9 Tales Told in the Dark 2

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  9TALES TOLD IN THE DARK #2

  © Copyright 2014, 2017 Bride of Chaos/ All Rights Reserved to the Authors.

  Edited by A.R. Jesse

  Cover Art by Turtle&Noise

  This is a work of fiction.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Second electronic edition 2017

  This Collection is presented by THE 9 TALES SERIES for more information on this series please visit www.brideofchaos.com

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  9TALES TOLD IN THE DARK#2

  Contents

  A THOUSAND WORDS BY GEORGE STRASBURG

  DEAD MEN’S SOULS BY STEVEN P.R.

  BORN AGAIN BY SARA GREEEN

  HELPERS BY SARA GREEN

  THE HEADSTONE’S HOUR BY INK BERMAN

  STAIRS BY R. WILLIAM KENT

  AND THEY WALK THE DEAD BY JON MERCER

  IN THE MANNER OF THE ARISTOCRACY BY THOMAS CANFIELD

  THE BECOMING: A CHRISTMAS STORY BY JULIE PALMISANO

  LUKE BY JASON PALMER

  A STORM CAME AND SO DID THEY BY GEORGE STRASBURG

  TALES

  TOLD

  IN THE

  DARK

  #2

  A THOUSAND WORDS BY GEORGE STRASBURG

  This is what happened.

  It was 3 A.M.

  The drive to Dragon’s Tooth was faster than expected but the hike up to the summit took almost two hours. The night made the wooded path seem never-ending at first. Shapes toyed with my mind as the shadows of trees danced off my headlamp. I couldn’t help but think of being attacked by wild animals, but reminded myself people know where I am.

  Upon reaching the summit, I could almost see the slightest crack of sunlight leaking on the horizon. Still, the weatherman promised sunrise at 6:05 A.M., which meant I had time to spare. Exhausted, I set up my camera for the amazing shot, set my alarm for 5:50 A.M., and then bundled myself up against a small boulder and closed my eyes.

  My alarm went off a blink later. I crept back to my camera and began to snap the retina-searing blaze along the horizon and kept shooting until I was certain the light show was over.

  I hiked back down passing other hikers who had missed the once in a lifetime event. I was feeling really good about the pictures and drove all the way home to Richmond in a haze. My squeaky front door greeted me as I stumbled into my apartment at lunchtime as if it was after midnight. I failed to say hello, instead I found my couch to be a suitable bed and collapsed.

  I might’ve slept all day and through the night if my cellphone hadn’t rung.

  My boss had been told my plan; get the shot, get home, get sleep. Still he asked, “Were you sleeping?”

  “Trying.”

  “Well I need it now. E-mail it to me.”

  “I haven’t uploaded just yet.”

  “I need it now.”

  My yawn sounded like defiance but I meant none by it. I agreed and dragged my camera over to my desk where I connected it to my computer and began to watch the photos upload. It actually was quite sleep inducing. So I stumbled into my kitchen and put on a pot of water for hot tea.

  I didn’t even let the teapot squeal. As soon as I saw the steam rising from the closed cap, I poured it into my cup. It was cool enough sip immediately but I knew I would need more so I left the pot on the stove and turned the burner down, then returned to my desk to sift through all the shots for the best one to send.

  The first two photos surprised me. They were of me sleeping. It seemed odd because I hadn’t used a timer. Unless the camera had gone off and caught me twice blinking, it was as if someone had taken a shot of me on top of the mountain while I slept. I imagined some unruly Appalachian Trail hiker getting an early start and chuckling all the way up to Maine about the photographer he pranked.

  Funny guy.

  I laughed it off and clicked all the way to the end of the photos.

  There I stopped.

  The transfer from vibrant gold and orange to the final dimly lit photo was a startling shock in itself, but it was what was within the composition of the frame that actually stopped my heart.

  I had to tell myself to breathe again.

  The last photo taken was also of me sleeping. I was no longer on the top of Dragon’s Tooth. I was back in my apartment, passed out on my couch. It was moments ago. I knew that because the camera took the shot just as my cellphone illuminated with my boss’ call.

  I always assumed I would turn around in an instance like this. But I stayed frozen; too afraid to turn and face some crazed lunatic who had followed me down the mountain, all the way to Richmond and snuck into my home.

  Funny guy.

  I forced a broken laugh and finally found the mechanics in my neck to turn around.

  No one.

  Now, my heart didn’t know when to stop, it increased with every step and as I swirled around my apartment. The living room and kitchen? Empty. Turned on the hall bathroom’s light and slung open the shower curtain. Empty. I veered into my bedroom. It was dressed in laundry of various states but there was nowhere to hide except under the bed. Empty. Then there was the sound, unmistakable to me. In my line of work, I heard it every day. A photograph had been taken. I dashed back out to the living room and snatched up the camera on my desk. I didn’t bother uploading the new picture; I saw it on the camera’s view screen, the hallway back to my bedroom.

  “Who is in here?”

  My apartment was not big enough to hide and I know I would’ve heard my front door squeak open as it always did. I looked at the picture again and found it more startling. It was taken at eye level.

  No.

  I refused to believe. I was tired but I could remember standing up with my camera pointed in the same direction just before I set it down on the desk to upload the photos. I mimicked the action. It certainly felt familiar.

  I must’ve banged the camera climbing on the rocks and now it is taking delayed pictures with the slightest of touch.

  I wanted to witness it malfunctioning again. I started moving, twisting around my apartment.

  The teapot screeched.

  I jerked around in shock.

  And she was standing there. White hair and white gown, her skin even paler. My finger snapped a picture.

  She dashed away as I took another shot and another. Somewhere in the bursts of flash, I lost her.

  ***

  I cleared my throat. The man’s dark rimmed glasses were hanging off the tip of his nose waiting for more of my story.

  “So tell me is my camera broken?”

  “Camera’s fine.”

  “Then why isn’t she in the picture?”

  THE END.

  DEAD MEN’S SOULS BY STEVEN P.R.

  I heard them coming.

  They pulled up in their jeep and parked in front of the mortuary. They walked up to me slow and casual in their fancy suits, ready to beat me to a pulp if I didn’t show them where ole Lou was.

  “Where’s the grave?” Roth asked.

  I jerked my head south of the graveyard. Pinter nudged me forward and I led them through the dark with my lantern. We walked for a good two minutes until I stopped at the hole. Roth watched me carefully while Pinter grimaced and gripped the pistol in his holster.

  “Is this a joke?” Roth said.

 
I smiled. “You asked me to show you the grave.”

  They peered in the hole with the wooden casket open, the corpse missing.

  Pinter whipped out his pistol and cocked the hammer back. He probably thought I’d flinch or try to run, but I didn’t. I’ve stared death in the face plenty. “Where’s the body,” Pinter said dryly.

  “What about it?” I asked.

  “Where is it?”

  “In the mortuary.”

  They looked at each other funny like maybe they had misheard.

  “Come again?” Roth uttered.

  “He was already dead,” I said.

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “I don’t play games with the dead,” I said.

  Roth marched up to me and withdrew a switchblade knife from his pocket. “Show us the body, you dumb old fool.”

  “If I show it to you, I’d have to kill you,” I chuckled.

  He sliced me real quick on the cheek and I fell back in the hole. Pinter whipped out his pistol and aimed it at me.

  “Don’t!” Roth cried.

  “I’m sick of this weasel,” Pinter muttered.

  He was huge as hell. I welcomed the bullet over a fistfight with him any day.

  “Boss will have us for lunch if we kill him,” Roth argued.

  I could see the hate in Pinter’s eyes. He had it in for me once he found out I pickpocketed the dead. Never knew that was possible I had told him, but he should’ve known that the whack jobs they executed left valuables in the grave: diamonds, cash, gold, you name it.

  “He’s really gonna shoot,” Roth said. “Just tell us where you left the body, and don’t tell us you chopped it up and fed it to the dogs like you did before.”

  I almost laughed; they were way off the mark. “Don’t worry, ole Lou’s altogether,” I said, “but he’s not feeling like himself.”

  They didn’t think that was funny. Roth grabbed me by the collar and yanked me out of the hole. I stumbled to my feet and brushed the dirt off my khaki pants. “Whatcha looking for anyways?” I said.

  “None of your business,” Roth said.

  “Let me a guess: a gold tooth like you took from your pal Pete?”

  Pinter grunted and I could tell he was itching to pull the trigger.

  “How many times do we have to go through this? We pay you to bury the dead, not unbury them,” Roth said.

  “It’s my graveyard.”

  Pinter gnashed his teeth. “Stop toying around. Take us to the body or I’ll plug a hole in you.”

  I walked them to the mortuary and led them down to the basement. Something about the dead made them queasy. I guess it was the smell. Heck, I’m used to it. Death grows on you once you’ve been around it as long as I have.

  Roth almost gagged when he saw ole Lou on the table—pale as a ghost and half covered with a tarp. He must’ve been stunned when he saw ole Lou’s shaved head hooked up with wires to the machine. He regarded the wires, knobs, and monitors and asked, “What the hell is all of this?”

  I wasn’t sure if he could handle the truth, so I said, “Prepping him for his Maker.”

  Roth pulled out his switchblade knife and held it to my throat. “Get him off the table,” he demanded.

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s real feisty, shouldn’t be disturbed while he’s asleep.”

  “Where are his clothes?”

  “In the closet.”

  Roth went over but couldn’t pry it open. He sighed and gave me a nasty stare as if he was about to stab me. “Open it,” he ordered.

  “As you wish.”

  I gaited to the closet as my heart raced, wondering how they would react to my collection. Would they gaze at it in awe or wince in shock? I was curious to find out; they’d be the first to see.

  I unlocked the door and opened it wide. Ole Lou’s trouser and shirt hung on the door hanger, but that wasn’t what peaked their interest. It was the jars of men’s souls, shimmering like the dying ember of blue flames.

  “What are these?” Roth asked.

  “The souls of the dead.”

  Pinter paced up and grabbed the trouser from the door hanger and felt the pockets until he found what he was looking for. “I got it,” he exclaimed.

  His face glowed with joy as he held up a tiny key, regarding it as if it was the Ark of the Covenant. He quickly trotted to the basement door and said, “Let’s go.”

  Roth couldn’t help but stare at the blue flames in the jars. I knew what was going through his mind: he was itching to hold them, to know what they felt like.

  “C-Can I take one,” Roth asked.

  “You want ole Lou’s?”

  He looked at me with narrow eyes. “Ole Lou’s?”

  “Yes sir, I got his right here,” I said and grabbed ole Lou’s jar and held it before Roth.

  Roth’s hands trembled as he clutched it.

  “Let’s go!” Pinter shouted.

  Roth was about to remove the lid when I said, “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ole Lou won’t be happy.”

  Pinter’s cell phone went off and he disappeared into the hallway, talking to his boss. Roth squinted at the blue flame, studying it with the fascination of a child who sees a firefly for the first time. “How’s the flame burning without a candle?” Roth asked.

  “That’s the magic of a soul.”

  Roth had a dumbfounded expression on his face as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Come again?”

  “Let me show you.”

  I walked over to the table and stood beside ole Lou’s corpse. “The soul of a man lingers in his body after he dies. After the soul realizes the body is dead, it leaves and heads off to its Maker.”

  “Are you nuts?” Roth uttered, as if he expected a different explanation.

  I walked over to the machine and said, “This right here can extract the soul before it escapes. You wise guys have given me plenty of corpses to perfect the process, to gather my collection.”

  Roth looked over at the jars in the closet, and then at the wires and monitors and knobs of the machine. Now it made sense to that knucklehead. “What happens if I remove the lid?” he asked.

  I bit my lip, not wanting to see that mistake twice. “The soul is a beautiful thing. If we can preserve it, we can transfer it to a vessel.”

  “Are you talking about reincarnation?”

  “ Well… not exactly. I was thinking of… you know, like Frankenstein’s monster.”

  Pinter walked in and said, “Boss is coming.”

  “What for?” Roth asked.

  “He wants to see Lou, wants to know why the old man dug him up.”

  “He could’ve just called me,” I said.

  “That’s funny,” Pinter said.

  “Would’ve taken him two seconds,” I said.

  Pinter marched up to me and knocked me out cold. It was a helluva punch. He could’ve been a boxer if he hadn’t been a wise guy. Guess that was outta the question.

  +++

  An hour must’ve passed when I awoke from the cigarette burn on my thigh. I tried to move but my arms were tied behind the chair. Banner was sitting across from me with a cup of Joe in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He looked pathetic with his long grey hair and stupid mustache. He smiled with his yellow stained teeth. Take a Tic Tac I almost said. But instead, I was more professional: “There’s no smoking in here.”

  He inhaled and blew a cloud of smoke in my face. I wheezed, and then coughed.

  “Why would you go and do a thing like unbury Lou?” he said with a raspy voice.

  “Ole Lou didn’t mind, trust me,” I said.

  He smiled, and then downed his coffee. He set it on the floor and withdrew a small key from his pocket. “Now this right here is important, so important that if it had been lost, you would’ve been put in the grave.”

  I wanted to laugh but was afraid he would burn me with the cigarette aga
in. “Guess I missed that on ole Lou. I bet the key opens a safe to a wad of cash, am I right?”

  Banner puffed his cigarette. “How long have we been doing this?”

  It was a rhetorical question, so I kept quiet. Pinter punched me in the face and it felt like a sledgehammer to the jaws. I spit out a tooth and mumbled, “Five to six years, give or take.”

  “And you’ve been very loyal to us. You’ve never ratted us out, and we respect you for that. But with you unburying the dead… that’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”

  “It’s my graveyard,” I said.

  “And they are our victims. We don’t want evidence resurfacing, Detectives snooping around and recognizing a face. Catch my drift?”

  I shook my head. “You’re too much.”

  Pinter punched me in the face again and I almost passed out.

  “Your face is starting to look like roast beef,” Banner chuckled.

  “Roast beef ain’t so bad,” I said.

  I was expecting another punch, but it never came. Instead, Banner rose and walked over to the table where ole Lou was. He grabbed ole Lou’s jar and said, “Roth tells me you collect the souls of the dead. He says that Lou’s soul is in this jar. Is that true?”

  I nodded. “No doubt about it.”

  Banner burned out his cigarette on the jar. He was about to open the lid when I said, “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Souls deserve to be free,” he said.

  “You can’t let them out without a vessel.”

  “Maybe we should listen to him boss,” Roth chimed in.

  Banner grinned. “Why don’t you two make yourselves useful and take him to the grave. I’m gonna stay here, see what’s really inside this.”

  That got Pinter all jumpy. He quickly untied me and hurried me outside with Roth. They led me back to ole Lou’s grave and had me kneel at the edge of the hole. Pinter withdrew his pistol and aimed it at my skull.

  “Any last words?” Pinter said.

  “Last words? Souls can talk ya know?”

  Pinter smirked and was about to pull the trigger when a scream echoed from the mortuary. They panicked like wusses, wondering what had happened to Banner. “What the hell’s going on?” Roth said.