Midnight Paths: A Collection of Dark Horror

by Joe Hart

  Lance stopped and stood still as he came abreast of the caretaker, who sat motionless in the plastic chair. John’s eyes were narrowed, studying the bay. He didn’t acknowledge Lance’s presence, so instead of breaking the silence first, Lance sat on the lawn nearby, his arms resting on the tops of his knees. Waves continued to crash on the shore, marking off the seconds and minutes that passed by, their insatiable thirst for erosion unquenchable.

  “You’re pretty good at being quiet,” John said. Lance turned his head and studied the old man’s profile. It was worn and tired, like a statue made of materials unintended for rain and wind. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  John lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “You gonna buy the old place?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.” John nodded again. A lone seagull coasted overhead, the wind fueling its flight without the beat of its wings. It looked down on them for a moment, its black beady eyes there and gone as it glided away in search of food.

  “You’re a writer.” The words were a statement, not a question.

  “Yeah, have you read my books?”

  “No, knew your name, though. You’re alongside Patterson sometimes when I buy his latest. I like Patterson.” Lance smiled and looked back out across the expanse of water. “What’s a writer want with a place like this?”

  Lance pulled a strand of grass from the ground beside him and began to tie it in knots. “It seems like a good place to think. Calm, quiet.”

  John finally turned his head and examined Lance. He could feel the caretaker’s eyes running over the surface of his face like the fingers of a blind person. Eventually, John turned back to the lake and sighed. If Lance hadn’t been listening closely it could have been misconstrued as the breath of the wind.

  “Don’t buy this place. There’s nothing for you here.”

  Without another word, John rose and retreated to the driveway, where he climbed into the rusted Ranger, gunned the engine to life, and left dual plumes of dust behind in the wake of the truck.

  Lance watched as the vehicle disappeared behind the thick row of trees lining the driveway before turning back to the choppy lake. Instead of trying to interpret the old man’s cryptic words, Lance brushed them off as sentimental remnants from a time before him. No matter how promising or bright the future sometimes seemed to be, the past had its own way of holding onto people, at times letting out some slack for them to run, but always making sure they knew that they were tethered.

  Lance gazed at the horizon and tried to make out the distant shore he knew was there but couldn’t see. Words began to form in his mind and a corner of the veil was lifted slightly. A shape beneath tried to show itself. It was as if the story wanted him to find it but was limited, chained just beyond the reach of his imagination. Nonetheless, he seized the moment and formed the words into a sentence.

  His eyes searched for them, but his heart knew better. The waking hours were the worst, the moments when he would drift up from sleep and reach for her or listen for the sounds of laughter. Instead, there was silence, a vacuum, and then the crashing slam of reality settling down on him.

  “They’re dead, but he’s still there,” Lance said to the water. It lapped at the shore but said nothing back. Lance stood, his back cracking as he turned and walked across the yard to where Carrie waited near the rear end of her Tahoe. Lance noticed that she was smiling her too-large smile again, but in spite of himself, he felt his own face reflect her expression as he stopped a few feet away.

  “I’ll take it.”

  Notes

  I always want to know where authors’ ideas come from, and whenever there’s an explanation at the end of a book, I’m eager to see what insight lies there. An idea is just such an interesting concept that I can’t resist finding out where it came from. I’m thoroughly convinced that some people are just meant to be writers, and ideas are interpreted through them differently than they are through other people. Almost like they’re mediums for thoughts. And maybe I’m just cracked, but I’m okay with that as long as people want to read what I write. Anyway, I wanted to write a short explanation for each of the stories so anyone who was interested would have a little better understanding about the crazy process I call writing.

  PCA

  This story was a decade in the making. The idea came when my brother and I were driving on a lonely road to a great fishing lake we know. It’s way off in the wilderness, and as we were driving along in my brother’s truck, he pointed off to the right side of the road and said, “I always wondered about living in a place that close to a graveyard. I don’t think I’d want to drink the water.” When I looked, there was a little house sitting just a few hundred yards away from a large fenced-in cemetery. The idea stayed in my brain for about ten years, and then about three months ago I drove past the same place with my mom. The story came together on the drive home, and the rest, as they say, is history. This is probably my favorite story in the collection, because of the humanness of the characters and how easily it flowed.

  The Unfamiliar

  This is another old story. I started writing it when I was still in high school. I got a few pages in and then lost interest. But it stayed with me all these years, in the back of my mind like an old painting locked away in a trunk in an attic. When I started writing this collection, I just knew I had to finish this one. It’s my story of purgatory. A vicious, never-ending cycle of fear and horror. I really love the setting: a gray unfriendly ocean of land that never ends, filled with some monsters that you know, and some you don’t.

  You Sure Are Calm, Cowboy

  This one just surfaced in my mind without warning. The idea of an Old West setting mixed with some really weird shit just seemed to click. It’s just a really fun story of knowing something is very wrong but not being able to put your finger on it. I really like this concept, and I used it several times in the collection. Also, the idea of having the tables turned on the aggressor was something else I did a lot of. Anyway, this story’s a fun little ride.

  Angel Charlie

  This one came to me after my dad passed away. I hadn’t “talked” to him very much since he had died, and one day an idea came to me about a son trapped in a car wreck who had lost his dad some time ago. His father, in the meantime, is sitting in heaven and is kind of disappointed by how few “phone calls” or prayers he gets compared to the other souls in the afterlife. Suddenly, his son begins to talk to him because he thinks he’s going to die in the car wreck that he’s trapped in. His father is allowed to go and visit him, and they talk while he’s trapped there. The dad keeps the son company, conscious, and alive until help finally arrives. Meanwhile, they resolve some of the issues that they had while the dad was alive. It’s a great story, and one I still hope to write, but it didn’t fit in this collection. “Angel Charlie” is the evil twin of the original idea.

  Old Dog

  This story jumped into the forefront of my brain while I was trying to finish one of the other stories here. I could see the image of an old golden lab that was sick and chained to an abandoned house in a desolate neighborhood. There was an evil young man there too, tormenting the dog. I disliked that young man so much I thought that he should get his just deserts, and he did.

  Pale Man

  This one was my big bad monster story. I have always had a fascination with undiscovered monsters or legends. I caught wind of the Pale Man legend on the Internet, but when I did more research, I really couldn’t find any more information about it. This was my opportunity to create my own creature, which I really enjoyed. I hope that I portrayed the Nez Perce in a good light. Everything I’ve read about them has echoed of honor and pride. This is also the longest story in the collection (novella length). I just couldn’t seem to trim it down and finally decided to let it buck. I think it turned out pretty well.

  The Man in the Room

  I really wanted to write a short, short story for the collection. I love really short, shocking stories and wanted to create m
y own here. The darkness inside regular people always interests me too. From the temper that flares suddenly in an average guy to an everyday person just snapping and going on a rampage, I’m always amazed at what lies within people.

  The Exploding Man

  This one came from one of my best friends. He’s probably the nicest guy I’ve ever met. He never wrongs anyone else and actually will harm himself in the process of trying to be nice or accommodating to others. So, needless to say, he’s become very unhappy, and on top of everything else, he’s somehow picked up a terrible case of bad luck. Call it what you will—karma, fate, coincidence—he almost always gets the short end of the stick. I kept envisioning him finally snapping, and this story is what came out.

  Adrift

  This is another one of my favorites. The ocean really scares me. I mean really, really scares me. The thoughts of what could be down there in the depths, maybe watching people pass over it, has given me many chills over the years. I thought this one up near the end of completing the book. I wanted to capture that feeling of unease throughout the story, along with the stark and horrifying realization at the end.

  Blackjack

  This is my story of addiction. I think the central idea encompasses all the different addictions across the board. The feeling of not being able to control yourself when faced with your weakness, even though it could mean the difference between damnation and salvation. Choices, that’s really the scariest part of most horror stories. It’s not the monster in the dark or the killer that just won’t stop. It’s the choices that regular people make. That’s what actually terrifies me.

  If you’ve enjoyed this collection, I would greatly appreciate a review on Amazon. Being a self-published author, I believe the readers like you are the most important part of the success of the creation. I give you many thanks for buying this collection, and I hope to meet you again on this dark path sometime in the future.

  Joe Hart

  October 14, 2011

  About The Author

  Joe Hart was born and raised in northern Minnesota and has no desire to ever leave. He’s been in love with the horror genre since the first time he picked up The Shining. He is currently at work on a novel. He’s happily married to his wonderful wife, Jade, and has two extraordinary children, Rainyn and Keegan.

  Other Books By Joe Hart

  Lineage: A Supernatural Thriller

  Singularity

  Outpost: A Short Horror Story

  The Edge of Life: A Short Horror Story