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    Static.
    Static.
    Static.
    Ebook140 pages2 hours

    Static.

    By Shane Wilson

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    About this ebook

    A circle of frost in a summer garden: divided loyalties and who to believe? A piano constructed entirely from human bone: what price the performance? The dark places between dimensions which no light can ever fully illuminate: to tread these depths and relate the tales, or to sink into scream-shrouded oblivion? What sights are too dark to contain, or too trivial to envisage sharing? Enjoy a varied fourteen tales ranging from the elation of minor victories through to bloody horror, and all the bruise-dark treasures inbetween. The sense of mystery, shrouded in ghoulish solitude though it may be, is wrought here into intricate moments of mystery and revelation. There is nothing casual about Shane Wilson’s first anthology of horror, drawing as it does on his enjoyment of such masters as Ramsey Campbell, Thomas Ligotti, Lisa Tuttle and Clive Barker. Read it for the thrill, the pleasure, the sheer enjoyment of a truly well-crafted, if disquieting, encounter with what veils and engenders all that we see or seem: the world of shadows, shot through with a single, red silken thread of thunder. This, around you, is all there is.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherShane Wilson
    Release dateMar 9, 2011
    ISBN9781458185976
    Static.

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      Book preview

      Static. - Shane Wilson

      Static.

      By Shane Wilson

      Published by Shane Wilson at Smashwords

      Copyright © 2011 Shane Wilson

      All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

      *****

      This book is dedicated primarily to Helen, but also to the other members of our writing club who faithfully gathered in the meeting rooms somewhere around the turn of the millennium.

      *****

      CONTENTS

      THE FIRST CIRCLE: LIMBO AND MUNDANITY

      1. The White Ship

      2. Dead Weight

      3. Everything Must Go

      THE SECOND CIRCLE: LUST AND GLUTTONY

      4. Fall With The Rain

      5. Cataract

      THE THIRD CIRCLE: AVARICE AND DIVINITY

      6. Scherzo For Unrestrained Bone Machine

      7. Unilluminable

      8. Apotheosis

      THE FOURTH CIRCLE: WRATH AND PRODIGALITY

      9. Canzonet For Solo Saxophone

      10. Republic

      11. She Thought About Giving Him Her Heart

      THE FIFTH CIRCLE: VIOLENCE AND MERCY

      12. Treasure

      13. Haunt

      14. Static.

      *****

      THE FIRST CIRCLE: LIMBO

      *****

      THE WHITE SHIP

      I caught her crying in the attic room. She'd propped her head on her hands, elbows pressing into the sill. Between them clustered a spattering of tears.

      'What is it?' I said, and laid a hand upon her shoulder. Her fingers met mine, and I wondered at their frailness. They were so bony and thin. I grasped them firmly, wishing so much that they were more substantial, more indicative of health.

      'The winter came too soon, that's all. I'll be fine; I've been expecting it, after all.'

      'Too soon?' I said.

      'One month back we had frost. It starts so gently at first, just a bristling of crystal on the edge of each leaf, then it suddenly hardens. It's like a trap. The ground turns nearly to iron. Every leaf is suddenly scarred.'

      She seemed disturbed by this thought. The tears came a little faster.

      'It's fine; don't concern yourself,' I soothed. 'The leaves are mostly gone by then.'

      'It's not fine. The snow. The pond! It starts off so feathery and light, just a dusting of frost, and the surface just shrugs it off, but before long the whole world's encased in this cold glassy shell. And this year, Izzy, it's all come too soon.'

      'I don't understand. How can it come too soon?'

      'It's in the harbour,' she said, finally turning to look at me and pressing a hand to her head. 'The white ship's here. It found a way, and without a soul to guide it, too. I know it upsets you when I speak of this, Izzy, but, oh, it's too much to keep it secret. I can't keep it hidden forever.'

      'It's not a problem, I'm not upset. But I do have to go and see Jane now.'

      I wanted to comfort her - oh, how I wanted to - but I knew if I touched her again I'd have to explain. The truth, that is. And I couldn't do that. Jane would know what to do, though, I was sure, and even if she didn't know what to do she'd have an opinion. So I left Maud to her unexplained beliefs while I went downstairs and wished hard, so hard, that I might understand her words.

      ---

      'She's having the visions again.' I said to Jane as I sat down next to her in the summerhouse. From here I could see Maud in the top window of the attic, still staring out.

      'I see. And what is it this time?'

      'Winter again. It's come too soon. There's a white ship.'

      'No there isn't.' she quickly denied. 'Don't encourage her. We both know there's no white ship and she does too. Did you not tell her?'

      'I couldn't tell her. Not after last time. I can't bear to see the disappointment in her.'

      'Isabella, it is really quite simple. She must be told. Go and tell her. Now.'

      I got up off the bench, then hesitated.

      'You know what she's like,' I said. 'You know what happened last time. It almost killed her.'

      'She has to find out it's not real at some point.' Jane snorted and shook her head quickly from side to side. 'As for last time... dancing in the garden. I find it very hard to be sympathetic in the face of such lunacy.'

      'She was catching the butterflies to save them from the snow.'

      'It was the middle of autumn. There were no butterflies. Even if there were it was blowing a gale. They'd have been ripped to pieces.'

      'The snow never came, anyway.'

      Jane cast a scornful glance at me. 'Were you really expecting it to?'

      'She seemed so certain. Faith can move mountains, remember.'

      'Oh, I don't think we need resort to theology, Isabella,' she snapped. 'Just go and tell her.'

      'Why not tell her yourself?' I wanted to say, but I knew that wasn't the answer. It was anything but the answer, in fact. Jane had no sense of tact, she'd just burst in and say it. It was ironic really; Jane's peculiarly blinkered faith was based around a simple premise: the world would conform or face the consequences. We were lucky she hadn't had Maud committed some years ago. I don't know what stopped her, in truth, but I knew her patience was growing thin. I wished I hadn't told her, actually, but she'd have found out somehow.

      'Go on. Now!'

      I turned in silence and made my way back up to the house.

      ---

      Maud was still crying when I reached the attic; I could hear her as I ascended.

      'It's not winter, is it?' she sobbed as I entered. 'It's happening again.'

      'It's not winter, no. And yes, I think it's happening again.'

      'I looked at the calendar yesterday. I know it's July, really. Some part of me wants to think she might have done it as a joke. Such a cruel joke.'

      'She? You mean Jane?'

      'Yes, I mean Jane.'

      'Why would she do that? I mean, she's part of this family just the same as us. She wouldn't do such a thing. I know she seems harsh sometimes, but she's one of us when it counts.'

      'Oh no, she's not the same as you and I, Izzy, not like us at all.' Maud turned back to the window and gazed out at the endless garden. 'It's so pretty, you know.'

      'I know it is.'

      'I mean with the sun shining off the frost. There are icicles round the eaves of the summerhouse, and the pond's skinned over completely.'

      I put my hand on her shoulder once more.

      'Are you sure you can't see it?' she asked, turning her face to mine. For a moment, hope flashed in her eyes.

      'No,' I said, and watched the hope die. 'I can't see it.'

      'No, I don't believe you can,' she sadly whispered. More tears trickled softly down her face. 'You can tell her I know it's not real. I know she sent you back up. Where is she?'

      'In the summerhouse.'

      'She must be frozen. Except... of course.'

      'It's summer, Maud. She's not frozen.'

      'I know that.'

      'But you don't believe it, not really. I suppose I should tell her what you said; it may ease her mind a little.'

      I turned back to the doorway and paused at the top of the steep, twisting staircase that provided access to this eyrie.

      'You do trust me, don't you?' I said. 'You believe me, even if you don't believe her?'

      'Oh yes, of course. It's just... it all looks so real. It's going to snow soon. It's going to settle, too. It's cold enough. I know I said it last time, but this time the air just feels so... crisp.'

      'But you know it's not real, don't you?'

      'I'll just watch it for a while, then I'm going to go downstairs and perhaps listen to the radio. The programme will start soon.'

      She turned and caught me staring. 'I know you're waiting for me to tell you it's not real.'

      I turned and made my way back downstairs where I began to make tea. Jane could wait until later; her commanding attitude rankled sometimes. Even as a child she'd always been the sensible one, not merely by virtue of age. She accepted the role and built on it, embellishing her slight maturity by copying mother's mannerisms and routines.

      As the water boiled I heard the door open behind me. I resisted the temptation to rush through, fearing that Maud may feel I distrusted her. I did make my way nearer to the window, however. You could see into the conservatory from here: a few chairs, a couple of potted palms, and Maud, tugging on her fur-lined leather boots. She was crying again, even while she pulled. I moved the kettle from the heat and went through to stop her.

      'Maud, you can't go out like that. Jane will be furious.'

      'I imagine she'll go mad. Which will make two of us, then.'

      'I didn't mean that. You know I don't believe you're mad.'

      'Do you not?' she sobbed. I knelt down and gently tugged on the boot, hoping it would come off, but she caught my hand and held it tight. 'Don't. Just...'

      'Just what,' I said gently. 'What is it that you expect me to do?'

      'Just let me put them on,' she said. 'Let me do this now. I've got to know. Then she can do as she wishes.'

      I stood up and stepped back. Maud smiled and looked out at the sky.

      'I'd better put a hat on, too. The clouds look so heavy!'

      ---

      Jane rose

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