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The Dark Game: Includes the Novelettes The Dark Game and I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes
The Dark Game: Includes the Novelettes The Dark Game and I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes
The Dark Game: Includes the Novelettes The Dark Game and I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes
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The Dark Game: Includes the Novelettes The Dark Game and I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes

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Can you escape the nightmare? Men imprisoned, one in war and one in an asylum, these two novelettes are packed with twisted psychological suspense and spine-tingling horror at its darkest. One man, a prisoner of war; and the other, a disturbed young man who wants out of a hospital for the criminally insane – at any cost! New York Times bestselling author Douglas Clegg brings together two dark classics with The Dark Game and I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes.

Note: These two short novellas/novelettes can also be found together in the collection Lights Out.

Don't miss Douglas Clegg's other books of horror, suspense and dark fantasy:

Stand-Alone Novels

Afterlife
Breeder
The Children's Hour
Dark of the Eye
Goat Dance
The Halloween Man
The Hour Before Dark
Mr. Darkness
Naomi
Neverland
You Come When I Call You

The Harrow Series:

Nightmare House
Mischief
The Infinite
The Abandoned
Isis (prequel novella)
The Necromancer (prequel novella)

The Criminally Insane Series:

Bad Karma
Red Angel
Night Cage

The Vampyricon:

The Priest of Blood
The Lady of Serpents
The Queen of Wolves

The Chronicles of Mordred:

Mordred, Bastard Son (Book I)

Short Novels & Novellas:

The Attraction
The Dark Game
Dinner with the Cannibal Sisters
Isis
The Necromancer
Purity
The Words

Short Story Collections:

The Nightmare Chronicles
Night Asylum
Wild Things
Lights Out

Box Sets:

Dark Rooms
Halloween Chillers
Night Towns
Coming of Age
Lights Out
Criminally Insane
The Vampyricon
Harrow 3 Novels (Books 1-3)
Harrow 4 Novels (Books 1-4)

Short Stories:

Belinda in the Pool
Funerary Rites
The Stain

LanguageEnglish
PublisherDouglas Clegg
Release dateFeb 3, 2017
ISBN9781944668112
The Dark Game: Includes the Novelettes The Dark Game and I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes
Author

Douglas Clegg

Douglas Clegg is a screenwriter, poet, and the author of dozens of novels, novellas, and short story collections. His fiction has won the Bram Stoker Award and the International Horror Guild Award. He is married to Raul Silva and lives near the New England coast, where he is currently writing his next work of fiction.

Read more from Douglas Clegg

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    Book preview

    The Dark Game - Douglas Clegg

    The Dark Game

    The Dark Game

    Including the novelettes The Dark Game & I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes

    Douglas Clegg

    Alkemara Press

    Contents

    About This Book

    Praise for Douglas Clegg’s Fiction

    Explore More

    Author’s Note

    The Dark Game

    I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes

    Also by Douglas Clegg

    Contact Douglas Clegg

    About the Author

    Credits

    About This Book

    Is there a way out?

    Men imprisoned, one in war and one in an asylum, psychological suspense and chilling horror at its darkest. One man, a prisoner of war. The other, a disturbed young man who wants out of a hospital for the criminally insane – at any cost.

    The dark of the mind may be the most terrifying prison of all.

    From Douglas Clegg come two classic horror novelettes (100 pages if in print) in one special The Dark Game ebook.

    Praise for Douglas Clegg’s Fiction

    Clegg’s stories can chill the spine so effectively that the reader should keep paramedics on standby.

    —Dean Koontz, New York Times bestselling author.


    Douglas Clegg has become the new star in horror fiction.

    —Peter Straub, New York Times bestselling author of Ghost Story and, with Stephen King, The Talisman


    Douglas Clegg is the best horror novelist of the post-Stephen King generation.

    — Bentley Little, USA Today bestselling author of The Haunted.


    Clegg gets high marks on the terror scale…

    The Daily News (New York)

    Explore More

    Get book updates, exclusive offers, news of contests & special treats for readers—become a V.I.P. member of Douglas Clegg’s long-running free newsletter.

    Click here to sign up.

    Click here to explore more fiction by Douglas Clegg.

    Author’s Note

    Dear Reader,

    These two short novellas/novelettes are about men in dark circumstances, both prisoners of one kind or another, both seeking escape and perhaps even redemption.

    They are twisted stories with a touch of magical realism, no doubt, and are not light-hearted romps or meditations on actual prisoners-of-war or of asylum prisons.

    I hope you enjoy them. These are also gathered together in my large collection of short fiction, Lights Out.


    With best wishes,

    Douglas Clegg

    The Dark Game

    1

    I saw a painting once, by an artist unknown to me.

    The painting was of a man’s hands, bound together. The title was Victory is freedom of mind and body.

    I believe that is true. I would go further and say that victory is freedom of mind from body. Separation from the thing that imprisons us. Flight.

    Perhaps freedom from life itself.

    That is victory.

    Life is brutal. It is like this whip and these ropes. It hurts. It scars. But we must take it.

    We must find some pleasure and solace within this terrible lashing.

    You want to hear it all? You want me to tell you how it went, in the prison camp? Why I like the ropes? You want to play the game with me?

    First let me tell you this:

    Youth is something you put in a drawer somewhere, you lose the thought of it behind socks and letters and medals and old passport photos and keys that no longer fit locks. You wear it when you’re of the right age, and you do things that you ought not to, and then as you gain perspective with age, you put it away, and you close the drawer.

    And you lock it.

    Then, you live the life you’ve built toward, and no one needs to see what’s in that drawer.

    A secret is something to be hidden, and if it is hidden well enough, it never becomes a fact. It is just something that is not there when you go to look for it. It is the thing missing, but the thing that is not missed.

    That is how I feel.

    That is why I don’t revisit those times, often. The camp.

    Or the motel room.

    Or the smokehouse.

    But since you have me here, like this, I’ll tell you. Maybe you’ll leave after that. Maybe you won’t want to stay here once you know about me.

    2

    Before the war, I was in a motel room with a girl I met outside the base, and for fun she tied me up and when she did it, I went someplace else in my head. My hands tied, my feet bound.

    I remember she smelled like orange blossoms, and she enjoyed tightening the thin ropes around my hands. But my mind was just gone — drifting upward into darkness, into another place. Back to Burnley Island, I guess, and that’s where I’ve always ended up — my memories, my family, my home.

    I was just not there anymore. The game had taken me over.

    It had become automatic for me.

    It was second nature.

    My name is Gordon.

    Gordie, to my friends.

    Captain, to folks back home.

    In the war, things got worse for me.

    The game got worse.

    But it wasn’t so bad when I was a kid.

    3

    Early memory: winter.

    Bitter cold.

    Wind whistling around me, boxing my ears, as I trudged through three feet of snow to get out to the smokehouse. I was ten, perhaps. Heavy with a burden.

    It was the dog I’d had since he was a foundling of two or three years old, and I was too young to remember bringing him home from a walk in the woods.

    He was dying now, of some undiagnosed malady. In those days, you didn’t take the dog to the vet when it was its time.

    You took him someplace and you shot him.

    And this freezing February day, that was what I was to do.

    My father marched behind me. I could not bring myself to turn and look over my shoulder to see how he kept pace. I was weeping, and it would be the first and last time I would weep for years.

    I held my dog — a small mutt, no bigger than my arms could carry — and he looked up

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