13 Bites Volume II (13 Bites Anthology Series Book 2)

by Adam Bennett

  “It’s classic attention-seeking behaviour, love. He’s spoilt, that’s all. You’re too soft with him.”

  “Dave, I am not soft. And he isn’t spoiled. He’s a good kid. It’s just this one thing.”

  “Well, that’s my point, see. The minute we put him to bed, he’s not the centre of attention any more, and he pulls this legs business as an excuse to run round the house with everyone running round after him. The boy needs a firm hand, Ellie. He needs boundaries. Look, next time he gets out of bed, I’ll deal with it, okay? Let him know I’m onto his little game.”

  Pat crouched silently on the other side of the sitting room door. He’d had The Dream again, and sometimes after that he just liked to listen to Mum and Dad for a while. He usually couldn’t make out what they were saying; either their voices were too quiet to penetrate the door or whatever they were talking about was incomprehensible to him, or both. But that didn’t matter; it was the sound of their voices that he craved. Knowing he wasn’t alone in the house. Knowing everything was normal. It made The Dream go back to where dreams came from, back to the Not Really.

  Oblivious to the fact that their only son was frightened and lonely, and that for him, this was a normal state of affairs, Dave and Ellie King sipped their red wine and agreed that he was attention-seeking, and that he needed Boundaries. After a while, Big Ben bonged his bongs of safety, and Pat crept back to bed, chilled in body but warmed in spirit, and this time, he slept peacefully till morning.

  …and in other news, tomorrow’s Super moon will reach full at exactly Midnight, scientists say. John Spencer, of the Bureau of Meteorology, joined us in the studio. Good evening, John. So how rare is this, for the Moon to be full at exactly midnight?

  Well, it’s hard to say, Kellie-Anne, but it’s certainly very rare. But it’s important to remember that that’s only the case here in Melbourne, and down the East Coast, whre we’re on Eastern Standard Time. People in other time zones, of course, will see the Moon reach Full at different times...

  But here in Melbourne, it will be Midnight, is that correct?

  Yes, that’s right.

  So, John, doesn’t that mean it won’t really still be Friday?

  Well, according to the way we calculate dates, yes, that would be so.

  Some Pagan groups, however, have a different take on things. Also in the studio tonight is a Wiccan High Priestess. Raven Starwolf, I believe your people have a different opinion?

  Thank you, Kellie-Anne. Yes, in ancient times the date changed at sunrise, not at Midnight, so in fact…

  “Oh, turn it off and come to bed. Honestly, these idiots… I don’t know why we even watch that show, they’ve always got some nut case or other…”

  Pat wriggled and squirmed. His legs were worse than ever, and his arms were getting it too. And he had a funny feeling in his stomach, sort of crawly. He had already been caught out of bed twice, and Dad had gone right off. Miserably, he curled himself up into a little ball on his stomach, with his arms and legs bent up under him. The relief lasted for a little while, then he had to move again.

  Witches around Melbourne congregated at the Myer Music Bowl tonight to dance in honour of the Super Moon. Kellie-Anne has this report for you — over to you, Kellie-Anne.

  Thank you, George. Well, as you can see, it’s a popular event, with many diverse groups represented Over there in the white robes are the Neo-Druids, and the Wiccans are well represented. Here with me is Raven Starwolf, High Priestess of the Blue Moon Coven. Raven, your coven will be conducting a ceremony tonight, Drawing the Moon. Is that right?

  Drawing Down the Moon, Kellie-Anne.

  And what does that do, Raven?

  Well, Kellie-Anne, Drawing Down the Moon is our invitation to the power of the Goddess to enter and enrich us.

  Normally these are secret ceremonies, is that right? But tonight you’ll be doing it in public?

  Well, it’s not really secret, Kellie-Anne, more private, but yes, tonight we are holding the ceremony here at the Myer Music Bowl and we’ll be inviting members of the public to join our circle and experience the power of the Goddess with us.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dave, turn that rubbish off, it’s doing my head in. I’ll be glad when this whole super moon thing’s over, I’m that sick of hearing about it.”

  Click.

  “There you go. Glass of red?”

  “Ta, love, I’ll just nick in and check on Pat, he’s very quiet.”

  “So he should be at bloody eleven o’clock at night. Leave the boy alone, Ellie, you’ll only wake him up.”

  “I just want to make sure —”

  “LEAVE him, for Christ’s sake, Ellie. He’s peacefully asleep; let him sleep. It’s probably the first unbroken night’s sleep he’s had in weeks. I put the fear of God into him last night about getting up and wandering around, and he’s just accepting his boundaries, that’s all.”

  Pat was, in fact, asleep, although not peacefully; he was having The Dream again. Presently, he was no longer asleep. He lay, rigid and shivering, too frightened to get out of bed because of the hiding Dad had threatened him with the previous night, and waited for the soothing bongs of Big Ben. Before long, his arms and legs started to get restless again, and the crawly feeling in his stomach also came back. The moonlight streaming in at the window silvered two tear tracks running down from the outer corners of his eyes.

  Locked in his private world of misery, biting back sobs because you had to be a Big Boy, Pat drifted, half-waking, through the ensuing hour. Every time Big Ben chimed the quarters he started awake, feeling confused and disoriented. The crawly feeling in his stomach was crawlier than ever, and the distress in his limbs was worse than it had ever been. The friendly moonlight didn’t even look friendly anymore; it was too bright, cold and harsh. Pat had had enough; he wanted his Mum. Softly, hopelessly, he started to cry.

  “There, you see? All quiet. You leave him be, he just goes back to sleep. End of problem.”

  Pat was in trouble. Even his shoulders and hips had the horrible, restless feeling now, worse than it had ever been before. It felt as if all his joints needed to bend the other way, but Pat couldn’t think of a way to make that happen. He tossed restlessly, moaning faintly to himself.

  Finally, Big Ben played his whole tune and started on his bongs. But somehow they didn’t sound as comforting as usual. At the first bong, instead of a warm rush of comfort, a little thrill of fear ran through him.

  As the clock continued to chime, the restless feeling rose and rose until it became actual pain, a searing, acute pain in every limb, worse than anything Pat had ever known. Something was wrong, he realised. Something was terribly wrong, and he needed his mum. He no longer cared if Dad roused on him.

  He scrambled to get out of bed, but his feet tangled in the sheet, and he crashed to the floor.

  “What was that?”

  “By God, it’s that bloody kid out of bed again. I’ve had enough of this.” Dave set down his wine glass and got up. Ellie jumped up, forestalling him.

  “No, love, let me go. It sounded like he fell out of bed, he might have hurt himself.”

  Dave subsided, grumbling.

  As Pat thrashed about on the floor, trying to right himself, the pain in his stomach reached a crescendo that almost made him black out, followed instantly by total relief as something slithered from his middle. He struggled to his hands and knees, but somehow it wasn’t as easy to get up as it should have been. He tried again, but flopped down onto his stomach, where he lay, feeling oddly as if he were standing at the same time. The room looked all wrong, everything seemed different, and somehow he could see too much of it all at once, he could see things that should have been out of sight behind him, and his vision was funny too, nothing looked like it should. He needed his Mum. He didn’t care if Dad gave him a hiding. He didn’t care about anything as long as he could get to Mum. Big Ben bonged on and on, louder than he’d ever been. Pat could feel the vibrations all the way through him
. He scrambled for the door, tripping over the extra legs that had erupted from his middle, ineffectually scrabbling at the knob with hands that weren’t hands any more, and as the door was opened from the other side, Pat had a single, rushed glimpse of Mum, her lovely, familiar, comforting face, even with his weirdly distorted vision, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He tried to say something, but his voice was wrong too, and all that came out was a dry, scratchy chittering sound. And then Mum started to scream.

  A scream so big that it could swallow the world.

  Also look for

  13 Bites

  Volume I

  Offered for your reading pleasure: thirteen bites, thirteen snacks, if you will. Thirteen titillating tidbits of terror, treachery and trauma. Not all of them are frightening; one or two might even warm the cockles of your cold, stony heart.

  “13 Bites, Volume I” is a collection of short stories — thirteen of them, by ten different authors — with a slightly twisted bent. From aliens to zombies, from a gypsy curse to the mind of a murderer, from shapeshifters to witches to… well, you’ll just have to see, won’t you? Available at Amazon.com for the Kindle e-reader or in paperback.

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  Science-fiction author and editor Alan Seeger was born in 1959 in San Francisco and grew up in Oklahoma. A writer for as long as he can remember, he spent much of his childhood filling spiral notebooks with his stories. In his teens, he began making music, which became his focus for the next thirty years or so. But writing was never far from his heart, and in 2013, he published his debut novel, Pinball, the first book in his Gatespace trilogy. In December of 2013, he released the second book in the Gatespace series, Replay. The conclusion, Tilt, was published in September of 2014.

  Seeger currently resides on the Rosebud Indian Reservation in South Dakota. Readers can learn more about him and his works at www.alanseeger.net.

  ABOUT FIVE59

  Once upon a time, getting one's work published took a combination of luck, perseverance, and maybe even a little bit of prayer. Today, with the advent of relatively simple book publishing through e-pub resources such as Kindle and Nook, anybody can be an author. Anybody.

  No, really. You should see some of the stuff I've seen.

  So what exactly can I do for you?

  Well, first, if your book is just a hot mess of cookie cutter characters, hackneyed plot devices, and wooden dialogue, I will not be able to wave my wand and fix your book. On the other hand, if you have a book with a good story and reasonably strong characters that just needs polishing and fixes such as spelling, punctuation and grammar, I can certainly help you.

  I will also look at consistency of style, content, the structure of your story, the clarity of your storytelling, your usage of terms and colloquial expressions, the consistency of your plot and proper use of syntax.

  What it all boils down to is the polishing of your manuscript until it's absolutely the best it can be. I can't do these things for you without having excellent writing skills myself. Understanding what you read is absolutely essential to providing high quality proofing and editing services.

  I've been a voracious reader and a prolific writer since I can remember; I've learned what makes a good story and how to tell it without the potholes that can jar readers out of their immersion in the story: misspelled words, incorrect punctuation and poor grammar. If you need assistance in those areas, I can help you.

  I can be reached through the company website at www.Five59.com.