Creatures and Crypts

Creatures and Crypts

20 short stories. Over 70,000 words.

Creatures of the living and the dead gather in a volume of over 70,000 words to stalk their prey…humans. 20 stories set the scene for a cast ranging from the Grim Reaper, shambling zombies and restless spirits, to unimaginable monsters that only inhabit the shapeless darkness and the author’s imagination. Join them as they wreak havoc on their unsuspecting victims and celebrate with a victory dance on hollowed bones!

New and previous published material can be found in Creatures and Crypts, including the second place winner of the New Bedlam short story contest—Unknowable.

Visit the author at www.shadowtales.com

CREATURES & CRYPTS

By

John Grover

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012

All Rights Reserved.

All stories copyright 2012 John Grover

Cover art and design copyright 2012 Kirk Alberts

All Right Reserved.

All characters, events and descriptions in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead are the product of the author’s imagination and are purely coincidental.

***

Acknowledgements

Special Delivery-First Appeared in 7th Dimension Print Magazine 2007

The Disembodied- First appeared in the collection Space Stations and Graveyards published 2003 by Double Dragon Publishing

Warning Signs-First appeared in The Swamp online 2002, reprinted in Shadow Tales short story collection published by Double Dragon Publishing 2004.

A Woman Scorned-First Appeared in the collection Poisoned Graves published 2003 by Double Dragon Publishing

A Voice in the Night appeared under the title Bump in the Night in Dark Angel Rising online dark fiction magazine.

Unknowable-Won second place in the New Bedlam Project’s short story contest, appearing online in April 2010.

***

Table of Contents

Scritch, Scritch

Special Delivery

Drifter

Lord Humphrey’s Daughter

Man’s First Child

The Tie That Binds

The Disembodied

In the Shadow of the Lilies

Between Mother and Daughter

3:15

Warning Signs

A Rage of Angels

Dead Man Watching

Delirium

A Woman Scorned

The Reaper’s Game

It’s The Zombie Apocalypse and I All Got Was This Lousy T-shirt

The Green Scarf

A Voice in the Night

Unknowable

Author Bio

Bibliography

Looking for more

***

Scritch, Scritch

1. Belcher House

Ever since she could remember, Lisa Moore wanted to live in Belcher house. When she was a little girl she’d walk by it on her way to the library and stop to stare at it. She loved it from the first time she set eyes on it.

The largest window in the home, shaped like an arch, had red velvet drapes hanging across it. They were always drawn. On one side of the manor stood a turret with three windows, ivy grew around it in a spiral. It reminded Lisa of a castle. The estate had a regal look and feel---she’d always been drawn there for some reason. Her imagination conjured grand parties there that only the town’s wealthiest would attend.

Eleanor Belcher was the last of her family to keep residence in the home. Taken ill, or so the stories in town were told, Eleanor retired to her bedroom at the top of the turret and never left the house. Her maid, Millie, ran all the errands and tended to her every need. No one in town ever saw Eleanor and she didn’t accepted visitors, at least not any longer. Lisa couldn’t understand why, when recalling Eleanor Belcher in town she’d practically looked like a movie actress, a golden-haired goddess with porcelain skin and a radiant smile. She had classic beauty that never seemed to fade.

Once, Lisa was able to steal a peek inside the house. She learned through the grapevine that Eleanor and Mille were out of town on vacation. One of the few they ever took. Lisa made her way to the house and discovered the curtain that shrouded the front door’s window curled to one side. It allowed just a glimpse inside.

Lisa skipped up the front steps and peered in. All the sunlight would allow her to see was the red carpet that filled the hallway and washed up the spiral staircase. I’m gonna live in this house someday, Lisa said to herself.

She did just that.

Just six months ago, Eleanor Belcher passed away. She spent all her years as a spinster with no children or extended family. It was not long before the bank put the house on the market.

A twinkle shimmered in Lisa’s eye and her husband Chris knew he was in trouble. He was a city lawyer and made a very comfortable salary but worried that they couldn’t afford such a lavish house?

Please, Chris, Lisa begged. You don’t understand what that house means to me.

What does it mean to you? Chris quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm, his mouth twisted into a grin.

Cut it out. Let’s just look.

Just look?

Well, if the price is right…"

Lisa, it might be way out of our price range. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. You’ll sulk for months.

If it’s meant to be it’s meant to be.

Right.

We’ll drive up to my hometown and stay at a B&B. It’ll be fun, an adventure.

Okay hon, if it’ll make you happy.

Yes! Lisa jumped into his arms and smothered his bearded face with kisses.

When she saw the estate, nearly twelve years since the last time, her heart almost broke. It had gone into such disrepair. After Eleanor died the town cleaned the house of its contents and auctioned her belongings off.

The house sat vacant for months. The velvet drapes were replaced with shades. The paint on the outside cracked. The yard grew wild and unkempt. Gutters were broken. Roof shingles were missing but despite all of this and, thankfully because of it, the house was the right price.

Yes it needed work but, that made the bank drop the price to compensate and offered it in an as is sale. That was all Lisa needed to hear. They spent weeks battling other house hunters, red tape, house inspectors, and each other, but in the end Lisa and her husband Chris snatched the house up. A dream come true.

Three months later they moved in.

2. The Tenth Night

Lisa felt hot wind batter her face. In the dream she was paralyzed. No matter how hard she fought she couldn’t escape the wind and the dark. It was difficult to see in the blotchy darkness all around her but she sensed she wasn’t alone.

Fingers, spindly and pointed, brushed against her face. Their texture felt like tree bark against her skin. They caressed her at first then scratched at her cheek. Lisa heard a terrible sound---scritch. Each time the fingers touched her it reverberated. Scritch and again… scritch. Scritch, scritch.

Lisa swatted them away as if flies circled her face. She put her hand to her cheek and felt a deep scratch. A smidgeon of blood blotted her fingertips. Panic gripped her and she tried to run. She couldn’t. Damn it…wake up…wake up!

The fingers reached for her again and she slapped them in horrific anger. That was when she heard the whisper.

It said: Why does it protest? Ugly. The covering is so ugly.

Leave me alone! Lisa gasped as her eyes popped open. Her legs tingled with pins and needles. She had a hard time moving them but eventually slid them to the edge of the bed. Her chest was damp with sweat. The morning sun stung her eyes.

She heard whisper from her dream in the back of her mind. Ugly, it repeated.

Chris? Lisa’s hand swept his side of the bed, discovering it was empty. She started from the master bathroom when her husband came dancing out of the bathroom in his boxer shorts, a toothbrush protruding from his mouth, toothpaste coating his chin.

Lisa jumped back and screamed. You jerk!

Chris plucked the toothbrush from his mouth. What? I’m just goofing around.

Sorry, I didn’t expect you to come lunging out of the bathroom.

Some people call it dancing. Hey, what’s wrong with your face?

What?

It’s all red and there’s a—

Before he finished, Lisa pushed past him and ran to the vanity mirror. Both her cheeks were beat red and a hairline scratch ran from her right cheek to her chin. She traced it with her fingers. It felt warm.

What happened? Chris appeared in the mirror behind her. How did you get that? He pointed to her face.

I must have scratched myself in my sleep.

Maybe you should cut those fingernails, Chris laughed then made his hand into a claw and hissed.

Not funny, Christopher. Lisa turned and examined her face again.

Oh baby, I’m only kidding. He wrapped his strong arms around her, towering over her at 6 foot 2, as his glasses slipped off his nose. It’s nothing. You’re beautiful. A scratch isn’t gonna change that. It’s barely noticeable.

Really?

Definitely. Forget it. Enjoy your new house.

I know. I have so many plans. We should get started. The morning is vanishing.

The scratch was forgotten in the wake of curtain colors, carpet swatches, and restoring antique furniture.

#

Lisa worked hard on the built-in hutch on the dining room wall, sanding the last of the glass door’s frame. Cans of tarnish sat at her feet as she finished up. Excitement ran through her as she eyed the dark tarnish. She would restore the old hutch back to a luscious mahogany color in no time.

She closed the door and caught a reflection in its glass. A crooked image stood behind her, elongated arms hung listless from its body, wet patches glistened in the weak sunlight. Ugly, it whispered as scritch, scritch echoed in the background.

Christ, Lisa cried and tripped over the tarnish. The cans toppled over with a clatter, spilling a pool of chocolate across the hardwood floor.

Shit, Lisa growled and looked around the room. She was the only one in it. Maybe I’m working too hard.

She walked away from the hutch and stared out the dining room window. Outside Chris trimmed the hedges in the yard, attempting to give them the artistic shape Lisa wanted. A smile formed on her face as she turned back to her disaster. She sighed and headed for the kitchen to get some rags and polish.

Hours later the back door flew open and Chris stomped into the kitchen. Hey, he bellowed. I’m starved. What’s for dinner?

Lisa slipped into the kitchen, rays of the setting sun cast shafts across the floor. She studied the patterns absently, losing her thought. A yawn escaped her as she shook off the distraction. God, I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy I haven’t even started. I was going to throw together a stew.

You look exhausted, Chris said. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her. I’ll make the stew. Go get some rest and I’ll call you when it’s ready.

Really?

Really. Now go lay down on the couch for a while.

Thank you, honey. She gave him a peck on his bristly face and headed to the living room. The couch looked so inviting she couldn’t wait to set down on it. First she needed to ditch the paintbrush in her hand. She realized she’d been holding it the entire time in the kitchen.

Lisa chuckled, put the brush down on some newspapers, and collapsed onto the couch. It wasn’t long before her eyes grew heavy. It wasn’t long before that sound caught her attention.

Scritch, scritch.

Somewhere between sleeping and waking, Lisa heard that dreadful sound of her skin being plucked from her face. Scritch. Scritch. Again, she could hardly move. Her legs refused to obey her command and in a daze of heat and exhaustion, she observed long, thin fingers hovering over her face.

They snatched at her chin, and snipped a piece of flesh like candle wax. Scritch.

You do not need mask, the whisper informed her. I told the other one too. The mask is ugly. Ugly. You should be beautiful. Like me.

No! Lisa’s thoughts cried. She tried to stop whatever it was, feeling her arms move slightly. Immense pressure pushed down on her stomach and legs. A dark image winked in and out of her consciousness---many dark, knotted fingers, impossibly long attached to gaunt, elongated arms, a lithe body made up of coarse patchwork---sitting on her and calmly picking at her face.

Scritch, scritch.

Get off me! She tried to scream. She tried to call out for Chris. Nothing would come. Stop it! Stop! Finally, her right arm pulled away from her side and lashed. She struck something soft and wet and whatever it was floated up and away.

What the hell! This time Lisa’s voice rang true. Her gaze darted around the room but found she was alone. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something on the front of her sweater. She lifted her head and looked down. On closer inspection she discovered it was a pile of her own skin.

Her mouth gaped as she brushed it away with disgust. Pain seared her chin. She touched it, dampening her fingers. Lisa pulled her hand away and saw blood on her hand.

She leapt from the couch and ran to the bathroom in fright. In the mirror she examined a strangely jagged wound down the length of her chin. I couldn’t have done this in a dream…

It wasn’t a dream!

Lisa thought about telling Chris, this was starting to make her nervous, but she didn’t know how to explain it herself. It didn’t make any sense. What would she say to him? Best thing to do was patch it up. Her hands trembled as she opened the medicine chest to fetch a bandage and antibacterial ointment.

Dinner’s ready! Chris called.

She composed herself in front of the mirror before joining him. There would be questions. Chris could be stubborn. God, there would be questions.

3. Millie Everson.

The line in the bank was terribly long. Lisa stood and waited with everyone else. These days it seemed more money went out of the bank then went in it. The bags in her hand were stuffed with red velvet material. She couldn’t wait to get home to the sewing room and begin making the curtains for the front foyer and living room. She was determined to restore Belcher house to its former glory.

Behind her an elderly woman shuffled her feet, it was obvious she was trying to get Lisa’s attention. Excuse me, the old woman said.

Lisa turned to soak in the short woman with white hair. Her hands were covered in liver spots. Her eyes had dark circles around them. Harsh lines creased her cheeks. She was bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf as if she expected a blizzard at any moment.

Yes, Lisa replied.

Are you the young woman that bought Belcher house?

Oh yes, that’s me.

A twinkle flashed in the old woman’s eyes and for a moment she had a distant look in them as if recalling pleasant memories from long ago. Splendid. I’m so happy to see someone finally took it over. It’s a special house.

That’s sweet. You don’t have to worry. I’m going to take good care of it. I’ve wanted to live in that house since I was a little girl.

I used to live in it myself.

You did?

My yes. I was Eleanor Belcher’s maid.

Lisa’s eyes widened with excitement. You’re Millie Everson.

You know me?

In a manner of speaking. I’ve always admired the house and its family.

The madam was a beautiful and courageous woman. It was a shame about that awful skin disease. I stayed with her until the end.

Skin disease?

"My yes, a tragedy because she was always such a gorgeous creature. Three different doctors made house calls. None could figure out what was wrong. The skin on her face came right off, deteriorating overnight. It was so ghastly.

Eventually she just refused to leave the house altogether, poor thing. Her face was right down to the muscle and tissue. We had to wrap her in gauze and bandages. She looked like something out of one of those old horror movies, like a… mummy I think you call it."

Lisa stood speechless. She reached for her chin and slowly rubbed the bandage there. Then slid her hand over the new scratches on her left cheek.

Oh dear, Millie began. Your scratches look just like…like you have the same condition. Huh, what are the chances of that?

Lisa’s heart dropped into her stomach. Yeah, what are the chances, she muttered to herself and pushed her way out of the bank.

#

I think you’ve been working a little too hard, Chris said with a huge grin on his face.

Don’t patronize me, Christopher.

"Lisa, you seriously want me to believe some thing comes out when you’re asleep and tears the skin off your face?"

I’ve seen it. In glimpses but it was there. I didn’t want to believe it before but after meeting Millie at the bank---

So a lady at the bank told you a monster lives in our house?

No, you don’t under…you know what forget it. I’ll fight it myself. Lisa pulled herself from the kitchen table and stormed up the spiral staircase.

Lisa, I’m just teasing, Chris called after her. Okay, do you know how silly it sounds?

She ignored her husband and slammed the bedroom door behind her. Her gaze swept the room. Water stains in the ceiling formed a trail of odd shapes and patterns. A bit of wallpaper peeled in the corner, reminding Lisa of her face. Her scratches burned as she ran her hand across them.

I know you’re here, she whispered. I know now and I’m going to stop you.

4. In the Eye of the Beholder

Three weeks later it felt just like a pinprick. Like someone stuck a needle into her thigh. Lisa woke in the dead of night and caught it in the act. Her eyes fought to focus. Her mind struggled to clear the fog. The creature retracted one of its fingers from her thigh, having injected a paralyzing agent.

Lisa tried to kick it away but it was too late, she was already immobile. No she called hoarsely. She peered over and saw Chris’s side of the bed empty. Where the hell is he?

Get away from me! She felt the secretion traveling through her veins and her arms quickly grew numb. Bastard.

It peered up and she got a full look at it for the first time. It crawled onto her like a spider, its legs longer then the entire length of its torso. Its entire body was skinless, revealing a patchwork of shifting muscle and sinewy tissue. It secreted mucus over its body to keep it moist. Veins throbbed as glands pulsated. The creature glistened in the moonlight illuminating the room.

Lisa wanted to scream but could already feel the rest of her body going numb. It moved up her inch by inch, leaning its skinless face over hers. Milky yellow eyes glared at her. When it opened its mouth to speak a glob of puss drooled out. Lisa felt her stomach turn and fought back the urge to vomit, fearing she may choke if it surged into her throat.

Why your kind cover its faces? It asked. Such an ugly mask. This mask is not needed. Long fingers reached up and plucked the flesh from her nose. Scritch, scritch.

I make you beautiful, it continued. My kind wear no masks, no covering. We beautiful. You ugly. Hard to look at. This strange substance is foul. Disgusting. That is why I make you beautiful like me. Scritch, scritch.

The others of my kind afraid of your masks. Scritch, scritch. They hide from you. Scritch, scritch. I show them you beautiful underneath. Like us.

Ribbons of flesh curled off Lisa’s face, it stripped from her nose, her forehead, and her ears. She lay helpless as coarse fingers traced her lips and began to pull.

Tears filled the corners of her eyes as her face seared with pain. She knew she was not meant to be awake. Something had to have gone wrong. She woke before the injection finished. Eleanor must have never known what was happening or surely she would have left the house. Inside, Lisa screamed in agony. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

The creature grinned, a jagged slash through a fleshless jack-o-lantern, and reveled in its work. Little by little, it let the skin fall to the floor or flutter onto the bed. Its legs knobbed together like hollow bones.

I see your real face, it said, then gasped. It froze suddenly, ceasing its work.

Lisa watched in astonishment as a wooden chair leg plunged through the creature’s chest. Its eyes widened in shock. Its arms flailed as Chris rose behind it, twisting the stake with all of his strength.

The creature squealed as Chris dragged it