by Jacob Rayne
She inserted the key and turned it, feeling a strange sense of something being wrong.
The bottle of sparkling wine in the shopping bag clinked against the door as she fumbled and dropped the key.
Then it struck her what was wrong: eyes were crawling over her skin like dozens of tiny spiders. She looked round and saw no one.
Muttering angry words beneath her breath, she put the bag down and bent to pick up the keys.
As she concentrated on the key, a gloved hand lifted the lid of the wheelie bin next to the one she’d dragged back along the drive.
She heard gurgling laughter then the bin lid slamming shut.
She jolted and spun to face the source of the noise. Her entire body shaking with the fear that pulsed through her, she grabbed the lid of the bin.
Pulled it up.
A white-painted face stared up at her. The eyes were painted with black crosses, the nose was a black circle and the mouth a dark grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. A shock of fuzzy black hair sat atop the leering face.
She froze in her confusion.
Rhonda’s heart leapt into her throat as the clown let out a low, disturbing chuckle then stood up from the bin. Her eyes were drawn to the cleaver in the clown’s hand. It was dripping with blood that looked black in the fading light.
The clown’s first step towards her shocked her into action. She picked up the bag of shopping and turned the door handle. The hinges squealed as the door opened. She pulled the key out of the lock and forced her trembling body through the doorway.
She slammed the door on the clown’s arm which was reaching through the doorway for her and tried to force the door shut but the meaty limb blocked its path.
She screamed as the clown barged the door with his shoulder. His black- and white-painted face appeared in the open door. Thinking fast, she pulled the wine bottle out and swung it at his head.
The bottle exploded, showering glass and fizzing wine everywhere. The clown stumbled back just enough to allow her to get the door shut.
At first, her shaking hand missed the keyhole but finally the key sunk in. She lifted the handle and turned the key, just as the clown hurled himself against the glass.
To her relief the glass held, but she knew that it wouldn’t last forever.
The clown’s insane face pressed against the window, distorted by the pressure he was exerting on the glass. His wounds left small slicks of blood down the window. He let out an insane laugh that would stay with her as long as she lived.
She rushed away from the door, eager to take her eyes from the hideous spectacle. She let out a low groan as the strip light in the kitchen flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness.
A bang on the kitchen window made her jump. She could picture the clown braying his fists against the glass, trying to force his way inside.
Putting him out of her mind, she instead concentrated on reaching her kids and making sure they were safe.
The next blow on the window went right through her.
She let out a panicked sob and made her way through the darkened house.
The hallway carpet was wet and sticky, but she couldn’t see what with. She called out to her children.
Silence greeted her calls.
A clinking sound came from above her.
‘Mark, is that you?’ she cried out. The noise came again, startlingly loud in the silent house. ‘Hannah?’
The braying on the kitchen window had ceased. The absence of the noise should have been a relief, but it wasn’t; at least with the noise she had known where the clown was.
She flicked the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. It didn’t come on. Her shaking legs carried her to the telephone stand near the front door.
The house was eerily silent. The only noise was the occasional clinking sound from above her head.
Her nostrils picked up a smell that was familiar but hard to place. She ignored this for now, as the jumble of her thoughts had more important things on which to concentrate than working out the origin of a strange smell.
Her shin slammed into the telephone stand. Cursing, she reached under it for the small torch kept there for emergencies. Shook her head in disbelief when the torch failed to work.
Another brief rummage in the telephone stand produced a small candle which was held onto a plate with melted wax.
She found the match box on top of the plate and flicked a match against the scratch pad. The match flickered into life, offering a brief respite against the oppressive darkness. She lit the wick on the candle and turned to face the stairs.
The scream tore from her gut as she saw the body swinging from a chain attached to the bannister. At first she thought it was Mark, but then she realised that the body was thicker and longer.
It was the body of Alan, her husband.
The chain was fastened around his ankles, suspending him upside down from the bannister. He moved a little, creating the metallic noise that she had heard earlier.
Alan’s throat bore a ragged wound which was choked with clotted blood which had ran down from his throat, over his head and onto the carpet. Dark blood was congealing on his forehead and in his hair. Thick trails of it were matted into the carpet, leading down the stairs to the corridor.
She realised that the heavy coppery smell was what she had smelt earlier.
She stared at her husband’s blood-spattered corpse for what felt like hours. Finally she tore her eyes from his body, but everywhere she looked she was reminded of his fate. The carpet, walls and even the ceiling were splashed with thick blood spray.
Her heart sank when she realised she was going to have to pass him to see what fate had befallen her kids.
Alan’s corpse swayed a little as she set foot on the stairs. It seemed like he was trying to get her to acknowledge his death.
She blotted it out as best she could, keeping her eyes glued to the blood-drenched carpet. It was hard to believe that a body could contain so much blood.
As she moved level with him, the chain again clinked with Alan’s movement. The candle light cast everything in a dim glow, making the everyday abnormal and macabre.
She found her eyes drawn to him and the whites of his eyes that bulged out of the crimson mass that was now his face.
Looking away, she forced her shaking legs to move past him, crying out when his body nudged against her. The cold, sticky feel of his lifeless flesh both saddened and sickened her.
Finally she was past him, and she ran up the stairs to prevent herself from looking at him again.
On the landing the candle flickered in the draught from the open bathroom window. She felt a sense of utter dread at the realisation that the window was open. That meant the clown had had access to the house while she was fucking around trying to find a candle.
She rushed into the bathroom, slamming the window shut. The noise was reassuring and unsettling at the same time. The candle’s dim light revealed a shadowy form behind the shower curtain.
Oh, God, it’s him, he got in while I was downstairs, she thought.
But the shape seemed smaller than the clown had been.
Her left hand gripped the plate with a white knuckle grip. A chill ran through her, in spite of the heat that the candle provided.
Her palsied right hand gripped the shower curtain.
Without waiting to prepare herself for the scene behind it, she yanked it back.
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Acknowledgements
I’d like to keep this as brief as possible, as it might end up longer than the story if I get carried away…
First of all, I need to thank my frankly awesome wife and daughter for their support and belief in me. You have no idea how much it means to me that you dream big too. I love you both more than I could ever put into words. Thank you both.
Mez, Pez and Chuckles – you are the best family a guy could ask for. Thanks for supporting me in everything I do.
Bev, Chunk, Ren, Mike ‘O’Popolous’ Kell, Conk, Klunk, Keithy Boy (flying in the sky so fancy free!) and all the Bishop morons – you’re the best friends I could have ever hoped to find. Cheers! m/ m/
The Baron – for being the craziest man in any room at any given time. They broke the mould when they made you, mate. Just keep away from that window…
Ian – for all the feedback and crack and music recommendations. Cholera does indeed bounce. The next gateaux’s on me, my friend.
Richy and everyone at Auckland Martial Arts Academy. There isn’t a day goes by I don’t think about you guys and smile. Thanks for everything. I had a blast and would love to come out of ‘retirement’, time permitting.
I’d like to thank Rod Glenn, awesome writer and head honcho at Wild Wolf, for giving me a foot in the door with Twisted Tails and for all the advice and help you’ve provided. Pipe Dreams is gonna be cracking!
Reggie – the metal is strong in you! House in Wales rules. Cheers for the advice and feedback. Keep it metal. And I promise I’ll review Division of the Damned soon… m/ m/
Poppet – thanks for all the advice on the business side of things. It’s nice to have someone to help me muddle through it. Thanks for all the freebies too. Sequel to Quislings on the cards?
John Holt – thank you so much for helping me negotiate my way through the minefield of the EIN and tax situation. It is hugely appreciated.
Fiona McVie – For giving me the opportunity to take part in my very first interview. Thank you!
Last but certainly not least, Chuck W Lovatt, the man with the funniest Facebook page in history. Thanks for your support, mate, I know I can always look forward to some encouragement and wise words from you. Chuffed!
Thank you to everyone else who has supported me in any way, especially the people who have shared links and those who have taken the time to read my work. I am also hugely appreciative of all of the readers who have left reviews. Cheers!
About Jacob
Repeated viewings of The Shining as a child have left Jacob with a love of the dark and the disturbing that really comes to life in his writing.
He works to a soundtrack of blisteringly heavy music, and, like his beloved metal, his writing is brutal, uncompromising and intense.
You can find Jacob on Facebook (Jacob Rayne)
Twitter (@jacob_rayne)
E-mail [email protected]
And sign up for monthly (ish!) newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bciffz
Praise for Jacob’s work
Becoming…
‘I can honestly say that this book has done something that no other book has done in a very long time -
It scared me. It gave me nightmares.’
‘We were plunged into the action from the getgo and it did not let up until the final explosive page’.
‘Up there with Richard Laymon for cringes!’
‘As soon as I read the prologue, I could feel my blood starting to chill. I knew I was in for something special.
I was wholly invested before I even read the first chapter.
Speaking of wholly, and the first chapter… HOLY SHIT – what a first chapter!’
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00L5T9WG8
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L5T9WG8
The Lazarus Contagion
‘I found myself constantly terrified but unable to put the book down because I needed to find out what he had in store for me next’.
‘This book is written in such a way that before you know it half the story has gone by in a haze of terror and gore’.
‘He infused horror with sci fi this go round and man oh man was it a success’.
‘I know when I pick up a Jacob Rayne book I will not be disappointed, he has a gift for the macabre and I can't wait to see what he comes up with next. So buckle your seat belts because The Lazarus Contagion is the wildest of rides’.
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00PR8FM26
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PR8FM26
Sunshine
‘Scared me to death’.
‘A non-stop adrenaline surge’.
‘Starts on page one and literally doesn’t stop until the end’.
‘Taps right into your nightmare gene’.
‘So heinous I had trouble sleeping’.
‘Brutal, disturbing and horrific’.
‘So visceral it’s harrowing’.
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00HRK2D5G
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HRK2D5G
Flesh Harvest
‘A high-octane, high-energy gorefest’.
‘Rayne can craft a riveting and macabre scene with such alacrity that it plays out as if you’re watching a movie’.
‘Enough to leave you terrified of barns for the rest of your life. Seriously chilling’.
‘Creepy and gut wrenching’.
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00HRJ35A4
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HRJ35A4
Walk in the Park
‘Pure horror at its finest’.
‘This author delivers fast paced horrendous fiction to fuel the darkest imaginations’.
‘Gives you chills because it COULD happen’.
‘Jacob Rayne managed once again to wring out of me so many emotions while reading this book’.
‘This is another enjoyable, blood-soaked short story by this promising horror writer’.
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00JU7LAVM
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JU7LAVM
Digital Children
‘I couldn’t manage to put it down until it was finished’.
‘A truly macabre tale which will disturb you on many levels’.
‘Absolutely terrifying’.
‘The concept presented in this eerie tale is beyond belief’.
‘Rayne's deft foreshadowing sends chills up and down the reader's spine’.
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00IPK6E9I
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IPK6E9I
Perpetual Darkness – A collection of four pulse-pounding horror novellas. Includes: Sunshine, Flesh Harvest, Walk in the Park and Digital Children.
‘All four stories, though very different, spare the reader nothing and deliver majestically on the traditional fare expected by horror enthusiasts. Whether it's homicidal gore, psychologically tense situations that have you saying to yourself, "Don't do it", or simple, good old fashioned, mortal dread, Jacob Rayne serves it up on all fronts.’
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00KC0QYC6
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KC0QYC6
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