Tales of the Mysterious and Macabre Read online

  Tales of the

  Mysterious

  and Macabre

  A collection of short stories of

  horror, the paranormal and haunting

  By Simon Parker

  Foundations, LLC.

  Brandon, MS 39047

  www.foundationsbooks.net

  Tales of the Mysterious and Macabre

  by Simon Parker

  ISBN: 978-1-365-65210-3

  Cover by: Dawné Dominique Copyright © 2017

  Edited by: Steve Soderquist

  Copyright 2017© Simon Parker

  Published in the United States of America

  Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights

  Worldwide English Language Print Rights

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For my family, whose love

  keeps me sane…almost!

  Deep into that darkness peering,

  long I stood there wondering, fearing.

  Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever

  dared to dream before.

  The Raven

  Edgar Allan Poe, 1845

  Acknowledgements

  Quite simply, thank you to all the spooky people with twisted minds I have had the pleasure(?) of working with or meeting over the years. You have been my inspiration, and although I appreciate your input, I hope you don’t know who you are and don’t track me down!

  Thank you also to the friends and family who have supported me in my countless hours of scribbling notes, handwriting manuscripts and researching the most bizarre of subjects. I want to express enormous gratitude to my proof readers and editors for their services. I am indebted to you and you should know you are appreciated greatly.

  Thank you my wonderful children for keeping my heart full enough of joy to stop the darkness I write about from swamping my life.

  And last, but by no means least, thank you to my gorgeous wife for putting up with my obsession and for loving me regardless. You have no idea how many ways you have saved my life.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  The Killing Angel

  New Age Revelations

  Alone in Torment

  Superficial Expectations

  Out of the Frying Pan

  Lonely Nights

  The Old Man of the Village

  The Sea Monster

  Time Heals All Wounds

  Dark Places

  Bull in a Bear Market

  Blind Fear

  The Red Devil

  Christmas Spirit

  Jack

  Pet

  Post

  The Tree in the Void

  Drums of the Demon

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Contained within these pages are disturbing tales of terror in its many guises. Sometimes it’s from external, paranormal sources, sometimes just a twist of the mind. It is a collection of some of my short stories, a few of which are available individually, some of which are exclusive to this edition, but all of which are original and will hopefully touch that place in your mind that is still afraid of the dark and things that go AAARRRRGH in the night!

  There are some descriptive pieces of gore and splatter but my main focus is on things that will make you think, mess with your world view and maybe address deep-rooted fears. That is my intention anyway. Only you can be the judge of how successful I’ve been in that.

  You, my reader, are the most important part of this book, so I offer you these tales in the hope they give you what you are looking for, be it chill or thrill.

  I would love to hear your views and reviews. To this end, please take a look at my blog at to find out more about the Tales, updates on my forthcoming full-length novel, The 13th Wolf, and contact details.

  Fasten your seatbelts. Check your scepticism at the door. Enter the realms of darker realities!

  The Killing Angel

  Steven Winters cowered at the back of the tool shed, head in hands, biting back the tears like a chastised child willing himself to be brave. He felt like he was five years old...

  His mother was drunk again. She always scared him when she was drunk, so bitter and full of venom. His father had been full of his own particular brand of venom two hours previous, when he had been shouting at mummy. Then he had spat a big green yucky in mummy’s face, followed closely by a punch that had floored her and speckled little Stevie’s face and Batman pyjamas with nasal blood. Daddy had stomped off and slammed the door, shouting the ‘F’ and ‘B’ words that little Stevie was forbidden to say. The stare she gave Stevie screamed the hate that was pouring from her heart, her eyes slightly askew and bloody drool dripping from her chin.

  “What are you staring at, you little shit?” she slurred and the blood that had dripped to her lips sprayed as she moving zombie-like towards him. “This is all your fault, you little fucker. We were fine until you came along. Doing just fine and dandy until our little screaming shit machine fucked up our happiness! Now look! He hates me, hates you…hates this shithole we have to live in. It’s all your fault!” Her clumsy stumble had reached him now as he stood there like a small deer caught in oncoming headlights, loving his mother, but aware of the imminent metal death bearing down on him. She raised her hand to slap him across the face, not even remembering the half empty vodka bottle in her hand.

  His mind snapped back to the present as he traced the twenty-year-old scar across his cheek and chin. No five-year-old should have to learn that lesson.

  Now he felt its bite again, felt the same rejection and pain that he’d come to associate with it. Jenny, who he worked with at the council depot, pretty Jenny, had just called him a creepy little perv. He’d been trying for two weeks now to get to know her, to pluck up the courage to ask her out for a drink. Nothing else. Nothing dirty. Nooo. That was forbidden. That thing between his legs was the devil’s toy and playing with it was a Big Sin. His mother’s words rang round his head as he protested his innocence to her long lost soul. He knew he was good, knew his intentions were innocent. Everyone misunderstood him. Everyone pushed him away, just because he wasn’t like other boys. He didn’t brag and boast and do dirty things. And now Jenny, sweet Jenny, had pushed him away too, just because he was eyeing her legs as she walked across the compound.

  “Fucking bitch!” he hissed in a half whisper, hoping no one had heard him as he furtively glanced around in the gloom, paranoid that he wasn’t alone. He made an immediate attempt to placate his mother with an unspoken apology, knowing it was probably futile. She had been rotting in the cold ground now for ten years, a victim of her own drinking and prescription drug abuse, but he still felt her oppressive presence with him…

  And she still misunderstood him.

  The tool shed kept him away from prying eyes. This was a safe place, not overlooked by windows or the compounds CCTV system. He came here when he needed a moment. But now he felt isolated, more alone than he’d ever felt. He struck his head against the abrasive surface of the wall, quite gently at first, then three more times with increasing ferocity.

  “Why? Why? Why?” He blinked back the pain, gritting his teeth to stop the tears from spilling
over the bottom lids where they welled like rainwater in a blocked gutter. The pain always felt good, distracted his mind from the internal anguish that seared his soul and seemed to be his constant companion. Now he had to get back to work before he was missed. He wiped his forehead on his overall sleeve and winced a little as some of the grit and blood found its way into his eye. The gents was just a few yards away. If he hurried, he could wash his face and hands before anyone saw him. As he glanced around the corner to check the way was clear of people who would take the piss, he almost bumped into a lady in uniform.

  “Whoa! Sorry, hun,” she said. “You made me jump.” She smiled briefly but the smile was quickly replaced by a frown and she reached for his arm.

  “Are you okay, hun?” she asked, offering a supportive arm to Steve. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

  Steve’s brow creased briefly. What did she mean? Could she see his broken emotions? What kind of sorceress was she? Then he remembered his grazed and bleeding forehead, plain enough for anyone to see.

  “Er, er, I...er guess I fell?” he stammered, afraid of revealing the truth for fear of her laughing at him; he couldn’t handle more ridicule today. The warm smile returned to her face, though. The remnants of concern still creased her eyes.

  “Hun, I think you’d better come with me,” she said, adding her other hand across his shoulders.

  “Am I in trouble?” he whimpered. This time the smile broadened and reached her eyes.

  “Don’t be silly, sugar. I’m the site nurse. You’ve done nothing wrong. Just looks like you’ve bumped your head pretty hard and I think you’d better come let me clean it up and check you haven’t done any serious damage. That’s all.”

  Steve allowed her to guide him across the compound to the office block. He looked at her profile as they neared the sick bay. She was pretty. Very pretty. And she kind of glowed from within. Her red hair bobbed as they walked, a ringlet falling across her cheek as she held open the door for him. He averted his gaze when she glanced at him, embarrassed to have been caught staring twice in one day. He momentarily braced himself for another chastisement. When it didn’t come, he risked looking up again. Their eyes locked and she was still smiling. She held the gaze for a second longer than was comfortable. He was lost for words and was grateful she spoke first.

  “Come on hun,” she said gently, pressing her hand across his shoulders to guide him through the door. “Sick bay is this way. I think you need to sit down. You look a little dazed. We’ll soon have you cleaned up and checked over.” She smiled again, a comforting smile that Steve thought was angelic. “You may need to pop to A & E, but we’ll see.”

  He allowed himself to be aided along the ground floor corridor to a green door on the left with a big white cross on it. Under the cross, white lettering exclaimed SICK BAY. Once inside, the nurse let go of his arm while she grabbed a chair and moved it closer to him. She gestured for him to sit. He did so, accidentally brushing his face across her shoulder as he bent down, she smelled good, like a garden in the summer. The heady scents of lilies combined with jasmine and lavender. He breathed deeply as his rear reached the padded seat, savouring the aroma for a long moment before she spoke to him again.

  “Right, let’s get you cleaned up then, shall we?” Her voice seemed like a dream to him, soft and reassuring. He merely nodded, still feeling a little dazed, more from her intoxicating presence than from the bump on his head.

  “What’s your name, hun?” she asked.

  He looked at her, hesitant to answer. Just as he went to open his mouth she carried on, not pausing long enough for him to say anything anyway.

  “Mine’s Christine, but you can call me Chrissy if you like,” she said, busily collecting equipment to clean his wounds. “We’re going to have to put this in the accident book when we’re done.” She glanced at him again as she pulled over a stool and sat in front of him. Her smile was still broad.

  “What department you in, hun?” When he didn’t answer right away, a slight crease marred her flawless brow again. “You okay, hun? Feeling dizzy or sick?” she asked.

  “No, I…” he said, finally finding his voice, then just as quickly feeling self-conscious. “I’m just a little sore, not sure what happened.” As soon as the lie left his lips, he napped his eyes in regret, berating himself for lying to an angel. But he couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d think him foolish.

  “Let’s clean this up, then we’ll check if you’re okay everywhere else.” She donned some purple nitrile gloves and set to work, dabbing the wound, clearing it of grit and the blood now congealing on his brow. She guided his head forward, inspecting the top for further wounds and more blood. With his head bent, his gaze naturally dropped to her legs. She had on a blue nurse’s uniform that had come below her knee while she was standing up, but now, as she sat with her knees interlocked between his, she seemed oblivious to the fact she was slightly exposing herself while she concentrated on his wounds. Steve blushed as he stared at her legs, which were clad in tights and visible right up to her gorgeous thighs. His shame at his feelings, the sinful things, made him avert his gaze from the smooth dark material.

  “No more wounds up here, hun, just on your forehead.” She placed a soft guiding finger under his chin to lift his head back up again. When she turned to grab some Steri-Strips from the trolley behind her, her skirt lifted another inch or two. Steve’s eyes widened as he saw the band where the tights got darker nearer the top of her thighs. He was shocked at seeing so high, but as she turned back to him and her modesty was once again restored, his sinful thoughts were pushed away, much to his relief. She was an angel and you should never look up an angel’s skirt.

  Once she had placed two of the Steri-Strips on his wounded forehead, Chrissy moved the stool back a little to examine her handy work, unlocking their dovetailed knees in the process. There was that smile again. This time Steve returned it. He was feeling a bit more at ease with her now. They chatted a little as she began testing his reflexes and pupil response. After twenty minutes of checking, conversation and filling out the accident book, Steve was completely at ease and feeling fine, if a little foolish for his earlier actions. Rather than admit his wounds were self-inflicted for the accident report, he claimed he had tripped on something, all the while hearing his mother’s venomous screech, calling him a dirty little liar.

  “Well Steve, I don’t think you’ve done any serious damage. Just a bump and a small cut. Doesn’t appear to be any concussion, but if you start feeling sick or sleepy suddenly, call an ambulance and get to A&E. Okay?”

  Chrissy’s smile warmed him, seemed to envelope him with its rays. He’d always felt uncomfortable around women, but she was different. So gentle, so caring … so compassionate and full of empathy. She was special and put Steve at ease. For the first time in his life, he felt like there was someone who might understand him, might see in him what the others just didn’t seem to see or bother looking for.

  “I’ll contact your supervisor,” she continued, “and I’ll call a taxi for you. Get yourself home and rest, okay? And you should be all right to come back to work in a couple of days, but take it easy, don’t rush back.”

  Steve nodded, but a sudden sadness and realisation struck him like a physical blow to the chest. His time with this angel was almost over. He was going home, home to be alone again.

  When the taxi arrived, Steve plucked up some courage from somewhere, touched her hand and thanked her. A sincere, heartfelt thanks that she seemed to appreciate. There was another special moment like something from a movie and when their eyes connected, she said, “It was a pleasure, hun. It’s what I do.” And that gorgeous smile covered her face again, the light dancing in her eyes. He glanced over his shoulder as they said their goodbyes. As he turned to leave, she put a hand on his shoulder. “See you later, Steve. Take care, hun.”

  Those words were running rings around his mind all the way home in the taxi, all evening as he pottered around his house, and for the firs
t two hours he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

  See you later, Steve.

  He smiled to himself and settled down to sleep. “See you later, Steve,” he said aloud as he closed his eyes, still smiling.

  He awoke bright and early next morning, aware he didn’t have to rush in to work, but wishing he could, just to see his cherry-haired angel. “See you later, Steve,” she had said. He chuckled to himself. She wanted to see him again.

  He took her advice to heart and had a couple of days off, spending nearly every waking moment uttering those magical words over and over. “See you later, Steve.” He couldn’t help it, it made him smile every time.

  The morning was glorious, the kind of morning that brings a faithless man to God in appreciation. Steve showered and readied himself for his return to work. For the first time in years, he felt upbeat about the day ahead. He was going to see his nurse again. He almost danced out of the door while images of Chrissy, the cherry-haired, uniform-clad angel danced across his mind. That heavenly smile and, “See you later, Steve.”

  When he arrived at the council depot, he clocked in and headed to his locker. He placed the flowers he’d bought for her into a cup of water on the shelf and donned his overalls. He could barely contain his excitement, he’d work this morning, then head to sick bay to see his Chrissy. He’d played their upcoming conversation over a hundred times in his head in the last twenty-four hours. He’d thank her, hand her the flowers, and she’d graciously accept them. Then, while she was thanking him and admiring the stunning blooms, he’d ask her to join him for dinner. A classy dinner, refined, not cheap drinks in a tacky bar. No pumping music. No smutty groping in a darkened cinema. No, this lady needed to be gently wooed in a classic fashion.