Tales From Dark Places - The Halloween Collection Read online

  Life has become a bit creepy, to be honest. Just as in the nightmare, I am always alone. I know it sounds crazy but I think I am in my own bed, in my own house, when I wake up. It all feels familiar but odd too. I think it’s the isolation which makes me hesitate. If it was my normal existence there should be other people, if not in my home then at least passing by in the street, on foot or by car. However, there is no one, just me.

  Day after day it is always the same. I spend the day alone at home and then at night the nightmare returns. I’ve got to do some serious thinking about this or it’ll drive me crazy. It would be simpler if I could recall a time before this was my normal state of existence. But my mind is empty of any previous life; so I think about the nightmare, forcing myself to return to those spooky surroundings and the horrific ending.

  I make the scene play out in my mind until I get to the operating theatre. Trying to view the episode from a different perspective I concentrate on the voices and squeeze my eyes tightly shut as I search for some clue as to the identity of the approaching people.

  The mist is slowly clearing and for the first time I see the face. Opening my eyes in shock I rush to the mirror and stare at my reflection. It is me. In the hospital it is me I see carrying the knife and inflicting the injuries. But how can that be? How can I slaughter myself?

  Again I close my eyes and am immediately transported to that moment. I watch over my own shoulder as I plunge the knife into the helpless body. But the face I see on the table is not my own.

  It is the face of an old man, then it changes to a young woman, then a middle aged woman and so on as I watch myself murder person after person.

  Opening my eyes slowly the realisation hits me. I haven’t been watching my own death but the replay of all the deaths I have caused. I am a killer. My blood runs cold. How many were there? Too many and I daren’t close my eyes again.

  And now the mists have completely vanished. I have my answers. I am guilty of killing other humans. This is my purgatory: to live in eternal isolation and have to go through the same horror I inflicted on others each night in my dreams.

  It is appropriate that I am alone. My madness will be slow and deserved. I am the only person who should have to live with myself, in hell.

  THE END

  © 2013 Sonya C. Dodd

  It Started With a Whisper

  by Peter John

  My eyelids felt heavy but seemed reluctant to close. Sleep was eluding me and my effort to break free from consciousness was draining my body of what little strength that remained. That was why, the first time that they spoke to me, I excused the experience as yet another symptom of my sleep starved mind.

  As the darkness drew ever closer I found myself focusing inwardly. With the calm of the night they came to my bedside and whispered their quiet woes into my ears and I could feel their warm breath as their words brushed against my face. My skin crawled with every syllable and stuttered moan that was forced into my conscious mind. I found myself craving sleep as a form of escape but it was a fruitless dream. I lay still with my weakened state holding me to the bed while a constant flow of whispered doom laid siege to my defenseless ears. Relief only came with the growing light of dawn. As the first scrawny filaments of light slipped through the cracks in the curtains the voices began to fade until all I could hear was the sound of bird song outside.

  As I look back on that first night I find myself wishing for another like it. I had suffered a tormenting experience which turned out to be nothing compared to that which was to follow.

  ***

  The day after, I felt as if I was living in a blurred world. I felt detached from my surroundings and the distractions I usually craved. The evening seemed to arrive without warning and the night crept in like a prowler searching for an unlocked door. Even though I was exhausted I still found myself delaying the inevitable journey to bed. I sat alone in my living room flicking through the channels on my television but I couldn't find anything to engage my tired mind.

  The television switched off and the room fell dark. I assumed that I had accidentally pressed the remote control in my weary condition. Then I felt the weight of another person join me on my sofa. The nearest light was in the hallway and it barely penetrated beyond the living room door. Even as I strained my eyes to peer through the darkness I could see nothing beyond the end of my nose. I could feel the weight shifting and I could hear the sound of shallow breaths. I found that I couldn't move at first through fear or lack of strength. I sat blindly waiting for the cold touch of whatever it was that had sat beside me. My strength suddenly returned and I jumped to my feet, only to watch the door swing shut as I stepped towards it. The room was now pitch black and the only comfort I could find was in the solidness of the wall as I pressed my back against it. The floorboards creaked as if supporting heavy footsteps and the gentle flow of cold air brushed against my skin. I felt goose bumps begin to form and the hairs of my arms rose to attention. The shallow breathing became a low growl like someone was breathing through clenched teeth. I could feel the presence close by but I was too scared to reach out and confirm my fears. Hot breath stroked my ear and I could feel the air as it was disturbed by movement around me. It was so close now that I braced myself for the feel of its touch. The television switched back on and flooded the room with multicolored light and I could see that I was alone. The rest of the night passed under the shadow of apprehension but the presence didn't return before the morning arrived.

  ***

  I struggled to understand the events of the night and found it difficult to excuse them as just figments of my imagination. As the day wore on so did my apprehension of the approaching night. I tried to say away from home by visiting various clubs and bars. I was drinking more than I was used to and, combined with my lack of sleep, my grasp on reality began to fade. I had a murky awareness that I was sat upon a bar stool in a drinking establishment only a short walk from my home. I had no idea what I was drinking by then and if there was anyone else currently enjoying the same misty surroundings. I lacked the strength to resist when exhaustion finally took me.

  It was still dark when I awoke but there was enough light for me to recognized my own bedroom. I had no memory of returning home and no intention of staying. I tried to move but found that my limbs wouldn't respond. I couldn't even move my head so I was stuck with a straight, upward view of the ceiling. I began to panic and my mind span in circles but suddenly stopped turning when I heard the first of the whispers. The voices were clearer than before as they retold their stories of misfortune. I could feel their thoughts as they began to mingle with my own and I felt a clammy touch around my ankles. Coldness slowly rose up my legs, leaving my body numb and lifeless. I lost all feeling below my waist as the chill rose up through my stomach. The voices echoed through my head predicting a future of torment. I felt my arms go dead as the sensation reached my shoulders and my chest became numb as the coldness invaded my neck. The voices fell silent when my ears felt the chill and my mind succumbed to the deathly touch.

  ***

  As you lay awake in a world upon the edge of dreams, listen to my shallow voice. This is my story of woe and as I whisper the tale of my passing into your defenseless ear. Can you imagine the fate that awaits you?

  The End

  © 2013 Peter John

  The Visitor

  Melpomene’s Love

  by Chris Raven

  James woke up with a feeling of being watched, which of course of late meant that he probably was. He rubbed his eyes, and slowly opened them to see the silhouetted figure of a woman looking down at him from the foot of the bed. He groaned, and reached out to pat the bedside table until he found the switch that turned on the lamp. "Oh," he said disappointedly, "I thought you were Celia”. He suppressed a brief pang of guilt, as he had already guessed that the woman was Rebecca.

  "Did you now," the stern looking woman replied, "well tact was never your strong point was it James".

  “Tact?" Jame
s said as he sat up in his bed, voice instantly annoyed. Rebecca had always known how to push his buttons, especially when she was in this type of mood. "You come here uninvited, and you talk to me about tact?" Rebecca just looked down at him in silent accusation, which only increased his annoyance.

  "You know this isn’t right, what you’re doing. It’s all wrong", he said angrily, swinging his legs off the bed and grabbing his glasses from the bedside table. "You can’t just come here any time you want. This is really not fair, especially to Celia.”

  "Oh, we wouldn't want to upset Celia now would we," Rebecca replied, voice heavily sarcastic and bitter.

  “No we would not, so you had better stop coming here, and start coming to terms with how things are.” James reached down to grab his dressing gown off the floor and caught sight of the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Bloody hell Rebecca, it’s four o’clock in the morning”. Rebecca just shrugged defiantly.

  “So!" She sneered, “what’s that to me?” James stood and slipped on his dressing gown. He studied Rebecca’s petulant face and tried to calm himself down.

  “Look,” he said, trying to introduce a reasonable tone to his voice. “I wouldn’t mind so much but, if you remember, it was you who left me.” He knew he had just made a terrible mistake, but it was too late for him to take his words back. Rebecca’s body had visibly tensed, her eyes were wild and then she exploded.

  “How dare you! Of course I left you, what choice did you give me? You heartless, arrogant ass, and after what you did to me”. James cut in quickly, angrily and loudly; wanting to drown out Rebecca’s voice before he had to hear the same old accusations and recriminations all over again.

  “For Christ’s sake Rebecca that was over ten years ago, ten years!” James was standing up by then and he had moved towards her. “Ten years, can’t you let it go? It was a one off and it wasn’t even Celia. You didn’t have to leave, we could have worked it out, but you went. It was your choice, so don’t blame me now if you can’t move on. This is not my fault anymore Rebecca and it certainly isn’t Celia’s”.

  James was really close to Rebecca by then, his red angry face almost touching hers, his voice loud and furious, with his spittle occasionally landing on her cheek.

  “That’s it James,” she screamed, “hit me, go on, you know you want to. Get it out of your system”.

  James stopped, stunned, he hadn’t even realized that he had been shouting. He hadn’t realized how terrifying he must have appeared to her then. He sat down heavily on the bed, his head in hands.

  “I never would have… I wouldn’t, why would…” And then it dawned on him.

  James looked up at the defiant expression on Rebecca's face and was horrified to see that his suspicion was justified.

  “You bitch, you call me heartless. I can’t believe you would try and get me to do that to Celia”. James took a deep breath before continuing.

  “Try and understand Rebecca, this was never Celia’s fault. We weren't seeing each other back then, not until years later anyway, not until well after you left. We’ve been married five years now for God's sake”. James fell silent and sat shaking his head.

  “I can’t help it,” Rebecca explained after a few moments of silence, “I just hate her”.

  James angrily motioned Rebecca to stay quiet and got up off the bed, giving her a long angry glare as he left the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

  .....

  In the kitchen, James switched on the kettle and prepared himself a cup of coffee. Rebecca was sitting at the breakfast table behind him, so he was able to keep his back to her.

  "I'm having a coffee,” he said over his shoulder, not wanting to look at her yet. “Do you want one?"

  "I don't think Celia will approve, do you?" Rebecca replied but without her earlier passion. James tipped in a spoonful of coffee in the cup as the kettle bubbled and switched itself off.

  “I’m sure Celia wouldn’t begrudge you one cup of coffee Rebecca, it’s probably been quite a while now.”

  “It has,” Rebecca said quietly, thrown by his sudden thoughtfulness. “Thank you James, I would love a cup of coffee.” The spoon of sugar that had been hovering over the steaming hot coffee was immediately withdrawn and James took the cup to the breakfast table. He placed it by Rebecca’s hand, only glancing at her once, both allowing only a brief moment of eye contact before James returned to the kettle. He grabbed a fresh cup from the tree and switched the kettle back on. Rebecca held the coffee cup in both hands and took a sip.

  “That is a perfect cup of coffee James”. She closed her eyes to savour the taste as she took another sip. “But you could always make a good coffee James. That was one of the things I loved about you”. James said nothing while he prepared his own coffee. The kettle switched itself off again and James picked it up and poured the hot water over the sugar and coffee granules, watching the clear water turn instantly brown.

  “It’s only coffee Rebecca,” he finally told her, “I only add hot water and milk.” He started to drink his coffee, with his back to her and looking out of the kitchen window to the identical window opposite.

  After a while Rebecca broke the silence and eventually asked.

  “Do you love Celia more than you loved me?” James’ head and shoulders sank a little but he kept his back to her as he added a little more sugar to his drink.

  “No,” he sighed, “I don’t love Celia more than I loved you. I have never loved Celia more than you”. He let the words hang there and after a while he gently added, “you were always the love of my life Rebecca and when you left it almost killed me. Celia quite literally saved my life; she gave me something to live for.”

  “I wish she hadn’t,” Rebecca said quietly, but without any malice. “You could have joined me; we could have been together all these years”. James turned and looked at his first wife across the kitchen, sitting on an old rickety stool, cradling her coffee cup in her hands.

  “I wanted to Rebecca," he told her, "there was a time back then when I really could have, but I didn’t”.

  "I know," Rebecca replied dryly, "Celia saved you".

  "I chose to stay," James cut in defensively, "Celia was there for me. That is why you can’t keep doing this, that's why you need to move on and leave us alone”. Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears. Instinctively, James stepped forward and knelt down beside her.

  “I can’t help it James," she cried, "I still love you.”

  “I know,” James said softly, putting his arms round her. “I know, I love you still but there’s Celia”.

  “Celia,” Rebecca repeated, briefly annoyed but then they looked into each other’s eyes and at that moment they suddenly and unexpectedly kissed, eagerly and hard, ten years worth of intense love and hate formed itself into this one moment of intense passion.

  Rebecca broke away first, gently pushing James back.

  “Does Celia know about me?” James shook his head and looked down, ashamed.

  “No, she thinks she sleepwalks”. Rebecca cradled his jaw in her hands and lifted his face to look at him.

  “This is not infidelity you know. I am still your wife, we were never actually divorced. That technically makes Celia the other woman.”

  “No it doesn’t” James protested “I’m doing to Celia what I did to you.”

  “No, this is different my love,” Rebecca reassured him. “This is a lot different because you still love me and you’ve always loved me. You tell me that I can’t move on but that’s not quite true is it. The truth is my darling, that it is you who cannot move on. It is you who’s holding me here. I could have passed on at any time, but it is you who has never been able to let me go”.

  “I know,” James conceded and they kissed again but this time gently, more tenderly.

  .....

  Later that morning James awoke in bed at the insistence of the alarm clock. He patted the snooze button, rolled over and looked at his wife’s face as she lay there sleeping contentedly i
n the bed beside him. It was Celia who awoke when she opened her eyes and smiled warmly at James when she realized he was lying there looking at her. “Good morning darling,” she said, “have you been awake for long?”

  “No,” James said, sitting up. “The alarms just gone off, did you sleep well?”

  Celia considered this and then looked a little confused.

  “I think so, but I can taste coffee.”

  “I know,” James said, “you were sleepwalking again last night and you actually made yourself a cup of coffee”.

  “Really?” She said, sitting up surprised. “How strange, you know how much I hate coffee”.

  “I know,” James laughed nervously. “What will you do next?”

  “That’s bizarre,” Celia said laughing.

  “I know,” James replied, getting carried away with the lie.

  Celia stopped laughing and conspiratorially asked.

  “Did we?” The question was left hanging in the air for a moment before James nervously confirmed.

  “Yes we did sweetheart”.

  “Really?” She said, a little shocked.

  “You woke up first,” James added hastily, “but you were really sleepy. You’ve probably forgotten”.

  “You’re a naughty man,” she said in mock indignation, “taking advantage of me. It’s a shame though, I would like to have remembered”. James quickly stood up and slipped on his dressing gown again.

  “I’m taking a shower before I get ready for work. Do you want me to run you a bath while I’m in there?”

  “Please,” Celia said, as she snuggled back down under the duvet, warm and contented.

  James went into the bathroom and started to run the hot water. He sat on the edge of the bath and noticed that the bathroom door was still open. He could not see Celia from where he was sitting, but he could hear her breathing and he found the sound painful. He reached out and pushed the door closed.

  James looked at Celia’s pink bathrobe hanging from the back of the door and he choked back tears thinking about how he had betrayed her last night. No matter how Rebecca and he had spun the lie at the time, it was still a betrayal. James had betrayed the good friend who had become his second wife, the one who had saved his life all those years ago. Out of all their friends, Celia had been the only one who had remained while all the others had slowly drifted away, unable to face James’ headlong decent into despair. It had been Celia who had convinced James that his life was still worth living, even after Rebecca’s suicide, so James just sat on the edge of the bath and sobbed.