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13 Stories to Scare You to Death
13 Stories to Scare You to Death
13 Stories to Scare You to Death
Ebook71 pages55 minutes

13 Stories to Scare You to Death

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In an unnamed town somewhere on the American prairie, children are dying. Terrible creatures, some from this world and some from the next, are appearing at the edge of town. Bedtime has become deadtime. Strange diseases are infecting people. Voices from beyond the grave are whispering.

Into town arrives a special delivery from Rumania: a wooden cart in a packing box. Out pops a pair of witch parents and a thousand-year-old teenage witch daughter. They paint an old house on a hill jet black and set about trying to stop the monsters. But it will take everything they have to end the supernatural evil that grips the town . . .

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJames Comins
Release dateMay 2, 2013
ISBN9781301374601
13 Stories to Scare You to Death
Author

James Comins

James Comins is the author of Fool School and Fool Askew, formerly available from Wayward Ink, "Notes Found Inside the Body of the Convict Clarence Skaggs," published in CrimeSpree Magazine #48, and other stories. He currently lives in New Orleans.

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13 Stories to Scare You to Death - James Comins

13 STORIES TO SCARE YOU TO DEATH

by James Comins

Published on Smashwords

by James Comins

13 Stories to Scare You to Death

Copyright 2013 James Comins

Cover image by George Hodan. Public domain.

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book is the sole property of the author. It may be excerpted or reproduced for non-commercial purposes. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Peter

Ryan

Hannah

Sam

Lorrie

John

Maria

Jake

Brian

Megan

Sarah

Louis

Stacey

Acknowlogies and Apoledgements

About the Author

Introduction

Have you ever been so scared you couldn’t move?

Has there ever been something there in the dark, waiting for you?

Has your shadow ever turned to look at you?

Has the wind ever sighed through the treetops like a forgotten soul?

Has your face in the mirror ever seemed particularly dead?

Has there ever been someone right outside the door, holding an ax?

Have you ever been more alone?

Bravery is the willingness to walk straight into your fear. It requires nothing but a pair of legs and a heart. Remember that if fear gets in your way.

Peter

Peter had just moved into the new house. It was a small house, and there wasn’t a second bedroom downstairs, so he helped his parents push his mattresses--why were there two mattresses for every bed?--up the wooden stairs to the attic. It was going to be his new bedroom. The door seemed very stiff when he first opened it, and the floor was covered in dust.

We’ll clean it up tomorrow, or maybe the day after, his mother said, straightening the mattresses on the metal bedframe. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do. You’ll be okay sleeping here for one night, right?

The ceiling was a mess of cobwebs. They were as thick as woollen blankets and hung like bunting from the wooden beams that criscrossed the space. There was, Peter thought, a faint scuttling sound coming from them. The pointed roof was very low, and the beams were only a few feet above his head when he sat on the bed.

You can put posters up all over the place, his mother told him, lifting a cobweb with two fingers like it was a curtain. There’s plenty of room for toys.

It was warm up here, Peter thought, and there was that scuttling again.

For the rest of the day, Peter helped carry boxes with cardboard handles--Lift with your knees, not with your back, his father said--into the downstairs and wondered whether Ryan or Sam would be able to come visit soon.

Bedtime, his mother said at the end of the day, after he brushed his teeth and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

Each stair had its own sound. One went creeeek, one went rock, one went brrrr. The plain wood door to the attic was stuck again, and when he finally got it open, pulling really hard on the sticky hinges, he noticed deep scratches on the back of the door, the side facing his bed.

His mother kissed him goodnight, but Peter asked if his dad could come up and hug him goodnight, too.

Daddy’s at the hardware store, buying paint, but he’ll come up when he gets home, his mother told him.

She switched off the light and left, shutting the door. The attic was plunged into darkness.

Peter lay back on his bed, patting the familiar car-and-truck sheets, pulling his arms inside his pajama sleeves. He stared up into the darkness.

Cobwebs swung from the ceiling, although there wasn’t any wind at all in here. What was making them swing? He hopped out of bed, wishing he had slippers. There were nails and splinters in the dusty bare wood floor, and he had to take each step very carefully. He made his way to the windows, but they didn’t open. The windows were three-paned, but the outside pane was so cloudy that he could only see through to the second pane.

The window was full of spiders.

They were all alive. They were tiny, black, crawling over each other. On each one’s belly was a red hourglass.

Peter scrambled backward to his bed. A dozen splinters squeezed into his bare feet. Why didn’t he think to

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