by Pete Kahle
Not Your
Average Monster
A Bestiary of Horrors
Edited by
Pete Kahle
Copyright © 2015 by Bloodshot Books
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written consent of Bloodshot Books, except for the purposes of review.
Cover Design © 2015 by Elderlemon Design
http://www.elderlemondesign.com/
ISBN-13: 978-0692567937
ISBN-10: 0692567933
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the fertile imaginations of the authors within or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
READ UNTIL YOU BLEED!
CONTENTS
It Must Feed – Megan Neumann 1
The New Governess– Joshua Rex 17
Tunnel Vision– Jeremy Hepler 35
Only a Matter of Time– Rose Blackthorn 47
The Goldbug– Jason Parent 57
War Without an Enemy, Enemy Without a War
- Adrian Chamberlin 69
Monsters– Jeff Carlson 89
Reborn – The Behrg 97
Soft-Walker– Christine Morgan 107
Cemetery of the Sky– D. Morgan Ballmer 123
In the Court of the Pumpkin King – Adrian Cole 131
RestyAcres– Beau Johnson 165
Meemaw’s Frogs – Richard Dansky 177
Good Ol’Buddy– Rob Lammle 191
Insect – Marc Lyth 211
The Keeper– Kya Aliana 233
Teeth – Mark Carroll 251
Mekoomweso’s Revenants - Esther M. Leiper-Estabrooks 265
What Rough Beast?– Billie Sue Mosiman 277
Piety – John Bruni 285
The Serpent’s Army – Seth Skorkowsky 299
Where the Sun Don’t Shine – Pete Kahle 311
Editor’s note
October 28, 2015
Here we are. As unlikely as it may be.
Six months after getting the admittedly crazy idea to start a small press, our first book – the anthology you hold in your sticky little hands – is in print, and I still can’t believe how fast everything came together.
I posted my idea in a few authors groups on Facebook back in April and within a month, I had a website, a name for my company (my first idea – Primordial Press – was already taken by a company buried in the depths of the internet that had only put out two books in the last decade, but frankly, I like the name Bloodshot Books better), a professional logo (created by the endlessly talented Tom Martin – check out his stuff at http://www.undeadwizard .com/), and submissions for this book were pouring into my inbox every day.
Initially, I expected to receive 50-60 submissions, of which I would perhaps find 12-15 worthy of publication, but my estimates were ridiculously low. The concept for this anthology seemed to have found the “sweet spot” (to use a term from another obsession of mine – baseball. Let’s Go, Mets!) with the theme and I ultimately received over 350 short stories and novellas in 2.5 months. I guess I wasn’t the only one who wanted to read about monsters other than vampires, zombies and lycanthropes.
Another way that I underestimated the response to this project was the amazing quality of stories that I received. Easily half of them were worthy of publication. Choosing which ones would grace these pages was one of the most difficult tasks I have ever undertaken, so much so that I ultimately decided to publish a second volume a few months from now, and based on upon the response I have gotten, I wouldn’t be surprised if we keep rolling these out once or twice a year until the well runs dry.
When I finally read through all of the submissions, I ended up choosing 42 stories (21 in each volume) - 250,000 words of truly stupendous horror. The creatures within them run the gamut. I wanted variety and that is exactly what we got. We have stories from such accomplished authors as Billie Sue Mosiman, Adrian Cole, Richard Dansky and Jeff Carlson, along with tales from newer voices like Mark Carroll, Beau Johnson, Kya Aliana, Joshua Rex and Rob Lammle. There are tales that will make you chuckle, others that may make you wince, some that may ruin your dinner (I especially apologize for my story which is admittedly a no-holds-barred gross-out. You have been warned), and a couple of stories that will blindside you with the emotions they stir up.
I can’t tell you how proud I am of this book and I am grateful to every one of the authors who took a chance on a fledgling company. With Bloodshot Books I aim to provide a venue for authors who love the genre of horror, be they beginning their careers or veterans with dozens of tales under their belts.
Right now, this company is a one-man operation (I hope that it’s not too obvious) starting off with a couple of anthologies, but ideally I want to eventually publish novels as well. 2015 has been great for me and I have a feeling that 2016 will exceed my expectations.
Read until you bleed,
-Pete Kahle
Owner/Editor/Chief Bottlewasher
Bloodshot Books
p.s. - You may notice that some stories use the US spelling of certain words while others use the UK spelling. That was my intent, so I could preserve how each story was written. Rather than choose one over the other, I felt this was the best way to honor the integrity of the stories.If you have some sort of obsessive compulsive aversion to one spelling convention over another, please accept my sincere apology
IT MUST FEED
by Megan Neumann
Iris shook her arm and watched the small bulge of flesh sway back and forth. “See that?” she said. She shook her arm again, this time faster. “I told you I’m getting fat.” She tugged on the skin so that it hung down a half inch more.
“No,” Abby said without hesitating. Her sister was a little rounder today than the last time they were together but that didn’t matter. The response was obligatory, something you said without thinking, without looking if the fat was there or not. “You look great.” Abby smiled and hoped the smile was genuine.
Iris dropped her arm and sighed. “You’re lying. I can see it on your face.” She stood and cleaned the remains of their dinner from the kitchen table.
Abby knew she should help. The last thing she wanted was Iris accusing her of not pulling her weight around the house. This was, after all, Abby’s home now too.
As though reading Abby’s mind, Iris said, “Don’t worry about helping. Just relax. You’ve had a long day.”
That morning Abby had moved her possessions from her one bedroom apartment downtown to the spare bedroom of her sister’s ranch-style home. It had taken three trips and twenty-three boxes, but in six hours, Abby’s independent life vanished. Now she relied on the charity of her family to get her through what her friends so kindly called a “rough patch.” Abby hated the term. Only her father had been honest with her, saying, “You just need to get your shit together.”
So here she was getting her shit together while her sister housed and fed her. Abby had three job interviews scheduled over the next two days. None of them sounded promising, but Abby needed to say she was trying. She owed that much to Iris.
“I don’t care what you say,” Iris said, standing over the sink, scrubbing bits of a pork chop from a skillet. “The scale doesn’t lie. I’ve been gaining weight, and I don’t know why.”
Abb
y opened her mouth to protest again, but her sister held up a hand.
“I know that’s what everyone says. But seriously, I run every day. I’ve cut out carbs. I count my calories, so what the hell?”
She turned to Abby, but once again, Abby could only fall onto that default response. “You don’t need to lose weight,” she said. “You’re perfect the way you are.” This brought a smile to Iris’s face.
They spent their first night as roomies like a pair of ten-year-olds at a sleepover. Iris loaded the DVD player with three films from their past: The Lost Boys (they were both fiends for Corey Haim), The Breakfast Club, and The Princess Bride.
They spread blankets and pillows across the floor and lay in their pajamas, snacking on junk food. Iris ate only popcorn without butter, claiming she couldn’t have any more calories for the day.
Abby fell asleep sometime during The Princess Bride. She faded in and out of consciousness during the movie, seeing Cary Elwes’s face behind the black mask. Beside her, Iris’s head rested on a pillow, her mouth hanging open. Abby didn’t want to wake her sister, so she closed her eyes and let sleep take her once more.
It was the knocking in the kitchen that woke her. The television played the movie’s menu. Iris was no longer beside her, and Abby’s first thought was that Iris had gone to the kitchen for something. Abby’s eyes grew heavy again. She dozed for what may have been seconds or minutes.
The knocking was louder when she awoke the second time.
“Iris,” she called out. The knocking continued, rhythmic like the ticking of a clock. Abby wondered if this was a sound the house made at night. Houses make strange sounds sometimes, she thought. Maybe it’s the pipes. But it was so damned loud. How did Iris sleep with that banging?
Abby stood and walked through the dark hallway. A swinging door separated the hall from the kitchen. Abby pushed it open. The room was dark except for the green and orange lights of electronics. On the microwave, the time glowed 3:13, a temperature indicator on the refrigerator showed 34 degrees, and the coffee maker blinked 12:00.
The banging was very close now, though Abby could not see the source. She moved her hand against the wall, feeling for a light switch. She found it and flicked. What she saw made her gasp. Then she laughed.
“Iris?” she said.
Iris sat at the kitchen table, a plate in front of her, spoon in hand, her face void of expression. With the spoon clutched tightly in her fist, Iris repeatedly slammed it against the plate and brought it to her face. A beige liquid had pooled on the plate.
“Eating ice cream at night, huh?” Abby said, but her sister did not respond.
Abby walked to Iris and leaned over to whisper in Iris’s ear, hoping to wake her gently. As she neared, however, Iris turned and growled.
Abby stepped back. She let out a stream of nervous laughter. Why should I be afraid? This was Iris having a dream. She found it difficult to move forward again. She recalled a television show that recounted tales of murdering sleepwalkers. Those were embellished stories for TV, Abby reminded herself. And Iris was her sister. Iris would never hurt her.
“Iris,” Abby said firmly, but she did not move closer. The banging on the plate continued. “You need to wake up.” Her sister’s eyes closed and opened again, but the banging went on and on.
“Iris!”
The hand holding the spoon fell heavily onto the table. Iris’s head followed with a clatter against the plate. Abby worried the plate was cracked and possibly Iris’s head too.
Abby rushed forward and lifted her sister’s head. Iris squinted and blinked. Melted ice cream coated one side of her face and ran down in viscous streams onto her shoulders.
“What are you doing?” Iris said. She touched the sticky side of her face and pulled the hand away quickly. A look of revulsion came over her. “What did you do to me?”
“What am I doing?” Abby said. “What did I do?” Abby scoffed. “You’re the one sleepwalking and eating ice cream at three in the morning! Talking about not knowing why you’re getting fat. Well, I think I know why!”
“What?” Iris touched her face again. “I’ve been eating? Sleepwalking?”
Abby told Iris what she found in the kitchen—her own sister eating from an empty plate and growling.
“I don’t believe you,” Iris said. She folded her arms across her chest, tilted her head, and appeared to lose herself in thought. “Well, that does explain a lot.”
“What do you mean?” Abby asked, noticing the bruising on her sister’s arms for the first time. They were small and obviously varying in age. Some were the dark purple and black of fresh bruises; others were the pale greens and browns of bruises nearly healed. They trailed up Iris’s arms. She wore long sleeves earlier, Abby thought. That’s why I hadn’t noticed.
“I guess there have been some odd things in the kitchen lately,” Iris said, still lost in her thoughts, her eyes glazed over.
“Odd things?” Abby repeated.
“Yeah, but it hasn’t been a big deal.” Iris shook her head. She waved her hands dismissively and rose from the table. “I’m going to bed. I have work tomorrow.”
Iris left Abby alone in the dark hallway. The sounds of the fork banging against the plate still echoed in Abby’s ears. She wondered what odd things Iris had recalled, and for an instant, she felt chills run up her spine. In the back of her mind, a strange thought occurred to her: Something else is here. As she had woken her sister, she felt the presence of another. But this was a silly thought, and Abby realized it.
She found her pillow on the floor in front of the television. She gathered it along with a blanket and went to her own room, which was once Iris’s guest room. When she closed the door, she reached back and locked it, unsure why, but feeling safer.
Abby spent the next several days at job interviews. Whenever questions of Abby’s past employment came up, Abby felt her face flush. She would mumble some fluff about needing a new challenge, a new opportunity. She’d see the look on the eyes of her interviewer. They changed from understanding to skeptical the more Abby went on.
The truth was, at her last job, Abby had never shown up to work on time. She couldn’t tell an interviewer that, though. She couldn’t tell them that she’d had some problems with her antidepressants, that she wasn’t sleeping regularly, or that most mornings she couldn’t force herself out of bed. She also couldn’t say that she was getting better. She had a new doctor, had been off medication for two weeks, was working out again, and felt like a real person. Her sister’s support had made that happen.
At the end of an interview, the interviewer would smile and nod and shake her hand, saying something along the lines of, “they would be in touch.”
Abby’s only comfort was Iris. “I’m sure you wowed them,” she said after the first interview. “How could they not love you?” after the second. And, “They would regret not hiring you,” after the third. She’d squeeze Abby’s shoulders and give that encouraging smile that broke Abby’s heart.
After three weeks, Abby took a job as a waitress. She wasn’t using her degree, but at least she wasn’t at home eating cereal by herself. Whenever she complained, Iris assured her something would come up. Something always came up.
Iris continued to gain weight. Usually any mention of the weight gain was followed by Abby bringing up that first night when she had found her sleepwalking sister eating melted ice cream. Iris would reply by saying she couldn’t blame the night eating because the night eating was a one-time thing.
“It must have been because we were sleeping on the floor,” Iris said during dinner after Abby had brought up the subject again. “Doing something like that can really disrupt your sleep.” That was her excuse for the first night. She had no excuses for the nights that followed.
The restaurant booked Abby to work a private party. She hated doing private parties. The hours were long and the partygoers were somehow ruder, more self-important than normal restaurant patrons. But she needed the extra money.
She was saving for her own place, after all.
Around 3:00 am, she entered the house on tiptoes. She put her bag and shoes by the door and walked slowly through the living room. The lights were out, and Abby found her way through the darkness with her arms splayed in front of her.
She walked past the entrance to the kitchen and to the hall toward the bedrooms. She would have made it all the way, if it hadn’t been for the crunching. She turned and walked to the kitchen doorway.
It was the sound of teeth gnashing. Abby’s first thought was not of her sister, but something far more ridiculous—an animal must have broken into the house and into the cabinets with the cereal. She felt for the light switch, preparing herself for the horde of raccoons. She hoped she could scare the animals away quietly, so she wouldn’t disturb her sister.
She switched on the light and found Iris cross-legged on the floor. She wore only a t-shirt and underwear. A pile of garbage and food remnants lay strewn about the kitchen. She was gorging herself on popcorn kernels. Each hand shoveled another pile into her mouth. Her teeth chewed violently. Blood covered Iris’s lips and gums where the kernels had been too rough and hard.
“Iris! Wake up!” she screamed rushing to her sister. She knocked the canister of corn kernels over. They spilled across the floor, rolling in every direction.
Iris screamed too. She lurched across the floor, pausing every few inches to shovel more corn into her mouth, groaning as she swallowed the half chewed corn.
“Iris!” Abby yanked on her sister’s shoulder, hoping to lift her off the floor. “Stop this right now.” Iris pulled away. She arched her body forward and flailed her arms, the tips of her fingers grabbing at rolling pieces of corn. When she realized she could not reach it, Iris stood straight. For a moment, Abby thought her sister had awoken.