After Darkness Falls - 10 Tales of Terror - Volume one

by Matt Drabble

  After Darkness Falls

  volume one

  Matt Drabble

  Copyright © 2014 Matt Drabble

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1500140830

  ISBN-10: 150014083X

  BOOKS BY MATT DRABBLE

  See end of this book for details

  GATED

  GATED II: Ravenhill Academy

  ASYLUM – 13 Tales of Terror

  AFTER DARKNESS FALLS: Volume One

  AFTER DARKNESS FALLS: Volume Two

  THE TRAVELLING MAN

  THE MONTAGUE PORTRAIT

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  TALE #1 “Roll up, Roll up”

  TALE #2 “Late Shift”

  TALE #3 “You call that music?”

  TALE #4 “Whose face is this anyway?”

  TALE #5 “Pink Bow”

  TALE #6 “Careful what you wish for”

  TALE #7 “Recycling can be hazardous”

  TALE #8 “Mommy’s little soldier”

  TALE #9 “Trick or Treat”

  TALE #10 “You are what you eat”

  More books by Matt Drabble

  An introduction

  I have always held a deep fascination for the things that scare us. It is something fundamental and primal that makes us check under the bed and leave a light on. Our imaginations are fertile breeding grounds for explaining strange noises in the middle of the night or long shadows cast upon a wall. I’d imagine that mankind has told tales for as long as we were able to communicate, from crude cave drawings to the CGI magnificence that bombards us from a modern cinema screen.

  I have always been a firm believer that a writer can never fully scare a person more than that person’s own imagination. If I can put you in a dark corner and tantalize your fear buds, then what you see in your own mind would surely be far worse than anything that I could describe. Fear is an intensely personal emotion, as only we know what lurks in the deep dark shadows of our own minds and what truly scares us.

  Here’s the true story of what scared, and still scares me.

  When I was a young boy we lived in a house much like any other. I could have only been around 5 or 6 at the time and I have two very clear memories from that time and of that house.

  The first is a very distinct and vivid memory of my brother and I standing at the top of our stairs. The staircase had a small platform around 6 steps down where the stairs took a 45 degree turn and the other 20 or so stairs took you to the bottom. My memory is that we used to jump from the top onto the first landing and then down to the bottom. The only thing is that once we jumped we would float. It is a clear memory that I cannot dismiss as a mere recurring dream. I remember us laughing and having great fun doing it. We would jump into the air and slowly float as though something was carrying us. I never remember being scared or afraid in any way; just boys playing and laughing.

  The second memory of that house is not so pleasant. I remember out of nowhere suddenly developing a petrifying fear of the dark and of my bedroom. I had never been afraid of the dark before or since. I remember my little heart pounding hard against my chest as I would be put to bed for the night and the echoing footsteps of my mother heading back downstairs. I remember the light from the hallway around my bedroom door and my silent and desperate prayers that she would forget to turn the light off. Some blissful nights she would and I would face a race to fall asleep before it went out after one of parents would notice.

  The reason that I became so afraid of the dark in my room was the dreams that I started having.

  I had two teddy bears in my room. I remember them very clearly: one was a black and white panda and the other was a yellow and white bear. I would dream that I was at the bottom of the stairs being forced to go to bed. In my room above I could hear something thumping and banging around with furious anger. My chest of drawers would be slamming open and shut as I took one fearful step after the other. No matter how desperate I was to turn and run I couldn’t; all I could do was to keep walking towards it. I remember feeling like I was going to die in frightful anticipation as I drew closer and closer until I reached my door and the noises would stop. I would reach out with a small trembling hand and enter the still but dark room. I would take a step inside the silence and my teddies would suddenly leap at me and tear me to shreds with ravenous fangs. I also remember every morning after this recurring dream which seemed to last forever, (and this might make me sound a little disturbed) taking out my childish rage with an old fishing knife on the teddy bears who would sit there with frozen and lifeless glassy eyes. I remember being so angry and scared of them at the same time because no matter what I did to them in the daylight, I would have to go back to sleep again that night.

  I came across the yellow and white teddy bear several decades later. It was much smaller and innocuous than I remembered. But the sight of the wounds that a small trembling boy had inflicted on it with his father’s fishing knife told a tale of just how terrified I must have been.

  I would like to tell you how I poured much of my life into researching the house and the ghostly history that I uncovered, but I can’t. I think that some skeletons are best kept where they belong, in boarded up closets with sturdy locks and a chair safely pressed under the handle.

  tale 1.

  “roll up, roll up”

  “Are you sure that this is a good idea?” Wendy whispered to her husband in the front of the SUV as the day’s light faded and evening dusk closed in.

  “Of course it is,” Michael snapped back as though he was sick of having the same conversation over and over.

  “I don’t know, he seems awfully nervous,” Wendy tried again. She was a homely woman of 36. She was usually a warm mother, but her maternal instincts had been blunted down the years by an overbearing husband and his insistence that he was always right.

  “Dammit I’ve told you we’re putting an end to this nonsense once and for all,” Michael hissed as his fingers gripped the steering wheel and his knuckles whitened. “It’s unseemly that a boy of 12 should have such irrational fears, it’s an embarrassment quite frankly.” Michael was an officious man who spent his days buried inside the black and white world of accounting. He also lived his private life the same way with little deviation from rules and schedules.

  Richie sat unflinching in the back seat. He was 12 with a wide imagination that neither of his parents seemed to possess and he had no idea just how he had developed his. He was a quiet child with few friends in school and tended to spend his days alone and dreaming. His imagination was both his escape and his curse.

  The SUV had exited the main highway now and was winding its way through the open countryside. Their destination was no longer in doubt and there was no longer any way to avoid it. His fingernails were already bitten down to the quick but he kept on gnawing as the tentacles of fear started to grab at his insides.

  A large billboard poster flashed by the car and Richie’s gaze was dragged kicking and screaming to it. He had stared at the image before when his father had first laid the flyer before him over breakfast. “Haley’s Comet Circus” the poster screamed in garish letters. The bright colours depicted various animals in states of performance. Stallions danced, lions were being tamed and elephants were posing on one leg. Trapeze artists defied gravity as they swung from the heavens and a strongman lifted incredible weights. But the one image that was burned into Richie’s retina was the small smiling face of the clown. It was a small part of the poster but to Richie’s eyes the white painted face dominated the landscape. He knew that a lot of people found clowns to be creepy a
nd even some other children were actively scared by them. But for Richie, his was a primal terror that scorched his bones and tore his soul apart. He didn’t know when or why his fear had taken root, but it had festered like a rotting secret devouring him from the inside. He thought that maybe it was the face beneath the makeup. Skin painted bright white and slashed with red that obscured what the clown really looked like.

  The fear of clowns wasn’t such a problem in everyday suburbia, but he had gone to Johnny Hudson’s 12th birthday party. He wasn’t particularly friends with Johnny, but his mother had insisted that he attend as she was friendly with Johnny’s mother. His father had always taken a dim view on his self imposed exile from the playground. As far as his father was concerned there were rules to growing up. Boys had friends and dogs. They played and fought, got dirty, tore clothes and grew up. Richie knew that he was a conundrum to his father and that his mother kept her own thoughts safely tucked away. She was a wife first, then a mother and a woman a distant third.

  He was a slender boy with a narrow frame devoid of any athletic ability. He was a ginger freckled boy with glasses that might have screamed nerd, but he was far from academically minded. His grades were decent but nothing spectacular; he was just a statistic within the scholastic world. He wasn’t really any good at sports and so he didn’t fit in with the jocks. But neither was he an outcast loner either, he merely surfed the middle wave.

  Johnny’s birthday party had been a relatively painless affair. Richie was largely ignored by the other attendees and that suited him just fine as he was only there under protest. He had been enjoying a piece of birthday cake and minding his own business when the day’s entertainment had bounded out into the garden.

  “JoJo” was a children’s entertainer and a clown. Richie had almost vomited frosty icing onto the lawn when the clown had come around the corner. JoJo was a large man dressed in an oversized jacket and pants. His tall hat was askew with a bright yellow flower pointing proudly from it. His face was painted a pristine white with a wide red smile and black ringed eyes. His expression was one of goofy delight and the children squealed as he staggered round the garden.

  Only Richie wasn’t squealing in delight. He stood there rooted to the spot in absolute terror. The dancing clown rolled in slow motion, spinning and twirling as the children ran and played around him like rats following the Pied Piper. Richie couldn’t move as the clown suddenly locked eyes with his. The man shambled over in huge floppy shoes and reached out probably to pluck a shiny coin from Richie’s ear. But Richie started screaming. He started screaming, and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

  The clown recoiled in horror as adult eyes all turned to face the air splitting screams. Richie’s lungs were ripped apart as he screamed louder and louder. A warm trickle of urine ran down his leg as the clown’s padded gloved hand faltered in midair.

  A few hours later he was put to bed in a daze as the sedative that the local doctor prescribed kicked in. The old man had injected him with undisguised scorn in his eyes. Richie’s mother had been mortified at the party, more concerned with her embarrassment than his fear. His father had been more forceful in his condemnation. The idea of his only child becoming the laughing stock of the entire neighborhood was almost too much to bear. His father’s idea of conquering the problem was emersion therapy. Hence the car ride to the circus.

  Richie’s heart was keeping a steady rhythm that was gradually increasing in speed the closer they got. The poster boards were slowly counting down his fate; 10 miles, 8 miles, 5 miles, 2 miles, next turn ahead.

  “Mom?” Richie tried one last time as he fought to keep the tears from pricking at his eyes.

  “It’ll be fine honey,” she smiled in return, none too convincingly. “You’ll see, we’ll soon have you over this silliness.”

  Richie hated her at that moment. She might not be responsible for bringing him here, but she had done nothing to prevent it. He had begged and pleaded with her to stand up for him with his father. After several nights of his tears and fevered pleas she had finally relented. He had looked into her face and finally seen the unhappiness of a mother for her son’s plight. He had slept that night for the first time in two weeks. To his amazement his father had not even mentioned it the next day, but now he knew why. His mother had never found the courage to voice her opinion or promised objection. Richie’s horror and stupidity had dawned on him tonight as when he’d returned home from school his father’s car had been parked on the driveway. Normally his father would not be home until much later, but tonight he had been ready and waiting. The proposed trip to face his fears had all but fallen from Richie’s memory until he entered the house and found his father home and dressed in casual attire. The sight of his father without a tie had set off large alarm bells in Richie’s head. He mentally did the math quickly and was shocked to find that tonight was the night of the circus. He shot a look across the kitchen to his mother who at least had the good grace to look away in shame.

  The SUV slowed down as Richie’s heart thudded painfully against his narrow chest. They pulled off the road and the car’s suspension handled the bumpy grass. There were designated temporary parking areas that were sign posted with handmade scrawlings.

  Beyond the parking field the big top tent dominated the horizon. The bright yellow and red panels were topped with huge flags that pierced the night sky. Massive spotlights illuminated the tent with rotating beams that could be seen for miles. Small ticket booths were handling the queuing crowds that waited patiently but excitedly as lush green notes were handed across for an evening of suspended beliefs.

  “Well here we are,” Richie’s father said forcibly switching off the engine and leaving the car in silence.

  “Dad, please.” Richie tried one last time in a small voice.

  “Now now, we’ll have none of that nonsense,” Michael said quickly as he exited the vehicle.

  Richie turned to his mother, but she followed her husband meekly out into the night. He felt the rear door open and hands grabbed him roughly as his father pulled him out. He could hear the faint piped echoes of music on the wind drifting over from the big top tent. He stood in the field and felt the damp mud seep through his sturdy boots. The night air was relatively mild, but Richie felt a trembling cold in his bones. Unbelievably he felt his feet take one step after another as his father took his hand and pulled him forward. The moonlight glinted off the roofs of the hundreds of parked cars as they made their way towards the entrance. As they drew closer the music grew louder and the fragrant smells of frying food and cotton candy wafted towards his nostrils. Despite the enticing aromas Richie could not have felt less like eating.

  As they drew up to the ticket booths Richie could see an assortment of carnival rides, games and eateries surrounding the giant tent. The man serving at their ticket booth looked clean and presentable, far removed from Richie’s young mind’s idea of a circus worker. His father paid the toll and Richie found himself carried along on a wave of excitable faces as the crowd swelled inward.

  The sea parted and Richie walked through the open tent flaps with fear gnawing at his heart. There was a large circular stage erected in the centre of the big top. Two large metal columns stood proudly on either side of the stage with a high wire running between them. The ceiling of the tent was dark and dotted with what looked like thousands of fairy lights twinkling like stars. The seating was staggered upwards and most were already full. The same music was repeating over and over again on a loop and the piped sound of the organ was spiking through Richie’s brain like a march of the dead.

  He felt in a daze as his father took his hand and pulled him roughly to their directed seats. It was like being in a dream that he couldn’t wake up from no matter how hard he tried. He attempted to calm his mind with rational thoughts, but his fear was far from rational and wouldn’t be stilled.

  Slowly the lights began to dim and a spontaneous applause broke out from the excited audience. The music changed at last an
d a spotlight hit the centre of the stage. Richie could see a man resplendent in a ringmaster’s outfit. The suit was a brilliant red topped with a jet black top hat. The man looked old to Richie’s young eyes and his beard was black, small, and pointed with a matching moustache twirled up at the sides.

  “Bonjour à tous, welcome to you all,” the Ringmaster greeted the crowd in a strange accent. “This is Haley’s Comet International Circus and we are the bringer of dreams and delights, the like of which you have never seen before.”

  Richie couldn’t help but feel entranced by the man’s performance. His fear may have been tangible, but at least he was tightly tucked in and surrounded by strangers. His family’s three seats were on the end of a row and he was next to the aisle.

  “Before this night is over,” the Ringmaster continued, “you shall see sights to amaze and astound you. I give you Sheba!” He turned and pointed as a woman appeared to his side wearing a long black coat over a red leotard.

  Sheba cracked a black leather whip and two beautiful tigers emerged from the shadows behind her between two seating stands. The animals padded out slowly as their green eyes scanned the crowd. Richie could smell the animal’s musk from where he was sitting and it was intoxicating.

  Two assistants appeared by Sheba wheeling out large round platforms. They placed the boxes down and Sheba cracked the whip again. The tigers obeyed and hefted their front paws onto the boxes. The crowd applauded softly as though scared of making too much noise and spooking the jungle beasts.

  Sheba stepped in front of the tigers and whispered to them softly. Both animals suddenly opened their huge jaws and roared. The audience murmured nervously amongst themselves at the display of savagery.