The Indie Collaboration Presents
Tales From Dark Places
The Halloween Collection
A selection of chilling stories from some of the best Indie authors on the market. We dare you to venture into these pages of spine chilling tales and stories of ghosts and goblins. These dark passages are a great example of our authors various, unique styles and imaginations. This is the first of a series of topical collections brought to you by The Indie Collaboration.
ISBN:9781310508899
Copyright Retained By Authors
Cover Art by Book Birdy Designs
Thank you for downloading this e-book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the authors, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy. Thank you for your support.
Contents
Dinner, Date and Autopsy by D.C. Rogers
Alone by Sonya C. Dodd
It Started With A Whisper by Peter John
The Visitor Melpomene’s Love by Chris Raven
The Goblin Changeling by Sheryl Seal
Bars by Madhu Kalyan Mattaparthi
Death's Track by Alan Hardy
Melinda by Gunjan Vyas
Charlie Featherwick by William O'Brien
About The Authors
Future releases by The Indie Collaboration
Dinner, Date and Autopsy
by D C Rogers
“Oh god I can’t move,” Mel thought as she laid there in the darkness. Also, something covered her face and body. She couldn’t remember anything past the point of that nice man buying her a drink, then it was all a blurry haze. Had she been drugged? Where was she?
Mel tried to call out to someone but no words came. She felt like crying and not even that worked. Frustrated at the situation she screamed out in her head and laid there dejected. A small amount of time later a bright light went on overhead, revealing to her that she was indeed covered by some blanket. Willing her arm to move she tried her hardest to sweep the shroud from her face.
Then Mel heard what sounded like doors opening, followed by two pairs of footsteps upon a hard floor heading in her direction. They stopped quite near her, she knew this as she saw their shadows cast across the cloth. Hello, please what’s going on? She tried to say but it only came as a thought in her head.
“Hey Henry, brought this one down earlier,” one of the people said. It was a man by his voice talking to, by his name, another man. She laughed a little hysterically in her head, unless he meant Henrietta.
“Any ideas on her yet?”
“One of those sad cases Jeff. A Jane Doe, to that new date rape drug that new killer's using”. Oh god, a Jane Doe! What did they mean? She thought.
“Yeah heard of that new one. It kills it's victims after a few hours, nine times out of ten so they say”.
“Yeah this one got the same M.O as the other ones. Drugged, had the dirty done to them and then left naked on the road side; it's one sick guy alright”. Henry and Jeff moved away. Please I’m not a Jane Doe, Mel tried to scream, I’m not dead. I just can’t move; please help me!
“So what’s going to happen with her?” Jeff asked.
“Well the police want a fast tracked autopsy, DNA test and swabs taken,” Henry explained.
“So you’ll be here most of the night then,” Jeff had sympathy in his voice. Mel was screaming in her head, an autopsy oh god that would kill her; she had to do something. Try as she might though nothing moved, not even her little toes.
“We got a cornea transplant patient upstairs so I’ve got to keep her eyes pristine”.
“Sounds lovely Henry. Anyway, I’ll leave you to your work. If you’re done by eleven maybe we can catch a quick beer,” he laughed.
“Sure Jeff but don’t hold me to it OK”. Both men laughed, nonchalant of the supposed dead body.
She heard Jeff walk away, then leave through the same squeaky hinged door they both had arrived through. The room was almost quiet. Mel could hear Henry breathing and writing away on something, probably a pad. Henry don’t do this, I’M NOT DEAD, please!” Yet her mouth still refused to work for her. Footsteps then a shadow signalled Henry was back by her side.
He whisked the cloth off her body, which Mel felt. She then realised, from the earlier conversation, that she was naked. A cold breeze wafted over her body as the cloth came away, she hated that she couldn’t cover her modesty. Henry’s face came into view hovering above hers, for a moment she noticed he wasn’t that old and he was reasonably good looking. His hand then came into view, shaking a thermometer.
“First personal observation of our Jane Doe is... A damn shame is what I say”. He clucked his tongue in annoyance and walked off.
Mel's overworked mind started to make her disbelieve the situation, surely someone was playing a trick. She couldn’t have been date raped then just left somewhere. Henry placed the thermometer in her mouth, she hated that she couldn’t say anything or react to the situation. This was going bad and was about to get worse, she thought. Henry came back into view. Taking the thermometer from her mouth, he spoke into a voice recorder.
“Henry here,” he stated his badge number and some medical jargon that Mel didn’t understand; he looked over her frowning.
“This is strange. She’s just above the room’s temperature, which would suggest a high rate of decomposition yet she looks unaffected. It must be some reaction of natural gases in the body,” he sounded so clinical in his observations. No, it’s because I’M NOT DEAD! She screamed in her head at him.
“OK, starting the autopsy. Estimated cause of death is an overdose of new date rape drug, Baltonine. It's caused five deaths to our knowledge, our lady here being number six”. Henry walked off again. Mel could hear the tinkle of metal implements being rummaged around. Her heart sank, this was it, she was going to die fully aware and feeling every moment of it. What she did feel next was some soft swabbing of her nether regions.
“Collection of DNA samples from subject done. I suspect they will match the previous five from the unknown male assailant”. Mel was getting hysterical now, just mentally screaming at every sound that she heard.
Then the moment she was dreading, a metallic ringing noise signalled Henry had picked up a metal tool.
“Scalpel selected I will now begin harvesting eyes for corneal transplant victim”. She heard him walk back over her; he was now wearing a mask over his mouth. She had never in her life felt the intense terror that was now beginning to flow through every part of her body right now. Coupled with inability to shiver, it was excruciating. It intensified as his hand came into view with the glinting metal of a scalpel flashing into her stinging, unblinking eyes. Time seemed to slow as the sharp implement descended towards her terrified, waiting, soft flesh. It felt cold at first but then pain hit; it was unbearable! The implement sank into her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The scalpel easily cut through the skin and flesh of her face to the side of her left eye. Inwardly she was screaming as the deft tool in Henry’s skilled hands began to carve away muscle and skin. Then suddenly Henry stopped,there was a strange frown upon his eyes that Mel, in her hysterical state, almost missed. He pulled his mask down and put his ear really close to her mouth.
“My god are you... Are you ALIVE?” His voice was high pitched. Despite her pain she thanked whatever it was that was looking after her right then. Henry turned, she heard him rummaging again. He then came back over with a stethoscope.
“I hope I’m not just being paranoid little lady, in all my years I have never seen blood run
so red and freely from a supposed corpse. If you're alive we need you in police protection so they can catch that bastard”. Her spirits rose despite the pain. Then she inwardly flinched as the cold metal disc went between her breasts.
“My god a faint heartbeat, how the hell was this missed. Jeff should have checked before you were brought here”. He looked at her face again and she noticed abject horror etched upon his. Then her body let out its first small sign of life, when a big fat tear welled in her right eye and then rolled down her cheek.
“I am so, so sorry little lady. We are going to get this sorted first”. Henry covered her up to the shoulders with a blanket then stitched the cut by her eye closed.
“Listen I’m going to get you some help”. She heard him run to some point, it obviously had a phone as she heard the receiver being picked up.
“Jeff yes, Jeff I need your help; that girl she’s alive. Yes alive, she’s just somehow paralysed”. Henry went quiet as Jeff was replying. “I don’t know how, maybe she’s the lucky one out of ten,” Henry wailed. “OK I’ll sit tight until you get here”. Henry replaced the receiver. He walked back over to Mel who was currently crying a stream of happy tears down her one eye. She could feel other things slowly coming back to life now too. She could wiggle one little finger and most of her right toes. The coroner’s door burst open.
“She’s alive? Are you sure?” Jeff shouted as he entered.
“Yes, look at her, she’s even crying Jeff!” She knew something wasn’t right all of a sudden. Now the drug was wearing off she recognised Jeff’s voice. Then both looked over her, a small squeak escaped her throat as she recognised the one called Jeff which made him frown.
“My god Henry, she is alive. Quick find her some clothes or a gown to put on”. Mel squeaked in terror, trying to warn to Henry. Jeff had been the guy in the bar who gave her the drink a few hours before, he had also proclaimed to have been a fireman. He made a strange facial gesture akin to an angry smile at Mel, who just inwardly cursed the man while trying to squeak a warning to Henry. Jeff then turned to Henry.
“This is going to get me a promotion, maybe even a picture in the paper Jeff. Local coroner helps find the rape killer,” Henry said, as he searched through a cupboard for spare clothes. “So you haven’t rung the police yet then?” Jeff said, in that gentle voice he’d used in the bar.
“Not yet was waiting on you for confirmation that I wasn’t going mad”. A ringing sound of metal on metal made Mel shiver.
“Oh unfortunately she’s quite alive there”.
“Unfortunately, Jeff what do mean?” Henry sounded confused, it was also the last thing Henry ever thought or said. A very fine swishing noise filled with a blood curdling gurgle signalled to Mel that Henry was now very badly incapacitated or probably dead.
Once more tears, this time of fear or frustration, spilled from both eyes; the cut one stung with pain as it did so.
“Well, well. Hello miss lucky one out of ten,” Jeff crooned, as he came back over to her. His chiselled handsome features seemed alien and wrong, so different than they had in the bar.
“Now I can’t have someone like you screwing up my weekly fun can we,” he smiled. Mel twitched and even managed to blink one eye in anger.
“Oh now there’s an amusing reaction,” his big hand came up to her face. Once more she inwardly screamed, no sound escaped as mouth and nose were now covered. As she lay there suffocating, one last tear rolled but not for her. It was for the poor girls that Jeff would meet in future and then she cared no longer.
The End
© 2013 D. C Rogers
Alone
by Sonya C. Dodd
Every night the same nightmare:
I was standing in front of a large, derelict Victorian hospital. The windows were boarded up and graffiti covered most of the visible stonework which wasn’t smothered in ivy. The whole place was in a sorry state of decay, apart from the door. It was a still but cool night and I shivered slightly.
The enormous wooden front door was painted a deep red with a door knocker in the centre depicting a brass representation of the devil. The paint gleamed in the moonlight; it almost seemed to be wet still, and had an unnerving appearance of fresh blood.
Inexplicably I felt compelled to approach the door which swung open automatically, creaking noisily on its ancient hinges. Before me was a long, clinical corridor, the floor littered with debris such as dead leaves, empty beer cans and crisp packets. It appeared as though by day this place was a popular haunt for bored youths.
My feet moved slowly forward until I was inside the building. The door closed behind me yet I was still able to dimly discern my surroundings. Passing along the corridor, my shoes knocked cans flying or crunched over packets loudly. The sound echoed along the hallway, leading me ever forwards.
Numerous doors lined the walls of the corridor; some were closed, dirty and smeared with all kinds of unidentifiable marks.
Those doors which were open led into offices or long abandoned wards. Some of the furniture still remained, dusty and in poor repair now. Papers covered much of the floor but there were also tell-tale signs of rodent infestation.
It was impossible to tell how long this place had been abandoned or whether it even existed outside of my imagination. Somehow it felt real, as though I might have been here at some forgotten point in my younger life.
Although it might seem incredible, there was still a smell of disinfectant everywhere even though there clearly had been no cleaning done here for years. The only sounds were created by my shoes and a distant, faint drip of a tap somewhere.
The dull lighting cast shadows across my path with beams of brightness showing through open doors. I didn’t know where my destination lay and I trusted my legs to know which way to turn when a change in direction was called for.
Whichever way the corridors led, each turn showed me the same view. I could have been going round in circles had it not been for the fact I eventually always ended up in front of the double swing doors.
This was where my feet hesitated as though wanting to protect me from what lay beyond the doors. There was a window in each door but they were grimy and it was impossible to peer through them into the room beyond.
Tentatively I took a small step forward and rested my hands against the doors. Pushing slightly against the sticky surface, I was surprised at how easily and noiselessly they swung open.
The room had at one time been an operating theatre. Empty metal trolleys lay abandoned across the floor. A couple of curtains on wheeled frames blocked my view into the room but I already knew what lay behind them.
As if pulled by some invisible force, I stepped into the large room and let the doors swing shut behind me. The breeze from the closing doors sent a layer of dust into the air and my coughing sounded loud and false in the quiet space.
I moved forward, brushing past one of the curtains. The operating table was still in situ. Unlike everything else I had seen since entering the hospital, this looked clean and white. Reaching the edge of the table I stretched out my hand and ran my fingers along the surface. It was spotless and impersonal yet it appeared to be waiting for me.
Nervously I looked round the room. It was empty and I was alone.
Suddenly I found myself lying on the table, my clothes replaced by a standard issue green hospital robe. The overhead lights flashed on in an instant, making me jump in surprise. With the bright illumination the room seemed to reflect a pure, white light in all directions; the earlier grime and mess had vanished, yet I knew I was still alone.
The wait was interminable but I didn’t try to move or escape; it was as though what came next was inevitable, however terrifying.
Although I was aware of waiting, it was almost relaxing. The white light blocked out everything else around me and the silence was restful. My eyelids felt heavy but then, this was a nightmare and you can’t go to sleep when you’re already asleep!
Then came the sound of footsteps and whisp
ered voices; I became alert. Whilst I wasn’t tied to the table, I wasn’t able to move either; but my eyes searched for some sign of who was approaching.
The footsteps stopped by the side of the table; I could hear the hurried whispers and believed I could detect the sound of breathing too but still I was unable to see anyone. The sensation was unnerving and I knew I was sweating profusely.
For a moment everything was silent again and then, in a flash, I saw the large, sharp-edged knife rise up out of nowhere before it plunged into my chest.
The force of the blow was terrific. In fact it was so fast and powerful that the pain didn’t register immediately. Then, as the reality began to sink in I felt the blade being drawn from my body before, once more, it delivered a second stab.
The blows came fast and furious, one after the other. Somehow I was still aware of what was happening even though I could feel nothing. It was as if I was now watching my own death from some higher point in the room.
There was no one holding the knife but it was moving backwards and forwards as my body became coated in a blood bath. I could see my eyes staring up blindly at me, blood at the corner of my mouth and running from my nose.
The horror continued until it looked as if I was clothed in a full-length red robe. A gaping hole was all that was left of my stomach and chest. It was mildly fascinating to see me lying there but know I was removed from the corpse upon which I looked.
The knife was now lying next to my body, abandoned by the invisible murderer. Gradually the scene faded before my eyes as the lights dimmed until I was surrounded by complete darkness.
Considering what I had witnessed yet again, I wondered why this particular nightmare was recurring. Who was responsible for killing me and what on earth did it have to do with my life now?
Life has become a bit creepy, to be honest. Just as in the nightmare, I am always alone. I know it sounds crazy but I think I am in my own bed, in my own house, when I wake up. It all feels familiar but odd too. I think it’s the isolation which makes me hesitate. If it was my normal existence there should be other people, if not in my home then at least passing by in the street, on foot or by car. However, there is no one, just me.
Day after day it is always the same. I spend the day alone at home and then at night the nightmare returns. I’ve got to do some serious thinking about this or it’ll drive me crazy. It would be simpler if I could recall a time before this was my normal state of existence. But my mind is empty of any previous life; so I think about the nightmare, forcing myself to return to those spooky surroundings and the horrific ending.
I make the scene play out in my mind until I get to the operating theatre. Trying to view the episode from a different perspective I concentrate on the voices and squeeze my eyes tightly shut as I search for some clue as to the identity of the approaching people.
The mist is slowly clearing and for the first time I see the face. Opening my eyes in shock I rush to the mirror and stare at my reflection. It is me. In the hospital it is me I see carrying the knife and inflicting the injuries. But how can that be? How can I slaughter myself?
Again I close my eyes and am immediately transported to that moment. I watch over my own shoulder as I plunge the knife into the helpless body. But the face I see on the table is not my own.
It is the face of an old man, then it changes to a young woman, then a middle aged woman and so on as I watch myself murder person after person.
Opening my eyes slowly the realisation hits me. I haven’t been watching my own death but the replay of all the deaths I have caused. I am a killer. My blood runs cold. How many were there? Too many and I daren’t close my eyes again.
And now the mists have completely vanished. I have my answers. I am guilty of killing other humans. This is my purgatory: to live in eternal isolation and have to go through the same horror I inflicted on others each night in my dreams.
It is appropriate that I am alone. My madness will be slow and deserved. I am the only person who should have to live with myself, in hell.
THE END
© 2013 Sonya C. Dodd
It Started With a Whisper
by Peter John
My eyelids felt heavy but seemed reluctant to close. Sleep was eluding me and my effort to break free from consciousness was draining my body of what little strength that remained. That was why, the first time that they spoke to me, I excused the experience as yet another symptom of my sleep starved mind.
As the darkness drew ever closer I found myself focusing inwardly. With the calm of the night they came to my bedside and whispered their quiet woes into my ears and I could feel their warm breath as their words brushed against my face. My skin crawled with every syllable and stuttered moan that was forced into my conscious mind. I found myself craving sleep as a form of escape but it was a fruitless dream. I lay still with my weakened state holding me to the bed while a constant flow of whispered doom laid siege to my defenseless ears. Relief only came with the growing light of dawn. As the first scrawny filaments of light slipped through the cracks in the curtains the voices began to fade until all I could hear was the sound of bird song outside.
As I look back on that first night I find myself wishing for another like it. I had suffered a tormenting experience which turned out to be nothing compared to that which was to follow.
Tales From Dark Places - The Halloween Collection Page 1
