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    An Adverse Anthology: Strange & Disturbing Short Stories
    An Adverse Anthology: Strange & Disturbing Short Stories
    An Adverse Anthology: Strange & Disturbing Short Stories
    Ebook109 pages1 hour

    An Adverse Anthology: Strange & Disturbing Short Stories

    By J.R. McLemore

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    About this ebook

    From the mind of J.R. McLemore come eight strange and disturbing short stories:
    When the Dead Whisper - If the dead had a secret, would you want to hear it?
    Jason's Last Wish - Can a cancer-stricken boy get a second chance at life?
    Western Justice - Do the sins of our fathers come back to haunt us?
    Hush, Hush, My Love - When a relationship sours, is it wise to look for love elsewhere?
    Paranoia - Is a retired cop suffering from severe paranoia, or something else?
    Sweet Charlotte - Can someone save Charlotte from her abductor before it's too late?
    The Show Must Go On - Can a death-row inmate's nightmares give us a glimpse into the hereafter?
    Footprints in the Snow - Can a young man learn a life-altering lesson on a rural stretch of road?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJ.R. McLemore
    Release dateJun 4, 2011
    ISBN9781458067388
    An Adverse Anthology: Strange & Disturbing Short Stories
    Author

    J.R. McLemore

    J.R. McLemore is the author of The Old Royal and Carniville. He lives in Cohoes, NY with his wife and a couple of cats. You can learn more about him and his writing by visiting http://jrmclemore.blogspot.com.

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      Book preview

      An Adverse Anthology - J.R. McLemore

      An Adverse Anthology: Strange & Disturbing Short Stories

      By J. R. McLemore

      Smashwords Edition.

      Copyright 2011 J.R. McLemore

      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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Jason’s Last Wish first appeared in Static Movement, June 2009.

      When the Dead Whisper first appeared in Soft Whispers Magazine, October 2009.

      Hush, Hush, My Love first appeared in Shroud Magazine, Issue 9, Summer 2010.

      These stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters, names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

      Table of Contents

      Dedication

      Foreword

      When the Dead Whisper

      Jason's Last Wish

      Western Justice

      Hush, Hush, My Love

      Paranoia

      Sweet Charlotte

      The Show Must Go On

      Footprints in the Snow

      About the Author

      This is for Lara, Bonnie, Robbie,

      Alex, and Sean. I love you all,

      more than words can express.

      Foreword

      Writing is a very solitary endeavor. Many hours are spent hovering over a keyboard or with pen to paper in hopes of reliably translating to the page worlds that unfold from the writer’s imagination in order to entertain readers. It is hard work and diligence that bring this work to your reading device. Each of these short stories is a product of many hours of writing, reading, proofing, editing, and sometimes rewriting. Many times, readers are unaware of the amount of time writers spend crafting individual tales. I assure you, dear reader, each of these stories has endured many hours of scrutinizing every word and punctuation mark so that I may provide you the best reading experience I can provide. I do hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. Now, without further ado…

      When the Dead Whisper

      I walked into the cemetery on a cold, but beautifully sunny day. The sky was deep blue and clear, save for a few wispy cirrus clouds. I was bundled in my wool coat, my breath vaporizing before me as though I were exhaling cigarette smoke. I hadn’t been here in over twenty years.

      * * *

      As children, my sister and I played hide-and-seek with our friends among the burial markers. Most of the graves were old, dating back to the early 1800s. One grave had a rock as its marker, with marbles cemented onto it, spelling out a single name—Zina. This mysterious grave was at the back edge of the grounds, beside the forest. Lichens covered most of the headstones, while creeper vines extended from the nearby woods. Large marble monuments dotted the area, marking plots of the wealthier families, but there was one tombstone in particular that stood out from the rest—the statue of a cherub.

      This cherub balanced on one foot, extending its arms toward heaven. The angel’s face had weathered over the decades and moss grew up its leg. By itself, the sculpture was not scary, but coupled with the legend told by the neighborhood kids, it was ominous.

      * * *

      In the legend, a prominent citizen, Elizabeth Stanchfield, erected the figure to watch over her deceased infant. Elizabeth and her husband, Graham, tried unsuccessfully for years to have children, until she eventually became pregnant. Her husband was ecstatic when the child was born until he learned that it was not his, but instead, the child of one of his house staff.

      It was rumored that while Graham was away on business, Elizabeth had a secret love affair with their groundskeeper. Graham was enraged when he discovered this, and ran out of the house, searching for this gardener. Unable to find him and still furious, Graham went home and killed the illegitimate child.

      The local magistrate tried Graham, found him guilty, and sentenced him to death. Elizabeth inherited the estate and the money, some of which she spent to erect the statue over her child’s grave.

      This was the legend of the cherub that we knew, but some older boys in our neighborhood embellished it.

      * * *

      My sister and I were with four of our friends in the cemetery. We were playing the usual game of hide-and-seek, when Danny Pruitt and his two cronies came upon us. Danny had a reputation as a bully, a boy frequently in trouble at school and, from time to time, with the police. My heart rate doubled when I saw him approach behind our friend Billy Lehman. Danny stuck his finger in his mouth, wet it, and poked it in Billy’s ear, giving him a nasty Wet Willy.

      What are you babies doing? Danny asked.

      His two friends stood behind him with smirks on their faces.

      Billy stepped away, wiping the spittle out of his ear, and not daring turn his back on Danny.

      We’re playing hide-an’-seek, my sister, Amy, said. "And we’re not babies."

      The sun was waning in the sky, dissolving into the western horizon.

      Aren’t you scared of ghosts grabbing you? Robbie Stark, one of Danny’s friends, asked us.

      There’s no such thing as ghosts. My mom said so, Amy said.

      Oh yeah? Then I guess you’re brave enough to listen to the cherub’s secret, aren’t ya? Danny said sneering.

      It was obvious we had no idea what Danny was talking about as we exchanged glances with one another.

      Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the story of the baby’s cherub, Danny said.

      Again, we each looked around and then back at Danny. We shook our heads.

      You have to get real close and put your ear to the statue’s mouth. I had to cup my hands around my ear ‘cause it whispers the secret, Danny said, miming to actions as he explained them. Oh, and it only works if you do it at midnight on the baby’s birthday.

      Lenny asked, What’s the secret?

      Danny didn’t tell us what the secret was, however.

      Have you ever done it yourself? Amy asked. She looked at me and Lenny and added, Or, were you too chicken?

      If my sister were a boy, Danny probably would’ve socked her for the remark. Instead, he said, Yeah, I was brave enough and if you want to know the secret you’ll have to do it yourself!

      Finally, Danny and his degenerate entourage started to leave, but not before Robbie Stark snatched our friend Lenny’s baseball cap. They high-tailed it through the burial markers with Lenny chasing them, calling for them to give back his hat.

      The sun was below the trees then, making the graveyard appear monochrome. Amy grabbed my arm and said, C’mon. We gotta go eat supper.

      We started down the path toward the road. As we walked past the cherub, Amy stopped to look at the grave. While I stared at the statue, she checked the birth date on the child’s headstone. She told me the child’s birthday was three months away, in November.

      * * *

      We were lying in bed on the night of the infant’s birthday when I heard Amy’s bedsprings creak as she emerged from under her covers. I saw that she was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt.

      Where’re you goin’? I whispered to her.

      Shhh. I’m goin’ to the cemetery to see if Danny Pruitt’s as big a liar as I think.

      You know he is, I protested, then added, Besides, mom and dad’ll spank you if they catch you out at this hour.

      They won’t know unless you rat on me, you little snitch, she said.

      I wanna come.

      No. You’ll get us caught for sure.

      No I won’t.

      Yes you will. Just stay here—

      I’ll call for dad, I told her, slowly raising my voice.

      She plopped onto my mattress and clamped her hand over my mouth.

      Okay, but you better be real quiet, she said, releasing me to get dressed.

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