Tag: horror book

It’s that time again. The fourth chapter, for better or worse, in all its glory. If you would like a refresher, here’s a link to chapter three. Otherwise, without further bullshit, here’s what you came for:::

***

Chapter Four

            Sleep did not come to Allyson that night.

            Under normal circumstances, it did not bother her in the least. There was plenty to do at night. She’d balance checkbooks, wash floors, spend time touching the holes in the wood from events that seemed to happen ages ago or just yesterday, depending on her mood. 

            But not this time. No, all she could manage was tossing and turning in her twin size bed. She stared out in the blackness imagining different colors and shapes dancing before her eyes. Nonsense and random.

            Sometimes, she’d squint until she swore she saw her again. It was a her. She was sure of it. Breasts, though shriveled, were still present. Skin like powdered latex. Some of her bones protruded in sections around her shoulders, her hips, the skin stretching almost beyond its means—it looked as though it could split at any given moment. It resembled spiked armor. Beautiful. Deadly.

            At night when the tossing and turning wouldn’t give way to rest, she would let her mind wander. No matter where her thoughts started, they would most often lead to that night. The moment everything changed. She thought it was for the better. Most days it seemed for the better. But sometimes the act got tiresome.

            She tried not to think about it too much. She didn’t want to obsess.

            “Not that you haven’t already.”

            The act consisted of two main scenes. First was the matter of the liquid courage her dead deadbeat relied on so heavily. There was a wall of beer cases in the living room, still full. She’d empty it in the next couple months at the end of the year. It was easier to keep track of when it was present and ready to count. By the end of December, there should be fifty-two. It was easier to buy beer than make up stories about sobering up. She’d bought for her old man often enough for the clerk to be okay with her purchasing alone. Everyone knew who the Alexander girl was buying for.

            The second scene was a little tougher than buying underage. Keeping her father under wraps only came by keeping up appearances. Periodically she stood in front of the mirror. With an open palm, she’d strike herself on the cheek, the mouth, near her eye, her ear. It was by far the least enjoyable part of the ruse, but a necessary evil. It was easier to create self-inflicted cuts and bruises than make up stories of happy family dinners and game nights.

            It was hard pretending to live in a broken home when in reality things couldn’t be better.

            Maybe better.

            A little better.

            The night was long, and she was tired.

            Allyson reached under her pillow, fingers searching for either cloth or drawstring. From practice, she was able to find the opening and grasp the tooth without removing the bag from its home. It was bumpy along both sides from years of plaque eating away at the bone. Had he been alive, this tooth wouldn’t be in one piece. 

            “It’s funny how life works out sometimes.”

            Her words bounced off the empty walls of the room. Deafening.

            If it hadn’t been for her, there wouldn’t be any teeth left in his mouth. In a way, she saved its life. The tooth rolled around in her palm over and over again while her mind jumped from one thought to the next in rapid succession until it landed on something worth pondering.

            Zaquerie Aimes.

            Zaquerie Aimes tomorrow.

            It wasn’t as if he were inviting her to another party. He’d tried that a couple times before. She never kidded herself before; thus, she hadn’t accepted. The invite wasn’t special then. She’d been sitting in a classroom full of people then, and everyone got an invite. Even Allyson. He hadn’t cared then; he’d just wanted to be polite.

            She could see though the bad-boy persona he held onto like his life depended on it. The clothes, the hair, the booze, the cigarette smile, all of it screamed villainy and violence. It was his eyes that gave him away, though. His eyes weren’t dead. Far from it. They reflected the gold in his soul. That boy didn’t have one mean bone in his body.

            “We’re the same, you and me.”

            The words didn’t feel like her own, but the buzzing in her throat said otherwise. Uncomfortably aware of her own pulse, she shoved the tooth back in its place and rolled to her side. Blood rushed to her cheeks, making her face burn. Yes, she liked him well enough. He was kind to her, and while no one was outwardly mean, no one was particularly pleasant.

            Yes, she liked him well enough. He had a nice personality and he was nice to look at. It was nothing serious. Nothing life-changing.

            “So then why the butterflies?” she asked the darkness.

            The darkness did not answer.

***

And that’s it, folks. If you want to read more, you can catch chapters five and six in Voices from the Plains, which should be coming out very soon. You’ll know when exactly as soon as I do.

If you want to stay updated Zemblanity and the progress I’m making on it, be sure to subscribe to my monthly newsletter. I’ll post the sign up below if you are interested.

What did you think? I’m really curious to know, good, bad, and ugly. Shoot me a comment, or if you’re camera shy, you can pass an email along my way.

Have a good one, void. Scream at ya later. xx

Alright, Void. One more update after this one before I hit the no post zone. Let’s make the most of it, shall we?

Allyson is a little creepy. Let’s see what’s up with her now. A little time has passed for both us and for her, so who knows, maybe she’s chilled out?

***

Chapter Three

            Allyson was almost certain she would never need to know the difference between one triangle and the next. Triangles were triangles. Three-sided and incredibly boring.

            “My life is a triangle.”

            Only two people took notice of her mumbling; they turned around to shoot her a glare. She looked back down at her notebook, scribbling equations she didn’t understand.

            Four years. Four years since she started this façade, and not a single incident. And it wasn’t from lack of trying.

            Yes, no one ever guessed the truth about her living situation, and that was well and all, but she was bored with it. She wanted more. 

            She attempted summoning up the creature from that night more times than she cared to admit, but nothing ever came of it. It took two years of staying up late and recreating the situation best she could by herself for her to finally give up and accept it for what it was: a fluke. Devil traps were drawings and Ouija boards were toys.

            She might have thought it all a dream if not for the faded scars under her eyes and the speckled holes in the hall of her home. And, of course, the body. Thankfully, it was easy to keep the deadbeat under wraps.

            Allyson never knew her mother. She imagined her occasionally, making up stories to go with whatever face she chose to give her. She didn’t have the luxury of family photos to use for reference. Most often, she imagined her dead. Sometimes in a car crash. Other times during childbirth. She didn’t want to imagine her alive. If she was alive, that meant that she left her daughter with a drunk. Abandoned. And she didn’t want to believe that. Otherwise, she’d be worse than him. No, her mother loved her dearly, but the grim reaper had different plans.

            “Hey, Allyson.”

            She was so deep in thought, so didn’t notice anyone leaning against the front of her desk. Her heart leapt into her throat, thin shoulders rising in surprise that she tried to cover up with a stretch. She furrowed her brow, feigning annoyance.

            Everyone in the classroom, teacher included, was gone. Not the first time she’d zoned out during a lecture, and definitely wouldn’t be the last.

            “Um…yeah?”

            Icy blue eyes traveled up the ripped jeans, up the grey hoodie hiding the lean muscle beneath. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat, her wrists, her eyes, and her lips trembled if she didn’t force a smile. Whenever Zaque talked to her, she’d stare at his eyes. One moment they’d look green, and if she blinked, she’d swore they were brown. Like magic.

            “What are you doing later?”

            Sometimes she would envision the spelling of his name. She’d see it in neon lights hovering over his head. Utterly ridiculous. His parents, hip and trendy as they were, couldn’t settle on a spelling that made sense. Zaquerie Aimes. She didn’t know his middle name, but it was likely just as obnoxious.

            “Probably nothing? Why? What do you want?”

            She kept her half smile and annoyed expression. Sending mixed signals was somewhat of a specialty of hers. Keep them guessing, keep you safe. Besides, no one, not him, not anyone, ever asked her something like…like…

            “Hey, hey, no reason to get upset or anything. I just wanted to see if you wanted to go to a movie or something. And, uh, if you don’t, that’s totally cool. Just offering and whatnots.”

            He held up his hands as if he could push his request on her. She’d watched him do it hundreds of times throughout the year. It didn’t matter if the other person was male or female. It didn’t change the outcome. Zaque was a superhero, and persuasion was his super power.

            She looked him over for what seemed to her like an eternity, searching for ulterior motives of the butt of the joke. If there was something there, he hid it well.

            “No.”

            Short and simple, more to see his reaction than anything, ready to brace herself against the bucket of pig blood that surely rested on an imaginary beam over her head. But nothing. Not even a smirk to prove how gullible she was. His eyebrows raised, mouth down turned even as he nodded in acceptance.

            “Not tonight, at least. My father wants me to run errands for him. Um, I mean, I’m free this weekend, though.”

            The heat traveled up her neck, into her cheeks, and her mind felt fuzzy. Allyson always had a half smile plastered to her face, but it felt like ages since the right side turned up in agreement. A little less forced than before. A little more natural.

            “Cool. Theater tomorrow at four then.”

            It didn’t sound like a question to her ears. He walked out of the room without waiting for a response. As if he already knew the answer. As if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. How dare he. How dare he how dare he how dare…

***

…Well, fuck.

Come back on December 6^th for a final free chapter. I’ll let you know when the anthology is available for your enjoyment! 😉

Hey void. What’s up? I won’t keep you waiting for long.

It’s been a hot minute, but I have the second chapter of Zemblanity here and ready to go. In case you missed chapter one, you can find it here.

Fun fact: Allyson Alexander’s initials cause minor bullying at school since her dad is…er…was…a drunk. The AA jokes didn’t survive the first round of edits, and unfortunately exist only in my fleeting memory, because my dog decided a long while ago to pee on a bunch of my books and the first draft was one of them he chose to claim. He’s an asshole. He also has never peed on my books again. Seriously Jax. What were you thinking?

Without further word vomit, let’s see how Allyson is doing since shit hit the fan:

***

Chapter Two

            Tick

Tock

            Tick

Tock

            Tick

            Time and place sewn together in a blurred mass of grey. Allyson lost track of how long she sat over the corpse. Stray dogs barked and moaned from outside her house, her barrier. Streaks of daylight slashed through the shadows, carelessly highlighting the parts of her father she did not wish to see.

            Dead.

            Roger Alexander was dead. Nothing left of him but scraps of clothing and literal skin and bones. His body was stiff and dry, almost as if he was gone for years instead of hours (Days? She didn’t know, she couldn’t know). There on the floor, he didn’t look so big; his body collapsed on itself like a long dead spider.

            The first of many pangs of anxiety hit her, forcing her back to her feet to pace the floor in a set pattern she’d traveled many times. If he was still alive, she’d receive a hearty smack to the back of her matted head for the nervous habit. That was one thing she wouldn’t have to worry about anymore. She could pace when she wanted, watch what she wanted, eat what she wanted, do anything she wanted, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

            On one of her back and forth trips, Allyson glanced at the mirror at the end of the hall. She took in air so fast it hurt her throat. She almost didn’t recognize her own reflection. Something was different from before, but it was hard to tell what exactly from this far away. She wanted to walk, but her knees shook so violently that she settled on crawling to the framed glass. 

            It was her face, but not the face she saw last night while playing dress up with her dead mother’s clothes. From bottom eyelid to cheek were ugly red scabs trailing like a river bed before tapering off to smooth skin. It was as if someone took a knife to her, but she had no memory of weapons.

            Trembling fingers reached for the first mark, and her body went cold all over. She touched the skin around it. It was sore, but otherwise felt normal. Slow, slow, her fingers came together, running along the divot. It burned to the touch. She didn’t pull away until she could feel her thoughts fuzz white.

            “Like static.”

            The words came from her mouth, but it wasn’t her voice. Not quite. Not as she remembered.

            “Bad reception. Something happened.”

            Different bits and pieces came back to her. Her tears were acid. They were acid and they ate through her cheeks and through his hand and through the wood. And then…and then…

            “And then what, Allyson? What did you do?”

            But it hadn’t been her. There was something else in the room with them.

            “It came from the shadows.”

            From the shadows in the hall, from the shadows in the floor, she wasn’t sure where for certain, but she knew it wasn’t from the light. It was hard to see at first, but it was there.

            “And it killed him.”

            There was no weight to the words. She told herself it was just the shock; that really she did care that her father was no more. But the more she thought about it, the less certain she was. With that uncertainty came and eerie sort of calm that she clung to like a lifeline.

            “You deserved it, you know.”

            Allyson sat on the floor for another good look of what remained of the thing she called Daddy. There was a hard lump in her throat that was hard to breathe past, and forced something that felt like a sob but sounded like a laugh. No one would believe it, not even if they saw it. Spiders shriveled when dead; not people. Not that fast. 

            “You were bad and you deserved all the bad things in the world,” she told the corpse. “You can’t just hurt people when you’re mad at them. You can’t just scream at them. There are consequences, Roger. And when you do bad, you have to suck it up and deal with the consequences.”

            For the first time since she could remember, she felt bigger than him. She held onto that sudden empowerment as tight as she possibly could, but it didn’t come as naturally as portrayed in the movies. Her grip was slippery.

            “Fuck,” she whispered against her open palm. “No one deserves to die.”

            The shock was wearing off, and fast. She didn’t hate him. Sometimes, she even loved him. It was a sort of sick game, she supposed, trying to win his affection, but they got by. He was all she knew, and now he was gone.

            Allyson stood and paced around his body. This couldn’t be real. Demons did not crawl from the depths of hell to claim the souls God had no need for. Human beings did not dissolve away to skin and bones. 

            And yet, there he lay. Empty eye sockets. Mocking her.

            Why did it feel so natural, so at home, when the beast from under the house smiled at her with those razor sharp teeth?

            “He probably died of a heart attack or a stroke or alcohol poisoning or a brain aneurysm and I made up the rest to make it interesting.”

            In fact, she should pick up the phone right now and dial the police or an ambulance or somebody to come make sense of the situation for her. Maybe an adult would have better luck wrapping their mind around it.

            She grabbed the corded receiver, her fingers hovered over the buttons, and she froze. If she involved adults, her fate was sealed. Not because she would be blamed, for no one in their right mind would believe a girl so young capable of such atrocities, but because she’d become a kid of the state. Allyson had no relatives that she knew of, and she’d seen enough classmates playing the foster home game to know what she’d be getting herself into.

            Besides, there was still the matter of the body. The recently deceased were supposed to have meat on them. Her father simply did not. She didn’t want to deal with the questions when she herself was still trying to figure out the details.

            Then again…

            “Bingo.”

            It was common knowledge around town that Roger was a recluse. A homebody. A deadbeat drunk on disability. It was a rare occasion to see him anywhere but the liquor store, and most times he’d send Allyson with his list anyway.

            It was possible, fully possible, to pull it off without anyone knowing he was missing at all.

            “He was already a ghost to them.”

            What did it matter if his body was above ground or below?

            “Speaking of which…”

            The house was on the outskirts; the last house before acres of farmland. Even if someone drove by, they wouldn’t be able to see the backyard through the weeds and trash littered about. Even so, she’d wait until the safety of nightfall. Until then, she’d move him closer to the back door. 

            It just didn’t seem right to watch tv in the same room as a corpse.

            Allyson couldn’t bring herself to touch him. She imagined his skin would feel like a plastic bag holding wet sand, with some bits crunchy as dried leaves. She was afraid of him splitting open or crumbling away.

            With an old towel to protect her hand from direct contact, she grasped his ankles and pulled. It was like moving furniture. Heavy at first, but with a little momentum, everything went fairly smooth.

            The closer she got to the door, the more aware she was of the sounds from outside. It sounded like a dog fight. A cat fight? She couldn’t be certain, but whatever it was sounded mean. Had they just started in, or did she just start paying attention?

            All her worries of a piece of her father snagging on a splintered piece of floorboard were unfounded. The only part of him that managed to work its way loose was a single tooth. She’d not have noticed had she not stepped on it in the middle of the kitchen.

Arms still shaky from exertion, she knelt down and cradled it in her hand. She meant to walk to the trash and toss it away, but her outstretched palm couldn’t bring itself to rotate. It didn’t seem right to put it there. Later she’d bring herself to believe that it was for her own safety. What if someone at the dump rifled through the bag and found the tooth? No, too risky. Instead, she placed it in the pocket of her dirty sundress.

            “I’ll figure out what to do with it later.”

            Burying it with the body crossed her mind, but she shoved it aside, convinced it was likewise risky business. Her fingerprints were all over it now. Then they’d know.

            “Know what?”

            A problem for a different day. For now, she was proud of a job well done. She walked to the living room and went to the chair—his chair. She flicked through the channels until she landed on something as dark and foreign as her current state of mind.

***

Jeezums. Does she have your attention?

I would love to hear what you think. Good, bad, let me hear it!

Come back November 8th for chapter three. And don’t forget to subscribe!!