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Thread: A Short Horror Story
Thread: A Short Horror Story
Thread: A Short Horror Story
Ebook46 pages27 minutes

Thread: A Short Horror Story

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A brand new drug has infected the streets.

 

The first hit: a high unlike any other.

 

The second hit: the addiction takes hold.

 

The third hit: the sun starts to burn your skin. 

 

The last hit: you become one of the horde. A Junkie. A Monster. A Thread-Head. 

A Vampire.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 19, 2019
ISBN9781386118817
Thread: A Short Horror Story
Author

Steven Jenkins

Steven Jenkins is a San Francisco-based cultural critic whose writings on film, music, art, and literature appear in national periodicals, exhibition catalogues, and artist monographs. He is the author of City Slivers and Fresh Kills: The Films of Gordon Matta-Clark and Model Culture: James Casebere, Photographs 1975-1996.

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    Book preview

    Thread - Steven Jenkins

    Thread

    Steven Jenkins

    Contents

    Free Books

    ONE

    TWO

    THREE

    FOUR

    FIVE

    SIX

    SEVEN

    Burn the Dead - Also Available

    Blue Skin - Also Available

    Touch - Also Available

    Ghost Novels - Also Available

    Novellas - Also Available

    Little Horrors - Also Available

    Liam Tate - Also Available

    Thea - Also Available

    Twisted Locker - Podcast

    Free Books

    About Author

    Follow Author

    Copyright

    Free Books

    For a limited time, you can download FREE copies of Amber, Under, Rotten Bodies, The Den, A Cure for Everything, and Thread.

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    Check out my FREE books at:

    www.stevenjenkinsauthor.com/free-books

    ONE

    There’s blood on my shirt again. Third time this week.

    I throw it into the washing basket and grab a clean one from the wardrobe.

    Once I’m dressed, I walk over to the mirror. I prod the creases on my forehead in disgust, and glare at my vanishing hairline. Jesus Christ, I look old. Worse than Dad. And the bags under my eyes are getting darker, too, like I’ve taken a knee to the face.

    Someone should invent a cream for stress.

    I slip my pocket-knife into my boot, and then tie the laces. I’d lose my job if they knew I was carrying an extra weapon.

    Oh, well. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

    I check the clock on the wall, and sigh in frustration.

    Another hour.

    I leave the bedroom, and make my way down to the kitchen.

    There’s hardly any food in the fridge, so I microwave some tomato soup, and take the last slice of bread for dipping. Yesterday’s newspaper is on the table. I flick through it, even though I’ve read most of the articles. Drugs. Dodgy politicians. Celebrity horseshit. Nothing worth reading more than once. Where are all the nice stories? Why can’t there be something positive on the front page for a change? It’s always doom and fucking gloom.

    Finishing my soup, I look over at the clock on the oven, and then leave to check on Fiona. She’s still sleeping. Teenagers. I always thought she’d be in college by now. And then off to

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