A Haunting of Horrors, Volume 2: A Twenty-Book eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Brian Hodge

  Simon sighed and finished off the rest of his wine, swallowing the crimson liquid like it was arsenic. “I’m so glad that I asked you to come over and help me feel better.”

  “You know it is my nature, my friend. If one wants to hear something easy, one does not come to me. The simple fact is that this poor young lady is lying in that cemetery without a name. You could have prevented that. As…skilled as she was at her art, she deserves better. She was so young.”

  “I know,” Simon said, closing his eyes as if it pained him to see. “And you are right. She was a very special girl.”

  Oscar chuckled, shaking his head like he had heard a bad joke.

  Simon frowned. “What is funny?”

  “She was not merely special, Simon. You were falling in love with her. You were in love with her. It is probably safe to assume that you would have rescued her from the…unfortunate lifestyle had she not been murdered. There is a way to correct this, my friend.”

  “Yes, I should tell the church her name.”

  “Indeed. Of course…”

  “What?”

  “You will then probably be looked at as a murder suspect.” Oscar grinned again, the smile stretching the sides of his face to comical proportions.

  “Will you do me a favor?” Simon asked.

  “You know I will.”

  “Will you go with me to Dark Hollow?”

  “Well, I can’t go tomorrow morning—but I should be able to go with you some time in the late afternoon.”

  “I do not mean tomorrow. I mean now.”

  Oscar snickered. “I suppose. Do you realize how suspicious it will look standing over a murdered girl’s grave after dark? What could you possibly want to do there now?”

  “I want to apologize to her. I need to. I will go to the church tomorrow morning and tell them her real name.”

  An hour later, they stood before the gates of Dark Hollow, the chill wind ruffling gently through their coats. Leafless trees stabbed defiantly into the sky, the branches reaching up toward the full moon. The arched gateway, double angels flanking each side, appeared to Simon like the dreaded opening to a part of his guilty mind that he would rather let sleep. The tombstones beyond the gate glowed softly in the moonlight. It was unnaturally quiet. Not even a cricket chirped.

  “Do you even know where the grave is, Simon?” Oscar whispered. His voice had lost its humorous edge, replaced by a somber, respectful tone.

  “Yes. I watched them bury her from the gate. It’s off to the left there.” Simon was already through the archway when he realized that Oscar was not following him. “You coming?”

  “No, I’d rather wait. I’ll be able to see you from here. It’s more considerate, I think. I did not even know Miss O’Connor. It’s a bit creepy here as well. A man by the name of Jacob Atherton committed suicide back in the fall here. Hanged himself from a tree.”

  Simon nodded and continued his walk through the jutting tombstones. The thought that he was stepping over the corpses of the dead was quite unnerving. He had never believed in ghosts, but there was something about being in a graveyard near the midnight hour that brought out the child in him.

  When he got to Mina’s tombstone, he turned around to see his friend. Oscar was still by the gate, his pipe glowing in the foggy darkness.

  “I am so sorry, Mina,” Simon whispered, staring down at the earth as if he could see her face. Thinking of her buried underneath his feet made him ill. It seemed so wrong that so much beauty could be corrupted by decay.

  A faint ethereal giggling cleaved through the thick air. For a brief moment, the air shimmered before him in shadows and stars.

  Mina’s petite figure stood before him, her head cocking curiously to the side before she vanished. It was a mannerism she often did, as if she wanted to study him like a painting she could not quite figure out.

  The button in his pants popped open, and he felt a cold sensation trail up his thigh and around his hip. The icy fingers dragged upwards and under his shirt. He felt Mina’s frosty hands caress around his chest before retreating back down and into his pants. Despite his fear, Simon felt himself becoming aroused.

  Frozen water enveloped the head of his member as the ghost tasted him, her icicle-like fingers trailing lovingly over his shivering stomach. She stayed like that for a few seconds, her cadaverous mouth over the head, before taking him all the way inside.

  Simon gasped, both repulsed and stimulated by the feeling. The skin on his member was moving up and down as phantom lips pulled at the flesh, a slimy substance glistening in the moonlight. He moaned, blood rushing through his body in an explosive blast.

  His semen hung in the air where her mouth would be, then fell to the soil below where it landed with a sizzle before disappearing into the earth.

  Mina giggled, a chilly hissing of air blasting into his wet crotch.

  Simon stared down at the ground, too stunned to move, his breath firing from his lips in short staccato blasts. An oily substance covered his member, burning his skin. He rubbed it away in revulsion, wiping it on his jacket.

  Buttoning up his pants, Simon walked from the tombstone in a dazed trance, his eyes blank as he exited the archway. He promptly leaned against the wall; eyes closed on his sweat-drenched face.

  Oscar put his hand on his friend’s arm. “Simon? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  Simon shuddered. “Oscar, I do not know how to say this.”

  “You’re not going to tell me you saw her ghost?

  “She took me in her mouth,” Simon whispered, falling to his knees.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Simon stared at his friend, the moonlight giving the sweat on his face a luminescent sheen. “Just like I said, Oscar. She took me in her mouth.”

  Oscar frowned. “I think we should take you home.”

  An hour later, Simon sat shivering before the fireplace, a steaming cup of tea in his hands, his dark hair still wet from his scalding bath. He had told the entire tale to Oscar. They had even examined the slime-like residue from his privates—it was green and smelled of damp soil and rotting meat.

  “I’m still not sure what happened out there,” Oscar said, yawning.

  “You don’t believe me?” Simon asked, placing his teacup down on the table.

  “I didn’t say that, Simon. It’s very possible that you dreamed the whole thing. You’ve been very guilty—losing sleep. It’s easy to see how this can happen.”

  “Are you saying I pleasured myself over Mina’s grave, Oscar?” Simon asked, his eyes haunted by the glow of the fire. “That I rubbed the dirt of her grave upon myself? Do you really think I am that mad? That I am that sick?”

  “I can tell by looking at your face that you think it is possible. I’m only telling you what you already think.”

  Simon put his fingers over his face. “God. I’m a step away from the madhouse.”

  Oscar sighed. “Your insanity is understandable, my friend. You lost someone you loved. She was brutally ripped from your life. Added onto that are all the other things, such as your guilt. It’s perfectly understandable that you imagined a graveyard sex act over her body.” An amoral grin came over his face. “Was it good?”

  Simon peeked through his fingers, his eyes wide, though there was the hint of a smile on his face. “You are not asking what I think you are asking?”

  Oscar laughed righteously. “Of course I am. Let’s just say it was true—which we have no way of proving anyway. It is not every day you get a sexual act from a ghost. So…was it good, my friend?”

  Simon sighed through his grin. “You are even more insane than I am. I guess it was good…though it was repulsive, too. I was too scared to truly enjoy it. It felt…wrong, you know? It was cold. It was as if I had thrust my member into a handful of melting snow. Dear Lord, I cannot believe I am talking about this.”

  Oscar slapped Simon affectionately on the shoulder. “Why not? We’ve been friends since childhood, have we not? We tell each other ever
ything.” He got up and stretched. “I’m afraid I must leave. I’ll stop by tomorrow and see how you are doing.”

  “Thanks for being here with me, Oscar.”

  “No problem at all.” Oscar turned back to face his friend. “Oh and did you drop some coins?”

  “Eh? What do you mean?”

  “I hoped you dropped some coins on her grave. You can’t go around taking such things for free from prostitutes. It is bad manners.”

  Simon groaned, a large smile on his face. “Oh, God! Get out!”

  “Why is everyone always telling me that?” Oscar asked, opening the door with a grin.

  Simon dreamed of Mina that night.

  He was on a boat in the center of the lake near the cemetery. The sky was dark—the stars glimmering down onto the undulating surface of the black water, the cool wind rustling through his wavy hair. The boat rocked underneath his weight. The full moon gave his surroundings a bluish glow.

  He could see a child’s pallid face just underneath the water, her hair flowing around her head like a dream. Though the child was only about four, he sensed instinctively that it was Mina. She smiled, her tiny mouth opening widely, bubbles floating to the surface and popping audibly into the cool air. Beyond her teeth, he could see nothing but blackness. Her eyes were dark as well, standing out in deep contrast to the cloud-white flesh of her face—ebony windows into her dead soul. The child rose up from the lake, her porcelain visage breaking through with a wet shriek. Though the smile stayed on her face, she continued to scream, steam rising from her mouth and into the glittering stars above.

  She was hovering above the boat, the water falling from her feet and into the lake like soft rain, a white dress clinging to her gaunt form. Her ebony hair clung to the side of her cheeks in straight lines, giving the appearance that her chalky face was some kind of perverse flower.

  Mina outstretched her miniscule arms in a crucifixion pose, her screams filling the air like a watery aria. She stopped screaming, thick black water running from her open mouth like blood. Her eyes narrowed, head turning to the side characteristically. The water dripping from her decomposing feet and into the lake was the only sound.

  They studied each other quietly in the moonlight.

  “I thought we had more, Simon,” Mina finally said, her voice low and wet. “I was nothing but your whore.”

  Simon sobbed. “We did, Mina. I lost my nerve. When I saw you, I was so stunned I was not thinking clearly. I really do love you.”

  Mina put her drenched hand to her face, but not before a misty giggle shot from her full lips. “I wanted too much to be more than just your whore, Simon. You have no idea how much I adored you. How much I loved you.”

  Simon held out his hand. “I love you, too. I would do anything to change what happened. Anything to bring you back.”

  Mina offered an odd smile, water pouring from her teeth and down her chin. “You need to go to my grave, Simon. You need to go into my coffin. There is something there for you—something for us.”

  “I promise I will.”

  She touched his hand as she descended back into the water.

  Mina continued looking upward as she sunk into the dark depths, her strange smile never leaving her porcelain face. Simon watched until he could see nothing but the crescent moon of her cheek dimly beneath the surface.

  The next morning, Simon was a man obsessed. He was certain that the dream was a visitation and was reserving his strength for what he knew he would do in the evening. When Oscar knocked on his door that afternoon, he did not answer out of fear that his friend would somehow ruin his plans.

  He felt reborn. Part of him felt that he had somehow lost his mind—but he was confident that by giving into Mina’s request, he would be able to put himself at rest. If there were nothing to be seen in the grave but her corpse, he would resign himself to his insanity. But he had to know.

  By the time the midnight hour came around, Simon found himself standing before the massive archway of Dark Hollow Cemetery, a shovel clutched tightly in his fist. Wind fluttered his long coat around his narrow body forcefully. Simon gave the graveyard a smile and let the wind rush through his teeth with a low whistle.

  “I’m coming for you, Mina,” he whispered, walking confidently through the gate, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze as it caressed his hair.

  He stabbed the shovel into the grave joyously, sending any negative thoughts about his sanity far back into the deeper recesses of his mind. By the time he struck the wood of the coffin with the edge of the shovel, his arms were weak with exhaustion.

  Simon knew that the coffin, once opened, would either send him deep into insanity, or awaken him from his madness.

  The inexpensive casket opened easily and a rush of rancid air blasted into his face, the stench knocking him backwards a step. Placing his sleeve over his face, Simon leaned over the corpse.

  Mina looked exquisite even in death, her white skin glowing blue by the light of the moon. Her eyes were still open, black blots on her snowy face. She was buried in a simple white dress, the folds fitting nicely to her shapely frame. Despite her beauty, Simon saw nothing that would indicate that his dream meant anything.

  Mina’s dress began to undulate over her stomach and a queer cry began to emit from her corpse. Removing his knife from his jacket, Simon began to carefully cut the dress away from her abdomen, tugging the fabric up so as not to cut her decaying flesh.

  Pulling the folds of the dress aside, Simon stopped breathing.

  A baby’s face could be seen protruding from the stabbed skin of Mina’s stomach. Though its eyes were closed, its mouth was moving back and forth. Tiny fingers jutted from a knife wound below its head, wiggling like worms from the loose skin. The baby cried out, its mouth wailing hollowly from the rotting stomach.

  Nearly weeping, Simon began to cut carefully into Mina’s flesh with the knife. Rank air erupted into his face as he sliced through the skin. Gagging, he managed to pull the baby from the stomach with a wet ripping sound, a sound not unlike removing an object from thick mud. Beetles and centipedes crawled around the warm baby like a protective shield, and Simon brushed them away.

  He held the baby to his chest for a few moments, feeling its heartbeat reverberating into his bones, and placed it on the ground before a tombstone. It writhed around like a spider, but did not cry again. Though he was nearly dead with fatigue, Simon managed to cover the coffin back up with dirt.

  By the time he exited the archway of Dark Hollow Cemetery, the infant held to his chest, the sun was rising on his back.

  When he arrived home, Simon placed the baby in the wash basin, carefully scrubbing away the filth and insects from its pink flesh. The baby was female and he promptly named her Mina. Somehow he knew that his seed had helped create this infant, and that idea excited him on multiple levels.

  The infant studied him with her hypnotic eyes—touching his soul, drawing him in with mesmerizing ease. They were Mina’s eyes—he had looked into them enough times to be certain of that.

  Every time he touched her she would seize his hand with her diminutive fingers, a whispery hissing trailing from her lips. “Simon,” she would say, which sounded to his ears like “Sy…mon”—both slow and phonetic. Wispy dark hair stuck out of her smooth skull, her wide eyes dissecting him with unnatural wisdom.

  When Oscar knocked on his door later that night, Simon let him in happily. Some part of his tired brain needed to know that what he was seeing was not merely a delirious hallucination.

  “I do not like that look, my friend,” Oscar said, removing his hat from his head and placing it on the table before the door. “You have the guilty face of one who has committed a very shameful sin.” He grinned. “I should know. I see that face every morning as I shave. I hope I am wrong. I came by yesterday, but you did not answer the door. And I know you were lurking about.”

  “Hello, Oscar,” Simon said, leading him into the bedroom. “I have something to show you.”

&n
bsp; Oscar smirked, his dimples shadowy blotches in the murky lighting. “You know, I’m a bit nervous as to what you are going to show me.”

  “You should be,” Simon whispered. “I’m still not sure what it is myself.”

  When they entered the bedroom, Oscar gasped, his blue eyes widening as he leaned over the infant. “Dear Lord, Simon! Where did you get this little urchin?”

  Simon smiled, relieved that the infant was actually there, and walked over to stand beside his friend. Mina stared at Oscar, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Do you really want to know?” Simon asked.

  Oscar turned to look at his friend. “Did you kidnap her?”

  “No. It’s decidedly more bizarre than that. I got her from Mina’s coffin. Took her right from the rotting stomach of her corpse.”

  “My God…” Oscar moved backwards slightly. “You’ve lost your mind. You’re mad, Simon. You need to tell me where you got this child. We need to return her to her parents, they are probably worried sick.”

  Mina started to giggle, a rich and throaty sound nothing like that of an adult. “Yooo…arrrr…maaad…Sy…mon,” She mimicked, erupting once again into laughter before she began to chant Oscar’s words like a grotesque, sing-song nursery rhyme.

  Oscar looked ill. “What in God’s name is that thing?”

  Simon’s voice was steady, without emotion. “I don’t know. You have no idea how terrified I am.”

  A few hours later Oscar left, promising to return with a hefty supply of brandy the next morning. By the evening, Mina was already crawling around. Simon felt his hold on reality dripping away, but he let it go. He was happy he had Mina back.

  “I love you, Simon,” Mina said, drool dribbling down her chin.

  “I love you, too, Mina,” Simon whispered, wiping away her saliva lovingly with his handkerchief.

  Several months went by and, although Mina aged at the normal pace of an infant, her speech improved considerably. Oscar stopped visiting his friend as he was a little too disturbed by the strange baby. Watching an adult voice boom out of the tiny, wet lips of an infant had troubled him so profoundly that all he was able to do was stand there and shiver.