Tales From The Mist: An Anthology of Horror and Paranormal Stories

by Scott Nicholsonan

  Some day. Would it ever stop eating him inside?

  He felt under his pillow for the journal. They’d let him have it by special permission.

  I will always watch over you, my son. Be a good man, and the world will smile at you.

  Why did she lie to him? He’d grabbed one chance to be bad and the world stopped smiling. If he got out today, shame would never leave his side. His mother used to be an abused woman and she shook that off like a champ. But snuffing out a life … how do you ever shake that off?

  Now that Ma was gone, there was no one in his corner. Even Dave had never come to see him in jail. Maya didn’t care …

  There was such a thing as too much love. It screwed you up just as bad as too much hate.

  The light from the tiny window arrowed in a diagonal strip to a corner of the cell. It settled on the form of a tall man who stood against the wall, smoking a cigar, his face in the shadows, a hand in his trouser pocket. The silver grey of his extravagant suit shimmered in parts. The thick smoke from the cigar joined the dust in the air.

  He shot up from the bed. The man didn’t speak but smiled a gold–toothed smile.

  Luke had seen that smile once before. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a sharp tone. “Who let you in?”

  The man kept drawing from the cigar, unhurried, relishing every puff. In between puffs—that smile. Normally, Luke’s throat and lungs would suffer the effects of second hand smoke.

  Still amazed at how he didn’t even smell that cigar, Luke stood warily, planting his feet on the floor. “Who are you?”

  A noose materialized in front of him. It hung from a hook on the ceiling, his chair below it. Funny, he’d never noticed that hook before.

  “Miss your mom much?” he asked.

  “I—”

  His voice was beautiful, strong, fluid. But his question had no answer in words. No words in Luke’s vocabulary, at least.

  The noose glowed in the waking light as if damp from morning dew. It looked almost beautiful, heavenly.

  A way out of this hell …

  One, two, three, four, five small steps and he was on top of the chair. Down to a single degree of separation from madness in one fell swoop.

  “I promised your mother you’d be out of here by now.”

  The voice compelled him, moved him in ways he never would have imagined. The rope was secure around his neck now, coarse and dense.

  “You doin’ good.”

  More smoke billowed to Luke’s face, slid up his nostrils in soothing tendrils.

  “What’s that you’re smoking?” he rasped.

  The man laughed and stepped completely out of the shadows. He looked up so Luke could see his face. “Can’t get these anywhere here, boy. They’re special.”

  Luke nodded, took a deep breath and kicked the chair from under him.

  About Natalie

  Natalie G. Owens got her first taste of serious writing by penning award–winning poetry, as well as feature articles for college and local publications, in her native Malta. She sold her first book to a small publisher in 2007 and is currently indie published. Her favorite stories to write are romances with a dark edge featuring brooding heroes, strong heroines, exotic settings, and a good dash of fantasy. Daydreaming tops her list of hobbies, followed by reading, cooking, traveling, sharing good times with family and friends, and ogling shoe store displays. You can find out more about Natalie and her work on her website www.nataliegowens.com and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

  DEAD LILY BLOOMS

  By *lizzie starr

  Lily wanted him.

  Like the pervasive, sensual beat of Latin music blaring from the monstrous speakers, thrumming through the blood stream to draw upon the souls of those surrounding her, awaiting her tale, she wanted him.

  More than the rising sweet scent of flowing life, she wanted him.

  For this night, he would be her obsession.

  Ah, but he was young, not much older than she appeared to humans. The laughter rushing through her mind held a strange, mocking tone. After all this time virtually everyone was younger.

  She inhaled, searching for his scent through the crowded bar. There. Young enough still to hold the sweet aroma of youth. Lily sensed within him a compelling wildness; a bit of darkness she’d learned held the strangest of appeal. A wildness she vowed to discover, to unleash. And then tame.

  But perhaps she wouldn’t subdue him too much. Lily smiled to herself, watched him from the shadows and felt the protruding, sharp points of the teeth that made her what she was.

  Vampyre.

  She turned back to the small group of devotees crowded around her in the darkest corner of the bar. How they found her when she was in the mood to speak of her history didn’t concern her. Word traveled quickly through the dark. Smiling, she started this night’s tale. “I’m sure you’ve all seen the movies, read the books, and while there are many credible depictions of my race—and many we find beyond absurd—I’ve yet to discover any form of literary work, a cinema event, or even a myth from history that compares to my tale.

  “For I was born undead.

  “Unlike others, I don’t have a direct, vampyre sire, but Rochna served as my guardian.” She paused as unwelcomed memories skimmed over her thoughts, searching for dominance. How different might her childhood have been if he’d been a friend and mentor as well.

  Shaking off the melancholy, Lily focused on the present and gauged the temperament of her listeners. A few, those who had heard her tale before, held their darkly glossed lips in half–smiles. The newcomers glanced from one to another then matched their expressions to the others. Lily nodded in approval.

  “It is said that once made, one of the undead either does not age, or perhaps ages so slowly the passage of time is indiscernible to a mortal’s eye. Again, my existence proves otherwise.

  “How can that be, you ask? This is a difficult question. One that even those of the vampyre clans have no answer to. But since you have shown the interest …”

  Casting a glance to the latest object of her lusts, Lily swallowed back her multiple hungers, pushing them away until they lay low and dormant in her belly. The waiting while she told her tale would make him sweeter still.

  She longed for the sweetness.

  I want him. And have him, I shall.

  Lily angled forward in her chair, inviting her listeners to do the same. Knowing her whisper would ride the vicious musical beat and resonate to each of the small gathering, she spoke. “It is true a vampyre can create a new member for their clan. But honestly, it happens rarely anymore. The would–be pretenders, the gothic children who express themselves in black, those who take blood from another—not as nourishment but as a supposed duty—they embarrass the vampyre. And though these children clamor for acceptance, for a place at the table so to speak, seldom is one chosen for transformation.”

  A wanna–be grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and, with the soft rustle of black denim, slunk away to disappear on the dance floor. Lily ducked her head to hide a grin and stared through her lashes at her obsession.

  Leaning back against the bar with his glass in a loose, negligent grip, he turned his head to scan the bar, his gaze skipping over the dark corner where Lily held court. She drank in the length of his body, the width of his chest. That bit of darkness within him made her ache with longing. Ah, in too many, such wickedness would have found expression in the black, gothic lifestyle, or in tribal ink upon his arms and the glitter of piercings. He’d tempered the rebellion, the taste of sin. She drew in a deep breath. Even from this distance his scent …

  Movement at her side returned her to the moment, and her story called. “Ah, but I digress. You wonder then about my statements. Yes, I know a recently transformed vampyre is often said to have been born into their new life. Semantics only. As for me, I was actually born vampyre.

  “Whether or not my mortal mother was slated for transformation because of the love of one of my kind or by pur
e maliciousness—” She lifted one hand to prevent another from speaking. “Yes, as with all things, there are the truly evil within my clan. Whatever the reason or cause, the woman who bore me had taken within her the vampyre blood of another. At that moment, the knowledge and instincts of my kind transferred to her.

  “And to me.

  “For unknown to her, and to the one who unknowingly became my parent, I lay cushioned within her womb. Life’s blood passed through the slender cord of our connection and I became aware. And she of me and my unnatural knowledge.

  “From that moment the others watched her closely, for never before had a vampyre carried a child. A child. A new, undead life.”

  Lily laughed at the absurdity of the statement and the strangeness of her beginnings. Her obsession glanced her way as if sensing the laughter through the music pounding around them. Although he surely couldn’t see her through the dark, smoky distance, or the glamour she’d set around her table, his gaze locked with hers.

  Compelling as a vampyre’s control, his light eyes held Lily motionless. Questions hovered just at the edge of her consciousness and she’d learn the answers before dawn lightened the sky.

  Still focused on her, he gulped down a swift drink then licked a droplet of liquor from the fullness of his lower lip.

  Lily’s breath hovered at the base of her throat, aching for release. Longing swirled in her chest in the search for fulfillment, for many fulfillments.

  “Quickly, then, my darlings, the rest of my story. I grew within my mother as would a mortal fetus and after the requisite time, the pains of my birth came upon her. I have often watched a human give birth, wondering at the feelings, and yes, perhaps even mourning the pain I caused to the one who bore me to this lifeless life. For I was not patient and despite the mental commands Rochna sent to me as he watched over the birthing, I clawed my way from the womb with nails and tiny fangs, the only teeth within my small mouth.

  “The damage done my mother’s body was great, but the unnatural healing abilities of a vampyre can truly repair so much more. Yet, despite Rochna’s power and his frantic attempts to save her, she died. For I held the entirety of the vampyre blood within my infant body.

  “I’ve been told that after my birth, my fangs retracted, the bloody fingernails grew short and my appearance became that of a normal, human infant. But there was nothing normal about me.”

  She laughed again and glanced toward him. His gaze narrowed.

  “In time,” she whispered.

  The clatter of his glass against the bar sang promises to her. He lowered his dark brows and straightened before moving through the crowd to edge closer to her dark corner.

  “Soon … and you will know me. Wait only a bit longer.”

  A subtle hitch of his chest indicated the change in his breathing. His curiosity was aroused—and she knew without doubt, so was his body.

  Lily swallowed against the dry anticipation burning her throat. “Life blood was mother’s milk to me, for my tiny body accepted no other nourishment. Volunteers were plentiful, for I was a novelty, an oddity, something to be studied. Rochna despaired of me. Would I remain caught in time at the moment of my transformation, an infant forever?”

  She smoothed one hand along the low cut neckline of her dress and shivered with delight. “Obviously not, for I had become vampyre even before I was a fully developed fetus. And after birth, I continued to grow and age. I fascinated the others of my clan and oh, how I basked in their interest and took advantage of their adoration.

  “Spoiled? Of course I was. A brat? That too. I shall not bore you with tales of my childhood and how I learned to be what I am. Perhaps another time. My mind is elsewhere this evening.

  “But I will tell you this. I grew and aged until I am as you see me now. Rochna says my body aged only until it reached the age of my mother when she bore me. I have been as you see me … for many hundred years.”

  At her pause, her listeners proclaimed their admiration. She let the compliments die down before she shook her head. “I don’t claim to understand. Nor does my guardian or any of my kind. Those who have turned to scientific endeavors in this modern age are at a loss to explain my existence.

  “As with mortal young, I rebelled against my differences, against those who only wanted the best for me. Ah, Rochna, how I tried his ageless patience. And was often punished for those trials.” Razor sharp fear stole her words. She remained silent for a long moment struggling against a sudden barrage of memories. Lily pressed one palm flat against the fluttering in her chest.

  “Now, I—”

  Silent, he moved beside her. Her tale, her companions forgotten, she turned slowly in her chair and looked up into his face.

  Confusion filled his eyes, making them lighter still. He had come to her, but didn’t understand why. Lily offered him a brilliant smile. No mystical vampyre lure brought him to her, only the timeless allure of desire.

  “Did you want … uh, I mean …” He cleared his throat. So sure of himself, yet so unsure. A delightful combination.

  Lily leaned back and crossed her arms under her breasts, lifting them slightly. The soft purple silk—she wouldn’t be caught dead in black—stretched across the fullness, pulling taut over her firm nipples. She lowered her eyelids and looked up at him from under her lashes. His breathing quickened. The heady aroma of aroused male filled her senses. Satisfied, Lily scooted her chair back to rise.

  He held out his hand to assist her. The simple, courtly gesture made her lift her gaze fully to him and he gave her a lopsided grin.

  The soft, sun–bleached hairs on his forearm tempted Lily and she stroked her fingertips lightly over his skin. She continued her touch to his shoulder and leaned into him until her breasts pressed against the heat of his blood–filled body. Her body throbbed with the beat of his heart.

  His breath tickled her ear. “Yes.”

  Lilly stepped back at the single world, but left her hand upon his shoulder. Confidence returned to his expression and when she said nothing, his grin grew wider.

  “Yes, I’ll go home with you.”

  When Lily arched her eyebrows in surprise, his smile faded. The room darkened in that moment and the strange longing to bring back the brightness surprised her. How did she ache now for the light of his innate innocence when the darkness within him sang to her blood and coursed, burning through her desires?

  She would not, could not, deny him.

  Agaar reinforced the thinning of his guise and rested his cheek against the vampyre’s hair to hide his satisfaction. In his instructions for this gathering, for bringing the vampyre’s soul to him, Tükenis had spoken true. She could not resist an aura of innocence. A tickle of unease skittered down his spine. Despite his charge and the duties he performed in collecting dying souls, deception rankled what remained of his heart. Strange and unpleasant, something he didn’t understand in this final contract haunted him.

  Shaking away the discomfort, he took another step back and lowered his eyelids. “If you wish me to?” He let the question hang in the heavy air. Her response would guide his next actions. No matter what path she took, he would follow, and succeed. His goal hovered too close for failure.

  The cool touch of her palm rested against his cheek, one finger dancing, teasing just below his lashes. “Open your eyes.”

  Agaar waited until her fingers trembled, then lifted his gaze to her. She tilted her head to one side and her eyebrows dipped over a flash of confusion. Then she blinked and her sultry smile returned. “Of course I wish it.” She rested her other hand against his chest, then glided the tips of her fingers down, tucking them under the waist of his jeans and giving a gentle yet insistent tug. “There’s much I wish to know about you. What’s your name?”

  Unprepared for the demand in the simple question, he drew a deep breath and gave the truth instead of the common name assigned by Tükenis. “Agaar.”

  “An odd name.”

  A spark of panic flared, centered along his sp
ine. If the ruse was unsuccessful, he’d lose both the gathering and another part of his soul. A negligent shrug both eased the panic and satisfied her, for she tugged his groin closer.

  “And I—am Lily.”

  ∼ ∼ ∼

  Lily eased into the cocoon of soft leather and dark–tinted windows of her limo and watched her conquest absorb the opulent accoutrements. She would enjoy this one, taking her time to discover the odd mixture of innocence and darkness in him. Tapping one polished nail against her lower lip she considered her seduction. He could please her for many nights, perhaps even during the drowsy, diffused light of the day. She glanced toward his lap. Yes, for many nights. Unfortunately, to keep him for any length of time she must be careful how much sweet blood she took from him. No other had drawn her so tight with anticipation, not for a generation or longer. Perhaps if he pleased her well ...

  Her body softened at the thought, the thin silk of her clothing suddenly rough and abrasive. She never experienced greater release than timing her orgasm with the creation of another. The ache to know that feeling again grew until she had to touch him.

  He jumped and her hand drifted from his shoulder. “Relax. Enjoy the comfort I offer. The drive to my estate will pass quickly enough.”

  She filled her lungs and smiled when his gaze dropped to her breasts. She gave a tiny shimmy to accentuate the outlines of her firm nipples. At the rough movement of Agaar’s throat when he swallowed, she chased the dryness from her lips with her tongue.

  “There’s champagne behind the panel to your left. Will you pour some for us?”

  He fumbled with the latch then whispered, “Nice,” at the sparkling crystal flutes and chilled wine. After the initial surprise, he managed the cork well and handed her both glasses before replacing the bottle in the bucket. Angling toward her in the wide seat, he reached for his glass.

  Lily held both flutes in one hand, swinging them out of his reach. She held his gaze for a long moment, searching behind the confusion for his true thoughts. A solid mental shield made her blink then grin in delight. So, he thought he could hide his thoughts from her, did he? Such mental walls were nothing to her, but she’d let him have the illusion of privacy a bit longer. In a lithe move, she straddled his lap, dropped a tiny kiss on his cheek then handed him a glass.