Ghosts, Monsters, and Madmen
Table of Contents
Introduction
Closing Time
The World In Strips
Rendered Verdict
Under A Racers Moon
The Mushroom Man
Limited Definitions
Rite Of Passage
Roadkill
Picking Dewberries
Dog Matters
Between Friends
Designated Driver
That Last, Lone Kiss Goodbye
Introduction
In the year 2013, the writing field had the misfortune of losing two excellent small presses. LL Dreamspell (run by Lisa Smith and Linda Houle) and Pill Hill Press (owned and operated by Alva and Jessie Roberts) closed their submissions for the last time. These were particularly sad occasions for me because I had published through both before finally getting my legs as an indie under me and striking out on my own. I have nothing but respect for them and I think their absence will be felt by many.
At the same time, this also resulted in me suddenly having the rights back to a bunch of short stories (and one novel) that I hadn’t been expecting for another few years. They were early works of mine, and I hadn’t read some of them in a very long time. And since they had been written specifically for different anthologies with different criteria, they are a bit of a mixed bag of nuts. But they were suddenly all mine again, therefore I felt a new anthology was in order. I also decided to add a few more recent indie stories to round out the collection.
There are ghost stories, monster stories, revenge stories, a mystery, and even a story narrated by a cat. Some end with an element of hope, while others conclude with bleak finality. Yet what they all have in common is an element of darkness…whether of the supernatural sort, or the type lurking in the human heart.
They also make something of a time capsule, containing the very first short story I ever wrote (Designated Driver) followed by the latest (That Last, Lone Kiss Goodbye). It’s interesting to see how my writing style changed from one to the other. Another one of them, (Picking Dewberries) was the inspiration for my novel, Spiderstalk, and served as the placeholder prologue through the writing process. And fans of Dead Stop might recognize a pair of characters in “Under A Racer’s Moon” that evolved and found their home there.
Short stories are a powerful forge of ideas, and authors as diverse as Raymond Chandler and Ernest Hemingway have written novels incorporating ideas born in their earlier, shorter works. So while I spend more time on writing novels nowadays, I don’t intend to turn my back on their shorter brethren. And who knows…perhaps there is still a character or two in this anthology that has more of their stories to tell.
But for now I am delighted to be able to offer you these tales in one collection. They were an adventure to write and submit for publication back in those days, and I hope they give you hours of enjoyment now. Thank you…
D. Nathan Hilliard
Closing Time
The car still squatted out there, clear across the parking lot, sitting at the dim edge of the circle of light created by the gas pumps.
Erin gave it an irritated glance as she restocked the cigarettes in the overhead single pack rack. The clock beside her cash register showed twenty minutes to midnight, and if she could get enough of her closing chores done now she could be out of here by a quarter after. But that car sitting out there in the dark complicated matters.
She first spotted it sometime before ten o’clock. Erin didn’t give it much thought at the time since she had her hands full with the night crowd of customers, and kids hanging out in the game room. It appeared to be an older model, dark-colored sports car…perhaps a Firebird or a Trans Am. She figured some kids were sitting out there smoking a joint and just chilling, so it slipped from her attention. With brisk business going on here in the bright oasis of the store, goings-on out there in the dark hadn’t seemed all that pressing at the time.
But now with midnight approaching and only Doobie Collins left in the game room, the car once again encroached on her mind.
Pushing the last rack of cigarettes up into place, she squinted against her reflection in the window and tried to make the car out better. The combination of bright lights inside and black night outside defeated her, making the large pane a better mirror than a window.
Resting her elbows on the counter, she drummed her fingers on the surface and contemplated her options. The click of her nails on the vinyl countertop made a staccato counterpoint to sounds of explosions and blaster fire emanating from the game room.
She didn’t want to bother the police over what she suspected was nothing…this being a quiet neighborhood with almost no crime rate. Erin felt that once she gave in to the heebie-jeebies and let them dictate her actions, it would be that much easier to succumb to them next time. Besides, what kind of idiot would park outside a store for hours before holding it up?
Snapping her fingers, she straightened up and turned toward the game room.
“Hey, Doob! Come here a sec!” She figured she might as well attempt to put the kid to use before throwing him out for the night.
There thundered a final sounding explosion and a muffled “aw,” then the skinny, stringy-haired teen slouched out.
“Dude!” he complained. “That was my next to last quarter.”
She chose to ignore his confusion of gender terms.
“Don’t worry about that. If you do me a favor, I’ll put some free credits on the game of your choice tomorrow night.”
“Cool! Whatcha need?”
“You see that car out there, on the other side of the parking lot?” She rolled her eyes as the pot-addled teen bent over and squinted out with his hand shading his eyes. “Doob, try to be a little less obvious.”
“Oh yeah.” He took two steps sideways and continued to peer out in the exact same manner from behind a stack of beer cases. He couldn’t have looked more conspicuous in a black trench coat and fedora, with a huge pair of binoculars. “So whatcha want me to do about him,” he whispered.
“Doobie, we’re alone in here. You don’t have to whisper.”
“Right.”
Erin took a deep breath.
“What I want you to do is go out the door like you’re going home, and be sure and walk past that car out there and try to get a peek at whoever’s in there on your way by. Then just keep walking down to the gas station at the other end of the block and call me from that pay phone they have outside. Here I wrote you the number on this piece of paper. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure. But that’s my last quarter.”
“Free credits tomorrow night. Remember?”
“Oh yeah.”
With exaggerated caution, Doobie rose from his place behind the beer cases and made his way toward the door. Erin shook her head, walked over and handed him the number, then marched back to the canned food aisle and started fronting the merchandise. This would let her work where she could keep an eye on the teen’s progress with her peripheral vision. She had already begun to feel foolish about the whole thing, but at least this would get her information she could act on. Grabbing a can of beans, she pulled it forward to even it up with the rest of the cans on the shelf.
“GOOD NIGHT, ERIN! I’M GOING HOME NOW! I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW! BYE!”
Doobie stood in the open doorway, giving a large exaggerated wave goodbye.
It stood as a testament to her self-control that she didn’t brain him with the can of beans.
“Good night, Doobie,” she sing-songed through clenched teeth.
With a big grin and a conspiratorial wink, he turned toward the dark outside.
Erin watched him leave and ambl
e his way across the asphalt in the general direction of the car that lurked out there in the dark. She offered a silent prayer to whoever listened up there that nothing sinister awaited out in that parking lot…and that she hadn’t just sent an innocent, if somewhat functionally challenged, kid out into the middle of it.
Overall, she didn’t mind the boy that much. Doobie caused far less trouble than many of the neighborhood kids that visited the game room. More often than not, he just contented himself with spending ridiculous amounts of time and coinage on the old pinball game in the back corner. It’s just that his nonchalant air-headedness irritated the hell out of her, reminding her of the stoner kids that existed at the far end of the social spectrum from her during her own high school years. At least for most of her high school years.
Now she watched with trepidation as he sauntered past the gas pumps, taking an angle that would take him past the front of the car before he reached the sidewalk and turned up the street. He simply needed to go another twenty feet to be past the car, then he would be clear to head for the gas station at the other end of the block.
Of course, Doobie didn’t do that.
The boy almost made it to the sidewalk when he made a sharp detour and headed straight for the car. Erin almost choked as he trotted back across the front of the car and headed around to the driver’s side window. She couldn’t make out what he did there, since only his white shirt made it possible for her to place him out there in the dark at all. Dropping all pretense of working, she stared out the window at the dark end of the parking lot.
After what seemed an eternity, Doobie came trotting back into the light and toward the store. Erin watched in bemused silence as he hopped up onto the sidewalk fronting the store and pulled the door open.
“Well?”
“It’s cool.” He shrugged, “It’s locked and empty. Nothing but some old black and orange Camaro that somebody parked…woah!” Doobie noted the change in her expression, “Erin, you okay?”
She kicked herself for reacting in such an obvious manner that even a goof like Doobie could catch it.
“It’s alright, Doobie. It’s nothing.”
“Aw c’mon, Erin. Don’t lie to the Doobster here. You turned white as a sheet when I mentioned that car. Does that car belong to somebody who’s bothering you? Say the word, and bad things can start happening his way.”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s… “, she realized that after using him like she did, she owed him at least the courtesy of some explanation, “it’s just that the car you described reminded me of something very bad that happened a few years back.”
“Yeah?” He leaned against the front counter, “A wreck?”
She resigned herself to telling the story, “No, a stalker.”
“Whoah! And that’s his car out there? No problem! Four flat tires, coming right up!”
“No, Doobie! It’s not his. It just the same thing he used to drive.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“How?”
“Because,” she sighed, “he’s dead.”
###
“Creep alert!” Betty’s alarm cut through the morning air, “Bobby Cauldfeld incoming at six o’clock.”
Erin’s stomach went sour at the sight of the black-and-orange Camaro turning into the high school parking lot. It prowled past groups of early morning arrivers and headed their way. Two more minutes and the three of them would have made it across the parking lot and into the administration building where her Honor Society meeting awaited.
Cathy fixed a stern eye on her. “Erin, you have got to put a stop to this. He’s getting worse.”
“I’m trying. At least I got him to stop leaving notes in my locker.”
“That’s great, that just leaves the leering across the lunchroom, the “accidental” encounters in the hallways, the song dedications in the school newspaper, and let’s not forget him getting his schedule changed to where he has almost every class with you.”
“And now,” Betty took up the lecture, “that he’s got that beat up old Camaro, he can follow you all over town…not to mention he acts worse than ever.”
“I know, I know! But what do you want me to do?”
“I could have Tommy Guthrie talk to him. I bet he could get the message across.”
“No! Don’t you dare!” Erin’s voice fell to a whisper as the Camaro approached. She did not need Tommy Guthrie thinking she owed him something.
“Then do something. That guy is a major weirdo, Erin. He’s starting to worry me.”
The three girls clutched their books tighter to themselves and looked straight ahead as the dark car rolled up beside them. The window lowered and Bobby Cauldfeld stuck one pale, meaty arm and his oversized head out the window.
“Hey, ladies! What’s up?” His clumsy attempt at a nonchalant smile came across as a leer.
“Oh God,” Betty whispered in Erin’s ear, “look at his arm.”
Bobby must have been doing some carving, for the letters E-R-I-N stood out in raised scabbed cuts on his pallid skin. She had seen boys in junior high pull this stunt, but never a high school senior…and never this deep. A couple of those cuts looked like they needed stitches, and some antibiotics.
If Bobby noticed their looks at his arm, he gave no indication. He continued to grin up at them.
“Hey Dollface,” he now turned his attention on Erin, “hop in and me and Mr. Troll will give you a ride to where you’re going.” He released the steering wheel and gestured at a little troll doll in a tiny AC/DC shirt that dangled in a noose hanging from his rearview mirror.
“That’s sick!” Betty snapped. “Can’t you see you’re embarrassing her?!”
“I’m not talking to you, skank. I’m talking to the angel who allows you to walk in her shadow.”
“Oh really?!” She rounded on him.
Erin felt her cheeks redden as she noticed several knots of students pause in their morning parking lot conversations to watch the show. Somebody turned down the radio that thumped the morning air, now accentuating the hush that seemed to fall over the parking lot. Anticipation electrified the atmosphere like a gathering storm.
“Erin, do something or you’re about to have those two fighting over you right in front of everybody.” Cathy’s urgent warning spurred Erin into action.
“Betty don’t! I’ll…I’ll talk to him.”
Her friend’s look of worry as she stepped away provided little comfort.
“Hey great, Dollface! Hop in and we’ll talk.” His grin carried a combination of anticipation and disbelief.
“No, Bobby. I’m not getting in with you.”
“Hey look, we don’t have to go anywhere now. We can pull over there and talk.”
Erin braced herself. “No, Bobby. I’m not getting in with you now, or ever.”
“Aw c’mon, Dollface. If you’re mad about me telling off your friend I’ll…”
“Stop it!”
“Wha?”
“Just stop it! My name isn’t Dollface, or Angel, or any of those other things you have no right to call me! Don’t call me those things! Don’t call me, period!”
“Erin, I…” his large face gaped like a fish out of water.
“Don’t! Just don’t!” She felt a wave rising within her. “Don’t call me anything! Don’t call me! Don’t meet me in the hallways, don’t send me notes, and don’t look at me in class. Just DON’T!”
Her rising voice cut through the now complete silence of the parking lot.
“I don’t know WHAT you think is going to happen between us, but it isn’t. And it never will. NEVER! I don’t like you! I . . . DON’T . . . LIKE . . . YOU! You make my skin crawl, Bobby!”
“Eri…”
“NO! Leave me ALONE! Don’t talk to me! Don’t look at me! Don’t call me! Don’t follow me! JUST DON’T! GET OUT OF MY LIFE AND STAY THERE! I WANT YOU GONE! I WISH YOU WERE DEAD! NOW GO!”
For a moment, she got the feeling in her gut th
at she may have pushed it too far. The eyes he fixed on her sported pinpricks for pupils, and what little color tinted that pasty face now drained away. Erin swallowed. Despite his paunch and shambling awkwardness, Bobby massed a powerful 200 plus pounds, and if he freaked out and came after her now then she might be in real danger.
He stared at her for a long moment, then blinked a couple of times.
“Yeah,” he muttered to nobody in particular “Okay.”
Then he leaned back in the car, rolled up the window, and pulled away. The scruffy black Camaro did a slow roll to the end of the parking lot, and then exited at the far gate.
Erin released her breath, as cheers erupted around her.
###
“Whoa! You dropped the hammer on him good!”
“Yeah, I suppose I did.” She rearranged the soup cans without seeing them, and tried to recall how those four brief hours of freedom felt.
“And he didn’t bother you anymore after that?”
“No,” her hollow laugh quavered without mirth, “he didn’t. It turned out that Bobby drove straight back home, went up into his parents’ bedroom, got his father’s twelve-gauge out of the closet, put it under his chin, and blew his brains all over their ceiling.”
Word had reached the school at noon, while she ate in the cafeteria. She still remembered those hundreds of eyes all turning to rest on her.
“Oh man.”
The teen’s subdued commiseration summed it up nicely in Erin’s book. First her friends faded, then her health, then her grades, then the scholarships, and then almost her mind…
Bobby Cauldfeld made one hell of a heavy albatross.
Yet in the end she endured, and pulled herself back. Erin limped herself into a new life, a new town, and a new job she could do in her sleep. But she survived, with an enhanced appreciation of how fragile life and lives could be.
“Yeah.” She wiped an eye and tried to focus on the cans in front of her. “So you see, you can relax, Doobie. The big bad stalker is gone. I…I killed him.”
“Aw c’mon Erin. If he got that wrecked over a chick cutting him off at the knees, then he had a date with that shotgun sooner or later anyways. The guy was messed up. Besides, nobody in their right mind uses a nickname like ‘Dollface,’ not even back in those ancient times.”
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