Insomnia: Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, & Horror

by Saul Tanpepper

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  THE GRIN

  THE SCENARIO EGG

  A THING FOR ZOMBIES

  REACHED IN ERROR

  RAISE THE DEAD

  THE SACRIFICES WE MAKE

  THE PROMISES WE KEEP

  Acknowledgements

  Publication History

  About the Author

  (excerpts from SHORTING THE UNDEAD & OTHER HORRORS)

  THE HEADHUNTER

  MR. NOVEMBER

  OCCUPIED

  THE OBJECT OF HER OBSESSION

  OPEN WIDE

  NOCTURNE

  GOLGOTHA

  OUTSOURCED

  Excerpt from FLAWLESS: A CLAIRE FONTAINE NOVELLA

  ‡

  INSOMNIA

  Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, and Horror

  by Saul Tanpepper

  INSOMNIA

  Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, and Horror

  by Saul Tanpepper

  Copyright © 2012 by Saul Tanpepper

  All rights reserved.

  Published February 10, 2012 by Brinestone Press, San Martin, CA 95046

  Cover design Brinestone Press Copyright © 2012

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://www.brinestonepress.com

  Tanpepper, Saul (2012-02-10). INSOMNIA

  Subtitle: Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, and Horror

  Brinestone Press Kindle Edition

  For more information about this and other titles by this author:

  http://www.tanpepperwrites.com

  Introduction

  Insomnia.

  An inability to sleep; a state of agitated wakefulness, often as a result of troubling thoughts.

  The word derives from the Latin roots in (“not”) + somnus (“sleep”). Further back, the word has roots from the Proto-Indo-European, in the term swepnos, meaning “dream.”

  In somnia: engaged in the act of dreaming.

  To sleep, perchance to dream.

  Somnus also refers, in the figurative sense, to death. The ancient Roman god of sleep shared that name; he was a son of Night and brother of Death.

  To dream, perhaps of dying.

  All themes in this collection.

  The Grin is a classic nightmare story extracted straight from the deepest recesses of a man-child’s troubled mind. The monsters don’t reside under his bed or in his closet; they populate his nightmares, and they flee from the light when he wakes. But what happens when those monsters escape the shackles of his dreaming mind? Who then do they terrorize? And how can they be stopped? Perhaps babysitter Cassie Ingersoll has the answer. Perhaps she wished she’d never taken the job in the first place.

  Speaking of monsters turning real, what could be more frightening than a nightmare that torments us while we are awake? In The Sacrifices We Make, a child’s abduction tells the story of every parent’s nightmare in a drowsy little town that seems all too willing to slip back into a forgetful stupor…waking from it only long enough to respond with transient horror when the next abduction occurs. It’s a gruesome, gripping tale that’ll have you wondering what monsters reside in us all.

  In the science fiction tale, The Scenario Egg, an investment broker enjoys the spoils of his fast-paced lifestyle until failure, a beautiful woman, and an odd-looking device conspire to make him second guess what is good and right, and what is real and fantasy. On the night of his thirty-ninth birthday, he wishes the ultimate death—of a world bereft of all humanity—but when he wakes, is he still dreaming? And when he realizes that the real nightmare will return when he wakes, what will he do then? Is it possible to refuse to ever wake, to live within the fantasy of one’s wishes?

  The lines between technology and the paranormal blur when college freshman Ellen Grabowski wonders whether it’s possible to create a device that would allow the living to communicate with the dead. After she places a call to her parents while on her way home from school, she may just find the connection Reached in Error.

  As if the possibility of speaking with the dead weren’t terrifying enough. What if there was a way to bring them back? And if we could, what would the Unliving want with the likes of us? In Raise the Dead, when a mysterious musician applies for an opening in Chris Stephens’s high school band, Ten-Forty, strange things begin to happen, some of them wonderful, some of them horrifying.

  The final two stories deal with young love, of the loss experienced in death, and of the redemption that might be won following it.

  In the dark satire, A Thing for Zombies, seventeen-year-old Kevin Velasco is seriously crushing on his lifelong friend Jamie, but Jamie’s affection is turned elsewhere. So, when an attractive young zombie shows up at the pool where they lifeguard, Kevin desperately tries to distract Jamie, but he only manages to force her into making a heart-breaking confession, leaving Kevin to wonder how far she’s willing to go for the one she wants. And whether he’s willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to get what he wants.

  In the paranormal tale, The Promises We Keep, young lovers Veronica Seldano and Paul Lehane make a vow that they never in their wildest dreams ever expected to have to keep. But after a tragic fire claims the life of one of them, that is exactly what both teenagers must face. Haunted in their sleep, will the living betray the dead? Will the dead allow it to happen?

  Sleep.

  It’s supposed to replenish our mind, body and soul; it’s supposed to restore. Unbroken, untroubled, wonderful sleep. But such a thing is truly a rare beast, elusive, mercurial. Ironic then, isn’t it, that when we dream, we dream of dreamless sleep?

  Whether you find yourself in a restless state of insomnia or in somnia, it is my fervent wish that these tales torment and terrify you till dawn. My gift to you, Dear Reader.

  I’ll see you in your dreams.

  Saul

  San Francisco, CA

  February 2012

  ‡

  THE GRIN

  At three o’clock in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, the Westside Mall was an absolute madhouse. Frantic, last-minute shoppers clogged the aisles, bumping into one another and glaring at each other, most of them still clutching to the belief that the perfect gift was still to be found on the stores’ now half-empty shelves, as if miracles did exist and happened to be in stock, ideally at seventy-five percent off. Seventeen-year-old Cassie Ingersoll was right in the middle of it all.

  She’d put off her shopping and was now paying the price for it. In years past, she’d always been so much more proactive, finishing her gift-buying a solid week and a half before Christmas, but this year was different. She hadn’t even been sure she was going to do any shopping until that very morning when her
mother slipped her credit card into Cassie’s hand and shoved her out the front door with instructions not to return until she’d gotten something for everyone.

  But now it was seven o’clock and she still hadn’t finished, and the mall was closing in an hour.

  It’s not like the people she had to buy for were hard to please or that they numbered in the multitudes. It was just her parents and sister Amy. And, if anything, everyone’s expectations were especially low this year. Her father had been laid-off from his construction job two years before and hadn’t been able to find work, and the bank was two, maybe three, payments from foreclosing on the house. Nobody was expecting a big Christmas.

  Her parents did what they could to minimize the psychological impact on Cassie and Amy. After Thanksgiving, they’d given each of the girls fifty dollars and told them to go shopping. Amy had gone with Grandma three weeks before. The presents were wrapped and had been collecting dust beneath their fake tree ever since. They’d look so small and depressing.

  But Cassie had held onto the money, procrastinating, knowing it could be used for something other than gifts, something they needed. She considered maybe just baking some nice breads and cookies for everyone. But time had gotten away from her and she hadn’t. And so, here she was.

  Despite everything, she’d managed to score some pretty decent stuff at huge discounts: a sweater for her father (seventeen bucks, and you couldn’t even tell it was irregular), and for her kid sister, a ten-dollar pair of white gold and fake sapphire ladybug posts that she’d gotten from the discount rack at the Hallmark Store (Amy had gotten her ears pierced at a slumber party at a friend’s house a month before and Cassie just knew she was going to look adorable in them).

  Then, there was her mom.

  Cassie was planning on getting her a nice scarf—she even had the one picked out. But then she had to go ruin everything by wandering into DiMarco’s Boutique. The prices were too rich for her blood—and her wallet—but she’d gone in anyway. That’s when she saw it hanging all alone on the rack, a perfect replacement for her mother’s old stained and worn-out coat: a solid maroon ski vest lined with a luxurious gray fleece. There was only one left in her size. And maroon was her mom’s favorite color.

  But the hundred-dollar price tag was way more than she could afford. Way more than she could justify, even with her mother’s credit card in her purse. True, her mother had given it to her knowing she might use it, but the last thing she’d told Cassie was, “In case of emergencies.”

  Leaving Cassie wondering what kind of emergency there could be Christmas shopping.

  She’d been tempted to go ahead and charge the jacket. But how could she justify paying that much for something when they were all cutting back on everything? They were even foregoing the traditional steak dinner (it had gone from being prime rib two years ago) and opting instead for ham this year. She hadn’t told her parents, but she hated ham.

  Cassie sighed. It was too bad about the jacket. And now the scarf she’d planned on buying was gone too, snatched up by some other pathetic and desperate shopper. She had no idea what to get now. It was looking like something baked at the last minute might find its way under the tree this year after all.

  For the umpteenth time in the past month, it seemed, she wished she had a steady job. The Dollar Barn, for example, was always looking for cashiers. She could do that. She could even be a frappista at the Froyo Hut. How hard could that be?

  But her parents kept nixing the idea, saying, “Studying and getting good grades is your top priority.”

  “I need a job.”

  “School is your job, honey.”

  She understood that they didn’t want her to worry, but, really… A part time job would help them out a lot more than the occasional babysitting job, even if it meant sacrificing an A for an A-minus or B-plus. As it was, she was barely able to pay for the gas she put in her car (which she feared she might have to sell, if things got very much worse at home).

  Besides, she wasn’t ten anymore; in less than a month she’d turn eighteen. She was ready to take on more responsibility. Why couldn’t her parents see that?

  Still and all, babysitting was easy work. Most of the kids she tended were usually very well-behaved. Usually. Every once in a while she’d get a total terror for a kid. She had her own secret way of dealing with them, but she avoided using it if she could. The Kit, which she kept in the trunk of her car, was a measure of last resort, reserved only for the worst offenders.

  The credit card burned in her pocket. Leaving the jacket hanging on the rack back at DiMarco’s and walking away had been the hardest thing to do. Well, maybe not the hardest. Resisting all the poor little kittens and puppies in the windows of the pet store she’d stopped in afterward was even harder. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for the little critters, especially around this time of year. She wanted to rescue them all.

  She collapsed in frustration at a table in the food court, exhausted and undecided, her stomach growling with hunger. She’d been craving Chicken McNuggets, but she didn’t have very much cash left in her wallet. She needed to save it for her mom’s gift.

  A young family was sitting at the adjacent table: tired parents, a toddler in a stained onesie and a crabby baby in a stroller. By the looks of the bags stacked around them, it was obvious they’d be having a very merry Christmas. Cassie saw no fewer than four huge bags filled with colorful boxes of toys, plus two additional bags from Crate and Barrel and one from DiMarco’s. Her own pile looked pathetically small. And pathetically…

  Well, it was just plain pathetic.

  The little boy was stuffing French fries into his face by the fistful. His chin and hair were smeared with ketchup. Cassie had to resist the urge to go over and grab a napkin to wipe him clean.

  When her stomach grumbled with such ferocity that it made the boy look up and over at her, she turned away with embarrassment burning her face. And maybe a little jealousy, too.

  With a sigh, she started gathering up the handles of her bags, still undecided about what to do for her mother. She was about to stand up when her phone started to vibrate on the table where she’d set it. It started to slide across, heading for the edge.

  She picked it up. The number on the screen was unlisted.

  The vibrating ended; the call had gone to voice mail. Cassie set the phone down, fingering the buttons thoughtfully. It wasn’t her parents wondering where she was. Anyway, they didn’t expect her back for another hour or so.

  Well, if it was that important, whoever it was would call back.

  The phone began to buzz again.

  Again, the number wasn’t shown. This time she answered.

  “Hello? Yes, this is Cass… Yes, I do. Yes, I can. Where? Twenty-one forty-five… When and for how long? Make it twenty. Really? Cool. Is thirty minutes okay?”

  She set the phone down, an odd mixture of feelings washing over her: happiness, excitement, worry, sympathy. It was the strangest thing. Here she was, worrying about money and obsessing about that jacket for her mom when, out of the blue, she gets a call for a job. Granted, it was just another babysitting gig, but it sounded like a lot of money. If the man who’d called was being up front with her—and Cassie couldn’t think of a reason why he wouldn’t be—she’d have more than enough to pay for the jacket now. And have some left over. Maybe even enough to buy a nice prime rib for their dinner tomorrow night. They could keep the ham for New Year’s. She wasn’t planning on being home that evening anyway.

  “I know it’s last minute and all,” the man had told her, “but, frankly, I’m desperate. I’ll pay you fifteen dollars an hour to stay overnight. I’ll be back home by eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Which meant she wouldn’t be home until midmorning on Christmas Day.

  It would be totally unfair to Amy, she knew. Her sis would be up at the crack of dawn wolfing down her cereal to power up for the morning’s festivities, not that there was going to be much this year. More like a spr
int than a marathon this year. She’d almost thought to turn the man down, and in the end though that asking for twenty dollars an hour would discourage him. But he’d agreed to the premium rate.

  Two-hundred and forty dollars, she quickly calculated. The guy really had to be desperate to pay that kind of money.

  But then again, so was she to accept a babysitting job for a complete stranger on Christmas Eve.

  She sure hoped she wouldn’t need The Kit.

  Then came the guilt—not about overcharging the man, but because she remembered she’d promised to spend the evening watching Miracle on 34th Street with Amy and their parents tonight. It was another holiday tradition.

  And to make up for subjecting the kids to such torture, they were planning to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas afterward—the old cartoon version and not the live-action one with Jim Carrey in it. She shivered at the image in her mind of Carrey’s Grinch, with its hairy, wrinkly green skin and pink eyes and mouth and tongue. She didn’t know why, but that mask and makeup in that flick always freaked her out.

  She shoved the phone into her pocket. Sorry, Mom and Dad, she thought, but it didn’t look like there would be a miracle on 34th Street after all. Not this year. At least not for her.

  She slipped into DiMarco’s on her way out and purchased the jacket, giving the woman her mom’s credit card.

  “Would you like it gift wrapped?” the clerk asked her.

  “Please,” Cassie said, her smile widening.