What Goes Around

by Rollins, Jack

  What Goes Around

  Edited by David Owain Hughes & Jonathan edward Ondrashek

  Great British Horror Books

  www.GreatBritishHorror.com

  First published in the UK by KnightWatch Press,

  an imprint of Great British Horror Books, 2016

  Foreword © 2016 Ty Schwamberger

  Conquistador © 2016 Rob McEwan

  Tiddlers © 2016 Rhys Milsom

  Route 66 © 2016 Dawn Cano

  Rose Above © 2016 Stuart Keane

  Taming the Tongue © 2016 Chad Lutzke

  A Hitman’s Death © 2016 Peter Oliver Wonder

  Where the Monsters Live © 2016 Duncan Ralston

  The Killing Floor © 2016 Joanna Mcentee

  Revenge Exactly © 2016 Tamara Fey Turner

  Under Cursed Moonlight © 2016 Jonathan Moon

  Something Old, Something New, Something Cursed, Something Blue © 2016 Sarah Dale

  Queen B © 2016 Rose Garnett

  Those Borrowed Faces © 2016 Craig Saunders

  Knackered © 2016 Skip Novak

  Wretched Annie © 2016 Rich Hawkins

  Cover art © 2016 Kevin Enhart

  Cover & interior layout © 2016 Great British Horror

  All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known of hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  CONTENTS

  Contents

  Foreword

  Conquistador by Jack Rollins

  Tiddlers by Rhys Milsom

  Route 66 by Dawn Cano

  Rose Above by Stuart Keane

  Taming the Tongue by Chad Lutzke

  A Hitman’s Death by Peter Oliver Wonder

  Where the Monsters Live by Duncan Ralston

  The Killing Floor by Alice J Black

  Revenge Exactly by Tamara Fey Turner

  Under Cursed Moonlight by Jonathan Moon

  Something Old, Something New, Something Cursed, Something Blue by Sarah Dale

  Queen B by Rose Garnett

  Those Borrowed Faces by Craig Saunders

  Knackered by Skip Novak

  Wretched Annie by Rich Hawkins

  About the Authors

  About the Editors

  Foreword

  If you look up ‘horror’ (a noun) in a dictionary, you’ll find something similar to the following: an overwhelming and painful feeling caused by something frightfully shocking, terrifying, or revolting; a shuddering fear: to shrink back from a mutilated corpse in horror (I particularly like the dictionary’s example of something horrific).

  But I think horror, true horror, is something that is embedded deep within the human psyche and can be different from person to person depending on past experiences you’ve gone through. This also explains why some people like watching or reading scary stuff, while some do not.

  Let me explain.

  I think, at least to some degree, all people like to be scared. It is just part of human nature. Have you ever noticed someone cover their eyes when watching a scary scene in a movie? Sure you have. These people act like they don’t want to see what is happening, but are still looking through the spaces between their fingers. Some people say we, as humans, are inherently good. Overall, I believe that is true. But at the same time we all have a ‘bad’ side. It is that bad side that comes out when we watch the news or marvel at the destruction that some madman just caused on the highway or in someone’s living room. If we didn’t like hearing about other people’s misfortunes we would turn off the news, press the off button on the DVD player or put down the book. But… we don’t. Instead, we just shake our heads and think (and never or rarely ever say out loud), “I am so glad that it didn’t happen to me.”

  Personally, I like writing scary stuff simply because that is what I have always been into (I grew up watching the slasher films from the 1980s). I like how a horror writer can make pretty much anything into something scary.

  For example, a horror writer can start a serene story about a man walking a cute dog down the street, enjoying the outdoors, his life, his dog. Now, you can make that scary by having a madman in a car jump the curb, taking them both out. Say the dog dies and the guy ends up in the hospital and has to fight for his life. Then after getting out of the hospital, perhaps the guy goes on a mission to find the reckless driver and put him out of his misery. See what I mean? Even the everyday things we enjoy (walking a cute dog down a nice quiet street in middle suburbia) can turn into someone’s nightmare.

  As far as those out there that say “I don’t like watching scary movies or reading scary books” – you better check yourself at the door to your high school English class. Because if you like ‘classic literature’ then you’ve probably read horror before (Romeo and Juliet killing themselves in the name of love is pretty horrific – and pretty much just downright dumb) and might have even enjoyed it (those stories were always too tame for my taste). And if you watch your local news, guess what? You’re watching horror in real life taking place, which is far worse than any writer could come up with. Maybe.

  Horror is all around us. It doesn’t matter if you actually enjoy watching or reading it. It’s in your face in the media – the made-up stuff and true reports of unfortunate things that happen to innocent people on a daily basis. Some of it is fascinating in a macabre sort of way (the made-up stuff, of course… ha ha), while some of it is just downright sick. I guess when it comes down to brass tacks, horror means different things to different people, but really it’s all the same thing: horror. These everyday type settings and events are what you’ll find within this tome.

  So get comfy in your favorite reading chair and get ready for some fun.

  If you consider horror fun, that is.

  Quit kidding yourself, you know you do.

  ~Ty Schwamberger

  author of Last Night Out, DININ’ & The Fields

  Conquistador by Jack Rollins

  Luke’s prized silver Ford Focus ST-3 crunched over the gravel-covered track, and Luke prayed all the while that the skipping stones would not scratch his paintwork as they tapped and dinged under the chassis. Passing several farmhouses and cottages on the rugged track, he took his aviator sunglasses off and placed them in the hollow within the console, in front of the gear stick. Then he scanned the gates and walls, looking for Arion House.

  Black gates topped with two ebony horse heads stood tall and solemn at the end of the track like two huge chess pieces. Between the bars of the gates, and stretching beyond the openings and behind the brick wall surrounding the property, a two storey house of elegant, angular timber and clean-cut stone awaited.

  He pressed the control to lower the window, reached out and pushed the call button on the small keypad on the black post in front of the gates.

  After a moment, a woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Yes, who is it?”

  “Luke Sharp.” His name had served him well on nights out while studying at university and a Dizzee Rascal song had ordered them all to fix up, look sharrrrrrrp! A ready-made anthem for the notorious young man about campus they said would fuck the crack of dawn if only he could get its legs apart. “I’m here to see a Ms. Demi Terrance.”

>   “Just a moment.”

  Luke noticed the small camera eye set into the chrome panel and decided to suck his cheeks in to pronounce his cheekbones and bring out his angular jaw. He figured it was worth the little effort it cost him – you never knew who could be watching. He took in the landscape of sweeping moorland which surrounded Arion House. Such isolation was not his idea of a good time, but he could see its appeal for some, and perhaps as a holiday home or getaway for himself if the city became tiresome at any point.

  “Ooh, you look as nice as you did on the website, Mr. Sharp,” a different woman’s voice purred.

  Luke turned back to the camera eye and flashed a pearly-white smile. “Ms. Terrance, am I correct?”

  “You certainly are. I’m buzzing you in. Come straight in to see me.”

  The gates slid open in utter silence – nothing could upset the peace of Arion House and its grounds, it seemed. Luke rolled the car forward, preserving the quiet and his paintwork. To the left stood a long stable block that he assumed opened out on the other side, into a field. Arion House loomed ahead. He parked next to a dark blue Vauxhall Astra and climbed out of his vehicle.

  As he approached the front door, it was opened by a woman dressed in a knee-length grey pinstripe skirt and dark violet short-sleeve blouse, cut to show off her trim figure but buttoned high enough to maintain professionalism without attracting stares down her cleavage, which Luke could tell would be a rather pleasant sight. Shoulder-length brown hair framed her smooth, tanned face. He hoped this was who he had come to see, but suspected she was the first person to answer the intercom and likely the owner of the Astra rather than the house.

  “Come on in, Mr. Sharp,” she said, extending a hand.

  “Luke, please.” He shook the offered hand and noticed a rosy tint flushing the woman’s tanned cheeks. The local government ID showed that she was a social worker, and from her youthful appearance, Luke guessed she was recently graduated and appointed. A year or two of service, no more.

  He flashed the smile again and locked his piercing blue eyes on hers. Always on the hunt for new clients, he occasionally found someone he liked for his real life, too.

  “I’m Jo Regan, Demi’s social worker.”

  “I see,” Luke lied. A frown crossed his forehead, revealing his false concern.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Jo said, leading the way through the house.

  A dog barked and Luke heard the animal’s scampering paws long before it appeared. He prayed the thing wouldn’t jump up at him and mess up his smoky light blue-grey suit. He had just collected it that morning from the dry cleaners and had no desire to see the thing covered in pet hair. The yapping persisted and Jo addressed the approaching white West Highland terrier as “Rasputin.”

  “Cool name.”

  “I know, right?” Jo enthused, bending down to scratch the dog behind the ears. “Such a big name for such a little dog.”

  “Oy!” called a playful voice from a room just off the passageway. “He’s a big, brave boy, is Rasputin. He protects his mama.”

  Rasputin capered off back to his mama, followed closely by Jo and Luke.

  “Ahhh! Here he is,” the woman Luke assumed to be Ms. Terrance announced. She was sat in an armchair with what reminded Luke of an old person’s Zimmer frame, but this one had wheels and a tray a couple of feet away. Ms. Terrance wore her dark brown hair in a neat bob, and whereas the social worker’s blouse was fastened for privacy, Ms. Terrance liked to put on a show, with her two full rounds of flesh and deep cleavage displayed with pride.

  “Ms. Terrance,” Luke said, stepping forward, offering a hand.

  “Demi. Call me Demi.” She took his hand and gently pulled, so Luke lowered his head and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Mmm, you smell good.”

  “Thank you. So do you. Is that Viktor and Rolf?” he asked.

  “Good nose.”

  “Flowerbomb?”

  “Very good nose.”

  “I’m wearing Spicebomb. I know my V and R.”

  Jo cleared her throat, taking a seat. She grasped a notepad and pen. “If you please, take a seat, Luke. This will only take a few minutes.”

  Luke sat down then smiled at both women, waiting for one of them to begin.

  “Would you like me to set the ball rolling?” Jo asked.

  “If you don’t mind,” Demi said.

  “Well, I’m sure if Demi would like to, she may well tell you about the accident she suffered and the repercussions of that. I think it’s okay for me to say that while you don’t want to live in a more built-up area, you recognise that social life is a problem for you, isn’t it, Demi?”

  “Absolutely. I can’t really meet people up here, but this is my home. I don’t want to give it up just to make it easier to get out to a pub only for people to ignore me while I’m there.”

  Luke nodded, wondering what the hell this had to do with him.

  “Since Demi’s husband left her…” Jo paused, looking for the correct phrasing.

  Demi smiled at her social worker. “Look, that bastard left me for someone else. One of my friends – or so-called friend, as it turned out. I had an accident… I fell off a horse, actually. And I was left with crippling pains as a result of that. Some days are better than others, and I’ve got some pretty powerful pain relief so I can sleep on those bad days. Jo is here because, well, since I’m registered as disabled and I need some treatment, some adaptations were needed for the house and a vehicle, in the early days at least.” Demi sighed. “What Jo is beating around the bush about is that I sometimes feel like I need” – she cast a mischievous glance at her social worker – “a good beating about my bush.”

  “You have such a way with words, Demi.”

  “Well, he’s a man-whore! He’s heard worse, I’m sure!”

  Luke erupted into laughter. “Excuse me, Madam! I am a professional escort.”

  The two women laughed as well, and Demi said, “A professional shagger, more like.”

  “My job is providing company for people. I provide a vital service,” Luke said, frowning in mock indignation.

  “Essentially, as Demi has experienced periods of low mood, I have to ensure she has the capacity to remain in control of the decisions she makes regarding certain physical needs,” Jo explained. “I’m satisfied that you’re quite happy with your decisions so far, and I feel it’s appropriate for me to withdraw from this particular aspect of your support, Demi.”

  “Thank you for helping me arrange this, Jo.”

  “No problem at all, Demi.” Jo stood up with her pad and pen in hand. “If you need me for anything else, you know to give me a call.” The social worker left, with little Rasputin trotting along at her heels.

  “Close the door, Luke,” Demi said.

  Luke complied, then paused before her, letting her see his full form in his well-tailored suit. “What do you like?” he asked.

  Demi blushed and giggled. “My God. You’re direct.”

  “I want to please you. I want to make you happy.”

  “I don’t want… that today.”

  Luke smiled. There was something girlish about the woman before him. At first appearance, she was a woman of confidence, humour and control, but it was becoming clear to him that her confidence had been crushed. Crushed by the accident. Crushed by her husband leaving her. Crushed by pain.

  “I’m not really able to…to do anything today.” Demi waved a hand over the little table at her side, indicating the shot-glass size medication pot with the remaining trace of some sort of medicine or suspension. The thick grey droplets clinging to the plastic pot reminded Luke of semen, but the large brown bottle on the table indicated that it was oramorph.

  “Morphine?” Luke muttered. “Demi, your pains must be terrible.”

  “They are. But that does the trick. For a while, at least.”

  “Do you feel okay right now?”

  “Yes, and if my pains start up again, I’ll be laid out on my couch unti
l the carers come to make my dinner and again until they come back to help me to bed.”

  “I see.” Luke sat at the edge of the couch.

  “Stand up.”

  Luke jumped back to his feet like a child who had done something wrong and been caught in the act. “Sorry… I thought you just wanted to talk for a while.”

  Demi bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. Her gaze seemed to radiate confidence now, the vulnerability of moments before eradicated with a single thought. “Show me your cock, Luke.”

  Luke’s smile spread slowly across his lips. He grasped the lapels of his jacket and began to peel the garment off his shoulders.

  “No,” Demi interrupted. “Keep it on. I just want you to show me your cock. I want to see it just as you are, like that.”

  Luke unzipped his fly, reached his fingertips into the opening, and pulled aside his Aussiebum Wonderjock, releasing his genitals from the concealed pouch that kept everything pressed into a tight, neat, impressive package. He grasped his shaft and stroked, exciting the muscle to give Demi a little more to look at.

  “Don’t do that,” Demi said. “Just show me it. Just take it out exactly as it is.”

  Luke raised his eyebrows and exposed himself. His flaccid penis hung in the opening of his trousers. Without the full erection to show her, he blushed and looked around the room, unable to meet Demi’s gaze.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. Do you know how long it’s been since I saw a man’s cock just sitting there normally? If I want to see a massive, throbbing hard-on, I just need to turn on my laptop, don’t I?”

  Luke levelled his eyes on Demi’s face once more, hoping she would instruct him to do something – anything – soon.

  “Come here.”

  Luke positioned himself in front of his client and she leaned forward. Her warm breath tickled the flesh of his exposed penis. Demi reached into his fly and gently stroked his shaft with her middle fingertip.

  A shiver of excitement ran through Luke’s spine. He felt the throb as hot blood flooded his meat. Demi leaned her face closer, brushing his shaft with her lips. Her tongue flicked out, licking his flesh, tracing the engorged blue vein as his erection swelled and rose towards her mouth. She kissed the tip, then placed a flat palm against his shaft and pressed her cheek against it. She nibbled at his skin and tilted her head, his cock running beyond the width of her lips. She applied light pressure with her teeth, never hurting him.