by D. L. Scott
Shades of Fear
Edited by: Dara Ratner Rochlin
Copyrighted 2014
Shades of Fear is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. The Authors’ grant to the Publisher a royalty-free, worldwide nonexclusive license to publish, reproduce, display, distribute, and use [the Contribution] in any form, either separately or as part of a collective work, including but not limited to a nonexclusive license to publish their stories in this collection, Shades of Fear. The Author retains ownership of all rights under copyright to [the Contribution], and of all rights not expressly granted in this agreement.
First published February 2014
Collection copyright: The right to all stories are owned by their respective authors and may not be used in any way without the authors’ expressed written permission.
The Devil’s Man © K Webster
Sleep Tight © rJo Herman
Hunting Season by T.D. Harvey
The House in the Woods © Maria Sauerbrei
Shadows © D.L. Scott
The Collaboration: A Gothic Tale © Krista Redmayne
Each Uisge © Kerry E. B. Black
A Testament to Finer Things © Laura K. Cowan
The Morrigan © Jack Darkness
Forbidden Child © S.M. Lowry
Sweaty Sheets & Sleepless Nights © Joi Miner
Our Lady of St. Raccoonus © Matt Lovell
The Beginning of the End © Tom Deady
The Nominee © BB Raven
Repeat Offender- A Fictional © Stance A. Bingham
George © D.K. Cassidy
The Tattoo © Michael Mill
Perfect Connections © Roxanna Mitchell
T209 © Shannon McLoud
The Gift © C. Lloyd Brill
All of Life is a Game © Adriel Reed
The Big C © Debbie Manber Kupfer
ISBN-13:
Cover Art Design Copyrighted 2014 by Mika Sugano
“All proceeds from Shades of Fear anthology go to benefit pediatric cancer research and patient care"
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Devil’s Man by K Webster
Sleep Tight by rJo Herman
Hunting Season by T.D. Harvey
The House in the Woods by Maria Sauerbrei
Shadows by D.L. Scott
The Collaboration: A Gothic Tale by Krista Redmayne
Each Uisge by Kerry E. B. Black
A Testament to Finer Things by Laura K. Cowan
The Morrigan by Jack Darkness
Forbidden Child by S.M. Lowry
Sweaty Sheets & Sleepless Nights by Joi Miner
Our Lady of St. Raccoonus by Matt Lovell
The Beginning of the End by Tom Deady
The Nominee by BB Raven
Repeat Offender- A Fictional by Stance A. Bingham
George by D.K. Cassidy
The Tattoo by Michael Mill
Perfect Connections by Roxanna Mitchell
T209 by Shannon McLoud
The Gift by C. Lloyd Brill
All of Life is a Game by Adriel Reed
The Big C by Debbie Manber Kupfer
ABOUT THE EDITOR…Dara Ratner Rochlin
INTRODUCTION
In October of 2013, a bunch of crazy writers (is that redundant?) stumbled upon each other hanging out on a corner of the internet. Some of them were taking classes at Southern New Hampshire University, others were gearing up for the annual NaNoWriMo challenge. November is National Novel Writing Month, and the challenge is to write 50,000 words in the 30-day time frame. Basically it means abandoning your friends, family, holidays and maybe even paying less attention at your “real” job. From this insane activity, a new Facebook group (Write On Nanos!) was born. When the dust settled in early December, someone mentioned the idea for an anthology...and two months later, here we are.
Why fear, you ask? Of all the things in the world to write about, of all the common themes to bond a group of stories, why fear? The trite answer would be “why not?” For me personally, the answer is because it's what I love to write about. For the rest of the authors, well, I can't speak for each and every one of them. After you've read their stories I encourage you to ask them, contact information can be found in the “About The Author” section after each story.
Those are the easy answers. Then I started really thinking about it. Why did we get such an overwhelming response of submissions to such a...scary subject? I believe the real answer is, quite simply, because fear is something we have all experienced in one form or another, from anxiety to paranoia to sheer terror. And the beauty of this collection is that it reflects so many of fear's flavors. From the horror of abusive relationships to the trepidation of starting over in a new relationship. From the apprehension of returning to school as an adult to facing your own mortality. And of course, the fear of the unknown and the things that go bump in the night.
These twenty-three stories are each unique, but also linked by the common emotion of fear. Some of them are designed to make you reflect on things in your own life, others to encourage you to face a challenge, and some are just here to scare the crap out of you. It is a collection that is broad in scope, a veritable buffet for you, reader, to choose from. Now go on, sample what we've brought, we think you'll find something you like.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The contributors wish to thank everyone for the support they received on the road to completing this anthology. Every author relies on their own personal support system, it's the nature of the beast. Friends, family, co-workers at their “non-writing” jobs, it's different for each writer. Then there are others beyond the usual circle that provide inspiration, assistance and guidance.
First on the list is Dara Rochlin, the Book Doctor. Dara went above and beyond the role of an editor to help this project reach publication. She was motivator, cheerleader, psychologist, sound board, and late-night chat buddy. If not for her efforts in each of those roles, you would not be reading this.
Desiree Scott is the matriarch of this collection. She gave birth to the idea in December and has not stopped working on it since. She is tireless, literally answering questions day and night to keep this project moving in the right direction. In many ways, this is her book more than anyone else's.
Tom Deady has been of tremendous help with the contributors of not only his own story but helping to bring this collection together as well, working tirelessly with editing and reviewing as we have seen it come to life and exhibit a form of fear itself. Thank you so much, Tom!
Next is Mika Sugano, artist extraordinaire who designed the cover for this collection. We writers are a picky bunch, and her patience in dealing with not one, but three opinions, is much appreciated. Whoever said you can't judge a book by its cover was sadly mistaken. Mika created the perfect cover for this anthology. It is both beautiful and subtle and perfect for Shades of Fear.
Special thanks to Debbie Manber Kupfer and Roxanna Mitchell for helping compile the FEAR quotes. Those ladies are amazing!
A huge THANK YOU is in order for all the members of the Write On Nanos! Facebook group. Each and every one of you who offered a kind word, a suggestion, or even just a “Like” to one of the story ideas is a part of this book.
Finally, a debt of gratitude to She Who Will Not Be Named at the charity to which all proceeds of this book are being donated. Legalities prohibit us from naming names, but you know who you are.
Thank you all, now read on and enjoy the FEAR.
The Devil’s Man
By K Webster
“To fight evil, you have to understand the dark.”
– N alin
i Singh, Heart of Obsidian (1977- )
“Take the trash to the curb,” he growled from beside me as I rinsed the last dish and placed it in the bin beside the sink. Nervously, I turned to face him. The irises of his eyes were nearly black, blending in with his already dilated pupils giving him an unearthly glare. My hands shook as I dried them on the hand towel.
“But it’s dark. I’m afraid,” I whimpered softly, dropping my eyes to the floor.
“Are you talking back to me?” he asked, voice seething with anger. I could feel the hate he had towards me rolling off of him in waves. Tonight was not a good night to stand up to him.
“Yes sir,” I said quietly and skirted around him to gather the bag in the garbage can. Hastily, I pulled up the trash careful not to spill any of it on the floor. His eyes were on me, calculating my every move, watching for a single mistake.
I attempted to remain calm as I walked hurriedly past him and out through the front door. The chilly January Louisiana air nipped at my bare arms. There wasn’t time to fuss over finding a jacket. The trash needed to get taken to the street and quickly.
Nervously, I approached the dark corner of the dilapidated trailer where the trash bin was kept. I hated everything about this place where we lived. Cockroaches infested every inch of the inside and critters roamed freely around the outside sometimes attacking our chickens. The woods that surrounded our little patch of property loomed from three sides. During the day it could be adventurous but at night it was terrifying.
In the distance I could hear the wails of the coyotes sounding oddly like people laughing and cackling. The coyotes were the least of my worries. Peering around the dark corner of the trailer, I breathed a sigh of relief when I didn’t encounter any raccoons. Lifting the lid, I tossed the bag inside.
Gripping the handles of the large, heavy bin I attempted to roll it down the long graveled driveway. Every few steps it would slam forward back off of the wheels causing me to bounce into it. It was a laborious effort as my weak arms wrestled with the bin that at full capacity weighed more than I did. Crunching and banging echoed loudly off the trees surrounding me. I hoped it scared away rather than attracted any would-be animals.
I continued to struggle along the driveway allowing my thoughts to drift to other things. My mother married a man that I hated from the moment I laid eyes on him. She was blind to the evil that was plainly written all over his face. It was like I had access to see the malevolent soul that lurked behind those dark eyes. Unfortunately, his evil could see right into my soul as well and analyzed me as prey. Every moment after that was a game of cat and mouse between us.
The snap of a twig nearby pulled me from my thoughts and I jerked my head towards the direction of the sound coming from the edge of the property in the woods. I stopped pushing the trash bin to allow myself better ability to listen to the noise. Seconds dragged by with no other indication of the initial sound. The cicadas purred their melodies in the trees only stopping when the wind would pick up.
Quickly, I continued to push the bin closer and closer to the curb. When I finally neared the edge of the street, I heard it again followed by an animalistic grunt. My heart began beating furiously in my chest as I anxiously looked for the source in the moonlit yard.
The grunting and crunching of leaves intensified. I was glued in place as wonder and terror fought for purchase in my mind. When the cow’s head leaned over the barbed wire fence, caught in the light of the moon, I laughed out loud. My laugh was foreign to me these days. Sometimes cows from the neighboring farm would make their way to our fence line. During the day, it provided to be very entertaining for me and my three younger sisters.
“You scared me,” I called out to him. He grunted in response and walked along the fence line away from me.
Turning from him, I peered across the street to the only part of our land that wasn’t surrounded by trees. They called it The Sand Pit. Eighteen wheeler trucks flew down our road at all times of the day picking up loads of dirt from there. The Sand Pit just looked like a giant lake surrounded by dirt. And even though the body of water was man made, there were still tales of giant alligators that roamed these parts. This was Louisiana after all.
I took a moment to enjoy the beauty of the moonlight reflecting on the water. The frogs could be heard croaking their woes. An occasional splash indicated a turtle or snake dipping in for a swim. If I could somehow find a way to make time stop, I’d freeze it right now.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t lucky enough. My fate waited inside for me, scrutinizing me between the slats of the cheap mini blinds. A shiver coursed through my body as I saw his silhouette in the window.
Running as quickly as I could, I raced up the driveway to the front porch. I spent entirely way too much time investigating noises. He wasn’t going to be happy with me. My eyes glanced over at the ominous fish board hanging from the nail on the side of the house. The thick stained wood caused a shudder to come over my body as I fought viciously to keep memories of that seemingly harmless inanimate object at bay.
Flinging open the door, I attempted to make a beeline for my bedroom. It was late and my sisters were already asleep. My mother was still at the restaurant where she waited tables.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he spat at me, halting me in my tracks. My entire body tensed as I braced for what was next.
“I was going to go to bed. It’s late and I have school tomorrow,” I explained.
No other fourteen year old was as eager to go to school each day as I was. Every Friday I would mourn the loss of the school week and then it was replaced by the dread of the weekend.
“Look at me when you speak,” he said menacingly. My eyes jerked over to his as he immobilized me with his hateful stare. You always did what he said. Always. The consequences weren’t worth not doing it.
Before I could stammer out another response, he gestured towards the kitchen and I shuddered because I knew what was coming.
“Inspection time,” he stated simply. Nodding, I walked slowly into the kitchen and stood by the sink. My eyes flitted over to the dish rack as I prayed for a miracle. I hated the nights that we had fried foods. It almost always never ended well.
At an agonizingly slow speed, he picked up each hand washed dish, running his thumb across them checking for remnants of grease. My heart thumped loudly and I drew in nervous breaths of air. When he pulled a cup to his face to inspect it closer, I suddenly felt nauseous from fear. My relief was palpable when he set the cup down again and proceeded on to other dishware.
Doing the dishes every night by hand wasn’t a problem. The problem was being faced with the agonizing inspections afterwards. My breath heaved out in relief when he looked over at me after inspecting the last one. I hoped I had made it out unscathed. Glancing at the rack one more time, he pulled out a plastic plate and turned it over. My heart was in a vise when I saw the shiny reflection from the kitchen light. No. Please God, no. I was so careful.
I bit down on my lip to keep it from trembling when his nasty gaze met mine.
“You’re getting the fish board. I want you to wait in your room,” he said coldly. The chill from his voice caused me to shiver as tears formed.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, voice wobbling. When I tried to go around him to escape to my room, his words halted me.
“Did you take one of my pills?” he accused. My eyes shot to his, pleading with him.
“No sir, I would never,” I declared. His dark eyes narrowed as he scrutinized my face.
“You know I can tell when you’re lying. I had 17 pills. I know for a fact that I had that many and now there’s only 16. I’ll ask you again. Did you take one of my pills?” he demanded angrily.
The question was so ludicrous for him to be asking an unusually innocent girl like myself that it was almost laughable. Any other situation you could have found the humor and irony of his question. But with him, it was terrifying.
“No sir, I, uh, maybe you took one earlier and forgot
,” I quipped. The unnatural way his eyes looked indicated exactly that. Obviously that was the wrong thing to say because his face turned an ugly shade of red. I could feel myself shrinking away from him.
With lightning speed, he snatched up the fly swatter off the counter next to him and slammed it down on the bar next to me. I yelped in surprise and stumbled backwards a couple of steps. His way of ridding the roaches was to kill them with fly swatters.
“You’ve earned yourself ten licks instead of five. Wait for me in your bedroom,” he roared, making me scamper off quickly to my room.
Once inside, I carefully shut the door behind me, mindful not to wake my sleeping sister on the top bunk. Her soft breathing made me jealous of her slumber. Defeated, I sat down on the bed and waited for my punishment.
Sometimes he would come in right away and deliver on his promises. Other times, he would drag it on, making me wait hours for the inevitable. The beating of my heart resonated all the way up to my ears, pounding away in cadence with the passing seconds.
As I waited for his arrival, I thought about my circumstances. So many times I pondered what it would feel like to hitch a ride with one of the many passing trucks and take my chances in an unknown world. Unfortunately, the thought of leaving my poor, defenseless sisters and mother made me decide to stay each and every time.
As selfish as it was, I still daydreamed of a day when I could live free of his metaphorical noose around my neck.
Glancing over at the clock that was lit up on the dresser, I realized 28 minutes had passed by without any sign of him. Anxiously, I began chewing on my thumbnail. He was either making me anticipate his punishment or he’d fallen asleep in his recliner. I prayed for the latter. Even if it only delayed the inevitable, at least I had a little more time.
The rattling of heavy footsteps shook the shoddy trailer and I shuddered at the realization that he was still awake. When I heard the front door open briefly then close, my heart sank.
The fish board.
When the door opened just a couple of inches and light shone into my dark room, I shrank away from the sliver of light as if to hide from him. I would only be fooling myself though because there was no escaping him. Ever.