Spine Shivering Stories!

by Michelle E Lowe

  “How? Constantly chattin’ me ear off with your nonsense?”

  “Stop it, you two,” Laura cut in. “Brandon, I’m sure all you heard was the wind.”

  “Oi,” Brandon said offensively. “Now you both are calling me crazy, are you? Dealing out the ole it was only the wind card, eh? Isn’t this exactly what you came for, Laura? I thought you wanted to convince yourself that this place is haunted.”

  “I do,” Laura admitted.

  “Why?” Fadi asked.

  “My psychologically professor talked about how the mind can physically affect the body. He said that a perfectly healthy person can become ill simply by believing strongly enough that their body had some sort of disease. He touched on the subject of hallucinations and that being in a building or area rumored to be haunted can convince the mind to believe that something is there, when in fact it’s nothing. I can’t explain why, but it intrigued me. I decided that I wanted to test my own mind control by spending the night in a haunted place.”

  “You know, love, England is loaded with haunted hot spots,” Brandon pointed out.

  “Yeah, but I watched a segment on the History Channel last October about Poenari and it made me really want to come here.” She broke a stick in twine and threw one half into the fire. “What about you, Fadi? Besides a free trip, why did you decide to come along?”

  “I suppose I do have my own reasons. You both know I’m not a fan of the Creation theory, right?”

  Brandon opened his mouth to speak when Fadi cut him off.

  “Shut it, wanker!”

  Brandon stayed quiet and smoked his cigarette with a little grin on his face.

  “Anyway, I want to prove that there is no life after death, period. Laura, you told me that Poenari was one of the most haunted places in the world. I figured that if I could spend one undisturbed night here without any ghostly encounters, I can comfortably go on with my belief that nothing exists beyond this point.”

  “That’s a bloody bleak belief, mate,” Brandon said.

  “Yeah, so what’s your big reason for coming?”

  Brandon shrugged and flicked his cigarette butt into the fire.

  “I’m just along for the ride.”

  * * *

  Deep into the night, the group had fallen asleep. The fire had long died away when Brandon felt something near him.

  “Who’s there?” he said, sitting up.

  His eyes traveled around in the darkness, seeing only the glowing embers in the fire circle. The eerie presence stayed with him as he reached for his flashlight. He clicked it on and shined the light over the campsite, finding nothing.

  Typical, he thought.

  Convinced that it was just a case of paranoia caused by the voices from the pit, Brandon went out into the corridor to relieve himself. If it was just him and Fadi, he wouldn’t have gone outside the tower, but he wanted to be a gentleman and not piss in front of Laura in case she woke up. He kept the flashlight on when he sat it down on the ground, then turned to the wall and unzipped his pants. The only sound was his stream hitting stone. No wind blew, no sound of chirping crickets: nothing.

  Then came a moan.

  It sounded from down the corridor, away from the tower. He heard it again as he turned in the direction the sound had come from. A long, deep moan flowed through the vast darkness, sending icy chills down his spine.

  He zipping up his pants and snatched up the flashlight, aiming it down the corridor. The moan came again, followed by rushing footsteps coming towards him.

  What the hell is that? Brandon wondered.

  A woman appeared in his light. It was only a flash, but he saw her. Her eyes were wide with fear and she let out a sharp scream as she ran straight towards him. All human warmth was stolen from him as the transparent figure passed through his body. His heart thumped irregularly, causing him to become short of breath. Unable to stay on his feet, he collapsed and shivered uncontrollably.

  * * *

  Laura woke when a woman screaming rang into her ears. It only took her a moment to spot a light, shining nearby.

  She found Brandon on the ground, white-faced and incoherent. She knelt beside him.

  “Brandon? What happened to you?”

  He didn’t respond, only moved his mouth up and down like a gasping fish. The brightness from his 12-volt flashlight, aiming directly at his face, seemed not to affect his wide, unblinking eyes.

  Laura didn’t know what to do.

  “I’m going to fetch, Fadi,” she said, rising. The moment she did, an agonizing scream came from the tower.

  “Oh, God, what was that?” she said. “Fadi? Is that you?”

  “She told me that if I do as she’d done, her pain will stop,” Brandon said softly.

  “Who?” Laura asked, happy to hear him speak. But her fear returned when Brandon shot to his feet and ran down the battlement.

  She started to run after him only to come to a quick halt as he leapt out of what had once been a window. He dropped completely from her sight.

  Oh, my God! Laura thought. Did he really jump?

  Shaking from the shock of witnessing her friend plunge to his death, her terror rose when she heard rapid footsteps coming her way.

  * * *

  The instant Laura had left the tower, Fadi opened his eyes. He sat up and felt something warm and wet on his abdomen. Confused, he clicked on his flashlight and aimed it on himself. His sweater drenched with blood. The cause was a deep, softball-sized hole in his stomach. The shock rendered him speechless, and his situation only worsened when he slid his hand behind him.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he said, when his fingers dipped into his moist exposed tissue.

  The wound had gone straight through him.

  “Oh, Jesus. Jesus, help me!”

  If any pain existed, he didn’t feel it, but the amount of fear he experienced compensated for it. He had to get out of the tower. He needed to go home.

  He flew past Laura in the corridor, screaming.

  “Fadi! Wait!” she called to him.

  He didn’t stop. Instead he ran blindly over the walkways, then into an open space where an image halted him to a complete standstill.

  There was no body attached to what he saw. It hovered five feet off the ground. It was the chalky white face of a man radiating through the darkness. It had no eyes and it showed no expression.

  The chase didn’t last long, but her terror had Laura breathing heavily. She found Fadi near the exit, pacing back and forth. How he managed to get that far without the assistance of a light was beyond her.

  “Brandon is dead,” she informed. “He jumped off the building!”

  Fadi stopped. He became perfectly still as he eyed something behind her.

  “There’s a face over there,” he whispered. “A face, d’you see it?”

  Laura craned her neck around to the nothing behind her. Even when panning her light around, she couldn’t find anything. “What face?”

  “That face wants me to kill you,” Fadi answered in deadly earnest.

  His words didn’t fully register until she turned back to him. His dark complexion had faded a bit; his eyes were wide and colorless. He was no longer the friend she knew and loved—he was someone else entirely.

  “That face wants me to kill you, Laura,” he repeated. “Painfully.”

  He charged at her and she quickly reacted by swinging the flashlight like a Billy club, striking him across the head. She wasted no time in running away, leaving him to stumble around in the darkness, calling out, “Laura, wait! That face! Don’t leave me here alone with the face!”

  She ran faster, only to halt suddenly at the ledge.

  Where’s the bloody stairs?

  Her friend’s inhuman cries convinced her to take a chance; otherwise he would surely kill her. She dropped the flashlight into the forest below, took hold of the edge, and slowly lowered herself over until she dangled from it. The drop wasn’t far, but the steep hillside worried her. Realizing she had no
other choice, she finally let go, landing hard on the uneven ground. The fall caused her bones to rattle, but her youthful strength got her to her feet again. After finding the flashlight, she climbed down the hillside, feeling a surge of relief that soon she’d find help.

  It didn’t take long before the forest closed in around her.

  The skeleton-like trees seemed never ending. Exhausted, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath. An intense silence was all around. So silent that it made it seem like nothing could disturb it.

  But something did; a loud howl of a man.

  Behind her, the loud crashing of something heavy falling down the hillside forced her to whip around. Shining the light towards the sound, she watched as shrubs crushed and twigs broke under the weight of something rolling over them. But nothing could be seen. The frightening wail of the man tore through the air and then silenced with a loud crack that could only be described as a bone breaking.

  Laura followed the crumbling dried leaves with her flashlight, all the way to her feet where the phantom stopped. Her frantic breath misted across the flashlight beam. It took her a moment to gather the courage to run again. As she ran, footsteps rushed behind her. She shined the light back, but only caught a glimpse of a figure between the trees before the light flickered off.

  She continuously pressed the button.

  Click! Click! Click! Click! Click!

  The light refused to flicker on.

  She stopped and it became quiet once more. She heard nothing but her own heavy breathing for a long moment.

  Crunch!

  Laura stopped breathing and listened to the leaves crunching nearby.

  The figure was walking toward her.

  “Who’s there?”

  Crunch! Snap! Crunch!

  “Who are you!” she shrieked, feeling madness numbing her mind.

  The footsteps stopped. Her chest tightened with anticipation. Cold air puffed into her ear as though someone blew into it.

  The icy breath caused her to run again.

  Laura ran through the blinding darkness with the footsteps constantly at her heels. She never found her way out.

  About the Author

  Michelle E. Lowe is the author of The Warning, Atlantic Pyramid, Cherished Thief, the action adventure/fantasy steampunk novel, Legacy. Children’s books, Poe’s Haunted House Tour, and the three part adventure children’s series, The Hex Hunt. She’s a mother, wife, and painter. Her works in progress are the continuations for Legacy. Currently, she lives in Lake Forest, California.

  Website: www.michellelowe.net

  Facebook: Facebook.com/michelleloweauthor

  Twitter: @MichelleLowe_7

  CALL TO ACTION!!!!

  If you’ve enjoyed this author’s work and would like to know more as well have an inclusive updates of Lowe’s other projects, visit www.michellelowe.net and join her mailing list!

  Read on to the next chapters of Michelle Lowe’s steampunk/fantasy series, Legacy, now available!

  Legacy

  “The world as we know it is standing on the pivotal edge of change! An evolution is taking shape. This is the climb, my friends! The climb up towards the peak of the Industrial Revolution! I say unto thee, we must contribute to thrive. Contribute to the Age of the Machine!”

  —Professor Raphael Brooke

  The Contract

  Sinai Peninsula, Spring, 1636

  Thooranu had arrived in the Blue Desert late that evening, but already he’d slain many jackals. After his last kill, he built two fire pits in the sand and gutted the beast. He always ate his final kill, or at least the one that proved hardest to bring down. This particular jackal had been both.

  He’d taken the beast with bare hands, wrestling the animal until he’d broken its neck. The jackal had gotten in a few good bites, rending deep gashes into his back and crushing sharp teeth through his arm. But the jackal had sensed its attacker was otherworldly and had known it would eventually fail. Nonetheless, that hadn’t prevented it from putting up a good fight.

  After tossing the lungs, liver, brain, eyes, tongue, balls and heart into a blackened iron cauldron to boil, Thooranu skinned and beheaded the animal, then put the carcass on a skewer to rotate over a second fire.

  With most of the work done, he sat and wiped his hands clean. His wounds had already healed. From a rough hessian sack, he brought out a bottle of wine, pulling the cork free with his teeth. He breathed in deeply, the wine’s earthy aroma giving clues to its origins. It was old, bottled before his birth. Italian. He poured some into a glass and sipped. It tasted like the beginning of everything.

  He leaned back, eying the heavens and the myriad stars, a smile flickering over his lips. Then it vanished. Someone was nearby.

  “Mind if I join you?” a male voice asked.

  The stranger’s abrupt approach startled him, which was difficult to do. It must be the human part of him, he thought. But the stranger could not be human. No mortal could survive this far into the desert without a camel. He wasn’t even dressed for the harsh conditions.

  The man appeared to be teetering between wealth and poverty. His slashed doublet was a shiny red, embroidered with black skeletons, but his cape was ragged along the hem. The boots were the most sensible thing he was wearing, although they were still too heavy for the day’s heat, and a ridiculous hat sat upon his head.

  Thooranu breathed deeply, trying to sniff the stranger out. There were many scents. Was he a demon too? A punk? Or perhaps a ghost? Whatever he was, Thooranu sensed no threat.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing for the stranger to join him.

  The flamboyantly dressed man took a seat by one of the fires and poked at it with a shiny black cane. He removed his rabbit fur hat, sporting lively ostrich feathers, and set it down beside him. He was handsome, if a little on the feminine side, with dark hair, a carefully trimmed mustache and beard, along with a charming smile and perfectly shaped eyes that captured the flickering firelight like jewels.

  “You’ve built a couple of nice fires here,” the stranger complimented, stroking his beard. He sniffed the cauldron. “Is there a heart in there? I do rather enjoy a good, tasty heart.”

  “Would you care for some?” Thooranu asked.

  “I would, indeed, and perhaps a glass of wine? If you don’t mind, that is.”

  Thooranu did not, for he could obtain wine anywhere with little effort. He poured his guest a glass that he manifested with a gesture of his hand from the sand and fire.

  “Ah,” the stranger said, accepting the drink. “Thank you kindly. You are a good host.”

  The stranger didn’t speak with any accent, as though he belonged to no particular region. Then again, neither did Thooranu.

  “I’m Jack Pack,” the man said, extending his hand.

  “Thooranu.”

  They shook hands then Jack Pack settled back, taking another sip of wine.

  “I knew a Thooranu once,” Jack Pack admitted. “He was an incubus.”

  “My father.”

  “I see.” Jack Pack looked him up and down. “It appears that you took after your mother. Human?”

  Thooranu smiled. “I suppose I did. And yes.”

  “That’s good for you; for as I said, I’ve met your father, and I wouldn’t curse my worst enemy to inherit his looks.”

  Thooranu laughed, for he couldn’t agree more. “And what of you?”

  “Oh, I’m no one special, really. Just a wanderer. A lost soul, if you will. I journey around the universe, seeing what’s out there, what trouble I can get myself into, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds a bit like me,” Thooranu said, looking up again at the star-glittered sky. “Have you ever visited the outer planes?”

  The wanderer shrugged. “Sure, a few times. The worlds beyond are interesting enough, but not like this one. Even the best miss the little things that complete this world. I like it here more than most places.”

  Thooranu nodded. “I concur.”

 
They sat in silence like old friends. Steam curled up from the cauldron. Thooranu glanced at the stranger. Jack Pack had made an impression on him. He hoped the man wouldn’t take his leave too soon. It had been a while since he’d had any company.

  Thooranu noticed a coil of braided hair pinned by a jeweled brooch onto Jack Pack’s doublet. “Whose hair is that?”

  Jack Pack raised the braid and looked at it, a wistful smile forming. “It was a gift. It’s Guinevere’s hair. Fascinating creature.”

  “Lancelot’s Guinevere?”

  “The very same. Those two were a good example of how fun mortals are to toy with.”

  “Oh?”

  “Indeed.” A shrug. “It passes the time.”

  “How so?”

  “Many years ago, a Trickster, a Dökkálfar and an Adlet beast made a bet on who could find a certain relic that had been hidden; the Holy Grail.”

  Thooranu’s eyes narrowed. “The Grail, huh?”

  “Yes, yes, I know; we’ve all heard stories about the fruitless quests to find it. Not many know how the whole thing got started, though. It’s a story wrapped within a story.”

  “All right.”

  “Contrary to what many believe, the Grail started out as nothing more than a fallen star. A servant of the Fisher King found it and brought the stone to a craftsman, who carved it into a dish. The humble servant then brought the dish to the Fisher King. The king declared the dish to be a grail and kept it for many years until he could no longer carry on with his duties as king. As his kingdom fell into ruin, the Grail passed on to Joseph of Arimathea, who had it made into a cup; and shortly thereafter, it became known as the Holy Grail after Christ’s crucifixion. Later, the elderly and dying Joseph passed it on to Elaine of Corbenic, and she became the Grail’s keeper.”