every space in exquisite darkness. It had been a perfect arena for a perfect game.

And already Barsidious White was looking forward to the next.

1
5:17 PM

“JACK, YOU'RE GONNA KILL US!”

His mind jerked out of a daydream and back to the lonely Alabama highway in front of the blue Mustang. The speedometer topped eighty. He cleared his mind and relaxed his right foot. “Sorry.”

Stephanie went back to her singing, her voice clear if melancholy, her inflection classic country.
“My heart holds all secrets; my heart tells no lies . . .”

That one again. She wrote it, so he never criticized it, but those awful lyrics, especially today—“Jack!”

The speedometer was inching toward eighty again.

“Sorry.” He forced his foot to relax.

“What's the matter with you?”

“What's the matter—”
Easy now, Jack. No fuel on the fire.
“A little tense, okay?”

She smiled at him. “You should try singing.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Yeah, that's your answer for everything, isn't it?”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed. He had to quit taking her bait. “Sorry.” Always apologizing. He looked her way and forced a smile, hoping she would believe it.

She smiled back in a way that said she didn't.

She was beautiful, enough to capture the next man just as she'd captured him—blonde, youthful, a real credit to those jeans—everything the guys in the lounges and bars could want in a country singer. No doubt those blue eyes could still sparkle, but not for him anymore. Right now they were hiding behind fashion-statement sunglasses, and she was craning to see out the back. “I think there's a cop behind us.”

He checked the rearview mirror. The highway, which had narrowed to two lanes, curved lazily through late-spring forest and farmland, rose and fell over dips and rises, hiding and revealing, hiding and revealing a single car. It was gaining on them, near enough now for Jack to recognize the light bar atop the roof. He checked his speed. Sixty-five. That should be legal.

The police car kept coming.

“Better slow down.”

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