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    Second Chance: A Collection of Short Dark Tales
    Second Chance: A Collection of Short Dark Tales
    Second Chance: A Collection of Short Dark Tales
    Ebook116 pages1 hour

    Second Chance: A Collection of Short Dark Tales

    By Tom Goymour

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    About this ebook

    It’s late in the year of 1975 and someone isn’t happy with the way their life has turned out and where it might be heading. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, but first our guy must go through some trials and tough times before he is able to reach that light. Life is all about making good decisions and taking the opportunity to act upon the things that matter most to us when the chance presents itself.

    In this series of short stories we follow the same individual on that journey of missed opportunity and final redemption. As such, these stories all link together. They are however, complete individual stories in their own right, and so although it is helpful and probably advisable to read them in chronological order, it is not essential.

    Things get very close to the edge for our guy, does he even survive? Some of the time he is inside his own head, yet something is eating away at him . . . something dark from the past.

    After the shock of the opening story there comes a trail of events that take him deep into a fantasy world before a ghostly figure engulfs him in the supernatural. Demons from the darkness await him before he finally emerges to confront his deepest secret in a ghostly tale from a Christmas long past.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTom Goymour
    Release dateDec 7, 2017
    ISBN9781386738220
    Second Chance: A Collection of Short Dark Tales

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      Book preview

      Second Chance - Tom Goymour

      Table of Contents

      Second Chance: A Collection of Short Dark Tales

      1. The Wall of Retribution

      2. Psychosis: Nil by Mouth

      3. Going Home

      4. The Darkness of The Knight

      5. Second Chance

      About The Author

      SECOND

      CHANCE

      By

      TOM GOYMOUR

      Published 2017

      © Tom Goymour 2017

      The right of Tom Goymour to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical  copying, recording or otherwise without prior permission from the Publishers.

      A Collection of Short Dark Tales

      IT’S LATE IN THE YEAR of 1975 and someone isn’t happy with the way their life has turned out and where it might be heading. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, but first our guy must go through some trials and tough times before he is able to reach that light. Life is all about making good decisions and taking the opportunity to act upon the things that matter most to us when the chance presents itself.

      In this series of short stories we follow the same individual on that journey of missed opportunity and final redemption. As such, these stories all link together. They are however, complete individual stories in their own right, and so although it is helpful and probably advisable to read them in chronological order, it is not essential.

      Things get very close to the edge for our guy, does he even survive? Some of the time he is inside his own head, yet something is eating away at him . . . something dark from the past.

      After the shock of the opening story there comes a trail of events that take him deep into a fantasy world before a ghostly figure engulfs him in the supernatural. Demons from the darkness await him before he finally emerges to confront his deepest secret in a ghostly tale from a Christmas long past.

      When the layers are stripped back, our darkest secrets surface;

      they cannot be papered over permanently

      1. The Wall of Retribution

      Life doesn’t always go to plan. We all know that to be true. Sometimes things change when we are least expecting it. Change can be the very best and the worst thing – it was so for me, but I never thought, and couldn’t possibly have dreamed how it would come about. It was one day back in the mid-nineteen seventies that changed everything for me, and I’m going to tell you how, but this isn’t going to be a comfortable ride. To be honest, right now, I don’t really know where I’ve ended up, it certainly all seems a bit weird.

      It’s late in the year, and mum is really pushing her luck; she wants the front room wallpapered – in time for Christmas, yet it’s weeks away! I mean, who else would be piling on the pressure to get the job done right away? Only mum. All the same, I guess I’ll just cave in and say ‘Yes’, like I always do. I act like her servant every time. Dad is hopeless at this sort of stuff, he never was any good at practical tasks, and anyway, he’s far too old now. At twenty years her senior, I sometimes wonder how they ever got together. The thing is, I do have the time to do it and I’m handy enough with all that pasting and hanging stuff, but it sucks . . . I mean, come on . . . what other thirty-two-year-old living at home with his parents is tied down the way I am? Mum is in a wheelchair now – has been for five years. If you ask me she’s always been an invalid, she’s been  getting me to do things for her at the click of her finger right back from my teenage years. Dad was already pretty useless by then too. I guess I just never got the lucky breaks to get away. Big Sis’ got them all right, she upped and left as soon as she was twenty-one. She’s married now, but me . . . well, at least I get the house when the two of them finally pop off.

      I gaze outside as Mum drones on about what paper she would like and how I must get it from Smallwood’s because it’s cheaper by the roll there than from the decorating store. This is going to be a great way to spend my Saturday morning. I could be down at the bookies putting a quid or two on United to win, and if I play it right I could stop out for a lunchtime beer as well. There would be enough change left over after buying the stupid wallpaper, and she wouldn’t ever notice. But no, I have to sit here listening to her drivelling on about what she wants and doesn’t want. I’ve learned from experience it’s best to do as she asks, or else I don’t ever hear the last of it. I’m just about to interrupt her and suggest I should go and get a sample book for her to make up her mind, (that should buy me some time), when there comes a knock at the door.

      Oh get that for me, that’ll be Arthur. Mum says.

      Arthur is Mum’s ‘friend’. I don’t like the man much, it seems a bit weird how they are so close when he comes round. Every Friday for the last few weeks she has invited him over. They sit close together and listen to music – not just all the ‘oldies’ either. Oh no, they like all the hip, modern groups, and the heavy stuff as well. Last week they had Pink Floyd blaring out one minute, then they played some Abba, then I actually caught them holding hands while listening to some new track by The Four Seasons.

      Dad knows all about Arthur, this semi-retired chemist who has been worming his way through so he can cling to my Mum like some dirty poisonous leech. Dad seems okay with it all, probably because of Arthur’s role in getting rid of the rats we had outside behind the shed a few weeks back. He arrived one night with something he had concocted to finish them off. Now, I think dad sees all the attention he’s giving Mum as harmless, as it keeps her happy. But there’s something about the guy that doesn’t sit comfortably with me.

      I move through the hall to the front door and I open it. Standing there is a man of fairly small stature, neatly attired with prominent features: his eyes are dark, his hair too, but with silver strands making their presence known. He always wears a tie, even when he’s not wearing a jacket. He touches the rim of his hat to greet me, gently nudging his way past.

      She in? He asks, knowing full-well that she is.

      I grunt out a ‘yes’ and follow him into the living room. Right away I watch him gaze intently at our wall as he sits and greets Mum.

      Now, the two of them get talking about the blasted wall.

      Might have guessed he’d stick his oar in.

      Have you chosen the pattern yet? Leaves I think. Leaves and swirls would look good.

      He really does reckon he knows it all.

      Mum just nods and agrees with everything he suggests; I expect nothing more of her. Then, he comes out with something that catches my attention. He tells me we need to give Billy a call. I ask him who Billy is and he addresses mum, without really answering my question.

      Now, Billy boy – he doesn’t mess about. He will certainly help you out. He stares at me as if it’s an order. I just smile and grunt ‘maybe’.

      He rambles on some more about this decorating chap, and then he proceeds to describe him, mentioning some of the things he’s done in the past. This is when I realise he is talking about that Billy. Turns out it’s the Billy from way back that I know – Billy Murdoch – the mate from school who set up his own decorating business. In fact, as I remember, he helped me decorate this very room, eleven, maybe twelve years ago when we had not been long out of college. Pretty handy he was too. Arthur is still glaring across at me as he speaks again:

      I really think you should get in touch. He leans forward and looks me in the eye, He’s a good lad, and I think you very much deserve the help he can give you. He sits back and throws me a look as if he has just said all that needed to be said and now we can move on to something else. My lips part slightly as I breathe out vigorously, allowing him to read my contempt. He isn’t phased.

      Anyway, I have his number, he continues, reaching for

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