Whispers – Vol. 1
By
Stuart Keane
Copyright © Stuart Keane 2014
Cover art copyright © Mark Kelly 2015
Published: 17th April 2015
Publisher: Stuart Keane
The right of Stuart Keane to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement or the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘Whispers - Volume 1’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information about the author, please visit www.stuartkeane.com
For more information about the artist, please visit www.zgrimv.com
Contents
Wet
First published in Indiana Horror Review 2014 – December 3rd 2014.
Publisher: James Ward Kirk
Vermillion – A Travelers Tale
First published in Journals of Horror: Found Fiction – October 31st, 2014.
Publisher: Pleasant Storm Entertainment, Inc.
From Within
First published in Cellar Doors III: Animals/Hell II: Citizens – November 14th, 2014.
Publisher: James Ward Kirk
Fool Aboard
First published in Terror Train – June 18th, 2014.
Publisher: James Ward Kirk
Rendezvous
First published in Rejected for Content: Splattergore – September 23rd, 2014.
Publisher: J Ellington Ashton Press
Hollow Be Thy
First published in Autumn Burning: Dreadtime Stories for the Wicked Soul – October 6th, 2014.
Publisher: J Ellington Ashton Press
In The Closet
First published in Cellar Doors III: Animals/Hell II: Citizens – November 14th, 2014.
Publisher: James Ward Kirk
Pieces
First published on Dark Chapter Press website – Inaugural winner of their Flash Fiction Competition.
September 1st, 2014.
Publisher: Dark Chapter Press
No Laughing Matter (AKA Coulrophobic)
First published in Floppy Shoes Apocalypse – November 5th, 2014.
Publisher: J Ellington Ashton Press
Find out more about the publishers on their websites.
www.jwkfiction.com
www.pleasantstorm.com
www.jellingtonashton.com
www.darkchapterpress.com
Delightful Mr. Keane…
Once in a while, certain authors sneak up on us and that’s always a delight. I’m not implying that Stuart Keane is anything but a horrifying writer and audacious, but his style is what is clever. Taken apart, his characters and scenes seem very ordinary and safe, but as soon as a reader lowers his defenses, Stuart goes for the throat and never lets go. He devours.
I have always found it amusing that the most bloodcurdling, most shocking horror writers tend to be the nicest people on earth and Stuart Keane is exactly that. It’s enjoyable to see my benevolent, kind friend turn into a horrific, ferocious writer with a few key strokes. That’s kind of the hallmark of a good writer: they can go from normal to terrifying in a flash. The hallmark of a great writer is one that can do this with cheeky stealth. Who doesn't fear the monster that creeps up at the foot of the bed and teases us before taking a bite?
I am blessed to call Stuart a friend, and I never forget that a perk lies within being able to watch him brainstorm at times and plan his vicious assaults on our fears. We all need more friends like this…ones that hide in our closets, giggle manically, and always give us utter delight.
- Catt Dahman, CEO of J Ellington Ashton Press
For the horror readers who like their stories short, sweet and horrifying.
Wet
The door closed behind Sophie with a soft clunk.
She breathed out.
Placing her heavy rucksack on the floor, she removed her damp coat and dropped it at her feet. It hit the carpet with a thud, keys and coins clinking as they bounced in the pockets. She shook her arms and arched her head upwards, her eyes focusing on the cream coloured ceiling.
She screamed.
And smiled.
That's better, she thought.
Another day, done.
Same shit, different day and all that malarkey.
Stepping away from her crumpled coat, she turned, bent down, and collected it from the carpet. Sophie hooked the coat onto her hat stand and walked into the kitchen on her left. Turning around, she listened.
Silence greeted her.
"Henry? You back yet?"
No answer. Her husband wasn’t home.
Sophie sighed again.
Out with the boys. Again.
He never has any time for me anymore.
With a flick of a switch, the kitchen lights came on.
Sophie tapped the button on the kettle. After a few seconds, the familiar hiss of boiling water filled the room. Opening a cupboard, she retrieved a teabag and dropped it into her usual cup, which was waiting on the work surface. Leaning on the counter, she sighed, flexing her muscles, trying to remove the stress of her day. Her muscles creaked and groaned during her basic yoga stretches.
This day has been an absolute shit storm. I don’t want another like it.
Comes with the job unfortunately.
You need a new job then.
I wish we could emigrate already.
Paris or Rome. That's what Henry keeps saying.
It would be amazing. Paradise.
Better than Indiana.
Way better.
The love of my life and a romantic city.
Living the dream!
If only he was home more.
The grind of the day, straining our marriage.
No other choice.
Until then, the shitty job pays the bills.
Shitty job!
Forget that. Have a relaxing evening. You're off the clock.
Sophie placed her arms behind her back and yawned.
A bath. That’s what you need. With plenty of bubbles and salts.
Suddenly, Sophie felt alive, encouraged. The thought of a bath made her feel human again. Leaving the kettle to boil, she ambled out of the kitchen and across the hall into her bedroom. The door to the en suite bathroom was open.
Sophie started to undress. The buttons on her shirt plinked as she unclasped them. Within seconds, her shirt—creased with daily sweat and moderately expensive perfume—lay on the bed. She removed her bra and held the cups in place with one arm across her chest, as she closed the curtains. She glanced at the neighbor's window straight across the alley.
That's all Mr Koontz needs. An eyeful.
You'd give him a boner or a heart attack. Or both, in that order.
A cheeky smile spread across Sophie's face.
In a playful manner, she removed her arm and stretched both limbs outwards. The bra fluttered to the floor. The cool air on her exposed breasts, and the sweaty strap marks left behind from the brasseri
e, was heavenly. Her nipples started to stiffen. She stood like that for a moment before moving to the bathroom.
She tugged the cord to turn on the bathroom light. Sophie reached for the taps and twisted them. Within seconds, hot water started to fill the bath with a dull roar. She tested the heat with her fingertips and adjusted it. Once right, she smiled and walked back into the bedroom.
Sophie unbuckled her belt and dropped it on the bed. She unlatched her trousers and slid them down her lithe, muscular legs. She folded them neatly and placed them across her dresser chair before slipping her panties down and tossing them in the hamper.
Sophie stood there, naked and exposed.
Moving to the bed, she sat down on the soft mattress and opened her beside drawer. She rifled through the contents, picking out a billfold, before realizing it was Henry's side of the bed. She shook her head and smiled at her error.
What is wrong with you?
You need a decent night’s sleep. Or a good fucking.
Sophie blushed, closing her legs.
It has been a while.
She thought about her 'friend' in her bedside drawer. He spent his time tucked under her best underwear. Victoria’s Secret and Ann Summers were his companions. In recent memory, he paid more attention to her then Henry did.
Sophie realized she was still holding the billfold. It was old, battered. Henry's makeshift address book, his little black book of clients.
She snorted.
Sophie started to open it and remembered the bath was running. She placed her feet down on the soft carpet and stood up, dropping the billfold where she sat mere seconds before. It opened to a bookmarked page. Sophie didn’t notice.
The sudden realization that she was naked made her teeth chatter.
Folding one arm over her breasts, she scooped her dressing gown off the bed with the other, wrapped it around herself and returned to the bathroom.
The bath was a third full.
Plenty of time.
She stroked her calves. Still smooth, no need to shave tonight.
She dropped a spherical bath bomb in. It started fizzing.
Sophie returned to the kitchen and picked up the kettle, poured the water into the cup and let it rest. Where was Henry? She plucked the lid off the Batman biscuit barrel on the counter. After a second, she removed an Oreo and placed it in her mouth. Her teeth crunched down and she closed her eyes. The chocolate goodness seeped into her taste buds. The creamy sensation that followed made her realize why she couldn’t stop eating them.
The little things really are the best.
Grabbing Batman from the worktop, she picked up her cup and returned to the bathroom.
She checked her watch. 20:02.
Henry could be a while yet.
The bath was a massive structure, a ceramic teardrop latched into the corner of the room. The lining of the bath created makeshift support shelves, which held bottles of shampoo, shower gel, moisturizer and a razor blade with a pink handle and purple heads. A rubber duck sat lonely on the edge of the bath, its yellow hue faded from years of use.
Sophie placed her hot tea and Batman on the side with the toiletries.
Twisting the water off, she stood up and dropped the robe. The sudden silence in the room was strange, but welcome. Sophie breathed out. She looked at the purple bath water, the bomb still slowly fizzing into nothing beneath the surface.
She grinned. "I'm going to enjoy this."
Sophie lifted a leg over the rim and climbed into the bath, the hot water scorching her leg. She hissed as her calf adapted to the heat that enveloped it, and placed her left foot down gently to secure her balance. The right leg followed and again, she composed herself, both legs calf-deep in water. The heat rose, pricking sweat droplets from her open pores. Slipping a hair tie from her wrist, she tied her brunette locks into a small ponytail. She stood there for a moment, savoring the warmth, and started to sit down.
The telephone rang.
Sophie flinched, surprised by the shrill noise in the sudden silence, and turned on reflex. Her left leg gave way and she slipped backwards. Forcing the foot down again, it stepped on the slimy bath bomb, and her feet squeaked on the base of the bath. Both legs upended and she jackknifed, her head flew back and smacked against the edge of the bath. Water splashed out of the tub, splattering the white tiles. Her neck cracked and a blinding pain flashed along her spine. Her eyes fogged over and she slid, her body sliding into the water, the warm water swallowed her body, her torso easing into it.
Her right leg stopped her, bent beneath her rump, her body propped against it. Her head came to an uneasy rest on the rim of the bath. The water was a few inches below her chin, lapping against her neck.
Sophie groaned in pain.
Her eyes cleared. Her tongue licked her lips and she came to, slightly disorientated.
The smell of lavender—presumably from the bath bomb—snapped Sophie awake like smelling salts. Her head turned from side to side. She gazed forward. Her eyes slowly began to focus.
Her left leg was floating beneath the water. Her toes were poking out of the murky, purple liquid. Sophie noticed blue glitter in the water; it sparkled in the light. Her belly also broke the surface, as did her slick, rounded breasts.
"Help."
The words came out strangled, barely noticeable, almost a whisper. Her throat ached. The back of her neck throbbed, its close proximity to the enamel tub amplifying the sensation. The throbbing coursed through the white tub. Sophie tried to move.
She couldn’t.
Don’t panic. You took a nasty bump. Try again.
She did.
Nothing happened.
Sophie couldn’t move.
Try again.
Sophie tried again.
Same result. Her body wouldn’t move.
She looked left, at the bathroom around her, and glanced right at the blue tiled wall. A white bottle of shampoo sat beside her. She gazed forward and moaned.
"Help."
Again, the words barely escaped. A tear rolled down her face.
Her body was immobile.
You hit yourself pretty bad. You'll recover soon enough.
What if you don’t? You might be a cripple.
Don’t think like that, it won't get you anywhere.
It’s a possibility though.
Your body is just in shock from the fall.
That’s bullshit.
No, it's not.
Shut up!
"HELP!"
The words were forceful this time, vehement. They echoed around the bathroom. Sophie tried to shift herself again and nothing happened. Her body was rooted to the slippery base of the bath.
Sophie remembered the bath bomb.
Her brain was foggy but it was trying to alert her to something. The thought wouldn’t come. She looked down at her wet torso, wishing she could cover her modesty. Her nipples were erect, the water in the bath was slowly rippling along her chest. Her toes still bobbed in the water. Her neatly shaved pubic region waved beneath the murky water.
Normal bath activity. Except for one thing.
She couldn’t move.
Sophie sniffled. The pricking of tears burned the backs of her eyes.
Why can't I move?
Normally, her leg would shift and jolt and slide out from beneath her. It was a reflex action, provided by moving her body and having her skeleton react to the brain synapse. She even may slip and slide a little. In this bath, on this rainy evening, her leg remained immobile.
Shit, she thought.
Sophie glanced around. She tried to lift her arms and couldn’t. Like her leg, they remained dead in the water beside her, their palms upturned, pale white under the lights’ glow.
What was it about bath bombs?
Her brain was trying to alert her to…something.
Dammit, think!
Why can't I feel the water?
The warmth. The hot water surrounded her. Sophie could see the steam rising as
it rippled and distorted the air before her. She could smell the heat, its aroma usually relaxing. Now, it was concerning.
How comes I can't feel anything?
It burned my legs before and now…nothing.
Sophie looked at her left leg. The skin was turning pink beneath the water. It bobbed up and down gently, breaking the surface before slipping beneath once more. Her skin was soothing and boiling beneath the water. She checked her chest, and the skin surrounding her nipples was pink too. The crevice between her breasts formed a dark pink valley.
However, she felt nothing.
No sensation whatsoever.
Crippled. The word snaked across her brain. She didn’t notice the gooseflesh prickling her soaked body.
"HELP!"
Sophie screamed, the noise reverberating around the bathroom. The noise was clear and precise. It echoed, the sound bounced around several times before diminishing.
She thought about her neighbors.
Mrs Smith lived downstairs, ancient and deaf. The stench of urine and cabbage were her only friends. Her hearing required the TV to be on full blast every day. Sophie shook her head. No use. She wouldn’t hear a bomb drop.
Bomb?
Sophie eyed the last few drops of the bath bomb as they separated and spread out across the water, finally fulfilled. Think, brain, think! What were you trying to tell me?
What about James across the hall?
Doesn’t he work nights?
Sophie nodded, as if answering her own question. He'd be starting his shift right now. Maybe you can call the super?
He doesn’t work past five.
He lives in, though. Yeah, good luck disturbing him at this time. He'd sabotage your heating or something. Stupid fat prick.
You're forgetting one simple thing.
You can't fucking move.
You're stuck here. Unless your neighbors are nosy or psychic, you're not going anywhere.
"HELLO! ANYONE THERE? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?"
Whispers - Volume 1: A Collection Page 1
