Penny's Tales

Horror stories, narrations and illustrations by Penny Tailsup
Penny's Tales
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    • [Short Horror Story] Don’t Eat In Your Dreams

      Posted at 9:40 pm by Penny Tailsup, on August 9, 2020

      Have you ever had a dream so vivid that you wondered if it actually happened? 

      You probably have… but shook it off, because of course it didn’t. Right?  A dream under scrutiny, illuminated by the dawn, is easily dismissed. Yet, if you’ve been where I’ve been… maybe a part of you wasn’t completely convinced.

      Maybe, in the course of a dream— you wandered a little too far from yourself, from your bed, body and world. Maybe you’ve been to the Dream District.

      If you ever find yourself in a place to wonder… ask. He’ll tell you; he will be beautiful, friendly and inviting. He will offer you hospitality, flattery and gifts. Anything you want. He’ll know what you want, somehow.

      Yet, a part of you will know, deep down: you can’t take it. Not unless you’re going to stay. But you can’t stay, it’s a dream. You don’t belong there. 

      If you find yourself in the Dream District, thank your host and leave. Start walking, and don’t stop until you find yourself back in the dream you were supposed to be having. Do that, and hope he doesn’t follow you.

      Trust me.

      …

      It started with sweet potato pie.

      If I had to describe it, I’d tell you it was richer than chocolate, smoother than cream and sinfully decadent. That description doesn’t do it justice. Other words come a little closer, like otherworldly or ambrosia.  I feel pretentious describing anything in such terms, but I still mean them. Suffice to say, I’d never had anything so good and never would again. 

      The dream started in the middle of a Safeway on Thanksgiving Day. I was on a diet; that part wasn’t a dream, but it followed me there. The frustration and cravings that came with diets were hard to shake, even in my dreams. 

      I didn’t know I was dreaming, not at first. 

      Pushing an empty cart through the bakery section, I made note of everything I couldn’t have. Cookies, cakes, and doughnuts. No, no and no. As I steered the cart round every display, I repeated my mantra: “No sugar, low carbs. No sugar, low carbs.” The words became the whirring of the wheels; quickening with my footsteps when I realized I wasn’t alone.

      Startled, I whirled to see a sales associate standing directly behind me. The nametag pinned to his chest said his name was Mor. Mor smiled, looking far too cheerful for someone working in customer service. 

      He was also surprisingly handsome, with skin clear as crystal, sleek gold hair and hypnotic emerald eyes. Everything about him reminded me of precious metals and stones. In fact, it was unnerving; like a living embodiment of photoshop: beautiful, but wrong. Beautiful, wrong, and staring intently at me. 

      It’s a trap, I thought. I don’t know why I thought that, but I did. I backed away, ready to abandon my cart and flee– yet the impulse didn’t make sense, and I second guessed my instincts. It would be rude to run away from a gentleman who was only doing his job. There were no other customers in the store, was it any wonder he was being so attentive?

      Wait. Was I really the only customer there? I looked around, uncomfortable with the sudden realization. Sure enough, it was just me, him, and all the delicious foods I couldn’t eat stacked neatly in every direction. 

      “Welcome.” Mor bowed in greeting, a strangely formal gesture. “There you are. Do you need help finding anything?” His voice sent a strange thrill through me, both pleasant and alarming. I shook my head. 

      Wait. What was I doing there?

      I was trying so hard not to indulge. Why was I torturing myself? Why did I feel nervous, and even… guilty? Like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Caught on the verge of cheating on my diet! Not that Mor knew that. The word “diet” wasn’t stamped on my forehead, only on my mind. 

      “No, thank you.” I said, “I’m just browsing.” Browsing the baked goods, even knowing I couldn’t have them.  He looked past me, peering into my empty cart. Clicking his tongue, he glanced back up at me. 

      “If you don’t mind my recommendation, the sweet potato pies are fresh and perfect for the holiday season. Please let me know if you need help finding anything.” He backed off a few feet, but continued to watch me.

      “I’m on a diet, I can’t have that.” I admitted, “But I don’t see any diet-friendly options in here, so I’d better go.”

      “You’re on a diet?” his jaw quirked, but the smile remained fixed. “There’s no need to worry about that.”

      Annoyed, I gripped the handle of the shopping cart a little tighter. Holidays were the worst! No one wanted to think about dieting– so they’d go out of their way to sabotage me, giving me “permission” to indulge just because it was a special occasion. I didn’t want to hear it. “That’s not up to you.” I said. 

      “You misunderstand,” he said softly, “You’re in the Dream District. Whatever your worries are, you can leave them until you wake, if you ever do.”

      “What?” I looked around. At first, the scene seemed like an ordinary grocery store, with glossy cement floors and incandescent yellow lights. Yet, the second I questioned it– I could see beyond the bakery, the interior gradually shifting into cobblestone streets under a lavender sky. 

      “Yes, miss. As you can see, you’re dreaming, there’s no need to count calories or sacrifice your sense of taste. Of course, I have to wonder… why a lovely creature such as yourself thinks she needs to be on a diet, even outside this place. You’re beautiful as you are.”

      No I wasn’t. That was flattery, but I still blushed like an idiot. Of course, now that he said it… it made sense. This was my dream, and now that I knew it… I had nothing to fear. 

      “I’ve always wanted to lucid dream.”  I said, a wave of giddiness spreading through me. I thanked the man before turning my attention to all the displays with enthusiastic interest. “What was it you recommended?”

      “Ah, that would be the sweet potato pie.” He pointed to a table which suddenly appeared in front of me. Presented prettily in a glass display was a single pan of sweet potato pie. A beam of glittering light cast down upon it, like an endorsement from God. Mor stepped closer to the case, opening it and looking at me expectantly. 

      “Go on, don’t be shy. I know exactly what you need.” he inclined his head, but I never lost sight of his eyes; pale, unwavering emerald.  “I admire the willpower it’s taken to get where you are. Isn’t it time you rewarded yourself?” 

      In an instant, my hesitation evaporated, giving way to gluttonous desire. I reached into the case, marveling when I felt the coolness of the pan it was housed in– delight shivered through me, my knees weak with anticipation. The intoxicating aroma wafted towards me like a beckoning hand. 

      “There’s nothing like it,” Mor continued his sales pitch, as if I wasn’t already sold. “You can only get it here.”

      Why did that feel like a warning?

      “Maybe I shouldn’t.” I said slowly, “even if this is a dream… it’s a slippery slope for me. Dieting, I mean.” Why was I explaining myself to him? Whoever he was, he wasn’t real; just a manifestation of… something. My food cravings? Somehow I didn’t think I’d find the answer in a dream dictionary. 

      “Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I prepared it just for you. This is everything you want, everything you’ve denied yourself. And for what? Certainly not your happiness, or you wouldn’t be here. This is your wish.”

      This wasn’t an ordinary dream. Even in that moment, I knew. My senses weren’t the clouded, hazy approximations I was accustomed to in other dreams. This was a dream that indulged all my senses. Dread drifted back in, but I shook it off. What was there to fear from a dream?

      “There’s no need to hold back.”

      My heart began beating loudly. I could hear it; feel the pulsing, disconcerting rhythm of it. I sucked in a staggered breath; my palms were hot but the dish was cold. 

      “I need a fork.” I said.

      “You already have one.” Mor replied. He was right. A plastic fork was already in my hand, though it hadn’t been before. I was startled, but when I looked up at Mor he merely smiled and said:

      “In a dream, anything you wish is merely a thought away.”

      I knew it was a dream, but there was still something unnerving in the logic of the place. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but something felt wrong. 

      “I should sit down.” 

      “As you wish.” in a dramatic sweeping motion, he pulled out a chair for me. It was suddenly there, along with the small round table. I sat down, setting the pie tin in front of me. Pressing the tines of the fork into the soft center, I scooped up a balanced bite: a perfect union of buttery, flaky crust and creamy sweet potato filling.

      I will never forget that first bite, like God forged the flavor of my deepest, darkest desires. The taste of everything I didn’t know I wanted. The end-all be-all of dessert. Of food. Of anything. The velvety dream of sweetness and spices sent a quivering thrill through me that had me moaning for more. Fortunately, there was more. As much as I wanted!

      “You can only get it here.”

      I took bites as fast as I could, leaning over the table to shorten the distance between myself and the pie. The fork felt like a pretense, but I didn’t lose myself enough to set it down– though the thought crossed my mind. When it was gone, I licked the plate, the fork, the table, my own lips for any stray crumbs.

      Then I remembered myself, and felt Mor’s eyes upon me; the glinting green gaze was half-lidded, yet predatory with the sharp curve of his smile. Unsettled and mildly embarrassed, I straightened my back and turned in my chair to face him. 

      “If this is my dream… why are you here?” Mor was unsettling. Why would I dream up someone who made me uncomfortable in a lucid dream? If my wishes were only a thought away, he’d be gone.

      “I said you were dreaming, I never said this was your dream.” 

      I laughed at the odd reply, but his expression didn’t change. The laughter stopped, sticking in my throat like a stone. I stood up from the table, and started to walk– I don’t know where I thought I was going, but I was done with Mor and his sweet potato pie. Yet, even with my clear refusal to take further part in this dream… I wanted more.

      For the first time in a long time, I was satisfied. I left the store, walking down the cobblestone path and merging in that hazy, dreamlike way into the next chapter of sleep… I could still feel Mor watching me,  a feeling I couldn’t shake until I was awake. 

      When I sat up in bed, I knew something was wrong. 

      The haze that filled me wasn’t a typical early-morning daze; it was heavier, colder and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Sliding out from under the covers, my stomach shuddered with an audible growl. I was hungry. My stomach hadn’t been fooled by the dream, after all. Was that why I felt… off?

      Instead of racing to the kitchen for breakfast, I forced myself through my morning routine. That strange funk didn’t fade, but I didn’t have a fever. When I opened the fridge and peered inside, nothing looked appealing to me. If I’m being honest, that wasn’t unusual… my diet wasn’t exciting. I’d been low-carb no-sugar for a good six months. 

      I peppered a hard boiled egg, but despite the firm whites and crumbly yolk… sawdust. It was like eating sawdust, in both texture and taste! That didn’t make sense. Even if the eggs were spoiled, that wasn’t right. They looked okay, even smelled as expected– but the second the egg touched my tongue… it was wrong. All wrong! 

      A second bite confirmed it. Spitting it out and throwing all the eggs away, I rummaged for something else. Nothing sounded good, but I was starving! I tried the salad next, but the results were the same: sawdust. I choked, coughing the wilted greens into the sink before vomiting. 

      Nothing in the fridge or cupboards was edible. My hunger howled at me to find something, anything! But only one thing sounded good: sweet potato pie. 

      “You can only get it here.” Mor’s voice brought a little color into the room, quickly fading when I realized I’d imagined it. I was awake and alone, but I knew what I needed.

      Grabbing my car keys, I left the house. Rushing to the Safeway, I scoured the bakery. The pies weren’t housed in glass cases or bathed in sparkling pillars of light, but they were still easy to find. The pastries were imperfect, with crusts cracked and crumbling. The filling wasn’t the right color either. 

      It didn’t matter. I was drooling. I bought them all! I tore into a pie as soon as I got into my car. I couldn’t even wait to get home! I didn’t have a fork, but that didn’t stop me. I used my fingers! Scooping up a heaping mouthful and drawing it to my dry, eager mouth– only to start sobbing into the steering wheel. Like everything else I’d eaten that day… sawdust.

      “I know what you need. You know it, too.” 

      I needed to sleep.

      With the words came color, and a flash of taste… but it faded as soon as the thought did. After my tears, I threw the pies into the parking lot and took myself back home. Had a dream really destroyed my sense of taste? Would it come back?

      It was ridiculous. I knew it, but nothing seemed as good as it once was. Not just taste, but colors, textures and sounds– all seemed lacking in ways I’d never noticed before.

      I called the doctor and made an appointment, but I knew this wasn’t something medicine could fix. By noon, I crawled back into bed and prayed into my pillow for sleep to take me back to that place, to that dream. The Dream District.

      Hunger made it hard to sleep, but when I did… 

      “I knew you would be back.”

      Mor found me, a ray of light in an otherwise dark and colorless dream. The details around us didn’t matter, just the warmth of the hand he extended. I took it, and followed him from dream to dream until my bare feet touched sun-warmed cobblestone under a cool lavender sky.

      “I’m hungry.” I whimpered. “I need more.”

      “I know. I’m here. I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

      The knowing gleam in his green eyes should have infuriated or alarmed me, but I was too desperate to care. It was already too late for me. Now that I’d tasted that sweet potato pie, I couldn’t eat anything else. 

      “Now that you’ve proven it to yourself, there’s no reason for you to leave.” he held something out to me. Without even looking, I knew what it was. Sweet potato pie. The culmination of every craving I’d ever felt, every morsel I’d ever denied myself in every delectable mouthful. 

      I found myself on all fours, far too eager to bother with utensils or even my hands. I chewed wildly with abandon, even tearing through the tin with my teeth once I’d eaten my way through that dreamy, creamy filling. There was something about this pie that satisfied me more than anything else ever had. It wasn’t an indulgence, it was a need. 

      When I woke up, I cried. Consciousness felt like a curse.  I wanted to go back. The world outside of dreams was overrated, without color or flavor.

       It gets worse with every dream, a slow spiral into bleak madness. My only respite is dreams, even knowing I’m only dooming myself a little more with every bite.  Each day became a race to bedtime, with the window growing shorter and shorter– consequences be damned. I lost my job, my home, my everything… and I didn’t care, because I didn’t need any of that. I just needed a place to lay my head. A place to dream. I can do that anywhere.

      “Why should you  ever wake again?”

      I don’t eat anymore. Not when I’m awake. Though I tried to choke down the sawdust, knowing I’d die if I didn’t… I can’t. 

      There’s a tarnished silver lining though; I’ve lost a lot of weight. I look better than I ever have. I’m a real Sleeping Beauty, aren’t I? 

      I know how wrong it is. I promise I do, but recognizing the trap I’ve fallen into doesn’t save me from it. My fate is sealed, but at least I’m lucid enough to share my cautionary tale. Maybe, in the course of a dream– you’ll do what I couldn’t, and say no to Mor, and others like him.

      I’m going back to bed now, hopefully for the last time. I’m weak, I’m tired, but most of all…

       I’m hungry.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged creepy, dark, dreams, fiction, horror, horror story, Insomnia, Night terror, nosleep, original, scary, scary story, short stories, short story, sleep, story, weird, writer
    • [Short Horror Story] My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… He Says He’s Not the Villain.

      Posted at 1:43 pm by Penny Tailsup, on February 27, 2020

      My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… He Says He’s Not the Villain.

      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.

      Part Four – My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… They Pray Anyway.

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

      —

      “Before we pray, I have a very important announcement to make.” Father Gabe stood up from the head of the dinner table. “In light of our recent string of misfortune, it only seemed appropriate to delay this announcement. But now, we need the guidance of Our Angel more than ever.” His eyes met mine, and I nodded. 

      Every  Blood Conti was in attendance, they probably knew what this was about. For too long, they’d been waiting for this moment. My uncle’s dramatic pause went on a little too long before he sucked in a breath and said, “I’ve inherited the Glory.” his eyes kept darting over to me, much to my annoyance. Was he trying to look suspicious? 

      “You did?” my brother’s tone was a little rude, but he was at that age. “Are you sure? But you’re not part of the new generation.” trust Angelo to immediately poke holes in Father Gabe’s lie. Ordinarily, I would have found it funny.

      My uncle looked to me for reassurance, stumbling. He hadn’t expected anyone to question the announcement. “Ah… normally that’s the case, but…” his face smoothed over as he came up with an explanation. “Our Angel made an exception. Who are we to question him?” but Angelo wasn’t even looking at him, he was looking at me. Great, he’s suspicious. 

      If Grandma Conti were there, she would’ve smacked my brother for being disrespectful. It was her house, but she wasn’t there; she was still in the hospital. Though she was only a Conti by marriage, she’d become something of a matriarch in Mother’s absence. Now that she was in a coma, no one had stepped in to fill that role… until, under my orders, Uncle Gabe stepped up to claim the Glory. 

      Of course, he doesn’t actually have the Glory. He’ll never have it, but since he wanted it so badly… and it works to my advantage, I decided to let him pretend he does. He owes me his life, he can’t say no. 

      “He’ll kill you the first chance he gets,” the demon reminded me. I know that. I’m prepared to kill him if I have to, he won’t get a second chance. I think the arrangement is generous, effectively making him the puppet leader of the Conti cult. He gets to enjoy the “prestige”, but I’ll call the shots.

      Enjoy it while you can, Uncle. I’ll free our family soon. 

      After dinner my brother came up to me and asked point blank, “Sera, did you inherit the Glory?” the question startled me, not just in it’s abruptness– but in tone. Angelo’s voice was flat and serious, just like his eyes were as they bored into mine. “I know I didn’t. I don’t think Mother would pass it to Angie. So really, that leaves you.” 

      “I didn’t.” the lie came naturally, I was used to denying it. Yet, this instance made my heart feel like stone. Angelo grabbed my shoulders, squeezing tightly as he asked, “Are you sure?” with emphasis on every word.

      “He seems serious, sis.” the demon mocked, “Can you really keep lying to your baby brother?”

      “Yes, of course.” I said… to my brother, not the demon. Angelo let go of my shoulders, dropping his arms to his sides. He opened his mouth, as if to ask again– but he dropped his gaze suddenly and turned back towards the dining room. Uncle Gabe was surrounded by most of the extended family, enjoying the attention.

      “Why was he looking at you the whole time?” he demanded. Of course he’d noticed the “furtive” glances, I inwardly cursed but had an explanation prepared. 

      “Before the announcement, I’d confided in him.” I said, “I was upset I didn’t inherit the Glory even though I’m the oldest, I guess he thought I wouldn’t take it well.”  it was baloney but my brother seemed to buy it. In fact, he smirked when he saw the opportunity to antagonize me.

      “Well I’m the boy, I should’ve gotten it.”

      I rolled my eyes. The demon didn’t discriminate. Well, maybe it did, but I’d never had the impression my gender mattered. Man or woman, every Conti was subject to its mockery and scorn. I was merely the person privileged to hear it.

      “Mother wasn’t a boy, and she got it over our uncle,” I retorted.  “She was older than him.” I wasn’t even sure why I was arguing, smiling in spite of myself. Though I knew the truth, it felt good to have a low-stakes argument with my younger brother.

      “Whatever. It just doesn’t make sense.” Angelo said, “We were always told it was once per generation.”  I opened my mouth to answer, but all the lies I could come up with were too lame. He’d only get more suspicious if I gave half-assed answers, so I just stayed quiet. He rejoined the others in the dining room. 

      Recently, I’ve been spending most of my free time holed up in Grandpa Deangelo’s study with Father Gabe. Though I didn’t trust my murderous uncle, he was the only one who could help. No one else knew my secret. 

      Hidden among the piles of books and research materials, we’d found old journals from former Holders. As promising as that might sound, they weren’t helpful. The writers were either in denial or lying. The demon was consistently described as an “angelic being of light” but the shadow at my back begged to differ. 

      Unfortunately, it’s hard to fight a curse that even our ancestors celebrated. At times, I even wondered if I was the only one who saw the demon. Maybe my atheism made it impossible to see him for what he was… But then I remembered my mother, the actions of my uncle and the jaw-less specter of Grandpa Deangelo. No, I wasn’t the problem.

      One book was missing from the study, evidenced by a rectangular void in the dust. I was beginning to suspect it was Grandpa’s journal. Uncle Gabe had alluded to Grandpa Deangelo’s suicide, but what lead to that choice would remain a mystery if we couldn’t find it. Hell, if he wrote a suicide note and “brought shame on the family”… there was a good chance Grandma destroyed it to save face.

      Eventually, I gave up on the journals and the old books. If answers could be found there, wouldn’t Grandpa have ended the curse himself? It was clear he’d known about it, even if he couldn’t speak. I  even tried to get him to write down what he knew, but he couldn’t affect things physically. 

      Grandpa wanted to help, and he had. After all, he’d saved me from his son by showing me how to reach into the demon’s void shadow, but… he’d also made no move to stop me when I considered killing my uncle.  I wasn’t sure if he was “all there” or merely a shadow of what he once was.

      Father came out of the dining room, interrupting my reverie. Angelo and Angie trailed behind him with mismatched expressions. My father had a tight smile on his face, I couldn’t tell how he was feeling. He’d always been a little stiff around extended family, though he tolerated them for Mother’s sake. Without her, I knew he was only doing it for us.

      “Grandma’s awake.” he said, “We can go visit her in the hospital now.” We’d been visiting, it was easy when she was asleep. Problematic now that she was awake! 

      “Too bad she didn’t die,” said the demon. “Though maybe you can get another question if you right that wrong for me.” its laughter weakened my knees, though I was slowly building up a tolerance for its disorienting mirth. 

      “Did she say anything?” I asked, my lungs were constricting as I fought back a surge of panic. I didn’t remember what happened when I found her at the bottom of the stairs. I suspected I was responsible, because up until that moment… I’d fantasized about doing it. In fact, the fantasy had been pretty damn specific. I’d wanted to push her down the stairs. 

       

      “Yes,” Father replied, “they said she ‘wasn’t making much sense’, so I’m guessing she’s going on about the Glory again.” I regained control of my lungs, sucking in a deep breath. Maybe it was okay. Maybe she didn’t remember. 

      “Do we have to visit her?” Angelo asked, his voice deadpan. I couldn’t blame him for being less-than-thrilled, our relationship with Grandma suffered after she’d tried to claim Father killed our Mother to the police. 

      “We’ll get ice cream after.” he said, “It wouldn’t be right to ignore her, she’s family.” though the twist of his mouth made his real feelings clear. He and Grandma had never gotten along, even less now that Mother was gone. Angie was the only one smiling, she was a good kid.

      It was a quiet drive to the hospital. With every mile closer, my stomach sank lower– the possibilities, few of them good, kept playing through my mind on a loop. By the time the car was parked, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d be tried as an adult and end up in prison for a crime I didn’t remember committing.  

      “You’re quiet. Is something the matter?” the fiend’s shadow danced around me, a writhing kaleidoscope of madness. The silhouette, inconstant and quivering, exposed its feigned concern for the mockery it was. 

      We signed in at the front desk, the receptionist smiled brightly when she saw us. “You must be so relieved!” Not really, no. But I knew when to smile and nod; this was one of those times. 

      “Liar.” the fallen angel took great pleasure in lies, no matter how small. Since inheriting the Glory, I could confidently say I’d become a worse person. The lies never stopped. I wasn’t sure how much of that I could truly blame on the demon.

      When we reached Grandma’s room, I half expected to open the door to police– but instead, there was Grandma Conti looking pale and frail in her hospital bed. Her dark eyes were open and wet as she smiled at Father Gabe, her son and apparent Holder of the Glory. 

      But when her eyes turned towards the door, they were hazy and unfocused. She seemed to look past me, then screamed: “You did this! Why would you?” 

      The words quickly became unintelligible shrieks with her escalating pitch. Father stuck his arm back protectively, stopping us from entering the room and quickly closing the door. Even with the door closed, her cries pierced straight through me and horrified tears ran down my cheeks. Although I’d dreaded that truth for so long, even expected it- the pain and regret came like a physical blow. There was no greater pain than certainty.

      Nurses rushed in, and a doctor– kicking everyone else out as they checked on her condition. Father asked Uncle Gabe what happened, but the priest shrugged. “She’s not herself right now,” he admitted. “She asked about dad when she woke up, too.  I think she’s just confused.” 

      “I see.” Father rubbed his chin, “Should we come back later?” he looked at the door, as if debating. The screaming abruptly cut off. The doctor and nurses came back out a moment later with somber expressions.

      “Grandma was screaming.” Angie said, “Is she hurting?” my little sister showed the most concern, hugging herself. Dr. Ives overheard the question and walked over, wearing a smile I’d grown used to seeing over many visits.

      “The human mind is a remarkable thing. Sometimes people are a little different when they wake up from a coma, or their memories change, but she’ll be okay. It takes time.” It was a simple explanation, but Angie bobbed her head quietly and accepted it. 

      “Can we go now?” Angelo asked abruptly, “If she’s asleep she won’t miss us.” Father shot him a look. I didn’t exactly want to wait around for her to wake up either, though my reasons were grounded in guilt.

       

      “Go home. I’ll stay.” Father Gabe answered, “If she can have guests?” He directed his question at Dr. Ives, turning his attention back to her. More Contis were trickling in from the dinner party, starting to crowd the hall.

      “No more than two visitors at a time, but it might be best to let her rest tonight. Visiting hours are almost over.” the doctor said, “Though it’s always nice to see so much support from the family. Once she has her bearings she can be discharged, but we want to monitor her for a few more days.” 

      Father thanked the doctor and we went home. We stopped for ice cream on the way, but my mint chocolate chip tasted like sawdust. I don’t think any of us were really in the mood for ice cream, but we still went through the motions. 

      As soon as we got home, we scattered. Angelo went to his friend’s house, Angie went to watch cartoons, and Father and I went to our respective bedrooms. Everyone was processing the events of the day in their own way.

      I couldn’t fall asleep. How could I, knowing I wasn’t out of the woods yet? Unsure what to do, I stewed in my own thoughts; they were dark, but I still surprised myself when the thought of killing Grandma crossed my mind.

      No witnesses, she should have died anyway.

      The idea came in a series of black-and-white images, though the picture was sharply in focus. Down the darkened hospital hall, through the creaking door and standing over her bed while she slept. I had a pillow clenched tightly in both hands, hands shaking from the effort as I slowly pressed it down over her nose and mouth. It came with a rumbling soundtrack of thunder. It tasted of iron and rain. Rage crackled through me like electricity.

      But then I remembered… I wasn’t angry. 

      Not like I was before she’d been hurt. This anger felt manufactured, invasive alongside my actual guilt and fear. I recognized the demon’s influence in that rage, a stark contrast to its usual malevolent humor.

      “You’re angry at Grandma.” I sat up suddenly. I knew I was right– even without the demon’s confirmation. The question why was implied. Grandma wasn’t even a Blood Conti, she’d never inherited the Glory and never could. 

      “Aren’t you angry?”  the demon asked, making no attempt to deny it– though he didn’t confirm it either. Despite this, the shadows in the room had grown quite still; alert, and intent on my words. I could tell I had its full attention. 

      “I was, but not anymore.” I admitted, “No matter what she did, it wasn’t worth putting her in the hospital.” 

      “Are you sure about that? There’s a lot about your family that you don’t know.” 

      “I’m not going to let you rile me up and turn me into a puppet. I know your game.” he’d tried to infect me with his anger. He’d succeeded in the past. Knowing that, I hoped to become immune to its influence and never lose control of myself again.

      “You’re never going to figure it out if you only see me as the villain. I liked you as my host because you had the sense to question things, but the questions stopped once I cast my shadow on you. It’s convenient to blame everything on the demon, isn’t it? You’ve decided I’m to blame, so you won’t consider anything else.”

      “You really expect me to believe my family is at fault for everything?” I laughed, leaning forward to cover my mouth. I couldn’t be too loud, I didn’t want to wake the rest of the house. I pressed my knuckles against my lips, fighting back a fit of giggles.

      “No. I expect you to believe what you want.” Its words were flat and soft; almost drowned out by the laughter I tried to stifle. Still, the sudden seriousness of his tone gave me pause. I stopped laughing, straightening my back.

      Naturally, I couldn’t trust a demon– but I had to admit he had a point. My family wasn’t exactly a shining beacon of virtue and honesty, though that was the face they presented to the world: the Blessed Contis, standing with God and the Glory of an angel. 

      “I’m not the one who tortured you in the basement, am I?” 

      “No, but it was because of you.” Uncle Gabe wanted the Glory; wanted the demon, even after I told him what it was. My poor, brainwashed uncle had certainly wronged me– and I’d never trust him again, but that wouldn’t have happened if not for the demon.

      “Do you really think it matters if I’m here or not? Do you think they’ll change their ways, even if you manage to get rid of me?” 

      I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I fell silent. I hadn’t believed in “Our Angel”, but even I’d played along with the family’s cultish worship. I grew tired of the conversation, dropping back onto my bed and crawling under the covers.

      “That’s what I thought.” 

      “Fuck you.” I closed my eyes, trying to ignore its laughter. Truth be told, I doubted the Conti Cult would dissolve overnight. My family didn’t change, even when they weren’t sure who had the Glory. The rumors and excuses ran rampant, no one would even consider that the family had fallen from grace. I didn’t want to admit any of that, least of all to the demon… so I turned my back on its shadow and slept.  

      Come morning, I woke up to a gentle tapping on my door, startling out of a light sleep. I hadn’t slept well, so my eyes snapped open instantly. 

      “Sera? I need you to get dressed and come downstairs.” It was Father; something about his tone had me on full alert though his voice was level and soft.

      “Coming!”

      Dressed in record time, I hurried out the door in time to see my father halfway down the stairs.  His stiff back told me something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. My little sister was hovering on the landing, looking nervous. It didn’t take long to see why. 

      Two police officers were standing in the living room. My foot froze mid-step. Father wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at the floor with his hands clasped together like he was praying. What had the officers told him?

      “What’s going on?” my voice caught in my throat, cracking as I forced the question. I knew why they were there, though I wanted to be wrong. Grandma must’ve talked, told them what I’d done. They were there because I pushed her and put her in the hospital. Why didn’t you run? My thoughts were screaming at me, full of fear and regret. 

      “You should have killed her after all.” the demon crooned, “Oh well.”

      But the cops weren’t looking at me, they were looking at Father. “Is this everyone in the house?” one of them asked. When Father nodded, he gestured and the second officer went upstairs to double check. My adrenaline gave way to confusion. What was going on?

      “Where is Angelo Conti?” the lead officer asked calmly. My brother’s name broke my stupor. Angelo. Angelo. Why were they asking for Angelo?

      “Oh? What’s this? I guess they weren’t here for you after all.” The feigned surprise in the demon’s voice made my blood run cold. He knew something, but I couldn’t ask. Not right then. The morning after he’d alluded to the villainy of my own family, the police showed up. Shock froze my lips and leadened my tongue . 

      “Is Angelo okay?” my sister squeaked, recovering enough to run over to Father and grab his sleeve. “He went to his friend’s house last night!” 

      “We’re not sure yet.” the officer spoke softly, carefully; clearly mindful of her age. “We’ll need all of you to come down to the station to answer some questions and give a statement.”

      “Even my girls?” Father asked. “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. Angelo’s a good kid, he’s just at a difficult age.” no one was saying what Angelo did, but I could guess. I didn’t ask, afraid of being wrong and making things worse. Maybe it wasn’t that, maybe it was something minor like shoplifting.

      I couldn’t even hear the officer’s answer. My ears rang with the demon’s uproarious laughter, drowning out the conversation with singsong I-told-you-sos and mock concern. 

      “What did I tell you, Sera? I’m not the villain here.”

       

      Posted in series, Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged angels, demons, fiction, horror, original, religious horror, scary story, series, short story
    • Short Horror Story – Every Year You Get Eight

      Posted at 9:34 pm by Penny Tailsup, on February 4, 2020

      Listen to the narration here.

       

      I was a small child when I first found him bent over mother’s bed. 

      I only saw a tall silhouette before my eyes adjusted to the dark. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I caught sight of his white fingers–hooked into Mother’s mouth. Her lips were parted wide, but her eyes were closed. On the back of his hand, I saw little spots of darkness; they moved down his arm, meandered down his fingers… disappearing into the dark void of her mouth. 

      “One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight.”

      He counted, then he drew his hand away. 

      “What are you doing?” I whispered. I whispered because mother was still asleep. He cocked his head at me, as if my question was strange. After a long moment of silence, he put his hands on my shoulders and leaned down. His eyes were pale yellow, like a ring around the moon; they cast their own soft light. 

      “Every year you get eight. That’s why I stay.” he said softly. His voice was a pleasant hum, as soft as a sigh. Of course, his answer didn’t really explain. I didn’t understand. “You should be asleep, that’s the rule. I can’t give them to you until you do.”

      He scooped me up into his arms– long, segmented arms– he had at least four elbows, and he nestled me comfortably on the crook of them. Rocking me slowly, he carried me down the hall and to my bed. He handed me my favorite teddy bear, smoothing the blankets over me.

      “Go to sleep,” it said, opening my closet and crawling inside. He closed the door softly behind him, and I closed my eyes– young enough to dismiss the night’s events as a dream. The memory stuck with me though, so when I saw him again years later… I could make no mistake.

      I woke up because of the counting. One, two… his lunar eyes blinked at me. Three, four… something tickled my lower lip. Five, six… my tongue itched. Before he could get to seven or eight, I shoved his hand away. Wet fingers popped out of my mouth, and I quickly sat upright. 

      Hunching over, I started to cough. There was something in my mouth, something that moved… multiple somethings that squirmed in the small puddle of saliva pooled in my lap. Adrenaline clarified my vision, I was awake without the blurry haze of being half-asleep. 

      “I remember you,” I wheezed. But this time, I wasn’t a child. “What are you doing?” 

      “Every year you get eight.”  he replied, just as before. I’m not sure why I wasn’t screaming, but perhaps that old memory prepared me to see him. Despite the frightful sight of him, he was… familiar.

      But back then, I hadn’t been able to make out those little spots of darkness. I reached for my lamp, flinching at the sudden brightness as I squinted at those shadows. Black things with spindly legs. 

      Spiders.

      “Go to sleep,” the creature said. “I have to start over.” but this time, it did not sweetly tuck me into bed. Instead, it placed it’s wide, pale hands on my face. It pressed its bony palms over my nose and mouth. 

      “The rent is due.” it said. “I won’t lose my place.”

      I couldn’t ask what it meant. I tried to fight, twisting and kicking– but it was a losing battle. I could feel its fingers probing my skin and curling into my hair. Eight scuttling fingers.  It seemed this creature had a soft spot for children… but little sympathy or patience for adults. I lost consciousness.

      When I woke up with a bruised face and cottonmouth, I tried to rationalize the event as the sequel to an old dream– but when I rushed into the bathroom, vomiting in the sink… tiny legs twitched in the bile, only partially digested.

      Have you ever heard the old myth? The myth that every year, you eat eight spiders in your sleep.  Apparently it’s true.

      No one mentions the creature that feeds them to you.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged fiction, horror, horror art, horror story, monster, nosleep, Penny Tailsup, short story, sleep, spiders
    • [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
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