The Indie Collaboration Presents: Tales From Darker Places

The Indie Collaboration Presents:

  Tales from Darker Places

  A Chilling Horror Anthology

  Donny Swords

  Chris Raven

  A.L. Butcher

  Alan Hardy

  Adam Bigden

  Dani J. Caile

  Copyright 2014

  Welcome to Darker Places,

  A selection of chilling stories from some of the best Indie authors on the market. We dare you to venture into these pages of spine chilling tales and stories of dark shadows & darker tidings, shifters, ancient warriors, zombies, & demons… See the world through the Ripper’s eyes, and so much more. So many dark, foul things wait for you between these pages. Freely donated by the authors themselves, these dark passages are a great example of their various, unique styles and imaginations.

  Join us in Darker Places.

  Brought to you by

  The Indie Collaboration.

  The Indie Collaboration grew out of a group of likeminded independent authors. Together, we decided to show the world how great works of fiction can be created without the involvement of large publishing companies; creating a direct channel between ourselves and our readers is of the utmost importance to us. Each author has freely donated their time and work and are committed to the Indie Collaboration's cause. Offering the best of indie authors in bite size pieces for free or at a reasonable cost. We hope you enjoy our books

  Contents

  DONNY SWORDS

  Dark Places

  The Cleansing Bar

  Sandra

  A Chance Meeting?

  CHRIS RAVEN

  The Worm’s Head Manuscript

  The Sham

  A.L. BUTCHER

  Jack Is My Name

  A Blade in the Night

  So Many Nights, So Many Sins

  Moonlight

  ALAN HARDY

  Double

  ADAM BIGDEN

  Where?

  DANI J CAILE

  A Day in the Life of a Zombie

  Payback

  The Indie Collaboration & Darker Places Present:

  DONNY SWORDS

  Donny Swords is an author of fantasy, sword & sorcery, and most of all, heroism & horror. Rather than constrict his inspirations within a specific category, Mr. Swords writes from the gut. Where it hurts, and words have the power to move you. A dash of love, a dash of doomsday…

  Among his novels, two are set within The Bitter Ends franchise, Sandra, arrives in Darker Places via the newest, soon to be hot off the shelf Bitter Ends novel, Other Side of Town.

  This is the fourth volume for Donny Swords with The Indie Collaboration. He has contributed stories to Snips, Snails, & Puppy Dog Tales, Summer Shorts, Spectacular Tales, & of course Tales From Darker Places.

  Follow @ mishanoamy.blogspot.com

  Dark Places

  Dark places, where even in the brightest day things unimaginable hide. Those hallowed hells, pits of ruin found not only in nature, but also in men. Within the recesses of the mind, we find them. In hearts, they linger. They fester in thoughts, and grow with deeds. Ebon and foul, unholy and scorned, they prosper through despair, with desperate longings, through unrequited love.

  No one truly fathoms where sorrow takes the mind, where anger drives it, or where hopelessness leads it. We are all unique, similar but wholly different, wonderment, and despicable.

  All we need is a catalyst to set us forth. Oh the shadows we could see, the dark places we would know, not only in our hearts, but also in the world, above and below. What drives one man to the brink of insanity is another’s breezy day.

  Not all of us think the same; take Kenneth, a normal man and once a good one. His spool had wound rather tightly before he rented his flat on 736 Laughlin Lane, before she came to him. Sometimes it only takes one tug, and all comes unraveled.

  “Well then, just sign there and it’s all yours.”

  Kenneth took the pen, still slick with sweat from the pudgy manager’s hand. He found Mr. Baldric’s nervousness peculiar, and a bit unnerving. Baldric did not smell pleasant either, sour cologne and perspiration hung heavily in the air.

  Kenneth began to read the contract, taking his time to appease his expectations. He did not notice the beads of sweat collecting at a rapid pace on Baldric’s brooding brow. Nor did he see the tremors the man underwent as he read, and satisfied everything was in order, signed the contract. However, Baldric’s expelled sigh of relief did strike him as odd.

  “Are you feeling well?”

  “Oh yes Mister Moreland, quite. It is just a bit stuffy in here, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes. Yes it is. So the place is mine then?”

  “Why of course it is, you’ve signed the contract.” Evan Baldric’s eyes sparked mischievously, “Do you require anything else?”

  “No, that is all. I bid you good day Mr. Baldric.”

  “Very well, good day Mr. Moreland, don’t mind the noises on windy nights. The boards do creak infrequently. If you have any questions, or are in need of repairs, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  Baldric nodded and put on his fedora, departing to the landing. Kenneth did not let the man out. He knew the way after all. The front door made a hideous creak. I am going to have to oil that… he thought. He went to the dining hall and after a bit of a hassle with the swelling boards, managed to raise the windowpane. The smell of fresh lilacs was a welcomed counteraction to Baldric’s aromatic repugnance. Good riddance.

  Kenneth made the call to the movers, who surprised him by showing themselves promptly on his stoop at a quarter past nine. Led by an interesting druggie from Belfast named Quinn, the workers were actually quite orderly, moving in a pattern throughout the house, setting out the furniture just so. At eleven, the unpackers arrived. They methodically went room to room putting away his personal effects just as they were in his old home, socks found the top drawer of his dresser, undergarments the second, silver went in the drawer nearest the stovetop, platters in the right cupboard, above the silver drawer. The moving crew gave each room meticulous, methodical, attention, and at first, Kenneth found it fascinating, soon after, he became listless, choosing to sit in his study and edit the play he had composed for Evelyn.

  Ah Evelyn, such sweetness, so sensual, seductive, and sassy. Twelve years her senior, Kenneth found her too alluring to pass over, even if his scruples suffered somewhat because of winning her. Her charms he could not and would not resist.

  The play was her idea, a few days after Aryana’s death. A true travesty that, though it left less strings… albeit small sorrows. It was quite by accident, after all his wife had just had her brakes checked. Although he missed her, tensions were on the rise. Aryana permitted him mistresses in the past, though sex was his motivator then. Evelyn was different from the start. Her mind endeared his heart to Evelyn, her flaxen hair, whiles, and taut body, only lent her extra appeal.

  Kenneth worked laboriously, changing this word to that and vice versa, picturing his lover’s lips as she spoke them. It had to be perfect. She was his discovery, his star. Finally, his writing had a voice, an exquisite one. Audiences the world over would become enraptured by his monologues, delivered to them by a beauty unmatched.

  By four that evening, his move in was complete. Pictures hung on walls as if they always had, and each nook and cranny looked lived in, albeit tidy. Everything was in proper order. The old adage rang true: you do get what you pay for.

  A chubby woman, older than her years suggested, cr
ude, but kind, led the unpackers. She asked him if he would like anything for supper and he obliged, stating what he wanted.

  “Spaghetti and garlic bread- a tossed salad would do nicely as well. I trust I can supply my wine?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Very well, take the extra bills and buy dinner for your crew. They did a splendid job.”

  She thanked him, though not emphatically. Her eyes said something other, suggesting he was too frugal. Kenneth responded kindly, unaccustomed to portraying a snob…

  “Please consider the cuisine as a separate transaction.”

  “I shall settle up for your labors upon your return.

  “Thank you.”

  “Not at all, when can I expect you?”

  “I will be back in scarcely an hour.”

  She left then, with the rest of the movers and unpackers. The house fell silent. Standing had informed him of his burgeoning bladder, and so he retired to the washroom to relieve himself. He felt spry after, and curious to inspect his surroundings a tad closer. What he discovered was a marvel, everything was immaculate. They had arranged his books just as he liked them, by author, and his LPs in alphabetical order. All his effects were as neat as a bug in rug, perfection.

  Everything gleamed. It left quite an impression. Satisfied, he went to the bar and poured out a scotch. He savored it, not wasting its flavor by tossing it back in one gulp. Kenneth abhorred gluttons.

  He studied the garden, outside his den’s window, which was in a state of disarray...

  I will call out some gardeners in the morning.

  The woman arrived with a box, steaming in the briskness of the cooling evening. He proffered her with a hefty stack of bills and sat in the dining nook, eating slowly, dreaming of Evelyn. The pasta tasted delicious, and the garlic bread heavy on garlic and buttered lightly, just the way he liked it.

  In fact, the entire day had gone without a bump.

  Pushing away his supper, he finished the last slice of bread. He had eaten more than normal, having felt ravenous. Now came the time to polish off the wine, and turn in.

  The thought warmed him.