by Ailes, Derek
“I’m confused. What’s a Lord doing in the States during the Civil War?” Stephen asked.
“We are surrounded by ghosts and that’s what you’re wondering,” Leo whispered.
The orphanage shook slightly as they heard what sounded like cannon fire.
“Civil War reenactment of the dead?” Helena asked.
“Whatever it is, we are trapped,” Leo answered.
“You there on the stairs, drop your weapon at once! The element of surprise is not on your side!” Lord Acland ordered, pointing his rifle toward them.
Stephen quickly dropped the rifle onto the floor at the end of the stairs.
“Samuel, pull yourself away from beating the slave folk and come down here immediately! We have intruders!” Lord Acland shouted.
The specter holding the whip slowly made its way down the staircase. They slowly walked downward as it stared at them. It forced them toward Lord Acland.
“Don’t expect much talk from Samuel. His tongue was removed during the war for disobeying a direct order of mine. Are you Union or Confederate?”
“I’m an American,” Stephen answered.
Lord Acland grabbed him by the neck. “You have a strong neck. It really doesn’t matter. They all snap the same hanging from a noose. Samuel, prepare them for a quadruple hanging.”
Samuel smiled as he forced them forward. Lord Acland opened the door and they were forced out the door by Samuel. As they walked through the door, they stood in shock as they were in the foyer of the orphanage again. The specters were gone and the living room was empty.
“What just happened?” Helena asked.
“Not sure.” Leo shined his flashlight toward the stairs, and Stephen’s rifle was laying where he had dropped it. He walked over to the rifle and examined it. The metal plating was rusted and it was covered in layers of dust.
“It looks old. How long has it been sitting here?” Stephen asked.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Tamara said.
“Did we just travel through time?” Helena asked.
“We need to get out of here immediately.” Leo led them out the front door and on the other side of it was the foyer of the orphanage again.
Stephen looked at Leo confused. They turned around and walked out the door and into the foyer on the other side.
“We can’t leave!” Tamara screamed.
They could hear screaming coming from above. This time the sounds were from a woman followed by the sound of a chainsaw. The screams got louder as the sound of the chainsaw continued. They felt their feet getting wetter. They looked down and they were standing in a pool of blood. Tamara ran for the front door.
“Tamara, wait!” Stephen screamed.
She ran out the front door and into the room full of dolls upstairs. She was shaking violently with fear. The sun was shining through the window, and she could see the dolls staring at her with their eyeless faces.
“Play with me!” Their mouths moved in unison as they continued to shout, “Play with me!”
She screamed and ran out of the room crashing into a large man dressed in an executioner’s outfit. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the stairs where a guillotine was waiting for her. A man wearing a priest outfit from biblical times held a large parchment.
“Tamara Largent, you are charged with performing witchcraft and are sentenced to death by beheading.”
The executioner forced her into the guillotine. A black cat walked over to her and began licking her face. The priest motioned to the executioner and seconds later the blade came down severing her head from her body.
Helena screamed as Tamara’s head rolled down the stairs before them. The pool of blood was rising fast. If they didn’t get out of the foyer quickly, they would drown in the blood.
“Swim toward the stairs!” Leo ordered.
They swam toward the stairs and quickly ran up them. They turned to the right and ran into a Roman arena from the gladiator days.
A large muscular gladiator covered in battle scars approached them holding a large ax. “Choose your weapons! We fight to the death!”
“We aren’t warriors!” Helena screamed.
“If you are not warriors, then you are cowards! Cowards must die! Women have no place in an arena!” The gladiator pushed Helena into the passageway where they entered. She emerged back into the room filled with the dolls.
“Play with me!” Their mouths moved in unison as they continued to shout, “You’re the one who gets to play with me!” One of them jumped onto the floor, and then each one in turn jumped onto the previous one until they formed one gigantic doll. “I will play with you like little Cindy played with me!” It pushed her hard against one of the bedposts. She screamed as it jumped on top of her and pressed its fingers into her eyes pushing them way back into her skull. She continued to scream until her life was squeezed out of her body from the strength of the doll’s hands.
Leo and Stephen stood their ground as the gladiator swung his ax toward them. Leo deflected the blow with his shield sending him backward. A crack formed on it from the impact.
“Puny little boy! One more blow from my ax and you’re dead!” the gladiator shouted as the crowd cheered, “I bring you another victory!”
“Head for the passageway. It should lead us out of here,” Leo ordered. He stood up and slowly backed away toward the passageway.
Stephen slowly moved over to Leo as he moved toward the passageway. Leo, making sure Stephen was close enough, walked through the passageway. Stephen was almost to the passageway when he felt a sharp pain. He looked down and a large sphere was sticking out of his chest. The last thing he heard before he died was the gladiator chanting, “Another victory!”
Leo was standing alone in the middle of the foyer of the orphanage. A tall beautiful redhead was standing before him. She wore a white see-through cloak. She walked up to him seductively.
“Such a pretty specimen. Do you like what you see? All men like what they see when they are in my presence. I’m very hungry and you look like the perfect specimen to feed my hunger.” She licked his neck. He could hear a loud hissing sound from behind him. He turned around just in time to see the large python’s head come down and swallow him whole.
“Don’t be in such a rush,” Julie said as she helped Jermaine remove the camera equipment out of the back of his van.
“This place will be perfect for the next episode of Haunted America. Kevin, make sure there is a camera set up in each room,” Jermaine said.
The five members of Jermaine’s crew grabbed the remaining cameras and headed for the orphanage’s front door.
From the window the specter of Lord Acland watched them. “Damn Confederates!”
Lumps of Coal
Mitt Vanderbilt sat admiring his blanket made out of hundred dollar bills. He couldn’t get a peaceful night’s sleep without money touching his bare skin. Hanging on the walls surrounding him were paintings from around the world appraised to be worth millions of dollars. He climbed out of bed and walked into his bathroom which was the size of a typical person’s whole apartment. He admired himself in the mirror. He was a tall, handsome man with a defined chin. Anybody could tell from his distinguished appearance he was made of money. He was the president of a multi-billion dollar corporation that made its money on the backs of minimum wage workers − his slaves as he referred to them. He didn’t feel guilty for making his money off of the unfortunate. As he told his business partners: the reason people worked for minimum wage was because they were lazy.
“You are a powerful man. Now go make some more billions,” he said to his reflection.
He walked into the main room of his mansion while watching the daily business report on his smartphone. His maid, Rosita, was vacuuming. He ignored her as he walked into the dining room. He sat down at the table as his kitchen staff prepared his breakfast. His butler, Jared, poured him a cup of Kopi luwak, one of the most expensive coffees in the world. He never looked up to acknow
ledge them as he watched the report on the smartphone. He never paid any attention to his servants.
After getting dressed for another day at the corporate office, he walked outside where his limo driver was standing, waiting for his arrival.
“Good day, sir. To the office?”
Mitt nodded his head as he sat down on the backseat.
While driving through the city, Mitt glanced up briefly and noticed a long line of people bundled up in cheap coats outside of a church.
“What’s going on over there?”
“It’s the food bank. It’s the Tuesday before Christmas.”
“Damn takers! If it wasn’t for that damn forty-seven percent, I wouldn’t have to pay so much in taxes! Why are people starving? I’ll tell you the answer! They are too lazy to get a real job!”
“Yes, sir.”
Mitt sat at the conference table at the corporate office listening to the board members discussing the plans for making more billions in 2015. He sat there salivating at the thought his net worth would increase again next year. The more money he possessed, the happier he was. After the meeting was over, he headed for his favorite Five-Star restaurant. As he exited his limo, a homeless lady walked over to him.
“Sir, can you spare a couple of dollars so I can get something to eat.”
“Get away from me. I don’t give money away to peasants.”
“I lost my job. I’m forced to live on the streets.”
“Not my problem. Any intelligent person would have gotten another job. It’s not that difficult. Now get out of my way. I haven’t eaten in a couple of hours and I’m starving.” He pushed her aside.
“Jesus said it is hard for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”
He stopped and turned toward her. “The only reason I would want to go to Heaven is I heard the streets are made of gold.” He walked away from her and entered the restaurant.
That night, after watching the stock market reports, he went to sleep. He dreamed he was swimming in a pool of liquid gold. Outside the pool, there were several poor people staring at him in awe. He climbed out of the pool, and they all bowed down in front of him. He stepped on each one of their backs as he walked forward. He smiled as everybody worshipped him. With the amount of money he possessed, he was a god. He knew how the Egyptian kings must have felt back in the days of old.
The sound of his alarm woke him from his dream. He slowly climbed out of bed and felt a sharp pain shoot up his foot. He lifted his leg, and a large rock was stuck to the bottom of his right foot. He looked at it closely. It was no ordinary rock. It was a lump of coal.
“What the hell? Is this some sort of joke? Whoever left this here is fired!”
He took a step forward and stepped on another lump of coal. He slowly walked toward the light switch, stepping on another one and then another one. He turned the light on and his whole bedroom floor was covered in lumps of coal. He slowly opened the door, and a large pile of coal fell toward him knocking him backward. He slowly crawled over the pile of coal. He saw no coal on the floor leading to his bathroom. He quickly walked into the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His robe, face, and arms were covered in coal dust.
He turned on the faucet. No water came out. He heard a loud clinking sound coming from it. A few seconds later, small pieces of coal fell out. He stepped backward and tripped on a large lump of coal. He fell into the bathtub and felt sharp pains in his back. The whole bathtub was filled completely with large lumps of coal. He struggled to pull himself up. All the walls in his bathroom were covered in coal dust.
He cautiously headed for the kitchen. None of his kitchen staff was in the dining room or in the kitchen. He couldn’t find any of his servants anywhere. He grabbed his coat and walked outside. The snow was black. He felt something hit his shoulder. He looked down and saw a large lump of coal by his feet. A large lump of coal hit him in the head. He looked up and saw coal falling from the sky.
“Is this some sort of punishment? It’s not my fault I’m filthy rich!”
He could see a large mob of people wearing ratty clothing rushing toward him. He recognized most of them. They were the people he saw the other morning waiting in line at the food bank. They were all carrying large lumps of coal. As they drew nearer, they threw the coal at him. He tried turning the knob on his front door, but it was locked. He screamed as the angry mob pelted him with coal. Each one of the mob’s bodies transformed from a human one to a demonic one. He closed his eyes and when he reopened them, he was lying in a fiery pit surrounded by the demons.
“Help me,” he pleaded.
The demons laughed and continued to pelt him with lumps of coal for all eternity.
Rosita placed the pillow she had just suffocated Mitt with neatly next to his head. She smiled as she stared at his carcass.
Jared walked over to her and put his arms around her waist. “I know the combination to his safe. We can now afford the dream vacation we’ve always talk about.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said and kissed him.
Elvis Has Left the Dead
Author Mark Cusco Ailes opened the totes containing all of his and Derek Ailes’ novels while Derek began to set the table up for their latest book signing. Several other authors had showed up for the 2015 Hammond Public Library Local Author’s Book Fair. He recognized a majority of them. No matter what book fair they set up at in Northwest Indiana, it was always the same authors. They had become their touring family. All genres were present: children’s fiction, romance, paranormal, poetry, and all of the fantasy and horror madness that he and his brother ─ the Ailes Brothers of Terror ─ had brought.
With the table setup finally completed, Derek began to take pictures for their official author’s website and their Facebook page.
“Take off your Avengers hat. What are you a horror author or a geek?” Mark asked.
“A horror author,” Derek answered as he angrily threw his hat into one of the totes exposing his bald head.
The lights in the room flickered briefly as the thunderstorm outside gained momentum.
“How come every time we come to Hammond it storms?” Mark asked.
“Wherever the Ailes Brothers of Terror go, the bad storms follow. Now if only we can get our so-called Facebook friends to follow us as well,” Derek said.
The sound of the rain pouring down echoed throughout the room. They both looked concerned since not many people would risk traveling during a severe thunderstorm, especially to a library.
“I guess we should go mingle,” Derek suggested.
“Derek, the photographer should be here soon. We shouldn’t venture away too long.”
Two days earlier, they were interviewed by the local newspaper about their writing career. The photographer was coming to the book fair to get some shots of them selling their books. The newspaper normally didn’t do articles about local authors since there were so many. Being they were a horror writing team, they had a brand which most other authors didn’t possess. They were popular in Northwest Indiana, and their books were beginning to sell well on Amazon, especially in the UK.
Derek watched as Sandra walked in with her husband who was carrying a cardboard standup of Elvis Presley. She used to hang out with Elvis and wrote a book about him. She had tons of pictures of her and Elvis together.
Derek was only two years old when Elvis died. He always wondered what music he would have recorded if he was still alive in the eighties.
Sandra’s husband stood the Elvis standup up and faced it toward the door where it would be the first thing people saw when they entered the room.
The lights in the room went dark for a minute and then came back on. The thunder outside sounded real close.
“Hammond strikes again,” Mark said and the other authors laughed. He looked over at Derek, “We better get back to our table.”
A couple of families entered the room to hang out with one of the authors. A few people came in after them, but it was relativ
ely dead. One hour into the fair, the reporter came in and immediately took a picture of the Elvis standup. He walked around the room until he found their table and began taking photos. He chatted with Mark and Derek for a few minutes and then left. By the second hour, the storm had passed and people were coming in at a steady pace purchasing books from several authors.
As the book fair came to a close, the authors took down their displays and packed away all of their books. Derek and Mark, satisfied they had another successful book fair selling several books each, walked out of the library to put everything back into their purple PT Cruiser.
“Excuse me, sir,” somebody, talking in a way only an Elvis impersonator or Elvis himself would speak, said. “I was wondering if I can chat with you for a second.”
The man was dressed in a fancy red costume similar to one of Elvis’ flashy outfits and was wearing sunglasses and looked like the Elvis from the sixties. He smelled like Brut.
“Sandra left the building already,” Derek said.
“I actually came to see you, Derek of the Ailes Brothers of Terror.” He shook his hand, like he was in the middle of a performance, as he spoke.
“You came to see me? I’m more famous than I thought. You sound just like Elvis. You must be a professional impersonator.”
“I’m not an impersonator. I’m the real deal,” he said and sang “Suspicious Minds” and stopped after a few verses. “I’m here to warn you.”
“A warning from Elvis? Is this Candid Camera?” Derek looked around for some cameraman videotaping them from a distance. He looked over at Mark who shrugged his shoulders.
“Let’s try to be serious for a moment,” Elvis said impatiently. “Derek, you are on a path that will lead you to much peril. In a few days you are going to embark on a path that will have serious repercussions in the future.”
