Penny's Tales

Horror stories, narrations and illustrations by Penny Tailsup
Penny's Tales
  • About
  • Books
  • Contact Me
  • Copyright Notice
  • My Narrations
  • Support
  • Teespring / Merch
    • Short Christmas Horror Story – Carol’s Christmas Cookies

      Posted at 6:39 pm by Penny Tailsup, on December 24, 2019

      Listen to the narration here! 

       

      Today was the annual holiday potluck. My office doesn’t really do parties, but every occasion gets a potluck;  it’s business as usual except everyone brings food. We work while stuffing ourselves silly. Nothing like working through a stomach ache, right? It’s always a game of food poisoning roulette. 

      Since I was the first one in, I was expected to do the basic set-up. Dutifully, I cleared off the sorting table and got the coffee going. I expected to spend the first thirty minutes of my shift in peace, but it wasn’t to be. The phone started to ring. 

      It’s too early for this, I thought. I answered anyway, putting on my best customer-service voice. At this hour most customers hadn’t had their coffee yet so answering the phone was a crap-shoot. Fortunately, it was only Carol. 

      “Thank god you answered. Can you let me in? My arms are full!”  She always brought enough baked goods for everyone to have seconds and thirds, it was one of the few things I looked forward to.

      “I’ll be right over! Hold on.” I hung up and hurried over to the employee entrance. I yanked open the door and found Carol standing there with a heaping stack of tupperware in her arms. The scent of gingerbread hung around her like a warm Christmas perfume, sweet and inviting.  

      “Let me help you with that. You tried to get it all in one trip, huh?” I carefully grabbed a few of the containers, making sure not to tip them over and walking with her inside. Carol smiled appreciatively, relieved she could finally set everything down.

      I took a peek at the goodies; as expected, gingerbread cookies!  Gingerbread office workers, each one bigger than my hand and intricately detailed. 

      “What do you think?” she asked, puffing out her chest with pride. “I made one for everyone in the office! After I pass these out, I’m out of here though. I’m not working today but I wanted to make sure everyone got theirs.” 

      “Wow!” I admired her handiwork. It only took me a moment to realize that the gingerbread cookies were modeled after our co-workers. I looked eagerly for the one she’d made of me, but I didn’t see one. “These must have taken you forever to make, the details are perfect. No one can top these.” suddenly my crock-pot of meatballs seemed a lot less exciting. Oh well, it wasn’t a competition. As if I could beat Carol’s Christmas cookies!

      By then, my phone started to ring so I hurried back to my desk. I watched Carol pass out her cookies with care, placing them on desks atop pretty poinsettia plates. 

      “Are you going to be open on Christmas?” the customer asked the second I picked up. No hello, only a shrill inquiry. 

      “No, but we will be open as usual on the 26th.” I answered. 

      “What do you mean you won’t be open on Christmas? What if I need help right away? I’ll have to wait?” I gave my scripted answer to the angry customer, distracted and deadpan. By the time the call was done, Carol came over with a smile, bringing the very last cookie over to me. 

      “I’d say it’s too pretty to eat, except he was never really a looker was he?” she said.  I looked down at the gingerbread man. It wasn’t me, it was our boss, Dale.

      “This one’s mine?” I asked tentatively, definitely confused. Maybe there was a mistake? 

      “Of course! How many opportunities do you get to bite your boss’s head off? I wanted to give you the honor.” if Carol sensed my disappointment, she didn’t let on. I looked down at the cookie again, a dense gingerbread man in a cheap suit. Even though the suit had been made with glaze and frosting , I had that impression; cheap, ill-fitting, and grey.  A perfect replica of one of his two suits with a garish Christmas tie. 

      “As long as it doesn’t taste like Dale.” I laughed. To be honest, as perfectly made as the cookie was, I didn’t find it appetizing. Well, I did. It smelled amazing! But there was something off-putting about eating a cookie shaped like someone else, especially Dale.  Then again, it would be just as weird to eat one that looked like me. Cookie cannibalism.

       “You didn’t give him one that looks like me, right?” I shuddered. Now that would be creepy. Dale was a real piece of work, but I had to tolerate him if I wanted to keep my job.

      “Of course not.” Carol assured me. “Could you do me a favor? Wait until everyone else gets in before you eat it. I want everyone to see. I wish I could see the looks on their faces. You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

      “Sure.” I slid the gingerbread away from me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was going to eat it or not, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Maybe if I scraped off the decorations first? That seemed equally rude, though.

      “When you eat gingerbread cookies, are you the kind of person to go for the head… or the arms and legs first? Or maybe you pull off the decorations one-by-one?” she asked suddenly; Carol wasn’t looking at me when she asked, she was looking towards Dale’s office.

      What a weird question! Especially coming from her. When she saw the look on my face, Carol laughed  and patted my shoulder. “Sorry, I was just having a funny thought. There’s a little sadist in everyone, isn’t there?”

      “Excuse me?” 

      Grabbing her empty Tupperware, Carol gave me a wink and wished me a Merry Christmas. She left, leaving me alone in the office. I kept eyeing the Gingerbread Dale, still feeling a bit weird about it. Weird, but also…  hungry. The cookies smelled divine, which was odd considering I’d never been a huge fan of gingerbread.

      About ten minutes later, the rest of my co-workers trickled in. They complained about how tired they were, morning traffic, and the holidays. Of course, the bellyaching became exclamations of delight when they discovered the cookies set neatly on their desks. 

      Everyone started showing one another their cookies and taking pictures, marveling at the perfect detail. Patti’s cookie had her trademark beehive up-do and pearls, Marc’s cookie was bearded with squared glasses, Bette’s had electric blue eye shadow and dimples… though the outfits weren’t an exact match, the resemblances were uncanny. Eventually, the clamor died down and everyone sat at their desks. All except Patti, who scurried over to my desk with a wide smile.

      “I didn’t see yours.” she said, showing me hers for the second time. She carried her plate proudly in both hands, like she was presenting a piece of art. To be fair, Carol’s work really was exquisite… I just didn’t like Patti.

      Patti’s eyes moved to the plate I’d set away from me. My cookie wasn’t like everyone else’s, which suddenly seemed like a problem.  “Oh. It looks like Dale… Is it yours?” she scrunched her face at me, somehow managing to keep the smile. I didn’t like her insinuation.

      “Yes, it’s mine.”

      Did she really think I’d scarfed down my cookie and stole another one off my boss’s desk?  Really? 

      “Why doesn’t it look like you, then?” Oh yes, the insinuation was still there. A bitter anger spread across my tongue, but I fought to keep my voice level and my face flat. It was weird that I was the only one with a cookie that looked like someone else, but I didn’t make them. It wasn’t up to me.

      “Carol thought it would be funny, that’s all.”  

      “Carol? But… wasn’t she fired yesterday?” Patti’s expression scrunched up even more. Her hands moved up to her pearls, fidgeting with the long strand. Sometimes I wondered if she wore pearls just so she could clutch them. 

      “Uh, no? Wouldn’t a memo have gone out if she was?” I turned my attention back to my work. I hoped Patti would get the hint and go away but she just stood there for a long moment. Sucking in a deep, dramatic breath… she picked her plate off my desk, staring hard at the Gingerbread Patti. 

      “Didn’t you make these?” she asked slowly.

      “No, I brought the meatballs. Why would you think I made them?” I answered, not looking up. I pretended to read an email. Patti was being nosy, as usual;  I’d never liked that about her. She didn’t have anything better to do, I guess. Except for the work she let pile up, but if I said that she’d complain to Dale. Patti was his favorite for some reason, so I’d probably get written up for ‘not being a team player’. Like a lot of offices around the world, this one was toxic. 

      “I’m not sure if this is okay. I’ll be right back.” Patti said, unaware of my rude thoughts. I looked up when she said that, unable to help myself. She didn’t explain, pivoting towards Dale’s office. To tell on me? Or Carol? I honestly wasn’t sure. Either way, it was a headache for me.

      She reappeared in the doorway with Dale a moment later. They both made a bee-line straight for my desk, their expressions a lot more serious than a cookie called for. Great. I pretended not to notice, busying myself with a stack of fresh paperwork. 

      Before they reached me, there was a loud cracking sound and a scream. Every head in the room whipped in the direction of the sound to find Robert tears running down his face. All I could see was his eyes poking up from his workstation, expression twisted and red.  “My arm!” he screamed. “Oh my god! It won’t move!”  

      A couple co-workers ran over to see what happened. I reached for my phone instead, ready to call 911 if an ambulance was needed. Patti and Dale changed course, but everyone looked confused. How on earth had Robert hurt his arm while sitting at his desk? Carpal tunnel?

      Now’s your chance, came an errant thought.

       My eyes slid towards the Gingerbread Dale. It looked perfectly palatable on that pretty poinsettia plate.

      Hurry! Before they confiscate it. 

      Now wasn’t the time to worry about cookies, but… my tongue tingled with anticipation and my teeth itched with the urge. 

      Just one small bite. The thought was strange, almost like it wasn’t mine… but very compelling. The gingerbread man was heavier than I expected. I lifted it to my lips and bit off one of the feet. It crunched in stereo, unusually loud as the foot snapped off and began to melt on my tongue. Delicious.

      A rush of delight washed over me, brought on by a flood of flavor that drowned out Dale’s cursing screams. He’d fallen, rocking back and forth on the floor. He must have twisted his ankle in his haste to check on Robert. How unlucky. Two injuries in one day?

      A chorus of oh-my-gods rang through the office, but I set down my phone so I could hold the Gingerbread Dale with both hands. Without even thinking, I took another bite– nibbling up the leg before switching to the other foot. The screaming kept getting louder, filling the room.

      The gingerbread had such a rich and complex flavor; ginger, cinnamon, allspice, cloves… and something else. Was it earthy? Or maybe it was the texture? Soft and velvety, yet dense and crunchy. Wow, so much screaming. All over carpal tunnel and a sprained ankle? 

      Annoyed, I glanced around the room to find that almost everyone was screaming. The ones who weren’t screaming were chewing with blissed out looks on their bloody faces or slumped over their desks. 

      Confused, I touched my own wet mouth and looked down at my red fingers. I wasn’t in any pain. Had Carol put glass in the batter or something? Where was the blood coming from? Why was everyone still eating?

      Because they can’t help themselves. 

      I couldn’t help myself either. Without realizing it, I’d eaten half of the Dale cookie and found myself going in for another bite. Horrified, I dropped the cookie– the gingerbread snapping in half as it hit the floor. 

      Dale, curled up on the carpet, was suddenly still and quiet. Patti was right next to him on the floor, but she didn’t seem to notice– chewing frantically with glazed eyes, gingerbread crumbs and blood running down her chin. Only when her mouth was empty did she resume screaming again. She rolled, and started eating her cookie off the carpet. 

      The spell the cookie cast on me had broken with my Boss’s spine. He was dead, and with each quieted scream… a co-worker joined him in death. I was the last one standing, the last one screaming. Soon, I was standing in perfect silence. No more screams. No more chewing. 

      Only then was I able to move. I grabbed my keys and ran out of the office. Maybe I should have called the police, but I didn’t know what I was going to tell them. That Carol’s Christmas cookies had killed everyone but me? That I’d chewed my boss to death with a voodoo gingerbread man? I couldn’t come up with a logical explanation in my state of pure panic. Even though my voice had broken, my thoughts kept screaming. 

      I ran through the snowy parking lot and found my car. I’m not sure why I ran, no one was chasing me. There was no one who could. Before I could jump into my car and drive away… I noticed the little red gift bag sitting on the hood of my car. Across the front, written in glitter, were the words ‘Merry Christmas from Carol!’

      I was terrified but looked inside the bag anyway. As I feared, there was a cookie. My heart thudded in terror, but I felt compelled to examine it. In spite of my dread, I started to salivate, clenching my teeth together. Even after what I witnessed, I wanted to eat it.

      The cookie wasn’t me.  It was Carol. Carol, down to the outfit she’d worn that very morning– except for the ‘Sorry’ piped across her sweater in red. I swallowed the bloody spit in my mouth, reaching back into the gift bag. There was a Christmas card inside. 

      Still holding the Gingerbread Carol, I opened it up. A key was taped to the glitter card stock, along with a simple message:

      Merry Christmas! 

      There’s a Gingerbread Office in my apartment. If you smash it, everyone will think the roof collapsed. That should explain all the broken bones. Don’t worry, no one will find me. 

      P.S.

      You were always kind to me, that’s why I spared you. I hope you’ll do me one more kindness, and make it quick.

      Love,

      Carol

      I closed the card, tucking it back in it’s envelope and sitting in my car. I looked down at the cookie still in my hand. My tongue tingled; my teeth itched. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. I bit off Carol’s Gingerbread head.

      It tasted like gingerbread and death. 

       

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged christmas, cookies, creepy, curse, gingerbread, horror, nosleep, office, scary, scary story, short story, workplace horror
    • [Short Horror Story] My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… They Pray Anyway.

      Posted at 7:00 am by Penny Tailsup, on December 9, 2019

      “My Family Was Cursed With A Demon … They Pray Anyway.”

      by Penny Tailsup

       

      Part One – My Family Was Blessed with an Angel… I Think It Was a Curse.

      Part Two – My Family Doesn’t Know Our Guardian Angel is a Demon

      Part Three – My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… Now it Wants Blood.

      This is PART FOUR of the story: “My Family Was Blessed with an Angel… I Think It Was a Curse.”

      —

      The demon owed me an honest answer. Of course, he dangled the promise of answers about Mother’s death… but there were more important things to ask, even if my heart disagreed.

      “How do I break this curse?”

      My eyes never left Grandma, arms extended like she was about to make a snow angel with her own growing pool of blood. She was alive, but barely. I watched her chest rise and fall with her shallow breaths. I’d already called an ambulance, I could only wait for help to arrive.

      “I can’t answer that.”

      “You can’t pick and choose my question! You’ve already been paid!” my shout echoed into the grand entry but the demon was unmoved. Oddly, he didn’t even seem smug. If shadows could shrug, his did.

      “Reword your question.” I was about to ask ‘how’, but held my tongue when I recognized the trap. I couldn’t waste my one question by asking him how to ask it. He was obligated to be honest once, not twice.

      “Nice try.” I muttered. He’d almost had me, so I shut my mouth and resumed my ignore-the-demon policy. I felt it laugh; the sensation made me fall to my knees with the sudden loss in equilibrium.

      When my brother walked through the front door to ask what was taking so long, he was greeted with the horrific sight. His expression was blank with shock as he stared at the bloody scene in front of him. All I could say was, “I found her like this.”

      That was the truth, to my memory. I didn’t remember pushing Grandma down the stairs, but all the evidence pointed in that direction. Leading up to that moment, I fantasized about doing it. Except, I didn’t even get to enjoy my act of revenge… I couldn’t even remember. It was a thought I hated myself for having.

      What happened after that was a blur. The paramedics came and took Grandma to the hospital… No one wondered why I’d been there in the first place. No one asked the question I dreaded most: Did you push her? Is that why she fell?

      Grandma hasn’t woken up, which is probably why I’m not in handcuffs. Until she wakes up, no one has any reason to think she didn’t fall down the stairs on her own. Since she’s a known liar, maybe no one will believe her when she wakes up and reveals the truth.

      If she wakes up.

      During Mass, I couldn’t help but think about what happened. I was used to Grandma sitting beside me with a severe expression, wrinkled hands folded primly in her lap. She wouldn’t be joining us for awhile; perhaps never again.

      “You don’t even feel bad, do you?” the demon asked. I grit my teeth in answer, knowing it still sought to provoke me into outing myself. I could see the horror squirming beside me, anticipating my reaction. I didn’t give it the satisfaction.

      “You still haven’t asked your question.” I hadn’t, because I wanted to make sure I worded it correctly. Once I figured out how to ask, I would.

      As I listened to Father Gabe lead us into prayer, I bowed my head. I did pray for Mother’s sake, and even for Grandma… but I felt like a hypocrite for doing so with a demon glued to my shadow.

      “Praying? Aren’t you still an atheist?” the demon mocked me. I didn’t answer, but it was a good question. I wasn’t sure what I believed. Proof that demons exist doesn’t prove that God exists… does it?

      Though we were inside a church, the demon didn’t shrivel and die. Of course not. The Contis were a lot of things, but they never missed Mass. A demon spanning generations of a devout family was proof positive that there was no safety on ‘holy ground’.

      “Sera, how are you holding up?”

      Somehow, the service had ended and the pews were empty. Father Gabe, who was also Uncle Gabriel Conti, walked towards me. He was a tall man with dark wavy hair, smoothed back and peppered with silver. He was younger than Mother, but he always seemed older.

      “How long has it been since your last confession?” he asked. I didn’t answer; my skin prickled with anxiety from the question. Nevermind my atheism, with an increasing stash of dark secrets… confession was the last thing I needed.

      “I know you’re going through a lot right now. First your mother, then your grandmother falls down the stairs… and…” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “You’re the one that found her like that.”

      The way he paused made me wonder if that was really what he’d been about to say. I heard an implication in his concern, but maybe that was my guilty conscience.

      “I’m fine, considering.” I amended. “I need to go now.” I stepped past him, trying not to let panic show on my face. My father and siblings were nowhere to be seen. Had they left without me? I hurried up to rejoin them while the demon’s shadow slithered behind me.

      “Priest is sharp.” he commented; as always, he enjoyed stoking the fire of my doubts, fears and insecurities.

      “Wait, Sera. You’re with me today.”

      Wait, what? As I looked around, I realized I was alone with Father Gabe. As I reached the doors and looked out into the parking lot, Father’s car was gone. They’d really left without me. Why?

      “Your father asked me to talk to you, he’s concerned. My mother… Your grandmother … mentioned something too, before her accident.” Father Gabe patted me on the shoulder, no doubt noticing my distress. He beckoned me back inside; I reluctantly followed him back into his office.

      The room boasted a large window overlooking an empty dirt lot. The church had been undergoing renovations for as long as I could remember. The collection plate went round and round every Mass, but I wasn’t sure where it all went. The church never changed.

      “What did you want to talk to me about?” I didn’t look at Father Gabe. He sat down at his desk, folding his hands in front of him as he studied me intently.

      “I think you know.” he answered calmly. “You’re keeping secrets, secrets that are… hurting the family.” he spoke slowly, thoughtfully. “I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. Will you talk to me about it?”

      “I don’t know what you mean.” I lied, still not looking at him. In my peripheral vision, the shadow straightened and stood at attention.

      “Lying to a priest? New low, even for you.”

      “The Glory.” Father Gabe answered smoothly, reaching across his desk to touch my hand. “You have it.” I pulled my hand away quickly.

      “No I don’t.” discomfort bubbled up with the lie. I grit my teeth, finally looking at the priest. With that discomfort, came anger. A priest of all people should see everything wrong with the family’s “blessing”.

      “You do. The Holder of the Glory always changes when they receive the honor, and you’ve changed Sera.”

      “Everyone’s changed.” I shook my head, still denying it. I’d been through a lot; seen a lot, of course I’d changed. I couldn’t even begin to explain, not without outing myself… But I saw change in everyone. I’d seen a new side to Grandma, seen my siblings grieve in their own ways– Father, too. We’d all changed.

      “You’ve changed the most. Why does our angel frighten you so? You shouldn’t be afraid. If you are, your faith must not be strong enough. Your perspective is warped if you don’t see the Glory as the gift it is. You need to clear your heart of the doubts, pray on this, and I’m sure you’ll see.”

      “Excuse me?” I stood up, “My perspective isn’t what’s warped!” I slammed both of my hands on the desk, causing my uncle to jump up in surprise. “I’ll tell you what I see, and it’s no angel. It’s a demon. You’re worshipping a demon. How do you like that, Uncle?”

      “Oh, so you’re finally admitting it?” the demon started to pulse with excitement, the umbrage spreading to stain the entire room black as it stretched its ‘wings’. Father Gabe was unaware of the darkness that swallowed us, but he didn’t look shocked by my revelation either. He smiled at me in the reassuring way that priests do.

      “I thought that might be the problem. It’s alright Sera. Sit back down.” his calm voice was jarring. This wasn’t the reaction I expected. He looked so calm, sitting back down as if I hadn’t just screamed a terrible truth. It was like I was talking to a completely different person. He went from accusing to comforting in an instant.

      I sat back down, his calm reaction really took the wind from my sails. I felt oddly depleted and uncomfortable as I waited for him to keep talking.

      “Everyone else has been too happy to inherit the Glory. I’d hoped to have it myself one day, though it wasn’t to be. I thought I’d prepared myself, but in my arrogance I was passed over. I’d thought, surely, if anyone should be given the Glory– it would be a priest. Then it passed to my sister. Your mother. I was humbled by this. The worthier I tried to be, the more I proved my unworthiness.”

      “I can see why a demon wouldn’t want to reveal itself to a priest, Uncle.” I said quietly, heart thudding with nervous hope.

      “Yes, perhaps that’s true.” he smiled at me, “There’s something I can do, if that’s really what this is. The suicides in our family has concerned me. I didn’t want it to be true, but… I think you’re right about this.”

      “Suicides?” that was news to me. I straightened in my seat, giving my uncle more attention than I ever had for his sermons.

      “I didn’t know of them, until… My father.” he said, “Though it was said he died of heart failure, the state of his body said otherwise. I discovered him in his study.” he started to rub his chin, casting his eyes to a vacant corner of the room, haunted by the memory. “Your mother, too. I wouldn’t mention this if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes.” the bloody wings painted from my mother’s pale wrists flashed through my mind.

      “What… can you do?” I asked, throat a little tight.

      “An exorcism. Normally I’d go through the proper channels to have this approved, but… imagine the uproar. So if we do this, do you promise to keep this our little secret?” I nodded without hesitation, and he smiled at me. “Good. Let’s do it tonight. I’ll let your father know you’ll be staying the night with me.”

      “I know lies when I hear them. So should you.” the demon said, but of course he said that. He didn’t want to be exorcised!

      “I’ll warn you, the process won’t be easy on you.” he said, “You’ll have to trust me.”

      “If it works, it’ll be worth it.” I agreed easily. “I’m sure it can’t be any worse than what’s already happening.”

      “This would be a very good time to use my honest answer. Ask me what will happen.” the urgency in the demon’s voice made me smile. I waved it off. No. Nice try, demon. Nothing it said would steer me from this path. I hadn’t trusted Father Gabe, but now I wished I’d come to him sooner.

      “You’ll die.” the demon’s warning whispered directly in my ear. I felt it as much as I heard it; tasted iron and rain, the flavor of its influence. Thunder roared in my ears, but I tabled my dread and looked intently at my uncle.

      “What do you care if I die?” I asked. Father Gabe looked at me in confusion and shock, immediately sputtering with righteous indignation as he started to shout:

      “Sera, I’d never–! That you could even suggest..! How dare you!” I raised my hands up immediately to stop him, recognizing the misunderstanding. Father Gabe had gone red in the face, his brown eyes bulging.

      “I wasn’t talking to you.” I assured him quickly.

      “Oh! Oh..” he smoothed his hair back and squeezed his temples. “Of.. of course you weren’t, Sera. Of course. Excuse my outburst, it’s been a strange day.”

      “He’s defensive, don’t you see it?” the demon hummed. “I don’t want you dead yet, I’m not done with you. You show great promise as a godless host. Who would you pass me onto if you died, hm? I don’t like any of the options. I’m sure you don’t either.”

      I instantly thought of my younger brother and little sister. I would never subject them to this dark burden, but if he was gone I’d never have to worry about that. The curse would end with me, hopefully by dinnertime.

      “Ready?” Father Gabe asked, his face was still a little red but he’d composed himself. I nodded as he grabbed a book off a shelf and tucked it under his arm, “We’ll do this at my house, we’re less likely to be interrupted there.”

      “He means ‘where no one will hear you scream’. Churches have excellent acoustics.” the demon cautioned. I knew he was just trying to scare me into backing down, but I still felt uneasy as I followed my uncle out into the parking lot. He had a sleek black car that reminded me of a hearse.

      “Have you ever done something like this before?” I asked as he opened the passenger door for me. I got inside, buckling in as he walked back around to the driver’s side.

      “An exorcism? No. Does that scare you?” he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield at nothing for a long moment.

      “Not as much as the curse does.” I replied, but I couldn’t ignore the roiling fear that bubbled up from my stomach to my throat. My voice was quieter than it should have been.

      “He’s done something like this before, but it wasn’t an exorcism. Ask me about it. Ask your question, I will answer honestly.” the demon implored. It writhed in the backseat like a petulant child, darker than the black leather interior of the car; a visible void that threatened to swallow me if I looked directly at it… I turned my eyes away, watching through the window as the car peeled out of the parking lot.

      My nerves started to get the best of me when I recognized where we were going. Not his house, Grandma’s house. I hadn’t been there since I’d found her at the bottom of the stairs. My heart was going a mile a minute by the time he pulled into the driveway.

      “Why are we here?” I asked.

      “I’ve been living here while your grandma’s in the hospital. I’m looking after the place until she comes home. Did I forget to mention that?” Yes. Yes, he had forgotten to mention that. When we stepped through the front door and into the grand entry there was still a bloodstain on the hardwood floors.

      “If he’s looking after the house, he’s doing a poor job of it.” the demon remarked. “What a mess.” he wasn’t wrong, but I held my tongue. My hands were shaking, so I closed them carefully into fists and held them at my sides.

      Father Gabe stepped over the blood stain; he didn’t go up the stairs. “We should go to the basement.” he said, “I don’t think there’s anything flammable down there. Easier cleanup.”

      “Uh… is it going to get messy?” I asked, immediately picturing a certain famous movie scene. Vomit everywhere? I hoped not.

      “It’s a precaution, Sera. I’m not sure.”

      “Ask your question, Sera.” the demon implored, its voice like warm velvet. I didn’t like that voice, not coming from a creature like that. I wouldn’t waste my question… just in case. As much as I wanted this to work, part of me thought it wouldn’t. Wouldn’t an exorcism be too easy?

      My uncle opened the door leading down to the basement, blindly fumbling for the light switch. The lights flickered on, strobing dimly in the dark. We both walked cautiously down the stairs, feeling out every step. Each time the old wood creaked my heart jumped a little higher, lodging itself in my throat.

      There was a bed in the basement.

      It was an old twin with faded flannel sheets and battered wooden bed posts. It had been there a long time, at least according to the thick layer of dust on headboard, but it did have fresh fingerprints. That detail was enough to put me on edge, I took an uneasy step back towards the stairs.

      “Where are you going?” the priest asked, “Don’t be nervous.” he caught my hand but his grip was a lot firmer than it needed to be.

      “You should run now.” the demon said, but it was too late for that. As I tried to yank out of Father Gabe’s hold, he tightened his grip and started to twist. Sharp pain shot up my arm as he shoved me towards the bed, producing a pair of handcuffs in his free hand. I aimed a kick, catching him in the abdomen– it wasn’t enough. He hissed in pain and doubled over but he didn’t me go.

      “I changed my mind!” I screamed, “I don’t want the exorcism!” I wish I could say his laugh surprised me. Maybe I should have asked the demon my question after all.

      “Sera,” my uncle smiled. “It’s time that I inherit my due. If you don’t want the glory, I will carry the burden myself. You will name me your heir and you aren’t going anywhere until you do.” Using the handcuffs, he secured my left wrist to the bed. The gouges in the wood seemed consistent with the handcuffs.

      “Uncle… I can’t give you the Glory. I wish I could. But why would you want it? It’s a demon. You believe me, don’t you?”

      “You sound like my father.” he rolled his eyes. “It’s not a demon. You’re unworthy, so you aren’t seeing the Glory for what it is. If you’re corrupting our angel, you need to pay for that. Repent, and pass it to me. It should have been mine to begin with. My father made a mistake, and so did I. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

      “I can help you, if you let me.” said the demon.

      “Don’t worry,” Father Gabe continued, “I’ll get you into Heaven. As soon as you give me what I want, I’ll let you go. Until then, you’re here with me.” he opened up his Bible and began reading passages out of it. When it was clear I wasn’t listening, he hit me with the book. The heavy spine collided with my nose causing blood to gush onto my Sunday clothes.

      “It looks like you need time to reflect.” he said, “Think about what I’ve said, and what you need to do. I’ll be back to check on you soon.” he closed his bloodied Bible, tucking it under his arm. He gave me a long, lingering look before he marched up the stairs and turned off the light.

      The basement was bathed in perfect darkness; but even without a source of light, I could see the shadow of the demon. His shadow was darker than the darkness. Not just an absence of light, but an absence of anything. I tried to ignore it, twisting into an awkward position and using one of my feet to kick at the headboard. If I broke it, I could probably free myself from the post!

      “He’ll come back down if you make too much noise.” the demon said. “Do you want me to help?”

      “No.” I said, knowing there’d be a catch. Accepting his help would be like jumping out of the frying pan and going straight to Hell. “If I don’t get out, I’m sure I can reason with him.” though the blood in my mouth seemed to prove otherwise. My uncle the priest wasn’t who he pretended to be; he wasn’t a kind and reasonable man.

      “Even you don’t believe that.” the demon replied. “What are you going to do?”

      I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. The delicate skin around my left wrist was already getting scraped and bruised thanks to my fruitless struggling. It hurt, but this wasn’t the time to nurse my wounds or cry about them. I needed to escape and I needed to do it without help.

      “I’ll give you a free hint, this is painful to watch.” it paused, probably expecting me to refuse. I didn’t, though I didn’t agree either. I tried sawing the links on the cuffs against the headboard. Maybe I could break them? It wouldn’t get the cuff off, but it would separate me from the bed.

      “Use the sword.”

      Sword? I paused. I didn’t ask what it meant, because I remembered the sword. That night in this very house, at the bottom of the stairs… I woke with a silver sword in my hand, cool to the touch and light as a feather. It disappeared when I dropped it and I hadn’t seen it since.

      “If you want to know more you’ll have to ask. You’re going to die if you don’t. You know it, so why make me wait?” I hated to admit it, even in my own head, but he was probably right. If I died I wouldn’t get to ask the important question anyway.

      The lights flicked back on. I blinked, trying to readjust as my uncle came tromping down the stairs. He had a spatula in his hand. When he reached the landing, he offered me a warm smile.

      “Are you ready to be saved?” he asked. I was, but not by him. Not in the way he meant. When I didn’t answer he raised the spatula and struck my extended arm– it smacked hard against the crook of my elbow, leaving a red welt in its wake. I cried out in pain, but he didn’t stop. He hit me again, this time on the shoulder.

      “Who will inherit the Glory?” he asked. He hit me a few more times when I didn’t answer, it didn’t matter that I tried to dodge or curl up defensively. He hit me anyway. If he missed his mark the blow would just land somewhere else.

      “Who will inherit the Glory?” he repeated with each blow, until I was too overwhelmed with pain to even think about answering. After that, he left again– back up the stairs, turning off the lights, and slamming the door shut.

      He was angry, but did he really think that would work? The second I gave him what he wanted, I was dead. He meant to torture me but not to kill me. Not yet. I couldn’t die before giving him what he wanted. I knew that was true, but I wasn’t seeing a way to get out clean. Did I want to stay in the frying pan, or go to Hell?

      My body hurt all over. I curled up on the bed and closed my eyes. If there was ever a time to wake up somewhere else, it was then. Of course, the one time I needed it to happen… it didn’t. It seemed the demon really wouldn’t intervene unless I asked him to.

      “Demon…” I sighed, but before I could ask the question… I heard something. Footsteps. Soft, and excruciatingly slow. The lights were still off. Apparently my uncle meant to torture me in the dark. The footsteps stopped, and minutes passed in silence.

      Then the lights turned on and my uncle called down: “Have you had enough time to think?” I didn’t answer, but he started coming down anyway.

      The leathery skeleton of Grandpa Deangelo stood beside the bed, looking down at me. Rotting blood oozed from the missing half of his face; he couldn’t speak, only gurgle and gesture. He reached down to pat my shoulder.

      I was afraid, but I was more afraid of Father Gabe. He’d replaced the spatula with a steak knife, his eyes a little too wide as he stared at me; showing too much white. The knife had a dull serrated blade, but it would still hurt.

      “Let me help you.” said the demon. My grandpa’s head whipped towards the shadow, apparently he could still hear it, even in death. He clasped his hands over his disfigured face and shook his head at me. Brackish gore peeked through those shriveled fingers. He croaked wetly, but without lips or tongue, I didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

      My uncle didn’t see Grandpa Deangelo or the demon, but he noticed I wasn’t looking at him. In anger, he grabbed my right hand, his thumb digging into my palm as he turned it towards him. Taking the knife, he swiped the serrated blade along the joints of my fingers. The delicate skin cut along the folds, a sharp sting that slowly grew as blood welled up and dripped from my fingertips.

      When he let go, I cradled the injury to my chest. I closed my injured hand into a fist, applying pressure to the cuts– though bending my fingers at all was pure agony. Even then, I noticed movements from the corner of my eye. I looked up to see Grandpa stepping towards the demon. He reached out– plunged his hand into the shadow. Instead of passing through, his arm vanished up to the elbow.

      “That won’t work anymore.” the demon said, “You’re dead.”

      Grandpa pulled his arm back, it was perfectly intact. I’d half expected him to come away without his hand, swallowed up by the demon… but aside from the grisly state he was already in, he was unscathed.

      I didn’t have time to hesitate. The shadow, attached to me, was always in my reach… but I’d never tried to touch it. It seemed counter-intuitive; I’d always avoided the void-shadow, as much as I could avoid something that was attached to me. Grandpa’s actions showed me exactly what I needed to do. I reached out, plunging my red hand into a blackness cold as death.

      The icy void burned my hand, but when I whipped free of it…my injuries healed; the blood was gone. In its place was a blade of glittering silver. I brought the sword down on my cuffs. It didn’t cut through the links, it made them disappear. My uncle saw it, and staggered back with his hands raised in surrender.

      “You know what to do.” the demon said. I looked towards my grandpa, but he didn’t move. He didn’t shake his head, he didn’t nod. The choice was mine.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 1 Comment
    • [Short Horror Story] I’m the Sole Survivor of an Experiment Known as the Soul Paradox

      Posted at 5:34 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 31, 2019

      Spooktober Prompt #31 – Horrific Habits

      “I’m the Sole Survivor of an Experiment Known as the Soul Paradox”

      by Penny Tailsup

      No time to read? Listen here!

       

      This is not a story I wanted to tell.

      I’m the sole survivor of a social experiment known as the Soul Paradox. I’ve been in hiding, and though it pains me to say it given the circumstances… “soul searching”.

      I’ve been presumed dead for some time. It’s better that way.

      When I signed on for the experiment back in 2006, I didn’t have much to live for. Participants were offered food, water, and shelter for the duration of the experiment. There was supposed to be cash at the end, though it wasn’t much.

      Participation meant cutting off ties with my friends and family. I had none to start with, which might be why I didn’t see the requirement for the red flag it was. I’d recently dropped out of college. My parents disowned me, angry to be on the hook for student loans while I “amounted to nothing”. None of that matters now.

      As I tell my story, I realize there’s not much I can tell you about the experiment itself. This is partly because I was misled about the true nature of the study. Even at the time, I didn’t know what was happening. I’d go in for regular “tests” that lasted hours at a time, but I’d come out with a hole in my memory.

      It’s not that I forgot exactly, because I never lost my sense of time. When I try to remember, there’s a black space– a long stretch of blackness with nothing except Time. I remember the Time with great significance. When the black stretch of Time ended, I’d find myself signing a clipboard just outside a door marked “TESTING IN PROGRESS”. I was always tired after.

      Aside from the tests, I felt like I was living on the set to some Big Brother type reality show. I remember that much. I lived on location with the other participants. We were given roles and had to go to counseling sessions once or twice a week.

      The participants were extremely diverse; Not just race, but also religion. It was impossible not to notice the emphasis on religion. A few people even tried converting me! It didn’t work, though I was always receptive to the discussion. As an agnostic teetering on atheism, I was interested in everyone’s beliefs. Though I wasn’t sure what I believed, if anything, I found it fascinating to listen.

      We didn’t have much else to talk about anyway. No one remembered what happened during the tests. We were forbidden from discussing them with one another… Not that it mattered; all anyone could say was “I don’t remember,” and “I’m tired after.”

      Another popular topic of discussion was dreams.

      If I remember correctly, a Buddhist woman named Chunhua was the first to have recurring dreams. At least, she was the first to talk openly about them. She’d tell us of a dream where she was reborn as a tiger. At the time I found it fascinating, though I had a feeling she was leaving something out.

      Soon after this, there was an “incident” where she attacked herself and others. I wasn’t in the rec room at the time, but I heard she’d carved stripes into her skin with a knife she’d smuggled from the kitchen. She attacked three people. I never saw her after the “incident”, my counselor said she’d been removed from the experiment. Three other participants were also “removed from the experiment” at the same time.

      By then, I had the sense to be afraid. I feared I’d made a terrible mistake and had suspicions that the doctors were lying to me. They made it sound like Chunhua and the others were sent to a hospital for their health and safety, but I was convinced they were dead. I wasn’t wrong, though the doctors made me feel crazy and explained away my fears as “paranoia” resulting from “sleep deprivation”.

      I wasn’t lacking in sleep, but with the testing I never felt rested. The testing started to freak me out more and more. It was mandatory. I’m not even sure how I was forced to do it, I only know the Black Space with a sense of Time and the exhaustion that followed. Exhaustion and fear.

      The other participants were afraid too. We all started to have dreams where Chunhua would attack us with wild eyes, bleeding stripes and inhuman strength in her small hands. I vividly remember my flesh between her teeth, and the strange agony of my belly being split open and eaten. The last thing I remember of these recurring deaths was the wet sound of her chewing.

      After we “died” in our dreams… we wouldn’t wake up right away. We’d be sent to our respective afterlives for Judgment. The other participants always described being sent to Hell or some equivalent…That’s where my experience diverged.

      Having no religion, it was different for me. No less terrible, but different. I wouldn’t go anywhere. What happened to me can’t be explained with words, or feelings, or pictures, or… anything, because it’s not something you can experience with your senses or your mind. Except that I did… in those “dreams”.

      The closest I can come to explaining is by comparing it to the Black Space with a sense of Time, except there was no “Black Space”. There was nothing. Nothing is … nothing, not even black. But there was Time. I was aware of every passing second in the Nothing until I woke up. Nothing but nothing, and Time, and an eternal hum I somehow understood to be like “cosmic electricity”, or a “generator”. This would last hours until I woke up, and I’d feel every maddening second of it.

      I started to get angry.

      I’m angry now, because I know I’m not coming across “right”. There’s no way to explain what I experienced, which is frustrating. But it wasn’t just that; my anger only grew over time… I became jealous of the other participants.

      They each had religious revelations… I didn’t. Even when those revelations lead them to end their lives or the lives of others, the certainty and substance that came with their religion was more than I had. At least they had something.

      I stopped caring about my suspicions. I stopped caring about the doctors, the experiments, the participants or the tests. I only cared about religion, hoping I might avoid the fate my agnosticism afforded me. I didn’t believe in anything. But I also didn’t… not believe in anything, which I’m sure is what brought me to that horrific trap in Nothing Time.

      Of course, with the chaos and death around me I was in no position to try on religions. It wouldn’t have mattered if I could. With what I’d experienced, I couldn’t put my heart and mind into truly believing anything. As much as I didn’t want it to be true, I’d already found my Truth.

      By this time, participants were dying in droves. I didn’t die, but… I was mistaken for dead.

      One morning, I woke up and couldn’t move at all. I couldn’t even open my eyes. I distinctly remember the sound of the nurse as she came in and said “We have another one!”. She spoke with casual indifference, or maybe resignation.

      I was one of many “deaths” discovered that morning.

      I know this because I found myself tossed on top of a pile of bodies. With my eyes closed, I couldn’t see them… but I still felt them; clammy, wet bodies that stank of feces and blood. No one checked to make sure I was actually dead.

      I was dumped with the bodies somewhere in Michaux State Forest, where I stayed for days in that state of paralysis. The bodies rotted around me, but I could only lay there as the flies bred, fed and multiplied on and around me. The incessant buzzing, blindness and paralysis reminded me of Nothing Time. It was better, though, because even if my eyes were closed I knew things were there. It was better than Nothing.

      I could still think, smell, feel and listen. I wasn’t dead, but given where I was, yet another body in a mass grave… I didn’t expect to live long. That should have been the end of me. In a way, it seemed a merciful way to go. I was being eased into Nothing Time with my experience in the woods.

      Then one day, the paralysis ended. Perhaps it was the rain… I can’t be sure. I can only say that It was raining when I finally opened my eyes. Mercifully, my eyes were left uneaten by the insects or wildlife, though my arms and legs were riddled with holes.

      Though I was weak with hunger, I was able to dig myself from the grave and finally see the spot where I’d had so much time to think. By then, I wasn’t even shocked by the bodies– the bloated, ugly corpses that they were. I recognized them, and internally gave my congratulations. They’d died with answers, after all. There was a certain peace with that. A peace I didn’t have.

      Death had been everyone’s answer, but the dread of Nothing Time left me restless. I can’t say I didn’t feel the pull of death. I still feel the urge sometimes, like a reflex to jump in front of oncoming traffic. It was an itch I didn’t scratch, perhaps because I had no god to tell me I should.

      I left the bodies and the forest, alive but in a strange state of decay. I couldn’t go public like that. For all intents and purposes, I was dead. I made a home in rural Alaska where no one asked questions. The people who lived there were also trying to disappear.

      Unfortunately, the wounds from the Soul Paradox aren’t the kind that can be healed with time. In the time since, I’ve tried and failed to find religion… It’s too late for that. I’ve known since I first experienced Nothing Time, but I still had to try.

      I’ve concluded that the only thing life has in common with death… at least for me… is Time. Time is the same whether you’re dead or alive, and now I spend my time keeping track. My tongue ticks out the seconds, flicks at the roof of my mouth. With the constant clicks, I know I’m still alive.

      Fearing death like I do, I won’t end myself. Yet I know I need to prepare myself for Nothing Time… The hum of The Eternal Generator. I spend days buried under a loose mound of dirt or snow with my eyes closed. It reminds me of my time in the forest. Corpses rot under my body; my “immersion therapy” in preparation for the inevitable. The buzzing of flies is the closest thing to The Generator’s hum.

      One day, I won’t be able to leave the mound. It won’t be my choice that it happens, but I do feel some measure of peace knowing where I’ll rot… and that I won’t rot alone.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged conspiracy, fiction, nosleep, short story, spooktober
    • [Short Horror Story] My Family Was Cursed With A Demon … Now It Wants Blood.

      Posted at 1:36 am by Penny Tailsup, on October 30, 2019

      PART ONE

      PART TWO

       

      “My Family Was Cursed With A Demon … Now It Wants Blood.”

      by Penny Tailsup

       

      This is PART THREE of the story: “My Family Was Blessed with an Angel… I Think It Was a Curse.”

       

      “You’re ungrateful.”

      Mother sat on my dresser. She opened one of the top drawers, pulling out a sock to dab delicately at the corners of her bloody mouth. Her naked body was smeared in congealed blood, blackened with age and stinking of rot. She’d been dead for awhile now.

      Strapped to her back was a pair of angel wings. They were fake; I could see the elastic straps over her bare shoulders. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I must have.

      “I gave you a gift. You’re spitting on it. Spitting on me.”

      I’d been trying not to sleep for exactly this reason. My family’s “angel” is trying to break me. I know it’s not really Mother on the dresser. I know because her shadow isn’t her shadow. If I look directly at it, I see a frail woman with cardboard wings– but if I look at it from the corner of my eye, I see something else. I couldn’t tell you what I see, but it’s not Mother.

      “Go away, I’m sleeping.” I tell it. Even knowing it’s not her, it hurts to say that. “I’m not falling for it.” I closed my eyes tightly, willing her away. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing over the bathroom sink.

      I wasn’t surprised. I turned on the tap, splashing my face with cold water before brushing my teeth. Lately, I seem to wake up anywhere but my own bed. I haven’t seen the sword since the night at Grandma’s house. I’m not sure if I imagined it.

      “Sleep well?” the demon asked, knowing I hadn’t. I ignored it, washing up and getting ready for the day. I walked back into my bedroom to change. On top of my dresser, I saw a white sock with a dark stain. Choosing to ignore it, I put on my school uniform.

      As I walked down the hall, I paused at Mother’s bedroom door. Father doesn’t sleep in there anymore, I don’t blame him. I hadn’t been inside the room since discovering her death. I’d been putting off the inevitable– I needed answers, and I might find some in that room.

      Hesitant, I turned the door handle and peered through the crack. The walls had been repainted and the carpets replaced. The stink of rotting blood must have been my imagination, because the space was immaculate. In fact, it seemed like the soul of the room had been stripped away. Mother’s things were still there, but the ‘lived in’ feel was gone. Her bedroom looked staged, like a picture in a magazine.

      Stepping inside, I felt like an intruder. I was “allowed” there, but it felt wrong. I walked over to the nightstand on Mother’s side and opened the drawer. I found a Bible, a key, and a tin of cinnamon breath mints. The key was attached to a little silver coin with “James 1:22” engraved on it. It wasn’t one of the verses I had memorized, the Contis had their favorites but this wasn’t one of them. I picked up the Bible, flipping through it and finding the verse:

      “But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.” I read aloud. I felt the demon laugh as I closed my fingers around the key. The verse seemed appropriate for the Conti family who selectively read passages and acted holier-than-thou.

      Mother, how much did you know?

      She wasn’t there to give me an answer, yet the bloody image of her flashed across my mind. I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. With the burden of the demon’s shadow, I had little time to mourn or have an existential crisis.

      I took off my cross necklace, hooking the key through the delicate gold chain. I put it back on, tucking it beneath my buttoned blouse. I wasn’t sure what the key went to, but I had an idea.I could only think of one locked door: Grandpa Deangelo’s study.

      I only knew about it because Grandma had complained about the missing key, though she couldn’t bring herself to get a locksmith and violate her late husband’s privacy. His study must have been collecting dust in the years since his death. Had Mother held the key all this time?

      Of course, to confirm my suspicions I’d need to go back to Grandma’s house. I was still angry at her for lying to the police about Father’s involvement in Mother’s death, but I couldn’t avoid her forever.

      I looked around the room for a few more minutes. Unfortunately for me, Mother didn’t have a diary filled with her innermost secrets. At least, if she did… I didn’t find it. I had little insight over what happened to her, or how she truly felt about the Glory or the Conti Cult.

      I needed answers about her death, too. The police hadn’t arrested Father for her murder or assisted suicide, but I couldn’t help but wonder. The demon had planted the seeds of doubt in my heart. Unfortunately, those doubts had taken root…

      “You saw what happened, didn’t you?” I asked the demon. The undulating shadow behind me “perked up” with my acknowledgment. I rarely addressed it, I didn’t trust the “family angel”. In fact, I knew it was dangerous to ask it anything.

      “Of course I saw.” it answered. “I could tell you, if you’d only ask.” there was a condition implied with those words. It would tell me, for something in return.

      “No… Never mind. You’d lie to me.”

      “Maybe I would,” it admitted, “but maybe I wouldn’t. If you want to be sure… Honesty can be bought, paid in blood.” this answer should have shocked me more than it did. Maybe I was too tired to react.

      “I’m not going to kill anyone, nice try.”

      The bedroom door opened, startling me. I didn’t hear the demon’s reply. It was Angelo. He saw me standing there, seemingly alone.

      “I heard you,” he said. “I thought it was Mother, but it was only you.” he looked disappointed, but I couldn’t blame him.

      “Mother is in Heaven.” I reminded him. At least, I knew that was what I was supposed to say. I wasn’t sure where Mother was. Even confronted with the truth of our “family angel”, I couldn’t confidently declare my faith. I was still an atheist. If Heaven exists, I don’t know that a demon-touched Conti could pass through Heaven’s gates anyway.

      “Generations of Conti Hypocrites are in Hell.” the Demon corrected, but I put little stock in such claims. Fortunately, Angelo couldn’t hear him.

      “Right… Who were you talking to?” my brother asked, giving the room a suspicious sweep.

      “I was praying.” Angelo had no reason to question me, though the demon laughed at my audacious lie. I hated it when he laughed; the demon’s mirth gave me an awful sense of gravity.

      “Yes, pray to me. I’d feel generous if you did.” the demon said, “Coming from you, it would be better than blood. The prayer of an atheist… has entertainment value, at least.”

      “Whatever,” Angelo answered, unaware of the demon or his baiting words. “Pray at the table, will you? We can’t eat breakfast without you. Hurry up, we’re going to be late for school.” he stomped down the stairs ahead of me.

      Father and Angie were already at the table. I took my seat next to Angelo and we all joined hands. I bowed my head, but I only pretended to pray. After a few minutes of eating cereal in silence, I looked to my father.

      “May I borrow Mother’s car?” I asked.

      “What for?” hearing any mention of Mother always made Father flinch, but his face only stiffened for a moment.

      “I wanted to go to the mall after school.” I lied.

      “Where are you really going?” the Fallen asked, taking great delight in the lie. He always reacted when I lied, which… was often, lately. Hiding my status as the Glory Holder was making things hard, but I was still convinced it was the right thing to do.

      I wasn’t going to the mall. I needed to go to Grandma’s house. I needed to know if the key would get me into Grandpa Deangelo’s study. I planned on sneaking in the back door, and get in and out without Grandma even noticing.

      I didn’t really need to sneak. Grandma would let me in… But I was still angry with her, and I was a little afraid of how angry I’d get if she tried to justify her actions again.

      “I want to go to the mall too.” Angelo said, taking me by surprise. “I’m tired of standing around the house being sad.”

      “Very well,” Father replied. “You can borrow the car, if you pick your brother up after school and take him with you.”

      “Actually, I–”

      “What about me?” Angie interrupted, feeling left out. “I want to come too!”

      “Angie too.” Father amended. When I opened my mouth to protest, he shot me a look that brooked no argument. “Spend some time with each other. It’ll be good for all of you…”

      When he put it like that, I couldn’t say no. After breakfast, Father brought me the keys and a crisp hundred dollar bill.

      “See a movie or something, get all the snacks you want. Have fun, you kids need it.” he said, kissing me on the forehead. I wasn’t in the mood for fun… I also wasn’t a kid anymore, but I understood what he was trying to do. I couldn’t spit on the gesture.

      …

      After an uneventful school day, I picked up my brother and sister. I had been resigned to waste an evening at the mall, but my desire to get into Grandpa Deangelo’s study had been eating at me all day. Last minute, I made a hasty decision and changed course to Grandma’s house.

      I parked down the block so Grandma wouldn’t see Mother’s car and told my siblings to wait for me. My half-assed excuse?

      “I forgot something, I’m going to run in and grab it. I’ll be right back. Ten minutes!” of course, I couldn’t do much sleuthing in ten minutes, but they had their phones so maybe they wouldn’t even notice.

      “Are you going to offer blood payment?” the demon asked. The question made my skin crawl, dread pitting my stomach. I didn’t hate Grandma that much! The thought of pushing her down the stairs had been a fixture of my nightmares lately, though I blamed the demon’s influence for that. As far as I knew, Contis weren’t in the habit of making blood payments, but given the true nature of the “family angel”… I couldn’t be sure.

      I entered the house through the side door. Fortunately, I didn’t see Grandma, but I could hear the television playing loudly from the living room. If she caught me, fine, but I preferred not to deal with her.

      Grandpa Deangelo’s study was on the first floor by the dining room. When I reached it, I tried the knob. Locked. I pulled the key out from under my shirt, and sure enough… it fit. Slowly, carefully, I eased the door open.

      The room was dark and dusty. I fumbled for a light switch, carefully pulling the door closed behind me. The study was large, but it felt cramped with all the furniture. Books covered every surface and filled every shelf.

      Hanging on a wall, I saw the Conti family tree. At the very top were the names Alessandro and Epifania Conti. After their names, I saw the familiar angelic naming conventions that Blood Contis all seemed to have. Alessandro and Epifania must have been where the curse began.

      There was a void on the desk; a perfect rectangle free of dust. From the size and shape, I guessed it was from a book. Mother might have taken it sometime before her death, though I hadn’t found anything like that in her bedroom. I hadn’t searched the whole house, so that didn’t mean much.

      I sat down at the desk, covering my mouth and nose with my shirt to combat the dust. I thumbed through the books stacked there, stashing promising-looking ones in my backpack. I didn’t have much time with my brother and sister waiting in the car.

      A withered hand touched my shoulder.

      Startled, I jumped to my feet and swiveled to find a corpse. It had decayed beyond all recognition; a dead man with leathery skin that clung in pieces to a dirty skeleton. He was wearing fine Sunday clothes.

      I could feel his stare, though his eyes had rotted away, leaving only dry, black sockets. His lower jaw was completely gone, along with most of his teeth. The corpse moved his arm, making the sign of the cross. He was unable to speak. The movement was slow. An anguished gurgle could be heard, but it came from its body rather than its mouth.

      By some miracle, I wasn’t screaming. Had I fallen asleep at the desk? Was this yet another nightmare?

      “Grandpa Deangelo?” I whispered. Given where I was, that was the most logical guess. The skeletal figure gave a thumbs up in answer. The demon was silent, though his shadow fell separate from the rotting body in front of me. This was different than the nightmares where Mother visited me. There were three shadows in the study.

      “Oh my God!” I cried, falling against the desk. I knocked my head against the corner and crumpled to the floor. I brought a pile of books down with me, and for a moment I thought I’d die under a pile of dusty leather books. I saw what was left of Grandpa Deangelo’s skull leaning over me as the world faded to black.

      …

      When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the study. I was standing at the top of the stairs. My backpack was heavy with books and my uniform was covered in dust. None of that was important.

      At the bottom of the stairs was Grandma’s broken body; a red halo of blood was spreading out from her head and staining her hair.

      “My honesty has been bought, paid in blood. I will answer one question. Shall I tell you how your mother died?” asked the demon.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 1 Comment | Tagged angels, demons, fiction, horror, nosleep, part three, serafina conti, series, short story
    • [Short Horror Story] My Family Doesn’t Know Our Guardian Angel is a Demon

      Posted at 6:51 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 23, 2019

      Spooktober Prompt # 23 – Frenzied Family

      “My Family Doesn’t Know Our Guardian Angel is a Demon”

      by Penny Tailsup

      This is a continuation of the story: “My Family Was Blessed with an Angel… I Think It Was a Curse.”

      My family thinks we’re blessed with a guardian angel. I’d thought the angel was made-up to make Conti kids behave… until my mother died. She passed the “Glory” on to me with her dying breath. With the “Glory”, I’ve learned the terrible truth: our guardian angel is a Fallen. We weren’t blessed with an angel, we were cursed with a demon.

      For generations, the Conti family has prided themselves on the Blessing, standing tall as beacons of Goodness. Most Contis pat themselves on the back for being so Holy. I might be a secret atheist, but even I know that arrogance is sinful. My family’s cult-ish worship of our alleged angel made a doubter of me.

      If God exists, he must be laughing. Now I’m the only person who can see the Fallen’s shadow and hear his voice. I haven’t told my family yet. I don’t think I should, even though the absence of “our angel” has left the family in chaos.

      I could see the dysfunction in action at dinner. As I sawed through a gooey casserole, I listened to Father and Grandma argue. Through it all, the demon would pace at my back, restless and angry. He always had something to say.

      “You’re tearing your family apart. Why haven’t you told them?” his voice felt like electricity. I pretended not to hear him, the mashed potatoes far more worthy of my attention. Dinner was extra tense; we’d been staying with Grandma but Father announced we were going home tomorrow.

      Grandma wasn’t taking it well. Not because she was sad her daughter died, but because no one has claimed the Glory. She’s convinced one of her grandchildren must have it… and she’s not wrong. I’m keeping my mouth shut because I think it’s better not to say anything until I know more about this demon. If I tried to tell everyone the truth, they wouldn’t believe me.

      “You’re not blood, Barone-Conti!” Grandma yells at Father. He doesn’t even look up from his plate.

      “Neither are you, Benita. Your husband had the Glory, not you. You married into this family just as I did.” Father replied calmly. Grandpa Deangelo had the Glory before Mother, which was something Grandma took great pride in. I think she married him for it, but I can’t be sure.

      “I took the name! I fully committed, which you never did!” she replied, so angry she was spitting. I wouldn’t be having more mashed potatoes after all.

      “Of course you took the name, that’s the norm.” my father rolled his eyes, sick of the same argument. “I’m a man. That I took Conti in any form is a concession on my part. Also remember: I was man enough to accept when Angelica didn’t want to change her last name. I don’t deserve your opinion of me. I also don’t care.” he set down his fork, standing up. “Excuse me, I’m going to start packing. Kids, finish your dinner.”

      He left. Grandma followed after him so she could continue arguing with him. I looked at my siblings who were unusually quiet. Angie hadn’t eaten any of her peas. I gently reminded her to finish them, which earned me a glare.

      My brother’s plate was empty, so he stood up and made to leave. “It’s your turn to do the dishes.” I reminded him, but he kept walking like I hadn’t said anything. Teenage boys are annoying, especially when they’re your brother.

      While this happened, the demon laughed. It’s hard to tell when he laughs, it’s more of a feeling than a sound. It comes from below, like I’m standing over a great black pit. My knees get weak, like I’m about to fall.

      As usual, the “guardian angel” had something to say.

      “They won’t respect you until you tell them you have the Glory.” The demon still paced and vibrated behind me. I’ve noticed that the shape of the shadow changes a lot. If I look directly at it, I see a tall figure with sharp wings. If I look from the corner of my eye, I’m not sure what I see. If I try to focus on it, it changes back.

      “Children like that won’t go to Heaven.” he warned me. I almost replied in anger, but fortunately Grandma’s nasty casserole was quite glue-like. The demon likes to provoke me. I know he hopes I’ll accidentally out myself.

      “I’ll do the dishes, Sera.” Angie said, “If… you eat my peas for me.” Normally, I wouldn’t humor Angie’s request. I reached across the table and took her plate. A scoop of peas wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on. There was enough fighting going already! My little sister smiled for the first time in days, hopping up and dutifully clearing the table while I finished eating.

      I was already done with my chores for the day. I’d cleaned the stained glass windows in the grand entry. Grandma was so proud of the glass she’d commissioned, like we were a church or something. The angel depicted on the colored panes was nothing like the shadow skulking at my back. I wonder what Grandpa Deangelo thought of the windows. He’d never said.

      As I walked up the stairs to go pack my things, I heard Grandma whispering on the phone. Even when she whispers she’s too loud. My foot froze before it reached the landing. I heard her say:

      “He pushed her. He told me he did… he’s responsible for Angelica’s death! You must come to arrest him right away. The children are in danger.”

      That liar. Choked with rage, I stood there for a long moment. Grandma was talking to the police. They were still investigating Mother’s death, even though it was a suicide. They were suspicious of Father, they’d questioned him for a long time already.

      “Lying in a sin.” the demon breathed, “You should pass judgment on her.” each word crackled in my ear and made my tongue tingle. I grit my teeth together, shaking my head. I made myself keep walking.

      “Tell her who you are. Tell her about me. You can make her sorry.” his sickly-sweet inflection made me want to hurl. I shook my head again, the thunder in my ears made it easy to drown out Grandma’s lies.

      “I can make her sorry, if you let me.”

      NO.

      No. It was going to be okay. The police weren’t going to listen to Grandma. For one, Mother hadn’t really fallen in the tub like Father said. She didn’t know what really happened, it would be obvious she was making things up.

      “The police already suspect him. You love your father, don’t you? You need to protect him.”

      Grandma stepped out of her bedroom, she spotted me standing there and quickly put her phone in her pocket. “Sera! Did you finish your dinner?” she asked. I wanted to hit her, but I knew better. I put my hands in my pockets.

      “Yes. The casserole was awful.” I said. Before she could say another word, I marched past her. Grandma must have known I’d overheard her because she didn’t come after me. I felt her eyes boring into the back of my head, but she didn’t say anything. In my room, I quickly began shoving my clothes into my suitcase.

      “That’s it?” the demon huffed. “Push her down the stairs. I never liked her anyway.” For a moment, the image came to me– a jolt of red, a twisted body at the bottom of the staircase. I tasted iron and rain. The image felt good, but only for a moment.

      “NO!” I slammed my suitcase shut, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the urge to be sick. My knees hit the carpet, and I pressed my forehead into the mattress for a moment as I tried to collect myself. My blood boiled and my lungs burned with heat. This wasn’t just anger, but it wasn’t sickness either.

      “What are you doing to me?” I whispered to the demon. I knew it was responsible. Grandma started knocking on the door, calling ‘Sera, Sera!’. I couldn’t raise my voice, though I wanted to yell at her to go away.

      “I didn’t do anything.” said the demon. “I only made a suggestion. You liked it… that’s all. Maybe if you followed through, you’d feel better.”

      “I didn’t like it.” I lied. I felt it laugh, so I closed my mouth. Grandma was still knocking. Angry, sick and scared, I got to my feet and pulled the door open to glare at her.

      “What do you want?” I asked. Her wide-eyed look gave me some satisfaction. I crossed my arms, waiting for her answer. “I’m going to bed in a minute.”

      “I heard you yelling.” she said, “I was worried for you, dear Sera. Is… is he in there?”

      “Who?” my temples tightened. I was suddenly aware of a cold prickle, like something sharp was being run gently over my skin.

      “You know. The angel.” her conspiratorial whisper made me angrier.

      “If there was an angel in here, would I really be yelling at it?” I screamed. The words came with such force I could swear they echoed through the house. I started to sob; not because I was sad, because I was frustrated.

      “Deangelo used to yell too,” Grandma replied. “Oh, how he’d yell! The walls would shake. Tell me, Sera. Why are you lying? Are you afraid? It’s okay to be afraid.” she reached out, clasping my hands in hers. Her hands were cold. “You shouldn’t lie, Sera.”

      “I’m not lying. You’re projecting. You’re a liar.” I pulled my hands out of hers. I wanted to wrap my fingers around her neck, but I put my hands back in my pockets and tried to breathe deep. Each breath felt like fire. I started to cough and had to lean against the door frame for support.

      “I didn’t lie. Your father is a dangerous man, Serafina…” she insisted. “He told me it was an accident. That he pushed her, and she fell and hit her head. He was angry. It was an accident, I’m sure he wasn’t lying about that. But a man with anger like that? He can’t be trusted with you kids! I’m looking out for what’s best, though it might not seem like it right now. I know you’re grieving. You’re going through a lot. But it’s okay, because the angel will protect us and guide us as he always has. This is all part of God’s plan.”

      I could still feel the laughter of the Fallen. It rose up, and I thought I might be swallowed up by the pit of its mirth.

      “Stop lying to me!” I screamed. I heard thundering footsteps from down the hall. I looked to see Father, his grimace of concern froze me.

      “Father, she… she called the police!” I sobbed, “She said you killed Mother.”

      “Sera, it’s okay.” he reached for me, giving my shoulders a comforting squeeze. “You know it’s not true. The police will know too. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.” he shot my Grandmother such a look that it was a wonder she didn’t drop dead, but he smiled for me and gave me a hug.

      I couldn’t stop crying. He squeezed me tighter and told Grandma something in Italian I assumed was incredibly rude. I don’t know much Italian, but I still laughed through the tears. I’m not sure what would have happened if Father hadn’t come running, but it wouldn’t have been good. I hated Grandma so much.

      By the time Father let go, I’d calmed down. He closed the door in Grandma’s face and sat me down on the bed. I watched him fish around in his pocket, pulling out a very squished pack of cinnamon gum. He offered it to me, and I unwrapped the foil and popped a stick in my mouth. The flavor had a bit of a burn to it, but it was also sweet. The taste of iron and rain went away. I tried to give him back the pack, but he didn’t take it.

      “Keep it. It should help with the taste in your mouth.” he said. “Your mother went through a lot of gum.” I gave him a shocked look. Did he mean what I thought he meant? “You know, because of your Grandma’s terrible cooking.” he said this extra loudly.

      “We’re going home tomorrow. Everything will be okay.” Father said, “You’re a strong girl. Smart too. Soon you’re going to be in college and you can put all of this behind you.” I didn’t see how. The Conti family was cursed, and that very curse wasn’t going to let me forget it.

      In fact, it chose that very moment to say something I hadn’t dared to think about:

      “Maybe he didn’t push her in the shower. But do you really think your mother staged that whole scene by herself? Come on smart girl. Think on it.”

      The image came rushing back. My mother’s body between a pair of bloody wings. She was bloody, with dark vertical slashes from wrist to elbow. I’d seen that sight many times already, an intrusive memory that chewed a permanent home inside me. A gaping, painful hole where nothing else could go. Only that picture, only that pain.

      Of course… Father had nothing to do with that.

      “The police are suspicious for a reason.” the demon always knew exactly how to hurt me. I knew he was a liar, but he was an expert at stoking doubt and fear.

      Maybe the police are suspicious because my whole family is a cult. I know Father would never do such a thing! He loved Mother so much. The grief and pain in his eyes was real, and it never went away. Even when he hugged me and told me everything would be okay, he looked so sad.

      “Can we go home now? Why wait?” I whispered. I looked desperately at my father, hoping we could just… go. It wouldn’t solve anything, but I was tired of Grandma’s house.

      “Angelo’s already in bed.” he replied, “I understand how you feel, but he hasn’t been sleeping lately and I don’t want to wake him up.” that was true. I’d often found my younger brother wandering around Grandma’s house in the middle of the night with hollow eyes and a frown. He had every reason to be despondent. We all were. I hadn’t been sleeping much either.

      “Go to bed now, and morning will come even sooner. Spit out the gum before you sleep, I don’t want you to ruin your pretty hair.” he gave me a fatherly tousle and left, closing the door carefully behind him.

      I heard whispering in the hall. Grandma must have been lurking outside the door, listening in. She suspected I had the Glory, so she probably wasn’t going to leave me alone. I locked the door behind him and crawled into bed, leaving a wad of gum on the nightstand for Grandma to clean up later.

      …

      I woke up at the bottom of the staircase.

      I have no memory of how I got there. I was holding something heavy and cold. When I looked down, I was holding a sword. Bright silver, dappled in colors from the stained glass as the moonlight poured through them.

      Startled, I dropped the sword. It hit the floor but it didn’t make a sound; it simply vanished. Wherever it came from, it was gone.

      Scared and confused, I ran up the stairs. I passed my brother Angelo in the hall, he sitting on the banister. He turned his head to watch me go by, but I didn’t stop and he didn’t try to stop me.

      The demon unusually was quiet. At night, his shadow falls darker than every other; looking at it is like staring into a void. I didn’t look at it. Didn’t talk to it. I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over my eyes. I didn’t sleep; I was too afraid.

      I thought the demon couldn’t do anything unless I let it. Now I’m not so sure. Something is changing in me. I don’t know how to stop it.

      I don’t know if I can.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 1 Comment | Tagged angels, curse, dark, demons, fiction, horror story, nosleep, series, short story, spooktober
    ← Older posts
    Newer posts →
    • Recent Posts

      • [Short Horror Story] Don’t Eat In Your Dreams
      • [Short Horror Story] My Family Was Cursed With A Demon… He Was Cursed With Us.
      • [Short Horror Story] My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… He Says He’s Not the Villain.
      • Short Horror Story – After all, glitter gets everywhere.
      • Short Horror Story – Every Year You Get Eight
    • Recent Comments

      [Short Horror Story]… on [Short Horror Story] My Family…
      [Short Horror Story]… on [Short Horror Story] My Family…
      [Short Horror Story]… on [Short Horror Story] My Family…
      [Short Horror Story]… on [Short Horror Story] My Family…
      [Short Horror Story]… on [Short Horror Story] My Family…
    • Archives

      • August 2020
      • March 2020
      • February 2020
      • December 2019
      • October 2019
      • August 2019
      • March 2019
      • February 2019
      • January 2019
      • December 2018
      • October 2018
      • September 2018
      • July 2018
      • June 2018
      • May 2018
      • April 2018
    • Categories

      • Doodles
      • EXTRA SHORT Short Story [Horror]
      • Hellos/Announcements
      • Narrations
      • Poetry
      • series
      • Short Stories [Horror]
      • Tales From Solitude
      • True, or True-ish Stories
      • Uncategorized
  • Follow Penny's Tales on WordPress.com

Blog at WordPress.com.

Cancel

 
Loading Comments...
Comment
    ×