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 – 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 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] 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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