When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set

by Shalini Boland

  I wish I could ignore the worst things humans do to each other. But if we all ignored them, the victims would never have anyone to hear them.

  *

  I’ve been twisted and hopeless on the moors. Time stretches and the cold seeps into your bones. I’ve never wanted to be away from a place so badly as I do at this moment in time. It’s different to being in a fire. That is quick and filled with adrenaline; this is a slow wearing down of your resolve. Without Lacey I would be curled in a ball, begging for it all to end.

  There is no phone signal. I stumble around in the dark, calling for the others.

  “I think we should go this way,” Lacey says.

  “Can you sense them?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure. Not in the same way I sense you. I’m just vaguely aware of life. It’s like some sort of pulsation in the air.”

  I’m too tired to think of what that might mean. I want to see Seth, and yet I don’t. I doubted him, even for a moment, and somehow I think he’ll smell it on me.

  “Mary? Mary?”

  “Neil?”

  Lacey breaks out in a grin as my heart begins to pound. We rush forwards. I trip over my feet in haste. Lacey moves in jerking motions.

  “Neil, we’re coming…”

  A dark, Neil-like shape is visible ahead, and it energises my legs a little more. When I see his face, and his nose piercing, and his spiky black hair, I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze him hard.

  “Easy, chick,” he says, a soft ripple of laughter escapes from his lips. “We’re here. We’re all here, but…” His body stiffens and I know something is wrong.

  I pull back. “Is it Seth?”

  Neil shakes his head and moves to the side. That’s when I see the shape on the ground. Above it, someone is punching its chest, and I dash forward to stop them. That’s when I realise that the shape on the ground is Igor, and the shadow punching his chest is Seth attempting to resuscitate him.

  “Oh no…” I drop to my knees next to Igor’s long, lumpy body. My fingers grope for his hand. “What happened?”

  It’s Lemarr who answers. He almost startles me as he appears from a shadow, but I’m too worn out to be frightened anymore. “He took a tumble down one of the hills and hit his head real bad. I managed to get a signal on the hill over there and phoned the police. They’re sending an air ambulance, but it might take some time to find us. I tried to call you, Mary, but your phone kept cutting out. We looked all over for you. Seth was beside himself.”

  Seth blows air into Igor’s mouth and pumps his chest in a rhythm. All I can do is hold Igor’s hand and try to get some warmth into his body.

  “How long has he been like this?”

  Lemarr doesn’t answer. He drops his eyes instead.

  “Have there been any more of those shadows?” I ask, meaning the strange creatures that tried to pull us into the ground. The thought of them sends a shiver up and down my spine.

  “No. What happened to Amy? I can’t believe… I can’t believe I saw her.” Lemarr fiddles with one of his dreadlocks, staring down at the grass with wide eyes. “She was so real.”

  “Very real,” I reply. I’m half aware of Lacey, sitting next to me on the grass, and the electricity of her ghost form. “But she’s gone, now. She showed us what happened to her, and I found something… Something that I need to give to Seth.”

  “Guys, I think Igor has gone,” Neil says. “He’s dead.”

  “No,” I say. “Not yet.”

  It’s Lacey who whispers into Igor’s ear, “It’s time to go, old man.”

  And he does.

  It’s not like in the films where a soul haloed in white light floats out of a body, it’s more like a crackle and a pop and then there’s a person who looks exactly the same as the person on the grass, but now he’s next to you. I stand up and face him.

  “Looks like I’m off, lass,” he says. “You’d better keep hold of that Athamé, eh?”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “No, don’t be. Maybe I’ll finally find her.”

  “I hope you do.”

  Igor flickers once, twice, and then he’s gone.

  But Seth still doesn’t stop. He pumps at Igor’s chest, keeping that rhythm, that relentless rhythm. I approach him slowly.

  “Seth… stop now,” I say. I ease my hands onto his shoulders. “Stop now. It’s over.” I crouch down so that I’m at his level, and run my hands down to his, pulling him away from Igor’s body.

  “No, it’s not over. He can still come back,” he says.

  “He’s gone.” I pull Seth up, letting him lean his full weight on me.

  A gradual roar sounds from above, and a light beams down on us. As the air ambulance flies overhead, Seth whispers into my ear, “It’s all my fault.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My parents are mad. Oh goodness me, they are very mad indeed. Mum can’t even look at me. Dad tuts under his breath and repeats the same question over and over again: what were you thinking?

  We all agreed on one explanation. We employed Igor to take us on a special ghost hunt on the moors because we wanted to find Little Amy. But when we were out there, we were spooked by the creepiness of the moors, scattered, dropped our torches and freaked out. It was then that Igor fell down the hill and landed on the rocks.

  The young detective gave us all a lecture on moor safety. He glared at each of us, and as he talked, spittle flew from his mouth.

  “A man is dead! A man is dead.”

  Lemarr bursts into tears when he says that.

  Of course we can’t tell him what we were really doing on the moors at night. We can’t tell him about our dangerous mission, and about how we stopped Little Amy from claiming any more lives from Nettleby. We can’t tell him any of that, because I will end up back in a psychiatric facility.

  After he leaves, I manage to get some time alone with Seth. We walk to his mother’s ward in silence. When we’re alone, I tell him about the knife and his father’s shirt in my bag.

  At first he’s quiet, and I’m unsure whether he is going to agree with me about taking it to the police.

  “Amy showed you where it was buried?” he asks.

  “Yes, she made me dig it up.”

  “Then she wants the world to know who killed her. You should give it to the detective with the spittle.” He flashes a half-hearted impish grin laced with sadness.

  “What about you and your mum?” I ask.

  “Mum is never going to wake up again. I have to face up to that. And me… well, I will tell the police everything.”

  “But you could implicate yourself. You could be seen as an accessory to murder,” I insist.

  “And if I don’t, I live with this burden for the rest of my life. That, to me, is a prison cell anyway.” He turns away and stares out of the window.

  “You were fine before I came along,” I say, following his gaze. The sun is in the beginnings of rising, but it is blocked by an outbuilding. Still, the sky is tinged pinky-blue and laced with thin clouds. It reminds me of candy floss from the carnival. That seems like so long ago now. “I brought all of this back up. I pulled open the past—”

  Seth moves to me and takes my hands. “Are you kidding? I thought I was going to die, last night. I thought I had until I was twenty-one, and then that was it. I carried that for a long time. No one ever knew. Then you came along. Have you any idea what it feels like to share that kind of secret?”

  Tears burn at the back of my eyes, and my throat thickens. I can only nod.

  “Well, then you know what it’s like.” His fingers find their way to my hair. He strokes my cheek, moving down, trailing the scars on my neck. “You’ve changed everything, from the way I see the world, to the way I want to live my life.”

  My face flushes. I know I’m turning red, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “Seth…”

  “I know,” he says. “You don’t have to say it.”

  “It’s time to let go, Seth.” My eyes mis
t with unshed tears.

  We kiss for the last time. When I leave, he stands by the window with his profile to me. The pinks and yellows of the sunrise light up his face, like on the first night I saw him.

  *

  When the young detective sees the knife, he stops shouting. He goes very quiet and hurries off back to the police station. I’ve probably just made his career.

  Mum and Dad decide to cut the holiday short. They are reluctant to let me say goodbye to Neil and Lemarr.

  “I’ll email you my address in Brum so you can visit.” Neil lowers his voice. “Bring the Athamé, yeah?”

  I’ve already agreed to go ghost hunting with them both. What am I getting myself into?

  As I pack up my things in the caravan, Lacey sits on the bed and we talk in whispers. It’s going to be a while before I have the same sort of freedom as I’ve had this week. I crossed a line with my family’s trust, I know that, but I also know it was necessary.

  “You know, in a weird way, I’m going to miss Nettleby,” Lacey says. “I’m going to miss Neil and Lemarr a lot. I might pop in on them, every now and then.”

  “You’re going to end up making them poo their pants, Lace, if you keep popping in on them,” I remind her.

  She grins. “Yeah, that might be an added bonus.” She pauses as I try to fit my clothes into one suitcase. Even though I haven’t bought anything extra, for some reason I can’t fit everything in. “I’m sorry I said those things about Seth.”

  I look up from my suitcase. “It’s okay. You were right to be cautious.”

  “You’re going to keep in touch with him, though?”

  “No, we’ve decided not to. He’s going to the police about what he saw his father do to Amy and I think he’s got too much on his plate.” I think about Seth’s mum in the hospital. He’d faced up to her death, at last. He didn’t say it, but I know he’s going to turn the machines off.

  “I’m sorry,” Lacey says.

  “Thanks. That means a lot.” I flash her a grin. “Seeing as you didn’t like him.”

  She feigns incredulity. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “All right, yeah, but it was because I didn’t trust him. He seemed all right in general.”

  “Wow, that almost sounded convincing.”

  Lacey stands up and paces the room, swinging her arms from side to side. We’re avoiding saying the rest—about how Lacey became jealous of a minor change in my life, and about how she turned on me on the moors. Somehow it doesn’t feel like the right time. It feels like one chapter is ending, and another is beginning, and somewhere along the story, Lace and I will have to face up to our issues. Right now, we just need to move on.

  “Lace,” I say.

  She turns to me with her eyes open wide. It’s one of those moments when she looks so real, so alive, that I almost forget she’s dead. “Yeah?”

  “I want to carry on Igor’s work. I want to help ghosts like Amy. And I want you to help me.”

  Lacey smiles. “I want to do that, too.”

  Later that day, as Dad’s car pulls out of the Five Moors car-park, I can’t help but think about how much was let go in the last week. Seth let go of his dark past, and faced up to letting go of his mother. Amy let go of her revenge and moved on to the other side. Igor let go of one life and accepted his new journey, whatever it is. Lacey let go of me for a short time, and found her own feet.

  I let go of Seth.

  Mum was right about my holiday romance, and what a romance it was—all intense, and mysterious, and passionate, and all-encompassing. But it belongs in Nettleby. It was destined to last a week and, somehow, that seems perfect.

  It has been a week where many things have fallen into place for me. I’ve figured out what I want to do with my life. I want to listen to those without a voice, and Lacey is going to help me. In the boot of my parents’ car, nestled amongst many suitcases and bags and old blankets, is my backpack. Inside my backpack, tucked in a leather sheath, is the Athamé that once belonged to Igor. Now it’s mine.

  ~ A Note from the Author ~

  A huge thank you for supporting independent authors by buying this book. As an author who has self-published her book, I rely on readers to spread the word. Why not take a moment to do just that and leave a review?

  If you haven’t already, check out the novella that started it all: My Daylight Monsters described by reviewers as “creepy and atmospheric” and “intriguing and suspenseful”.

  Be the first to find out about POSSESS, the next book in the Mary Hades series.

  Join the mailing list.

  About the Author:

  Sarah grew up in the middle of nowhere in the countryside of Derbyshire and as a result has an over-active imagination. She has been an avid reader for most of her life, taking inspiration from the stories she read as a child, and the novels she devoured as an adult.

  Sarah mainly writes speculative fiction for a Young Adult audience and has had pieces of short fiction published in the Medulla Literary Review, Apex Magazine, PANK magazine and the British Fantasy Society publication Dark Horizons. Her short story ‘Vampires Wear Chanel’ is featured in the Wyvern Publication Fangtales available from Amazon.

  Sarah is currently working on an upcoming YA fantasy series. Keep in touch for more information!

  www.sarahdaltonbooks.com

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  @sarahdalton

  THE FOREVER GIRL

  A Novel by Rebecca Hamilton

  www.theforevergirl.com

  The Forever Girl Series | Volume One

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without the permission of the publisher. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  Copyright © 2012 by Rebecca Hamilton

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-9850818-2-9

  Third Edition

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Sophia’s journey is representative of one fictional Wiccan, not all real life Wiccans. No character’s actions are intended to represent any religious group or sect. This novel is for entertainment purposes only and not intended as social commentary. I do not subscribe to or condemn any belief system.

  DEDICATIONS

  For my husband, David: It took three laptops, countless hours, and all your patience, but we’re here, and you’re mostly still in one piece.

  For my business and writing partner, Rudy: May we forever evade unfollowing, email-blocking, pineapples, and all other phobias.

  And, most importantly, for my children: I love you for who you are and who you’ve made me. Thank you for being my heart and inspiration.

  {one}

  MY MOM DIED DURING AN EXORCISM on my eighteenth birthday. On that same day, an ever-present static moved into my head like a squatter I couldn’t evict.

  Ever since, I thought getting rid of the noise would be my best shot at survival—like all I needed was silence, even if only within myself, to feel at home again.

  I was wrong.

  I crossed the black-and-white tiled floor to the jukebox, hoping Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish You Were Here’ would drown out the wasping in my mind.

  Instead, Mrs. Franklin’s high-pitched, singsong voice cut into my thoughts. “So-phiii-aaa!”

  Bound by my waitressly duty, I gripped the sides of the jukebox and turned my head toward her. “Yes?”

  She smoothed invisible wrinkles from her paisley, ankle-length dress. “Check, please. I’d prefer to leave before any secular music touches my ears.”

  She actually touched h
er ears as she said this, and it took all I had to suppress a groan.

  I walked to the register, printed her check, and headed over to the red vinyl booth where she sat. “Anything else, Mrs. Franklin?”

  “I was hoping you’d reconsidered my offer on your house.”

  Of course I hadn’t. Why would I sell my inheritance unless I would make enough to leave this rotten town?

  “I’m not interes—”

  She grabbed my arm, and I forced my glare from her whitening knuckles to her scowling face. I considered pulling free, but if we caused a scene, I would be the one to go down. The customer’s always right, after all.

  She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Your mother would have wanted it that way,” she said sweetly.

  I stared back, uncertain what to say. But I didn’t need to say anything. She gave me a long, condemning glare, then released my arm, gathered her purse, and hurried to the checkout counter.

  I get it, I thought at the back of her head. You think it’s my fault my mom died during the exorcism.

  Why not? Everyone else did. After all, it’d been my touch that killed her. At least they weren’t blaming me for my father’s murder, but that was likely because I was only six at the time.

  On my way back to the kitchen, one of the two boys sitting at table four flagged me down to request a milkshake. I tried focusing on the order as I ran the blender, but I couldn’t tell where the sounds in my head ended and the sounds of the real world began.

  “I heard she’s a witch,” the older boy whispered loudly.

  His friend grinned. “She’s blonder than your sister, even . . . and probably twice as dumb.”