Easter Eggs and Bunny Boilers: A Horror Anthology

by Matt Shaw

  Copyright©2016 by Matt Shaw

  Matt Shaw Publications

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters in this book are purely fictitious.

  Each story contained within is the property of the authors listed and has kindly been given for inclusion in this anthology.

  Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of contents

  Introduction from Jim Mcleod

  Matt Shaw

  David Owain Hughes

  Duncan Ralston

  Kit Power

  Kindra Sowder

  Jack Rollins

  Stuart Keane

  Glenn Rolfe

  Michael Bray

  Jim Goforth

  Neil Buchanan

  Matt Hickman

  Mark West

  Kyle M. Scott

  Duncan P. Bradshaw

  Rich Hawkins

  Graeme Reynolds

  Chantal Noordeloos

  J R Park

  Luke Smitherd

  Matt Shaw Presents

  EASTER EGGS

  &

  Bunny Boilers

  A Horror Anthology

  INTRODUCTION

  Easter a time of rejuvenation, bunny rabbits and chocolate. Out of all the Christian religious seasons this has been the one that has always bothered me the most, which is odd as I am an atheist. In my opinion this should be the most revered of them all, hell they are celebrating the fact that their long haired hippie leader was nailed to a couple of two by fours, and left hanging around like a fat man at a salad bar until he died. It should be a somber occasion, I mean he gave his life for you, not me. I’m a Ginger; even the Son of God hates us. But instead of them being all referential and sad they celebrate it by stuffing their faces with mass produced chocolate eggs, and slaughtering millions of lambs, kind of ironic since he was the Lamb of God, thank God he wasn’t referred to as the Panda of God, smothering it in vile mint sauce and force feeding themselves on the day of his resurrection.

  Forgive the pun, but Christ on a bike, who bases their religion on a bloody Zombie? What’s next the latter day Saint’s Church of Holy Werewolves?

  However the more enlightened of us know that the Catholic Church didn’t like the fact that us locals were doing our own celebratory things at this time of year, and they did what they always do, take over the local custom and smack it down into the gutter, stab it in the back and claim it as their own, while they dump the poor rotting corpse into the nearest hole in the ground.

  Easter is also a very poor time for us horror fans, with the exception of such things as weird Pagan cults barbequing innocent Edward Woodward impersonators or killer bunny rabbits, whether they are tiny like the Beast of Caerbannog or giant killing machines like those from Night of the Lepus,. A film I watched as a very young child, that to this day still has me think that all rabbits should be boiled alive, which expertly leads me to the reason why we are all here. Matt Shaw’s rather spiffing new anthology Easter Eggs and Bunny Boilers. This was an odd request for me, initially I was thrilled to be asked, then my heart sank when I noticed that two of the authors concerned had been involved in two rather public falling outs with me. I know who would have thought that was possible, I’m the most happy cheerful Don of Horror out there. Who could ever fall out with me? Well I won’t name names, but it was all their fault, I’m perfect I do nothing wrong, well nothing I will own up to in public. And that is the great things about projects like this, it forces you to look hard at yourself and realize that maybe you were an asshole as well, and makes you reach out with an olive branch to those who you have fallen out with.

  I’ve not read any of the stories in this anthology but Matt has put together a fantastic line up of writers, hopefully by the time you have finished reading this anthology, (and yes it’s an anthology, not a collection, despite what some idiots tell you) you’ll have had a great time reading it. And if you did please leave a review on Amazon, and don’t forget to mention just how awesome this introduction is.

  Jim Mcleod

  The Heart & Soul of Horror News, Reviews and Interviews

  http://gingernutsofhorror.com/

  A Word from Matt Shaw

  Hello, children.

  Thank you for purchasing this anthology. A project I decided to put together when I came to the conclusion there doesn’t seem to be much room for horror around the Easter period - and given the fact Jesus Christ came back as a zombie and society turns into greedy slaves to chocolate and commercialism - I don’t see why not. With that in mind, I approached a couple of author friends to bring you this here collection. And then - when they said ‘yes’ - it seemed to snowball, with me approaching more and more people, some of whom I haven’t spoken to much before this project, and more and more of these people saying ‘yes’ to feature in this book.

  Now, I feel it prudent to mention I do not own the rights to the stories collected here. They remain with the author so it may be that you might notice the stories repeated elsewhere should the authors decide to publish them anywhere else. All I asked was that it remained unpublished until this book was released and - thankfully - they all agreed. I say all but that’s technically a lie. Two of the authors I approached turned me down. The bastards (insert a cheeky, smiley face here).

  Now if you’re new to the purchasing of anthologies, I think you’re in for a treat. There are some great names in this collection - some of which you are most likely familiar with already. Having read the stories, I’m happy to report back - though - that they all brought their A Game to the collection and you’re in for some real treats here. Treats which, you’ll be pleased to hear, won’t have to be added on to any calorie counter - like the bastard Easter eggs people might be buying for you. Also - another reason this book is better than an egg - it will last a lot longer as it is sitting around 100,000 words. A tome of a book.

  There is no real rhyme nor reason as to how the stories appear in this collection, I’ll be honest. I simply slotted them in as and when I received them. I did - however - put mine first and there is a reason for that…

  I am known for extreme horror and whilst I do love extreme horror, I did not wish to bring it to this collection. Instead I wanted to have a bit of fun with my story, and lower you into the madness gently. It’s something different from me to lull you into a false sense of security, and a million miles away from my Black Cover Books. Now, I appreciate this may disappoint some of you who read only my Black Cover titles and have come expecting that but - I just didn’t think it suitable for this collection. Not when there is so much darkness on offer from the other authors and - with that in mind - there’s nothing more for me to say other than to thank you for purchasing this collection and I hope you truly, truly enjoy it.

  Until next time, kids.

  Kind Regards,

  Matt, The.

  D E S S E R T S

  Matt Shaw

  Justin rolled onto his back and stared up at the bedroom ceiling. Instantly his tired eyes started making shapes from the shadows cast across the room by the light spilling in from the landing. He sighed heavily as his mother and father continued arguing downstairs; raised voices that stopped him from slipping into that wanted peaceful
slumber. Something about there being no decent food in the cupboards, something about fed up being served slop and - father wanted a …. beer. Justin was ten years old and wasn’t allowed to say the word that proceeded “beer” although he often wanted to - and sometimes almost did purely by accident. It was hard not to, given the amount of times he heard it in any one given day. His father’s favourite word for sure.

  A door slammed from somewhere downstairs, causing Justin’s young heart to skip a beat. That would be his father storming into the living room, slamming the door behind him so that Justin’s mother wouldn’t dare follow, begging for forgiveness. Not that she tried that anymore. She knew better. She knew he wasn’t so much as angry at her, just that he was stressed with work. She just happened to be in the firing line when he vented said stress.

  It won’t always be like this, she kept telling herself.

  Justin often said the same thing in his own mind too, despite having no clue that his mother was thinking along the same lines. Still, the argument was over now. It always went quiet after a door slammed. It was like the act of slamming the door itself was a dramatic full-stop to the conversation.

  Justin rolled onto his side and closed his weary eyes once more, desperate for sleep to overcome him and lead him to another day; a better day. He tried to clear his mind, to stop it continuing to replay the argument from downstairs - imagining the scenario play-out as though he had actually been down there, with them, for the whole time.

  ‘All I want is to come home to a decent meal and yet day in, day out - I get this; frozen pies, frozen chips, frozen vegetables. You know how depressing this is? Never mind how crap it tastes.’

  ‘I do the best I can with the money I have!’

  ‘Oh - so what - you’re saying this is my fault? Like - I don’t know - I’m not fucking providing for you, or something like that?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant…’

  ‘You know it’s been a tough year. But - are the bills paid?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are the fucking bills paid? Yes they are. Do we have a fucking roof over our heads? Yes we do. Perhaps - if I’m not doing a good enough job… Perhaps you’d best go out and get a job? The boy doesn’t need babysitting anymore. You can get a part-time job that coincides with his school hours…’

  A moment of quiet while the husband thinks of what else to pick holes in and silence from the wife - who knows better than to try and defend herself when he is in one of these moods. All of it bouncing around Justin’s head.

  ‘Get me a fucking beer.’

  That awkward pause as the wife tries to figure out how to tell her husband that he’d already drunk the last one over the lousy dinner he’d been complaining about. A dinner made worse by the fact it had to be warmed in the microwave because of the time he had got in from work and now a confession about the lack of drinks which leads to the living room door being slammed and the wife left - in the kitchen - wondering whether she should get in the car to go and fetch some more. It was late but the petrol station would have some still. They’d be overpriced, for sure, but if it would help with his mood - the extra money spent would be worthwhile.

  Blank mind. Blank mind. Blank mind. It’s quiet down there, no need to think about it anymore. Dad is watching television and mum is… Mum is probably in the kitchen cleaning. Everything is fine now. He has had his say and tomorrow everything will be better. Stop worrying about them. Everyone argues. It’s not like they’re going get divorced like Billy’s mum and dad. GRRRR! Stop thinking about it! It’s fine.

  Justin rolled over onto his back again. Hard to drift off when your brain is working overtime stressing over this and that, wondering whether your mum and dad are going to break up and you’re going to be left there trying to choose who you want to live with.

  Justin almost wished he had to go to school in the morning. No school though, typically. Easter Holidays. Even if it weren’t the holidays though - still the weekend. Easter Sunday tomorrow and after all that shouting about money and not being able to afford decent food, Justin couldn’t help but wonder as to whether he was even going to get a chocolate egg. Not that he’d mind if he didn’t. There was more to life than chocolate and if it was one less thing for his mum and dad to argue about, he’d happily sacrifice it.

  A loud bang from downstairs caused Justin’s heart to skip a beat and a sudden rush of adrenaline to surge through his body. A mumbled voice belonging to his mum followed by his father’s clear roar, ‘What the fuck do you think? I’m still hungry. I’m looking for something to eat!’ Another bang which Justin knew - now - was one of the kitchen’s many (empty) cupboards. A third bang. A rustle which sounded as though it belonged to a packet of crisps. Stamping feet leading down the hallway. A door slamming. Another sound Justin hadn’t heard for a while but recognised immediately - weeping.

  Justin sat up and looked over to the bedroom door. He wanted to get out of bed and creep down the stairs towards the kitchen. He wanted to put a comforting arm around his mum’s shoulder and tell her that everything was going to be okay. He even wanted to see his dad - despite the mood he was in. He wanted to say the same thing to his dad that he’d say to his mother; a promise that everything would be fine. Work would turn around for him. Things would be easier for all of them.

  Mind your own business! He could hear his father’s voice now; dominant and filled with hostility as the stress continued to vent in the wrong direction.

  It’s okay, honey, just go to bed. I’m fine. His mother would send him away, embarrassed to be seen crying.

  A decision was quickly made, it was best to stay in his bed, out of the way. He could check that his mum was okay the following day when everything would seem brighter. His dad would have had a sleep and would hopefully be in a better mood and his mum wouldn’t be embarrassed at being caught with tears streaming. Okay. Tomorrow. He’d make sure she was okay in the morning before his dad got up and - when his dad did climb from his own pit - he’d try and give him the best day ever, even offering to help with any outstanding work even though his dad usually refused such an offer.

  You’ll only get in the way.

  Tomorrow it is.

  Justin rolled onto his side - his back to the door. He’d just try and ignore the crying. He was so tired that - hopefully - he himself would be sound asleep soon enough and he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

  Please sleep. Please sl…

  Justin sat up straight and stared at the bedroom door, distracted from his thoughts by a noise he didn’t know; a scuffling noise from out on the landing. A noise not dissimilar to a pet cat, or small dog, scurrying on the carpet - stopping occasionally to investigate something perhaps before carrying on.

  But Justin didn’t have a pet. His father wouldn’t allow it due to his own allergies - or at least that was the excuse he gave. Whether it was true or not, Justin would never know. But regardless…

  What is that?

  The noise stopped just outside the bedroom door. Justin didn’t move from his bed, frozen to the spot; both worried and curious - a strange mix of emotions.

  ‘Hello?’

  The door was opened a crack - enough to let the light spill in. Whatever was making the noise, it was right out there. Right on the other side of the door.

  ‘Hello?’

  A rat. Or a mouse. It could have been either. The house backed onto fields. They’d had rats in the shed before now and they’d had a mouse in the kitchen. But then - the noise on the landing - it sounded heavier than either of those animals could manage. A big mouse? A big rat?

  Slowly - carefully - Justin climbed from his bed and quietly touched his foot down upon the worn carpet. A creak from the floorboard and a shift of weight from behind the door.

  ‘Hello?’

  He knew there’d be no answer but it made him feel better; hearing the sound of his own voice. But what if there was an answer? What if something out there, on the other side of the door, did answer him? Wou
ld it get to him before his mother and father could if he screamed out in terror?

  ‘Who’s there?’ he asked as he reached for a cricket bat that leaned against the bedroom wall. It wasn’t supposed to be used as a weapon, he’d even been warned about such actions by his father but… What if there was an intruder out there? What if someone had broken in to abduct him? Surely then - and only then - his father would okay the use of the bat as a weapon. He asked again, ‘Who’s there?’

  He inched closer to the door with the bat raised up as though it were used for baseball rather than the gentlemanly sport of cricket. With his right hand shaking and sweating - Justin reached for the bedroom door. Hand on handle. Creak from the other side. A moment’s hesitation and - he pulled the door open, prepared to hit whatever was on the…

  A rabbit?

  What?

  In the hallway, next to a small wicker basket, there was a small white rabbit. Black eyes, floppy ears and twitching whiskers. And the wicker basket? Inside - a chocolate egg wrapped in gold foil, a pretty bow of red silk tied around it elegantly.

  ‘How’d you get in here?’ he asked, lowering the bat.

  The rabbit looked at him and tilted his head at the sound of Justin’s question. With its head, he nudged the basket towards where the boy was standing. The boy didn’t move. The rabbit nudged it closer still.

  ‘For me?’ Justin asked, spotting the chocolate egg.

  The rabbit stood on its hind legs, whiskers twitching still, and nodded - long ears flapping up and down and swinging even when the head was still.

  The Easter Rabbit?

  Justin was ten years old. He knew Santa was fake; made up by parents desperate to keep their unruly children in hand. He kind of presumed the Easter Rabbit was the same.

  If you’re good - you get chocolate! If you’re bad… He hops right on by…’