SJD Peterson~*~It's all in the touch

Something left behind in the abandoned Ruby Lode gold mine attacks four friends, exploiting their weaknesses and insecurities, threatening their sanity, friendship, and ultimately their lives. Can they solve the mystery of Ruby Lode in time to save each other?

After six long months of research, adventure seekers Bowen McAlister, Cyrus Curran, Duff Gentry, and Lockhart Dawson are on their way to Boulder, Colorado to explore Ruby Lode, an abandoned gold mine. Duff, a born psychic, senses something isn't quite right, and the closer they get, the more his unease grows.
Something left behind long ago in the deep shafts and drifts of Ruby Lode makes its presence known by exposing dark, heavily guarded secrets. Preying on each of their weaknesses and insecurities, Ruby Lode's own destructive secret threatens their sanity, friendship, and ultimately their lives.
CONTENT ADVISORY: This story contains elements of rape/near rape.

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Excerpt:

"Settle down, folks! Settle down."

The lanky auctioneer slammed a gavel on the podium, demanding silence.

When the room was again quiet, the auctioneer looked up from his perch.

"Our next piece of property is the Ruby Lode Mining Claim designated by the surveyor general as survey number one-nine-four-five-three. The claim embraces a portion of section six, in township two North, Range seventy-one West of the sixth Principal Meridian in the Mining District and bounded and described as more particularly set forth in the patent from the United States to O.E. Jasper of record in Boulder County, Colorado. Records; said survey number one-nine-four-five-three extending one thousand five hundred feet in length along the Ruby vein or lode; the premises herein granted containing five and fifteen hundredth acres along the South St Vrain River. The tax lien is one hundred dollars."

"Do I hear an opening bid of one hundred dollars?"

You could hear a pin drop in the sparsely filled town hall.

"Do I hear an opening bid of seventy-five?"

From three rows back, Frink Davis fidgeted as he and his best friend Counter Stephens scanned the room for any signs of activity. A hand going up, a wink, a nod, even a cough could indicate a bid. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, Frink saw movement and Counter must have seen the same movement because they both turned quickly in that direction. Seated in the front row, a rugged middle-aged man wearing a brown cowboy hat leaned over and whispered something to an exceptionally broad-shouldered man wearing all black sitting right next to him. They nodded in agreement and the man wearing the brown hat brushed his hand across the brim. Counter elbowed Frink in excitement.

"Seventy-five dollars," said the auctioneer. "Do I hear eighty?"

Frink nervously watched as Counter studied the two men. Then he scanned the room again looking for other bidders before turning to Counter and smiling. Counter raised his hand and the auctioneer nodded.

"Eighty, I have eighty dollars. Do I hear eighty-five?"

The two men in the front row turned around with surprised looks on their faces to see where the next bid had come from.

This time, the man in black shouted, "Ninety dollars."

"Ninety dollars, I have ninety dollars. Do I hear ninety-five?"

Frink's hands were beginning to shake uncontrollably and he felt as if sweat was pouring out of each of his palms, but he held his emotions together as he prayed his best friend could make this happen.

Wait for it, Count, wait for it, wait... But the excitement must have gotten the best of Counter because he jumped to his feet and yelled, "One hundred dollars," glaring at the men in the front row.

Frink couldn't believe his ears and he glared at Counter, shaking his head from side to side. He leaned in and hissed, "Ninety-five, you idiot, not one hundred."

"One hundred dollars, I have one hundred dollars," the auctioneer yelled. "Do I hear one-ten?"

Counter smacked himself in the head. "Fuck! Did I just say? Did I say one hundred dollars? I meant to say ninety-five." Silence again filled the hot stuffy town hall. Frink couldn't think. In his head he kept hearing Counter's voice over and over again, one hundred dollars, one hundred dollars. He put his head between his legs and did his best not to pass out.

"Going once."

More silence...

"Going twice."

Again, the two men in the front row slowly turned around and glared at them, then turned back and stared straight ahead.

But still more silence...

"Sold!" The auctioneer yelled as the gavel hit the top of the podium. "Ruby Lode sold to the gentleman in the third row."

Frink would have sworn his heart was going to leap out of his chest. Just then Counter threw his calloused hands in the air and shouted, "Hot dog, Frink, we just bought ourselves a mine."

Frink stood up with a concerned look on his face. "Count, I sure hope there's gold in that there mine, 'cause if there's not, my paw and everybody I borrowed money from to buy it is going to hang me from a tall tree with a short rope."

Frink felt Counter's hands on both of his shoulders and his heart began to race.

"Relax, Frink, there's gold. I can just feel it. We'll find gold in Ruby Lode or we'll die tryin'."

Frink's bottom lip quivered. "That's what I'm afraid of and I sure hope it's not the latter."