Dark Tales: 13 New Authors, One Twisted Anthology
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Dark Tales
Horror Anthology
Collected Authors
Edited by
Vincent V. Cava
From A Future
Kristopher Patten
Copyright © 2014 by Vincent V. Cava, J.L. Rach, Nthato Morakabi, Ashley Franz Holzman, Jessica Hopkins, Dana T. Blair, Emilio Alterman, Ryan Winters, Dillon Murphy, Willow, Dempsey, Greg Fox, Elizabeth Archer, Phd Girl
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.
vincentvenacava@gmail.com
The Authors
Vincent V. Cava
His tales have been known to induce seizures in small children. Merely skimming through one of his stories can lead to anxiety, nausea, and internal bleeding. You should not read anything written by him if you are currently pregnant or nursing (including this author’s bio…although it’s probably too late by now). He’s a man whose mind is so dark, not even the World-Wide-Web could contain his horrific imagination.
He is Vincent V. Cava!
Vincent V. Cava’s writing has quickly amassed a following over the Internet. His stories have been translated and read in multiple languages all over the world. This fall he will be releasing his first solo title, Human Flavored Dreams & Pastel Colored Nightmares. You can find out more about him by following him on Facebook or Twitter. His first book, Decomposing Head: Frighteningly Funny Tales That Will Rot Your Brain is available on Amazon.
J.L. Rach
There is a theory that abstract thoughts can manifest into the real world. Some believe if a fear is strong enough, it can become fact. Experiences of ghostly orbs, unexplained sounds, objects moving of their own accord, and even extreme cases of disappearances or murders can be a result of this phenomenon. This is, of course, ridiculous. Why, the very idea is insulting!
Can you imagine the growing shadow on the wall is a tangible product of you reading the latest horror story from your favorite author? Or that the creaking boards of your house “settling” are the physical flotsam of your anxiety as the woman on the television is being stalked by some psycho killer? What if the sudden string of missing local teenagers had your recent morbid obsession with reading serial killer Wikipedia entries to blame? These are tales from the mind of a madman, nothing more! Something expected from the back pages of the conspiracy papers in the local supermarket…
Why, if these types of ravings were true, what sort of fears-made-corporeal would result from you reading about a deranged lunatic lurking in the shadows of your house; imagining the groaning sheer of the first bit of duct tape as he peels it off the roll and pulls it tight over your mouth? Not to mention what could happen reading the gruesome stories written by J.L. Rach…but you don’t believe such foolish notions, do you?
J. L. Rach is an aspiring author who specializes in dark tales of the macabre. Growing up in the Midwest United States, he spent countless hours lost in fictional worlds filled with zombies, monsters, and things that go bump in the night. He is inspired to write by the masters of horror like Stephen King, George A. Romero, Clive Barker, and the maddeningly brilliant minds of his fellow bloggers and independent authors.
J.L. can be found on http://jlrach.wordpress.com/ and also writing as lordcarnage on Reddit. He lives in Arizona with his beautiful wife and three wonderful children.
Nthato Morakabi
Nthato Morakabi emerges from the southern concrete jungles of Africa, in the vibrant city of Johannesburg. He enjoys the dreamscapes of fictional books and video games. His love for writing merges together with these two worlds, as he writes Reviews and Previews for online magazines Gamecca Mag and Gladget Mag.
He occasionally lets his mind loose on his personal writing blog, ascribetodescribe.com. He aspires to be a full time writer.
Ashley Franz Holzmann
Ashley Franz Holzmann was born in Okinawa, Japan and raised in a variety of countries while his parents served in the Air Force. He considered attending art school, but is instead a graduate of West Point, where he enjoyed intramural grappling, studying systems engineering and military history. He majored in sociology and is currently a Captain in the Army. Ashley speaks Korean, enjoys backpacking and is the cook in his family. He currently lives with his wife and son in North Carolina with their two monster dogs.
Jessica Hopkins
Jessica Hopkins is a 27-year-old Texas native, wife, and mother of two. Writing has not only been a passion of hers since a very young age, it has also been a way of life.
Danatblair
Danatblair is a Midwesterner who has lived in Germany, Scotland, and hopefully a few more exciting places. He has been writing occasionally since high school, with a focus on journalism. Recently he discovered writing for the horror genre and the freedom it allows writers.
Emilio Alterman
Emilio Altermen a.k.a Reddit user Human_Gravy is author to over 85 stories found across Reddit’s /r/NoSleep,/r/ShortScaryStories, and /r/Darktales. Emilio is currently working on the upcoming novel called “The Family Heirloom” and “Gaia: Spirit of the Earth”. Inspired by masters of horror like George A. Romero, Stephen King, and Brian Keene, Emilio hopes to one day exercise the voices in his head so they can move on into his readers. With the insatiable itch to write the darkest, most gruesome, tales of terror, you are invited into his world of darkness. Please stay forever.
You can contact him at emilioaltermen@gmail.com or visit his Facebook Page (https://www.facebook.com/humangravy)
Ryan Winters
Ryan Winters grew up in East Texas with an obsession for all things mysterious, macabre, and paranormal. When he’s not playing with his kids, he enjoys graphic novels and watching the worst B movies he can find. Writing has been a recent hobby of his that has quickly become a passion. His major influences include Jeff Lemire, Brian Azzarello, and Jaime Delano.
Willow Dempsey
Willow Dempsey is a native of the south east, where she enjoys singing, and writing poetry. She is currently working on making her way into the world of publishing. "A Nice, Romantic Dinner" is her first short story, and also the first of her pieces to ever be published.
Greg Fox
Greg Fox was Born in Iowa and joined the Navy as a Police K9 handler. He is currently travelling the world and, as always, writing stories for fun.
Dillon Murphy
Dillon Murphy’s story, The Rekindling is his first publication. He has published stories on various online forums.
Elizabeth Archer
Elizabeth Archer is a Special Educator by day and a writer of dark, twisted poetry and short stories by night. She has penned several "mini tales" that have been published in some local papers. Elizabeth has written over 60 stories for Reddit's Dark Tales and Short Scary Stories. She hopes that you have enjoyed your little journey, "Into the Woods" and expects that you will be home long before dark.
Phd Girl
Phd Girl (real name Deepthi) is a writer from India. When she isn’t writing, she’s working on her degree. She loves rain, cats and dogs, evening walks, afternoon naps, turquoise ink, and wind chimes, in no particular order. Phd girl has always enjoyed reading, music, and movies. This is her first publication and she’s looking forward to writing more in the future.
Table of Contents
&nb
sp; The Fool
The Ocean’s Cool Air
The Rekindling
On A Scottish Night
Kiss Cam
The Taxi Driver
Into The Woods
Iron Gates
Journal Of Katia Ashcroft
Little Black Bugs
The Skinless Man
Tug-Of-War
A Nice Romantic Dinner
White Coats
Salt, Snow, and Something Rotten
Foreword
Earlier this year I co-authored my first book, Decomposing Head: Frighteningly Funny Tales That Will Rot Your Brain. Shameless self-plugs aside, the sense of accomplishment I felt after seeing people actually spending their hard earned money on something I wrote was incredible. There’s something magical about seeing your work up on the Amazon market place sitting next to horror legends like Stephen King and Clive Barker. I wanted other writers, who like me had previously never been published before, to experience the same thing. That’s why I decided to put this little project together.
I’ve assembled some of the most talented never-before-published authors I could find from around the world to put this book together and I’m really happy with how it turned out. Each writer brings their own unique spin to the book and no two stories sound alike. I find the variety of Dark Tales to be one of my favorite parts about this project.
But the thing about Dark Tales that makes me the most excited is the fact that everything we’re doing is going to a good cause. When I first heard about Scares That Care, I knew that I wanted to help out. The organization is full of good people doing what they can to assist those in need. For those that aren’t familiar with the charity, Scares That Care raises money and provides financial assistance for the families of sick and injured children. They’re a small operation so any dollar you can donate will go along way. I’m proud to announce that 100% of the proceeds of this book will be donated to Scares That Care.
To find out more about Scares That Care, click here
So I hope you enjoy reading Dark Tales as much as I enjoyed putting it together. I’d like to thank everyone who was involved with this project. It means a lot that so many people came together for such a noble cause.
- Vincent V. Cava
The Fool
J.L. Rach
With tired eyes, a disheveled man looks out the broken windows at the desolate landscape where he once lived his lonely life. Where there would have been a vision of a bustling life, there is nothing more than a burnt-out husk, silent as the grave. If he strains his eyes, he can still see the smoke on the horizon from the fires smoldering in what is left of the metropolitan areas to the north. His tears dried up long ago. So too did his hope; long had it been since he felt anything other than emptiness. His name is Michael, and this is all his fault.
With what hints of despair remained inside of him, he thinks back to his life before the world fell into chaos. He was just another faceless cog in the never-ending machine that was working class society. Always the introvert, he would spend his days slaving away at his thankless job under the oppressive thumb of his manager, only to waste his nights secluded in his home, drinking and feeling helplessly depressed. His only solace was found in the dim glow of a computer screen endlessly browsing the Internet, or daydreaming while riffling through the writings and drawings he found in his late great grandfather’s travelling trunk.
Now this home has truly become his prison. His only view of the outside world, or rather what is left of it, was through these shattered windowpanes.
I didn’t want it to be like this, he thinks to himself. This wasn’t what I wanted at all.
Turning away from the nightmare outside his walls, he thinks back to where it all began.
~ One year ago ~
Michael sat in his dank, dark basement, bereft of light but for the flickering candles that surrounded the chalk etchings he had painstakingly crafted upon the concrete floor. He had spent months making sure that every detail of every line precisely matched the symbols he found in his great grandfather’s dusty age-yellowed manuscripts. Each candle placed at precisely the right angles, each required object arranged just as it was written. The stars were in the right position, all the preparations had been made; he was ready. Now, he thought, now it’s finally time for a better life.
Positioned in the center of circular etchings toward the back of the room and chanting the words of power over and over, Michael drew the ceremonial knife across his left palm and closed his eyes to complete the ritual.
The concussive force of silent thunder knocked him to the floor, and when he slowly opened his eyes he beheld a figure hunched over in the middle of the largest circle in the center of the flickering candles.
It worked! was all Michael could think. Coughing and rising to his knees, he blinked a few times before turning his gaze upon this creature he had summoned. Once his eyes had regained focus, he tilted his head at the perplexing sight in front of him. The winged Imp that he expected to see was nowhere to be found. Instead, brushing itself off and rising to its feet was what appeared to be a man in a tattered threadbare robe. As Michael looked closer he could see that the bald figure had pale, white skin, long, lanky limbs, and perhaps most disturbingly of all, no eyes. Michael could feel his stomach rising in his throat as he looked into the eyeless void of the creature’s face. The longer he watched, the more he could feel himself being pulled towards its eternal, empty stare.
The man spoke to Michael in a voice wrought from the deepest pits of despair, “Why have you summoned me, unworthy one? For what purpose have you called me here?” Even though each word felt as if it pierced Michael’s skull like a white-hot nail, he steeled himself and forced the words, “I…I command you to bestow unto me the riches of the world, the power of the ancients, and the knowledge of the ages!”
The figure stood silently for a moment before responding, “I think not.”
Michael, rising quickly to his feet, yelled with all the courage and fire he could summon, “I SAID I COMMAND YOU TO BESTOW UNTO ME THE…”
“Silence.” The man whispered with such power that Michael felt his throat close tight, cutting his yell to a squeaking stop.
The man studied the intricate etchings, candles, and objects, nodding to himself all the while.
“Do you not see what your ignorance has wrought? When you meddle where you should not, boy, you make grave mistakes in your naivety… see here.” The man gestured at a particularly intricate symbol. “Here where you foolishly omitted the lines; here and here….here is where you called out to me and not to your petty imp of bestowment.”
Michael forced himself to look down to where the man was pointing with his inhumanly-long finger. When he looked back up, the man was standing mere inches from his face. It took all he had not to empty his stomach at the stench wafting off this hellish creature. It was the smell of a charnel house, not the smell of death but the smell of dying; of rotting flesh, of puss, of sickness. Drawing blackened fingernails across Michael’s throat, the man sighed in an almost defeated tone.
“It appears that you are not a complete failure, as by sheer chance you have properly drawn your protection ward. Very well. If it is bestowment you so desire, I shall grant unto you the bestowment of my choice. You and your hearth shall be spared to bear witness while I devour this world. Farewell, fool.”
And before Michael’s disbelieving eyes, the man slowly faded into nothingness.
In the hours that followed, Michael poured over every manuscript in his great grandfather’s collection and searched every website he could find, but saw nothing fitting the description of the strange being that appeared with his incantations. He began to imagine that he’d seen nothing but a hallucination brought on by the candle smoke. It wasn’t long before he slid back into his depressing daily routine, and wrote off the whole basement ritual as a failure to cleanup during his next lonely weekend.
Days passed without incident until reports began to a
ppear on the nightly news about small villages in faraway continents falling victim to some unknown disease. This plague as the news sensationalized it would “wipe out entire populations of these villages in a matter of days”. Government officials held news conferences to placate the general public and let everyone know that these reported sicknesses were isolated incidents. Governments and medical experts had it all under control; there was no need to worry. The officials condemned the media for blowing things out of proportion, and stated investigations would be conducted to uncover the sources of reports that had no purpose besides inducing panic.
Michael was enjoying his normal routine of eating pizza while stretched out on the couch when the President himself held a conference on all the local TV stations to inform the public of the pandemic. Apparently, entire nations were now falling victim to a new strain of virus never before seen. There was currently no cure, and quarantines were being setup to contain those who had contracted the illness. All efforts were being made to curb the spread of the disease. Citizens were to be vigilant but calm . After his speech, a high-ranking administrator from the CDC spoke about precautions that should be taken immediately to remain illness-free. The media had a field day claiming that the government was attempting to cover up the truth, and providing preventative steps that would not stop the spread of the common cold.